It was St. Patrick's Day, and the only green I was wearing was a
button that read, "Pinch me and you're dead meat." I'd started work
last night with a green blouse on, but I'd gotten blood all over it
from a beheaded chicken. Larry Kirkland, zombie-raiser in training,
had dropped the decapitated bird. It did the little headless
chicken dance and sprayed both of us with blood. I finally caught
the damn thing, but the blouse was ruined.
I had to run home and change. The only thing not ruined was the
charcoal grey suit jacket that had been in the car. I put it back
on over a black blouse, black skirt, dark hose, and black pumps.
Bert, my boss, didn't like us wearing black to work, but if I had
to be at the office at seven o'clock without any sleep at all, he
would just have to live with it.
I huddled over my coffee mug, drinking it as black as I could
swallow it. It wasn't helping much. I stared at a series of 8-by-10
glossy blowups spread across my desktop. The first picture was of a
hill that had been scraped open, probably by a bulldozer. A
skeletal hand reached out of the raw earth. The next photo showed
that someone had tried to carefully scrape away the dirt, showing
the splintered coffin and bones to one side of the coffin. A new
body. The bulldozer had been brought in again. It had plowed up the
red earth and found a boneyard. Bones studded the earth like
scattered flowers.
One skull spread its unhinged jaws in a silent scream. A
scraggle of pale hair still clung to the skull. The dark, stained
cloth wrapped around the corpse was the remnants of a dress. I
spotted at least three femurs next to the upper half of a skull.
Unless the corpse had had three legs, we were looking at a real
mess.
The pictures were well done in a gruesome sort of way. The color
made it easier to differentiate the corpses, but the high gloss was
a little much. It looked like morgue photos done by a fashion
photographer. There was probably an art gallery in New York that
would hang the damn things and serve cheese and wine while people
walked around saying, "Powerful, don't you think? Very
powerful."
They were powerful, and sad.
There was nothing but the photos. No explanation. Bert had said
to come to his office after I'd looked at them. He'd explain
everything. Yeah, I believed that. The Easter Bunny is a friend of
mine, too.
I gathered the pictures up, slipped them into the envelope,
picked my coffee mug up in the other hand, and went for the
door.
There was no one at the desk. Craig had gone home. Mary, our
daytime secretary, didn't get in until eight. There was a two-hour
space of time when the office was unmanned. That Bert had called me
into the office when we were the only ones there bothered me a lot.
Why the secrecy?
Bert's office door was open. He sat behind his desk, drinking
coffee, shuffling some papers around. He glanced up, smiled, and
motioned me closer. The smile bothered me. Bert was never pleasant
unless he wanted something.
His thousand-dollar suit framed a white-on-white shirt and tie.
His grey eyes sparkled with good cheer. His eyes are the color of
dirty window glass, so sparkling is a real effort. His snow-blond
hair had been freshly buzzed. The crewcut was so short I could see
scalp.
"Have a seat, Anita."
I tossed the envelope on his desk and sat down. "What are you up
to, Bert?" His smile widened. He usually didn't waste the smile on
anybody but clients. He certainly didn't waste it on me. "You
looked at the pictures?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"Could you raise them from the dead?"
I frowned at him and sipped my coffee. "How old are they?"
"You couldn't tell from the pictures?"
"In person I could tell you, but not just from pictures. Answer
the question."
"Around two hundred years."
I just stared at him. "Most animators couldn't raise a zombie
that old without a human sacrifice."
"But you can," he said.
"Yeah. I didn't see any headstones in the pictures. Do we have
any names?"
"Why?"
I shook my head. He'd been the boss for five years, started the
company when it was just him and Manny, and he didn't know shit
about raising the dead. "How can you hang around a bunch of
zombie-raisers for this many years and know so little about what we
do?"
The smile slipped a little, the glow beginning to fade from his
eyes. "Why do you need names?"
"You use names to call the zombie from the grave."
"Without a name you can't raise them?"
"Theoretically, no," I said.
"But you can do it," he said. I didn't like how sure he was.
"Yeah, I can do it. John can probably do it, too."
He shook his head. "They don't want John."
I finished the last of my coffee. "Who's they?"
"Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein."
"A law firm," I said.
He nodded.
"No more games, Bert. Just tell me what the hell's going
on."
"Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein have some clients
building a very plush resort in the mountains near Branson. A very
exclusive resort. A place where the wealthy country stars that
don't own a house in the area can go to get away from the crowds.
Millions of dollars are at stake."
"What's the old cemetery have to do with it?"
"The land they're building on was in dispute between two
families. The courts decided the Kellys owned the land, and they
were paid a great deal of money. The Bouvier family claimed it was
their land and there was a family plot on it to prove it. No one
could find the cemetery."
Ah. "They found it," I said.
"They found an old cemetery, but not necessarily the Bouvier
family plot."
"So they want to raise the dead and ask who they are?"
"Exactly."
I shrugged. "I can raise a couple of the corpses in the coffins.
Ask who they are. What happens if their last name is Bouvier?"
"They have to buy the land a second time. They think some of the
corpses are Bouviers. That's why they want all the bodies
raised."
I raised my eyebrows. "You're joking."
He shook his head, looking pleased. "Can you do it?"
"I don't know. Give me the pictures again." I set my coffee mug
on his desk and took the pictures back. "Bert, they've screwed this
six ways to Sunday. It's a mass grave, thanks to the bulldozers.
The bones are all mixed together. I've only read about one case of
anyone raising a zombie from a mass grave. But they were calling a
specific person. They had a name." I shook my head. "Without a name
it may not be possible."
"Would you be willing to try?"
I spread the pictures over the desk, staring at them. The top
half of a skull had turned upside down like a bowl. Two finger
bones attached by something dry and desiccated that must once had
been human tissue lay next to it. Bones, bones everywhere but not a
name to speak.
Could I do it? I honestly didn't know. Did I want to try? Yeah.
I did.
"I'd be willing to try."
"Wonderful."
"Raising them a few every night is going to take weeks, even if
I can do it. With John's help it would be quicker."
"It will cost them millions to delay that long," Bert said.
"There's no other way to do it."
"You raised the Davidsons' entire family plot, including
Great-Grandpa. You weren't even supposed to raise him. You can
raise more than one at a time."
I shook my head. "That was an accident. I was showing off. They
wanted to raise three family members. I thought I could save them
money by doing it in one shot."
"You raised ten family members, Anita. They only asked for
three."
"So?"
"So can you raise the entire cemetery in one night?"
"You're crazy," I said.
"Can you do it?"
I opened my mouth to say no, and closed it. I had raised an
entire cemetery once. Not all of them had been two centuries old,
but some of them had been older, nearly three hundred. And I raised
them all. Of course, I had two human sacrifices to ride for power.
It was a long story how I ended up with two people dying inside a
circle of power. Self-defense, but the magic didn't care. Death is
death.
Could I do it? "I really don't know, Bert."
"That's not a no," he said. He had an eager, anticipatory look
on his face.
"They must have offered you a bundle of money," I said.
He smiled. "We're bidding on the project."
"We're what?"
"They sent this package to us, the Resurrection Company in
California and the Essential Spark in New Orleans."
"They prefer Élan Vital to the English translation," I
said. Frankly, it sounded more like a beauty salon than an
animating firm, but nobody had asked me. "So what? The lowest bid
gets it?"
"That was their plan," Bert said.
He looked entirely too satisfied with himself. "What?" I
asked.
"Let me play it back to you," he said. "There are what, three
animators in the entire country that could raise a zombie that old
without a human sacrifice? You and John are two of them. I'm
including Phillipa Freestone of Resurrection in this."
"Probably," I said.
He nodded. "Okay. Could Phillipa raise without a name?"
"I don't have any way of knowing that. John could. Maybe she
could."
"Could either she or John raise from the mass bones, not the
ones in the coffin?"
That stopped me. "I don't know."
"Would either of them stand a chance of raising the entire
graveyard?" He was staring at me very steadily.
"You're enjoying this too much," I said.
"Just answer the question, Anita."
"I know John couldn't do it. I don't think Phillipa is as good
as John, so no, they couldn't do it."
"I'm going to up the bid," Bert said.
I laughed. "Up the bid?"
"Nobody else can do it. Nobody but you. They tried treating this
like any other construction problem. But there aren't going to be
any other bids, now are there?"
"Probably not," I said.
"Then I'm going to take them to the cleaners," he said with a
smile.
I shook my head. "You greedy son of a bitch."
"You get a share of the fee, you know."
"I know." We looked at each other. "What if I try and can't
raise them all in one night?"
"You'll still be able to raise them all eventually, won't
you?"
"Probably." I stood, picking up my coffee mug. "But I wouldn't
spend the check until after I've done it. I'm going to go get some
sleep."
"They want the bid this morning. If they accept our terms,
they'll fly you up in a private helicopter."
"Helicopter—you know I hate to fly."
"For this much money you'll fly."
"Great."
"Be ready to go at a moment's notice."
"Don't push it, Bert." I hesitated at the door. "Let me take
Larry with me."
"Why? If John can't do it, then Larry certainly can't."
I shrugged. "Maybe not, but there are ways to combine power
during a raising. If I can't do it alone, maybe I can get a boost
from our trainee."
He looked thoughtful. "Why not take John? Combined, you could do
it."
"Only if he'd give his power willingly to me. You think he'd do
that?"
Bert shook his head.
"You going to tell him that the client didn't want him? That you
offered him to the client and they asked for me by name?"
"No," Bert said.
"That's why you're doing it like this; no witnesses."
"Time is of the essence, Anita."
"Sure, Bert, but you didn't want to face Mr. John Burke with yet
another client that wants me over him."
Bert looked down at his blunt-fingered hands clasped on the
desktop. He looked up, grey eyes serious. "John is almost as good
as you are, Anita. I don't want to lose him."
"You think he'll walk if one more client asks for me?"
"His pride's hurt," Bert said.
"And there's so much of it to hurt," I said.
Bert smiled. "You needling him doesn't help."
I shrugged. It sounded petty to say he'd started it, but he had.
We'd tried dating, and John couldn't handle me being a female
version of him. No; he couldn't handle me being a better version of
him.
"Try to behave yourself, Anita. Larry's not up to speed yet; we
need John."
"I always behave myself, Bert."
He sighed. "If you didn't make me so much money, I wouldn't put
up with your shit."
"Ditto," I said.
That about summed up our relationship. Commerce at its best. We
didn't like each other, but we could do business together. Free
enterprise at work.
Chapter 2
At noon Bert called and said we had it. "Be at the office packed
and ready to go at two o'clock. Mr. Lionel Bayard will fly up with
you and Larry."
"Who's Lionel Bayard?"
"A junior partner in the firm of Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and
Lowenstein. He likes the sound of his own voice. Don't give him a
rough time about it."
"Who, me?"
"Anita, don't tease the help. He may be wearing a
three-thousand-dollar suit, but he's still the help."
"I'll save it up for one of the partners. Surely Beadle, Beadle,
Stirling, or Lowenstein will appear in person sometime this
weekend."
"Don't tease the bosses either," he said.
"Anything you say." My voice was utterly mild.
"You'll do whatever you want no matter what I say, won't
you?"
"Gee, Bert, who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?"
"Just be here at two o'clock. I called Larry. He'll be
here."
"I'll be there, Bert. I've got one stop to make, so if I'm a few
minutes late, don't worry."
"Don't be late."
"Be there as soon as I can." I hung up before he could argue
with me.
I had to shower, change, and go to Seckman Junior High School.
Richard Zeeman taught science there. We had a date set up for
tomorrow. At one point Richard had asked me to marry him. That was
sort of on hold, but I did owe him more than a message on his
answering machine, saying sorry, honey, can't make the date. I'm
going to be out of town. A message would have been easier for me,
but cowardly.
I packed one suitcase. It was enough for four days and then
some. If you pack extra underwear and clothes that mix and match,
you can live for a week out of a small suitcase.
