There was dried chicken blood imbedded under my fingernails.
When you raise the dead for a living, you have to spill a little
blood. It clung in flaking patches to my face and hands. I'd tried
to clean the worst of it off before coming to this meeting, but
some things only a shower would fix. I sipped coffee from a
personalized mug that said, "Piss me off, pay the consequences,"
and stared at the two men sitting across from me.
Mr. Jeremy Ruebens was short, dark, and grumpy. I'd never seen
him when he wasn't either frowning, or shouting. His small features
were clustered in the middle of his face as if some giant hand had
mashed them together before the clay had dried. His hands smoothed
over the lapel of his coat, the dark blue tie, tie clip, white
shirt collar. His hands folded in his lap for a second, then began
their dance again, coat, tie, tie clip, collar, lap. I figured I
could stand to watch him fidget maybe five more times before I
screamed for mercy and promised him anything he wanted.
The second man was Karl Inger. I'd never met him before, He was
a few inches over six feet. Standing, he had towered over Ruebens
and me. A wavy mass of short-cut red hair graced a large face. He
had honest-to-god muttonchop sideburns that grew into one of the
fullest mustaches I'd ever seen. Everything was neatly trimmed
except for his unruly hair. Maybe he was having a bad hair day.
Ruebens's hands were making their endless dance for the fourth
time. Four was my limit.
I wanted to go around the desk, grab his hands, and yell, "Stop
that!" But I figured that was a little rude, even for me. "I don't
remember you being this twitchy, Ruebens," I said.
He glanced at me. "Twitchy?"
I motioned at his hands, making their endless circuit. He
frowned and placed his hands on top of his thighs. They remained
there, motionless. Self-control at its best.
"I am not twitchy, Miss Blake."
"It's Ms. Blake. And why are you so nervous, Mr. Ruebens?" I
sipped my coffee.
"I am not accustomed to asking help from people like you."
"People like me?" I made it a question.
He cleared his throat sharply. "You know what I mean."
"No, Mr. Ruebens, I don't."
"Well, a zombie queen . . ." He stopped in mid-sentence. I was
getting pissed, and it must have shown on my face. "No offense," he
said softly.
"If you came here to call me names, get the hell out of my
office. If you have real business, state it, then get the hell out
of my office."
Ruebens stood up. "I told you she wouldn't help us."
"Help you do what? You haven't told me a damn thing," I
said.
"Perhaps we should just tell her why we have come," Inger said.
His voice was a deep, rumbling bass, pleasant.
Ruebens drew a deep breath and let it out through his nose.
"Very well." He sat back down in his chair. "The last time we met,
I was a member of Humans Against Vampires."
I nodded encouragingly and sipped my coffee.
"I have since started a new group, Humans First. We have the
same goals as HAV, but our methods are more direct."
I stared at him. HAV's main goal was to make vampires illegal
again, so they could be hunted down like animals. It worked for me.
I used to be a vampire slayer, hunter, whatever. Now I was a
vampire executioner. I had to have a death warrant to kill a
specific vampire, or it was murder. To get a warrant, you had to
prove the vampire was a danger to society, which meant you had to
wait for the vampire to kill people. The lowest kill was five
humans, the highest was twenty-three. That was a lot of dead
bodies. In the good ol' days you could just kill a vampire on
sight.
"What exactly does 'more direct methods' mean?"
"You know what it means," Ruebens said.
"No," I said, "I don't." I thought I did, but he was going to
have to say it out loud.
"HAV has failed to discredit vampires through the media or the
political machine. Humans First will settle for destroying them
all."
I smiled over my coffee mug. "You mean kill every last vampire
in the United States?"
"That is the goal," he said.
"It's murder."
"You have slain vampires. Do you really believe it is
murder?"
It was my turn to take a deep breath. A few months ago I would
have said no. But now, I just didn't know. "I'm not sure anymore,
Mr. Ruebens."
"If the new legislation goes through, Ms. Blake, vampires will
be able to vote. Doesn't that frighten you?"
"Yes," I said.
"Then help us."
"Quit dancing around, Ruebens; just tell me what you want."
"Very well, then. We want the daytime resting place of the
Master Vampire of the City."
I just looked at him for a few seconds. "Are you serious?"
"I am in deadly earnest, Ms. Blake."
I had to smile. "What makes you think I know the Master's
daytime retreat?"
It was Inger who answered. "Ms. Blake, come now. If we can admit
to advocating murder, then you can admit to knowing the Master." He
smiled ever so gently.
"Tell me where you got the information and maybe I'll confirm
it, or maybe I won't."
His smile widened just a bit. "Now who's dancing?"
He had a point. "If I say I know the Master, what then?"
"Give us his daytime resting place," Ruebens said. He was
leaning forward, an eager, nearly lustful look on his face. I
wasn't flattered. It wasn't me getting his rocks off. It was the
thought of staking the Master.
"How do you know the Master is a he?"
"There was an article in the Post-Dispatch. It was
careful to mention no name, but the creature was clearly male,"
Ruebens said.
I wondered how Jean-Claude would like being referred as a
"creature." Better not to find out. "I give you an address and you
go in and what, stake him through the heart?"
Ruebens nodded. Inger smiled.
I shook my head. "I don't think so."
"You refuse to help us?" Ruebens asked.
"No, I simply don't know the daytime resting place." I was
relieved to be able to tell the truth.
"You are lying to protect him," Ruebens said. His face was
growing darker; deep frown wrinkles showed on his forehead.
"I really don't know, Mr. Ruebens, Mr. Inger. If you want a
zombie raised, we can talk; otherwise . . ." I let the sentence
trail off and gave them my best professional smile. They didn't
seem impressed.
"We consented to meeting you at this ungodly hour, and we are
paying a handsome fee for the consultation. I would think the least
you could do is be polite."
I wanted to say, "You started it," but that would sound
childish. "I offered you coffee. You turned it down."
Ruebens's scowl deepened, little anger lines showing around his
eyes. "Do you treat all your . . . customers this way?"
"The last time we met, you called me a zombie-loving bitch. I
don't owe you anything."
"You took our money."
"My boss did that."
"We met you here at dawn, Ms. Blake. Surely you can meet us
halfway."
I hadn't wanted to meet with Ruebens at all, but after Bert took
their money, I was sort of stuck with it. I'd set the meeting at
dawn, after my night's work, but before I went to bed. This way I
could drive home and get eight hours uninterrupted sleep. Let
Ruebens's sleep be interrupted.
"Could you find out the location of the Master's retreat?" Inger
asked.
"Probably, but if I did, I wouldn't give it to you."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because she is in league with him," Ruebens said.
"Hush, Jeremy."
Ruebens opened his mouth to protest, but Inger said, "Please,
Jeremy, for the cause."
Ruebens struggled visibly to swallow his anger, but he choked it
down. Control.
"Why not, Ms. Blake?" Inger's eyes were very serious, the
pleasant sparkle seeping away like melting ice.
"I've killed master vampires before, none of them with a
stake."
"How then?"
I smiled. "No, Mr. Inger, if you want lessons in vampire
slaying, you're going to have to go elsewhere. Just by answering
your questions, I could be charged as an accessory to murder."
"Would you tell us if we had a better plan?" Inger said.
I thought about that for a minute. Jean-Claude dead, really
dead. It would certainly make my life easier, but . . . but.
"I don't know," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because I think he'll kill you. I don't give humans over to the
monsters, Mr. Inger, not even people who hate me."
"We don't hate you Ms. Blake."
I motioned with the coffee mug towards Ruebens. "Maybe you
don't, but he does."
Ruebens just glared at me. At least he didn't try to deny
it.
"If we come up with a better plan, can we talk to you again?"
Inger asked.
I stared at Ruebens's angry little eyes. "Sure, why not?"
Inger stood and offered me his hand. "Thank you, Ms. Blake. You
have been most helpful."
His hand enveloped mine. He was a large man, but he didn't try
using his size to make me feel small. I appreciated that.
"The next time we meet, Anita Blake, you will be more
cooperative." Ruebens said.
"That sounded like a threat, Jerry."
Ruebens smiled, a most unpleasant smile. "Humans First believes
the means justifies the end, Anita."
I opened my royal purple suit jacket. Inside was a shoulder
holster complete with a Browning Hi-Power 9mm. The purple skirt's
thin black belt was just sturdy enough to be looped through the
shoulder holster. Executive terrorist chic.
"When it comes to survival, Jerry, I believe that, too."
"We have not offered you violence," Inger said.
"No, but ol' Jerry here is thinking about it. I just want him
and the rest of your little group to believe I'm serious. Mess with
me, and people are going to die."
"There are dozens of us," Ruebens said, "and only one of
you."
"Yeah, but who's going to be first in line?" I said.
"Enough of this, Jeremy, Ms. Blake. We didn't come here to
threaten you. We came for your help. We will come up with a better
plan and talk to you again."
"Don't bring him," I said.
"Of course," Inger said. "Come along, Jeremy." He opened the
door. The soft clack of computer keys came from the outer office.
"Good-bye Ms. Blake."
"Good-bye, Mr. Inger, it's been really unpleasant."
Ruebens stopped in the doorway and hissed at me, "You are an
abomination before God."
"Jesus loves you, too," I said, smiling. He slammed the door
behind them. Childish.
I sat on the edge of my desk and waited to make sure they had
left before going outside. I didn't think they'd try anything in
the parking lot, but I really didn't want to start shooting people.
Oh, I would if I had to, but it was better to avoid it. I had hoped
flashing the gun would make Ruebens back off. It had just seemed to
enrage him. I rotated my neck, trying to ease some of the tension
away. It didn't work.
I could go home, shower, and get eight hours uninterrupted
sleep. Glorious. My beeper went off. I jumped like I'd been stung.
Nervous, me?
I hit the button, and the number that flashed made me groan. It
was the police. To be exact, it was the Regional Preternatural
Investigation Team. The Spook Squad. They were responsible for all
preternatural crime in Missouri. I was their civilian expert on
monsters. Bert liked the retainer I got, but better yet, the good
publicity.
The beeper went off again. Same number. "Shit," I said it
softly. "I heard you the first time, Dolph." I thought about
pretending that I'd already gone home, turned off the beeper, and
was now unavailable, but I didn't. If Detective Sergeant Rudolf
Storr called me at half-past dawn, he needed my expertise.
Damn.
I called the number and through a series of relays finally got
Dolph's voice. He sounded tinny and faraway. His wife had gotten
him a car phone for his birthday. We must have been near the limit
of its range. It still beat the heck out of talking to him on the
police radio. That always sounded like an alien language.
"Hi, Dolph, what's up?"
"Murder."
"What sort of murder?"
"The kind that needs your expertise," he said.
"It's too damn early in the morning to play twenty questions.
Just tell me what's happened."
"You got up on the wrong side of bed this morning, didn't
you?"
"I haven't been to bed yet."
"I sympathize, but get your butt out here. It looks like we have
a vampire victim on our hands."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Shit."
"You could say that."
"Give me the address," I said.
He did. It was over the river and through the woods, way to hell
and gone in Arnold. My office was just off Olive Boulevard. I had a
forty-five-minute drive ahead of me, one way. Yippee.
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
"We'll be waiting," Dolph said, then hung up.
I didn't bother to say good-bye to the dial tone. A vampire
victim. I'd never seen a lone kill. They were like potato chips;
once the vamp tasted them, he couldn't stop at just one. The trick
was, how many people would die before we caught this one?
I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to drive to
Arnold. I didn't want to stare at dead bodies before breakfast. I
wanted to go home. But somehow I didn't think Dolph would
understand. Police have very little sense of humor when they're
working on a murder case. Come to think of it, neither did I.
Chapter 2
The man's body lay on its back, pale and naked in the weak
morning sunlight. Even limp with death his body was good, a lot of
weights, maybe jogging. His longish yellow hair mixed with the
still-green lawn. The smooth skin of his neck was punctured twice
with neat fang marks. The right arm was pierced at the bend of the
elbow, where a doctor draws blood. The skin of the left wrist was
shredded, like an animal had gnawed it. White bone gleamed in the
fragile light.
I had measured the bite marks with my trusty tape measure. They
were different sizes. At least three different vamps, but I would
have bet everything I owned that it was five different vampires. A
master and his pack, or flock, or whatever the hell you call a
group of vampires.
The grass was wet from early morning mist. The moisture soaked
through the knees of the coveralls I had put on to protect my suit.
Black Nikes and surgical gloves completed my crime-scene kit. I
used to wear white Nikes, but they showed blood too easily.
I said a silent apology for what I had to do, then spread the
corpse's legs apart. The legs moved easily, no rigor. I was betting
that he hadn't been dead eight hours, not enough time for rigor
mortis to set in. Semen had dried on his shriveled privates. One
last joy before dying. The vamps hadn't cleaned him off. On the
inside of his thigh, close to the groin, were more fang marks. They
weren't as savage as the wrist wound, but they weren't neat
either.
There was no blood on the skin around the wounds, not even the
wrist wound. Had they cleaned the blood off? Wherever he was
killed, there was a lot of blood. They'd never be able to clean it
all up. If we could find where he died, we'd have all sorts of
clues. But in the neatly clipped lawn in the middle of a very
ordinary neighborhood, there were no clues. I was betting on that.
They'd dumped the body in a place as sterile and unhelpful as the
dark side of the moon.
Mist floated over the small residential neighborhood like
waiting ghosts. The mist was so low to the ground that it was like
walking through sheets of drizzling rain. Tiny beads of moisture
clung to the body where the mist had condensed. Beads collected in
my hair like silver pearls.
I stood in the front yard of a small, lime-green house with
white trim. A chain-link fence peeked around one side encircling a
roomy backyard. It was October, and the grass was still green. The
top of a sugar maple loomed over the house. Its leaves were that
brilliant orangey-yellow that is peculiar to sugar maples, as if
their leaves were carved from flame. The mist helped the illusion,
and the colors seemed to bleed on the wet air.
All down the street were other small houses with autumn-bright
trees and bright green lawns. It was still early enough that most
people hadn't gone to work yet, or school, or wherever. There was
quite a crowd being held back by the uniform officers. They had
hammered stakes into the ground to hold the yellow Do-Not-Cross
tape. The crowd pressed as close to the tape as they dared. A boy
of about twelve had managed to push his way to the front. He stared
at the dead man with huge brown eyes, his mouth open in a little
"wow" of excitement. God, where were his parents? Probably gawking
at the corpse, too.
The corpse was paper-white. Blood always pools to the lowest
point of the body. In this case dark, purplish bruising should have
set in at buttocks, arms, legs, the entire back of his body. There
were no marks. He hadn't had enough blood in him to cause lividity
marks. Whoever had murdered him had drained him completely. Good to
the last drop? I fought the urge to smile and lost. If you spend a
lot of time staring at corpses, you get a peculiar sense of humor.
You have to, or you will go stark raving mad.
"What's so funny?" a voice asked.
I jumped and whirled. "God, Zerbrowski, don't sneak up on me
like that."
"Is the heap big vampire slayer jumping at shadows?" He grinned
at me. His unruly brown hair stuck up in three separate tufts like
he'd forgotten to comb it. His tie was at half-mast over a pale
blue shirt that looked suspiciously like a pajama top. The brown
suit jacket and pants clashed with the top.
"Nice pajamas."
He shrugged. "I've got a pair with little choo-choos on them.
Katie thinks they're sexy."
"Your wife got a thing for trains?" I asked.
His grin widened. "If I'm wearing 'em."
I shook my head. "I knew you were perverted, Zerbrowski, but
little kids' jammies, that's truly sick."
"Thank you." He glanced down at the body, still smiling. The
smile faded. "What do you think of this?" He nodded towards the
dead man.
"Where's Dolph?"
"In the house with the lady who found the body." He plunged his
hands into the pockets of his pants and rocked on his heels. "She's
taking it pretty hard. Probably the first corpse she's seen outside
of a funeral."
"That's the way most normal folks see dead people,
Zerbrowski."
He rocked forward hard on the balls of his feet, coming to a
standstill. "Wouldn't it be nice to be normal?"
"Sometimes," I said.
He grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He got a notebook out
of his jacket pocket that looked as if someone had crumbled it in
their fist.
"Geez, Zerbrowski."
"Hey, it's still paper." He tried smoothing the notebook flat,
but finally gave up. He posed, pen over the wrinkled paper.
"Enlighten me, oh preternatural expert."
"Am I going to have to repeat this to Dolph? I'd like to just do
this once and go home to bed."
"Hey, me too. Why do you think I'm wearing my jammies?"
"I just thought it was a daring fashion statement." He looked at
me. "Mm-huh."
Dolph walked out of the house. The door looked too small to hold
him. He's six-nine and built bulky like a wrestler. His black hair
was buzzed close to his head, leaving his ears stranded on either
side of his face. But Dolph didn't care much for fashion. His tie
was tight against the collar of his white dress shirt. He had to
have been pulled out of bed just like Zerbrowski, but he looked
neat and tidy and businesslike. It never mattered what hour you
called Dolph, he was always ready to do his job. A professional cop
down to his socks.
So why was Dolph heading up the most unpopular special task
force in St. Louis? Punishment for something, that much I was sure
of, but I'd never asked what. I probably never would. It was his
business. If he wanted me to know, he'd tell me.
The squad had originally been a pacifier for the liberals. See,
we're doing something about supernatural crime. But Dolph had taken
his job and his men seriously. They had solved more supernatural
crime in the last two years than any other group of policemen in
the country. He had been invited to give talks to other police
forces. They had even been loaned out to neighboring states
twice.
"Well, Anita, let's have it."
That's Dolph; no preliminaries. "Gee, Dolph, it's nice to see
you too."
He just looked at me.
"Okay, okay." I knelt on the far side of the body so I could
point as I talked. Nothing like a visual aid to get your point
across. "Just measuring shows that at least three different
vampires fed on the man."
"But?" Dolph said.
He's quick. "But I think that every wound is a different
vampire."
"Vampires don't hunt in packs."
"Usually they are solitary hunters, but not always."
"What causes them to hunt in packs?" he asked.
"Only two reasons that I've ever come across: first, one is the
new dead and an older vampire is teaching the ropes, but that's
just two pairs of fangs, not five; second, a master vampire is
controlling them, and he's gone rogue."
"Explain."
"A master vampire has nearly absolute control over his or her
flock. Some masters use a group kill to solidify the pack, but they
wouldn't dump the body here. They'd hide it where the police would
never find it."
"But the body's here," Zerbrowski said, "out in plain
sight."
"Exactly; only a master that's gone crazy would dump a body like
this. Most masters even before vampires were legally alive wouldn't
flaunt a kill like this. It attracts attention, usually attention
with a stake in one hand and a cross in the other. Even now, if we
could trace the kill to the vampires that did it, we could get a
warrant and kill them." I shook my head. "Slaughter like this is
bad for business, and whatever else vampires are, they're
practical. You don't stay alive and hidden for centuries unless
you're discreet and ruthless."
"Why ruthless?" Dolph said.
I stared up at him. "It's utterly practical. Someone discovers
your secret, you kill them, or make them one of your . . .
children. Good business practices, Dolph, nothing more."
"Like the mob," Zerbrowski said.
"Yeah."
"What if they panicked?" Zerbrowski asked. "It was almost
dawn."
"When did the woman find the body?"
Dolph checked his notebook. "Five-thirty."
"It's still hours until dawn. They didn't panic."
"If we've got a crazy master vampire, what exactly does that
mean?"
"It means they'll kill more people faster. They may need blood
every night to support five vampires."
"A fresh body every night?" Zerbrowski made it a question.
I just nodded.
"Jesus," he said.
"Yeah."
Dolph was silent, staring down at the dead man. "What can we
do?"
"I should be able to raise the corpse as a zombie."
"I thought you couldn't raise a vampire victim as a zombie,"
Dolph said.
"If the corpse is going to rise as a vampire, you can't." I
shrugged. "The whatever that makes a vampire interferes with a
raising. I can't raise a body that is already set to rise as a
vamp."
"But this one won't rise," Dolph said, "so you can raise
it."
I nodded.
"Why won't this vampire victim rise?"
"He was killed by more than one vampire, in a mass feeding. For
a corpse to rise as a vampire, you have to have just one vampire
feeding over a space of several days. Three bites ending with
death, and you get a vampire. If every vampire victim could come
back, we'd be up to our butts in bloodsuckers."
"But this victim can come back as a zombie?" Dolph said.
I nodded.
"When can you do the animating?"
"Three nights from tonight, or really two. Tonight counts as one
night."
"What time?"
"I'll have to check my schedule at work. I'll call you with a
time."
"Just raise the murder victim and ask who killed him. I like
it," Zerbrowski said.
"It's not that easy," I said. "You know how confused witnesses
to violent crimes are. Have three people see the same crime and you
get three different heights, different hair colors."
"Yeah, yeah, witness testimony is a bitch," Zerbrowski said.
"Go on, Anita," Dolph said. It was his way of saying,
"Zerbrowski, shut up." Zerbrowski shut up.
"A person who died as the victim of a violent crime is more
confused. Scared shitless, so that sometimes they don't remember
very clearly."
"But they were there," Zerbrowski said. He looked outraged.
"Zerbrowski, let her finish."
Zerbrowski pantomimed locking his lips with a key and throwing
the key away. Dolph frowned. I coughed into my hand to hide the
smile. Mustn't encourage Zerbrowski.
"What I'm saying is that I can raise the victim from the dead,
but we may not get as much information as you'd expect. The
memories we do get will be confused, painful, but it might narrow
the field down as to which master vampire led the group."
"Explain," Dolph said.
"There are only supposed to be two master vampires in St. Louis
right now. Malcolm, the undead Billy Graham, and the Master of the
City. There's always the possibility we've got someone new in town,
but the Master of the City should be able to police that."
"We'll take the head of the Church of Eternal Life," Dolph
said.
"I'll take the Master," I said.
"Take one of us with you for backup."
I shook my head. "Can't; if he knew I let the cops know who he
was, he'd kill us both."
"How dangerous is it for you to do this?" Dolph asked.
What was I supposed to say? Very? Or did I tell them the Master
had the hots for me, so I'd probably be okay? Neither. "I'll be all
right."
He stared at me, eyes very serious.
"Besides, what choice do we have?" I motioned at the corpse.
"We'll get one of these a night until we find the vampires
responsible. One of us has to talk to the Master. He won't talk to
police, but he will talk to me."
Dolph took a deep breath and let it out. He nodded. He knew I
was right. "When can you do it?"
"Tomorrow night, if I can talk Bert into giving my zombie
appointments to someone else."
"You're that sure the Master will talk to you?"
"Yeah." The problem with Jean-Claude was not getting to see him,
it was avoiding him. But Dolph didn't know that, and if he did, he
might have insisted on going with me. And gotten us both
killed.
"Do it," he said. "Let me know what you find out."
"Will do," I said. I stood up, facing him over the bloodless
corpse.
"Watch your back," he said.
"Always."
"If the Master eats you, can I have your nifty coveralls?"
Zerbrowski asked.
"Buy your own, you cheap bastard."
"I'd rather have the ones that have enveloped your luscious
body."
"Give it a rest, Zerbrowski. I'm not into little
choo-choos."
"What the hell do trains have to do with anything?" Dolph
asked.
Zerbrowski and I looked at each other. We started giggling and
couldn't stop. I could claim sleep deprivation. I'd been on my feet
for fourteen straight hours, raising the dead and talking to
right-wing fruitcakes. The vampire victim was a perfect end to a
perfect night. I had a right to be hysterical with laughter. I
don't know what Zerbrowski's excuse was.
Chapter 3
There are a handful of days in October that are nearly perfect.
The sky stretches overhead in a clear blue, so deep and perfect
that it makes everything else prettier. The trees along the highway
are crimson, gold, rust, burgundy, orange. Every color is
neon-bright, pulsing in the heavy golden sunlight. The air is cool
but not cold; by noon you can wear just a light jacket. It was
weather for taking long walks in the woods with someone you wanted
to hold hands with. Since I didn't have anyone like that, I was
just hoping for a free weekend to go away by myself. The chances of
that were slim and none.
October is a big month for raising the dead. Everyone thinks
that Halloween is the perfect season for raising zombies. It isn't.
Darkness is the only requirement. But everyone wants an appointment
for midnight on Halloween. They think spending All Hallows Eve in a
cemetery killing chickens and watching zombies crawl out of the
ground is great entertainment. I could probably sell tickets.
I was averaging five zombies a night. It was one more zombie
than anyone else was doing in one night. I should never have told
Bert that four zombies didn't wipe me out. My own fault for being
too damn truthful. Of course, truth was, five didn't wipe me out
either, but I was damned if I'd tell Bert.
Speaking of my boss, I had to call him when I got home. He was
going to love me asking for the night off. It made me smile just
thinking about it. Any day I could yank Bert's chain was a good
day.
I pulled into my apartment complex at nearly one in the
afternoon. All I wanted was a quick shower and seven hours of
sleep. I had given up on eight hours; it was too late in the day
for that. I had to see Jean-Claude tonight. Joy. But he was the
Master Vampire of the City. If there was another master vampire
around, he'd know it. I think they can smell each other. Of course,
if Jean-Claude had committed the murder, he wasn't likely to
confess. But I didn't really believe he'd done it. He was much too
good a business vampire to get messy. He was the only master
vampire I'd ever met who wasn't crazy in some way: psychotic, or
sociopath, take your pick.
All right, all right, Malcolm wasn't crazy, but I didn't approve
of his methods. He headed up the fastest-growing church in America
today. The Church of Eternal Life offered exactly that. No leap of
faith, no uncertainty, just a guarantee. You could become a vampire
and live forever, unless someone like me killed you, or you got
caught in a fire, or hit by a bus. I wasn't sure about the bus
part, but I'd always wondered. Surely there must be something
massive enough to damage even a vampire beyond healing. I hoped
someday to test the theory.
I climbed the stairs slowly. My body felt heavy. My eyes burned
with the need to sleep. It was three days before Halloween, and the
month couldn't end too soon for me. Business would start dropping
off before Thanksgiving. The decline would continue until after New
Year's, then it'd start picking up. I prayed for a freak snowstorm.
Business drops off if the snow is bad. People seem to think we
can't raise the dead in deep snow. We can, but don't tell anyone. I
need the break.
The hallway was full of the quiet noises of my day-living
neighbors. I was fishing my keys out of my coat pocket when the
door opposite mine opened. Mrs. Pringle stepped out. She was tall,
slender, thinning with age, white hair done in a small bun at the
back of her head. The hair was perfectly white. Mrs. Pringle didn't
bother with dyes or makeup. She was over sixty-five and didn't care
who knew it.
Custard, her Pomeranian, pranced at the end of his leash. He was
a round ball of golden fur with little fox ears. Most cats
outweighed him, but he's one of those little dogs with a big-dog
attitude. In a past life he was a Great Dane.
"Hello, Anita." Mrs. Pringle smiled as she said it. "You're not
just getting in from work, are you?" Her pale eyes were
disapproving.
I smiled. "Yeah, I had an . . . emergency come up."
She raised an eyebrow, probably wondering what an animator would
have for an emergency, but she was too polite to ask. "You don't
take good enough care of yourself, Anita. If you keep burning the
candle at both ends, you'll be worn out by the time you're my
age."
"Probably," I said.
Custard yapped at me. I did not smile at him. I don't believe in
encouraging small, pushy dogs. With that peculiar doggy sense, he
knew I didn't like him, and he was determined to win me over.
"I saw the painters were in your apartment last week. Is it all
repaired?"
I nodded. "Yeah, all the bullet holes have been patched up and
painted over."
"I'm really sorry I wasn't home to offer you my apartment. Mr.
Giovoni says you had to go to a hotel."
"Yeah."
"I don't understand why one of the other neighbors didn't offer
you a couch for the night."
I smiled. I understood. Two months ago I had slaughtered two
killer zombies in my apartment and had a police shootout. The walls
and one window had been damaged. Some of the bullets had gone
through the walls into other apartments. No one else had been hurt,
but none of the neighbors wanted anything to do with me now. I
suspected strongly that when my two-year lease was up, I would be
asked to leave. I guess I couldn't blame them.
"I heard you were wounded."
I nodded. "Just barely." I didn't bother telling her that the
bullet wound hadn't been from the shootout. The mistress of a very
bad man had shot me in the right arm. It was healed to a smooth,
shiny scar, still a little pink.
"How did your visit with your daughter go?" I asked.
Mrs. Pringle's face went all shiny with a smile. "Oh, wonderful.
My last and newest grandchild is perfect. I'll show you pictures
later, after you've had some sleep." That disapproving look was
back in her eyes. Her teacher face. The one that could make you
squirm from ten paces, even if you were innocent. And I hadn't been
innocent for years.
I held up my hands. "I give up. I'll go to bed. I promise."
"You see you do," she said. "Come along, Custard, we have to go
out for our afternoon stroll." The tiny dog danced at the end of
his leash, straining forward like a miniature sled dog.
Mrs. Pringle let three pounds of fluffy fur drag her down the
hall. I shook my head. Letting a fuzzball boss you around was not
my idea of dog ownership. If I ever had another dog, I'd be boss,
or one of us wouldn't survive. It was the principle of the
thing.
I opened the door and stepped inside the hush of my apartment.
The heater whirred, hot air hissing out of the vents. The aquarium
clicked on. The sounds of emptiness. It was wonderful.
The new paint was the same off-white as the old. The carpet was
grey; couch and matching chair, white. The kitchenette was pale
wood with white and gold linoleum. The two-seater breakfast table
in the kitchen was a little darker than the cabinets. A modern
print was the only color on the white walls.
The space where most people would have put a full-size kitchen
set had the thirty-gallon aquarium against the wall, a stereo
catty-corner from it.
Heavy white drapes hid the windows and turned the golden
sunlight to a pale twilight. When you sleep during the day, you
have to have good curtains.
I flung my coat on the couch, kicked my dress shoes off, and
just enjoyed the feeling of my bare feet on the carpet. The panty
hose came off next, to lie wrinkled and forlorn by the shoes.
Barefoot, I padded over to the fish tank.
The angelfish rose to the surface begging for food. The fish are
all wider than my outspread hand. They are the biggest angels I've
ever seen outside of the pet store I bought them from. The store
had breeding angelfish that were nearly a foot long.
I stripped off the shoulder holster and put the Browning in its
second home, a specially made holster in the headboard. If any bad
guys snuck up on me, I could pull it and shoot them. That was the
idea, anyway. So far it had worked.
When the dry-clean-only suit and blouse were hung neatly in the
closet, I flopped down on the bed in my bra and undies, still
wearing the silver cross that I wore even in the shower. Never know
when a pesky vampire is going to try to take a bite out of you.
Always prepared, that was my motto, or was that the Boy Scouts? I
shrugged and dialed work. Mary, our daytime secretary, answered on
the second ring. "Animators, Incorporated. How may we serve
you?"
"Hi, Mary, it's Anita."
"Hi, what's up?"
"I need to talk with Bert."
"He's with a prospective client right now. May I ask what this
is pertaining to?"
"Him rescheduling my appointments for tonight."
"Ooh, boy. I'll let you tell him. If he yells at someone, it
should be you." She was only half-kidding.
"Fine," I said.
She lowered her voice and whispered, "Client is on her way to
the front door. He'll be with you in a jiffy."
"Thanks, Mary."
She put me on hold before I could tell her not to. Muzak seeped
out of the phone. It was a butchered version of the Beatles'
"Tomorrow." I'd have rather listened to static. Mercifully, Bert
came on the line and saved me.
"Anita, what time can you come in today?"
"I can't."
"Can't what?"
"Can't come in today."
"At all?" His voice had risen an octave.
"You got it."
"Why the hell not?" Cursing at me already, a bad sign.
"I got beeped by the police after my morning meeting. I haven't
even been to bed yet."
"You can sleep in, don't worry about meeting new clients in the
afternoon. Just come in for your appointments tonight."
He was being generous, understanding. Something was wrong.
"I can't make the appointments tonight, either."
"Anita, we're overbooked here. You have five clients tonight.
Five!"
"Divide them up among the other animators," I said.
"Everybody is already maxed."
"Listen, Bert, you're the one who said yes to the police. You're
the one who put me on retainer to them. You thought it would be
great publicity."
"It has been great publicity," he said.
"Yeah, but it's like working two full-time jobs sometimes. I
can't do both."
"Then drop the retainer. I had no idea it'd take up this much of
your time."
"It's a murder investigation, Bert. I can't drop it."
"Let the police do their own dirty work," he said.
He was a fine one to talk about that. Him with his squeaky-clean
fingernails and nice safe office. "They need my expertise and my
contacts. Most of the monsters won't talk to the police."
He was quiet on the other end of the phone. His breathing came
harsh and angry. "You can't do this to me. We've taken money,
signed contracts."
"I asked you to hire extra help months ago."
"I hired John Burke. He's been handling some of your vampire
slayings, as well as raising the dead."
"Yeah, John's a big help, but we need more. In fact, I bet he
could take at least one of my zombies tonight."
"Raise five in one night?"
"I'm doing it," I said.
"Yes, but John isn't you."
That was almost a compliment. "You have two choices, Bert;
either reschedule or delegate them to someone else."
"I am your boss. I could just say come in tonight or you're
fired." His voice was firm and matter-of-fact.
I was tired and cold sitting on the bed in my bra and undies, I
didn't have time for this. "Fire me."
"You don't mean that," he said.
"Look, Bert, I've been on my feet for over twenty hours. If I
don't get some sleep soon, I'm not going to be able to work for
anybody."
He was silent for a long time, his breathing soft and regular in
my ear. Finally, he said, "All right, you're free for tonight. But
you damn well better be back on the job tomorrow."
"I can't promise that, Bert."
"Dammit, Anita, do you want to be fired?"
"This is the best year we've ever had, Bert. Part of that's due
to the articles on me in the Post-Dispatch."
"They were about zombie rights and that government study you're
on. You didn't do them to help promote our business."
"But it worked, didn't it? How many people call up and ask
specifically for me? How many people say they've seen me in the
paper? How many heard me on the radio? I may be promoting zombie
rights, but it's damn good for business. So cut me some slack."
"You don't think I'd do it, do you?" His voice snarled through
the phone. He was pissed.
"No, I don't," I said.
His breath was short and harsh. "You damn well better show up
tomorrow night, or I'm going to call your bluff." He slammed the
receiver in my ear. Childish.
I hung up the phone and stared at it. The Resurrection Company
in California had made me a handsome offer a few months back. But I
really didn't want to move to the west coast, or the east coast for
that matter. I liked St. Louis. But Bert was going to have to break
down and hire more help. I couldn't keep this schedule up. Sure,
it'd get better after October, but I just seemed to be going from
one emergency to another for this entire year.
I had been stabbed, beaten, shot, strangled, and vampire-bit in
the space of four months. There comes a point where you just have
too many things happening too close together. I had battle
fatigue.
I left a message on my judo instructor's machine. I went twice a
week at four o'clock, but I wasn't going to make it today. Three
hours of sleep just wouldn't have been enough.
I dialed the number for Guilty Pleasures. It was a vampire strip
joint. Chippendale's with fangs. Jean-Claude owned and managed it.
Jean-Claude's voice came over the line, soft as silk, caressing
down my spine even though I knew it was a recording. "You have
reached Guilty Pleasures. I would love to make your darkest fantasy
come true. Leave a message, and I will get back to you."
I waited for the beep. "Jean-Claude, this is Anita Blake. I need
to see you tonight. It's important. Call me back with a time and
place." I gave him my home number, then hesitated, listening to the
tape scratch. "Thanks." I hung up, and that was that.
He'd either call back or he wouldn't. He probably would. The
question was, did I want him to? No. No, I didn't, but for the
police, for all those poor people who would die, I had to try. But
for me personally, going to the Master was not a good idea.
Jean-Claude had marked me twice already. Two more marks and I
would be his human servant. Did I mention that neither mark was
voluntary? His servant for eternity. Didn't sound like a good idea
to me. He seemed to lust after my body, too, but that was
secondary. I could have handled it if all he wanted was physical,
but he was after my soul. That he could not have.
I had managed to avoid him for the last two months. Now I was
willingly putting myself within reach again. Stupid. But I
remembered the nameless man's hair, soft and mingling with the
still-green lawn. The fang marks, the paper-white skin, the
fragility of his nude body covered with dew. There would be more
bodies to look at, unless we were quick. And quick meant
Jean-Claude.
Visions of vampire victims danced in my head. And every one of
them was partially my fault, because I was too chickenshit to go
see the Master. If I could stop the killings now, with just one
dead, I'd risk my soul daily. Guilt is a wonderful motivator.
Chapter 4
I was swimming in black water, strong smooth strokes. The moon
hung huge and shining, making a silver pathway on the lake. There
was a black fringe of trees. I was almost to shore. The water was
so warm, warm as blood. In that moment I knew why the waters were
black. It was blood. I was swimming in a lake of fresh, warm
blood.
I woke instantly, gasping for breath. Eyes searching the
darkness for . . . what? Something that had caressed my leg just
before I woke. Something that lived in blood and darkness.
The phone shrilled, and I had to swallow a scream. I wasn't
usually this nervous. It was just a nightmare, dammit. Just a
dream.
I fumbled for the receiver and managed, "Yeah."
"Anita?" The voice sounded hesitant, as if its owner might hang
up.
"Who is this?"
"It's Willie, Willie McCoy." Even as he said the name, the
rhythm of the voice sounded familiar. The phone made it distant and
charged with an electric hiss, but I recognized it.
"Willie, how are you?" The minute I said it, I wished I hadn't.
Willie was a vampire now; how okay could a dead man be?
"I'm doing real well." His voice had a happy lilt to it. He was
pleased that I asked.
I sighed. Truth was, I liked Willie. I wasn't supposed to like
vampires. Any vampire, not even if I'd known him when he was
alive.
"How ya doing yourself?"
"Okay, what's up?"
"Jean-Claude got your message. He says ta meet him at the Circus
of the Damned at eight o'clock tonight."
"The Circus? What's he doing over there?"
"He owns it now. Ya didn't know?"
I shook my head, realized he couldn't see it, and said, "No, I
didn't."
"He says to meet 'im in a show that starts at eight."
"Which show?"
"He said you'd know which one."
"Well, isn't that cryptic," I said.
"Hey, Anita, I just do what I'm told. Ya know how it is?"
I did know. Jean-Claude owned Willie lock, stock, and soul.
"It's okay, Willie, it's not your fault."
"Thanks, Anita." His voice sounded cheerful, like a puppy who
expected a kick and got patted instead.
Why had I comforted him? Why did I care whether a vampire got
its feelings hurt, or not? Answer: I didn't think of him as a dead
man. He was still Willie McCoy with his penchant for loud
primary-colored suits, clashing ties, and small, nervous hands.
Being dead hadn't changed him that much. I wished it had.
"Tell Jean-Claude I'll be there."
"I will." He was quiet for a minute, his breath soft over the
phone. "Watch your back tonight, Anita."
"Do you know something I should know?"
"No, but . . . I don't know."
"What's up, Willie?"
"Nuthin', nuthin'." His voice was high and frightened.
"Am I walking into a trap, Willie?"
"No, no, nuthin' like that." I could almost see his small hands
waving in the air. "I swear, Anita, nobody's gunnin' for you."
I let that go. Nobody he knew of was all he could swear to.
"Then what are you afraid of, Willie?"
"It's just that there's more vampires around here than usual.
Some of em ain't too careful who they hurt. That's all."
"Why are there more vampires, Willie? Where did they come
from?"
"I don't know and I don't want to know, ya know? I got ta go,
Anita." He hung up before I could ask anything else. There had been
real fear in his voice. Fear for me, or for himself? Maybe
both.
I glanced at the radio clock on my bedstand: 6:35. I had to
hurry if I was going to make the appointment. The covers were
toasty warm over my legs. All I really wanted to do was cuddle back
under the blankets, maybe with a certain stuffed toy penguin I
knew. Yeah, hiding sounded good.
I threw back the covers and walked into the bathroom. I hit the
light switch, and glowing white light filled the small room. My
hair stuck up in all directions, a mass of tight black curls.
That'd teach me not to sleep on it wet. I ran a brush through the
curls and they loosened slightly, turning into a frothing mass of
waves. The curls went all over the place and there wasn't a damn
thing I could do with it except wash it and start over. There
wasn't time for that.
The black hair made my pale skin look deathly, or maybe it was
the overhead lighting. My eyes were so dark brown they looked
black. Two glittering holes in the pastiness of my face. I looked
like I felt; great.
What do you wear to meet the Master of the City? I chose black
jeans, a black sweater with bright geometric designs, black Nikes
with blue swooshes, and a blue-and-black sport bag clipped around
my waist. Color coordination at its best.
The Browning went into its shoulder holster. I put an extra ammo
clip in the sport bag along with credit cards, driver's license,
money, and a small hairbrush. I slipped on the short leather jacket
I'd bought last year. It was the first one I'd ever tried on that
didn't make me took like a gorilla. Most leather jackets were so
long-sleeved, I could never wear them. The jacket was black, so
Bert wouldn't let me wear it to work.
I only zipped the jacket halfway up, leaving room so I could go
for my gun if I needed to. The silver cross swung on its long
chain, a warm, solid weight between my breasts. The cross would be
more help against vampires than the gun, even with silver-coated
bullets.
I hesitated at the door. I hadn't seen Jean-Claude in months. I
didn't want to see him now. My dream came back to me. Something
that lived in blood and darkness. Why the nightmare? Was it
Jean-Claude interfering in my dreams again? He had promised to stay
out of my dreams. But was his word worth anything? No answer to
that.
I flicked off the apartment lights and closed the door behind
me. I rattled it to make sure it was locked, and I had nothing left
to do but drive to the Circus of the Damned. No more excuses. No
more delays. My stomach was so tight it hurt. So I was afraid; so
what? I had to go, and the sooner I left, the sooner I could come
home. If only I believed that Jean-Claude would make things that
simple. Nothing was ever simple where he was concerned. If I
learned anything about the murders tonight, I'd pay for it, but not
in money. Jean-Claude seemed to have plenty of that. No, his coin
was more painful, more intimate, more bloody.
And I had volunteered to go see him. Stupid, Anita, very
stupid.
Chapter 5
There was a bouquet of spotlights on the top of the
Circus of the Damned. The lights slashed the black night like
swords. The multicolored lights that spelled the name seemed dimmer
with the huge white lights whirling overhead. Demonic clowns danced
around the sign in frozen pantomime.
I walked past the huge cloth signs that covered the
walls. One picture showed a man that had no skin; See the Skinless
Man. A movie version of a voodoo ceremony covered another banner.
Zombies writhed from open graves. The zombie banner had changed
since last I'd visited the Circus. I didn't know if that was good
or bad; probably neither. I didn't give a damn what they did here,
except . . . Except it wasn't right to raise the dead just for
entertainment.
Who did they have raising zombies for them? I knew it
had to be someone new because I had helped kill their last
animator. He had been a serial killer and had nearly killed me
twice, the second time by ghoul attack, which was a messy way to
die. Of course, the way he died had been messy, too, but I wasn't
the one who ripped him open. A vampire had done that. You might say
I eased him on his way. A mercy killing. Ri-ight.
It was too cold to be standing outside with my jacket
half-unzipped. But if I zipped it all the way, I'd never get to my
gun in time. Freeze my butt off, or be able to defend myself. The
clowns on the roof had fangs. I decided it wasn't that cold after
all.
Heat and noise poured out to meet me at the door.
Hundreds of bodies pressed together in an enclosed space. The noise
of the crowd was like the ocean, murmurous and large, sound without
meaning. A crowd is an elemental thing. A word, a glance, and a
crowd becomes a mob. A different being entirely from a group.
There were a lot of families. Mom, Dad, the kiddies.
The children had balloons tied to their wrists and cotton candy
smeared on their faces and hands. It smelled like a traveling
carnival: corn dogs, the cinnamon smell of funnel cakes, snow
cones, sweat. The only thing missing was the dust. There was always
dust in the air at a summer fair. Dry, choking dust kicked into the
air by hundreds of feet. Cars driving over the grass until it is
grey-coated with dust.
There was no smell of dirt in the air, but there was
something else just as singular. The smell of blood. So faint you'd
almost think you dreamed it, but it was there. The sweet copper
scent of blood mingled with the smells of cooking food and the
sharp smell of a snow cone being made. Who needed dust?
I was hungry, and the corn dogs smelled good. Should
I eat first or accuse the Master of the City of murder? Choices,
choices.
I didn't get to decide. A man stepped out of the
crowd. He was only a little taller than me, with curly blond hair
that fell past his shoulders. He was wearing a cornflower-blue
shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing firm, muscular forearms.
Jeans no tighter than the skin on a grape showed slender hips. He
wore black cowboy boots with blue designs tooled into them. His
true-blue eyes matched his shirt.
He smiled, flashing small white teeth. "You're Anita
Blake, right?"
I didn't know what to say. It isn't always a good
idea to admit who you are.
"Jean-Claude told me to wait for you." His voice was
soft, hesitant. There was something about him, an almost childlike
appeal. Besides I'm a sucker for a pair of pretty eyes.
"What's your name?" I asked. Always like to know who
I'm dealing with.
His smile widened. "Stephen; my name is Stephen." He
put out his hand, and I took it. His hand was soft but firm, no
manual labor but some weightlifting. Not too much. Enough to firm,
not explode. Men my size should not do serious weightlifting. It
may look okay in a bathing suit, but in regular clothes you took
like a deformed dwarf.
"Follow me, please." He sounded like a waiter, but
when he walked into the crowd, I followed him.
He led the way towards a huge blue tent. It was like
an old-fashioned circus tent. I'd only seen one in pictures or the
movies.
There was a man in a striped coat yelling, "Almost
showtime, folks! Present your tickets and come inside! See the
world's largest cobra! Watch the fearsome serpent be taken through
amazing feats by the beautiful snake charmer Shahar. We guarantee
it will be a show you will never forget."
There was a line of people giving their tickets to a
young woman. She tore them in half and handed back the stubs.
Stephen walked confidently along the line without
waiting. We got some dirty looks, but the girl nodded to us. And in
we went.
Tiers of bleachers ran up to the top of the tent. It
was huge. Nearly all the seats were full. A sold-out show.
Wowee.
There was a blue rail that formed a circle in the
middle. A one-ring circus.
Stephen scooted past the knees of about a dozen
people to a set of steps. Since we were at the bottom, up was the
only way to go. I followed Stephen up the concrete stairs. The tent
may have looked like a circus tent, but the bleachers and stairs
were permanent. A mini-coliseum.
I have bad knees, which means that I can run on a
flat surface but put me on a hill, or stairs. and it hurts. So I
didn't try to keep up with Stephen's smooth, running glide. I did
watch the way his jeans fit his snug little behind, though. Looking
for clues.
I unzipped the leather jacket but didn't take it off.
My gun would show. Sweat glided down my spine. I was going to
melt.
Stephen glanced over his shoulder to see if I was
following, or maybe for encouragement. He flashed a smile that was
just lips curling back from teeth, almost a snarl.
I stopped in the middle of the steps, watching his
lithe form glide upward. There was an energy to Stephen as if the
air boiled invisibly around him. A shapeshifter. Some lycanthropes
are better than others at hiding what they are. Stephen wasn't that
good. Or maybe he just didn't care if I knew. Possible.
Lycanthropy was a disease, like AIDS. It was
prejudice to mistrust someone for an accident. Most people survived
attacks to become shapeshifters. It wasn't a choice. So why didn't
I like Stephen as well, now that I knew? Prejudiced,
moi?
He waited at the top of the stairs, still pretty as a
picture, but the air of energy contained in too small a space, like
his motor was on high idle, shimmered around him. What was
Jean-Claude doing with a shapeshifter on his payroll? Maybe I could
ask him.
I stepped up beside Stephen. There must have been
something in my face, because he said, "What's wrong?"
I shook my head. "Nothing."
I don't think he believed me. But he smiled and led
me towards a booth that was mostly glass with heavy curtains on the
inside hiding whatever lay behind. It looked for all the world like
a miniature broadcast booth.
Stephen went to the curtained door and opened it. He
held it for me, motioning me to go first.
"No, you first," I said.
"I'm being a gentleman here," he said.
"I don't need or want doors opened for me. I'm quite
capable, thank you."
"A feminist, my, my."
Truthfully, I just didn't want ol' Stephen at my
back. But if he wanted to think I was a hard-core feminist, let
him. It was closer to the truth than a lot of things.
He walked through the door. I glanced back to the
ring. It looked smaller from up here. Muscular men dressed in
glittering loincloths pulled a cart in on their bare shoulders.
There were two things in the cart: a huge woven basket and a
dark-skinned woman. She was dressed in Hollywood's version of a
dancing girl's outfit. Her thick black hair fell like a cloak,
sweeping to her ankles. Slender arms, small, dark hands swept the
air in graceful curves. She danced in front of the cart. The
costume was fake, but she wasn't. She knew how to dance, not for
seduction, though it was that, but for power. Dancing was
originally an invocation to some god or other; most people forget
that.
Goosebumps prickled up the back of my neck, creeping
into my hair. I shivered while I stood there and sweated in the
heat. What was in the basket? The barker outside had said a giant
cobra, but there was no snake in the world that needed a basket
that big. Not even the anaconda, the world's heaviest snake, needed
a container over ten feet tall and twenty feet wide.
Something touched my shoulder. I jumped and spun.
Stephen was standing nearly touching me, smiling.
I swallowed my pulse back into my throat and glared
at him. I make a big deal about not wanting him at my back, then
let him sneak up behind me. Real swift, Anita, real swift. Because
he'd scared me, I was mad at him. Illogical, but it was better to
be mad than scared.
"Jean-Claude's just inside," he said. He smiled, but
there was a very human glint of laughter in his blue eyes.
I scowled at him, knowing I was being childish, and
not caring. "After you, fur-face."
The laughter slipped away. He was very serious as he
stared at me. "How did you know?" His voice was uncertain, fragile.
A lot of lycanthropes pride themselves on being able to pass for
human.
"It was easy," I said. Which wasn't entirely true,
but I wanted to hurt him. Childish, unattractive, honest.
His face suddenly looked very young. His eyes filled
with uncertainty and pain.
Shit.
"Look, I've spent a lot of time around shapeshifters.
I just know what to look for, okay?" Why did I want to reassure
him? Because I knew what it was like to be the outsider. Raising
the dead makes a lot of people class me with the monsters. There
are even days when I agree with them.
He was still staring at me, with his hurt feelings
like an open wound in his eyes. If he started to cry, I was
leaving.
He turned without another word and walked through the
open door. I stared at the door for a minute. There were gasps,
screams from the crowd. I whirled and saw it. It was a snake, but
it wasn't just the world's biggest cobra, it was the biggest
freaking snake I'd ever seen. Its body was banded in dull greyish
black and off-white. The scales gleamed under the lights. The head
was at least a foot and a half wide. No snake was that big. It
flared its hood, and it was the size of a satellite dish. The snake
hissed, flicking out a tongue that was like a black whip.
I'd had a semester of herpetology in college. If the
snake had been a mere eight feet or less, I would have called it a
banded Egyptian cobra. I couldn't remember the scientific name to
save myself.
The woman dropped to the ground in front of the
snake, forehead to the ground. A mark of obedience from her to the
snake. To her god. Sweet Jesus.
The woman stood and began to dance, and the cobra
watched her. She'd made herself a living flute for the nearsighted
creature to follow. I didn't want to see what would happen if she
messed up. The poison wouldn't have time to kill her. The fangs
were so damn big they'd spear her like swords. She'd die of shock
and blood loss long before the poison kicked in.
Something was growing in the middle of that ring.
Magic crawled up my spine. Was it magic that kept the snake safe,
or magic that called it up, or was it the snake itself? Did it have
power all its own? I didn't even know what to call it. It looked
like a cobra, perhaps the world's biggest, yet I didn't even have a
word for it. God with a little "g" would do, but it wasn't
accurate.
I shook my head and turned away. I didn't want to see
the show. I didn't want to stand there with its magic flowing soft
and cold over my skin. If the snake wasn't safe, Jean-Claude would
have had it caged, right? Right.
I turned away from the snake charmer and the world's
biggest cobra. I wanted to talk to Jean-Claude and get the hell out
of here.
The open door was filled with darkness. Vampires
didn't need lights. Did lycanthropes? I didn't know. Gee, so much
to learn. My jacket was unzipped all the way, the better for a fast
draw. Though truthfully, if I needed a fast draw tonight, I was in
deep shit.
I took a deep breath and let it out. No sense putting
it off. I walked through the door into the waiting darkness without
looking back. I didn't want to see what was happening in the ring.
Truth was, I didn't want to see what was behind the darkness. Was
there another choice? Probably not.
Chapter 6
The room was like a closet with drapes all the way around. There
was no one in the curtained darkness but me. Where had Stephen
gone? If he had been a vampire, I would have believed the vanishing
act, but lycanthropes don't just turn into thin air. So, there had
to be a second door.
If I had built this room, where would I put an inner door?
Answer: opposite the first door. I swept the drapes aside. The door
was there. Elementary, my dear Watson.
The door was heavy wood with some flowering vine carved into it.
The doorknob was white with tiny pink flowers in the center of it.
It was an awfully feminine door. Of course, no rules against men
liking flowers. None at all. It was a sexist comment. Forget I
thought it.
I did not draw my gun. See, I'm not completely paranoid.
I turned the doorknob and swung the door inward. I kept pushing
until it was flush against the wall. No one was hiding behind it.
Good.
The wallpaper was off-white with thin silver, gold, and copper
designs running through it. The effect was vaguely oriental. The
carpeting was black. I didn't even know carpet came in that color.
A canopy bed took up most of one side of the room. Black, gauzy
curtains covered it. Made the bed indistinct, misty, like a dream.
There was someone asleep in a nest of black covers and crimson
sheets. A line of bare chest showed it was a man, but a wave of
brown hair covered his face like a shroud. It all looked faintly
unreal, as if he was waiting for movie cameras to roll.
A black couch was against the far wall, with blood-red pillows
thrown along it. A matching love seat was against the last wall.
Stephen was curled up on the love seat. Jean-Claude sat on one
corner of the couch. He wore black jeans tucked into knee-high
leather boots, dyed a deep, almost velvet black. His shirt had a
high lace collar pinned at the neck by a thumb-size ruby pendant.
His black hair was just long enough to curl around the lace.
The sleeves were loose and billowing, tight at the wrists with
lace spilling over his hands until only his fingertips showed.
"Where do you get your shirts?" I asked.
He smiled. "Don't you like it?" His hands caressed down his
chest, fingertips hesitating over his nipples. It was an
invitation. I could touch that smooth white cloth and see if the
lace was as soft as it looked.
I shook my head. Mustn't get distracted. I glanced at
Jean-Claude. He was staring at me with those midnight blue eyes.
His eyelashes were like black lace.
"She wants you, Master," Stephen said. There was laughter in his
voice, derision. "I can smell her desire."
Jean-Claude turned just his head, staring at Stephen. "As can
I." The words were innocent, but the feeling behind them wasn't.
His voice slithered around the room, low and full of a terrible
promise.
"I meant no harm, Master, no harm." Stephen looked scared. I
didn't blame him.
Jean-Claude turned back to me as if nothing had happened. His
face was still pleasantly handsome, interested, amused.
"I don't need your protection."
"Oh, I think you do."
I whirled and found another vampire standing at my back. I
hadn't heard the door open.
She smiled at me, without flashing fang. A trick that the older
vampires learn. She was tall and slender with dark skin and long
ebony hair that swung around her waist. She wore crimson Lycra bike
pants that clung so tight, you knew she wasn't wearing underwear.
Her top was red silk, loose and blousy, with thin spaghetti straps
holding it in place. It looked like the top to slinky pajamas. Red
high-heeled sandals and a thin gold chain set with a single diamond
completed the outfit. The word that came to mind was "exotic." She
glided towards me, smiling.
"Is that a threat?" I asked.
She stopped in front of me. "Not yet." There was a hint of some
other language in her voice. Something darker with rolling,
sibilant sounds.
"That is enough," Jean-Claude said.
The dark lady twirled around, black hair like a veil behind her.
"I don't think so."
"Yasmeen." The one word was low and dark with warning.
Yasmeen laughed, a harsh sound like breaking glass. She stopped
directly in front of me, blocking my view of Jean-Claude. Her hand
stretched towards me, and I stepped back, out of reach.
She smiled wide enough to show fangs and reached for me again. I
stepped back, and she was suddenly on me, faster than I could
blink, faster than I could breathe. Her hand gripped my hair,
bending my neck backwards. Her fingertips brushed my skull. Her
other hand held my chin, fingers digging in like fleshy metal. My
face was immobile between her hands, trapped.
Short of taking my gun out and shooting her, there was nothing I
could do. And if her movement was any clue, I'd never get the gun
out in time.
"I see why you like her. So pretty, so delicate." She
half-turned towards Jean-Claude, nearly giving me her back, but
still holding my head immobile.
"I never thought you'd take in a human." She made it sound like
I was a stray puppy.
Yasmeen turned back to me. I pressed my 9mm into her chest. No
matter how fast she was, she would be hurt if I wanted it. I can
feel how old a vampire is inside my head. It's part natural
ability, and part practice. Yasmeen was old, older than
Jean-Claude. I was betting she was over five hundred. If she had
been the new dead, high-tech ammo at point-blank range would have
shredded her heart, killed her. But over five hundred and a master
vampire, it might not kill her. Or then again, it might.
Something flickered over her face; surprise, and maybe just a
touch of fear. Her body was statue-still. If she was breathing, I
couldn't tell.
My voice sounded strained from the angle she held my neck, but
the words were clear. "Very slowly, take your hands away from my
face. Put both hands on top of your head and lace your fingers
together."
"Jean-Claude, call off your human."
"I'd do what she says, Yasmeen." His voice was pleased. "How
many vampires have you killed now, Anita?"
"Eighteen."
Yasmeen's eyes widened just a bit. "I don't believe you."
"Believe this, bitch: I'll pull this trigger and you can kiss
your heart good-bye."
"Bullets cannot harm me."
"Silver-plated can. Move off me, now!"
Yasmeen's hand slid away from my hair and jaw.
"Slowly," I said.
She did what I asked. She stood in front of me with her
long-fingered hands clasped across her head. I stepped away from
her, gun still pointed at her chest.
"Now what?" Yasmeen asked. A smile still curled her lips. Her
dark eyes were amused. I didn't like being laughed at, but when
tangling with master vampires you let some things slide.
"You can put your hands down," I said.
Yasmeen did, but she continued to stare at me as if I'd sprouted
a second head. "Where did you find her, Jean-Claude? The kitten has
teeth."
"Tell Yasmeen what the vampires call you, Anita."
It sounded too much like an order, but this didn't seem the time
to bitch at him. "The Executioner."
Yasmeen's eyes widened; then she smiled, flashing a lot of fang.
"I thought you'd be taller."
"It disappoints me, too, sometimes," I said.
Yasmeen threw back her head and laughed, wild and brittle, with
an edge of hysteria. "I like her, Jean-Claude. She's dangerous,
like sleeping with a lion."
She glided towards me. I had the gun up and pointed at her. It
didn't even slow her down.
"Jean-Claude, tell her I will shoot her if she doesn't back
off."
"I promise not to hurt you, Anita. I will be oh so gentle." She
swayed over to me, and I wasn't sure what to do. She was playing
with me, sadistic but probably not deadly. Could I shoot her for
being a pain in the ass? I didn't think so.
"I can taste the heat of your blood, the warmth of your skin on
the air like perfume." Her gliding, hip-swinging walk brought her
right in front of me. I pointed the gun at her, and she laughed.
She pressed her chest against the tip of my gun.
"So soft, wet, but strong." I wasn't sure who she was talking
about, her or me. Neither option sounded pleasant. She rubbed her
small breasts against the gun, her nipples caressing the gun
barrel. "Dainty, but dangerous." The last word was a whispered hiss
that flowed over my skin like ice water. She was the first master
I'd ever met who had some of Jean-Claude's voice tricks.
I could see her nipples hardening through the thin material of
her shirt. Yikes. I pointed the gun at the floor and stepped away
from her. "Jesus, are all vampires over two hundred perverts?"
"I am over two hundred," Jean-Claude said.
"I rest my case."
Yasmeen let a warm trickle of laughter spill out of her mouth.
The sound caressed my skin like a warm wind. She stalked towards
me. I backed up until I hit the wall. She put a hand on either side
of the wall near my shoulders and began to lean in like she was
doing a pushup. "I'd like to taste her myself."
I shoved the gun into her ribs, too low for her to rub herself
against it. "Nobody lays a fang on me," I said.
"Tough girl." She leaned her face over me, lips brushing my
forehead. "I like tough girls."
"Jean-Claude, do something with her before one of us gets
killed."
Yasmeen pushed away from me, elbows locked, as far away as she
could get without moving her hands. Her tongue flicked over her
lips, a hint of fang, but mostly wet lips. She leaned back into me,
lips half-parted, but she wasn't going for my neck. She was
definitely going for my mouth. She didn't want to taste
me, she wanted to taste me. I couldn't shoot her, not if she just
wanted to kiss me. If she'd been a man, I wouldn't have shot
her.
Her hair fell forward over my hands, soft like thick silk. Her
face was all I could see. Her eyes were a perfect blackness. Her
lips hovered just above my mouth. Her breath was warm, and smelled
of breath mints, but under the modern smell was something older:
the sweet foulness of blood.
"Your breath smells like old blood," I whispered into her
mouth.
She whispered back, lips barely caressing my mouth, "I know."
Her lips pressed into mine, a gentle kiss. She smiled with our lips
still touching.
The door opened, nearly pinning us to the wall. Yasmeen stood
up, but kept her hands around my shoulders. We both looked at the
door. A woman with nearly white blond hair looked wildly around the
room. Her blue eyes widened as she saw us. She screamed, high and
wordless, rage-filled.
"Get off of her!"
I frowned up at Yasmeen. "Is she talking to me?"
"Yes." Yasmeen looked amused.
The woman did not. She ran towards us, hands outstretched,
fingers curled into claws. Yasmeen caught her in a blurring moment
of pure speed. The woman thrashed and struggled, her hands still
reaching for me.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked.
"Marguerite is Yasmeen's human servant," Jean-Claude said. "She
thinks you may steal Yasmeen away from her."
"I don't want Yasmeen."
Yasmeen shot me a look of pure anger. Had I hurt her feelings? I
hoped so.
"Marguerite, look; she's yours, all right?"
The woman screamed at me, wordless and guttural. What might have
been a pretty face was screwed up into something bestial. I'd never
seen such instant rage. It was frightening even with a loaded gun
in my hand.
Yasmeen had to lift the woman off her feet, holding her
struggling in mid-air. "I'm afraid, Jean-Claude, that Marguerite is
not going to be satisfied unless she answers the challenge."
"What challenge?" I asked.
"You challenged her claim to me."
"Did not," I said.
Yasmeen smiled. The serpent must have smiled at Eve that way:
pleasant, amused, dangerous.
"Jean-Claude, I didn't come here for whatever the hell is going
on. I don't want any vampire, let alone a female one," I said.
"If you were my human servant, ma petite, there would
be no challenge, because once one is bound to a master vampire, it
is an unbreakable bond."
"Then what is Marguerite worried about?"
"That Yasmeen may take you as a lover. She does that from time
to time to drive Marguerite into jealous rages. For some reason I
do not understand, Yasmeen enjoys it."
"Oh, yes, I do enjoy it." Yasmeen turned towards me with the
woman still clasped in her arms. She was holding the struggling
woman easily, no strain. Of course, vampires can bench press
Toyotas. What was one medium-size human to that?
"So what exactly does this mean to me personally?"
Jean-Claude smiled, but there was an edge of tiredness to it.
Was he bored? Or angry? Or just tired? "You must fight Marguerite.
If you win, then Yasmeen is yours. If you lose, Yasmeen is
Marguerite's."
"Wait a minute," I said. "What sort of fight, pistols at
dawn?"
"No weapons," Yasmeen said. "My Marguerite is not skilled in
weapons. I don't want her hurt."
"Then stop tormenting her," I said.
Yasmeen smiled. "It is part of the fun."
"Sadistic bitch," I said.
"Yes, I am."
Jesus, some people you couldn't even insult. "So you want us to
fight bare-handed over Yasmeen?" I couldn't believe I was even
asking this question.
"Yes, ma petite."
I took a deep breath, looked at my gun, looked back at the
screaming woman, then holstered my gun. "Is there any way out of
this, besides fighting her?"
"If you admit you are my human servant, then there will be no
fight. There will be no need for one." Jean-Claude was watching me,
studying my face. His eyes were very still.
"You mean this was a setup," I said. The first warm rumblings of
anger chased up my gut.
"A setup, ma petite? I had no idea Yasmeen would find
you so enticing."
"Bullshit!"
"Admit you are my human servant and all ends here."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you fight Marguerite."
"Fine," I said. "Let's do it."
"What would it cost you to admit what is true, Anita?"
Jean-Claude asked.
"I am not your human servant. I will never be your human
servant. I wish you'd just accept that and leave me the fuck
alone."
He frowned. "Ma petite, such language."
"Fuck off."
He smiled then. "As you like, ma petite." He sat up on
the edge of the couch, maybe so he could see better. "Yasmeen, any
time you are ready."
"Wait," I said. I took off my jacket and wasn't sure where to
lay it.
The man who had been sleeping on the black-canopied bed reached
a hand through the black gauze. "I'll hold it for you," he
said.
I stared at him for a minute. He was naked from the waist up.
His arms, stomach, chest showed signs of weightlifting, just
enough, not too much. He either had a perfect tan or was naturally
dark complected. Hair fell in a wavy mass around his shoulders. His
eyes were brown and very human. That was nice to see.
I handed him my jacket. He smiled, a quick flash of teeth that
chased the last signs of sleep from his face. He sat up with the
jacket in one hand, arms encircling his knees that were still
hidden under the black and red covers. He laid his cheek on his
knees and managed to look winsome.
"Are you quite done, ma petite?" Jean-Claude's voice
was amused, with an edge of laughter that wasn't humor at all. It
was mockery. But whether he was mocking me or himself, I couldn't
tell.
"I'm ready, I guess," I said.
"Put her down, Yasmeen. Let us see what happens."
I heard Stephen say, "Twenty on Marguerite."
Yasmeen said, "No fair. I can't bet against my own human
servant."
"I'll spot you both twenty that Ms. Blake wins." That came from
the man in the bed. I had a second to glance at him, to see him
smile at me; then Marguerite was coming.
She slapped at my face, and I blocked it with my forearm. She
fought like a girl, all open-handed slaps and fingernails. But she
was fast, faster than a human. Maybe she got that from being a
human servant, I don't know. Her fingernails raked down my face in
a sharp, painful line. That was it: no more Ms. Nice Guy.
I held her off with one hand. She dug her teeth into that hand.
I hit her with my right fist as hard as I could, turning my body
into it. It was a nice solid hit to the solar plexus.
Marguerite stopped biting my hand and bent over, hands covering
her stomach. She was gasping for breath. Good.
My left hand had a bloody imprint of her teeth in it. I touched
my left cheek and came away with more blood. Damn, that hurt.
Marguerite knelt on the floor, relearning how to breathe. But
she was staring up at me. The look in her blue eyes said the fight
wasn't over. As soon as she got her breath back, she would start
again.
"Stay down, Marguerite, or I'll hurt you."
She shook her head.
"She can't give up, ma petite, or you win Yasmeen's body, if not
her heart."
"I don't want her body. I don't want anyone's body."
"Now, that is simply not true, ma petite," Jean-Claude
said.
"Stop calling me ma petite."
"You bear two of my marks, Anita. You are halfway to being my
human servant. Admit that, and no one else need suffer
tonight."
"Yeah, right," I said.
Marguerite was getting to her feet. I didn't want her on her
feet. I moved in before she could stand, and foot-swept her legs
out from under her. I forced her shoulders backwards at the same
time, and I rode her down. I got her right arm in a joint lock. She
tried to get up. I increased the pressure, and she lay back
down.
"Give up the fight."
"No." It was only the second coherent thing I'd heard her
utter.
"I will break your arm."
"Break it, break it! I don't care." Her face was wild, enraged.
God. There was no way to reason with her. Great.
Using the joint lock as a lever, I turned her over on her
stomach, increasing the pressure to almost breaking, but not quite.
Breaking her arm might not stop the fight. I wanted it over
with.
I used my leg and one arm to keep the joint lock on but knelt
over her upper body, until my weight would keep her pinned. I took
a handful of yellow hair and pulled her neck back. I released her
arm and brought my right arm across her neck, with my elbow in
front of her Adam's apple and the arm squeezing the arteries on
both sides of her neck. I put my right hand on my left wrist and
squeezed.
She scratched at my face, but I buried my eyes in her back and
she couldn't reach me. She was making small, helpless sounds
because she didn't have enough air to make big ones.
Her hands scratched at my right arm, but the sweater was thick.
She pushed the sleeve up, exposing my bare arm, and began to shred
the skin with her nails. I buried my face deeper into her back and
squeezed until my arms shook and I was gritting my teeth.
Everything I had was in that one arm, pressing into her slender
throat.
Her hands stopped scratching me. They beat against my arm like
dying butterflies.
It takes a long time to choke someone into unconsciousness. The
movies make it look easy, quick, clean. It isn't easy, it isn't
quick, and it sure as hell isn't clean. You can feel the pulse on
either side of the neck pounding against your arm while you squeeze
the life out of it. The person struggles a lot more than in the
movies. And as far as choking someone to death, you better hold on
for a long time after they stop moving.
Marguerite went slowly limp, a body part at a time. When she was
just dead weight in my arms, I let her go, slowly. She lay on the
floor unmoving. I couldn't even see her breathe. Had I squeezed too
long?
I touched her neck and found the carotid pulse strong and even.
Just out of it, not dead. Good.
I stood and walked back towards the bed.
Yasmeen went to her knees beside Marguerite's still form. "My
love, my only one, has she hurt you?"
"She's just unconscious," I said. "She'll come to in a few
minutes."
"If you had killed her, I would have torn your throat out."
I shook my head. "Let's not start this shit again. I've had
about all the grandstanding I can take for one night."
The man in bed said, "You're bleeding."
Blood was dripping down my right forearm. Marguerite may not
have been able to do any real damage, but the scratches were deep
enough that some of them might leave scars. Great; I already had a
long, thin scar on the underside of my right arm from a knife. Even
with the scratches, my right arm had fewer scars than my left.
Work-related injuries.
Blood was dripping down my arm rather steadily. The blood didn't
show on the black carpeting. A good color if you planned to bleed
much in a room.
Yasmeen was helping Marguerite to her feet. The woman had
recovered very quickly. Why? Because she was a human servant, of
course. Sure.
Yasmeen walked towards the bed, towards me. Her lovely face had
thinned until the bones showed through. Her eyes were bright,
almost feverish. "Fresh blood, and I haven't fed tonight."
"Control yourself, Yasmeen."
"You have not taught your servant good manners, Jean-Claude,"
Yasmeen said. She was looking very unkindly at me.
"Leave her alone, Yasmeen." Jean-Claude was standing now.
"Every servant must be tamed, Jean-Claude. You have let it go
far too long."
I looked over Yasmeen's shoulder at him. "Tamed?"
"It is an unfortunate stage in the process," he said. His voice
was neutral, as if he were talking about taming a horse.
"Damn you." I pulled my gun. I held it two-handed in a teacup
grip. Nobody was taming me tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone stand up on the other
side of the bed. The man was still under the covers. It was a
slender woman, her skin the color of coffee with cream. Her black
hair was cut very close to her head. She was naked. Where the hell
had she come from?
Yasmeen was about a yard from me, tongue playing over her lips,
fangs glistening in the overhead light.
"I'll kill you, do you understand that, I'll kill you," I
said.
"You'll try."
"Fun and games aren't worth dying for," I said.
"After a few hundred years, that's all that is worth dying
for."
"Jean-Claude, unless you want to lose her, call her off!" My
voice was higher than I wanted it to be, afraid.
At this range the bullet should take out her entire chest. If it
worked, there would be no resurrecting her as the undead; her heart
would be gone. Of course, she was over five hundred years old. One
shot might not do it. Lucky I had more than one bullet.
I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I was half-turned
towards it when something flattened me to the ground. The black
woman was on top of me. I brought the gun around to fire, not
giving a damn if she was human or not. But her hand grabbed my
wrists, squeezing. She was going to crush my wrists.
She snarled in my face, all teeth and a low growl. The sound
should have had fur around it and pointy teeth. Human faces weren't
supposed to look that way.
The woman jerked the Browning out of my hands like taking candy
from a baby. She held it wrong, like she didn't know which end of
the gun went where.
An arm came around her waist and pulled her backwards off me. It
was the man on the bed. The woman turned on him, snarling.
Yasmeen leapt for me. I scooted backwards, putting the wall at
my back. She smiled. "Not so tough without your weapon, are
you?"
She was suddenly kneeling in front of me. I hadn't seen her
come, not even a blur of motion. She appeared beside me like
magic.
She had her body up against my knees, pinning me to the wall.
Yasmeen dug her fingers into my upper arms and jerked me towards
her. Her strength was incredible. She made the black shapeshifter
seem fragile.
"Yasmeen, no!" It was Jean-Claude coming to my aid at last. But
he was going to be too late. Yasmeen bared her teeth, raised her
neck back for the strike, and I couldn't do a damn thing.
She pulled me in tight against her, arms locked behind my back.
If I'd been pressed any tighter I'd have come out on the other
side.
I screamed, "Jean-Claude!"
Heat; something was burning inside my sweater, over my heart.
Yasmeen hesitated. I felt her whole body shudder. What the hell was
happening?
A tongue of blue-white flame curled up between us. I screamed
and Yasmeen echoed it. We screamed together as we burned.
She fell away from me. Blue-white flame crawled over her shirt.
Flames licked around a hole in my sweater. I shrugged out of the
shoulder holster and pulled the burning sweater off.
My cross still burned with an intense blue-white flame. I jerked
the chain and it snapped. I dropped the cross to the carpet, where
the flames smoldered, then died.
There was a perfect cross-shaped burn on my chest, just above my
breast, over the beat of my heart. The burn was covered in blisters
already. A second-degree burn.
Yasmeen had ripped her own blouse off. She had an identical
burn, but lower down between her breasts because she was taller
than I was.
I knelt on the floor in just my bra and jeans. Tears were
trailing down my face. I had a bigger cross-shaped burn scar on my
left forearm. A vampire's human followers had branded me, thinking
it was funny. They'd laughed right up to the minute I killed
them.
A burn is a bitch. Inch for inch, a burn hurts worse than any
other injury.
Jean-Claude stood in front of me. The cross glowed a white-hot
light, no flames, but then he wasn't touching it. I looked up to
find him shielding his eyes with his arm.
"Put it away, ma petite. No one else will harm you
tonight, I promise you that."
"Why don't you just back off and let me decide what I'm going to
do?"
He sighed. "I was childish to let it get so far out of hand,
Anita. Forgive me for my foolishness." It was hard to take the
apology seriously while he cowered behind his arm, not daring to
look at my glowing cross. But it was an apology. From Jean-Claude,
that was a lot.
I picked the cross up by its chain. I had broken the clasp
getting it off. I'd need a new chain before it could go around my
neck again. I picked my sweater up in my other hand. There was a
melted hole bigger than my fist in it. Right over the chest area.
The sweater was ruined. No help there. Where do you hide a glowing
cross when you aren't wearing a shirt?
The man in the bed handed my leather jacket to me. I met his
eyes and saw in them concern, a little fear. His brown eyes were
very close to me, and very human. It was comforting, and I wasn't
even sure why.
The shoulder holster was flopping down around my waist like
suspenders. I shrugged back into the straps. They felt strange next
to my bare skin.
The man handed me my gun, butt first. The black shapeshifter
stood on the other side of the bed, still naked, glaring at us. I
didn't care how he'd gotten my gun from her. I was just glad to
have it back.
With the Browning in its holster, I felt safer, though I'd never
tried wearing a shoulder holster over bare skin. I suspected it was
going to chafe. Oh, well, nothing's perfect.
The man held out a handful of Kleenex to me. The red sheets had
slid down, exposing a long nude line of his body to about
mid-thigh. The sheet was perilously close to failing off him all
together. "Your arm," he said.
I stared down at my right arm. It was still bleeding a little.
It hurt so much less than the burn, I had forgotten about it.
I took the Kleenex and wondered what he was doing here. Had he
been having sex with the naked woman, the shapeshifter? I hadn't
seen her in the bed. Had she been hiding under it?
I cleaned up my arm as best I could; didn't want to bleed too
heavily on the leather jacket. I slipped the jacket on, and put the
stillglowing cross in my left pocket. Once it was hidden, the glow
would stop. The only reason Yasmeen and I had gotten in trouble was
that the sweater had a loose weave and her top had left a lot of
bare flesh. Vampire flesh touching a blessed cross was always
volatile.
Jean-Claude stared down at me, now that the cross was safely
hidden. "I am sorry, ma petite. I did not mean to frighten
you tonight." He held one hand down towards me. The skin was paler
than the white lace that covered it.
I ignored his outstretched hand and used the bed to help me
stand.
He lowered his hand slowly. His dark blue eyes were very still,
looking at me. "It never works as I want it to with you, Anita
Blake. Why is that?"
"Maybe you should take the hint, and leave me alone."
He smiled, a bare movement of lips. "I'm afraid it is too late
for that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The door swung open, banging against the wall and bouncing back.
A man stood in the doorway, eyes wide, sweat running down his face.
"Jean-Claude . . . the snake." He seemed to be having trouble
breathing, as if he had run all the way up the stairs.
"What about the snake?" Jean-Claude asked.
The man swallowed, his breathing slowing. "It's gone crazy."
"What happened?"
The man shook his head. "I don't know. It attacked Shahar, its
trainer. She's dead."
"Is it in the crowd?"
"Not yet."
"We will have to finish this discussion later, ma
petite." He moved for the door, and the rest of the vampires
followed at his heels. Stephen went with them. Well trained.
The slender black woman slipped a loose dress, black with red
flowers on it, over her head. A pair of red high heels and she was
out the door.
The man was out of the bed, naked. There was no time to be
embarrassed. He was struggling into a pair of sweats.
This wasn't my problem, but what if the cobra got into the
crowd? Not my problem. I zipped the jacket up enough to hide the
fact I was shirtless but not so high up I couldn't draw my gun.
I was out the door and into the bright open space of the tent
before the nameless man had slipped on his sweat pants. The
vampires and shapeshifters were at the edge of the ring, fanning
out into a circle around the snake. It filled the small ring with
black-and-white coils. The bottom half of a man in a glittering
loincloth was disappearing down the cobra's throat. That's what had
kept it out of the crowd. It was taking time to feed.
Sweet Jesus.
The man's legs twitched, kicking convulsively. He couldn't be
alive. He couldn't be. But the legs twitched as they slid out of
sight. Please, God, let it just be a reflex. Don't let him still be
alive. The thought was worse than any nightmare I could remember.
And I have a lot of material for nightmares.
The monster in the ring wasn't my problem. I didn't have to be
the bloody hero this time. People were screaming, running, arms
full of children. Popcorn bags and cotton candy were getting
crushed underfoot. I waded into the crowd and began pushing my way
down. A woman carrying a toddler fell at my feet. A man climbed
over them. I dragged the woman to her feet, taking the baby in one
arm. People shoved past us. We shuddered just trying to stand
still. I felt like a rock in the middle of a raging river.
The woman stared at me, eyes too large for her face. I pushed
the toddler into her arms and wedged her between the seats. I
grabbed the arms of the nearest large male, sexist that I am, and
shouted, "Help them!"
The man's face was startled, as if I had spoken in tongues, but
some of the panic faded from his face. He took the woman's arm and
began to push his way towards the exit.
I couldn't let the snake get into the crowd. Not if I could stop
it. Shit. I was going to play hero, dammit. I started fighting
against the tide, to go down when everybody else was coming up and
over. An elbow caught me in the mouth and I tasted blood. By the
time I fought my way through this mess, it would all be over. God,
I hoped so.
Chapter 7
I stepped out of the crowd like I was flinging aside a curtain.
My skin tingled with the memory of shoving bodies, but I stood
alone on the last step. The screaming crowd was still up above me,
struggling for the exits. But here, just above the ring, there was
nothing. The silence lay in thick folds against my face and hands.
It was hard to breathe through the thick air. Magic. But whether
vampire or cobra, I didn't know.
Stephen stood closest to me, shirtless, slim and somehow
elegant. Yasmeen had on his blue shirt, hiding her naked upper
body. She had tied the shirt up to expose a tanned expanse of
tummy. Marguerite stood beside her. The black woman stood on
Stephen's right. She had kicked off her high heels and stood
flat-footed in the ring.
Jean-Claude stood on the far side of the circle with two new
blond vampires on either side. He turned and stared at me across
the distance. I felt his touch inside me where no hand was ever
meant to go. My throat tightened; sweat broke on my body. Nothing
at that moment would have made me go closer to him. He was trying
to tell me something. Something private and too intimate for
words.
A hoarse scream brought my attention to the center of the ring.
Two men lay broken and bleeding to one side. The cobra reared over
them. It was like a moving tower of muscle and scale. It hissed at
us. The sound was loud, echoing.
The men lay on the ground at its . . . feet? tail? One of them
twitched. Was he alive? My hands squeezed the guardrail until my
fingers ached. I was so scared I could taste bile at the back of my
throat. My skin was cold with it. You ever have those dreams where
snakes are everywhere, so thick on the ground you can't walk unless
you step on them? It's almost claustrophobic. The dream always ends
with me standing in the middle of the trees with snakes dripping
down on me, and all I can do is scream.
Jean-Claude held out one slender hand towards me. The lace
covered everything but the tips of his fingers. Everyone else was
staring at the snake. Jean-Claude was staring at me.
One of the wounded men moved. A soft moan escaped his lips and
seemed to echo in the huge tent. Was it illusion or had the sound
really echoed? It didn't matter. He was alive, and we had to keep
him that way.
We? What was this "we" stuff? I stared into Jean-Claude's deep
blue eyes. His face was utterly blank, wiped clean of any emotion I
understood. He couldn't trick me with his eyes. His own marks had
seen to that, but mind tricks—if he worked at it—were still
possible. He was working at it.
It wasn't words, but a compulsion. I wanted to go to him. To run
to him. To feel the smooth, solid grip of his hand. The softness of
lace against my skin. I leaned against the railing, dizzy. I
gripped it to keep from falling. What the hell were these mind
games now? We had other problems, didn't we? Or didn't he care
about the snake? Maybe it had all been a trick. Maybe he had told
the cobra to run amuck. But why?
Every hair on my body raised, as if some invisible finger had
just brushed it. I shivered and couldn't stop.
I was staring down at a pair of very nice black boots, high and
soft. I looked up and met Jean-Claude's eyes. He had left his place
around the cobra to come to me. It beat the hell out of me going to
him.
"Join with me, Anita, and we have enough power to stop the
creature."
I shook my head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He brushed his fingertips down my arm. Even through the leather
jacket I could feel his touch like a line of ice, or was it
fire?
"How can you be hot and cold at the same time?" I asked.
He smiled, a bare movement of lips. "Ma petite, stop
fighting me, and we can tame the creature. We can save the
men."
He had me there. A moment of personal weakness against the lives
of two people. What a choice.
"Once I let you inside my head that far, it'll be easier for you
to come in next time. My soul is not up for grabs for anybody's
life."
He sighed. "Very well, it is your choice." He started to turn
away from me. I grabbed his arm, and it was warm and firm and very,
very real.
He turned to me, eyes large and drowning deep, like the bottom
of the ocean, and just as deadly. His own power kept me from
falling in; alone I would have been lost.
I swallowed hard enough for it to hurt, and pulled my hand away
from him. I had the urge to wipe my hand against my pants, as if I
had touched something bad. Maybe I had.
"Will silver bullets hurt it?"
He seemed to think about that for a second. "I do not know."
I took a deep breath. "If you stop trying to hijack my mind,
I'll help you."
"You'll face it with a gun, rather than with me?" His voice
sounded amused.
"You got it."
He stepped away from me and motioned me towards the ring.
I vaulted the rail and landed beside him. I ignored him as much
as I was able and started walking towards the creature. I pulled
the Browning out. It was nice and solid in my hand. A comforting
weight.
"The ancient Egyptians worshipped it as a god, ma
petite. She was Edjo, the royal serpent. Cared for, sacrificed
to, adored."
"It isn't a god, Jean-Claude."
"Are you so sure?"
"I'm a monotheist, remember. It's just another supernatural
creepycrawlie to me."
"As you like, ma petite."
I turned back to him. "How the hell did you get it past
quarantine?"
He shook his head. "Does it matter?"
I glanced back at the thing in the middle of the ring. The snake
charmer lay in a bloody heap to one side of the snake. It hadn't
eaten her. Was that a sign of respect, affection, dumb luck?
The cobra pushed towards us, belly scales clenching and
unclenching. It made a dry, whispering sound against the ring's
floor.
He was right; it didn't matter how the thing had gotten into the
country. It was here now. "How are we going to stop it?"
He smiled wide enough to flash fangs. Maybe it was the "we." "If
you could disable its mouth, I think we could deal with it."
The snake's body was thicker than a telephone pole. I shook my
head. "If you say so."
"Can you injure the mouth?"
I nodded. "If silver bullets work on it, yeah."
"My little marksman," he said.
"Can the sarcasm," I said.
He nodded. "If you are going to try to shoot it, I would hurry,
ma petite. Once it wades into my people, it will be too
late." His face was unreadable. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to
do it, or not.
I turned and started walking across the ring. The cobra stopped
moving forward. It waited, like a swaying tower. It stood there, if
something without legs could stand, and waited for me, whiplike
tongue flicking out, tasting the air. Tasting me.
Jean-Claude was suddenly beside me. I hadn't heard him come,
hadn't felt him come. Just another mind trick. I had other things
to worry about right now.
He spoke, low and urgent; I think only I heard. "I will do my
best to protect you, ma petite."
"You were doing a great job up in your office."
He stopped walking. I didn't.
"I know you are afraid of it, Anita. Your fear crawls through my
belly," he called, soft and faint as wind.
I whispered back, not sure he would even be able to hear me.
"Stay the fuck out of my mind."
The cobra watched me. I held the Browning in a two-handed grip,
pointed at the thing's head. I thought I was out of striking
distance, but I wasn't sure. How far away is safe distance from a
snake that's bigger than a Mack truck? Two states away, three? I
was close enough to see the snake's flat black eyes, empty as a
doll's.
Jean-Claude's words blew through my mind like flower petals. I
could even have sworn I smelled flowers. His voice had never held
the scent of perfume before. "Force it to follow you, and give us
its back before you shoot."
The pulse in my neck was beating so hard, it hurt to breathe. My
mouth was so dry I couldn't swallow right. I began to move, ever so
slowly, away from the vampires and shapeshifters. The snake's head
followed me, as it had followed the snake charmer. If it started to
strike, I'd shoot it, but if it would just keep moving with me, I'd
give Jean-Claude a chance at its back.
Of course, silver bullets might not hurt it. In fact, the thing
was so damn big, the ammo I had in the Browning might not do more
than irritate it. I felt like I was trapped in one of those monster
movies where the giant slime monster keeps coming no matter how
much you shoot it. I hoped that was just a Hollywood invention.
If the bullets didn't hurt it, I was going to die. I flashed on
the image of the man's legs kicking as they went down. The lump was
still visible in the snake's body, like it had fed on a really big
rat.
The tongue flicked out and I gasped, swallowing a scream. God,
Anita, control yourself. It's just a snake. A giant man-eating
cobra snake, but still only a snake. Yeah, right.
Every hair on my body stood at attention. The power that I'd
felt the snake charmer calling up was still here. It wasn't enough
that the thing was poisonous and had teeth big enough to spear me
with. It had to be magic, too. Great, just great.
The smell of flowers was thicker, closer. It hadn't been
Jean-Claude at all. The cobra was filling the air with perfume.
Snakes don't smell like flowers. They smell musty, and once you
know what they smell like, you never forget it. Nothing with fur
ever smelled like that. A vampire's coffin smells a bit like
snakes.
The cobra turned its giant head with me. "Come on, just a little
farther," I was speaking to the snake. Which is pretty stupid,
since they're deaf. The smell of flowers was thick and sweet. I
shuffled around the ring, and the snake shadowed me. Maybe it was
habit. I was small and had long, dark hair, though not nearly as
long as the dead snake charmer. Maybe the beastie wanted someone to
follow?
"Come on, pretty girl, come to mama," I whispered so low my lips
barely moved. Just me and the snake and my voice. I didn't dare
look across the ring at Jean-Claude. Nothing mattered but my feet
shuffling over the ground, the snake's movements, the gun in my
hands. It was like some kind of dance.
The cobra parted its mouth, tongue flicking, giving me a glimpse
of scythelike fangs. Cobras have fixed fangs, not retractable like
a rattlesnake's. Nice to know I remembered some of my herpetology.
Though I bet Dr. Greenburg had never seen anything like this.
I had a horrible impulse to giggle. Instead, I sighted down my
arm at the thing's mouth. The scent of flowers was strong enough to
touch. I squeezed the trigger.
The snake's head jerked backwards, blood splattering the floor.
I fired again and again. The jaws exploded into bits of flesh and
bone. The cobra opened its ruined jaws, hissing. I think it was
screaming.
Its telephone-pole body slashed the ground, whipping back and
forth. Could I kill it? Could just bullets kill it? I fired three
more shots into the head. The body turned on itself in a huge
wondrous knot. The black and white scales boiled over each other,
frenzied, bloodspattered.
A loop of body rolled out and punched my legs out from under me.
I came up on knees and one hand, gun in the other hand ready to
point. Another coil smashed into me. It was like being hit by a
whale. I lay half-stunned under several hundred pounds of snake. One
striped coil pinned me to the ground. The beast reared over me,
blood and pale drops of poison running down its shattered jaws. If
the poison hit my skin, it would kill me. There was too much of it
not to.
I lay flat on my back with the snake writhing across me and
fired at it. I just kept squeezing the trigger as the head rushed
down on me.
Something hit the snake. Something covered in fur dug teeth and
claws into the snake's neck. It was a werewolf with furry,
man-shaped arms. The cobra reared, pressing me under its weight.
The smooth belly scales pushed at my nearly naked upper body like a
giant hand, squeezing. It wasn't going to eat me, it was going to
crush me to death.
I screamed and fired into the snake's body. The gun clicked
empty. Shit!
Jean-Claude appeared over me. His pale, lace-covered hands
lifted the coil off me as if it wasn't a thousand pounds of muscle.
I scooted backwards on hands and feet. I crab-walked until I hit the
edge of the ring, then I popped the empty clip and got the extra
out of my sport bag. I didn't remember firing all thirteen rounds,
but I must have. I jacked a round into the chamber, and I was ready
to rock and roll.
Jean-Claude was elbow deep in snake. He pulled a piece of
glistening spine out of the meat, splitting the snake apart.
Yasmeen was tearing at the giant snake like a kid with taffy.
Her face and upper body were bathed in blood. She pulled a long
piece of snake intestine out and laughed.
I had never really seen vampires use every bit of their inhuman
strength. I sat on the edge of the ring with my loaded gun and just
watched.
The black shapeshifter was still in human form. She had gotten a
knife from somewhere and was happily carving the snake up.
The cobra whipped its head into the ground, sending the werewolf
rolling. The snake reared and came smashing down. Its ruined jaws
plunged into the black woman's shoulder. She screamed. One fang
came out the back of her dress. Poison squirted from the fang,
splashing onto the ground. Poison and blood soaked into the back of
her dress.
I moved forward, gun ready, but I hesitated. The cobra was
flinging its head from side to side, trying to shake the woman off.
The fang was too deeply imbedded and the mouth too damaged. The
cobra was trapped, and so was the woman.
I wasn't sure I could hit the snake's head without hitting her.
The woman was screaming, shrieking. Her hands clawed helplessly at
the snake. She'd dropped her knife somewhere.
A blond vampire grabbed the black woman. The snake reared back,
lifting the woman in his jaws, worrying her like a dog with a toy.
She shrieked.
The werewolf jumped on the snake's neck, riding it like a wild
horse. There was no way to shoot without hitting someone now.
Dammit. I had to just stand there, watching.
The man from the bed was running across the ring. Had it taken
him that long to slip into the grey sweat pants and zippered
jacket? The jacket was unzipped and flapped as he ran, exposing
most of his tanned chest. He was unarmed as far as I could tell.
What the hell did he think he could do? Dammit.
He knelt beside the two men who had been alive when all the shit
started. He dragged one of them away from the fight. It was good
thinking.
Jean-Claude grabbed the woman. He gripped the fang that speared
her shoulder and snapped it off. The crack was loud as a rifle
shot. The woman's shoulder stretched away from her body, bones and
ligaments snapping. She gave one last shriek and went limp. He
carried her towards me, laying her on the ground. Her right arm was
hanging by strands of muscle. He had freed her from the snake, and
damn near pulled her arm off.
"Help her, ma petite." He left her at my feet, bleeding
and unconscious. I knew some first aid, but Jesus. There was no way
to put a tourniquet on the wound. I couldn't splint the arm. It
wasn't just broken, it was ripped apart.
A breath of wind oozed through the tent. Something tugged at my
gut. I gasped and looked up away from the dying girl. Jean-Claude
stood beside the snake. All the vampires were tearing at the body,
and still it lived. A wind ruffled the lace on his collar, the
black waves of his hair. The wind whispered against my face,
pulling my heart up into my throat. The only sound I could hear was
the thunder of my own blood beating against my ears.
Jean-Claude moved forward almost gently. And I felt something
inside me move with him. It was almost like he held an invisible
line to my heart. pulse, blood. My pulse was so fast, I couldn't
breathe. What was happening?
He was on the snake, hands digging in the flesh just below the
mouth. I felt my hands dig into the writhing flesh.
My hands digging at bone, snapping it. My hands
shoving in almost to the elbow. It was slick, wet, but not warm.
Our hands pushed, then pulled, until our shoulders strained with
the effort.
The head tore away to land across the ring. The head flopped,
mouth snapping at empty air. The body still struggled, but it was
dying now.
I had fallen to the ground beside the wounded woman. The
Browning was still in my hand, but it wouldn't have helped me. I
could hear again, feel again. My hands weren't covered in blood and
gore. They had been Jean-Claude's hands, not mine. Dear God, what
was happening to me?
I could still feel the blood on my hands. It was an incredibly
powerful sensory memory. God!
Something touched my shoulder. I whirled, gun nearly shoved into
the man's face. It was the man in the grey sweats. He was kneeling
beside me, hands in the air, his eyes staring at the gun in my
hands.
"I'm on your side," he said.
My pulse was still thumping in my throat. I didn't trust myself
to speak, so I just nodded and stopped pointing the gun at him.
He took off his sweat jacket. "Maybe we can stop some of the
blood with this." He wadded the jacket up and shoved it against the
wound.
"She's probably in shock," I said. My voice sounded strange,
hollow.
"You don't look so good yourself."
I didn't feel so good either. Jean-Claude had entered my mind,
my body. It had been like we were one person. I started to shiver
and couldn't stop. Maybe it was shock.
"I called the police and an ambulance," he said.
I stared at him. His face was very strong, high cheekbones,
square jaw, but his lips were softer, making it a very sympathetic
face. His wavy brown hair fell forward like a curtain around his
face. I remembered another man with long brown hair. Another human
tied to the vampires. He had died badly, and I hadn't been able to
save him.
I caught sight of Marguerite on the far side of the ring,
watching. Her eyes were wide, her lips half-parted. She was
enjoying herself. God.
The werewolf pulled back from the snake. The shapeshifter looked
like a very classy version of every wolfman that had ever stalked
the streets of London, except it was naked and had genitalia
between its legs. Movie wolfmen were always smooth, sexless as a
Barbie doll.
The werewolf's fur was a dark honey color. A blond werewolf? Was
it Stephen? If it wasn't, then he had disappeared, and I didn't
think Jean-Claude would allow that.
A voice yelled, "Everybody freeze"' Across the ring were two
patrol cops with their guns out. One of them said, "Jesus
Christ!"
I put my gun away while they were staring at the dead snake. The
body was still twitching, but it was dead. It just takes longer for
a reptile's body to know it's dead than most mammals.
I felt light and empty as air. Everything had a faintly unreal
quality. It wasn't the snake. It was whatever Jean-Claude had done
to me. I shook my head, trying to clear it, to think. The cops were
here. I had things I needed to do.
I fished the little plastic ID card out of my sport bag and
clipped it to the collar of my jacket. It identified me as a member
of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. It was almost as
good as a badge.
"Let's go talk to the cops before they start shooting."
"The snake's dead," he said.
The wolfman was tearing at the dead thing with a long pointed
muzzle, ripping off chunks of meat. I swallowed hard and looked
away. "They may not think the snake is the only monster in the
ring."
"Oh." He said it very softly, as if the thought had never
occurred to him before. What the hell was he doing with the
monsters?
I walked towards the police, smiling. Jean-Claude stood there in
the middle of the ring, his white shirt so bloody it clung to him
like water, outlining the point of one nipple hard against the
cloth. Blood was smeared down one side of his face. His arms were
crimson to the elbows. The youngest vampire, a woman, had buried
her face in the snake's blood. She was scooping the bloody meat
into her mouth and sucking on it. The sounds were wet and seemed
louder than they should have been.
"My name's Anita Blake. I work with the Regional Preternatural
Investigation Team. I've got ID."
"Who's that with you?" The uniform nodded his head in the man's
direction. His gun was still pointed vaguely towards the ring.
I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, "What is your
name?"
"Richard Zeeman," he said softly.
Out loud I said, "Richard Zeeman, just an innocent bystander."
That last was probably a lie. How innocent could a man be who woke
up in a bed surrounded by vampires and shapeshifters?
But the uniform nodded. "What about the rest of them?"
I glanced where he was staring. It didn't look any better. "The
manager and some of his people. They waded into the thing to keep
it out of the crowd."
"But they ain't human, right?" he said.
"No," I said, "they aren't human."
"Jesus H. Christ, the guys back at the station aren't going to
believe this one," his partner said.
He was probably right. I had been here, and I almost didn't
believe it. A giant man-eating cobra. Jesus H. Christ indeed.
Chapter 8
I was sitting in a small hallway that served as the
performers' entrance to the big tent. The lighting was permanently
dim, as if some of the things rolling through wouldn't like a lot
of light. Big surprise there. There were no chairs, and I was
getting a little tired of sitting on the floor. I'd given a
statement first to a uniform, then to a detective. Then RPIT had
arrived and the questioning started all over again. Dolph nodded to
me, and Zerbrowski shot at me with his thumb and forefinger. That
had been an hour and fifteen minutes ago. I was getting a wee bit
tired of being ignored.
Richard Zeeman and Stephen the Werewolf were sitting
across from me. Richard's hands were clasped loosely around one
knee. He was wearing white Nikes with a blue swoosh, and no socks.
Even his ankles were tan. His thick hair brushed the tops of his
naked shoulders. His eyes were closed. I could gaze at his muscular
upper body as long as I wanted to. His stomach was flat with a
triangle of dark hair peeking above the sweat pants. His upper chest was
smooth, perfect, no hair at all. I approved.
Stephen was cuddled on the floor, asleep. Bruises
blossomed up the left side of his face, black-purple and that raw
red color a really bad bruise gets. His left arm was in a sling,
but he'd refused to go to the hospital. He was wrapped in a grey
blanket that the paramedics had given him. As far as I could tell,
it was all he was wearing. I guess he'd lost his clothes when he
shapeshifted. The wolfman had been bigger than he was, and the legs
had been a very different shape. So the skin-tight jeans and the
beautiful cowboy boots were history. Maybe that was why the black
shapeshifter had been naked. Had that been why Richard Zeeman was
naked, as well? Was he a shapeshifter?
I didn't think so. If he was, he hid it better than
anybody I'd ever been around. Besides, if he had been a
shapeshifter, why didn't he join the fight against the cobra? He'd
done a sensible thing for an unarmed human being; he'd stayed out
of the way.
Stephen, who had started out the night looking
scrumptious, looked like shit. The long, blond curls clung to his
face, wet with sweat. There were dark smudges under his closed
eyes. His breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes were struggling
underneath his closed lids. Dream? Nightmare? Do werewolves dream
of shapeshifted sheep?
Richard still looked scrumptious, but then a giant
cobra hadn't been slamming him into a concrete floor. He opened his
eyes, as if he had felt me staring at him. He stared back, brown
eyes neutral. We stared at each other without saying anything.
His face was all angles, high-sculpted cheekbones,
and firm jaw. A dimple softened the lines of his face and made him
a little too perfect for my taste. I've never been comfortable
around men that are beautiful. Low self-esteem, maybe. Or maybe
Jean-Claude's lovely face had made me appreciate the very human
quality of imperfection.
"Is he all right?" I asked.
"Who?"
"Stephen."
He glanced down at the sleeping man. Stephen made a
small noise in his sleep, helpless, frightened. Definitely a
nightmare.
"Should you wake him?"
"You mean from the dream?" he asked.
I nodded.
He smiled. "Nice thought, but he won't wake up for
hours. We could burn the place down around him and he wouldn't
move."
"Why not?"
"You really want to know?"
"Sure, I've got nothing better to do right now."
He glanced up the silent hallway. "Good point." He
settled back against the wall, bare back searching for a more
comfortable piece of wall. He frowned; so much for a comfortable
wall.
"Stephen changed back from wolfman to human in less
than a two-hour time span." He said it like it explained
everything. It didn't.
"So?" I asked.
"Usually a shapeshifter stays in animal form for
eight to ten hours, then collapses and changes back to human form.
It takes a lot of energy to shapeshift early."
I glanced down at the dreaming shapeshifter. "So this
collapse is normal?"
Richard nodded. "He'll be out for the rest of the
night."
"Not a great survival method," I said.
"A lot of werewolves bite the dust after collapsing.
The human hunters come upon them after they've passed out."
"How do you know so much about lycanthropes?"
"It's my job," he said, "I teach science at a local
junior high."
I just stared at him. "You're a junior high science
teacher?"
"Yes." He was smiling. "You looked shocked."
I shook my head. "What's a school teacher doing
messed up with vampires and werewolves?"
"Just lucky, I guess."
I had to smile. "That doesn't explain how you know
about lycanthropes."
"I had a class in college."
I shook my head. "So did I, but I didn't know about
shapeshifters collapsing."
"You've got a degree in preternatural biology?" he
asked.
"Yep."
"Me, too."
"So how do you know more about lycanthropes than I
do?" I said.
Stephen moved in his sleep, flinging his good arm
outward. The blanket slid off his shoulder, exposing his stomach
and part of a thigh.
Richard drew the blanket back over the sleeping man,
covering him, like tucking in a child. "Stephen and I have been
friends a long time. I bet you know things about zombies that I
never learned in college."
"Probably," I said.
"Stephen's not a teacher, is he?"
"No." He smiled, but it wasn't pleasant. "School
boards frown on lycanthropes being teachers."
"Legally, they can't stop you."
"Yeah, right," he said. "They fire-bombed the last
teacher who dared to teach their precious children. Lycanthropy
isn't contagious while in human form."
"I know that," I said.
He shook his head. "Sorry, it's just a sore topic
with me."
My pet project was rights for zombies; why shouldn't
Richard have a pet project? Fair hiring practices for the furry. It
worked for me.
"You are being tactful, ma petite. I would
not have thought it of you." Jean-Claude was in the hallway. I
hadn't heard him walk up. But I'd been distracted, talking with
Richard. Yeah, that was it.
"Could you stamp your feet next time? I'm getting
sick of you sneaking up on me."
"I wasn't sneaking, ma petite. You were
distracted talking to our handsome Mr. Zeeman." His voice was
pleasant, mild as honey, and yet there was a threat to it. You
could feel it like a cold wind down your spine.
"What's wrong, Jean-Claude?" I asked.
"Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?" Anger and some
bitter amusement flowed through his voice.
"Cut it out, Jean-Claude."
"Whatever could be the matter, ma
petite?"
"You're angry; why?"
"My human servant does not know my every mood.
Shameful." He knelt beside me. The blood on his white shirt had
dried to a brownish stain that took up most of the shirt front. The
lace at his sleeves looked like crumpled brown flowers. "Do you
lust after Richard because he's handsome, or because he's human?"
His voice was almost a whisper, intimate as if he'd said something
entirely different. Jean-Claude whispered better than anyone else I
knew.
"I don't lust after him."
"Come, come, ma petite. No lies." He leaned
towards me, long-fingered hand reaching for my cheek. There was
dried blood on his hand.
"You've got blood under your fingernails," I
said.
He flinched, his hand squeezing into a fist. Point
for my side. "You reject me at every turn. Why do I put up with
it?"
"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "I keep hoping
you'll get tired of me."
"I am hoping to have you with me forever, ma
petite. I would not make the offer if I thought I would grow
bored."
"I think I would get tired of you," I said.
His eyes widened a bit. I think it was real surprise.
"You are trying to taunt me."
I shrugged. "Yes, but it's still the truth. I'm
attracted to you, but I don't love you. We don't have stimulating
conversations. I don't go through my day saying 'I must remember to
share that joke with Jean-Claude, or tell him about what happened
at work tonight.' I ignore you when you let me. The only things we
have in common are violence and the dead. I don't think that's much
to base a relationship on."
"My, aren't we the philosopher tonight." His midnight
blue eyes were only inches from mine. The eyelashes looked like
black lace.
"Just being honest."
"We wouldn't want you to be less than honest," he
said. "I know how you despise lies." He glanced at Richard. "How
you despise monsters."
"Why are you angry with Richard?"
"Am I?" he said.
"You know damn well you are."
"Perhaps, Anita, I am realizing that the one thing
you want is the one thing I cannot give you."
"And what do I want?"
"Me to be human," he said softly.
I shook my head. "If you think your only shortcoming
is being a vampire, you're wrong."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You're an egotistical, overbearing bully."
"A bully?" He sounded genuinely surprised.
"You want me, so you can't believe that I don't want
you. Your needs, your desires are more important than anyone
else's."
"You are my human servant, ma petite. It
makes our lives complicated."
"I am not your human servant."
"I have marked you, Anita Blake. You are my human
servant."
"No," I said. It was a very firm no, but my stomach
was tight with the thought that he was right, and I would never be
free of him.
He stared at me. His eyes were as normal as they ever
got, dark, blue, lovely. "If you had not been my human servant, I
could not have defeated the snake god so easily."
"You mind-raped me, Jean-Claude. I don't care why you
did it."
A look of distaste spread across his face. "If you
choose the word rape, then you know that I am not guilty of that
particular crime. Nikolaos forced herself on you. She tore at your
mind, ma petite. If you had not carried two of my marks,
she would have destroyed you."
Anger was bubbling up from my gut, spreading up my
back and into my arms. I had this horrible urge to hit him. "And
because of the marks you can enter my mind, take me over. You told
me it made mind games harder on me, not easier. Did you lie about
that, too?"
"My need was great tonight, Anita. Many people would
have died if the creature had not been stopped. I drew power where
I could find it."
"From me."
"Yes, you are my human servant. Just by being near me
you increase my power. You know that."
I had known that, but I hadn't known he could channel
power through me like an amplifier. "I know I'm some sort of
witch's familiar for you."
"If you would allow the last two marks, it would be
more than that. It would be a marriage of flesh, blood, and
spirit."
"I notice you didn't say soul," I said.
He made an exasperated sound low in his throat. "You
are insufferable." He sounded genuinely angry. Goody.
"Don't you ever force your way into my mind
again."
"Or what?" The words were a challenge, angry,
confused.
I was on my knees beside him nearly spitting into his
face. I had to stop and take a few deep breaths to keep from
screaming at him. I spoke very calmly, low and angry. "If you ever
touch me like that again, I will kill you."
"You will try." His face was nearly pressed against
mine. As if when he inhaled, he would bring me to him. Our lips
would touch. I remembered how soft his lips were. How it felt to be
pressed against his chest. The roughness of his cross-shaped burn
under my fingers. I jerked back, and felt almost dizzy.
It had only been one kiss, but the memory of it
burned along my body like every bad romance novel you'd ever read.
"Leave me alone!" I hissed it in his face, hands balled into fists.
"Damn you! Damn you!"
The office door opened, and a uniformed officer stuck
his head out. "There a problem out here?"
We turned and stared at him. I opened my mouth to
tell him exactly what was wrong, but Jean-Claude spoke first. "No
problem, officer."
It was a lie, but what was the truth? That I had two
vampire marks on me and was losing my soul a piece at a time. Not
something I really wanted to be common knowledge. The police sort
of frown on people who have close ties with the monsters.
The officer was looking at us, waiting. I shook my
head. "Nothing's wrong, officer. It's just late. Could you ask
Sergeant Storr if I can go home now?"
"What's the name?"
"Anita Blake."
"Storr's pet animator?"
I sighed. "Yeah, that Anita Blake."
"I'll ask." The uniform stared at the three of us for
a minute. "You got anything to add to this?" He was speaking to
Richard.
"No."
The uniform nodded. "Okay, but keep whatever isn't
happening to a dull roar."
"Of course. Always glad to cooperate with the
police," Jean-Claude said.
He nodded his thanks and went back into the office.
We were left kneeling in the hallway. The shapeshifter was still
asleep on the floor. His breathing made a quiet noise that didn't
so much fill the silence as emphasize it. Richard was motionless,
dark eyes staring at Jean-Claude. I was suddenly very aware that
Jean-Claude and I were only inches apart. I could feel the line of
his body like warmth against my skin. His eyes flicked from my face
down my body. I was still wearing only a bra underneath the
unzipped jacket.
Goosebumps rolled up my arms and down my chest. My
nipples hardened as if he had touched them. My stomach clenched
with a need that had nothing to do with blood.
"Stop it!"
"I am doing nothing, ma petite. It is your
own desire that rolls over your skin, not mine."
I swallowed and had to look away from him. Okay, I
lusted after him. Great, fine, it didn't mean a thing. Ri-ight. I
scooted away from him, putting my back to the wall, not looking at
him as I spoke. "I came here tonight for information, not to play
footsie with the Master of the City."
Richard was just sitting there, meeting my eyes.
There was no embarrassment, just interest, as if he didn't know
quite what I was. It wasn't an unfriendly look.
"Footsie," Jean-Claude said. I didn't need to see his
face to hear the smile in his voice.
"You know what I mean."
"I've never heard it called 'footsie' before."
"Stop doing that."
"What?"
I glared at him, but his eyes were sparkling with
laughter. A slow smile touched his lips. He looked very human just
then.
"What did you want to discuss, ma petite? It
must be something very important to make you come near me
voluntarily."
I searched his face for mockery, or anger, or
anything, but his face was as smooth and pleasant as carved marble.
The smile, the sparkling humor in his eyes, was like a mask. I had
no way of telling what lay underneath. I wasn't even sure I wanted
to know.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly through my
mouth. "Alright. Where were you last night?" I looked at his face,
trying to catch any change of expression.
"Here," he said.
"All night?"
He smiled. "Yes."
"Can you prove it?"
The smile widened. "Do I need to?"
"Maybe," I said.
He shook his head. "Coyness, from you, ma
petite. It does not become you."
So much for being slick and trying to pull
information from the Master. "Are you sure you want this discussed
in public?"
"You mean Richard?"
"Yes."
"Richard and I have no secrets from one another,
ma petite. He is my human hands and eyes, since you refuse
to be."
"What's that mean? I thought you could only have one
human servant at a time."
"So you admit it." His voice held a slow curl of
triumph.
"This isn't a game, Jean-Claude. People died
tonight."
"Believe me, ma petite, whether you take the
last marks and become my servant in more than name is no game to
me."
"There was a murder last night," I said. Maybe if I
concentrated just on the crime, on my job, I could avoid the verbal
pitfalls.
"And?" he prompted.
"It was a vampire victim."
"Ah," he said, "my part in this becomes clear."
"I'm glad you find it funny," I said.
"Dying from vampire bites is only temporarily fatal,
ma petite. Wait until the third night when the victim
rises, then question him." The humor died from his eyes. "What is
it that you are not telling me?"
"I found at least five different bite radiuses on the
victim."
Something flickered behind his eyes. I wasn't sure
what, but it was real emotion. Surprise, fear, guilt?
Something.
"So you are looking for a rogue master vampire."
"Yep. Know any?"
He laughed. His whole face lit up from the inside, as
if someone had lit a candle behind his skin. In one wild moment he
was so beautiful, it made my chest ache. But it wasn't a beauty
that made me want to touch it. I remembered a Bengal tiger that I'd
seen once in a zoo. It was big enough to ride on like a pony. Its
fur was orange, black, cream, oyster-shell white. Its eyes were
gold. The heavy paws wider than my outspread hand paced, paced,
back and forth, back and forth, until it had worn a path in the
dirt. Some genius had put one barred wall so close to the fence
that held back the crowd, I could have reached through and touched
the tiger easily. I had to ball my hands into fists and shove them
in my pockets to keep from reaching through those bars and petting
that tiger. It was so close, so beautiful, so wild, so . . .
tempting.
I hugged my knees to my chest, hands clasped tight
together. The tiger would have taken my hand off, and yet there was
that small part of me that regretted not reaching through the bars.
I watched Jean-Claude's face, felt his laughter like velvet running
down my spine. Would part of me always wonder what it would have
been like if I had just said yes? Probably. But I could live with
it.
He was staring at me, the laughter dying from his
eyes like the last bit of light seeping from the sky. "What are you
thinking, ma petite?"
"Can't you read my mind?" I asked.
"You know I cannot."
"I don't know anything about you, Jean-Claude, not a
bloody thing."
"You know more about me than anyone else in the
city."
"Yasmeen included?"
He lowered his eyes, almost embarrassed. "We are very
old friends."
"How old?"
He met my eyes, but his face was empty, blank. "Old
enough."
