Faith Hunter - Jane Yellowrock 02 by Blood-Cross

Author:Blood-Cross [Blood-Cross]
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy - General, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Horror, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Fantasy, General
Publisher: Penguin Group USA
Published: 2010-01-05T21:37:02+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Nap time, Aunt Jane

When I got back to the house after depositing the check into Derek Lee’s account, I found a note from Molly saying they were at Katie’s Ladies visiting and doing laundry. She and the little witch Bliss had been visiting back and forth for days in the beginnings of a friendship that I hoped might help Bliss to accept her own power. I didn’t think many mothers would let their daughters near a house of ill repute, but Molly wasn’t most mothers. Open-minded, tolerant, and unprejudiced, that was Molly. She even let Angie hang around a skinwalker.

Alone on the property, I tucked the box of sabertooth bones and teeth into the back garden under a rock. It was stupid, but I didn’t want them in the house. It was just too creepy. I couldn’t use them; the genetic structure was male and I couldn’t shift into a male animal. But what did you do with a gift from the master of the city? I couldn’t toss them in the garbage.

Back inside, I discovered the dress I had damaged at the vamp party hanging, dripping, in my bathroom. I had thought it ruined, but Molly had gotten all the blood out. It maybe needed a needle and thread in a spot or two, but it looked pretty good for a blood-soaked rag.

On the bed, I found a packing box and sighed. More surprises? I slit the packing tape with a knife. No one was home to hear me whoop.

I’d lost my favorite leather jacket to the liver-eater masquerading as Immanuel, and the replacement I’d treated myself to was finally here. I’d been measured and fitted at a leather shop in town, getting to be part of the design process from the leather up. From the box I pulled out a buttery soft, armored, padded leather motorcycle jacket and the loose-fitting armored leather pants I’d thrown in for good measure, perfect for fighting vamps and for riding Bitsa. And something I’d never have thought of until living in the Deep South—they had zippered, mesh pockets that could be left open for air to move through. It wouldn’t help much on foot, but on a bike, I’d be more comfortable.

Not wanting to get my sweat on them, I showered off, which I was doing a lot more than I ever had in the cool air of the mountains, and dressed in my one pair of long silk underclothes before pulling on the new leathers. The jacket had rings along the side seams threaded through with leather straps so I could adjust the fit for bulky winter layers or tighter for summer riding.

Stiff, shaped armor pads—not ballistic armor, but plasticized, high-density foam armor, wrapped in silver mesh—could be inserted into zippered pockets across my shoulders, down my back, along my forearms, legs, and thighs. At the joints of knees and elbows, more flexible armor could be fitted in. Straps had been sewn along the outer thighs for sheathed vamp-killers, and there was room in the wrists for forearm sheaths.

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