I did add a few extras. The Firestar 9mm and its inner pants
holster. Enough extra ammo to sink a battleship and two knives plus
wrist sheaths. I'd had four knives. All handcrafted for little ol'
moi. Two of them had been lost beyond recovery. I was
having them replaced, but hand forging takes time, especially when
you insist on the highest silver content possible in the steel. Two
knives, two guns should be enough for one weekend business trip.
I'd wear the Browning Hi-Power.
Packing wasn't a problem. What to wear today was the problem.
They'd want me to raise them tonight if I could. Hell, the
helicopter might fly directly to the construction site. Which meant
I'd be walking over raw dirt, bones, shattered coffins. It didn't
sound like high-heel territory. Yet, if a junior partner was
wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit, the people who'd just hired
me would expect me to look the part. I could either dress
professionally or in feathers and blood. I'd actually had one
client who was disappointed that I didn't show up nude smeared with
blood. There could have been more than one reason for his
disappointment. I don't think I've ever had a client that would
have objected to some kind of ceremonial getup, but jeans and
jogging shoes didn't seem to inspire confidence. Don't ask me
why.
I could pack my coverall and put it over whatever I wore. Yeah,
I liked that. Veronica Sims—Ronnie, my very best friend—had talked
me into buying a fashionably short navy skirt. It was short enough
that I was a little embarrassed, but the skirt fit inside the
coverall. The skirt didn't wrinkle or bunch up after I'd worn the
outfit to vampire stakings or murder scenes. Take the coverall off,
and I was set to go to the office or out for the evening. I was so
pleased, I went out and bought two more in different colors.
One was crimson, the other purple. I hadn't been able to find
one in black yet. At least not one that wasn't so short that I
refused to wear it. Admittedly, the short skirts made me look
taller. They even made me look leggy. When you're five-foot-three,
that's saying something. But the purple didn't match much that I
owned, so crimson it was.
I'd found a short-sleeved blouse that was the exact same shade
of red. Red with violet undertones, a cold, hard color that looked
great with my pale skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. The
shoulder holster and 9mm Browning Hi-Power looked very dramatic
against it. A black belt cinched tight at the waist held down the
loops on the holster. A black jacket with rolled-back sleeves went
over everything to hide the gun. I twirled in front of the mirror
in my bedroom. The skirt wasn't much longer than the jacket, but
you couldn't see the gun. At least not easily. Unless you're
willing to have things tailor-made, it's hard to hide a gun,
especially in women's dress-up clothes.
I put on just enough makeup so the red didn't overwhelm me. I
was also going to be saying good-bye to Richard for several days. A
little makeup couldn't hurt. When I say makeup, I mean eye shadow,
blush, lipstick, and that's it. Outside of a television interview
that Bert talked me into, I don't wear base.
Except for the hose and black high heels, which I would've had
to wear no matter what skirt I wore, the outfit was comfortable. As
long as I remembered not to bend directly at the waist, I was
safe.
The only jewelry I wore was the silver cross tucked into the
blouse, and the watch on my wrist. My dress watch had broken and I
just had never gotten around to getting it fixed. The present watch
was a man's black diving watch that looked out of place on my small
wrist. But hey, it glowed in the dark if you pressed a button. It
showed me the date, what day it was, and could time a run. I hadn't
found a woman's watch that could do all that.
I didn't have to cancel running with Ronnie tomorrow morning.
She was out of town on a case. A private detective's work is never
done.
I loaded the suitcase into my Jeep and was on the way to
Richard's school by one o'clock. I was going to be late to the
office. Oh, well. They'd wait for me or they wouldn't. It wouldn't
break my heart to miss the helicopter ride. I hated planes, but a
helicopter . . . scared the shit out of me.
I hadn't been afraid of flying until I was on a plane that
plunged several thousand feet in seconds. The stewardess ended up
plastered against the ceiling, covered in coffee. People screamed
and prayed. The elderly woman beside me recited the Lord's Prayer
in German. She'd been so scared, tears had come down her face. I
offered her my hand, and she gripped it. I knew I was going to die
and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. But we would die
holding on to human hands. Die covered in human tears, and human
prayers. Then the plane straightened out and suddenly we were safe.
I haven't trusted air transportation since.
Normally in St. Louis there is no real spring. There's winter,
two days of mild weather, and summer heat. This year spring had
come early and stayed. The air was soft against your skin. The wind
smelled of green growing things, and winter seemed to have been a
bad dream. Redbuds bent from the trees on either side of the road.
Tiny purple blossoms like a delicate lavender mist here and there
through the naked trees. There were no leaves yet, but there was a
hint of green. Like someone had taken a giant paintbrush and tinted
everything. Look directly at them and the trees were bare and
black, but look sideways, not at a particular tree but at all the
trees, and there was a touch of green.
270 South is about as pleasant as a highway can be; it gets you
where you're going fairly fast, and it's over quickly. I exited at
Tesson Ferry Road. The road is thick with strip malls, a hospital,
and fast-food restaurants, and when you leave the commerce behind
you hit new housing developments so thick they nearly touch. There
are still stands of woods and open spaces, but they won't last.
The turn to Old 21 is at the crest of a hill just past the
Meramec River. It is mostly houses with a few gas stations, the
area water district office, and a large gas field to the right.
Where the hills march out and out.
At the first stoplight I turned left past a little shopping
area. The road is a curving narrow thing that snakes between houses
and woods. There were glimpses of daffodils in the yards. The road
dips down into a valley, and at the bottom of a steep hill is a
stop sign. The road climbs quickly to the crest of a hill, to a T,
turn left and you're almost there.
The one-story school sits on the floor of a wide, flat valley
surrounded by hills. Having been raised in Indiana farm country,
I'd have called them mountains once. The elementary school sits
separate, but close enough to share a playground. If you got recess
in junior high. When I was too little to go to junior high, it
seemed you did get recess. By the time I got there, you didn't. The
way of the world.
I parked as close to the building as I could. This was my second
visit to Richard's school, and my first during the actual school
day. We'd come once to get some papers he'd forgotten. No students
then. I entered the main entrance and ran into a crowd. It must
have been between classes when they moved the warm bodies from one
room to another.
I was instantly aware that I was about the same height as or
shorter than everyone I saw. There was something claustrophobic
about being jostled by the book-carrying, backpack-wearing crowd.
There had to be a circle of Hell where you were eternally fourteen,
eternally in junior high. One of the lower circles.
I flowed with the crowd towards Richard's room. I admit I took
comfort in the fact that I was better dressed than most of the
girls. Petty as hell, but I had been chunky in junior high. There
isn't a lot of difference between chunky and fat when it comes to
teasing. I'd had my growth spurt and never been fat again. That's
right; I'd been even tinier once. Shortest kid in school for years
and years.
I stood to one side of the doorway, letting the students come
and go. Richard was showing something in a textbook to a young
girl. She was blonde, wearing a flannel shirt over a black dress
that was three sizes too big for her. She was wearing what looked
like black combat boots with heavy white socks rolled over the tops
of them. The outfit was very now. The look of adoration on her face
was not. She was shiny and eager just because Mr. Zeeman was giving
her some one-on-one help.
I had to admit that Richard was worth a crush or two. His thick
brown hair was tied back in a ponytail that gave the illusion that
his hair was very short and close to his head. He has high, full
cheekbones and a strong jaw, with a dimple that softens his face
and makes him look almost too perfect. His eyes are a solid
chocolate brown with those thick lashes that so many men have and
women want. The bright yellow shirt made his permanently tanned
skin seem even darker. His tie was a dark, rich green that matched
the dress slacks he wore. His jacket was draped across the back of
his desk chair. The muscles in his upper arms worked against the
cloth of his shirt as he held the book.
The class was mostly seated, the hallway nearly silent. He
closed the book and handed it to the girl. She smiled and scrambled
for the door, late to her next class. Her eyes flicked over me as
she passed, wondering what I was doing there.
She wasn't the only one. Several of the seated students were
glancing my way. I stepped into the room.
Richard smiled. It warmed me down to my toes. The smile saved
him from being too handsome. It wasn't that it wasn't a great
smile. He could have done toothpaste commercials. But the smile was
a little boy's smile, open and welcoming. There was no guile to
Richard, no deep, dark plan. He was the world's biggest Boy Scout.
The smile showed that.
I wanted to go to him, have him wrap his arms around me. I had a
horrible urge to grab his tie and lead him out of the room. I
wanted to touch his chest underneath the yellow shirt. The urge was
so strong, I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Mustn't
shock the students. Richard affects me like that sometimes. Okay,
most of the time when he's not furry, or licking blood off his
fingers. He's a werewolf. Did I mention that? No one at the school
knows. If they did, he'd be out of a job. People don't like
lycanthropes teaching their precious kiddies. It's illegal to
discriminate against someone for a disease, but everyone does it.
Why should the educational system be different?
He touched my cheek, just his fingertips. I turned my face into
his hand, brushing lips against his fingers. So much for being cool
in front of the kiddies. There were a few oohs and nervous
laughs.
"I'll be right back, guys." More oohs, louder laughter, one "Way
to go, Mr. Zeeman." Richard motioned me out the door and I went,
hands still in my pockets. Normally, I'd have said I wasn't going
to embarrass myself in front of a bunch of eighth-graders, but
lately I wasn't entirely trustworthy.
Richard led me a little ways from his classroom into the
deserted hallway. He leaned up against the wall of lockers and
looked down at me. The little-boy smile was gone. The look in his
dark eyes made me shiver. I ran my hand down his tie, smoothing it
against his chest.
"Am I allowed to kiss you, or would that scandalize the
kiddies?" I didn't look up at him as I asked. I didn't want him to
see the raw need in my eyes. It was embarrassing enough that I knew
he sensed it. You can't hide lust from a werewolf. They can smell
it.
"I'll risk it." His voice was soft, low, with a warm edge that
made my stomach clench.
I felt him bend over me. I raised my face to his. His lips were
so soft. I leaned against his body, palms flat against his chest. I
could feel his nipples harden under my skin. My hands slid to his
waist, smoothing along the cloth of his shirt. I wanted to pull his
shirt out of his pants and run my hands over bare skin. I stepped
back from him feeling just a little breathless.
It was my idea that we wouldn't have sex before marriage. My
idea. But damn, it was hard. The more we dated, the harder it
got.
"Jesus, Richard." I shook my head. "It gets harder, doesn't
it?"
Richard's smile didn't look innocent or Boy Scoutish in the
least. "Yes, it does."
Heat rushed up my face. "I didn't mean that."
"I know what you meant." His voice was gentle, taking the sting
out of the teasing.
My face was still hot with embarrassment, but my voice was
steady. Point for me. "I've got to go out of town on business."
"Zombie, vampire, or police?"
"Zombie."
"Good."
I looked up at him. "Why good?"
"I worry more when you go away on police business, or vampire
stakings. You know that."
I nodded. "Yeah, I know that." We stood there in the hallway,
staring at each other. If things had been different, we'd be
engaged, maybe planning a wedding. All this sexual tension would
have been coming to some kind of conclusion. As it was . . .
"I'm going to be late as it is. I've got to go."
"Are you going to tell Jean-Claude bye in person?" His face was
neutral when he asked, but his eyes weren't.
"It's daylight. He's in his coffin."
"Ah," Richard said.
"I didn't have a date planned with him this weekend, so I don't
owe him an explanation. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"Close enough," he said. He took a step away from the lockers,
bringing our bodies very close together. He bent to kiss me
good-bye. Giggles erupted down the hall.
We turned to see most of his class huddled in the doorway gazing
at us. Great.
Richard smiled. He raised his voice enough so they'd hear him.
"Back inside, you monsters."
There were catcalls, and one small brunette girl gave me a very
dirty look. I think there must have been a lot of girls that had a
crush on Mr. Zeeman.
"The natives are restless. I've got to get back."
I nodded. "I'm hoping to be back by Monday."
"We'll go hiking next weekend, then."
"I put Jean-Claude off this weekend. I can't not see him two
weeks in a row."
Richard's face clouded up with the beginnings of anger. "Hike
during the day, see the vampire at night. Only fair."