"That's not an answer," I said.
"No," he said, "it is an evasion."
So he wasn't going to answer my question; what else
was new? "Are there any other master vampires in town besides you,
Malcolm, and Yasmeen?"
He shook his head. "Not to my knowledge."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what I said."
"You're the Master of the City. Aren't you supposed
to know?"
"Things are a little unsettled, ma
petite."
"Explain that."
He shrugged, and even in the bloodstained shirt it
looked graceful. "Normally, as Master of the City, all other lesser
master vampires would need my permission to stay in the city,
but"—he shrugged again—"there are those who think I am not strong
enough to hold the city."
"You've been challenged?"
"Let us just say I am expecting to be
challenged."
"Why?" I asked.
"The other masters were afraid of Nikolaos," he
said.
"And they're not afraid of you." It wasn't a
question.
"Unfortunately, no."
"Why not?"
"They are not as easily impressed as you are, ma
petite."
I started to say I wasn't impressed, but it wasn't
true. Jean-Claude could smell it when I lied, so why bother?
"So there could be another master in the city without
your knowledge."
"Yes."
"Wouldn't you sort of sense each other?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not."
"Thanks for clearing that up."
He rubbed fingertips across his forehead as if he had
a headache. Did vampires get headaches? "I cannot tell you what I
do not know."
"Would the . . ." I groped for a word, and couldn't
find one—"more mundane vampires be able to kill someone without
your permission?"
"Mundane?"
"Just answer the damn question."
"Yes, they could."
"Would five vampires hunt in a pack without a master
vampire to referee?"
He nodded. "Very nice choice of word, ma
petite, and the answer is no. We are solitary hunters, given a
choice."
I nodded. "So either you, Malcolm, Yasmeen, or some
mysterious master is behind it."
"Not Yasmeen. She is not strong enough."
"Okay, then you, Malcolm, or a mysterious
master."
"Do you really think I have gone rogue?" He was
smiling at me, but his eyes held something more serious. Did it
matter to him what I thought of him? I hoped not.
"I don't know."
"You would confront me, thinking I might be insane?
How indiscreet of you."
"If you don't like the answer, you shouldn't have
asked the question," I said.
"Very true."
The office door opened. Dolph came out, notebook in
hand. "You can go home, Anita. I'll check the statements with you
tomorrow."
I nodded. "Thanks."
"Heh, I know where you live." He smiled.
I smiled back. "Thanks, Dolph." I stood up.
Jean-Claude stood in one smooth motion like he was a
puppet pulled up by invisible strings. Richard stood slower, using
the wall to stand, as if he were stiff. Standing, Richard was
taller than Jean-Claude by at least three inches. Which made
Richard six-one. Almost too tall for my taste, but no one was
asking me.
"And could we talk to you some more, Jean-Claude?"
Dolph said.
Jean-Claude said, "Of course, detective." He walked
down the hall. There was a stiffness in the way he moved. Did
vampires bruise? Had he been hurt in the fight? Did it matter? No,
no, it didn't. In a way Jean-Claude was right; if he had been
human, even an egotistical son of a bitch, there might have been
possibilities. I'm not prejudiced, but God help me, the man has to
at least be alive. Walking corpses, no matter how pretty, are just
not my cup of tea. Dolph held the door for Jean-Claude.
Dolph looked back at us. "You're free to go, too, Mr.
Zeeman."
"What about my friend Stephen?"
Dolph glanced at the sleeping shapeshifter. "Take him
home. Let him sleep it off. I'll talk to him tomorrow." He glanced
at his wristwatch. "Make that later today."
"I'll tell Stephen when he wakes up."
Dolph nodded and closed the door. We were alone in
the buzzing silence of the hallway. Of course, maybe it was just my
own ears buzzing.
"Now what?" Richard said.
"We go home," I said.
"Rashida drove."
I frowned. "Who?"
"The other shapeshifter, the woman whose arm was torn
up."
I nodded. "Take Stephen's car."
"Rashida drove us both."
I shook my head. "So you're stranded."
"Looks that way."
"You could call a cab," I said.
"No money." He almost smiled.
"Fine; I'll drive you home."
"And Stephen?"
"And Stephen," I said. I was smiling and I didn't
know why, but it was better than crying.
"You don't even know where I live. It could be Kansas
City."
"If it's a ten-hour drive, you're on your own," I
said. "But if it's reasonable, I'll drive you."
"Is Meramec Heights reasonable?"
"Sure."
"Let me get the rest of my clothes," he asked.
"You look fully dressed to me," I said.
"I've got a coat around here somewhere."
"I'll wait here," I said.
"You'll watch Stephen?" Something like fear crossed
his face, filled his eyes.
"What are you afraid of?" I asked.
"Airplanes, guns, large predators, and master
vampires."
"I agree with two out of four," I said.
"I'll go get my coat."
I slid down to sit beside the sleeping werewolf.
"We'll be waiting."
"Then I'll hurry." He smiled when he said it. He had
a very nice smile.
Richard came back wearing a long black coat. It
looked like real leather. It flapped like a cape around his bare
chest. I liked the way the leather framed his chest. He buttoned
the coat and tied the leather belt tight. The black leather went
with the long hair and handsome face; the grey sweats and Nikes did
not. He knelt and picked Stephen up in his arms, then stood. The
leather creaked as his upper arms strained. Stephen was my height
and probably didn't weigh twenty pounds more than I did. Petite.
Richard carried him like he wasn't heavy.
"My, my, grandmother, what strong arms you have."
"Is my line, 'The better to hold you with'?" He was
looking at me very steadily.
I felt heat creeping up my face. I hadn't meant to
flirt, not on purpose. "You want a ride, or not?" My voice was
rough, angry with embarrassment.
"I want a ride," he said quietly.
"Then can the sarcasm."
"I wasn't being sarcastic."
I stared up at him. His eyes were perfectly brown
like chocolate. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say
anything. A tactic I should probably use more often.
I turned and walked away, fishing my car keys out as
I moved. Richard followed behind. Stephen snuffled against his
chest, pulling the blanket close in his sleep.
"Is your car very far?"
"A few blocks; why?"
"Stephen isn't dressed for the cold."
I frowned at him. "What, you want me to drive the car
around and pick you up?"
"That would be very nice," he said.
I opened my mouth to say no, then closed it. The thin
blanket wasn't much protection, and some of Stephen's injuries were
from saving my life. I could drive the car around.
I satisfied myself with grumbling under my breath, "I
can't believe I'm a door-to-door taxi for a werewolf."
Richard either didn't hear me, or chose to ignore it.
Smart, handsome, junior high science teacher, degree in
preternatural biology, what more could I ask for? Give me a minute
and I'd think of something.
Chapter 9
The car rode in its own tunnel of darkness. The headlights were
a moving circle of light. The October night closed behind the car
like a door.
Stephen was asleep in the back seat of my Nova. Richard sat in
the passenger seat, half-turned in his seat belt to look at me. It
was just polite to look at someone when you talk to them. But I
felt at a disadvantage because I had to watch the road. All he had
to do was stare at me.
"What do you do in your spare time?" Richard asked.
I shook my head. "I don't have spare time."
"Hobbies?"
"I don't think I have any of those, either."
"You must do something besides shoot large snakes in the head,"
he said.
I smiled and glanced at him. He leaned towards me as much as the
seat belt would allow. He was smiling, too, but there was something
in his eyes, or his posture, that said he was serious. Interested
in what I would say.
"I'm an animator," I said.
He clasped his hands together, left elbow propped on the back of
the seat. "Okay, when you're not raising the dead, what do you
do?"
"Work on preternatural crimes with the police, mostly
murders."
"And?" he said.
"And I execute rogue vampires."
"And?"
"And nothing," I said. I glanced at him again. In the dark I
couldn't see his eyes, their color was too dark for that, but I
could feel his gaze. Probably imagination. Yeah. I'd been hanging
around Jean-Claude too long. The smell of Richard's leather coat
mingled with a faint whiff of his cologne. Something expensive and
sweet. It went very nicely with the smell of leather.
"I work. I exercise. I go out with friends." I shrugged. "What
do you do when you're not teaching?"
"Scuba diving, caving, bird watching, gardening, astronomy." His
smile was a dim whiteness in the near dark.
"You must have a lot more free time than I do."
"Actually, the teacher always has more homework than the
students," he said.
"Sorry to hear that."
He shrugged, the leather creaked and slithered over his skin.
Good leather always moved like it was still alive.
"Do you watch TV?" he asked.
"My television broke two years ago, and I never replaced
it."
"You must do something for fun."
I thought about it. "I collect toy penguins." The minute I said
it, I wished I hadn't.
He grinned at me. "Now we're getting somewhere. The Executioner
collects stuffed toys. I like it."
"Glad to hear it." My voice sounded grumpy even to me.
"What's wrong?" he said.
"I'm not very good at small talk," I said.
"You were doing fine."
No, I wasn't, but I wasn't sure how to explain it to him. I
didn't like talking about myself to strangers. Especially strangers
with ties to Jean-Claude.
"What do you want from me?" I said.
"I'm just passing the time."
"No, you weren't." His shoulder-length hair had fallen around
his face. He was taller, thicker, but the outline was familiar. He
looked like Phillip in the shadowed dark. Phillip was the only
other human being I'd ever seen with the monsters.
Phillip sagged in the chains. Blood poured in a bright red flood
down his chest. It splattered onto the floor, like rain. Torchlight
glittered on the wet bone of his spine. Someone had ripped his
throat out.
I staggered against the wall as if someone had hit me. I
couldn't get enough air. Someone kept whispering, "Oh, God, oh,
God," over and over, and it was me. I walked down the steps with my
back pressed against the wall. I couldn't take my eyes from him.
Couldn't look away. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't cry.
The torchlight reflected in his eyes, giving the illusion of
movement. A scream built in my gut and spilled out my throat.
"Phillip!"
Something cold slithered up my spine. I was sitting in my car
with the ghost of guilty conscience. It hadn't been my fault that
Phillip died. I certainly didn't kill him, but . . . but I still
felt guilty. Someone should have saved him, and since I was the
last one with a chance to do it, it should have been me. Guilt is a
many splendored thing.
"What do you want from me, Richard?" I asked.
"I don't want anything," he said.
"Lies are ugly things, Richard."
"What makes you think I'm lying?"
"Finely honed instinct," I said.
"Has it really been that long since a man tried to make polite
small talk with you?"
I started to look at him, and decided not to. It had been that
long. "The last person who flirted with me was murdered. It makes a
girl a little cautious."
He was quiet for a minute. "Fair enough, but I still want to
know more about you."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
He had me there. "How do I know Jean-Claude didn't tell you to
make friends?"
"Why would he do that?"
I shrugged.
"Okay, let's start over. Pretend we met at the health club."
"Health club?" I said.
He smiled. "Health club. I thought you looked great in your
swimsuit."
"Sweats," I said.
He nodded. "You looked cute in your sweats."
"I liked looking great better."
"If I get to imagine you in a swimsuit, you can look great;
sweats only get cute."
"Fair enough."
"We made pleasant small talk and I asked you out."
I had to look at him. "Are you asking me out?"
"Yes, I am."
I shook my head and turned back to the road. "I don't think
that's a good idea."
"Why not?" he asked.
"I told you."
"Just because one person got killed on you doesn't mean everyone
will."
I gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make my hands hurt.
"I was eight when my mother died. My father remarried when I was
ten." I shook my head. "People go away and they don't come
back."
"Sounds scary." His voice was soft and low.
I didn't know what had made me say that. I didn't usually talk
about my mother to strangers, or anybody else for that matter.
"Scary," I said softly. "You could say that."
"If you never let anyone get close to you, you don't get hurt,
is that it?"
"There are also a lot of very jerky men in the
twenty-one-to-thirty age group," I said.
He grinned. "I'll give you that. Nice-looking, intelligent,
independent women are not exactly plentiful either."
"Stop with the compliments, or you'll have me blushing."
"You don't strike me as someone who blushes easily."
A picture flashed in my mind. Richard Zeeman naked beside the
bed, struggling into his sweat pants. It hadn't embarrassed me at
the time. It was only now, with him so warm and close in the car,
that I thought about it. A warm flush crept up my face. I blushed
in the dark, glad he couldn't see. I didn't want him to know I was
thinking about what he looked like without his clothes on. I don't
usually do that. Of course, I don't usually see a man buck naked
before I've even gone out on a date. Come to think of it, I didn't
see men naked on dates either.
"We're in the health club, sipping fruit juice, and I ask you
out."
I stared very hard at the road. I kept flashing on the smooth
line of his thigh and lower things. It was embarrassing, but the
harder I tried not to think about it, the clearer the picture
seemed to get.
"Movies and dinner?" I said.
"No," he said. "Something unique. Caving."
"You mean crawling around in a cave on a first date?"
"Have you ever been caving?"
"Once."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"We were sneaking up on bad guys at the time. I didn't think
much about enjoying it."
"Then you have to give it another chance. I go caving at least
twice a month. You get to wear your oldest clothes and get really
dirty, and no one tells you not to play in the mud."
"Mud?" I said.
"Too messy for you?"
"I was a bio-lab assistant in college; nothing's too messy for
me."
"At least you can say you get to use your degree in your
work."
I laughed. "True."
"I use my degree, too, but I went in for educating the
munchkins."
"Do you like teaching?"
"Very much." Those two words held a warmth and excitement that
you didn't hear much when people talked about their work.
"I like my job, too."
"Even when it forces you to play with vampires and zombies?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"We're sitting in the juice bar, and I've just asked you out.
What do you say?"
"I should say no."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"You sound suspicious."
"Always," I said.
"Never taking a chance is the worst failure of all, Anita."
"Not dating is a choice, not a failure." I was feeling a wee bit
defensive.
"Say you'll go caving this weekend." The leather coat crinkled
and moved as he tried to move closer to me than the seat belt would
allow. He could have reached out and touched me. Part of me wanted
him to, which was sort of embarrassing all on its own.
I started to say no, then realized I wanted to say yes. Which
was silly. But I was enjoying sitting in the dark with the smell of
leather and cologne. Call it chemistry, instant lust, whatever. I
liked Richard. He flipped my switch. It had been a long time since
I had liked anybody.
Jean-Claude didn't count. I wasn't sure why, but he didn't.
Being dead might have something to do with that.
"Alright, I'll go caving. When and where?"
"Great. Meet in front of my house at, say, ten o'clock on
Saturday."
"Ten in the morning?" I said.
"Not a morning person?" he asked.
"Not particularly."
"We have to start early, or we won't get to the end of the cave
in one day. "
"What do I wear?"
"Your oldest clothes. I'll be dressed in coveralls over
jeans."
"I've got coveralls." I didn't mention that I used my coveralls
to keep blood off my clothes. Mud sounded a lot more friendly.
"Great. I'll bring the rest of the equipment you need."
"How much more equipment do I need?"
"A hard hat, a light, maybe knee pads."
"Sounds like a boffo first date," I said.
"It will be," he said. His voice was soft, low, and somehow more
private than just sitting in my car. It wasn't Jean-Claude's
magical voice, but then what was?
"Turn right here," he said, pointing to a side street. "Third
house on the right."
I pulled into a short, blacktopped driveway. The house was half
brick and some pale color. It was hard to tell in the dark. There
were no streetlights to help you see. You forget how dark the night
can be without electricity.
Richard unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. "Thanks for
the ride."
"Do you need help getting him inside?" My hand was on the key as
I asked.
"No, I got it. Thanks, though."
"Don't mention it."
He stared at me. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Not yet," I said.
He smiled, a quick flash in the darkness. "Good." He unlocked
the back door behind him, and got out of the car. He leaned in and
scooped Stephen up, holding the blanket close so it didn't slide
off. He lifted with his legs more than his back; weightlifting will
teach you that. A human body is a lot harder to lift than even free
weights. A body just isn't balanced as well as a barbell.
Richard shut the car door with his back. The back door clicked
shut, and I unbuckled my seat belt so I could lock the doors.
Through the still-open passenger side door Richard was watching me
. Over the idling of the car's engine his voice carried, "Locking
out the boogeymen?"
"You never know," I said.
He nodded. "Yeah." There was something in that one word that was
sad, wistful, innocence lost. It was nice to talk with another
person who understood. Dolph and Zerbrowski understood the violence
and the nearness of death, but they didn't understand the
monsters.
I closed the door and scooted back behind the steering wheel. I
buckled my seat belt and put the car in gear. The headlights
sparkled over Richard, Stephen's hair like a yellow splash in his
arms. Richard was still staring at me. I left him in the dark in
front of his house with the singing of autumn crickets the only
sound.
Chapter 10
I pulled up in front of my apartment building at a little after
2:00 A.M. I'd planned to be in bed a long time before this. The new
cross-shaped burn was a burning, acid-eating ache. It made my whole
chest hurt. My ribs and stomach were sore, stiff. I turned on the
dome light in the car and unzipped the leather jacket. In the
yellow light bruises were blossoming across my skin. For a minute I
couldn't think how I'd gotten hurt; then I remembered the crushing
weight of the snake crawling over me. Jesus. I was lucky it was
bruises and not broken ribs.
I clicked off the light and zipped the jacket back up. The
shoulder straps were chafing on my bare skin, but the burn hurt so
much more that the bruises and the chafing seemed pretty darn
minor. A good burn will take your mind off everything else.
The light that usually burned over the stairs was out. Not the
first time. I'd have to call the office once it opened for the day
and report it, though. If you didn't report it, it didn't get
fixed.
I was three steps up before I saw the man. He was sitting at the
head of the stairs waiting for me. Short blond hair, pale in the
darkness. His hands sat on the top of his knees, palms up to show
that he didn't have a weapon. Well, that he didn't have a weapon
in his hands. Edward always had a weapon unless someone
had taken it away from him.
Come to think of it, so did I.
"Long time no see, Edward."
"Three months," he said. "Long enough for my broken arm to heal
completely."
I nodded. "I got my stitches out about two months ago."
He just sat on the steps looking down at me.
"What do you want, Edward?"
"Couldn't it be a social call?" He was laughing at me,
quietly.
"It's two o'clock in the freaking morning; it better not be a
social call."
"Would you rather it was business?" His voice was soft, but it
carried.
I shook my head. "No, no." I never wanted to be business for
Edward. He specialized in killing lycanthropes, vampires, anything
that used to be human and wasn't anymore. He'd gotten bored with
killing people. Too easy.
"Is it business?" My voice was steady, no tremble. Good for me.
I could draw the Browning, but if we ever drew down on each other
for real, he'd kill me. Being friends with Edward was like being
friends with a tame leopard. You could pet it and it seemed to like
you, but you knew deep down that if it ever got hungry enough, or
angry enough, it would kill you. Kill you and eat the flesh from
your bones.
"Just information tonight, Anita, no problems."
"What sort of information?" I asked.
He smiled again. Friendly ol' Edward. Ri-ight.
"Can we go inside and talk about it? It's freezing out here," he
said.
"The last time you were in town you didn't seem to need an
invitation to break into my apartment."
"You've got a new lock."
I grinned. "You couldn't pick it, could you?" I was genuinely
pleased.
He shrugged; maybe it was the darkness, but if it hadn't been
Edward, I'd have said he was embarrassed.
"The locksmith told me it was burglarproof," I said.
"I didn't bring my battering ram with me," he said.
"Come on up. I'll fix coffee." I stepped around him. He stood
and followed me. I turned my back on him without worrying. Edward
might shoot me someday, but he wouldn't do it in the back after
telling me he was just here to talk. Edward wasn't honorable, but
he had rules. If he planned to kill me, he'd have announced it.
Told me how much people were paying him to off me. Watched the fear
slide through my eyes.
Yeah, Edward had rules. He just had fewer of them than most
people did. But he never broke a rule, never betrayed his own
skewed sense of honor. If he said I was safe for tonight, he meant
it. It would have been nice if Jean-Claude had had rules.
The hallway was middle-of-the-night, middle-of-the-week,
had-to-get-up-in-the-morning quiet. My day living neighbors were
all asnooze in their beds without care. I unlocked the new locks on
my door and ushered Edward inside.
"That's a new look for you, isn't it?" he asked.
"What?"
"What happened to your shirt?"
"Oh." Suave comebacks, that's me. I didn't know what to say, or
rather, how much to say.
"You've been playing with vampires again," he said.
"What makes you think so?" I asked.
"The cross-shaped burn on your, ah, chest."
Oh, that. Fine. I unzipped the jacket and folded it over the
back of the couch. I stood there in my bra and shoulder holster and
met his eyes without blushing. Brownie point for me. I undid the
belt and slipped out of the shoulder holster, then took it into the
kitchen with me. I laid the gun still in its holster on the
countertop and got coffee beans out of the freezer, wearing just my
bra and jeans. In front of any other male, alive or dead, I would
have been embarrassed, but not Edward. There had never been sexual
tension between us. We might shoot each other one fine day, but
we'd never sleep together. He was more interested in the fresh burn
than my breasts.
"How'd it happen?" he asked.
I ground the beans in the little electric spice mill I'd bought
for the occasion. Just the smell of freshly ground coffee made me
feel better. I put a filter in my Mr. Coffee, poured the coffee in,
poured the water in, and pushed the button. This was about as fancy
as my cooking skills got.
"I'm going to get a shirt to throw on," I said.
"The burn won't like anything touching it," Edward said.
"I won't button it, then."
"Are you going to tell me how you got burned?"
"Yes." I took my gun and walked into the bedroom. In the back of
my closet I had a long-sleeved shirt that had once been purple but
had faded to a soft lilac. It was a man's dress shirt and hung down
nearly to my knees, but it was comfortable. I rolled the sleeves up
to my elbows and buttoned it halfway up. I left it gapping over the
burn. I glanced in the mirror and found that most of my cleavage
was covered. Perfect.
I hesitated but finally put the Browning Hi-Power in its holster
behind the headboard. Edward and I weren't fighting tonight, and
anything that came through the door, with its new locks, would have
to go through Edward first. I felt pretty safe.
He was sitting on my couch, legs out in front of him crossed at
the ankle. He'd sunk down until the top of his shoulders rested on
the couch's arm.
"Make yourself at home," I said.
He just smiled. "Are you going to tell me about the
vampires?"
"Yes, but I'm having trouble deciding exactly how much to tell
you."
The smile widened. "Naturally."
I set out two mugs, sugar, and real cream from the refrigerator.
The coffee dripped into the little glass pot. The smell was rich,
warm, and thick enough to wrap your arms around.
"How do you like your coffee?"
"Fix it the way you'd fix it for yourself."
I glanced back at him. "No preference?"
He shook his head, still resting against the couch arm.
"Okay." I poured the coffee into the mugs, added three sugars
and a lot of cream to each, stirred, and sat them on the two-seater
breakfast table.
"You're not going to bring it to me?"
"You don't drink coffee on a white couch," I said.
"Ah." He got up in one smooth motion, all grace and energy. He'd
have been very impressive if I hadn't spent most of the night with
vampires.
We sat across from each other. His eyes were the color of spring
skies, that warm pale blue that still manages to look cold. His
face was pleasant, his eyes neutral and watching everything I
did.
I told him about Yasmeen and Marguerite. I left out Jean-Claude,
the vampire murder, the giant cobra, Stephen the Werewolf, and Rick
Zeeman. Which meant it was a very short story.
When I finished Edward sat there, sipping his coffee and staring
at me.
I sipped coffee and stared back.
"That does explain the burn," he said.
"Great," I said.
"But you left out a lot."
"How do you know?"
"Because I was following you."
I stared at him, choking on my coffee. When I could talk without
coughing, I said, "You were what?"
"Following you," he said. His eyes were still neutral, smile
still pleasant.
"Why?"
"I've been hired to kill the Master of the City."
"You were hired for that three months ago."
"Nikolaos is dead; the new master isn't."
"You didn't kill Nikolaos," I said. "I did."
"True; you want half the money?"
I shook my head.
"Then what's your complaint? I got my arm broken helping you
kill her."
"And I got fourteen stitches, and we both got vampire bit," I
said.
"And cleansed ourselves with holy water," Edward said.
"Which burns likes acid," I said.
Edward nodded, sipped his coffee. Something moved behind his
eyes, something liquid and dangerous. His expression hadn't
changed, I'd swear to it, but it was suddenly all I could do to
meet his eyes.
"Why were you following me, Edward?"
"I was told you would be meeting with the new Master
tonight."
"Who told you that?"
He shook his head, that inscrutable smile curling his lips. "I
was inside the Circus tonight, Anita. I saw who you were with. You
played with the vampires, then you went home, so one of them has to
be the Master."
I fought to keep my face blank, too blank, so the effort showed,
but the panic didn't show. Edward had been following me, and I
hadn't known it. He knew all the vampires I had seen tonight. It
wasn't that big a list. He'd figure it out.
"Wait a minute," I said. "You let me go up against that snake
without helping me?"
"I came in after the crowd ran out. It was almost over by the
time I peeked into the tent."
I drank coffee and tried to think of a way to make this better.
He had a contract to kill the Master, and I had led him right to
him. I had betrayed Jean-Claude. Why did that bother me?
Edward was watching my face as if he would memorize it. He was
waiting for my face to betray me. I worked hard at being blank and
inscrutable. He smiled that close, canary-eating grin of his. He
was enjoying himself. I was not.
"You only saw four vampires tonight: Jean-Claude, the dark
exotic one who must be Yasmeen, and the two blonds. You got names
for the blonds?"
I shook my head.
His smile widened. "Would you tell me if you had?"
"Maybe."
"The blonds aren't important," he said. "Neither of them were
master vamps."
I stared at him, forcing my face to be neutral, pleasant,
attentive, blank. Blank is not one of my better expressions, but
maybe if I practiced enough . . .
"That leaves Jean-Claude and Yasmeen. Yasmeen's new in town;
that just leaves Jean-Claude."
"Do you really think that the Master of the freaking City would
show himself like that?" I put all the scorn I could find into my
voice. I wasn't the best actor in the world, but maybe I could
learn.
Edward stared at me. "It's Jean-Claude, isn't it?"
"Jean-Claude isn't powerful enough to hold the city. You know
that. He's, what, a little over two hundred? Not old enough."
He frowned at me. Good. "It's not Yasmeen."
"True."
"You didn't talk to any other vampires tonight?"
"You may have followed me into the Circus, Edward, but you
didn't listen at the door when I met the Master. You couldn't have.
The vamps or the shapeshifters would have heard you."
He acknowledged it with a nod.
"I saw the Master tonight, but it wasn't anyone who came down to
fight the snake."
"The Master let his people risk their lives and didn't help?"
His smile was back.
"The Master of the City doesn't have to be physically present to
lend his power, you know that."
"No," he said, "I don't."
I shrugged. "Believe it or not." I prayed, please let him
believe.
He was frowning. "You're not usually this good a liar."
"I'm not lying." My voice sounded calm, normal, truthful.
Honesty-R-Us.
"If Jean-Claude really isn't the Master, then you know who
is?"
The question was a trap. I couldn't answer yes to both
questions, but hell, I'd been lying; why stop now? "Yes, I know who
it is."
"Tell me," he said.
I shook my head. "The Master would kill me if he knew I talked
to you."
"We can kill him together like we did the last one." His voice
was terribly reasonable.
I thought about it for a minute. I thought about telling him the
truth. Humans First might not be up to tangling with the Master,
but Edward was. We could kill him together, a team. My life would
be a lot simpler. I shook my head and sighed. Shit.
"I can't, Edward."
"Won't," he said.
I nodded. "Won't."
"If I believe you, Anita, it means I need the name of the
Master. It means you are the only human who knows that name." The
friendly banter seeped out of his face like melting ice. His eyes
were as empty and pitiless as a winter sky. There was no one home
that I could talk to.
"You don't want to be the only human who knows the name,
Anita."
He was right. I didn't, but what could I say? "Take it or leave
it, Edward."
"Save yourself a lot of pain, Anita; tell me the name."
He believed. Hot damn. I lowered my eyes to look down into my
coffee so he wouldn't see the flash of triumph in my eyes. When I
looked back up, I had my face under control. Me and Meryl
Streep.
"I don't give in to threats, you know that."
He nodded. He finished his coffee and sat the mug in the middle
of the table. "I will do whatever is necessary to finish this
job."
"I never doubted that," I said. He was talking about torturing
me for information. He sounded almost regretful, but that wouldn't
stop him. One of Edward's primary rules was "Always finish a
job."
He wouldn't let a little thing like friendship ruin his perfect
record.
"You saved my life, and I saved yours," he said. "It doesn't buy
you anything now. You understand that?"
I nodded. "I understand."
"Good." He stood up. I stood up. We looked at each other. He
shook his head. "I'll find you tonight, and I'll ask again."
"I won't be bullied, Edward." I was finally getting a little
mad. He had come in here asking for information; now he was
threatening me. I let the anger show. No acting needed.
"You're tough, Anita, but not that tough." His eyes were
neutral, but wary, like those of a wolf I'd seen once in
California. I'd just walked around a tree and there it had been,
standing. I froze. I had never really understood what neutral meant
until then. The wolf didn't give a damn if it hurt me or not. My
choice. Threaten it, and the shit hit the fan. Give it room to run,
and it would run. But the wolf didn't care; it was prepared either
way. I was the one with my pulse in my throat, so startled that I'd
stopped breathing. I held my breath and wondered what the wolf
would decide. It finally loped off through the trees.
I'd relearned how to breathe and gone back down to the campsite.
I had been scared, but I could still close my eyes and see the
wolf's pale grey eyes. The wonder of staring at a large predator
without any cage bars between us. It had been wonderful.
I stared up at Edward now and knew that this, too, was wonderful
in its way. Whether I had known the information or not, I wouldn't
have told him. No one bullied me. No one. That was one of my
rules.
"I don't want to have to kill you, Edward."
He smiled then. "You kill me?" He was laughing at me.
"You bet," I said.
The laughter seeped out of his eyes, his lips, his face, until
he stared at me with his neutral, predator eyes.
I swallowed and remembered to take slow, even breaths. He would
kill me. Maybe. Maybe not.
"Is the Master worth one of us dying?" I asked.
"It's a matter of principle," he said.
I nodded. "Me, too."
"We know where we stand, then," he said.
"Yeah."
He walked towards the door. I followed, and unlocked the door
for him. He paused in the doorway. "You've got until full dark
tonight."
"The answer will be the same."
"I know," he said. He walked out without even glancing back. I
watched him until he disappeared down the stairs. Then I shut the
door and locked it. I stood leaning my back against the door and
tried to think of a way out.
If I told Jean-Claude, he might be able to kill Edward, but I
didn't give humans to the monsters. Not for any reason. I could
tell Edward about Jean-Claude. He might even be able to kill the
Master. I could even help him.
I tried picturing Jean-Claude's perfect body riddled with
bullets, covered in blood. His face blown away by a shotgun. I
shook my head. I couldn't do it. I didn't know why exactly, but I
couldn't hand Jean-Claude over to Edward.
I couldn't betray either of them. Which left me ass-deep in
alligators. So what else was new?
Chapter 11
I stood on the shore under a black fringe of trees. The black
lake lapped and rolled away into the dark. The moon hung huge and
silver in the sky. The moonlight made glittering patterns on the
water. Jean-Claude rose from the water. Water was streaming in
silver lines from his hair and shirt. His short black hair was in
tight curls from being wet. The white shirt clung to his body,
making his nipples clear and hard against the cloth. He held out
his hand to me.
I was wearing a long, dark dress. It was heavy and hung around
me like a weight. Something inside the skirt made it stick out to
either side like a tiny malformed hoop. A heavy cloak was pushed
back over my shoulders. It was autumn, and the moon was
harvest-full.
Jean-Claude said, "Come to me."
I stepped off the shore and sank into the water. It filled the
skirt, soaking into the cloak. I tore the cloak off, letting it
sink out of sight. The water was warm as bath water, warm as blood.
I raised my hand to the moonlight, and the liquid that streamed
down it was thick and dark and had never been water.
I stood in the shallows in a dress that I had never imagined, by
a shore I did not know, and stared at the beautiful monster as he
moved towards me, graceful and covered in blood.
I woke gasping for air, hands clutching at the sheets like a
lifeline. "You promised to stay out of my dreams, you son of a
bitch," I whispered.
The radio clock beside the bed read 2:00 P.M. I'd been asleep
for ten hours. I should have felt better, but I didn't. It was as
if I'd been running from nightmare to nightmare, and hadn't really
gotten to rest. The only dream I remembered was the last one. If
they had all been that bad, I didn't want to remember the rest.
Why was Jean-Claude haunting my dreams again? He'd given his
word, but maybe his word wasn't worth anything. Maybe.
I stripped in front of the bathroom mirror. My ribs and stomach
were covered in deep, nearly purple bruises. My chest was tight
when I breathed, but nothing was broken. The burn on my chest was
raw, the skin blackened where it wasn't covered in blisters. A burn
hurts all the way down, as if the pain burrows from the skin down
to the bone. A burn is the only injury where I am convinced I have
nerve endings below skin level. How could it hurt so damn bad,
otherwise?
I was meeting Ronnie at the health club at three. Ronnie was
short for Veronica. She said it helped her get more work as a
private detective if people assumed she was male. Sad but true. We
would lift weights and jog. I slipped a black sports bra very
carefully over the burn. The elastic pressed in on the bruises, but
everything else was okay. I rubbed the burn with antiseptic cream
and taped a piece of gauze over it. A man's red t-shirt with the
sleeves and neck cut out went over everything else. Black biker
pants, jogging socks with a thin red stripe, and black Nike Airs
completed the outfit.
The t-shirt showed the gauze, but it hid the bruises. Most of
the regulars at the health club were accustomed to my coming in
bruised or worse. They didn't ask a lot of questions anymore.
Ronnie says I was grumpy at them. Fine with me. I like to be left
alone.
I had my coat on, gym bag in hand, when the phone rang. I
debated but finally picked it up. "Talk to me," I said.
"It's Dolph."
My stomach tightened. Was it another murder? "What's up,
Dolph?"
"We got an ID on the John Doe you looked at."
"The vampire victim?"
"Yeah."
I let out the breath I'd been holding. No more murders, and we
were making progress; what could be better?
"Calvin Barnabas Rupert, friends called him Cal. Twenty-six
years old, married to Denise Smythe Rupert for four years. No
children. He was an insurance broker. We haven't been able to turn
up any ties with the vampire community."
"Maybe Mr. Rupert was just in the right place at the wrong
time."
"Random violence?" He made it a question.
"Maybe."
"If it was random, we got no pattern, nothing to look at."
"So you're wondering if I can find out if Cal Rupert had any
ties to the monsters?"
"Yes," he said.
I sighed. "I'll try. Is that it? I'm late for an
appointment."
"That's it. Call me if you find out anything." His voice sounded
positively grim.
"You'd tell me if you found another body, wouldn't you?"
He gave a snort of laughter. "Make you come down and measure the
damn bites, yeah. Why?"
"Your voice sounds grim."
The laughter dribbled out of his voice. "You're the one who said
there'd be more bodies. You changed your mind on that?"
I wanted to say, yes, I've changed my mind, but I didn't. "If
there is a pack of rogue vampires, we'll be seeing more
bodies."
"Can you think of anything else it could be besides vampires?"
he asked.
I thought about it for a minute, and shook my head. "Not a damn
thing."
"Fine, talk to you later." The phone buzzed dead in my hand
before I could say anything. Dolph wasn't much on hello and
good-bye.
I had my back-up gun, a Firestar 9mm, in the pocket of my
jacket. There was just no way to wear a holster in exercise
clothes. The Firestar only held eight bullets to the Browning's
thirteen, but the Browning tended to stick out of my pocket and
make people stare. Besides, if I couldn't get the bad guys with
eight bullets, another five probably wouldn't help. Of course,
there was an extra clip in the zipper pocket of my gym bag. A girl
couldn't be too cautious in these crime-ridden times.
Chapter 12
Ronnie and I were doing power circuits at Vic Tanny's. There
were two full sets of machines and no waiting at 3:14 on a Thursday
afternoon. I was doing the Hip Abduction/Hip Adduction machine. You
pulled a lever on the side and the machine went to different
positions. The Hip Adduction position looked vaguely obscene, like
a gynecological torture device. It was one of the reasons I never
wore shorts when we lifted weights. Ronnie either.
I was concentrating on pressing my thighs together without
making the weights clink. Weights clinking means you're not
controlling the exercise, or it means you're working with too much
weight. I was using sixty pounds. It wasn't too heavy.
Ronnie lay on her stomach using the Leg Curl, flexing her calves
over her back, heels nearly touching her butt. The muscles under
her calves bunched and coiled under her skin. Neither of us is
bulky, but we're solid. Think Linda Hamilton in Terminator
2.
Ronnie finished before I did and paced around the machines
waiting for me. I let the weights ease back with only the slightest
clink. It's okay to clink the weights when you're finished.
We eased out from the machines and started running on the oval
track. The track was bordered by a glass wall that showed the blue
pool. A lone man was doing laps in goggles and a black bathing cap.
The other side was bordered by the free weight room and the
aerobics studio. The ends of the track were mirrored so you could
always see yourself running face on. On bad days I could have done
without watching myself; on good days it was kind of fun. A way to
make sure your stride was even, arms pumping.
I told Ronnie about the vampire victim as we ran. Which meant we
weren't running fast enough. I increased my pace and could still
talk. When you routinely do four miles outside in the St. Louis
heat, the padded track at Vic Tanny is just not that big a
challenge. We did two laps and went back to the machines.
"What did you say the victim's name was again?" She sounded
normal, no strain. I increased our pace to a flat-out run. All
talking ceased.
Arm machines this time. Regular Pull-over for me, Overhead Press
for Ronnie, then two laps of the track, then trade machines.
When I could talk, I answered her question. "Calvin Rupert," I
said. I did twelve pullovers with 100 pounds. Of all the machines,
this one is easiest for me. Weird, huh?
"Cal Rupert?" she asked.
"That's what his friends called him," I said, "Why?"
She shook her head. "I know a Cal Rupert."
I watched her and let my body do the exercise without me. I was
holding my breath, which is bad. I remembered to breathe and said,
"Tell me."
"When I was asking questions around Humans Against Vampires
during that rash of vampire deaths. Cal Rupert belonged to
HAV."
"Describe him for me."
"Blond, blue or grey eyes, not too tall, well built,
attractive."
There might be more than one Cal Rupert in St. Louis, but what
were the odds that they'd look that much alike? "I'll have Dolph
check it out, but if he was a member of HAV, it might mean the
vampire kill was an execution."
"What do you mean?"
"Some of HAV thinks the only good vampire is a dead vampire." I
was thinking of Humans First, Mr. Jeremy Ruebens's little group.
Had they killed a vampire already? Was this retaliation?
"I need to know if Cal was still a member of HAV or if he'd
joined a new, more radical group called Humans First."
"Catchy," Ronnie said.
"Can you find out for me? If I go down there asking questions,
they'll burn me at the stake."
"Always glad to help my best friend and the police at the same
time. A private detective never knows when having the police owe
you one may come in handy."
"True," I said.
I got to wait for Ronnie this time. On leg machines she was
faster. Upper body was my area. "I'll call Dolph as soon as we're
finished here. Maybe it's a pattern? A hell of a coincidence if
it's not."
We started around the track and Ronnie said, "So, have you
decided what you're wearing to Catherine's Halloween party?"
I glanced at her, nearly stumbling. "Shit," I said.
"I take that to mean you forgot about the party. You were
bitching about it only two days ago."
"I've been a little busy, okay?" I said. But it wasn't all
right. Catherine Maison-Gillett was one of my best friends. I'd
worn a pink prom dress with puff sleeves in her wedding. It had
been humiliating. We'd all told the great lie of all bridesmaids.
We could cut the dress short and wear it in normal life. No way. Or
I could wear it at the next formal occasion I was invited to. How
many formals are you invited to once you graduate college? None. At
least none where I'd willingly wear a pink, puff-sleeved,
hoop-skirted, reject from Gone With the Wind.
Catherine was throwing her very first party since the wedding.
The Halloween festivities started long before dark so that I could
make an appearance. When someone goes to that much trouble, you
have to show up. Dammit.
"I made a date for Saturday," I said.
Ronnie stopped running and stared at me in the mirror. I kept
running; if she wanted to ask questions she'd have to catch me
first. She caught me.
"Did you say date?"
I nodded, saving my breath for running.
"Talk, Anita." Her voice was vaguely threatening.
I grinned at her and told her an edited version of my meeting
with Richard Zeeman. I didn't leave out much, though.
"He was naked in a bed the first time you saw him?" She was
cheerfully outraged.
I nodded.
"You do meet men in the most interesting places," she said.
We were jogging on the track again. "When's the last time I met
a man?"
"What about John Burke?"
"Other than him," Jerks did not count.
She thought about that for a minute. She shook her head. "Too
long."
"Yep," I said.
We were on our last machine, the last two laps, then stretching,
showers, and done. I didn't really enjoy exercising. Neither did
Ronnie. But we both needed to be in good shape so we could run away
from the bad guys, or run them down. Though I hadn't chased after
many villains lately. I seemed to do a lot more running away.
We moved over to the open area near the racquetball courts and
the tanning rooms. It was the only place with enough room to
stretch out. I always stretched before and after exercising. I'd
had too many injuries not to be careful.
I started rotating the neck slowly; Ronnie followed me. "I guess
I'll have to cancel the date."
"Don't you dare," Ronnie said. "Invite him to the party."
I looked at her. "You've got to be kidding. A first date
surrounded by people he doesn't know."
"Who do you know besides Catherine?" she asked.
She had a point there. "I've met her new husband."
"You were in the wedding," Ronnie said.
"Oh, yeah."
Ronnie frowned at me. "Be serious, ask him to the party, make
plans for the caving next week."
"Two dates with the same man?" I shook my head. "What if we
don't like each other?"
"No excuses," Ronnie said. "This is the closest you've been to a
date in months. Don't blow it."
"I don't date because I don't have time to date."
"You don't have time to sleep, either, but you manage it," she
said.
"I'll do it, but he may say no to the party. I would rather not
go myself."
"Why not?"
I gave her a long look. She looked innocent enough. "I'm an
animator, a zombie-queen. Having me at a Halloween party is
redundant."
"You don't have to tell people what you do for a living."
"I'm not ashamed of it."
"I didn't say you were," Ronnie said.
I shook my head. "Just forget it. I'll make the counteroffer to
Richard, then we'll go from there."
"You'll want a sexy outfit for the party now," she said.
"Do not," I said.
She laughed. "Do too."
"All right, all right, a sexy outfit if I can find one in my
size three days before Halloween."
"I'll help you. We'll find something."
She'd help me. We'd find something. It sounded sort of ominous.
Pre-date jitters. Who, me?
Chapter 13
At 5:15 that afternoon I was on the phone to Richard Zeeman.
"Hi, Richard, this is Anita Blake."
"Nice to hear your voice." His voice was smiling over the phone;
I could almost feel it.
"I forgot that I've got a Halloween party to go to Saturday
afternoon. They started the party during daylight so I could make
an appearance. I can't not show up."
"I understand," he said. His voice was very carefully
neutral—neutral cheerful.
"Would you like to be my date for the party? I have to work
Halloween night, of course, but the day could be ours."
"And the caving?"
"A rain check," I said.
"Two dates; this could be serious."
"You're laughing at me," I said.
"Never."
"Shit, do you want to go or not?"
"If you promise to go caving a week from Saturday."
"My solemn word," I said.
"It's a deal." He was quiet on the phone for a minute. "I don't
have to wear a costume for this party, do I?"
"Unfortunately, yes," I said.
He sighed.
"Backing out?"
"No, but you owe me two dates for humiliating myself in front of
strangers."
I grinned and was glad he couldn't see it, I was entirely too
pleased. "Deal."
"What costume are you wearing?" he asked.
"I haven't got one yet. I told you I forgot the party; I meant
it."
"Hmm," he said. "I think picking out costumes should tell a lot
about a person, don't you?"
"This close to Halloween we'll be lucky to find anything in our
size."
He laughed. "I might have an ace up my sleeve."
"What?"
He laughed again. "Don't sound so damn suspicious. I've
got a friend who's a Civil War buff. He and his wife do
re-creations."
"You mean like dress up?"
"Yes."
"Will they have the right sizes?"
"What size dress do you wear?"
That was a personal question for
someone who'd never even kissed me. "Seven," I said.
"I would have guessed smaller."
"I'm too chesty for a six, and they don't make six and a
halfs."
"Chesty, woo, woo."
"Stop it."
"Sorry, couldn't resist," he said.
My beeper went off. "Damn."
"What's that sound?"
"My beeper," I said. I pressed the button and it flashed the
number—the police. "I have to take it. Can I call you back in a few
minutes, Richard?"
"I'll wait with bated breath."
"I'm frowning at the phone, I hope you know that."
"Thanks for sharing that. I'll wait here by the phone. Call me
when you're done with (sob) work."
"Cut it out, Richard."
"What'd I do?"
"Bye, Richard, talk to you soon."
"I'll be waiting," he said.
"Bye, Richard." I hung up before he could make any more "pitiful
me" jokes. The really sad part was I thought it was cute. Gag me
with a spoon.
I called Dolph's number. "Anita?"
"Yeah."
"We got another vampire victim. Looks the same as the first one,
except it's a woman."
"Damn," I said softly.
"Yeah, we're over here at DeSoto."
"That's farther south than Arnold," I said.
"So?" he said.
"Nothing, just give me the directions."
He did.
"It'll take me at least an hour to get there," I said.
"The stiff's not going anywhere, and neither are we." He sounded
discouraged.
"Cheer up, Dolph, I may have found a clue."
"Talk."
"Veronica Sims recognized the name Cal Rupert. Description
matches."
"What are you doing talking to a private detective?" He sounded
suspicious.
"She's my workout partner, and since she just gave us our first
clue, I'd sound a little more grateful, if I were you."
"Yeah, yeah. Hurrah for the private sector. Now talk."
"A Cal Rupert was a member of HAV about two months ago. The
description matches."
"Revenge killings?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"Half of me hopes it's a pattern. At least we'd have some place
to start looking." He made a sound between a laugh and a snort.
"I'll tell Zerbrowski you found a clue. He'll like that."
"All us Dick Tracy Crimebusters speak police lingo," I said.
"Police lingo?" I could feel the grin over the phone. "You find
any more clues, you let us know."
"Aye, aye, Sergeant."
"Can the sarcasm," he said.
"Please, I always use fresh sarcasm, never canned."
He groaned. "Just get your butt out here so we can all go home."
The phone went dead. I hung up.
Richard Zeeman answered on the second ring. "Hello."
"It's Anita."
"What's up?"
"The message was from the police. They need my expertise."
"A preternatural crime?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Is it dangerous?"
"To the person who was killed, yeah."
"You know that's not what I meant," he said.
"It's my job, Richard. If you can't deal with it, maybe we
shouldn't date at all."
"Hey, don't get defensive. I just wanted to know if you would be
in any personal danger." His voice was indignant.
"Fine. I've got to go."
"What about the costumes? Do you want me call my friend?"
"Sure."
"Will you trust me to pick your costume?" he asked.
I thought about that for a few heartbeats. Did I trust him to
get me a costume? No. Did I have time to hunt up a costume on my
own? Probably not. "Why not?" I said. "Beggars can't be
choosers."
"We'll survive the party and then next week we'll go crawl in
the mud."
"I can't wait," I said.
He laughed. "Neither can I."
"I've got to go, Richard."
"I'll have the costumes at your apartment for inspection. I'll
need directions."
I gave him directions.
"I hope you like your costume."
"Me too. Talk to you later." I hung the receiver on the pay
phone's cradle and stared at it. That had been too easy. Too
smooth. He'd probably pick out a terrible costume for me. We'd both
have a miserable time and be trapped into a second date with each
other. Eek!
Ronnie handed me a can of fruit juice and took a sip of her own.
She had cranberry and I had ruby red grapefruit. I couldn't stand
cranberry.
"What'd cutesie pie say?"
"Please don't call him that," I said.
She shrugged. "Sorry, it just sort of slipped out." She had the
grace to look embarrassed.
"I forgive you, this once."
She grinned, and I knew she wasn't repentant. But I'd ribbed her
often enough about her dates. Turnabout is fair play. Payback is a
bitch.
Chapter 14
The sun was sinking in a slash of crimson like a fresh, bleeding
wound. Purple clouds were piling up to the west. The wind was
strong and smelled like rain.
Ruffo Lane was a narrow gravel road. Barely wide enough for two
cars to pass each other. The reddish gravel crunched underfoot.
Wind rustled the tall, dry weeds in the ditch. The road disappeared
over the rise of a hill. Police cars, marked and plain, were lined
up along one side of the road as far as I could see. The road
disappeared over the rise of a hill. There were a lot of hills in
Jefferson County.
I was already dressed in a clean pair of overalls, black Nikes,
and surgical gloves when my beeper went off. I had to scramble at
the zipper and drag the damn thing out into the dying light. I
didn't have to see the number. I knew it was Bert. It was only a
half hour until full dark, if that. My boss was wondering where I
was, and why I wasn't at work. I wondered if Bert would really fire
me. I stared down at the corpse and wasn't sure I cared.
The woman was curled on her side, arms shielding her naked
breasts, as if even in death she was modest. Violent death is the
ultimate invasion. She would be photographed, videotaped, measured,
cut open, sewn back up. No part of her, inside or out, would be
left untouched. It was wrong. We should have been able to toss a
blanket over her and leave her in peace, but that wouldn't help us
prevent the next killing. And there would be a next one; the second
body was proof of that.
I glanced around at the police and the ambulance team, waiting
to take the body away. Except for the body, I was the only woman. I
usually was, but tonight, for some reason, it bothered me. Her
waist-length hair spilled out into the weeds in a pale flood.
Another blonde. Was that coincidence? Or not? Two was a pretty
small sample. If the next victim was blond, then we'd have a
trend.
If all the victims were caucasian, blond, and members of Humans
Against Vampires, we'd have our pattern. Patterns helped solve the
crime. I was hoping for a pattern.
I held a penlight in my mouth and measured the bite marks. There
were no bite marks on the wrists this time. There were rope burns
instead. They'd tied her up, maybe hung her from the ceiling like a
side of beef. There is no such thing as a good vampire who feeds
off humans. Never believe that a vampire will only take a little.
That it won't hurt. That's like believing your date will pull out
in time. Just trust him. Yeah, right.
There was a neat puncture wound on either side of the neck.
There was a bit of flesh missing from her left breast, as if
something had taken a bite out of her just above the heart. The
bend of her right arm was torn apart. The ball joint was naked in
the thin beam of light. Pinkish ligaments strained to hold the arm
together.
The last serial murderer that I'd worked on had torn the victims
into pieces. I had walked on carpet so drenched with blood that it
squelched underfoot. I had held pieces of intestine in my hand,
looking for clues. It was the new worst-thing-I'd-ever-seen.
I stared down at the dead woman and was glad she hadn't been
torn apart. And it wasn't because I figured it had been an easier
death, though I hoped it had. And it wasn't because there were more
clues, because there weren't. It was just that I didn't want to see
any more slaughtered people. I'd had my quota for the year.
There is an art to holding a penlight in your mouth and
measuring wounds without drooling on yourself. I managed. The
secret was sucking on the end of the flashlight from time to
time.
The thin beam of the flashlight shone on her thighs. I wanted to
see if she had a groin wound like the man. I wanted to be sure this
was the work of the same killers. It would be a hell of a
coincidence if there were two vampire packs hunting separately, but
it was possible. I needed to be as sure as I could that we had just
one rogue pack. One was plenty, two was a screaming nightmare.
Surely, God would not be that unkind, but just in case . . . I
wanted to see if she had a groin wound. The man's hands had shown
no rope marks. Either the vampires were getting more organized, or
it was a different group.
Her arms had been glued over her chest, tied in place by rigor
mortis. Nothing short of an axe was going to move her legs, not
until final rigor went away, which would be forty-eight hours or
so. I couldn't wait two days, but I didn't want to chop the body
into pieces either.
I got down on all fours in front of the corpse. I apologized for
what I was about to do, but couldn't think of anything better.
The flashlight's thin beam trembled over her thighs, like a tiny
spotlight. I touched the line that separated her legs and pushed my
fingers in that line, trying to feel by fingertip if there was a
wound there.
It must have looked like I was groping the corpse, but I
couldn't think of a more dignified way to do it. I glanced up,
trying not to feel the solid rubberiness of her skin. The sun was
just a splash of crimson in the west like dying coals. True
darkness slipped over the sky like a flood of ink. And the woman's
legs moved under my hands.
I jumped. Nearly swallowing the flashlight. Nervous, me? The
woman's flesh was soft. It hadn't been a moment ago. The woman's
lips were halfparted. Hadn't they been closed before?
This was crazy. Even if she had been a vampire, she wouldn't
rise until the third night after death. And she'd died from
multiple vampire bites in one massive blood feast. She was dead,
just dead.
Her skin shimmered white in the darkness. The sky was black; if
the moon was up in those black-purple clouds, I couldn't see it.
Yet her skin shimmered as if touched by moonlight. She wasn't
exactly glowing, but it was close. Her hair glimmered like spider
silk spread over the grass. She'd just been dead a minute ago; now
she was . . . beautiful.
Dolph loomed over me. At six-nine he loomed even when I was
standing up; with me kneeling he was gigantic. I stood up, peeled
off one surgical glove, and took the penlight out of my mouth.
Never touch anything you're likely to put in your mouth after
touching the open wounds of a stranger. AIDS, you know. I shoved
the penlight into the breast pocket of the coveralls. I took off
the other glove and crumpled them both into a side pocket.
"Well?" Dolph said.
"Does she look different to you?" I asked.
He frowned. "What?"
"The corpse; does it look different to you?"
He stared down at the pale body. "Now that you mention it. It
looks like she's asleep." He shook his head. "We're going to have
to call an ambulance and have a doctor pronounce her dead."
"She's not breathing."
"Would you want the fact that you weren't breathing to be the
only criterion?"
I thought about that for a minute. "No, I guess not."
Dolph leafed through his notebook. "You said a person who dies
of multiple vampire bites can't rise from the dead as a vampire."
He was reading my own words back at me. I was hoist on my
petard.
"That's true in most cases."
He stared down at the woman. "But not in this one."
"Unfortunately no," I said.
"Explain this, Anita." He didn't sound happy. I didn't blame
him.
"Sometimes even one bite can make a corpse rise as a vampire.
I've only read a couple of articles about it. A very powerful
master vamp can sometimes contaminate every corpse it touches."
"Where'd you read the articles?"
"The Vampire Quarterly."
"Never heard of it," he said.
I shrugged. "I have a degree in preternatural biology; I must be
on someone's list for stuff like that." A thought came to me that
wasn't pleasant at all. "Dolph."
"Yeah."
"The man, the first corpse, this is its third night."
"It didn't glow in the dark," Dolph said.
"The woman's corpse didn't look bad until full dark."
"You think the man's going to rise?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Shit," he said.
"Exactly," I said.
He shook his head. "Wait a minute. He can still tell us who
killed him."
"He won't come back as a normal vamp," I said. "He died of
multiple wounds, Dolph; he'll come back as more animal than
human."
"Explain that."
"If they took the body to St. Louis City Hospital, then it's
safe behind reinforced steel, but if they listened to me, then it's
at the regular morgue. Call the morgue and tell them to evacuate
the building."
"You're serious," he said.
"Absolutely."
He didn't even argue with me. I was his preternatural expert,
and what I said was pretty much gospel until proven otherwise.
Dolph didn't ask for your opinion unless he was prepared to act
upon it. He was a good boss.
He slipped into his car, nearest to the murder scene of course,
and called the morgue.
He leaned out the open car door. "The body was sent to St. Louis
City Hospital, routine for all vampire victims. Even ones our
preternatural expert tells us are safe." He smiled at me when he
said it.
"Call St. Louis City and make sure they've got the body in the
vault room."
"Why would they transport the body to the vampire morgue and not
put the body in the vault room?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I don't know. But I'll feel better after you
call them."
He took a deep breath and let it go. "Okay." He got back on the
phone and dialed the number from memory. Shows what kind of year
Dolph's been having.
I stood at the open car door and listened. There wasn't much to
hear. No one answered.
Dolph sat there listening to the distant ring of the phone. He
stared up at me. His eyes asked the question.
"Somebody should be there," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
"The man will rise like a beast," I said. "It'll slaughter
everything in its path unless the master that made it comes back to
pick it up, or until it's really dead. They're called animalistic
vampires. There's no colloquial term for them. They're too rare for
that."
Dolph hung up the phone and surged out of the car, yelling,
"Zerbrowski!"
"Here, Sarge." Zerbrowski came at a trot. When Dolph yelled, you
came running, or else. "How's it going, Blake?"
What was I supposed to say, terrible? I shrugged and said,
"Fine."
My beeper went off again. "Dammit, Bert!"
"Talk to your boss," Dolph said. "Tell him to leave you the fuck
alone."
Sounded good to me.
Dolph went off yelling orders. The men scrambled to obey. I slid
into Dolph's car and called Bert.
He answered on the first ring; not a good sign. "This better be
you, Anita."
"And if it's not?" I said.
"Where the hell are you?"
"Murder scene with a fresh body," I said.
That stopped him for a second. "You're missing your first
appointment."
"Yeah."
"But I'm not going to yell."
"You're being reasonable," I said. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing except that the newest member of Animators, Inc., is
taking your first two appointments. His name is Lawrence Kirkland.
Just meet him at the third appointment, and you can take the last
three appointments and show him the ropes."
"You hired someone? How'd you find someone so fast? Animators
are pretty rare. Especially one who could do two zombies in one
night."
"It's my job to find talent."
Dolph slid into the car, and I slid into the passenger seat.
"Tell your boss you've got to go."
"I've got to go, Bert."
"Wait, you have an emergency vampire staking at St. Louis City
Hospital."
My stomach clenched up. "What name?"
He paused, reading the name, "Calvin Rupert."
"Shit."
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"When did the call come in?"
"Around three this afternoon, why?"
"Shit, shit, shit."
"What's wrong, Anita?" Bert asked.
"Why was it marked urgent?" Zerbrowski slipped into the back of
the unmarked car. Dolph put the car in gear and hit the sirens and
lights. A marked car fell into line behind us, lights strobing into
the dark. Lights and sirens, wowee.
"Rupert had one of those dying wills," Bert said. "If he even
had one vampire bite, he wanted to be staked."
That was consistent with someone who was a member of HAV. Hell,
I had it in my will. "Do we have a court order of execution?"
"You only need that after the guy rises as a vampire. We've got
permission from the next of kin; just go stake him."
I grabbed the dashboard as we bounced over the narrow road.
Gravel pinged against the underside of the car. I cradled the phone
receiver between shoulder and chin and slipped into a seat
belt.
"I'm on my way to the morgue now," I said.
"I sent John ahead when I couldn't get you," Bert said.
"How long ago?"
"I called him after you didn't answer your beeper."
"Call him back, tell him not to go."
There must have been something in my voice, because he said,
"What's wrong, Anita?"
"We can't get any answer at the morgue, Bert."
"So?"
"The vampire may have already risen and killed everybody, and
John's walking right into it."
"I'll call him," Bert said. The connection broke, and I shoved
the receiver down as we spilled out onto New Highway 21.
"We can kill the vampire when we get there," I said.
"That's murder," Dolph said.
I shook my head. "Not if Calvin Rupert had a dying will."
"Did he?"
"Yeah."
Zerbrowski slammed his fist into the back of the seat. "Then
we'll pop the son of a bitch."
"Yeah," I said.
Dolph just nodded.
Zerbrowski was grinning. He had a shotgun in his hands.
"Does that thing have silver shot in it?" I asked.
Zerbrowski glanced at the gun. "No."
"Please, tell me I'm not the only one in this car with silver
bullets."
Zerbrowski grinned. Dolph said, "Silver's more expensive than
gold. City doesn't have that kind of money."
I knew that, but I was hoping I was wrong. "What do you do when
you're up against vampires and lycanthropes?"
Zerbrowski leaned over the back seat. "Same thing we do when
we're up against a gang with Uzi pistols."
"Which is?" I said.
"Be outgunned," he said. He didn't look happy about it. I wasn't
too happy about it, either. I was hoping that the morgue attendants
had just run, gotten out, but I wasn't counting on it.
Chapter 15
My vampire kit included a sawed-off shotgun with silver shot,
stakes, mallet, and enough crosses and holy water to drown a
vampire. Unfortunately, my vampire kit was sitting in my bedroom
closet. I used to carry it in the trunk, minus the sawed-off
shotgun, which has always been illegal. If I was caught carrying
the vampire kit without a court order of execution on me, it was an
automatic jail term. The new law had kicked in only weeks before.
It was to keep certain overzealous executioners from killing
someone and saying, "Gee, sorry." I, by the way, am not one of the
overzealous. Honest.
Dolph had cut the sirens about a mile from the hospital. We
cruised into the parking lot dark and quiet. The marked car behind
us had followed our lead. There was already one marked car waiting
for us. The two officers were crouched beside the car, guns in
hand.
We all spilled out of the dark cars, guns out. I felt like I'd
been shanghaied into a Clint Eastwood movie. I couldn't see John
Burke's car. Which meant John checked his beeper more than I did.
If the vampire was safely behind metal walls, I promised to answer
all beeper messages immediately. Please, just don't let me have
cost lives. Amen.
One of the uniforms who had been waiting for us duck-walked to
Dolph and said, "Nothing's moved since we got here, Sergeant."
Dolph nodded. "Good. Special forces will be here when they can
get to it. We're on the list."
"What do you mean, we're on the list?" I asked.
Dolph looked at me. "Special forces has the silver bullets, and
they'll get here as soon as they can."
"We're going to wait for them?" I said.
"No."
"Sergeant, we are supposed to wait for special forces when going
into a preternatural situation," the uniform said.
"Not if you're the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team,"
he said.
"You should have silver bullets," I said.
"I've got a requisition in," Dolph said.
"A requisition, that's real helpful."
"You're a civvie. You get to wait outside. So don't bitch," he
said.
"I'm also the legal vampire executioner for the State of
Missouri. If I'd answered my beeper instead of ignoring it to
irritate Bert, the vampire would be staked already, and we wouldn't
be doing this. You can't leave me out of it. It's more my job than
it is yours."
Dolph stared at me for a minute or two, then nodded very
slowly.
"You should have kept your mouth shut," Zerbrowski said. "And
you'd get to wait in the car."
"I don't want to wait in the car."
He just looked at me. "I do."
Dolph started walking towards the doors. Zerbrowski followed. I
brought up the rear. I was the police's preternatural expert. If
things went badly tonight, I'd earn my retainer.
All vampire victims were brought to the basement of the old St.
Louis City Hospital, even those who die in a different county.
There just aren't that many morgues equipped to handle freshly
risen vampires. They've got a special vault room with a steel
reinforced everything and crosses laid on the outside of the door.
There's even a feeding tank to take the edge off that first blood
lust. Rats, rabbits, guinea pigs. Just a snack to calm the newly
risen.
Under normal circumstances the man's body would have been in the
vampire room, and there would have been no problem, but I had
promised them that he was safe. I was their expert, the one they
called to stake the dead. If I said a body was safe, they believed
me. And I'd been wrong. God help me, I'd been wrong.
Chapter 16
St. Louis City Hospital sat like a stubby brick giant in the
middle of a combat zone. Walk a few blocks south and you could see
Tony Award-winning musicals straight from Broadway. But here we
could have been on the dark side of the moon. If the moon had
slums.
Broken windows decorated the ground like shattered teeth.
The hospital, like a lot of inner-city hospitals, had lost
money, so they had closed it down. But the morgue stayed open
because they couldn't afford to move the vampire room.
The room had been designed in the early 1900s when people still
thought they could find a cure for vampirism. Lock a vampire in the
vault, watch it rise and try to "cure" it. A lot of vamps
cooperated because they wanted to be cured. Dr. Henry Mulligan had
pioneered the search for a cure. The program was discontinued when
one of the patients ate Dr. Mulligan's face.
So much for helping the poor misunderstood vampire.
But the vault room was still used for most vampire victims.
Mostly as a precaution, because these days when a vamp rose there
was a vampire counsellor waiting to guide the newly risen to
civilized vampirehood.
I had forgotten about the vampire counsellor. It was a pioneer
program that'd only been in effect a little over a month. Would an
older vampire be able to control an animalistic vampire, or would
it take a master vampire to control it? I didn't know. I just
didn't know.
Dolph had his gun out and ready. Without silver-plated bullets,
it was better than spitting at the monster, but barely. Zerbrowski
held the shotgun like he knew how to use it. There were four
uniformed officers at my back. All with guns, all ready to blast
undead ass. So why wasn't I comforted? Because nobody else had any
freaking silver bullets, except me.
The double glass doors swooshed open automatically. Seven guns
were trained on the door as it moved. My fingers were all cramped
up trying not to shoot the damn door.
One of the uniforms swallowed a laugh. Nervous, who us?
"All right," Dolph said, "there are civilians in here. Don't
shoot any of them."
One of the uniforms was blond. His partner was black and much
older. The other two uniforms were in their twenties: one skinny
and tall with a prominent Adam's apple, the other short with pale
skin and eyes nearly glassy with fear.
Each policeman had a cross-shaped tie tack. They were the latest
style and standard issue for the St. Louis police. The crosses
would help, maybe even keep them alive.
I hadn't had time to get my crucifix's chain replaced. I was
wearing a charm bracelet that dangled with tiny crosses. I was also
wearing an anklet chain, not just because it matched the bracelet,
but if anything unusual happened tonight, I wanted to have a
backup.
It's sort of a tossup which I'd least like to live without,
cross or gun. Better to have both.
"You got any suggestions about how we should do this, Anita?"
Dolph asked.
It wasn't too long ago that the police wouldn't have been called
in at all. The good ol' days when vampires were left to a handful
of dedicated experts. Back when you could just stake a vamp and be
done with it. I had been one of the few, the proud, the brave, the
Executioner.
"We could form a circle, guns pointing out. It would up our
chances of not getting snuck up on."
The blond cop said, "Won't we hear it coming?"
"The undead make no noise," I said.
His eyes widened.
"I'm kidding, officer," I said.
"Hey," he said softly. He sounded offended. I guess I didn't
blame him.
"Sorry," I said.
Dolph frowned at me.
"I said I was sorry."
"Don't tease the rookies," Zerbrowski said. "I bet this is his
first vampire."
The black cop made a sound between a laugh and a snort. "His
first day, period."
"Jesus," I said. "Can he wait out in the car?"
"I can handle myself," the blond said.
"It's not that," I said, "but isn't there some kind of union
rule against vampires on the first day?"
"I can take it," he said.
I shook my head. His first fucking day. He should have been out
directing traffic somewhere, not playing tag with the walking
dead.
"I'll take point," Dolph said. "Anita to my right." He pointed
two fingers at the black cop and the blond. "You two on my left."
He pointed at the last two uniforms. "Behind Ms. Blake. Zerbrowski,
take the back."
"Gee, thanks, Sarge," he muttered.
I almost let it go, but I couldn't. "I'm the only one with
silver ammo. I should have point," I said.
"You're a civvie, Anita," Dolph said.
"I haven't been a civvie for years and you know it."
He looked at me for a long second, then nodded. "Take point, but
if you get killed, my ass is grass."
I smiled. "I'll try to remember that."
I stepped out in front, a little ahead of the others. They
formed a rough circle behind me. Zerbrowski gave me a thumbs-up
sign. It made me smile. Dolph gave the barest of nods. It was time
to go inside. Time to stalk the monster.
Chapter 17
The walls were two-tone green. Dark khaki on the bottom, puke
green on top. Institutional green, as charming as a sore tooth.
Huge steam pipes, higher than my head, covered the walls. The pipes
were painted green, too. They narrowed the hallway to a thin
passageway.
Electrical conduit pipes were a thinner silver shadow to the
steam pipes. Hard to put electricity in a building never designed
for it.
The walls were lumpy where they'd been painted over without
being scraped first. If you dug at the walls, layer after layer of
different color would come up, like the strata in an archaeological
dig. Each color had its own history, its own memories of pain.
It was like being in the belly of a great ship. Except instead
of the roar of engines, you had the beat of nearly perfect silence.
There are some places where silence hangs in heavy folds. St. Louis
City Hospital was one of those places.
If I'd been superstitious, which I am not, I would have said the
hospital was the perfect place for ghosts. There are different
kinds of ghosts. The regular kind are spirits of the dead left
behind when they should have gone to Heaven or Hell. Theologians
had been arguing over what the existence of ghosts meant for God
and the church for centuries. I don't think God is particularly
bothered by it, but the church is.
Enough people had died in this place to make it thick with real
ghosts, but I'd never seen any personally. Until a ghost wraps its
cold arms around me, I'd just as soon not believe in it.
But there is another kind of ghost. Psychic impressions, strong
emotions, soak into the walls and floors of a building. It's like
an emotional tape recorder. Sometimes with video images, sometimes
just sound, sometimes just a shiver down your spine when you walk
over a certain spot.
The old hospital was thick with shivery places. I personally had
never seen or heard anything, but walking down the hallway you knew
somewhere, near at hand, there was something. Something waiting
just out of sight, just out of hearing, just out of reach. Tonight
it was probably a vampire.
The only sounds were the scrape of feet, the brush of cloth, us
moving. There was no other sound. When it's really quiet you start
hearing things even if it's just the buzz of your own blood
pounding in your ears.
The first corner loomed before me. I was point. I'd volunteered
to be point. I had to go around the corner first. Whatever lay
around the bend, it was mine. I hate it when I play hero.
I went down on one knee, gun held in both hands, pointing up. It
didn't do any good to stick my gun around the corner first. I
couldn't shoot what I couldn't see. There are a variety of ways to
go around blind corners, none of them foolproof. It mostly matters
whether you're more afraid of getting shot or getting grabbed.
Since this was a vampire I was more worried about being grabbed and
having my throat ripped out.
I pressed my right shoulder against the wall, took a deep
breath, and threw myself forward. I didn't do a neat shoulder roll
into the hallway. I just sort of fell on my left side with the gun
held two-handed out in front of me. Trust me, this is the fastest
way to be able to aim around a corner. I wouldn't necessarily
advise it if the monsters were shooting back.
I lay in the hallway, heart pounding in my ears. The good news
was there was no vampire. The bad news was that there was a
body.
I came up to one knee, still searching the shadowed hallway for
hints of movement. Sometimes with a vampire you don't see anything,
you don't even hear it, you feel it in your shoulders and back, the
fine hairs on the back of your neck. Your body responds to rhythms
older than thought. In fact, thinking instead of doing can get you
dead.
"It's clear," I said. I was still kneeling in the middle of the
hallway, gun out, ready for bear.
"You through rolling around on the floor?" Dolph asked.
I glanced at him, then back to the hallway. There was nothing
there. It was all right. Really.
The body was wearing a pale blue uniform. A gold and black patch
on the sleeve said "Security." The man's hair was white. Heavy
jowls, a thick nose, his eyelashes like grey lace against his pale
cheeks. His throat was just so much raw meat. The spine glistened
wetly in the overhead lights. Blood splashed the green walls like a
macabre Christmas card.
There was a gun in the man's right hand. I put my back to the
left-hand wall and watched the corridor to either side until the
corners cut my view. Let the police investigate the body. My job
tonight was to keep us alive.
Dolph crouched beside the body. He leaned forward, doing a sort
of push-up to bring his face close to the gun. "It's been
fired."
"I don't smell any powder near the body," I said. I didn't look
at Dolph when I said it. I was too busy watching the corridor for
movement.
"The gun's been fired," he said. His voice sounded rough,
clogged.
I glanced down at him. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid
with some kind of pain.
"You know him, don't you?" I said.
Dolph nodded. "Jimmy Dugan. He was my partner for a few months
when I was younger than you are. He retired and couldn't make it on
the pension, so he got a job here." Dolph shook his head.
"Shit."
What could I say? "I'm sorry" didn't cut it. "I'm sorry as hell"
was a little better but it still wasn't enough. Nothing I could
think of to say was adequate. Nothing I could do would make it
better. So I stood there in the blood-spattered hall and did
nothing, said nothing.
Zerbrowski knelt beside Dolph. He put a hand on his arm. Dolph
looked up. There was a flash of some strong emotion in his eyes;
anger, pain, sadness. All the above, none of the above. I stared
down at the dead man, gun still clasped tight in his hand, and
thought of something useful to say.
"Do they give the guards here silver bullets?"
Dolph glanced up at me. No guessing this time; it was anger.
"Why?"
"The guards should have silver bullets. One of you take it, and
we'll have two guns with silver bullets."
Dolph just stared at the gun. "Zerbrowski."
Zerbrowski took the gun gently, as if afraid of waking the man.
But this vampire victim wasn't going to rise. His head lolled to
one side, muscles and tendons snapped. It looked like somebody had
scooped out the meat and skin around his spine with a big
spoon.
Zerbrowski checked the cylinder. "Silver." He rolled the
cylinder into the revolver and stood up, gun in his right hand. The
shotgun he held loosely in his left hand.
"Extra ammo?" I asked.
Zerbrowski started to kneel back down, but Dolph shook his head.
He searched the dead man. His hands were candy-coated in blood when
he was done. He tried to wipe the drying blood onto a white
handkerchief but the blood stained the lines in his hands, gathered
around his fingernails. Only soap and scrubbing would get it
off.
He said, softly, "Sorry, Jimmy." He still didn't cry. I would
have cried. But then, women have more chemicals in their tear
ducts. It makes us tear up easier than men. Honest.
"No extra ammo. Guess Jimmy thought five'd be enough for some
dumb-ass security job." His voice was warm with anger. Anger was
better than crying. If you can manage it.
I kept checking the corridor, but my eyes kept going to the dead
man. He was dead because I hadn't done my job. If I hadn't told the
ambulance drivers that the body was safe, they'd have put him in
the vault, and Jimmy Dugan wouldn't have died.
I hate it when things are my fault.
"Go," Dolph said.
I took the lead. There was another corner. I did my little
kneel-and-roll routine again. I lay half on my side, gun pointed
two-handed down the hallway. Nothing moved in the long, green
hallway. There was something lying in the floor. I saw the lower
part of the guard first. Legs in pale blue, blood drenched pants. A
head with a long brown ponytail lay to one side of the body like a
forgotten lump of meat.
I got to my feet, gun still hovering, looking for something to
aim at. Nothing moved except the blood that was still dripping down
the walls. The blood dripped slowly like rain at the end of the
day, thickening, congealing as it moved.
"'Jesus!" I wasn't sure which uniform said it, but I agreed.
The upper body had been ripped apart as if the vampire had
plunged both hands into her chest and pulled. Her spine had
shattered like Tinkertoys. Gobbets of flesh, blood, and bone
sprinkled the hallway like gruesome flower petals.
I could taste bile at the back of my throat. I breathed through
my mouth in deep, even breaths. Mistake. The air tasted like
blood—thick, warm, faintly salty. There was an underlying sourness
where the upper intestine and stomach had been broken open. Fresh
death smells like a cross between a slaughterhouse and an outhouse.
Shit and blood is what death smells like.
Zerbrowski was scanning the hallway, borrowed gun in hand. He
had four bullets. I had thirteen, plus an extra clip in my sport
bag. Where was the second guard's gun?
"Where's her gun?" I asked.
Zerbrowski's eyes flicked to me, then to the corpse, then back
to scanning the hallway. "I don't see it."
I'd never met a vampire that used a gun, but there was always a
first time. "Dolph, where's the guard's gun?"
Dolph knelt in the blood and tried to search the body. He moved
the bloody flesh and pieces of cloth around, like you'd stir it
with a spoon. Once the sight would have made me lose my lunch, but
it didn't anymore. Was it a bad sign that I didn't throw up on the
corpses anymore? Maybe.
"Spread out, look for the gun," Dolph said.
The four uniforms spread out and searched. The blond was pasty
and swallowed convulsively, but he was making it. Good for him. It
was the tall one with the prominent Adam's apple that broke first.
He slid on a piece of meat that set him down hard on his butt in a
pool of congealed blood. He scrambled to his knees and vomited
against the wall.
I was breathing quick, shallow breaths. The blood and carnage
hadn't been enough, but the sound of someone else throwing up just
might be.
I pressed my shoulders into the wall and moved towards the next
corner. I will not throw up. I will not throw up. Oh, God, please
don't let me throw up. Have you ever tried to aim a gun while
throwing your guts up? It's damn near impossible. You're helpless
until you're finished. After seeing the guards, I didn't want to be
helpless.
The blond cop was leaning against the wall. His face was shiny
with a sick sweat. He looked at me and I could read it in his eyes.
"Don't," I whispered, "please don't."
The rookie fell to his knees and that was it. I lost everything
I'd eaten that day. At least I didn't throw up on the corpse. I'd
done that once, and Zerbrowski had never let me live it down. On
that particular case, the complaint was that I'd tampered with
evidence.
If I'd been the vampire, I would have come then while half of us
were vomiting our guts out. But nothing slithered around the
corner. Nothing came screaming out of the darkness. Lucky us.
"If you're all done," Dolph said, "we need to find her gun and
what did this."
I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my coveralls. I was sweating,
but there hadn't been time to take them off. My black Nikes stuck
to the floor with little squeech sounds. There was blood on the
bottom of my shoes. Maybe the coverall wasn't such a bad idea.
What I wanted was a cool cloth. What I got was to continue down
the green hallway, making little bloody footprints behind me. I
scanned the floor and there it was, footprints going away from the
body, back down the hall towards the first guard.
"Dolph?"
"I see them," he said.
The faint footprints walked through the carnage and down the
corner, away from us. Away sounded good, but I knew better. We were
here to get up close and personal. Dammit.
Dolph knelt by the largest piece of the body. "Anita."
I walked over to him, avoiding the bloody footprints. Never step
on clues. The police don't like it.
Dolph pointed at a blackened piece of cloth. I knelt carefully,
glad that I was still in my overalls. I could kneel in all the
blood I wanted without messing my clothes. Always prepared, like a
good Boy Scout.
The woman's shirt was charred and blackened. Dolph touched the
material with the tip of his pencil. The cloth flaked in heavy
layers, cracking like stale bread. Dolph poked a hole through one
of the layers. It crumbled. A burst of ash and a sharp acrid smell
came up from the body.
"What the hell happened to her?" Dolph asked.
I swallowed, still tasting vomit at the back of my throat. This
wasn't helping. "It's not cloth."
"What is it, then?"
"Flesh."
Dolph just looked at me. He held the pencil like it might break.
"You're serious."
"Third-degree burn," I said.
"What caused this?"
"Can I borrow your pencil?" I asked.
He handed it to me without a word.
I dug at what was left of her chest. The flesh was so badly
fried that her shirt melted into it. I pushed the layers aside,
digging downward with the pencil. The body felt horribly light, and
crisp like the burned skin of a chicken. When I'd plunged half the
length of the pencil into the burn, I touched something solid. I
used the pencil to pry it upward. When it was almost at the surface
I put fingers inside the hole and pulled a lump of twisted metal
from the burned flesh.
"What is it?" Dolph asked.
"It's what's left of her cross."
"No," he said.
The lump of melted silver glinted through the black ash. "This
was her cross, Dolph. It melted into her chest, caught her clothing
on fire. What I don't understand is why the vampire kept contact
with the burning metal. The vampire should be nearly as burned as
she is, but it's not here."
"Explain that," he said.
"Animalistic vampires are like PCP addicts. They don't feel
pain. I think the vampire crushed her to his chest, the cross
touched him, burst into flames. and the vampire stayed against her,
tearing her apart while they burned. Against any normal vampire,
she would have been safe."
"So crosses can't stop this one," he said.
I stared at the lump of metal. "Apparently not."
The four uniforms were looking at the dim hallway, a little
frantically. They hadn't bargained on the crosses not working.
Neither had I. The bit about not feeling pain had been a small
footnote to one article. No one had theorized that that would mean
crosses didn't protect you. If I survived, I'd have to work up a
little article for the Vampire Quarterly. Crosses melting into
flesh, wowee.
Dolph stood up. "Keep together, people."
"The crosses don't work," one uniform said. "We gotta go back
and wait for special teams."
Dolph just looked at him. "You can go back if you want to." He
glanced down at the dead guard. "It's volunteer only. The rest of
you go back outside and wait for special teams."
The tall one nodded and touched his partner's arm. His partner
swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Dolph, then to the guard's
crispy-crittered body. He let his partner drag him away down the
hall. Back to safety and sanity. Wouldn't it have been nice if we
all could have gone? But we couldn't let something like this
escape. Even if I hadn't had an order of execution. we would have
had to kill it, rather than take the risk of letting it get
outside.
"What about you and the rookie?" Dolph asked the black cop.
"I've never run from the monsters. He's free to go back with the
others."
The blond shook his head, gun in hand, fingers mottled with
tension. "I'm staying."
The black cop gave him a smile that meant more than words. He'd
made a man's choice. Or would that be a mature person's choice?
Whatever, he was staying.
"One more corner and the vault should be in sight," I said.
Dolph glanced at the last corner. His eyes met mine and I
shrugged. I didn't know what was going to be around the corner.
This vampire was doing things that I would have said were
impossible. The rules had been changed, and not in our favor.
I hesitated on the wall farthest from the corner. I pushed my
back into the wall and slid slowly into sight, around the corner. I
was staring down a short, straight hallway. There was a gun lying
in the middle of the floor. The second guard's gun? Maybe. On the
left-hand wall there should have been a big steel door with crosses
hanging on it. The steel had exploded outward in a twisted silver
mess. They'd put the body in the vault after all. I hadn't gotten
the guards killed. They should have been safe. Nothing moved. There
was no light in the vault. It was just a blasted darkness. If there
was a vampire waiting in the room, I couldn't see it. Of course, I
wasn't all that close, either. Close did not seem to be a good
idea.
"Clear, as far as I can see," I said.
"You don't sound sure," Dolph said.
"I'm not," I said. "Peek around the corner at what's left of the
vault."
He didn't peek, but he looked. He let out a soft whistle.
Zerbrowski said, "Je-sus."
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Is it in there?" Dolph asked.
"I think so."
"You're our expert. Why don't you sound sure?" Dolph asked.
"If you would have asked me if a vampire could plow through five
feet of silver-steel with crosses hung all over the damn place, I'd
have said no way." I stared into the black hole. "But there it
is."
"Does this mean you're as confused as we are?" Zerbrowski
asked.
"Yep."
"Then we're in deep shit," he said.
Unfortunately, I agreed.
Chapter 18
The vault loomed up before us. Pitch black with a crazy vampire
waiting inside; just my cup of tea. Ri-ight.
"I'll take point now," Dolph said. He had the second guard's gun
in his hands. His own gun was tucked out of sight. He had silver
bullets now; he'd go first. Dolph was good about that. He'd never
order one of his men to do something he wouldn't do himself. Wish
Bert was like that. Bert was more likely to promise your first-born
child, then ask if it was all right with you.
Dolph hesitated at the open mouth of the vault. The darkness was
thick enough to cut. It was the absolute darkness of a cave. The
kind where you can touch your eyeballs with your fingers and not
blink.
He motioned us forward with the gun, but he went past the
darkness, farther down the hallway. The bloody footprints entered
the darkness and came back out. Bloody footprints going down the
hall, around the corner. I was getting tired of corners.
Zerbrowski and I moved up to stand on either side of Dolph. The
tension slid along my neck, shoulders. I took a deep breath and let
it out, slowly. Better. Look, my hand's not even shaking.
Dolph didn't roll around on the floor to clear the corner. He
just went around back to the wall, two-handed aim, ready for
bear.
A voice said, "Don't shoot, I'm not dead."
I knew the voice.
"It's John Burke. He's with me."
Dolph glanced back at me. "I remember him."
I shrugged; better safe then sorry. I trusted Dolph not to shoot
John by accident, but there were two cops here I'd never met.
Always err on the side of caution when it comes to firearms. Words
to survive by.
John was tall, slender, dark complected. His short hair was
perfectly black with a broad white streak in front. It was a
startling combination. He'd always been handsome, but now that he'd
shaved off his beard, he looked less like a Hollywood villain and
more like a leading man. Tall, dark, and handsome, and knew how to
kill vampires. What more could you ask for? Plenty, but that's
another story.
John came around the corner smiling. He had a gun out, and
better yet, he had his vampire kit in one hand. "I came ahead to
make sure the vampire didn't get loose while you were en
route."
"Thanks, John," I said.
He shrugged. "Just protecting the public welfare."
It was my turn to shrug. "Anything you say."
"Where's the vampire?" Dolph asked.
"I was tracking it," John said.
"How?" I asked.
"Bloody bare footprints."
Bare footprints. Sweet Jesus. The corpse didn't have shoes, but
John did. I turned towards the vault. Too late, too slow, too damn
bad.
The vampire came out of the darkness, moving too fast to see. It
was just a blur that smashed into the rookie, driving him into the
wall. He screamed, gun pressed to the vampire's chest. The gun was
loud in the hallway, echoing in the pipes. The bullets came out the
back of the vampire like they'd hit mist. Magic.
I moved forward, trying to aim without hitting the rookie. He
was screaming, one continuous sound. Blood sprayed in a warm rain.
I shot at the thing's head but it moved, incredibly fast, tossing
the man against the other wall, tearing at him. There was a lot of
yelling and movement, but it all seemed far away, slowed down. It
would all be over in a matter of moments. I was the only one close
enough with silver bullets. I stepped in, body brushing the
vampire, and put the barrel to the back of its skull. A normal
vampire wouldn't have let me do it. I pulled the trigger, but the
vampire whirled, lifting the man off his feet, throwing him into
me. The bullet went wide and we crashed to the floor. The air was
knocked out of me for a second with the weight of two adult males
on my chest. The rookie was on top of me, screaming, bleeding,
dying.
I wedged the gun against the back of the vamp's skull and fired.
The back of the head exploded outward in a fine spray of blood,
bone, and heavier, wetter things. The vampire kept digging at the
man's throat. It should have been dead, but it wasn't.
The vampire reared back, blood-clotted teeth straining. It had
paused like a man breathing between swallows. I shoved the barrel
in its mouth. The teeth grated on the metal. The face exploded from
the upper lip to the top of the head. The lower teeth mouthed the
air but couldn't get a bite. The headless body raised up on its
hands, as if trying to get up. I touched the gun to its chest and
pulled the trigger. At this distance I might be able to take out
its heart. I'd never actually tried to take out a vampire using
just a pistol. I wondered if it would work. I wondered what would
happen to me if it didn't.
A shudder ran through the thing's body. It breathed outward in a
long, wordless sigh.
Dolph and Zerbrowski were there dragging the thing backwards. I
think it was dead already, but just in case, the help was
appreciated. John splashed the vampire with holy water. The liquid
bubbled and fizzed on the dying vampire. It was dying. It really
was.
The rookie wasn't moving. His partner dragged him off me,
cradling him against his chest like a child. Blood plastered the
blond hair to his face. The pale eyes were wide open, staring at
nothing. The dead are always blind, one way or another.
He'd been brave, a good kid, though he wasn't that much younger
than me. But I felt about a million years old staring into his
pale, dead face. He was dead, just like that. Being brave doesn't
save you from the monsters. It just ups your chances.
Dolph and Zerbrowski had taken the vampire to the floor. John
was actually straddling the body with a stake and mallet in hand. I
hadn't used a stake in years. Shotgun was my choice. But then, I
was a progressive vampire slayer.
The vampire was dead. It didn't need to be staked, but I just
sat against the wall and watched. Better safe than sorry. The stake
went in easier than normal because I'd made a hole for it. My gun
was still in my hand. No need to put it up yet. The vault was still
an empty blackness; where there was one vampire there were often
more. I'd keep the gun out.
Dolph and Zerbrowski went to the ruined vault, guns out. I
should have gotten up and gone with them, but it seemed very
important right now just to breathe. I could feel the blood pumping
through my veins; every pulse in my body was loud. It was good to
be alive; too bad I hadn't been able to save the kid. Yeah, too
bad.
John knelt beside me. "You all right?"
I nodded. "Sure."
He looked at me like he didn't believe it, but he let it go.
Smart man.
The light flashed on in the vault. Rich, yellow light, warm as a
summer's day. "Jesus," Zerbrowski said.
I stood up, and nearly fell; my legs were shaky. John caught my
arm, and I stared at him until he let go. He gave a half-smile.
"Still a hard case."
"Always," I said.
There had been two dates between us. Mistake. It made working
together more awkward, and he couldn't cope with me being a female
version of him. He had this old southern idea of what a lady should
be. A lady should not carry a gun and spend most of her time
covered in blood and corpses. I had two words for that attitude.
Yeah, those are the words.
There was a large fish tank smashed against one wall. It had
held guinea pigs, or rats, or rabbits. All it held now were bright
splashes of blood and bits of fur. Vampires don't eat meat, but if
you put small animals in a glass container, then throw it against
the wall, you get diced small animals. There wasn't enough left to
scoop up with a spoon.
There was a head near the glass mess, probably male, judging
from the short hair and style. I didn't go any closer to check. I
didn't want to see the face. I'd have been brave tonight. I had
nothing left to prove.
The body was in one piece, barely. It looked like the vampire
had shoved both hands into the chest, grabbed a handful of ribs and
pulled. The chest was nearly torn in two, but a band of pink muscle
tissue and intestine held it together.
"The head's got fangs," Zerbrowski said.
"It's the vampire counsellor," I said.
"What happened?"
I shrugged. "At a guess, the counsellor was leaning over the
vamp when it rose. It killed him, quick and messy."
"Why'd it kill the vampire counsellor?" Dolph asked.
I shrugged. "It was more animal than human, Dolph. It woke up in
a strange place with a strange vampire leaning over it. It reacted
like any trapped animal and protected itself."
"Why couldn't the counsellor control it? That's what he was here
for."
"The only person who can control an animalistic vampire is the
master who made it. The counsellor wasn't powerful enough to
control it."
"Now what?" John asked. He'd put up his gun. I still hadn't. I
felt better with it out for some reason.
"Now I go make my third animation appointment of the
evening."
"Just like that?"
I looked up at him, ready to be angry at somebody. "What do you
want me to do, John? Fall into a screaming fit? That wouldn't bring
back the dead, and it would annoy the hell out of me."
He sighed. "If you only matched your packaging."
I put my gun back in the shoulder holster, smiled at him, and
said, "Fuck you."
Yeah, those are the words.
Chapter 19
I had washed most of the blood off my face and hands in the
bathroom at the morgue. The bloodstained coveralls were in my
trunk. I was clean and presentable, or as presentable as I was
going to get tonight. Bert had said to meet the new guy at my third
appointment for the night. Oakglen Cemetery, ten o'clock. The
theory was that the new man already raised two zombies and would
just watch me raise the third one. Fine with me.
It was 10:35 before I pulled into Oakglen Cemetery. Late.
Dammit. It'd make a great impression on the new animator, not to
mention my client. Mrs. Doughal was a recent widow. Like five days
recent. Her dearly departed husband had left no will. He'd always
meant to get around to it, but you know how it is, just kept
putting it off. I was to raise Mr. Doughal in front of two lawyers,
two witnesses, the Doughals' three grown children, and a partridge
in a pear tree. They'd made a ruling just last month that the newly
dead, a week or less, could be raised and verbally order a will. It
would save the Doughals half their inheritance. Minus lawyer fees,
of course.
There was a line of cars pulled over to the side of the narrow
gravel road. The tires were playing hell with the grass, but if you
didn't park off to one side, nobody could use the road. Of course,
how many people needed to use a cemetery road at 10:30 at night?
Animators, voodoo priests, pot-smoking teenagers, necrophiliacs,
satanists. You had to be a member of a legitimate religion and have
a permit to worship in a cemetery after dark. Or be an animator. We
didn't need a permit. Mainly because we didn't have a reputation
for human sacrifice. A few bad apples have really given voodooists
a bad name. Being Christian, I sort of frown on satanism. I mean,
they are, after all, the bad guys. Right?
As soon as my foot hit the road, I felt it. Magic. Someone was
trying to raise the dead, and they were very near at hand.
The new guy had already raised two zombies. Could he do a
third?
Charles and Jamison could only do two a night. Where had Bert
found someone this powerful on such short notice?
I walked past five cars, not counting my own. There were nearly
a dozen people pressed around the grave. The women were in
skirt-suits; the men all wore ties. It was amazing how many people
dressed up to come to the graveyard. The only reason most people
come to the graveyard is for a funeral. A lot of clients dress for
one, semiformal, basic black.
It was a man's voice leading the mourners in rising calls of,
"Andrew Doughal, arise. Come to us, Andrew Doughal, come to
us."
The magic built on the air until it pressed against me like a
weight. It was hard to get a full breath. His magic rode the air,
and it was strong, but uncertain. I could feel his hesitation like
a touch of cold air. He would be powerful, but he was young. His
magic tasted untried, undisciplined. If he wasn't under twenty-one,
I'd eat my hat.
That's how Bert had found him. He was a baby, a powerful baby.
And he was raising his third zombie of the night. Hot damn.
I stayed in the shadows under the tall trees. He was short,
maybe an inch or two taller than me, which made him five-four at
best. He wore a white dress shirt and dark slacks. Blood had dried
on the shirt in nearly black stains. I'd have to teach him how to
dress, as Manny had taught me. Animating is still on an informal
apprenticeship. There are no college courses to teach you how to
raise the dead.
He was very earnest as he stood there calling Andrew Doughal
from the grave. The crowd of lawyers and relatives huddled at the
foot of the grave. There was no family member inside the blood
circle with the new animator. Normally, you put a family member
behind the tombstone so he or she could control the zombie. This
way, only the animator could control it. But it wasn't an
oversight, it was the law. The dead could be raised to request and
dictate a will but only if the animator, or some neutral party, had
control of it.
The mound of flowers shuddered and a pale hand shot upward,
grabbing at the air. Two hands, the top of a head. The zombie
spilled from the grave like it was being pulled by strings.
The new animator stumbled. He fell to his knees in the soft dirt
and dying flowers. The magic stuttered, wavering. He'd bitten off
one zombie more than he could finish. The dead man was still
struggling from the grave. Still trying to get its legs free, but
there was no one controlling it. Lawrence Kirkland had raised the
zombie, but he couldn't control it. The zombie would be on its own
with no one to make it mind. Uncontrolled zombies give animators a
bad name.
One of the lawyers was saying, "Are you all right?"
Lawrence Kirkland nodded his head, but he was too exhausted to
speak. Did he even now realize what he'd done? I didn't think so.
He wasn't scared enough.
I walked up to the huddled group. "Ms. Blake, we missed you,"
the lawyer said. "Your . . . associate seems to be ill."
I gave them my best professional smile. See nothing wrong. A
zombie isn't about to go amuck. Trust me.
I walked to the edge of the blood circle. I could feel it like a
wind pushing me back. The circle was shut, and I was on the
outside. I couldn't get in unless Lawrence asked me in.
He was on all fours, hands lost in the flowers of the grave. His
head hung down, as if he was too tired to raise it. He probably
was.
"Lawrence," I said softly, "Lawrence Kirkland."
He turned his head in slow motion. Even in the dark I could see
the exhaustion in his pale eyes. His arms were trembling. God, help
us.
I leaned in close so the audience couldn't hear what I said.
We'd try to keep the illusion that this was just business as usual,
as long as I could. If we were lucky, the zombie would just wander
away. If we weren't lucky, it would hurt someone. The dead are
usually pretty forgiving of the living, but not always. If Andrew
Doughal hated one of his relatives, it would be a long night.
"Lawrence, you have to break the circle and let me in," I
said.
He just stared at me, eyes dull, no glimmer of understanding.
Shit.
"Break the circle, Lawrence, now."
The zombie was free to its knees. Its white dress shirt gleamed
against the darkness of the burial suit. Uncomfortable for all
eternity. Doughal looked pretty good for the walking dead. He was
pale with thick grey hair. The skin was wavy, pale, but there were
no signs of rot. The kid had done a good job for the third zombie
of the night. Now if only I could control it, we were home
free.
"Lawrence, break the circle, please!"
He said something, too low for me to hear. I leaned as close as
the blood would let me get and said, "What?"
"Larry, name's Larry."
I smiled, it was too ridiculous. He was worried about me calling
him Lawrence instead of Larry with a rogue zombie climbing out of
the dirt. Maybe he'd snapped under the pressure. Naw.
"Open the circle, Larry," I said.
He crawled forward, nearly falling face first into the flowers.
He scraped his hand across the line of blood. The magic snapped.
The circle of power was gone, just like that. Now it was just
me.
"Where's your knife?"
He tried to look back over his shoulder but couldn't manage it.
I saw the blade gleam in the moonlight on the other side of the
grave.
"Just rest," I said. "I'll take care of it."
He collapsed into a little ball, hugging his arms around
himself, as if he was cold. I let him go, for now. The first order
of business had to be the zombie.
The knife was lying beside the gutted chicken he'd used to call
the zombie. I grabbed the knife and faced the zombie over the
grave. Andrew Doughal was leaning against his own tombstone, trying
to orient himself.
It's hard on a person, being dead; it takes a few minutes to
wake up the dead brain cells. The mind doesn't quite believe that
it should work. But it will, eventually.
I pushed back the sleeve of my leather jacket and took a deep
breath. It was the only way, but I didn't have to like it. I drew
the blade across my wrist. A thin, dark line appeared. The skin
split and blood trickled out, nearly black in the moonlight. The
pain was sharp, stinging. Small wounds always felt worse than big
ones . . . at first.
The wound was small and wouldn't leave a scar. Short of slitting
my wrist, or someone else's, I couldn't remake the blood circle. It
was too late in the ceremony to get another chicken and start over.
I had to salvage this ceremony, or the zombie would be free with no
boss. Zombies without bosses tended to eat people.
The zombie was still sitting on its tombstone. It stared at
nothing with empty eyes. If Larry had been strong enough, Andrew
Doughal might have been able to talk, to reason on his own. Now he
was just a corpse waiting for orders, or a stray thought.
I climbed onto the mound of gladioluses, chrysanthemums,
carnations. The perfume of flowers mixed with the stale smell of
the corpse. I stood knee-deep in dying flowers and waved my
bleeding wrist in front of the zombie's face.
The pale eyes followed my hand, flat and dead as day-old fish.
Andrew Doughal was not home, but something was, something that
smelled blood and knew its worth.
I know that zombies don't have souls. In fact, I can only raise
the dead after three days. It takes that long for the soul to
leave. Incidentally, the same amount of time it takes for vampires
to rise. Fancy that.
But if it isn't the soul reanimating the corpse, then what is
it? Magic, my magic, or Larry's. Maybe. But there was something in
the corpse. If the soul was gone, something filled the void. In an
animation that worked, magic filled it. Now? Now I didn't know. I
wasn't even sure I wanted to know. What did it matter as long as I
pulled the fat out of the fire? Yeah. Maybe if I kept repeating
that, I'd even believe it.
I offered the corpse my bleeding wrist. The thing hesitated for
a second. If it refused, I was out of options.
The zombie stared at me. I dropped the knife and squeezed the
skin around the wound. Blood welled out, thick and viscous. The
zombie snatched at my hand. Its pale hands were cold and strong.
Its head bowed over the wound, mouth sucking. It fed at my wrist,
jaws working convulsively, swallowing as hard and as fast as it
could. I was going to have the world's worst hickey. But at least
it hurt.
I tried to draw my hand away, but the zombie just sucked harder.
It didn't want to let go. Great.
"Larry, can you stand?" I asked softly. We were still trying to
pretend that nothing had gone wrong. The zombie had accepted blood.
I controlled it now, if I could get it to let go.
Larry looked up at me in slow motion. "Sure," he said. He got to
his feet using the burial mound for support. When he was standing,
he asked, "What now?"
Good question. "Help me get it loose." I tried to pull my wrist
free, but the thing hung on for dear life.
Larry wrapped his arms around the corpse and pulled. It didn't
help.
"Try the head," I said.
He tried pulling back on the corpse's hair, but zombies don't
feel pain. Larry pried a finger along the corpse's mouth, breaking
the suction with a little pop. Larry looked like he was going to be
sick. Poor him; it was my arm.
He wiped his finger on his dress slacks, as if he had touched
something slimy. I wasn't sympathetic.
The knife wound was already red. It would be a hell of a bruise
tomorrow.
The zombie stood on top of its grave, staring at me. There was
life in the eyes; someone was home. The trick was, was it the right
someone?
"Are you Andrew Doughal?" I asked.
He licked his lips and said, "I am." It was a rough voice. A
voice for ordering people about. I wasn't impressed. It was my
blood that gave him the voice. The dead really are mute, really do
forget who and what they are, until they taste fresh blood. Homer
was right; makes you wonder what else was true in the Iliad.
I put pressure on the knife wound with my other hand and stepped
back, off the grave. "He'll answer your questions now," I said.
"But keep them simple. He's been mostly dead all day."
The lawyers didn't smile. I guess I didn't blame them. I waved
them forward. They hung back. Squeamish lawyers? Surely not.
Mrs. Doughal poked her lawyer in the arm. "Get on with it. This
is costing a fortune."
I started to say we don't charge by the minute, but for all I
knew Bert had arranged for the longer the corpse was up, the more
expensive it was. That actually was a good idea. Andrew Doughal was
fine tonight. He answered questions in his cultured, articulate
voice. If you ignored the way his skin glistened in the moonlight,
he looked alive. But give it a few days, or weeks. He'd rot; they
all rotted. If Bert had figured out a way to make clients put the
dead back in their graves before pieces started to fall off, so
much the better.
There were few things as sad as the family bringing dear old mom
back to the cemetery with expensive perfume covering up the smell
of decay. The worst was the client who had bathed her husband
before bringing him back. She had to bring most of his flesh in a
plastic garbage sack. The meat had just slid off the bone in the
warm water.
Larry moved back, stumbling over a flowerpot. I caught him, and
he fell against me, still unsteady.
He smiled. "Thanks . . . for everything." He stared at me, our
faces inches apart. A trickle of sweat oozed down his face in the
cold October night.
"You got a coat?"
"In my car."
"Get it and put it on. You'll catch your death sweating in this
cold."
His smile flashed into a grin. "Anything you say, boss."' His
eyes were bigger than they should have been, a lot of white
showing. "You pulled me back from the edge. I won't forget."
"Gratitude is great, kid, but go get your coat. You can't work
if you're home sick with the flu."
Larry nodded and started slowly towards the cars. He was still
unsteady, but he was moving. The flow of blood had almost stopped
on my wrist. I wondered if I had a Band-Aid in my car big enough to
cover it. I shrugged and started to follow Larry towards the cars.
The lawyers' deep, courtroom voices filled the October dark. Words
echoing against the trees. Who the hell were they trying to
impress? The corpse didn't care.
Chapter 20
Larry and I sat on the cool autumn grass watching the lawyers
draw up the will. "They're so serious," he said.
"It's their job to be serious," I said.
"Being a lawyer means you can't have a sense of humor?"
"Absolutely," I said.
He grinned. His short, curly hair was a red so bright, it was
nearly orange. His eyes were blue and soft as a spring sky. I'd
seen both hair and eyes in the dome light from our cars. Back in
the dark he looked grey-eyed and brown-haired. I'd hate to have to
give a witness description of someone I only saw in the dark.
Larry Kirkland had that milk-pale complexion of some redheads. A
thick sprinkling of golden freckles completed the look. He looked
like an overgrown Howdy Doody puppet. I mean that in a cute way.
Being short, really short for a man, I was sure he wouldn't like
being called cute. It was one of my least favorite endearments. I
think if all short people could vote, the word "cute" would be
stricken from the English language. I know it would get my
vote.
"How long have you been an animator?" I asked.
He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. "About eight
hours."
I stared at him. "This is your first job, anywhere?"
He nodded. "Didn't Mr. Vaughn tell you about me?"
"Bert just said he'd hired another animator named Lawrence
Kirkland."
"I'm in my senior year at Washington University, and this is my
semester of job co-op."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty; why?"
"You're not even legal," I said.
"So I can't drink or go in porno theaters. No big loss, unless
the job takes us to places like that." He looked at me and leaned
in. "Does the job take us to porno theaters?" His face was
neutrally pleasant, and I couldn't tell if he was teasing or not. I
gambled that he was kidding.
"Twenty is fine." I shook my head.
"You don't look like twenty's fine," he said.
"It's not your age that bothers me," I said.
"But something bothers you."
I wasn't sure how to put it into words, but there was something
pleasant and humorous in his face. It was a face that laughed more
often than it cried. He looked bright and clean as a new penny, and
I didn't want that to change. I didn't want to be the one who
forced him to get down in the dirt and roll.
"Have you ever lost someone close to you? Family, I mean?"
The humor slipped away from his face. He looked like a solemn
little boy. "You're serious."
"Deadly," I said.
He shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Just answer the question. Have you ever lost someone close to
you?"
He shook his head. "I've even got all my grandparents."
"Have you ever seen violence up close and personal?"
"I got into fights in high school."
"Why?"
He grinned. "They thought short meant weak."
I had to smile. "And you showed them different."
"Hell, no; they beat the crap out of me for four years." He
smiled.
"You ever win a fight?"
"Sometimes," he said.
"But the winning's not the important part," I said.
He looked very steadily at me, eyes serious. "No, it's not."
There was a moment of nearly perfect understanding between us. A
shared history of being the smallest kid in class. Years of being
the last picked for sports. Being the automatic victim for bullies.
Being short can make you mean. I was sure that we understood each
other but, being female, I had to verbalize it. Men do a lot of
this mind-reading shit, but sometimes you're wrong. I needed to
know.
"The important part is taking the beating and not giving up," I
said.
He nodded. "Takes a beating and keeps on ticking."
Now that I'd spoiled our first moment of perfect understanding
by making us both verbalize, I was happy. "Other than school
fights, you've never seen violence?"
"I go to rock concerts."
I shook my head. "Not the same."
"You got a point to make?" he asked.
"You should never have tried to raise a third zombie."
"I did it, didn't I?" He sounded defensive, but I pressed on.
When I have a point to make, I may not be graceful, but I'm
relentless.
"You raised and lost control of it. If I hadn't come along, the
zombie would have broken free and hurt someone."
"It's just a zombie. They don't attack people."
I stared at him, trying to see if he was kidding. He wasn't.
Shit. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
I covered my face with my hands and counted to ten, slowly. It
wasn't Larry I was mad at, it was Bert, but Larry was so convenient
for yelling. I'd have to wait until tomorrow to yell at Bert, but
Larry was right here. How lucky.
"The zombie had broken free of your control, Larry. If I hadn't
come along and fed it blood, it would have found blood on its own.
Do you understand?"
"I don't think so."
I sighed. "The zombie would have attacked someone. Taken a bite
out of someone."
"Zombies attacking humans is just superstition, ghost
stories."
"Is that what they're teaching in college now?" I asked.
"Yes."
"I'll loan you some back copies of The Animator. Trust
me, Larry, zombies do attack people. I've seen people killed by
them."
"You're just trying to scare me," he said.
"Scared would be better than stupid."
"I raised it. What do you want from me?" He looked completely
baffled.
"I want you to understand what nearly happened here tonight. I
want you to understand that what we do isn't a game. It's not
parlor tricks. It's real, and it can be dangerous."
"All right," he said. He'd given in too easily. He didn't really
believe. He was humoring me. But there are some things you can't
tell someone. He, or she, has to learn some things in person. I
wished I could wrap Larry up in cellophane and keep him on a shelf,
all safe and secure and untouched, but life didn't work that way.
If he stayed in this business long enough, the new would wear off.
But you can't tell someone who's reached twenty and never been
touched by death. They don't believe in the boogeyman.
At twenty I'd believed in everything. I suddenly felt old.
Larry pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.
"Please tell me you don't smoke," I said.
He looked up at me, eyes sort of wide and startled. "You don't
smoke?"
"No."
"You don't like people to smoke around you?" He made it a
question.
"No," I said.
"Look, I feel pretty awful right now. I need the cigarette,
okay?"
"Need it?"
"Yeah, need it." He had one slender white cigarette between two
fingers of his right hand. The pack had disappeared back into his
pocket. A disposable lighter had appeared. He looked at me very
steadily. His hands were shaking just a bit.
Shit. He'd raised three zombies on his first night out, and I
was going to be talking to Bert about the wisdom of sending Larry
out on his own.
Besides, we were outside. "Go ahead."
"Thanks."
He lit the cigarette and drew a deep breath of nicotine and tar.
Smoke curled out of his mouth and nose, like pale ghosts. "Feel
better already," he said.
I shrugged. "Just so you don't smoke in the car with me."
"No problem," he said. The tip of his cigarette pulsed orange in
the dark as he sucked on it. He looked past me, letting smoke curl
from his lips as he said, "We're being paged."
I turned and, sure enough, the lawyers were waving at us. I felt
like a janitor being called in to clean up the messy necessities. I
stood up, and Larry followed me.
"You sure you feel well enough for this?" I asked.
"I couldn't raise a dead ant, but I think I'm up to watching you
do it."
There were bruises under his eyes and the skin was too tight
around his mouth, but if he wanted to play macho man who was I to
stop him? "Great; let's do it."
I got salt out of my trunk. It was perfectly legal to carry
zombie-raising supplies. I suppose the machete that I used for
beheading chickens could be used as a weapon, but the rest of the
stuff was considered harmless. Shows you what the legal system
knows about zombies.
Andrew Doughal had recovered himself. He still looked a little
waxy, but his face was serious, concerned, alive. He smoothed a
hand down the stylish lapel of his suit coat. He looked down at me,
not just because he was taller but because he was good at looking
down. Some people have a real talent for being condescending.
"Do you know what's happening, Mr. Doughal?" I asked the
zombie.
He looked down his narrow patrician nose. "I am going home with
my wife."
I sighed. I hated it when zombies didn't realize they were dead.
They acted so . . . human.
"Mr. Doughal, do you know why you're in a cemetery?"
"What's happening?" one of the lawyers asked.
"He's forgotten that he's dead," I said softly.
The zombie stared at me, perfectly arrogant. He must have been a
real pain in the ass when he was alive, but even assholes are
piteous once in a while.
"I don't know what you are babbling about," the zombie said.
"You obviously are suffering from some delusion."
"Can you explain why you are here in a cemetery?" I asked.
"I don't have to explain anything to you."
"Do you remember how you got to the cemetery?"
"We . . . we drove, of course." The first hint of unease wavered
through his voice.
"You're guessing, Mr. Doughal. You don't really remember driving
to the cemetery, do you?"
"I . . . I . . ." He looked at his wife, his grown children, but
they were walking to their cars. No one even looked back. He was
dead, no getting around that, but most families didn't just walk
away. They might be horrified, or saddened, or even sickened, but
they were never neutral. The Doughals had gotten the will signed,
and they were leaving. They had their inheritance. Let good ol' dad
crawl back into his grave.
He called, "Emily?"
She hesitated, stiffening, but one of her sons grabbed her arm
and hurried her toward the cars. Was he embarrassed, or scared?
"I want to go home," he yelled after them. The arrogance had
leaked away, and all that was left was that sickening fear, the
desperate need not to believe. He felt so alive. How could he
possibly be dead?
His wife half-turned. "Andrew, I'm sorry." Her grown children
hustled her into the nearest car. You would have thought they were
the getaway drivers for a bank robbery, they peeled out so
fast.
The lawyers and secretaries left as fast as was decent.
Everybody had what they'd come for. They were done with the corpse.
The trouble was that the "corpse" was staring after them like a
child who was left in the dark.
Why couldn't he have stayed an arrogant SOB?
"Why are they leaving me?" he asked.
"You died, Mr. Doughal, nearly a week ago."
"No, it's not true."
Larry moved up beside me. "You really are dead, Mr. Doughal. I
raised you from the dead myself."
He stared from one to the other of us. He was beginning to run
out of excuses. "I don't feel dead."
"Trust us, Mr. Doughal, you are dead," I said.
"Will it hurt?"
A lot of zombies asked that; will it hurt to go back into the
grave? "No, Mr. Doughal, it doesn't hurt. I promise."
He took a deep, shaking breath and nodded. "I'm dead, really
dead?"
"Yes."
"Then put me back, please." He had rallied and found his
dignity. It was nightmarish when the zombie refused to believe. You
could still lay them to rest, but the clients had to hold them down
on the grave while they screamed. I'd only had that happen twice,
but I remembered each time as if it had happened last night. Some
things don't dim with time.
I threw salt against his chest. It sounded like sleet hitting a
roof. "With salt I bind you to your grave."
I had the still-bloody knife in my hand. I wiped the gelling
blood across his lips. He didn't jerk away. He believed. "With
blood and steel I bind you to your grave, Andrew Doughal. Be at
peace, and walk no more."
The zombie laid full length on the mound of flowers. The flowers
seemed to flow over him like quicksand, and just like that he was
swallowed back into the grave.
We stood there a minute in the empty graveyard. The only sounds
were the wind sighing high up in the trees and the melancholy song
of the year's last crickets. In Charlotte's Web, the
crickets sang, "Summer is over and gone. Over and gone, over and
gone. Summer is dying, dying." The first hard frost, and the
crickets would be dying. They were like Chicken Little, who told
everyone the sky was falling; except in this case, the crickets
were right.
The crickets stopped suddenly like someone had turned a switch.
I held my breath, straining to hear. There was nothing but the
wind, and yet . . . My shoulders were so tight they hurt.
"Larry?"
He turned innocent eyes to me. "What?"
There, three trees to our left, a man's figure was silhouetted
against the moonlight. I caught movement out of the corner of my
eye, on the right side. More than one. The darkness felt alive with
eyes. More than two.
I used Larry's body to shield me from the eyes, drawing my gun,
holding it along my leg so it wouldn't be obvious.
Larry's eyes widened. "Jesus, what's wrong?" His voice was a
hoarse whisper. He didn't give us away. Good for him. I started
herding him towards the cars, slowly, just your friendly
neighborhood animators finished with their night's work and going
home to a well-deserved rest.
