Daughter of the Blood. Nancy Holder

      “Hugues, Bernard,” Louise said, addressing each in turn. “Any surprises so far?”

      “Got out without incident, patrolled, nothing,” the taller one said. Apparently he was Bernard. He looked at Izzy. “Is, this, ah…”

      Izzy’s Medusa was still aimed at his chest. She said in French, “Je suis Isabelle de Bouvard, Maison des Flammes. ”

      “So it’s true,” Bernard said, his features softening. “La fille de la guardienne .”

      Both men sank to one knee.

      Izzy considered her next move. Louise had hand picked the security agents surrounding Izzy at this very moment, and Izzy had no idea where their loyalties lay. She concentrated on her gut, trying to feel her way.

      Jehanne, guide-moi, je vous en prie.

      Go, the wind whispered. Allez. Vite. Hurry.

      “Allez vite ,” Izzy commanded them.

      

      They skirted the perimeter of the Bouvard estate. The mansion, magically repaired from the attack, lay beneath a gauzy dome of white beneath the ivory moon. Figures holding Uzis patrolled each of the floors and the roof.

      There were more security forces stationed along the wall, within and without, and Louise motioned for the party of five to keep well away as they melted into the bayou just beyond the grounds. It seemed so strange to be hiding from her own bodyguards, but in truth, Izzy had no idea how many of them were “hers.”

      The moon watched, an enormous eye in the sky, while Izzy and the others picked up the pace and laid tracks between themselves and the compound. As they penetrated the murky rot of the swamp, Izzy was on high alert. She was inside her nightmare; she recognized the landscape—the uneven paths, the skeletal trees—and she was terrified. Her fright-or-flight response was engaged full force.

      For ten years I dreamed about this place. Ten long years. And now I’m here.

      Bernard was on point, then Louise, then her. Directly behind Izzy was Mathilde, and in the rear, Hugues.

      She listened for the Cajun werewolf pack—surely one of them had let loose with the howl she had heard in her mind. She wondered if they were trying to contact her; she hoped so. She realized then that of everyone around her, Andre was the local she trusted most—even more than she trusted Jean-Marc. Andre’s agenda was far simpler: he was loyal to Jean-Marc because the regent looked out for the wolf pack, and Jean-Marc had asked Andre to protect Izzy. So he had.

      Andre, are you out here? Are you hurt? Tell me where you are, she sent out. If your people have found you, tell them to let me know.