"I don't like this any better than you do," I said.
"I wish I believed that."
"Richard."
He gave a long sigh. The anger sort of leaked out of him. I
never understood how he did that. He could be furious one minute
and calm the next. Both emotions seemed genuine. Once I was angry,
I was angry. Maybe it's a character flaw?
"I'm sorry, Anita. It's not like you're dating him behind my
back."
"I would never do anything behind your back; you know that."
He nodded. "I know that." He glanced back at his classroom.
"I've got to go before they set the room on fire." He walked down
the hallway without looking back.
I almost called after him, but I let him go. The mood was sort
of spoiled. Nothing like knowing your girlfriend is dating someone
else to take the wind out of your sails. I wouldn't have put up
with it if it was the other way around. A double standard that, but
one we could all three live with. If living was the term for
Jean-Claude.
Oh, hell, my personal life was too confusing for words. I walked
off down the hall, having to pass by his open classroom door. My
high heels made loud, rackety echoes. I didn't try to catch a last
glimpse of him. It would make me feel worse about leaving.
It hadn't been my idea to date the Master of the City.
Jean-Claude had given me two choices; either he could kill Richard,
or I could date both of them. It had seemed a good idea at the
time. Five weeks later I wasn't so sure.
It had been my morals that had kept Richard and me from
consummating our relationship. Consummating, nice euphemism. But
Jean-Claude had made it clear that if I did something with Richard,
I had to do it with him too. Jean-Claude was trying to woo me. If
Richard could touch me but he couldn't, it wasn't fair. He had a
point, I guess. But the thought of having to have sex with the
vampire was more likely to keep me chaste than any high ideals.
I couldn't date both of them indefinitely. The sexual tension
alone was killing me. I could move. Richard might even let me do
that. He wouldn't like it, but if I wanted free of him, he'd let me
go. Jean-Claude, on the other hand . . . He'd never let me go. The
question was, did I want him to let me go? Answer: hell, yes. The
real trick was how to break free without anybody dying.
Yeah, that was the $64,000 question. Trouble was, I didn't have
an answer. We were going to need one sooner or later. And later was
getting closer all the time.
Chapter 3
I huddled against the side of the helicopter, one hand in a
death grip on the strap that was bolted to the wall. I wanted to
use both hands to hold on, as if by holding very tightly to the
stupid strap it would save me when the helicopter plummeted to
earth. I used one hand because two hands looked cowardly. I was
wearing a headset, sort of like ear protection for the shooting
range, but with a microphone so you could talk above the
teeth-rattling noise. I hadn't realized that most of a helicopter
was clear, like being suspended in a great buzzing, vibrating
bubble. I kept my eyes closed as much as possible.
"Are you all right, Ms. Blake?" Lionel Bayard asked.
The voice startled me. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You don't look well."
"I don't like to fly," I said.
He gave a weak smile. I don't think I was inspiring confidence
in Lionel Bayard, lawyer and flunkie of Beadle, Beadle, Stirling,
and Lowenstein. Lionel Bayard was a small, neat man with a tiny
blond mustache that looked like it was as much facial hair as he
would ever get. His triangular jaw was as smooth as my own. Maybe
the mustache was glued on. His brown suit with a thin yellow tweed
fit his body like a well-tailored glove. His thin tie was
brown-and-yellow striped with a gold tie tack. The tie tack was
monogrammed. His slender leather briefcase was monogrammed as well.
Everything matched, down to his gold-tasseled loafers.
Larry twisted in his seat. He was sitting beside the pilot.
"You're really afraid of flying?" I could see his lips move, but
all the sound came out of my headset; without them we'd never have
been able to talk over the noise. He sounded amused.
"Yes, Larry, I'm really afraid of flying." I hoped sarcasm
traveled the headsets as clearly as amusement did.
Larry laughed. Evidently, sarcasm traveled. Larry looked freshly
scrubbed. He was dressed in his other blue suit, his white
shirt—which was one of three he owned—and his second-best tie. His
best tie had blood all over it. He was still in college, working
weekends for us until he graduated. His short hair was the color of
a surprised carrot. He was freckled and about my height, short,
with pale blue eyes. He looked like a grown-up Opie.
Bayard was working hard at not frowning at me. The effort showed
enough that he shouldn't have bothered. "Are you sure you're up to
this assignment?"
I met his brown eyes. "You better hope I am, Mr. Bayard, because
I'm all you got."
"I am aware of your specialized skills, Ms. Blake. I spent the
last twelve hours contacting every animating firm in the United
States. Phillipa Freestone of the Resurrection Company told me she
couldn't do what we wanted, that the only person in the country who
might be able to do it was Anita Blake. Élan Vital in New
Orleans told us the same thing. They mentioned John Burke but
weren't confident that he could do all we wanted. We must have all
the dead raised or it's useless to us."
"Did my boss explain to you that I am not a hundred percent sure
that I can do it?"
Bayard blinked at me. "Mr. Vaughn seemed very confident that you
could do what we asked."
"Bert can be as confident as he wants. He doesn't have to raise
this mess."
"I realize the earthmoving equipment has complicated your task,
Ms. Blake, but we did not do it deliberately."
I let that go. I'd seen the pictures. They'd tried to cover it
up. If the construction crew hadn't been local with some Bouvier
sympathizers, they'd have plowed up the boneyard, poured some
concrete, and voilá, no evidence.
"Whatever. I'll do what I can with what you've left me."
"Would it have been that much easier if you had been brought in
before the graves were disturbed?"
"Yeah."
He sighed. It vibrated through the headphones. "Then my
apologies."
I shrugged. "Unless you did it personally, you're not the one
who owes me an apology."
He shifted a little in his seat. "I did not order the digging.
Mr. Stirling is on site."
"The Mr. Stirling?" I asked.
Bayard didn't seem to get the humor. "Yes, that Mr. Stirling."
Or maybe he really expected me to know the name.
"You always have a senior partner looking over your
shoulder?"
He used one finger to adjust his gold-framed glasses. It looked
like an old gesture from a time before new glasses and designer
suits. "With this much money at stake, Mr. Stirling thought he
should be in the area in case there were more problems."
"More problems?" I asked.
He blinked at me rapidly, like a well-groomed rabbit. "The
Bouvier matter."
He was lying. "What else is going wrong with your little
project?"
"Whatever do you mean, Ms. Blake?" His manicured fingers
smoothed down his tie.
"You've had more problems than just the Bouviers." I made it a
statement.
"Any problems we may or may not be having, Ms. Blake, are not
your concern. We hired you to raise the dead and establish the
identity of said deceased persons. Beyond that, you have no duties
here."
"Have you ever raised a zombie, Mr. Bayard?"
He blinked again. "Of course not." He sounded offended.
"Then how do you know the other problems won't affect my
job?"
Small frown lines formed between his eyebrows. He was a lawyer
and was earning a good living, but thinking seemed to be hard for
him. Made you wonder where he'd graduated from.
"I don't see how our little difficulties could affect your
job."
"You've just admitted you don't know anything about my job," I
said. "How do you know what will affect it and what won't?"
Alright, I was fishing. Bayard was probably right. The other
problems probably wouldn't affect me, but you never know. I don't
like being kept in the dark. And I don't like being lied to, not
even by omission.
"I think Mr. Stirling would have to make the call about whether
you are enlightened or not."
"Not senior enough to make the decision," I said.
"No," Bayard said, "I am not."
Geez, some people you can't even needle. I glanced at Larry. He
shrugged. "Looks like we're going to land."
I glanced out at the rapidly growing land. We were in the middle
of the Ozark Mountains, hovering over a blasted scar of reddish
naked earth. The construction site, I presume.
The ground swelled up to meet us. I closed my eyes and swallowed
hard. The ride was almost over. I would not throw up this close to
the ground. The ride was almost over. Almost over. Almost over.
There was a bump that made me gasp.
"We've landed," Larry said. "You can open your eyes now."
I did. "You are enjoying the hell out of this, aren't you?"
He grinned. "I don't get to see you out of your element
often."
The helicopter was surrounded by a fog of reddish dirt. The
blades began to slow with a thick whump, whump sound. As
the blades stopped, the dirt settled down and we could see where we
were.
We were in a small, flat area between a cluster of mountains. It
looked like it had once been a narrow valley, but bulldozers had
widened it, flattened it, made it a landing pad. The earth was so
red it looked like a river of rust. The mountain in front of the
helicopter was one red mound. Heavy equipment and cars were
clustered to the far side of the valley. Men were clustered around
the equipment, shielding their eyes from the dust.
When the blades came to a sliding stop, Bayard unbuckled his
seat belt. I did, too. We lifted off the headsets and Bayard opened
his door. I opened mine and found that the ground was farther away
than you'd think. I had to expose a long line of thigh to touch the
ground.
The construction workers were appreciative. Whistles, catcalls,
and one offer to check under my skirt. No, those weren't the exact
words used.
A tall man in a white hard hat strode towards us. He was wearing
a pair of tan coveralls, but his dirt-covered shoes were Gucci and
his tan was health-club perfect. A man and a woman followed at his
back.
The man looked like the real foreman. He was dressed in jeans
and a work shirt with the sleeves rolled over muscular forearms.
Not from racquetball or a little tennis, but from plain hard
work.
The woman wore the traditional skirt suit complete with little
blousy tie at her throat. The suit was expensive, but was an
unfortunate shade of puce that did nothing for the woman's auburn
hair but did match the blush that she'd smeared on her cheeks. I
checked her neckline, and yes, she did have a pale line just above
her collar where the base had not been blended in. She looked like
she'd been made up at clown school.
She didn't look that young. You'd think someone somewhere would
have clued her in to how bad she looked. Of course, I wasn't going
to tell her either. Who was I to criticize?
Stirling had the palest grey eyes I'd ever seen. The irises were
only a few shades darker than the whites of his eyes. He stood
there with his entourage behind him. He looked me up and down. He
didn't seem to like what he saw. His strange eyes flicked to Larry
in his cheap, wrinkled suit. Mr. Stirling frowned.
Bayard came around, smoothing his jacket into place. "Mr.
Stirling, this is Anita Blake. Ms. Blake, this is Raymond
Stirling."
He just stood there, looking at me like he was disappointed. The
woman had a clipboard notebook, pen poised. Had to be his
secretary. She looked worried, as if it was very important that Mr.
Raymond Stirling like us.
I was beginning not to care if he liked us or not. What I wanted
to say was, "You got a problem?" What I said was, "Is there a
problem, Mr. Stirling?" Bert would have been pleased.
"You're not what I expected, Ms. Blake."
"How so?"
"Pretty, for one thing." It wasn't a compliment.
"And?"
He motioned at my outfit. "You're not dressed appropriately for
the job."
"Your secretary's wearing heels."
"Ms. Harrison's attire is not your concern."
"And my attire is none of yours."
"Fair enough, but you're going to have a hell of time getting up
that mountain in those shoes."
"I've got a coverall and Nikes in my suitcase."
"I don't think I like your attitude, Ms. Blake."
"I know I don't like yours," I said.
The foreman behind him was having trouble not smiling. His eyes
were getting shiny with the effort. Ms. Harrison looked a little
scared. Bayard had moved to one side, closer to Stirling. Making
clear whose side he was on. Coward.
Larry moved closer to me.
"Do you want this job, Ms. Blake?"
"Not enough to take grief about it, no."
Ms. Harrison looked like she'd swallowed a bug. A big, nasty,
squirming bug. I think I'd missed my cue to fall down and worship
at her boss's feet.
The foreman coughed behind his hand. Stirling glanced at him,
then back to me. "Are you always this arrogant?" he asked.
I sighed. "I prefer the word 'confident' to 'arrogant,' but I'll
tell you what. I'll tone it down if you will."
"I am so sorry, Mr. Stirling," Bayard said. "I apologize. I had
no idea . . ."
"Shut up, Lionel," Stirling said.
Lionel shut up.