"There are people out here."
"After us?"
"After me, more likely," I said.
"Why?"
I shook my head. "No time for explanations. When I say run, run
like hell for the cars."
"How do you know they mean to hurt us?" His eyes were flashing a
lot of white. He saw them now, too. Shadows moving closer, people
out in the dark.
"How do you know they don't mean to hurt us?" I asked.
"Good point," he said. His breathing was fast and shallow. We
were maybe twenty feet from the cars.
"Run," I said.
"What?" his voice sounded startled.
I grabbed his arm and dragged him into a run for the cars. I
pointed the gun at the ground, still hoping whoever it was wouldn't
be prepared for a gun.
Larry was running on his own, puffing a little from fear,
smoking, and maybe he didn't run four miles every other day.
A man stepped in front of the cars. He brought up a large
revolver. The Browning was already moving. It fired before my aim
was steady. The muzzle flashed brilliant in the dark. The man
jumped, not used to being shot at. His shot whined into the
darkness to our left. He froze for the seconds it took me to aim
and fire again. Then he crumpled to the ground and didn't get up
again.
"Shit." Larry breathed it like a sigh.
A voice yelled, "She's got a gun."
"Where's Martin?"
"She shot him."
I guess Martin was the one with the gun. He still wasn't moving.
I didn't know if I killed him or not. I wasn't sure I cared, as
long as he didn't get up and shoot at us again.
My car was closer. I shoved car keys into Larry's hands. "Open
the door, open the passenger side door, then start the car. Do you
understand me?"
He nodded, freckles standing out in the pale circle of his face.
I had to trust that he wouldn't panic and take off without me. He
wouldn't do it out of malice, just fear.
Figures were converging from all directions. There had to be a
dozen or more. The sound of running feet whispering on grass came
over the wind.
Larry stepped over the body. I kicked a .45 away from the limp
hand. The gun slid out of sight under the car. If I hadn't been
pressed for time, I'd have checked his pulse. I always like to know
if I've killed someone. Makes the police report go so much
smoother.
Larry had the car door open and was leaning over to unlock the
passenger side door. I aimed at one of the running figures and
pulled the trigger. The figure stumbled, fell, and started
screaming. The others hesitated. They weren't used to being shot
at. Poor babies.
I slid into the car and yelled, "Drive, drive, drive!"
Larry peeled out in a spray of gravel. The car fishtailed,
headlights swaying crazily. "Don't wrap us around a tree,
Larry."
His eyes flicked to me. "Sorry." The car slowed from
stomach-turning speed to grab-the-door-handle-and-hold-on speed. We
were staying between the trees; that was something.
The headlights bounced off trees; tombstones flashed white. The
car skidded around a curve, gravel spitting. A man stood framed in
the middle of the road. Jeremy Ruebens of Humans First stood pale
and shining in the lights. He stood in the middle of a flat stretch
of road. If we could make the turn beyond him, we'd be out on the
highway and safe.
The car was slowing down.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I can't just hit him," Larry said.
"The hell you can't."
"I can't!" His voice wasn't outraged, it was scared.
"He's just playing chicken with us, Larry. He'll move."
"Are you sure?" A little boy's voice asking if there really was
a monster in the closet.
"I'm sure; now floor it and get us out of here."
He pressed down on the accelerator. The car jumped forward,
rushing toward the small, straight figure of Jeremy Ruebens.
"He's not moving," Larry said.
"He'll move," I said.
"Are you sure?"
"Trust me."
His eyes flicked to me, then back to the road. "You better be
right," he whispered.
I believed Ruebens would move. Honest. But even if he wasn't
bluffing, the only way out was either past him or through him. It
was Ruebens's choice.
The headlights bathed him in glaring white light. His small,
dark features glared at us. He wasn't moving.
"He isn't moving," Larry said.
"He'll move," I said.
"Shit," Larry said. I couldn't have agreed more.
The headlights roared up onto Jeremy Ruebens, and he threw
himself to one side. There was the sound of brushing cloth as his
coat slid along the car's side. Close, damn close.
Larry picked up speed and swung us around the last corner and
into the last straight stretch. We spilled out onto the highway in
a shower of gravel and spinning tires. But we were out of the
cemetery. We'd made it. Thank you, God.
Larry's hands were white on the steering wheel. "You can ease
down now," I said. "We're safe."
He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it, then nodded. The car
started gradually approaching the speed limit. His face was beaded
with sweat that had nothing to do with the cool October
evening.
"You all right?"
"I don't know." His voice sounded sort of hollow. Shock.
"You did good back there."
"I thought I was going to run over him. I thought I was going to
kill him with the car."
"He thought so, too, or he wouldn't have moved," I said.
He looked at me. "What if he hadn't moved?"
"He did move."
"But what if he hadn't?"
"Then we would have gone over him, and we'd still be on the
highway, safe."
"You would have let me run him down, wouldn't you?"
"Survival is the name of the game, Larry. If you can't deal with
that, find another business to be in."
"Animators don't get shot at."
"Those were members of Humans First, a right-wing fanatic group
that hates anything to do with the supernatural." So I was leaving
out about the personal visit from Jeremy Ruebens. What the kid
didn't know might not hurt him.
I stared at his pale face. He looked hollow-eyed. He'd met the
dragon, a little dragon as dragons go, but once you've seen
violence, you're never the same again. The first time you have to
decide, live or die, us or them, it changes you forever. No going
back. I stared at Larry's shocked face and wished it could have
been different. I wished I could have kept him shining, new, and
hopeful. But as my Grandmother Blake used to say, "If wishes were
horses, we'd all ride."
Larry had had his first taste of my world. The only question
was, would he want a second dose, or would he run? Run or go, stay
or fight, age-old questions. I wasn't sure which way I wanted Larry
to choose. He might live longer if he got the hell away from me,
but then again maybe he wouldn't. Heads they win, tails you
lose.
Chapter 21
"What about my car?" Larry asked.
I shrugged. "You've got insurance, right?"
"Yes, but . . ."
"Since they couldn't trash us, they may decide to trash your
car."
He looked at me as if he wasn't sure whether I was kidding. I
wasn't.
There was a bicycle in front of us suddenly, out of the dark. A
child's pale face flashed in the headlights. "Watch out!"
Larry's eyes flicked back to the road in time to see the kid's
wide, startled eyes. The brakes squealed, and the child vanished
from the narrow arch of lights. There was a crunch and a bump
before the car skidded to a stop. Larry was breathing heavy; I
wasn't breathing at all.
The cemetery was just on our right. We were too close to stop,
but . . . but, shit, it was a kid.
I stared out the back window. The bicycle was a crumpled mess.
The child lay in a very still heap. God, please don't let him be
dead.
I didn't think Humans First had enough imagination to have a
child in reserve as bait. If it was a trap, it was a good one,
because I couldn't leave the tiny figure crumpled by the road.
Larry was gripping the steering wheel so hard his arms shook. If
I thought he'd been pale before, I'd been wrong. He looked like a
sick ghost.
"Is he . . . hurt?" His voice squeezed out deep and rough with
something like tears. It wasn't hurt he'd wanted to say. He just
couldn't bring himself to use the big "D" word. Not yet, not if he
could help it.
"Stay in the car," I said.
Larry didn't answer. He just sat there staring at his hands. He
wouldn't look at me. But, dammit, this wasn't my fault. The fact
that he'd lost his cherry tonight was not my fault. So why did it
feel like it was?
I got out of the car, Browning ready in case the crazies decided
to chase us onto the road. They could have gotten the .45 and be
coming to shoot us.
The child hadn't moved. I was just too far away to see the chest
rise and fall. Yeah, that was it. I was maybe a yard away.
Please be alive.
The child lay sprawled on its stomach, one arm trapped
underneath, probably broken. I scanned the dark cemetery as I knelt
by the child. No right-wing crazies came swarming out of the
darkness. The child was dressed in the proverbial little boy's
outfit of striped shirt, shorts, and tiny running shoes. Who had
sent him out dressed for summer on this cold night? His mother. Had
some woman dressed him, loved him, sent him out to die?
His curly brown hair was silken, baby-fine. The skin of his neck
was cool to the touch. Shock? It was too soon to be cold from
death. I waited for the big pulse in his neck, but nothing
happened. Dead. Please, God, please.
His head raised up, and a soft sound came out of his mouth.
Alive. Thank you, God.
He tried to roll over but fell back against the road. He cried
out.
Larry was out of the car, coming towards us. "Is he all
right?"
"He's alive," I said.
The boy was determined to roll over, so I grabbed his shoulders
and helped. I tried to keep his right arm in against his body. I
had a glimpse of huge brown eyes, round baby face, and in his right
hand was a knife bigger than he was. He whispered, "Tell him to
come help move me." Tiny little fangs showed between baby lips. The
knife pressed against my stomach over the sport bag. The point slid
underneath the leather jacket to touch the shirt underneath. I had
one of those frozen moments when time stretches out in slow-mo
nightmare. I had all the time in the world to decide whether to
betray Larry, or die. Never give anyone to the monsters; it's a
rule. I opened my mouth and screamed, "Run!"
The vampire didn't stab me. He just froze. He wanted me alive;
that's why the knife and not fangs. I stood up, and the vampire
just stared up at me. He didn't have a backup plan. Great.
The car stood, open doors spilling light out into the darkness.
The headlights made a wide theatrical swash. Larry was just
standing there, frozen, undecided. I yelled, "Get in the car!"
He moved towards the open car door. A woman was standing in the
glare of the headlights. She was dressed in a long white coat open
over the cream and tan of a very nice pants suit. She opened her
mouth and snarled into the light, fangs glistening.
I was running, screaming, "Behind you!"
Larry stared at me; his gaze went past me. His eyes widened. I
could hear the patter of little feet behind me. Terror spread
across Larry's face. Was this the first vampire he'd ever seen?
I drew my gun, but was still running. You can't hit shit when
you're running. I had a vampire in front and behind. Coin toss.
The female vampire bounded onto the hood of the car and
propelled herself in a long, graceful leap that carried her into
Larry and sent them tumbling across the road.
I couldn't shoot her without risking Larry. I whirled at the
last second and put the gun point-blank into the child-vampire's
face.
His eyes widened. I squeezed the trigger. Something hit me from
behind. The shot went wild and I was on the road, flat on my
stomach with something bigger than a bread box on top of me.
The air was knocked out of me. But I turned, trying to point the
gun back at the thing on my back. If I didn't do something now, I
might never have to worry about breathing again.
The boy came up on me, knife flashing downward. The gun was
turning, but too slowly. I would have screamed if I'd had air. The
knife buried into the sleeve of my jacket. I felt the blade bite
into the road underneath. My arm was pinned. I squeezed the trigger
and the shot went harmlessly off into the dark.
I twisted my neck to try to see who, or what, was straddling me.
It was a what. In the red glow of the rear car lights his face was
all flat, high cheekbones with narrow, almost slanted eyes and
long, straight hair. If he'd been any more ethnic, he'd have been
carved in stone, surrounded by snakes and Aztec gods.
He reached over me and encircled my right hand, the one that was
pinned, the one that was still holding the gun. He pressed the
bones of my hand into the metal. His voice was deep and soft. "Drop
the gun or I'll crush your hand." He squeezed until I gasped.
Larry screamed, high and mournful.
Screaming was for when you didn't have anything better to do. I
scraped my left sleeve against the road, baring my watch and the
charm bracelet. The three tiny crosses glinted in the moonlight.
The vampire hissed but didn't let go of my gun hand. I dragged the
bracelet across his hand. A sharp smell of burning flesh; then he
used his free hand to drag at my left sleeve. Holding onto just the
sleeve, he held my left hand back, so I couldn't touch him with the
crosses.
If he'd been the new dead, just the sight of the crosses would
have sent him screaming; but he wasn't just old dead, he was
ancient. It was going to take more than blessed crosses to get him
off my back.
Larry screamed again.
I screamed, too, because I couldn't do anything else, except
hold onto the gun and make him crush my hand. Not productive. They
didn't want me dead, but hurt, hurt was okay. He could crush my
hand into bloody pulp. I gave up my gun, screaming, tugging at the
knife that held my arm pinned, trying to jerk my left sleeve free
of his hand so I could plunge the crosses into his flesh.
A shot exploded above our heads. We all froze and stared back at
the cemetery. Jeremy Ruebens and company had recovered their gun
and were shooting at us. Did they think we were in cahoots with the
monsters? Did they care who they shot?
A woman screamed, "Alejandro, help me!" The scream was from
behind us. The vampire on my back was suddenly gone. I didn't know
why, and I didn't care. I was left with the child-monster looming
over me, staring at me with large dark eyes.
"Doesn't it hurt?" he asked.
It was such an unexpected question that I answered it. "No."
He looked disappointed. He squatted down beside me, hands on his
small thighs. "I meant to cut you so I could lick the blood." His
voice was still a little boy's voice, would always be a little
boy's voice, but the knowledge in his eyes beat down on my skin
like heat. He was older than Jean-Claude, much older.
A bullet smashed into the rear light of my car, just above the
boy's head. He turned towards the fanatics with a very unchildlike
snarl. I tried to pull the knife out of the road, but it was
imbedded. I couldn't budge it.
The boy crawled into the darkness, vanishing with a backwash of
wind. He was going for the fanatics. God help them.
I looked back over my shoulder. Larry was on the ground with a
woman with long, waving brown hair on top of him. The man who'd
been on top of me, Alejandro, and another woman were struggling
with the vampire on Larry. She wanted to kill him, and they were
trying to stop her. It seemed like a good plan to me.
Another bullet whined towards us. It didn't come close. A
half-strangled scream, and then no more gunshots. Had the boy
gotten him? Was Larry hurt? And what the hell could I do to help
him, and me?
The vampires seemed to have their hands full. Whatever I was
going to do, now was the time. I tried unzipping the leather jacket
left-handed, but it stuck halfway down. Great. I bit the side of
the jacket, using my teeth in place of the trapped hand. Unzipped;
now what?
I pulled the sleeve off my left hand with my teeth, then put the
sleeve under my hip and wiggled out of it. Slipping my right hand
free of the pinned sleeve was the easy part.
Alejandro picked up the brown-haired woman and threw her over
the car. She sailed into the darkness, but I didn't hear her hit
the ground. Maybe she could fly. If she could, I didn't want to
know.
Larry was nearly lost to sight behind a curtain of pale hair.
The second female was bending over him like a prince about to
bestow the magic kiss. Alejandro got a handful of that long, long
hair and jerked her to her feet. He flung her into the side of the
car. She staggered but didn't go down, snapping at him like a dog
on a leash.
I went wide around them, holding the crosses out in front like
every old movie you've ever seen. Except I'd never seen a vampire
hunter with a charm bracelet.
Larry was on his hands and knees, swaying ever so slightly. His
voice was high, nearly hysterical. He just kept repeating, "I'm
bleeding, I'm bleeding."
I touched his arm, and he jumped like I'd bit him. His eyes
flashed white.
Blood was welling down his neck, black in the moonlight. She'd
bit him, Jesus help us, she'd bit him.
The pale female was still fighting to get to Larry. "Can't you
smell the blood?" It was a plea.
"Control yourself, or I'll do it for you." Alejandro's voice was
a low scream. The anger in his voice cut and sliced. The pale woman
went very still.
"I'm all right now." Her voice held fear. I'd never heard one
vampire be scared to . . . death of another. Let them fight it out.
I had better things to do. Like figuring out how to get us past the
remaining vampires and into the car.
Alejandro had the female shoved against the car with one hand.
My gun was in his left hand. I unsnapped the anklet with its
matching crosses. You can't sneak up on a vampire. Even the new
dead are jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking
chairs. Since I had no chance of sneaking up on him, I tried the
direct approach.
"She bit him, you son of a bitch. She bit him!" I pulled the
back of his shirt as if to get his attention. I dropped the crosses
down his back.
He screamed.
I brushed the bracelet crosses across his hand. He dropped the
gun. I caught it. A tongue of blue flame licked up his back. He
clawed and scrambled, but he couldn't reach the crosses. Burn,
baby, burn.
He whirled, shrieking. His open hand caught me on the side of
the head. I was airborne. I slammed back-first into the road. I
tried to take as much of the impact as I could with my arms, but my
head rocked back, slamming into the road.
The world swam with black spots. When my vision cleared, I was
staring up into a pale face; long, yellow-white hair the color of
corn silk traced over my cheek as the vampire knelt to feed.
I still had the Browning in my right hand. I pulled the trigger.
Her body jerked backwards like someone had shoved her. She fell
back onto the road, blood pouring out of a hole in her stomach that
was nothing compared to the wound in her back. I hoped I'd
shattered her spine.
I staggered to my feet.
The male vampire, Alejandro, tore off his shirt. The crosses
fell to the road in a little pool of molten blue fire. His back was
burned black, with blisters here and there to add color. He whirled
on me, and I shot him once in the chest. The shot was rushed, and
he didn't go down.
Larry grabbed the vampire's ankle. Still Alejandro kept coming,
dragging Larry across the blacktop like a child. He grabbed Larry's
arm, jerking him to his feet. Larry threw a chain over the
vampire's head. The heavy silver cross burst into flame. Alejandro
screamed.
I yelled, "Get in the car, now!"
Larry slid into the driver's seat and kept sliding until he was
in the passenger seat. He slammed the passenger side door shut and
locked it, for what good it would do. The vampire tore the chain
and threw the cross end over end into the roadside trees. The cross
winked out of sight like a falling star.
I slid into the car, slamming the door and locking it. I clicked
the safety on the Browning and shoved it between my legs.
The vampire, Alejandro, was huddled around his pain, too hurt to
give chase right that second. Goodie.
I shoved the car in gear and gunned it. The car fishtailed. I
slowed to the speed of light, and the car straightened out on the
road. We poured down the dark tunnel in a circle of flickering
light and tree shadows. And down at the end of our tunnel was a
figure in white with long, brown hair spilling in the wind. It was
the vampire that had jumped Larry. She was just standing there in
the middle of the road. Just standing there. We were about to find
out if vampires played chicken. I was about to take my own advice.
I put the gas pedal to the floorboards. The car lurched forward.
The vampire just stood there while we barreled down at her.
At the last second I realized she wasn't going to move, and I
didn't have time to. We were about to test my theory about cars and
vampiric flesh. Where's a silver car when you need one?
Chapter 22
The headlights flashed on the vampire like a spotlight. I had an
image of pale face, brown hair, fangs stretched wide. We hit her
going sixty. The car shuddered. She rolled in painful slow motion
up over the hood, and yet it was happening too fast for me to do
anything. She hit the windshield with a sharp, crackling sound.
Metal screamed.
The windshield crumbled into a mass of spiderweb cracks. I was
suddenly trying to see through the wrong end of a smashed prism.
The safety glass had done its job. It hadn't shattered and cut us
to ribbons. It had just cracked all to hell, and I couldn't see to
drive. I stamped down on the brakes. An arm shot through the glass,
raining glittering shards down on Larry.
He screamed. The hand closed on his shirt, pulling him into the
broken teeth of the windshield.
I turned the wheel to the left as hard as I could. The car spun
out and all I could do was let off the gas, not touch the brake,
and ride.
Larry had a death grip on the door arm and the headrest. He was
screaming, fighting not to be pulled through the jagged glass. I
said a quick prayer and let go of the wheel. The car spun
helplessly. I shoved a cross against the hand. It smoked and
bubbled. The hand let go of Larry and vanished through the hole in
the crumbled glass.
I grabbed at the steering wheel, but it was too little too late.
The car careened off the road into the ditch. Metal screamed as
something under the car broke, something large. I was slammed into
the driver's side door. Larry was suddenly on top of me; then we
were both tumbling to the other side. Then it was over. The silence
was startling. It was as if I'd gone deaf. There was a great
roaring whiteness in my ears.
Someone said, "Thank God," and it was me.
The passenger side door peeled open like the shell of a nut. I
scrambled back away from the opening. Larry was left stranded and
staring. He was jerked out of the car. I slid into the front
floorboard, aiming where Larry had vanished.
I was staring up at Larry's body with a dark hand clamped so
tight on his throat, I didn't know if he could breathe. I stared
down the barrel of my gun at the dark face of the vampire,
Alejandro. His face was unreadable as he said, "I will tear his
throat out."
"I'll blow your head off," I said. A hand came fishing through
the broken windshield. "Back off or you lose that pretty face."
"He will die first," the vampire said. But the hand vanished
back through the hole. There was the sound of some other language
in the vampire's English. Emotion gave him an accent.
Larry's eyes were too wide, showing too much white. He was
breathing. shallow and too fast. He'd hyperventilate, if he lived
that long.
"Decide," the vampire said. His voice was flat, empty of
everything. Larry's terror-filled eyes were eloquent enough for
both of them.
I hit the safety on the gun and handed it butt-first to his
outstretched hand. It was a mistake, I knew that, but I also knew I
couldn't sit here and watch Larry's throat be ripped out. There are
some things that are more important than physical survival. You
gotta be able to look at yourself in the mirror. I gave up my gun
for the same reason I'd stopped for the child. There was no choice.
I was one of the good guys. Good guys were self-sacrificing. It was
a rule somewhere.
Chapter 23
Larry's face was a bloody mask. No single cut seemed
to be serious, but nothing bleeds like a shallow scalp wound.
Safety glass was not designed to be vampire-proof. Maybe I could
write in and suggest it.
Blood trickled over Alejandro's hand, still gripping
Larry's throat. The vampire had stuffed my gun in the back of his
pants. He handled the gun like he knew how to use one. Pity. Some
vampires were technophobes. It gave you an edge, sometimes.
Larry's blood flowed over the vampire's hand. Sticky
and warm like barely solid Jell-O. The vampire didn't react to the
blood. Iron self-control. I stared into his nearly black eyes and
felt the pull of centuries like monstrous wings unfolding in his
eyes. The world swam. The inside of my head was sinking, expanding.
I reached out to touch something, anything to keep from falling. A
hand gripped mine. The skin was cool and smooth. I jerked back,
falling against the car.
"Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!"
The vampire stood uncertainly, Larry's throat gripped
in one blood-streaked hand, holding his other hand out towards me.
It was a very human gesture. Larry's eyes were bugging out.
"You're choking him," I said.
"Sorry," the vampire said. He released him.
Larry fell to his knees, gasping. His first breath
was a hissing scream for air.
I wanted to ask Larry how he was, but I didn't. My
job was to get us out of here alive, if possible. Besides, I had an
idea how Larry felt. Hurt. No need to ask stupid questions.
Well, maybe one stupid question. "What do you want?"
I asked.
Alejandro looked at me, and I fought the urge to look
at his face while I talked to him. It was hard. I ended up staring
at the hole my bullet had made in the side of his chest. It was a
very small hole, and had already stopped bleeding. Was he healing
that fast? Shit. I stared at the wound as hard as I could. To fight
the urge for eye contact. It's hard to be tough when you're staring
at someone's chest. But I'd had years of practice before Jean-Claude
decided to share his "gift" with me. Practice makes . . . well, you
know.
The vampire hadn't answered me, so I asked again,
voice steady and low. I didn't sound like someone who was afraid.
Bully for me. "What do you want?"
I felt the vampire look at me, almost as if he'd run
a finger down my body. I shivered and couldn't stop. Larry crawled
to me, head hanging, dripping blood as he moved.
I knelt beside him. And before I could stop myself,
the stupid question popped out. "Are you all right?"
His eyes raised to me through a mask of blood. He
finally said, "Nothing a few stitches wouldn't cure." He was trying
to make a joke. I wanted to hug him and promise the worst was over.
Never make promises you can't keep.
The vampire didn't exactly move, but something
brought my attention back to him. He stood knee-deep in autumn
weeds. My eyes were on a level with his belt buckle, which made him
about my height. Short for a man. A white, Anglo-Saxon,
twentieth-century man. The belt buckle glinted gold and was carved
into a blocky, stylized human figure. The carving, like the
vampire's face, was straight out of an Aztec calendar.
The urge to look upward and meet his eyes crawled
over my skin. My chin had actually risen an inch or so before I
realized what I was doing. Shit. The vamp was messing with my mind,
and I couldn't feel it. Even now, knowing he had to be doing
something to me, I couldn't sense it. I was blind and deaf just
like every other tourist.
Well, maybe not every tourist. I hadn't been munched
on yet, which probably meant they wanted something more than just
blood. I'd be dead otherwise, and so would Larry. Of course, I was
still wearing blessed crosses. What could this creature do once I
was stripped of crosses? I did not want to find out.
We were alive. It meant they wanted something that we
couldn't give them dead. But what?
"What in the hell do you want?"
His hand came into view. He was offering his hand to
help me stand. I stood without help, putting myself a little in
front of Larry.
"Tell me who your master is, girl, and I won't hurt
you."
"Who else will, then?" I asked.
"Clever, but I swear you will leave here in safety if
you give me the name."
"First of all, I don't have a master. I'm not even
sure I have an equal." I fought the urge to glance at his face, see
if he got the joke. Jean-Claude would have gotten it.
"You stand before me, making jokes?" His voice
sounded surprised, nearly outraged. Good, I think.
"I don't have a master," I said. Master vampires can
smell truth or lies.
"If you truly believe that, you are deluding
yourself. You bear two master signs. Give me the name and I will
destroy him for you. I will free you of this . . . problem."
I hesitated. He was older than Jean-Claude. A lot
older. He might be able to kill the Master of the City. Of course,
that would leave this master vampire in control of the city. He and
his three helpers. Four vampires, one less than were killing
people, but I was willing to bet there was a fifth vamp around here
somewhere. You couldn't have that many rogue master vampires
running around one medium-size city.
Any master that was slaughtering civilians would be a
bad thing to have in charge of all the vampires in the area. Just
call it a feeling.
I shook my head. "I can't."
"You want free of him, do you not?"
"Very much."
"Let me free you, Ms. Blake. Let me help you."
"Like you helped the man and woman you murdered?"
"I did not murder them," he said. His voice sounded
very reasonable. His eyes were powerful enough to drown in but the
voice wasn't as good. There was no magic to the voice.
Jean-Claude's was better. Or Yasmeen's, for that matter. Nice to
know that not every talent came equally with time. Ancient wasn't
everything.
"So you didn't strike the fatal blow. So what? Your
flunkies do your will, not their own."
"You'd be surprised how much free will we have."
"Stop it," I said.
"What?"
"Sounding so damn reasonable."
There was laughter in his voice. "You would rather I
rant and rave?"
Yes, actually, but I didn't say it out loud. "I won't
give you the name. Now what?"
There was a rush of wind at my back. I tried to turn,
to face the wind. The woman in white rushed at me. Fangs straining,
hands clawing, spattered with other people's blood, the vampire
smashed into me. We fell backwards into the weeds with her on top.
She darted towards my neck like a snake. I shoved my left wrist
into her face. One cross brushed her lips. A flash of light, the
stench of burning flesh, and the vampire was gone, screaming into
the darkness. I had never seen any vampire move that fast. Had it
been mind-magic? Had she tricked me that badly even with a blessed
cross? How many over-five-hundred-year-old vamps can you have in
one pack? Two, I hoped. Any more than that and they'd have us
outnumbered.
I scrambled to my feet. The master vampire was on his
hands and knees beside the remains of my car. Larry was nowhere in
sight. A flutter of panic clawed at my chest; then I realized Larry
had crawled underneath the car so the vampire couldn't make him a
hostage again. When all else fails, hide. It works for rabbits.
The vampire's blistered back was bent at a painful
angle as he tried to pull Larry out from under the car. "I will
pull this arm out of its socket, if you do not come here!"
"You sound like you've got a kitten under the bed," I
said.
Alejandro whirled around. He flinched, like it hurt.
Great.
I felt something move behind me. I didn't argue with
the sensation. Say it was nerves; I turned, crosses ready. Two
vampires behind me. One was the pale-haired female. I guess the
shot had missed her spine; pity. The other vampire could have been
her male twin. They both hissed and cowered from the crosses. Nice
to see someone was bothered.
The master came at me from the back, but I heard him.
Either the burn was making him clumsy, or the crosses were helping
me. I stood halfway between the three vampires, crosses sort of
pointed at both groups. The blonds peered over their arms, but the
crosses had them well and truly scared. The master never hesitated.
He came in a rushing burst of speed. I backpedaled, tried to keep
the crosses between us, but he grabbed my left forearm. With the
crosses dangling inches from his flesh, he held on.
I pulled, getting as much distance from him as I
could, then hit him in the solar plexus with everything I had. He
made an "umph" sound, then flicked his hand at my face. I rocked
back and tasted blood. He'd barely touched me, but he'd proven his
point. If I wanted to exchange blows, he'd beat the crap out of
me.
I hit him in the throat. He gagged and looked
surprised. Beaten to snot was still a hell of a lot better than
being bitten. I'd rather be dead than have pointy teeth.
His fist closed over my right fist, squeezing just
enough to let me feel his strength. He was still trying to warn me
off rather than hurt me. Bully for him.
He raised both his arms, drawing me closer into his
body. I didn't want closer, but there didn't seem to be a hell of a
lot I could do about it. Unless, of course, vampires had testicles.
The throat shot had hurt. I glanced at his face, almost close
enough to kiss. I leaned into him, getting as much room as I could.
He just kept drawing me closer. His own momentum helped.
My knee hit him hard, and I ground it up and into
him. It was not a glancing blow. He crumpled forward but didn't let
go of my hands. I wasn't loose, but it was a start, and I'd
answered an age-old question. Vampires did have balls.
He jerked my hands behind my back, pinning me between
his arms and his body. His body felt wooden, stiff, and unyielding
as stone. It had been warm and soft and hurtable only a second
before. What had happened?
"Take the things off her wrist," he said. He wasn't
talking to me.
I tried to crane my head around to see what was
coming up behind me. I couldn't see anything. The two pale vampires
were still huddled in the face of the naked crosses.
Something touched my wrist. I jerked, but he held me
still. "If you struggle, he will cut you."
I turned my head as far back as I could, and was
staring into the round eyes of the boy vampire. He'd recovered his
knife and was using it to poke at the bracelet.
The master vampire's hands squeezed my arms until I
thought they'd pop from the pressure like shaken soda pop. I must
have made some sound, because he said, "I did not mean to hurt you
tonight." His mouth was pressed against my ear, lost in my hair.
"This was your choice."
The bracelet broke with a small snap. I felt it fall
away into the weeds. The master vampire drew a deep breath, as if
it were easier to breathe now. He was only an inch or two taller
than I was, but he held both my wrists in one small hand, fingers
squeezing to make the grip tight. It hurt, and I fought not to make
small, helpless noises.
He stroked his free hand through my hair, then
grabbed a handful and pulled my head backwards so he could see my
eyes. His eyes were solid, absolute black; the whites had drowned.
"I will have his name, Anita, one way or another."
I spit in his face.
He screamed, tightening his grip on my wrists until I
cried out. "I could have made this pleasant, but now I think I want
you to hurt. Look into my eyes, mortal, and despair. Taste of my
eyes, and there will be no secrets between us." His voice dropped
to the barest of whispers. "Perhaps I will drink your mind like
others drink blood, and leave nothing behind but your mindless
husk."
I stared into the darkness that was his eyes and felt
myself fall, forward, impossibly forward, and down, down into a
blackness that was pure and total, and had never known light.
Chapter 24
I was staring up into a face I didn't know. The face was holding
a bloody handkerchief to its forehead. Short hair, pale eyes,
freckles. "Hi, Larry," I said. My voice sounded distant and
strange. I couldn't remember why.
It was still dark. Larry's face had been cleaned up a little,
but the wound was still bleeding. I couldn't have been out that
long. Out? Where had I been out to? All I could remember was eyes,
black eyes. I sat up too fast. Larry caught my arm or I would have
fallen.
"Where are the . . ."
"Vampires," he finished for me.
I leaned into his arm and whispered, "Yeah."
There were people all around us in the dark, huddled in little
whispering groups. The lights of a police car strobed the darkness.
Two uniforms were standing quietly next to the car, talking with a
man whose name wouldn't come to me.
"Karl," I said.
"What?" Larry asked.
"Karl Inger, the tall man talking to the police."
Larry nodded. "That's right."
A small, dark man knelt beside us. Jeremy Ruebens of Humans
First, who last I knew had been shooting at us. What the hell was
going on?
Jeremy smiled at me. It looked genuine.
"What makes you my friend all of a sudden?"
His smile broadened. "We saved you."
I pushed away from Larry to sit on my own. A moment of dizziness
and I was fine. Yeah, right. "Talk to me, Larry."
He glanced at Jeremy Ruebens, then back to me. "They saved
us."
"How?"
"They threw holy water on the one who bit me." He touched his
throat with his free hand, an unconscious gesture, but he noticed
me watching. "Is she going to have control over me?"
"Did she enter your mind at the same time as she bit you?"
"I don't know," he said. "How can you tell?"
I opened my mouth to explain, then closed it. How to explain the
unexplainable? "If Alejandro, the master vampire, had bitten me at
the same time he rolled my mind, I'd be under his power now."
"Alejandro?"
"That's what the other vampires called the master."
I shook my head, but the world swam in black waves and I had to
swallow hard not to vomit. What had he done to me? I'd had mind
games played on me before, but I'd never had a reaction like
this.
"There's an ambulance coming," Larry said.
"I don't need one."
"You've been unconscious for over an hour, Ms. Blake," Ruebens
said. "We had the police call an ambulance when we couldn't wake
you."
Ruebens was close enough for me to reach out and touch him. He
looked friendly, positively radiant, like a bride on her big day.
Why was I suddenly his favorite person? "So they threw holy water
on the vamp that bit you; what then?" I asked Larry.
"They drove the rest of them off with crosses and charms."
"Charms?"
Ruebens pulled out a chain with two miniature metal-faced books
hanging on it. Both books would have fit in the palm of my hand
with room to spare. "They aren't charms, Larry. They're tiny Jewish
Holy Books."
"I thought a Star of David."
"The star doesn't work, because it's a racial symbol, not really
a religious symbol."
"So it's like miniature Bibles?"
I raised my eyebrows. "The Torah contains the Old Testament, so
yeah, it's like miniature Bibles."
"Would the Bible work for us Christians?"
"I don't know. Probably, I've just never been attacked by
vampires while carrying a Bible." That was probably my fault. In
fact, when was the last time I'd read the Bible? Was I becoming a
Sunday Christian? I'd worry about my soul later, after my body felt
a little better.
"Cancel the ambulance; I'm fine."
"You are not fine," Ruebens said. He reached out as if to touch
me. I looked at him. He stopped in mid-motion. "Let us help you,
Ms. Blake. We share common enemies."
The police were walking towards us over the dark grass. Karl
Inger was coming, too, talking softly to the police as they
moved.
"Do the police know you were shooting at us first?"
Something passed over Ruebens's face.
"They don't know, do they?"
"We saved you, Ms. Blake, from a fate worse than death. I was
wrong to try and hurt you. You raise the dead, but if you are truly
enemies with the vampires, then we are allies."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, huh?"
He nodded.
The police were almost here, almost within earshot. "All right,
but you ever point a gun at me again and I'll forget you saved
me."
"It will never happen again, Ms. Blake; you have my word."
I wanted to say something disparaging, but the police were
there. They'd hear. I wasn't going to tell on Ruebens and Humans
First, so I had to save my smart alec comebacks for later use.
Knowing Ruebens, I'd get another chance.
I lied to the police about what Humans First had done, and I
lied about what Alejandro had wanted from me. It was just another
of those mindless attacks that had happened twice already. Later,
to Dolph and Zerbrowski, I'd tell the truth, but right now I just
didn't feel like explaining the entire mess to strangers. I wasn't
even sure Dolph would get the whole story. Like the fact that I was
almost assuredly Jean-Claude's human servant.
Nope, no need to mention that.
Chapter 25
Larry's car was a late-model Mazda. The vampires had kept Humans
First so busy they hadn't had time to trash the car. Lucky for us,
since my car was totaled. Oh, I'd have to go through the insurance
company and let them tell me the car was totaled, but there was
something large broken underneath the car; fluids darker than blood
were leaking out. The front end looked like we'd hit an elephant. I
knew totaled when I saw it.
We'd spent the last several hours at the emergency room. The
ambulance attendants insisted I see a doctor, and Larry needed
three small stitches in his forehead. His orangey hair fell forward
and hid the wound. His first scar. The first of many if he stayed
in this business and hung around me.
"You've been on the job, what, fourteen hours? What do you think
so far?" I asked.
He glanced at me sideways, then back to the road. He smiled, but
it didn't look funny. "I don't know."
"Do you want to be an animator when you graduate?"
"I thought I did," he said.
Honesty; a rare talent. "Not sure now?"
"Not really."
I let it rest there. My instinct was to talk him out of it. To
tell him to go into some sane, normal business. But I knew that
raising the dead wasn't just a job choice. If your "talent" was
strong enough, you had to raise the dead or risk the power coming
out at odd moments. Does the term roadkill mean anything to you? It
meant something to my stepmother Judith. Of course, she wasn't
pleased with my job. She thought it was gruesome. What could I say?
She was right.
"There are other job choices for a preternatural biology
degree."
"What? A zoo, exterminator?"
"Teacher," I said, "park ranger, naturalist, field biologist,
researcher."
"And which of those jobs can make you this kind of money?" he
asked.
"Is money the only reason you want to be an animator?" I was
disappointed.
"I want to do something to help people. What better than using
my specialized skills to rid the world of dangerous undead?"
I stared at him. All I could see was his profile in the darkened
car, face underlit from the dashboard. "You want to be a vampire
executioner, not an animator." I didn't try to keep the surprise
out of my voice.
"My ultimate goal, yes."
"Why?"
"Why do you do it?"
I shook my head. "Answer the question, Larry."
"I want to help people."
"Then be a policeman; they need people on the force who know
preternatural creatures."
"I thought I did pretty good tonight."
"You did."
"Then what's wrong?"
I tried to think how to phrase it in fifty convincing words or
less. "What happened tonight was awful, but it gets worse."
"Olive's coming up; which way do I turn?"
"Left."
The car took the exit and slid into the turning lane. We sat at
the light with the turn signal blinking in the dark.
"You don't know what you're getting into," I said.
"Then tell me," he said.
"I'll do better than that. I'll show you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Turn right at the third light."
We rolled into the parking lot. "First building on the
right."
Larry slid into the only open space he could find. My parking
space. My poor little Nova wouldn't be coming back to it.
I took off my jacket in the darkness of the car. "Hit the
overhead light," I said.
He did as he was told. He was better at following orders than I
was. Which, since he'd be following my orders, was fine.
I showed him the scars on my arms. "The cross-shaped burn is
from human servants who thought it was funny. The mound of scar
tissue at the bend of my arm is where a vampire tore my arm to
pieces. Physical therapist says it's a miracle that I got full use
of my arm back. Fourteen stitches from a human servant, and that's
just my arms."
"There's more?" His face looked pale and strange in the dome
light.
"A vampire shoved the broken end of a stake in my back."
He winced.
"And my collarbone was broken at the same time my arm got chewed
up."
"You're trying to scare me."
"You bet," I said.
"I won't be scared off."
Tonight should have scared him off without my showing him my
scars. But it hadn't. Dammit, he'd stick, if he didn't get killed
first. "All right, you're staying for the rest of the semester,
great, but promise me you won't go hunting vampires without
me."
"But Mr. Burke . . ."
"He helps execute vampires, but he doesn't hunt them alone."
"What's the difference between an execution and a hunt?"
"An execution just means a body that needs staking, or a vampire
that's all nice and chained up waiting for the final stroke."
"Then what's a hunt?" he asked.
"When I go back out after the vampires that nearly killed us
tonight, that's a hunt."
"And you don't trust Mr. Burke to teach me to hunt?"
"I don't trust Mr. Burke to keep you alive."
Larry's eyes widened.
"I don't mean he'd deliberately hurt you. I mean I don't trust
anybody but me with your life."
"You think it'll come down to that?"
"It damn near did."
He was quiet for a handful of minutes. He stared down at his
hands that were smoothing back and forth over the steering wheel.
"I promise not to go vampire hunting with anybody but you." He
stared at me, blue, blue eyes studying my face. "Not even Mr.
Rodriguez? Mr. Vaughn said he taught you."
"Manny did teach me, but he doesn't hunt vampires anymore."
"Why not?"
I met his true-blue eyes and said, "His wife's too afraid, and
he's got four kids."
"You and Mr. Burke aren't married and don't have kids."
"That's right."
"Neither do I," he said.
I had to smile. Had I ever been this eager? Naw. "No one likes a
smart alec, Larry."
He grinned, and it made him look about thirteen. Jesus, why
wasn't he running for cover after tonight? Why wasn't I? No
answers, at least none that made sense. Why did I do it? Because I
was good at it, came the answer. Maybe Larry could be good at it,
too. Maybe, or maybe he'd just get dead.
I got out of the car and leaned back in the open door. "Go
straight home, and if you don't have an extra cross, buy one
tomorrow."
"Okay," he said.
I shut the door on his solemn, earnest face. I walked up the
stairs and didn't look back. I didn't watch him drive away, still
alive, still eager after his first brush with the monsters. I was
only four years older than he was. Four years. It felt like
centuries. I had never been that green. My mother's death when I
was eight saw to that. It takes the edge off the shiny brightness
to lose a parent early.
I was still going to try to talk Larry out of being a vampire
executioner, but if all else failed, I'd work with him. There are
only two kinds of vampire hunters: good ones and dead ones. Maybe I
could make Larry one of the good ones. It beat the hell out of the
alternative.
Chapter 26
It was 3:34, Friday morning. It had been a long week. Of course,
when hadn't it been a long week this year? I had told Bert to hire
more help. He hired Larry. Why didn't that make me happy? Because
Larry was just another victim waiting for the right monster. Please
keep him safe, God, please. I'd had about as many innocents die on
me as I thought I could handle.
The hallway had that middle-of-the-night feel to it. The only
sounds were the hush of the heating vents, the muffled sound of my
Nike Airs on the carpeting. It was too late for my day-living
neighbors to stay up, and too early for them to get up. Two hours
before dawn, you get privacy.
I opened my brand-new burglarproof lock and stepped into the
darkness of my apartment. I hit the lights and flooded the white
walls, carpet, couch, and chair with bright light. No matter how
good your night vision is, everyone likes light. We're creatures of
the daylight, no matter what we do for a living.
I threw my jacket on the kitchen counter. It was too dirty to
toss on the white couch. I had mud and bits of weed plastered all
over me. But very little blood; the night had turned out all
right.
I was slipping out of the shoulder holster when I felt it. The
air currents had moved, as if something had moved through them.
Just like that I knew I wasn't alone.
My hand was on the gun butt when Edward's voice came out of the
darkness of my bedroom. "Don't, Anita."
I hesitated, fingers touching the gun. "And if I do?"
"I'll shoot you. You know I'll do it." His voice was that soft,
sure predatory sound. I'd seen him use flamethrowers when his voice
sounded like that. Smooth and calm as the road to Hell.
I eased away from my gun. Edward would shoot me if I forced him
to. Better not to force it, not yet. Not yet.
I clasped my hands on top of my head without waiting for him to
tell me. Maybe I'd get brownie points for being a cooperative
prisoner. Naw.
Edward stepped out of the darkness like a blond ghost. He was
dressed all in black except for his short hair and pale face. His
black-gloved hands held a Beretta 9mm pointed very steadily at my
chest.
"New gun?" I asked.
The ghost of a smile curled his lips. "Yes, like it?"
"Beretta's a nice gun, but you know me."
"A Browning fan," he said.
I smiled at him. Just two ol' buddies talking shop.
He pressed the gun barrel against my body while he took the
Browning from me. "Lean and spread it."
I leaned on the back of the couch while he patted me down. There
was nothing to find, but Edward didn't know that. He was never
careless. That was one of the reasons he was still alive. That, and
the fact that he was very, very good.
"You said you couldn't pick my lock," I said.
"I brought better tools," he said.
"So it's not burglarproof."
"It would be to most people."
"But not to you."
He stared at me, his eyes as empty and dead as winter's sky. "I
am not most people."
I had to smile. "You can say that again."
He frowned at me. "Give me the master's name, and we don't have
to do this." The gun never wavered. My Browning stuck out of the
front of his belt. I hoped he'd remembered the safety. Or maybe I
didn't.
I opened my mouth, closed it, and just looked at him. I couldn't
give Jean-Claude over to Edward. I was the Executioner, but the
vampires called Edward Death. He'd earned the name.
"I thought you'd be following me tonight."
"I went home after watching you raise the zombie. Guess I should
have stayed around. Who bloodied your mouth?"
"I'm not going to tell you a bloody thing. You know that."
"Everyone breaks, Anita, everyone."
"Even you?"
That ghost of a smile was back again. "Even me."
"Someone got the better of Death? Tell, tell."
The smile widened. "Some other time."
"Nice to know there'll be another time," I said.
"I'm not here to kill you."
"Just to frighten or torture me into revealing the master's
name, right?"
"Right," he said, voice soft and low.
"I was hoping you'd say wrong."
He almost shrugged. "Give me the Master of the City, Anita, and
I'll go away."
"You know I can't do that."
"I know you have to, or it's going to be a very long night."
"Then it's going to be a long night, because I'm not going to
give you shit."
"You won't be bullied," he said.
"Nope."
He shook his head. "Turn around, lean your waist up against the
couch, and put your hands behind your back."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"So you can tie my hands?"
"Do it, now."
"I don't think so."
The frown was back. "Do you want me to shoot you?"
"No, but I'm not going to just stand here while you tie me up,
either."
"The tying up doesn't hurt."
"It's what comes after that I'm worried about."
"You knew what I'd do if you didn't help me."
"Then do it," I said.
"You're not cooperating."
"So sorry."
"Anita."
"I just don't believe in helping people who are going to torture
me. Though I don't see any bamboo slivers. How can you possibly
torture someone without bamboo slivers?"
"Stop it." He sounded angry.
"Stop what?" I widened my eyes and tried to look innocent and
harmless, me and Kermit the Frog.
Edward laughed, a soft chuckle that rolled and expanded until he
squatted on the floor, gun loose in his hands, staring up at me.
His eyes were shiny.
"How can I torture you when you keep making me laugh?"
"You can't; that was the plan."
He shook his head. "No, it wasn't. You were just being a
smartass. You're always a smartass."
"Nice of you to notice."
He held up his hand. "No more, please."
"I'll make you laugh until you beg for mercy."
"Just tell me the damn name. Please, Anita. Help me." The
laughter drained from his eyes like the sun slipping out of the
sky. I watched the humor, the humanity, slip away, until his eyes
were as cold and empty as a doll's. "Don't make me hurt you," he
said.
I think I was Edward's only friend, but that wouldn't stop him
from hurting me. Edward had one rule: do whatever it takes to get
the job done. If I forced him to torture me, he would, but he
didn't want to.
"Now that you've asked nicely, try the first question again," I
said.
His eyes narrowed, then he said, "Who hit you in the mouth?"
"A master vampire," I said softly.
"Tell me what happened." It was too much like an order for my
taste, but he did have both the guns.
I told him everything that had happened. All about Alejandro.
Alejandro who felt so old inside my head, it made my bones ache. I
added one tiny lie, lost in all that truth. I told him Alejandro
was Master of the City. One of my better ideas, heh?
"You really don't know where his daytime resting place is, do
you?"
I shook my head. "I'd give it to you if I had it."
"Why this change of heart?"
"He tried to kill me tonight. All bets are off."
"I don't believe that."
It was too good a lie to waste, so I tried salvaging it. "He's
also gone rogue. It's him and his flunkies that have been killing
innocent citizens.''
Edward smirked at the innocent, but he let it go. "An altruistic
motive, that I believe. If you weren't such a damn bleeding heart,
you'd be dangerous."
"I kill my share, Edward."
His empty, blue eyes stared at me; then he nodded, slowly.
"True."
He handed me back my gun, butt first. A tight, clenched ball in
my stomach unrolled. I could breathe deep, long sighs of
relief.
"If I find out where this Alejandro stays, you want in on
it?"
I thought about that for a minute. Did I want to go after five
rogue vampires, two of them over five hundred years old? I did not.
Did I want to send even Edward after them alone? No, I did not.
Which meant . . .
"Yeah, I want a piece of them."
Edward smiled, broad and shining. "I love my work."
I smiled back. "Me, too."
Chapter 27
Jean-Claude lay in the middle of a white canopied bed. His skin
was only slightly less white than the sheets. He was dressed in a
nightshirt. Lace fell down the low collar, forming a lace window
around his chest. Lace flowed from the sleeves, nearly hiding his
hands. It should have looked feminine, but Jean-Claude made it
utterly masculine. How could any man wear a white lace gown and not
look silly? Of course, he wasn't a man. That must be it. His black
hair curled in the lace collar. Touchable. I shook my head. Not
even in my dreams. I was dressed in something long and silky. It
was a shade of blue almost as dark as his eyes. My arms looked very
white against it. Jean-Claude got to his knees and reached his hand
out to me. An invitation.
I shook my head.
"It is only a dream, ma petite. Will you not come to me
even here?"
"It's never just a dream with you. It always means more."
His hand fell to the sheets, fingertips caressing the cloth.
"What are you trying to do to me, Jean-Claude?"
He looked very steadily at me. "Seduce you, of course."
Of course. Silly me.
The phone beside the bed rang. It was one of those white
princess phones with lots of gold on it. There hadn't been a
telephone a second before. It rang again, and the dream fell to
shreds. I came awake grabbing for the phone.
"Hello."
"Hey, did I wake you?" Irving Griswold asked.
I blinked at the phone. "Yeah, what time is it?"
"It's ten o'clock. I know better than to call early."
"What do you want, Irving?"
"Grouchy."
"I got in late. Can we skip the sarcasm?"
"I, your true-blue reporter friend, will forgive you that grumpy
hello, if you answer a few questions."
"Questions?" I sat up, hugging the phone to me. "What are you
talking about?"
"Is it true that Humans First saved you last night, as they're
claiming?"
"Claiming? Can you talk in complete sentences, Irving?"
"The morning news had Jeremy Ruebens on it. Channel five. He
claimed that he and Humans First saved your life last night. Saved
you from the Master Vampire of the City."
"Oh, he did not."
"May I quote you?"
I thought about that for a minute. "No."
"I need a quote for the paper. I'm trying to give a chance for a
rebuttal."
"A rebuttal?"
"Hey, I was an English major."
"That explains so much."
"Can you give me your side of the story, or not?"
I thought about that for a minute. Irving was a friend and a
good reporter. If Ruebens was already on the morning news with the
story, I needed to get my side out. "Can you give me fifteen
minutes to make coffee and get dressed?"
"For an exclusive, you bet."
"Talk to you then." I hung up and went straight for the
coffeemaker. I was wearing jogging socks, jeans, and the oversized
t-shirt I'd slept in when Irving called back. I had a steaming cup
of coffee on the bedside table beside the phone. Cinnamon hazelnut
coffee from V. J.'s Tea and Spice Shop over on Olive. Mornings
didn't get much better than this.
"Okay, spill it," he said.
"Gee, Irving, no foreplay?"
"Get to it, Blake, I've got a deadline."
I told him everything. I had to admit that Humans First had
saved my cookies. Darn. "I can't confirm that the vampire they ran
off was the Master of the City."
"Hey, I know Jean-Claude is the master. I interviewed him,
remember?"
"I remember."
"I know this Indian guy was not Jean-Claude."
"But Humans First doesn't know that."
"A double exclusive, wowee."
"No, don't say that Alejandro isn't the master."
"Why not?"
"I'd clear it with Jean-Claude first, if I were you."
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, not a bad idea." He sounded
nervous.
"Is Jean-Claude giving you trouble?"
"No, why do you ask?"
"For a reporter you lie badly."
"Jean-Claude and I got business just between us. It doesn't
concern The Executioner."
"Fine; just watch your back, okay?"
"I'm flattered that you're worried about me, Anita, but trust
me, I can handle it."
I didn't argue with that. I must have been in a good mood.
"Anything you say, Irving."
He let it go, so I did, too. No one could handle Jean-Claude,
but it wasn't my business. Irving had been the one hot for the
interview. So there were strings attached; not a big surprise, and
not my business. Really.
"This'll be on the front page of the morning paper. I'll check
with Jean-Claude about whether to mention this new vamp isn't the
master."
"I'd really appreciate it if you could hold off on that."
"Why?" He sounded suspicious.
"Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea for Humans First to
believe Alejandro is the master."
"Why?"
"So they don't kill Jean-Claude," I said.
"Oh," he said.
"Yeah," I said.
"I'll bear that in mind," he said.
"You do that."
"Gotta go; deadline calls."
"Okay, Irving, talk to you later."
"Bye, Anita, thanks." He hung up.
I sipped the still-steaming coffee, slowly. The first cup of the
day should never be rushed. If I could get Humans First to believe
the same lie Edward bought, then no one would be hunting
Jean-Claude. They'd be hunting Alejandro. The master that was
slaughtering humans. Put the police on the case, and we had the
rogue vamps outnumbered. Yeah, I liked it.
The trick was, would everyone buy it? Never know until you
try.
Chapter 28
I had finished a pot of coffee and managed to get dressed when
the phone rang again. One of those mornings.
"Yeah," I said.
"Ms. Blake?" the voice sounded very uncertain.
"Speaking."
"This is Karl Inger."
"Sorry if I sounded abrupt. What's up, Mr. Inger?"
"You said you'd speak to me again if we had a better plan. I
have a better plan," he said.
"For killing the Master of the City?" I made it a question.
"Yes."
I took a deep breath and let it out slow, away from the phone.
Didn't want him to think I was heavy breathing at him. "Mr. Inger .
. ."
"Please, hear me out. We saved your life last night. That must
be worth something."
He had me there. "What's your plan, Mr. Inger?"
"I'd rather tell you in person."
"I'm not going to my office for some hours yet."
"Could I come to your home?"
"No." It was automatic.
"You don't bring business home?"
"Not when I can help it," I said.
"Suspicious of you."
"Always," I said.
"Can we meet somewhere else? There's someone I want you to
meet."
"Who, and why?"
"The name won't mean anything to you."
"Try me."
"Mr. Oliver."
"First name?"
"I don't know it."
"Okay, then why should I meet him?"
"He has a good plan for killing the Master of the City."
"What?"
"No, I think it will be better if Mr. Oliver explains it in
person. He's much more persuasive than I am."
"You're doing okay," I said.
"Then you'll meet me?"
"Sure, why not?"
"That's wonderful. Do you know where Arnold is?"
"Yes."
"There's a pay fishing lake just outside of Arnold on Tesson
Ferry Road. Do you know it?"
I had an impression that I had driven by it on the way to two
murders. All roads led to Arnold. "I can find it."
"How soon can you meet me there?" he asked.
"An hour."
"Great; I'll be waiting."
"Is this Mr. Oliver going to be at the lake?"
"No, I'll drive you from there."
"Why all the secrecy?"
"Not secrecy," he said, his voice dropped, embarrassed. "I'm
just not very good at giving directions. It'll be easier if I just
take you."
"I can follow you in my car."
"Why, Ms. Blake, I don't think you entirely trust me."
"I don't entirely trust anybody, Mr. Inger, nothing
personal."
"Not even people who save your life?"
"Not even."
He let that drop, probably for the best, and said,
"I'll meet you at the lake in an hour."
"Sure."
"Thank you for coming, Ms. Blake."
"I owe you. You've made sure I'm aware of that."
"You sound defensive, Ms. Blake. I did not mean to offend
you."
I sighed. "I'm not offended, Mr. Inger. I just don't like owing
people."
"Visiting Mr. Oliver today will clear the slate between us. I
promise that."
"I'll hold you to that, Inger."
"I'll meet you in an hour," he said.
"I'll be there," I said. We hung up. "Damn." I'd forgotten I
hadn't gotten to eat yet today. If I'd remembered, I'd have said
two hours. Now I'd have to literally grab something on the way. I
hated eating in the car. But, heh, what's a little mess between
friends? Or even between people who've saved your life? Why did it
bother me so much that I owed Inger?
Because he was a right-wing fruitcake. A zealot. I didn't like
doing business with zealots. And I certainly didn't like owing my
life to one.
Ah, well; I'd meet him, then we'd be square. He had said so. Why
didn't I believe it?
Chapter 29
Chip-Away Lake was about half an acre of man-made water and
thin, raised man-made bank. There was a little shed that sold bait
and food. It was surrounded by a flat gravel parking lot. A
late-model car sat near the road with a sign that read, "For Sale."
A pay fishing lake and a used car lot combined; how clever.
An expanse of grass spread out to the right of the parking lot.
A small, ramshackle shed and what looked like the remains of some
large industrial barbecue. A fringe of woods edged the grass,
rising higher into a wooded hill. The Meramec River edged the left
side of the lake. It seemed funny to have free-flowing water so
close to the man-made lake.
There were only three cars in the parking lot this cool autumn
afternoon. Beside a shiny burgundy Chrysler Le Baron stood Inger. A
handful of fishermen had bundled up and put poles in the water.
Fishing must be good to get people out in the cold.
I parked beside Inger's car. He strode towards me smiling, hand
out like a real estate salesman who was happy I'd come to see the
property. Whatever he was selling, I didn't want. I was almost sure
of that.
"Ms. Blake, so glad you came." He clasped my hand with both of
his, hearty, good-natured, insincere.
"What do you want, Mr. Inger?"
His smile faded around the edges. "I don't know what you mean,
Ms. Blake."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I really don't."
I stared into his puzzled face. Maybe I spent too much time with
slimeballs. After a while you forget that not everyone in the world
is a slimeball. It just saves so much time to assume the worst.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Inger. I . . . I've been spending too much time
looking for criminals. It makes you cynical."
He still looked puzzled.
"Never mind, Mr. Inger; just take me to see this Oliver."
"Mr. Oliver," he said.
"Sure."
"Shall we take my car?" He motioned towards his car.
"I'll follow you in mine."
"You don't trust me." He looked hurt. I guess most people aren't
used to being suspected of wrongdoing before they've done anything
wrong. The law says innocent until proven guilty, but the truth is,
if you see enough pain and death, it's guilty until proven
innocent.
"All right, you drive."
He looked very pleased. Heartwarming.
Besides I was carrying two knives, three crosses, and a gun.
Innocent or guilty, I was prepared. I didn't expect to need the
weaponry with Mr. Oliver, but later, I might need it later. It was
time to go armed to the teeth, ready for bear, or dragon, or
vampire.
Chapter 30
Inger drove down Old Highway 21 to East Rock Creek. Rock Creek
was a narrow, winding road barely wide enough for two cars to pass.
Inger drove slow enough for the curves, but fast enough so you
didn't get bored.
There were farmhouses that had stood for years and new houses in
subdivisions where the earth was raw and red as a wound. Inger
turned into one of those new subdivisions. It was full of large,
expensive-looking houses, very modern. Thin, spindly trees were
tied to stakes along the gravel road.
The pitiful trees trembled in the autumn wind, a few surprised
leaves still clinging to the spider-thin limbs. This area had been
a forest before they bulldozed it. Why do developers destroy all
the mature trees, then plant new trees that won't look good for
decades?
We pulled up in front of a fake log cabin that was bigger than
any real cabin had ever been. Too much glass, the yard naked dirt
the color of rust. The white gravel that made up the driveway had
to have been brought in from miles away. All the native gravel was
as red as the dirt.
Inger started to go around the car, to open my door I think. I
opened my own door. Inger seemed a little lost, but he'd get over
it. I'd never seen the sense in perfectly healthy people not
opening their own doors. Especially car doors where the man had to
walk all the way around the car, and the woman just waited like a .
. . a lump.
Inger led the way up the porch steps. It was a nice porch, wide
enough to sit on come summer evenings. Right now it was all bare
wood and a huge picture window with closed drapes in a barn-red
design with wagon wheels drawn all over it. Very rustic.
He knocked on the carved wooden door. A pane of leaded glass
decorated the center of the door, high up and sparkling, more for
decoration than for seeing through. He didn't wait for the door to
be opened, but used a key and walked in. He didn't seem to expect
an answer, so why knock?
The house was in a thick twilight of really nice drapes, all
closed against the syrup-heavy sunlight. The polished wood floors
were utterly bare. The mantel of the heavy fireplace was naked, the
fireplace cold. The place smelled new and unused, like new toys on
Christmas. Inger never hesitated. I followed his broad back into
the wooden hallway. He didn't look behind to see if I was keeping
up. Apparently when I'd decided not to let him open my door for me,
he seemed to have decided that no further courtesy was
necessary.
Fine with me.
There were doors at widely spaced intervals along the hallway.
Inger knocked at the third door on the left. A voice said,
"Enter."
Inger opened the door and went inside. He held the door for me,
standing very straight by the door. It wasn't courtesy. He stood
like a soldier at attention. Who was in the room to make Inger toe
the line? One way to find out.
I went into the room.
There was a bank of windows to the north with heavy drapes
pulled across them. A thin line of sunlight cut across the room,
bisecting a large, clean desk. A man sat in a large chair behind
the desk.
He was a small man, almost a midget or a dwarf. I wanted to say
dwarf, but he didn't have the jaw or the shortened arms. He looked
well formed under his tailored suit. He had almost no chin and a
sloping forehead, which drew attention to the wide nose and the
prominent eyebrow ridge. There was something familiar about his
face, as if I'd seen it somewhere else before. Yet I knew I'd never
met a person who looked just like him. It was a very singular
face.
I was staring at him. I was embarrassed and didn't like it. I
met his eyes; they were perfectly brown and smiling. His dark hair
was cut one hair at a time, expensive and blow-dried. He sat in his
chair behind the clean polished desk and smiled at me.
"Mr. Oliver, this is Anita Blake," Inger said, still standing
stiffly by the door.
He got out of his chair and came around the desk to offer me his
small well-formed hand. He was four feet tall, not an inch more.
His handshake was firm and much stronger than he looked. A brief
squeeze, and I could feel the strength in his small frame. He
didn't look musclebound, but that easy strength was there, in his
face, hand, stance.
He was small, but he didn't think it was a defect. I liked that.
I felt the same way.
He gave a close-lipped smile and sat back down in his big chair.
Inger brought a chair from the corner and put it facing the desk. I
took the chair. Inger remained standing by the now-closed door. He
was definitely at attention. He respected the man in the chair. I
was willing to like him. That was a first for me. I'm more likely
to instantly mistrust than like someone.
I realized that I was smiling. I felt warm and comfortable
facing him, like he was a favorite and trusted uncle. I frowned at
him; what the hell was happening to me?
"What's going on?" I said.
He smiled, his eyes sparkling warmly at me. "Whatever do you
mean, Ms. Blake?"
His voice was soft, low, rich, like cream in coffee. You could
almost taste it. A comforting warmth to your ears. I only knew one
other voice that could do similar things.
I stared at the thin band of sunlight only inches from Oliver's
arm. It was broad daylight. He couldn't be. Could he?
I stared at his very alive face. There was no trace of that
otherness that vampires gave off. And yet, his voice, this warm
cosy feeling, none of it was natural. I'd never liked and trusted
anyone instantly. I wasn't about to start now.
"You're good," I said. "Very good."
"Whatever do you mean, Ms. Blake?" You could have cuddled into
the warm fuzziness of his voice like a favorite blanket.
"Stop it."
He looked quizzically at me, as if confused. The act was
perfect, and I realized why; it wasn't an act. I'd been around
ancient vampires, but never one that had been able to pass for
human, not like this. You could have taken him anywhere and no one
would have known. Well, almost no one.
"Believe me, Ms. Blake, I'm not trying to do anything."
I swallowed hard. Was that true? Was he so damn powerful that
the mind tricks and the voice were automatic? No; if Jean-Claude
could control it, this thing could, too.
"Cut the mind tricks, and curb the voice, okay? If you want to
talk business, talk, but cut the games."
His smile widened, still not enough to show fangs. After a few
hundred years, you must get really good at smiling like that.
He laughed then; it was wonderful, like warm water falling from
a great height. You could have jumped into it and bathed, and felt
good.
"Stop it, stop it!"
Fangs flashed as he finished chuckling at me. "It isn't the
vampire marks that allowed you to see through my, as you call them,
games. It is natural talent, isn't it?"
I nodded. "Most animators have it."
"But not to the degree you do, Ms. Blake. You have power, too.
It crawls along my skin. You are a necromancer."
I started to deny it, but stopped. Lying to something like this
was useless. He was older than anything I'd ever dreamed of, older
than any nightmare I'd ever had. But he didn't make my bones ache;
he felt good, better than Jean-Claude, better than anything.
"I could be a necromancer. I choose not to be."
"No, Ms. Blake, the dead respond to you, all the dead. Even I
feel the pull."
"You mean I have a sort of power over vampires, too?"
"If you could learn to harness your talents, Ms. Blake, yes, you
have a certain power over all the dead, in their many guises."
I wanted to ask how to do that, but stopped myself. A master
vampire wasn't likely to help me gain power over his followers.
"You're taunting me."
"I assure you, Ms. Blake, that I am very serious. It is your
potential power that has drawn the Master of the City to you. He
wants to control that emerging power, for fear it will be turned
against him."
"How do you know that?"
"I can taste him through the marks he has laid upon you."
I just stared at him. He could taste Jean-Claude. Shit.
"What do you want from me?"
"Very direct; I like that. Human lives are too short to waste in
trivialities."
Was that a threat? Staring into his smiling face, I couldn't
tell. His eyes were still sparkling, and I was still feeling very
warm and fuzzy towards him. Eye contact. I knew better than that. I
stared at the top of his desk and felt better, or worse. I could be
scared now.
"Inger said you had a plan for taking out the Master of the
City. What is it?" I spoke staring at his desk. My skin crawled
with the desire to look up. To meet his eyes, to let the warmth and
comfort wash over me. Make all the decisions easy.
I shook my head. "Stay out of my mind or this interview is
over."
He laughed again, warm and real. It raised goose bumps on my
arms. "You really are good. I haven't met a human in centuries that
rivaled you. A necromancer; do you realize how rare that talent
is?"
Really I didn't, but I said, "Yes."
"Lies, Ms. Blake, to me, please don't bother."
"We're not here to talk about me. Either state your plan or I'm
leaving."
"I am the plan, Ms. Blake. You can feel my powers, the ebb and
flow of more centuries than your little master has ever dreamed of.
I am older than time itself."
That I didn't believe, but I let it go. He was old enough; I
wasn't going to argue with him, not if I could help it.
"Give me your master and I will free you of his marks."
I glanced up, then quickly down. He was still smiling at me, but
the smile didn't look real anymore. It was an act like everything
else. It was just a very good act.
"If you can taste my master in the marks, can't you just find
him yourself?"
"I can taste his power, judge how worthy a foe he would be, but
not his name and not where he lies; that is hidden." His voice was
very serious now, not trying to trick me. Or at least I didn't
think it was; maybe that was a trick, too.
"What do you want from me?"
"His name and his daytime resting place."
"I don't know the daytime resting place." I was glad it was the
truth, because he would smell a lie.
"Then his name, give me his name."
"Why should I?"
"Because I wish to be Master of the City, Ms. Blake."
"Why?"
"So many questions. Is it not enough that I would free you from
his power?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Why should you care about what happens to the other
vampires?"
"I don't, but before I hand you the power to control every
vampire in the immediate area, I'd like to know what you intend to
do with all that power."
He laughed again. This time it was just a laugh. He was
trying.
"You are the most stubborn human I have met in a very long time.
I like stubborn people; they get things done."
"Answer my question."
"I think it is wrong to have vampires as legal citizens. I wish
to put things back as they were."
"Why should you want vampires to be hunted again?"
"They are too powerful to be allowed to spread unchecked. They
will take over the human race much quicker through legislation and
voting rights than they ever could through violence."
I remembered the Church of Eternal Life, the fastest-growing
denomination in the country. "Say you're right; how would you stop
it?"
"By forbidding the vampires to vote, or take part in any
legislation."
"There are other master vampires in town."
"You mean Malcolm, the head of the Church of Eternal Life."
"Yes."
"I have observed him. He will not be able to continue his
one-man crusade to make vampires legitimate. I shall forbid it and
dismantle his church. Surely you see the church as the larger
danger, as I do."
I did, but I hated agreeing with an ancient master vampire. It
seemed wrong somehow.
"St. Louis is a hotbed of political activity and entrepreneurial
vampires. They must be stopped. We are predators, Ms. Blake;
nothing we do can change that. We must go back to being hunted or
the human race is doomed. Surely you see that."
I did see that. I believed that. "Why would you care if the
human race is doomed? You're not part of it anymore."
"As the oldest living vampire, it is my duty to keep us in
check, Ms. Blake. These new rights are getting out of hand and must
be stopped. We are too powerful to be allowed such freedom. Humans
have their right to be human. In the olden days only the strongest,
smartest, or luckiest vampires survived. The human vampire hunters
weeded out the stupid, the careless, the violent. Without that
check-and-balance system, I fear what will happen in a few
decades."
I agreed, wholeheartedly; it was sorta scary. I agreed with the
oldest living thing I'd ever met. He was right. Could I give him
Jean-Claude? Should I give him Jean-Claude?
"I agree with you, Mr. Oliver, but I can't just give him up,
just like that. I don't know why really, but I can't."
"Loyalty; I admire that. Think upon it, Ms. Blake, but do not
take too long. I need to put my plan into action as soon as
possible."
I nodded. "I understand. I . . . I'll give you an answer within
a couple of days. How do I reach you?"
"Inger will give you a card with a number on it. You may safely
speak to him as to me."
I turned and looked at Inger, still standing at attention beside
the door. "You're his human servant, aren't you?"
"I have that honor."
I shook my head. "I need to leave now."
"Do not feel badly that you could not recognize Inger as my
human servant. It is not a mark which shows; otherwise how could
they be our human ears and eyes and hands, if everyone knew they
were ours?"
He had a point. He had a lot of points. I stood up. He stood up,
too. He offered me his hand.
"I'm sorry, but I know that touching makes the mind games
easier."
The hand dropped back to his side. "I do not need to touch you
to play mind games, Ms. Blake." The voice was wonderful, shining
and bright as Christmas morning. My throat was tight, and the
warmth of tears filled my eyes. Shit, shit, shit, shit.
I backed for the door, and Inger opened it for me. They were
just going to let me leave. He wasn't going to mind-rape me and get
the name. He was really going to let me walk away. That did more to
prove him a good guy than anything else. Because he could have
squeezed my mind dry. But he let me go.
Inger closed the door behind us, slowly, reverently.
"How old is he?" I asked.
"You couldn't tell?"
I shook my head. "How old?"
Inger smiled. "I am over seven hundred years old. Mr. Oliver was
ancient when I met him."
"He's older than a thousand years."
"Why do you say that?"
"I've met a vampire that was a little over a thousand. She was
scary, but she didn't have that kind of power."
He smiled. "If you wish to know his true age, then you must ask
him yourself."
I stared up at Inger's smiling face for a minute. I remembered
where I'd seen a face like Oliver's. I'd had one anthropology class
in college. There'd been a drawing that looked just like Oliver. It
had been a reconstruction of a Homo erectus skull. Which
made Oliver about a million years old.
"My God," I said.
"What's wrong, Ms. Blake?"
I shook my head. "He can't be that old."
"How old is that?"
I didn't want to say it out loud, as if that would make it real.
A million years. How powerful would a vampire grow in a million
years?
A woman walked up the hallway towards us, coming from deeper in
the house. She swayed on bare feet, toenails painted a bright
scarlet that matched her fingernails. The belted dress she wore
matched the nail polish. Her legs were long and pale, but it was
that kind of paleness that promised to tan if it ever got enough
sunlight. Her hair fell past her waist, thick and absolute black.
Her makeup was perfect, her lips scarlet. She smiled at me; fangs
showed below her lips.
But she wasn't a vampire. I didn't know what the hell she was,
but I knew what she wasn't. I glanced at Inger. He didn't look
happy.
"Shouldn't we be going?" I said.
"Yes," he said. He backed towards the front door and I backed
behind him. Neither of us took our eyes off the fanged beauty
slinking down the hall towards us.
She moved in a liquid run that was almost too fast to follow.
Lycanthropes could move like that, but that wasn't what she was,
either.
She was around Inger and coming for me. I gave up being cool and
sort of ran backwards towards the front door. But she was too fast
for me, too fast for any human.
She grabbed my right forearm. She looked puzzled. She could feel
the knife sheath on my arm. She didn't seem to know what it was.
Bully for me.
"What are you?" My voice was steady. Not afraid. Heap big
vampire slayer. Yeah, right.
She opened her mouth wider, tongue caressing the fangs. The
fangs were longer than a vampire's; she'd never be able to close
her mouth around them.
"Where do the fangs go when you close your mouth?" I said.
She blinked at me, the smile slipping away from her face. She
ran her tongue over them, then they folded back into the roof of
her mouth.
"Retractable fangs. Cool," I said.
Her face was very solemn. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show, but
there's so much more to see." The fangs unfolded again. She widened
her jaws, almost a yawn, flashing the fangs nicely in the dim beams
of sunlight that got around the drapes.
"Mr. Oliver will not like you threatening her," Inger said.
"He grows weak, sentimental." Her fingers dug into my arm
stronger than she should have been.
She was holding my right arm, so I couldn't go for the gun. The
knives were out for similar reasons. Maybe I should wear more
guns.
She hissed at me, a violent explosion of air that no human
throat ever made. The tongue that flicked out was forked.
"Sweet Jesus, what are you?"
She laughed, but it didn't sound right now; maybe the split
tongue. Her pupils had narrowed to slits, her irises turned a
golden yellow while I watched.
I tugged on my arm but her fingers were like steel. I dropped to
the floor. She lowered my arm but didn't let go.
I leaned back on my left side, drew my legs up under me, and
kicked her right kneecap with everything I had. The leg crumpled.
She screamed and fell to the floor, but she let my arm go.
Something was happening to her legs. They seemed to be growing
together, the skin spreading. I'd never seen anything like it, and
I didn't want to now.
"Melanie, what are you doing?" The voice was behind us. Oliver
stood in the hallway just short of the brighter light of the living
room. His voice was the sound of rocks falling, trees breaking. A
storm that was just words but seemed to cut and slash.
The thing on the floor cringed from the voice. Her lower body
was becoming serpentine. A snake of some kind. Jesus.
"She's a lamia," I said softly. I backed away, putting the
outside door to my back, hand on the door knob. "I thought they
were extinct."
"She is the last one," Oliver said. "I keep her with me because
I fear what she would do left to her own desires."
"Your creature that you can call, what is it?" I asked.
He sighed, and I felt the years of sadness in that one sound. A
regret too deep for words. "Snakes, I can call snakes."
I nodded my head. "Sure." I opened the door and backed out onto
the sunny porch. No one tried to stop me.
The door shut behind me and after a few minutes Inger came out.
He was stiff with anger. "We most humbly apologize for her. She is
an animal."
"Oliver needs to keep her on a tighter leash."
"He tries."
I nodded. I knew about trying. Doing your best, but anything
that could control a lamia could play mind games with me all day,
and I might never know it. How much of my trust and good wishes was
real and how much of it was manufactured by Oliver?
"I'll drive you back."
"Please."
And away we went. I'd met my first lamia and perhaps the oldest
living creature in the world. A red-fucking-letter day.
Chapter 31
The phone was ringing as I unlocked the apartment door. I shoved
the door open with my shoulder and ran for the phone. I got it on
the fifth ring and nearly yelled, "Hello."
"Anita?" Ronnie made it a question.
"Yeah, it's me."
"You sound out of breath."
"I had to run for the phone. What's up?"
"I remembered where I knew Cal Rupert from."
It took me a minute to remember who she was talking about. The
first vampire victim. I'd forgotten, just for a moment, that there
was a murder investigation going on. I was a little ashamed of
that. "Talk to me, Ronnie."
"I was doing some work for a local law firm last year. One of
the lawyers specialized in drawing up dying wills."
"I know that Rupert had a dying will. That's how I could stake
him without waiting for an order of execution."
"But did you also know that Reba Baker had a dying will with the
same lawyer?"
"Who's Reba Baker?"
"It may be the female victim."
My stomach tightened. A clue, a real live clue. "What makes you
think so?"
"Reba Baker was young, blond, and missed an appointment. She
doesn't answer her phone. They called her at work, and she hasn't
been in for two days."
"The length of time she'd have been dead," I said.
"Exactly."
"Call Sergeant Rudolf Storr. Tell him what you just told me. Use
my name to get to him."
"You don't want to check it out ourselves?"
"Not on your life. This is police business. They're good at it.
Let 'em earn their paychecks."
"Shucks, you're no fun."
"Ronnie, call Dolph. Give it to the police. I've met the
vampires that are killing these people. We don't want to make
ourselves targets."
"You what!"
I sighed. I'd forgotten that Ronnie didn't know. I told her the
shortest version that would make any sense. "I'll fill you in on
everything Saturday morning when we work out."
"You going to be all right?"
"So far, so good."
"Watch your back, okay?"
"Always; you too."
"I never seem to have as many people after my back as you
do."
"Be thankful," I said.
"I am." She hung up.
We had a clue. Maybe a pattern, except for the attack on me. I
didn't fit any pattern. They'd come after me to get Jean-Claude.
Everybody wanted Jean-Claude's job. The trouble was, you couldn't
abdicate; you could only die. I liked what Oliver had had to say. I
agreed with him, but could I sacrifice Jean-Claude on the altar of
good sense? Dammit.
I just didn't know.
Chapter 32
Bert's office was small and painted pale blue. He thought it was
soothing to the clients. I thought it was cold, but that fit Bert,
too. He was six feet tall with the broad shoulders and build of an
ex-college football player. His stomach was moving a little south
with too much food and not enough exercise, but he carried it well
in his seven-hundred-dollar suits. For that kind of money, the
suits should have carried the Taj Mahal.
He was tanned, grey-eyed, with a buzz haircut that was nearly
white. Not age, his natural hair color.
I was sitting across from his desk in work clothes. A red skirt,
matching jacket, and a blouse that was so close to scarlet I'd had
to put on a little makeup so that my face didn't seem ghostly. The
jacket was tailored so that my shoulder holster didn't show.
Larry sat in the chair beside me in a blue suit, white shirt,
and blue-on-blue tie. The skin around his stitches had blossomed
into a multicolored bruise across his forehead. His short red hair
couldn't hide it. It looked like someone had hit him in the head
with a baseball bat.
"You could have gotten him killed, Bert," I said.
"He wasn't in any danger until you showed up. The vampires
wanted you, not him."
He was right, and I didn't like it. "He tried to raise a third
zombie."
Bert's cold little eyes lit up. "You can do three in a
night?"
Larry had the grace to look embarrassed. "Almost."
Bert frowned. "What's 'almost' mean?"
"It means he raised it, but lost control of it. If I hadn't been
there to fix things, we'd have had a rampaging zombie on our
hands."
He leaned forward, hands folded on his desk, small eyes very
serious. "Is this true, Larry?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Vaughn."
"That could have been very serious, Larry. You understand
that?"
"Serious?" I said. "It would have been a bloody disaster. The
zombie could have eaten one of our clients!"
"Now, Anita, no reason to frighten the boy."
I stood up. "Yes, there is."
Bert frowned at me. "If you hadn't been late, he wouldn't have
tried to raise the last zombie."
"No, Bert. You are not making this all my fault. You sent him
out on his first night alone. Alone, Bert."
"And he handled himself well," Bert said.
I fought the urge to scream, because it wouldn't help. "Bert,
he's a twenty-year-old college student. This is a freaking seminar
for him. If you get him killed, it's gonna look sorta bad."
"May I say something?" Larry asked.
I said, "No."
Bert said, "Certainly."
"I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."
I wanted to argue that, but looking into his true-blue eyes I
couldn't say it. He was twenty. I remembered twenty. I'd known
everything at twenty. It took me another year to realize I knew
nothing. I was still hoping to learn something before I hit thirty,
but I wasn't holding my breath.
"How old were you when you started working for me?" Bert
said.
"What?"
"How old were you?"
"Twenty-one; I'd just graduated college."
"When will you turn twenty-one, Larry?" Bert asked.
"March."
"See, Anita, he's just a few months younger. He's the same age
you were."
"That was different."
"Why?" Bert said.
I couldn't put it into words. Larry still had all his
grandparents. He'd never seen death and violence up close and
personal. I had. He was an innocent, and I hadn't been innocent for
years. But how to explain that to Bert without hurting Larry's
feelings? No twenty-year-old man likes to hear that a woman knows
more about the world than he does. Some cultural fables die
hard.
"You sent me out with Manny, not alone."
"He was supposed to go out with you, but you had police business
to handle."
"That's not fair, Bert, and you know it."
He shrugged. "If you'd been doing your job, he wouldn't have
been alone."
"There've been two murders. What am I supposed to do? Say sorry,
folks, I've got to babysit a new animator. Sorry about the
murders."
"Nobody has to babysit me," Larry said.
We both ignored him.
"You have a full time job here with Animators, Inc."
"We've had this argument before, Bert."
"Too many times," he said.
"You're my boss, Bert. Do what you think best."
"Don't tempt me."
"Hey, guys," Larry said, "I'm getting the feeling that you're
using me for an excuse to fight. Don't get carried away, okay?"
We both glared at him. He didn't back down, just stared at us.
Point for him.
"If you don't like the way I do my job, Bert, fire me, but stop
yanking my chain."
Bert stood up, slowly, like a leviathan rising from the waves.
"Anita . . ."
The phone rang. We all stared at it for a minute. Bert finally
picked it up and growled, "Yeah, what is it?"
He listened for a minute, then glared at me. "It's for you." His
voice was incredibly mild as he said it. "Detective Sergeant Storr,
police business."
Bert's face was smiling, butter wouldn't have melted in his
mouth.
I held out my hand for the phone without another word. He handed
me the receiver. He was still smiling, his tiny grey eyes warm and
sparkling. It was a bad sign.
"Hi, Dolph, what's up?"
"We're at the lawyer's office that your friend Veronica Sims
gave us. Nice that she called you first and not us."
"She called you second, didn't she?"
"Yeah."
"What have you found out?" I didn't bother to keep my voice
down. If you're careful, one side of a conversation isn't very
enlightening.
"Reba Baker is the dead woman. They identified her from morgue
photos."
"Pleasant way to end the work week," I said.
Dolph ignored that. "Both victims were clients with dying wills.
If they died by vampire bite, they wanted to be staked, then
cremated."
"Sounds like a pattern to me," I said.
"But how did the vampires find out that they had dying
wills?"
"Is this a trick question, Dolph? Someone told them."
"I know that," he said. He sounded disgusted.
I was missing something. "What do you want from me, Dolph?"
"I've questioned everyone, and I'd swear they were all telling
the truth. Could someone have been giving the information and not
remember?"
"You mean could the vampire have played mind games, so that the
traitor wouldn't know afterwards?"
"Yeah," he said.
"Sure," I said.
"Could you tell which one the vampire got to if you were
here?"
I glanced at my boss's face. If I missed another night during
our busiest season, he might fire me. There were days when I didn't
think I'd care. This wasn't one of them. "Look for memory losses;
hours, or even entire nights."
"Anything else?"
"If someone has been feeding info to the vampires, they may not
remember it, but a good hypnotist will be able to raise the
memory."
"The lawyer is screaming about rights and warrants. We've only
got a warrant for the files, not for their minds."
"Ask him if he wants to be responsible for tonight's murder
victim, one of his own clients?"
"She; the lawyer's a woman," he said.
How embarrassing and how sexist of me. "Ask her if she's willing
to explain to her client's family why she obstructed your
investigation."
"The clients won't know unless we let it out," he said.
"That's true," I said.
"Why, that would be blackmail, Ms. Blake."
"Isn't it, though?" I said.
"You had to be a cop in a past life," he said. "You're too
devious not to be."
"Thanks for the compliment."
"Any hypnotists you'd recommend?"
"Alvin Thormund. Wait a sec and I'll get his number for you." I
got out my thin business card holder. I tried to only keep cards I
wanted to refer to from time to time. We'd used Alvin for several
cases of vampire victims with amnesia. I gave Dolph the number.
"Thanks, Anita."
"Let me know what you find out. I might be able to identify the
vampire involved."
"You want to be there when we put them under?"
I glanced at Bert. His face was still relaxed, pleasant. Bert at
his most dangerous.
"I don't think so. Just make a recording of the session. If I
need to, I'll listen to it later."
"Later may mean another body," he said. "Your boss giving you
trouble again?"
"Yeah," I said.
"You want me to talk to him?" Dolph asked.
"I don't think so."
"He being a real bastard about it?"
"The usual."
"Okay, I'll call this Thormund and record the sessions. I'll let
you know if we find out anything."
"Beep me."
"You got it." He hung up. I didn't bother to say good-bye. Dolph
never did.
I handed the phone back to Bert. He hung it up still staring at
me with his pleasant, threatening eyes. "You have to go out for the
police tonight?"
"No."
"How did we merit this honor?"
"Cut the sarcasm, Bert." I turned to Larry. "You ready to go,
kid?"
"How old are you?" he asked.
Bert grinned.
"What difference does it make?" I asked.
"Just answer the question, okay?"
I shrugged. "Twenty-four."
"You're only four years older than me. Don't call me kid."
I had to smile. "Deal, but we better be going. We have dead to
raise, money to make." I glanced at Bert.
He was leaning back in his chair, blunt-fingered hands clasped
over his belly. He was grinning.
I wanted to wipe the grin off his face with a fist. I resisted
the urge. Who says I have no self-control?
Chapter 33
It was an hour before dawn. When all the Whos down in Whoville
were asnooze in their beds without care. Sorry, wrong book. If I
get to stay awake until dawn, I get just a tad slaphappy. I'd been
up all night teaching Larry how to be a good, law-abiding animator.
I wasn't sure Bert would appreciate the last, but I knew I
would.
The cemetery was small. A family plot with pretensions. A narrow
two-lane road rounded a hill, and suddenly there it was, a swathe
of gravel beside the road. You had seconds to decide to turn in,
that this was it. Tombstones climbed up the hill. The angle was so
steep, it looked like the coffins should have slid downhill.
We stood in the dark with a canopy of trees whispering overhead.
The woods were thick on either side of the road. The little plot
was just a narrow space beside the road, but it was well cared for.
There were still-living family members to see to the upkeep. I
didn't even want to imagine how they mowed the hillside. Maybe a
rope-and-pulley system to make sure the mower didn't roll over and
add another corpse.
Our last clients of the night had just driven away back to
civilization. I'd raised five zombies. Larry had raised one. Yeah,
he could have raised two, but we just ran out of darkness. It
doesn't take that long to raise a zombie, at least for me, but
there's travel time included. In four years I'd only had two
zombies in the same cemetery on the same night. Most of the time
you were driving like a maniac to make all the appointments.
My poor car had been towed to a service station, but the
insurance people hadn't seen it yet. It would take days or weeks
for them to tell me it was totaled. There hadn't been time to rent
a car for the night, so Larry was driving. He'd have been with me
even if I'd had the car. I was the one bitching about not having
enough help, so I got to train him. It was only fair, I
guessed.
The wind rushed through the trees. Dry leaves scurried across
the road. The night was full of small, hurried noises. Rushing,
rushing, towards . . . what? All Hallows Eve. You could feel
Halloween on the air.
"I love nights like this," Larry said.
I glanced over at him. We were both standing with our hands in
our pockets staring out into the darkness. Enjoying the evening. We
were also both covered in dried chicken blood. Just a nice, normal
night.
My beeper went off. The high-pitched beep sounded very wrong in
the quiet, windswept night. I hit the button. Mercifully, the noise
stopped. The little light flashed a phone number at me. I didn't
recognize the number. I hoped it wasn't Dolph, because an
unfamiliar number this late at night, or early in the morning,
meant another murder. Another body.
"Come on, we gotta get to a phone."
"Who is it?"
"I'm not sure." I started down the hill.
He followed me and asked, "Who do you think it is?"
"Maybe the police."
"The murders you're working on?"
I glanced back at him and rammed my knee into a tombstone. I
stood there for a few seconds, holding my breath while the pain ran
through me. "Shiiit!" I said softly and with feeling.
"Are you all right?" Larry touched my arm.
I drew away from his hand, and he let his hand drop. I wasn't
much into casual touching. "I'm fine." Truth was, it still hurt,
but what the hell? I needed to get to a phone, and the pain would
get better the more I walked on it. Honest.
I stared carefully ahead to avoid other hard objects. "What do
you know about the murders?"
"Just that you're helping the police on a preternatural crime,
and that it's taking you away from your animating jobs."
"Bert told you that."
"Mr. Vaughn, yes."
We were at the car. "Look, Larry, if you're going to work for
Animators, Inc., you've got to drop all this Mr. and Ms. stuff. We
aren't your professors. We're coworkers."
He smiled, a flash of white in the dark. "All right, Ms . . .
Anita."
"That's better. Now let's go find a phone."
We drove into Chesterfield on the theory that, as the closest
town, it would have the closest phone. We ended up at a bank of pay
phones in the parking lot of a closed service station. The station
glowed softly in the dark, but a halogen streetlight beamed over
the pay phones, turning night into day. Insects and moths danced
around the light. The swift, flitting shapes of bats swam in and
out of the light, eating the insects.
I dialed the number while Larry waited in the car. Give him a
point for discretion. The phone rang twice; then a voice said,
"Anita, is that you?"
It was Irving Griswold, reporter and friend. "Irving, what in
blazes are you doing paging me at this hour?"
"Jean-Claude wants to see you tonight, now." His voice sounded
rushed and uncertain.
"Why are you delivering the message?" I was afraid I wasn't
going to like the answer.
"I'm a werewolf," he said.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"You didn't know." He sounded surprised.
"Know what?" I was getting angry. I hate twenty questions.
"Jean-Claude's animal is a wolf."
That explained Stephen the Werewolf and the black woman. "Why
weren't you there the other night, Irving? Did he let you off your
leash?"
"That's not fair."
He was right. It wasn't. "I'm sorry, Irving. I'm just feeling
guilty because I introduced the two of you."
"I wanted to interview the Master of the City. I got my
interview."
"Was it worth the price?" I said.
"No comment."
"That's my line."
He laughed. "Can you come to the Circus of the Damned?
Jean-Claude has some information on the master vampire that jumped
you."
"Alejandro?"
"That's the one."
"We'll be there as soon as we can, but it's going to be damn
close to dawn before we can get to the Riverfront."
"Who's we?"
"A new animator I'm breaking in. He's driving." I hesitated.
"Tell Jean-Claude no rough stuff tonight."
"Tell him yourself."
"Coward."
"Yes, ma'am. See you as soon as you can get here. Bye."
"Bye, Irving." I held the buzzing receiver for a few seconds,
then hung up. Irving was Jean-Claude's creature. Jean-Claude could
call wolves the way Mr. Oliver called snakes. The way Nikolaos had
called rats, and wererats. They were all monsters. It was just a
choice of flavors.
I slid back into the car. "You wanted more experience with
vampires, right?" I buckled the seat belt.
"Of course," Larry said.
"Well, you're going to get it tonight."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll explain while you drive. We don't have much time before
dawn." Larry threw the car in gear and peeled out of the parking
lot. He looked eager in the dim glow of the dashboard. Eager and
very, very young.
Chapter 34
The Circus of the Damned had closed down for the night, or would
that be morning? It was still dark, but there was a wash of
lightness to the east as we parked in front of the warehouse. An
hour earlier, and there wouldn't have been a parking place even
close to the Circus. But the tourists leave as the vampires fold
down for the night.
I glanced at Larry. His face was smeared with dried blood. So
was mine. It hadn't occurred to me until just now to find some
place to clean up first. I glanced up at the eastern sky and shook
my head. There was no time. Dawn was coming.
The toothed clowns still glowed and twirled atop the marquee,
but it was a tired dance. Or maybe I was the one who was tired.
"Follow my lead in here, Larry. Never forget that they are
monsters; no matter how human they look, they aren't. Don't take
off your cross, don't let them touch you, and don't stare directly
into their eyes."
"I know that from class. I had two semesters of Vampire
Studies."
I shook my head. "Class is nothing, Larry. This is the real
thing. Reading about it doesn't prepare you for it."
"We had guest speakers. Some of them were vampires."
I sighed and let it go. He'd have to learn on his own. Like
everybody else did. Like I had.
The big doors were locked. I knocked. The door opened a moment
later. Irving stood there. He wasn't smiling. He looked like a
chubby cherub with soft, curling hair in a fringe over his ears,
and a big bald spot in the middle. Round, wire-framed glasses
perched on a round little nose. His eyes widened a little as we
stepped inside. The blood looked like what it was in the light.
"What have you been doing tonight?" he asked.
"Raising the dead," I said.
"This the new animator?"
"Larry Kirkland, Irving Griswold. He's a reporter, so everything
you say can be used against you."
"Hey, Blake, I've never quoted you when you said not to. Give me
that."
I nodded. "Given."
"He's waiting for you downstairs," Irving said.
"Downstairs?" I said.
"It is almost dawn. He needs to be underground."
Ah. "Sure," I said, but my stomach clenched tight. The last time
I'd gone downstairs at the Circus, it had been to kill Nikolaos.
There had been a lot of killing that morning. A lot of blood. Some
of it mine.
Irving led the way through the silent midway. Someone had hit
the switch, and the lights were dull. The fronts of the games had
been shut and locked down, covers thrown over the stuffed animals.
The scent of corn dogs and cotton candy hung on the air like
aromatic ghosts, but the smells were dim and tired.
We passed the haunted house with its life-size witch on top,
standing silent and staring with bulging eyes. She was green and
had a wart on her nose. I'd never met a witch that looked anything
but normal. They certainly weren't green, and warts could always be
surgically removed.
The glass house was next. The darkened Ferris wheel towered over
everything. "I feel like one, / Who treads alone / Some banquet
hall deserted, / Whose lights are fled, / Whose garlands dead, /
And all but he departed," I said.
Irving glanced back to me. "Thomas Moore, Oft in the Stilly
Night."
I smiled. "I couldn't remember the title to save myself. I'll
just have to agree with you."
"Double major, journalism and English literature."
"I bet that last comes in handy as a reporter," I said.
"Hey, I slip a little culture in when I can." He sounded
offended, but I knew he was pretending. It made me feel better to
have Irving joking with me. It was nice and normal. I needed all
the nice I could get tonight.
It was an hour until dawn. What harm could Jean-Claude do in an
hour? Better not to ask.
The door in the wall was heavy and wooden with a sign reading,
"Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point." For once I wished I
wasn't authorized.
The little room beyond was just a small storage room with a bare
light bulb hanging from the ceiling. A second door led down the
stairs. The stairs were almost wide enough for the three of us to
walk abreast, but not quite. Irving walked ahead of us, as if we
still needed leading. There was nowhere to go but down. Prophetic,
that.
There was a sharp bend to the stairs. There was a brush of
cloth, the sensation of movement. I had my gun out and ready. No
thought necessary, just lots and lots of practice.
"You won't need that," Irving said.
"Says you."
"I thought the Master was a friend of yours," Larry said.
"Vampires don't have friends."
"How about junior high science teachers?" Richard Zeeman walked
around the corner. He was wearing a forest-green sweater with a
lighter green and brown forest woven into it. The sweater hung down
nearly to his knees. On me it would have been a dress. The sleeves
were pushed back over his forearms. Jeans and the same pair of
white Nikes completed the outfit. "Jean-Claude sent me up to wait
for you."
"Why?" I asked.
He shrugged. "He seems nervous. I didn't ask questions."
"Smart man," I said.
"Let's keep moving," Irving said.
"You sound nervous, too, Irving."
"He calls and I obey, Anita. I'm his animal."
I reached out to touch Irving's arm, but he moved away. "I
thought I could play human, but he's shown me that I'm an animal.
Just an animal."
"Don't let him do that to you," I said.
He stared at me, his eyes filled with tears. "I can't stop
him."
"We better get moving. It's almost dawn," Richard said.
I glared at him for saying it.
He shrugged. "It'll be better if we don't keep the master
waiting. You know that."
I did know that. I nodded. "You're right. I don't have any right
to get mad at you."
"Thanks."
I shook my head. "Let's do it."
"You can put the gun up," he said.
I stared at the Browning. I liked having it out. For security it
beat the hell out of a teddy bear. I put the gun away. I could
always get it out again later.
At the end of the stairs there was one last door—smaller,
rounded with a heavy iron lock. Irving took out a huge black key
and slipped it into the door. The lock gave a well-oiled click, and
he pushed it forward. Irving was trusted with the key to below the
stairs. How deep was he in, and could I get him out?
"Wait a minute," I said.
Everyone turned to me. I was the center of attention. Great. "I
don't want Larry to meet the Master, or even know who he is."
"Anita . . ." Larry started.
"No, Larry, I've been attacked twice for the information. It is
definitely on a need-to-know basis. You don't need to know."
"I don't need you to protect me," he said.
"Listen to her," Irving said. "She told me to stay away from the
Master. I said I could handle myself. I was wrong, real wrong."
Larry crossed his arms over his chest, a stubborn set to his
bloodstained cheeks. "I can take care of myself."
"Irving, Richard, I want a promise on this. The less he knows,
the safer he'll be."
They both nodded.
"Doesn't anyone care what I think?" Larry asked.
"No," I said.
"Dammit, I'm not a child."
"You two can fight later," Irving said. "The Master's
waiting."
Larry started to say something; I raised my hand. "Lesson number
one; never keep a nervous master vampire waiting."
Larry opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. "Okay, we'll
argue later."
I wasn't looking forward to later, but arguing with Larry over
whether I was being overprotective beat the hell out of what lay
beyond the door. I knew that. Larry didn't, but he was about to
learn, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it.
Chapter 35
The ceiling stretched upward into the darkness. Huge drapes of
silky material fell in white and black, forming cloth walls.
Minimalist chairs in black and silver formed a small conversation
group. A glass and dark wood coffee table took up the center of the
room. A black vase with a bouquet of white lilies was the only
decoration. The room looked half-finished, as if it needed
paintings hung on the walls. But how do you hang paintings on cloth
walls? I was sure Jean-Claude would figure it out eventually.
I knew the rest of the room was a huge cavernous warehouse made
of stone, but the only thing left of that was the high ceiling.
There was even black carpeting on the floor, soft and
cushioned.
Jean-Claude sat in one of the black chairs. He was slumped in
the chair, ankles crossed, hands clasped across his stomach. His
white shirt was plain, just a simple dress shirt except for the
fact that the front sides were sheer. The line of buttons, cuffs,
and collar was solid, but the chest was laid bare through a film of
gauze. His cross-shaped burn was brown and clear against the pale
skin.
Marguerite sat at his feet, head laid on his knee like an
obedient dog. Her blond hair and pale pink pants suit seemed out of
place in the black-and-white room.
"You've redecorated," I said.
"A few comforts," Jean-Claude said.
"I'm ready to meet the Master of the City," I said.
His eyes widened, a question forming on his face.
"I don't want my new coworker to meet the Master. It seems to be
dangerous information right now."
Jean-Claude never moved. He just stared at me, one hand absently
rubbing Marguerite's hair. Where was Yasmeen? In a coffin
somewhere, tucked safely away from the coming dawn.
"I will take you alone to meet . . . the Master," he said at
last. His voice was neutral, but I could detect a hint of laughter
underneath the words. It wasn't the first time Jean-Claude had
found me funny, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
He stood in one graceful movement, leaving Marguerite kneeling
beside the empty chair. She looked displeased. I smiled at her, and
she glared at me. Baiting Marguerite was childish, but it made me
feel better. Everyone needs a hobby.
Jean-Claude swept the curtains aside to show darkness. I
realized then that there was discreet electric light in the room,
indirect lighting set in the walls themselves. There was nothing
but the flicker of torches beyond the curtains. It was like that
one piece of cloth held back the modern world with all its
comforts. Beyond lay stone and fire and secrets best whispered in
the dark.
"Anita?" Larry called after me. He looked uncertain, maybe even
scared. But I was taking the most dangerous thing in the room with
me. He'd be safe with Irving and Richard. I didn't think Marguerite
was a danger without Yasmeen to hold her leash.
"Stay here, Larry, please. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Be careful," he said.
I smiled. "Always."
He grinned. "Yeah, sure."
Jean-Claude motioned me through and I went, following the sweep
of his pale hand. The curtain fell behind us, cutting off the
light. Darkness closed around us like a fist. Torches sparked
against the far wall but couldn't touch the swelling dark.
Jean-Claude led the way into the dark. "We wouldn't want your
coworker to overhear us." His voice whispered in the dark, growing
like a wind to beat against the curtains.
My heart hammered against my rib cage. How the hell did he do
that? "Save the dramatics for someone you can impress."
"Brave words, ma petite, but I taste your heartbeat in
my mouth." The last word breathed over my skin as if his lips had
passed just over the nape of my neck. Goosebumps marched down my
arms.
"If you want to play games until after dawn, that's fine with
me, but Irving told me that you had information on the master
vampire that attacked me. Do you, or was it a lie?"
"I have never lied to you, ma petite."
"Oh, come on."
"Partial truths are not the same thing as lies."
"I guess that depends on where you're sitting," I said.
He acknowledged that with a nod. "Shall we sit against the far
wall, out of hearing range?"
"Sure."
He knelt in the thin circle of a torch's light. The light was
for my benefit and I appreciated it. But no sense telling him
that.
I sat across from him, back to the wall. "So, what do you know
about Alejandro?"
He was staring at me, a peculiar look on his face.
"What?" I asked.
"Tell me everything that happened last night, ma
petite, everything about Alejandro."
It was too much like an order for my tastes, but there was
something in his eyes, his face; uneasiness, almost fear. Which was
silly. What did Jean-Claude have to fear from Alejandro? What
indeed? I told him everything I remembered.
His face went carefully blank, beautiful and unreal like a
painting. The colors were still there, but the life, the movement,
had fled. He put one finger between his lips and slowly slid it out
of sight. The finger came glistening back to the light. He extended
that wet finger towards me. I scooted away from him.
"What are you trying to do?"
"Wash the blood off of your cheek. Nothing more."
"I don't think so."
He sighed, the barest of sounds, but it slithered over my skin
like air. "You make everything so difficult."
"Glad you noticed."
"I need to touch you, ma petite. I believe Alejandro
has done something to you."
"What?"
He shook his head. "Something impossible."
"No riddles, Jean-Claude."
"I believe he has marked you."
I stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"Marked you, Anita Blake, marked you with the first mark, just
as I have."
I shook my head. "That's not possible. Two vampires can't have
the same human servant."
"Exactly," he said. He moved towards me. "Let me test the
theory, ma petite, please."
"What does testing the theory mean?"
He said something soft and harsh in French. I'd never heard him
curse before. "It is after dawn and I am tired. Your questions will
make something simple last all bloody day." There was real anger in
his voice, but under that was tiredness and that thread of fear.
The fear scared me. He was supposed to be some untouchable monster.
Monsters weren't afraid of other monsters.
I sighed. Was it better to just get it over with, like a shot?
Maybe. "All right, in the interest of time. But give me some idea
of what to expect. You know I don't like surprises."
"I must touch you to search first for my marks, then for his.
You should not have fallen so easily into his eyes. That should not
have happened."
"Get it over with," I said.
"Is my touch so repulsive that you must prepare yourself as for
pain?"
Since that was almost exactly what I was doing, I wasn't sure
what to say. "Just do it, Jean-Claude, before I change my
mind."
He slid his finger between his lips again.
"Do you have to do it that way?"
"Ma petite, please."
I squirmed against the cool stone wall. "All right, no more
interruptions."
"Good." He knelt in front of me. His fingertip traced my right
cheek, leaving a line of wetness down my skin. The dried blood was
gritty under his touch. He leaned into me, as if he was going to
kiss me. I put my hands on his chest to keep him from touching me.
His skin was hard and smooth under the gauze of his shirt.
I jerked away and hit my head against the wall. "Dammit."
He smiled. His eyes glinted blue in the torchlight. "Trust me."
He moved in, lips hovering over my mouth. "I won't hurt you." The
words whispered into my mouth, a soft push of air.
"Yeah, right," I said, but the words came out soft and
uncertain.
His lips brushed mine, then pressed gently against my mouth. The
kiss moved from my lips to my cheek. His lips were soft as silk,
gentle as marigold petals, hot as the noonday sun. They worked down
my skin until his mouth hovered over the pulse in my neck.
"Jean-Claude?"
"Alejandro was alive when the Aztec empire was just a dream." He
whispered it against my skin. "He was there to greet the Spaniards
and watch the Aztecs fall. He has survived when others have died or
gone mad." His tongue flicked out, hot and wet.
"Stop it." I pushed against him. His heart beat against my
hands. I pushed my hands upward to his throat. The big pulse in his
throat fluttered against my skin. I placed a thumb over the
smoothness of one of his eyelids. "Move it or lose it," I said. My
voice was breathy with panic, and something worse . . . desire.
The feel of his body against me, under my hands, his lips
touching me—some hidden part of me wanted it. Wanted him. So I
lusted after the Master; so what? Nothing new. His eyeball trembled
under my thumb, and I wondered if I could do it. Could I blank out
one of those midnight-blue orbs? Could I blind him?
His lips moved against my skin. Teeth brushed my skin, the hard
brush of fangs rubbed against my throat. And the answer was,
suddenly, yes. I tensed to press inward, and he was gone like a
dream, or a nightmare.
He stood in front of me, looking down, his eyes all dark, no
white showing. His lips had drawn back from his teeth to expose
glistening fangs. His skin was marble-white and seemed to glow from
inside, and still he was beautiful.
"Alejandro has given you the first mark, ma petite. We
share you. I do not know how, but we do. Two more marks and you are
mine. Three more and you are his. Would it not be better to be
mine?"
He knelt in front of me again, but was careful not to touch me.
"You desire me as a woman desires a man. Is that not better than
some stranger taking you by force?"
"You didn't ask my permission for the first two marks. They
weren't by choice."
"I am asking permission now. Let me share with you the third
mark."
"No."
"You would rather serve Alejandro?"
"I'm not going to serve anyone," I said.
"This is a war, Anita. You cannot be neutral."
"Why not?"
He stood up and paced a tight circle. "Don't you understand? The
killings are a challenge to my authority, and his marking you is
another challenge. He will take you from me if he can."
"I don't belong to you, or to him."
"What I have tried to get you to believe, to accept, he will
shove down your throat."
"So I'm in the middle of an undead turf war because of your
marks."
He blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally,
"Yes."
I stood up. "Thanks a lot." I walked past him. "If you have any
more info on Alejandro, send me a letter."
"This will not go away just because you wish it to."
I stopped in front of the curtain. "Hell, I knew that. I've
wished hard enough for you to leave me alone."
"You would miss me if I were not here."
"Don't flatter yourself."
"And do not lie to yourself, ma petite. I would give
you a partnership. He will give you slavery."
"If you really believed this partnership crap, you wouldn't have
forced the first two marks on me. You would have asked. For all I
know, the third mark can't be given without my cooperation." I
stared at him. "That's it, isn't it? You need my help or something
for the third mark. It's different from the first two. You son of a
bitch."
"The third mark without your . . . help would be like rape to
making love. You would hate me for all eternity if I took you by
force."
I turned my back on him and grabbed the curtain. "You got that
right."
"Alejandro will not care if you hate him. He wants only to hurt
me. He will not ask your permission. He will simply take you."
"I can take care of myself."
"Like you took care last night?"
Alejandro had rolled me under and over and I hadn't even known
it. What protection did I have against something like that? I shook
my head and jerked back the curtain. The light was so bright, I was
blind. I stood in the glare waiting for my eyes to adjust. The cool
darkness blew against my back. The light was hot and intrusive
after the darkness, but anything was better than whispers in the
night. Blinded by the light or blinded by darkness; I'd take light
every time.
Chapter 36
Larry was lying on the floor, head cradled in Yasmeen's lap. She
held his wrists. Marguerite had pinned his body under her own. She
was licking the blood off his face with long, lingering strokes of
her tongue. Richard lay in a crumpled heap, blood running down his
face. There was something on the floor. It writhed and moved. Grey
fur flowed over it like water. A hand reached skyward, then shrank
like a dying flower, bones glistening, shoving upward through the
flesh. The fingers shrank, flesh rolling over the nubs of raw
flesh. All that raw meat and no blood. The bones slid in and out
with wet, sucking noises. Drops of clear fluid spattered the black
rug. But no blood.
I drew the Browning and moved so I could point it somewhere
between Yasmeen and the thing on the floor. I had my back to the
curtain but moved away from it. Too easy for something to reach
through.
"Let him go, now."
"We haven't hurt him," Yasmeen said.
Marguerite leaned into Larry's body; one hand cupped his groin,
massaging.
"Anita!" His eyes were wide, skin pale; freckles stood out like
ink spots.
I fired a shot inches from Yasmeen's head. The sound was sharp
and echoed. Yasmeen snarled at me. "I can rip his throat out before
you squeeze that trigger again."
I aimed for Marguerite's head, right over one blue eye. "You
kill him, I kill Marguerite. You willing to make the trade?"
"Yasmeen, what are you doing?" Jean-Claude came in at my back.
My eyes flicked to him, then back to Marguerite. Jean-Claude wasn't
the danger, not now.
The thing on the floor rose on four shaky legs and shook itself
like a dog after a bath. It was a huge wolf. Thick grey-brown fur
covered the animal, fluffy and dry as if the wolf had been freshly
washed and blow dried. Liquid formed a thick puddle on the carpet.
Bits of clothing were scattered around. The wolf had emerged from
the mess newly formed, reborn.
A pair of round wire-framed glasses sat on the glass and black
coffee table, neatly folded.
"Irving?"
The wolf gave a small half-growl, half-bark. Was that a yes?
I had always known that Irving was a werewolf, but seeing it was
something else entirely. Until just that moment I hadn't really
believed, not really. Staring into the wolf's pale brown eyes, I
believed.
Marguerite lay on the ground behind Larry now. Her arms wrapped
around his chest, legs wrapping his waist. Most of her was hidden
behind him, shielded.
I had spent too much time gazing at Irving. I couldn't shoot
Marguerite without risking Larry. Yasmeen was kneeling beside them,
one hand gripping a handful of Larry's hair. "I will snap his
neck."
"You will not harm him, Yasmeen," Jean-Claude said. He stood
beside the coffee table. The wolf moved up beside him, growling
softly. His fingers brushed the top of the wolf's head.
"Call off your dogs, Jean-Claude, or this one dies." She
stretched Larry's throat into one straining pale line to emphasize
her point. The Band-Aid that had been hiding his vampire bite had
been removed. Marguerite's tongue flicked out, touching the
straining flesh.
I was betting that I could shoot Marguerite in the forehead
while she licked Larry's neck, but Yasmeen could, and might, break
his neck. I couldn't take the chance.
"Do something, Jean-Claude," I said. "You're the Master of the
City. She's supposed to take your orders."
"Yes, Jean-Claude, order me."
"What's going on here, Jean-Claude?" I asked.
"She is testing me."
"Why?"
"Yasmeen wants to be Master of the City. But she isn't strong
enough."
"I was strong enough to keep you and your servant from hearing
this one's screams. Richard called your name, and you heard nothing
because I kept you from it."
Richard stood just behind Jean-Claude. Blood was smeared from
the corner of his mouth. There was a small cut on his right cheek
that trickled blood down his face. "I tried to stop her."
"You did not try hard enough," Jean-Claude said.
"Argue amongst yourselves later," I said. "Right now, we have a
problem."
Yasmeen laughed. The sound wriggled down my spine like someone
had spilled a can of worms. I shuddered, and decided then and there
that I'd shoot Yasmeen first. We'd find out if a master vampire was
really faster than a speeding bullet.
She released Larry with a laugh and stood. Marguerite still
clung to him. He got to his hands and knees with the woman riding
him like a horse, arms and legs still clamped around him. She was
laughing, kissing his neck.
I kicked her in the face as hard as I could. She slid off Larry
and lay dazed on the floor. Yasmeen started forward and I fired at
heir chest. Jean-Claude hit my arm, and the shot went wide.
"I need her alive, Anita."
I jerked away from him. "She's crazy."
"But he needs my assistance to combat the other masters,"
Yasmeen said.
"She'll betray you if she can," I said.
"But I still need her."
"If you can't control Yasmeen, then how in the hell are you
going to fight Alejandro?"
"I don't know," he said. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I do
not know."
Larry was still huddled by our feet.
"Can you get up?"
He looked up at me, eyes shiny with unshed tears. He used one of
the chairs to brace himself and almost fell. I grabbed his arm, gun
still in my right hand. "Come on, Larry, we're getting out of
here."
"Sounds great to me." His voice was incredibly breathless,
straining not to cry.
We worked our way towards the door, me helping Larry walk, gun
still out pointed vaguely at everything in the room.
"Go with them, Richard. See them safely to their car. And do not
fail me again like you did today."
Richard ignored the threat and walked around us to hold the door
open. We walked through without turning our backs on the vampires
or the werewolf. When the door closed, I let out a breath I hadn't
even known I was holding.
"I can walk now," Larry said.
I let go of his arm. He put a hand against the wall but
otherwise seemed okay. The first slow tear trailed down his cheek.
"Get me out of here."
I put my gun up. It wouldn't help now. Richard and I both
pretended not to notice Larry's tears. They were very quiet. If you
hadn't been looking directly at him, you wouldn't have known he was
crying.
I tried to think of something to say, anything. But what could I
say? He had seen the monsters, and they had scared the shit out of
him. They scared the shit out of me. They scared the shit out of
everybody. Now Larry knew that. Maybe it was worth the pain. Maybe
not.
Chapter 37
Early-morning light lay heavy and golden on the street outside.
The air was cool and misty. You couldn't see the river from here,
but you could feel it; that sense of water on the air that made
every breath fresher, cleaner.
Larry got out his car keys.
"You okay to drive?" I asked.
He nodded. The tears had dried in thin tracks down his face. He
hadn't bothered to wipe them away. He wasn't crying anymore. He was
as grim-faced as you could be and still look like an overgrown Howdy
Doody. He opened his door and got in, sliding across to unlock the
passenger side.