Stirling was looking at me with his strange pale eyes. He
nodded. "Agreed, Ms. Blake." He smiled. "I'll tone it down."
"Great," I said.
"All right, Ms. Blake, let's go up to the top and see if you're
really as good as you think you are."
"I can look at the graveyard, but until full dark I can't do
anything else."
He frowned and glanced at Bayard. "Lionel." That one word had a
lot of heat in it. Anger looking for a target. He'd stop picking on
me, but Lionel was fair game.
"I did fax you a memo, sir, as soon as I realized that Ms. Blake
would be unable to help us until after dark."
Good man. When in doubt, cover your ass with paper.
Stirling glared at him. Bayard looked apologetic but he stood
his ground, safe behind his memo.
"I called Beau and had him bring everybody down here on the
understanding we could get some work done today." His gaze was very
steady on Bayard. Lionel wilted just a little; evidently one memo
was not protection enough.
"Mr. Stirling, even if I can raise the graveyard in one night,
and that's a big if, what if the dead are all Bouviers? What if it
is their family plot? My understanding is that construction will
stop until you rebuy the land."
"They don't want to sell," Beau said.
Stirling glared at him. The foreman just smiled softly.
"Are you saying that the entire project is off if this is the
Bouvier family plot?" I asked Bayard. "Why, Lionel, you didn't tell
me that."
"There was no need for you to know," Bayard said.
"Why wouldn't they want to sell the land for a million dollars?"
Larry asked. It was a good question.
Stirling looked at him like he'd just appeared out of thin air.
Evidently, the flunkies weren't supposed to talk. "Magnus and
Dorcas Bouvier have only a restaurant, called Bloody Bones. It is
nothing. I have no idea why they wouldn't want to be
millionaires."
"Bloody Bones? What kind of name is that for a restaurant?"
Larry asked.
I shrugged. "It doesn't exactly say bon appetit." I looked at
Stirling. He looked angry but that was all. I would have bet a
million dollars that he knew exactly why the Bouviers didn't want
to sell. But it didn't show on his face. His cards were close to
his chest and unreadable.
I turned to Bayard. There was an unhealthy flush to his cheeks,
and he avoided my gaze. I'd play poker with Bayard any day. But not
in front of his boss.
"Fine. I'll change into something more bulky and we'll go take a
look." The pilot handed out my suitcase. The coverall and shoes
were on top.
Larry came up to me. "Gee, I wished I'd thought of the coverall.
This suit's not going to survive the trip."
I pulled out two pairs of coveralls. "Be prepared," I said.
He grinned. "Thanks."
I shrugged. "One good thing about being nearly the same size." I
slipped off the black jacket, which left the gun in plain
sight.
"Ms. Blake," Stirling said. "Why are you armed?"
I sighed. I was tired of Raymond. I hadn't even gone up the hill
and I didn't want to go. The last thing I wanted to do was stand
here and debate whether I needed a gun. The red blouse was
short-sleeved. Visual aids are always better than lectures.
I walked over to him with my arms bent outward, exposing the
inside of both forearms. There's a rather neat knife scar on my
right arm, nothing too dramatic. My left arm is a mess. It had only
been a little over a month since a shapeshifting leopard had opened
my arm. A nice doctor had stitched it back together, but there is
only so much you can do with claw marks. The cross-shaped burn scar
that some inventive vampire servants had put on me was now a little
crooked because of the claws. The mound of scar tissue at the bend
of my arm where a vampire had bitten through the flesh and gnawed
the bone dribbled white scars like water.
"Jesus," Beau said.
Stirling looked a touch pale but he held up well, like he'd seen
worse. Bayard looked green. Ms. Harrison paled so that the makeup
floated on her suddenly pale skin like impressionist water
lilies.
"I don't go anywhere unarmed, Mr. Stirling. Live with it,
because I have to."
He nodded, eyes very serious. "Fine, Ms. Blake. Is your
assistant armed as well?"
"No," I said.
He nodded again. "Fine. Change, and when you're ready we'll go
up."
Larry was zipping up his coverall when I walked back. "I could
have been armed, you know," he said.
"You brought your gun?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Unloaded in your suitcase?"
"Just like you told me."
"Good." I let it go. Larry wanted to be a vampire executioner as
well as an animator, which meant he needed to know how to use a
gun. A gun with silver-plated bullets that could slow a vampire
down. We'd work up to shotguns, which could take out a head and
heart from a relatively safe distance. Beat the hell out of
staking.
I'd gotten him a carry permit on the condition he didn't carry
it concealed until I thought he was a good enough shot not to blow
a hole in himself or me. I'd gotten him the permit mainly so we
could carry it around in the car and go to the range in any spare moments.
The coverall went over the skirt like magic. I took off the
heels and put the Nikes on. I left the coverall unzipped enough
that I could go for the gun if needed, and I was set to go.
"Are you going up with us, Mr. Stirling?"
"Yes," he said.
"Then lead the way," I said.
He walked past me, glancing at the coveralls. Or maybe
visualizing the gun under it. Beau started to follow but Stirling
said, "No, I'll take her up alone."
Silence among the three flunkies. I'd expected Ms. Harrison to
stay behind in her high-heeled pumps, but I'd been sure the two men
would come along. So, from the looks on their faces, had they.
"Wait a minute. You said 'her.' You want Larry to wait down
here, too?"
"Yes."
I shook my head. "He's in training. You can't learn if you don't
see it done."
"Will you be doing anything that he needs to see today?"
I thought about that for a minute. "I guess not."
"I do get to come up after dark?" Larry asked.
"You'll get to see the down and dirty, Larry. Don't worry."
"Of course," Stirling said. "I have no problem with your
associate doing his job."
"Why can't he come along now?" I asked.
"At the price we're paying, humor me, Ms. Blake."
He was being strangely polite, so I nodded. "Okay."
"Mr. Stirling," Bayard said, "are you sure you should go up
alone?"
"Why ever not, Lionel?"
Bayard opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "No reason, Mr.
Stirling."
Beau shrugged. "I'll tell the men to go home for the day." He
started to turn away, then stopped. "Do you want the crew back
tomorrow?"
Stirling looked at me. "Ms. Blake?"
I shook my head. "I don't know yet."
"What's your best guess?" he asked.
I looked over at the waiting men. "Do they get paid whether they
show up or not?"
"Only if they show up," Stirling said.
"Then no work tomorrow. I can't guarantee they'll have anything
to do."
Stirling nodded. "You heard her, Beau."
Beau looked at me, then back to Stirling. He had a strange took
on his face, half amused, half something I couldn't read. "Anything
you say, Mr. Stirling, Ms. Blake." He turned and strode off over
the raw ground, waving at the men as he moved. The men began to
leave long before he got to them.
"What do you want us to do, Mr. Stirling?" Bayard asked.
"Wait for us."
"The helicopter, too? It has to leave before dark."
"Will we be down before dark, Ms. Blake?"
"Sure. I'm just going to take a quick look around. I'll need to
get back in here after dark, though."
"I'll give you a car and driver for your stay."
"Thanks."
"Shall we, Ms. Blake?" He motioned me forward. Something had
changed in the way he was treating me. I couldn't put my finger on
it, but I didn't like it.
"After you, Mr. Stirling."
He nodded and took the lead, striding over the red earth in his
thousand-dollar shoes.
Larry and I exchanged glances. "I won't be long, Larry."
"Us flunkies aren't going anywhere," he said.
I smiled. He smiled. I shrugged. Why did Stirling want it to be
just the two of us? I watched the senior partner's broad back as he
marched across the torn earth. I followed him. I'd find out what
the secrecy was all about when we got to the top. I was betting I
wouldn't like what I'd hear. Just me and the big cheese on top of
the mountain with the dead. What could be better?
Chapter 4
The view from the top of the mountain was worth the hike. Trees
stretched out and out to the horizon. We stood in a circle of
forest that showed no hand of man as far as the eye could see. That
first blush of green was more pronounced here. But the thing you
noticed most was the lavender color of redbuds through the dark
trees. Redbuds are such delicate things that if they came out in
the height of summer they'd get lost in all the leaves and flowers,
but here with nothing but naked trees the redbuds were
eye-catching. A few dogwoods had started to bloom, adding their
white to the lavender. Spring in the Ozarks, ah.
"The view is magnificent," I said.
"Yes," Stirling said, "it is, isn't it?"
My black Nikes were covered in rust-colored dirt. The raw,
wounded earth filled the mountaintop. This hilltop had probably
been just as pretty as the rest once. There was an arm bone
sticking out of the dirt next to my feet. The lower arm, judging
from the length. The bones were slender and still connected by a
dry remnant of tissue.
Once I'd seen one bone, my eyes found more to look at. It was
like one of those magic-eye pictures where you stare and stare and
suddenly see what's there. I saw them all, studding the ground like
hands reaching up through a river of rust.
There were a few splintered coffins, their broken halves
spilling out into the air, but mostly it was just bones. I knelt
and put my hands palm down on the ruined earth. I tried to get some
sense of the dead. There was something faint and far-off like a
whiff of perfume, but it was no good. In the bright spring sunlight
I couldn't work my . . . magic. Raising the dead isn't evil, but it
does require darkness. I don't know why.
I stood up, brushing my hands against the coverall, trying to
clean the red dust away. Stirling was standing at the edge of the
naked dirt staring off into space. There was a distance to his gaze
that said he wasn't admiring the trees.
He spoke without looking at me, "I can't bully you, can I, Ms.
Blake?"
"Nope," I said.
He turned to me with a smile, but it left his eyes empty,
haunted. "I invested everything I had into this project. Not just
my money, but clients' money. Do you understand what I am saying,
Ms. Blake?"
"If the bodies up here are Bouviers, you're screwed."
"How eloquently you put it."
"Why are we up here alone, Mr. Stirling? Why all the
skullduggery?"
He took a deep breath of the gentle air and said, "I want you to
say they aren't Bouvier ancestors even if they are." He looked at
me when he said it. Watched my face.
I smiled and shook my head. "I won't lie for you."
"Can't you make the zombies lie?"
"The dead are very honest, Mr. Stirling. They don't lie."
He took a step towards me, face very sincere. "My entire future
is riding on you, Ms. Blake."
"No, Mr. Stirling, your future rides on the dead at your feet.
Whatever comes out of their mouths will decide it."
He nodded. "I suppose that is fair."
"Fair or not, it's the truth."
He nodded again. Some light had gone out of his face, like
someone had turned down the power. The lines in his face were
suddenly clearer. He aged ten years in a few seconds. When he met
my gaze, his dramatic eyes were woeful.
"I'll give you a piece of the profits, Ms. Blake. You could be a
billionaire in a few years."
"You know bribing won't work."
"I knew it wouldn't work just a few minutes after we met, but I
had to try."
"You really do believe this is the Bouvier family plot, don't
you?" I asked.
He took a deep breath and walked away from me to gaze off at the
trees. He wasn't going to answer my question, but he didn't have
to. He wouldn't be so desperate if he didn't believe he was
screwed.
"Why won't the Bouviers sell?"
He glanced back at me. "I don't know."
"Look, Stirling, there are just the two of us up here, nobody to
impress, no witnesses. You know why they won't sell. Just tell
me."
"I don't know, Ms. Blake," he said.
"You're a control freak, Mr. Stirling. You've overseen every
detail of this deal. You have personally seen that every 'i' was
dotted, every 't' crossed. This is your baby. You know everything
about the Bouviers and their problem. Just tell me."
He just looked at me. His pale eyes were opaque, empty as a
window with no one home. He knew, but he wasn't going to tell me.
Why?
"What do you know about the Bouviers?"
"The locals think they're witches. They do a little
fortune-telling, a few harmless spells." There was something about
the way he said it, too casual, too offhand. Made me want to meet
the Bouviers in person.
"They any good at magic?" I asked.
"How am I supposed to know?"
I shrugged. "Just curious. Is there a reason why it had to be
this mountain?"
"Look at it." He spread his arms wide. "It's perfect. It is
perfect."