Richard stood there. The cool wind blew his hair across his
face. He ran fingers through it to keep it from his face. The
gesture was achingly familiar. Phillip had always been doing that.
Richard smiled at me, and it wasn't Phillip's smile. It was bright
and open, and there was nothing hidden in his brown eyes.
Blood had started to dry at the corner of his mouth, and on his
cheek.
"Get out while you still can, Richard."
"Out from what?"
"There's going to be an undead war. You don't want to be caught
in the middle."
"I don't think Jean-Claude would let me walk away," he said. He
wasn't smiling when he said it. I couldn't decide whether he was
handsomer smiling or solemn.
"Humans don't do too well in the middle of the monsters,
Richard. Get out if you can."
"You're human."
I shrugged. "Some people would argue that."
"Not me." He reached out to touch me. I stood my ground and
didn't move away. His fingertips brushed the side of my face, warm
and very alive.
"See you at three o'clock this afternoon, unless you're going to
be too tired."
I shook my head, and his hand dropped away from my face.
"Wouldn't miss it," I said.
He smiled again. His hair blew in a tangle across his face. I
kept the front of my own hair cut short enough so that it stayed
out of my eyes, most of the time. Layering was a wonderful
thing.
I opened the passenger side door. "I'll see you this
afternoon."
"I'll bring your costume with me."
"What am I going to be dressed as?"
"A Civil War bride," he said.
"Does that mean a hoop skirt?"
"Probably."
I frowned. "And what are you going to be?"
"A Confederate officer."
"You get to wear pants," I said.
"I don't think the dress would fit me."
I sighed. "It's not that I'm not grateful, Richard, but . .
."
"Hoop skirts aren't your style?"
"Not hardly."
"My offer was grubbies and all the mud we could crawl in. The
party was your idea."
"I'd get out of it if I could."
"It might be worth all the trouble just to see you dressed up. I
get the feeling it's a rarity."
Larry leaned across the seat, and said, "Can we get a move on? I
need a cigarette and some sleep."
"I'll be right there." I turned back to Richard but suddenly
didn't know what to say. "See you later."
He nodded. "Later."
I got in the car, and Larry pulled away before I got my seat
belt fastened. "What's the rush?"
"I want to get as far away from this place as I can."
I looked at him. He still looked pale.
"You all right?"
"No, I'm not all right." He looked at me, blue eyes bright with
anger. "How can you be so casual after what just happened?"
"You were calm after last night. You got bitten last night."
"But that was different," he said. "That woman sucked on the
bite. She . . ." His hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly
his hands shook.
"You were hurt worse last night; what makes this tougher?"
"Last night was violent, but it wasn't . . . perverted. The
vampires last night wanted something. The name of the Master. The
ones tonight didn't want anything, they were just being . . ."
"Cruel," I offered.
"Yes, cruel."
"They're vampires, Larry. They aren't human. They don't have the
same rules."
"She would have killed me tonight on a whim."
"Yes, she would have," I said.
"How can you bear to be around them?"
I shrugged. "It's my job."
"And my job, too."
"It doesn't have to be, Larry. Just refuse to work on vampire
cases. Most of the rest of the animators do."
He shook his head. "No, I won't give up."
"Why not?" I asked.
He didn't say anything for a minute. He pulled onto 270 headed
south. "How could you talk about a date this afternoon after what
just happened?"
"You have to have a life, Larry. If you let this business eat
you alive, you'll never make it." I studied his face. "And you
never answered my question."
"What question?"
"Why won't you give up the idea of being a vampire
executioner?"
Larry hesitated, concentrating on driving. He suddenly seemed
very interested in passing cars. We drove under a railroad bridge,
warehouses on either side. Many of the windows were broken or
missing. Rust dripped down the bridge overpass.
"Nice section of town," he said.
"You're avoiding the question. Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I asked about your family; you said they were all alive. What
about friends? You lose a friend to the vamps?"
He glanced at me. "Why ask that?"
"I know the signs, Larry. You're determined to kill the monsters
because you've got a grudge, don't you?"
He hunched his shoulders and stared straight ahead. The muscles
in his jaws clenched and unclenched.
"Talk to me, Larry," I said.
"The town I come from is small, fifteen hundred people. While I
was away at college my freshman year, twelve people were murdered
by a pack of vampires. I didn't know them, any of them, really. I
knew them to say hi to, but that was it."
"Go on."
He glanced at me. "I went to the funerals over Christmas break.
All those coffins, all those families. My dad was a doctor, but he
couldn't help them. Nobody could help them."
"I remember the case," I said. "Elbert, Wisconsin, three years
ago, right?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Twelve people is a lot for a single vampire kill. It made the
papers. Brett Colby was the vampire hunter they got for the
job."
"I never met him, but my parents told me about him. They made
him sound like a cowboy riding into town to take down the bad guys.
He found and killed five vampires. He helped the town when nobody
else could."
"If you just want to help people, Larry, be a social worker, or
a doctor."
"I'm an animator; I've got a built-in resistance to vampires. I
think God meant for me to hunt them."
"Geez Louise, Larry, don't go on a holy crusade, you'll end up
dead."
"You can teach me."
I shook my head. "Larry, this isn't personal. It can't be
personal. If you let your emotions get in the way, you'll either
get killed or go stark raving mad."
"I'll learn, Anita."
I stared at his profile. He looked so stubborn. "Larry . . ." I
stopped. What could I say? What brought any of us into this
business? Maybe his reasons were as good as my own, maybe better.
It wasn't just love of killing, like with Edward. And heaven knew I
needed help. There were getting to be too many vampires for just
little ol' me.
"All right, I'll teach you, but you do what I say, when I say
it. No arguments."
"Anything you say, boss." He grinned at me briefly, then turned
back to the road. He looked determined and relieved, and young.
But we were all young once. It passes, like innocence and a
sense of fair play. The only thing left in the end is a good
instinct for survival. Could I teach Larry that? Could I teach him
how to survive? Please, God, let me teach him, and don't let him
die on me.
Chapter 38
Larry, dropped me off in front of my apartment building at 9:05.
It was way past my bedtime. I got my gym bag out of the back seat.
Didn't want to leave my animating equipment behind. I locked and
shut the door, then leaned in the passenger side door. "I'll see
you tonight at five o'clock back here, Larry. You're designated
driver until I get a new car."
He nodded.
"If I'm late getting home, don't let Bert send you out alone,
okay?"
He looked at me then. His face was full of some deep thought
that I couldn't read. "You think I can't handle myself?"
I knew he couldn't handle himself, but I didn't say that out
loud. "It's only your second night on the job. Give yourself and me
a break. I'll teach you how to hunt vampires, but our primary job
is raising the dead. Try to remember that."
He nodded.
"Larry, if you have bad dreams, don't worry. I have them too
sometimes."
"Sure," he said. He put the car in gear, and I had to close the
door. Guess he didn't want to talk anymore. Nothing we'd seen yet
would give me nightmares, but I wanted Larry to be prepared, if
mere words could prepare anyone for what we do.
A family was loading up a grey van with coolers and a picnic
hamper. The man smiled. "I don't think we'll get many more days
like this."
"I think you're right." It was that pleasant small talk that you
use with people whose names you don't know but whose faces you keep
seeing. We were neighbors, so we said hello and good-bye to each
other, but nothing else. That was the way I liked it. When I came
home, I didn't want someone coming over to borrow a cup of
sugar.
The only exception I made was Mrs. Pringle, and she understood
my need for privacy.
The apartment was warm and quiet inside. I locked the door and
leaned against it. Home, ah. I tossed the leather jacket on the
back of the couch and smelled perfume. It was flowery and delicate
with a powdery undertaste that only the really expensive ones have.
It wasn't my brand.
I pulled the Browning and put my back to the door. A man stepped
around the corner from the dining room area. He was tall, thin,
with black hair cut short in front, long in back, the latest style.
He just stood there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over
his chest, smiling at me.
A second man came up from behind the couch, shorter, more
muscular, blond, smiling. He sat on the couch, hands where I could
see them. Nobody had any weapons, or none that I could see.
"Who the hell are you?"
A tall black man came out of the bedroom. He had a neat
mustache, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.
The lamia stepped out beside him. She was in human form, in the
same red dress as yesterday. She wore scarlet high heels today, but
nothing else had changed.
"We've been waiting for you, Ms. Blake."
"Who are the men?"
"My harem."
"I don't understand."
"They belong to me." She trailed red nails down the black man's
hand hard enough to leave a thin line of blood. He just smiled.
"What do you want?"
"Mr. Oliver wants to see you. He sent us to fetch you."
"I know where the house is. I can drive there on my own."
"Oh, no, we've had to move," she said, swaying into the room.
"Some nasty bounty hunter tried to kill Oliver yesterday."
"What bounty hunter?" Had it been Edward?
She waved a hand. "We were never formally introduced. Oliver
wouldn't let me kill him, so he escaped, and we had to move."
It sounded reasonable, but . . . "Where is he now?"
"We'll take you to him. We've got a car waiting outside."
"Why didn't Inger come for me?"
She shrugged. "Oliver gives orders and I follow them." A look
passed over her lovely face—hatred.
"How long has he been your master?"
"Too long," she said.
I stared at them all, gun still out but not pointed at anyone.
They hadn't offered to hurt me. So why didn't I want to put the gun
up? Because I'd seen what the lamia changed into, and it had scared
me.
"Why does Oliver need to see me so soon?"
"He wants your answer."
"I haven't decided yet whether to give him the Master of the
City."
"All I know is that I was told to bring you. If I don't, he'll
be angry. I don't want to be punished, Ms. Blake; please come with
us."
How do you punish a lamia? Only one way to find out. "How does
he punish you?"
The lamia stared at me. "That is a very personal question."
"I didn't mean it to be."
"Forget it." She swayed towards me. "Shall we go?" She had
stopped just in front of me, close enough to touch.
I was beginning to feel silly with the gun out, so I put it up.
Nobody was threatening me. A novel approach.
Normally, I still would have offered to follow them in my car,
but my car was dead. So . . . if I wanted to meet Oliver, I had to
go with them.
I wanted to meet Oliver. I wasn't willing to give him
Jean-Claude, but I was willing to give him Alejandro. Or at least
enlist his aid against Alejandro. I also wanted to know if it was
Edward who had tried to kill him. There weren't that many of us in
the business. Who else could it be?
"All right, let's go," I said. I got my leather jacket from the
couch and opened the door. I motioned them all out the door. The
men went without a word, the lamia last.
I locked the door behind us. They waited politely out in the
hall for me. The lamia took the tall black man's arm. She smiled.
"Boys, one of you offer the lady your arm."
Blondie and black-hair turned to look at me. Black-hair smiled.
I hadn't been with this many smiling people since I bought my last
used car.
They both offered me their arms, like in some late movie.
"Sorry, guys, I don't need an escort."
"I've trained them to be gentlemen, Ms. Blake; take advantage of
it. There are precious few gentlemen around these days."
I couldn't argue with that, but I also didn't need help down the
stairs. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine."
"As you like, Ms. Blake." She turned to the two men. "You two
are to take special care of Ms. Blake." She turned back to me. "A
woman should always have more than one man."
I fought the urge to shrug. "Anything you say."
She gave a brilliant smile and strutted down the hall on her
man's arm. The two men sort of fell in beside me. The lamia spoke
back over her shoulder, "Ronald here is my special beau. I don't
share him; sorry."
I had to smile. "That's fine, I'm not greedy."
She laughed, a high-pitched delighted sound with an edge of
giggle to it. "Not greedy; oh, that's very good, Ms. Blake, or may
I call you Anita?"
"Anita's fine."
"Then you must call me Melanie."
"Sure," I said. I followed her and Ronald down the hall. Blondie
and Smiley hovered on either side of me, lest I trip and stub my
toe. We'd never get down the stairs without one of us falling.
I turned to Blondie. "I believe I will take your arm." I smiled
back at Smiley. "Could we have a little room here?"
He frowned, but he stepped back. I slipped my left hand through
Blondie's waiting arm. His forearm swelled under my hand. I
couldn't tell if he was flexing or was just that musclebound. But
we all made it down the stairs safely with lonely Smiley bringing
up the rear.
The lamia and Ronald were waiting by a large black Lincoln
Continental. Ronald held the door for the lamia, then slid into the
driver's seat.
Smiley rushed forward to open the door for me. How had I known
he would? Usually I complain about things like that, but the whole
thing was too strange. If the worst thing that happened to me today
was having overzealous men open doors for me, I'd be doing
fine.
Blondie slid into the seat next to me, sliding me to the middle
of the seat. The other one had run around and was getting in the
other side. I was going to end up sandwiched between them. No big
surprise.
The lamia named Melanie turned around in her seat, propping her
chin on her arm. "Feel free to make out on the way. They're both
very good."
I stared into her cheerful eyes. She seemed to be serious.
Smiley put his arm across the back of the seat, brushing my
shoulders. Blondie tried to take my hand, but I eluded him. He
settled for touching my knee. Not an improvement.
"I'm really not into public sex," I said. I moved Blondie's hand
back to his own lap.
Smiley's hand slid around my shoulder. I moved up in the seat
away from both of them. "Call them off," I said.
"Boys, she's not interested."
The men scooted back from me, as close to their sides of the car
as they could get. Their legs still gently touched mine, but at
least nothing else was touching.
"Thank you," I said.
"If you change your mind during the drive, just tell them. They
love taking orders, don't you, boys?"
The two men nodded, smiling. My, weren't we a happy little
bunch? "I don't think I'll change my mind."
The lamia shrugged. "As you like, Anita, but the boys will be
sorely disappointed if you don't at least give them a good-bye
kiss."
This was getting weird; cancel that, weirder. "I never kiss on
the first date."
She laughed. "Oh, I like it. Don't we, boys?" All three men made
appreciative sounds. I had the feeling they'd have sat up and
begged if she'd told them to. Arf, arf. Gag me with a spoon.
Chapter 39
We drove south on 270. Steep, grassy ditches and small trees
lined the road. Identical houses sat up on the hills, fences
separating the small yards from the next small yard. Tall trees
took up many yards. Two-seventy was the major highway that ran
through St. Louis, but there was almost always a feeling of green
nature, open spaces; the gentle roll of the land was never
completely lost.
We took 70 West heading towards St. Charles. The land opened up
on either side to long, flat fields. Corn stretched tall and
golden, ready to be harvested. Behind the field was a modern glass
building that advertised pianos and an indoor golf range. An
abandoned SAM's Wholesale and a used-car lot led up to the
Blanchette bridge.
The left side of the road was crisscrossed by water-filled dikes
to keep the land from flooding. Industry had moved in with tall
glass buildings. An Omni Hotel complete with fountain was nearest
the road.
A stand of woods that still flooded too often to be torn down
and turned into buildings bordered the left-hand side of the road
until the trees met the Missouri River. Trees continued on the
other bank as we entered St. Charles.
St. Charles didn't flood, so there were apartment buildings,
strip malls, a deluxe pet supermarket, a movie theater, Drug
Emporium, Old Country Buffet, and Appleby's. The land vanished
behind billboards and Red Roof Inns. It was hard to remember that
the Missouri River was just behind you. and this had once been
forest. Hard to see the land for the buildings.
Sitting in the warm car with only the sound of wheels on
pavement and the murmur of voices from the front seat, I realized
how tired I was. Even stuck between the two men, I was ready for a
nap. I yawned.
"How much farther?" I asked.
The lamia turned in her seat. "Bored?"
"I haven't been to sleep yet. I just want to know how much
longer the ride is going to take."
"So sorry to inconvenience you," she said. "It isn't much
farther, is it, Ronald?"
He shook his head. He hadn't said a word since I'd met him.
Could he talk?
"Exactly where are we going?" They didn't seem to want to answer
the question, but maybe if I phrased it differently.
"About forty-five minutes outside of St. Peters."
"Near Wentzville?" I asked.
She nodded.
An hour to get there and nearly two hours back. Which would make
it around 1:00 when I got home. Two hours of sleep. Great.
We left St. Charles behind, and the land reappeared—fields on
either side behind well-tended barbed-wire fences. Cattle grazed on
the low, rolling hills. The only sign of civilization was a gas
station close to the highway. There was a large house set far back
from the road with a perfect expanse of grass stretching to the
road. Horses moved gracefully over the grass. I kept waiting for us
to pull into one of the gracious estates, but we passed them all
by.
We finally turned onto a narrow road with a street sign that was
so rusted and bent, that I couldn't read it. The road was narrow
and instant rustic. Ditches crowded in on either side. Grass,
weeds, the year's last goldenrod, grew head-high and gave the road
a wild look. A field of beans gone dry and yellow waited to be
harvested. Narrow gravel driveways appeared out of the weeds with
rusted mailboxes that showed that there were houses. But most of
the houses were just glimpses through the trees. Barn swallows
dipped and dived over the road. The pavement ended abruptly,
spilling the car onto gravel.
Gravel pinged and clattered under the car. Wooded hills crowded
the gravel road. There was still an occasional house, but they were
getting few and far between. Where were we going?
The gravel ended, and the road was only bare reddish dirt with
large reddish rocks studded in it. Deep ruts swallowed the car's
tires. The car bounced and fought its way down the dirt. It was
their car. If they wanted to ruin it driving over wagon tracks,
that was their business.
Finally, even the dirt road ended in a rough circle of rock.
Some of the rocks were nearly as big as the car. The car stopped. I
was relieved that there were some things even Ronald wouldn't drive
a car over.
The lamia turned around to face me. She was smiling, positively
beaming. She was too damn cheerful. Something was wrong. Nobody was
this cheery unless they wanted something. Something big. What did
the lamia want? What did Oliver want?
She got out of the car. The
men followed her like well-trained dogs. I hesitated, but I'd come
this far; might as well see what Oliver wanted. I could always say
no.
The lamia took Ronald's arm again. In high heels on the rocky
ground, it was a sensible precaution. I in my little Nikes didn't
need help. Blondie and Smiley offered an arm apiece; I ignored
them. Enough of this play-acting. I was tired and didn't like being
dragged to the edge of the world. Even Jean-Claude had never
dragged me to some forsaken backwoods area. He was a city boy. Of
course, Oliver had struck me as a city boy, too. Shows that you
can't judge a vampire by one meeting.
The rocky ground led up to a hillside. More boulders had crashed
down the side of the hill to lie in crumbled, broken heaps. Ronald
actually picked Melanie up and carried her over the worst of the
ground.
I stopped the men before they could offer. "I can make it
myself; thanks anyway."
They looked disappointed. The blond said, "Melanie has told us
to look after you. If you trip and fall in the rocks, she'll be
unhappy with us."
The brunette nodded.
"I'll be fine, boys, really." I went ahead of them, not waiting
to see what they'd do. The ground was treacherous with small rocks.
I scrambled over a rock bigger than I was. The men were right
behind me, hands extended ready to catch me if I fell. I'd never
even had a date who was this paranoid.
Someone cursed, and I turned to see the brunette sprawled on the
ground. I had to smile. I didn't wait for them to catch up. I'd had
enough nursemaiding, and the thought of getting no sleep today had
put me in a bad mood. Our biggest night of the year, and I was
going to be wasted. Oliver better have something important to
say.
Around a tall pile of rubble was a slash of black opening, a
cave. Ronald carried the lamia inside without waiting for me. A
cave? Oliver had moved to a cave? Somehow it didn't fit my picture
of him in his modern, sunlit study.
Light hovered at the entrance to the cave, but a few feet in the
darkness was thick. I waited at the edge of the light, unsure what
to do. My two caretakers came in behind me. They pulled small
penlights out of their pockets. The beams seemed pitifully small
against the darkness.
Blondie took the lead; Smiley brought up the rear. I walked in
the middle of their thin strings of light. A faint pool followed my
feet and kept me from tripping over stray bits of rock, but most of
the tunnel was smooth and perfect. A thin trickle of water took up
the center of the floor, working its patient way through the stone.
I stared up at the ceiling lost in darkness. All this had been done
by water. Impressive.
The air was cool and moist against my face. I was glad I had the
leather jacket on. It'd never get warm here, but it'd never get
really cold either. That's why our ancestors lived in caves.
Year-round temperature control.
A wide passage branched to the left. The deep sound of water
gurgled and bumped in the darkness. A lot of water. Blondie ran his
light over a stream that filled most of the left passage. It was
black, and looked deep and cold.
"I didn't bring my wading boots," I said.
"We follow the main passage," Smiley said. "Don't tease her. The
mistress will not like it." His face looked very serious in the
half-light.
The blond shrugged, then moved his light straight ahead. The
trickle of water spread in a thin fan pattern on the rock but there
was still plenty of dry rock on either side. I wasn't going to have
to get my feet wet, yet.
We took the left-hand side of the wall. I touched it to keep my
balance and jerked away. The walls were slimy with water and
melting minerals.
Smiley laughed at me. I guess laughing was allowed.
I glanced back at him, frowning, then put my hand back on the
wall. It wasn't that icky. It had just surprised me. I'd touched
worse.
The sound of water thundering from a great height filled the
darkness. There was a waterfall up ahead; I didn't need my eyes to
tell me that.
"How tall do you think the waterfall is?" Blondie asked.
The thundering filled the darkness. Surrounded us. I shrugged.
"Ten, twenty feet, maybe more."
He shone his light on a trickle of water that fell about five
inches. The tiny waterfall was what fed the thin stream. "The cave
magnifies the sound and makes it sound like thunder," he said.
"Neat trick," I said.
A wide shelf of rock led in a series of tiny waterfalls up to a
wide base of stone. The lamia sat on the edge of the shelf,
high-heeled feet dangling over the edge. Maybe a rise of eight
feet, but the ceiling soared overhead into blackness. That was what
made the water echo.
Ronald stood at her back, like a good bodyguard, hands clasped
in front of him. There was a wide opening near them that led
farther into the cave towards the source of the little stream.
Blondie climbed up and offered me a hand.
"Where's Oliver?"
"Just ahead," the lamia said. There was an edge of laughter to
her voice, as if there was some joke I wasn't getting. It was
probably going to be at my expense.
I ignored Blondie's hand and made it up to the shelf by myself.
My hands were covered with a thin coat of pale brown mud and water,
a perfect recipe for slime. I fought the urge to wipe them on my
jeans and knelt by the small pool of water that fed the waterfalls.
The water was ice-cold, but I washed my hands in it and felt
better. I dried them on my jeans.
The lamia sat with her men grouped around her as if they were
posing for a family photo. They were waiting on someone. Oliver.
Where was he?
"Where's Oliver?"
"I'm afraid he won't be coming." The voice came from ahead of me
farther into the cave. I stepped back but couldn't go far without
stepping off the edge.
The two flashlights turned on the opening like tiny spotlights.
Alejandro stepped into the thin beam of lights. "You won't be
meeting Oliver tonight, Ms. Blake."
I went for my gun before anything else could happen. The lights
went out, and I was left in the absolute dark with a master
vampire, a lamia, and three hostile men. Not one of my better
days.
Chapter 40
I dropped to my knees, gun ready, close to my body. The darkness
was thick as velvet. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I
closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on hearing. There; the scrape
of shoes on stone. The movement of air as someone moved closer to
me. I had thirteen silver bullets. We were about to find out if
silver would hurt a lamia. Alejandro had already taken a silver
bullet in the chest and didn't look much the worse for it.
I was in very deep shit.
The footsteps were almost on top of me. I could feel the body
close to me. I opened my eyes. It was like looking inside a ball of
ebonite, utterly black. But I could feel someone standing over me.
I raised the gun to gut or lower chest level and fired still on my
knees.
The flashes were like lightning in the darkness, blue-flame
lightning. Smiley fell backwards in the flash of light. I heard him
fall over the edge, then nothing. Nothing but darkness.
Hands grabbed my forearms, and I hadn't heard a thing. It was
Alejandro. I screamed as he dragged me to my feet.
"Your little gun cannot hurt me," he said. His voice was soft
and close. He hadn't taken my gun away. He wasn't afraid of it. He
should have been.
"I have offered Melanie her freedom once Oliver and the city's
Master are dead. I offer you eternal life, eternal youth, and you
may live."
"You did give me the first mark."
"Tonight I will give you the second," he said. His voice was
soft and ordinary compared to Jean-Claude's, but the intimacy of
the dark and his hands on me made the words more than they should
have been.
"And if I don't want to be your human servant?"
"Then I will take you anyway, Anita. Your loss will damage the
Master. It will lose him followers, confidence. Oh, yes, Anita, I
will have you. Join with me willingly, and it will be pleasure.
Fight me, and it will be agony."
I used his voice to aim the gun at his throat. If I could sever
his spine, a thousand years and more old or not, he might die.
Might. Please, God.
I fired. The bullet took him in the throat. He jerked backwards
but didn't let go of my arms. Two more bullets into his throat, one
into his jaw, and he threw me away from him, shrieking.
I ended on my back in the ice-cold water.
A flashlight cut through the dark. Blondie stood there, a
perfect target. I fired at it and the light went out, but there was
no scream. I'd rushed the shot and missed. Damn.
I couldn't climb down the rock in the dark. I'd fall and break a
leg. So the only way left was deeper into the cave, if I could get
there.
Alejandro was still screaming, wordless, rage-filled. The
screams echoed and bounced on the rock walls until I was deaf as
well as blind.
I scrambled through the water, putting a wall at my back. If I
couldn't hear them, maybe they couldn't hear me.
"Get that gun away from her," the lamia said. She had moved and
seemed to be beside the wounded vampire.
I waited in the dark for some clue that they were coming for me.
There was a rush of cool air against my face. It wasn't them
moving. Was I that close to the opening that led deeper into the
cave? Could I just slip away? In the dark, not knowing if there
were pits, or water deep enough to drown in? Didn't sound like a
good idea. Maybe I could just kill them all here. Fat chance.
Through the echoes of Alejandro's shrieks was another sound, a
highpitched hissing, like that of a giant snake. The lamia was
shapechanging. I had to get away before she finished. Water
splashed almost on top of me. I looked up, and there was nothing to
see, just the solid blackness.
I couldn't feel anything, but the water splashed again. I
pointed up and fired. The flash of light revealed Ronald's face.
The dark glasses were gone. His eyes were yellow with slitted
pupils. I saw all that in the lightning flash of the gun. I fired
twice more into that slit-eyed face. He screamed, and fangs showed
below his teeth. God. What was he?
Whatever Ronald was, he fell backwards. I heard him hit the
water in a splash that was much too loud for the shallow pool. I
didn't hear him move after he fell. Was he dead?
Alejandro's screams had stopped. Was he dead, too? Was he
creeping closer? Was he even now almost on top of me? I held the
gun out in front of me and tried to feel something, anything, in
the darkness.
Something heavy dragged across the rock. My stomach clenched
tight. The lamia. Shit.
That was it. I eased my shoulder around the corner into the
opening. I crept along on knees and one hand. I didn't want to run
if I didn't have to. I'd brain myself on a stalactite or drop into
some bottomless pit. Alright, maybe not bottomless, but if I fell
thirty feet or so, it wouldn't have to be bottomless. Dead is
dead.
Icy water soaked through my jeans and shoes. The rock was slick
under my hand. I crawled as fast as I could, hand searching for
some drop-off, some danger that my eyes couldn't see.
The heavy, sliding sound filled the blackness. It was the lamia.
She'd already changed. Would her scales be quicker over the slick
rocks, or would I be quicker? I wanted to get up and run. Run as
far and as fast as I could. My shoulders tightened with the need to
get away.
A loud splash announced she'd entered the water. She could move
faster than I could crawl; I was betting on that. And if I ran . .
. and fell or knocked myself silly? Well, better to have tried than
to be caught crawling in the cold like a mouse.
I scrambled to my feet and started to run. I kept my left hand
out in front of me to protect my face, but the rest I left to
chance. I couldn't see shit. I was running full out, blind as a
bat, my stomach tight with anticipation of some pit opening up
under my feet.
The sounds of sliding scales was getting farther away. I was
outrunning her. Great.
A piece of rock slammed into my right shoulder. The impact spun
me into the other wall. My arm was numb from shoulder to
fingertips. I'd dropped the gun. Three bullets left, but that had
been better than nothing. I leaned into the wall, cradling my arm,
waiting for the feeling to return, wondering if I could find my gun
in the dark, wondering if I had time.
A light bobbed towards me down the tunnel. Blondie was coming;
risking himself, if I'd had my gun. But I didn't have my gun. I
could have broken my arm ramming into that ledge. The feeling was
coming back in a painful wash of prickles and a throbbing ache
where the rock had hit me. I needed a flashlight. What if I hid and
got Blondie's light? I had two knives. As far as I knew, Blondie
wasn't armed. It had possibilities.
The light was going slowly, sweeping from side to side. I had
time, maybe. I got to my feet and felt for the rock that had nearly
taken my arm off. It was a shelf with an opening behind it. Cool
air blew against my face. It was a small tunnel. It was shoulder
level to me, which made it about face level for Blondie.
Perfect.
I placed my hands palm down and pushed up. My right arm
protested, but it was doable. I crawled into the tunnel, hands out
in front searching for stalactites or more rock shelves. Nothing
but small, empty space. If I'd been much bigger, I wouldn't have
fit at all. Hurray for being petite.
I got out the knife for my left hand. The right was still
trembling. I was better right-handed, like most right-handed
people, but I practiced left-handed, too—ever since a vampire broke
my right arm and using my left had been the only thing that saved
me. Nothing like near death to get you to practice.
I crouched on my knees in the tunnel, knife gripped, using my
right hand for balance. I would only get one chance at this. I had
no illusions about my chances against an athletic man who
outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds. If the first rush
didn't work, he'd beat me to a pulp or give me to the lamia. I'd
rather be beaten.
I waited in the dark with my knife and prepared to slit
someone's throat. Not pretty when you think of it that way. But
necessary, wasn't it?
He was almost here. The thin penlight looked bright after the
darkness. If he shone the light in the direction of my hiding place
before he got beside it, I was sunk. Or if he passed close to the
left-hand side of the tunnel, and not under me . . . Stop it. The
light was almost underneath me. I heard his feet wade through the
water, coming closer. He was hugging the right-hand side of the
wall, just like I wanted him to.
His pale hair came into sight nearly even with my knees. I moved
forward and he turned. His mouth made a little "O" of surprise;
then the blade plunged into the side of his neck. Fangs flicked
from behind his teeth. The blade snicked on his spine. I grabbed
his long hair in my right hand, bowing his neck, and tore the knife
out the front of his throat. Blood splashed outward in a surprised
shower. The knife and my left hand were slick with it.
He fell to the tunnel floor with a loud splash. I scrambled off
the ledge and landed beside his body. The light had rolled into the
water, still glowing. I fished it out. Lying almost under Blondie's
hand was the Browning. It was wet, but that didn't matter. You
could shoot most modern guns underwater and they worked fine. That
was one of the things that made terrorism so easy.
Blood turned the stream dark. I shone the light back down the
tunnel. The lamia was framed in the small light. Her long black
hair spilled over her pale upper body. Her breasts were high and
prominent with deep, nearly reddish nipples. From the waist down
she was ivory-white with zigzags of pale gold. The long belly
scales were white speckled with black. She reared on that long,
hard tail and flicked her forked tongue at me.
Alejandro stood up behind her, covered in blood but walking,
moving. I wanted to shout, "Why don't you die" but it wouldn't
help; maybe nothing would help.
The lamia pushed onward down the tunnel. The gun had killed her
men with their fangs, Ronald with his snake eyes. I hadn't tried it
on her yet. What did I have to lose?
I kept the light on her pale chest and raised the gun.
"I am immortal. Your little bullets will not harm me."
"Come a little closer and let's test the theory," I said.
She slid towards me, arms moving as if in time with legs. Her
whole body moved with the muscular thrusts of the tail. It looked
curiously natural.
Alejandro stayed leaning against the wall. He was hurt.
Yippee.
I let her get within ten feet; close enough to hit her, far
enough away to run like hell if it didn't work.
The first bullet took her just above the left breast. She
staggered. It hit her, but the hole closed like water, smooth and
unblemished. She smiled.
I raised the gun, just a little, and fired just above the bridge
of her perfect nose. Again she staggered, but the hole didn't even
bleed. It just healed. Normal bullets had about as much effect on
vampires.
I put the gun in the shoulder holster, turned, and ran.
A wide crack led off from the main tunnel. I'd have to take off
my jacket to squeeze through. The last thing I wanted was to get
stuck with the lamia able to work her way through to me. I stayed
with the main tunnel.
The tunnel was smooth and straight as far as I could see.
Shelves projected out at angles, some with water trickling out of
them, but crawling on my belly with a snake after me wasn't my idea
of a good time.
I could run faster than she could move. Snakes, even giant
snakes, just weren't that fast. As long as I didn't hit a dead end,
I'd be fine. God, I wished I believed that.
The stream was ankle-deep now. The water was so cold, I had
trouble feeling my feet. Running helped. Concentrating on my body,
moving, running, trying not to fall, trying not to think about what
was behind me. The real trick would be, was there another way out?
If I couldn't kill them and couldn't get past them and there was
only one way out, I was going to lose.
I kept running. I did four miles three times a week, plus a
little extra. I could keep running. Besides, what choice did I
have?
The water was filling the passageway and growing deeper. I was
knee-deep in water. It was slowing me down. Could she move faster in
water than I could? I didn't know. I just didn't know.
A rush of air blew against my back. I turned, and there was
nothing there. The air was warm and smelled faintly of flowers. Was
it the lamia? Did she have other ways of catching me besides just
chasing? No; lamias could perform illusions only on men. That was
their power. I wasn't male, so I was safe.
The wind touched my face, gently, warm and fragrant with a rich,
green smell like freshly dug roots. What was happening?
"Anita."
I whirled, but there was no one there. The circle of light
showed only tunnel and water. There was no sound but the lapping of
water. Yet . . . the warm wind blew against my cheek, and the smell
of flowers was growing stronger.
Suddenly, I knew what it was. I remembered being chased up the
stairs by a wind that couldn't have been there, the glow of blue
fire like free-floating eyes. The second mark.
It had been different, no smell of flowers, but I knew that was
it. Alejandro didn't have to touch me to give me the mark, no more
than Jean-Claude had.
I slipped on the slick stones and fell neck-deep in water. I
scrambled to my feet, thigh-deep in water. My jeans were soaked and
heavy. I sloshed forward, trying to run, but the water was too deep
for running. It'd be quicker to swim.
I dove into the water, flashlight grasped in one hand. The
leather jacket dragged at me, slowed me down. I stood up and
stripped it off and let it float with the current. I hated to lose
the jacket, but if I survived, I could buy more.
I was glad I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and not a sweater.
It was too damn cold to strip down anymore. It was faster swimming.
The warm wind tickled down my face, hot after the chill of the
water.
I don't know what made me look behind me, just a feeling. Two
pinpoints of blackness were floating towards me in the air. If
blackness could burn, then that's what it was: black flame coming
for me on the warm, flower-scented breeze.
A rock wall loomed ahead. The stream ran under it. I held onto
the wall and found there was maybe an inch of air space between the
water and the roof of the tunnel. It looked like a good way to
drown.
I treaded water and shone the flashlight around the passage.
There; a narrow shelf of rock to climb out on, and blessed be,
another tunnel. A dry one.
I pulled myself up on the shelf, but the wind hit me like a warm
hand. It felt good and safe, and it was a lie.
I turned, and the black flames hovered over me like demonic
fireflies. "Anita, accept it."
"Go to hell!" I pressed my back to the wall, surrounded by the
warm tropical wind. "Please, don't do this," but it was a
whisper.
The flames descended slowly. I hit at them. The flames passed
through my hands like ghosts. The smell of flowers was almost
chokingly sweet. The flames passed into my eyes, and for an instant
I could see the world through bits of colored flame and a blackness
that was a kind of light.
Then nothing. My vision was my own. The warm breeze died slowly
away. The scent of flowers clung to me like some expensive
perfume.
There was the sound of something large moving in the dark. I
brought the flashlight up slowly into the dark-skinned face of a
nightmare.
Straight, black hair was cut short and smooth around a thin
face. Golden eyes with pupils like slits stared at me unblinking,
immobile. His slender upper body dragged his useless lower body
closer to me.
From the waist down he was all translucent skin. You could still
see his legs and genitals, but they were all blending together to
form a rough snakelike shape. Where do little lamias come from when
there are no male lamias? I stared at what had once been a human
being and screamed.
He opened his mouth, and fangs flicked into sight. He hissed,
and spit dribbled down his chin. There was nothing human left in
those slitted eyes. The lamia was more human than he was, but if I
was changing into a snake maybe I'd be crazy, too. Maybe crazy was
a blessing.
I drew the Browning and fired point-blank into his mouth. He
jerked back, shrieking, but no blood, no dying. Dammit.
There was a scream from farther away, echoing towards us.
"Raju!" The lamia was screaming for her mate, or warning him.
"Anita, don't hurt him." This from Alejandro. At least he had to
yell. He couldn't whisper in my mind anymore.
The thing pulled itself towards me, mouth gaping, fangs
straining.
"Tell him not to hurt me!" I yelled back.
The Browning was safely in its holster, and I was out of bullets
anyway.
Flashlight in one hand, knife in the other, I waited. If they
got here in time to call him off, fine. I didn't have much faith in
silver knives if silver bullets didn't harm him, but I wasn't going
down without a fight.
His hands were bloody from dragging his body over the rocks. I
never thought I'd see anything that was worse than being changed
into a vampire, but there it was, crawling towards me.
It was between me and the dry tunnel, but it was moving
agonizingly slowly. I pressed my back to the wall and got to my
feet. He—it—moved faster, definitely after me. I ran past it, but a
hand closed on my ankle, yanked me to the ground.
The creature grabbed my legs and started to pull me towards it.
I sat up and plunged the knife into its shoulder. It screamed,
blood spilling down its arm. The knife stuck in the bone, and the
monster jerked it out of my hand.
Then it reared back and struck my calf, fangs sinking in. I
screamed and drew the second knife.
It raised its face, blood trickling down its mouth, heavy yellow
drops clinging to its fangs.
I plunged the blade into one golden eye. The creature shrieked,
drowning us in echoes. It rolled onto its back, lower body
thrashing, hands clawing. I rolled with it and pushed the knife in
with everything I had.
I felt the tip of the knife scrape on its skull. The monster
continued to thrash and fight, but it was as hurt as I could make
it. I left the knife in its eye but jerked the one free of its
shoulder.
"Raju, no!"
I flashed the light on the lamia. Her pale upper body gleamed
wet in the light. Alejandro was beside her. He looked nearly
healed. I'd never seen a vampire that could heal that fast.
"I will kill you for their deaths," the lamia said.
"No, the girl is mine."
"She has killed my mate. She must die!"
"I will give her the third mark tonight. She will be my servant.
That is revenge enough."
"No!" she screamed.
I was waiting for the poison to start working, but so far the
bite just hurt, no burning, no nothing. I stared at the dry tunnel,
but they'd just follow me and I couldn't kill them, not like this,
not today. But there'd be other days.
I slipped back into the stream. There was still only an inch of
air space. Risk drowning, or stay, and either be killed by a lamia
or enslaved by a vampire. Choices, choices.
I slipped into the tunnel, mouth pressed near the wet roof. I
could breathe. I might survive the day. Miracles do happen.
Small waves began to slosh through the tunnel. A wave washed
over my face, and I swallowed water. I treaded water as gently as I
could. It was my movements that were making the waves. I was going
to drown myself.
I stayed very still until the water calmed, then took a deep
breath, hyperventilating to expand the lungs and take in as much
air as I could. I dunked under the water and kicked. It was too
narrow for anything but a scissor kick. My chest was tight, throat
aching with the need to breathe. I surfaced and kissed rock. There
wasn't even an inch of air. Water splashed into my nose and I
coughed, swallowing more water. I pressed as close to the ceiling
as I could, taking small shallow breaths, then under again,
kicking, kicking for all I was worth. If the tunnel filled
completely before I was through it, I was going to die.
What if the tunnel didn't end? What if it was all water? I
panicked, kicking furiously, flashlight bouncing crazily off the
walls, hovering in the water like a prayer.
Please, God, please, don't let me die here like this.
My chest burned, throat bursting with the need to breathe. The
light was dimming, and I realized it was my eyes that were losing
the light. I was going to pass out and drown. I pushed for the
surface and my hands touched empty air.
I took a gasping breath that hurt all the way down. There was a
rocky shore and one bright line of sunlight. There was a hole up in
the wall. The sunlight formed a misty haze in the air. I crawled
onto the rock, coughing and relearning how to breathe.
I still had the flashlight and knife in my hands. I didn't
remember holding onto them. The rock was covered in a thin sheet of
grey mud. I crawled through it towards the rockslide that had
opened the hole in the wall.
If I could make it through the tunnel, maybe they could, too. I
didn't wait to feel better. I put the knife back in its sheath,
slid the flashlight in my pocket, and started crawling.
I was covered in mud, hands scraped raw, but I was at the
opening. It was a thin crack, but through it I could see trees and
a hill. God, it looked good.
Something surfaced behind me.
I turned.
Alejandro rose from the water into the sunlight. His skin burst
into flame, and he shrieked, diving into the water away from the
burning sun.
"Burn, you son of bitch, burn."
The lamia surfaced.
I slipped into the crack and stuck. I pulled with my hands and
pushed with my feet, but the mud slid and I couldn't get
through.
"I will kill you."
I wrenched my back and put everything I had into wriggling free
of that damn hole. The rock scraped along my back and I knew I was
bleeding. I fell out onto the hill and rolled until a tree stopped
me.
The lamia came to the crack. Sunlight didn't hurt her. She
struggled to get through, tearing at the rock, but her ample chest
wasn't going to fit. Her snake body might be narrowable, but the
human part wasn't.
But just in case, I got to my feet and started down the hill. It
was steep enough that I had to walk from tree to tree, trying not
to fall down the hill. The whoosh of cars was just ahead. A road; a
busy one by the sound of it.
I started to run, letting the momentum of the hill take me
faster and faster towards the sounds of cars. I could glimpse the
road through the trees.
I stumbled out onto the edge of the road, covered in grey mud,
slimy, wet to the bone, shivering in the autumn air. I'd never felt
better. Two cars wheezed by, ignoring my waving arms. Maybe it was
the gun in the shoulder holster.
A green Mazda pulled up and stopped. The driver leaned across
and opened the passenger side door. "Hop in."
It was Edward.
I stared into his blue eyes, and his face was as blank and
unreadable as a cat's, and just as self-satisfied. I didn't give a
damn. I slid into the seat and locked the door behind me.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Home."
"You don't need a hospital?"
I shook my head. "You were following me again."
He smiled. "I lost you in the woods."
"City boy," I said.
His smile widened. "No name-calling. You look like you flunked
your Girl Scout exam."
I started to say something, then stopped. He was right, and I
was too tired to argue.
Chapter 41
I was sitting on the edge of my bathtub in nothing but a large
beach towel. I had showered and shampooed and washed the mud and
blood down the drain. Except for the blood that was still seeping
out of the deep scrape on my back. Edward held a smaller towel to
the cut, putting pressure on it.
"When the bleeding stops, I'll bandage it up for you," he
said.
"Thanks."
"I seem to always be patching you up."
I glanced over my shoulder at him and winced. "I've returned the
favor."
He smiled. "True."
The cuts on my hands had already been bandaged. I looked like a
tan version of the mummy's hand.
He touched the fang marks on my calf gently. "This worries
me."
"Me, too."
"There's no discoloration." He looked up at me. "No pain?"
"None. It wasn't a full lamia, maybe it wasn't that poisonous.
Besides, you think anywhere in St. Louis is going to have lamia
antivenom? They've been listed extinct for over two hundred
years."
Edward palpated the wound. "I can't feel any swelling."
"It's been over an hour, Edward. If poison was going to kick in,
it would have by now."
"Yeah." He stared at the bite. "Just keep an eye on it."
"I didn't know you cared," I said.
His face was blank, empty. "It would be a lot less interesting
world without you in it." The voice was flat, unemotional. It was
like he wasn't there at all. Yet it was a compliment. From Edward,
it was a huge compliment.
"Gee whiz, Edward, contain your excitement."
He gave a small smile that left his eyes blue and distant as
winter skies.
We were friends of a sort, good friends, but I would never
really understand him. There was too much of Edward that you
couldn't touch, or even see.
I used to believe that if it came to it, he'd kill me, if it
were necessary. Now, I wasn't sure. How could you be friends with
someone who you suspected might kill you? Another mystery of
life.
"The bleeding's stopped," he said. He smeared antiseptic on the
wound, then started taping bandages in place. The doorbell
rang.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"Three o'clock."
"Shit."
"What is it?"
"I have a date coming over."
"You? Have a date?"
I frowned at him. "It's not that big a deal."
Edward was grinning like the proverbial cat. He stood up.
"You're all fixed up. I'll go let him in."
"Edward, be nice."
"Me, nice?"
"All right, just don't shoot him."
"I think I can manage that." Edward walked out of the bathroom
to let Richard in.
What would Richard think being met at the door by another man?
Edward certainly wasn't going to help matters. He'd probably offer
him a seat without explaining who he was. I wasn't even sure I
could explain that.
"This is my friend the assassin." Nope. A fellow vampire slayer,
maybe.
The bedroom door was closed so I could get dressed in privacy. I
tried to put on a bra and found that my back hurt a lot. No bra.
That limited what I could wear, unless I wanted to give Richard
more of a look-see than I had planned on. I also wanted to keep an
eye on the bite wound. So pants were out.
Most of the time I slept in oversize t-shirts, and slipping on a
pair of jeans was my idea of a robe. But I did own one real robe.
It was comfortable, a nice solid black, silky to the touch and
absolutely not see-through.
A black silk teddy went with it, but I decided that was a little
friendlier than I wanted to be; besides, the teddy wasn't
comfortable. Lingerie seldom is.
I pulled the robe out of the back of my closet and slipped it
on. It was smooth and wonderful next to my skin. I crossed the
front so the bordered edge was high up on my chest and tied the
black belt tight in place. Didn't want any slippage.
I listened at the door for a second and heard nothing. No
talking, no moving around, nothing. I opened the door and walked
out.
Richard was sitting on the couch with an armful of costumes hung
over the back. Edward was making coffee in the kitchen like he
owned the place.
Richard turned at my entrance. His eyes widened just a little.
The hair still damp from the shower, and the slinky robe—what was
he thinking?
"Nice robe," Edward said.
"It was a present from an overly optimistic date."
"I like it," Richard said.
"No smart remarks or you can just leave."
His eyes flicked to Edward. "Did I interrupt something?"
"He's a coworker, nothing more." I frowned at Edward, daring him
to say anything. He smiled and poured coffee for all three of
us.
"Let's sit at the table," I said. "I don't drink coffee on a
white couch."
Edward sat the mugs on the small table. He leaned against the
cabinets, leaving the two chairs for us.
Richard left his coat on the couch and sat down across from me.
He was wearing a bluish-green sweater with darker blue designs
worked across the chest. The color brought out the perfect brown of
his eyes. His cheekbones seemed higher. A small Band-Aid marred his
right cheek. His hair had gentle auburn highlights. Wondrous what
the right color can do for a person.
The fact that I looked great in black had not escaped my notice.
From the look on Richard's face, he was noticing, but his eyes kept
slipping back to Edward.
"Edward and I were out hunting down the vampires that have been
doing the killings."
His eyes widened. "Did you find out anything?"
I looked at Edward.
He shrugged. It was my call.
Richard hung around with Jean-Claude. Was he Jean-Claude's
creature? I didn't think so, but then again . . . Caution is always
better. If I was wrong, I'd apologize later. If I was right, I'd be
disappointed in Richard but glad I hadn't told.
"Let's just say we lost today."
"You're alive," Edward said.
He had a point.
"Did you almost die today?" Richard's voice was outraged.
What could I say? "It's been a rough day."
He glanced at Edward, then back to me. "How bad was it?"
I motioned my bandaged hands at him. "Scrapes and cuts; nothing
much."
Edward hid a smile in his coffee mug.
"Tell me the truth, Anita," Richard said.
"I don't owe you any explanations." My voice sounded just a tad
defensive.
Richard stared down at his hands, then looked up at me. There
was a look in his eyes that made my throat tight. "You're right.
You don't owe me anything."
I found an explanation slipping out of my mouth. "You might say
I went caving without you."
"What do you mean?"
"I ended up going through a water-filled tunnel to escape the
bad guys."
"How water-filled?"
"All the way to the top."
"You could have drowned." He touched my hand with his
fingertips.
I sipped coffee and moved my hand away from his, but I could
feel where he had touched me like a lingering smell. "But I didn't
drown."
"That's not the point," he said.
"Yes," I said, "it is. If you're going to date me, you have to
get used to the way I work."
He nodded. "You're right, you're right." His voice was soft. "It
just caught me off guard. You nearly died today and you're sitting
there drinking coffee like it's ordinary."
"For me, it is, Richard. If you can't deal with that, maybe we
shouldn't even try." I caught Edward's expression. "What are you
grinning at?"
"Your suave and debonair way with men."
"If you're not going to be helpful, then leave."
He put his mug down on the counter. "I'll leave you two
lovebirds alone."
"Edward," I said.
"I'm going."
I walked him to the door. "Thanks again for being there, even if
you were following me."
He pulled out a plain white business card with a phone number
done in black on it. That was all, no name, no logo; but what would
have been appropriate, a bloody dagger, or maybe a smoking gun? "If
you need me, call this number."
Edward had never given me a number before. He was like the
phantom—there when he wanted to be, or not there, as he chose. A
number could be traced. He was trusting me a lot with the number.
Maybe he wouldn't kill me.
"Thank you, Edward."
"One bit of advice. People in our line of work don't make good
significant others."
"I know that."
"What's he do for a living?"
"He's a junior high science teacher," I said.
Edward just shook his head. "Good luck." With that parting shot,
he left.
I slipped the business card into the robe pocket and went back
to Richard. He was a science teacher, but he also hung out with the
monsters. He'd seen it get messy, and it hadn't fazed him, much.
Could he handle it? Could I? One date and I was already borrowing
trouble that might never come up. We might dislike each other after
only one evening together. I'd had it happen before.
I stared at the back of Richard's head and wondered if the curls
could be as soft as they looked. Instant lust; embarrassing, but
not that uncommon. All right, it was uncommon for me.
A sharp pain ran up my leg. The leg that the lamia-thing had
bitten. Please, no. I leaned against the counter divider. Richard
was watching me, puzzled.
I swept the robe aside. The leg was swelling and turning
purplish. How had I not noticed it? "Did I mention I got bitten by
a lamia today?"
"You're joking," he said.
I shook my head. "I think you're going to have to take me to the
hospital."
He stood up and saw my leg. "God! Sit down."
I was starting to sweat. It wasn't hot in the apartment.
Richard helped me to the couch. "Anita, lamias have been extinct
for two hundred years. No one's going to have any antivenom."
I stared at him. "I guess we're not going to get that date."
"No dammit, I won't sit here and watch you die. Lycanthropes
can't be poisoned."
"You mean you want to rush me to Stephen and let him bite
me?"
"Something like that."
"I'd rather die."
Something flickered through his eyes, something I couldn't read;
pain, maybe. "You mean that?"
"Yes." A rush of nausea flowed over me like a wave. "I'm going
to be sick." I tried to get up and go for the bathroom but
collapsed on the white carpet and vomited blood. Red and bright and
fresh. I was bleeding to death inside.
Richard's hand was cool on my forehead, his arm around my waist.
I vomited until I was empty and exhausted. Richard lifted me to the
couch. There was a narrow tunnel of light edged by darkness. The
darkness was eating the light, and I couldn't stop it. I could feel
myself begin to float away. It didn't hurt. I wasn't even
scared.
The last thing I heard was Richard's voice. "I won't let you
die." It was a nice thought.
Chapter 42
The dream began. I was sitting in the middle of a huge canopied
bed. The drapes were heavy blue velvet, the color of midnight
skies. The velvet bedspread was soft under my hands. I was wearing
a long white gown with lace at the collar and sleeves. I'd never
owned anything like it. No one had in this century.
The walls were blue and gold wallpaper. A huge fireplace blazed,
sending shadows dancing around the room. Jean-Claude stood in the
corner of the room, bathed in orange and black shadows. He was
wearing the same shirt I'd last seen him in, the one with the
peekaboo front.
He walked towards me, fire-shadows shining in his hair, on his
face, glittering in his eyes.
"Why don't you ever dress me in anything normal in these
dreams?"
He hesitated. "You don't like the gown?"
"Hell, no."
He gave a slight smile. "You always did have a way with words,
ma petite. "
"Stop calling me that, dammit."
"As you like, Anita." There was something in the way he said my
name that I didn't like at all.
"What are you up to, Jean-Claude?"
He stood beside the bed and unbuttoned the first button of his
shirt.
"What are you doing?"
Another button, and another, then he was pulling the shirt out
of his pants and letting it slide to the floor. His bare chest was
only a little less white than my gown. His nipples were pale and
hard. The strand of dark hair that started low on his belly and
disappeared into his pants fascinated me.
He crawled up on the bed.
I backed away, clutching the white gown to me like some heroine
in a bad Victorian novel. "I don't seduce this easy."
"I can taste your lust on the back of my tongue, Anita. You want
to know what my skin feels like next to your naked body."
I scrambled off the bed. "Leave me the fuck alone. I mean
it."
"It's just a dream. Can't you even let yourself lust in a
dream?"
"It's never just a dream with you."
He was suddenly standing in front of me. I hadn't seen him move.
His arms locked behind my back, and we were on the floor in front
of the fire. Fire-shadows danced on the naked skin of his
shoulders. His skin was fragile, smooth, and unblemished—so soft I
wanted to touch it forever. He was on top of me, his weight
pressing against me, pushing me into the floor. I could feel the
line of his body molded against mine.
"One kiss and I'll let you up."
I stared into his midnight-blue eyes from inches away. I
couldn't talk. I turned my face away so I wouldn't have to look
into the perfection of his face. "One kiss?"
"My word," he whispered.
I turned back to him. "Your word isn't worth shit."
His face leaned over mine, lips almost touching. "One kiss."
His lips were soft, gentle. He kissed my cheek, lips brushing
down the line of my cheek, touching my neck. His hair brushed my
face. I thought that all curly hair was coarse, but his was baby
fine, silken soft. "One kiss," he whispered against the skin of my
throat, tongue tasting the pulse in my neck.
"Stop it."
"You want it."
"Stop it, now!"
He grabbed a handful of hair, forcing my neck backwards. His
lips had thinned back, exposing fangs. His eyes were drowning blue
without any white at all.
"NO!"
"I will have you, ma petite, even if it is to save your
life." His head came downward, striking like a snake. I woke up
staring at a ceiling I didn't recognize.
Black and white drapes were suspended from the ceiling in a soft
fan. The bed was black satin with too many pillows thrown all over
the place. The pillows were all black or white. I was wearing a
black gown with spaghetti straps. It felt like a real silk and fit
me perfectly.
The floor was ankle-deep white carpet. A black lacquer vanity
and chest of drawers were placed at far corners of the room. I sat
up and could see myself in the mirror. My neck was smooth, no bite
marks. Just a dream, just a dream, but I knew better. The bedroom
had the unmistakable touch of Jean-Claude.
I had been dying of poison. How had I gotten here? Was I
underneath the Circus of the Damned, or somewhere else altogether?
My right wrist hurt.
There was a white swathe of bandages around my wrist. I didn't
remember hurting it in the cave.
I stared at myself in the vanity mirror. In the black negligee
my skin was white, my hair long and black as the gown. I laughed. I
matched the decor. I matched the damn decor.
A door opened behind a white curtain. I got a glimpse of stone
walls behind the drapes. He was wearing nothing but the silky
bottoms of men's pajamas. He padded towards me on bare feet. His
bare chest looked like it had in my dream, except for the
cross-shaped scar; it hadn't been there in the dream. It marred the
marble perfection of him, made him seem more real somehow.
"Hell," I said. "Definitely Hell."
'What, ma petite?"
"I was wondering where I was. If you're here, it has to be
Hell."
He smiled. He looked entirely too satisfied, like a snake that
had been well-fed.
"How did I get here?"
"Richard brought you."
"So I really was poisoned. That wasn't part of the dream?"
He sat on the far edge of the bed, as far away from me as he
could get and still sit down. There were no other places to sit.
"I'm afraid the poison was very real."
"Not that I'm complaining, but why aren't I dead?"
He hugged his knees to his chest, a strangely vulnerable
gesture. "I saved you."
"Explain that."
"You know."
I shook my head. "Say it."
"The third mark."
"I don't have any bite marks."
"But your wrist is cut and bandaged."
"You bastard."
"I saved your life."
"You drank my blood while I was unconscious."
He gave the slightest nod.
"You son of a bitch."
The door opened again, and it was Richard. "You bastard, how
could you give me to him?"
"She doesn't seem very grateful to us, Richard."
"You said you'd rather die than be a lycanthrope."
"I'd rather die than be a vampire."
"He didn't bite you. You're not going to be a vampire."
"I'll be his slave for eternity; great choice."
"It's only the third mark, Anita. You aren't his servant
yet."
"That's not the point." I stared at him. "Don't you understand?
I'd rather you let me die than have done this."
"It is hardly a fate worse than death," Jean-Claude said.
"You were bleeding from your nose and eyes. You were bleeding to
death in my arms." Richard took a few steps towards the bed, then
stopped. "I couldn't just let you die." His hands reached outward
in a helpless gesture.
I stood up in the silky gown and stared at them both. "Maybe
Richard didn't know any better, but you knew how I felt,
Jean-Claude. You don't have any excuses."
"Perhaps I could not stand to watch you die, either. Have you
thought of that?"
I shook my head. "What does the third mark mean? What extra
powers does it give you over me?"
"I can whisper in your mind outside of dreams now. And you have
gained power as well, ma petite. You are very hard to kill
now. Poison won't work at all."
I kept shaking my head. "I don't want to hear it. I won't
forgive you for this, Jean-Claude."
"I did not think you would," he said. He seemed wistful.
"I need clothes and a ride home. I've got to work tonight."
"Anita, you've almost died twice today. How can you . . ."
"Can it, Richard. I need to go to work tonight. I need something
that's mine and not his. You invasive bastard."
"Find her some clothes and take her home, Richard. She needs
time to adjust to this new change."
I stared at Jean-Claude still huddled on the corner of the bed.
He looked adorable, and if I'd had a gun, I'd have shot him on the
spot. Fear was a hard, cold lump in my gut. He meant to make me his
servant, whether I liked it or not. I could scream and protest, and
he'd ignore it.
"Come near me again, Jean-Claude, for any reason, and I'll kill
you."
"Three marks bind us now. It would harm you, too."
I laughed, and it was bitter. "Do you really think I give a
damn?"
He stared at me, face calm, unreadable, lovely. "No." He turned
his back on us both and said, "Take her home, Richard. Though I do
not envy you the ride there." He glanced back with a smile. "She
can be quite vocal when she's angry."
I wanted to spit at him, but that wouldn't have been enough. I
couldn't kill him, not right then and there, so I let it go. Grace
under pressure. I followed Richard out the door and didn't look
back. I didn't want to see his perfect profile in the vanity
mirror.
Vampires weren't supposed to have reflections, or souls. He had
one. Did he have the other? Did it matter? No, I decided, it didn't
matter at all. I was going to give Jean-Claude to Oliver. I was
going to give the city to Mr. Oliver. I was going to set the Master
of the City up for assassination. One more mark and I'd be his
forever. No way. I'd see him dead first, even if it meant I died
with him. No one forced me into anything, not even eternity.
Chapter 43
I ended up wearing one of those dresses with the waist that hit
you about at the hips. The fact that the dress was about three
sizes too big didn't help matters. The shoes fit even if they were
high heels. It was better than going barefoot. Richard turned up
the heat in the car because I'd refused his coat.
We were fighting, and we hadn't even had one date. That was a
record even for me.
"You're alive," he said for the seventieth time.
"But at what price?"
"I believe that all life is precious. Don't you?"
"Don't go all philosophical on me, Richard. You handed me over
to the monsters, and they used me. Don't you understand that
Jean-Claude has been looking for an excuse to do this to me?"
"He saved your life."
That seemed to be the extent of his argument. "But he didn't do
it to save my life. He did it because he wants me as his
slave."
"A human servant isn't a slave. It's almost the opposite. He'll
have almost no power over you."
"But he'll be able to talk inside my head, invade my dreams." I
shook my head. "Don't let him sucker you."
"You're being unreasonable," he said.
That was it. "I'm the one with my wrist slit open where the
Master of the City fed. He drank my blood, Richard."
"I know."
There was something about the way he said it. "You watched, you
sick son of a bitch."
"No, it wasn't like that."
"How was it?" I sat with my arms crossed over my stomach,
glaring at him. So that was the hold Jean-Claude had on him.
Richard was a voyeur.
"I wanted to make sure he only did enough to save your
life."
"What else could he have done? He drank my blood, dammit."
Richard concentrated on the road suddenly, not looking at me.
"He could have raped you."
"I was bleeding from my eyes and nose, you said. Doesn't sound
very romantic to me."
"All the blood, it seemed to excite him."
I stared at him. "You're serious?"
He nodded.
I sat there feeling cold down to my toes. "What made you think
he was going to rape me?"
"You woke up on a black bedspread. The first one was white. He
laid you on it and started to strip down. He took your robe off.
There was blood everywhere. He smeared his face in it, tasted it.
Another vampire handed him a small gold knife."
"There were more vamps there?"
"It was like a ritual. The audience seemed to be important. He
slit your wrist and drank at it, but his hands . . . he was
touching your breasts. I told him that I had brought you so you
could live, not so he could rape you."
"That must have gone over real big."
Richard was very quiet all of a sudden.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"Tell me, Richard. I mean it."
"Jean-Claude looked up with blood all over his face and said, 'I
have not waited this long to take what I want her to give freely.
It is a temptation.' Then he looked down at you, and there was
something in his face, Anita. It was scary as hell. He really
believes you'll come around. That you'll . . . love him."
"Vampires don't love."
"Are you sure?"
I glanced at him, then away. I stared at the window at the
daylight that was just now beginning to fade. "Vampires don't love.
They can't."
"How do you know that?"
"Jean-Claude does not love me."
"Maybe he does, as much as he can."
I shook my head. "He bathed in my blood. He slit my wrist. That
isn't my idea of love."
"Maybe it's his."
"Then it's too damn weird for me."
"Fine, but admit that he may love you, as much as he's
able."
"No."
"It scares you to think that he loves you, doesn't it?"
I stared out the window as hard as I could. I didn't want to be
talking about this. I wanted to undo this whole damn day.
"Or is it something else that you're afraid of?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." He sounded so sure of himself. He didn't know me
well enough to be that certain.
"Say it out loud, Anita. Say it just once and it won't seem so
scary."
"I don't have anything to say."
"You're telling me that no part of you wants him. Not a piece of
you might love him back."
"I don't love him; that much I'm sure of."
"But?"
"You are persistent," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"All right, I'm attracted to him. Is that what you wanted to
hear?"
"How attracted?"
"That's none of your damn business."
"Jean-Claude warned me to stay away from you. I just want to
know if I'm really interfering. If you're attracted to him, maybe I
should stay out of it."
"He's a monster, Richard. You've seen him. I can't love a
monster."
"If he was human?"
"He's an egotistical, controlling bastard."
"But if he was human?"
I sighed. "If he was human, we might work something out, but
even alive, Jean-Claude can be such an SOB. I don't think it would
work."
"But you're not even going to try because he's a monster."
"He's dead, Richard, a walking corpse. It doesn't matter how
pretty he is, or how compelling, he's still dead. I don't date
corpses. A girl's got to have some standards."
"So no corpses," he said.
"No corpses."
"What about lycanthropes?"
"Why? You thinking of fixing me up with your friend?"
"Just curious about where you draw the line."
"Lycanthropy is a disease. The person's already survived a
vicious attack. It'd be like blaming the rape victim."
"You ever date a shapeshifter?"
"It's never come up."
"What else wouldn't you date?"
"Things that were never human to begin with, I guess. I really
haven't thought about it. Why the interest?"
He shook his head. "Just curious."
"Why aren't I still pissed at you?"
"Maybe because you're glad to be alive, no matter what the
cost."
He pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building. Larry's
car was idling in my parking space. "Maybe I am glad to be alive,
but I'll let you know about the cost when I find out what it really
is."
"You don't believe Jean-Claude?"
"I wouldn't believe Jean-Claude if he told me moonlight was
silver."
Richard smiled. "Sorry about the date."
"Maybe we can try again sometime."
"I'd like that," he said.
I opened the door and stood shivering in the cool air. "Whatever
happens, Richard, thanks for watching out for me." I hesitated,
then said, "And whatever hold Jean-Claude's got on you, break it.
Get away from him. He'll get you killed."
He just nodded. "Good advice."
"Which you're not going to take," I said.
"I would if I could, Anita. Please believe that."
"What does he have on you, Richard?"
He shook his head. "He ordered me not to tell you."
"He ordered you not to date me, too."
He shrugged. "You better get going. You're going to be late for
work."
I smiled. "Besides, I'm freezing my butt off."
He smiled. "You do have a way with words."
"I spend too much time hanging around with cops."
He put the car in gear. "Have a safe night at work."
"I'll do my best."
He nodded. I closed the door. Richard didn't seem to want to
talk about what Jean-Claude had on him. Well, no rule said we had
to play honesty on the first date. Besides, he was right. I was
going to be late for work.
I tapped on Larry's window. "I've got to change, then I'll be
right back down."
"Who was that dropping you off?"
"A date." I left it at that. It was a much easier explanation
than the truth. Besides, it was almost true.
Chapter 44
This is the only night of the year that Bert allows
us to wear black to work. He thinks the color is too harsh for
normal business hours. I had black jeans and a Halloween sweater
with huge grinning jack o' lanterns in a stomach-high line. I
topped it off with a black zipper sweatshirt and black Nikes. Even
my shoulder holster and the Browning matched. I had my backup gun
in an inner pants holster. I also had two extra clips in my sport
bag. I had replaced the knife I'd had to leave in the cave. There
was a derringer in my jacket pocket and two extra knives, one down
the spine, the other in an ankle holster. Don't laugh. I left the
shotgun home.
If Jean-Claude found out I'd betrayed him, he'd kill
me. Would I know when he died? Would I feel it? Something told me
that I would.
I took the card that Karl Inger had given me and
called the number. If it had to be done, it best be done
quickly.
"Hello?"
"Is this Karl Inger?"
"Yes, it is. Who is this?"
"It's Anita Blake. I need to speak with Oliver."
"Have you decided to give us the Master of the
City?"
"Yes."
"If you'll hold for a moment, I'll fetch Mr. Oliver."
He laid the receiver down. I heard him walking away until there was
nothing but silence on the phone. Better than Muzak.
Footsteps coming back, then: "Hello, Ms. Blake, so
good of you to call."
I swallowed, and it hurt. "The Master of the City is
Jean-Claude."
"I had discounted him. He isn't very powerful."
"He hides his powers. Trust me, he's a lot more than
he seems."
"Why the change of heart, Ms. Blake?"
"He gave me the third mark. I want free of him."
"Ms. Blake, to be bound thrice to a vampire, and then
have that vampire die, can be quite a shock to the system. It could
kill you."
"I want free of him, Mr. Oliver."
"Even if you die?" he said.
"Even if I die."
"I would have liked to have met you under different
circumstances, Anita Blake. You are a remarkable person."
"No, I've just seen too much. I won't let him have
me."
"I will not fail you, Ms. Blake. I will see him
dead."
"If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't have told
you."
"I appreciate your confidence."
"One other thing you should know. The lamia tried to
betray you today. She's in league with another master named
Alejandro."
"Really?" His voice sounded amused. "What did he
offer her?"
"Her freedom."
"Yes, that would tempt Melanie. I keep her on such a
short rein."
"She's been trying to breed. Did you know that?"
"What do you mean?" I told him about the men,
especially the last one that had been nearly changed. He was quiet
for a moment. "I have been most inattentive. I will deal with
Melanie and Alejandro."
"Fine. I'd appreciate a call tomorrow to let me know
how things went."
"To be sure he's dead," Oliver said.
"Yes," I said.
"You'll get a call from Karl or myself. But first,
where can we find Jean-Claude?"
"The Circus of the Damned."
"How appropriate."
"That's all I can tell you."
"Thank you, Ms. Blake, and Happy Halloween."
I had to laugh. "It's going to be a hell of a
night."
He chuckled softly. "Indeed. Good-bye, Ms.
Blake."
The phone went dead in my hand. I stared at the
phone. I'd had to do it. Had to. So why did my stomach feel tight?
Why did I have the urge to call Jean-Claude and warn him? Was it
the marks, or was Richard right? Did I love Jean-Claude in some
strange, twisted way? God help me, I hoped not.
Chapter 45
It was full dark on All Hallows Eve. Larry and I had made two
appointments. He'd raised one, and I'd raised the other. He had one
more to go, and I had three. A nice normal night.
What Larry was wearing was not normal. Bert had encouraged us to
wear something fitting for the holiday. I'd chosen the sweater.
Larry had chosen a costume. He was wearing blue denim overalls, a
white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a straw hat, and work
boots. When asked, he'd said, "I'm Huck Finn. Don't I fit the
part?"
With his red hair and freckles, he did fit the part. There was
blood on the shirt now, but it was Halloween. There were a lot of
people out with fake blood on them. We fitted right in tonight.
My beeper went off. I checked the number, and it was Dolph.
Damn.
"Who is it?" Larry asked.
"The police. We've got to find a phone."
He glanced at the dashboard clock. "We're ahead of schedule. How
about the McDonald's just off the highway?"
"Great." I prayed that it wasn't another murder. I needed a nice
normal night. At the back of my head like a bit of remembered song,
two sentences kept playing: "Jean-Claude is going to die tonight.
You set him up."
It seemed wrong to kill him from a safe distance. To not look
him in the eyes and pull the trigger myself, to not give him a
chance to kill me first. Fair play and all that. Fuck fair play; it
was him or me. Wasn't it?
Larry parked in the McDonald's lot. "I'm gonna get a Coke while
you call in. You want something?"
I shook my head.
"You all right?"
"Sure. I'm just hoping it's not another murder."
"Jesus, I hadn't thought of that."
We got out of the car. Larry went into the dining room. I stayed
in the little entrance area with the pay phone.
Dolph picked up on the third ring. "Sergeant Storr."
"It's Anita. What's up?"
"We finally broke the paralegal that was feeding information to
the vampires."
"Great; I thought it might be another murder."
"Not tonight; the vamp's got more important business."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"He's planning on getting every vampire in the city to slaughter
humans for Halloween."
"He can't. Only the Master of the City could do that, and then
only if he was incredibly powerful."
"That's what I thought. Could be the vampire's crazy."
I had a thought, an awful thought. "You got a description of the
vampire?"
"Vampires," he said.
"Read it to me."
I heard paper rustling, then: "Short, dark, very polite. Saw one
other vampire twice with the boss vamp. He was medium height,
Indian or Mexican, longish black hair."
I clutched the phone so tight my hand trembled. "Did the vampire
say why he was going to slaughter humans?"
"Wanted to discredit legalized vampirism. Now isn't that a weird
motive for a vampire?"
"Yeah," I said. "Dolph, this could happen."
"What are you saying?"
"If this master vampire could kill the Master of the City and
take over before dawn, he might pull it off."
"What can we do?"
I hesitated, almost telling him to protect Jean-Claude, but it
wasn't a matter for the police. They had to worry about laws and
police brutality. There was no way to take something like Oliver
alive. Whatever was going to happen tonight had to be
permanent.
"Talk to me, Anita."
"I've gotta go, Dolph."
"You know something; tell me."
I hung up. I also turned off my beeper. I dialed Circus of the
Damned. A pleasant-voiced woman answered, "Circus of the Damned,
where all your nightmares come true."
"I need to speak to Jean-Claude. It's an emergency."
"He's busy right now. May I take a message?"
I swallowed hard, tried not to yell. "This is Anita Blake,
Jean-Claude's human servant. Tell him to get his ass to the phone
now."
"I . . ."
"People are going to die if I don't talk to him."
"Okay, okay." She put me on hold with a butchered version of
"High Flying" by Tom Petty.
Larry came out with his Coke. "What's up?"
I shook my head. I fought the urge to jump up and down, but that
wouldn't get Jean-Claude to the phone any sooner. I stood very
still, hugging one arm across my stomach. What had I done? Please
don't let it be too late.
"Ma petite?"
"Thank God."
"What has happened?"
"Just listen. There's a master vampire on his way to the Circus.
I gave him your name and your resting place. His name is Mr. Oliver
and he's older than anything. He's older than Alejandro. In fact, I
think he's Alejandro's master. It's all been a plan to get me to
betray the city to him, and I fell for it."
He was quiet so long that I asked, "Did you hear me?"
"You really meant to kill me."
"I told you I would."
"But now you warn me. Why?"
"Oliver wants control of the city so he can send all the
vampires out to slaughter humans. He wants it back to the old days
when vampires were hunted. He said legalized vampirism was
spreading too fast. I agree, but I didn't know what he meant to
do."
"So to save your precious humans you will betray Oliver
now."
"It isn't like that. Dammit, Jean-Claude, concentrate on the
important thing here. They're on their way. They may be there
already. You've got to protect yourself."
"To keep the humans safe."
"To keep your vampires safe, too. Do you really want them under
Oliver's control?"
"No. I will take steps, ma petite. We will at least
give him a fight." He hung up.
Larry was staring at me with wide eyes. "What the hell is
happening, Anita?"
"Not now, Larry." I fished Edward's card out of my bag. I didn't
have another quarter. "Do you have a quarter?"
"Sure." He handed it to me without any more questions. Good
man.
I dialed the number. "Please, be there. Please, be there."
He answered on the seventh ring.
"Edward, it's Anita."
"What's happened?"
"How would you like to take on two master vampires older than
Nikolaos?"
I heard him swallow. "I always have so much fun when you're
around. Where should we meet?"
"The Circus of the Damned. You got an extra shotgun?"
"Not with me."
"Shit. Meet me out front ASAP. The shit's going to really hit
the fan tonight, Edward."
"Sounds like a great way to spend Halloween."
"See you there."
"Bye, and thanks for inviting me." He meant it. Edward had
started out as a normal assassin, but humans had been too easy, so
he went for vamps and shapeshifters. He hadn't met anything he
couldn't kill, and what was life without a little challenge?
I looked at Larry. "I need to borrow your car."
"You're not going anywhere without me. I've heard just your side
of the conversations, and I'm not getting left out."
I started to argue, but there wasn't time. "Okay, let's do
it."
He grinned. He was pleased. He didn't know what was going to
happen tonight, what we were up against. I did. And I wasn't happy
at all.
Chapter 46
I stood just inside the door of the Circus staring at
the wave of costumes and glittering humanity. I'd never seen the
place so crowded. Edward stood beside me in a long black cloak with
a death's-head mask. Death dressed up as death; funny, huh? He also
had a flamethrower strapped to his back, an Uzi pistol, and heaven
knew how many other weapons secreted about his person. Larry looked
pale but determined. He had my derringer in his pocket. He knew
nothing about guns. The derringer was an emergency measure only,
but he wouldn't stay in the car. Next week, if we were still alive,
I'd take him out to the shooting range.
A woman in a bird costume passed us in a scent of
feathers and perfume. I had to look twice to make sure that it was
just a costume. Tonight was the night when all shapeshifters could
be out and people would just say, "Neat costume."
It was Halloween night at the Circus of the Damned.
Anything was possible.
A slender black woman stepped up to us wearing
nothing but a bikini and an elaborate mask. She had to step close
to me to be heard over the murmur of the crowd. "Jean-Claude sent
me to bring you."
"Who are you?"
"Rashida."
I shook my head. "Rashida had her arm torn off two
days ago." I stared at the perfect flesh of her arm. "You can't be
her."
She raised her mask so I could see her face, then
smiled. "We heal fast."
I had known lycanthropes healed fast, but not that
fast, not that much damage. Live and learn.
We followed her swaying hips into the crowd. I
grabbed hold of Larry's hand with my left hand. "Stay right with me
tonight."
He nodded. I threaded through the crowd holding his
hand like a child or a lover. I couldn't stand the thought of him
getting hurt. No, that wasn't true. I couldn't stand the thought of
him getting killed. Death was the big boogeyman tonight.
Edward followed at our heels. Silent as his namesake,
trusting that he'd get to kill something soon.
Rashida led us towards the big, striped circus tent.
Back to Jean-Claude's office, I supposed. A man in a straw hat and
striped coat said, "Sorry, the show's sold out."
"It's me, Perry. These are the ones the Master's been
waiting for." She hiked her thumb in our direction.
The man drew aside the tent flap and motioned us
through. There was a line of sweat on his upper lip. It was warm,
but I had the feeling it wasn't that kind of sweat. What was
happening inside the tent? It couldn't be too bad if they were
letting the crowd in to watch. Could it?
The lights were bright and hot. I started to sweat
under the sweatshirt, but if I took it off, people would stare at
my gun. I hated that.
Circular curtains had been rigged to the ceiling,
creating two curtained-off areas in the large circus ring.
Spotlights surrounded the two hidden areas. The curtains were like
prisms. With every step we took, the colors changed and flowed over
the cloth. I wasn't sure if it was the cloth or some trick of the
lights. Whatever, it was a nifty effect.
Rashida stopped just short of the rail that kept the
crowd back. "Jean-Claude wanted everybody to be in costume, but
we're out of time." She pulled at my sweater. "Lose the jacket and
it'll have to do."
I pulled my sweater out of her hand. "What are you
talking about, costumes?"
"You're holding up the show. Drop the jacket and come
on." She did a long, lazy leap over the railing and strode barefoot
and beautiful across the white floor. She looked back at us,
motioning for us to follow.
I stayed where I was. I wasn't going anywhere until
somebody explained things. Larry and Edward waited with me. The
audience near us was staring intently, waiting for us to do
something interesting.
We stood there.
Rashida disappeared into one of the curtained
circles. "Anita."
I turned, but Larry was staring at the ring. "Did you
say something?"
He shook his head.
"Anita?"
I glanced at Edward, but it hadn't been his voice. I
whispered, "Jean-Claude?"
"Yes, ma petite, it is I."
"Where are you?"
"Behind the curtain where Rashida went."
I shook my head. His voice had resonance, a slight
echo, but otherwise it was as normal as his voice ever got. I could
probably talk to him without moving my lips, but if so, I didn't
want to know. I whispered, "What's going on?"
"Mr. Oliver and I have a gentleman's agreement."
"I don't understand."
"Who are you talking to?" Edward asked.
I shook my head. "I'll explain later."
"Come into my circle, Anita, and I will explain
everything to you at the same time I explain it to our
audience."
"What have you done?"
"I have done the best I could to spare lives, ma
petite, but some will die tonight. But it will be in the
circle with only the soldiers called to task. No innocents will die
tonight, whoever wins. We have given our words."
"You're going to fight it out in the ring like a
show?"
"It was the best I could do on such short notice. If
you had warned me days ago, perhaps something else could have been
arranged."
I ignored that. Besides, I was feeling guilty.
I took off the sweatshirt and laid it across the
railing. There were gasps from the people near enough to see my
gun.
"The fight's going to take place out in the
ring."
"In front of the audience?" Edward said.
"Yep."
"I don't get it," Larry said.
"I want you to stay here, Larry."
"No way."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Larry,
you don't have any weapons. You don't know how to use a gun. You're
just cannon fodder until you get some training. Stay here."
He shook his head.
I touched his arm. "Please, Larry."
Maybe it was the please, or the look in my
eyes—whatever, he nodded. I could breathe a little easier. Whatever
happened tonight, Larry wouldn't die because I'd brought him into
it. It wouldn't be my fault.
I climbed over the railing and dropped to the ring.
Edward followed me with a swish of black cape. I glanced back once.
Larry stood gripping the rail. There was something forlorn about
him standing there alone, but he was safe; that was what
counted.
I touched the shimmering curtain, and it was the
lights. The cloth was white up close. I lifted it to one side, and
entered, Edward at my back.
There was a multilayered dais complete with throne in
the center of the circle. Rashida stood with Stephen near the foot
of the dais. I recognized Richard's hair and his naked chest before
he lifted the mask off his face. It was a white mask with a blue
star on one cheek. He was wearing glittering blue harem pants with
a matching vest and shoes. Everyone was in costume but me.
"I was hoping you wouldn't make it in time," Richard
said.
"What, and miss the Halloween blowout of all
time?"
"Who's that with you?" Stephen asked.
"Death," I said.
Edward bowed.
"Trust you to bring death to the ball, ma
petite."
I looked up the dais, to the very top. Jean-Claude
stood in front of the throne. He was finally wearing what his
shirts hinted at, but this was the real thing. The real French
courtier. I didn't know what to call half of the costume. The coat
was black with tasteful silver here and there. A short half-cloak
was worn over one shoulder only. The pants were billowy and tucked
into calf-high boots. Lace edged the foldover tops of the boots. A
wide white collar lay at his throat. Lace spilled out of the coat
sleeves. It was topped off by a wide, almost floppy hat with a
curving arch of black and white feathers.
The costumed throng moved to either side, clearing
the stairs up to the throne for me. I somehow didn't want to go.
There were sounds outside the curtains. Heavy things being moved
around. More scenery and props being moved up.
I glanced at Edward. He was staring at the crowd,
eyes taking in everything. Hunting for victims, or for familiar
faces?
Everyone was in costume, but very few people were
actually wearing masks. Yasmeen and Marguerite stood about halfway
up the stairs. Yasmeen was in a scarlet sari, all veils and
sequins. Her dark face looked very natural in the red silk.
Marguerite was in a long dress with puffed sleeves and a wide lace
collar. The dress was of some dark blue cloth. It was simple,
unadorned. Her blond hair was in complicated curls with one large
mass over each ear and a small bun atop her head. Hers, like
Jean-Claude's, looked less like a costume and more like antique
clothing.
I walked up the stairs towards them. Yasmeen dropped
her veils enough to expose the cross-shaped scar I'd given her.
"Someone will pay you back for this tonight."
"Not you personally?" I asked.
"Not yet."
"You don't care who wins, do you?"
She smiled. "I am loyal to Jean-Claude, of
course."
"Like hell."
"As loyal as you were, ma petite." She drew
out each syllable, biting each sound off.
I left her to laugh at my back. I guess I wasn't the
one to complain about loyalties.
There were a pair of wolves sitting at Jean-Claude's
feet. They stared at me with strange pale eyes. There was nothing
human in the gaze. Real wolves. Where had he gotten real
wolves?
I stood two steps down from him and his pet wolves.
His face was unreadable, empty and perfect.
"You look like something out of The Three
Musketeers," I said.
"Accurate, ma petite."
"Is it your original century?"
He smiled a smile that could have meant anything, or
nothing.
"What's going to happen tonight, Jean-Claude?"
"Come, stand beside me, where my human servant
belongs." He extended a pale hand.
I ignored the hand and stepped up. He'd talked inside
my head. It was getting silly to argue. Arguing didn't make it not
true.
One of the wolves growled low in its chest. I
hesitated.
"They will not harm you. They are my creatures."
Like me, I thought.
Jean-Claude put his hand down towards the wolf. It
cringed and licked his hand. I stepped carefully around the wolf.
But it ignored me, all its attention on Jean-Claude. It was sorry
it had growled at me. It would do anything to make up for it. It
groveled like a dog.
I stood at his right side, a little behind the
wolf.
"I had picked out a lovely costume for you."
"If it was anything that would have matched yours, I
wouldn't have worn it."
He laughed, soft and low. The sound tugged at
something low in my gut. "Stay here by the throne with the wolves
while I make my speech."
"We really are going to fight in front of the
crowd."
He stood. "Of course. This is the Circus of the
Damned, and tonight is Halloween. We will show them a spectacle the
likes of which they have never seen."
"This is crazy."
"Probably, but it keeps Oliver from bringing the
building down around us."
"Could he do that?"
"That and much more, ma petite, if we had
not agreed to limit our use of such powers."
"Could you bring the building down?"
He smiled, and for once gave me a straight answer.
"No, but Oliver does not know that."
I had to smile.
He draped himself over the throne, one leg thrown
over a chair arm. He tucked his hat low until all I could see was
his mouth. "I still cannot believe that you betrayed me,
Anita."
"You gave me no choice."
"You would really see me dead rather than have the
fourth mark."
"Yep."
He whispered, "Showtime, Anita."
The lights suddenly went off. There were screams from
the audience as it sat in the sudden dark. The curtain pulled back
on either side. I was suddenly on the edge of the spotlight. The
light shone like a star in the dark. Jean-Claude and his wolves
were bathed in a soft light. I had to agree that my pumpkin sweater
didn't exactly fit the motif.
Jean-Claude stood in one boneless movement. He swept
his hat off and gave a low, sweeping bow. "Ladies and gentlemen,
tonight you will witness a great battle." He began to move slowly
down the steps. The spotlight moved with him. He kept the hat off,
using it for emphasis in his hand. "The battle for the soul of this
city."
He stopped, and the light spread wider to include two
blond vampires. The two women were dressed as 1920s flappers, one
in blue, the other in red. The women flashed fangs, and there were
gasps from the audience. "Tonight you will see vampires,
werewolves, gods, devils." He filled each word with something. When
he said "vampires," there was a ruffling at your neck. "Werewolves"
slashed from the dark, and there were screams. "Gods" breathed
along the skin. "Devils" were a hot wind that scalded your
face.
Gasps and stifled screams filled the dark.
"Some of what you see tonight will be real, some
illusion; which is which will be for you to decide." "Illusion"
echoed in the mind like a vision through glass, repeating over and
over. The last sound died away with a whisper that sounded like a
different word altogether. "Real," the voice whispered.
"The monsters of this city fight for control of it
this Halloween. If we win, then all goes peaceful as before. If our
enemies win . . ." A second spotlight picked out the top of a
second dais. There was no throne. Oliver stood at the top with the
lamia in full serpent glory. Oliver was dressed in a baggy white
jump suit with large polka dots on it. His face was white with a
sad smile drawn on it. One heavily lined eye dropped a sparkling
tear. A tiny pointed hat with a bright blue pom-pom topped his
head.
A clown? He had chosen to be a clown? It wasn't what
I had pictured him in. But the lamia was impressive with her
striped coils curled around him, her naked breasts caressed by his
gloved hand.
"If our enemies win, then tomorrow night will see a
bloodbath such as no city in the world has ever seen. They will
feed upon the flesh and blood of this city until it is drained dry
and lifeless." He had stopped about halfway down. Now he began to
come back up the stairs. "We fight for your lives, your very souls.
Pray that we win, dear humans; pray very, very hard."
He sat in the throne. One of the wolves put a paw on
his leg. He stroked its head absently.
"Death comes to all humans," Oliver said.
The spotlight died on Jean-Claude, leaving Oliver as
the only light in the darkness. Symbolism at its best.
"You will all die someday. In some small accident, or
long disease. Pain and agony await you." The audience rustled
uneasily in their seats.
"Are you protecting me from his voice?" I asked.
"The marks are," Jean-Claude said.
"What is the audience feeling?"
"A sharp pain over the heart. Age slowing their
bodies. The quick horror of some remembered accident."
Gasps, screams, cries filled the dark as Oliver's
words sought out each person and made them feel their
mortality.
It was obscene. Something that had seen a million
years was reminding mere humans how very fragile life was.
"If you must die, would it not be better to die in
our glorious embrace?" The lamia crawled around the dais to show
herself to all the audience. "She could take you, oh, so sweetly,
soft, gentle into that dark night. We make death a celebration, a
joyful passing. No lingering doubts. You will want her hands upon
you in the end. She will show you joys that few mortals ever dream
of. Is death such a high price to pay, when you will die anyway?
Wouldn't it be better to die with our lips upon your skin than by
time's slowly ticking clock?"
There were a few cries of "Yes . . . Please . .
."
"Stop him," I said.
"This is his moment, ma petite. I cannot
stop him."
"I offer you all your darkest dreams come true in our
arms, my friends. Come to us now."
The darkness rustled with movement. The lights came
up, and there were people coming out of the seats. People climbing
over the railing. People coming to embrace death.
They all froze in the light. They stared around like
sleepers waking from a dream. Some looked embarrassed, but one man
close to the rail looked near tears, as if some bright vision had
been ripped away. He collapsed to his knees, shoulders shaking. He
was sobbing. What had he seen in Oliver's words? What had he felt
in the air? God, save us from it.
With the lights I could see what they had moved in
while we waited behind the curtains. It looked like a marble altar
with steps leading up to it. It sat between the two daises,
waiting. For what? I turned to ask Jean-Claude, but something was
happening.
Rashida walked away from the dais, putting herself
close to the railing, and the people. Stephen, wearing what looked
like a thong bathing suit, stalked to the other side of the ring.
His nearly naked body was just as smooth and flawless as Rashida's
"We heal fast," she'd said.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we will give you a few moments
to recover yourselves from the first magic of the evening. Then we
will show you some of our secrets."
The crowd settled back into their seats. An usher
helped the crying man back to his seat. A hush fell over the
people. I had never heard so large a crowd be so silent. You could
have dropped a pin.
"Vampires are able to call animals to their aid. My
animal is the wolf." He walked around the top of the dais
displaying the wolves. I stood there in the spotlight and wasn't
sure what to do. I wasn't on display. I was just visible.
"But I can also call the wolf's human cousin. The
werewolf." He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm. Music
began. Soft and low at first, then rising in a shimmering
crescendo.
Stephen fell to his knees. I turned, and Rashida was
on the ground as well. They were going to change right here in
front of the crowd. I'd never seen a shapeshifter shift before. I
had to admit a certain . . . curiosity.
Stephen was on all fours. His bare back was bowed
with pain. His long yellow hair trailed on the ground. The skin on
his back rippled like water, his spine standing like a ridge in the
middle. He stretched out his hands as if he were bowing, face
pressed to the ground. Bones broke through his hands. He groaned.
Things moved under his skin like crawling animals. His spine bowed
upward as if rising like a tent all on its own. Fur started to flow
out of the skin on his back, spreading impossibly fast like a
timelapse photo. Bones and some heavy, clear liquid poured out of
his skin. Shapes strained and ripped through his skin. Muscles
writhed like snakes. Heavy, wet sounds came as bone shifted in and
out of flesh. It was as if the wolf's shape was punching its way
out of the man's body. Fur flowed fast and faster, the color of
dark honey. The fur hid some of the changes, and I was glad.
Something between a howl and a scream tore from his
throat. Finally, there was that same manwolf form as the night we
fought the giant cobra. The wolfman threw his muzzle skyward and
howled. The sound raised the hairs on my body.
A second howl echoed from the other side. I whirled,
and there was a second wolfman form, but this one was as black as
pitch. Rashida?
The audience applauded wildly, stamping and
shouting.
The werewolves crept back to the dais. They crouched
at the bottom, one on each side.
"I have nothing so showy to offer you." The lights
were back on Oliver. "The snake is my creature." The lamia twined
around him, hissing loud enough to carry to the audience. She
flicked a forked tongue to lick his white-coated ear.
He motioned to the foot of the dais. Two
black-cloaked figures stood on either side, hoods hiding their
faces. "These are my creatures, but let us keep them for a
surprise." He looked across at us. "Let it begin."
The lights went out again. I fought the urge to reach
for Jean-Claude in the thick dark. "What's happening?"
"The battle begins," he said.
"How?"
"We have not planned the rest of the evening, Anita.
It will be like every battle, chaotic, violent, bloody."
The lights came up gradually until the tent was
bathed in a dim glow, like dusk or twilight. "It begins,"
Jean-Claude whispered.
The lamia flowed down the steps, and each side ran
for the other. It wasn't a battle. It was a free-for-all, more like
a bar brawl than a war.
The cloaked things ran forward. I had a glimpse of
something vaguely snakelike but not. A spatter of machine-gun fire
and the thing staggered back. Edward.
I started down the steps, gun in hand. Jean-Claude
never moved. "Aren't you coming down?"
"The real battle will happen up here, ma
petite. Do what you can, but in the end it will come down to
Oliver's power and mine."
"He's a million years old. You can't beat him."
"I know."
We stared at each other for a moment. "I'm sorry," I
said.
"So am I, ma petite, Anita, so am I."
I ran down the steps to join the fight. The
snake-thing had collapsed, bisected by the machine-gun fire. Edward
was standing back to back with Richard, who had a revolver in his
hands. He was shooting it into one of the cloaked things and wasn't
even slowing it down. I sighted down my arm and fired at the
cloaked head. The thing stumbled and turned towards me. The hood
fell backwards, revealing a cobra's head the size of a horse's.
From the neck down it was a woman, but from the neck up . . .
Neither my shot nor Richard's had made a dent. The thing came up
the steps towards me. I didn't know what it was, or how to stop it.
Happy Halloween.
Chapter 47
The thing rushed towards me. I dropped the Browning and had one
of the knives halfway out when it hit me. I was on the steps with
the thing on top of me. It reared back to strike. I got the knife
free. It plunged its fangs into my shoulder. I screamed and shoved
the knife into its body. The knife went in, but no blood, no pain.
It gnawed on my shoulder, pumping poison in, and the knife did
nothing.
I screamed again. Jean-Claude's voice sounded in my head,
"Poison cannot harm you now."
It hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to die from it. I plunged
the knife into its throat, screaming, not knowing what else to do.
It gagged. Blood ran down my hand. I hit it again, and it reared
back, blood on its fangs. It gave a frantic hiss and pushed itself
off me. But I understood now. The weak spot was where the snake
part met human flesh.
I groped for the Browning left-handed; my right shoulder was
torn up. I squeezed and watched blood spurt from the thing's neck.
It turned and ran, and I let it go.
I lay on the steps holding my right arm against my body. I
didn't think anything was broken, but it hurt like hell. It wasn't
even bleeding as badly as it should have been. I glanced up at
Jean-Claude. He was standing motionless, but something moved, like
a shimmer of heat. Oliver was just as motionless on his dais. That
was the real battle; the dying down here didn't mean much except to
the people who were going to die.
I cradled my arm against my stomach and walked down the steps
towards Edward and Richard. By the time I was at the bottom of the
steps, the arm felt better. Good enough to change the gun to my
right hand. I stared at the bite wound, and damned if it wasn't
healing. The third mark. I was healing like a shapeshifter.
"Are you all right?" Richard asked.
"I seem to be."
Edward was staring at me. "You should be dying."
"Explanations later," I said.
The cobra thing lay at the foot of the dais, its head bisected
by machine-gun fire. Edward caught on quick.
There was a scream, high and piercing. Alejandro had Yasmeen
twisted around in his arms, one arm behind her back, his other arm
pinning her shoulders to his chest. It was Marguerite who had
screamed. She was struggling in Karl Inger's arms. She was
outmatched. Apparently, so was Yasmeen.
Alejandro tore into her throat. She screamed. He snapped her
spine with his teeth, blood splattering his face. She sagged in his
arms. Movement, and his hand came out through the other side of her
chest, the heart crushed to a bloody pulp.
Marguerite shrieked over and over again. Karl let her go, but
she didn't seem to notice. She scratched fingernails down her
cheeks until blood ran. She collapsed to her knees, still clawing
at her face.
"Jesus," I said, "stop her."
Karl stared across at me. I raised the Browning, but he ducked
behind Oliver's dais. I went towards Marguerite. Alejandro stepped
between us.
"Do you want to help her?"
"Yes."
"Let me lay the last two marks upon you, and I will get out of
your way."
I shook my head. "The city for one crazy human servant? I don't
think so."
"Anita, down!" I dropped flat to the floor, and Edward shot a
jet of flame over my head. I could feel the wash of heat bubbling
overhead.
Alejandro shrieked. I raised my eyes only enough to see him
burning. He motioned outward with one burning hand, and I felt
something wash over me back towards . . . Edward.
I rolled over, and Edward was on his back, struggling to his
feet. The nozzle of the flamethrower was pointed this way again. I
dropped without being told.
Alejandro motioned, and the flame peeled backwards, flowing
towards Edward.
He rolled frantically to put out the flames on his cloak. He
threw the burning death's-head mask onto the ground. The
flamethrower's tank was on fire. Richard helped him struggle out of
it, and they ran. I hugged the ground, hands over my head. The
explosion shook the ground. When I looked up, tiny burning pieces
were raining down, but that was all. Richard and Edward were
peering around the other side of the dais.
Alejandro stood there with his clothes charred, his skin
blistered. He began walking towards me.
I scrambled to my feet, pointing my gun at him. Of course, the
gun hadn't done a whole lot of good before. I backed up until I
bumped the steps.
I started shooting. The bullets went in. He even bled, but he
didn't stop. The gun clicked on empty. I turned and ran.
Something hit me in the back, slamming me to the ground.
Alejandro was suddenly on my back, one hand in my hair, bending my
neck backwards.
"Put down the machine gun or I'll break her neck."
"Shoot him!" I screamed.
But Edward threw the machine gun on the floor. Dammit. He got
out a pistol and took careful aim. Alejandro's body jerked, then he
laughed. "You can't kill me with silver bullets."
He put a knee in my back to hold me down; then a knife flashed
in his hand.
"No," Richard said, "he won't kill her."
"I'll slit her throat if you interfere, but if you leave us
alone, I won't harm her."
"Edward, kill him!"
A vampire jumped Edward, riding him to the ground. Richard tried
to pull her off him, but a tiny vampire leaped on his back. It was
the woman and the little boy from that first night.
"Now that your friends are busy, we will finish our
business."
"NO!"
The knife just nicked the surface, sharp, painful, but such a
little cut. He leaned over me. "It won't hurt, I promise."
I screamed.
His lips touched the cut, locked on it, sucking. He was wrong.
It did hurt. Then the smell of flowers surrounded me. I was
drowning in perfume. I couldn't see. The world was warm and
sweet-scented.
When I could see again, think again, I was lying on my back,
staring up at the tent roof. Arms drew me upward, cradled me.
Alejandro held me close. He'd cut a line of blood on his chest,
just above the nipple. "Drink."
I put my hands flat against him, fighting him. His hand squeezed
the back of my neck, forcing me closer to the wound.
"NO!"
I drew the other knife and plunged it into his chest, searching
for the heart. He grunted and grabbed my hand, squeezed until I
dropped the knife. "Silver is not the way. I am past silver."
He pushed my face towards the wound, and I couldn't fight him. I
just wasn't strong enough. He could have crushed my skull in one
hand, but all he did was press my face to the cut on his chest.
I struggled, but he kept my mouth pressed to the wound. The
blood was salty sweet, vaguely metallic. It was only blood.
"Anita!" Jean-Claude screamed my name. I wasn't sure if it was
aloud or in my head.
"Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, the two shall be as one.
One flesh, one blood, one soul." Somewhere deep inside me,
something broke. I could feel it. A wave of liquid warmth rushed up
and over me. My skin danced with it. My fingertips tingled. My
spine spasmed, and I jerked upright. Strong arms caught me, held
me, rocked me.
A hand smoothed my hair from my face. I opened my eyes to see
Alejandro. I wasn't afraid of him anymore. I was calm and
floating.
"Anita?" It was Edward. I turned towards the sound, slowly.
"Edward."
"What did he do to you?"
I tried to think how to explain it, but my mind wouldn't bring
up the words. I sat up, pushing gently away from Alejandro.
There was a pile of dead vampires around Edward's feet. Maybe
silver didn't hurt Alejandro, but it had hurt his people.
"We will make more," Alejandro said. "Can you not read this in
my mind?"
And I could, now that I thought about it, but it wasn't like
telepathy. Not words. I—knew he was thinking about the power I'd
just given him. He felt no regret about the vampires that had
died.
The crowd screamed.
Alejandro looked up. I followed his gaze. Jean-Claude was on his
knees, blood pouring down his side. Alejandro envied Oliver the
ability to draw blood from a distance. When I became Alejandro's
servant, Jean-Claude had been weakened. Oliver had him.
That had been the plan all along.
Alejandro held me close, and I didn't try to stop him. He
whispered against my cheek, "You are a necromancer, Anita. You have
power over the dead. That is why Jean-Claude wanted you as his
servant. Oliver thinks to control you through controlling me, but I
know that you are a necromancer. Even as a servant, you have free
will. You do not have to obey as the others do. As a human servant,
you are yourself a weapon. You can strike one of us and draw
blood."
"What are you saying?"
"They have arranged that the loser be stretched over the altar
and staked by you."
"What . . ."
"Jean-Claude, as affirmation of his power. Oliver, as a gesture
to show how well he controlled what once belonged to
Jean-Claude."
There was a gasp from the crowd. Oliver was levitating ever so
slowly. He floated to the ground. Then he raised his arms, and
Jean-Claude floated upward.
"Shit," I said.
Jean-Claude hung nearly unconscious in empty, shining air.
Oliver laid him gently on the ground, and fresh blood splattered
the white floor.
Karl Inger came into sight. He picked Jean-Claude up under the
arms.
Where was everybody? I looked around for some help. The black
werewolf was torn apart, parts still twitching. I didn't think even
a lycanthrope could heal the mess. The blond werewolf wasn't much
better, but Stephen was dragging himself towards the altar. With
one leg completely ripped away, he was trying.
Karl laid Jean-Claude on the marble altar. Blood began to seep
down the side. He held him lightly at the shoulder. Jean-Claude
could bench press a car. How could Karl hold him down?
"He shares Oliver's strength."
"Quit doing that," I said.
"What?"
"Answering questions I haven't asked yet."
He smiled. "It saves so much time."
Oliver picked up a white, polished stake and a padded hammer. He
held them out towards me. "It's time."
Alejandro tried to help me stand, but I pushed him away. Fourth
mark or no fourth mark, I could stand on my own.
Richard screamed, "No!" He ran past us towards the altar. It all
seemed to happen in slow motion. He jumped at Oliver, and the
little man grabbed him by the throat and tore his windpipe out.
"Richard!" I was running, but it was too late. He lay bleeding
on the ground, still trying to breathe when he didn't have anything
to breathe with.
I knelt by him, tried to stop the flow of blood. His eyes were
wide and panic-filled. Edward was with me. "There's nothing you can
do. Nothing any of us can do."
"No."
"Anita." He pulled me away from Richard. "It's too late."
I was crying and hadn't known it.
"Come, Anita; destroy your old master, as you wanted me to."
Oliver was holding the hammer and stake out towards me.
I shook my head.
Alejandro helped me stand. I reached for Edward, but it was too
late. Edward couldn't help. No one could help me. There was no way
to take back the fourth mark, or heal Richard, or save Jean-Claude.
But at least I wouldn't put the stake through Jean-Claude. That I
could stop. That I would not do.
Alejandro was leading me towards the altar.
Marguerite had crawled to one side of the dais. She was
kneeling, rocking gently back and fourth. Her face was a bloody
mask. She'd clawed her eyes out.
Oliver held the stake and mallet out to me with his white-gloved
hands, still wet with Richard's blood. I shook my head.
"You will take it. You will do as I say." His little clown face
was frowning at me.
"Fuck you," I said.
"Alejandro, you control her now."
"She is my servant, master, yes."
Oliver held the stake out towards me. "Then have her finish
him."
"I cannot force her, master." Alejandro smiled as he said
it.
"Why not?"
"She is a necromancer. I told you she would have free will."
"I will not have my grand gesture spoiled by one stubborn
woman."
He tried to roll my mind. I felt him rush over me like a wind
inside my head, but it rolled off and away. I was a full human
servant; vampire tricks didn't work on me, not even Oliver's.
I laughed, and he slapped me. I tasted fresh blood in my mouth.
He stood beside me, and I could feel him tremble. He was so angry.
I was ruining his moment.
Alejandro was pleased. I could feel his pleasure like a warm
hand in my stomach.
"Finish him, or I promise you I'll beat you to a bloody pulp.
You don't die easily now. I can hurt you worse than you can
imagine, and you'll heal. But it will still hurt just as badly. Do
you understand me?"
I stared down at Jean-Claude. He was staring at me. His dark
blue eyes were as lovely as ever.
"I won't do it," I said.
"You still care about him? After all he has done to you?"
I nodded.
"Do him, now, or I will kill him slowly. I will pick pieces of
flesh from his bones but never kill him. As long as his heart and
head are intact, he won't die, no matter what I do to him."
I looked at Jean-Claude. I couldn't stand by and let Oliver
torture him, not if I could help it. Wasn't a clean death better?
Wasn't it?
I took the stake from Oliver. "I'll do it."
Oliver smiled. "You've made a wise decision. Jean-Claude would
thank you if he could."
I stared down at Jean-Claude, stake in one hand. I touched his
chest just over the burn scar. My hand came away smeared with
blood.
"Do it, now!" Oliver said.
I turned to Oliver, reaching my left hand out for the hammer. As
he handed it to me, I shoved the ash stake through his chest.
Karl screamed. Blood poured out of Oliver's mouth. He seemed
frozen, as if he couldn't move with the stake in his heart, but he
wasn't dead, not yet. My fingers tore into the meat of his throat
and pulled, pulled great gobbets of flesh, until I saw spine,
glistening and wet. I wrapped my hand around his spine and jerked
it free. His head lolled to one side, held by a few strips of meat.
I jerked his head clear and tossed it across the ring.
Karl Inger was lying beside the altar. I knelt by him and tried
to find a pulse, but there wasn't one. Oliver's death had killed
him too.
Alejandro came to stand by me. "You've done it, Anita. I knew
you could kill him. I knew you could."
I stared up at him. "Now you kill Jean-Claude, and we rule the
city together."
"Yes."
I shoved upward before I could think about it, before he could
read my mind. I shoved my hands into his chest. Ribs cracked and
scraped my skin. I grabbed his beating heart and crushed it.
I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight, and it hurt. I pulled
his heart out of the hole. He fell, eyes wide and surprised. I fell
with him.
I was gasping for air. Couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe. I lay
on top of my master and felt my heart beating for both of us. He
wouldn't die. I laid my fingers against his throat and started to
dig. I put my hands around his throat and squeezed. I felt my hands
dig into flesh, but the pain was overwhelming. I was choking on
blood, our blood.
My hands went numb. I couldn't tell if I was still squeezing or
not. I couldn't feel anything except the pain. Then even that
slipped away, and I was falling, falling into a darkness that had
never known light, and never would.
Chapter 48
I woke up staring into an off-white ceiling. I blinked at the
ceiling for a minute. Sunlight lay in warm squares across the
blanket. There were metal rails on the bed. An IV dripped to my
arm.
A hospital—then I wasn't dead. Surprise, surprise.
There were flowers and a bunch of shiny balloons on a small
bedside table. I lay there a moment, enjoying the fact that I
wasn't dead.
The door opened, and all I could see was a huge bunch of
flowers. Then the flowers lowered, and it was Richard.
I think I stopped breathing. I could feel all the blood rushing
through my skin. There was a soft roaring in my head. No. I wasn't
going to faint. I never fainted. I finally managed to say, "You're
dead."
His smile faded. "I'm not dead."
"I saw Oliver tear out your throat." I could see it in front of
me like an overlay in my mind. I saw him gasping, dying. I found I
could sit up. I braced myself, and the IV needle moved under my
skin, the tape pulling. It was real. Nothing else seemed real.
He raised a hand towards his throat, then stopped himself. He
swallowed hard enough for me to hear it. "You saw Oliver tear out
my throat, but it didn't kill me."
I stared at him. There was no bandage on his cheek. The circle
cut had healed. "No human being could survive that," I said
softly.
"I know." He looked incredibly sad as he said it.
Panic filled my throat until I could barely breathe. "What are
you?"
"I'm a lycanthrope."
I shook my head. "I know what a lycanthrope feels like, moves
like. You aren't one."
"Yes, I am."
I kept shaking my head. "No."
He came to stand beside the bed. He held the flowers awkwardly,
as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I'm next in line to be
pack leader. I can pass for human, Anita. I'm good at it."
"You lied to me."
He shook his head. "I didn't want to."
"Then why did you?"
"Jean-Claude ordered me not to tell you."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I think because he knew you'd hate it. You don't
forgive deceit. He knows that."
Would Jean-Claude deliberately try to ruin a potential
relationship between Richard and me? Yep.
"You asked what hold Jean-Claude had on me. That was it. My pack
leader loaned me to Jean-Claude on the condition that no one find
out what I was."
"Why are you a special case?"
"They won't let lycanthropes teach kids, or anybody else for
that matter."
"You're a werewolf."
"Isn't that better than being dead?"
I stared up at him. His eyes were still the same perfect brown.
His hair fell forward around his face. I wanted to ask him to sit
down, to let me run my fingers through his hair, to keep it from
that wonderful face.
"Yeah, it's better than being dead."
He let out a breath, as if he'd been holding it. He smiled and
held the flowers out to me.
I took them because I didn't know what else to do. They were red
carnations with enough baby's breath to form a white mist over the
red. The carnations smelled like sweet cloves. Richard was a
werewolf. Next in line for pack leader. He could pass for human. I
stared up at him. I held out my hand to him. He took it, and his
hand was warm and solid, and alive.
"Now that we've established why you're not dead, why aren't I
dead?"
"Edward did CPR on you until the ambulances came. The doctors
don't know what caused your heart to stop, but there's no permanent
damage."
"What did you tell the police about all the bodies?"
"What bodies?"
"Come off it, Richard."
"By the time the ambulance got there, there were no extra
bodies."
"The audience saw it all."
"But what was real and what was illusion? The police got a
hundred different versions from the audience. They're suspicious,
but they can't prove anything. The Circus has been shut down until
the authorities can be sure it's safe."
"Safe?" I laughed.
He shrugged. "As safe as it ever was."
I slipped my hand out of Richard's grasp, using both hands to
smell the flowers again. "Is Jean-Claude . . . alive?"
"Yes."
A great sense of relief washed over me. I didn't want him dead.
I didn't want Jean-Claude dead. Shit. "He's still Master of the
City, then. And I'm still bound to him."
"No," Richard said, "Jean-Claude told me to tell you. You're
free. Alejandro's marks sort of canceled his out. You can't serve
two masters, he said."
Free? I was free? I stared at Richard. "It can't be that
easy."
Richard laughed. "You call this easy?"
I looked up. I had to smile. "All right, it wasn't easy, but I
didn't think anything short of death would get Jean-Claude off my
back."
"Are you happy the marks are gone?"
I started to say, "Of course," then stopped myself. There was
something very serious in Richard's face. He knew what it was to be
offered power. To be one with the monsters. It could be horrible,
and wonderful.
Finally I said "Yes."
"Really?"
I nodded.
"You don't seem too enthused," he said.
"I know I should be jumping for joy, or something, but I just
feel empty."
"You've been through a lot the last few days. You're entitled to
be a little numb."
Why wasn't I happier to be rid of Jean-Claude? Why wasn't I
relieved to be no one's human servant? Because I'd miss him?
Stupid. Ridiculous. True.
When something gets too hard to think about, think about
something else. "So now everyone knows you're a werewolf."
"No."
"You were hospitalized, and you've already healed. I think
they'll guess."
"Jean-Claude had me hidden away until I healed. This is my first
day up and around."
"How long have I been out?"
"A week."
"You're joking."
"You were in a coma for three days. The doctors still don't know
what made you start breathing on your own."
I had come that close to the great beyond. I couldn't remember
any tunnel of light, or soothing voices. I felt cheated. "I don't
remember."
"You were unconscious; you're not supposed to remember."
"Sit down, before I get a crick looking up at you."
He pulled up a chair and sat down by the bed, smiling at me. It
was a nice smile.
"So you're a werewolf."
He nodded.
"How did it happen?"
He stared down at the floor, then up. His face looked so solemn,
I was sorry I'd asked. I was expecting some great tale of a savage
attack survived. "I got a bad batch of lycanthropy serum."
"You what?"
"You heard me." He seemed embarrassed.
"You got a bad shot?"
"Yes."
My smile got wider and wider.
"It's not funny," he said.
I shook my head. "Not at all." I knew my eyes were shiny, and it
was all I could do not to laugh out loud. "You've got to admit it's
nicely ironic."
He sighed. "You're going to hurt yourself. Go ahead and
laugh."
I did. I laughed until it hurt, and Richard joined in. Laughter
is contagious, too.
Chapter 49
A dozen white roses came later that day with a note from
Jean-Claude. The note read, "You are free of me, if you choose. But
I hope you want to see me as much as I want to see you. It is your
choice. Jean-Claude."
I stared at the flowers for a long time. I finally had a nurse
give them to someone else, or throw them away, or whatever the hell
she wanted to do with them. I just wanted them out of my sight. So
I was still attracted to Jean-Claude. I might even, in some dark
corner, love him a little. It didn't matter. Loving the monsters
always ends badly for the human. It's a rule.
That brought me to Richard. He was one of the monsters, but he
was alive. That was an improvement over Jean-Claude. And was he any
less human than I was: zombie queen, vampire slayer, necromancer?
Who was I to complain?
I don't know where they put all the body parts, but no police
ever came asking. Whether I'd saved the city or not, it was still
murder. Legally, Oliver had done nothing to deserve death.
I got out of the hospital and went back to work. Larry stayed
on. He's learning how to hunt vampires, God save him.
The lamia was truly immortal. Which I guess means lamias can't
have been extinct. They just must always have been rare.
Jean-Claude got the lamia a green card and gave her a job at the
Circus of the Damned. I don't know if he's letting her breed, or
not. I haven't been near the Circus since I got out of the
hospital.
Richard and I finally had that first date. We went for something
fairly traditional: dinner and a movie. We're going caving next
week. He promised no underwater tunnels. His lips are the softest
I've ever kissed. So he gets furry once a month. No one's
perfect.
Jean-Claude hasn't given up. He keeps sending me gifts. I keep
refusing them. I have to keep saying no until he gives up, or until
hell freezes over, whichever comes first.
Most women complain that there are no single, straight men left.
I'd just like to meet one who's human.
There was dried chicken blood imbedded under my fingernails.
When you raise the dead for a living, you have to spill a little
blood. It clung in flaking patches to my face and hands. I'd tried
to clean the worst of it off before coming to this meeting, but
some things only a shower would fix. I sipped coffee from a
personalized mug that said, "Piss me off, pay the consequences,"
and stared at the two men sitting across from me.
Mr. Jeremy Ruebens was short, dark, and grumpy. I'd never seen
him when he wasn't either frowning, or shouting. His small features
were clustered in the middle of his face as if some giant hand had
mashed them together before the clay had dried. His hands smoothed
over the lapel of his coat, the dark blue tie, tie clip, white
shirt collar. His hands folded in his lap for a second, then began
their dance again, coat, tie, tie clip, collar, lap. I figured I
could stand to watch him fidget maybe five more times before I
screamed for mercy and promised him anything he wanted.
The second man was Karl Inger. I'd never met him before, He was
a few inches over six feet. Standing, he had towered over Ruebens
and me. A wavy mass of short-cut red hair graced a large face. He
had honest-to-god muttonchop sideburns that grew into one of the
fullest mustaches I'd ever seen. Everything was neatly trimmed
except for his unruly hair. Maybe he was having a bad hair day.
Ruebens's hands were making their endless dance for the fourth
time. Four was my limit.
I wanted to go around the desk, grab his hands, and yell, "Stop
that!" But I figured that was a little rude, even for me. "I don't
remember you being this twitchy, Ruebens," I said.
He glanced at me. "Twitchy?"
I motioned at his hands, making their endless circuit. He
frowned and placed his hands on top of his thighs. They remained
there, motionless. Self-control at its best.
"I am not twitchy, Miss Blake."
"It's Ms. Blake. And why are you so nervous, Mr. Ruebens?" I
sipped my coffee.
"I am not accustomed to asking help from people like you."
"People like me?" I made it a question.
He cleared his throat sharply. "You know what I mean."
"No, Mr. Ruebens, I don't."
"Well, a zombie queen . . ." He stopped in mid-sentence. I was
getting pissed, and it must have shown on my face. "No offense," he
said softly.
"If you came here to call me names, get the hell out of my
office. If you have real business, state it, then get the hell out
of my office."
Ruebens stood up. "I told you she wouldn't help us."
"Help you do what? You haven't told me a damn thing," I
said.
"Perhaps we should just tell her why we have come," Inger said.
His voice was a deep, rumbling bass, pleasant.
Ruebens drew a deep breath and let it out through his nose.
"Very well." He sat back down in his chair. "The last time we met,
I was a member of Humans Against Vampires."
I nodded encouragingly and sipped my coffee.
"I have since started a new group, Humans First. We have the
same goals as HAV, but our methods are more direct."
I stared at him. HAV's main goal was to make vampires illegal
again, so they could be hunted down like animals. It worked for me.
I used to be a vampire slayer, hunter, whatever. Now I was a
vampire executioner. I had to have a death warrant to kill a
specific vampire, or it was murder. To get a warrant, you had to
prove the vampire was a danger to society, which meant you had to
wait for the vampire to kill people. The lowest kill was five
humans, the highest was twenty-three. That was a lot of dead
bodies. In the good ol' days you could just kill a vampire on
sight.
"What exactly does 'more direct methods' mean?"
"You know what it means," Ruebens said.
"No," I said, "I don't." I thought I did, but he was going to
have to say it out loud.
"HAV has failed to discredit vampires through the media or the
political machine. Humans First will settle for destroying them
all."
I smiled over my coffee mug. "You mean kill every last vampire
in the United States?"
"That is the goal," he said.
"It's murder."
"You have slain vampires. Do you really believe it is
murder?"
It was my turn to take a deep breath. A few months ago I would
have said no. But now, I just didn't know. "I'm not sure anymore,
Mr. Ruebens."
"If the new legislation goes through, Ms. Blake, vampires will
be able to vote. Doesn't that frighten you?"
"Yes," I said.
"Then help us."
"Quit dancing around, Ruebens; just tell me what you want."
"Very well, then. We want the daytime resting place of the
Master Vampire of the City."
I just looked at him for a few seconds. "Are you serious?"
"I am in deadly earnest, Ms. Blake."
I had to smile. "What makes you think I know the Master's
daytime retreat?"
It was Inger who answered. "Ms. Blake, come now. If we can admit
to advocating murder, then you can admit to knowing the Master." He
smiled ever so gently.
"Tell me where you got the information and maybe I'll confirm
it, or maybe I won't."
His smile widened just a bit. "Now who's dancing?"
He had a point. "If I say I know the Master, what then?"
"Give us his daytime resting place," Ruebens said. He was
leaning forward, an eager, nearly lustful look on his face. I
wasn't flattered. It wasn't me getting his rocks off. It was the
thought of staking the Master.
"How do you know the Master is a he?"
"There was an article in the Post-Dispatch. It was
careful to mention no name, but the creature was clearly male,"
Ruebens said.
I wondered how Jean-Claude would like being referred as a
"creature." Better not to find out. "I give you an address and you
go in and what, stake him through the heart?"
Ruebens nodded. Inger smiled.
I shook my head. "I don't think so."
"You refuse to help us?" Ruebens asked.
"No, I simply don't know the daytime resting place." I was
relieved to be able to tell the truth.
"You are lying to protect him," Ruebens said. His face was
growing darker; deep frown wrinkles showed on his forehead.
"I really don't know, Mr. Ruebens, Mr. Inger. If you want a
zombie raised, we can talk; otherwise . . ." I let the sentence
trail off and gave them my best professional smile. They didn't
seem impressed.
"We consented to meeting you at this ungodly hour, and we are
paying a handsome fee for the consultation. I would think the least
you could do is be polite."
I wanted to say, "You started it," but that would sound
childish. "I offered you coffee. You turned it down."
Ruebens's scowl deepened, little anger lines showing around his
eyes. "Do you treat all your . . . customers this way?"
"The last time we met, you called me a zombie-loving bitch. I
don't owe you anything."
"You took our money."
"My boss did that."
"We met you here at dawn, Ms. Blake. Surely you can meet us
halfway."
I hadn't wanted to meet with Ruebens at all, but after Bert took
their money, I was sort of stuck with it. I'd set the meeting at
dawn, after my night's work, but before I went to bed. This way I
could drive home and get eight hours uninterrupted sleep. Let
Ruebens's sleep be interrupted.
"Could you find out the location of the Master's retreat?" Inger
asked.
"Probably, but if I did, I wouldn't give it to you."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because she is in league with him," Ruebens said.
"Hush, Jeremy."
Ruebens opened his mouth to protest, but Inger said, "Please,
Jeremy, for the cause."
Ruebens struggled visibly to swallow his anger, but he choked it
down. Control.
"Why not, Ms. Blake?" Inger's eyes were very serious, the
pleasant sparkle seeping away like melting ice.
"I've killed master vampires before, none of them with a
stake."
"How then?"
I smiled. "No, Mr. Inger, if you want lessons in vampire
slaying, you're going to have to go elsewhere. Just by answering
your questions, I could be charged as an accessory to murder."
"Would you tell us if we had a better plan?" Inger said.
I thought about that for a minute. Jean-Claude dead, really
dead. It would certainly make my life easier, but . . . but.
"I don't know," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because I think he'll kill you. I don't give humans over to the
monsters, Mr. Inger, not even people who hate me."
"We don't hate you Ms. Blake."
I motioned with the coffee mug towards Ruebens. "Maybe you
don't, but he does."
Ruebens just glared at me. At least he didn't try to deny
it.
"If we come up with a better plan, can we talk to you again?"
Inger asked.
I stared at Ruebens's angry little eyes. "Sure, why not?"
Inger stood and offered me his hand. "Thank you, Ms. Blake. You
have been most helpful."
His hand enveloped mine. He was a large man, but he didn't try
using his size to make me feel small. I appreciated that.
"The next time we meet, Anita Blake, you will be more
cooperative." Ruebens said.
"That sounded like a threat, Jerry."
Ruebens smiled, a most unpleasant smile. "Humans First believes
the means justifies the end, Anita."
I opened my royal purple suit jacket. Inside was a shoulder
holster complete with a Browning Hi-Power 9mm. The purple skirt's
thin black belt was just sturdy enough to be looped through the
shoulder holster. Executive terrorist chic.
"When it comes to survival, Jerry, I believe that, too."
"We have not offered you violence," Inger said.
"No, but ol' Jerry here is thinking about it. I just want him
and the rest of your little group to believe I'm serious. Mess with
me, and people are going to die."
"There are dozens of us," Ruebens said, "and only one of
you."
"Yeah, but who's going to be first in line?" I said.
"Enough of this, Jeremy, Ms. Blake. We didn't come here to
threaten you. We came for your help. We will come up with a better
plan and talk to you again."
"Don't bring him," I said.
"Of course," Inger said. "Come along, Jeremy." He opened the
door. The soft clack of computer keys came from the outer office.
"Good-bye Ms. Blake."
"Good-bye, Mr. Inger, it's been really unpleasant."
Ruebens stopped in the doorway and hissed at me, "You are an
abomination before God."
"Jesus loves you, too," I said, smiling. He slammed the door
behind them. Childish.
I sat on the edge of my desk and waited to make sure they had
left before going outside. I didn't think they'd try anything in
the parking lot, but I really didn't want to start shooting people.
Oh, I would if I had to, but it was better to avoid it. I had hoped
flashing the gun would make Ruebens back off. It had just seemed to
enrage him. I rotated my neck, trying to ease some of the tension
away. It didn't work.
I could go home, shower, and get eight hours uninterrupted
sleep. Glorious. My beeper went off. I jumped like I'd been stung.
Nervous, me?
I hit the button, and the number that flashed made me groan. It
was the police. To be exact, it was the Regional Preternatural
Investigation Team. The Spook Squad. They were responsible for all
preternatural crime in Missouri. I was their civilian expert on
monsters. Bert liked the retainer I got, but better yet, the good
publicity.
The beeper went off again. Same number. "Shit," I said it
softly. "I heard you the first time, Dolph." I thought about
pretending that I'd already gone home, turned off the beeper, and
was now unavailable, but I didn't. If Detective Sergeant Rudolf
Storr called me at half-past dawn, he needed my expertise.
Damn.
I called the number and through a series of relays finally got
Dolph's voice. He sounded tinny and faraway. His wife had gotten
him a car phone for his birthday. We must have been near the limit
of its range. It still beat the heck out of talking to him on the
police radio. That always sounded like an alien language.
"Hi, Dolph, what's up?"
"Murder."
"What sort of murder?"
"The kind that needs your expertise," he said.
"It's too damn early in the morning to play twenty questions.
Just tell me what's happened."
"You got up on the wrong side of bed this morning, didn't
you?"
"I haven't been to bed yet."
"I sympathize, but get your butt out here. It looks like we have
a vampire victim on our hands."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Shit."
"You could say that."
"Give me the address," I said.
He did. It was over the river and through the woods, way to hell
and gone in Arnold. My office was just off Olive Boulevard. I had a
forty-five-minute drive ahead of me, one way. Yippee.
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
"We'll be waiting," Dolph said, then hung up.
I didn't bother to say good-bye to the dial tone. A vampire
victim. I'd never seen a lone kill. They were like potato chips;
once the vamp tasted them, he couldn't stop at just one. The trick
was, how many people would die before we caught this one?
I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to drive to
Arnold. I didn't want to stare at dead bodies before breakfast. I
wanted to go home. But somehow I didn't think Dolph would
understand. Police have very little sense of humor when they're
working on a murder case. Come to think of it, neither did I.
Chapter 2
The man's body lay on its back, pale and naked in the weak
morning sunlight. Even limp with death his body was good, a lot of
weights, maybe jogging. His longish yellow hair mixed with the
still-green lawn. The smooth skin of his neck was punctured twice
with neat fang marks. The right arm was pierced at the bend of the
elbow, where a doctor draws blood. The skin of the left wrist was
shredded, like an animal had gnawed it. White bone gleamed in the
fragile light.
I had measured the bite marks with my trusty tape measure. They
were different sizes. At least three different vamps, but I would
have bet everything I owned that it was five different vampires. A
master and his pack, or flock, or whatever the hell you call a
group of vampires.
The grass was wet from early morning mist. The moisture soaked
through the knees of the coveralls I had put on to protect my suit.
Black Nikes and surgical gloves completed my crime-scene kit. I
used to wear white Nikes, but they showed blood too easily.
I said a silent apology for what I had to do, then spread the
corpse's legs apart. The legs moved easily, no rigor. I was betting
that he hadn't been dead eight hours, not enough time for rigor
mortis to set in. Semen had dried on his shriveled privates. One
last joy before dying. The vamps hadn't cleaned him off. On the
inside of his thigh, close to the groin, were more fang marks. They
weren't as savage as the wrist wound, but they weren't neat
either.
There was no blood on the skin around the wounds, not even the
wrist wound. Had they cleaned the blood off? Wherever he was
killed, there was a lot of blood. They'd never be able to clean it
all up. If we could find where he died, we'd have all sorts of
clues. But in the neatly clipped lawn in the middle of a very
ordinary neighborhood, there were no clues. I was betting on that.
They'd dumped the body in a place as sterile and unhelpful as the
dark side of the moon.
Mist floated over the small residential neighborhood like
waiting ghosts. The mist was so low to the ground that it was like
walking through sheets of drizzling rain. Tiny beads of moisture
clung to the body where the mist had condensed. Beads collected in
my hair like silver pearls.
I stood in the front yard of a small, lime-green house with
white trim. A chain-link fence peeked around one side encircling a
roomy backyard. It was October, and the grass was still green. The
top of a sugar maple loomed over the house. Its leaves were that
brilliant orangey-yellow that is peculiar to sugar maples, as if
their leaves were carved from flame. The mist helped the illusion,
and the colors seemed to bleed on the wet air.
All down the street were other small houses with autumn-bright
trees and bright green lawns. It was still early enough that most
people hadn't gone to work yet, or school, or wherever. There was
quite a crowd being held back by the uniform officers. They had
hammered stakes into the ground to hold the yellow Do-Not-Cross
tape. The crowd pressed as close to the tape as they dared. A boy
of about twelve had managed to push his way to the front. He stared
at the dead man with huge brown eyes, his mouth open in a little
"wow" of excitement. God, where were his parents? Probably gawking
at the corpse, too.
The corpse was paper-white. Blood always pools to the lowest
point of the body. In this case dark, purplish bruising should have
set in at buttocks, arms, legs, the entire back of his body. There
were no marks. He hadn't had enough blood in him to cause lividity
marks. Whoever had murdered him had drained him completely. Good to
the last drop? I fought the urge to smile and lost. If you spend a
lot of time staring at corpses, you get a peculiar sense of humor.
You have to, or you will go stark raving mad.
"What's so funny?" a voice asked.
I jumped and whirled. "God, Zerbrowski, don't sneak up on me
like that."
"Is the heap big vampire slayer jumping at shadows?" He grinned
at me. His unruly brown hair stuck up in three separate tufts like
he'd forgotten to comb it. His tie was at half-mast over a pale
blue shirt that looked suspiciously like a pajama top. The brown
suit jacket and pants clashed with the top.
"Nice pajamas."
He shrugged. "I've got a pair with little choo-choos on them.
Katie thinks they're sexy."
"Your wife got a thing for trains?" I asked.
His grin widened. "If I'm wearing 'em."
I shook my head. "I knew you were perverted, Zerbrowski, but
little kids' jammies, that's truly sick."
"Thank you." He glanced down at the body, still smiling. The
smile faded. "What do you think of this?" He nodded towards the
dead man.
"Where's Dolph?"
"In the house with the lady who found the body." He plunged his
hands into the pockets of his pants and rocked on his heels. "She's
taking it pretty hard. Probably the first corpse she's seen outside
of a funeral."
"That's the way most normal folks see dead people,
Zerbrowski."
He rocked forward hard on the balls of his feet, coming to a
standstill. "Wouldn't it be nice to be normal?"
"Sometimes," I said.
He grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He got a notebook out
of his jacket pocket that looked as if someone had crumbled it in
their fist.
"Geez, Zerbrowski."
"Hey, it's still paper." He tried smoothing the notebook flat,
but finally gave up. He posed, pen over the wrinkled paper.
"Enlighten me, oh preternatural expert."
"Am I going to have to repeat this to Dolph? I'd like to just do
this once and go home to bed."
"Hey, me too. Why do you think I'm wearing my jammies?"
"I just thought it was a daring fashion statement." He looked at
me. "Mm-huh."
Dolph walked out of the house. The door looked too small to hold
him. He's six-nine and built bulky like a wrestler. His black hair
was buzzed close to his head, leaving his ears stranded on either
side of his face. But Dolph didn't care much for fashion. His tie
was tight against the collar of his white dress shirt. He had to
have been pulled out of bed just like Zerbrowski, but he looked
neat and tidy and businesslike. It never mattered what hour you
called Dolph, he was always ready to do his job. A professional cop
down to his socks.
So why was Dolph heading up the most unpopular special task
force in St. Louis? Punishment for something, that much I was sure
of, but I'd never asked what. I probably never would. It was his
business. If he wanted me to know, he'd tell me.
The squad had originally been a pacifier for the liberals. See,
we're doing something about supernatural crime. But Dolph had taken
his job and his men seriously. They had solved more supernatural
crime in the last two years than any other group of policemen in
the country. He had been invited to give talks to other police
forces. They had even been loaned out to neighboring states
twice.
"Well, Anita, let's have it."
That's Dolph; no preliminaries. "Gee, Dolph, it's nice to see
you too."
He just looked at me.
"Okay, okay." I knelt on the far side of the body so I could
point as I talked. Nothing like a visual aid to get your point
across. "Just measuring shows that at least three different
vampires fed on the man."
"But?" Dolph said.
He's quick. "But I think that every wound is a different
vampire."
"Vampires don't hunt in packs."
"Usually they are solitary hunters, but not always."
"What causes them to hunt in packs?" he asked.
"Only two reasons that I've ever come across: first, one is the
new dead and an older vampire is teaching the ropes, but that's
just two pairs of fangs, not five; second, a master vampire is
controlling them, and he's gone rogue."
"Explain."
"A master vampire has nearly absolute control over his or her
flock. Some masters use a group kill to solidify the pack, but they
wouldn't dump the body here. They'd hide it where the police would
never find it."
"But the body's here," Zerbrowski said, "out in plain
sight."
"Exactly; only a master that's gone crazy would dump a body like
this. Most masters even before vampires were legally alive wouldn't
flaunt a kill like this. It attracts attention, usually attention
with a stake in one hand and a cross in the other. Even now, if we
could trace the kill to the vampires that did it, we could get a
warrant and kill them." I shook my head. "Slaughter like this is
bad for business, and whatever else vampires are, they're
practical. You don't stay alive and hidden for centuries unless
you're discreet and ruthless."
"Why ruthless?" Dolph said.
I stared up at him. "It's utterly practical. Someone discovers
your secret, you kill them, or make them one of your . . .
children. Good business practices, Dolph, nothing more."
"Like the mob," Zerbrowski said.
"Yeah."
"What if they panicked?" Zerbrowski asked. "It was almost
dawn."
"When did the woman find the body?"
Dolph checked his notebook. "Five-thirty."
"It's still hours until dawn. They didn't panic."
"If we've got a crazy master vampire, what exactly does that
mean?"
"It means they'll kill more people faster. They may need blood
every night to support five vampires."
"A fresh body every night?" Zerbrowski made it a question.
I just nodded.
"Jesus," he said.
"Yeah."
Dolph was silent, staring down at the dead man. "What can we
do?"
"I should be able to raise the corpse as a zombie."
"I thought you couldn't raise a vampire victim as a zombie,"
Dolph said.
"If the corpse is going to rise as a vampire, you can't." I
shrugged. "The whatever that makes a vampire interferes with a
raising. I can't raise a body that is already set to rise as a
vamp."
"But this one won't rise," Dolph said, "so you can raise
it."
I nodded.
"Why won't this vampire victim rise?"
"He was killed by more than one vampire, in a mass feeding. For
a corpse to rise as a vampire, you have to have just one vampire
feeding over a space of several days. Three bites ending with
death, and you get a vampire. If every vampire victim could come
back, we'd be up to our butts in bloodsuckers."
"But this victim can come back as a zombie?" Dolph said.
I nodded.
"When can you do the animating?"
"Three nights from tonight, or really two. Tonight counts as one
night."
"What time?"
"I'll have to check my schedule at work. I'll call you with a
time."
"Just raise the murder victim and ask who killed him. I like
it," Zerbrowski said.
"It's not that easy," I said. "You know how confused witnesses
to violent crimes are. Have three people see the same crime and you
get three different heights, different hair colors."
"Yeah, yeah, witness testimony is a bitch," Zerbrowski said.
"Go on, Anita," Dolph said. It was his way of saying,
"Zerbrowski, shut up." Zerbrowski shut up.
"A person who died as the victim of a violent crime is more
confused. Scared shitless, so that sometimes they don't remember
very clearly."
"But they were there," Zerbrowski said. He looked outraged.
"Zerbrowski, let her finish."
Zerbrowski pantomimed locking his lips with a key and throwing
the key away. Dolph frowned. I coughed into my hand to hide the
smile. Mustn't encourage Zerbrowski.
"What I'm saying is that I can raise the victim from the dead,
but we may not get as much information as you'd expect. The
memories we do get will be confused, painful, but it might narrow
the field down as to which master vampire led the group."
"Explain," Dolph said.
"There are only supposed to be two master vampires in St. Louis
right now. Malcolm, the undead Billy Graham, and the Master of the
City. There's always the possibility we've got someone new in town,
but the Master of the City should be able to police that."
"We'll take the head of the Church of Eternal Life," Dolph
said.
"I'll take the Master," I said.
"Take one of us with you for backup."
I shook my head. "Can't; if he knew I let the cops know who he
was, he'd kill us both."
"How dangerous is it for you to do this?" Dolph asked.
What was I supposed to say? Very? Or did I tell them the Master
had the hots for me, so I'd probably be okay? Neither. "I'll be all
right."
He stared at me, eyes very serious.
"Besides, what choice do we have?" I motioned at the corpse.
"We'll get one of these a night until we find the vampires
responsible. One of us has to talk to the Master. He won't talk to
police, but he will talk to me."
Dolph took a deep breath and let it out. He nodded. He knew I
was right. "When can you do it?"
"Tomorrow night, if I can talk Bert into giving my zombie
appointments to someone else."
"You're that sure the Master will talk to you?"
"Yeah." The problem with Jean-Claude was not getting to see him,
it was avoiding him. But Dolph didn't know that, and if he did, he
might have insisted on going with me. And gotten us both
killed.
"Do it," he said. "Let me know what you find out."
"Will do," I said. I stood up, facing him over the bloodless
corpse.
"Watch your back," he said.
"Always."
"If the Master eats you, can I have your nifty coveralls?"
Zerbrowski asked.
"Buy your own, you cheap bastard."
"I'd rather have the ones that have enveloped your luscious
body."
"Give it a rest, Zerbrowski. I'm not into little
choo-choos."
"What the hell do trains have to do with anything?" Dolph
asked.
Zerbrowski and I looked at each other. We started giggling and
couldn't stop. I could claim sleep deprivation. I'd been on my feet
for fourteen straight hours, raising the dead and talking to
right-wing fruitcakes. The vampire victim was a perfect end to a
perfect night. I had a right to be hysterical with laughter. I
don't know what Zerbrowski's excuse was.
Chapter 3
There are a handful of days in October that are nearly perfect.
The sky stretches overhead in a clear blue, so deep and perfect
that it makes everything else prettier. The trees along the highway
are crimson, gold, rust, burgundy, orange. Every color is
neon-bright, pulsing in the heavy golden sunlight. The air is cool
but not cold; by noon you can wear just a light jacket. It was
weather for taking long walks in the woods with someone you wanted
to hold hands with. Since I didn't have anyone like that, I was
just hoping for a free weekend to go away by myself. The chances of
that were slim and none.
October is a big month for raising the dead. Everyone thinks
that Halloween is the perfect season for raising zombies. It isn't.
Darkness is the only requirement. But everyone wants an appointment
for midnight on Halloween. They think spending All Hallows Eve in a
cemetery killing chickens and watching zombies crawl out of the
ground is great entertainment. I could probably sell tickets.
I was averaging five zombies a night. It was one more zombie
than anyone else was doing in one night. I should never have told
Bert that four zombies didn't wipe me out. My own fault for being
too damn truthful. Of course, truth was, five didn't wipe me out
either, but I was damned if I'd tell Bert.
Speaking of my boss, I had to call him when I got home. He was
going to love me asking for the night off. It made me smile just
thinking about it. Any day I could yank Bert's chain was a good
day.
I pulled into my apartment complex at nearly one in the
afternoon. All I wanted was a quick shower and seven hours of
sleep. I had given up on eight hours; it was too late in the day
for that. I had to see Jean-Claude tonight. Joy. But he was the
Master Vampire of the City. If there was another master vampire
around, he'd know it. I think they can smell each other. Of course,
if Jean-Claude had committed the murder, he wasn't likely to
confess. But I didn't really believe he'd done it. He was much too
good a business vampire to get messy. He was the only master
vampire I'd ever met who wasn't crazy in some way: psychotic, or
sociopath, take your pick.
All right, all right, Malcolm wasn't crazy, but I didn't approve
of his methods. He headed up the fastest-growing church in America
today. The Church of Eternal Life offered exactly that. No leap of
faith, no uncertainty, just a guarantee. You could become a vampire
and live forever, unless someone like me killed you, or you got
caught in a fire, or hit by a bus. I wasn't sure about the bus
part, but I'd always wondered. Surely there must be something
massive enough to damage even a vampire beyond healing. I hoped
someday to test the theory.
I climbed the stairs slowly. My body felt heavy. My eyes burned
with the need to sleep. It was three days before Halloween, and the
month couldn't end too soon for me. Business would start dropping
off before Thanksgiving. The decline would continue until after New
Year's, then it'd start picking up. I prayed for a freak snowstorm.
Business drops off if the snow is bad. People seem to think we
can't raise the dead in deep snow. We can, but don't tell anyone. I
need the break.
The hallway was full of the quiet noises of my day-living
neighbors. I was fishing my keys out of my coat pocket when the
door opposite mine opened. Mrs. Pringle stepped out. She was tall,
slender, thinning with age, white hair done in a small bun at the
back of her head. The hair was perfectly white. Mrs. Pringle didn't
bother with dyes or makeup. She was over sixty-five and didn't care
who knew it.
Custard, her Pomeranian, pranced at the end of his leash. He was
a round ball of golden fur with little fox ears. Most cats
outweighed him, but he's one of those little dogs with a big-dog
attitude. In a past life he was a Great Dane.
"Hello, Anita." Mrs. Pringle smiled as she said it. "You're not
just getting in from work, are you?" Her pale eyes were
disapproving.
I smiled. "Yeah, I had an . . . emergency come up."
She raised an eyebrow, probably wondering what an animator would
have for an emergency, but she was too polite to ask. "You don't
take good enough care of yourself, Anita. If you keep burning the
candle at both ends, you'll be worn out by the time you're my
age."
"Probably," I said.
Custard yapped at me. I did not smile at him. I don't believe in
encouraging small, pushy dogs. With that peculiar doggy sense, he
knew I didn't like him, and he was determined to win me over.
"I saw the painters were in your apartment last week. Is it all
repaired?"
I nodded. "Yeah, all the bullet holes have been patched up and
painted over."
"I'm really sorry I wasn't home to offer you my apartment. Mr.
Giovoni says you had to go to a hotel."
"Yeah."
"I don't understand why one of the other neighbors didn't offer
you a couch for the night."
I smiled. I understood. Two months ago I had slaughtered two
killer zombies in my apartment and had a police shootout. The walls
and one window had been damaged. Some of the bullets had gone
through the walls into other apartments. No one else had been hurt,
but none of the neighbors wanted anything to do with me now. I
suspected strongly that when my two-year lease was up, I would be
asked to leave. I guess I couldn't blame them.
"I heard you were wounded."
I nodded. "Just barely." I didn't bother telling her that the
bullet wound hadn't been from the shootout. The mistress of a very
bad man had shot me in the right arm. It was healed to a smooth,
shiny scar, still a little pink.
"How did your visit with your daughter go?" I asked.
Mrs. Pringle's face went all shiny with a smile. "Oh, wonderful.
My last and newest grandchild is perfect. I'll show you pictures
later, after you've had some sleep." That disapproving look was
back in her eyes. Her teacher face. The one that could make you
squirm from ten paces, even if you were innocent. And I hadn't been
innocent for years.
I held up my hands. "I give up. I'll go to bed. I promise."
"You see you do," she said. "Come along, Custard, we have to go
out for our afternoon stroll." The tiny dog danced at the end of
his leash, straining forward like a miniature sled dog.
Mrs. Pringle let three pounds of fluffy fur drag her down the
hall. I shook my head. Letting a fuzzball boss you around was not
my idea of dog ownership. If I ever had another dog, I'd be boss,
or one of us wouldn't survive. It was the principle of the
thing.
I opened the door and stepped inside the hush of my apartment.
The heater whirred, hot air hissing out of the vents. The aquarium
clicked on. The sounds of emptiness. It was wonderful.
The new paint was the same off-white as the old. The carpet was
grey; couch and matching chair, white. The kitchenette was pale
wood with white and gold linoleum. The two-seater breakfast table
in the kitchen was a little darker than the cabinets. A modern
print was the only color on the white walls.
The space where most people would have put a full-size kitchen
set had the thirty-gallon aquarium against the wall, a stereo
catty-corner from it.
Heavy white drapes hid the windows and turned the golden
sunlight to a pale twilight. When you sleep during the day, you
have to have good curtains.
I flung my coat on the couch, kicked my dress shoes off, and
just enjoyed the feeling of my bare feet on the carpet. The panty
hose came off next, to lie wrinkled and forlorn by the shoes.
Barefoot, I padded over to the fish tank.
The angelfish rose to the surface begging for food. The fish are
all wider than my outspread hand. They are the biggest angels I've
ever seen outside of the pet store I bought them from. The store
had breeding angelfish that were nearly a foot long.
I stripped off the shoulder holster and put the Browning in its
second home, a specially made holster in the headboard. If any bad
guys snuck up on me, I could pull it and shoot them. That was the
idea, anyway. So far it had worked.
When the dry-clean-only suit and blouse were hung neatly in the
closet, I flopped down on the bed in my bra and undies, still
wearing the silver cross that I wore even in the shower. Never know
when a pesky vampire is going to try to take a bite out of you.
Always prepared, that was my motto, or was that the Boy Scouts? I
shrugged and dialed work. Mary, our daytime secretary, answered on
the second ring. "Animators, Incorporated. How may we serve
you?"
"Hi, Mary, it's Anita."
"Hi, what's up?"
"I need to talk with Bert."
"He's with a prospective client right now. May I ask what this
is pertaining to?"
"Him rescheduling my appointments for tonight."
"Ooh, boy. I'll let you tell him. If he yells at someone, it
should be you." She was only half-kidding.
"Fine," I said.
She lowered her voice and whispered, "Client is on her way to
the front door. He'll be with you in a jiffy."
"Thanks, Mary."
She put me on hold before I could tell her not to. Muzak seeped
out of the phone. It was a butchered version of the Beatles'
"Tomorrow." I'd have rather listened to static. Mercifully, Bert
came on the line and saved me.
"Anita, what time can you come in today?"
"I can't."
"Can't what?"
"Can't come in today."
"At all?" His voice had risen an octave.
"You got it."
"Why the hell not?" Cursing at me already, a bad sign.
"I got beeped by the police after my morning meeting. I haven't
even been to bed yet."
"You can sleep in, don't worry about meeting new clients in the
afternoon. Just come in for your appointments tonight."
He was being generous, understanding. Something was wrong.
"I can't make the appointments tonight, either."
"Anita, we're overbooked here. You have five clients tonight.
Five!"
"Divide them up among the other animators," I said.
"Everybody is already maxed."
"Listen, Bert, you're the one who said yes to the police. You're
the one who put me on retainer to them. You thought it would be
great publicity."
"It has been great publicity," he said.
"Yeah, but it's like working two full-time jobs sometimes. I
can't do both."
"Then drop the retainer. I had no idea it'd take up this much of
your time."
"It's a murder investigation, Bert. I can't drop it."
"Let the police do their own dirty work," he said.
He was a fine one to talk about that. Him with his squeaky-clean
fingernails and nice safe office. "They need my expertise and my
contacts. Most of the monsters won't talk to the police."
He was quiet on the other end of the phone. His breathing came
harsh and angry. "You can't do this to me. We've taken money,
signed contracts."
"I asked you to hire extra help months ago."
"I hired John Burke. He's been handling some of your vampire
slayings, as well as raising the dead."
"Yeah, John's a big help, but we need more. In fact, I bet he
could take at least one of my zombies tonight."
"Raise five in one night?"
"I'm doing it," I said.
"Yes, but John isn't you."
That was almost a compliment. "You have two choices, Bert;
either reschedule or delegate them to someone else."
"I am your boss. I could just say come in tonight or you're
fired." His voice was firm and matter-of-fact.
I was tired and cold sitting on the bed in my bra and undies, I
didn't have time for this. "Fire me."
"You don't mean that," he said.
"Look, Bert, I've been on my feet for over twenty hours. If I
don't get some sleep soon, I'm not going to be able to work for
anybody."
He was silent for a long time, his breathing soft and regular in
my ear. Finally, he said, "All right, you're free for tonight. But
you damn well better be back on the job tomorrow."
"I can't promise that, Bert."
"Dammit, Anita, do you want to be fired?"
"This is the best year we've ever had, Bert. Part of that's due
to the articles on me in the Post-Dispatch."
"They were about zombie rights and that government study you're
on. You didn't do them to help promote our business."
"But it worked, didn't it? How many people call up and ask
specifically for me? How many people say they've seen me in the
paper? How many heard me on the radio? I may be promoting zombie
rights, but it's damn good for business. So cut me some slack."
"You don't think I'd do it, do you?" His voice snarled through
the phone. He was pissed.
"No, I don't," I said.
His breath was short and harsh. "You damn well better show up
tomorrow night, or I'm going to call your bluff." He slammed the
receiver in my ear. Childish.
I hung up the phone and stared at it. The Resurrection Company
in California had made me a handsome offer a few months back. But I
really didn't want to move to the west coast, or the east coast for
that matter. I liked St. Louis. But Bert was going to have to break
down and hire more help. I couldn't keep this schedule up. Sure,
it'd get better after October, but I just seemed to be going from
one emergency to another for this entire year.
I had been stabbed, beaten, shot, strangled, and vampire-bit in
the space of four months. There comes a point where you just have
too many things happening too close together. I had battle
fatigue.
I left a message on my judo instructor's machine. I went twice a
week at four o'clock, but I wasn't going to make it today. Three
hours of sleep just wouldn't have been enough.
I dialed the number for Guilty Pleasures. It was a vampire strip
joint. Chippendale's with fangs. Jean-Claude owned and managed it.
Jean-Claude's voice came over the line, soft as silk, caressing
down my spine even though I knew it was a recording. "You have
reached Guilty Pleasures. I would love to make your darkest fantasy
come true. Leave a message, and I will get back to you."
I waited for the beep. "Jean-Claude, this is Anita Blake. I need
to see you tonight. It's important. Call me back with a time and
place." I gave him my home number, then hesitated, listening to the
tape scratch. "Thanks." I hung up, and that was that.
He'd either call back or he wouldn't. He probably would. The
question was, did I want him to? No. No, I didn't, but for the
police, for all those poor people who would die, I had to try. But
for me personally, going to the Master was not a good idea.
Jean-Claude had marked me twice already. Two more marks and I
would be his human servant. Did I mention that neither mark was
voluntary? His servant for eternity. Didn't sound like a good idea
to me. He seemed to lust after my body, too, but that was
secondary. I could have handled it if all he wanted was physical,
but he was after my soul. That he could not have.
I had managed to avoid him for the last two months. Now I was
willingly putting myself within reach again. Stupid. But I
remembered the nameless man's hair, soft and mingling with the
still-green lawn. The fang marks, the paper-white skin, the
fragility of his nude body covered with dew. There would be more
bodies to look at, unless we were quick. And quick meant
Jean-Claude.
Visions of vampire victims danced in my head. And every one of
them was partially my fault, because I was too chickenshit to go
see the Master. If I could stop the killings now, with just one
dead, I'd risk my soul daily. Guilt is a wonderful motivator.
Chapter 4
I was swimming in black water, strong smooth strokes. The moon
hung huge and shining, making a silver pathway on the lake. There
was a black fringe of trees. I was almost to shore. The water was
so warm, warm as blood. In that moment I knew why the waters were
black. It was blood. I was swimming in a lake of fresh, warm
blood.
I woke instantly, gasping for breath. Eyes searching the
darkness for . . . what? Something that had caressed my leg just
before I woke. Something that lived in blood and darkness.
The phone shrilled, and I had to swallow a scream. I wasn't
usually this nervous. It was just a nightmare, dammit. Just a
dream.
I fumbled for the receiver and managed, "Yeah."
"Anita?" The voice sounded hesitant, as if its owner might hang
up.
"Who is this?"
"It's Willie, Willie McCoy." Even as he said the name, the
rhythm of the voice sounded familiar. The phone made it distant and
charged with an electric hiss, but I recognized it.
"Willie, how are you?" The minute I said it, I wished I hadn't.
Willie was a vampire now; how okay could a dead man be?
"I'm doing real well." His voice had a happy lilt to it. He was
pleased that I asked.
I sighed. Truth was, I liked Willie. I wasn't supposed to like
vampires. Any vampire, not even if I'd known him when he was
alive.
"How ya doing yourself?"
"Okay, what's up?"
"Jean-Claude got your message. He says ta meet him at the Circus
of the Damned at eight o'clock tonight."
"The Circus? What's he doing over there?"
"He owns it now. Ya didn't know?"
I shook my head, realized he couldn't see it, and said, "No, I
didn't."
"He says to meet 'im in a show that starts at eight."
"Which show?"
"He said you'd know which one."
"Well, isn't that cryptic," I said.
"Hey, Anita, I just do what I'm told. Ya know how it is?"
I did know. Jean-Claude owned Willie lock, stock, and soul.
"It's okay, Willie, it's not your fault."
"Thanks, Anita." His voice sounded cheerful, like a puppy who
expected a kick and got patted instead.
Why had I comforted him? Why did I care whether a vampire got
its feelings hurt, or not? Answer: I didn't think of him as a dead
man. He was still Willie McCoy with his penchant for loud
primary-colored suits, clashing ties, and small, nervous hands.
Being dead hadn't changed him that much. I wished it had.
"Tell Jean-Claude I'll be there."
"I will." He was quiet for a minute, his breath soft over the
phone. "Watch your back tonight, Anita."
"Do you know something I should know?"
"No, but . . . I don't know."
"What's up, Willie?"
"Nuthin', nuthin'." His voice was high and frightened.
"Am I walking into a trap, Willie?"
"No, no, nuthin' like that." I could almost see his small hands
waving in the air. "I swear, Anita, nobody's gunnin' for you."
I let that go. Nobody he knew of was all he could swear to.
"Then what are you afraid of, Willie?"
"It's just that there's more vampires around here than usual.
Some of em ain't too careful who they hurt. That's all."
"Why are there more vampires, Willie? Where did they come
from?"
"I don't know and I don't want to know, ya know? I got ta go,
Anita." He hung up before I could ask anything else. There had been
real fear in his voice. Fear for me, or for himself? Maybe
both.
I glanced at the radio clock on my bedstand: 6:35. I had to
hurry if I was going to make the appointment. The covers were
toasty warm over my legs. All I really wanted to do was cuddle back
under the blankets, maybe with a certain stuffed toy penguin I
knew. Yeah, hiding sounded good.
I threw back the covers and walked into the bathroom. I hit the
light switch, and glowing white light filled the small room. My
hair stuck up in all directions, a mass of tight black curls.
That'd teach me not to sleep on it wet. I ran a brush through the
curls and they loosened slightly, turning into a frothing mass of
waves. The curls went all over the place and there wasn't a damn
thing I could do with it except wash it and start over. There
wasn't time for that.
The black hair made my pale skin look deathly, or maybe it was
the overhead lighting. My eyes were so dark brown they looked
black. Two glittering holes in the pastiness of my face. I looked
like I felt; great.
What do you wear to meet the Master of the City? I chose black
jeans, a black sweater with bright geometric designs, black Nikes
with blue swooshes, and a blue-and-black sport bag clipped around
my waist. Color coordination at its best.
The Browning went into its shoulder holster. I put an extra ammo
clip in the sport bag along with credit cards, driver's license,
money, and a small hairbrush. I slipped on the short leather jacket
I'd bought last year. It was the first one I'd ever tried on that
didn't make me took like a gorilla. Most leather jackets were so
long-sleeved, I could never wear them. The jacket was black, so
Bert wouldn't let me wear it to work.
I only zipped the jacket halfway up, leaving room so I could go
for my gun if I needed to. The silver cross swung on its long
chain, a warm, solid weight between my breasts. The cross would be
more help against vampires than the gun, even with silver-coated
bullets.
I hesitated at the door. I hadn't seen Jean-Claude in months. I
didn't want to see him now. My dream came back to me. Something
that lived in blood and darkness. Why the nightmare? Was it
Jean-Claude interfering in my dreams again? He had promised to stay
out of my dreams. But was his word worth anything? No answer to
that.
I flicked off the apartment lights and closed the door behind
me. I rattled it to make sure it was locked, and I had nothing left
to do but drive to the Circus of the Damned. No more excuses. No
more delays. My stomach was so tight it hurt. So I was afraid; so
what? I had to go, and the sooner I left, the sooner I could come
home. If only I believed that Jean-Claude would make things that
simple. Nothing was ever simple where he was concerned. If I
learned anything about the murders tonight, I'd pay for it, but not
in money. Jean-Claude seemed to have plenty of that. No, his coin
was more painful, more intimate, more bloody.
And I had volunteered to go see him. Stupid, Anita, very
stupid.
Chapter 5
There was a bouquet of spotlights on the top of the
Circus of the Damned. The lights slashed the black night like
swords. The multicolored lights that spelled the name seemed dimmer
with the huge white lights whirling overhead. Demonic clowns danced
around the sign in frozen pantomime.
I walked past the huge cloth signs that covered the
walls. One picture showed a man that had no skin; See the Skinless
Man. A movie version of a voodoo ceremony covered another banner.
Zombies writhed from open graves. The zombie banner had changed
since last I'd visited the Circus. I didn't know if that was good
or bad; probably neither. I didn't give a damn what they did here,
except . . . Except it wasn't right to raise the dead just for
entertainment.
Who did they have raising zombies for them? I knew it
had to be someone new because I had helped kill their last
animator. He had been a serial killer and had nearly killed me
twice, the second time by ghoul attack, which was a messy way to
die. Of course, the way he died had been messy, too, but I wasn't
the one who ripped him open. A vampire had done that. You might say
I eased him on his way. A mercy killing. Ri-ight.
It was too cold to be standing outside with my jacket
half-unzipped. But if I zipped it all the way, I'd never get to my
gun in time. Freeze my butt off, or be able to defend myself. The
clowns on the roof had fangs. I decided it wasn't that cold after
all.
Heat and noise poured out to meet me at the door.
Hundreds of bodies pressed together in an enclosed space. The noise
of the crowd was like the ocean, murmurous and large, sound without
meaning. A crowd is an elemental thing. A word, a glance, and a
crowd becomes a mob. A different being entirely from a group.
There were a lot of families. Mom, Dad, the kiddies.
The children had balloons tied to their wrists and cotton candy
smeared on their faces and hands. It smelled like a traveling
carnival: corn dogs, the cinnamon smell of funnel cakes, snow
cones, sweat. The only thing missing was the dust. There was always
dust in the air at a summer fair. Dry, choking dust kicked into the
air by hundreds of feet. Cars driving over the grass until it is
grey-coated with dust.
There was no smell of dirt in the air, but there was
something else just as singular. The smell of blood. So faint you'd
almost think you dreamed it, but it was there. The sweet copper
scent of blood mingled with the smells of cooking food and the
sharp smell of a snow cone being made. Who needed dust?
I was hungry, and the corn dogs smelled good. Should
I eat first or accuse the Master of the City of murder? Choices,
choices.
I didn't get to decide. A man stepped out of the
crowd. He was only a little taller than me, with curly blond hair
that fell past his shoulders. He was wearing a cornflower-blue
shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing firm, muscular forearms.
Jeans no tighter than the skin on a grape showed slender hips. He
wore black cowboy boots with blue designs tooled into them. His
true-blue eyes matched his shirt.
He smiled, flashing small white teeth. "You're Anita
Blake, right?"
I didn't know what to say. It isn't always a good
idea to admit who you are.
"Jean-Claude told me to wait for you." His voice was
soft, hesitant. There was something about him, an almost childlike
appeal. Besides I'm a sucker for a pair of pretty eyes.
"What's your name?" I asked. Always like to know who
I'm dealing with.
His smile widened. "Stephen; my name is Stephen." He
put out his hand, and I took it. His hand was soft but firm, no
manual labor but some weightlifting. Not too much. Enough to firm,
not explode. Men my size should not do serious weightlifting. It
may look okay in a bathing suit, but in regular clothes you took
like a deformed dwarf.
"Follow me, please." He sounded like a waiter, but
when he walked into the crowd, I followed him.
He led the way towards a huge blue tent. It was like
an old-fashioned circus tent. I'd only seen one in pictures or the
movies.
There was a man in a striped coat yelling, "Almost
showtime, folks! Present your tickets and come inside! See the
world's largest cobra! Watch the fearsome serpent be taken through
amazing feats by the beautiful snake charmer Shahar. We guarantee
it will be a show you will never forget."
There was a line of people giving their tickets to a
young woman. She tore them in half and handed back the stubs.
Stephen walked confidently along the line without
waiting. We got some dirty looks, but the girl nodded to us. And in
we went.
Tiers of bleachers ran up to the top of the tent. It
was huge. Nearly all the seats were full. A sold-out show.
Wowee.
There was a blue rail that formed a circle in the
middle. A one-ring circus.
Stephen scooted past the knees of about a dozen
people to a set of steps. Since we were at the bottom, up was the
only way to go. I followed Stephen up the concrete stairs. The tent
may have looked like a circus tent, but the bleachers and stairs
were permanent. A mini-coliseum.
I have bad knees, which means that I can run on a
flat surface but put me on a hill, or stairs. and it hurts. So I
didn't try to keep up with Stephen's smooth, running glide. I did
watch the way his jeans fit his snug little behind, though. Looking
for clues.
I unzipped the leather jacket but didn't take it off.
My gun would show. Sweat glided down my spine. I was going to
melt.
Stephen glanced over his shoulder to see if I was
following, or maybe for encouragement. He flashed a smile that was
just lips curling back from teeth, almost a snarl.
I stopped in the middle of the steps, watching his
lithe form glide upward. There was an energy to Stephen as if the
air boiled invisibly around him. A shapeshifter. Some lycanthropes
are better than others at hiding what they are. Stephen wasn't that
good. Or maybe he just didn't care if I knew. Possible.
Lycanthropy was a disease, like AIDS. It was
prejudice to mistrust someone for an accident. Most people survived
attacks to become shapeshifters. It wasn't a choice. So why didn't
I like Stephen as well, now that I knew? Prejudiced,
moi?
He waited at the top of the stairs, still pretty as a
picture, but the air of energy contained in too small a space, like
his motor was on high idle, shimmered around him. What was
Jean-Claude doing with a shapeshifter on his payroll? Maybe I could
ask him.
I stepped up beside Stephen. There must have been
something in my face, because he said, "What's wrong?"
I shook my head. "Nothing."
I don't think he believed me. But he smiled and led
me towards a booth that was mostly glass with heavy curtains on the
inside hiding whatever lay behind. It looked for all the world like
a miniature broadcast booth.
Stephen went to the curtained door and opened it. He
held it for me, motioning me to go first.
"No, you first," I said.
"I'm being a gentleman here," he said.
"I don't need or want doors opened for me. I'm quite
capable, thank you."
"A feminist, my, my."
Truthfully, I just didn't want ol' Stephen at my
back. But if he wanted to think I was a hard-core feminist, let
him. It was closer to the truth than a lot of things.
He walked through the door. I glanced back to the
ring. It looked smaller from up here. Muscular men dressed in
glittering loincloths pulled a cart in on their bare shoulders.
There were two things in the cart: a huge woven basket and a
dark-skinned woman. She was dressed in Hollywood's version of a
dancing girl's outfit. Her thick black hair fell like a cloak,
sweeping to her ankles. Slender arms, small, dark hands swept the
air in graceful curves. She danced in front of the cart. The
costume was fake, but she wasn't. She knew how to dance, not for
seduction, though it was that, but for power. Dancing was
originally an invocation to some god or other; most people forget
that.
Goosebumps prickled up the back of my neck, creeping
into my hair. I shivered while I stood there and sweated in the
heat. What was in the basket? The barker outside had said a giant
cobra, but there was no snake in the world that needed a basket
that big. Not even the anaconda, the world's heaviest snake, needed
a container over ten feet tall and twenty feet wide.
Something touched my shoulder. I jumped and spun.
Stephen was standing nearly touching me, smiling.
I swallowed my pulse back into my throat and glared
at him. I make a big deal about not wanting him at my back, then
let him sneak up behind me. Real swift, Anita, real swift. Because
he'd scared me, I was mad at him. Illogical, but it was better to
be mad than scared.
"Jean-Claude's just inside," he said. He smiled, but
there was a very human glint of laughter in his blue eyes.
I scowled at him, knowing I was being childish, and
not caring. "After you, fur-face."
The laughter slipped away. He was very serious as he
stared at me. "How did you know?" His voice was uncertain, fragile.
A lot of lycanthropes pride themselves on being able to pass for
human.
"It was easy," I said. Which wasn't entirely true,
but I wanted to hurt him. Childish, unattractive, honest.
His face suddenly looked very young. His eyes filled
with uncertainty and pain.
Shit.
"Look, I've spent a lot of time around shapeshifters.
I just know what to look for, okay?" Why did I want to reassure
him? Because I knew what it was like to be the outsider. Raising
the dead makes a lot of people class me with the monsters. There
are even days when I agree with them.
He was still staring at me, with his hurt feelings
like an open wound in his eyes. If he started to cry, I was
leaving.
He turned without another word and walked through the
open door. I stared at the door for a minute. There were gasps,
screams from the crowd. I whirled and saw it. It was a snake, but
it wasn't just the world's biggest cobra, it was the biggest
freaking snake I'd ever seen. Its body was banded in dull greyish
black and off-white. The scales gleamed under the lights. The head
was at least a foot and a half wide. No snake was that big. It
flared its hood, and it was the size of a satellite dish. The snake
hissed, flicking out a tongue that was like a black whip.
I'd had a semester of herpetology in college. If the
snake had been a mere eight feet or less, I would have called it a
banded Egyptian cobra. I couldn't remember the scientific name to
save myself.
The woman dropped to the ground in front of the
snake, forehead to the ground. A mark of obedience from her to the
snake. To her god. Sweet Jesus.
The woman stood and began to dance, and the cobra
watched her. She'd made herself a living flute for the nearsighted
creature to follow. I didn't want to see what would happen if she
messed up. The poison wouldn't have time to kill her. The fangs
were so damn big they'd spear her like swords. She'd die of shock
and blood loss long before the poison kicked in.
Something was growing in the middle of that ring.
Magic crawled up my spine. Was it magic that kept the snake safe,
or magic that called it up, or was it the snake itself? Did it have
power all its own? I didn't even know what to call it. It looked
like a cobra, perhaps the world's biggest, yet I didn't even have a
word for it. God with a little "g" would do, but it wasn't
accurate.
I shook my head and turned away. I didn't want to see
the show. I didn't want to stand there with its magic flowing soft
and cold over my skin. If the snake wasn't safe, Jean-Claude would
have had it caged, right? Right.
I turned away from the snake charmer and the world's
biggest cobra. I wanted to talk to Jean-Claude and get the hell out
of here.
The open door was filled with darkness. Vampires
didn't need lights. Did lycanthropes? I didn't know. Gee, so much
to learn. My jacket was unzipped all the way, the better for a fast
draw. Though truthfully, if I needed a fast draw tonight, I was in
deep shit.
I took a deep breath and let it out. No sense putting
it off. I walked through the door into the waiting darkness without
looking back. I didn't want to see what was happening in the ring.
Truth was, I didn't want to see what was behind the darkness. Was
there another choice? Probably not.
Chapter 6
The room was like a closet with drapes all the way around. There
was no one in the curtained darkness but me. Where had Stephen
gone? If he had been a vampire, I would have believed the vanishing
act, but lycanthropes don't just turn into thin air. So, there had
to be a second door.
If I had built this room, where would I put an inner door?
Answer: opposite the first door. I swept the drapes aside. The door
was there. Elementary, my dear Watson.
The door was heavy wood with some flowering vine carved into it.
The doorknob was white with tiny pink flowers in the center of it.
It was an awfully feminine door. Of course, no rules against men
liking flowers. None at all. It was a sexist comment. Forget I
thought it.
I did not draw my gun. See, I'm not completely paranoid.
I turned the doorknob and swung the door inward. I kept pushing
until it was flush against the wall. No one was hiding behind it.
Good.
The wallpaper was off-white with thin silver, gold, and copper
designs running through it. The effect was vaguely oriental. The
carpeting was black. I didn't even know carpet came in that color.
A canopy bed took up most of one side of the room. Black, gauzy
curtains covered it. Made the bed indistinct, misty, like a dream.
There was someone asleep in a nest of black covers and crimson
sheets. A line of bare chest showed it was a man, but a wave of
brown hair covered his face like a shroud. It all looked faintly
unreal, as if he was waiting for movie cameras to roll.
A black couch was against the far wall, with blood-red pillows
thrown along it. A matching love seat was against the last wall.
Stephen was curled up on the love seat. Jean-Claude sat on one
corner of the couch. He wore black jeans tucked into knee-high
leather boots, dyed a deep, almost velvet black. His shirt had a
high lace collar pinned at the neck by a thumb-size ruby pendant.
His black hair was just long enough to curl around the lace.
The sleeves were loose and billowing, tight at the wrists with
lace spilling over his hands until only his fingertips showed.
"Where do you get your shirts?" I asked.
He smiled. "Don't you like it?" His hands caressed down his
chest, fingertips hesitating over his nipples. It was an
invitation. I could touch that smooth white cloth and see if the
lace was as soft as it looked.
I shook my head. Mustn't get distracted. I glanced at
Jean-Claude. He was staring at me with those midnight blue eyes.
His eyelashes were like black lace.
"She wants you, Master," Stephen said. There was laughter in his
voice, derision. "I can smell her desire."
Jean-Claude turned just his head, staring at Stephen. "As can
I." The words were innocent, but the feeling behind them wasn't.
His voice slithered around the room, low and full of a terrible
promise.
"I meant no harm, Master, no harm." Stephen looked scared. I
didn't blame him.
Jean-Claude turned back to me as if nothing had happened. His
face was still pleasantly handsome, interested, amused.
"I don't need your protection."
"Oh, I think you do."
I whirled and found another vampire standing at my back. I
hadn't heard the door open.
She smiled at me, without flashing fang. A trick that the older
vampires learn. She was tall and slender with dark skin and long
ebony hair that swung around her waist. She wore crimson Lycra bike
pants that clung so tight, you knew she wasn't wearing underwear.
Her top was red silk, loose and blousy, with thin spaghetti straps
holding it in place. It looked like the top to slinky pajamas. Red
high-heeled sandals and a thin gold chain set with a single diamond
completed the outfit. The word that came to mind was "exotic." She
glided towards me, smiling.
"Is that a threat?" I asked.
She stopped in front of me. "Not yet." There was a hint of some
other language in her voice. Something darker with rolling,
sibilant sounds.
"That is enough," Jean-Claude said.
The dark lady twirled around, black hair like a veil behind her.
"I don't think so."
"Yasmeen." The one word was low and dark with warning.
Yasmeen laughed, a harsh sound like breaking glass. She stopped
directly in front of me, blocking my view of Jean-Claude. Her hand
stretched towards me, and I stepped back, out of reach.
She smiled wide enough to show fangs and reached for me again. I
stepped back, and she was suddenly on me, faster than I could
blink, faster than I could breathe. Her hand gripped my hair,
bending my neck backwards. Her fingertips brushed my skull. Her
other hand held my chin, fingers digging in like fleshy metal. My
face was immobile between her hands, trapped.
Short of taking my gun out and shooting her, there was nothing I
could do. And if her movement was any clue, I'd never get the gun
out in time.
"I see why you like her. So pretty, so delicate." She
half-turned towards Jean-Claude, nearly giving me her back, but
still holding my head immobile.
"I never thought you'd take in a human." She made it sound like
I was a stray puppy.
Yasmeen turned back to me. I pressed my 9mm into her chest. No
matter how fast she was, she would be hurt if I wanted it. I can
feel how old a vampire is inside my head. It's part natural
ability, and part practice. Yasmeen was old, older than
Jean-Claude. I was betting she was over five hundred. If she had
been the new dead, high-tech ammo at point-blank range would have
shredded her heart, killed her. But over five hundred and a master
vampire, it might not kill her. Or then again, it might.
Something flickered over her face; surprise, and maybe just a
touch of fear. Her body was statue-still. If she was breathing, I
couldn't tell.
My voice sounded strained from the angle she held my neck, but
the words were clear. "Very slowly, take your hands away from my
face. Put both hands on top of your head and lace your fingers
together."
"Jean-Claude, call off your human."
"I'd do what she says, Yasmeen." His voice was pleased. "How
many vampires have you killed now, Anita?"
"Eighteen."
Yasmeen's eyes widened just a bit. "I don't believe you."
"Believe this, bitch: I'll pull this trigger and you can kiss
your heart good-bye."
"Bullets cannot harm me."
"Silver-plated can. Move off me, now!"
Yasmeen's hand slid away from my hair and jaw.
"Slowly," I said.
She did what I asked. She stood in front of me with her
long-fingered hands clasped across her head. I stepped away from
her, gun still pointed at her chest.
"Now what?" Yasmeen asked. A smile still curled her lips. Her
dark eyes were amused. I didn't like being laughed at, but when
tangling with master vampires you let some things slide.
"You can put your hands down," I said.
Yasmeen did, but she continued to stare at me as if I'd sprouted
a second head. "Where did you find her, Jean-Claude? The kitten has
teeth."
"Tell Yasmeen what the vampires call you, Anita."
It sounded too much like an order, but this didn't seem the time
to bitch at him. "The Executioner."
Yasmeen's eyes widened; then she smiled, flashing a lot of fang.
"I thought you'd be taller."
"It disappoints me, too, sometimes," I said.
Yasmeen threw back her head and laughed, wild and brittle, with
an edge of hysteria. "I like her, Jean-Claude. She's dangerous,
like sleeping with a lion."
She glided towards me. I had the gun up and pointed at her. It
didn't even slow her down.
"Jean-Claude, tell her I will shoot her if she doesn't back
off."
"I promise not to hurt you, Anita. I will be oh so gentle." She
swayed over to me, and I wasn't sure what to do. She was playing
with me, sadistic but probably not deadly. Could I shoot her for
being a pain in the ass? I didn't think so.
"I can taste the heat of your blood, the warmth of your skin on
the air like perfume." Her gliding, hip-swinging walk brought her
right in front of me. I pointed the gun at her, and she laughed.
She pressed her chest against the tip of my gun.
"So soft, wet, but strong." I wasn't sure who she was talking
about, her or me. Neither option sounded pleasant. She rubbed her
small breasts against the gun, her nipples caressing the gun
barrel. "Dainty, but dangerous." The last word was a whispered hiss
that flowed over my skin like ice water. She was the first master
I'd ever met who had some of Jean-Claude's voice tricks.
I could see her nipples hardening through the thin material of
her shirt. Yikes. I pointed the gun at the floor and stepped away
from her. "Jesus, are all vampires over two hundred perverts?"
"I am over two hundred," Jean-Claude said.
"I rest my case."
Yasmeen let a warm trickle of laughter spill out of her mouth.
The sound caressed my skin like a warm wind. She stalked towards
me. I backed up until I hit the wall. She put a hand on either side
of the wall near my shoulders and began to lean in like she was
doing a pushup. "I'd like to taste her myself."
I shoved the gun into her ribs, too low for her to rub herself
against it. "Nobody lays a fang on me," I said.
"Tough girl." She leaned her face over me, lips brushing my
forehead. "I like tough girls."
"Jean-Claude, do something with her before one of us gets
killed."
Yasmeen pushed away from me, elbows locked, as far away as she
could get without moving her hands. Her tongue flicked over her
lips, a hint of fang, but mostly wet lips. She leaned back into me,
lips half-parted, but she wasn't going for my neck. She was
definitely going for my mouth. She didn't want to taste
me, she wanted to taste me. I couldn't shoot her, not if she just
wanted to kiss me. If she'd been a man, I wouldn't have shot
her.
Her hair fell forward over my hands, soft like thick silk. Her
face was all I could see. Her eyes were a perfect blackness. Her
lips hovered just above my mouth. Her breath was warm, and smelled
of breath mints, but under the modern smell was something older:
the sweet foulness of blood.
"Your breath smells like old blood," I whispered into her
mouth.
She whispered back, lips barely caressing my mouth, "I know."
Her lips pressed into mine, a gentle kiss. She smiled with our lips
still touching.
The door opened, nearly pinning us to the wall. Yasmeen stood
up, but kept her hands around my shoulders. We both looked at the
door. A woman with nearly white blond hair looked wildly around the
room. Her blue eyes widened as she saw us. She screamed, high and
wordless, rage-filled.
"Get off of her!"
I frowned up at Yasmeen. "Is she talking to me?"
"Yes." Yasmeen looked amused.
The woman did not. She ran towards us, hands outstretched,
fingers curled into claws. Yasmeen caught her in a blurring moment
of pure speed. The woman thrashed and struggled, her hands still
reaching for me.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked.
"Marguerite is Yasmeen's human servant," Jean-Claude said. "She
thinks you may steal Yasmeen away from her."
"I don't want Yasmeen."
Yasmeen shot me a look of pure anger. Had I hurt her feelings? I
hoped so.
"Marguerite, look; she's yours, all right?"
The woman screamed at me, wordless and guttural. What might have
been a pretty face was screwed up into something bestial. I'd never
seen such instant rage. It was frightening even with a loaded gun
in my hand.
Yasmeen had to lift the woman off her feet, holding her
struggling in mid-air. "I'm afraid, Jean-Claude, that Marguerite is
not going to be satisfied unless she answers the challenge."
"What challenge?" I asked.
"You challenged her claim to me."
"Did not," I said.
Yasmeen smiled. The serpent must have smiled at Eve that way:
pleasant, amused, dangerous.
"Jean-Claude, I didn't come here for whatever the hell is going
on. I don't want any vampire, let alone a female one," I said.
"If you were my human servant, ma petite, there would
be no challenge, because once one is bound to a master vampire, it
is an unbreakable bond."
"Then what is Marguerite worried about?"
"That Yasmeen may take you as a lover. She does that from time
to time to drive Marguerite into jealous rages. For some reason I
do not understand, Yasmeen enjoys it."
"Oh, yes, I do enjoy it." Yasmeen turned towards me with the
woman still clasped in her arms. She was holding the struggling
woman easily, no strain. Of course, vampires can bench press
Toyotas. What was one medium-size human to that?
"So what exactly does this mean to me personally?"
Jean-Claude smiled, but there was an edge of tiredness to it.
Was he bored? Or angry? Or just tired? "You must fight Marguerite.
If you win, then Yasmeen is yours. If you lose, Yasmeen is
Marguerite's."
"Wait a minute," I said. "What sort of fight, pistols at
dawn?"
"No weapons," Yasmeen said. "My Marguerite is not skilled in
weapons. I don't want her hurt."
"Then stop tormenting her," I said.
Yasmeen smiled. "It is part of the fun."
"Sadistic bitch," I said.
"Yes, I am."
Jesus, some people you couldn't even insult. "So you want us to
fight bare-handed over Yasmeen?" I couldn't believe I was even
asking this question.
"Yes, ma petite."
I took a deep breath, looked at my gun, looked back at the
screaming woman, then holstered my gun. "Is there any way out of
this, besides fighting her?"
"If you admit you are my human servant, then there will be no
fight. There will be no need for one." Jean-Claude was watching me,
studying my face. His eyes were very still.
"You mean this was a setup," I said. The first warm rumblings of
anger chased up my gut.
"A setup, ma petite? I had no idea Yasmeen would find
you so enticing."
"Bullshit!"
"Admit you are my human servant and all ends here."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you fight Marguerite."
"Fine," I said. "Let's do it."
"What would it cost you to admit what is true, Anita?"
Jean-Claude asked.
"I am not your human servant. I will never be your human
servant. I wish you'd just accept that and leave me the fuck
alone."
He frowned. "Ma petite, such language."
"Fuck off."
He smiled then. "As you like, ma petite." He sat up on
the edge of the couch, maybe so he could see better. "Yasmeen, any
time you are ready."
"Wait," I said. I took off my jacket and wasn't sure where to
lay it.
The man who had been sleeping on the black-canopied bed reached
a hand through the black gauze. "I'll hold it for you," he
said.
I stared at him for a minute. He was naked from the waist up.
His arms, stomach, chest showed signs of weightlifting, just
enough, not too much. He either had a perfect tan or was naturally
dark complected. Hair fell in a wavy mass around his shoulders. His
eyes were brown and very human. That was nice to see.
I handed him my jacket. He smiled, a quick flash of teeth that
chased the last signs of sleep from his face. He sat up with the
jacket in one hand, arms encircling his knees that were still
hidden under the black and red covers. He laid his cheek on his
knees and managed to look winsome.
"Are you quite done, ma petite?" Jean-Claude's voice
was amused, with an edge of laughter that wasn't humor at all. It
was mockery. But whether he was mocking me or himself, I couldn't
tell.
"I'm ready, I guess," I said.
"Put her down, Yasmeen. Let us see what happens."
I heard Stephen say, "Twenty on Marguerite."
Yasmeen said, "No fair. I can't bet against my own human
servant."
"I'll spot you both twenty that Ms. Blake wins." That came from
the man in the bed. I had a second to glance at him, to see him
smile at me; then Marguerite was coming.
She slapped at my face, and I blocked it with my forearm. She
fought like a girl, all open-handed slaps and fingernails. But she
was fast, faster than a human. Maybe she got that from being a
human servant, I don't know. Her fingernails raked down my face in
a sharp, painful line. That was it: no more Ms. Nice Guy.
I held her off with one hand. She dug her teeth into that hand.
I hit her with my right fist as hard as I could, turning my body
into it. It was a nice solid hit to the solar plexus.
Marguerite stopped biting my hand and bent over, hands covering
her stomach. She was gasping for breath. Good.
My left hand had a bloody imprint of her teeth in it. I touched
my left cheek and came away with more blood. Damn, that hurt.
Marguerite knelt on the floor, relearning how to breathe. But
she was staring up at me. The look in her blue eyes said the fight
wasn't over. As soon as she got her breath back, she would start
again.
"Stay down, Marguerite, or I'll hurt you."
She shook her head.
"She can't give up, ma petite, or you win Yasmeen's body, if not
her heart."
"I don't want her body. I don't want anyone's body."
"Now, that is simply not true, ma petite," Jean-Claude
said.
"Stop calling me ma petite."
"You bear two of my marks, Anita. You are halfway to being my
human servant. Admit that, and no one else need suffer
tonight."
"Yeah, right," I said.
Marguerite was getting to her feet. I didn't want her on her
feet. I moved in before she could stand, and foot-swept her legs
out from under her. I forced her shoulders backwards at the same
time, and I rode her down. I got her right arm in a joint lock. She
tried to get up. I increased the pressure, and she lay back
down.
"Give up the fight."
"No." It was only the second coherent thing I'd heard her
utter.
"I will break your arm."
"Break it, break it! I don't care." Her face was wild, enraged.
God. There was no way to reason with her. Great.
Using the joint lock as a lever, I turned her over on her
stomach, increasing the pressure to almost breaking, but not quite.
Breaking her arm might not stop the fight. I wanted it over
with.
I used my leg and one arm to keep the joint lock on but knelt
over her upper body, until my weight would keep her pinned. I took
a handful of yellow hair and pulled her neck back. I released her
arm and brought my right arm across her neck, with my elbow in
front of her Adam's apple and the arm squeezing the arteries on
both sides of her neck. I put my right hand on my left wrist and
squeezed.
She scratched at my face, but I buried my eyes in her back and
she couldn't reach me. She was making small, helpless sounds
because she didn't have enough air to make big ones.
Her hands scratched at my right arm, but the sweater was thick.
She pushed the sleeve up, exposing my bare arm, and began to shred
the skin with her nails. I buried my face deeper into her back and
squeezed until my arms shook and I was gritting my teeth.
Everything I had was in that one arm, pressing into her slender
throat.
Her hands stopped scratching me. They beat against my arm like
dying butterflies.
It takes a long time to choke someone into unconsciousness. The
movies make it look easy, quick, clean. It isn't easy, it isn't
quick, and it sure as hell isn't clean. You can feel the pulse on
either side of the neck pounding against your arm while you squeeze
the life out of it. The person struggles a lot more than in the
movies. And as far as choking someone to death, you better hold on
for a long time after they stop moving.
Marguerite went slowly limp, a body part at a time. When she was
just dead weight in my arms, I let her go, slowly. She lay on the
floor unmoving. I couldn't even see her breathe. Had I squeezed too
long?
I touched her neck and found the carotid pulse strong and even.
Just out of it, not dead. Good.
I stood and walked back towards the bed.
Yasmeen went to her knees beside Marguerite's still form. "My
love, my only one, has she hurt you?"
"She's just unconscious," I said. "She'll come to in a few
minutes."
"If you had killed her, I would have torn your throat out."
I shook my head. "Let's not start this shit again. I've had
about all the grandstanding I can take for one night."
The man in bed said, "You're bleeding."
Blood was dripping down my right forearm. Marguerite may not
have been able to do any real damage, but the scratches were deep
enough that some of them might leave scars. Great; I already had a
long, thin scar on the underside of my right arm from a knife. Even
with the scratches, my right arm had fewer scars than my left.
Work-related injuries.
Blood was dripping down my arm rather steadily. The blood didn't
show on the black carpeting. A good color if you planned to bleed
much in a room.
Yasmeen was helping Marguerite to her feet. The woman had
recovered very quickly. Why? Because she was a human servant, of
course. Sure.
Yasmeen walked towards the bed, towards me. Her lovely face had
thinned until the bones showed through. Her eyes were bright,
almost feverish. "Fresh blood, and I haven't fed tonight."
"Control yourself, Yasmeen."
"You have not taught your servant good manners, Jean-Claude,"
Yasmeen said. She was looking very unkindly at me.
"Leave her alone, Yasmeen." Jean-Claude was standing now.
"Every servant must be tamed, Jean-Claude. You have let it go
far too long."
I looked over Yasmeen's shoulder at him. "Tamed?"
"It is an unfortunate stage in the process," he said. His voice
was neutral, as if he were talking about taming a horse.
"Damn you." I pulled my gun. I held it two-handed in a teacup
grip. Nobody was taming me tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone stand up on the other
side of the bed. The man was still under the covers. It was a
slender woman, her skin the color of coffee with cream. Her black
hair was cut very close to her head. She was naked. Where the hell
had she come from?
Yasmeen was about a yard from me, tongue playing over her lips,
fangs glistening in the overhead light.
"I'll kill you, do you understand that, I'll kill you," I
said.
"You'll try."
"Fun and games aren't worth dying for," I said.
"After a few hundred years, that's all that is worth dying
for."
"Jean-Claude, unless you want to lose her, call her off!" My
voice was higher than I wanted it to be, afraid.
At this range the bullet should take out her entire chest. If it
worked, there would be no resurrecting her as the undead; her heart
would be gone. Of course, she was over five hundred years old. One
shot might not do it. Lucky I had more than one bullet.
I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I was half-turned
towards it when something flattened me to the ground. The black
woman was on top of me. I brought the gun around to fire, not
giving a damn if she was human or not. But her hand grabbed my
wrists, squeezing. She was going to crush my wrists.
She snarled in my face, all teeth and a low growl. The sound
should have had fur around it and pointy teeth. Human faces weren't
supposed to look that way.
The woman jerked the Browning out of my hands like taking candy
from a baby. She held it wrong, like she didn't know which end of
the gun went where.
An arm came around her waist and pulled her backwards off me. It
was the man on the bed. The woman turned on him, snarling.
Yasmeen leapt for me. I scooted backwards, putting the wall at
my back. She smiled. "Not so tough without your weapon, are
you?"
She was suddenly kneeling in front of me. I hadn't seen her
come, not even a blur of motion. She appeared beside me like
magic.
She had her body up against my knees, pinning me to the wall.
Yasmeen dug her fingers into my upper arms and jerked me towards
her. Her strength was incredible. She made the black shapeshifter
seem fragile.
"Yasmeen, no!" It was Jean-Claude coming to my aid at last. But
he was going to be too late. Yasmeen bared her teeth, raised her
neck back for the strike, and I couldn't do a damn thing.
She pulled me in tight against her, arms locked behind my back.
If I'd been pressed any tighter I'd have come out on the other
side.
I screamed, "Jean-Claude!"
Heat; something was burning inside my sweater, over my heart.
Yasmeen hesitated. I felt her whole body shudder. What the hell was
happening?
A tongue of blue-white flame curled up between us. I screamed
and Yasmeen echoed it. We screamed together as we burned.
She fell away from me. Blue-white flame crawled over her shirt.
Flames licked around a hole in my sweater. I shrugged out of the
shoulder holster and pulled the burning sweater off.
My cross still burned with an intense blue-white flame. I jerked
the chain and it snapped. I dropped the cross to the carpet, where
the flames smoldered, then died.
There was a perfect cross-shaped burn on my chest, just above my
breast, over the beat of my heart. The burn was covered in blisters
already. A second-degree burn.
Yasmeen had ripped her own blouse off. She had an identical
burn, but lower down between her breasts because she was taller
than I was.
I knelt on the floor in just my bra and jeans. Tears were
trailing down my face. I had a bigger cross-shaped burn scar on my
left forearm. A vampire's human followers had branded me, thinking
it was funny. They'd laughed right up to the minute I killed
them.
A burn is a bitch. Inch for inch, a burn hurts worse than any
other injury.
Jean-Claude stood in front of me. The cross glowed a white-hot
light, no flames, but then he wasn't touching it. I looked up to
find him shielding his eyes with his arm.
"Put it away, ma petite. No one else will harm you
tonight, I promise you that."
"Why don't you just back off and let me decide what I'm going to
do?"
He sighed. "I was childish to let it get so far out of hand,
Anita. Forgive me for my foolishness." It was hard to take the
apology seriously while he cowered behind his arm, not daring to
look at my glowing cross. But it was an apology. From Jean-Claude,
that was a lot.
I picked the cross up by its chain. I had broken the clasp
getting it off. I'd need a new chain before it could go around my
neck again. I picked my sweater up in my other hand. There was a
melted hole bigger than my fist in it. Right over the chest area.
The sweater was ruined. No help there. Where do you hide a glowing
cross when you aren't wearing a shirt?
The man in the bed handed my leather jacket to me. I met his
eyes and saw in them concern, a little fear. His brown eyes were
very close to me, and very human. It was comforting, and I wasn't
even sure why.
The shoulder holster was flopping down around my waist like
suspenders. I shrugged back into the straps. They felt strange next
to my bare skin.
The man handed me my gun, butt first. The black shapeshifter
stood on the other side of the bed, still naked, glaring at us. I
didn't care how he'd gotten my gun from her. I was just glad to
have it back.
With the Browning in its holster, I felt safer, though I'd never
tried wearing a shoulder holster over bare skin. I suspected it was
going to chafe. Oh, well, nothing's perfect.
The man held out a handful of Kleenex to me. The red sheets had
slid down, exposing a long nude line of his body to about
mid-thigh. The sheet was perilously close to failing off him all
together. "Your arm," he said.
I stared down at my right arm. It was still bleeding a little.
It hurt so much less than the burn, I had forgotten about it.
I took the Kleenex and wondered what he was doing here. Had he
been having sex with the naked woman, the shapeshifter? I hadn't
seen her in the bed. Had she been hiding under it?
I cleaned up my arm as best I could; didn't want to bleed too
heavily on the leather jacket. I slipped the jacket on, and put the
stillglowing cross in my left pocket. Once it was hidden, the glow
would stop. The only reason Yasmeen and I had gotten in trouble was
that the sweater had a loose weave and her top had left a lot of
bare flesh. Vampire flesh touching a blessed cross was always
volatile.
Jean-Claude stared down at me, now that the cross was safely
hidden. "I am sorry, ma petite. I did not mean to frighten
you tonight." He held one hand down towards me. The skin was paler
than the white lace that covered it.
I ignored his outstretched hand and used the bed to help me
stand.
He lowered his hand slowly. His dark blue eyes were very still,
looking at me. "It never works as I want it to with you, Anita
Blake. Why is that?"
"Maybe you should take the hint, and leave me alone."
He smiled, a bare movement of lips. "I'm afraid it is too late
for that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The door swung open, banging against the wall and bouncing back.
A man stood in the doorway, eyes wide, sweat running down his face.
"Jean-Claude . . . the snake." He seemed to be having trouble
breathing, as if he had run all the way up the stairs.
"What about the snake?" Jean-Claude asked.
The man swallowed, his breathing slowing. "It's gone crazy."
"What happened?"
The man shook his head. "I don't know. It attacked Shahar, its
trainer. She's dead."
"Is it in the crowd?"
"Not yet."
"We will have to finish this discussion later, ma
petite." He moved for the door, and the rest of the vampires
followed at his heels. Stephen went with them. Well trained.
The slender black woman slipped a loose dress, black with red
flowers on it, over her head. A pair of red high heels and she was
out the door.
The man was out of the bed, naked. There was no time to be
embarrassed. He was struggling into a pair of sweats.
This wasn't my problem, but what if the cobra got into the
crowd? Not my problem. I zipped the jacket up enough to hide the
fact I was shirtless but not so high up I couldn't draw my gun.
I was out the door and into the bright open space of the tent
before the nameless man had slipped on his sweat pants. The
vampires and shapeshifters were at the edge of the ring, fanning
out into a circle around the snake. It filled the small ring with
black-and-white coils. The bottom half of a man in a glittering
loincloth was disappearing down the cobra's throat. That's what had
kept it out of the crowd. It was taking time to feed.
Sweet Jesus.
The man's legs twitched, kicking convulsively. He couldn't be
alive. He couldn't be. But the legs twitched as they slid out of
sight. Please, God, let it just be a reflex. Don't let him still be
alive. The thought was worse than any nightmare I could remember.
And I have a lot of material for nightmares.
The monster in the ring wasn't my problem. I didn't have to be
the bloody hero this time. People were screaming, running, arms
full of children. Popcorn bags and cotton candy were getting
crushed underfoot. I waded into the crowd and began pushing my way
down. A woman carrying a toddler fell at my feet. A man climbed
over them. I dragged the woman to her feet, taking the baby in one
arm. People shoved past us. We shuddered just trying to stand
still. I felt like a rock in the middle of a raging river.
The woman stared at me, eyes too large for her face. I pushed
the toddler into her arms and wedged her between the seats. I
grabbed the arms of the nearest large male, sexist that I am, and
shouted, "Help them!"
The man's face was startled, as if I had spoken in tongues, but
some of the panic faded from his face. He took the woman's arm and
began to push his way towards the exit.
I couldn't let the snake get into the crowd. Not if I could stop
it. Shit. I was going to play hero, dammit. I started fighting
against the tide, to go down when everybody else was coming up and
over. An elbow caught me in the mouth and I tasted blood. By the
time I fought my way through this mess, it would all be over. God,
I hoped so.
Chapter 7
I stepped out of the crowd like I was flinging aside a curtain.
My skin tingled with the memory of shoving bodies, but I stood
alone on the last step. The screaming crowd was still up above me,
struggling for the exits. But here, just above the ring, there was
nothing. The silence lay in thick folds against my face and hands.
It was hard to breathe through the thick air. Magic. But whether
vampire or cobra, I didn't know.
Stephen stood closest to me, shirtless, slim and somehow
elegant. Yasmeen had on his blue shirt, hiding her naked upper
body. She had tied the shirt up to expose a tanned expanse of
tummy. Marguerite stood beside her. The black woman stood on
Stephen's right. She had kicked off her high heels and stood
flat-footed in the ring.
Jean-Claude stood on the far side of the circle with two new
blond vampires on either side. He turned and stared at me across
the distance. I felt his touch inside me where no hand was ever
meant to go. My throat tightened; sweat broke on my body. Nothing
at that moment would have made me go closer to him. He was trying
to tell me something. Something private and too intimate for
words.
A hoarse scream brought my attention to the center of the ring.
Two men lay broken and bleeding to one side. The cobra reared over
them. It was like a moving tower of muscle and scale. It hissed at
us. The sound was loud, echoing.
The men lay on the ground at its . . . feet? tail? One of them
twitched. Was he alive? My hands squeezed the guardrail until my
fingers ached. I was so scared I could taste bile at the back of my
throat. My skin was cold with it. You ever have those dreams where
snakes are everywhere, so thick on the ground you can't walk unless
you step on them? It's almost claustrophobic. The dream always ends
with me standing in the middle of the trees with snakes dripping
down on me, and all I can do is scream.
Jean-Claude held out one slender hand towards me. The lace
covered everything but the tips of his fingers. Everyone else was
staring at the snake. Jean-Claude was staring at me.
One of the wounded men moved. A soft moan escaped his lips and
seemed to echo in the huge tent. Was it illusion or had the sound
really echoed? It didn't matter. He was alive, and we had to keep
him that way.
We? What was this "we" stuff? I stared into Jean-Claude's deep
blue eyes. His face was utterly blank, wiped clean of any emotion I
understood. He couldn't trick me with his eyes. His own marks had
seen to that, but mind tricks—if he worked at it—were still
possible. He was working at it.
It wasn't words, but a compulsion. I wanted to go to him. To run
to him. To feel the smooth, solid grip of his hand. The softness of
lace against my skin. I leaned against the railing, dizzy. I
gripped it to keep from falling. What the hell were these mind
games now? We had other problems, didn't we? Or didn't he care
about the snake? Maybe it had all been a trick. Maybe he had told
the cobra to run amuck. But why?
Every hair on my body raised, as if some invisible finger had
just brushed it. I shivered and couldn't stop.
I was staring down at a pair of very nice black boots, high and
soft. I looked up and met Jean-Claude's eyes. He had left his place
around the cobra to come to me. It beat the hell out of me going to
him.
"Join with me, Anita, and we have enough power to stop the
creature."
I shook my head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He brushed his fingertips down my arm. Even through the leather
jacket I could feel his touch like a line of ice, or was it
fire?
"How can you be hot and cold at the same time?" I asked.
He smiled, a bare movement of lips. "Ma petite, stop
fighting me, and we can tame the creature. We can save the
men."
He had me there. A moment of personal weakness against the lives
of two people. What a choice.
"Once I let you inside my head that far, it'll be easier for you
to come in next time. My soul is not up for grabs for anybody's
life."
He sighed. "Very well, it is your choice." He started to turn
away from me. I grabbed his arm, and it was warm and firm and very,
very real.
He turned to me, eyes large and drowning deep, like the bottom
of the ocean, and just as deadly. His own power kept me from
falling in; alone I would have been lost.
I swallowed hard enough for it to hurt, and pulled my hand away
from him. I had the urge to wipe my hand against my pants, as if I
had touched something bad. Maybe I had.
"Will silver bullets hurt it?"
He seemed to think about that for a second. "I do not know."
I took a deep breath. "If you stop trying to hijack my mind,
I'll help you."
"You'll face it with a gun, rather than with me?" His voice
sounded amused.
"You got it."
He stepped away from me and motioned me towards the ring.
I vaulted the rail and landed beside him. I ignored him as much
as I was able and started walking towards the creature. I pulled
the Browning out. It was nice and solid in my hand. A comforting
weight.
"The ancient Egyptians worshipped it as a god, ma
petite. She was Edjo, the royal serpent. Cared for, sacrificed
to, adored."
"It isn't a god, Jean-Claude."
"Are you so sure?"
"I'm a monotheist, remember. It's just another supernatural
creepycrawlie to me."
"As you like, ma petite."
I turned back to him. "How the hell did you get it past
quarantine?"
He shook his head. "Does it matter?"
I glanced back at the thing in the middle of the ring. The snake
charmer lay in a bloody heap to one side of the snake. It hadn't
eaten her. Was that a sign of respect, affection, dumb luck?
The cobra pushed towards us, belly scales clenching and
unclenching. It made a dry, whispering sound against the ring's
floor.
He was right; it didn't matter how the thing had gotten into the
country. It was here now. "How are we going to stop it?"
He smiled wide enough to flash fangs. Maybe it was the "we." "If
you could disable its mouth, I think we could deal with it."
The snake's body was thicker than a telephone pole. I shook my
head. "If you say so."
"Can you injure the mouth?"
I nodded. "If silver bullets work on it, yeah."
"My little marksman," he said.
"Can the sarcasm," I said.
He nodded. "If you are going to try to shoot it, I would hurry,
ma petite. Once it wades into my people, it will be too
late." His face was unreadable. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to
do it, or not.
I turned and started walking across the ring. The cobra stopped
moving forward. It waited, like a swaying tower. It stood there, if
something without legs could stand, and waited for me, whiplike
tongue flicking out, tasting the air. Tasting me.
Jean-Claude was suddenly beside me. I hadn't heard him come,
hadn't felt him come. Just another mind trick. I had other things
to worry about right now.
He spoke, low and urgent; I think only I heard. "I will do my
best to protect you, ma petite."
"You were doing a great job up in your office."
He stopped walking. I didn't.
"I know you are afraid of it, Anita. Your fear crawls through my
belly," he called, soft and faint as wind.
I whispered back, not sure he would even be able to hear me.
"Stay the fuck out of my mind."
The cobra watched me. I held the Browning in a two-handed grip,
pointed at the thing's head. I thought I was out of striking
distance, but I wasn't sure. How far away is safe distance from a
snake that's bigger than a Mack truck? Two states away, three? I
was close enough to see the snake's flat black eyes, empty as a
doll's.
Jean-Claude's words blew through my mind like flower petals. I
could even have sworn I smelled flowers. His voice had never held
the scent of perfume before. "Force it to follow you, and give us
its back before you shoot."
The pulse in my neck was beating so hard, it hurt to breathe. My
mouth was so dry I couldn't swallow right. I began to move, ever so
slowly, away from the vampires and shapeshifters. The snake's head
followed me, as it had followed the snake charmer. If it started to
strike, I'd shoot it, but if it would just keep moving with me, I'd
give Jean-Claude a chance at its back.
Of course, silver bullets might not hurt it. In fact, the thing
was so damn big, the ammo I had in the Browning might not do more
than irritate it. I felt like I was trapped in one of those monster
movies where the giant slime monster keeps coming no matter how
much you shoot it. I hoped that was just a Hollywood invention.
If the bullets didn't hurt it, I was going to die. I flashed on
the image of the man's legs kicking as they went down. The lump was
still visible in the snake's body, like it had fed on a really big
rat.
The tongue flicked out and I gasped, swallowing a scream. God,
Anita, control yourself. It's just a snake. A giant man-eating
cobra snake, but still only a snake. Yeah, right.
Every hair on my body stood at attention. The power that I'd
felt the snake charmer calling up was still here. It wasn't enough
that the thing was poisonous and had teeth big enough to spear me
with. It had to be magic, too. Great, just great.
The smell of flowers was thicker, closer. It hadn't been
Jean-Claude at all. The cobra was filling the air with perfume.
Snakes don't smell like flowers. They smell musty, and once you
know what they smell like, you never forget it. Nothing with fur
ever smelled like that. A vampire's coffin smells a bit like
snakes.
The cobra turned its giant head with me. "Come on, just a little
farther," I was speaking to the snake. Which is pretty stupid,
since they're deaf. The smell of flowers was thick and sweet. I
shuffled around the ring, and the snake shadowed me. Maybe it was
habit. I was small and had long, dark hair, though not nearly as
long as the dead snake charmer. Maybe the beastie wanted someone to
follow?
"Come on, pretty girl, come to mama," I whispered so low my lips
barely moved. Just me and the snake and my voice. I didn't dare
look across the ring at Jean-Claude. Nothing mattered but my feet
shuffling over the ground, the snake's movements, the gun in my
hands. It was like some kind of dance.
The cobra parted its mouth, tongue flicking, giving me a glimpse
of scythelike fangs. Cobras have fixed fangs, not retractable like
a rattlesnake's. Nice to know I remembered some of my herpetology.
Though I bet Dr. Greenburg had never seen anything like this.
I had a horrible impulse to giggle. Instead, I sighted down my
arm at the thing's mouth. The scent of flowers was strong enough to
touch. I squeezed the trigger.
The snake's head jerked backwards, blood splattering the floor.
I fired again and again. The jaws exploded into bits of flesh and
bone. The cobra opened its ruined jaws, hissing. I think it was
screaming.
Its telephone-pole body slashed the ground, whipping back and
forth. Could I kill it? Could just bullets kill it? I fired three
more shots into the head. The body turned on itself in a huge
wondrous knot. The black and white scales boiled over each other,
frenzied, bloodspattered.
A loop of body rolled out and punched my legs out from under me.
I came up on knees and one hand, gun in the other hand ready to
point. Another coil smashed into me. It was like being hit by a
whale. I lay half-stunned under several hundred pounds of snake. One
striped coil pinned me to the ground. The beast reared over me,
blood and pale drops of poison running down its shattered jaws. If
the poison hit my skin, it would kill me. There was too much of it
not to.
I lay flat on my back with the snake writhing across me and
fired at it. I just kept squeezing the trigger as the head rushed
down on me.
Something hit the snake. Something covered in fur dug teeth and
claws into the snake's neck. It was a werewolf with furry,
man-shaped arms. The cobra reared, pressing me under its weight.
The smooth belly scales pushed at my nearly naked upper body like a
giant hand, squeezing. It wasn't going to eat me, it was going to
crush me to death.
I screamed and fired into the snake's body. The gun clicked
empty. Shit!
Jean-Claude appeared over me. His pale, lace-covered hands
lifted the coil off me as if it wasn't a thousand pounds of muscle.
I scooted backwards on hands and feet. I crab-walked until I hit the
edge of the ring, then I popped the empty clip and got the extra
out of my sport bag. I didn't remember firing all thirteen rounds,
but I must have. I jacked a round into the chamber, and I was ready
to rock and roll.
Jean-Claude was elbow deep in snake. He pulled a piece of
glistening spine out of the meat, splitting the snake apart.
Yasmeen was tearing at the giant snake like a kid with taffy.
Her face and upper body were bathed in blood. She pulled a long
piece of snake intestine out and laughed.
I had never really seen vampires use every bit of their inhuman
strength. I sat on the edge of the ring with my loaded gun and just
watched.
The black shapeshifter was still in human form. She had gotten a
knife from somewhere and was happily carving the snake up.
The cobra whipped its head into the ground, sending the werewolf
rolling. The snake reared and came smashing down. Its ruined jaws
plunged into the black woman's shoulder. She screamed. One fang
came out the back of her dress. Poison squirted from the fang,
splashing onto the ground. Poison and blood soaked into the back of
her dress.
I moved forward, gun ready, but I hesitated. The cobra was
flinging its head from side to side, trying to shake the woman off.
The fang was too deeply imbedded and the mouth too damaged. The
cobra was trapped, and so was the woman.
I wasn't sure I could hit the snake's head without hitting her.
The woman was screaming, shrieking. Her hands clawed helplessly at
the snake. She'd dropped her knife somewhere.
A blond vampire grabbed the black woman. The snake reared back,
lifting the woman in his jaws, worrying her like a dog with a toy.
She shrieked.
The werewolf jumped on the snake's neck, riding it like a wild
horse. There was no way to shoot without hitting someone now.
Dammit. I had to just stand there, watching.
The man from the bed was running across the ring. Had it taken
him that long to slip into the grey sweat pants and zippered
jacket? The jacket was unzipped and flapped as he ran, exposing
most of his tanned chest. He was unarmed as far as I could tell.
What the hell did he think he could do? Dammit.
He knelt beside the two men who had been alive when all the shit
started. He dragged one of them away from the fight. It was good
thinking.
Jean-Claude grabbed the woman. He gripped the fang that speared
her shoulder and snapped it off. The crack was loud as a rifle
shot. The woman's shoulder stretched away from her body, bones and
ligaments snapping. She gave one last shriek and went limp. He
carried her towards me, laying her on the ground. Her right arm was
hanging by strands of muscle. He had freed her from the snake, and
damn near pulled her arm off.
"Help her, ma petite." He left her at my feet, bleeding
and unconscious. I knew some first aid, but Jesus. There was no way
to put a tourniquet on the wound. I couldn't splint the arm. It
wasn't just broken, it was ripped apart.
A breath of wind oozed through the tent. Something tugged at my
gut. I gasped and looked up away from the dying girl. Jean-Claude
stood beside the snake. All the vampires were tearing at the body,
and still it lived. A wind ruffled the lace on his collar, the
black waves of his hair. The wind whispered against my face,
pulling my heart up into my throat. The only sound I could hear was
the thunder of my own blood beating against my ears.
Jean-Claude moved forward almost gently. And I felt something
inside me move with him. It was almost like he held an invisible
line to my heart. pulse, blood. My pulse was so fast, I couldn't
breathe. What was happening?
He was on the snake, hands digging in the flesh just below the
mouth. I felt my hands dig into the writhing flesh.
My hands digging at bone, snapping it. My hands
shoving in almost to the elbow. It was slick, wet, but not warm.
Our hands pushed, then pulled, until our shoulders strained with
the effort.
The head tore away to land across the ring. The head flopped,
mouth snapping at empty air. The body still struggled, but it was
dying now.
I had fallen to the ground beside the wounded woman. The
Browning was still in my hand, but it wouldn't have helped me. I
could hear again, feel again. My hands weren't covered in blood and
gore. They had been Jean-Claude's hands, not mine. Dear God, what
was happening to me?
I could still feel the blood on my hands. It was an incredibly
powerful sensory memory. God!
Something touched my shoulder. I whirled, gun nearly shoved into
the man's face. It was the man in the grey sweats. He was kneeling
beside me, hands in the air, his eyes staring at the gun in my
hands.
"I'm on your side," he said.
My pulse was still thumping in my throat. I didn't trust myself
to speak, so I just nodded and stopped pointing the gun at him.
He took off his sweat jacket. "Maybe we can stop some of the
blood with this." He wadded the jacket up and shoved it against the
wound.
"She's probably in shock," I said. My voice sounded strange,
hollow.
"You don't look so good yourself."
I didn't feel so good either. Jean-Claude had entered my mind,
my body. It had been like we were one person. I started to shiver
and couldn't stop. Maybe it was shock.
"I called the police and an ambulance," he said.
I stared at him. His face was very strong, high cheekbones,
square jaw, but his lips were softer, making it a very sympathetic
face. His wavy brown hair fell forward like a curtain around his
face. I remembered another man with long brown hair. Another human
tied to the vampires. He had died badly, and I hadn't been able to
save him.
I caught sight of Marguerite on the far side of the ring,
watching. Her eyes were wide, her lips half-parted. She was
enjoying herself. God.
The werewolf pulled back from the snake. The shapeshifter looked
like a very classy version of every wolfman that had ever stalked
the streets of London, except it was naked and had genitalia
between its legs. Movie wolfmen were always smooth, sexless as a
Barbie doll.
The werewolf's fur was a dark honey color. A blond werewolf? Was
it Stephen? If it wasn't, then he had disappeared, and I didn't
think Jean-Claude would allow that.
A voice yelled, "Everybody freeze"' Across the ring were two
patrol cops with their guns out. One of them said, "Jesus
Christ!"
I put my gun away while they were staring at the dead snake. The
body was still twitching, but it was dead. It just takes longer for
a reptile's body to know it's dead than most mammals.
I felt light and empty as air. Everything had a faintly unreal
quality. It wasn't the snake. It was whatever Jean-Claude had done
to me. I shook my head, trying to clear it, to think. The cops were
here. I had things I needed to do.
I fished the little plastic ID card out of my sport bag and
clipped it to the collar of my jacket. It identified me as a member
of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. It was almost as
good as a badge.
"Let's go talk to the cops before they start shooting."
"The snake's dead," he said.
The wolfman was tearing at the dead thing with a long pointed
muzzle, ripping off chunks of meat. I swallowed hard and looked
away. "They may not think the snake is the only monster in the
ring."
"Oh." He said it very softly, as if the thought had never
occurred to him before. What the hell was he doing with the
monsters?
I walked towards the police, smiling. Jean-Claude stood there in
the middle of the ring, his white shirt so bloody it clung to him
like water, outlining the point of one nipple hard against the
cloth. Blood was smeared down one side of his face. His arms were
crimson to the elbows. The youngest vampire, a woman, had buried
her face in the snake's blood. She was scooping the bloody meat
into her mouth and sucking on it. The sounds were wet and seemed
louder than they should have been.
"My name's Anita Blake. I work with the Regional Preternatural
Investigation Team. I've got ID."
"Who's that with you?" The uniform nodded his head in the man's
direction. His gun was still pointed vaguely towards the ring.
I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, "What is your
name?"
"Richard Zeeman," he said softly.
Out loud I said, "Richard Zeeman, just an innocent bystander."
That last was probably a lie. How innocent could a man be who woke
up in a bed surrounded by vampires and shapeshifters?
But the uniform nodded. "What about the rest of them?"
I glanced where he was staring. It didn't look any better. "The
manager and some of his people. They waded into the thing to keep
it out of the crowd."
"But they ain't human, right?" he said.
"No," I said, "they aren't human."
"Jesus H. Christ, the guys back at the station aren't going to
believe this one," his partner said.
He was probably right. I had been here, and I almost didn't
believe it. A giant man-eating cobra. Jesus H. Christ indeed.
Chapter 8
I was sitting in a small hallway that served as the
performers' entrance to the big tent. The lighting was permanently
dim, as if some of the things rolling through wouldn't like a lot
of light. Big surprise there. There were no chairs, and I was
getting a little tired of sitting on the floor. I'd given a
statement first to a uniform, then to a detective. Then RPIT had
arrived and the questioning started all over again. Dolph nodded to
me, and Zerbrowski shot at me with his thumb and forefinger. That
had been an hour and fifteen minutes ago. I was getting a wee bit
tired of being ignored.
Richard Zeeman and Stephen the Werewolf were sitting
across from me. Richard's hands were clasped loosely around one
knee. He was wearing white Nikes with a blue swoosh, and no socks.
Even his ankles were tan. His thick hair brushed the tops of his
naked shoulders. His eyes were closed. I could gaze at his muscular
upper body as long as I wanted to. His stomach was flat with a
triangle of dark hair peeking above the sweat pants. His upper chest was
smooth, perfect, no hair at all. I approved.
Stephen was cuddled on the floor, asleep. Bruises
blossomed up the left side of his face, black-purple and that raw
red color a really bad bruise gets. His left arm was in a sling,
but he'd refused to go to the hospital. He was wrapped in a grey
blanket that the paramedics had given him. As far as I could tell,
it was all he was wearing. I guess he'd lost his clothes when he
shapeshifted. The wolfman had been bigger than he was, and the legs
had been a very different shape. So the skin-tight jeans and the
beautiful cowboy boots were history. Maybe that was why the black
shapeshifter had been naked. Had that been why Richard Zeeman was
naked, as well? Was he a shapeshifter?
I didn't think so. If he was, he hid it better than
anybody I'd ever been around. Besides, if he had been a
shapeshifter, why didn't he join the fight against the cobra? He'd
done a sensible thing for an unarmed human being; he'd stayed out
of the way.
Stephen, who had started out the night looking
scrumptious, looked like shit. The long, blond curls clung to his
face, wet with sweat. There were dark smudges under his closed
eyes. His breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes were struggling
underneath his closed lids. Dream? Nightmare? Do werewolves dream
of shapeshifted sheep?
Richard still looked scrumptious, but then a giant
cobra hadn't been slamming him into a concrete floor. He opened his
eyes, as if he had felt me staring at him. He stared back, brown
eyes neutral. We stared at each other without saying anything.
His face was all angles, high-sculpted cheekbones,
and firm jaw. A dimple softened the lines of his face and made him
a little too perfect for my taste. I've never been comfortable
around men that are beautiful. Low self-esteem, maybe. Or maybe
Jean-Claude's lovely face had made me appreciate the very human
quality of imperfection.
"Is he all right?" I asked.
"Who?"
"Stephen."
He glanced down at the sleeping man. Stephen made a
small noise in his sleep, helpless, frightened. Definitely a
nightmare.
"Should you wake him?"
"You mean from the dream?" he asked.
I nodded.
He smiled. "Nice thought, but he won't wake up for
hours. We could burn the place down around him and he wouldn't
move."
"Why not?"
"You really want to know?"
"Sure, I've got nothing better to do right now."
He glanced up the silent hallway. "Good point." He
settled back against the wall, bare back searching for a more
comfortable piece of wall. He frowned; so much for a comfortable
wall.
"Stephen changed back from wolfman to human in less
than a two-hour time span." He said it like it explained
everything. It didn't.
"So?" I asked.
"Usually a shapeshifter stays in animal form for
eight to ten hours, then collapses and changes back to human form.
It takes a lot of energy to shapeshift early."
I glanced down at the dreaming shapeshifter. "So this
collapse is normal?"
Richard nodded. "He'll be out for the rest of the
night."
"Not a great survival method," I said.
"A lot of werewolves bite the dust after collapsing.
The human hunters come upon them after they've passed out."
"How do you know so much about lycanthropes?"
"It's my job," he said, "I teach science at a local
junior high."
I just stared at him. "You're a junior high science
teacher?"
"Yes." He was smiling. "You looked shocked."
I shook my head. "What's a school teacher doing
messed up with vampires and werewolves?"
"Just lucky, I guess."
I had to smile. "That doesn't explain how you know
about lycanthropes."
"I had a class in college."
I shook my head. "So did I, but I didn't know about
shapeshifters collapsing."
"You've got a degree in preternatural biology?" he
asked.
"Yep."
"Me, too."
"So how do you know more about lycanthropes than I
do?" I said.
Stephen moved in his sleep, flinging his good arm
outward. The blanket slid off his shoulder, exposing his stomach
and part of a thigh.
Richard drew the blanket back over the sleeping man,
covering him, like tucking in a child. "Stephen and I have been
friends a long time. I bet you know things about zombies that I
never learned in college."
"Probably," I said.
"Stephen's not a teacher, is he?"
"No." He smiled, but it wasn't pleasant. "School
boards frown on lycanthropes being teachers."
"Legally, they can't stop you."
"Yeah, right," he said. "They fire-bombed the last
teacher who dared to teach their precious children. Lycanthropy
isn't contagious while in human form."
"I know that," I said.
He shook his head. "Sorry, it's just a sore topic
with me."
My pet project was rights for zombies; why shouldn't
Richard have a pet project? Fair hiring practices for the furry. It
worked for me.
"You are being tactful, ma petite. I would
not have thought it of you." Jean-Claude was in the hallway. I
hadn't heard him walk up. But I'd been distracted, talking with
Richard. Yeah, that was it.
"Could you stamp your feet next time? I'm getting
sick of you sneaking up on me."
"I wasn't sneaking, ma petite. You were
distracted talking to our handsome Mr. Zeeman." His voice was
pleasant, mild as honey, and yet there was a threat to it. You
could feel it like a cold wind down your spine.
"What's wrong, Jean-Claude?" I asked.
"Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?" Anger and some
bitter amusement flowed through his voice.
"Cut it out, Jean-Claude."
"Whatever could be the matter, ma
petite?"
"You're angry; why?"
"My human servant does not know my every mood.
Shameful." He knelt beside me. The blood on his white shirt had
dried to a brownish stain that took up most of the shirt front. The
lace at his sleeves looked like crumpled brown flowers. "Do you
lust after Richard because he's handsome, or because he's human?"
His voice was almost a whisper, intimate as if he'd said something
entirely different. Jean-Claude whispered better than anyone else I
knew.
"I don't lust after him."
"Come, come, ma petite. No lies." He leaned
towards me, long-fingered hand reaching for my cheek. There was
dried blood on his hand.
"You've got blood under your fingernails," I
said.
He flinched, his hand squeezing into a fist. Point
for my side. "You reject me at every turn. Why do I put up with
it?"
"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "I keep hoping
you'll get tired of me."
"I am hoping to have you with me forever, ma
petite. I would not make the offer if I thought I would grow
bored."
"I think I would get tired of you," I said.
His eyes widened a bit. I think it was real surprise.
"You are trying to taunt me."
I shrugged. "Yes, but it's still the truth. I'm
attracted to you, but I don't love you. We don't have stimulating
conversations. I don't go through my day saying 'I must remember to
share that joke with Jean-Claude, or tell him about what happened
at work tonight.' I ignore you when you let me. The only things we
have in common are violence and the dead. I don't think that's much
to base a relationship on."
"My, aren't we the philosopher tonight." His midnight
blue eyes were only inches from mine. The eyelashes looked like
black lace.
"Just being honest."
"We wouldn't want you to be less than honest," he
said. "I know how you despise lies." He glanced at Richard. "How
you despise monsters."
"Why are you angry with Richard?"
"Am I?" he said.
"You know damn well you are."
"Perhaps, Anita, I am realizing that the one thing
you want is the one thing I cannot give you."
"And what do I want?"
"Me to be human," he said softly.
I shook my head. "If you think your only shortcoming
is being a vampire, you're wrong."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You're an egotistical, overbearing bully."
"A bully?" He sounded genuinely surprised.
"You want me, so you can't believe that I don't want
you. Your needs, your desires are more important than anyone
else's."
"You are my human servant, ma petite. It
makes our lives complicated."
"I am not your human servant."
"I have marked you, Anita Blake. You are my human
servant."
"No," I said. It was a very firm no, but my stomach
was tight with the thought that he was right, and I would never be
free of him.
He stared at me. His eyes were as normal as they ever
got, dark, blue, lovely. "If you had not been my human servant, I
could not have defeated the snake god so easily."
"You mind-raped me, Jean-Claude. I don't care why you
did it."
A look of distaste spread across his face. "If you
choose the word rape, then you know that I am not guilty of that
particular crime. Nikolaos forced herself on you. She tore at your
mind, ma petite. If you had not carried two of my marks,
she would have destroyed you."
Anger was bubbling up from my gut, spreading up my
back and into my arms. I had this horrible urge to hit him. "And
because of the marks you can enter my mind, take me over. You told
me it made mind games harder on me, not easier. Did you lie about
that, too?"
"My need was great tonight, Anita. Many people would
have died if the creature had not been stopped. I drew power where
I could find it."
"From me."
"Yes, you are my human servant. Just by being near me
you increase my power. You know that."
I had known that, but I hadn't known he could channel
power through me like an amplifier. "I know I'm some sort of
witch's familiar for you."
"If you would allow the last two marks, it would be
more than that. It would be a marriage of flesh, blood, and
spirit."
"I notice you didn't say soul," I said.
He made an exasperated sound low in his throat. "You
are insufferable." He sounded genuinely angry. Goody.
"Don't you ever force your way into my mind
again."
"Or what?" The words were a challenge, angry,
confused.
I was on my knees beside him nearly spitting into his
face. I had to stop and take a few deep breaths to keep from
screaming at him. I spoke very calmly, low and angry. "If you ever
touch me like that again, I will kill you."
"You will try." His face was nearly pressed against
mine. As if when he inhaled, he would bring me to him. Our lips
would touch. I remembered how soft his lips were. How it felt to be
pressed against his chest. The roughness of his cross-shaped burn
under my fingers. I jerked back, and felt almost dizzy.
It had only been one kiss, but the memory of it
burned along my body like every bad romance novel you'd ever read.
"Leave me alone!" I hissed it in his face, hands balled into fists.
"Damn you! Damn you!"
The office door opened, and a uniformed officer stuck
his head out. "There a problem out here?"
We turned and stared at him. I opened my mouth to
tell him exactly what was wrong, but Jean-Claude spoke first. "No
problem, officer."
It was a lie, but what was the truth? That I had two
vampire marks on me and was losing my soul a piece at a time. Not
something I really wanted to be common knowledge. The police sort
of frown on people who have close ties with the monsters.
The officer was looking at us, waiting. I shook my
head. "Nothing's wrong, officer. It's just late. Could you ask
Sergeant Storr if I can go home now?"
"What's the name?"
"Anita Blake."
"Storr's pet animator?"
I sighed. "Yeah, that Anita Blake."
"I'll ask." The uniform stared at the three of us for
a minute. "You got anything to add to this?" He was speaking to
Richard.
"No."
The uniform nodded. "Okay, but keep whatever isn't
happening to a dull roar."
"Of course. Always glad to cooperate with the
police," Jean-Claude said.
He nodded his thanks and went back into the office.
We were left kneeling in the hallway. The shapeshifter was still
asleep on the floor. His breathing made a quiet noise that didn't
so much fill the silence as emphasize it. Richard was motionless,
dark eyes staring at Jean-Claude. I was suddenly very aware that
Jean-Claude and I were only inches apart. I could feel the line of
his body like warmth against my skin. His eyes flicked from my face
down my body. I was still wearing only a bra underneath the
unzipped jacket.
Goosebumps rolled up my arms and down my chest. My
nipples hardened as if he had touched them. My stomach clenched
with a need that had nothing to do with blood.
"Stop it!"
"I am doing nothing, ma petite. It is your
own desire that rolls over your skin, not mine."
I swallowed and had to look away from him. Okay, I
lusted after him. Great, fine, it didn't mean a thing. Ri-ight. I
scooted away from him, putting my back to the wall, not looking at
him as I spoke. "I came here tonight for information, not to play
footsie with the Master of the City."
Richard was just sitting there, meeting my eyes.
There was no embarrassment, just interest, as if he didn't know
quite what I was. It wasn't an unfriendly look.
"Footsie," Jean-Claude said. I didn't need to see his
face to hear the smile in his voice.
"You know what I mean."
"I've never heard it called 'footsie' before."
"Stop doing that."
"What?"
I glared at him, but his eyes were sparkling with
laughter. A slow smile touched his lips. He looked very human just
then.
"What did you want to discuss, ma petite? It
must be something very important to make you come near me
voluntarily."
I searched his face for mockery, or anger, or
anything, but his face was as smooth and pleasant as carved marble.
The smile, the sparkling humor in his eyes, was like a mask. I had
no way of telling what lay underneath. I wasn't even sure I wanted
to know.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly through my
mouth. "Alright. Where were you last night?" I looked at his face,
trying to catch any change of expression.
"Here," he said.
"All night?"
He smiled. "Yes."
"Can you prove it?"
The smile widened. "Do I need to?"
"Maybe," I said.
He shook his head. "Coyness, from you, ma
petite. It does not become you."
So much for being slick and trying to pull
information from the Master. "Are you sure you want this discussed
in public?"
"You mean Richard?"
"Yes."
"Richard and I have no secrets from one another,
ma petite. He is my human hands and eyes, since you refuse
to be."
"What's that mean? I thought you could only have one
human servant at a time."
"So you admit it." His voice held a slow curl of
triumph.
"This isn't a game, Jean-Claude. People died
tonight."
"Believe me, ma petite, whether you take the
last marks and become my servant in more than name is no game to
me."
"There was a murder last night," I said. Maybe if I
concentrated just on the crime, on my job, I could avoid the verbal
pitfalls.
"And?" he prompted.
"It was a vampire victim."
"Ah," he said, "my part in this becomes clear."
"I'm glad you find it funny," I said.
"Dying from vampire bites is only temporarily fatal,
ma petite. Wait until the third night when the victim
rises, then question him." The humor died from his eyes. "What is
it that you are not telling me?"
"I found at least five different bite radiuses on the
victim."
Something flickered behind his eyes. I wasn't sure
what, but it was real emotion. Surprise, fear, guilt?
Something.
"So you are looking for a rogue master vampire."
"Yep. Know any?"
He laughed. His whole face lit up from the inside, as
if someone had lit a candle behind his skin. In one wild moment he
was so beautiful, it made my chest ache. But it wasn't a beauty
that made me want to touch it. I remembered a Bengal tiger that I'd
seen once in a zoo. It was big enough to ride on like a pony. Its
fur was orange, black, cream, oyster-shell white. Its eyes were
gold. The heavy paws wider than my outspread hand paced, paced,
back and forth, back and forth, until it had worn a path in the
dirt. Some genius had put one barred wall so close to the fence
that held back the crowd, I could have reached through and touched
the tiger easily. I had to ball my hands into fists and shove them
in my pockets to keep from reaching through those bars and petting
that tiger. It was so close, so beautiful, so wild, so . . .
tempting.
I hugged my knees to my chest, hands clasped tight
together. The tiger would have taken my hand off, and yet there was
that small part of me that regretted not reaching through the bars.
I watched Jean-Claude's face, felt his laughter like velvet running
down my spine. Would part of me always wonder what it would have
been like if I had just said yes? Probably. But I could live with
it.
He was staring at me, the laughter dying from his
eyes like the last bit of light seeping from the sky. "What are you
thinking, ma petite?"
"Can't you read my mind?" I asked.
"You know I cannot."
"I don't know anything about you, Jean-Claude, not a
bloody thing."
"You know more about me than anyone else in the
city."
"Yasmeen included?"
He lowered his eyes, almost embarrassed. "We are very
old friends."
"How old?"
He met my eyes, but his face was empty, blank. "Old
enough."