"It is a great view," I said. "But wouldn't the view be equally
good over on that mountaintop? Why did you have to have this one?
Why did you have to have the Bouviers' mountain?"
His shoulders slumped; then he straightened and glared at me. "I
wanted this land, and I got it."
"You got it. Trick is, Raymond, can you keep it?"
"If you are not going to help me, then don't taunt me. And don't
call me Raymond."
I opened my mouth to say something else and my beeper went off.
I fished under the coverall for it, and checked the number. "Shit,"
I said.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm being paged by the police. I've got to get to a phone."
He frowned at me. "Why would the police be calling you?"
So much for being a household name. "I'm the legal vampire
executioner for a three-state area. I'm attached to the Regional
Preternatural Investigation Team."
He was looking very steadily at me. "You surprise me, Ms. Blake.
Not many people do that."
"I need to find a phone."
"I have a portable with a battery pack at the bottom of this
damned hill."
"Great. I'm ready to head down if you are."
He did one last turn, taking in that breath-stealing
billion-dollar view. "Yes, I'm ready to go down."
It was an interesting choice of words, a Freudian slip you might
say. Stirling had wanted this land for some perverse reason. Maybe
because he was told he couldn't have it. Some people are like that.
The more you say no, the more they want you. It reminded me of a
certain master vampire I knew.
Tonight I'd walk the land, visit with the dead. It would
probably be tomorrow night before I actually tried to raise them.
If the police matter was pressing enough, it might be longer. I
hoped it wasn't pressing. Pressing usually meant dead bodies. When
the monsters are involved, it's never just one dead body. One way
or another, the dead multiply.
Chapter 5
We got back to the valley. The construction crew was
gone except for Beau the foreman. Ms. Harrison and Bayard stood
next to the helicopter, as if huddling against the wilderness.
Larry and the pilot stood to one side, smoking, sharing that
comradery of all people who are determined to blacken their
lungs.
Stirling walked towards them all, his stride firm and
confident once more. He'd left his doubts on top of the mountain.
or so it seemed. He was the impervious senior partner once more.
Illusion is all.
"Bayard, get the phone. Ms. Blake needs to use
it."
Bayard gave a startled little jump, like he'd been
caught doing something he shouldn't have. Ms. Harrison looked a
little flushed. Was there romance in the air? And was that not
allowed? No fraternizing among the flunkies.
Bayard ran off across the dirt towards the last car.
He fetched what looked like a small, black leather backpack with a
handle. He pulled a phone out and handed it to me. It looked like
an antennaed walkie-talkie.
Larry walked over smelling of smoke. "What's up?"
"I got beeped."
"Bert?"
I shook my head. "Police." I walked a little ways
from our group. Larry was polite enough to stay with them, though
he didn't have to. I dialed Dolph's number. Detective Sergeant
Rudolf Storr was head of the Regional Preternatural Investigation
Team.
He answered on the second ring. "Anita?"
"Yeah, Dolph, it's me. What's up?"
"Three dead bodies."
"Three? Shit," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
"I can't be there soon, Dolph."
"Yes, you can," he said.
There was something in his voice. "What's that
supposed to mean?"
"The victims are right near you."
"Near Branson?"
"Twenty-five minutes east of Branson," he said.
"I'm already forty miles from Branson in the middle
of freaking nowhere."
"The middle of nowhere is where this one is," Dolph
said.
"Are you guys flying up?" I asked.
"No, we got a vampire victim in town."
"Jesus, are the other three vamp victims?"
"I don't think so," he said.
"What do you mean, you don't think so?" I asked.
"Missouri State Highway Patrol has this one. Sergeant
Freemont is the investigator in charge. She doesn't think it was a
vampire because the bodies are cut up. Pieces of the bodies are
missing. I had to do a lot of tap dancing to get that much
information out of her. Sergeant Freemont seems convinced that RPIT
is going to come in and steal all the glory. She was particularly
worried about our headline-stealing pet zombie queen."
"It's the pet part that I mind the most," I said.
"But she sounds charming."
"I'll bet she's even more charming in person," Dolph
said.
"And I get to meet her?"
"Given the choice between a large chunk of the squad
coming down later and just you right now, she chose you. I think
she sees you alone, without us to back you up, as the lesser
evil."
"Nice to be the lesser evil for a change," I
said.
"You might get upgraded," Dolph said. "She doesn't
know you too well yet."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Let me test my
understanding here. None of you are coming up to the scene?"
"Not right away. You know we're shorthanded until
Zerbrowski gets back on duty."
"What does the Missouri State Highway Patrol think
about a civilian helping them in a murder investigation?"
"I made it clear that you are a valuable member of my
squad."
"Thanks for the compliment, but I still don't have a
badge to flash."
"You may if that new federal law goes into effect,"
Dolph said.
"Don't remind me."
"Don't you want to be a federal marshal?" His voice
was very mild. Nah, amused.
"I agreed they should license us, but giving us what
amounts to federal marshal status is ridiculous."
"You could handle it."
"But who else? John Burke with the power of the law
behind him? Give me a break."
"It won't get passed, Anita. The pro-vampire lobby is
too strong."
"From your lips to God's ear. Unless they revoke the
need for court orders of execution, it won't make killing them any
easier, and they won't do that. I've already gone out of state to
execute vamps. I don't need no stinking badge."
Dolph laughed. "If you run into trouble, give a
yell."
"I really don't like this, Dolph. I'm out here
investigating a murder without any official status."
"See, you do need a badge." I heard him sigh over the
phone. "Look, Anita, I wouldn't leave you solo if we didn't have
problems of our own. I've got a body on the ground here. When I
can, I'll send somebody. Hell, I'd like you to come take a look at
our corpse. You're our resident monster expert."
"Give me some details and I'll try to play
Kreskin."
"Male, early twenties, rigor hasn't set in."
"Where's the body?"
"His apartment."
"How'd you get there so soon?"
"Neighbor heard a fight, called 911. They called
us."
"Give me his name."
"Fredrick Michael Summers, Freddy Summers."
"He got any old vampire bites on his body? Healed
bites?"
"Yeah, quite a few. Looks like a damn pincushion.
How'd you know?"
"What's the first rule of a homicide?" I said. "You
check the nearest and dearest. If he had a vamp lover, there'd be
healed bite marks. The more of them, the longer the relationship
has gone on. No vamp can bite a victim three times within a month
without running the risk of killing them and raising them as a
vamp. You can have different vamps bite somebody, but that would
make Freddy a vampire junkie. Ask the neighbors if there were a lot
of different guys or girls going in and out at night."
"It never occurred to me that a vampire could be
someone's nearest and dearest," Dolph said.
"Legally, they're people. Means they get to have
sweethearts, too."
"I'll check the bite radiuses," Dolph said, "If they
match one vamp, a lover; different ones, and our boy was doing
groups."
"Hope for a lover," I said. "If it's all one vamp, he
might even rise from the dead."
"Most vamps know enough to slit the throat or take
the head," he said.
"Doesn't sound well planned. Crime of passion,
maybe."
"Maybe. Freemont is holding the bodies for you.
Eagerly awaiting your expertise."
"I bet."
"Don't bust Freemont's balls on this, Anita."
"I won't start anything, Dolph."
"Be polite," he said.
"Always," I said in my mildest voice.
He sighed. "Try to remember that the staties may
never have seen bodies with pieces missing."
It was my turn to sigh. "I'll be good, scout's honor.
Do you have directions?" I got a small notebook with a pen stuck in
its spiral top out of a pocket of the coverall. I'd started
carrying notebooks just for such occasions.
He gave me what Freemont had given him. "If you see
anything fishy at the crime scene, keep the scene intact and I'll
try to send some people down. Otherwise, look over the victim, give
the staties your opinion, and let them do their job."
"You really think Freemont would let me close up her
shop and force her to wait for RPIT?"
Silence for a second; then, "Do the best you can,
Anita. Call if we can do anything from this end."
"Yeah, sure."
"I'd rather have you on a murder than a lot of the
cops I know," Dolph said.
That was a very big compliment coming from Dolph. He
is the world's ultimate policeman. "Thanks, Dolph."
I was talking to empty air. Dolph had hung up. He was
always doing that. I hit the button, turning the phone off, and
just stood there for a minute.
I didn't like being out here in unfamiliar territory
with unfamiliar police, and partially eaten victims. Hanging around
with the Spook Squad legitimized me. I'd even pulled that "I'm with
the squad" at crime scenes. I had a little ID badge that clipped to
my clothes. It wasn't a police badge, but it did look official. But
pretending on home turf, where I knew I could run to Dolph if I got
in trouble for it, was one thing; out here with no backup was
another story.
The police have absolutely no sense of humor about
civilians meddling in their homicide cases. Can't really blame
them. I wasn't really a civilian, but I had no official status. No
clout. Maybe the new law would be a good thing.
I shook my head. Theoretically, I'd be able to go
into any police station in the country and demand help, or involve
myself uninvited in any case. Theoretically. In the real world, the
cops would hate it. I'd be as welcome as a wet dog on a cold night.
Not federal, not local, and there weren't enough licensed vamp
executioners in the country to fill a dozen slots. I could only
name eight of us; two of those were retired.
Most of them specialized in vampires. I was one of
the few who would look at other types of kills. There was talk of
the new law being expanded to include all preternatural kills. Most
of the vampire executioners would be out of their depth. It was an
informal apprenticeship. I had a college degree in preternatural
biology, but that wasn't common. Most of the rogue lycanthropes,
occasional trolls run amok, and other more solid beasties were
taken out by bounty hunters. But the new law wouldn't give special
powers to bounty hunters. Vampire executioners, most of them,
worked very strictly within the confines of the law. Or maybe we
just had better press.
I'd been screaming about vamps being monsters for
years. But until a senator's daughter got herself attacked just a
few weeks ago, nobody did shit. Now suddenly it's a cause celebre.
The legitimate vampire community delivered the supposed attacker in
a sack to the senator's home. They left his head and torso intact,
which meant even without arms and legs he wouldn't die. He
confessed to the attack. He'd been the new dead and just got
carried away on a date, like any other twenty-one-year-old
red-blooded male. Yeah, right.
The local hitter, Gerald Mallory, had done the
execution. He's based out of Washington, D.C. He has to be in his
sixties now. He still uses a stake and hammer. Can you believe
it?
There had been some talk that cutting off their arms
and legs would allow us to keep vamps in jail. This was vetoed
mainly on the grounds of cruel and unusual punishment. It also
wouldn't have worked, not for the really old vampires. It isn't
just their bodies that are dangerous.
Besides, I didn't believe in torture. If cutting
someone's arms and legs off and putting them in a little box for
all eternity isn't torture, I don't know what is.
I walked back to the group. I handed the phone to
Bayard. "I hope it isn't bad news," he said.
"Not personally," I said.
He looked puzzled. Not an uncommon occurrence for
Lionel.
I talked directly to Stirling. "I've got to go to a
crime scene near here. Is there someplace to rent a car?"
He shook his head. "I said you'd have a car and
driver while you were here. I meant it."
"Thanks. I'm not so sure about the driver, though.
This is a crime scene they won't want civilians hanging
around."
"A car, then; no driver. Lionel, see that Ms. Blake
gets anything she wants."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll meet you back here at full dark, Ms.
Blake."
"I'll be here at dusk if I can, Mr. Stirling, but the
police matter takes precedence."
He frowned at me. "You are working for me, Ms.
Blake."
"Yes, but I'm also a licensed vampire executioner.
Cooperation with the local police takes precedence."
"So it's a vampire kill?"
"I am not free to share police information with
anyone," I said. But I cursed myself. By bringing up the word
"vampire," I'd started a rumor that would grow with the telling.
Damn.
"I can't leave the investigation early just to come
look at your mountain. I'll be here when I can. I'll definitely
look the dead over before daylight, so you won't really lose any
time."
He didn't like it, but he let it go. "Fine, Ms.
Blake. I will wait here for you even if it takes all night. I'm
curious about what you do. I've never seen a zombie raised
before."