"That's not an answer," I said.
"No," he said, "it is an evasion."
So he wasn't going to answer my question; what else
was new? "Are there any other master vampires in town besides you,
Malcolm, and Yasmeen?"
He shook his head. "Not to my knowledge."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what I said."
"You're the Master of the City. Aren't you supposed
to know?"
"Things are a little unsettled, ma
petite."
"Explain that."
He shrugged, and even in the bloodstained shirt it
looked graceful. "Normally, as Master of the City, all other lesser
master vampires would need my permission to stay in the city,
but"—he shrugged again—"there are those who think I am not strong
enough to hold the city."
"You've been challenged?"
"Let us just say I am expecting to be
challenged."
"Why?" I asked.
"The other masters were afraid of Nikolaos," he
said.
"And they're not afraid of you." It wasn't a
question.
"Unfortunately, no."
"Why not?"
"They are not as easily impressed as you are, ma
petite."
I started to say I wasn't impressed, but it wasn't
true. Jean-Claude could smell it when I lied, so why bother?
"So there could be another master in the city without
your knowledge."
"Yes."
"Wouldn't you sort of sense each other?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not."
"Thanks for clearing that up."
He rubbed fingertips across his forehead as if he had
a headache. Did vampires get headaches? "I cannot tell you what I
do not know."
"Would the . . ." I groped for a word, and couldn't
find one—"more mundane vampires be able to kill someone without
your permission?"
"Mundane?"
"Just answer the damn question."
"Yes, they could."
"Would five vampires hunt in a pack without a master
vampire to referee?"
He nodded. "Very nice choice of word, ma
petite, and the answer is no. We are solitary hunters, given a
choice."
I nodded. "So either you, Malcolm, Yasmeen, or some
mysterious master is behind it."
"Not Yasmeen. She is not strong enough."
"Okay, then you, Malcolm, or a mysterious
master."
"Do you really think I have gone rogue?" He was
smiling at me, but his eyes held something more serious. Did it
matter to him what I thought of him? I hoped not.
"I don't know."
"You would confront me, thinking I might be insane?
How indiscreet of you."
"If you don't like the answer, you shouldn't have
asked the question," I said.
"Very true."
The office door opened. Dolph came out, notebook in
hand. "You can go home, Anita. I'll check the statements with you
tomorrow."
I nodded. "Thanks."
"Heh, I know where you live." He smiled.
I smiled back. "Thanks, Dolph." I stood up.
Jean-Claude stood in one smooth motion like he was a
puppet pulled up by invisible strings. Richard stood slower, using
the wall to stand, as if he were stiff. Standing, Richard was
taller than Jean-Claude by at least three inches. Which made
Richard six-one. Almost too tall for my taste, but no one was
asking me.
"And could we talk to you some more, Jean-Claude?"
Dolph said.
Jean-Claude said, "Of course, detective." He walked
down the hall. There was a stiffness in the way he moved. Did
vampires bruise? Had he been hurt in the fight? Did it matter? No,
no, it didn't. In a way Jean-Claude was right; if he had been
human, even an egotistical son of a bitch, there might have been
possibilities. I'm not prejudiced, but God help me, the man has to
at least be alive. Walking corpses, no matter how pretty, are just
not my cup of tea. Dolph held the door for Jean-Claude.
Dolph looked back at us. "You're free to go, too, Mr.
Zeeman."
"What about my friend Stephen?"
Dolph glanced at the sleeping shapeshifter. "Take him
home. Let him sleep it off. I'll talk to him tomorrow." He glanced
at his wristwatch. "Make that later today."
"I'll tell Stephen when he wakes up."
Dolph nodded and closed the door. We were alone in
the buzzing silence of the hallway. Of course, maybe it was just my
own ears buzzing.
"Now what?" Richard said.
"We go home," I said.
"Rashida drove."
I frowned. "Who?"
"The other shapeshifter, the woman whose arm was torn
up."
I nodded. "Take Stephen's car."
"Rashida drove us both."
I shook my head. "So you're stranded."
"Looks that way."
"You could call a cab," I said.
"No money." He almost smiled.
"Fine; I'll drive you home."
"And Stephen?"
"And Stephen," I said. I was smiling and I didn't
know why, but it was better than crying.
"You don't even know where I live. It could be Kansas
City."
"If it's a ten-hour drive, you're on your own," I
said. "But if it's reasonable, I'll drive you."
"Is Meramec Heights reasonable?"
"Sure."
"Let me get the rest of my clothes," he asked.
"You look fully dressed to me," I said.
"I've got a coat around here somewhere."
"I'll wait here," I said.
"You'll watch Stephen?" Something like fear crossed
his face, filled his eyes.
"What are you afraid of?" I asked.
"Airplanes, guns, large predators, and master
vampires."
"I agree with two out of four," I said.
"I'll go get my coat."
I slid down to sit beside the sleeping werewolf.
"We'll be waiting."
"Then I'll hurry." He smiled when he said it. He had
a very nice smile.
Richard came back wearing a long black coat. It
looked like real leather. It flapped like a cape around his bare
chest. I liked the way the leather framed his chest. He buttoned
the coat and tied the leather belt tight. The black leather went
with the long hair and handsome face; the grey sweats and Nikes did
not. He knelt and picked Stephen up in his arms, then stood. The
leather creaked as his upper arms strained. Stephen was my height
and probably didn't weigh twenty pounds more than I did. Petite.
Richard carried him like he wasn't heavy.
"My, my, grandmother, what strong arms you have."
"Is my line, 'The better to hold you with'?" He was
looking at me very steadily.
I felt heat creeping up my face. I hadn't meant to
flirt, not on purpose. "You want a ride, or not?" My voice was
rough, angry with embarrassment.
"I want a ride," he said quietly.
"Then can the sarcasm."
"I wasn't being sarcastic."
I stared up at him. His eyes were perfectly brown
like chocolate. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say
anything. A tactic I should probably use more often.
I turned and walked away, fishing my car keys out as
I moved. Richard followed behind. Stephen snuffled against his
chest, pulling the blanket close in his sleep.
"Is your car very far?"
"A few blocks; why?"
"Stephen isn't dressed for the cold."
I frowned at him. "What, you want me to drive the car
around and pick you up?"
"That would be very nice," he said.
I opened my mouth to say no, then closed it. The thin
blanket wasn't much protection, and some of Stephen's injuries were
from saving my life. I could drive the car around.
I satisfied myself with grumbling under my breath, "I
can't believe I'm a door-to-door taxi for a werewolf."
Richard either didn't hear me, or chose to ignore it.
Smart, handsome, junior high science teacher, degree in
preternatural biology, what more could I ask for? Give me a minute
and I'd think of something.
Chapter 9
The car rode in its own tunnel of darkness. The headlights were
a moving circle of light. The October night closed behind the car
like a door.
Stephen was asleep in the back seat of my Nova. Richard sat in
the passenger seat, half-turned in his seat belt to look at me. It
was just polite to look at someone when you talk to them. But I
felt at a disadvantage because I had to watch the road. All he had
to do was stare at me.
"What do you do in your spare time?" Richard asked.
I shook my head. "I don't have spare time."
"Hobbies?"
"I don't think I have any of those, either."
"You must do something besides shoot large snakes in the head,"
he said.
I smiled and glanced at him. He leaned towards me as much as the
seat belt would allow. He was smiling, too, but there was something
in his eyes, or his posture, that said he was serious. Interested
in what I would say.
"I'm an animator," I said.
He clasped his hands together, left elbow propped on the back of
the seat. "Okay, when you're not raising the dead, what do you
do?"
"Work on preternatural crimes with the police, mostly
murders."
"And?" he said.
"And I execute rogue vampires."
"And?"
"And nothing," I said. I glanced at him again. In the dark I
couldn't see his eyes, their color was too dark for that, but I
could feel his gaze. Probably imagination. Yeah. I'd been hanging
around Jean-Claude too long. The smell of Richard's leather coat
mingled with a faint whiff of his cologne. Something expensive and
sweet. It went very nicely with the smell of leather.
"I work. I exercise. I go out with friends." I shrugged. "What
do you do when you're not teaching?"
"Scuba diving, caving, bird watching, gardening, astronomy." His
smile was a dim whiteness in the near dark.
"You must have a lot more free time than I do."
"Actually, the teacher always has more homework than the
students," he said.
"Sorry to hear that."
He shrugged, the leather creaked and slithered over his skin.
Good leather always moved like it was still alive.
"Do you watch TV?" he asked.
"My television broke two years ago, and I never replaced
it."
"You must do something for fun."
I thought about it. "I collect toy penguins." The minute I said
it, I wished I hadn't.
He grinned at me. "Now we're getting somewhere. The Executioner
collects stuffed toys. I like it."
"Glad to hear it." My voice sounded grumpy even to me.
"What's wrong?" he said.
"I'm not very good at small talk," I said.
"You were doing fine."
No, I wasn't, but I wasn't sure how to explain it to him. I
didn't like talking about myself to strangers. Especially strangers
with ties to Jean-Claude.
"What do you want from me?" I said.
"I'm just passing the time."
"No, you weren't." His shoulder-length hair had fallen around
his face. He was taller, thicker, but the outline was familiar. He
looked like Phillip in the shadowed dark. Phillip was the only
other human being I'd ever seen with the monsters.
Phillip sagged in the chains. Blood poured in a bright red flood
down his chest. It splattered onto the floor, like rain. Torchlight
glittered on the wet bone of his spine. Someone had ripped his
throat out.
I staggered against the wall as if someone had hit me. I
couldn't get enough air. Someone kept whispering, "Oh, God, oh,
God," over and over, and it was me. I walked down the steps with my
back pressed against the wall. I couldn't take my eyes from him.
Couldn't look away. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't cry.
The torchlight reflected in his eyes, giving the illusion of
movement. A scream built in my gut and spilled out my throat.
"Phillip!"
Something cold slithered up my spine. I was sitting in my car
with the ghost of guilty conscience. It hadn't been my fault that
Phillip died. I certainly didn't kill him, but . . . but I still
felt guilty. Someone should have saved him, and since I was the
last one with a chance to do it, it should have been me. Guilt is a
many splendored thing.
"What do you want from me, Richard?" I asked.
"I don't want anything," he said.
"Lies are ugly things, Richard."
"What makes you think I'm lying?"
"Finely honed instinct," I said.
"Has it really been that long since a man tried to make polite
small talk with you?"
I started to look at him, and decided not to. It had been that
long. "The last person who flirted with me was murdered. It makes a
girl a little cautious."
He was quiet for a minute. "Fair enough, but I still want to
know more about you."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
He had me there. "How do I know Jean-Claude didn't tell you to
make friends?"
"Why would he do that?"
I shrugged.
"Okay, let's start over. Pretend we met at the health club."
"Health club?" I said.
He smiled. "Health club. I thought you looked great in your
swimsuit."
"Sweats," I said.
He nodded. "You looked cute in your sweats."
"I liked looking great better."
"If I get to imagine you in a swimsuit, you can look great;
sweats only get cute."
"Fair enough."
"We made pleasant small talk and I asked you out."
I had to look at him. "Are you asking me out?"
"Yes, I am."
I shook my head and turned back to the road. "I don't think
that's a good idea."
"Why not?" he asked.
"I told you."
"Just because one person got killed on you doesn't mean everyone
will."
I gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make my hands hurt.
"I was eight when my mother died. My father remarried when I was
ten." I shook my head. "People go away and they don't come
back."
"Sounds scary." His voice was soft and low.
I didn't know what had made me say that. I didn't usually talk
about my mother to strangers, or anybody else for that matter.
"Scary," I said softly. "You could say that."
"If you never let anyone get close to you, you don't get hurt,
is that it?"
"There are also a lot of very jerky men in the
twenty-one-to-thirty age group," I said.
He grinned. "I'll give you that. Nice-looking, intelligent,
independent women are not exactly plentiful either."
"Stop with the compliments, or you'll have me blushing."
"You don't strike me as someone who blushes easily."
A picture flashed in my mind. Richard Zeeman naked beside the
bed, struggling into his sweat pants. It hadn't embarrassed me at
the time. It was only now, with him so warm and close in the car,
that I thought about it. A warm flush crept up my face. I blushed
in the dark, glad he couldn't see. I didn't want him to know I was
thinking about what he looked like without his clothes on. I don't
usually do that. Of course, I don't usually see a man buck naked
before I've even gone out on a date. Come to think of it, I didn't
see men naked on dates either.
"We're in the health club, sipping fruit juice, and I ask you
out."
I stared very hard at the road. I kept flashing on the smooth
line of his thigh and lower things. It was embarrassing, but the
harder I tried not to think about it, the clearer the picture
seemed to get.
"Movies and dinner?" I said.
"No," he said. "Something unique. Caving."
"You mean crawling around in a cave on a first date?"
"Have you ever been caving?"
"Once."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"We were sneaking up on bad guys at the time. I didn't think
much about enjoying it."
"Then you have to give it another chance. I go caving at least
twice a month. You get to wear your oldest clothes and get really
dirty, and no one tells you not to play in the mud."
"Mud?" I said.
"Too messy for you?"
"I was a bio-lab assistant in college; nothing's too messy for
me."
"At least you can say you get to use your degree in your
work."
I laughed. "True."
"I use my degree, too, but I went in for educating the
munchkins."
"Do you like teaching?"
"Very much." Those two words held a warmth and excitement that
you didn't hear much when people talked about their work.
"I like my job, too."
"Even when it forces you to play with vampires and zombies?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"We're sitting in the juice bar, and I've just asked you out.
What do you say?"
"I should say no."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"You sound suspicious."
"Always," I said.
"Never taking a chance is the worst failure of all, Anita."
"Not dating is a choice, not a failure." I was feeling a wee bit
defensive.
"Say you'll go caving this weekend." The leather coat crinkled
and moved as he tried to move closer to me than the seat belt would
allow. He could have reached out and touched me. Part of me wanted
him to, which was sort of embarrassing all on its own.
I started to say no, then realized I wanted to say yes. Which
was silly. But I was enjoying sitting in the dark with the smell of
leather and cologne. Call it chemistry, instant lust, whatever. I
liked Richard. He flipped my switch. It had been a long time since
I had liked anybody.
Jean-Claude didn't count. I wasn't sure why, but he didn't.
Being dead might have something to do with that.
"Alright, I'll go caving. When and where?"
"Great. Meet in front of my house at, say, ten o'clock on
Saturday."
"Ten in the morning?" I said.
"Not a morning person?" he asked.
"Not particularly."
"We have to start early, or we won't get to the end of the cave
in one day. "
"What do I wear?"
"Your oldest clothes. I'll be dressed in coveralls over
jeans."
"I've got coveralls." I didn't mention that I used my coveralls
to keep blood off my clothes. Mud sounded a lot more friendly.
"Great. I'll bring the rest of the equipment you need."
"How much more equipment do I need?"
"A hard hat, a light, maybe knee pads."
"Sounds like a boffo first date," I said.
"It will be," he said. His voice was soft, low, and somehow more
private than just sitting in my car. It wasn't Jean-Claude's
magical voice, but then what was?
"Turn right here," he said, pointing to a side street. "Third
house on the right."
I pulled into a short, blacktopped driveway. The house was half
brick and some pale color. It was hard to tell in the dark. There
were no streetlights to help you see. You forget how dark the night
can be without electricity.
Richard unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. "Thanks for
the ride."
"Do you need help getting him inside?" My hand was on the key as
I asked.
"No, I got it. Thanks, though."
"Don't mention it."
He stared at me. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Not yet," I said.
He smiled, a quick flash in the darkness. "Good." He unlocked
the back door behind him, and got out of the car. He leaned in and
scooped Stephen up, holding the blanket close so it didn't slide
off. He lifted with his legs more than his back; weightlifting will
teach you that. A human body is a lot harder to lift than even free
weights. A body just isn't balanced as well as a barbell.
Richard shut the car door with his back. The back door clicked
shut, and I unbuckled my seat belt so I could lock the doors.
Through the still-open passenger side door Richard was watching me
. Over the idling of the car's engine his voice carried, "Locking
out the boogeymen?"
"You never know," I said.
He nodded. "Yeah." There was something in that one word that was
sad, wistful, innocence lost. It was nice to talk with another
person who understood. Dolph and Zerbrowski understood the violence
and the nearness of death, but they didn't understand the
monsters.
I closed the door and scooted back behind the steering wheel. I
buckled my seat belt and put the car in gear. The headlights
sparkled over Richard, Stephen's hair like a yellow splash in his
arms. Richard was still staring at me. I left him in the dark in
front of his house with the singing of autumn crickets the only
sound.
Chapter 10
I pulled up in front of my apartment building at a little after
2:00 A.M. I'd planned to be in bed a long time before this. The new
cross-shaped burn was a burning, acid-eating ache. It made my whole
chest hurt. My ribs and stomach were sore, stiff. I turned on the
dome light in the car and unzipped the leather jacket. In the
yellow light bruises were blossoming across my skin. For a minute I
couldn't think how I'd gotten hurt; then I remembered the crushing
weight of the snake crawling over me. Jesus. I was lucky it was
bruises and not broken ribs.
I clicked off the light and zipped the jacket back up. The
shoulder straps were chafing on my bare skin, but the burn hurt so
much more that the bruises and the chafing seemed pretty darn
minor. A good burn will take your mind off everything else.
The light that usually burned over the stairs was out. Not the
first time. I'd have to call the office once it opened for the day
and report it, though. If you didn't report it, it didn't get
fixed.
I was three steps up before I saw the man. He was sitting at the
head of the stairs waiting for me. Short blond hair, pale in the
darkness. His hands sat on the top of his knees, palms up to show
that he didn't have a weapon. Well, that he didn't have a weapon
in his hands. Edward always had a weapon unless someone
had taken it away from him.
Come to think of it, so did I.
"Long time no see, Edward."
"Three months," he said. "Long enough for my broken arm to heal
completely."
I nodded. "I got my stitches out about two months ago."
He just sat on the steps looking down at me.
"What do you want, Edward?"
"Couldn't it be a social call?" He was laughing at me,
quietly.
"It's two o'clock in the freaking morning; it better not be a
social call."
"Would you rather it was business?" His voice was soft, but it
carried.
I shook my head. "No, no." I never wanted to be business for
Edward. He specialized in killing lycanthropes, vampires, anything
that used to be human and wasn't anymore. He'd gotten bored with
killing people. Too easy.
"Is it business?" My voice was steady, no tremble. Good for me.
I could draw the Browning, but if we ever drew down on each other
for real, he'd kill me. Being friends with Edward was like being
friends with a tame leopard. You could pet it and it seemed to like
you, but you knew deep down that if it ever got hungry enough, or
angry enough, it would kill you. Kill you and eat the flesh from
your bones.
"Just information tonight, Anita, no problems."
"What sort of information?" I asked.
He smiled again. Friendly ol' Edward. Ri-ight.
"Can we go inside and talk about it? It's freezing out here," he
said.
"The last time you were in town you didn't seem to need an
invitation to break into my apartment."
"You've got a new lock."
I grinned. "You couldn't pick it, could you?" I was genuinely
pleased.
He shrugged; maybe it was the darkness, but if it hadn't been
Edward, I'd have said he was embarrassed.
"The locksmith told me it was burglarproof," I said.
"I didn't bring my battering ram with me," he said.
"Come on up. I'll fix coffee." I stepped around him. He stood
and followed me. I turned my back on him without worrying. Edward
might shoot me someday, but he wouldn't do it in the back after
telling me he was just here to talk. Edward wasn't honorable, but
he had rules. If he planned to kill me, he'd have announced it.
Told me how much people were paying him to off me. Watched the fear
slide through my eyes.
Yeah, Edward had rules. He just had fewer of them than most
people did. But he never broke a rule, never betrayed his own
skewed sense of honor. If he said I was safe for tonight, he meant
it. It would have been nice if Jean-Claude had had rules.
The hallway was middle-of-the-night, middle-of-the-week,
had-to-get-up-in-the-morning quiet. My day living neighbors were
all asnooze in their beds without care. I unlocked the new locks on
my door and ushered Edward inside.
"That's a new look for you, isn't it?" he asked.
"What?"
"What happened to your shirt?"
"Oh." Suave comebacks, that's me. I didn't know what to say, or
rather, how much to say.
"You've been playing with vampires again," he said.
"What makes you think so?" I asked.
"The cross-shaped burn on your, ah, chest."
Oh, that. Fine. I unzipped the jacket and folded it over the
back of the couch. I stood there in my bra and shoulder holster and
met his eyes without blushing. Brownie point for me. I undid the
belt and slipped out of the shoulder holster, then took it into the
kitchen with me. I laid the gun still in its holster on the
countertop and got coffee beans out of the freezer, wearing just my
bra and jeans. In front of any other male, alive or dead, I would
have been embarrassed, but not Edward. There had never been sexual
tension between us. We might shoot each other one fine day, but
we'd never sleep together. He was more interested in the fresh burn
than my breasts.
"How'd it happen?" he asked.
I ground the beans in the little electric spice mill I'd bought
for the occasion. Just the smell of freshly ground coffee made me
feel better. I put a filter in my Mr. Coffee, poured the coffee in,
poured the water in, and pushed the button. This was about as fancy
as my cooking skills got.
"I'm going to get a shirt to throw on," I said.
"The burn won't like anything touching it," Edward said.
"I won't button it, then."
"Are you going to tell me how you got burned?"
"Yes." I took my gun and walked into the bedroom. In the back of
my closet I had a long-sleeved shirt that had once been purple but
had faded to a soft lilac. It was a man's dress shirt and hung down
nearly to my knees, but it was comfortable. I rolled the sleeves up
to my elbows and buttoned it halfway up. I left it gapping over the
burn. I glanced in the mirror and found that most of my cleavage
was covered. Perfect.
I hesitated but finally put the Browning Hi-Power in its holster
behind the headboard. Edward and I weren't fighting tonight, and
anything that came through the door, with its new locks, would have
to go through Edward first. I felt pretty safe.
He was sitting on my couch, legs out in front of him crossed at
the ankle. He'd sunk down until the top of his shoulders rested on
the couch's arm.
"Make yourself at home," I said.
He just smiled. "Are you going to tell me about the
vampires?"
"Yes, but I'm having trouble deciding exactly how much to tell
you."
The smile widened. "Naturally."
I set out two mugs, sugar, and real cream from the refrigerator.
The coffee dripped into the little glass pot. The smell was rich,
warm, and thick enough to wrap your arms around.
"How do you like your coffee?"
"Fix it the way you'd fix it for yourself."
I glanced back at him. "No preference?"
He shook his head, still resting against the couch arm.
"Okay." I poured the coffee into the mugs, added three sugars
and a lot of cream to each, stirred, and sat them on the two-seater
breakfast table.
"You're not going to bring it to me?"
"You don't drink coffee on a white couch," I said.
"Ah." He got up in one smooth motion, all grace and energy. He'd
have been very impressive if I hadn't spent most of the night with
vampires.
We sat across from each other. His eyes were the color of spring
skies, that warm pale blue that still manages to look cold. His
face was pleasant, his eyes neutral and watching everything I
did.
I told him about Yasmeen and Marguerite. I left out Jean-Claude,
the vampire murder, the giant cobra, Stephen the Werewolf, and Rick
Zeeman. Which meant it was a very short story.
When I finished Edward sat there, sipping his coffee and staring
at me.
I sipped coffee and stared back.
"That does explain the burn," he said.
"Great," I said.
"But you left out a lot."
"How do you know?"
"Because I was following you."
I stared at him, choking on my coffee. When I could talk without
coughing, I said, "You were what?"
"Following you," he said. His eyes were still neutral, smile
still pleasant.
"Why?"
"I've been hired to kill the Master of the City."
"You were hired for that three months ago."
"Nikolaos is dead; the new master isn't."
"You didn't kill Nikolaos," I said. "I did."
"True; you want half the money?"
I shook my head.
"Then what's your complaint? I got my arm broken helping you
kill her."
"And I got fourteen stitches, and we both got vampire bit," I
said.
"And cleansed ourselves with holy water," Edward said.
"Which burns likes acid," I said.
Edward nodded, sipped his coffee. Something moved behind his
eyes, something liquid and dangerous. His expression hadn't
changed, I'd swear to it, but it was suddenly all I could do to
meet his eyes.
"Why were you following me, Edward?"
"I was told you would be meeting with the new Master
tonight."
"Who told you that?"
He shook his head, that inscrutable smile curling his lips. "I
was inside the Circus tonight, Anita. I saw who you were with. You
played with the vampires, then you went home, so one of them has to
be the Master."
I fought to keep my face blank, too blank, so the effort showed,
but the panic didn't show. Edward had been following me, and I
hadn't known it. He knew all the vampires I had seen tonight. It
wasn't that big a list. He'd figure it out.
"Wait a minute," I said. "You let me go up against that snake
without helping me?"
"I came in after the crowd ran out. It was almost over by the
time I peeked into the tent."
I drank coffee and tried to think of a way to make this better.
He had a contract to kill the Master, and I had led him right to
him. I had betrayed Jean-Claude. Why did that bother me?
Edward was watching my face as if he would memorize it. He was
waiting for my face to betray me. I worked hard at being blank and
inscrutable. He smiled that close, canary-eating grin of his. He
was enjoying himself. I was not.
"You only saw four vampires tonight: Jean-Claude, the dark
exotic one who must be Yasmeen, and the two blonds. You got names
for the blonds?"
I shook my head.
His smile widened. "Would you tell me if you had?"
"Maybe."
"The blonds aren't important," he said. "Neither of them were
master vamps."
I stared at him, forcing my face to be neutral, pleasant,
attentive, blank. Blank is not one of my better expressions, but
maybe if I practiced enough . . .
"That leaves Jean-Claude and Yasmeen. Yasmeen's new in town;
that just leaves Jean-Claude."
"Do you really think that the Master of the freaking City would
show himself like that?" I put all the scorn I could find into my
voice. I wasn't the best actor in the world, but maybe I could
learn.
Edward stared at me. "It's Jean-Claude, isn't it?"
"Jean-Claude isn't powerful enough to hold the city. You know
that. He's, what, a little over two hundred? Not old enough."
He frowned at me. Good. "It's not Yasmeen."
"True."
"You didn't talk to any other vampires tonight?"
"You may have followed me into the Circus, Edward, but you
didn't listen at the door when I met the Master. You couldn't have.
The vamps or the shapeshifters would have heard you."
He acknowledged it with a nod.
"I saw the Master tonight, but it wasn't anyone who came down to
fight the snake."
"The Master let his people risk their lives and didn't help?"
His smile was back.
"The Master of the City doesn't have to be physically present to
lend his power, you know that."
"No," he said, "I don't."
I shrugged. "Believe it or not." I prayed, please let him
believe.
He was frowning. "You're not usually this good a liar."
"I'm not lying." My voice sounded calm, normal, truthful.
Honesty-R-Us.
"If Jean-Claude really isn't the Master, then you know who
is?"
The question was a trap. I couldn't answer yes to both
questions, but hell, I'd been lying; why stop now? "Yes, I know who
it is."
"Tell me," he said.
I shook my head. "The Master would kill me if he knew I talked
to you."
"We can kill him together like we did the last one." His voice
was terribly reasonable.
I thought about it for a minute. I thought about telling him the
truth. Humans First might not be up to tangling with the Master,
but Edward was. We could kill him together, a team. My life would
be a lot simpler. I shook my head and sighed. Shit.
"I can't, Edward."
"Won't," he said.
I nodded. "Won't."
"If I believe you, Anita, it means I need the name of the
Master. It means you are the only human who knows that name." The
friendly banter seeped out of his face like melting ice. His eyes
were as empty and pitiless as a winter sky. There was no one home
that I could talk to.
"You don't want to be the only human who knows the name,
Anita."
He was right. I didn't, but what could I say? "Take it or leave
it, Edward."
"Save yourself a lot of pain, Anita; tell me the name."
He believed. Hot damn. I lowered my eyes to look down into my
coffee so he wouldn't see the flash of triumph in my eyes. When I
looked back up, I had my face under control. Me and Meryl
Streep.
"I don't give in to threats, you know that."
He nodded. He finished his coffee and sat the mug in the middle
of the table. "I will do whatever is necessary to finish this
job."
"I never doubted that," I said. He was talking about torturing
me for information. He sounded almost regretful, but that wouldn't
stop him. One of Edward's primary rules was "Always finish a
job."
He wouldn't let a little thing like friendship ruin his perfect
record.
"You saved my life, and I saved yours," he said. "It doesn't buy
you anything now. You understand that?"
I nodded. "I understand."
"Good." He stood up. I stood up. We looked at each other. He
shook his head. "I'll find you tonight, and I'll ask again."
"I won't be bullied, Edward." I was finally getting a little
mad. He had come in here asking for information; now he was
threatening me. I let the anger show. No acting needed.
"You're tough, Anita, but not that tough." His eyes were
neutral, but wary, like those of a wolf I'd seen once in
California. I'd just walked around a tree and there it had been,
standing. I froze. I had never really understood what neutral meant
until then. The wolf didn't give a damn if it hurt me or not. My
choice. Threaten it, and the shit hit the fan. Give it room to run,
and it would run. But the wolf didn't care; it was prepared either
way. I was the one with my pulse in my throat, so startled that I'd
stopped breathing. I held my breath and wondered what the wolf
would decide. It finally loped off through the trees.
I'd relearned how to breathe and gone back down to the campsite.
I had been scared, but I could still close my eyes and see the
wolf's pale grey eyes. The wonder of staring at a large predator
without any cage bars between us. It had been wonderful.
I stared up at Edward now and knew that this, too, was wonderful
in its way. Whether I had known the information or not, I wouldn't
have told him. No one bullied me. No one. That was one of my
rules.
"I don't want to have to kill you, Edward."
He smiled then. "You kill me?" He was laughing at me.
"You bet," I said.
The laughter seeped out of his eyes, his lips, his face, until
he stared at me with his neutral, predator eyes.
I swallowed and remembered to take slow, even breaths. He would
kill me. Maybe. Maybe not.
"Is the Master worth one of us dying?" I asked.
"It's a matter of principle," he said.
I nodded. "Me, too."
"We know where we stand, then," he said.
"Yeah."
He walked towards the door. I followed, and unlocked the door
for him. He paused in the doorway. "You've got until full dark
tonight."
"The answer will be the same."
"I know," he said. He walked out without even glancing back. I
watched him until he disappeared down the stairs. Then I shut the
door and locked it. I stood leaning my back against the door and
tried to think of a way out.
If I told Jean-Claude, he might be able to kill Edward, but I
didn't give humans to the monsters. Not for any reason. I could
tell Edward about Jean-Claude. He might even be able to kill the
Master. I could even help him.
I tried picturing Jean-Claude's perfect body riddled with
bullets, covered in blood. His face blown away by a shotgun. I
shook my head. I couldn't do it. I didn't know why exactly, but I
couldn't hand Jean-Claude over to Edward.
I couldn't betray either of them. Which left me ass-deep in
alligators. So what else was new?
Chapter 11
I stood on the shore under a black fringe of trees. The black
lake lapped and rolled away into the dark. The moon hung huge and
silver in the sky. The moonlight made glittering patterns on the
water. Jean-Claude rose from the water. Water was streaming in
silver lines from his hair and shirt. His short black hair was in
tight curls from being wet. The white shirt clung to his body,
making his nipples clear and hard against the cloth. He held out
his hand to me.
I was wearing a long, dark dress. It was heavy and hung around
me like a weight. Something inside the skirt made it stick out to
either side like a tiny malformed hoop. A heavy cloak was pushed
back over my shoulders. It was autumn, and the moon was
harvest-full.
Jean-Claude said, "Come to me."
I stepped off the shore and sank into the water. It filled the
skirt, soaking into the cloak. I tore the cloak off, letting it
sink out of sight. The water was warm as bath water, warm as blood.
I raised my hand to the moonlight, and the liquid that streamed
down it was thick and dark and had never been water.
I stood in the shallows in a dress that I had never imagined, by
a shore I did not know, and stared at the beautiful monster as he
moved towards me, graceful and covered in blood.
I woke gasping for air, hands clutching at the sheets like a
lifeline. "You promised to stay out of my dreams, you son of a
bitch," I whispered.
The radio clock beside the bed read 2:00 P.M. I'd been asleep
for ten hours. I should have felt better, but I didn't. It was as
if I'd been running from nightmare to nightmare, and hadn't really
gotten to rest. The only dream I remembered was the last one. If
they had all been that bad, I didn't want to remember the rest.
Why was Jean-Claude haunting my dreams again? He'd given his
word, but maybe his word wasn't worth anything. Maybe.
I stripped in front of the bathroom mirror. My ribs and stomach
were covered in deep, nearly purple bruises. My chest was tight
when I breathed, but nothing was broken. The burn on my chest was
raw, the skin blackened where it wasn't covered in blisters. A burn
hurts all the way down, as if the pain burrows from the skin down
to the bone. A burn is the only injury where I am convinced I have
nerve endings below skin level. How could it hurt so damn bad,
otherwise?
I was meeting Ronnie at the health club at three. Ronnie was
short for Veronica. She said it helped her get more work as a
private detective if people assumed she was male. Sad but true. We
would lift weights and jog. I slipped a black sports bra very
carefully over the burn. The elastic pressed in on the bruises, but
everything else was okay. I rubbed the burn with antiseptic cream
and taped a piece of gauze over it. A man's red t-shirt with the
sleeves and neck cut out went over everything else. Black biker
pants, jogging socks with a thin red stripe, and black Nike Airs
completed the outfit.
The t-shirt showed the gauze, but it hid the bruises. Most of
the regulars at the health club were accustomed to my coming in
bruised or worse. They didn't ask a lot of questions anymore.
Ronnie says I was grumpy at them. Fine with me. I like to be left
alone.
I had my coat on, gym bag in hand, when the phone rang. I
debated but finally picked it up. "Talk to me," I said.
"It's Dolph."
My stomach tightened. Was it another murder? "What's up,
Dolph?"
"We got an ID on the John Doe you looked at."
"The vampire victim?"
"Yeah."
I let out the breath I'd been holding. No more murders, and we
were making progress; what could be better?
"Calvin Barnabas Rupert, friends called him Cal. Twenty-six
years old, married to Denise Smythe Rupert for four years. No
children. He was an insurance broker. We haven't been able to turn
up any ties with the vampire community."
"Maybe Mr. Rupert was just in the right place at the wrong
time."
"Random violence?" He made it a question.
"Maybe."
"If it was random, we got no pattern, nothing to look at."
"So you're wondering if I can find out if Cal Rupert had any
ties to the monsters?"
"Yes," he said.
I sighed. "I'll try. Is that it? I'm late for an
appointment."
"That's it. Call me if you find out anything." His voice sounded
positively grim.
"You'd tell me if you found another body, wouldn't you?"
He gave a snort of laughter. "Make you come down and measure the
damn bites, yeah. Why?"
"Your voice sounds grim."
The laughter dribbled out of his voice. "You're the one who said
there'd be more bodies. You changed your mind on that?"
I wanted to say, yes, I've changed my mind, but I didn't. "If
there is a pack of rogue vampires, we'll be seeing more
bodies."
"Can you think of anything else it could be besides vampires?"
he asked.
I thought about it for a minute, and shook my head. "Not a damn
thing."
"Fine, talk to you later." The phone buzzed dead in my hand
before I could say anything. Dolph wasn't much on hello and
good-bye.
I had my back-up gun, a Firestar 9mm, in the pocket of my
jacket. There was just no way to wear a holster in exercise
clothes. The Firestar only held eight bullets to the Browning's
thirteen, but the Browning tended to stick out of my pocket and
make people stare. Besides, if I couldn't get the bad guys with
eight bullets, another five probably wouldn't help. Of course,
there was an extra clip in the zipper pocket of my gym bag. A girl
couldn't be too cautious in these crime-ridden times.
Chapter 12
Ronnie and I were doing power circuits at Vic Tanny's. There
were two full sets of machines and no waiting at 3:14 on a Thursday
afternoon. I was doing the Hip Abduction/Hip Adduction machine. You
pulled a lever on the side and the machine went to different
positions. The Hip Adduction position looked vaguely obscene, like
a gynecological torture device. It was one of the reasons I never
wore shorts when we lifted weights. Ronnie either.
I was concentrating on pressing my thighs together without
making the weights clink. Weights clinking means you're not
controlling the exercise, or it means you're working with too much
weight. I was using sixty pounds. It wasn't too heavy.
Ronnie lay on her stomach using the Leg Curl, flexing her calves
over her back, heels nearly touching her butt. The muscles under
her calves bunched and coiled under her skin. Neither of us is
bulky, but we're solid. Think Linda Hamilton in Terminator
2.
Ronnie finished before I did and paced around the machines
waiting for me. I let the weights ease back with only the slightest
clink. It's okay to clink the weights when you're finished.
We eased out from the machines and started running on the oval
track. The track was bordered by a glass wall that showed the blue
pool. A lone man was doing laps in goggles and a black bathing cap.
The other side was bordered by the free weight room and the
aerobics studio. The ends of the track were mirrored so you could
always see yourself running face on. On bad days I could have done
without watching myself; on good days it was kind of fun. A way to
make sure your stride was even, arms pumping.
I told Ronnie about the vampire victim as we ran. Which meant we
weren't running fast enough. I increased my pace and could still
talk. When you routinely do four miles outside in the St. Louis
heat, the padded track at Vic Tanny is just not that big a
challenge. We did two laps and went back to the machines.
"What did you say the victim's name was again?" She sounded
normal, no strain. I increased our pace to a flat-out run. All
talking ceased.
Arm machines this time. Regular Pull-over for me, Overhead Press
for Ronnie, then two laps of the track, then trade machines.
When I could talk, I answered her question. "Calvin Rupert," I
said. I did twelve pullovers with 100 pounds. Of all the machines,
this one is easiest for me. Weird, huh?
"Cal Rupert?" she asked.
"That's what his friends called him," I said, "Why?"
She shook her head. "I know a Cal Rupert."
I watched her and let my body do the exercise without me. I was
holding my breath, which is bad. I remembered to breathe and said,
"Tell me."
"When I was asking questions around Humans Against Vampires
during that rash of vampire deaths. Cal Rupert belonged to
HAV."
"Describe him for me."
"Blond, blue or grey eyes, not too tall, well built,
attractive."
There might be more than one Cal Rupert in St. Louis, but what
were the odds that they'd look that much alike? "I'll have Dolph
check it out, but if he was a member of HAV, it might mean the
vampire kill was an execution."
"What do you mean?"
"Some of HAV thinks the only good vampire is a dead vampire." I
was thinking of Humans First, Mr. Jeremy Ruebens's little group.
Had they killed a vampire already? Was this retaliation?
"I need to know if Cal was still a member of HAV or if he'd
joined a new, more radical group called Humans First."
"Catchy," Ronnie said.
"Can you find out for me? If I go down there asking questions,
they'll burn me at the stake."
"Always glad to help my best friend and the police at the same
time. A private detective never knows when having the police owe
you one may come in handy."
"True," I said.
I got to wait for Ronnie this time. On leg machines she was
faster. Upper body was my area. "I'll call Dolph as soon as we're
finished here. Maybe it's a pattern? A hell of a coincidence if
it's not."
We started around the track and Ronnie said, "So, have you
decided what you're wearing to Catherine's Halloween party?"
I glanced at her, nearly stumbling. "Shit," I said.
"I take that to mean you forgot about the party. You were
bitching about it only two days ago."
"I've been a little busy, okay?" I said. But it wasn't all
right. Catherine Maison-Gillett was one of my best friends. I'd
worn a pink prom dress with puff sleeves in her wedding. It had
been humiliating. We'd all told the great lie of all bridesmaids.
We could cut the dress short and wear it in normal life. No way. Or
I could wear it at the next formal occasion I was invited to. How
many formals are you invited to once you graduate college? None. At
least none where I'd willingly wear a pink, puff-sleeved,
hoop-skirted, reject from Gone With the Wind.
Catherine was throwing her very first party since the wedding.
The Halloween festivities started long before dark so that I could
make an appearance. When someone goes to that much trouble, you
have to show up. Dammit.
"I made a date for Saturday," I said.
Ronnie stopped running and stared at me in the mirror. I kept
running; if she wanted to ask questions she'd have to catch me
first. She caught me.
"Did you say date?"
I nodded, saving my breath for running.
"Talk, Anita." Her voice was vaguely threatening.
I grinned at her and told her an edited version of my meeting
with Richard Zeeman. I didn't leave out much, though.
"He was naked in a bed the first time you saw him?" She was
cheerfully outraged.
I nodded.
"You do meet men in the most interesting places," she said.
We were jogging on the track again. "When's the last time I met
a man?"
"What about John Burke?"
"Other than him," Jerks did not count.
She thought about that for a minute. She shook her head. "Too
long."
"Yep," I said.
We were on our last machine, the last two laps, then stretching,
showers, and done. I didn't really enjoy exercising. Neither did
Ronnie. But we both needed to be in good shape so we could run away
from the bad guys, or run them down. Though I hadn't chased after
many villains lately. I seemed to do a lot more running away.
We moved over to the open area near the racquetball courts and
the tanning rooms. It was the only place with enough room to
stretch out. I always stretched before and after exercising. I'd
had too many injuries not to be careful.
I started rotating the neck slowly; Ronnie followed me. "I guess
I'll have to cancel the date."
"Don't you dare," Ronnie said. "Invite him to the party."
I looked at her. "You've got to be kidding. A first date
surrounded by people he doesn't know."
"Who do you know besides Catherine?" she asked.
She had a point there. "I've met her new husband."
"You were in the wedding," Ronnie said.
"Oh, yeah."
Ronnie frowned at me. "Be serious, ask him to the party, make
plans for the caving next week."
"Two dates with the same man?" I shook my head. "What if we
don't like each other?"
"No excuses," Ronnie said. "This is the closest you've been to a
date in months. Don't blow it."
"I don't date because I don't have time to date."
"You don't have time to sleep, either, but you manage it," she
said.
"I'll do it, but he may say no to the party. I would rather not
go myself."
"Why not?"
I gave her a long look. She looked innocent enough. "I'm an
animator, a zombie-queen. Having me at a Halloween party is
redundant."
"You don't have to tell people what you do for a living."
"I'm not ashamed of it."
"I didn't say you were," Ronnie said.
I shook my head. "Just forget it. I'll make the counteroffer to
Richard, then we'll go from there."
"You'll want a sexy outfit for the party now," she said.
"Do not," I said.
She laughed. "Do too."
"All right, all right, a sexy outfit if I can find one in my
size three days before Halloween."
"I'll help you. We'll find something."
She'd help me. We'd find something. It sounded sort of ominous.
Pre-date jitters. Who, me?
Chapter 13
At 5:15 that afternoon I was on the phone to Richard Zeeman.
"Hi, Richard, this is Anita Blake."
"Nice to hear your voice." His voice was smiling over the phone;
I could almost feel it.
"I forgot that I've got a Halloween party to go to Saturday
afternoon. They started the party during daylight so I could make
an appearance. I can't not show up."
"I understand," he said. His voice was very carefully
neutral—neutral cheerful.
"Would you like to be my date for the party? I have to work
Halloween night, of course, but the day could be ours."
"And the caving?"
"A rain check," I said.
"Two dates; this could be serious."
"You're laughing at me," I said.
"Never."
"Shit, do you want to go or not?"
"If you promise to go caving a week from Saturday."
"My solemn word," I said.
"It's a deal." He was quiet on the phone for a minute. "I don't
have to wear a costume for this party, do I?"
"Unfortunately, yes," I said.
He sighed.
"Backing out?"
"No, but you owe me two dates for humiliating myself in front of
strangers."
I grinned and was glad he couldn't see it, I was entirely too
pleased. "Deal."
"What costume are you wearing?" he asked.
"I haven't got one yet. I told you I forgot the party; I meant
it."
"Hmm," he said. "I think picking out costumes should tell a lot
about a person, don't you?"
"This close to Halloween we'll be lucky to find anything in our
size."
He laughed. "I might have an ace up my sleeve."
"What?"
He laughed again. "Don't sound so damn suspicious. I've
got a friend who's a Civil War buff. He and his wife do
re-creations."
"You mean like dress up?"
"Yes."
"Will they have the right sizes?"
"What size dress do you wear?"
That was a personal question for
someone who'd never even kissed me. "Seven," I said.
"I would have guessed smaller."
"I'm too chesty for a six, and they don't make six and a
halfs."
"Chesty, woo, woo."
"Stop it."
"Sorry, couldn't resist," he said.
My beeper went off. "Damn."
"What's that sound?"
"My beeper," I said. I pressed the button and it flashed the
number—the police. "I have to take it. Can I call you back in a few
minutes, Richard?"
"I'll wait with bated breath."
"I'm frowning at the phone, I hope you know that."
"Thanks for sharing that. I'll wait here by the phone. Call me
when you're done with (sob) work."
"Cut it out, Richard."
"What'd I do?"
"Bye, Richard, talk to you soon."
"I'll be waiting," he said.
"Bye, Richard." I hung up before he could make any more "pitiful
me" jokes. The really sad part was I thought it was cute. Gag me
with a spoon.
I called Dolph's number. "Anita?"
"Yeah."
"We got another vampire victim. Looks the same as the first one,
except it's a woman."
"Damn," I said softly.
"Yeah, we're over here at DeSoto."
"That's farther south than Arnold," I said.
"So?" he said.
"Nothing, just give me the directions."
He did.
"It'll take me at least an hour to get there," I said.
"The stiff's not going anywhere, and neither are we." He sounded
discouraged.
"Cheer up, Dolph, I may have found a clue."
"Talk."
"Veronica Sims recognized the name Cal Rupert. Description
matches."
"What are you doing talking to a private detective?" He sounded
suspicious.
"She's my workout partner, and since she just gave us our first
clue, I'd sound a little more grateful, if I were you."
"Yeah, yeah. Hurrah for the private sector. Now talk."
"A Cal Rupert was a member of HAV about two months ago. The
description matches."
"Revenge killings?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"Half of me hopes it's a pattern. At least we'd have some place
to start looking." He made a sound between a laugh and a snort.
"I'll tell Zerbrowski you found a clue. He'll like that."
"All us Dick Tracy Crimebusters speak police lingo," I said.
"Police lingo?" I could feel the grin over the phone. "You find
any more clues, you let us know."
"Aye, aye, Sergeant."
"Can the sarcasm," he said.
"Please, I always use fresh sarcasm, never canned."
He groaned. "Just get your butt out here so we can all go home."
The phone went dead. I hung up.
Richard Zeeman answered on the second ring. "Hello."
"It's Anita."
"What's up?"
"The message was from the police. They need my expertise."
"A preternatural crime?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Is it dangerous?"
"To the person who was killed, yeah."
"You know that's not what I meant," he said.
"It's my job, Richard. If you can't deal with it, maybe we
shouldn't date at all."
"Hey, don't get defensive. I just wanted to know if you would be
in any personal danger." His voice was indignant.
"Fine. I've got to go."
"What about the costumes? Do you want me call my friend?"
"Sure."
"Will you trust me to pick your costume?" he asked.
I thought about that for a few heartbeats. Did I trust him to
get me a costume? No. Did I have time to hunt up a costume on my
own? Probably not. "Why not?" I said. "Beggars can't be
choosers."
"We'll survive the party and then next week we'll go crawl in
the mud."
"I can't wait," I said.
He laughed. "Neither can I."
"I've got to go, Richard."
"I'll have the costumes at your apartment for inspection. I'll
need directions."
I gave him directions.
"I hope you like your costume."
"Me too. Talk to you later." I hung the receiver on the pay
phone's cradle and stared at it. That had been too easy. Too
smooth. He'd probably pick out a terrible costume for me. We'd both
have a miserable time and be trapped into a second date with each
other. Eek!
Ronnie handed me a can of fruit juice and took a sip of her own.
She had cranberry and I had ruby red grapefruit. I couldn't stand
cranberry.
"What'd cutesie pie say?"
"Please don't call him that," I said.
She shrugged. "Sorry, it just sort of slipped out." She had the
grace to look embarrassed.
"I forgive you, this once."
She grinned, and I knew she wasn't repentant. But I'd ribbed her
often enough about her dates. Turnabout is fair play. Payback is a
bitch.
Chapter 14
The sun was sinking in a slash of crimson like a fresh, bleeding
wound. Purple clouds were piling up to the west. The wind was
strong and smelled like rain.
Ruffo Lane was a narrow gravel road. Barely wide enough for two
cars to pass each other. The reddish gravel crunched underfoot.
Wind rustled the tall, dry weeds in the ditch. The road disappeared
over the rise of a hill. Police cars, marked and plain, were lined
up along one side of the road as far as I could see. The road
disappeared over the rise of a hill. There were a lot of hills in
Jefferson County.
I was already dressed in a clean pair of overalls, black Nikes,
and surgical gloves when my beeper went off. I had to scramble at
the zipper and drag the damn thing out into the dying light. I
didn't have to see the number. I knew it was Bert. It was only a
half hour until full dark, if that. My boss was wondering where I
was, and why I wasn't at work. I wondered if Bert would really fire
me. I stared down at the corpse and wasn't sure I cared.
The woman was curled on her side, arms shielding her naked
breasts, as if even in death she was modest. Violent death is the
ultimate invasion. She would be photographed, videotaped, measured,
cut open, sewn back up. No part of her, inside or out, would be
left untouched. It was wrong. We should have been able to toss a
blanket over her and leave her in peace, but that wouldn't help us
prevent the next killing. And there would be a next one; the second
body was proof of that.
I glanced around at the police and the ambulance team, waiting
to take the body away. Except for the body, I was the only woman. I
usually was, but tonight, for some reason, it bothered me. Her
waist-length hair spilled out into the weeds in a pale flood.
Another blonde. Was that coincidence? Or not? Two was a pretty
small sample. If the next victim was blond, then we'd have a
trend.
If all the victims were caucasian, blond, and members of Humans
Against Vampires, we'd have our pattern. Patterns helped solve the
crime. I was hoping for a pattern.
I held a penlight in my mouth and measured the bite marks. There
were no bite marks on the wrists this time. There were rope burns
instead. They'd tied her up, maybe hung her from the ceiling like a
side of beef. There is no such thing as a good vampire who feeds
off humans. Never believe that a vampire will only take a little.
That it won't hurt. That's like believing your date will pull out
in time. Just trust him. Yeah, right.
There was a neat puncture wound on either side of the neck.
There was a bit of flesh missing from her left breast, as if
something had taken a bite out of her just above the heart. The
bend of her right arm was torn apart. The ball joint was naked in
the thin beam of light. Pinkish ligaments strained to hold the arm
together.
The last serial murderer that I'd worked on had torn the victims
into pieces. I had walked on carpet so drenched with blood that it
squelched underfoot. I had held pieces of intestine in my hand,
looking for clues. It was the new worst-thing-I'd-ever-seen.
I stared down at the dead woman and was glad she hadn't been
torn apart. And it wasn't because I figured it had been an easier
death, though I hoped it had. And it wasn't because there were more
clues, because there weren't. It was just that I didn't want to see
any more slaughtered people. I'd had my quota for the year.
There is an art to holding a penlight in your mouth and
measuring wounds without drooling on yourself. I managed. The
secret was sucking on the end of the flashlight from time to
time.
The thin beam of the flashlight shone on her thighs. I wanted to
see if she had a groin wound like the man. I wanted to be sure this
was the work of the same killers. It would be a hell of a
coincidence if there were two vampire packs hunting separately, but
it was possible. I needed to be as sure as I could that we had just
one rogue pack. One was plenty, two was a screaming nightmare.
Surely, God would not be that unkind, but just in case . . . I
wanted to see if she had a groin wound. The man's hands had shown
no rope marks. Either the vampires were getting more organized, or
it was a different group.
Her arms had been glued over her chest, tied in place by rigor
mortis. Nothing short of an axe was going to move her legs, not
until final rigor went away, which would be forty-eight hours or
so. I couldn't wait two days, but I didn't want to chop the body
into pieces either.
I got down on all fours in front of the corpse. I apologized for
what I was about to do, but couldn't think of anything better.
The flashlight's thin beam trembled over her thighs, like a tiny
spotlight. I touched the line that separated her legs and pushed my
fingers in that line, trying to feel by fingertip if there was a
wound there.
It must have looked like I was groping the corpse, but I
couldn't think of a more dignified way to do it. I glanced up,
trying not to feel the solid rubberiness of her skin. The sun was
just a splash of crimson in the west like dying coals. True
darkness slipped over the sky like a flood of ink. And the woman's
legs moved under my hands.
I jumped. Nearly swallowing the flashlight. Nervous, me? The
woman's flesh was soft. It hadn't been a moment ago. The woman's
lips were halfparted. Hadn't they been closed before?
This was crazy. Even if she had been a vampire, she wouldn't
rise until the third night after death. And she'd died from
multiple vampire bites in one massive blood feast. She was dead,
just dead.
Her skin shimmered white in the darkness. The sky was black; if
the moon was up in those black-purple clouds, I couldn't see it.
Yet her skin shimmered as if touched by moonlight. She wasn't
exactly glowing, but it was close. Her hair glimmered like spider
silk spread over the grass. She'd just been dead a minute ago; now
she was . . . beautiful.
Dolph loomed over me. At six-nine he loomed even when I was
standing up; with me kneeling he was gigantic. I stood up, peeled
off one surgical glove, and took the penlight out of my mouth.
Never touch anything you're likely to put in your mouth after
touching the open wounds of a stranger. AIDS, you know. I shoved
the penlight into the breast pocket of the coveralls. I took off
the other glove and crumpled them both into a side pocket.
"Well?" Dolph said.
"Does she look different to you?" I asked.
He frowned. "What?"
"The corpse; does it look different to you?"
He stared down at the pale body. "Now that you mention it. It
looks like she's asleep." He shook his head. "We're going to have
to call an ambulance and have a doctor pronounce her dead."
"She's not breathing."
"Would you want the fact that you weren't breathing to be the
only criterion?"
I thought about that for a minute. "No, I guess not."
Dolph leafed through his notebook. "You said a person who dies
of multiple vampire bites can't rise from the dead as a vampire."
He was reading my own words back at me. I was hoist on my
petard.
"That's true in most cases."
He stared down at the woman. "But not in this one."
"Unfortunately no," I said.
"Explain this, Anita." He didn't sound happy. I didn't blame
him.
"Sometimes even one bite can make a corpse rise as a vampire.
I've only read a couple of articles about it. A very powerful
master vamp can sometimes contaminate every corpse it touches."
"Where'd you read the articles?"
"The Vampire Quarterly."
"Never heard of it," he said.
I shrugged. "I have a degree in preternatural biology; I must be
on someone's list for stuff like that." A thought came to me that
wasn't pleasant at all. "Dolph."
"Yeah."
"The man, the first corpse, this is its third night."
"It didn't glow in the dark," Dolph said.
"The woman's corpse didn't look bad until full dark."
"You think the man's going to rise?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Shit," he said.
"Exactly," I said.
He shook his head. "Wait a minute. He can still tell us who
killed him."
"He won't come back as a normal vamp," I said. "He died of
multiple wounds, Dolph; he'll come back as more animal than
human."
"Explain that."
"If they took the body to St. Louis City Hospital, then it's
safe behind reinforced steel, but if they listened to me, then it's
at the regular morgue. Call the morgue and tell them to evacuate
the building."
"You're serious," he said.
"Absolutely."
He didn't even argue with me. I was his preternatural expert,
and what I said was pretty much gospel until proven otherwise.
Dolph didn't ask for your opinion unless he was prepared to act
upon it. He was a good boss.
He slipped into his car, nearest to the murder scene of course,
and called the morgue.
He leaned out the open car door. "The body was sent to St. Louis
City Hospital, routine for all vampire victims. Even ones our
preternatural expert tells us are safe." He smiled at me when he
said it.
"Call St. Louis City and make sure they've got the body in the
vault room."
"Why would they transport the body to the vampire morgue and not
put the body in the vault room?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I don't know. But I'll feel better after you
call them."
He took a deep breath and let it go. "Okay." He got back on the
phone and dialed the number from memory. Shows what kind of year
Dolph's been having.
I stood at the open car door and listened. There wasn't much to
hear. No one answered.
Dolph sat there listening to the distant ring of the phone. He
stared up at me. His eyes asked the question.
"Somebody should be there," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
"The man will rise like a beast," I said. "It'll slaughter
everything in its path unless the master that made it comes back to
pick it up, or until it's really dead. They're called animalistic
vampires. There's no colloquial term for them. They're too rare for
that."
Dolph hung up the phone and surged out of the car, yelling,
"Zerbrowski!"
"Here, Sarge." Zerbrowski came at a trot. When Dolph yelled, you
came running, or else. "How's it going, Blake?"
What was I supposed to say, terrible? I shrugged and said,
"Fine."
My beeper went off again. "Dammit, Bert!"
"Talk to your boss," Dolph said. "Tell him to leave you the fuck
alone."
Sounded good to me.
Dolph went off yelling orders. The men scrambled to obey. I slid
into Dolph's car and called Bert.
He answered on the first ring; not a good sign. "This better be
you, Anita."
"And if it's not?" I said.
"Where the hell are you?"
"Murder scene with a fresh body," I said.
That stopped him for a second. "You're missing your first
appointment."
"Yeah."
"But I'm not going to yell."
"You're being reasonable," I said. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing except that the newest member of Animators, Inc., is
taking your first two appointments. His name is Lawrence Kirkland.
Just meet him at the third appointment, and you can take the last
three appointments and show him the ropes."
"You hired someone? How'd you find someone so fast? Animators
are pretty rare. Especially one who could do two zombies in one
night."
"It's my job to find talent."
Dolph slid into the car, and I slid into the passenger seat.
"Tell your boss you've got to go."
"I've got to go, Bert."
"Wait, you have an emergency vampire staking at St. Louis City
Hospital."
My stomach clenched up. "What name?"
He paused, reading the name, "Calvin Rupert."
"Shit."
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"When did the call come in?"
"Around three this afternoon, why?"
"Shit, shit, shit."
"What's wrong, Anita?" Bert asked.
"Why was it marked urgent?" Zerbrowski slipped into the back of
the unmarked car. Dolph put the car in gear and hit the sirens and
lights. A marked car fell into line behind us, lights strobing into
the dark. Lights and sirens, wowee.
"Rupert had one of those dying wills," Bert said. "If he even
had one vampire bite, he wanted to be staked."
That was consistent with someone who was a member of HAV. Hell,
I had it in my will. "Do we have a court order of execution?"
"You only need that after the guy rises as a vampire. We've got
permission from the next of kin; just go stake him."
I grabbed the dashboard as we bounced over the narrow road.
Gravel pinged against the underside of the car. I cradled the phone
receiver between shoulder and chin and slipped into a seat
belt.
"I'm on my way to the morgue now," I said.
"I sent John ahead when I couldn't get you," Bert said.
"How long ago?"
"I called him after you didn't answer your beeper."
"Call him back, tell him not to go."
There must have been something in my voice, because he said,
"What's wrong, Anita?"
"We can't get any answer at the morgue, Bert."
"So?"
"The vampire may have already risen and killed everybody, and
John's walking right into it."
"I'll call him," Bert said. The connection broke, and I shoved
the receiver down as we spilled out onto New Highway 21.
"We can kill the vampire when we get there," I said.
"That's murder," Dolph said.
I shook my head. "Not if Calvin Rupert had a dying will."
"Did he?"
"Yeah."
Zerbrowski slammed his fist into the back of the seat. "Then
we'll pop the son of a bitch."
"Yeah," I said.
Dolph just nodded.
Zerbrowski was grinning. He had a shotgun in his hands.
"Does that thing have silver shot in it?" I asked.
Zerbrowski glanced at the gun. "No."
"Please, tell me I'm not the only one in this car with silver
bullets."
Zerbrowski grinned. Dolph said, "Silver's more expensive than
gold. City doesn't have that kind of money."
I knew that, but I was hoping I was wrong. "What do you do when
you're up against vampires and lycanthropes?"
Zerbrowski leaned over the back seat. "Same thing we do when
we're up against a gang with Uzi pistols."
"Which is?" I said.
"Be outgunned," he said. He didn't look happy about it. I wasn't
too happy about it, either. I was hoping that the morgue attendants
had just run, gotten out, but I wasn't counting on it.
Chapter 15
My vampire kit included a sawed-off shotgun with silver shot,
stakes, mallet, and enough crosses and holy water to drown a
vampire. Unfortunately, my vampire kit was sitting in my bedroom
closet. I used to carry it in the trunk, minus the sawed-off
shotgun, which has always been illegal. If I was caught carrying
the vampire kit without a court order of execution on me, it was an
automatic jail term. The new law had kicked in only weeks before.
It was to keep certain overzealous executioners from killing
someone and saying, "Gee, sorry." I, by the way, am not one of the
overzealous. Honest.
Dolph had cut the sirens about a mile from the hospital. We
cruised into the parking lot dark and quiet. The marked car behind
us had followed our lead. There was already one marked car waiting
for us. The two officers were crouched beside the car, guns in
hand.
We all spilled out of the dark cars, guns out. I felt like I'd
been shanghaied into a Clint Eastwood movie. I couldn't see John
Burke's car. Which meant John checked his beeper more than I did.
If the vampire was safely behind metal walls, I promised to answer
all beeper messages immediately. Please, just don't let me have
cost lives. Amen.
One of the uniforms who had been waiting for us duck-walked to
Dolph and said, "Nothing's moved since we got here, Sergeant."
Dolph nodded. "Good. Special forces will be here when they can
get to it. We're on the list."
"What do you mean, we're on the list?" I asked.
Dolph looked at me. "Special forces has the silver bullets, and
they'll get here as soon as they can."
"We're going to wait for them?" I said.
"No."
"Sergeant, we are supposed to wait for special forces when going
into a preternatural situation," the uniform said.
"Not if you're the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team,"
he said.
"You should have silver bullets," I said.
"I've got a requisition in," Dolph said.
"A requisition, that's real helpful."
"You're a civvie. You get to wait outside. So don't bitch," he
said.
"I'm also the legal vampire executioner for the State of
Missouri. If I'd answered my beeper instead of ignoring it to
irritate Bert, the vampire would be staked already, and we wouldn't
be doing this. You can't leave me out of it. It's more my job than
it is yours."
Dolph stared at me for a minute or two, then nodded very
slowly.
"You should have kept your mouth shut," Zerbrowski said. "And
you'd get to wait in the car."
"I don't want to wait in the car."
He just looked at me. "I do."
Dolph started walking towards the doors. Zerbrowski followed. I
brought up the rear. I was the police's preternatural expert. If
things went badly tonight, I'd earn my retainer.
All vampire victims were brought to the basement of the old St.
Louis City Hospital, even those who die in a different county.
There just aren't that many morgues equipped to handle freshly
risen vampires. They've got a special vault room with a steel
reinforced everything and crosses laid on the outside of the door.
There's even a feeding tank to take the edge off that first blood
lust. Rats, rabbits, guinea pigs. Just a snack to calm the newly
risen.
Under normal circumstances the man's body would have been in the
vampire room, and there would have been no problem, but I had
promised them that he was safe. I was their expert, the one they
called to stake the dead. If I said a body was safe, they believed
me. And I'd been wrong. God help me, I'd been wrong.
Chapter 16
St. Louis City Hospital sat like a stubby brick giant in the
middle of a combat zone. Walk a few blocks south and you could see
Tony Award-winning musicals straight from Broadway. But here we
could have been on the dark side of the moon. If the moon had
slums.
Broken windows decorated the ground like shattered teeth.
The hospital, like a lot of inner-city hospitals, had lost
money, so they had closed it down. But the morgue stayed open
because they couldn't afford to move the vampire room.
The room had been designed in the early 1900s when people still
thought they could find a cure for vampirism. Lock a vampire in the
vault, watch it rise and try to "cure" it. A lot of vamps
cooperated because they wanted to be cured. Dr. Henry Mulligan had
pioneered the search for a cure. The program was discontinued when
one of the patients ate Dr. Mulligan's face.
So much for helping the poor misunderstood vampire.
But the vault room was still used for most vampire victims.
Mostly as a precaution, because these days when a vamp rose there
was a vampire counsellor waiting to guide the newly risen to
civilized vampirehood.
I had forgotten about the vampire counsellor. It was a pioneer
program that'd only been in effect a little over a month. Would an
older vampire be able to control an animalistic vampire, or would
it take a master vampire to control it? I didn't know. I just
didn't know.
Dolph had his gun out and ready. Without silver-plated bullets,
it was better than spitting at the monster, but barely. Zerbrowski
held the shotgun like he knew how to use it. There were four
uniformed officers at my back. All with guns, all ready to blast
undead ass. So why wasn't I comforted? Because nobody else had any
freaking silver bullets, except me.
The double glass doors swooshed open automatically. Seven guns
were trained on the door as it moved. My fingers were all cramped
up trying not to shoot the damn door.
One of the uniforms swallowed a laugh. Nervous, who us?
"All right," Dolph said, "there are civilians in here. Don't
shoot any of them."
One of the uniforms was blond. His partner was black and much
older. The other two uniforms were in their twenties: one skinny
and tall with a prominent Adam's apple, the other short with pale
skin and eyes nearly glassy with fear.
Each policeman had a cross-shaped tie tack. They were the latest
style and standard issue for the St. Louis police. The crosses
would help, maybe even keep them alive.
I hadn't had time to get my crucifix's chain replaced. I was
wearing a charm bracelet that dangled with tiny crosses. I was also
wearing an anklet chain, not just because it matched the bracelet,
but if anything unusual happened tonight, I wanted to have a
backup.
It's sort of a tossup which I'd least like to live without,
cross or gun. Better to have both.
"You got any suggestions about how we should do this, Anita?"
Dolph asked.
It wasn't too long ago that the police wouldn't have been called
in at all. The good ol' days when vampires were left to a handful
of dedicated experts. Back when you could just stake a vamp and be
done with it. I had been one of the few, the proud, the brave, the
Executioner.
"We could form a circle, guns pointing out. It would up our
chances of not getting snuck up on."
The blond cop said, "Won't we hear it coming?"
"The undead make no noise," I said.
His eyes widened.
"I'm kidding, officer," I said.
"Hey," he said softly. He sounded offended. I guess I didn't
blame him.
"Sorry," I said.
Dolph frowned at me.
"I said I was sorry."
"Don't tease the rookies," Zerbrowski said. "I bet this is his
first vampire."
The black cop made a sound between a laugh and a snort. "His
first day, period."
"Jesus," I said. "Can he wait out in the car?"
"I can handle myself," the blond said.
"It's not that," I said, "but isn't there some kind of union
rule against vampires on the first day?"
"I can take it," he said.
I shook my head. His first fucking day. He should have been out
directing traffic somewhere, not playing tag with the walking
dead.
"I'll take point," Dolph said. "Anita to my right." He pointed
two fingers at the black cop and the blond. "You two on my left."
He pointed at the last two uniforms. "Behind Ms. Blake. Zerbrowski,
take the back."
"Gee, thanks, Sarge," he muttered.
I almost let it go, but I couldn't. "I'm the only one with
silver ammo. I should have point," I said.
"You're a civvie, Anita," Dolph said.
"I haven't been a civvie for years and you know it."
He looked at me for a long second, then nodded. "Take point, but
if you get killed, my ass is grass."
I smiled. "I'll try to remember that."
I stepped out in front, a little ahead of the others. They
formed a rough circle behind me. Zerbrowski gave me a thumbs-up
sign. It made me smile. Dolph gave the barest of nods. It was time
to go inside. Time to stalk the monster.
Chapter 17
The walls were two-tone green. Dark khaki on the bottom, puke
green on top. Institutional green, as charming as a sore tooth.
Huge steam pipes, higher than my head, covered the walls. The pipes
were painted green, too. They narrowed the hallway to a thin
passageway.
Electrical conduit pipes were a thinner silver shadow to the
steam pipes. Hard to put electricity in a building never designed
for it.
The walls were lumpy where they'd been painted over without
being scraped first. If you dug at the walls, layer after layer of
different color would come up, like the strata in an archaeological
dig. Each color had its own history, its own memories of pain.
It was like being in the belly of a great ship. Except instead
of the roar of engines, you had the beat of nearly perfect silence.
There are some places where silence hangs in heavy folds. St. Louis
City Hospital was one of those places.
If I'd been superstitious, which I am not, I would have said the
hospital was the perfect place for ghosts. There are different
kinds of ghosts. The regular kind are spirits of the dead left
behind when they should have gone to Heaven or Hell. Theologians
had been arguing over what the existence of ghosts meant for God
and the church for centuries. I don't think God is particularly
bothered by it, but the church is.
Enough people had died in this place to make it thick with real
ghosts, but I'd never seen any personally. Until a ghost wraps its
cold arms around me, I'd just as soon not believe in it.
But there is another kind of ghost. Psychic impressions, strong
emotions, soak into the walls and floors of a building. It's like
an emotional tape recorder. Sometimes with video images, sometimes
just sound, sometimes just a shiver down your spine when you walk
over a certain spot.
The old hospital was thick with shivery places. I personally had
never seen or heard anything, but walking down the hallway you knew
somewhere, near at hand, there was something. Something waiting
just out of sight, just out of hearing, just out of reach. Tonight
it was probably a vampire.
The only sounds were the scrape of feet, the brush of cloth, us
moving. There was no other sound. When it's really quiet you start
hearing things even if it's just the buzz of your own blood
pounding in your ears.
The first corner loomed before me. I was point. I'd volunteered
to be point. I had to go around the corner first. Whatever lay
around the bend, it was mine. I hate it when I play hero.
I went down on one knee, gun held in both hands, pointing up. It
didn't do any good to stick my gun around the corner first. I
couldn't shoot what I couldn't see. There are a variety of ways to
go around blind corners, none of them foolproof. It mostly matters
whether you're more afraid of getting shot or getting grabbed.
Since this was a vampire I was more worried about being grabbed and
having my throat ripped out.
I pressed my right shoulder against the wall, took a deep
breath, and threw myself forward. I didn't do a neat shoulder roll
into the hallway. I just sort of fell on my left side with the gun
held two-handed out in front of me. Trust me, this is the fastest
way to be able to aim around a corner. I wouldn't necessarily
advise it if the monsters were shooting back.
I lay in the hallway, heart pounding in my ears. The good news
was there was no vampire. The bad news was that there was a
body.
I came up to one knee, still searching the shadowed hallway for
hints of movement. Sometimes with a vampire you don't see anything,
you don't even hear it, you feel it in your shoulders and back, the
fine hairs on the back of your neck. Your body responds to rhythms
older than thought. In fact, thinking instead of doing can get you
dead.
"It's clear," I said. I was still kneeling in the middle of the
hallway, gun out, ready for bear.
"You through rolling around on the floor?" Dolph asked.
I glanced at him, then back to the hallway. There was nothing
there. It was all right. Really.
The body was wearing a pale blue uniform. A gold and black patch
on the sleeve said "Security." The man's hair was white. Heavy
jowls, a thick nose, his eyelashes like grey lace against his pale
cheeks. His throat was just so much raw meat. The spine glistened
wetly in the overhead lights. Blood splashed the green walls like a
macabre Christmas card.
There was a gun in the man's right hand. I put my back to the
left-hand wall and watched the corridor to either side until the
corners cut my view. Let the police investigate the body. My job
tonight was to keep us alive.
Dolph crouched beside the body. He leaned forward, doing a sort
of push-up to bring his face close to the gun. "It's been
fired."
"I don't smell any powder near the body," I said. I didn't look
at Dolph when I said it. I was too busy watching the corridor for
movement.
"The gun's been fired," he said. His voice sounded rough,
clogged.
I glanced down at him. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid
with some kind of pain.
"You know him, don't you?" I said.
Dolph nodded. "Jimmy Dugan. He was my partner for a few months
when I was younger than you are. He retired and couldn't make it on
the pension, so he got a job here." Dolph shook his head.
"Shit."
What could I say? "I'm sorry" didn't cut it. "I'm sorry as hell"
was a little better but it still wasn't enough. Nothing I could
think of to say was adequate. Nothing I could do would make it
better. So I stood there in the blood-spattered hall and did
nothing, said nothing.
Zerbrowski knelt beside Dolph. He put a hand on his arm. Dolph
looked up. There was a flash of some strong emotion in his eyes;
anger, pain, sadness. All the above, none of the above. I stared
down at the dead man, gun still clasped tight in his hand, and
thought of something useful to say.
"Do they give the guards here silver bullets?"
Dolph glanced up at me. No guessing this time; it was anger.
"Why?"
"The guards should have silver bullets. One of you take it, and
we'll have two guns with silver bullets."
Dolph just stared at the gun. "Zerbrowski."
Zerbrowski took the gun gently, as if afraid of waking the man.
But this vampire victim wasn't going to rise. His head lolled to
one side, muscles and tendons snapped. It looked like somebody had
scooped out the meat and skin around his spine with a big
spoon.
Zerbrowski checked the cylinder. "Silver." He rolled the
cylinder into the revolver and stood up, gun in his right hand. The
shotgun he held loosely in his left hand.
"Extra ammo?" I asked.
Zerbrowski started to kneel back down, but Dolph shook his head.
He searched the dead man. His hands were candy-coated in blood when
he was done. He tried to wipe the drying blood onto a white
handkerchief but the blood stained the lines in his hands, gathered
around his fingernails. Only soap and scrubbing would get it
off.
He said, softly, "Sorry, Jimmy." He still didn't cry. I would
have cried. But then, women have more chemicals in their tear
ducts. It makes us tear up easier than men. Honest.
"No extra ammo. Guess Jimmy thought five'd be enough for some
dumb-ass security job." His voice was warm with anger. Anger was
better than crying. If you can manage it.
I kept checking the corridor, but my eyes kept going to the dead
man. He was dead because I hadn't done my job. If I hadn't told the
ambulance drivers that the body was safe, they'd have put him in
the vault, and Jimmy Dugan wouldn't have died.
I hate it when things are my fault.
"Go," Dolph said.
I took the lead. There was another corner. I did my little
kneel-and-roll routine again. I lay half on my side, gun pointed
two-handed down the hallway. Nothing moved in the long, green
hallway. There was something lying in the floor. I saw the lower
part of the guard first. Legs in pale blue, blood drenched pants. A
head with a long brown ponytail lay to one side of the body like a
forgotten lump of meat.
I got to my feet, gun still hovering, looking for something to
aim at. Nothing moved except the blood that was still dripping down
the walls. The blood dripped slowly like rain at the end of the
day, thickening, congealing as it moved.
"'Jesus!" I wasn't sure which uniform said it, but I agreed.
The upper body had been ripped apart as if the vampire had
plunged both hands into her chest and pulled. Her spine had
shattered like Tinkertoys. Gobbets of flesh, blood, and bone
sprinkled the hallway like gruesome flower petals.
I could taste bile at the back of my throat. I breathed through
my mouth in deep, even breaths. Mistake. The air tasted like
blood—thick, warm, faintly salty. There was an underlying sourness
where the upper intestine and stomach had been broken open. Fresh
death smells like a cross between a slaughterhouse and an outhouse.
Shit and blood is what death smells like.
Zerbrowski was scanning the hallway, borrowed gun in hand. He
had four bullets. I had thirteen, plus an extra clip in my sport
bag. Where was the second guard's gun?
"Where's her gun?" I asked.
Zerbrowski's eyes flicked to me, then to the corpse, then back
to scanning the hallway. "I don't see it."
I'd never met a vampire that used a gun, but there was always a
first time. "Dolph, where's the guard's gun?"
Dolph knelt in the blood and tried to search the body. He moved
the bloody flesh and pieces of cloth around, like you'd stir it
with a spoon. Once the sight would have made me lose my lunch, but
it didn't anymore. Was it a bad sign that I didn't throw up on the
corpses anymore? Maybe.
"Spread out, look for the gun," Dolph said.
The four uniforms spread out and searched. The blond was pasty
and swallowed convulsively, but he was making it. Good for him. It
was the tall one with the prominent Adam's apple that broke first.
He slid on a piece of meat that set him down hard on his butt in a
pool of congealed blood. He scrambled to his knees and vomited
against the wall.
I was breathing quick, shallow breaths. The blood and carnage
hadn't been enough, but the sound of someone else throwing up just
might be.
I pressed my shoulders into the wall and moved towards the next
corner. I will not throw up. I will not throw up. Oh, God, please
don't let me throw up. Have you ever tried to aim a gun while
throwing your guts up? It's damn near impossible. You're helpless
until you're finished. After seeing the guards, I didn't want to be
helpless.
The blond cop was leaning against the wall. His face was shiny
with a sick sweat. He looked at me and I could read it in his eyes.
"Don't," I whispered, "please don't."
The rookie fell to his knees and that was it. I lost everything
I'd eaten that day. At least I didn't throw up on the corpse. I'd
done that once, and Zerbrowski had never let me live it down. On
that particular case, the complaint was that I'd tampered with
evidence.
If I'd been the vampire, I would have come then while half of us
were vomiting our guts out. But nothing slithered around the
corner. Nothing came screaming out of the darkness. Lucky us.
"If you're all done," Dolph said, "we need to find her gun and
what did this."
I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my coveralls. I was sweating,
but there hadn't been time to take them off. My black Nikes stuck
to the floor with little squeech sounds. There was blood on the
bottom of my shoes. Maybe the coverall wasn't such a bad idea.
What I wanted was a cool cloth. What I got was to continue down
the green hallway, making little bloody footprints behind me. I
scanned the floor and there it was, footprints going away from the
body, back down the hall towards the first guard.
"Dolph?"
"I see them," he said.
The faint footprints walked through the carnage and down the
corner, away from us. Away sounded good, but I knew better. We were
here to get up close and personal. Dammit.
Dolph knelt by the largest piece of the body. "Anita."
I walked over to him, avoiding the bloody footprints. Never step
on clues. The police don't like it.
Dolph pointed at a blackened piece of cloth. I knelt carefully,
glad that I was still in my overalls. I could kneel in all the
blood I wanted without messing my clothes. Always prepared, like a
good Boy Scout.
The woman's shirt was charred and blackened. Dolph touched the
material with the tip of his pencil. The cloth flaked in heavy
layers, cracking like stale bread. Dolph poked a hole through one
of the layers. It crumbled. A burst of ash and a sharp acrid smell
came up from the body.
"What the hell happened to her?" Dolph asked.
I swallowed, still tasting vomit at the back of my throat. This
wasn't helping. "It's not cloth."
"What is it, then?"
"Flesh."
Dolph just looked at me. He held the pencil like it might break.
"You're serious."
"Third-degree burn," I said.
"What caused this?"
"Can I borrow your pencil?" I asked.
He handed it to me without a word.
I dug at what was left of her chest. The flesh was so badly
fried that her shirt melted into it. I pushed the layers aside,
digging downward with the pencil. The body felt horribly light, and
crisp like the burned skin of a chicken. When I'd plunged half the
length of the pencil into the burn, I touched something solid. I
used the pencil to pry it upward. When it was almost at the surface
I put fingers inside the hole and pulled a lump of twisted metal
from the burned flesh.
"What is it?" Dolph asked.
"It's what's left of her cross."
"No," he said.
The lump of melted silver glinted through the black ash. "This
was her cross, Dolph. It melted into her chest, caught her clothing
on fire. What I don't understand is why the vampire kept contact
with the burning metal. The vampire should be nearly as burned as
she is, but it's not here."
"Explain that," he said.
"Animalistic vampires are like PCP addicts. They don't feel
pain. I think the vampire crushed her to his chest, the cross
touched him, burst into flames. and the vampire stayed against her,
tearing her apart while they burned. Against any normal vampire,
she would have been safe."
"So crosses can't stop this one," he said.
I stared at the lump of metal. "Apparently not."
The four uniforms were looking at the dim hallway, a little
frantically. They hadn't bargained on the crosses not working.
Neither had I. The bit about not feeling pain had been a small
footnote to one article. No one had theorized that that would mean
crosses didn't protect you. If I survived, I'd have to work up a
little article for the Vampire Quarterly. Crosses melting into
flesh, wowee.
Dolph stood up. "Keep together, people."
"The crosses don't work," one uniform said. "We gotta go back
and wait for special teams."
Dolph just looked at him. "You can go back if you want to." He
glanced down at the dead guard. "It's volunteer only. The rest of
you go back outside and wait for special teams."
The tall one nodded and touched his partner's arm. His partner
swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Dolph, then to the guard's
crispy-crittered body. He let his partner drag him away down the
hall. Back to safety and sanity. Wouldn't it have been nice if we
all could have gone? But we couldn't let something like this
escape. Even if I hadn't had an order of execution. we would have
had to kill it, rather than take the risk of letting it get
outside.
"What about you and the rookie?" Dolph asked the black cop.
"I've never run from the monsters. He's free to go back with the
others."
The blond shook his head, gun in hand, fingers mottled with
tension. "I'm staying."
The black cop gave him a smile that meant more than words. He'd
made a man's choice. Or would that be a mature person's choice?
Whatever, he was staying.
"One more corner and the vault should be in sight," I said.
Dolph glanced at the last corner. His eyes met mine and I
shrugged. I didn't know what was going to be around the corner.
This vampire was doing things that I would have said were
impossible. The rules had been changed, and not in our favor.
I hesitated on the wall farthest from the corner. I pushed my
back into the wall and slid slowly into sight, around the corner. I
was staring down a short, straight hallway. There was a gun lying
in the middle of the floor. The second guard's gun? Maybe. On the
left-hand wall there should have been a big steel door with crosses
hanging on it. The steel had exploded outward in a twisted silver
mess. They'd put the body in the vault after all. I hadn't gotten
the guards killed. They should have been safe. Nothing moved. There
was no light in the vault. It was just a blasted darkness. If there
was a vampire waiting in the room, I couldn't see it. Of course, I
wasn't all that close, either. Close did not seem to be a good
idea.
"Clear, as far as I can see," I said.
"You don't sound sure," Dolph said.
"I'm not," I said. "Peek around the corner at what's left of the
vault."
He didn't peek, but he looked. He let out a soft whistle.
Zerbrowski said, "Je-sus."
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Is it in there?" Dolph asked.
"I think so."
"You're our expert. Why don't you sound sure?" Dolph asked.
"If you would have asked me if a vampire could plow through five
feet of silver-steel with crosses hung all over the damn place, I'd
have said no way." I stared into the black hole. "But there it
is."
"Does this mean you're as confused as we are?" Zerbrowski
asked.
"Yep."
"Then we're in deep shit," he said.
Unfortunately, I agreed.
Chapter 18
The vault loomed up before us. Pitch black with a crazy vampire
waiting inside; just my cup of tea. Ri-ight.
"I'll take point now," Dolph said. He had the second guard's gun
in his hands. His own gun was tucked out of sight. He had silver
bullets now; he'd go first. Dolph was good about that. He'd never
order one of his men to do something he wouldn't do himself. Wish
Bert was like that. Bert was more likely to promise your first-born
child, then ask if it was all right with you.
Dolph hesitated at the open mouth of the vault. The darkness was
thick enough to cut. It was the absolute darkness of a cave. The
kind where you can touch your eyeballs with your fingers and not
blink.
He motioned us forward with the gun, but he went past the
darkness, farther down the hallway. The bloody footprints entered
the darkness and came back out. Bloody footprints going down the
hall, around the corner. I was getting tired of corners.
Zerbrowski and I moved up to stand on either side of Dolph. The
tension slid along my neck, shoulders. I took a deep breath and let
it out, slowly. Better. Look, my hand's not even shaking.
Dolph didn't roll around on the floor to clear the corner. He
just went around back to the wall, two-handed aim, ready for
bear.
A voice said, "Don't shoot, I'm not dead."
I knew the voice.
"It's John Burke. He's with me."
Dolph glanced back at me. "I remember him."
I shrugged; better safe then sorry. I trusted Dolph not to shoot
John by accident, but there were two cops here I'd never met.
Always err on the side of caution when it comes to firearms. Words
to survive by.
John was tall, slender, dark complected. His short hair was
perfectly black with a broad white streak in front. It was a
startling combination. He'd always been handsome, but now that he'd
shaved off his beard, he looked less like a Hollywood villain and
more like a leading man. Tall, dark, and handsome, and knew how to
kill vampires. What more could you ask for? Plenty, but that's
another story.
John came around the corner smiling. He had a gun out, and
better yet, he had his vampire kit in one hand. "I came ahead to
make sure the vampire didn't get loose while you were en
route."
"Thanks, John," I said.
He shrugged. "Just protecting the public welfare."
It was my turn to shrug. "Anything you say."
"Where's the vampire?" Dolph asked.
"I was tracking it," John said.
"How?" I asked.
"Bloody bare footprints."
Bare footprints. Sweet Jesus. The corpse didn't have shoes, but
John did. I turned towards the vault. Too late, too slow, too damn
bad.
The vampire came out of the darkness, moving too fast to see. It
was just a blur that smashed into the rookie, driving him into the
wall. He screamed, gun pressed to the vampire's chest. The gun was
loud in the hallway, echoing in the pipes. The bullets came out the
back of the vampire like they'd hit mist. Magic.
I moved forward, trying to aim without hitting the rookie. He
was screaming, one continuous sound. Blood sprayed in a warm rain.
I shot at the thing's head but it moved, incredibly fast, tossing
the man against the other wall, tearing at him. There was a lot of
yelling and movement, but it all seemed far away, slowed down. It
would all be over in a matter of moments. I was the only one close
enough with silver bullets. I stepped in, body brushing the
vampire, and put the barrel to the back of its skull. A normal
vampire wouldn't have let me do it. I pulled the trigger, but the
vampire whirled, lifting the man off his feet, throwing him into
me. The bullet went wide and we crashed to the floor. The air was
knocked out of me for a second with the weight of two adult males
on my chest. The rookie was on top of me, screaming, bleeding,
dying.
I wedged the gun against the back of the vamp's skull and fired.
The back of the head exploded outward in a fine spray of blood,
bone, and heavier, wetter things. The vampire kept digging at the
man's throat. It should have been dead, but it wasn't.
The vampire reared back, blood-clotted teeth straining. It had
paused like a man breathing between swallows. I shoved the barrel
in its mouth. The teeth grated on the metal. The face exploded from
the upper lip to the top of the head. The lower teeth mouthed the
air but couldn't get a bite. The headless body raised up on its
hands, as if trying to get up. I touched the gun to its chest and
pulled the trigger. At this distance I might be able to take out
its heart. I'd never actually tried to take out a vampire using
just a pistol. I wondered if it would work. I wondered what would
happen to me if it didn't.
A shudder ran through the thing's body. It breathed outward in a
long, wordless sigh.
Dolph and Zerbrowski were there dragging the thing backwards. I
think it was dead already, but just in case, the help was
appreciated. John splashed the vampire with holy water. The liquid
bubbled and fizzed on the dying vampire. It was dying. It really
was.
The rookie wasn't moving. His partner dragged him off me,
cradling him against his chest like a child. Blood plastered the
blond hair to his face. The pale eyes were wide open, staring at
nothing. The dead are always blind, one way or another.
He'd been brave, a good kid, though he wasn't that much younger
than me. But I felt about a million years old staring into his
pale, dead face. He was dead, just like that. Being brave doesn't
save you from the monsters. It just ups your chances.
Dolph and Zerbrowski had taken the vampire to the floor. John
was actually straddling the body with a stake and mallet in hand. I
hadn't used a stake in years. Shotgun was my choice. But then, I
was a progressive vampire slayer.
The vampire was dead. It didn't need to be staked, but I just
sat against the wall and watched. Better safe than sorry. The stake
went in easier than normal because I'd made a hole for it. My gun
was still in my hand. No need to put it up yet. The vault was still
an empty blackness; where there was one vampire there were often
more. I'd keep the gun out.
Dolph and Zerbrowski went to the ruined vault, guns out. I
should have gotten up and gone with them, but it seemed very
important right now just to breathe. I could feel the blood pumping
through my veins; every pulse in my body was loud. It was good to
be alive; too bad I hadn't been able to save the kid. Yeah, too
bad.
John knelt beside me. "You all right?"
I nodded. "Sure."
He looked at me like he didn't believe it, but he let it go.
Smart man.
The light flashed on in the vault. Rich, yellow light, warm as a
summer's day. "Jesus," Zerbrowski said.
I stood up, and nearly fell; my legs were shaky. John caught my
arm, and I stared at him until he let go. He gave a half-smile.
"Still a hard case."
"Always," I said.
There had been two dates between us. Mistake. It made working
together more awkward, and he couldn't cope with me being a female
version of him. He had this old southern idea of what a lady should
be. A lady should not carry a gun and spend most of her time
covered in blood and corpses. I had two words for that attitude.
Yeah, those are the words.
There was a large fish tank smashed against one wall. It had
held guinea pigs, or rats, or rabbits. All it held now were bright
splashes of blood and bits of fur. Vampires don't eat meat, but if
you put small animals in a glass container, then throw it against
the wall, you get diced small animals. There wasn't enough left to
scoop up with a spoon.
There was a head near the glass mess, probably male, judging
from the short hair and style. I didn't go any closer to check. I
didn't want to see the face. I'd have been brave tonight. I had
nothing left to prove.
The body was in one piece, barely. It looked like the vampire
had shoved both hands into the chest, grabbed a handful of ribs and
pulled. The chest was nearly torn in two, but a band of pink muscle
tissue and intestine held it together.
"The head's got fangs," Zerbrowski said.
"It's the vampire counsellor," I said.
"What happened?"
I shrugged. "At a guess, the counsellor was leaning over the
vamp when it rose. It killed him, quick and messy."
"Why'd it kill the vampire counsellor?" Dolph asked.
I shrugged. "It was more animal than human, Dolph. It woke up in
a strange place with a strange vampire leaning over it. It reacted
like any trapped animal and protected itself."
"Why couldn't the counsellor control it? That's what he was here
for."
"The only person who can control an animalistic vampire is the
master who made it. The counsellor wasn't powerful enough to
control it."
"Now what?" John asked. He'd put up his gun. I still hadn't. I
felt better with it out for some reason.
"Now I go make my third animation appointment of the
evening."
"Just like that?"
I looked up at him, ready to be angry at somebody. "What do you
want me to do, John? Fall into a screaming fit? That wouldn't bring
back the dead, and it would annoy the hell out of me."
He sighed. "If you only matched your packaging."
I put my gun back in the shoulder holster, smiled at him, and
said, "Fuck you."
Yeah, those are the words.
Chapter 19
I had washed most of the blood off my face and hands in the
bathroom at the morgue. The bloodstained coveralls were in my
trunk. I was clean and presentable, or as presentable as I was
going to get tonight. Bert had said to meet the new guy at my third
appointment for the night. Oakglen Cemetery, ten o'clock. The
theory was that the new man already raised two zombies and would
just watch me raise the third one. Fine with me.
It was 10:35 before I pulled into Oakglen Cemetery. Late.
Dammit. It'd make a great impression on the new animator, not to
mention my client. Mrs. Doughal was a recent widow. Like five days
recent. Her dearly departed husband had left no will. He'd always
meant to get around to it, but you know how it is, just kept
putting it off. I was to raise Mr. Doughal in front of two lawyers,
two witnesses, the Doughals' three grown children, and a partridge
in a pear tree. They'd made a ruling just last month that the newly
dead, a week or less, could be raised and verbally order a will. It
would save the Doughals half their inheritance. Minus lawyer fees,
of course.
There was a line of cars pulled over to the side of the narrow
gravel road. The tires were playing hell with the grass, but if you
didn't park off to one side, nobody could use the road. Of course,
how many people needed to use a cemetery road at 10:30 at night?
Animators, voodoo priests, pot-smoking teenagers, necrophiliacs,
satanists. You had to be a member of a legitimate religion and have
a permit to worship in a cemetery after dark. Or be an animator. We
didn't need a permit. Mainly because we didn't have a reputation
for human sacrifice. A few bad apples have really given voodooists
a bad name. Being Christian, I sort of frown on satanism. I mean,
they are, after all, the bad guys. Right?
As soon as my foot hit the road, I felt it. Magic. Someone was
trying to raise the dead, and they were very near at hand.
The new guy had already raised two zombies. Could he do a
third?
Charles and Jamison could only do two a night. Where had Bert
found someone this powerful on such short notice?
I walked past five cars, not counting my own. There were nearly
a dozen people pressed around the grave. The women were in
skirt-suits; the men all wore ties. It was amazing how many people
dressed up to come to the graveyard. The only reason most people
come to the graveyard is for a funeral. A lot of clients dress for
one, semiformal, basic black.
It was a man's voice leading the mourners in rising calls of,
"Andrew Doughal, arise. Come to us, Andrew Doughal, come to
us."
The magic built on the air until it pressed against me like a
weight. It was hard to get a full breath. His magic rode the air,
and it was strong, but uncertain. I could feel his hesitation like
a touch of cold air. He would be powerful, but he was young. His
magic tasted untried, undisciplined. If he wasn't under twenty-one,
I'd eat my hat.
That's how Bert had found him. He was a baby, a powerful baby.
And he was raising his third zombie of the night. Hot damn.
I stayed in the shadows under the tall trees. He was short,
maybe an inch or two taller than me, which made him five-four at
best. He wore a white dress shirt and dark slacks. Blood had dried
on the shirt in nearly black stains. I'd have to teach him how to
dress, as Manny had taught me. Animating is still on an informal
apprenticeship. There are no college courses to teach you how to
raise the dead.
He was very earnest as he stood there calling Andrew Doughal
from the grave. The crowd of lawyers and relatives huddled at the
foot of the grave. There was no family member inside the blood
circle with the new animator. Normally, you put a family member
behind the tombstone so he or she could control the zombie. This
way, only the animator could control it. But it wasn't an
oversight, it was the law. The dead could be raised to request and
dictate a will but only if the animator, or some neutral party, had
control of it.
The mound of flowers shuddered and a pale hand shot upward,
grabbing at the air. Two hands, the top of a head. The zombie
spilled from the grave like it was being pulled by strings.
The new animator stumbled. He fell to his knees in the soft dirt
and dying flowers. The magic stuttered, wavering. He'd bitten off
one zombie more than he could finish. The dead man was still
struggling from the grave. Still trying to get its legs free, but
there was no one controlling it. Lawrence Kirkland had raised the
zombie, but he couldn't control it. The zombie would be on its own
with no one to make it mind. Uncontrolled zombies give animators a
bad name.
One of the lawyers was saying, "Are you all right?"
Lawrence Kirkland nodded his head, but he was too exhausted to
speak. Did he even now realize what he'd done? I didn't think so.
He wasn't scared enough.
I walked up to the huddled group. "Ms. Blake, we missed you,"
the lawyer said. "Your . . . associate seems to be ill."
I gave them my best professional smile. See nothing wrong. A
zombie isn't about to go amuck. Trust me.
I walked to the edge of the blood circle. I could feel it like a
wind pushing me back. The circle was shut, and I was on the
outside. I couldn't get in unless Lawrence asked me in.
He was on all fours, hands lost in the flowers of the grave. His
head hung down, as if he was too tired to raise it. He probably
was.
"Lawrence," I said softly, "Lawrence Kirkland."
He turned his head in slow motion. Even in the dark I could see
the exhaustion in his pale eyes. His arms were trembling. God, help
us.
I leaned in close so the audience couldn't hear what I said.
We'd try to keep the illusion that this was just business as usual,
as long as I could. If we were lucky, the zombie would just wander
away. If we weren't lucky, it would hurt someone. The dead are
usually pretty forgiving of the living, but not always. If Andrew
Doughal hated one of his relatives, it would be a long night.
"Lawrence, you have to break the circle and let me in," I
said.
He just stared at me, eyes dull, no glimmer of understanding.
Shit.
"Break the circle, Lawrence, now."
The zombie was free to its knees. Its white dress shirt gleamed
against the darkness of the burial suit. Uncomfortable for all
eternity. Doughal looked pretty good for the walking dead. He was
pale with thick grey hair. The skin was wavy, pale, but there were
no signs of rot. The kid had done a good job for the third zombie
of the night. Now if only I could control it, we were home
free.
"Lawrence, break the circle, please!"
He said something, too low for me to hear. I leaned as close as
the blood would let me get and said, "What?"
"Larry, name's Larry."
I smiled, it was too ridiculous. He was worried about me calling
him Lawrence instead of Larry with a rogue zombie climbing out of
the dirt. Maybe he'd snapped under the pressure. Naw.
"Open the circle, Larry," I said.
He crawled forward, nearly falling face first into the flowers.
He scraped his hand across the line of blood. The magic snapped.
The circle of power was gone, just like that. Now it was just
me.
"Where's your knife?"
He tried to look back over his shoulder but couldn't manage it.
I saw the blade gleam in the moonlight on the other side of the
grave.
"Just rest," I said. "I'll take care of it."
He collapsed into a little ball, hugging his arms around
himself, as if he was cold. I let him go, for now. The first order
of business had to be the zombie.
The knife was lying beside the gutted chicken he'd used to call
the zombie. I grabbed the knife and faced the zombie over the
grave. Andrew Doughal was leaning against his own tombstone, trying
to orient himself.
It's hard on a person, being dead; it takes a few minutes to
wake up the dead brain cells. The mind doesn't quite believe that
it should work. But it will, eventually.
I pushed back the sleeve of my leather jacket and took a deep
breath. It was the only way, but I didn't have to like it. I drew
the blade across my wrist. A thin, dark line appeared. The skin
split and blood trickled out, nearly black in the moonlight. The
pain was sharp, stinging. Small wounds always felt worse than big
ones . . . at first.
The wound was small and wouldn't leave a scar. Short of slitting
my wrist, or someone else's, I couldn't remake the blood circle. It
was too late in the ceremony to get another chicken and start over.
I had to salvage this ceremony, or the zombie would be free with no
boss. Zombies without bosses tended to eat people.
The zombie was still sitting on its tombstone. It stared at
nothing with empty eyes. If Larry had been strong enough, Andrew
Doughal might have been able to talk, to reason on his own. Now he
was just a corpse waiting for orders, or a stray thought.
I climbed onto the mound of gladioluses, chrysanthemums,
carnations. The perfume of flowers mixed with the stale smell of
the corpse. I stood knee-deep in dying flowers and waved my
bleeding wrist in front of the zombie's face.
The pale eyes followed my hand, flat and dead as day-old fish.
Andrew Doughal was not home, but something was, something that
smelled blood and knew its worth.
I know that zombies don't have souls. In fact, I can only raise
the dead after three days. It takes that long for the soul to
leave. Incidentally, the same amount of time it takes for vampires
to rise. Fancy that.
But if it isn't the soul reanimating the corpse, then what is
it? Magic, my magic, or Larry's. Maybe. But there was something in
the corpse. If the soul was gone, something filled the void. In an
animation that worked, magic filled it. Now? Now I didn't know. I
wasn't even sure I wanted to know. What did it matter as long as I
pulled the fat out of the fire? Yeah. Maybe if I kept repeating
that, I'd even believe it.
I offered the corpse my bleeding wrist. The thing hesitated for
a second. If it refused, I was out of options.
The zombie stared at me. I dropped the knife and squeezed the
skin around the wound. Blood welled out, thick and viscous. The
zombie snatched at my hand. Its pale hands were cold and strong.
Its head bowed over the wound, mouth sucking. It fed at my wrist,
jaws working convulsively, swallowing as hard and as fast as it
could. I was going to have the world's worst hickey. But at least
it hurt.
I tried to draw my hand away, but the zombie just sucked harder.
It didn't want to let go. Great.
"Larry, can you stand?" I asked softly. We were still trying to
pretend that nothing had gone wrong. The zombie had accepted blood.
I controlled it now, if I could get it to let go.
Larry looked up at me in slow motion. "Sure," he said. He got to
his feet using the burial mound for support. When he was standing,
he asked, "What now?"
Good question. "Help me get it loose." I tried to pull my wrist
free, but the thing hung on for dear life.
Larry wrapped his arms around the corpse and pulled. It didn't
help.
"Try the head," I said.
He tried pulling back on the corpse's hair, but zombies don't
feel pain. Larry pried a finger along the corpse's mouth, breaking
the suction with a little pop. Larry looked like he was going to be
sick. Poor him; it was my arm.
He wiped his finger on his dress slacks, as if he had touched
something slimy. I wasn't sympathetic.
The knife wound was already red. It would be a hell of a bruise
tomorrow.
The zombie stood on top of its grave, staring at me. There was
life in the eyes; someone was home. The trick was, was it the right
someone?
"Are you Andrew Doughal?" I asked.
He licked his lips and said, "I am." It was a rough voice. A
voice for ordering people about. I wasn't impressed. It was my
blood that gave him the voice. The dead really are mute, really do
forget who and what they are, until they taste fresh blood. Homer
was right; makes you wonder what else was true in the Iliad.
I put pressure on the knife wound with my other hand and stepped
back, off the grave. "He'll answer your questions now," I said.
"But keep them simple. He's been mostly dead all day."
The lawyers didn't smile. I guess I didn't blame them. I waved
them forward. They hung back. Squeamish lawyers? Surely not.
Mrs. Doughal poked her lawyer in the arm. "Get on with it. This
is costing a fortune."
I started to say we don't charge by the minute, but for all I
knew Bert had arranged for the longer the corpse was up, the more
expensive it was. That actually was a good idea. Andrew Doughal was
fine tonight. He answered questions in his cultured, articulate
voice. If you ignored the way his skin glistened in the moonlight,
he looked alive. But give it a few days, or weeks. He'd rot; they
all rotted. If Bert had figured out a way to make clients put the
dead back in their graves before pieces started to fall off, so
much the better.
There were few things as sad as the family bringing dear old mom
back to the cemetery with expensive perfume covering up the smell
of decay. The worst was the client who had bathed her husband
before bringing him back. She had to bring most of his flesh in a
plastic garbage sack. The meat had just slid off the bone in the
warm water.
Larry moved back, stumbling over a flowerpot. I caught him, and
he fell against me, still unsteady.
He smiled. "Thanks . . . for everything." He stared at me, our
faces inches apart. A trickle of sweat oozed down his face in the
cold October night.
"You got a coat?"
"In my car."
"Get it and put it on. You'll catch your death sweating in this
cold."
His smile flashed into a grin. "Anything you say, boss."' His
eyes were bigger than they should have been, a lot of white
showing. "You pulled me back from the edge. I won't forget."
"Gratitude is great, kid, but go get your coat. You can't work
if you're home sick with the flu."
Larry nodded and started slowly towards the cars. He was still
unsteady, but he was moving. The flow of blood had almost stopped
on my wrist. I wondered if I had a Band-Aid in my car big enough to
cover it. I shrugged and started to follow Larry towards the cars.
The lawyers' deep, courtroom voices filled the October dark. Words
echoing against the trees. Who the hell were they trying to
impress? The corpse didn't care.
Chapter 20
Larry and I sat on the cool autumn grass watching the lawyers
draw up the will. "They're so serious," he said.
"It's their job to be serious," I said.
"Being a lawyer means you can't have a sense of humor?"
"Absolutely," I said.
He grinned. His short, curly hair was a red so bright, it was
nearly orange. His eyes were blue and soft as a spring sky. I'd
seen both hair and eyes in the dome light from our cars. Back in
the dark he looked grey-eyed and brown-haired. I'd hate to have to
give a witness description of someone I only saw in the dark.
Larry Kirkland had that milk-pale complexion of some redheads. A
thick sprinkling of golden freckles completed the look. He looked
like an overgrown Howdy Doody puppet. I mean that in a cute way.
Being short, really short for a man, I was sure he wouldn't like
being called cute. It was one of my least favorite endearments. I
think if all short people could vote, the word "cute" would be
stricken from the English language. I know it would get my
vote.
"How long have you been an animator?" I asked.
He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. "About eight
hours."
I stared at him. "This is your first job, anywhere?"
He nodded. "Didn't Mr. Vaughn tell you about me?"
"Bert just said he'd hired another animator named Lawrence
Kirkland."
"I'm in my senior year at Washington University, and this is my
semester of job co-op."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty; why?"
"You're not even legal," I said.
"So I can't drink or go in porno theaters. No big loss, unless
the job takes us to places like that." He looked at me and leaned
in. "Does the job take us to porno theaters?" His face was
neutrally pleasant, and I couldn't tell if he was teasing or not. I
gambled that he was kidding.
"Twenty is fine." I shook my head.
"You don't look like twenty's fine," he said.
"It's not your age that bothers me," I said.
"But something bothers you."
I wasn't sure how to put it into words, but there was something
pleasant and humorous in his face. It was a face that laughed more
often than it cried. He looked bright and clean as a new penny, and
I didn't want that to change. I didn't want to be the one who
forced him to get down in the dirt and roll.
"Have you ever lost someone close to you? Family, I mean?"
The humor slipped away from his face. He looked like a solemn
little boy. "You're serious."
"Deadly," I said.
He shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Just answer the question. Have you ever lost someone close to
you?"
He shook his head. "I've even got all my grandparents."
"Have you ever seen violence up close and personal?"
"I got into fights in high school."
"Why?"
He grinned. "They thought short meant weak."
I had to smile. "And you showed them different."
"Hell, no; they beat the crap out of me for four years." He
smiled.
"You ever win a fight?"
"Sometimes," he said.
"But the winning's not the important part," I said.
He looked very steadily at me, eyes serious. "No, it's not."
There was a moment of nearly perfect understanding between us. A
shared history of being the smallest kid in class. Years of being
the last picked for sports. Being the automatic victim for bullies.
Being short can make you mean. I was sure that we understood each
other but, being female, I had to verbalize it. Men do a lot of
this mind-reading shit, but sometimes you're wrong. I needed to
know.
"The important part is taking the beating and not giving up," I
said.
He nodded. "Takes a beating and keeps on ticking."
Now that I'd spoiled our first moment of perfect understanding
by making us both verbalize, I was happy. "Other than school
fights, you've never seen violence?"
"I go to rock concerts."
I shook my head. "Not the same."
"You got a point to make?" he asked.
"You should never have tried to raise a third zombie."
"I did it, didn't I?" He sounded defensive, but I pressed on.
When I have a point to make, I may not be graceful, but I'm
relentless.
"You raised and lost control of it. If I hadn't come along, the
zombie would have broken free and hurt someone."
"It's just a zombie. They don't attack people."
I stared at him, trying to see if he was kidding. He wasn't.
Shit. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
I covered my face with my hands and counted to ten, slowly. It
wasn't Larry I was mad at, it was Bert, but Larry was so convenient
for yelling. I'd have to wait until tomorrow to yell at Bert, but
Larry was right here. How lucky.
"The zombie had broken free of your control, Larry. If I hadn't
come along and fed it blood, it would have found blood on its own.
Do you understand?"
"I don't think so."
I sighed. "The zombie would have attacked someone. Taken a bite
out of someone."
"Zombies attacking humans is just superstition, ghost
stories."
"Is that what they're teaching in college now?" I asked.
"Yes."
"I'll loan you some back copies of The Animator. Trust
me, Larry, zombies do attack people. I've seen people killed by
them."
"You're just trying to scare me," he said.
"Scared would be better than stupid."
"I raised it. What do you want from me?" He looked completely
baffled.
"I want you to understand what nearly happened here tonight. I
want you to understand that what we do isn't a game. It's not
parlor tricks. It's real, and it can be dangerous."
"All right," he said. He'd given in too easily. He didn't really
believe. He was humoring me. But there are some things you can't
tell someone. He, or she, has to learn some things in person. I
wished I could wrap Larry up in cellophane and keep him on a shelf,
all safe and secure and untouched, but life didn't work that way.
If he stayed in this business long enough, the new would wear off.
But you can't tell someone who's reached twenty and never been
touched by death. They don't believe in the boogeyman.
At twenty I'd believed in everything. I suddenly felt old.
Larry pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.
"Please tell me you don't smoke," I said.
He looked up at me, eyes sort of wide and startled. "You don't
smoke?"
"No."
"You don't like people to smoke around you?" He made it a
question.
"No," I said.
"Look, I feel pretty awful right now. I need the cigarette,
okay?"
"Need it?"
"Yeah, need it." He had one slender white cigarette between two
fingers of his right hand. The pack had disappeared back into his
pocket. A disposable lighter had appeared. He looked at me very
steadily. His hands were shaking just a bit.
Shit. He'd raised three zombies on his first night out, and I
was going to be talking to Bert about the wisdom of sending Larry
out on his own.
Besides, we were outside. "Go ahead."
"Thanks."
He lit the cigarette and drew a deep breath of nicotine and tar.
Smoke curled out of his mouth and nose, like pale ghosts. "Feel
better already," he said.
I shrugged. "Just so you don't smoke in the car with me."
"No problem," he said. The tip of his cigarette pulsed orange in
the dark as he sucked on it. He looked past me, letting smoke curl
from his lips as he said, "We're being paged."
I turned and, sure enough, the lawyers were waving at us. I felt
like a janitor being called in to clean up the messy necessities. I
stood up, and Larry followed me.
"You sure you feel well enough for this?" I asked.
"I couldn't raise a dead ant, but I think I'm up to watching you
do it."
There were bruises under his eyes and the skin was too tight
around his mouth, but if he wanted to play macho man who was I to
stop him? "Great; let's do it."
I got salt out of my trunk. It was perfectly legal to carry
zombie-raising supplies. I suppose the machete that I used for
beheading chickens could be used as a weapon, but the rest of the
stuff was considered harmless. Shows you what the legal system
knows about zombies.
Andrew Doughal had recovered himself. He still looked a little
waxy, but his face was serious, concerned, alive. He smoothed a
hand down the stylish lapel of his suit coat. He looked down at me,
not just because he was taller but because he was good at looking
down. Some people have a real talent for being condescending.
"Do you know what's happening, Mr. Doughal?" I asked the
zombie.
He looked down his narrow patrician nose. "I am going home with
my wife."
I sighed. I hated it when zombies didn't realize they were dead.
They acted so . . . human.
"Mr. Doughal, do you know why you're in a cemetery?"
"What's happening?" one of the lawyers asked.
"He's forgotten that he's dead," I said softly.
The zombie stared at me, perfectly arrogant. He must have been a
real pain in the ass when he was alive, but even assholes are
piteous once in a while.
"I don't know what you are babbling about," the zombie said.
"You obviously are suffering from some delusion."
"Can you explain why you are here in a cemetery?" I asked.
"I don't have to explain anything to you."
"Do you remember how you got to the cemetery?"
"We . . . we drove, of course." The first hint of unease wavered
through his voice.
"You're guessing, Mr. Doughal. You don't really remember driving
to the cemetery, do you?"
"I . . . I . . ." He looked at his wife, his grown children, but
they were walking to their cars. No one even looked back. He was
dead, no getting around that, but most families didn't just walk
away. They might be horrified, or saddened, or even sickened, but
they were never neutral. The Doughals had gotten the will signed,
and they were leaving. They had their inheritance. Let good ol' dad
crawl back into his grave.
He called, "Emily?"
She hesitated, stiffening, but one of her sons grabbed her arm
and hurried her toward the cars. Was he embarrassed, or scared?
"I want to go home," he yelled after them. The arrogance had
leaked away, and all that was left was that sickening fear, the
desperate need not to believe. He felt so alive. How could he
possibly be dead?
His wife half-turned. "Andrew, I'm sorry." Her grown children
hustled her into the nearest car. You would have thought they were
the getaway drivers for a bank robbery, they peeled out so
fast.
The lawyers and secretaries left as fast as was decent.
Everybody had what they'd come for. They were done with the corpse.
The trouble was that the "corpse" was staring after them like a
child who was left in the dark.
Why couldn't he have stayed an arrogant SOB?
"Why are they leaving me?" he asked.
"You died, Mr. Doughal, nearly a week ago."
"No, it's not true."
Larry moved up beside me. "You really are dead, Mr. Doughal. I
raised you from the dead myself."
He stared from one to the other of us. He was beginning to run
out of excuses. "I don't feel dead."
"Trust us, Mr. Doughal, you are dead," I said.
"Will it hurt?"
A lot of zombies asked that; will it hurt to go back into the
grave? "No, Mr. Doughal, it doesn't hurt. I promise."
He took a deep, shaking breath and nodded. "I'm dead, really
dead?"
"Yes."
"Then put me back, please." He had rallied and found his
dignity. It was nightmarish when the zombie refused to believe. You
could still lay them to rest, but the clients had to hold them down
on the grave while they screamed. I'd only had that happen twice,
but I remembered each time as if it had happened last night. Some
things don't dim with time.
I threw salt against his chest. It sounded like sleet hitting a
roof. "With salt I bind you to your grave."
I had the still-bloody knife in my hand. I wiped the gelling
blood across his lips. He didn't jerk away. He believed. "With
blood and steel I bind you to your grave, Andrew Doughal. Be at
peace, and walk no more."
The zombie laid full length on the mound of flowers. The flowers
seemed to flow over him like quicksand, and just like that he was
swallowed back into the grave.
We stood there a minute in the empty graveyard. The only sounds
were the wind sighing high up in the trees and the melancholy song
of the year's last crickets. In Charlotte's Web, the
crickets sang, "Summer is over and gone. Over and gone, over and
gone. Summer is dying, dying." The first hard frost, and the
crickets would be dying. They were like Chicken Little, who told
everyone the sky was falling; except in this case, the crickets
were right.
The crickets stopped suddenly like someone had turned a switch.
I held my breath, straining to hear. There was nothing but the
wind, and yet . . . My shoulders were so tight they hurt.
"Larry?"
He turned innocent eyes to me. "What?"
There, three trees to our left, a man's figure was silhouetted
against the moonlight. I caught movement out of the corner of my
eye, on the right side. More than one. The darkness felt alive with
eyes. More than two.
I used Larry's body to shield me from the eyes, drawing my gun,
holding it along my leg so it wouldn't be obvious.
Larry's eyes widened. "Jesus, what's wrong?" His voice was a
hoarse whisper. He didn't give us away. Good for him. I started
herding him towards the cars, slowly, just your friendly
neighborhood animators finished with their night's work and going
home to a well-deserved rest.
"There are people out here."
"After us?"
"After me, more likely," I said.
"Why?"
I shook my head. "No time for explanations. When I say run, run
like hell for the cars."
"How do you know they mean to hurt us?" His eyes were flashing a
lot of white. He saw them now, too. Shadows moving closer, people
out in the dark.
"How do you know they don't mean to hurt us?" I asked.
"Good point," he said. His breathing was fast and shallow. We
were maybe twenty feet from the cars.
"Run," I said.
"What?" his voice sounded startled.
I grabbed his arm and dragged him into a run for the cars. I
pointed the gun at the ground, still hoping whoever it was wouldn't
be prepared for a gun.
Larry was running on his own, puffing a little from fear,
smoking, and maybe he didn't run four miles every other day.
A man stepped in front of the cars. He brought up a large
revolver. The Browning was already moving. It fired before my aim
was steady. The muzzle flashed brilliant in the dark. The man
jumped, not used to being shot at. His shot whined into the
darkness to our left. He froze for the seconds it took me to aim
and fire again. Then he crumpled to the ground and didn't get up
again.
"Shit." Larry breathed it like a sigh.
A voice yelled, "She's got a gun."
"Where's Martin?"
"She shot him."
I guess Martin was the one with the gun. He still wasn't moving.
I didn't know if I killed him or not. I wasn't sure I cared, as
long as he didn't get up and shoot at us again.
My car was closer. I shoved car keys into Larry's hands. "Open
the door, open the passenger side door, then start the car. Do you
understand me?"
He nodded, freckles standing out in the pale circle of his face.
I had to trust that he wouldn't panic and take off without me. He
wouldn't do it out of malice, just fear.
Figures were converging from all directions. There had to be a
dozen or more. The sound of running feet whispering on grass came
over the wind.
Larry stepped over the body. I kicked a .45 away from the limp
hand. The gun slid out of sight under the car. If I hadn't been
pressed for time, I'd have checked his pulse. I always like to know
if I've killed someone. Makes the police report go so much
smoother.
Larry had the car door open and was leaning over to unlock the
passenger side door. I aimed at one of the running figures and
pulled the trigger. The figure stumbled, fell, and started
screaming. The others hesitated. They weren't used to being shot
at. Poor babies.
I slid into the car and yelled, "Drive, drive, drive!"
Larry peeled out in a spray of gravel. The car fishtailed,
headlights swaying crazily. "Don't wrap us around a tree,
Larry."
His eyes flicked to me. "Sorry." The car slowed from
stomach-turning speed to grab-the-door-handle-and-hold-on speed. We
were staying between the trees; that was something.
The headlights bounced off trees; tombstones flashed white. The
car skidded around a curve, gravel spitting. A man stood framed in
the middle of the road. Jeremy Ruebens of Humans First stood pale
and shining in the lights. He stood in the middle of a flat stretch
of road. If we could make the turn beyond him, we'd be out on the
highway and safe.
The car was slowing down.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I can't just hit him," Larry said.
"The hell you can't."
"I can't!" His voice wasn't outraged, it was scared.
"He's just playing chicken with us, Larry. He'll move."
"Are you sure?" A little boy's voice asking if there really was
a monster in the closet.
"I'm sure; now floor it and get us out of here."
He pressed down on the accelerator. The car jumped forward,
rushing toward the small, straight figure of Jeremy Ruebens.
"He's not moving," Larry said.
"He'll move," I said.
"Are you sure?"
"Trust me."
His eyes flicked to me, then back to the road. "You better be
right," he whispered.
I believed Ruebens would move. Honest. But even if he wasn't
bluffing, the only way out was either past him or through him. It
was Ruebens's choice.
The headlights bathed him in glaring white light. His small,
dark features glared at us. He wasn't moving.
"He isn't moving," Larry said.
"He'll move," I said.
"Shit," Larry said. I couldn't have agreed more.
The headlights roared up onto Jeremy Ruebens, and he threw
himself to one side. There was the sound of brushing cloth as his
coat slid along the car's side. Close, damn close.
Larry picked up speed and swung us around the last corner and
into the last straight stretch. We spilled out onto the highway in
a shower of gravel and spinning tires. But we were out of the
cemetery. We'd made it. Thank you, God.
Larry's hands were white on the steering wheel. "You can ease
down now," I said. "We're safe."
He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it, then nodded. The car
started gradually approaching the speed limit. His face was beaded
with sweat that had nothing to do with the cool October
evening.
"You all right?"
"I don't know." His voice sounded sort of hollow. Shock.
"You did good back there."
"I thought I was going to run over him. I thought I was going to
kill him with the car."
"He thought so, too, or he wouldn't have moved," I said.
He looked at me. "What if he hadn't moved?"
"He did move."
"But what if he hadn't?"
"Then we would have gone over him, and we'd still be on the
highway, safe."
"You would have let me run him down, wouldn't you?"
"Survival is the name of the game, Larry. If you can't deal with
that, find another business to be in."
"Animators don't get shot at."
"Those were members of Humans First, a right-wing fanatic group
that hates anything to do with the supernatural." So I was leaving
out about the personal visit from Jeremy Ruebens. What the kid
didn't know might not hurt him.
I stared at his pale face. He looked hollow-eyed. He'd met the
dragon, a little dragon as dragons go, but once you've seen
violence, you're never the same again. The first time you have to
decide, live or die, us or them, it changes you forever. No going
back. I stared at Larry's shocked face and wished it could have
been different. I wished I could have kept him shining, new, and
hopeful. But as my Grandmother Blake used to say, "If wishes were
horses, we'd all ride."
Larry had had his first taste of my world. The only question
was, would he want a second dose, or would he run? Run or go, stay
or fight, age-old questions. I wasn't sure which way I wanted Larry
to choose. He might live longer if he got the hell away from me,
but then again maybe he wouldn't. Heads they win, tails you
lose.
Chapter 21
"What about my car?" Larry asked.
I shrugged. "You've got insurance, right?"
"Yes, but . . ."
"Since they couldn't trash us, they may decide to trash your
car."
He looked at me as if he wasn't sure whether I was kidding. I
wasn't.
There was a bicycle in front of us suddenly, out of the dark. A
child's pale face flashed in the headlights. "Watch out!"
Larry's eyes flicked back to the road in time to see the kid's
wide, startled eyes. The brakes squealed, and the child vanished
from the narrow arch of lights. There was a crunch and a bump
before the car skidded to a stop. Larry was breathing heavy; I
wasn't breathing at all.
The cemetery was just on our right. We were too close to stop,
but . . . but, shit, it was a kid.
I stared out the back window. The bicycle was a crumpled mess.
The child lay in a very still heap. God, please don't let him be
dead.
I didn't think Humans First had enough imagination to have a
child in reserve as bait. If it was a trap, it was a good one,
because I couldn't leave the tiny figure crumpled by the road.
Larry was gripping the steering wheel so hard his arms shook. If
I thought he'd been pale before, I'd been wrong. He looked like a
sick ghost.
"Is he . . . hurt?" His voice squeezed out deep and rough with
something like tears. It wasn't hurt he'd wanted to say. He just
couldn't bring himself to use the big "D" word. Not yet, not if he
could help it.
"Stay in the car," I said.
Larry didn't answer. He just sat there staring at his hands. He
wouldn't look at me. But, dammit, this wasn't my fault. The fact
that he'd lost his cherry tonight was not my fault. So why did it
feel like it was?
I got out of the car, Browning ready in case the crazies decided
to chase us onto the road. They could have gotten the .45 and be
coming to shoot us.
The child hadn't moved. I was just too far away to see the chest
rise and fall. Yeah, that was it. I was maybe a yard away.
Please be alive.
The child lay sprawled on its stomach, one arm trapped
underneath, probably broken. I scanned the dark cemetery as I knelt
by the child. No right-wing crazies came swarming out of the
darkness. The child was dressed in the proverbial little boy's
outfit of striped shirt, shorts, and tiny running shoes. Who had
sent him out dressed for summer on this cold night? His mother. Had
some woman dressed him, loved him, sent him out to die?
His curly brown hair was silken, baby-fine. The skin of his neck
was cool to the touch. Shock? It was too soon to be cold from
death. I waited for the big pulse in his neck, but nothing
happened. Dead. Please, God, please.
His head raised up, and a soft sound came out of his mouth.
Alive. Thank you, God.
He tried to roll over but fell back against the road. He cried
out.
Larry was out of the car, coming towards us. "Is he all
right?"
"He's alive," I said.
The boy was determined to roll over, so I grabbed his shoulders
and helped. I tried to keep his right arm in against his body. I
had a glimpse of huge brown eyes, round baby face, and in his right
hand was a knife bigger than he was. He whispered, "Tell him to
come help move me." Tiny little fangs showed between baby lips. The
knife pressed against my stomach over the sport bag. The point slid
underneath the leather jacket to touch the shirt underneath. I had
one of those frozen moments when time stretches out in slow-mo
nightmare. I had all the time in the world to decide whether to
betray Larry, or die. Never give anyone to the monsters; it's a
rule. I opened my mouth and screamed, "Run!"
The vampire didn't stab me. He just froze. He wanted me alive;
that's why the knife and not fangs. I stood up, and the vampire
just stared up at me. He didn't have a backup plan. Great.
The car stood, open doors spilling light out into the darkness.
The headlights made a wide theatrical swash. Larry was just
standing there, frozen, undecided. I yelled, "Get in the car!"
He moved towards the open car door. A woman was standing in the
glare of the headlights. She was dressed in a long white coat open
over the cream and tan of a very nice pants suit. She opened her
mouth and snarled into the light, fangs glistening.
I was running, screaming, "Behind you!"
Larry stared at me; his gaze went past me. His eyes widened. I
could hear the patter of little feet behind me. Terror spread
across Larry's face. Was this the first vampire he'd ever seen?
I drew my gun, but was still running. You can't hit shit when
you're running. I had a vampire in front and behind. Coin toss.
The female vampire bounded onto the hood of the car and
propelled herself in a long, graceful leap that carried her into
Larry and sent them tumbling across the road.
I couldn't shoot her without risking Larry. I whirled at the
last second and put the gun point-blank into the child-vampire's
face.
His eyes widened. I squeezed the trigger. Something hit me from
behind. The shot went wild and I was on the road, flat on my
stomach with something bigger than a bread box on top of me.
The air was knocked out of me. But I turned, trying to point the
gun back at the thing on my back. If I didn't do something now, I
might never have to worry about breathing again.
The boy came up on me, knife flashing downward. The gun was
turning, but too slowly. I would have screamed if I'd had air. The
knife buried into the sleeve of my jacket. I felt the blade bite
into the road underneath. My arm was pinned. I squeezed the trigger
and the shot went harmlessly off into the dark.
I twisted my neck to try to see who, or what, was straddling me.
It was a what. In the red glow of the rear car lights his face was
all flat, high cheekbones with narrow, almost slanted eyes and
long, straight hair. If he'd been any more ethnic, he'd have been
carved in stone, surrounded by snakes and Aztec gods.
He reached over me and encircled my right hand, the one that was
pinned, the one that was still holding the gun. He pressed the
bones of my hand into the metal. His voice was deep and soft. "Drop
the gun or I'll crush your hand." He squeezed until I gasped.
Larry screamed, high and mournful.
Screaming was for when you didn't have anything better to do. I
scraped my left sleeve against the road, baring my watch and the
charm bracelet. The three tiny crosses glinted in the moonlight.
The vampire hissed but didn't let go of my gun hand. I dragged the
bracelet across his hand. A sharp smell of burning flesh; then he
used his free hand to drag at my left sleeve. Holding onto just the
sleeve, he held my left hand back, so I couldn't touch him with the
crosses.
If he'd been the new dead, just the sight of the crosses would
have sent him screaming; but he wasn't just old dead, he was
ancient. It was going to take more than blessed crosses to get him
off my back.
Larry screamed again.
I screamed, too, because I couldn't do anything else, except
hold onto the gun and make him crush my hand. Not productive. They
didn't want me dead, but hurt, hurt was okay. He could crush my
hand into bloody pulp. I gave up my gun, screaming, tugging at the
knife that held my arm pinned, trying to jerk my left sleeve free
of his hand so I could plunge the crosses into his flesh.
A shot exploded above our heads. We all froze and stared back at
the cemetery. Jeremy Ruebens and company had recovered their gun
and were shooting at us. Did they think we were in cahoots with the
monsters? Did they care who they shot?
A woman screamed, "Alejandro, help me!" The scream was from
behind us. The vampire on my back was suddenly gone. I didn't know
why, and I didn't care. I was left with the child-monster looming
over me, staring at me with large dark eyes.
"Doesn't it hurt?" he asked.
It was such an unexpected question that I answered it. "No."
He looked disappointed. He squatted down beside me, hands on his
small thighs. "I meant to cut you so I could lick the blood." His
voice was still a little boy's voice, would always be a little
boy's voice, but the knowledge in his eyes beat down on my skin
like heat. He was older than Jean-Claude, much older.
A bullet smashed into the rear light of my car, just above the
boy's head. He turned towards the fanatics with a very unchildlike
snarl. I tried to pull the knife out of the road, but it was
imbedded. I couldn't budge it.
The boy crawled into the darkness, vanishing with a backwash of
wind. He was going for the fanatics. God help them.
I looked back over my shoulder. Larry was on the ground with a
woman with long, waving brown hair on top of him. The man who'd
been on top of me, Alejandro, and another woman were struggling
with the vampire on Larry. She wanted to kill him, and they were
trying to stop her. It seemed like a good plan to me.
Another bullet whined towards us. It didn't come close. A
half-strangled scream, and then no more gunshots. Had the boy
gotten him? Was Larry hurt? And what the hell could I do to help
him, and me?
The vampires seemed to have their hands full. Whatever I was
going to do, now was the time. I tried unzipping the leather jacket
left-handed, but it stuck halfway down. Great. I bit the side of
the jacket, using my teeth in place of the trapped hand. Unzipped;
now what?
I pulled the sleeve off my left hand with my teeth, then put the
sleeve under my hip and wiggled out of it. Slipping my right hand
free of the pinned sleeve was the easy part.
Alejandro picked up the brown-haired woman and threw her over
the car. She sailed into the darkness, but I didn't hear her hit
the ground. Maybe she could fly. If she could, I didn't want to
know.
Larry was nearly lost to sight behind a curtain of pale hair.
The second female was bending over him like a prince about to
bestow the magic kiss. Alejandro got a handful of that long, long
hair and jerked her to her feet. He flung her into the side of the
car. She staggered but didn't go down, snapping at him like a dog
on a leash.
I went wide around them, holding the crosses out in front like
every old movie you've ever seen. Except I'd never seen a vampire
hunter with a charm bracelet.
Larry was on his hands and knees, swaying ever so slightly. His
voice was high, nearly hysterical. He just kept repeating, "I'm
bleeding, I'm bleeding."
I touched his arm, and he jumped like I'd bit him. His eyes
flashed white.
Blood was welling down his neck, black in the moonlight. She'd
bit him, Jesus help us, she'd bit him.
The pale female was still fighting to get to Larry. "Can't you
smell the blood?" It was a plea.
"Control yourself, or I'll do it for you." Alejandro's voice was
a low scream. The anger in his voice cut and sliced. The pale woman
went very still.
"I'm all right now." Her voice held fear. I'd never heard one
vampire be scared to . . . death of another. Let them fight it out.
I had better things to do. Like figuring out how to get us past the
remaining vampires and into the car.
Alejandro had the female shoved against the car with one hand.
My gun was in his left hand. I unsnapped the anklet with its
matching crosses. You can't sneak up on a vampire. Even the new
dead are jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking
chairs. Since I had no chance of sneaking up on him, I tried the
direct approach.
"She bit him, you son of a bitch. She bit him!" I pulled the
back of his shirt as if to get his attention. I dropped the crosses
down his back.
He screamed.
I brushed the bracelet crosses across his hand. He dropped the
gun. I caught it. A tongue of blue flame licked up his back. He
clawed and scrambled, but he couldn't reach the crosses. Burn,
baby, burn.
He whirled, shrieking. His open hand caught me on the side of
the head. I was airborne. I slammed back-first into the road. I
tried to take as much of the impact as I could with my arms, but my
head rocked back, slamming into the road.
The world swam with black spots. When my vision cleared, I was
staring up into a pale face; long, yellow-white hair the color of
corn silk traced over my cheek as the vampire knelt to feed.
I still had the Browning in my right hand. I pulled the trigger.
Her body jerked backwards like someone had shoved her. She fell
back onto the road, blood pouring out of a hole in her stomach that
was nothing compared to the wound in her back. I hoped I'd
shattered her spine.
I staggered to my feet.
The male vampire, Alejandro, tore off his shirt. The crosses
fell to the road in a little pool of molten blue fire. His back was
burned black, with blisters here and there to add color. He whirled
on me, and I shot him once in the chest. The shot was rushed, and
he didn't go down.
Larry grabbed the vampire's ankle. Still Alejandro kept coming,
dragging Larry across the blacktop like a child. He grabbed Larry's
arm, jerking him to his feet. Larry threw a chain over the
vampire's head. The heavy silver cross burst into flame. Alejandro
screamed.
I yelled, "Get in the car, now!"
Larry slid into the driver's seat and kept sliding until he was
in the passenger seat. He slammed the passenger side door shut and
locked it, for what good it would do. The vampire tore the chain
and threw the cross end over end into the roadside trees. The cross
winked out of sight like a falling star.
I slid into the car, slamming the door and locking it. I clicked
the safety on the Browning and shoved it between my legs.
The vampire, Alejandro, was huddled around his pain, too hurt to
give chase right that second. Goodie.
I shoved the car in gear and gunned it. The car fishtailed. I
slowed to the speed of light, and the car straightened out on the
road. We poured down the dark tunnel in a circle of flickering
light and tree shadows. And down at the end of our tunnel was a
figure in white with long, brown hair spilling in the wind. It was
the vampire that had jumped Larry. She was just standing there in
the middle of the road. Just standing there. We were about to find
out if vampires played chicken. I was about to take my own advice.
I put the gas pedal to the floorboards. The car lurched forward.
The vampire just stood there while we barreled down at her.
At the last second I realized she wasn't going to move, and I
didn't have time to. We were about to test my theory about cars and
vampiric flesh. Where's a silver car when you need one?
Chapter 22
The headlights flashed on the vampire like a spotlight. I had an
image of pale face, brown hair, fangs stretched wide. We hit her
going sixty. The car shuddered. She rolled in painful slow motion
up over the hood, and yet it was happening too fast for me to do
anything. She hit the windshield with a sharp, crackling sound.
Metal screamed.
The windshield crumbled into a mass of spiderweb cracks. I was
suddenly trying to see through the wrong end of a smashed prism.
The safety glass had done its job. It hadn't shattered and cut us
to ribbons. It had just cracked all to hell, and I couldn't see to
drive. I stamped down on the brakes. An arm shot through the glass,
raining glittering shards down on Larry.
He screamed. The hand closed on his shirt, pulling him into the
broken teeth of the windshield.
I turned the wheel to the left as hard as I could. The car spun
out and all I could do was let off the gas, not touch the brake,
and ride.
Larry had a death grip on the door arm and the headrest. He was
screaming, fighting not to be pulled through the jagged glass. I
said a quick prayer and let go of the wheel. The car spun
helplessly. I shoved a cross against the hand. It smoked and
bubbled. The hand let go of Larry and vanished through the hole in
the crumbled glass.
I grabbed at the steering wheel, but it was too little too late.
The car careened off the road into the ditch. Metal screamed as
something under the car broke, something large. I was slammed into
the driver's side door. Larry was suddenly on top of me; then we
were both tumbling to the other side. Then it was over. The silence
was startling. It was as if I'd gone deaf. There was a great
roaring whiteness in my ears.
Someone said, "Thank God," and it was me.
The passenger side door peeled open like the shell of a nut. I
scrambled back away from the opening. Larry was left stranded and
staring. He was jerked out of the car. I slid into the front
floorboard, aiming where Larry had vanished.
I was staring up at Larry's body with a dark hand clamped so
tight on his throat, I didn't know if he could breathe. I stared
down the barrel of my gun at the dark face of the vampire,
Alejandro. His face was unreadable as he said, "I will tear his
throat out."
"I'll blow your head off," I said. A hand came fishing through
the broken windshield. "Back off or you lose that pretty face."
"He will die first," the vampire said. But the hand vanished
back through the hole. There was the sound of some other language
in the vampire's English. Emotion gave him an accent.
Larry's eyes were too wide, showing too much white. He was
breathing. shallow and too fast. He'd hyperventilate, if he lived
that long.
"Decide," the vampire said. His voice was flat, empty of
everything. Larry's terror-filled eyes were eloquent enough for
both of them.
I hit the safety on the gun and handed it butt-first to his
outstretched hand. It was a mistake, I knew that, but I also knew I
couldn't sit here and watch Larry's throat be ripped out. There are
some things that are more important than physical survival. You
gotta be able to look at yourself in the mirror. I gave up my gun
for the same reason I'd stopped for the child. There was no choice.
I was one of the good guys. Good guys were self-sacrificing. It was
a rule somewhere.
Chapter 23
Larry's face was a bloody mask. No single cut seemed
to be serious, but nothing bleeds like a shallow scalp wound.
Safety glass was not designed to be vampire-proof. Maybe I could
write in and suggest it.
Blood trickled over Alejandro's hand, still gripping
Larry's throat. The vampire had stuffed my gun in the back of his
pants. He handled the gun like he knew how to use one. Pity. Some
vampires were technophobes. It gave you an edge, sometimes.
Larry's blood flowed over the vampire's hand. Sticky
and warm like barely solid Jell-O. The vampire didn't react to the
blood. Iron self-control. I stared into his nearly black eyes and
felt the pull of centuries like monstrous wings unfolding in his
eyes. The world swam. The inside of my head was sinking, expanding.
I reached out to touch something, anything to keep from falling. A
hand gripped mine. The skin was cool and smooth. I jerked back,
falling against the car.
"Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!"
The vampire stood uncertainly, Larry's throat gripped
in one blood-streaked hand, holding his other hand out towards me.
It was a very human gesture. Larry's eyes were bugging out.
"You're choking him," I said.
"Sorry," the vampire said. He released him.
Larry fell to his knees, gasping. His first breath
was a hissing scream for air.
I wanted to ask Larry how he was, but I didn't. My
job was to get us out of here alive, if possible. Besides, I had an
idea how Larry felt. Hurt. No need to ask stupid questions.
Well, maybe one stupid question. "What do you want?"
I asked.
Alejandro looked at me, and I fought the urge to look
at his face while I talked to him. It was hard. I ended up staring
at the hole my bullet had made in the side of his chest. It was a
very small hole, and had already stopped bleeding. Was he healing
that fast? Shit. I stared at the wound as hard as I could. To fight
the urge for eye contact. It's hard to be tough when you're staring
at someone's chest. But I'd had years of practice before Jean-Claude
decided to share his "gift" with me. Practice makes . . . well, you
know.
The vampire hadn't answered me, so I asked again,
voice steady and low. I didn't sound like someone who was afraid.
Bully for me. "What do you want?"
I felt the vampire look at me, almost as if he'd run
a finger down my body. I shivered and couldn't stop. Larry crawled
to me, head hanging, dripping blood as he moved.
I knelt beside him. And before I could stop myself,
the stupid question popped out. "Are you all right?"
His eyes raised to me through a mask of blood. He
finally said, "Nothing a few stitches wouldn't cure." He was trying
to make a joke. I wanted to hug him and promise the worst was over.
Never make promises you can't keep.
The vampire didn't exactly move, but something
brought my attention back to him. He stood knee-deep in autumn
weeds. My eyes were on a level with his belt buckle, which made him
about my height. Short for a man. A white, Anglo-Saxon,
twentieth-century man. The belt buckle glinted gold and was carved
into a blocky, stylized human figure. The carving, like the
vampire's face, was straight out of an Aztec calendar.
The urge to look upward and meet his eyes crawled
over my skin. My chin had actually risen an inch or so before I
realized what I was doing. Shit. The vamp was messing with my mind,
and I couldn't feel it. Even now, knowing he had to be doing
something to me, I couldn't sense it. I was blind and deaf just
like every other tourist.
Well, maybe not every tourist. I hadn't been munched
on yet, which probably meant they wanted something more than just
blood. I'd be dead otherwise, and so would Larry. Of course, I was
still wearing blessed crosses. What could this creature do once I
was stripped of crosses? I did not want to find out.
We were alive. It meant they wanted something that we
couldn't give them dead. But what?
"What in the hell do you want?"
His hand came into view. He was offering his hand to
help me stand. I stood without help, putting myself a little in
front of Larry.
"Tell me who your master is, girl, and I won't hurt
you."
"Who else will, then?" I asked.
"Clever, but I swear you will leave here in safety if
you give me the name."
"First of all, I don't have a master. I'm not even
sure I have an equal." I fought the urge to glance at his face, see
if he got the joke. Jean-Claude would have gotten it.
"You stand before me, making jokes?" His voice
sounded surprised, nearly outraged. Good, I think.
"I don't have a master," I said. Master vampires can
smell truth or lies.
"If you truly believe that, you are deluding
yourself. You bear two master signs. Give me the name and I will
destroy him for you. I will free you of this . . . problem."
I hesitated. He was older than Jean-Claude. A lot
older. He might be able to kill the Master of the City. Of course,
that would leave this master vampire in control of the city. He and
his three helpers. Four vampires, one less than were killing
people, but I was willing to bet there was a fifth vamp around here
somewhere. You couldn't have that many rogue master vampires
running around one medium-size city.
Any master that was slaughtering civilians would be a
bad thing to have in charge of all the vampires in the area. Just
call it a feeling.
I shook my head. "I can't."
"You want free of him, do you not?"
"Very much."
"Let me free you, Ms. Blake. Let me help you."
"Like you helped the man and woman you murdered?"
"I did not murder them," he said. His voice sounded
very reasonable. His eyes were powerful enough to drown in but the
voice wasn't as good. There was no magic to the voice.
Jean-Claude's was better. Or Yasmeen's, for that matter. Nice to
know that not every talent came equally with time. Ancient wasn't
everything.
"So you didn't strike the fatal blow. So what? Your
flunkies do your will, not their own."
"You'd be surprised how much free will we have."
"Stop it," I said.
"What?"
"Sounding so damn reasonable."
There was laughter in his voice. "You would rather I
rant and rave?"
Yes, actually, but I didn't say it out loud. "I won't
give you the name. Now what?"
There was a rush of wind at my back. I tried to turn,
to face the wind. The woman in white rushed at me. Fangs straining,
hands clawing, spattered with other people's blood, the vampire
smashed into me. We fell backwards into the weeds with her on top.
She darted towards my neck like a snake. I shoved my left wrist
into her face. One cross brushed her lips. A flash of light, the
stench of burning flesh, and the vampire was gone, screaming into
the darkness. I had never seen any vampire move that fast. Had it
been mind-magic? Had she tricked me that badly even with a blessed
cross? How many over-five-hundred-year-old vamps can you have in
one pack? Two, I hoped. Any more than that and they'd have us
outnumbered.
I scrambled to my feet. The master vampire was on his
hands and knees beside the remains of my car. Larry was nowhere in
sight. A flutter of panic clawed at my chest; then I realized Larry
had crawled underneath the car so the vampire couldn't make him a
hostage again. When all else fails, hide. It works for rabbits.
The vampire's blistered back was bent at a painful
angle as he tried to pull Larry out from under the car. "I will
pull this arm out of its socket, if you do not come here!"
"You sound like you've got a kitten under the bed," I
said.
Alejandro whirled around. He flinched, like it hurt.
Great.
I felt something move behind me. I didn't argue with
the sensation. Say it was nerves; I turned, crosses ready. Two
vampires behind me. One was the pale-haired female. I guess the
shot had missed her spine; pity. The other vampire could have been
her male twin. They both hissed and cowered from the crosses. Nice
to see someone was bothered.
The master came at me from the back, but I heard him.
Either the burn was making him clumsy, or the crosses were helping
me. I stood halfway between the three vampires, crosses sort of
pointed at both groups. The blonds peered over their arms, but the
crosses had them well and truly scared. The master never hesitated.
He came in a rushing burst of speed. I backpedaled, tried to keep
the crosses between us, but he grabbed my left forearm. With the
crosses dangling inches from his flesh, he held on.
I pulled, getting as much distance from him as I
could, then hit him in the solar plexus with everything I had. He
made an "umph" sound, then flicked his hand at my face. I rocked
back and tasted blood. He'd barely touched me, but he'd proven his
point. If I wanted to exchange blows, he'd beat the crap out of
me.
I hit him in the throat. He gagged and looked
surprised. Beaten to snot was still a hell of a lot better than
being bitten. I'd rather be dead than have pointy teeth.
His fist closed over my right fist, squeezing just
enough to let me feel his strength. He was still trying to warn me
off rather than hurt me. Bully for him.
He raised both his arms, drawing me closer into his
body. I didn't want closer, but there didn't seem to be a hell of a
lot I could do about it. Unless, of course, vampires had testicles.
The throat shot had hurt. I glanced at his face, almost close
enough to kiss. I leaned into him, getting as much room as I could.
He just kept drawing me closer. His own momentum helped.
My knee hit him hard, and I ground it up and into
him. It was not a glancing blow. He crumpled forward but didn't let
go of my hands. I wasn't loose, but it was a start, and I'd
answered an age-old question. Vampires did have balls.
He jerked my hands behind my back, pinning me between
his arms and his body. His body felt wooden, stiff, and unyielding
as stone. It had been warm and soft and hurtable only a second
before. What had happened?
"Take the things off her wrist," he said. He wasn't
talking to me.
I tried to crane my head around to see what was
coming up behind me. I couldn't see anything. The two pale vampires
were still huddled in the face of the naked crosses.
Something touched my wrist. I jerked, but he held me
still. "If you struggle, he will cut you."
I turned my head as far back as I could, and was
staring into the round eyes of the boy vampire. He'd recovered his
knife and was using it to poke at the bracelet.
The master vampire's hands squeezed my arms until I
thought they'd pop from the pressure like shaken soda pop. I must
have made some sound, because he said, "I did not mean to hurt you
tonight." His mouth was pressed against my ear, lost in my hair.
"This was your choice."
The bracelet broke with a small snap. I felt it fall
away into the weeds. The master vampire drew a deep breath, as if
it were easier to breathe now. He was only an inch or two taller
than I was, but he held both my wrists in one small hand, fingers
squeezing to make the grip tight. It hurt, and I fought not to make
small, helpless noises.
He stroked his free hand through my hair, then
grabbed a handful and pulled my head backwards so he could see my
eyes. His eyes were solid, absolute black; the whites had drowned.
"I will have his name, Anita, one way or another."
I spit in his face.
He screamed, tightening his grip on my wrists until I
cried out. "I could have made this pleasant, but now I think I want
you to hurt. Look into my eyes, mortal, and despair. Taste of my
eyes, and there will be no secrets between us." His voice dropped
to the barest of whispers. "Perhaps I will drink your mind like
others drink blood, and leave nothing behind but your mindless
husk."
I stared into the darkness that was his eyes and felt
myself fall, forward, impossibly forward, and down, down into a
blackness that was pure and total, and had never known light.
Chapter 24
I was staring up into a face I didn't know. The face was holding
a bloody handkerchief to its forehead. Short hair, pale eyes,
freckles. "Hi, Larry," I said. My voice sounded distant and
strange. I couldn't remember why.
It was still dark. Larry's face had been cleaned up a little,
but the wound was still bleeding. I couldn't have been out that
long. Out? Where had I been out to? All I could remember was eyes,
black eyes. I sat up too fast. Larry caught my arm or I would have
fallen.
"Where are the . . ."
"Vampires," he finished for me.
I leaned into his arm and whispered, "Yeah."
There were people all around us in the dark, huddled in little
whispering groups. The lights of a police car strobed the darkness.
Two uniforms were standing quietly next to the car, talking with a
man whose name wouldn't come to me.
"Karl," I said.
"What?" Larry asked.
"Karl Inger, the tall man talking to the police."
Larry nodded. "That's right."
A small, dark man knelt beside us. Jeremy Ruebens of Humans
First, who last I knew had been shooting at us. What the hell was
going on?
Jeremy smiled at me. It looked genuine.
"What makes you my friend all of a sudden?"
His smile broadened. "We saved you."
I pushed away from Larry to sit on my own. A moment of dizziness
and I was fine. Yeah, right. "Talk to me, Larry."
He glanced at Jeremy Ruebens, then back to me. "They saved
us."
"How?"
"They threw holy water on the one who bit me." He touched his
throat with his free hand, an unconscious gesture, but he noticed
me watching. "Is she going to have control over me?"
"Did she enter your mind at the same time as she bit you?"
"I don't know," he said. "How can you tell?"
I opened my mouth to explain, then closed it. How to explain the
unexplainable? "If Alejandro, the master vampire, had bitten me at
the same time he rolled my mind, I'd be under his power now."
"Alejandro?"
"That's what the other vampires called the master."
I shook my head, but the world swam in black waves and I had to
swallow hard not to vomit. What had he done to me? I'd had mind
games played on me before, but I'd never had a reaction like
this.
"There's an ambulance coming," Larry said.
"I don't need one."
"You've been unconscious for over an hour, Ms. Blake," Ruebens
said. "We had the police call an ambulance when we couldn't wake
you."
Ruebens was close enough for me to reach out and touch him. He
looked friendly, positively radiant, like a bride on her big day.
Why was I suddenly his favorite person? "So they threw holy water
on the vamp that bit you; what then?" I asked Larry.
"They drove the rest of them off with crosses and charms."
"Charms?"
Ruebens pulled out a chain with two miniature metal-faced books
hanging on it. Both books would have fit in the palm of my hand
with room to spare. "They aren't charms, Larry. They're tiny Jewish
Holy Books."
"I thought a Star of David."
"The star doesn't work, because it's a racial symbol, not really
a religious symbol."
"So it's like miniature Bibles?"
I raised my eyebrows. "The Torah contains the Old Testament, so
yeah, it's like miniature Bibles."
"Would the Bible work for us Christians?"
"I don't know. Probably, I've just never been attacked by
vampires while carrying a Bible." That was probably my fault. In
fact, when was the last time I'd read the Bible? Was I becoming a
Sunday Christian? I'd worry about my soul later, after my body felt
a little better.
"Cancel the ambulance; I'm fine."
"You are not fine," Ruebens said. He reached out as if to touch
me. I looked at him. He stopped in mid-motion. "Let us help you,
Ms. Blake. We share common enemies."
The police were walking towards us over the dark grass. Karl
Inger was coming, too, talking softly to the police as they
moved.
"Do the police know you were shooting at us first?"
Something passed over Ruebens's face.
"They don't know, do they?"
"We saved you, Ms. Blake, from a fate worse than death. I was
wrong to try and hurt you. You raise the dead, but if you are truly
enemies with the vampires, then we are allies."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, huh?"
He nodded.
The police were almost here, almost within earshot. "All right,
but you ever point a gun at me again and I'll forget you saved
me."
"It will never happen again, Ms. Blake; you have my word."
I wanted to say something disparaging, but the police were
there. They'd hear. I wasn't going to tell on Ruebens and Humans
First, so I had to save my smart alec comebacks for later use.
Knowing Ruebens, I'd get another chance.
I lied to the police about what Humans First had done, and I
lied about what Alejandro had wanted from me. It was just another
of those mindless attacks that had happened twice already. Later,
to Dolph and Zerbrowski, I'd tell the truth, but right now I just
didn't feel like explaining the entire mess to strangers. I wasn't
even sure Dolph would get the whole story. Like the fact that I was
almost assuredly Jean-Claude's human servant.
Nope, no need to mention that.
Chapter 25
Larry's car was a late-model Mazda. The vampires had kept Humans
First so busy they hadn't had time to trash the car. Lucky for us,
since my car was totaled. Oh, I'd have to go through the insurance
company and let them tell me the car was totaled, but there was
something large broken underneath the car; fluids darker than blood
were leaking out. The front end looked like we'd hit an elephant. I
knew totaled when I saw it.
We'd spent the last several hours at the emergency room. The
ambulance attendants insisted I see a doctor, and Larry needed
three small stitches in his forehead. His orangey hair fell forward
and hid the wound. His first scar. The first of many if he stayed
in this business and hung around me.
"You've been on the job, what, fourteen hours? What do you think
so far?" I asked.
He glanced at me sideways, then back to the road. He smiled, but
it didn't look funny. "I don't know."
"Do you want to be an animator when you graduate?"
"I thought I did," he said.
Honesty; a rare talent. "Not sure now?"
"Not really."
I let it rest there. My instinct was to talk him out of it. To
tell him to go into some sane, normal business. But I knew that
raising the dead wasn't just a job choice. If your "talent" was
strong enough, you had to raise the dead or risk the power coming
out at odd moments. Does the term roadkill mean anything to you? It
meant something to my stepmother Judith. Of course, she wasn't
pleased with my job. She thought it was gruesome. What could I say?
She was right.
"There are other job choices for a preternatural biology
degree."
"What? A zoo, exterminator?"
"Teacher," I said, "park ranger, naturalist, field biologist,
researcher."
"And which of those jobs can make you this kind of money?" he
asked.
"Is money the only reason you want to be an animator?" I was
disappointed.
"I want to do something to help people. What better than using
my specialized skills to rid the world of dangerous undead?"
I stared at him. All I could see was his profile in the darkened
car, face underlit from the dashboard. "You want to be a vampire
executioner, not an animator." I didn't try to keep the surprise
out of my voice.
"My ultimate goal, yes."
"Why?"
"Why do you do it?"
I shook my head. "Answer the question, Larry."
"I want to help people."
"Then be a policeman; they need people on the force who know
preternatural creatures."
"I thought I did pretty good tonight."
"You did."
"Then what's wrong?"
I tried to think how to phrase it in fifty convincing words or
less. "What happened tonight was awful, but it gets worse."
"Olive's coming up; which way do I turn?"
"Left."
The car took the exit and slid into the turning lane. We sat at
the light with the turn signal blinking in the dark.
"You don't know what you're getting into," I said.
"Then tell me," he said.
"I'll do better than that. I'll show you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Turn right at the third light."
We rolled into the parking lot. "First building on the
right."
Larry slid into the only open space he could find. My parking
space. My poor little Nova wouldn't be coming back to it.
I took off my jacket in the darkness of the car. "Hit the
overhead light," I said.
He did as he was told. He was better at following orders than I
was. Which, since he'd be following my orders, was fine.
I showed him the scars on my arms. "The cross-shaped burn is
from human servants who thought it was funny. The mound of scar
tissue at the bend of my arm is where a vampire tore my arm to
pieces. Physical therapist says it's a miracle that I got full use
of my arm back. Fourteen stitches from a human servant, and that's
just my arms."
"There's more?" His face looked pale and strange in the dome
light.
"A vampire shoved the broken end of a stake in my back."
He winced.
"And my collarbone was broken at the same time my arm got chewed
up."
"You're trying to scare me."
"You bet," I said.
"I won't be scared off."
Tonight should have scared him off without my showing him my
scars. But it hadn't. Dammit, he'd stick, if he didn't get killed
first. "All right, you're staying for the rest of the semester,
great, but promise me you won't go hunting vampires without
me."
"But Mr. Burke . . ."
"He helps execute vampires, but he doesn't hunt them alone."
"What's the difference between an execution and a hunt?"
"An execution just means a body that needs staking, or a vampire
that's all nice and chained up waiting for the final stroke."
"Then what's a hunt?" he asked.
"When I go back out after the vampires that nearly killed us
tonight, that's a hunt."
"And you don't trust Mr. Burke to teach me to hunt?"
"I don't trust Mr. Burke to keep you alive."
Larry's eyes widened.
"I don't mean he'd deliberately hurt you. I mean I don't trust
anybody but me with your life."
"You think it'll come down to that?"
"It damn near did."
He was quiet for a handful of minutes. He stared down at his
hands that were smoothing back and forth over the steering wheel.
"I promise not to go vampire hunting with anybody but you." He
stared at me, blue, blue eyes studying my face. "Not even Mr.
Rodriguez? Mr. Vaughn said he taught you."
"Manny did teach me, but he doesn't hunt vampires anymore."
"Why not?"
I met his true-blue eyes and said, "His wife's too afraid, and
he's got four kids."
"You and Mr. Burke aren't married and don't have kids."
"That's right."
"Neither do I," he said.
I had to smile. Had I ever been this eager? Naw. "No one likes a
smart alec, Larry."
He grinned, and it made him look about thirteen. Jesus, why
wasn't he running for cover after tonight? Why wasn't I? No
answers, at least none that made sense. Why did I do it? Because I
was good at it, came the answer. Maybe Larry could be good at it,
too. Maybe, or maybe he'd just get dead.
I got out of the car and leaned back in the open door. "Go
straight home, and if you don't have an extra cross, buy one
tomorrow."
"Okay," he said.
I shut the door on his solemn, earnest face. I walked up the
stairs and didn't look back. I didn't watch him drive away, still
alive, still eager after his first brush with the monsters. I was
only four years older than he was. Four years. It felt like
centuries. I had never been that green. My mother's death when I
was eight saw to that. It takes the edge off the shiny brightness
to lose a parent early.
I was still going to try to talk Larry out of being a vampire
executioner, but if all else failed, I'd work with him. There are
only two kinds of vampire hunters: good ones and dead ones. Maybe I
could make Larry one of the good ones. It beat the hell out of the
alternative.
Chapter 26
It was 3:34, Friday morning. It had been a long week. Of course,
when hadn't it been a long week this year? I had told Bert to hire
more help. He hired Larry. Why didn't that make me happy? Because
Larry was just another victim waiting for the right monster. Please
keep him safe, God, please. I'd had about as many innocents die on
me as I thought I could handle.
The hallway had that middle-of-the-night feel to it. The only
sounds were the hush of the heating vents, the muffled sound of my
Nike Airs on the carpeting. It was too late for my day-living
neighbors to stay up, and too early for them to get up. Two hours
before dawn, you get privacy.
I opened my brand-new burglarproof lock and stepped into the
darkness of my apartment. I hit the lights and flooded the white
walls, carpet, couch, and chair with bright light. No matter how
good your night vision is, everyone likes light. We're creatures of
the daylight, no matter what we do for a living.
I threw my jacket on the kitchen counter. It was too dirty to
toss on the white couch. I had mud and bits of weed plastered all
over me. But very little blood; the night had turned out all
right.
I was slipping out of the shoulder holster when I felt it. The
air currents had moved, as if something had moved through them.
Just like that I knew I wasn't alone.
My hand was on the gun butt when Edward's voice came out of the
darkness of my bedroom. "Don't, Anita."
I hesitated, fingers touching the gun. "And if I do?"
"I'll shoot you. You know I'll do it." His voice was that soft,
sure predatory sound. I'd seen him use flamethrowers when his voice
sounded like that. Smooth and calm as the road to Hell.
I eased away from my gun. Edward would shoot me if I forced him
to. Better not to force it, not yet. Not yet.
I clasped my hands on top of my head without waiting for him to
tell me. Maybe I'd get brownie points for being a cooperative
prisoner. Naw.
Edward stepped out of the darkness like a blond ghost. He was
dressed all in black except for his short hair and pale face. His
black-gloved hands held a Beretta 9mm pointed very steadily at my
chest.
"New gun?" I asked.
The ghost of a smile curled his lips. "Yes, like it?"
"Beretta's a nice gun, but you know me."
"A Browning fan," he said.
I smiled at him. Just two ol' buddies talking shop.
He pressed the gun barrel against my body while he took the
Browning from me. "Lean and spread it."
I leaned on the back of the couch while he patted me down. There
was nothing to find, but Edward didn't know that. He was never
careless. That was one of the reasons he was still alive. That, and
the fact that he was very, very good.
"You said you couldn't pick my lock," I said.
"I brought better tools," he said.
"So it's not burglarproof."
"It would be to most people."
"But not to you."
He stared at me, his eyes as empty and dead as winter's sky. "I
am not most people."
I had to smile. "You can say that again."
He frowned at me. "Give me the master's name, and we don't have
to do this." The gun never wavered. My Browning stuck out of the
front of his belt. I hoped he'd remembered the safety. Or maybe I
didn't.
I opened my mouth, closed it, and just looked at him. I couldn't
give Jean-Claude over to Edward. I was the Executioner, but the
vampires called Edward Death. He'd earned the name.
"I thought you'd be following me tonight."
"I went home after watching you raise the zombie. Guess I should
have stayed around. Who bloodied your mouth?"
"I'm not going to tell you a bloody thing. You know that."
"Everyone breaks, Anita, everyone."
"Even you?"
That ghost of a smile was back again. "Even me."
"Someone got the better of Death? Tell, tell."
The smile widened. "Some other time."
"Nice to know there'll be another time," I said.
"I'm not here to kill you."
"Just to frighten or torture me into revealing the master's
name, right?"
"Right," he said, voice soft and low.
"I was hoping you'd say wrong."
He almost shrugged. "Give me the Master of the City, Anita, and
I'll go away."
"You know I can't do that."
"I know you have to, or it's going to be a very long night."
"Then it's going to be a long night, because I'm not going to
give you shit."
"You won't be bullied," he said.
"Nope."
He shook his head. "Turn around, lean your waist up against the
couch, and put your hands behind your back."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"So you can tie my hands?"
"Do it, now."
"I don't think so."
The frown was back. "Do you want me to shoot you?"
"No, but I'm not going to just stand here while you tie me up,
either."
"The tying up doesn't hurt."
"It's what comes after that I'm worried about."
"You knew what I'd do if you didn't help me."
"Then do it," I said.
"You're not cooperating."
"So sorry."
"Anita."
"I just don't believe in helping people who are going to torture
me. Though I don't see any bamboo slivers. How can you possibly
torture someone without bamboo slivers?"
"Stop it." He sounded angry.
"Stop what?" I widened my eyes and tried to look innocent and
harmless, me and Kermit the Frog.
Edward laughed, a soft chuckle that rolled and expanded until he
squatted on the floor, gun loose in his hands, staring up at me.
His eyes were shiny.
"How can I torture you when you keep making me laugh?"
"You can't; that was the plan."
He shook his head. "No, it wasn't. You were just being a
smartass. You're always a smartass."
"Nice of you to notice."
He held up his hand. "No more, please."
"I'll make you laugh until you beg for mercy."
"Just tell me the damn name. Please, Anita. Help me." The
laughter drained from his eyes like the sun slipping out of the
sky. I watched the humor, the humanity, slip away, until his eyes
were as cold and empty as a doll's. "Don't make me hurt you," he
said.
I think I was Edward's only friend, but that wouldn't stop him
from hurting me. Edward had one rule: do whatever it takes to get
the job done. If I forced him to torture me, he would, but he
didn't want to.
"Now that you've asked nicely, try the first question again," I
said.
His eyes narrowed, then he said, "Who hit you in the mouth?"
"A master vampire," I said softly.
"Tell me what happened." It was too much like an order for my
taste, but he did have both the guns.
I told him everything that had happened. All about Alejandro.
Alejandro who felt so old inside my head, it made my bones ache. I
added one tiny lie, lost in all that truth. I told him Alejandro
was Master of the City. One of my better ideas, heh?
"You really don't know where his daytime resting place is, do
you?"
I shook my head. "I'd give it to you if I had it."
"Why this change of heart?"
"He tried to kill me tonight. All bets are off."
"I don't believe that."
It was too good a lie to waste, so I tried salvaging it. "He's
also gone rogue. It's him and his flunkies that have been killing
innocent citizens.''
Edward smirked at the innocent, but he let it go. "An altruistic
motive, that I believe. If you weren't such a damn bleeding heart,
you'd be dangerous."
"I kill my share, Edward."
His empty, blue eyes stared at me; then he nodded, slowly.
"True."
He handed me back my gun, butt first. A tight, clenched ball in
my stomach unrolled. I could breathe deep, long sighs of
relief.
"If I find out where this Alejandro stays, you want in on
it?"
I thought about that for a minute. Did I want to go after five
rogue vampires, two of them over five hundred years old? I did not.
Did I want to send even Edward after them alone? No, I did not.
Which meant . . .
"Yeah, I want a piece of them."
Edward smiled, broad and shining. "I love my work."
I smiled back. "Me, too."
Chapter 27
Jean-Claude lay in the middle of a white canopied bed. His skin
was only slightly less white than the sheets. He was dressed in a
nightshirt. Lace fell down the low collar, forming a lace window
around his chest. Lace flowed from the sleeves, nearly hiding his
hands. It should have looked feminine, but Jean-Claude made it
utterly masculine. How could any man wear a white lace gown and not
look silly? Of course, he wasn't a man. That must be it. His black
hair curled in the lace collar. Touchable. I shook my head. Not
even in my dreams. I was dressed in something long and silky. It
was a shade of blue almost as dark as his eyes. My arms looked very
white against it. Jean-Claude got to his knees and reached his hand
out to me. An invitation.
I shook my head.
"It is only a dream, ma petite. Will you not come to me
even here?"
"It's never just a dream with you. It always means more."
His hand fell to the sheets, fingertips caressing the cloth.
"What are you trying to do to me, Jean-Claude?"
He looked very steadily at me. "Seduce you, of course."
Of course. Silly me.
The phone beside the bed rang. It was one of those white
princess phones with lots of gold on it. There hadn't been a
telephone a second before. It rang again, and the dream fell to
shreds. I came awake grabbing for the phone.
"Hello."
"Hey, did I wake you?" Irving Griswold asked.
I blinked at the phone. "Yeah, what time is it?"
"It's ten o'clock. I know better than to call early."
"What do you want, Irving?"
"Grouchy."
"I got in late. Can we skip the sarcasm?"
"I, your true-blue reporter friend, will forgive you that grumpy
hello, if you answer a few questions."
"Questions?" I sat up, hugging the phone to me. "What are you
talking about?"
"Is it true that Humans First saved you last night, as they're
claiming?"
"Claiming? Can you talk in complete sentences, Irving?"
"The morning news had Jeremy Ruebens on it. Channel five. He
claimed that he and Humans First saved your life last night. Saved
you from the Master Vampire of the City."
"Oh, he did not."
"May I quote you?"
I thought about that for a minute. "No."
"I need a quote for the paper. I'm trying to give a chance for a
rebuttal."
"A rebuttal?"
"Hey, I was an English major."
"That explains so much."
"Can you give me your side of the story, or not?"
I thought about that for a minute. Irving was a friend and a
good reporter. If Ruebens was already on the morning news with the
story, I needed to get my side out. "Can you give me fifteen
minutes to make coffee and get dressed?"
"For an exclusive, you bet."
"Talk to you then." I hung up and went straight for the
coffeemaker. I was wearing jogging socks, jeans, and the oversized
t-shirt I'd slept in when Irving called back. I had a steaming cup
of coffee on the bedside table beside the phone. Cinnamon hazelnut
coffee from V. J.'s Tea and Spice Shop over on Olive. Mornings
didn't get much better than this.
"Okay, spill it," he said.
"Gee, Irving, no foreplay?"
"Get to it, Blake, I've got a deadline."
I told him everything. I had to admit that Humans First had
saved my cookies. Darn. "I can't confirm that the vampire they ran
off was the Master of the City."
"Hey, I know Jean-Claude is the master. I interviewed him,
remember?"
"I remember."
"I know this Indian guy was not Jean-Claude."
"But Humans First doesn't know that."
"A double exclusive, wowee."
"No, don't say that Alejandro isn't the master."
"Why not?"
"I'd clear it with Jean-Claude first, if I were you."
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, not a bad idea." He sounded
nervous.
"Is Jean-Claude giving you trouble?"
"No, why do you ask?"
"For a reporter you lie badly."
"Jean-Claude and I got business just between us. It doesn't
concern The Executioner."
"Fine; just watch your back, okay?"
"I'm flattered that you're worried about me, Anita, but trust
me, I can handle it."
I didn't argue with that. I must have been in a good mood.
"Anything you say, Irving."
He let it go, so I did, too. No one could handle Jean-Claude,
but it wasn't my business. Irving had been the one hot for the
interview. So there were strings attached; not a big surprise, and
not my business. Really.
"This'll be on the front page of the morning paper. I'll check
with Jean-Claude about whether to mention this new vamp isn't the
master."
"I'd really appreciate it if you could hold off on that."
"Why?" He sounded suspicious.
"Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea for Humans First to
believe Alejandro is the master."
"Why?"
"So they don't kill Jean-Claude," I said.
"Oh," he said.
"Yeah," I said.
"I'll bear that in mind," he said.
"You do that."
"Gotta go; deadline calls."
"Okay, Irving, talk to you later."
"Bye, Anita, thanks." He hung up.
I sipped the still-steaming coffee, slowly. The first cup of the
day should never be rushed. If I could get Humans First to believe
the same lie Edward bought, then no one would be hunting
Jean-Claude. They'd be hunting Alejandro. The master that was
slaughtering humans. Put the police on the case, and we had the
rogue vamps outnumbered. Yeah, I liked it.
The trick was, would everyone buy it? Never know until you
try.
Chapter 28
I had finished a pot of coffee and managed to get dressed when
the phone rang again. One of those mornings.
"Yeah," I said.
"Ms. Blake?" the voice sounded very uncertain.
"Speaking."
"This is Karl Inger."
"Sorry if I sounded abrupt. What's up, Mr. Inger?"
"You said you'd speak to me again if we had a better plan. I
have a better plan," he said.
"For killing the Master of the City?" I made it a question.
"Yes."
I took a deep breath and let it out slow, away from the phone.
Didn't want him to think I was heavy breathing at him. "Mr. Inger .
. ."
"Please, hear me out. We saved your life last night. That must
be worth something."
He had me there. "What's your plan, Mr. Inger?"
"I'd rather tell you in person."
"I'm not going to my office for some hours yet."
"Could I come to your home?"
"No." It was automatic.
"You don't bring business home?"
"Not when I can help it," I said.
"Suspicious of you."
"Always," I said.
"Can we meet somewhere else? There's someone I want you to
meet."
"Who, and why?"
"The name won't mean anything to you."
"Try me."
"Mr. Oliver."
"First name?"
"I don't know it."
"Okay, then why should I meet him?"
"He has a good plan for killing the Master of the City."
"What?"
"No, I think it will be better if Mr. Oliver explains it in
person. He's much more persuasive than I am."
"You're doing okay," I said.
"Then you'll meet me?"
"Sure, why not?"
"That's wonderful. Do you know where Arnold is?"
"Yes."
"There's a pay fishing lake just outside of Arnold on Tesson
Ferry Road. Do you know it?"
I had an impression that I had driven by it on the way to two
murders. All roads led to Arnold. "I can find it."
"How soon can you meet me there?" he asked.
"An hour."
"Great; I'll be waiting."
"Is this Mr. Oliver going to be at the lake?"
"No, I'll drive you from there."
"Why all the secrecy?"
"Not secrecy," he said, his voice dropped, embarrassed. "I'm
just not very good at giving directions. It'll be easier if I just
take you."
"I can follow you in my car."
"Why, Ms. Blake, I don't think you entirely trust me."
"I don't entirely trust anybody, Mr. Inger, nothing
personal."
"Not even people who save your life?"
"Not even."
He let that drop, probably for the best, and said,
"I'll meet you at the lake in an hour."
"Sure."
"Thank you for coming, Ms. Blake."
"I owe you. You've made sure I'm aware of that."
"You sound defensive, Ms. Blake. I did not mean to offend
you."
I sighed. "I'm not offended, Mr. Inger. I just don't like owing
people."
"Visiting Mr. Oliver today will clear the slate between us. I
promise that."
"I'll hold you to that, Inger."
"I'll meet you in an hour," he said.
"I'll be there," I said. We hung up. "Damn." I'd forgotten I
hadn't gotten to eat yet today. If I'd remembered, I'd have said
two hours. Now I'd have to literally grab something on the way. I
hated eating in the car. But, heh, what's a little mess between
friends? Or even between people who've saved your life? Why did it
bother me so much that I owed Inger?
Because he was a right-wing fruitcake. A zealot. I didn't like
doing business with zealots. And I certainly didn't like owing my
life to one.
Ah, well; I'd meet him, then we'd be square. He had said so. Why
didn't I believe it?
Chapter 29
Chip-Away Lake was about half an acre of man-made water and
thin, raised man-made bank. There was a little shed that sold bait
and food. It was surrounded by a flat gravel parking lot. A
late-model car sat near the road with a sign that read, "For Sale."
A pay fishing lake and a used car lot combined; how clever.
An expanse of grass spread out to the right of the parking lot.
A small, ramshackle shed and what looked like the remains of some
large industrial barbecue. A fringe of woods edged the grass,
rising higher into a wooded hill. The Meramec River edged the left
side of the lake. It seemed funny to have free-flowing water so
close to the man-made lake.
There were only three cars in the parking lot this cool autumn
afternoon. Beside a shiny burgundy Chrysler Le Baron stood Inger. A
handful of fishermen had bundled up and put poles in the water.
Fishing must be good to get people out in the cold.
I parked beside Inger's car. He strode towards me smiling, hand
out like a real estate salesman who was happy I'd come to see the
property. Whatever he was selling, I didn't want. I was almost sure
of that.
"Ms. Blake, so glad you came." He clasped my hand with both of
his, hearty, good-natured, insincere.
"What do you want, Mr. Inger?"
His smile faded around the edges. "I don't know what you mean,
Ms. Blake."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I really don't."
I stared into his puzzled face. Maybe I spent too much time with
slimeballs. After a while you forget that not everyone in the world
is a slimeball. It just saves so much time to assume the worst.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Inger. I . . . I've been spending too much time
looking for criminals. It makes you cynical."
He still looked puzzled.
"Never mind, Mr. Inger; just take me to see this Oliver."
"Mr. Oliver," he said.
"Sure."
"Shall we take my car?" He motioned towards his car.
"I'll follow you in mine."
"You don't trust me." He looked hurt. I guess most people aren't
used to being suspected of wrongdoing before they've done anything
wrong. The law says innocent until proven guilty, but the truth is,
if you see enough pain and death, it's guilty until proven
innocent.
"All right, you drive."
He looked very pleased. Heartwarming.
Besides I was carrying two knives, three crosses, and a gun.
Innocent or guilty, I was prepared. I didn't expect to need the
weaponry with Mr. Oliver, but later, I might need it later. It was
time to go armed to the teeth, ready for bear, or dragon, or
vampire.
Chapter 30
Inger drove down Old Highway 21 to East Rock Creek. Rock Creek
was a narrow, winding road barely wide enough for two cars to pass.
Inger drove slow enough for the curves, but fast enough so you
didn't get bored.
There were farmhouses that had stood for years and new houses in
subdivisions where the earth was raw and red as a wound. Inger
turned into one of those new subdivisions. It was full of large,
expensive-looking houses, very modern. Thin, spindly trees were
tied to stakes along the gravel road.
The pitiful trees trembled in the autumn wind, a few surprised
leaves still clinging to the spider-thin limbs. This area had been
a forest before they bulldozed it. Why do developers destroy all
the mature trees, then plant new trees that won't look good for
decades?
We pulled up in front of a fake log cabin that was bigger than
any real cabin had ever been. Too much glass, the yard naked dirt
the color of rust. The white gravel that made up the driveway had
to have been brought in from miles away. All the native gravel was
as red as the dirt.
Inger started to go around the car, to open my door I think. I
opened my own door. Inger seemed a little lost, but he'd get over
it. I'd never seen the sense in perfectly healthy people not
opening their own doors. Especially car doors where the man had to
walk all the way around the car, and the woman just waited like a .
. . a lump.
Inger led the way up the porch steps. It was a nice porch, wide
enough to sit on come summer evenings. Right now it was all bare
wood and a huge picture window with closed drapes in a barn-red
design with wagon wheels drawn all over it. Very rustic.
He knocked on the carved wooden door. A pane of leaded glass
decorated the center of the door, high up and sparkling, more for
decoration than for seeing through. He didn't wait for the door to
be opened, but used a key and walked in. He didn't seem to expect
an answer, so why knock?
The house was in a thick twilight of really nice drapes, all
closed against the syrup-heavy sunlight. The polished wood floors
were utterly bare. The mantel of the heavy fireplace was naked, the
fireplace cold. The place smelled new and unused, like new toys on
Christmas. Inger never hesitated. I followed his broad back into
the wooden hallway. He didn't look behind to see if I was keeping
up. Apparently when I'd decided not to let him open my door for me,
he seemed to have decided that no further courtesy was
necessary.
Fine with me.
There were doors at widely spaced intervals along the hallway.
Inger knocked at the third door on the left. A voice said,
"Enter."
Inger opened the door and went inside. He held the door for me,
standing very straight by the door. It wasn't courtesy. He stood
like a soldier at attention. Who was in the room to make Inger toe
the line? One way to find out.
I went into the room.
There was a bank of windows to the north with heavy drapes
pulled across them. A thin line of sunlight cut across the room,
bisecting a large, clean desk. A man sat in a large chair behind
the desk.
He was a small man, almost a midget or a dwarf. I wanted to say
dwarf, but he didn't have the jaw or the shortened arms. He looked
well formed under his tailored suit. He had almost no chin and a
sloping forehead, which drew attention to the wide nose and the
prominent eyebrow ridge. There was something familiar about his
face, as if I'd seen it somewhere else before. Yet I knew I'd never
met a person who looked just like him. It was a very singular
face.
I was staring at him. I was embarrassed and didn't like it. I
met his eyes; they were perfectly brown and smiling. His dark hair
was cut one hair at a time, expensive and blow-dried. He sat in his
chair behind the clean polished desk and smiled at me.
"Mr. Oliver, this is Anita Blake," Inger said, still standing
stiffly by the door.
He got out of his chair and came around the desk to offer me his
small well-formed hand. He was four feet tall, not an inch more.
His handshake was firm and much stronger than he looked. A brief
squeeze, and I could feel the strength in his small frame. He
didn't look musclebound, but that easy strength was there, in his
face, hand, stance.
He was small, but he didn't think it was a defect. I liked that.
I felt the same way.
He gave a close-lipped smile and sat back down in his big chair.
Inger brought a chair from the corner and put it facing the desk. I
took the chair. Inger remained standing by the now-closed door. He
was definitely at attention. He respected the man in the chair. I
was willing to like him. That was a first for me. I'm more likely
to instantly mistrust than like someone.
I realized that I was smiling. I felt warm and comfortable
facing him, like he was a favorite and trusted uncle. I frowned at
him; what the hell was happening to me?
"What's going on?" I said.
He smiled, his eyes sparkling warmly at me. "Whatever do you
mean, Ms. Blake?"
His voice was soft, low, rich, like cream in coffee. You could
almost taste it. A comforting warmth to your ears. I only knew one
other voice that could do similar things.
I stared at the thin band of sunlight only inches from Oliver's
arm. It was broad daylight. He couldn't be. Could he?
I stared at his very alive face. There was no trace of that
otherness that vampires gave off. And yet, his voice, this warm
cosy feeling, none of it was natural. I'd never liked and trusted
anyone instantly. I wasn't about to start now.
"You're good," I said. "Very good."
"Whatever do you mean, Ms. Blake?" You could have cuddled into
the warm fuzziness of his voice like a favorite blanket.
"Stop it."
He looked quizzically at me, as if confused. The act was
perfect, and I realized why; it wasn't an act. I'd been around
ancient vampires, but never one that had been able to pass for
human, not like this. You could have taken him anywhere and no one
would have known. Well, almost no one.
"Believe me, Ms. Blake, I'm not trying to do anything."
I swallowed hard. Was that true? Was he so damn powerful that
the mind tricks and the voice were automatic? No; if Jean-Claude
could control it, this thing could, too.
"Cut the mind tricks, and curb the voice, okay? If you want to
talk business, talk, but cut the games."
His smile widened, still not enough to show fangs. After a few
hundred years, you must get really good at smiling like that.
He laughed then; it was wonderful, like warm water falling from
a great height. You could have jumped into it and bathed, and felt
good.
"Stop it, stop it!"
Fangs flashed as he finished chuckling at me. "It isn't the
vampire marks that allowed you to see through my, as you call them,
games. It is natural talent, isn't it?"
I nodded. "Most animators have it."
"But not to the degree you do, Ms. Blake. You have power, too.
It crawls along my skin. You are a necromancer."
I started to deny it, but stopped. Lying to something like this
was useless. He was older than anything I'd ever dreamed of, older
than any nightmare I'd ever had. But he didn't make my bones ache;
he felt good, better than Jean-Claude, better than anything.
"I could be a necromancer. I choose not to be."
"No, Ms. Blake, the dead respond to you, all the dead. Even I
feel the pull."
"You mean I have a sort of power over vampires, too?"
"If you could learn to harness your talents, Ms. Blake, yes, you
have a certain power over all the dead, in their many guises."
I wanted to ask how to do that, but stopped myself. A master
vampire wasn't likely to help me gain power over his followers.
"You're taunting me."
"I assure you, Ms. Blake, that I am very serious. It is your
potential power that has drawn the Master of the City to you. He
wants to control that emerging power, for fear it will be turned
against him."
"How do you know that?"
"I can taste him through the marks he has laid upon you."
I just stared at him. He could taste Jean-Claude. Shit.
"What do you want from me?"
"Very direct; I like that. Human lives are too short to waste in
trivialities."
Was that a threat? Staring into his smiling face, I couldn't
tell. His eyes were still sparkling, and I was still feeling very
warm and fuzzy towards him. Eye contact. I knew better than that. I
stared at the top of his desk and felt better, or worse. I could be
scared now.
"Inger said you had a plan for taking out the Master of the
City. What is it?" I spoke staring at his desk. My skin crawled
with the desire to look up. To meet his eyes, to let the warmth and
comfort wash over me. Make all the decisions easy.
I shook my head. "Stay out of my mind or this interview is
over."
He laughed again, warm and real. It raised goose bumps on my
arms. "You really are good. I haven't met a human in centuries that
rivaled you. A necromancer; do you realize how rare that talent
is?"
Really I didn't, but I said, "Yes."
"Lies, Ms. Blake, to me, please don't bother."
"We're not here to talk about me. Either state your plan or I'm
leaving."
"I am the plan, Ms. Blake. You can feel my powers, the ebb and
flow of more centuries than your little master has ever dreamed of.
I am older than time itself."
That I didn't believe, but I let it go. He was old enough; I
wasn't going to argue with him, not if I could help it.
"Give me your master and I will free you of his marks."
I glanced up, then quickly down. He was still smiling at me, but
the smile didn't look real anymore. It was an act like everything
else. It was just a very good act.
"If you can taste my master in the marks, can't you just find
him yourself?"
"I can taste his power, judge how worthy a foe he would be, but
not his name and not where he lies; that is hidden." His voice was
very serious now, not trying to trick me. Or at least I didn't
think it was; maybe that was a trick, too.
"What do you want from me?"
"His name and his daytime resting place."
"I don't know the daytime resting place." I was glad it was the
truth, because he would smell a lie.
"Then his name, give me his name."
"Why should I?"
"Because I wish to be Master of the City, Ms. Blake."
"Why?"
"So many questions. Is it not enough that I would free you from
his power?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Why should you care about what happens to the other
vampires?"
"I don't, but before I hand you the power to control every
vampire in the immediate area, I'd like to know what you intend to
do with all that power."
He laughed again. This time it was just a laugh. He was
trying.
"You are the most stubborn human I have met in a very long time.
I like stubborn people; they get things done."
"Answer my question."
"I think it is wrong to have vampires as legal citizens. I wish
to put things back as they were."
"Why should you want vampires to be hunted again?"
"They are too powerful to be allowed to spread unchecked. They
will take over the human race much quicker through legislation and
voting rights than they ever could through violence."
I remembered the Church of Eternal Life, the fastest-growing
denomination in the country. "Say you're right; how would you stop
it?"
"By forbidding the vampires to vote, or take part in any
legislation."
"There are other master vampires in town."
"You mean Malcolm, the head of the Church of Eternal Life."
"Yes."
"I have observed him. He will not be able to continue his
one-man crusade to make vampires legitimate. I shall forbid it and
dismantle his church. Surely you see the church as the larger
danger, as I do."
I did, but I hated agreeing with an ancient master vampire. It
seemed wrong somehow.
"St. Louis is a hotbed of political activity and entrepreneurial
vampires. They must be stopped. We are predators, Ms. Blake;
nothing we do can change that. We must go back to being hunted or
the human race is doomed. Surely you see that."
I did see that. I believed that. "Why would you care if the
human race is doomed? You're not part of it anymore."
"As the oldest living vampire, it is my duty to keep us in
check, Ms. Blake. These new rights are getting out of hand and must
be stopped. We are too powerful to be allowed such freedom. Humans
have their right to be human. In the olden days only the strongest,
smartest, or luckiest vampires survived. The human vampire hunters
weeded out the stupid, the careless, the violent. Without that
check-and-balance system, I fear what will happen in a few
decades."
I agreed, wholeheartedly; it was sorta scary. I agreed with the
oldest living thing I'd ever met. He was right. Could I give him
Jean-Claude? Should I give him Jean-Claude?
"I agree with you, Mr. Oliver, but I can't just give him up,
just like that. I don't know why really, but I can't."
"Loyalty; I admire that. Think upon it, Ms. Blake, but do not
take too long. I need to put my plan into action as soon as
possible."
I nodded. "I understand. I . . . I'll give you an answer within
a couple of days. How do I reach you?"
"Inger will give you a card with a number on it. You may safely
speak to him as to me."
I turned and looked at Inger, still standing at attention beside
the door. "You're his human servant, aren't you?"
"I have that honor."
I shook my head. "I need to leave now."
"Do not feel badly that you could not recognize Inger as my
human servant. It is not a mark which shows; otherwise how could
they be our human ears and eyes and hands, if everyone knew they
were ours?"
He had a point. He had a lot of points. I stood up. He stood up,
too. He offered me his hand.
"I'm sorry, but I know that touching makes the mind games
easier."
The hand dropped back to his side. "I do not need to touch you
to play mind games, Ms. Blake." The voice was wonderful, shining
and bright as Christmas morning. My throat was tight, and the
warmth of tears filled my eyes. Shit, shit, shit, shit.
I backed for the door, and Inger opened it for me. They were
just going to let me leave. He wasn't going to mind-rape me and get
the name. He was really going to let me walk away. That did more to
prove him a good guy than anything else. Because he could have
squeezed my mind dry. But he let me go.
Inger closed the door behind us, slowly, reverently.
"How old is he?" I asked.
"You couldn't tell?"
I shook my head. "How old?"
Inger smiled. "I am over seven hundred years old. Mr. Oliver was
ancient when I met him."
"He's older than a thousand years."
"Why do you say that?"
"I've met a vampire that was a little over a thousand. She was
scary, but she didn't have that kind of power."
He smiled. "If you wish to know his true age, then you must ask
him yourself."
I stared up at Inger's smiling face for a minute. I remembered
where I'd seen a face like Oliver's. I'd had one anthropology class
in college. There'd been a drawing that looked just like Oliver. It
had been a reconstruction of a Homo erectus skull. Which
made Oliver about a million years old.
"My God," I said.
"What's wrong, Ms. Blake?"
I shook my head. "He can't be that old."
"How old is that?"
I didn't want to say it out loud, as if that would make it real.
A million years. How powerful would a vampire grow in a million
years?
A woman walked up the hallway towards us, coming from deeper in
the house. She swayed on bare feet, toenails painted a bright
scarlet that matched her fingernails. The belted dress she wore
matched the nail polish. Her legs were long and pale, but it was
that kind of paleness that promised to tan if it ever got enough
sunlight. Her hair fell past her waist, thick and absolute black.
Her makeup was perfect, her lips scarlet. She smiled at me; fangs
showed below her lips.
But she wasn't a vampire. I didn't know what the hell she was,
but I knew what she wasn't. I glanced at Inger. He didn't look
happy.
"Shouldn't we be going?" I said.
"Yes," he said. He backed towards the front door and I backed
behind him. Neither of us took our eyes off the fanged beauty
slinking down the hall towards us.
She moved in a liquid run that was almost too fast to follow.
Lycanthropes could move like that, but that wasn't what she was,
either.
She was around Inger and coming for me. I gave up being cool and
sort of ran backwards towards the front door. But she was too fast
for me, too fast for any human.
She grabbed my right forearm. She looked puzzled. She could feel
the knife sheath on my arm. She didn't seem to know what it was.
Bully for me.
"What are you?" My voice was steady. Not afraid. Heap big
vampire slayer. Yeah, right.
She opened her mouth wider, tongue caressing the fangs. The
fangs were longer than a vampire's; she'd never be able to close
her mouth around them.
"Where do the fangs go when you close your mouth?" I said.
She blinked at me, the smile slipping away from her face. She
ran her tongue over them, then they folded back into the roof of
her mouth.
"Retractable fangs. Cool," I said.
Her face was very solemn. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show, but
there's so much more to see." The fangs unfolded again. She widened
her jaws, almost a yawn, flashing the fangs nicely in the dim beams
of sunlight that got around the drapes.
"Mr. Oliver will not like you threatening her," Inger said.
"He grows weak, sentimental." Her fingers dug into my arm
stronger than she should have been.
She was holding my right arm, so I couldn't go for the gun. The
knives were out for similar reasons. Maybe I should wear more
guns.
She hissed at me, a violent explosion of air that no human
throat ever made. The tongue that flicked out was forked.
"Sweet Jesus, what are you?"
She laughed, but it didn't sound right now; maybe the split
tongue. Her pupils had narrowed to slits, her irises turned a
golden yellow while I watched.
I tugged on my arm but her fingers were like steel. I dropped to
the floor. She lowered my arm but didn't let go.
I leaned back on my left side, drew my legs up under me, and
kicked her right kneecap with everything I had. The leg crumpled.
She screamed and fell to the floor, but she let my arm go.
Something was happening to her legs. They seemed to be growing
together, the skin spreading. I'd never seen anything like it, and
I didn't want to now.
"Melanie, what are you doing?" The voice was behind us. Oliver
stood in the hallway just short of the brighter light of the living
room. His voice was the sound of rocks falling, trees breaking. A
storm that was just words but seemed to cut and slash.
The thing on the floor cringed from the voice. Her lower body
was becoming serpentine. A snake of some kind. Jesus.
"She's a lamia," I said softly. I backed away, putting the
outside door to my back, hand on the door knob. "I thought they
were extinct."
"She is the last one," Oliver said. "I keep her with me because
I fear what she would do left to her own desires."
"Your creature that you can call, what is it?" I asked.
He sighed, and I felt the years of sadness in that one sound. A
regret too deep for words. "Snakes, I can call snakes."
I nodded my head. "Sure." I opened the door and backed out onto
the sunny porch. No one tried to stop me.
The door shut behind me and after a few minutes Inger came out.
He was stiff with anger. "We most humbly apologize for her. She is
an animal."
"Oliver needs to keep her on a tighter leash."
"He tries."
I nodded. I knew about trying. Doing your best, but anything
that could control a lamia could play mind games with me all day,
and I might never know it. How much of my trust and good wishes was
real and how much of it was manufactured by Oliver?
"I'll drive you back."
"Please."
And away we went. I'd met my first lamia and perhaps the oldest
living creature in the world. A red-fucking-letter day.
Chapter 31
The phone was ringing as I unlocked the apartment door. I shoved
the door open with my shoulder and ran for the phone. I got it on
the fifth ring and nearly yelled, "Hello."
"Anita?" Ronnie made it a question.
"Yeah, it's me."
"You sound out of breath."
"I had to run for the phone. What's up?"
"I remembered where I knew Cal Rupert from."
It took me a minute to remember who she was talking about. The
first vampire victim. I'd forgotten, just for a moment, that there
was a murder investigation going on. I was a little ashamed of
that. "Talk to me, Ronnie."
"I was doing some work for a local law firm last year. One of
the lawyers specialized in drawing up dying wills."
"I know that Rupert had a dying will. That's how I could stake
him without waiting for an order of execution."
"But did you also know that Reba Baker had a dying will with the
same lawyer?"
"Who's Reba Baker?"
"It may be the female victim."
My stomach tightened. A clue, a real live clue. "What makes you
think so?"
"Reba Baker was young, blond, and missed an appointment. She
doesn't answer her phone. They called her at work, and she hasn't
been in for two days."
"The length of time she'd have been dead," I said.
"Exactly."
"Call Sergeant Rudolf Storr. Tell him what you just told me. Use
my name to get to him."
"You don't want to check it out ourselves?"
"Not on your life. This is police business. They're good at it.
Let 'em earn their paychecks."
"Shucks, you're no fun."
"Ronnie, call Dolph. Give it to the police. I've met the
vampires that are killing these people. We don't want to make
ourselves targets."
"You what!"
I sighed. I'd forgotten that Ronnie didn't know. I told her the
shortest version that would make any sense. "I'll fill you in on
everything Saturday morning when we work out."
"You going to be all right?"
"So far, so good."
"Watch your back, okay?"
"Always; you too."
"I never seem to have as many people after my back as you
do."
"Be thankful," I said.
"I am." She hung up.
We had a clue. Maybe a pattern, except for the attack on me. I
didn't fit any pattern. They'd come after me to get Jean-Claude.
Everybody wanted Jean-Claude's job. The trouble was, you couldn't
abdicate; you could only die. I liked what Oliver had had to say. I
agreed with him, but could I sacrifice Jean-Claude on the altar of
good sense? Dammit.
I just didn't know.
Chapter 32
Bert's office was small and painted pale blue. He thought it was
soothing to the clients. I thought it was cold, but that fit Bert,
too. He was six feet tall with the broad shoulders and build of an
ex-college football player. His stomach was moving a little south
with too much food and not enough exercise, but he carried it well
in his seven-hundred-dollar suits. For that kind of money, the
suits should have carried the Taj Mahal.
He was tanned, grey-eyed, with a buzz haircut that was nearly
white. Not age, his natural hair color.
I was sitting across from his desk in work clothes. A red skirt,
matching jacket, and a blouse that was so close to scarlet I'd had
to put on a little makeup so that my face didn't seem ghostly. The
jacket was tailored so that my shoulder holster didn't show.
Larry sat in the chair beside me in a blue suit, white shirt,
and blue-on-blue tie. The skin around his stitches had blossomed
into a multicolored bruise across his forehead. His short red hair
couldn't hide it. It looked like someone had hit him in the head
with a baseball bat.
"You could have gotten him killed, Bert," I said.
"He wasn't in any danger until you showed up. The vampires
wanted you, not him."
He was right, and I didn't like it. "He tried to raise a third
zombie."
Bert's cold little eyes lit up. "You can do three in a
night?"
Larry had the grace to look embarrassed. "Almost."
Bert frowned. "What's 'almost' mean?"
"It means he raised it, but lost control of it. If I hadn't been
there to fix things, we'd have had a rampaging zombie on our
hands."
He leaned forward, hands folded on his desk, small eyes very
serious. "Is this true, Larry?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Vaughn."
"That could have been very serious, Larry. You understand
that?"
"Serious?" I said. "It would have been a bloody disaster. The
zombie could have eaten one of our clients!"
"Now, Anita, no reason to frighten the boy."
I stood up. "Yes, there is."
Bert frowned at me. "If you hadn't been late, he wouldn't have
tried to raise the last zombie."
"No, Bert. You are not making this all my fault. You sent him
out on his first night alone. Alone, Bert."
"And he handled himself well," Bert said.
I fought the urge to scream, because it wouldn't help. "Bert,
he's a twenty-year-old college student. This is a freaking seminar
for him. If you get him killed, it's gonna look sorta bad."
"May I say something?" Larry asked.
I said, "No."
Bert said, "Certainly."
"I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."
I wanted to argue that, but looking into his true-blue eyes I
couldn't say it. He was twenty. I remembered twenty. I'd known
everything at twenty. It took me another year to realize I knew
nothing. I was still hoping to learn something before I hit thirty,
but I wasn't holding my breath.
"How old were you when you started working for me?" Bert
said.
"What?"
"How old were you?"
"Twenty-one; I'd just graduated college."
"When will you turn twenty-one, Larry?" Bert asked.
"March."
"See, Anita, he's just a few months younger. He's the same age
you were."
"That was different."
"Why?" Bert said.
I couldn't put it into words. Larry still had all his
grandparents. He'd never seen death and violence up close and
personal. I had. He was an innocent, and I hadn't been innocent for
years. But how to explain that to Bert without hurting Larry's
feelings? No twenty-year-old man likes to hear that a woman knows
more about the world than he does. Some cultural fables die
hard.
"You sent me out with Manny, not alone."
"He was supposed to go out with you, but you had police business
to handle."
"That's not fair, Bert, and you know it."
He shrugged. "If you'd been doing your job, he wouldn't have
been alone."
"There've been two murders. What am I supposed to do? Say sorry,
folks, I've got to babysit a new animator. Sorry about the
murders."
"Nobody has to babysit me," Larry said.
We both ignored him.
"You have a full time job here with Animators, Inc."
"We've had this argument before, Bert."
"Too many times," he said.
"You're my boss, Bert. Do what you think best."
"Don't tempt me."
"Hey, guys," Larry said, "I'm getting the feeling that you're
using me for an excuse to fight. Don't get carried away, okay?"
We both glared at him. He didn't back down, just stared at us.
Point for him.
"If you don't like the way I do my job, Bert, fire me, but stop
yanking my chain."
Bert stood up, slowly, like a leviathan rising from the waves.
"Anita . . ."
The phone rang. We all stared at it for a minute. Bert finally
picked it up and growled, "Yeah, what is it?"
He listened for a minute, then glared at me. "It's for you." His
voice was incredibly mild as he said it. "Detective Sergeant Storr,
police business."
Bert's face was smiling, butter wouldn't have melted in his
mouth.
I held out my hand for the phone without another word. He handed
me the receiver. He was still smiling, his tiny grey eyes warm and
sparkling. It was a bad sign.
"Hi, Dolph, what's up?"
"We're at the lawyer's office that your friend Veronica Sims
gave us. Nice that she called you first and not us."
"She called you second, didn't she?"
"Yeah."
"What have you found out?" I didn't bother to keep my voice
down. If you're careful, one side of a conversation isn't very
enlightening.
"Reba Baker is the dead woman. They identified her from morgue
photos."
"Pleasant way to end the work week," I said.
Dolph ignored that. "Both victims were clients with dying wills.
If they died by vampire bite, they wanted to be staked, then
cremated."
"Sounds like a pattern to me," I said.
"But how did the vampires find out that they had dying
wills?"
"Is this a trick question, Dolph? Someone told them."
"I know that," he said. He sounded disgusted.
I was missing something. "What do you want from me, Dolph?"
"I've questioned everyone, and I'd swear they were all telling
the truth. Could someone have been giving the information and not
remember?"
"You mean could the vampire have played mind games, so that the
traitor wouldn't know afterwards?"
"Yeah," he said.
"Sure," I said.
"Could you tell which one the vampire got to if you were
here?"
I glanced at my boss's face. If I missed another night during
our busiest season, he might fire me. There were days when I didn't
think I'd care. This wasn't one of them. "Look for memory losses;
hours, or even entire nights."
"Anything else?"
"If someone has been feeding info to the vampires, they may not
remember it, but a good hypnotist will be able to raise the
memory."
"The lawyer is screaming about rights and warrants. We've only
got a warrant for the files, not for their minds."
"Ask him if he wants to be responsible for tonight's murder
victim, one of his own clients?"
"She; the lawyer's a woman," he said.
How embarrassing and how sexist of me. "Ask her if she's willing
to explain to her client's family why she obstructed your
investigation."
"The clients won't know unless we let it out," he said.
"That's true," I said.
"Why, that would be blackmail, Ms. Blake."
"Isn't it, though?" I said.
"You had to be a cop in a past life," he said. "You're too
devious not to be."
"Thanks for the compliment."
"Any hypnotists you'd recommend?"
"Alvin Thormund. Wait a sec and I'll get his number for you." I
got out my thin business card holder. I tried to only keep cards I
wanted to refer to from time to time. We'd used Alvin for several
cases of vampire victims with amnesia. I gave Dolph the number.
"Thanks, Anita."
"Let me know what you find out. I might be able to identify the
vampire involved."
"You want to be there when we put them under?"
I glanced at Bert. His face was still relaxed, pleasant. Bert at
his most dangerous.
"I don't think so. Just make a recording of the session. If I
need to, I'll listen to it later."
"Later may mean another body," he said. "Your boss giving you
trouble again?"
"Yeah," I said.
"You want me to talk to him?" Dolph asked.
"I don't think so."
"He being a real bastard about it?"
"The usual."
"Okay, I'll call this Thormund and record the sessions. I'll let
you know if we find out anything."
"Beep me."
"You got it." He hung up. I didn't bother to say good-bye. Dolph
never did.
I handed the phone back to Bert. He hung it up still staring at
me with his pleasant, threatening eyes. "You have to go out for the
police tonight?"
"No."
"How did we merit this honor?"
"Cut the sarcasm, Bert." I turned to Larry. "You ready to go,
kid?"
"How old are you?" he asked.
Bert grinned.
"What difference does it make?" I asked.
"Just answer the question, okay?"
I shrugged. "Twenty-four."
"You're only four years older than me. Don't call me kid."
I had to smile. "Deal, but we better be going. We have dead to
raise, money to make." I glanced at Bert.
He was leaning back in his chair, blunt-fingered hands clasped
over his belly. He was grinning.
I wanted to wipe the grin off his face with a fist. I resisted
the urge. Who says I have no self-control?
Chapter 33
It was an hour before dawn. When all the Whos down in Whoville
were asnooze in their beds without care. Sorry, wrong book. If I
get to stay awake until dawn, I get just a tad slaphappy. I'd been
up all night teaching Larry how to be a good, law-abiding animator.
I wasn't sure Bert would appreciate the last, but I knew I
would.
The cemetery was small. A family plot with pretensions. A narrow
two-lane road rounded a hill, and suddenly there it was, a swathe
of gravel beside the road. You had seconds to decide to turn in,
that this was it. Tombstones climbed up the hill. The angle was so
steep, it looked like the coffins should have slid downhill.
We stood in the dark with a canopy of trees whispering overhead.
The woods were thick on either side of the road. The little plot
was just a narrow space beside the road, but it was well cared for.
There were still-living family members to see to the upkeep. I
didn't even want to imagine how they mowed the hillside. Maybe a
rope-and-pulley system to make sure the mower didn't roll over and
add another corpse.
Our last clients of the night had just driven away back to
civilization. I'd raised five zombies. Larry had raised one. Yeah,
he could have raised two, but we just ran out of darkness. It
doesn't take that long to raise a zombie, at least for me, but
there's travel time included. In four years I'd only had two
zombies in the same cemetery on the same night. Most of the time
you were driving like a maniac to make all the appointments.
My poor car had been towed to a service station, but the
insurance people hadn't seen it yet. It would take days or weeks
for them to tell me it was totaled. There hadn't been time to rent
a car for the night, so Larry was driving. He'd have been with me
even if I'd had the car. I was the one bitching about not having
enough help, so I got to train him. It was only fair, I
guessed.
The wind rushed through the trees. Dry leaves scurried across
the road. The night was full of small, hurried noises. Rushing,
rushing, towards . . . what? All Hallows Eve. You could feel
Halloween on the air.
"I love nights like this," Larry said.
I glanced over at him. We were both standing with our hands in
our pockets staring out into the darkness. Enjoying the evening. We
were also both covered in dried chicken blood. Just a nice, normal
night.
My beeper went off. The high-pitched beep sounded very wrong in
the quiet, windswept night. I hit the button. Mercifully, the noise
stopped. The little light flashed a phone number at me. I didn't
recognize the number. I hoped it wasn't Dolph, because an
unfamiliar number this late at night, or early in the morning,
meant another murder. Another body.
"Come on, we gotta get to a phone."
"Who is it?"
"I'm not sure." I started down the hill.
He followed me and asked, "Who do you think it is?"
"Maybe the police."
"The murders you're working on?"
I glanced back at him and rammed my knee into a tombstone. I
stood there for a few seconds, holding my breath while the pain ran
through me. "Shiiit!" I said softly and with feeling.
"Are you all right?" Larry touched my arm.
I drew away from his hand, and he let his hand drop. I wasn't
much into casual touching. "I'm fine." Truth was, it still hurt,
but what the hell? I needed to get to a phone, and the pain would
get better the more I walked on it. Honest.
I stared carefully ahead to avoid other hard objects. "What do
you know about the murders?"
"Just that you're helping the police on a preternatural crime,
and that it's taking you away from your animating jobs."
"Bert told you that."
"Mr. Vaughn, yes."
We were at the car. "Look, Larry, if you're going to work for
Animators, Inc., you've got to drop all this Mr. and Ms. stuff. We
aren't your professors. We're coworkers."
He smiled, a flash of white in the dark. "All right, Ms . . .
Anita."
"That's better. Now let's go find a phone."
We drove into Chesterfield on the theory that, as the closest
town, it would have the closest phone. We ended up at a bank of pay
phones in the parking lot of a closed service station. The station
glowed softly in the dark, but a halogen streetlight beamed over
the pay phones, turning night into day. Insects and moths danced
around the light. The swift, flitting shapes of bats swam in and
out of the light, eating the insects.
I dialed the number while Larry waited in the car. Give him a
point for discretion. The phone rang twice; then a voice said,
"Anita, is that you?"
It was Irving Griswold, reporter and friend. "Irving, what in
blazes are you doing paging me at this hour?"
"Jean-Claude wants to see you tonight, now." His voice sounded
rushed and uncertain.
"Why are you delivering the message?" I was afraid I wasn't
going to like the answer.
"I'm a werewolf," he said.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"You didn't know." He sounded surprised.
"Know what?" I was getting angry. I hate twenty questions.
"Jean-Claude's animal is a wolf."
That explained Stephen the Werewolf and the black woman. "Why
weren't you there the other night, Irving? Did he let you off your
leash?"
"That's not fair."
He was right. It wasn't. "I'm sorry, Irving. I'm just feeling
guilty because I introduced the two of you."
"I wanted to interview the Master of the City. I got my
interview."
"Was it worth the price?" I said.
"No comment."
"That's my line."
He laughed. "Can you come to the Circus of the Damned?
Jean-Claude has some information on the master vampire that jumped
you."
"Alejandro?"
"That's the one."
"We'll be there as soon as we can, but it's going to be damn
close to dawn before we can get to the Riverfront."
"Who's we?"
"A new animator I'm breaking in. He's driving." I hesitated.
"Tell Jean-Claude no rough stuff tonight."
"Tell him yourself."
"Coward."
"Yes, ma'am. See you as soon as you can get here. Bye."
"Bye, Irving." I held the buzzing receiver for a few seconds,
then hung up. Irving was Jean-Claude's creature. Jean-Claude could
call wolves the way Mr. Oliver called snakes. The way Nikolaos had
called rats, and wererats. They were all monsters. It was just a
choice of flavors.
I slid back into the car. "You wanted more experience with
vampires, right?" I buckled the seat belt.
"Of course," Larry said.
"Well, you're going to get it tonight."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll explain while you drive. We don't have much time before
dawn." Larry threw the car in gear and peeled out of the parking
lot. He looked eager in the dim glow of the dashboard. Eager and
very, very young.
Chapter 34
The Circus of the Damned had closed down for the night, or would
that be morning? It was still dark, but there was a wash of
lightness to the east as we parked in front of the warehouse. An
hour earlier, and there wouldn't have been a parking place even
close to the Circus. But the tourists leave as the vampires fold
down for the night.
I glanced at Larry. His face was smeared with dried blood. So
was mine. It hadn't occurred to me until just now to find some
place to clean up first. I glanced up at the eastern sky and shook
my head. There was no time. Dawn was coming.
The toothed clowns still glowed and twirled atop the marquee,
but it was a tired dance. Or maybe I was the one who was tired.
"Follow my lead in here, Larry. Never forget that they are
monsters; no matter how human they look, they aren't. Don't take
off your cross, don't let them touch you, and don't stare directly
into their eyes."
"I know that from class. I had two semesters of Vampire
Studies."
I shook my head. "Class is nothing, Larry. This is the real
thing. Reading about it doesn't prepare you for it."
"We had guest speakers. Some of them were vampires."
I sighed and let it go. He'd have to learn on his own. Like
everybody else did. Like I had.
The big doors were locked. I knocked. The door opened a moment
later. Irving stood there. He wasn't smiling. He looked like a
chubby cherub with soft, curling hair in a fringe over his ears,
and a big bald spot in the middle. Round, wire-framed glasses
perched on a round little nose. His eyes widened a little as we
stepped inside. The blood looked like what it was in the light.
"What have you been doing tonight?" he asked.
"Raising the dead," I said.
"This the new animator?"
"Larry Kirkland, Irving Griswold. He's a reporter, so everything
you say can be used against you."
"Hey, Blake, I've never quoted you when you said not to. Give me
that."
I nodded. "Given."
"He's waiting for you downstairs," Irving said.
"Downstairs?" I said.
"It is almost dawn. He needs to be underground."
Ah. "Sure," I said, but my stomach clenched tight. The last time
I'd gone downstairs at the Circus, it had been to kill Nikolaos.
There had been a lot of killing that morning. A lot of blood. Some
of it mine.
Irving led the way through the silent midway. Someone had hit
the switch, and the lights were dull. The fronts of the games had
been shut and locked down, covers thrown over the stuffed animals.
The scent of corn dogs and cotton candy hung on the air like
aromatic ghosts, but the smells were dim and tired.
We passed the haunted house with its life-size witch on top,
standing silent and staring with bulging eyes. She was green and
had a wart on her nose. I'd never met a witch that looked anything
but normal. They certainly weren't green, and warts could always be
surgically removed.
The glass house was next. The darkened Ferris wheel towered over
everything. "I feel like one, / Who treads alone / Some banquet
hall deserted, / Whose lights are fled, / Whose garlands dead, /
And all but he departed," I said.
Irving glanced back to me. "Thomas Moore, Oft in the Stilly
Night."
I smiled. "I couldn't remember the title to save myself. I'll
just have to agree with you."
"Double major, journalism and English literature."
"I bet that last comes in handy as a reporter," I said.
"Hey, I slip a little culture in when I can." He sounded
offended, but I knew he was pretending. It made me feel better to
have Irving joking with me. It was nice and normal. I needed all
the nice I could get tonight.
It was an hour until dawn. What harm could Jean-Claude do in an
hour? Better not to ask.
The door in the wall was heavy and wooden with a sign reading,
"Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point." For once I wished I
wasn't authorized.
The little room beyond was just a small storage room with a bare
light bulb hanging from the ceiling. A second door led down the
stairs. The stairs were almost wide enough for the three of us to
walk abreast, but not quite. Irving walked ahead of us, as if we
still needed leading. There was nowhere to go but down. Prophetic,
that.
There was a sharp bend to the stairs. There was a brush of
cloth, the sensation of movement. I had my gun out and ready. No
thought necessary, just lots and lots of practice.
"You won't need that," Irving said.
"Says you."
"I thought the Master was a friend of yours," Larry said.
"Vampires don't have friends."
"How about junior high science teachers?" Richard Zeeman walked
around the corner. He was wearing a forest-green sweater with a
lighter green and brown forest woven into it. The sweater hung down
nearly to his knees. On me it would have been a dress. The sleeves
were pushed back over his forearms. Jeans and the same pair of
white Nikes completed the outfit. "Jean-Claude sent me up to wait
for you."
"Why?" I asked.
He shrugged. "He seems nervous. I didn't ask questions."
"Smart man," I said.
"Let's keep moving," Irving said.
"You sound nervous, too, Irving."
"He calls and I obey, Anita. I'm his animal."
I reached out to touch Irving's arm, but he moved away. "I
thought I could play human, but he's shown me that I'm an animal.
Just an animal."
"Don't let him do that to you," I said.
He stared at me, his eyes filled with tears. "I can't stop
him."
"We better get moving. It's almost dawn," Richard said.
I glared at him for saying it.
He shrugged. "It'll be better if we don't keep the master
waiting. You know that."
I did know that. I nodded. "You're right. I don't have any right
to get mad at you."
"Thanks."
I shook my head. "Let's do it."
"You can put the gun up," he said.
I stared at the Browning. I liked having it out. For security it
beat the hell out of a teddy bear. I put the gun away. I could
always get it out again later.
At the end of the stairs there was one last door—smaller,
rounded with a heavy iron lock. Irving took out a huge black key
and slipped it into the door. The lock gave a well-oiled click, and
he pushed it forward. Irving was trusted with the key to below the
stairs. How deep was he in, and could I get him out?
"Wait a minute," I said.
Everyone turned to me. I was the center of attention. Great. "I
don't want Larry to meet the Master, or even know who he is."
"Anita . . ." Larry started.
"No, Larry, I've been attacked twice for the information. It is
definitely on a need-to-know basis. You don't need to know."
"I don't need you to protect me," he said.
"Listen to her," Irving said. "She told me to stay away from the
Master. I said I could handle myself. I was wrong, real wrong."
Larry crossed his arms over his chest, a stubborn set to his
bloodstained cheeks. "I can take care of myself."
"Irving, Richard, I want a promise on this. The less he knows,
the safer he'll be."
They both nodded.
"Doesn't anyone care what I think?" Larry asked.
"No," I said.
"Dammit, I'm not a child."
"You two can fight later," Irving said. "The Master's
waiting."
Larry started to say something; I raised my hand. "Lesson number
one; never keep a nervous master vampire waiting."
Larry opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. "Okay, we'll
argue later."
I wasn't looking forward to later, but arguing with Larry over
whether I was being overprotective beat the hell out of what lay
beyond the door. I knew that. Larry didn't, but he was about to
learn, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it.
Chapter 35
The ceiling stretched upward into the darkness. Huge drapes of
silky material fell in white and black, forming cloth walls.
Minimalist chairs in black and silver formed a small conversation
group. A glass and dark wood coffee table took up the center of the
room. A black vase with a bouquet of white lilies was the only
decoration. The room looked half-finished, as if it needed
paintings hung on the walls. But how do you hang paintings on cloth
walls? I was sure Jean-Claude would figure it out eventually.
I knew the rest of the room was a huge cavernous warehouse made
of stone, but the only thing left of that was the high ceiling.
There was even black carpeting on the floor, soft and
cushioned.
Jean-Claude sat in one of the black chairs. He was slumped in
the chair, ankles crossed, hands clasped across his stomach. His
white shirt was plain, just a simple dress shirt except for the
fact that the front sides were sheer. The line of buttons, cuffs,
and collar was solid, but the chest was laid bare through a film of
gauze. His cross-shaped burn was brown and clear against the pale
skin.
Marguerite sat at his feet, head laid on his knee like an
obedient dog. Her blond hair and pale pink pants suit seemed out of
place in the black-and-white room.
"You've redecorated," I said.
"A few comforts," Jean-Claude said.
"I'm ready to meet the Master of the City," I said.
His eyes widened, a question forming on his face.
"I don't want my new coworker to meet the Master. It seems to be
dangerous information right now."
Jean-Claude never moved. He just stared at me, one hand absently
rubbing Marguerite's hair. Where was Yasmeen? In a coffin
somewhere, tucked safely away from the coming dawn.
"I will take you alone to meet . . . the Master," he said at
last. His voice was neutral, but I could detect a hint of laughter
underneath the words. It wasn't the first time Jean-Claude had
found me funny, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
He stood in one graceful movement, leaving Marguerite kneeling
beside the empty chair. She looked displeased. I smiled at her, and
she glared at me. Baiting Marguerite was childish, but it made me
feel better. Everyone needs a hobby.
Jean-Claude swept the curtains aside to show darkness. I
realized then that there was discreet electric light in the room,
indirect lighting set in the walls themselves. There was nothing
but the flicker of torches beyond the curtains. It was like that
one piece of cloth held back the modern world with all its
comforts. Beyond lay stone and fire and secrets best whispered in
the dark.
"Anita?" Larry called after me. He looked uncertain, maybe even
scared. But I was taking the most dangerous thing in the room with
me. He'd be safe with Irving and Richard. I didn't think Marguerite
was a danger without Yasmeen to hold her leash.
"Stay here, Larry, please. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Be careful," he said.
I smiled. "Always."
He grinned. "Yeah, sure."
Jean-Claude motioned me through and I went, following the sweep
of his pale hand. The curtain fell behind us, cutting off the
light. Darkness closed around us like a fist. Torches sparked
against the far wall but couldn't touch the swelling dark.
Jean-Claude led the way into the dark. "We wouldn't want your
coworker to overhear us." His voice whispered in the dark, growing
like a wind to beat against the curtains.
My heart hammered against my rib cage. How the hell did he do
that? "Save the dramatics for someone you can impress."
"Brave words, ma petite, but I taste your heartbeat in
my mouth." The last word breathed over my skin as if his lips had
passed just over the nape of my neck. Goosebumps marched down my
arms.
"If you want to play games until after dawn, that's fine with
me, but Irving told me that you had information on the master
vampire that attacked me. Do you, or was it a lie?"
"I have never lied to you, ma petite."
"Oh, come on."
"Partial truths are not the same thing as lies."
"I guess that depends on where you're sitting," I said.
He acknowledged that with a nod. "Shall we sit against the far
wall, out of hearing range?"
"Sure."
He knelt in the thin circle of a torch's light. The light was
for my benefit and I appreciated it. But no sense telling him
that.
I sat across from him, back to the wall. "So, what do you know
about Alejandro?"
He was staring at me, a peculiar look on his face.
"What?" I asked.
"Tell me everything that happened last night, ma
petite, everything about Alejandro."
It was too much like an order for my tastes, but there was
something in his eyes, his face; uneasiness, almost fear. Which was
silly. What did Jean-Claude have to fear from Alejandro? What
indeed? I told him everything I remembered.
His face went carefully blank, beautiful and unreal like a
painting. The colors were still there, but the life, the movement,
had fled. He put one finger between his lips and slowly slid it out
of sight. The finger came glistening back to the light. He extended
that wet finger towards me. I scooted away from him.
"What are you trying to do?"
"Wash the blood off of your cheek. Nothing more."
"I don't think so."
He sighed, the barest of sounds, but it slithered over my skin
like air. "You make everything so difficult."
"Glad you noticed."
"I need to touch you, ma petite. I believe Alejandro
has done something to you."
"What?"
He shook his head. "Something impossible."
"No riddles, Jean-Claude."
"I believe he has marked you."
I stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"Marked you, Anita Blake, marked you with the first mark, just
as I have."
I shook my head. "That's not possible. Two vampires can't have
the same human servant."
"Exactly," he said. He moved towards me. "Let me test the
theory, ma petite, please."
"What does testing the theory mean?"
He said something soft and harsh in French. I'd never heard him
curse before. "It is after dawn and I am tired. Your questions will
make something simple last all bloody day." There was real anger in
his voice, but under that was tiredness and that thread of fear.
The fear scared me. He was supposed to be some untouchable monster.
Monsters weren't afraid of other monsters.
I sighed. Was it better to just get it over with, like a shot?
Maybe. "All right, in the interest of time. But give me some idea
of what to expect. You know I don't like surprises."
"I must touch you to search first for my marks, then for his.
You should not have fallen so easily into his eyes. That should not
have happened."
"Get it over with," I said.
"Is my touch so repulsive that you must prepare yourself as for
pain?"
Since that was almost exactly what I was doing, I wasn't sure
what to say. "Just do it, Jean-Claude, before I change my
mind."
He slid his finger between his lips again.
"Do you have to do it that way?"
"Ma petite, please."
I squirmed against the cool stone wall. "All right, no more
interruptions."
"Good." He knelt in front of me. His fingertip traced my right
cheek, leaving a line of wetness down my skin. The dried blood was
gritty under his touch. He leaned into me, as if he was going to
kiss me. I put my hands on his chest to keep him from touching me.
His skin was hard and smooth under the gauze of his shirt.
I jerked away and hit my head against the wall. "Dammit."
He smiled. His eyes glinted blue in the torchlight. "Trust me."
He moved in, lips hovering over my mouth. "I won't hurt you." The
words whispered into my mouth, a soft push of air.
"Yeah, right," I said, but the words came out soft and
uncertain.
His lips brushed mine, then pressed gently against my mouth. The
kiss moved from my lips to my cheek. His lips were soft as silk,
gentle as marigold petals, hot as the noonday sun. They worked down
my skin until his mouth hovered over the pulse in my neck.
"Jean-Claude?"
"Alejandro was alive when the Aztec empire was just a dream." He
whispered it against my skin. "He was there to greet the Spaniards
and watch the Aztecs fall. He has survived when others have died or
gone mad." His tongue flicked out, hot and wet.
"Stop it." I pushed against him. His heart beat against my
hands. I pushed my hands upward to his throat. The big pulse in his
throat fluttered against my skin. I placed a thumb over the
smoothness of one of his eyelids. "Move it or lose it," I said. My
voice was breathy with panic, and something worse . . . desire.
The feel of his body against me, under my hands, his lips
touching me—some hidden part of me wanted it. Wanted him. So I
lusted after the Master; so what? Nothing new. His eyeball trembled
under my thumb, and I wondered if I could do it. Could I blank out
one of those midnight-blue orbs? Could I blind him?
His lips moved against my skin. Teeth brushed my skin, the hard
brush of fangs rubbed against my throat. And the answer was,
suddenly, yes. I tensed to press inward, and he was gone like a
dream, or a nightmare.
He stood in front of me, looking down, his eyes all dark, no
white showing. His lips had drawn back from his teeth to expose
glistening fangs. His skin was marble-white and seemed to glow from
inside, and still he was beautiful.
"Alejandro has given you the first mark, ma petite. We
share you. I do not know how, but we do. Two more marks and you are
mine. Three more and you are his. Would it not be better to be
mine?"
He knelt in front of me again, but was careful not to touch me.
"You desire me as a woman desires a man. Is that not better than
some stranger taking you by force?"
"You didn't ask my permission for the first two marks. They
weren't by choice."
"I am asking permission now. Let me share with you the third
mark."
"No."
"You would rather serve Alejandro?"
"I'm not going to serve anyone," I said.
"This is a war, Anita. You cannot be neutral."
"Why not?"
He stood up and paced a tight circle. "Don't you understand? The
killings are a challenge to my authority, and his marking you is
another challenge. He will take you from me if he can."
"I don't belong to you, or to him."
"What I have tried to get you to believe, to accept, he will
shove down your throat."
"So I'm in the middle of an undead turf war because of your
marks."
He blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally,
"Yes."
I stood up. "Thanks a lot." I walked past him. "If you have any
more info on Alejandro, send me a letter."
"This will not go away just because you wish it to."
I stopped in front of the curtain. "Hell, I knew that. I've
wished hard enough for you to leave me alone."
"You would miss me if I were not here."
"Don't flatter yourself."
"And do not lie to yourself, ma petite. I would give
you a partnership. He will give you slavery."
"If you really believed this partnership crap, you wouldn't have
forced the first two marks on me. You would have asked. For all I
know, the third mark can't be given without my cooperation." I
stared at him. "That's it, isn't it? You need my help or something
for the third mark. It's different from the first two. You son of a
bitch."
"The third mark without your . . . help would be like rape to
making love. You would hate me for all eternity if I took you by
force."
I turned my back on him and grabbed the curtain. "You got that
right."
"Alejandro will not care if you hate him. He wants only to hurt
me. He will not ask your permission. He will simply take you."
"I can take care of myself."
"Like you took care last night?"
Alejandro had rolled me under and over and I hadn't even known
it. What protection did I have against something like that? I shook
my head and jerked back the curtain. The light was so bright, I was
blind. I stood in the glare waiting for my eyes to adjust. The cool
darkness blew against my back. The light was hot and intrusive
after the darkness, but anything was better than whispers in the
night. Blinded by the light or blinded by darkness; I'd take light
every time.
Chapter 36
Larry was lying on the floor, head cradled in Yasmeen's lap. She
held his wrists. Marguerite had pinned his body under her own. She
was licking the blood off his face with long, lingering strokes of
her tongue. Richard lay in a crumpled heap, blood running down his
face. There was something on the floor. It writhed and moved. Grey
fur flowed over it like water. A hand reached skyward, then shrank
like a dying flower, bones glistening, shoving upward through the
flesh. The fingers shrank, flesh rolling over the nubs of raw
flesh. All that raw meat and no blood. The bones slid in and out
with wet, sucking noises. Drops of clear fluid spattered the black
rug. But no blood.
I drew the Browning and moved so I could point it somewhere
between Yasmeen and the thing on the floor. I had my back to the
curtain but moved away from it. Too easy for something to reach
through.
"Let him go, now."
"We haven't hurt him," Yasmeen said.
Marguerite leaned into Larry's body; one hand cupped his groin,
massaging.
"Anita!" His eyes were wide, skin pale; freckles stood out like
ink spots.
I fired a shot inches from Yasmeen's head. The sound was sharp
and echoed. Yasmeen snarled at me. "I can rip his throat out before
you squeeze that trigger again."
I aimed for Marguerite's head, right over one blue eye. "You
kill him, I kill Marguerite. You willing to make the trade?"
"Yasmeen, what are you doing?" Jean-Claude came in at my back.
My eyes flicked to him, then back to Marguerite. Jean-Claude wasn't
the danger, not now.
The thing on the floor rose on four shaky legs and shook itself
like a dog after a bath. It was a huge wolf. Thick grey-brown fur
covered the animal, fluffy and dry as if the wolf had been freshly
washed and blow dried. Liquid formed a thick puddle on the carpet.
Bits of clothing were scattered around. The wolf had emerged from
the mess newly formed, reborn.
A pair of round wire-framed glasses sat on the glass and black
coffee table, neatly folded.
"Irving?"
The wolf gave a small half-growl, half-bark. Was that a yes?
I had always known that Irving was a werewolf, but seeing it was
something else entirely. Until just that moment I hadn't really
believed, not really. Staring into the wolf's pale brown eyes, I
believed.
Marguerite lay on the ground behind Larry now. Her arms wrapped
around his chest, legs wrapping his waist. Most of her was hidden
behind him, shielded.
I had spent too much time gazing at Irving. I couldn't shoot
Marguerite without risking Larry. Yasmeen was kneeling beside them,
one hand gripping a handful of Larry's hair. "I will snap his
neck."
"You will not harm him, Yasmeen," Jean-Claude said. He stood
beside the coffee table. The wolf moved up beside him, growling
softly. His fingers brushed the top of the wolf's head.
"Call off your dogs, Jean-Claude, or this one dies." She
stretched Larry's throat into one straining pale line to emphasize
her point. The Band-Aid that had been hiding his vampire bite had
been removed. Marguerite's tongue flicked out, touching the
straining flesh.
I was betting that I could shoot Marguerite in the forehead
while she licked Larry's neck, but Yasmeen could, and might, break
his neck. I couldn't take the chance.
"Do something, Jean-Claude," I said. "You're the Master of the
City. She's supposed to take your orders."
"Yes, Jean-Claude, order me."
"What's going on here, Jean-Claude?" I asked.
"She is testing me."
"Why?"
"Yasmeen wants to be Master of the City. But she isn't strong
enough."
"I was strong enough to keep you and your servant from hearing
this one's screams. Richard called your name, and you heard nothing
because I kept you from it."
Richard stood just behind Jean-Claude. Blood was smeared from
the corner of his mouth. There was a small cut on his right cheek
that trickled blood down his face. "I tried to stop her."
"You did not try hard enough," Jean-Claude said.
"Argue amongst yourselves later," I said. "Right now, we have a
problem."
Yasmeen laughed. The sound wriggled down my spine like someone
had spilled a can of worms. I shuddered, and decided then and there
that I'd shoot Yasmeen first. We'd find out if a master vampire was
really faster than a speeding bullet.
She released Larry with a laugh and stood. Marguerite still
clung to him. He got to his hands and knees with the woman riding
him like a horse, arms and legs still clamped around him. She was
laughing, kissing his neck.
I kicked her in the face as hard as I could. She slid off Larry
and lay dazed on the floor. Yasmeen started forward and I fired at
heir chest. Jean-Claude hit my arm, and the shot went wide.
"I need her alive, Anita."
I jerked away from him. "She's crazy."
"But he needs my assistance to combat the other masters,"
Yasmeen said.
"She'll betray you if she can," I said.
"But I still need her."
"If you can't control Yasmeen, then how in the hell are you
going to fight Alejandro?"
"I don't know," he said. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I do
not know."
Larry was still huddled by our feet.
"Can you get up?"
He looked up at me, eyes shiny with unshed tears. He used one of
the chairs to brace himself and almost fell. I grabbed his arm, gun
still in my right hand. "Come on, Larry, we're getting out of
here."
"Sounds great to me." His voice was incredibly breathless,
straining not to cry.
We worked our way towards the door, me helping Larry walk, gun
still out pointed vaguely at everything in the room.
"Go with them, Richard. See them safely to their car. And do not
fail me again like you did today."
Richard ignored the threat and walked around us to hold the door
open. We walked through without turning our backs on the vampires
or the werewolf. When the door closed, I let out a breath I hadn't
even known I was holding.
"I can walk now," Larry said.
I let go of his arm. He put a hand against the wall but
otherwise seemed okay. The first slow tear trailed down his cheek.
"Get me out of here."
I put my gun up. It wouldn't help now. Richard and I both
pretended not to notice Larry's tears. They were very quiet. If you
hadn't been looking directly at him, you wouldn't have known he was
crying.
I tried to think of something to say, anything. But what could I
say? He had seen the monsters, and they had scared the shit out of
him. They scared the shit out of me. They scared the shit out of
everybody. Now Larry knew that. Maybe it was worth the pain. Maybe
not.
Chapter 37
Early-morning light lay heavy and golden on the street outside.
The air was cool and misty. You couldn't see the river from here,
but you could feel it; that sense of water on the air that made
every breath fresher, cleaner.
Larry got out his car keys.
"You okay to drive?" I asked.
He nodded. The tears had dried in thin tracks down his face. He
hadn't bothered to wipe them away. He wasn't crying anymore. He was
as grim-faced as you could be and still look like an overgrown Howdy
Doody. He opened his door and got in, sliding across to unlock the
passenger side.