"I won't raise the dead tonight, Mr. Stirling. We've
been over that."
"Of course." He just looked at me. For some reason it
was hard to meet his pale eyes. I made myself meet his gaze and
didn't look away, but it was an effort. It was like he was willing
me to do something, trying to compel me with his eyes like a
vampire. But a vampire, even a little one, he was not.
He blinked and walked away without saying another
word. Ms. Harrison toddled after him in her high heels on the
uneven ground. Beau nodded at me and followed. I guess they'd all
come in the same car. Or maybe Beau was Stirling's driver. What a
joyous job that must be.
"We'll fly you to the hotel where we booked your
rooms. You can unpack, and I'll have a car brought around for you,"
Bayard said.
"No unpacking, just a car. Murder scenes age fast," I
said.
He nodded. "As you like. If you'll get back into the
helicopter, we'll be off."
It wasn't until I was taking off the coveralls and
repacking both of them that I realized I could have gone with Mr.
Stirling. I could have driven out of here, instead of flying.
Shit.
Chapter 6
Bayard had gotten us a black Jeep with black-tinted windows and
more bells and whistles than I could even guess at. I'd been
worried they'd saddle me with a Cadillac or something equally
ridiculous. Bayard had given me the keys with the comment, "Some of
these roads are not even paved. I thought you might need something
more substantial than just a car."
I resisted the urge to pat him on the head and say "Good
flunkie." Hell, he'd made a great choice. Maybe he'd make full
partner someday after all.
The trees made long, thin shadows across the road. In the
valleys between mountains, the sunlight had softened to a
late-afternoon haze. We might make it back to the graveyard by full
dark.
Yes, we. Larry sat beside me in his wrinkled blue suit. The cops
wouldn't mind his cheap suit. My outfit, on the other hand, might
raise a few eyebrows. There aren't many female cops out in the
boonies. And fewer who wear short red skirts. I was beginning to
really regret my choice of clothes. Insecure: who, me?
Larry's face was shiny with excitement. His eyes sparkled like a
kid's on Christmas Day. He was drumming his fingers on the armrest.
Nervous tension.
"How you doing?"
"I've never been to a murder scene before," he said.
"There's always a first time."
"Thanks for letting me come along."
"Just remember the rules."
He laughed. "Don't touch anything. Don't walk through the blood.
Don't speak unless spoken to." He frowned. "Why the last? I
understand all the others, but why can't I talk?"
"I'm a member of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team.
You're not. If you go around saying golly gee whiz a dead body,
they may catch on."
"I won't embarrass you." He sounded insulted; then a thought
occurred to him. "Are we impersonating police officers?"
"No. Keep repeating I'm a member of the Spook Squad, I'm a
member of the Spook Squad, I'm a member of the Spook Squad."
"But I'm not," he said.
"That's why I don't want you talking."
"Oh," he said. He settled back into his seat, a little of the
shine dimming around the edges. "I've never actually seen a freshly
dead body before."
"You raise the dead for a living, Larry. You see corpses all the
time."
"It's not the same thing, Anita." He sounded grumpy.
I glanced at him. He had slumped down as far into the seat as
the seat belt would allow, arms crossed over his chest. We were at
the crest of a hill. A band of sunlight fell like an explosion over
his orange hair. His blue eyes looked translucent for a moment as
we passed from light into shadow. He looked all scrunched and
sulky.
"Have you ever seen a dead person outside of a funeral or a
freshly raised zombie?"
He was quiet for a minute. I concentrated on driving, letting
the silence fill the Jeep. It was a comfortable silence, at least
for me.
"No," he said at last. He sounded like a little boy who had been
told he couldn't go outside and play.
"I'm not always good around fresh bodies either," I said.
He looked at me sort of sideways. "What do you mean?"
It was my turn to scrunch into the seat. I fought the urge and
sat up straighter. "I threw up on a murder victim once." Even
saying it very fast, it was still embarrassing.
Larry scooted up in his seat, grinning. "You're just telling me
that to make me feel better."
"Would I tell a story like that about myself if it wasn't true?"
I asked.
"You really threw up on a body at a crime scene?"
"You don't have to sound so happy about it," I said.
He giggled. I swear he giggled. "I don't think I'll throw up on
the body."
I shrugged. "Three bodies, with parts missing. Don't make
promises you can't keep."
He swallowed loud enough for me to hear it. "What do they mean,
parts missing."
"We'll find out," I said. "This isn't part of your job
description, Larry. I get paid for helping the cops; you
don't."
"Will it be awful?" His voice was low, uncertain.
Chopped-up bodies. Was he kidding? "I don't know until we get
there."
"But what do you think?" He was staring at me very
earnestly.
I glanced back at the road, then at Larry. He looked very
solemn, like a relative who'd asked the doctor for the truth. If he
would be brave, I could be truthful. "Yeah, it'll be awful."
Chapter 7
It was awful. Larry had managed to stagger from the crime scene
before he threw up. The only comfort I could offer him was that he
wasn't the only one. Some of the cops were looking a little green
around the edges, too. I hadn't thrown up yet, but I was keeping it
as an option for later.
The bodies lay in a small hollow near the base of a hill. The
ground was nearly knee-deep with leaves. Nobody rakes in the woods.
The drought had dried the leaves to a fine, biting crunch
underfoot. The hollow was ringed by naked trees and bushes with
branches like thin brown whips. When the leaves came out, the
hollow would be hidden on all sides.
The body nearest to me was a blond man with hair cut so short it
looked like an old-fashioned butch. Blood pooled around the
eyeballs, flowing from them down the face. There was something
wrong with the face, besides the eyes, but I couldn't quite figure
out what. I knelt in the dry leaves, glad that the leg of the
coverall was protecting my hose from the leaves and the blood.
Blood had pooled to either side of the boy's face, soaking into the
leaves. The blood had dried to a tacky maroon substance. It looked
like the teenager's eyes had been crying dark tears.
I touched the tip of my gloved fingers to the blond's chin. It
moved in a boneless, wiggling movement that chins were not meant to
do.
I swallowed hard and tried to take shallow breaths. I was glad
it was still spring. If the bodies had been sitting this long in
full summer heat, they'd have been ripe in more ways than one. Cool
weather was a blessing.
I put my hands in the leaves and bent from the waist in an
awkward sort of push-up motion. I was trying to see under his chin
without moving the body again. There, nearly lost in the blood on
the neck, was a puncture mark. A puncture mark wider than my
outspread hand. I'd seen knife wounds and claw marks that could
make a similar wound, but it was too big for a knife and too clean
for a claw. Besides, what the hell had a claw that big? It looked
like a massive blade had been shoved under the blond's chin, close
enough to the front of his face to slice the eyes up from inside
the head. That's why the eyes were bleeding, but still looked
intact. The sword had nearly pulled the blond's face off his
skull.
I ran my gloved fingers over the blond's short hair and found
what I was looking for. The tip of the sword, if that's what it
was, had come out the top of his head. Then the blade had been
withdrawn and the blond had dropped to the leaves. Dead, I hoped,
but dying I was sure of.
His legs were missing just below the hip joint. There was almost
no blood where the legs had been bisected. They'd been cut off
after he'd died. Small blessing, that. He'd died relatively
quickly, and had not been tortured. There were worse ways to
die.
I knelt by the stubs of his legs. The left bone had been cut
clean with one blow. The right bone had splintered, as if the sword
struck from the left side, cut the left cleanly, but only got a
piece of the right leg. A second blow had been needed to sever the
right leg.
Why take the legs? A trophy? Maybe. Serial killers took
trophies, clothing, personal items, a body part. Maybe a
trophy?
The other two boys were shorter, neither of them over five feet.
Younger maybe, maybe not. They were both small and dark-haired,
slender. Probably the kind of boys who looked pretty rather than
handsome but, frankly, it was hard to tell.
One lay on his back almost opposite from the blond. One brown
eye stared up at the sky, glassy and immobile, somehow unreal like
the eyes of a taxidermy animal. The rest of his face was sliced in
two huge gaping furrows, as if the tip of the sword had been used
coming and going like a backhand slap. The third slice had taken
out his neck. It was a very clean wound; they all were. The damn
sword, or whatever it was, was incredibly sharp. But it was more
than a good blade. No human could have been fast enough to take
them all without a struggle. But most beasties that will kill a
human being won't pick up a weapon to do it.
A lot of things will claw us apart, or eat us alive, but the
list of preternatural beings that will cut us up with weapons is
pretty small. A troll may tear up a tree and whap you to death, but
it won't use a blade. Not only had this thing used a sword, not a
common weapon, but it had some skill.
The blows to the face hadn't killed the boy. Why didn't the
other two run? If the blond was killed first, why didn't this one
run? Nothing was fast enough that it could take out three teenage
boys with a sword before any of them could run. These were not
quick blows. Whoever, or whatever, had done this had taken some
time with each kill. But they all acted as if they'd been hit by
surprise.
The boy had fallen onto his back in the leaves, hands clutching
at his throat. The leaves had been scuffed away where his feet had
kicked them. I took a shallow breath. I didn't want to probe the
wounds, but I was beginning to have a nasty idea.
I knelt and traced the neck wound with my fingertips. The edges
of the skin were so smooth. But it was still human flesh, human
skin, blood dried to a thick stickiness. I swallowed hard and
closed my eyes and let my fingers search for what I thought I'd
find. The edge of the wound had two lips, starting about midway. I
opened my eyes and traced the double wound with my fingers. My eyes
still couldn't see it. There was too much blood. Once the wound was
clean, you'd see it, but not here, not like this. The neck had been
sliced twice, deeply. One cut was enough to kill. Why twice?
Because they were hiding something on the neck.
Fang marks, maybe? Being killed by a vampire would explain why
he hadn't tried to crawl away. He'd just lain in the leaves and
kicked until he died.
I stared at the last teenager. He was crumpled on his right
side. Blood had pooled under him. He was so cut up that at first my
eyes didn't want to make sense of what I was seeing. I wanted to
look away before my brain caught up to my eyes, but I didn't.
Where the face should have been was just a ripped, gapping hole.
The creature had done the same thing to this one as to the blond,
but it had been more thorough. The front of the skull had been
ripped away. I glanced around, searching the leaves for the piece
of bone and flesh, but didn't see it. I had to look back then, at
the body. I knew what I was looking at now. I liked it better when
I didn't.
The back of the skull was full of blood and gore, like a
gruesome cup, but the brain was gone. The blade had sliced him open
across the chest and stomach. His intestines spilled out in a
thick, rubbery mass. What I thought was his stomach had spilled out
from the wound like a balloon half-inflated. The left leg had been
chopped off at the hip joint. The ragged cloth of his jeans clung
to the hole like the petals of an unopened flower. The left arm had
been ripped out just below the elbow. The bone of the humerus was
dark with dried blood, sticking up at an odd angle as if the entire
arm had been broken at the shoulder and no longer moved. More
violent. Had this one struggled a little?
My eyes flicked back to his face. I didn't want to look again,
but I hadn't really examined it. There was something horribly
personal about disfiguring a person's face. If it had been humanly
possible to do all this, I'd have said check their nearest and
dearest. As a general rule, only people who love you will cut up
your face. It implies passion that you can't get from strangers.
One exception is serial killers. They're working through a
pathology in which the victims can represent someone else. Someone
that the killer has a personal passion for. When cutting up the
faces of strangers they'd be symbolically cutting up, say, a hated
father figure.
The fine bones of the boy's sinus cavities had been cracked
open. The maxillary was gone, making the face look incomplete. Part
of the mandible was still there, but it had been cracked apart back
to the rear molars. Some trick of blood flow had left two teeth
white and clean. One of the teeth had a filling in it. I stared at
that ruined face. I'd been doing pretty good at thinking of it as
so much meat, just dead meat. But dead meat didn't get cavities,
didn't go to dentists. It was suddenly a teenager, or maybe even
younger. I was only judging on height and the apparent age of the
other two. Maybe this one with no face was a child, a tall child. A
little boy.