Richard stood there. The cool wind blew his hair across his
face. He ran fingers through it to keep it from his face. The
gesture was achingly familiar. Phillip had always been doing that.
Richard smiled at me, and it wasn't Phillip's smile. It was bright
and open, and there was nothing hidden in his brown eyes.
Blood had started to dry at the corner of his mouth, and on his
cheek.
"Get out while you still can, Richard."
"Out from what?"
"There's going to be an undead war. You don't want to be caught
in the middle."
"I don't think Jean-Claude would let me walk away," he said. He
wasn't smiling when he said it. I couldn't decide whether he was
handsomer smiling or solemn.
"Humans don't do too well in the middle of the monsters,
Richard. Get out if you can."
"You're human."
I shrugged. "Some people would argue that."
"Not me." He reached out to touch me. I stood my ground and
didn't move away. His fingertips brushed the side of my face, warm
and very alive.
"See you at three o'clock this afternoon, unless you're going to
be too tired."
I shook my head, and his hand dropped away from my face.
"Wouldn't miss it," I said.
He smiled again. His hair blew in a tangle across his face. I
kept the front of my own hair cut short enough so that it stayed
out of my eyes, most of the time. Layering was a wonderful
thing.
I opened the passenger side door. "I'll see you this
afternoon."
"I'll bring your costume with me."
"What am I going to be dressed as?"
"A Civil War bride," he said.
"Does that mean a hoop skirt?"
"Probably."
I frowned. "And what are you going to be?"
"A Confederate officer."
"You get to wear pants," I said.
"I don't think the dress would fit me."
I sighed. "It's not that I'm not grateful, Richard, but . .
."
"Hoop skirts aren't your style?"
"Not hardly."
"My offer was grubbies and all the mud we could crawl in. The
party was your idea."
"I'd get out of it if I could."
"It might be worth all the trouble just to see you dressed up. I
get the feeling it's a rarity."
Larry leaned across the seat, and said, "Can we get a move on? I
need a cigarette and some sleep."
"I'll be right there." I turned back to Richard but suddenly
didn't know what to say. "See you later."
He nodded. "Later."
I got in the car, and Larry pulled away before I got my seat
belt fastened. "What's the rush?"
"I want to get as far away from this place as I can."
I looked at him. He still looked pale.
"You all right?"
"No, I'm not all right." He looked at me, blue eyes bright with
anger. "How can you be so casual after what just happened?"
"You were calm after last night. You got bitten last night."
"But that was different," he said. "That woman sucked on the
bite. She . . ." His hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly
his hands shook.
"You were hurt worse last night; what makes this tougher?"
"Last night was violent, but it wasn't . . . perverted. The
vampires last night wanted something. The name of the Master. The
ones tonight didn't want anything, they were just being . . ."
"Cruel," I offered.
"Yes, cruel."
"They're vampires, Larry. They aren't human. They don't have the
same rules."
"She would have killed me tonight on a whim."
"Yes, she would have," I said.
"How can you bear to be around them?"
I shrugged. "It's my job."
"And my job, too."
"It doesn't have to be, Larry. Just refuse to work on vampire
cases. Most of the rest of the animators do."
He shook his head. "No, I won't give up."
"Why not?" I asked.
He didn't say anything for a minute. He pulled onto 270 headed
south. "How could you talk about a date this afternoon after what
just happened?"
"You have to have a life, Larry. If you let this business eat
you alive, you'll never make it." I studied his face. "And you
never answered my question."
"What question?"
"Why won't you give up the idea of being a vampire
executioner?"
Larry hesitated, concentrating on driving. He suddenly seemed
very interested in passing cars. We drove under a railroad bridge,
warehouses on either side. Many of the windows were broken or
missing. Rust dripped down the bridge overpass.
"Nice section of town," he said.
"You're avoiding the question. Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I asked about your family; you said they were all alive. What
about friends? You lose a friend to the vamps?"
He glanced at me. "Why ask that?"
"I know the signs, Larry. You're determined to kill the monsters
because you've got a grudge, don't you?"
He hunched his shoulders and stared straight ahead. The muscles
in his jaws clenched and unclenched.
"Talk to me, Larry," I said.
"The town I come from is small, fifteen hundred people. While I
was away at college my freshman year, twelve people were murdered
by a pack of vampires. I didn't know them, any of them, really. I
knew them to say hi to, but that was it."
"Go on."
He glanced at me. "I went to the funerals over Christmas break.
All those coffins, all those families. My dad was a doctor, but he
couldn't help them. Nobody could help them."
"I remember the case," I said. "Elbert, Wisconsin, three years
ago, right?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Twelve people is a lot for a single vampire kill. It made the
papers. Brett Colby was the vampire hunter they got for the
job."
"I never met him, but my parents told me about him. They made
him sound like a cowboy riding into town to take down the bad guys.
He found and killed five vampires. He helped the town when nobody
else could."
"If you just want to help people, Larry, be a social worker, or
a doctor."
"I'm an animator; I've got a built-in resistance to vampires. I
think God meant for me to hunt them."
"Geez Louise, Larry, don't go on a holy crusade, you'll end up
dead."
"You can teach me."
I shook my head. "Larry, this isn't personal. It can't be
personal. If you let your emotions get in the way, you'll either
get killed or go stark raving mad."
"I'll learn, Anita."
I stared at his profile. He looked so stubborn. "Larry . . ." I
stopped. What could I say? What brought any of us into this
business? Maybe his reasons were as good as my own, maybe better.
It wasn't just love of killing, like with Edward. And heaven knew I
needed help. There were getting to be too many vampires for just
little ol' me.
"All right, I'll teach you, but you do what I say, when I say
it. No arguments."
"Anything you say, boss." He grinned at me briefly, then turned
back to the road. He looked determined and relieved, and young.
But we were all young once. It passes, like innocence and a
sense of fair play. The only thing left in the end is a good
instinct for survival. Could I teach Larry that? Could I teach him
how to survive? Please, God, let me teach him, and don't let him
die on me.
Chapter 38
Larry, dropped me off in front of my apartment building at 9:05.
It was way past my bedtime. I got my gym bag out of the back seat.
Didn't want to leave my animating equipment behind. I locked and
shut the door, then leaned in the passenger side door. "I'll see
you tonight at five o'clock back here, Larry. You're designated
driver until I get a new car."
He nodded.
"If I'm late getting home, don't let Bert send you out alone,
okay?"
He looked at me then. His face was full of some deep thought
that I couldn't read. "You think I can't handle myself?"
I knew he couldn't handle himself, but I didn't say that out
loud. "It's only your second night on the job. Give yourself and me
a break. I'll teach you how to hunt vampires, but our primary job
is raising the dead. Try to remember that."
He nodded.
"Larry, if you have bad dreams, don't worry. I have them too
sometimes."
"Sure," he said. He put the car in gear, and I had to close the
door. Guess he didn't want to talk anymore. Nothing we'd seen yet
would give me nightmares, but I wanted Larry to be prepared, if
mere words could prepare anyone for what we do.
A family was loading up a grey van with coolers and a picnic
hamper. The man smiled. "I don't think we'll get many more days
like this."
"I think you're right." It was that pleasant small talk that you
use with people whose names you don't know but whose faces you keep
seeing. We were neighbors, so we said hello and good-bye to each
other, but nothing else. That was the way I liked it. When I came
home, I didn't want someone coming over to borrow a cup of
sugar.
The only exception I made was Mrs. Pringle, and she understood
my need for privacy.
The apartment was warm and quiet inside. I locked the door and
leaned against it. Home, ah. I tossed the leather jacket on the
back of the couch and smelled perfume. It was flowery and delicate
with a powdery undertaste that only the really expensive ones have.
It wasn't my brand.
I pulled the Browning and put my back to the door. A man stepped
around the corner from the dining room area. He was tall, thin,
with black hair cut short in front, long in back, the latest style.
He just stood there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over
his chest, smiling at me.
A second man came up from behind the couch, shorter, more
muscular, blond, smiling. He sat on the couch, hands where I could
see them. Nobody had any weapons, or none that I could see.
"Who the hell are you?"
A tall black man came out of the bedroom. He had a neat
mustache, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.
The lamia stepped out beside him. She was in human form, in the
same red dress as yesterday. She wore scarlet high heels today, but
nothing else had changed.
"We've been waiting for you, Ms. Blake."
"Who are the men?"
"My harem."
"I don't understand."
"They belong to me." She trailed red nails down the black man's
hand hard enough to leave a thin line of blood. He just smiled.
"What do you want?"
"Mr. Oliver wants to see you. He sent us to fetch you."
"I know where the house is. I can drive there on my own."
"Oh, no, we've had to move," she said, swaying into the room.
"Some nasty bounty hunter tried to kill Oliver yesterday."
"What bounty hunter?" Had it been Edward?
She waved a hand. "We were never formally introduced. Oliver
wouldn't let me kill him, so he escaped, and we had to move."
It sounded reasonable, but . . . "Where is he now?"
"We'll take you to him. We've got a car waiting outside."
"Why didn't Inger come for me?"
She shrugged. "Oliver gives orders and I follow them." A look
passed over her lovely face—hatred.
"How long has he been your master?"
"Too long," she said.
I stared at them all, gun still out but not pointed at anyone.
They hadn't offered to hurt me. So why didn't I want to put the gun
up? Because I'd seen what the lamia changed into, and it had scared
me.
"Why does Oliver need to see me so soon?"
"He wants your answer."
"I haven't decided yet whether to give him the Master of the
City."
"All I know is that I was told to bring you. If I don't, he'll
be angry. I don't want to be punished, Ms. Blake; please come with
us."
How do you punish a lamia? Only one way to find out. "How does
he punish you?"
The lamia stared at me. "That is a very personal question."
"I didn't mean it to be."
"Forget it." She swayed towards me. "Shall we go?" She had
stopped just in front of me, close enough to touch.
I was beginning to feel silly with the gun out, so I put it up.
Nobody was threatening me. A novel approach.
Normally, I still would have offered to follow them in my car,
but my car was dead. So . . . if I wanted to meet Oliver, I had to
go with them.
I wanted to meet Oliver. I wasn't willing to give him
Jean-Claude, but I was willing to give him Alejandro. Or at least
enlist his aid against Alejandro. I also wanted to know if it was
Edward who had tried to kill him. There weren't that many of us in
the business. Who else could it be?
"All right, let's go," I said. I got my leather jacket from the
couch and opened the door. I motioned them all out the door. The
men went without a word, the lamia last.
I locked the door behind us. They waited politely out in the
hall for me. The lamia took the tall black man's arm. She smiled.
"Boys, one of you offer the lady your arm."
Blondie and black-hair turned to look at me. Black-hair smiled.
I hadn't been with this many smiling people since I bought my last
used car.
They both offered me their arms, like in some late movie.
"Sorry, guys, I don't need an escort."
"I've trained them to be gentlemen, Ms. Blake; take advantage of
it. There are precious few gentlemen around these days."
I couldn't argue with that, but I also didn't need help down the
stairs. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine."
"As you like, Ms. Blake." She turned to the two men. "You two
are to take special care of Ms. Blake." She turned back to me. "A
woman should always have more than one man."
I fought the urge to shrug. "Anything you say."
She gave a brilliant smile and strutted down the hall on her
man's arm. The two men sort of fell in beside me. The lamia spoke
back over her shoulder, "Ronald here is my special beau. I don't
share him; sorry."
I had to smile. "That's fine, I'm not greedy."
She laughed, a high-pitched delighted sound with an edge of
giggle to it. "Not greedy; oh, that's very good, Ms. Blake, or may
I call you Anita?"
"Anita's fine."
"Then you must call me Melanie."
"Sure," I said. I followed her and Ronald down the hall. Blondie
and Smiley hovered on either side of me, lest I trip and stub my
toe. We'd never get down the stairs without one of us falling.
I turned to Blondie. "I believe I will take your arm." I smiled
back at Smiley. "Could we have a little room here?"
He frowned, but he stepped back. I slipped my left hand through
Blondie's waiting arm. His forearm swelled under my hand. I
couldn't tell if he was flexing or was just that musclebound. But
we all made it down the stairs safely with lonely Smiley bringing
up the rear.
The lamia and Ronald were waiting by a large black Lincoln
Continental. Ronald held the door for the lamia, then slid into the
driver's seat.
Smiley rushed forward to open the door for me. How had I known
he would? Usually I complain about things like that, but the whole
thing was too strange. If the worst thing that happened to me today
was having overzealous men open doors for me, I'd be doing
fine.
Blondie slid into the seat next to me, sliding me to the middle
of the seat. The other one had run around and was getting in the
other side. I was going to end up sandwiched between them. No big
surprise.
The lamia named Melanie turned around in her seat, propping her
chin on her arm. "Feel free to make out on the way. They're both
very good."
I stared into her cheerful eyes. She seemed to be serious.
Smiley put his arm across the back of the seat, brushing my
shoulders. Blondie tried to take my hand, but I eluded him. He
settled for touching my knee. Not an improvement.
"I'm really not into public sex," I said. I moved Blondie's hand
back to his own lap.
Smiley's hand slid around my shoulder. I moved up in the seat
away from both of them. "Call them off," I said.
"Boys, she's not interested."
The men scooted back from me, as close to their sides of the car
as they could get. Their legs still gently touched mine, but at
least nothing else was touching.
"Thank you," I said.
"If you change your mind during the drive, just tell them. They
love taking orders, don't you, boys?"
The two men nodded, smiling. My, weren't we a happy little
bunch? "I don't think I'll change my mind."
The lamia shrugged. "As you like, Anita, but the boys will be
sorely disappointed if you don't at least give them a good-bye
kiss."
This was getting weird; cancel that, weirder. "I never kiss on
the first date."
She laughed. "Oh, I like it. Don't we, boys?" All three men made
appreciative sounds. I had the feeling they'd have sat up and
begged if she'd told them to. Arf, arf. Gag me with a spoon.
Chapter 39
We drove south on 270. Steep, grassy ditches and small trees
lined the road. Identical houses sat up on the hills, fences
separating the small yards from the next small yard. Tall trees
took up many yards. Two-seventy was the major highway that ran
through St. Louis, but there was almost always a feeling of green
nature, open spaces; the gentle roll of the land was never
completely lost.
We took 70 West heading towards St. Charles. The land opened up
on either side to long, flat fields. Corn stretched tall and
golden, ready to be harvested. Behind the field was a modern glass
building that advertised pianos and an indoor golf range. An
abandoned SAM's Wholesale and a used-car lot led up to the
Blanchette bridge.
The left side of the road was crisscrossed by water-filled dikes
to keep the land from flooding. Industry had moved in with tall
glass buildings. An Omni Hotel complete with fountain was nearest
the road.
A stand of woods that still flooded too often to be torn down
and turned into buildings bordered the left-hand side of the road
until the trees met the Missouri River. Trees continued on the
other bank as we entered St. Charles.
St. Charles didn't flood, so there were apartment buildings,
strip malls, a deluxe pet supermarket, a movie theater, Drug
Emporium, Old Country Buffet, and Appleby's. The land vanished
behind billboards and Red Roof Inns. It was hard to remember that
the Missouri River was just behind you. and this had once been
forest. Hard to see the land for the buildings.
Sitting in the warm car with only the sound of wheels on
pavement and the murmur of voices from the front seat, I realized
how tired I was. Even stuck between the two men, I was ready for a
nap. I yawned.
"How much farther?" I asked.
The lamia turned in her seat. "Bored?"
"I haven't been to sleep yet. I just want to know how much
longer the ride is going to take."
"So sorry to inconvenience you," she said. "It isn't much
farther, is it, Ronald?"
He shook his head. He hadn't said a word since I'd met him.
Could he talk?
"Exactly where are we going?" They didn't seem to want to answer
the question, but maybe if I phrased it differently.
"About forty-five minutes outside of St. Peters."
"Near Wentzville?" I asked.
She nodded.
An hour to get there and nearly two hours back. Which would make
it around 1:00 when I got home. Two hours of sleep. Great.
We left St. Charles behind, and the land reappeared—fields on
either side behind well-tended barbed-wire fences. Cattle grazed on
the low, rolling hills. The only sign of civilization was a gas
station close to the highway. There was a large house set far back
from the road with a perfect expanse of grass stretching to the
road. Horses moved gracefully over the grass. I kept waiting for us
to pull into one of the gracious estates, but we passed them all
by.
We finally turned onto a narrow road with a street sign that was
so rusted and bent, that I couldn't read it. The road was narrow
and instant rustic. Ditches crowded in on either side. Grass,
weeds, the year's last goldenrod, grew head-high and gave the road
a wild look. A field of beans gone dry and yellow waited to be
harvested. Narrow gravel driveways appeared out of the weeds with
rusted mailboxes that showed that there were houses. But most of
the houses were just glimpses through the trees. Barn swallows
dipped and dived over the road. The pavement ended abruptly,
spilling the car onto gravel.
Gravel pinged and clattered under the car. Wooded hills crowded
the gravel road. There was still an occasional house, but they were
getting few and far between. Where were we going?
The gravel ended, and the road was only bare reddish dirt with
large reddish rocks studded in it. Deep ruts swallowed the car's
tires. The car bounced and fought its way down the dirt. It was
their car. If they wanted to ruin it driving over wagon tracks,
that was their business.
Finally, even the dirt road ended in a rough circle of rock.
Some of the rocks were nearly as big as the car. The car stopped. I
was relieved that there were some things even Ronald wouldn't drive
a car over.
The lamia turned around to face me. She was smiling, positively
beaming. She was too damn cheerful. Something was wrong. Nobody was
this cheery unless they wanted something. Something big. What did
the lamia want? What did Oliver want?
She got out of the car. The
men followed her like well-trained dogs. I hesitated, but I'd come
this far; might as well see what Oliver wanted. I could always say
no.
The lamia took Ronald's arm again. In high heels on the rocky
ground, it was a sensible precaution. I in my little Nikes didn't
need help. Blondie and Smiley offered an arm apiece; I ignored
them. Enough of this play-acting. I was tired and didn't like being
dragged to the edge of the world. Even Jean-Claude had never
dragged me to some forsaken backwoods area. He was a city boy. Of
course, Oliver had struck me as a city boy, too. Shows that you
can't judge a vampire by one meeting.
The rocky ground led up to a hillside. More boulders had crashed
down the side of the hill to lie in crumbled, broken heaps. Ronald
actually picked Melanie up and carried her over the worst of the
ground.
I stopped the men before they could offer. "I can make it
myself; thanks anyway."
They looked disappointed. The blond said, "Melanie has told us
to look after you. If you trip and fall in the rocks, she'll be
unhappy with us."
The brunette nodded.
"I'll be fine, boys, really." I went ahead of them, not waiting
to see what they'd do. The ground was treacherous with small rocks.
I scrambled over a rock bigger than I was. The men were right
behind me, hands extended ready to catch me if I fell. I'd never
even had a date who was this paranoid.
Someone cursed, and I turned to see the brunette sprawled on the
ground. I had to smile. I didn't wait for them to catch up. I'd had
enough nursemaiding, and the thought of getting no sleep today had
put me in a bad mood. Our biggest night of the year, and I was
going to be wasted. Oliver better have something important to
say.
Around a tall pile of rubble was a slash of black opening, a
cave. Ronald carried the lamia inside without waiting for me. A
cave? Oliver had moved to a cave? Somehow it didn't fit my picture
of him in his modern, sunlit study.
Light hovered at the entrance to the cave, but a few feet in the
darkness was thick. I waited at the edge of the light, unsure what
to do. My two caretakers came in behind me. They pulled small
penlights out of their pockets. The beams seemed pitifully small
against the darkness.
Blondie took the lead; Smiley brought up the rear. I walked in
the middle of their thin strings of light. A faint pool followed my
feet and kept me from tripping over stray bits of rock, but most of
the tunnel was smooth and perfect. A thin trickle of water took up
the center of the floor, working its patient way through the stone.
I stared up at the ceiling lost in darkness. All this had been done
by water. Impressive.
The air was cool and moist against my face. I was glad I had the
leather jacket on. It'd never get warm here, but it'd never get
really cold either. That's why our ancestors lived in caves.
Year-round temperature control.
A wide passage branched to the left. The deep sound of water
gurgled and bumped in the darkness. A lot of water. Blondie ran his
light over a stream that filled most of the left passage. It was
black, and looked deep and cold.
"I didn't bring my wading boots," I said.
"We follow the main passage," Smiley said. "Don't tease her. The
mistress will not like it." His face looked very serious in the
half-light.
The blond shrugged, then moved his light straight ahead. The
trickle of water spread in a thin fan pattern on the rock but there
was still plenty of dry rock on either side. I wasn't going to have
to get my feet wet, yet.
We took the left-hand side of the wall. I touched it to keep my
balance and jerked away. The walls were slimy with water and
melting minerals.
Smiley laughed at me. I guess laughing was allowed.
I glanced back at him, frowning, then put my hand back on the
wall. It wasn't that icky. It had just surprised me. I'd touched
worse.
The sound of water thundering from a great height filled the
darkness. There was a waterfall up ahead; I didn't need my eyes to
tell me that.
"How tall do you think the waterfall is?" Blondie asked.
The thundering filled the darkness. Surrounded us. I shrugged.
"Ten, twenty feet, maybe more."
He shone his light on a trickle of water that fell about five
inches. The tiny waterfall was what fed the thin stream. "The cave
magnifies the sound and makes it sound like thunder," he said.
"Neat trick," I said.
A wide shelf of rock led in a series of tiny waterfalls up to a
wide base of stone. The lamia sat on the edge of the shelf,
high-heeled feet dangling over the edge. Maybe a rise of eight
feet, but the ceiling soared overhead into blackness. That was what
made the water echo.
Ronald stood at her back, like a good bodyguard, hands clasped
in front of him. There was a wide opening near them that led
farther into the cave towards the source of the little stream.
Blondie climbed up and offered me a hand.
"Where's Oliver?"
"Just ahead," the lamia said. There was an edge of laughter to
her voice, as if there was some joke I wasn't getting. It was
probably going to be at my expense.
I ignored Blondie's hand and made it up to the shelf by myself.
My hands were covered with a thin coat of pale brown mud and water,
a perfect recipe for slime. I fought the urge to wipe them on my
jeans and knelt by the small pool of water that fed the waterfalls.
The water was ice-cold, but I washed my hands in it and felt
better. I dried them on my jeans.
The lamia sat with her men grouped around her as if they were
posing for a family photo. They were waiting on someone. Oliver.
Where was he?
"Where's Oliver?"
"I'm afraid he won't be coming." The voice came from ahead of me
farther into the cave. I stepped back but couldn't go far without
stepping off the edge.
The two flashlights turned on the opening like tiny spotlights.
Alejandro stepped into the thin beam of lights. "You won't be
meeting Oliver tonight, Ms. Blake."
I went for my gun before anything else could happen. The lights
went out, and I was left in the absolute dark with a master
vampire, a lamia, and three hostile men. Not one of my better
days.
Chapter 40
I dropped to my knees, gun ready, close to my body. The darkness
was thick as velvet. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I
closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on hearing. There; the scrape
of shoes on stone. The movement of air as someone moved closer to
me. I had thirteen silver bullets. We were about to find out if
silver would hurt a lamia. Alejandro had already taken a silver
bullet in the chest and didn't look much the worse for it.
I was in very deep shit.
The footsteps were almost on top of me. I could feel the body
close to me. I opened my eyes. It was like looking inside a ball of
ebonite, utterly black. But I could feel someone standing over me.
I raised the gun to gut or lower chest level and fired still on my
knees.
The flashes were like lightning in the darkness, blue-flame
lightning. Smiley fell backwards in the flash of light. I heard him
fall over the edge, then nothing. Nothing but darkness.
Hands grabbed my forearms, and I hadn't heard a thing. It was
Alejandro. I screamed as he dragged me to my feet.
"Your little gun cannot hurt me," he said. His voice was soft
and close. He hadn't taken my gun away. He wasn't afraid of it. He
should have been.
"I have offered Melanie her freedom once Oliver and the city's
Master are dead. I offer you eternal life, eternal youth, and you
may live."
"You did give me the first mark."
"Tonight I will give you the second," he said. His voice was
soft and ordinary compared to Jean-Claude's, but the intimacy of
the dark and his hands on me made the words more than they should
have been.
"And if I don't want to be your human servant?"
"Then I will take you anyway, Anita. Your loss will damage the
Master. It will lose him followers, confidence. Oh, yes, Anita, I
will have you. Join with me willingly, and it will be pleasure.
Fight me, and it will be agony."
I used his voice to aim the gun at his throat. If I could sever
his spine, a thousand years and more old or not, he might die.
Might. Please, God.
I fired. The bullet took him in the throat. He jerked backwards
but didn't let go of my arms. Two more bullets into his throat, one
into his jaw, and he threw me away from him, shrieking.
I ended on my back in the ice-cold water.
A flashlight cut through the dark. Blondie stood there, a
perfect target. I fired at it and the light went out, but there was
no scream. I'd rushed the shot and missed. Damn.
I couldn't climb down the rock in the dark. I'd fall and break a
leg. So the only way left was deeper into the cave, if I could get
there.
Alejandro was still screaming, wordless, rage-filled. The
screams echoed and bounced on the rock walls until I was deaf as
well as blind.
I scrambled through the water, putting a wall at my back. If I
couldn't hear them, maybe they couldn't hear me.
"Get that gun away from her," the lamia said. She had moved and
seemed to be beside the wounded vampire.
I waited in the dark for some clue that they were coming for me.
There was a rush of cool air against my face. It wasn't them
moving. Was I that close to the opening that led deeper into the
cave? Could I just slip away? In the dark, not knowing if there
were pits, or water deep enough to drown in? Didn't sound like a
good idea. Maybe I could just kill them all here. Fat chance.
Through the echoes of Alejandro's shrieks was another sound, a
highpitched hissing, like that of a giant snake. The lamia was
shapechanging. I had to get away before she finished. Water
splashed almost on top of me. I looked up, and there was nothing to
see, just the solid blackness.
I couldn't feel anything, but the water splashed again. I
pointed up and fired. The flash of light revealed Ronald's face.
The dark glasses were gone. His eyes were yellow with slitted
pupils. I saw all that in the lightning flash of the gun. I fired
twice more into that slit-eyed face. He screamed, and fangs showed
below his teeth. God. What was he?
Whatever Ronald was, he fell backwards. I heard him hit the
water in a splash that was much too loud for the shallow pool. I
didn't hear him move after he fell. Was he dead?
Alejandro's screams had stopped. Was he dead, too? Was he
creeping closer? Was he even now almost on top of me? I held the
gun out in front of me and tried to feel something, anything, in
the darkness.
Something heavy dragged across the rock. My stomach clenched
tight. The lamia. Shit.
That was it. I eased my shoulder around the corner into the
opening. I crept along on knees and one hand. I didn't want to run
if I didn't have to. I'd brain myself on a stalactite or drop into
some bottomless pit. Alright, maybe not bottomless, but if I fell
thirty feet or so, it wouldn't have to be bottomless. Dead is
dead.
Icy water soaked through my jeans and shoes. The rock was slick
under my hand. I crawled as fast as I could, hand searching for
some drop-off, some danger that my eyes couldn't see.
The heavy, sliding sound filled the blackness. It was the lamia.
She'd already changed. Would her scales be quicker over the slick
rocks, or would I be quicker? I wanted to get up and run. Run as
far and as fast as I could. My shoulders tightened with the need to
get away.
A loud splash announced she'd entered the water. She could move
faster than I could crawl; I was betting on that. And if I ran . .
. and fell or knocked myself silly? Well, better to have tried than
to be caught crawling in the cold like a mouse.
I scrambled to my feet and started to run. I kept my left hand
out in front of me to protect my face, but the rest I left to
chance. I couldn't see shit. I was running full out, blind as a
bat, my stomach tight with anticipation of some pit opening up
under my feet.
The sounds of sliding scales was getting farther away. I was
outrunning her. Great.
A piece of rock slammed into my right shoulder. The impact spun
me into the other wall. My arm was numb from shoulder to
fingertips. I'd dropped the gun. Three bullets left, but that had
been better than nothing. I leaned into the wall, cradling my arm,
waiting for the feeling to return, wondering if I could find my gun
in the dark, wondering if I had time.
A light bobbed towards me down the tunnel. Blondie was coming;
risking himself, if I'd had my gun. But I didn't have my gun. I
could have broken my arm ramming into that ledge. The feeling was
coming back in a painful wash of prickles and a throbbing ache
where the rock had hit me. I needed a flashlight. What if I hid and
got Blondie's light? I had two knives. As far as I knew, Blondie
wasn't armed. It had possibilities.
The light was going slowly, sweeping from side to side. I had
time, maybe. I got to my feet and felt for the rock that had nearly
taken my arm off. It was a shelf with an opening behind it. Cool
air blew against my face. It was a small tunnel. It was shoulder
level to me, which made it about face level for Blondie.
Perfect.
I placed my hands palm down and pushed up. My right arm
protested, but it was doable. I crawled into the tunnel, hands out
in front searching for stalactites or more rock shelves. Nothing
but small, empty space. If I'd been much bigger, I wouldn't have
fit at all. Hurray for being petite.
I got out the knife for my left hand. The right was still
trembling. I was better right-handed, like most right-handed
people, but I practiced left-handed, too—ever since a vampire broke
my right arm and using my left had been the only thing that saved
me. Nothing like near death to get you to practice.
I crouched on my knees in the tunnel, knife gripped, using my
right hand for balance. I would only get one chance at this. I had
no illusions about my chances against an athletic man who
outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds. If the first rush
didn't work, he'd beat me to a pulp or give me to the lamia. I'd
rather be beaten.
I waited in the dark with my knife and prepared to slit
someone's throat. Not pretty when you think of it that way. But
necessary, wasn't it?
He was almost here. The thin penlight looked bright after the
darkness. If he shone the light in the direction of my hiding place
before he got beside it, I was sunk. Or if he passed close to the
left-hand side of the tunnel, and not under me . . . Stop it. The
light was almost underneath me. I heard his feet wade through the
water, coming closer. He was hugging the right-hand side of the
wall, just like I wanted him to.
His pale hair came into sight nearly even with my knees. I moved
forward and he turned. His mouth made a little "O" of surprise;
then the blade plunged into the side of his neck. Fangs flicked
from behind his teeth. The blade snicked on his spine. I grabbed
his long hair in my right hand, bowing his neck, and tore the knife
out the front of his throat. Blood splashed outward in a surprised
shower. The knife and my left hand were slick with it.
He fell to the tunnel floor with a loud splash. I scrambled off
the ledge and landed beside his body. The light had rolled into the
water, still glowing. I fished it out. Lying almost under Blondie's
hand was the Browning. It was wet, but that didn't matter. You
could shoot most modern guns underwater and they worked fine. That
was one of the things that made terrorism so easy.
Blood turned the stream dark. I shone the light back down the
tunnel. The lamia was framed in the small light. Her long black
hair spilled over her pale upper body. Her breasts were high and
prominent with deep, nearly reddish nipples. From the waist down
she was ivory-white with zigzags of pale gold. The long belly
scales were white speckled with black. She reared on that long,
hard tail and flicked her forked tongue at me.
Alejandro stood up behind her, covered in blood but walking,
moving. I wanted to shout, "Why don't you die" but it wouldn't
help; maybe nothing would help.
The lamia pushed onward down the tunnel. The gun had killed her
men with their fangs, Ronald with his snake eyes. I hadn't tried it
on her yet. What did I have to lose?
I kept the light on her pale chest and raised the gun.
"I am immortal. Your little bullets will not harm me."
"Come a little closer and let's test the theory," I said.
She slid towards me, arms moving as if in time with legs. Her
whole body moved with the muscular thrusts of the tail. It looked
curiously natural.
Alejandro stayed leaning against the wall. He was hurt.
Yippee.
I let her get within ten feet; close enough to hit her, far
enough away to run like hell if it didn't work.
The first bullet took her just above the left breast. She
staggered. It hit her, but the hole closed like water, smooth and
unblemished. She smiled.
I raised the gun, just a little, and fired just above the bridge
of her perfect nose. Again she staggered, but the hole didn't even
bleed. It just healed. Normal bullets had about as much effect on
vampires.
I put the gun in the shoulder holster, turned, and ran.
A wide crack led off from the main tunnel. I'd have to take off
my jacket to squeeze through. The last thing I wanted was to get
stuck with the lamia able to work her way through to me. I stayed
with the main tunnel.
The tunnel was smooth and straight as far as I could see.
Shelves projected out at angles, some with water trickling out of
them, but crawling on my belly with a snake after me wasn't my idea
of a good time.
I could run faster than she could move. Snakes, even giant
snakes, just weren't that fast. As long as I didn't hit a dead end,
I'd be fine. God, I wished I believed that.
The stream was ankle-deep now. The water was so cold, I had
trouble feeling my feet. Running helped. Concentrating on my body,
moving, running, trying not to fall, trying not to think about what
was behind me. The real trick would be, was there another way out?
If I couldn't kill them and couldn't get past them and there was
only one way out, I was going to lose.
I kept running. I did four miles three times a week, plus a
little extra. I could keep running. Besides, what choice did I
have?
The water was filling the passageway and growing deeper. I was
knee-deep in water. It was slowing me down. Could she move faster in
water than I could? I didn't know. I just didn't know.
A rush of air blew against my back. I turned, and there was
nothing there. The air was warm and smelled faintly of flowers. Was
it the lamia? Did she have other ways of catching me besides just
chasing? No; lamias could perform illusions only on men. That was
their power. I wasn't male, so I was safe.
The wind touched my face, gently, warm and fragrant with a rich,
green smell like freshly dug roots. What was happening?
"Anita."
I whirled, but there was no one there. The circle of light
showed only tunnel and water. There was no sound but the lapping of
water. Yet . . . the warm wind blew against my cheek, and the smell
of flowers was growing stronger.
Suddenly, I knew what it was. I remembered being chased up the
stairs by a wind that couldn't have been there, the glow of blue
fire like free-floating eyes. The second mark.
It had been different, no smell of flowers, but I knew that was
it. Alejandro didn't have to touch me to give me the mark, no more
than Jean-Claude had.
I slipped on the slick stones and fell neck-deep in water. I
scrambled to my feet, thigh-deep in water. My jeans were soaked and
heavy. I sloshed forward, trying to run, but the water was too deep
for running. It'd be quicker to swim.
I dove into the water, flashlight grasped in one hand. The
leather jacket dragged at me, slowed me down. I stood up and
stripped it off and let it float with the current. I hated to lose
the jacket, but if I survived, I could buy more.
I was glad I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and not a sweater.
It was too damn cold to strip down anymore. It was faster swimming.
The warm wind tickled down my face, hot after the chill of the
water.
I don't know what made me look behind me, just a feeling. Two
pinpoints of blackness were floating towards me in the air. If
blackness could burn, then that's what it was: black flame coming
for me on the warm, flower-scented breeze.
A rock wall loomed ahead. The stream ran under it. I held onto
the wall and found there was maybe an inch of air space between the
water and the roof of the tunnel. It looked like a good way to
drown.
I treaded water and shone the flashlight around the passage.
There; a narrow shelf of rock to climb out on, and blessed be,
another tunnel. A dry one.
I pulled myself up on the shelf, but the wind hit me like a warm
hand. It felt good and safe, and it was a lie.
I turned, and the black flames hovered over me like demonic
fireflies. "Anita, accept it."
"Go to hell!" I pressed my back to the wall, surrounded by the
warm tropical wind. "Please, don't do this," but it was a
whisper.
The flames descended slowly. I hit at them. The flames passed
through my hands like ghosts. The smell of flowers was almost
chokingly sweet. The flames passed into my eyes, and for an instant
I could see the world through bits of colored flame and a blackness
that was a kind of light.
Then nothing. My vision was my own. The warm breeze died slowly
away. The scent of flowers clung to me like some expensive
perfume.
There was the sound of something large moving in the dark. I
brought the flashlight up slowly into the dark-skinned face of a
nightmare.
Straight, black hair was cut short and smooth around a thin
face. Golden eyes with pupils like slits stared at me unblinking,
immobile. His slender upper body dragged his useless lower body
closer to me.
From the waist down he was all translucent skin. You could still
see his legs and genitals, but they were all blending together to
form a rough snakelike shape. Where do little lamias come from when
there are no male lamias? I stared at what had once been a human
being and screamed.
He opened his mouth, and fangs flicked into sight. He hissed,
and spit dribbled down his chin. There was nothing human left in
those slitted eyes. The lamia was more human than he was, but if I
was changing into a snake maybe I'd be crazy, too. Maybe crazy was
a blessing.
I drew the Browning and fired point-blank into his mouth. He
jerked back, shrieking, but no blood, no dying. Dammit.
There was a scream from farther away, echoing towards us.
"Raju!" The lamia was screaming for her mate, or warning him.
"Anita, don't hurt him." This from Alejandro. At least he had to
yell. He couldn't whisper in my mind anymore.
The thing pulled itself towards me, mouth gaping, fangs
straining.
"Tell him not to hurt me!" I yelled back.
The Browning was safely in its holster, and I was out of bullets
anyway.
Flashlight in one hand, knife in the other, I waited. If they
got here in time to call him off, fine. I didn't have much faith in
silver knives if silver bullets didn't harm him, but I wasn't going
down without a fight.
His hands were bloody from dragging his body over the rocks. I
never thought I'd see anything that was worse than being changed
into a vampire, but there it was, crawling towards me.
It was between me and the dry tunnel, but it was moving
agonizingly slowly. I pressed my back to the wall and got to my
feet. He—it—moved faster, definitely after me. I ran past it, but a
hand closed on my ankle, yanked me to the ground.
The creature grabbed my legs and started to pull me towards it.
I sat up and plunged the knife into its shoulder. It screamed,
blood spilling down its arm. The knife stuck in the bone, and the
monster jerked it out of my hand.
Then it reared back and struck my calf, fangs sinking in. I
screamed and drew the second knife.
It raised its face, blood trickling down its mouth, heavy yellow
drops clinging to its fangs.
I plunged the blade into one golden eye. The creature shrieked,
drowning us in echoes. It rolled onto its back, lower body
thrashing, hands clawing. I rolled with it and pushed the knife in
with everything I had.
I felt the tip of the knife scrape on its skull. The monster
continued to thrash and fight, but it was as hurt as I could make
it. I left the knife in its eye but jerked the one free of its
shoulder.
"Raju, no!"
I flashed the light on the lamia. Her pale upper body gleamed
wet in the light. Alejandro was beside her. He looked nearly
healed. I'd never seen a vampire that could heal that fast.
"I will kill you for their deaths," the lamia said.
"No, the girl is mine."
"She has killed my mate. She must die!"
"I will give her the third mark tonight. She will be my servant.
That is revenge enough."
"No!" she screamed.
I was waiting for the poison to start working, but so far the
bite just hurt, no burning, no nothing. I stared at the dry tunnel,
but they'd just follow me and I couldn't kill them, not like this,
not today. But there'd be other days.
I slipped back into the stream. There was still only an inch of
air space. Risk drowning, or stay, and either be killed by a lamia
or enslaved by a vampire. Choices, choices.
I slipped into the tunnel, mouth pressed near the wet roof. I
could breathe. I might survive the day. Miracles do happen.
Small waves began to slosh through the tunnel. A wave washed
over my face, and I swallowed water. I treaded water as gently as I
could. It was my movements that were making the waves. I was going
to drown myself.
I stayed very still until the water calmed, then took a deep
breath, hyperventilating to expand the lungs and take in as much
air as I could. I dunked under the water and kicked. It was too
narrow for anything but a scissor kick. My chest was tight, throat
aching with the need to breathe. I surfaced and kissed rock. There
wasn't even an inch of air. Water splashed into my nose and I
coughed, swallowing more water. I pressed as close to the ceiling
as I could, taking small shallow breaths, then under again,
kicking, kicking for all I was worth. If the tunnel filled
completely before I was through it, I was going to die.
What if the tunnel didn't end? What if it was all water? I
panicked, kicking furiously, flashlight bouncing crazily off the
walls, hovering in the water like a prayer.
Please, God, please, don't let me die here like this.
My chest burned, throat bursting with the need to breathe. The
light was dimming, and I realized it was my eyes that were losing
the light. I was going to pass out and drown. I pushed for the
surface and my hands touched empty air.
I took a gasping breath that hurt all the way down. There was a
rocky shore and one bright line of sunlight. There was a hole up in
the wall. The sunlight formed a misty haze in the air. I crawled
onto the rock, coughing and relearning how to breathe.
I still had the flashlight and knife in my hands. I didn't
remember holding onto them. The rock was covered in a thin sheet of
grey mud. I crawled through it towards the rockslide that had
opened the hole in the wall.
If I could make it through the tunnel, maybe they could, too. I
didn't wait to feel better. I put the knife back in its sheath,
slid the flashlight in my pocket, and started crawling.
I was covered in mud, hands scraped raw, but I was at the
opening. It was a thin crack, but through it I could see trees and
a hill. God, it looked good.
Something surfaced behind me.
I turned.
Alejandro rose from the water into the sunlight. His skin burst
into flame, and he shrieked, diving into the water away from the
burning sun.
"Burn, you son of bitch, burn."
The lamia surfaced.
I slipped into the crack and stuck. I pulled with my hands and
pushed with my feet, but the mud slid and I couldn't get
through.
"I will kill you."
I wrenched my back and put everything I had into wriggling free
of that damn hole. The rock scraped along my back and I knew I was
bleeding. I fell out onto the hill and rolled until a tree stopped
me.
The lamia came to the crack. Sunlight didn't hurt her. She
struggled to get through, tearing at the rock, but her ample chest
wasn't going to fit. Her snake body might be narrowable, but the
human part wasn't.
But just in case, I got to my feet and started down the hill. It
was steep enough that I had to walk from tree to tree, trying not
to fall down the hill. The whoosh of cars was just ahead. A road; a
busy one by the sound of it.
I started to run, letting the momentum of the hill take me
faster and faster towards the sounds of cars. I could glimpse the
road through the trees.
I stumbled out onto the edge of the road, covered in grey mud,
slimy, wet to the bone, shivering in the autumn air. I'd never felt
better. Two cars wheezed by, ignoring my waving arms. Maybe it was
the gun in the shoulder holster.
A green Mazda pulled up and stopped. The driver leaned across
and opened the passenger side door. "Hop in."
It was Edward.
I stared into his blue eyes, and his face was as blank and
unreadable as a cat's, and just as self-satisfied. I didn't give a
damn. I slid into the seat and locked the door behind me.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Home."
"You don't need a hospital?"
I shook my head. "You were following me again."
He smiled. "I lost you in the woods."
"City boy," I said.
His smile widened. "No name-calling. You look like you flunked
your Girl Scout exam."
I started to say something, then stopped. He was right, and I
was too tired to argue.
Chapter 41
I was sitting on the edge of my bathtub in nothing but a large
beach towel. I had showered and shampooed and washed the mud and
blood down the drain. Except for the blood that was still seeping
out of the deep scrape on my back. Edward held a smaller towel to
the cut, putting pressure on it.
"When the bleeding stops, I'll bandage it up for you," he
said.
"Thanks."
"I seem to always be patching you up."
I glanced over my shoulder at him and winced. "I've returned the
favor."
He smiled. "True."
The cuts on my hands had already been bandaged. I looked like a
tan version of the mummy's hand.
He touched the fang marks on my calf gently. "This worries
me."
"Me, too."
"There's no discoloration." He looked up at me. "No pain?"
"None. It wasn't a full lamia, maybe it wasn't that poisonous.
Besides, you think anywhere in St. Louis is going to have lamia
antivenom? They've been listed extinct for over two hundred
years."
Edward palpated the wound. "I can't feel any swelling."
"It's been over an hour, Edward. If poison was going to kick in,
it would have by now."
"Yeah." He stared at the bite. "Just keep an eye on it."
"I didn't know you cared," I said.
His face was blank, empty. "It would be a lot less interesting
world without you in it." The voice was flat, unemotional. It was
like he wasn't there at all. Yet it was a compliment. From Edward,
it was a huge compliment.
"Gee whiz, Edward, contain your excitement."
He gave a small smile that left his eyes blue and distant as
winter skies.
We were friends of a sort, good friends, but I would never
really understand him. There was too much of Edward that you
couldn't touch, or even see.
I used to believe that if it came to it, he'd kill me, if it
were necessary. Now, I wasn't sure. How could you be friends with
someone who you suspected might kill you? Another mystery of
life.
"The bleeding's stopped," he said. He smeared antiseptic on the
wound, then started taping bandages in place. The doorbell
rang.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"Three o'clock."
"Shit."
"What is it?"
"I have a date coming over."
"You? Have a date?"
I frowned at him. "It's not that big a deal."
Edward was grinning like the proverbial cat. He stood up.
"You're all fixed up. I'll go let him in."
"Edward, be nice."
"Me, nice?"
"All right, just don't shoot him."
"I think I can manage that." Edward walked out of the bathroom
to let Richard in.
What would Richard think being met at the door by another man?
Edward certainly wasn't going to help matters. He'd probably offer
him a seat without explaining who he was. I wasn't even sure I
could explain that.
"This is my friend the assassin." Nope. A fellow vampire slayer,
maybe.
The bedroom door was closed so I could get dressed in privacy. I
tried to put on a bra and found that my back hurt a lot. No bra.
That limited what I could wear, unless I wanted to give Richard
more of a look-see than I had planned on. I also wanted to keep an
eye on the bite wound. So pants were out.
Most of the time I slept in oversize t-shirts, and slipping on a
pair of jeans was my idea of a robe. But I did own one real robe.
It was comfortable, a nice solid black, silky to the touch and
absolutely not see-through.
A black silk teddy went with it, but I decided that was a little
friendlier than I wanted to be; besides, the teddy wasn't
comfortable. Lingerie seldom is.
I pulled the robe out of the back of my closet and slipped it
on. It was smooth and wonderful next to my skin. I crossed the
front so the bordered edge was high up on my chest and tied the
black belt tight in place. Didn't want any slippage.
I listened at the door for a second and heard nothing. No
talking, no moving around, nothing. I opened the door and walked
out.
Richard was sitting on the couch with an armful of costumes hung
over the back. Edward was making coffee in the kitchen like he
owned the place.
Richard turned at my entrance. His eyes widened just a little.
The hair still damp from the shower, and the slinky robe—what was
he thinking?
"Nice robe," Edward said.
"It was a present from an overly optimistic date."
"I like it," Richard said.
"No smart remarks or you can just leave."
His eyes flicked to Edward. "Did I interrupt something?"
"He's a coworker, nothing more." I frowned at Edward, daring him
to say anything. He smiled and poured coffee for all three of
us.
"Let's sit at the table," I said. "I don't drink coffee on a
white couch."
Edward sat the mugs on the small table. He leaned against the
cabinets, leaving the two chairs for us.
Richard left his coat on the couch and sat down across from me.
He was wearing a bluish-green sweater with darker blue designs
worked across the chest. The color brought out the perfect brown of
his eyes. His cheekbones seemed higher. A small Band-Aid marred his
right cheek. His hair had gentle auburn highlights. Wondrous what
the right color can do for a person.
The fact that I looked great in black had not escaped my notice.
From the look on Richard's face, he was noticing, but his eyes kept
slipping back to Edward.
"Edward and I were out hunting down the vampires that have been
doing the killings."
His eyes widened. "Did you find out anything?"
I looked at Edward.
He shrugged. It was my call.
Richard hung around with Jean-Claude. Was he Jean-Claude's
creature? I didn't think so, but then again . . . Caution is always
better. If I was wrong, I'd apologize later. If I was right, I'd be
disappointed in Richard but glad I hadn't told.
"Let's just say we lost today."
"You're alive," Edward said.
He had a point.
"Did you almost die today?" Richard's voice was outraged.
What could I say? "It's been a rough day."
He glanced at Edward, then back to me. "How bad was it?"
I motioned my bandaged hands at him. "Scrapes and cuts; nothing
much."
Edward hid a smile in his coffee mug.
"Tell me the truth, Anita," Richard said.
"I don't owe you any explanations." My voice sounded just a tad
defensive.
Richard stared down at his hands, then looked up at me. There
was a look in his eyes that made my throat tight. "You're right.
You don't owe me anything."
I found an explanation slipping out of my mouth. "You might say
I went caving without you."
"What do you mean?"
"I ended up going through a water-filled tunnel to escape the
bad guys."
"How water-filled?"
"All the way to the top."
"You could have drowned." He touched my hand with his
fingertips.
I sipped coffee and moved my hand away from his, but I could
feel where he had touched me like a lingering smell. "But I didn't
drown."
"That's not the point," he said.
"Yes," I said, "it is. If you're going to date me, you have to
get used to the way I work."
He nodded. "You're right, you're right." His voice was soft. "It
just caught me off guard. You nearly died today and you're sitting
there drinking coffee like it's ordinary."
"For me, it is, Richard. If you can't deal with that, maybe we
shouldn't even try." I caught Edward's expression. "What are you
grinning at?"
"Your suave and debonair way with men."
"If you're not going to be helpful, then leave."
He put his mug down on the counter. "I'll leave you two
lovebirds alone."
"Edward," I said.
"I'm going."
I walked him to the door. "Thanks again for being there, even if
you were following me."
He pulled out a plain white business card with a phone number
done in black on it. That was all, no name, no logo; but what would
have been appropriate, a bloody dagger, or maybe a smoking gun? "If
you need me, call this number."
Edward had never given me a number before. He was like the
phantom—there when he wanted to be, or not there, as he chose. A
number could be traced. He was trusting me a lot with the number.
Maybe he wouldn't kill me.
"Thank you, Edward."
"One bit of advice. People in our line of work don't make good
significant others."
"I know that."
"What's he do for a living?"
"He's a junior high science teacher," I said.
Edward just shook his head. "Good luck." With that parting shot,
he left.
I slipped the business card into the robe pocket and went back
to Richard. He was a science teacher, but he also hung out with the
monsters. He'd seen it get messy, and it hadn't fazed him, much.
Could he handle it? Could I? One date and I was already borrowing
trouble that might never come up. We might dislike each other after
only one evening together. I'd had it happen before.
I stared at the back of Richard's head and wondered if the curls
could be as soft as they looked. Instant lust; embarrassing, but
not that uncommon. All right, it was uncommon for me.
A sharp pain ran up my leg. The leg that the lamia-thing had
bitten. Please, no. I leaned against the counter divider. Richard
was watching me, puzzled.
I swept the robe aside. The leg was swelling and turning
purplish. How had I not noticed it? "Did I mention I got bitten by
a lamia today?"
"You're joking," he said.
I shook my head. "I think you're going to have to take me to the
hospital."
He stood up and saw my leg. "God! Sit down."
I was starting to sweat. It wasn't hot in the apartment.
Richard helped me to the couch. "Anita, lamias have been extinct
for two hundred years. No one's going to have any antivenom."
I stared at him. "I guess we're not going to get that date."
"No dammit, I won't sit here and watch you die. Lycanthropes
can't be poisoned."
"You mean you want to rush me to Stephen and let him bite
me?"
"Something like that."
"I'd rather die."
Something flickered through his eyes, something I couldn't read;
pain, maybe. "You mean that?"
"Yes." A rush of nausea flowed over me like a wave. "I'm going
to be sick." I tried to get up and go for the bathroom but
collapsed on the white carpet and vomited blood. Red and bright and
fresh. I was bleeding to death inside.
Richard's hand was cool on my forehead, his arm around my waist.
I vomited until I was empty and exhausted. Richard lifted me to the
couch. There was a narrow tunnel of light edged by darkness. The
darkness was eating the light, and I couldn't stop it. I could feel
myself begin to float away. It didn't hurt. I wasn't even
scared.
The last thing I heard was Richard's voice. "I won't let you
die." It was a nice thought.
Chapter 42
The dream began. I was sitting in the middle of a huge canopied
bed. The drapes were heavy blue velvet, the color of midnight
skies. The velvet bedspread was soft under my hands. I was wearing
a long white gown with lace at the collar and sleeves. I'd never
owned anything like it. No one had in this century.
The walls were blue and gold wallpaper. A huge fireplace blazed,
sending shadows dancing around the room. Jean-Claude stood in the
corner of the room, bathed in orange and black shadows. He was
wearing the same shirt I'd last seen him in, the one with the
peekaboo front.
He walked towards me, fire-shadows shining in his hair, on his
face, glittering in his eyes.
"Why don't you ever dress me in anything normal in these
dreams?"
He hesitated. "You don't like the gown?"
"Hell, no."
He gave a slight smile. "You always did have a way with words,
ma petite. "
"Stop calling me that, dammit."
"As you like, Anita." There was something in the way he said my
name that I didn't like at all.
"What are you up to, Jean-Claude?"
He stood beside the bed and unbuttoned the first button of his
shirt.
"What are you doing?"
Another button, and another, then he was pulling the shirt out
of his pants and letting it slide to the floor. His bare chest was
only a little less white than my gown. His nipples were pale and
hard. The strand of dark hair that started low on his belly and
disappeared into his pants fascinated me.
He crawled up on the bed.
I backed away, clutching the white gown to me like some heroine
in a bad Victorian novel. "I don't seduce this easy."
"I can taste your lust on the back of my tongue, Anita. You want
to know what my skin feels like next to your naked body."
I scrambled off the bed. "Leave me the fuck alone. I mean
it."
"It's just a dream. Can't you even let yourself lust in a
dream?"
"It's never just a dream with you."
He was suddenly standing in front of me. I hadn't seen him move.
His arms locked behind my back, and we were on the floor in front
of the fire. Fire-shadows danced on the naked skin of his
shoulders. His skin was fragile, smooth, and unblemished—so soft I
wanted to touch it forever. He was on top of me, his weight
pressing against me, pushing me into the floor. I could feel the
line of his body molded against mine.
"One kiss and I'll let you up."
I stared into his midnight-blue eyes from inches away. I
couldn't talk. I turned my face away so I wouldn't have to look
into the perfection of his face. "One kiss?"
"My word," he whispered.
I turned back to him. "Your word isn't worth shit."
His face leaned over mine, lips almost touching. "One kiss."
His lips were soft, gentle. He kissed my cheek, lips brushing
down the line of my cheek, touching my neck. His hair brushed my
face. I thought that all curly hair was coarse, but his was baby
fine, silken soft. "One kiss," he whispered against the skin of my
throat, tongue tasting the pulse in my neck.
"Stop it."
"You want it."
"Stop it, now!"
He grabbed a handful of hair, forcing my neck backwards. His
lips had thinned back, exposing fangs. His eyes were drowning blue
without any white at all.
"NO!"
"I will have you, ma petite, even if it is to save your
life." His head came downward, striking like a snake. I woke up
staring at a ceiling I didn't recognize.
Black and white drapes were suspended from the ceiling in a soft
fan. The bed was black satin with too many pillows thrown all over
the place. The pillows were all black or white. I was wearing a
black gown with spaghetti straps. It felt like a real silk and fit
me perfectly.
The floor was ankle-deep white carpet. A black lacquer vanity
and chest of drawers were placed at far corners of the room. I sat
up and could see myself in the mirror. My neck was smooth, no bite
marks. Just a dream, just a dream, but I knew better. The bedroom
had the unmistakable touch of Jean-Claude.
I had been dying of poison. How had I gotten here? Was I
underneath the Circus of the Damned, or somewhere else altogether?
My right wrist hurt.
There was a white swathe of bandages around my wrist. I didn't
remember hurting it in the cave.
I stared at myself in the vanity mirror. In the black negligee
my skin was white, my hair long and black as the gown. I laughed. I
matched the decor. I matched the damn decor.
A door opened behind a white curtain. I got a glimpse of stone
walls behind the drapes. He was wearing nothing but the silky
bottoms of men's pajamas. He padded towards me on bare feet. His
bare chest looked like it had in my dream, except for the
cross-shaped scar; it hadn't been there in the dream. It marred the
marble perfection of him, made him seem more real somehow.
"Hell," I said. "Definitely Hell."
'What, ma petite?"
"I was wondering where I was. If you're here, it has to be
Hell."
He smiled. He looked entirely too satisfied, like a snake that
had been well-fed.
"How did I get here?"
"Richard brought you."
"So I really was poisoned. That wasn't part of the dream?"
He sat on the far edge of the bed, as far away from me as he
could get and still sit down. There were no other places to sit.
"I'm afraid the poison was very real."
"Not that I'm complaining, but why aren't I dead?"
He hugged his knees to his chest, a strangely vulnerable
gesture. "I saved you."
"Explain that."
"You know."
I shook my head. "Say it."
"The third mark."
"I don't have any bite marks."
"But your wrist is cut and bandaged."
"You bastard."
"I saved your life."
"You drank my blood while I was unconscious."
He gave the slightest nod.
"You son of a bitch."
The door opened again, and it was Richard. "You bastard, how
could you give me to him?"
"She doesn't seem very grateful to us, Richard."
"You said you'd rather die than be a lycanthrope."
"I'd rather die than be a vampire."
"He didn't bite you. You're not going to be a vampire."
"I'll be his slave for eternity; great choice."
"It's only the third mark, Anita. You aren't his servant
yet."
"That's not the point." I stared at him. "Don't you understand?
I'd rather you let me die than have done this."
"It is hardly a fate worse than death," Jean-Claude said.
"You were bleeding from your nose and eyes. You were bleeding to
death in my arms." Richard took a few steps towards the bed, then
stopped. "I couldn't just let you die." His hands reached outward
in a helpless gesture.
I stood up in the silky gown and stared at them both. "Maybe
Richard didn't know any better, but you knew how I felt,
Jean-Claude. You don't have any excuses."
"Perhaps I could not stand to watch you die, either. Have you
thought of that?"
I shook my head. "What does the third mark mean? What extra
powers does it give you over me?"
"I can whisper in your mind outside of dreams now. And you have
gained power as well, ma petite. You are very hard to kill
now. Poison won't work at all."
I kept shaking my head. "I don't want to hear it. I won't
forgive you for this, Jean-Claude."
"I did not think you would," he said. He seemed wistful.
"I need clothes and a ride home. I've got to work tonight."
"Anita, you've almost died twice today. How can you . . ."
"Can it, Richard. I need to go to work tonight. I need something
that's mine and not his. You invasive bastard."
"Find her some clothes and take her home, Richard. She needs
time to adjust to this new change."
I stared at Jean-Claude still huddled on the corner of the bed.
He looked adorable, and if I'd had a gun, I'd have shot him on the
spot. Fear was a hard, cold lump in my gut. He meant to make me his
servant, whether I liked it or not. I could scream and protest, and
he'd ignore it.
"Come near me again, Jean-Claude, for any reason, and I'll kill
you."
"Three marks bind us now. It would harm you, too."
I laughed, and it was bitter. "Do you really think I give a
damn?"
He stared at me, face calm, unreadable, lovely. "No." He turned
his back on us both and said, "Take her home, Richard. Though I do
not envy you the ride there." He glanced back with a smile. "She
can be quite vocal when she's angry."
I wanted to spit at him, but that wouldn't have been enough. I
couldn't kill him, not right then and there, so I let it go. Grace
under pressure. I followed Richard out the door and didn't look
back. I didn't want to see his perfect profile in the vanity
mirror.
Vampires weren't supposed to have reflections, or souls. He had
one. Did he have the other? Did it matter? No, I decided, it didn't
matter at all. I was going to give Jean-Claude to Oliver. I was
going to give the city to Mr. Oliver. I was going to set the Master
of the City up for assassination. One more mark and I'd be his
forever. No way. I'd see him dead first, even if it meant I died
with him. No one forced me into anything, not even eternity.
Chapter 43
I ended up wearing one of those dresses with the waist that hit
you about at the hips. The fact that the dress was about three
sizes too big didn't help matters. The shoes fit even if they were
high heels. It was better than going barefoot. Richard turned up
the heat in the car because I'd refused his coat.
We were fighting, and we hadn't even had one date. That was a
record even for me.
"You're alive," he said for the seventieth time.
"But at what price?"
"I believe that all life is precious. Don't you?"
"Don't go all philosophical on me, Richard. You handed me over
to the monsters, and they used me. Don't you understand that
Jean-Claude has been looking for an excuse to do this to me?"
"He saved your life."
That seemed to be the extent of his argument. "But he didn't do
it to save my life. He did it because he wants me as his
slave."
"A human servant isn't a slave. It's almost the opposite. He'll
have almost no power over you."
"But he'll be able to talk inside my head, invade my dreams." I
shook my head. "Don't let him sucker you."
"You're being unreasonable," he said.
That was it. "I'm the one with my wrist slit open where the
Master of the City fed. He drank my blood, Richard."
"I know."
There was something about the way he said it. "You watched, you
sick son of a bitch."
"No, it wasn't like that."
"How was it?" I sat with my arms crossed over my stomach,
glaring at him. So that was the hold Jean-Claude had on him.
Richard was a voyeur.
"I wanted to make sure he only did enough to save your
life."
"What else could he have done? He drank my blood, dammit."
Richard concentrated on the road suddenly, not looking at me.
"He could have raped you."
"I was bleeding from my eyes and nose, you said. Doesn't sound
very romantic to me."
"All the blood, it seemed to excite him."
I stared at him. "You're serious?"
He nodded.
I sat there feeling cold down to my toes. "What made you think
he was going to rape me?"
"You woke up on a black bedspread. The first one was white. He
laid you on it and started to strip down. He took your robe off.
There was blood everywhere. He smeared his face in it, tasted it.
Another vampire handed him a small gold knife."
"There were more vamps there?"
"It was like a ritual. The audience seemed to be important. He
slit your wrist and drank at it, but his hands . . . he was
touching your breasts. I told him that I had brought you so you
could live, not so he could rape you."
"That must have gone over real big."
Richard was very quiet all of a sudden.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"Tell me, Richard. I mean it."
"Jean-Claude looked up with blood all over his face and said, 'I
have not waited this long to take what I want her to give freely.
It is a temptation.' Then he looked down at you, and there was
something in his face, Anita. It was scary as hell. He really
believes you'll come around. That you'll . . . love him."
"Vampires don't love."
"Are you sure?"
I glanced at him, then away. I stared at the window at the
daylight that was just now beginning to fade. "Vampires don't love.
They can't."
"How do you know that?"
"Jean-Claude does not love me."
"Maybe he does, as much as he can."
I shook my head. "He bathed in my blood. He slit my wrist. That
isn't my idea of love."
"Maybe it's his."
"Then it's too damn weird for me."
"Fine, but admit that he may love you, as much as he's
able."
"No."
"It scares you to think that he loves you, doesn't it?"
I stared out the window as hard as I could. I didn't want to be
talking about this. I wanted to undo this whole damn day.
"Or is it something else that you're afraid of?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." He sounded so sure of himself. He didn't know me
well enough to be that certain.
"Say it out loud, Anita. Say it just once and it won't seem so
scary."
"I don't have anything to say."
"You're telling me that no part of you wants him. Not a piece of
you might love him back."
"I don't love him; that much I'm sure of."
"But?"
"You are persistent," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"All right, I'm attracted to him. Is that what you wanted to
hear?"
"How attracted?"
"That's none of your damn business."
"Jean-Claude warned me to stay away from you. I just want to
know if I'm really interfering. If you're attracted to him, maybe I
should stay out of it."
"He's a monster, Richard. You've seen him. I can't love a
monster."
"If he was human?"
"He's an egotistical, controlling bastard."
"But if he was human?"
I sighed. "If he was human, we might work something out, but
even alive, Jean-Claude can be such an SOB. I don't think it would
work."
"But you're not even going to try because he's a monster."
"He's dead, Richard, a walking corpse. It doesn't matter how
pretty he is, or how compelling, he's still dead. I don't date
corpses. A girl's got to have some standards."
"So no corpses," he said.
"No corpses."
"What about lycanthropes?"
"Why? You thinking of fixing me up with your friend?"
"Just curious about where you draw the line."
"Lycanthropy is a disease. The person's already survived a
vicious attack. It'd be like blaming the rape victim."
"You ever date a shapeshifter?"
"It's never come up."
"What else wouldn't you date?"
"Things that were never human to begin with, I guess. I really
haven't thought about it. Why the interest?"
He shook his head. "Just curious."
"Why aren't I still pissed at you?"
"Maybe because you're glad to be alive, no matter what the
cost."
He pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building. Larry's
car was idling in my parking space. "Maybe I am glad to be alive,
but I'll let you know about the cost when I find out what it really
is."
"You don't believe Jean-Claude?"
"I wouldn't believe Jean-Claude if he told me moonlight was
silver."
Richard smiled. "Sorry about the date."
"Maybe we can try again sometime."
"I'd like that," he said.
I opened the door and stood shivering in the cool air. "Whatever
happens, Richard, thanks for watching out for me." I hesitated,
then said, "And whatever hold Jean-Claude's got on you, break it.
Get away from him. He'll get you killed."
He just nodded. "Good advice."
"Which you're not going to take," I said.
"I would if I could, Anita. Please believe that."
"What does he have on you, Richard?"
He shook his head. "He ordered me not to tell you."
"He ordered you not to date me, too."
He shrugged. "You better get going. You're going to be late for
work."
I smiled. "Besides, I'm freezing my butt off."
He smiled. "You do have a way with words."
"I spend too much time hanging around with cops."
He put the car in gear. "Have a safe night at work."
"I'll do my best."
He nodded. I closed the door. Richard didn't seem to want to
talk about what Jean-Claude had on him. Well, no rule said we had
to play honesty on the first date. Besides, he was right. I was
going to be late for work.
I tapped on Larry's window. "I've got to change, then I'll be
right back down."
"Who was that dropping you off?"
"A date." I left it at that. It was a much easier explanation
than the truth. Besides, it was almost true.
Chapter 44
This is the only night of the year that Bert allows
us to wear black to work. He thinks the color is too harsh for
normal business hours. I had black jeans and a Halloween sweater
with huge grinning jack o' lanterns in a stomach-high line. I
topped it off with a black zipper sweatshirt and black Nikes. Even
my shoulder holster and the Browning matched. I had my backup gun
in an inner pants holster. I also had two extra clips in my sport
bag. I had replaced the knife I'd had to leave in the cave. There
was a derringer in my jacket pocket and two extra knives, one down
the spine, the other in an ankle holster. Don't laugh. I left the
shotgun home.
If Jean-Claude found out I'd betrayed him, he'd kill
me. Would I know when he died? Would I feel it? Something told me
that I would.
I took the card that Karl Inger had given me and
called the number. If it had to be done, it best be done
quickly.
"Hello?"
"Is this Karl Inger?"
"Yes, it is. Who is this?"
"It's Anita Blake. I need to speak with Oliver."
"Have you decided to give us the Master of the
City?"
"Yes."
"If you'll hold for a moment, I'll fetch Mr. Oliver."
He laid the receiver down. I heard him walking away until there was
nothing but silence on the phone. Better than Muzak.
Footsteps coming back, then: "Hello, Ms. Blake, so
good of you to call."
I swallowed, and it hurt. "The Master of the City is
Jean-Claude."
"I had discounted him. He isn't very powerful."
"He hides his powers. Trust me, he's a lot more than
he seems."
"Why the change of heart, Ms. Blake?"
"He gave me the third mark. I want free of him."
"Ms. Blake, to be bound thrice to a vampire, and then
have that vampire die, can be quite a shock to the system. It could
kill you."
"I want free of him, Mr. Oliver."
"Even if you die?" he said.
"Even if I die."
"I would have liked to have met you under different
circumstances, Anita Blake. You are a remarkable person."
"No, I've just seen too much. I won't let him have
me."
"I will not fail you, Ms. Blake. I will see him
dead."
"If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't have told
you."
"I appreciate your confidence."
"One other thing you should know. The lamia tried to
betray you today. She's in league with another master named
Alejandro."
"Really?" His voice sounded amused. "What did he
offer her?"
"Her freedom."
"Yes, that would tempt Melanie. I keep her on such a
short rein."
"She's been trying to breed. Did you know that?"
"What do you mean?" I told him about the men,
especially the last one that had been nearly changed. He was quiet
for a moment. "I have been most inattentive. I will deal with
Melanie and Alejandro."
"Fine. I'd appreciate a call tomorrow to let me know
how things went."
"To be sure he's dead," Oliver said.
"Yes," I said.
"You'll get a call from Karl or myself. But first,
where can we find Jean-Claude?"
"The Circus of the Damned."
"How appropriate."
"That's all I can tell you."
"Thank you, Ms. Blake, and Happy Halloween."
I had to laugh. "It's going to be a hell of a
night."
He chuckled softly. "Indeed. Good-bye, Ms.
Blake."
The phone went dead in my hand. I stared at the
phone. I'd had to do it. Had to. So why did my stomach feel tight?
Why did I have the urge to call Jean-Claude and warn him? Was it
the marks, or was Richard right? Did I love Jean-Claude in some
strange, twisted way? God help me, I hoped not.
Chapter 45
It was full dark on All Hallows Eve. Larry and I had made two
appointments. He'd raised one, and I'd raised the other. He had one
more to go, and I had three. A nice normal night.
What Larry was wearing was not normal. Bert had encouraged us to
wear something fitting for the holiday. I'd chosen the sweater.
Larry had chosen a costume. He was wearing blue denim overalls, a
white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a straw hat, and work
boots. When asked, he'd said, "I'm Huck Finn. Don't I fit the
part?"
With his red hair and freckles, he did fit the part. There was
blood on the shirt now, but it was Halloween. There were a lot of
people out with fake blood on them. We fitted right in tonight.
My beeper went off. I checked the number, and it was Dolph.
Damn.
"Who is it?" Larry asked.
"The police. We've got to find a phone."
He glanced at the dashboard clock. "We're ahead of schedule. How
about the McDonald's just off the highway?"
"Great." I prayed that it wasn't another murder. I needed a nice
normal night. At the back of my head like a bit of remembered song,
two sentences kept playing: "Jean-Claude is going to die tonight.
You set him up."
It seemed wrong to kill him from a safe distance. To not look
him in the eyes and pull the trigger myself, to not give him a
chance to kill me first. Fair play and all that. Fuck fair play; it
was him or me. Wasn't it?
Larry parked in the McDonald's lot. "I'm gonna get a Coke while
you call in. You want something?"
I shook my head.
"You all right?"
"Sure. I'm just hoping it's not another murder."
"Jesus, I hadn't thought of that."
We got out of the car. Larry went into the dining room. I stayed
in the little entrance area with the pay phone.
Dolph picked up on the third ring. "Sergeant Storr."
"It's Anita. What's up?"
"We finally broke the paralegal that was feeding information to
the vampires."
"Great; I thought it might be another murder."
"Not tonight; the vamp's got more important business."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"He's planning on getting every vampire in the city to slaughter
humans for Halloween."
"He can't. Only the Master of the City could do that, and then
only if he was incredibly powerful."
"That's what I thought. Could be the vampire's crazy."
I had a thought, an awful thought. "You got a description of the
vampire?"
"Vampires," he said.
"Read it to me."
I heard paper rustling, then: "Short, dark, very polite. Saw one
other vampire twice with the boss vamp. He was medium height,
Indian or Mexican, longish black hair."
I clutched the phone so tight my hand trembled. "Did the vampire
say why he was going to slaughter humans?"
"Wanted to discredit legalized vampirism. Now isn't that a weird
motive for a vampire?"
"Yeah," I said. "Dolph, this could happen."
"What are you saying?"
"If this master vampire could kill the Master of the City and
take over before dawn, he might pull it off."
"What can we do?"
I hesitated, almost telling him to protect Jean-Claude, but it
wasn't a matter for the police. They had to worry about laws and
police brutality. There was no way to take something like Oliver
alive. Whatever was going to happen tonight had to be
permanent.
"Talk to me, Anita."
"I've gotta go, Dolph."
"You know something; tell me."
I hung up. I also turned off my beeper. I dialed Circus of the
Damned. A pleasant-voiced woman answered, "Circus of the Damned,
where all your nightmares come true."
"I need to speak to Jean-Claude. It's an emergency."
"He's busy right now. May I take a message?"
I swallowed hard, tried not to yell. "This is Anita Blake,
Jean-Claude's human servant. Tell him to get his ass to the phone
now."
"I . . ."
"People are going to die if I don't talk to him."
"Okay, okay." She put me on hold with a butchered version of
"High Flying" by Tom Petty.
Larry came out with his Coke. "What's up?"
I shook my head. I fought the urge to jump up and down, but that
wouldn't get Jean-Claude to the phone any sooner. I stood very
still, hugging one arm across my stomach. What had I done? Please
don't let it be too late.
"Ma petite?"
"Thank God."
"What has happened?"
"Just listen. There's a master vampire on his way to the Circus.
I gave him your name and your resting place. His name is Mr. Oliver
and he's older than anything. He's older than Alejandro. In fact, I
think he's Alejandro's master. It's all been a plan to get me to
betray the city to him, and I fell for it."
He was quiet so long that I asked, "Did you hear me?"
"You really meant to kill me."
"I told you I would."
"But now you warn me. Why?"
"Oliver wants control of the city so he can send all the
vampires out to slaughter humans. He wants it back to the old days
when vampires were hunted. He said legalized vampirism was
spreading too fast. I agree, but I didn't know what he meant to
do."
"So to save your precious humans you will betray Oliver
now."
"It isn't like that. Dammit, Jean-Claude, concentrate on the
important thing here. They're on their way. They may be there
already. You've got to protect yourself."
"To keep the humans safe."
"To keep your vampires safe, too. Do you really want them under
Oliver's control?"
"No. I will take steps, ma petite. We will at least
give him a fight." He hung up.
Larry was staring at me with wide eyes. "What the hell is
happening, Anita?"
"Not now, Larry." I fished Edward's card out of my bag. I didn't
have another quarter. "Do you have a quarter?"
"Sure." He handed it to me without any more questions. Good
man.
I dialed the number. "Please, be there. Please, be there."
He answered on the seventh ring.
"Edward, it's Anita."
"What's happened?"
"How would you like to take on two master vampires older than
Nikolaos?"
I heard him swallow. "I always have so much fun when you're
around. Where should we meet?"
"The Circus of the Damned. You got an extra shotgun?"
"Not with me."
"Shit. Meet me out front ASAP. The shit's going to really hit
the fan tonight, Edward."
"Sounds like a great way to spend Halloween."
"See you there."
"Bye, and thanks for inviting me." He meant it. Edward had
started out as a normal assassin, but humans had been too easy, so
he went for vamps and shapeshifters. He hadn't met anything he
couldn't kill, and what was life without a little challenge?
I looked at Larry. "I need to borrow your car."
"You're not going anywhere without me. I've heard just your side
of the conversations, and I'm not getting left out."
I started to argue, but there wasn't time. "Okay, let's do
it."
He grinned. He was pleased. He didn't know what was going to
happen tonight, what we were up against. I did. And I wasn't happy
at all.
Chapter 46
I stood just inside the door of the Circus staring at
the wave of costumes and glittering humanity. I'd never seen the
place so crowded. Edward stood beside me in a long black cloak with
a death's-head mask. Death dressed up as death; funny, huh? He also
had a flamethrower strapped to his back, an Uzi pistol, and heaven
knew how many other weapons secreted about his person. Larry looked
pale but determined. He had my derringer in his pocket. He knew
nothing about guns. The derringer was an emergency measure only,
but he wouldn't stay in the car. Next week, if we were still alive,
I'd take him out to the shooting range.
A woman in a bird costume passed us in a scent of
feathers and perfume. I had to look twice to make sure that it was
just a costume. Tonight was the night when all shapeshifters could
be out and people would just say, "Neat costume."
It was Halloween night at the Circus of the Damned.
Anything was possible.
A slender black woman stepped up to us wearing
nothing but a bikini and an elaborate mask. She had to step close
to me to be heard over the murmur of the crowd. "Jean-Claude sent
me to bring you."
"Who are you?"
"Rashida."
I shook my head. "Rashida had her arm torn off two
days ago." I stared at the perfect flesh of her arm. "You can't be
her."
She raised her mask so I could see her face, then
smiled. "We heal fast."
I had known lycanthropes healed fast, but not that
fast, not that much damage. Live and learn.
We followed her swaying hips into the crowd. I
grabbed hold of Larry's hand with my left hand. "Stay right with me
tonight."
He nodded. I threaded through the crowd holding his
hand like a child or a lover. I couldn't stand the thought of him
getting hurt. No, that wasn't true. I couldn't stand the thought of
him getting killed. Death was the big boogeyman tonight.
Edward followed at our heels. Silent as his namesake,
trusting that he'd get to kill something soon.
Rashida led us towards the big, striped circus tent.
Back to Jean-Claude's office, I supposed. A man in a straw hat and
striped coat said, "Sorry, the show's sold out."
"It's me, Perry. These are the ones the Master's been
waiting for." She hiked her thumb in our direction.
The man drew aside the tent flap and motioned us
through. There was a line of sweat on his upper lip. It was warm,
but I had the feeling it wasn't that kind of sweat. What was
happening inside the tent? It couldn't be too bad if they were
letting the crowd in to watch. Could it?
The lights were bright and hot. I started to sweat
under the sweatshirt, but if I took it off, people would stare at
my gun. I hated that.
Circular curtains had been rigged to the ceiling,
creating two curtained-off areas in the large circus ring.
Spotlights surrounded the two hidden areas. The curtains were like
prisms. With every step we took, the colors changed and flowed over
the cloth. I wasn't sure if it was the cloth or some trick of the
lights. Whatever, it was a nifty effect.
Rashida stopped just short of the rail that kept the
crowd back. "Jean-Claude wanted everybody to be in costume, but
we're out of time." She pulled at my sweater. "Lose the jacket and
it'll have to do."
I pulled my sweater out of her hand. "What are you
talking about, costumes?"
"You're holding up the show. Drop the jacket and come
on." She did a long, lazy leap over the railing and strode barefoot
and beautiful across the white floor. She looked back at us,
motioning for us to follow.
I stayed where I was. I wasn't going anywhere until
somebody explained things. Larry and Edward waited with me. The
audience near us was staring intently, waiting for us to do
something interesting.
We stood there.
Rashida disappeared into one of the curtained
circles. "Anita."
I turned, but Larry was staring at the ring. "Did you
say something?"
He shook his head.
"Anita?"
I glanced at Edward, but it hadn't been his voice. I
whispered, "Jean-Claude?"
"Yes, ma petite, it is I."
"Where are you?"
"Behind the curtain where Rashida went."
I shook my head. His voice had resonance, a slight
echo, but otherwise it was as normal as his voice ever got. I could
probably talk to him without moving my lips, but if so, I didn't
want to know. I whispered, "What's going on?"
"Mr. Oliver and I have a gentleman's agreement."
"I don't understand."
"Who are you talking to?" Edward asked.
I shook my head. "I'll explain later."
"Come into my circle, Anita, and I will explain
everything to you at the same time I explain it to our
audience."
"What have you done?"
"I have done the best I could to spare lives, ma
petite, but some will die tonight. But it will be in the
circle with only the soldiers called to task. No innocents will die
tonight, whoever wins. We have given our words."
"You're going to fight it out in the ring like a
show?"
"It was the best I could do on such short notice. If
you had warned me days ago, perhaps something else could have been
arranged."
I ignored that. Besides, I was feeling guilty.
I took off the sweatshirt and laid it across the
railing. There were gasps from the people near enough to see my
gun.
"The fight's going to take place out in the
ring."
"In front of the audience?" Edward said.
"Yep."
"I don't get it," Larry said.
"I want you to stay here, Larry."
"No way."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Larry,
you don't have any weapons. You don't know how to use a gun. You're
just cannon fodder until you get some training. Stay here."
He shook his head.
I touched his arm. "Please, Larry."
Maybe it was the please, or the look in my
eyes—whatever, he nodded. I could breathe a little easier. Whatever
happened tonight, Larry wouldn't die because I'd brought him into
it. It wouldn't be my fault.
I climbed over the railing and dropped to the ring.
Edward followed me with a swish of black cape. I glanced back once.
Larry stood gripping the rail. There was something forlorn about
him standing there alone, but he was safe; that was what
counted.
I touched the shimmering curtain, and it was the
lights. The cloth was white up close. I lifted it to one side, and
entered, Edward at my back.
There was a multilayered dais complete with throne in
the center of the circle. Rashida stood with Stephen near the foot
of the dais. I recognized Richard's hair and his naked chest before
he lifted the mask off his face. It was a white mask with a blue
star on one cheek. He was wearing glittering blue harem pants with
a matching vest and shoes. Everyone was in costume but me.
"I was hoping you wouldn't make it in time," Richard
said.
"What, and miss the Halloween blowout of all
time?"
"Who's that with you?" Stephen asked.
"Death," I said.
Edward bowed.
"Trust you to bring death to the ball, ma
petite."
I looked up the dais, to the very top. Jean-Claude
stood in front of the throne. He was finally wearing what his
shirts hinted at, but this was the real thing. The real French
courtier. I didn't know what to call half of the costume. The coat
was black with tasteful silver here and there. A short half-cloak
was worn over one shoulder only. The pants were billowy and tucked
into calf-high boots. Lace edged the foldover tops of the boots. A
wide white collar lay at his throat. Lace spilled out of the coat
sleeves. It was topped off by a wide, almost floppy hat with a
curving arch of black and white feathers.
The costumed throng moved to either side, clearing
the stairs up to the throne for me. I somehow didn't want to go.
There were sounds outside the curtains. Heavy things being moved
around. More scenery and props being moved up.
I glanced at Edward. He was staring at the crowd,
eyes taking in everything. Hunting for victims, or for familiar
faces?
Everyone was in costume, but very few people were
actually wearing masks. Yasmeen and Marguerite stood about halfway
up the stairs. Yasmeen was in a scarlet sari, all veils and
sequins. Her dark face looked very natural in the red silk.
Marguerite was in a long dress with puffed sleeves and a wide lace
collar. The dress was of some dark blue cloth. It was simple,
unadorned. Her blond hair was in complicated curls with one large
mass over each ear and a small bun atop her head. Hers, like
Jean-Claude's, looked less like a costume and more like antique
clothing.
I walked up the stairs towards them. Yasmeen dropped
her veils enough to expose the cross-shaped scar I'd given her.
"Someone will pay you back for this tonight."
"Not you personally?" I asked.
"Not yet."
"You don't care who wins, do you?"
She smiled. "I am loyal to Jean-Claude, of
course."
"Like hell."
"As loyal as you were, ma petite." She drew
out each syllable, biting each sound off.
I left her to laugh at my back. I guess I wasn't the
one to complain about loyalties.
There were a pair of wolves sitting at Jean-Claude's
feet. They stared at me with strange pale eyes. There was nothing
human in the gaze. Real wolves. Where had he gotten real
wolves?
I stood two steps down from him and his pet wolves.
His face was unreadable, empty and perfect.
"You look like something out of The Three
Musketeers," I said.
"Accurate, ma petite."
"Is it your original century?"
He smiled a smile that could have meant anything, or
nothing.
"What's going to happen tonight, Jean-Claude?"
"Come, stand beside me, where my human servant
belongs." He extended a pale hand.
I ignored the hand and stepped up. He'd talked inside
my head. It was getting silly to argue. Arguing didn't make it not
true.
One of the wolves growled low in its chest. I
hesitated.
"They will not harm you. They are my creatures."
Like me, I thought.
Jean-Claude put his hand down towards the wolf. It
cringed and licked his hand. I stepped carefully around the wolf.
But it ignored me, all its attention on Jean-Claude. It was sorry
it had growled at me. It would do anything to make up for it. It
groveled like a dog.
I stood at his right side, a little behind the
wolf.
"I had picked out a lovely costume for you."
"If it was anything that would have matched yours, I
wouldn't have worn it."
He laughed, soft and low. The sound tugged at
something low in my gut. "Stay here by the throne with the wolves
while I make my speech."
"We really are going to fight in front of the
crowd."
He stood. "Of course. This is the Circus of the
Damned, and tonight is Halloween. We will show them a spectacle the
likes of which they have never seen."
"This is crazy."
"Probably, but it keeps Oliver from bringing the
building down around us."
"Could he do that?"
"That and much more, ma petite, if we had
not agreed to limit our use of such powers."
"Could you bring the building down?"
He smiled, and for once gave me a straight answer.
"No, but Oliver does not know that."
I had to smile.
He draped himself over the throne, one leg thrown
over a chair arm. He tucked his hat low until all I could see was
his mouth. "I still cannot believe that you betrayed me,
Anita."
"You gave me no choice."
"You would really see me dead rather than have the
fourth mark."
"Yep."
He whispered, "Showtime, Anita."
The lights suddenly went off. There were screams from
the audience as it sat in the sudden dark. The curtain pulled back
on either side. I was suddenly on the edge of the spotlight. The
light shone like a star in the dark. Jean-Claude and his wolves
were bathed in a soft light. I had to agree that my pumpkin sweater
didn't exactly fit the motif.
Jean-Claude stood in one boneless movement. He swept
his hat off and gave a low, sweeping bow. "Ladies and gentlemen,
tonight you will witness a great battle." He began to move slowly
down the steps. The spotlight moved with him. He kept the hat off,
using it for emphasis in his hand. "The battle for the soul of this
city."
He stopped, and the light spread wider to include two
blond vampires. The two women were dressed as 1920s flappers, one
in blue, the other in red. The women flashed fangs, and there were
gasps from the audience. "Tonight you will see vampires,
werewolves, gods, devils." He filled each word with something. When
he said "vampires," there was a ruffling at your neck. "Werewolves"
slashed from the dark, and there were screams. "Gods" breathed
along the skin. "Devils" were a hot wind that scalded your
face.
Gasps and stifled screams filled the dark.
"Some of what you see tonight will be real, some
illusion; which is which will be for you to decide." "Illusion"
echoed in the mind like a vision through glass, repeating over and
over. The last sound died away with a whisper that sounded like a
different word altogether. "Real," the voice whispered.
"The monsters of this city fight for control of it
this Halloween. If we win, then all goes peaceful as before. If our
enemies win . . ." A second spotlight picked out the top of a
second dais. There was no throne. Oliver stood at the top with the
lamia in full serpent glory. Oliver was dressed in a baggy white
jump suit with large polka dots on it. His face was white with a
sad smile drawn on it. One heavily lined eye dropped a sparkling
tear. A tiny pointed hat with a bright blue pom-pom topped his
head.
A clown? He had chosen to be a clown? It wasn't what
I had pictured him in. But the lamia was impressive with her
striped coils curled around him, her naked breasts caressed by his
gloved hand.
"If our enemies win, then tomorrow night will see a
bloodbath such as no city in the world has ever seen. They will
feed upon the flesh and blood of this city until it is drained dry
and lifeless." He had stopped about halfway down. Now he began to
come back up the stairs. "We fight for your lives, your very souls.
Pray that we win, dear humans; pray very, very hard."
He sat in the throne. One of the wolves put a paw on
his leg. He stroked its head absently.
"Death comes to all humans," Oliver said.
The spotlight died on Jean-Claude, leaving Oliver as
the only light in the darkness. Symbolism at its best.
"You will all die someday. In some small accident, or
long disease. Pain and agony await you." The audience rustled
uneasily in their seats.
"Are you protecting me from his voice?" I asked.
"The marks are," Jean-Claude said.
"What is the audience feeling?"
"A sharp pain over the heart. Age slowing their
bodies. The quick horror of some remembered accident."
Gasps, screams, cries filled the dark as Oliver's
words sought out each person and made them feel their
mortality.
It was obscene. Something that had seen a million
years was reminding mere humans how very fragile life was.
"If you must die, would it not be better to die in
our glorious embrace?" The lamia crawled around the dais to show
herself to all the audience. "She could take you, oh, so sweetly,
soft, gentle into that dark night. We make death a celebration, a
joyful passing. No lingering doubts. You will want her hands upon
you in the end. She will show you joys that few mortals ever dream
of. Is death such a high price to pay, when you will die anyway?
Wouldn't it be better to die with our lips upon your skin than by
time's slowly ticking clock?"
There were a few cries of "Yes . . . Please . .
."
"Stop him," I said.
"This is his moment, ma petite. I cannot
stop him."
"I offer you all your darkest dreams come true in our
arms, my friends. Come to us now."
The darkness rustled with movement. The lights came
up, and there were people coming out of the seats. People climbing
over the railing. People coming to embrace death.
They all froze in the light. They stared around like
sleepers waking from a dream. Some looked embarrassed, but one man
close to the rail looked near tears, as if some bright vision had
been ripped away. He collapsed to his knees, shoulders shaking. He
was sobbing. What had he seen in Oliver's words? What had he felt
in the air? God, save us from it.
With the lights I could see what they had moved in
while we waited behind the curtains. It looked like a marble altar
with steps leading up to it. It sat between the two daises,
waiting. For what? I turned to ask Jean-Claude, but something was
happening.
Rashida walked away from the dais, putting herself
close to the railing, and the people. Stephen, wearing what looked
like a thong bathing suit, stalked to the other side of the ring.
His nearly naked body was just as smooth and flawless as Rashida's
"We heal fast," she'd said.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we will give you a few moments
to recover yourselves from the first magic of the evening. Then we
will show you some of our secrets."
The crowd settled back into their seats. An usher
helped the crying man back to his seat. A hush fell over the
people. I had never heard so large a crowd be so silent. You could
have dropped a pin.
"Vampires are able to call animals to their aid. My
animal is the wolf." He walked around the top of the dais
displaying the wolves. I stood there in the spotlight and wasn't
sure what to do. I wasn't on display. I was just visible.
"But I can also call the wolf's human cousin. The
werewolf." He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm. Music
began. Soft and low at first, then rising in a shimmering
crescendo.
Stephen fell to his knees. I turned, and Rashida was
on the ground as well. They were going to change right here in
front of the crowd. I'd never seen a shapeshifter shift before. I
had to admit a certain . . . curiosity.
Stephen was on all fours. His bare back was bowed
with pain. His long yellow hair trailed on the ground. The skin on
his back rippled like water, his spine standing like a ridge in the
middle. He stretched out his hands as if he were bowing, face
pressed to the ground. Bones broke through his hands. He groaned.
Things moved under his skin like crawling animals. His spine bowed
upward as if rising like a tent all on its own. Fur started to flow
out of the skin on his back, spreading impossibly fast like a
timelapse photo. Bones and some heavy, clear liquid poured out of
his skin. Shapes strained and ripped through his skin. Muscles
writhed like snakes. Heavy, wet sounds came as bone shifted in and
out of flesh. It was as if the wolf's shape was punching its way
out of the man's body. Fur flowed fast and faster, the color of
dark honey. The fur hid some of the changes, and I was glad.
Something between a howl and a scream tore from his
throat. Finally, there was that same manwolf form as the night we
fought the giant cobra. The wolfman threw his muzzle skyward and
howled. The sound raised the hairs on my body.
A second howl echoed from the other side. I whirled,
and there was a second wolfman form, but this one was as black as
pitch. Rashida?
The audience applauded wildly, stamping and
shouting.
The werewolves crept back to the dais. They crouched
at the bottom, one on each side.
"I have nothing so showy to offer you." The lights
were back on Oliver. "The snake is my creature." The lamia twined
around him, hissing loud enough to carry to the audience. She
flicked a forked tongue to lick his white-coated ear.
He motioned to the foot of the dais. Two
black-cloaked figures stood on either side, hoods hiding their
faces. "These are my creatures, but let us keep them for a
surprise." He looked across at us. "Let it begin."
The lights went out again. I fought the urge to reach
for Jean-Claude in the thick dark. "What's happening?"
"The battle begins," he said.
"How?"
"We have not planned the rest of the evening, Anita.
It will be like every battle, chaotic, violent, bloody."
The lights came up gradually until the tent was
bathed in a dim glow, like dusk or twilight. "It begins,"
Jean-Claude whispered.
The lamia flowed down the steps, and each side ran
for the other. It wasn't a battle. It was a free-for-all, more like
a bar brawl than a war.
The cloaked things ran forward. I had a glimpse of
something vaguely snakelike but not. A spatter of machine-gun fire
and the thing staggered back. Edward.
I started down the steps, gun in hand. Jean-Claude
never moved. "Aren't you coming down?"
"The real battle will happen up here, ma
petite. Do what you can, but in the end it will come down to
Oliver's power and mine."
"He's a million years old. You can't beat him."
"I know."
We stared at each other for a moment. "I'm sorry," I
said.
"So am I, ma petite, Anita, so am I."
I ran down the steps to join the fight. The
snake-thing had collapsed, bisected by the machine-gun fire. Edward
was standing back to back with Richard, who had a revolver in his
hands. He was shooting it into one of the cloaked things and wasn't
even slowing it down. I sighted down my arm and fired at the
cloaked head. The thing stumbled and turned towards me. The hood
fell backwards, revealing a cobra's head the size of a horse's.
From the neck down it was a woman, but from the neck up . . .
Neither my shot nor Richard's had made a dent. The thing came up
the steps towards me. I didn't know what it was, or how to stop it.
Happy Halloween.
Chapter 47
The thing rushed towards me. I dropped the Browning and had one
of the knives halfway out when it hit me. I was on the steps with
the thing on top of me. It reared back to strike. I got the knife
free. It plunged its fangs into my shoulder. I screamed and shoved
the knife into its body. The knife went in, but no blood, no pain.
It gnawed on my shoulder, pumping poison in, and the knife did
nothing.
I screamed again. Jean-Claude's voice sounded in my head,
"Poison cannot harm you now."
It hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to die from it. I plunged
the knife into its throat, screaming, not knowing what else to do.
It gagged. Blood ran down my hand. I hit it again, and it reared
back, blood on its fangs. It gave a frantic hiss and pushed itself
off me. But I understood now. The weak spot was where the snake
part met human flesh.
I groped for the Browning left-handed; my right shoulder was
torn up. I squeezed and watched blood spurt from the thing's neck.
It turned and ran, and I let it go.
I lay on the steps holding my right arm against my body. I
didn't think anything was broken, but it hurt like hell. It wasn't
even bleeding as badly as it should have been. I glanced up at
Jean-Claude. He was standing motionless, but something moved, like
a shimmer of heat. Oliver was just as motionless on his dais. That
was the real battle; the dying down here didn't mean much except to
the people who were going to die.
I cradled my arm against my stomach and walked down the steps
towards Edward and Richard. By the time I was at the bottom of the
steps, the arm felt better. Good enough to change the gun to my
right hand. I stared at the bite wound, and damned if it wasn't
healing. The third mark. I was healing like a shapeshifter.
"Are you all right?" Richard asked.
"I seem to be."
Edward was staring at me. "You should be dying."
"Explanations later," I said.
The cobra thing lay at the foot of the dais, its head bisected
by machine-gun fire. Edward caught on quick.
There was a scream, high and piercing. Alejandro had Yasmeen
twisted around in his arms, one arm behind her back, his other arm
pinning her shoulders to his chest. It was Marguerite who had
screamed. She was struggling in Karl Inger's arms. She was
outmatched. Apparently, so was Yasmeen.
Alejandro tore into her throat. She screamed. He snapped her
spine with his teeth, blood splattering his face. She sagged in his
arms. Movement, and his hand came out through the other side of her
chest, the heart crushed to a bloody pulp.
Marguerite shrieked over and over again. Karl let her go, but
she didn't seem to notice. She scratched fingernails down her
cheeks until blood ran. She collapsed to her knees, still clawing
at her face.
"Jesus," I said, "stop her."
Karl stared across at me. I raised the Browning, but he ducked
behind Oliver's dais. I went towards Marguerite. Alejandro stepped
between us.
"Do you want to help her?"
"Yes."
"Let me lay the last two marks upon you, and I will get out of
your way."
I shook my head. "The city for one crazy human servant? I don't
think so."
"Anita, down!" I dropped flat to the floor, and Edward shot a
jet of flame over my head. I could feel the wash of heat bubbling
overhead.
Alejandro shrieked. I raised my eyes only enough to see him
burning. He motioned outward with one burning hand, and I felt
something wash over me back towards . . . Edward.
I rolled over, and Edward was on his back, struggling to his
feet. The nozzle of the flamethrower was pointed this way again. I
dropped without being told.
Alejandro motioned, and the flame peeled backwards, flowing
towards Edward.
He rolled frantically to put out the flames on his cloak. He
threw the burning death's-head mask onto the ground. The
flamethrower's tank was on fire. Richard helped him struggle out of
it, and they ran. I hugged the ground, hands over my head. The
explosion shook the ground. When I looked up, tiny burning pieces
were raining down, but that was all. Richard and Edward were
peering around the other side of the dais.
Alejandro stood there with his clothes charred, his skin
blistered. He began walking towards me.
I scrambled to my feet, pointing my gun at him. Of course, the
gun hadn't done a whole lot of good before. I backed up until I
bumped the steps.
I started shooting. The bullets went in. He even bled, but he
didn't stop. The gun clicked on empty. I turned and ran.
Something hit me in the back, slamming me to the ground.
Alejandro was suddenly on my back, one hand in my hair, bending my
neck backwards.
"Put down the machine gun or I'll break her neck."
"Shoot him!" I screamed.
But Edward threw the machine gun on the floor. Dammit. He got
out a pistol and took careful aim. Alejandro's body jerked, then he
laughed. "You can't kill me with silver bullets."
He put a knee in my back to hold me down; then a knife flashed
in his hand.
"No," Richard said, "he won't kill her."
"I'll slit her throat if you interfere, but if you leave us
alone, I won't harm her."
"Edward, kill him!"
A vampire jumped Edward, riding him to the ground. Richard tried
to pull her off him, but a tiny vampire leaped on his back. It was
the woman and the little boy from that first night.
"Now that your friends are busy, we will finish our
business."
"NO!"
The knife just nicked the surface, sharp, painful, but such a
little cut. He leaned over me. "It won't hurt, I promise."
I screamed.
His lips touched the cut, locked on it, sucking. He was wrong.
It did hurt. Then the smell of flowers surrounded me. I was
drowning in perfume. I couldn't see. The world was warm and
sweet-scented.
When I could see again, think again, I was lying on my back,
staring up at the tent roof. Arms drew me upward, cradled me.
Alejandro held me close. He'd cut a line of blood on his chest,
just above the nipple. "Drink."
I put my hands flat against him, fighting him. His hand squeezed
the back of my neck, forcing me closer to the wound.
"NO!"
I drew the other knife and plunged it into his chest, searching
for the heart. He grunted and grabbed my hand, squeezed until I
dropped the knife. "Silver is not the way. I am past silver."
He pushed my face towards the wound, and I couldn't fight him. I
just wasn't strong enough. He could have crushed my skull in one
hand, but all he did was press my face to the cut on his chest.
I struggled, but he kept my mouth pressed to the wound. The
blood was salty sweet, vaguely metallic. It was only blood.
"Anita!" Jean-Claude screamed my name. I wasn't sure if it was
aloud or in my head.
"Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, the two shall be as one.
One flesh, one blood, one soul." Somewhere deep inside me,
something broke. I could feel it. A wave of liquid warmth rushed up
and over me. My skin danced with it. My fingertips tingled. My
spine spasmed, and I jerked upright. Strong arms caught me, held
me, rocked me.
A hand smoothed my hair from my face. I opened my eyes to see
Alejandro. I wasn't afraid of him anymore. I was calm and
floating.
"Anita?" It was Edward. I turned towards the sound, slowly.
"Edward."
"What did he do to you?"
I tried to think how to explain it, but my mind wouldn't bring
up the words. I sat up, pushing gently away from Alejandro.
There was a pile of dead vampires around Edward's feet. Maybe
silver didn't hurt Alejandro, but it had hurt his people.
"We will make more," Alejandro said. "Can you not read this in
my mind?"
And I could, now that I thought about it, but it wasn't like
telepathy. Not words. I—knew he was thinking about the power I'd
just given him. He felt no regret about the vampires that had
died.
The crowd screamed.
Alejandro looked up. I followed his gaze. Jean-Claude was on his
knees, blood pouring down his side. Alejandro envied Oliver the
ability to draw blood from a distance. When I became Alejandro's
servant, Jean-Claude had been weakened. Oliver had him.
That had been the plan all along.
Alejandro held me close, and I didn't try to stop him. He
whispered against my cheek, "You are a necromancer, Anita. You have
power over the dead. That is why Jean-Claude wanted you as his
servant. Oliver thinks to control you through controlling me, but I
know that you are a necromancer. Even as a servant, you have free
will. You do not have to obey as the others do. As a human servant,
you are yourself a weapon. You can strike one of us and draw
blood."
"What are you saying?"
"They have arranged that the loser be stretched over the altar
and staked by you."
"What . . ."
"Jean-Claude, as affirmation of his power. Oliver, as a gesture
to show how well he controlled what once belonged to
Jean-Claude."
There was a gasp from the crowd. Oliver was levitating ever so
slowly. He floated to the ground. Then he raised his arms, and
Jean-Claude floated upward.
"Shit," I said.
Jean-Claude hung nearly unconscious in empty, shining air.
Oliver laid him gently on the ground, and fresh blood splattered
the white floor.
Karl Inger came into sight. He picked Jean-Claude up under the
arms.
Where was everybody? I looked around for some help. The black
werewolf was torn apart, parts still twitching. I didn't think even
a lycanthrope could heal the mess. The blond werewolf wasn't much
better, but Stephen was dragging himself towards the altar. With
one leg completely ripped away, he was trying.
Karl laid Jean-Claude on the marble altar. Blood began to seep
down the side. He held him lightly at the shoulder. Jean-Claude
could bench press a car. How could Karl hold him down?
"He shares Oliver's strength."
"Quit doing that," I said.
"What?"
"Answering questions I haven't asked yet."
He smiled. "It saves so much time."
Oliver picked up a white, polished stake and a padded hammer. He
held them out towards me. "It's time."
Alejandro tried to help me stand, but I pushed him away. Fourth
mark or no fourth mark, I could stand on my own.
Richard screamed, "No!" He ran past us towards the altar. It all
seemed to happen in slow motion. He jumped at Oliver, and the
little man grabbed him by the throat and tore his windpipe out.
"Richard!" I was running, but it was too late. He lay bleeding
on the ground, still trying to breathe when he didn't have anything
to breathe with.
I knelt by him, tried to stop the flow of blood. His eyes were
wide and panic-filled. Edward was with me. "There's nothing you can
do. Nothing any of us can do."
"No."
"Anita." He pulled me away from Richard. "It's too late."
I was crying and hadn't known it.
"Come, Anita; destroy your old master, as you wanted me to."
Oliver was holding the hammer and stake out towards me.
I shook my head.
Alejandro helped me stand. I reached for Edward, but it was too
late. Edward couldn't help. No one could help me. There was no way
to take back the fourth mark, or heal Richard, or save Jean-Claude.
But at least I wouldn't put the stake through Jean-Claude. That I
could stop. That I would not do.
Alejandro was leading me towards the altar.
Marguerite had crawled to one side of the dais. She was
kneeling, rocking gently back and fourth. Her face was a bloody
mask. She'd clawed her eyes out.
Oliver held the stake and mallet out to me with his white-gloved
hands, still wet with Richard's blood. I shook my head.
"You will take it. You will do as I say." His little clown face
was frowning at me.
"Fuck you," I said.
"Alejandro, you control her now."
"She is my servant, master, yes."
Oliver held the stake out towards me. "Then have her finish
him."
"I cannot force her, master." Alejandro smiled as he said
it.
"Why not?"
"She is a necromancer. I told you she would have free will."
"I will not have my grand gesture spoiled by one stubborn
woman."
He tried to roll my mind. I felt him rush over me like a wind
inside my head, but it rolled off and away. I was a full human
servant; vampire tricks didn't work on me, not even Oliver's.
I laughed, and he slapped me. I tasted fresh blood in my mouth.
He stood beside me, and I could feel him tremble. He was so angry.
I was ruining his moment.
Alejandro was pleased. I could feel his pleasure like a warm
hand in my stomach.
"Finish him, or I promise you I'll beat you to a bloody pulp.
You don't die easily now. I can hurt you worse than you can
imagine, and you'll heal. But it will still hurt just as badly. Do
you understand me?"
I stared down at Jean-Claude. He was staring at me. His dark
blue eyes were as lovely as ever.
"I won't do it," I said.
"You still care about him? After all he has done to you?"
I nodded.
"Do him, now, or I will kill him slowly. I will pick pieces of
flesh from his bones but never kill him. As long as his heart and
head are intact, he won't die, no matter what I do to him."
I looked at Jean-Claude. I couldn't stand by and let Oliver
torture him, not if I could help it. Wasn't a clean death better?
Wasn't it?
I took the stake from Oliver. "I'll do it."
Oliver smiled. "You've made a wise decision. Jean-Claude would
thank you if he could."
I stared down at Jean-Claude, stake in one hand. I touched his
chest just over the burn scar. My hand came away smeared with
blood.
"Do it, now!" Oliver said.
I turned to Oliver, reaching my left hand out for the hammer. As
he handed it to me, I shoved the ash stake through his chest.
Karl screamed. Blood poured out of Oliver's mouth. He seemed
frozen, as if he couldn't move with the stake in his heart, but he
wasn't dead, not yet. My fingers tore into the meat of his throat
and pulled, pulled great gobbets of flesh, until I saw spine,
glistening and wet. I wrapped my hand around his spine and jerked
it free. His head lolled to one side, held by a few strips of meat.
I jerked his head clear and tossed it across the ring.
Karl Inger was lying beside the altar. I knelt by him and tried
to find a pulse, but there wasn't one. Oliver's death had killed
him too.
Alejandro came to stand by me. "You've done it, Anita. I knew
you could kill him. I knew you could."
I stared up at him. "Now you kill Jean-Claude, and we rule the
city together."
"Yes."
I shoved upward before I could think about it, before he could
read my mind. I shoved my hands into his chest. Ribs cracked and
scraped my skin. I grabbed his beating heart and crushed it.
I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight, and it hurt. I pulled
his heart out of the hole. He fell, eyes wide and surprised. I fell
with him.
I was gasping for air. Couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe. I lay
on top of my master and felt my heart beating for both of us. He
wouldn't die. I laid my fingers against his throat and started to
dig. I put my hands around his throat and squeezed. I felt my hands
dig into flesh, but the pain was overwhelming. I was choking on
blood, our blood.
My hands went numb. I couldn't tell if I was still squeezing or
not. I couldn't feel anything except the pain. Then even that
slipped away, and I was falling, falling into a darkness that had
never known light, and never would.
Chapter 48
I woke up staring into an off-white ceiling. I blinked at the
ceiling for a minute. Sunlight lay in warm squares across the
blanket. There were metal rails on the bed. An IV dripped to my
arm.
A hospital—then I wasn't dead. Surprise, surprise.
There were flowers and a bunch of shiny balloons on a small
bedside table. I lay there a moment, enjoying the fact that I
wasn't dead.
The door opened, and all I could see was a huge bunch of
flowers. Then the flowers lowered, and it was Richard.
I think I stopped breathing. I could feel all the blood rushing
through my skin. There was a soft roaring in my head. No. I wasn't
going to faint. I never fainted. I finally managed to say, "You're
dead."
His smile faded. "I'm not dead."
"I saw Oliver tear out your throat." I could see it in front of
me like an overlay in my mind. I saw him gasping, dying. I found I
could sit up. I braced myself, and the IV needle moved under my
skin, the tape pulling. It was real. Nothing else seemed real.
He raised a hand towards his throat, then stopped himself. He
swallowed hard enough for me to hear it. "You saw Oliver tear out
my throat, but it didn't kill me."
I stared at him. There was no bandage on his cheek. The circle
cut had healed. "No human being could survive that," I said
softly.
"I know." He looked incredibly sad as he said it.
Panic filled my throat until I could barely breathe. "What are
you?"
"I'm a lycanthrope."
I shook my head. "I know what a lycanthrope feels like, moves
like. You aren't one."
"Yes, I am."
I kept shaking my head. "No."
He came to stand beside the bed. He held the flowers awkwardly,
as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I'm next in line to be
pack leader. I can pass for human, Anita. I'm good at it."
"You lied to me."
He shook his head. "I didn't want to."
"Then why did you?"
"Jean-Claude ordered me not to tell you."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I think because he knew you'd hate it. You don't
forgive deceit. He knows that."
Would Jean-Claude deliberately try to ruin a potential
relationship between Richard and me? Yep.
"You asked what hold Jean-Claude had on me. That was it. My pack
leader loaned me to Jean-Claude on the condition that no one find
out what I was."
"Why are you a special case?"
"They won't let lycanthropes teach kids, or anybody else for
that matter."
"You're a werewolf."
"Isn't that better than being dead?"
I stared up at him. His eyes were still the same perfect brown.
His hair fell forward around his face. I wanted to ask him to sit
down, to let me run my fingers through his hair, to keep it from
that wonderful face.
"Yeah, it's better than being dead."
He let out a breath, as if he'd been holding it. He smiled and
held the flowers out to me.
I took them because I didn't know what else to do. They were red
carnations with enough baby's breath to form a white mist over the
red. The carnations smelled like sweet cloves. Richard was a
werewolf. Next in line for pack leader. He could pass for human. I
stared up at him. I held out my hand to him. He took it, and his
hand was warm and solid, and alive.
"Now that we've established why you're not dead, why aren't I
dead?"
"Edward did CPR on you until the ambulances came. The doctors
don't know what caused your heart to stop, but there's no permanent
damage."
"What did you tell the police about all the bodies?"
"What bodies?"
"Come off it, Richard."
"By the time the ambulance got there, there were no extra
bodies."
"The audience saw it all."
"But what was real and what was illusion? The police got a
hundred different versions from the audience. They're suspicious,
but they can't prove anything. The Circus has been shut down until
the authorities can be sure it's safe."
"Safe?" I laughed.
He shrugged. "As safe as it ever was."
I slipped my hand out of Richard's grasp, using both hands to
smell the flowers again. "Is Jean-Claude . . . alive?"
"Yes."
A great sense of relief washed over me. I didn't want him dead.
I didn't want Jean-Claude dead. Shit. "He's still Master of the
City, then. And I'm still bound to him."
"No," Richard said, "Jean-Claude told me to tell you. You're
free. Alejandro's marks sort of canceled his out. You can't serve
two masters, he said."
Free? I was free? I stared at Richard. "It can't be that
easy."
Richard laughed. "You call this easy?"
I looked up. I had to smile. "All right, it wasn't easy, but I
didn't think anything short of death would get Jean-Claude off my
back."
"Are you happy the marks are gone?"
I started to say, "Of course," then stopped myself. There was
something very serious in Richard's face. He knew what it was to be
offered power. To be one with the monsters. It could be horrible,
and wonderful.
Finally I said "Yes."
"Really?"
I nodded.
"You don't seem too enthused," he said.
"I know I should be jumping for joy, or something, but I just
feel empty."
"You've been through a lot the last few days. You're entitled to
be a little numb."
Why wasn't I happier to be rid of Jean-Claude? Why wasn't I
relieved to be no one's human servant? Because I'd miss him?
Stupid. Ridiculous. True.
When something gets too hard to think about, think about
something else. "So now everyone knows you're a werewolf."
"No."
"You were hospitalized, and you've already healed. I think
they'll guess."
"Jean-Claude had me hidden away until I healed. This is my first
day up and around."
"How long have I been out?"
"A week."
"You're joking."
"You were in a coma for three days. The doctors still don't know
what made you start breathing on your own."
I had come that close to the great beyond. I couldn't remember
any tunnel of light, or soothing voices. I felt cheated. "I don't
remember."
"You were unconscious; you're not supposed to remember."
"Sit down, before I get a crick looking up at you."
He pulled up a chair and sat down by the bed, smiling at me. It
was a nice smile.
"So you're a werewolf."
He nodded.
"How did it happen?"
He stared down at the floor, then up. His face looked so solemn,
I was sorry I'd asked. I was expecting some great tale of a savage
attack survived. "I got a bad batch of lycanthropy serum."
"You what?"
"You heard me." He seemed embarrassed.
"You got a bad shot?"
"Yes."
My smile got wider and wider.
"It's not funny," he said.
I shook my head. "Not at all." I knew my eyes were shiny, and it
was all I could do not to laugh out loud. "You've got to admit it's
nicely ironic."
He sighed. "You're going to hurt yourself. Go ahead and
laugh."
I did. I laughed until it hurt, and Richard joined in. Laughter
is contagious, too.
Chapter 49
A dozen white roses came later that day with a note from
Jean-Claude. The note read, "You are free of me, if you choose. But
I hope you want to see me as much as I want to see you. It is your
choice. Jean-Claude."
I stared at the flowers for a long time. I finally had a nurse
give them to someone else, or throw them away, or whatever the hell
she wanted to do with them. I just wanted them out of my sight. So
I was still attracted to Jean-Claude. I might even, in some dark
corner, love him a little. It didn't matter. Loving the monsters
always ends badly for the human. It's a rule.
That brought me to Richard. He was one of the monsters, but he
was alive. That was an improvement over Jean-Claude. And was he any
less human than I was: zombie queen, vampire slayer, necromancer?
Who was I to complain?
I don't know where they put all the body parts, but no police
ever came asking. Whether I'd saved the city or not, it was still
murder. Legally, Oliver had done nothing to deserve death.
I got out of the hospital and went back to work. Larry stayed
on. He's learning how to hunt vampires, God save him.
The lamia was truly immortal. Which I guess means lamias can't
have been extinct. They just must always have been rare.
Jean-Claude got the lamia a green card and gave her a job at the
Circus of the Damned. I don't know if he's letting her breed, or
not. I haven't been near the Circus since I got out of the
hospital.
Richard and I finally had that first date. We went for something
fairly traditional: dinner and a movie. We're going caving next
week. He promised no underwater tunnels. His lips are the softest
I've ever kissed. So he gets furry once a month. No one's
perfect.
Jean-Claude hasn't given up. He keeps sending me gifts. I keep
refusing them. I have to keep saying no until he gives up, or until
hell freezes over, whichever comes first.
Most women complain that there are no single, straight men left.
I'd just like to meet one who's human.