The spring afternoon wavered around me. I took a deep breath to
steady myself, and it was a mistake. I got a big whiff of bowels
and stale death. I scrambled for the side of the hollow. Never
throw up on the murder victims. Pisses off the cops.
I fell to my knees at the top of the small rise where all the
cops were gathered. I hadn't exactly fallen so much as thrown
myself down. I took deep, cleansing breaths of the cool air. It
helped. A small breeze was blowing up here, thinning out the smell
of death. It helped more.
Cops of all shapes and sizes were huddled at the top of the
rise. Nobody was spending more time than they had to down among the
dead. There were ambulances waiting on the distant road, but
everybody else had had their piece of the bodies. They had been
videotaped and trooped through with the crime scene technicians.
Everybody had done their job, except me.
"Are you going to be sick, Ms. Blake?" The voice was that of
Sergeant Freemont, Division of Drug and Crime Control,
DD/CC—affectionately known as D2C2. Her tone was gentle but
disapproving. I understood the tone. We were the only two women at
the crime scene, which meant we were playing with the big boys. You
had to be tougher than the men, stronger, better, or they held it
against you. Or they treated you like a girl. I was betting
Sergeant Freemont hadn't gotten sick. She wouldn't have allowed
it.
I took another cleansing breath and let it out. I looked up at
her. From my knees she looked every inch of her five-foot-eight.
Her hair was straight, dark, cut just below her chin. The ends were
curled under to frame her face. Her pants were a bright sunny
yellow, jacket black, blouse a softer yellow. I had a good view of
her polished black loafers. There was a gold wedding band on her
left hand, but no engagement ring. Deep smile lines put her on the
far side of forty, but she wasn't smiling now.
I swallowed once more, trying not to taste that smell on the
back of my tongue. I got to my feet. "No, Sergeant Freemont, I'm
not going to be sick." I was glad that it was true. I just hoped
she didn't make me go back down into the hollow. I'd toss my
cookies if I had to look at the bodies again.
"What did that?" she asked. I didn't turn and look where she
pointed. I knew what was down there.
I shrugged. "I don't know."
Her brown eyes were neutral and unreadable, good cop eyes. She
frowned. "What do you mean, you don't know? You're supposed to be
the monster expert."
I let the "supposed to be" go. She hadn't called me a zombie
queen to my face; in fact she'd been very polite, correct, but
there was no warmth to it. She wasn't impressed, and in her quiet
way, with a look or the slightest inflection, she let me know. I
was going to have to pull a very big corpse out of my hat to
impress Sergeant Freemont, DD/CC. So far I wasn't even close.
Larry walked up to us. His face was the color of yellow-green
tissue paper. It clashed with his red hair. His eyes were
red-rimmed where his eyes had teared while he threw up. If it's
violent enough, sometimes you cry while you vomit.
I didn't ask Larry if he was okay; the answer was too obvious.
But he was on his feet, ambulatory. If he didn't faint, he'd be
fine.
"What do you want from me, Sergeant?" I asked. I'd been more
than patient. For me, I'd been downright conciliatory. Dolph would
be proud. Bert would have been amazed.
She crossed her arms over her stomach. "I let Sergeant Storr
talk me into letting you see the crime scene. He said you were the
best. According to the newspapers, you just do a little magic and
figure it all out. Or maybe you can just raise the dead and ask
them who killed them."
I took a deep breath and let it out. I didn't use magic to solve
crimes, as a general rule; I used knowledge, but saying so would be
defending myself. I didn't need to prove anything to Freemont.
"Don't believe everything you read in the papers, Sergeant
Freemont. As for raising the dead, it won't work with these
three."
"Are you telling me you can't raise zombies, either?" She shook
her head. "If you can't help us then go home, Ms. Blake."
I glanced at Larry. He gave a small shrug. He still looked
shaky. I don't think he had the energy yet to tell me to behave
myself. Or maybe he was as tired of Freemont as I was.
"I could raise them as zombies, Sergeant, but you have to have a
mouth and a working throat to talk with."
"They could write it down," Freemont said.
It was a good suggestion. It made me think better of her. If she
was a good cop, I could put up with a little hostility. As long as
I never had to see another set of bodies like the ones below, I
could put up with a lot of hostility.
"Maybe, but the dead often lose higher brain function faster
after a traumatic death. They might not be able to write, but even
if they could, they might not know what killed them."
"But they saw it," Larry said. His voice sounded hoarse, and he
coughed gently behind his hand to clear it.
"None of them tried to run away, Larry. Why?"
"Why are you asking him?" Freemont said.
"He's in training," I said.
"Training? You brought a trainee in on my murder case?"
I stared up at her. "I don't tell you how to do your job. Don't
tell me how to do mine."
"You haven't done a damn thing yet. Except for your assistant
throwing up in the bushes."
An unhealthy flush crept up Larry's neck. Embarrassed when he
was almost too nauseated to stand.
"Larry wasn't the only one upchucking in the weeds, just the
only one without a badge." I shook my head. "We don't need this
shit." I brushed past Freemont. "Come on, Larry."
Larry followed, obedient to the last.
"I don't want any of this leaked to the press, Ms. Blake. If the
media gets hold of it, I'll know where it came from." She wasn't
yelling, but her voice carried.
I turned. I wasn't yelling either, but everyone could hear me.
"You have an unknown preternatural creature that uses a sword, and
is faster than a vampire."
Something flickered across her face, like maybe I'd finally done
something interesting. "How do you know it's faster than a
vampire?"
"None of the boys tried to get away. All of them died where they
stood. Either it's faster, or it has some amazing mind
control."
"It's not a lycanthrope, then?"
"Even a lycanthrope isn't that fast, and they don't have the
ability to cloud men's minds. If a lycanthrope came in there with a
sword, the boys would have screamed and run. There would have at
least been signs of a struggle."
Freemont just stood there looking. It was a very serious look,
like she was weighing and measuring me. She still wasn't happy with
me, but she was listening.
"I can help you, Sergeant Freemont. I can help you figure out
what did this, maybe, before it does it again."
Her quiet, confident mask crumbled around the edge for a second.
If I hadn't been staring at her neutral brown eyes, I'd have missed
it.
"Shit," I said, loud. I walked back over to her and lowered my
voice. "That's it, isn't it? These aren't the first killings."
She glanced down at the ground, then met my eyes, jaw sort of
thrust forward. Her eyes weren't neutral now; they were just a
little bit scared. Not for herself, but for what she'd done, or not
done.
"The State Highway Patrol can handle a homicide." Her voice was
the gentlest I'd heard it.
"How many?" I asked.
"Two before. A couple of teenagers, boy and a girl. Probably
necking in the woods." Her voice was soft, almost tired.
"What's the M.E. say?"
"You're right," she said. "It was a blade, probably a sword. The
monsters don't use weapons, Ms. Blake. I thought it was the girl's
ex-boyfriend. He's got a collection of Civil War memorabilia,
including swords. It seemed pretty cut-and-dried."
I nodded. "Sounds logical."
"None of his swords matched the blows, but I thought he'd
ditched the murder weapon. I didn't think . . ." She looked away
from me, hands shoved so hard into her pants pockets I thought
they'd split the cloth. "The first scene wasn't like this. They
were killed with the first blow; it pinned them through the chest
into the ground. A human being could have done that." She looked
back at me as if wanting me to agree with her. I did.
"Were their bodies cut up beyond the death wound?"
She nodded. "Disfigured faces, her left hand missing. The one
that had worn the ex-boyfriend's ring."
"Were their throats cut?"
She frowned, thinking, then nodded. "Hers was. Not much blood
either, like it'd been done after she died."
My turn to nod. "Great."
"Great?" Larry asked.
"I think you've got a vampire on your hands, Sergeant
Freemont."
They both frowned at me. "Look at the body parts that are
missing. The legs of the one boy were cut off after he died. The
femoral artery is in the thigh near the groin. I've seen vamps take
blood from that in preference to the neck. Cut off the legs, and no
fang marks."
"What about the other two?" Freemont asked.
"Maybe the smallest boy was bitten. His neck was sliced twice
for no reason. Maybe it was just a little extra violence like the
disfigurement of the face. I don't know. But a vamp can take blood
from the wrist, the bend of the arm. All parts that are
missing."
"One of their brains is missing," Freemont said.
Larry swayed gently beside me. He wiped a hand over his suddenly
sweating face.
"You going to be alright?" I asked.
He nodded, not trusting his voice. Brave Larry.
"What better way to throw us off the track than to take
something a vamp wouldn't be interested in?" I said.
"Okay, say it makes some sense. Why this way? This is . . ." She
spread her hands wide, staring down at the carnage. She was the
only one of the three of us still looking at it. "This is nuts. If
it was human, I'd say we had a serial killer on our hands."
"We may have," I said softly.
Freemont stared at me. "What the hell do you mean?"
"A vampire was a person once. Just being dead doesn't cure you
of any problems you had as a live human being. If you have a
violent pathology before death, that won't change just because
you're dead."
Freemont looked at me like I was the one who was crazy. I think
it was the word "dead" that was bothering her. Once her suspects
were dead, they weren't suspects anymore. I tried again. "Say
Johnny is a serial killer. He becomes a vampire. Why should being a
vampire make him suddenly less violent? Why not more violent?"
"Oh, my God," Larry said.
Freemont took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out
slow. "Okay, maybe you're right. I'm not saying you are. I've seen
pictures of vampire victims and they don't look like this, but if
you are, what do you need from me?"
"The pictures from the first crime scene. And a look at where it
happened."
"I'll send the file to your hotel," she said.
"Where was the couple killed?"
"Just a few hundred yards from here."
"Let's go take a look."
"I'll have one of the troopers take you over," she said.
"This is a damn small geographic area. I assume you searched
it."
"With a fine-tooth comb. But frankly, Ms. Blake, I wasn't sure
what we were looking for. The leaves and the dry weather make it
almost impossible to find tracks."
"Yeah," I said. "Tracks would help." I glanced back the way I'd
come. The leaves were disturbed coming up the hill. "If it is a
vampire . . ."
Freemont cut me off. "What do you mean, if?"
I met her suddenly accusing eyes. "Look, Sergeant, if it is a
vampire it has more mind control than I've ever seen. I've never
met a vampire, even a master vampire, that could hold three humans
in thrall while he killed them. Until I saw this, I'd have said it
couldn't be done."
"What else could it be?" Larry asked.
I shrugged. "I think it's a vamp, but if I said I was a hundred
percent sure, I'd be lying. I try not to lie to the police. There
may be no tracks up the hill even if the ground was soft, because
the vampire could have flown in."
"Like a bat?" Freemont asked.
"No, they don't change shape into a bat, but they can . . ." I
searched for a word and there wasn't one. "They can levitate, sort
of fly. I've seen it. I can't explain it, but I've seen it."
"A serial killer vampire." She shook her head, the lines near
her mouth deepening. "The Feds are going to be all over this."
"No joke," I said. "Did you find the missing body parts?"
"No, I thought maybe it had eaten them."
"If it ate that much, why not more? If it ate, why no teeth
marks? If it ate, why not some scattered body parts, like
crumbs?"
She clenched her hands into fists. "You've made your point. It
was a vampire. Even a dumb cop knows they don't eat flesh." She
turned her brown eyes to me, and there was a lot of anger in them.
Not at me, exactly, but I might make a good target. I stared back
at her, not flinching. She looked away first. Maybe I wouldn't make
a good target.
"I don't like having a civilian contractor in on a homicide
investigation, but you spotted things down there that I missed.
You're either very good, or you know something that you aren't
telling me."
I could have just said I'm good at my job, but I didn't. Didn't
want the police thinking I was holding out information when I
wasn't. "I've got one advantage over a normal homicide detective, I
expect it to be a monster. No one ever calls me in if it's just a
stabbing, or a hit-and-run. I don't spend a lot of time trying to
come up with nice, normal explanations. It means I get to ignore a
lot of theories."
She nodded. "Alright, if you help me catch this thing, I don't
care what you do for a living."
"Glad to hear it," I said.
"But no reporters, no media. I am in charge here. This is my
investigation. I decide when we go public. Is that clear?"
"Sure."
She stared at me like she didn't believe me. "I mean it about
the media, Ms. Blake."
"I don't have a problem with no media, Sergeant Freemont. I
prefer it that way."
"For a person who doesn't want the media around, you get a lot
of attention."
I shrugged. "I'm involved in only sensational cases, detective.
Cases that make good press, good sound bites. I slay vampires, for
God's sake; it makes great headlines."
"As long as we understand each other, Ms. Blake."
"No media; it's not a hard concept," I said.
She nodded. "I'll have someone walk you over to the first crime
scene. I'll see you get the file at your hotel." She started to
turn away.
"Sergeant Freemont?"
She turned back, but it was not a friendly look. "What is it
now, Ms. Blake? You've done your job."
"You can't treat this like a human serial killer."
"I'm in charge of this investigation, Ms. Blake. I can do what I
damn well please."
I stared up at her, met her hostile eyes. I wasn't feeling too
friendly myself. "I am not trying to steal your thunder here. But
vampires aren't just people with fangs. If the vamp could catch
their minds and hold them while he slaughtered each of them in
turn, he could capture your mind, anyone's mind. A vampire that
talented could make you think black was white. Do you understand
me?"
"It's daylight, Ms. Blake; if it's a vampire then we find it and
stake it."
"You'll need a court order of execution."
"We'll get one."
"When you get it, I'll come back and finish the job."
"I think we can handle it."
"You ever stake a vampire?" I asked.
She just looked at me. "No, but I've shot a man. It can't be
that much harder."
"It's not harder in the way you mean," I said. "But it's a hell
of a lot more dangerous."
She shook her head. "Until the Feds get here, I'm in charge, and
not you or anyone else is taking over. Is that clear, Ms.
Blake?"
I nodded. "Crystal, Sergeant Freemont." I stared at the
cross-shaped pin in the lapel of her suit jacket. Most
plainclothesmen had a cross-shaped tie tack. Standard police issue
across the country. "You do have silver ammo, right?"
"I'll take care of my men, Ms. Blake."
I raised my hands slightly. So much for girl talk. "Fine, we're
leaving. You've got my beeper number. Use it if you need it,
Detective Freemont."
"I won't need it."
I took a deep breath and swallowed a lot of words. Picking a
fight with the cop in charge of a murder investigation was not the
way to get invited back to play. I walked past her without saying
good-bye. If I opened my mouth, I wasn't sure what would come out.
Nothing pleasant, and nothing useful.
Chapter 8
People who don't camp much think darkness falls from the sky. It
doesn't. Darkness slides from the trees and fills them first, then
spreads outward to the open places. It was so dark under the trees
that I wished for a flashlight. When we stumbled to the road, and
our waiting Jeep, it was only dusk.
Larry looked up at the coming night, and said, "We can get back
and walk the graveyard for Stirling."
"First let's eat," I said.
He looked at me. "You wanting to stop for food, that's a first.
I usually have to beg for drive-up."
"I forgot to eat lunch," I said.
He grinned. "That I believe." The smile faded slowly from his
face. "The first time you offer me food voluntarily, and I don't
think I can eat." He stared at me. There was enough light left for
me to see him search my face. "Could you really eat after what we
just saw?"
I looked at him. I didn't know what to say. Not so long ago, the
answer would have been no. "Well, I wouldn't want to face a plate
of spaghetti, or steak tartare, but yeah, I could eat."
He shook his head. "What the heck is steak tartare?"
"Raw beef, pretty much," I said.
He swallowed hard, looking just a little paler than he had a
second ago. "How can you even think of stuff like that so soon
after . . ." He let the words trail off. We'd both seen it; no
words were needed.
I shrugged. "I've been going to murder scenes for nearly three
years, Larry. You learn to survive. Which means you learn to eat
after seeing cut-up bodies." I didn't add that I'd seen worse. I'd
seen human bodies reduced to a roomful of blood and gobbets of
unrecognizable flesh. Not enough left to fill a gallon-size baggie.
I hadn't gone out for Big Macs after that one.
"Are you up to at least trying to eat?"
He was looking at me sort of suspiciously. "Where did you have
in mind?"
I untied the Nikes and stepped carefully on the gravel road.
Didn't want to snag the hose. I unzipped the coverall and stepped
out of it. Larry did the same, but he tried to keep his shoes on.
He managed to work his feet through, but it required some hopping
on one leg.
I folded my coverall carefully so the blood wouldn't touch the
Jeep's immaculate interior. I tossed the Nikes into the back
floorboard and got the high heels out.
Larry was trying to brush wrinkles from his suit pants, but some
things only a dry cleaner could fix.
"How would you like to go to Bloody Bones?" I asked.
He looked up at me, hands still patting at the wrinkles. He
frowned. "Where?"
"It's the restaurant that Magnus Bouvier owns. Stirling
mentioned it."
"Did he tell us where it was?" Larry said.
"No, but I asked one of the local cops for restaurants, and
Bloody Bones isn't that far from here."
Larry squinted suspiciously at me. "Why do you want to go
there?"
"I want to talk to Magnus Bouvier."
"Why?" he asked.
It was a good question. I wasn't sure I had a good answer. I
shrugged and climbed into the Jeep. Larry had no choice but to join
me, unless he didn't want to continue the conversation. When we
were all settled in the Jeep, I still didn't have a really good
answer.
"I don't like Stirling. I don't trust him."
"I got the impression you didn't like him," Larry said, his
voice very dry. "But why not trust him?"
"Do you trust him?" I asked.
Larry frowned and thought about it. He shook his head. "Not as
far as I could throw him."
"See?" I said.
"I guess so, but you think talking to Bouvier will help?"
"I hope so. I don't like raising the dead for people I don't
trust. Especially something this big."
"Okay, so we go eat dinner at Bouvier's restaurant and talk to
him; then what?"
"If we don't learn anything new, we go see Stirling and walk the
graveyard for him."
Larry was looking at me like he wasn't sure he trusted me. "What
are you up to?"
"Don't you want to know why Stirling had to have that mountain?
Why the Bouviers' mountain and not someone else's?"
Larry looked at me. "You've been hanging around the police too
long. You don't trust anybody."
"The cops didn't teach me that, Larry; it's natural talent." I
put the Jeep in gear and off we went.
The trees made long, thin shadows. In the valleys between
mountains, the shadows formed pools of coming night. We should have
driven straight to the graveyard. Just walking the cemetery
wouldn't hurt anything. But if I couldn't go vampire hunting, I
could question Magnus Bouvier. That part of my job nobody could
chase me out of.
I didn't really want to go vampire hunting. It was almost dark.
Hunting vamps after dark was a good way to get killed. Especially
one that could control minds like this one could. A vampire can
cloud your mind and even hurt you, if its control is good enough,
and you won't mind. But once its concentration is off you, onto
someone else, and that person starts screaming, you'll wake up.
You'll run. But the boys hadn't run. They hadn't woken up. They'd
just died.
If this thing wasn't stopped, other people would die. I could
almost guarantee it. Freemont should have let me stay. They needed
a vampire expert with them on this one. They needed me. Okay, they
really needed police with expertise in monsters, but they didn't
have that. It had only been three years since Addison v. Clark made
vampires legally alive. Three years ago Washington had made the
bloodsuckers living citizens with rights. Nobody had thought what
that meant for the police. Before the law changed, preternatural
crime was handled by bounty hunters, vampire hunters. Those private
citizens with enough experience to keep them alive. Most of us had
some sort of preternatural power that helped give us an edge
against the monsters. Most cops didn't.
Ordinarily human beings didn't fare well against the monsters.
There have always been a few of us who had a talent for taking out
the beasties. We've done a good job, but suddenly the cops are
expected to take over. No extra training, no extra manpower,
nothing. Hell, most police departments wouldn't even spring for the
silver ammunition.
It had taken this long for Washington, D.C., to realize they
might have been hasty. That maybe, just maybe, the monsters were
really monsters and the police needed some extra training. It would
take years to train the cops, so they were going to short-circuit
the process, just make cops out of all the vampire hunters and
monster slayers. For myself, personally, it might work. I would've
loved to have a badge to shove in Freemont's face. She couldn't
have chased me off then, not if it was federal. But for most
vampire hunters, it was going to be a mess. You needed more than
preternatural expertise to work a homicide case. You sure as hell
needed more than vampire expertise to carry a badge.
There were no easy answers. But out there in the coming darkness
were a bunch of police hunting a vampire that could do things I
never thought they could do. If I had a badge, I could be with
them. I wasn't an automatic safety zone, but I knew a damn sight
more than a state cop who had "seen" pictures of vampire victims.
Freemont had never seen the real thing. Here was hoping she
survived her first encounter.
Chapter 9
Bloody Bones bar and grill lay up a red gravel road. Someone had
butchered the trees back to either side, so the Jeep climbed upward
towards a black blanket of sky, sprinkled with a million stars. The
shine of stars was the only light in sight.
"It is really dark out here," Larry said.
"No streetlights," I said.
"Shouldn't we see the lights from the restaurant by now?"
"I don't know." I was staring at the broken trees. The trunks
gleamed white and ragged. It had been done recently, as if someone
had gone mad with an axe, or maybe a sword, or something big had
ripped off the trunks.
I slowed down, scanning the darkness. Was I wrong? Was it
trolls? Was there a Greater Ozark Mountain Troll left in these
mountains? One that would use a sword? I was a big believer in a
first time for everything.
I brought the Jeep almost to a stop.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked.
I hit the emergency flashers. The road was narrow, barely two
cars wide, but it was going uphill. Anybody coming down wouldn't
see the Jeep right away. The lights helped, but if someone was
speeding . . . Hell, I was going to do it; why quibble? I put the
Jeep in park and got out.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm wondering if a troll ripped the trees apart."
Larry started to get out on his side. I stopped him. "Slide over
on my side if you want to get out."
"Why?"
"You're not armed." I got the Browning out. It was a solid,
comforting weight, but truthfully, against something the size of
one of the great mountain trolls, it wasn't too useful. Maybe with
exploding bullets, but short of that a 9mm wasn't the gun for
hunting something the size of a small elephant.
Larry closed his door and slid across. "You really think there's
a troll out here?"
I stared off into the darkness. Nothing moved. "I don't know." I
moved to a dry gully that cut the edge of the road. I stepped very
carefully into it. The heels sank in the dry, sandy soil. I grabbed
a handful of weeds with my left hand and levered myself up the
slope. I had to grab one of the butchered trunks to keep from
sliding backwards in the loose leaves and pine needles.
My hand came up against thick sap. I fought the urge to jerk
away, forcing myself to keep hold of the sticky bark.
Larry scrambled up the bank, slick-soled dress shoes sliding in
the dry leaves. I didn't have a free hand to offer him. He caught
himself in a sort of half pushup, and used the weeds to move up
beside me. "Damn dress shoes."
"At least you're not in heels," I said.
"And don't think I'm not grateful," he said. "I'd break my
neck."
Nothing moved in the dark, dark night except us. There was the
sound of spring peepers close by, musical, but nothing bigger. I
let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I pulled myself
up to more solid footing and looked at the trees.
"What are we looking for?" Larry asked.
"An axe makes a wide, smooth stroke. If a troll snapped the
trunks, they'll be ragged and full of jagged points of wood."
"Looks smooth to me," he said. He ran his fingertips over the
naked wood. "But it doesn't look like an axe."
The wood was too smooth. An axe will come in at an angle. This
was almost flat, like each tree had been felled with a single
stroke, two at most. Some of the trees had been nearly a foot in
diameter. No human could do that, even with an axe.
"Who could have done this?"
I searched the darkness, fighting an urge to aim the gun into
the dark, but I kept it skyward. Safety first. "A vampire with a
sword, maybe."
He stared off into the darkness. "You mean the one that killed
the guys? Why would the vampire chop down a bunch of trees after he
killed them?"
It was a good question. A great question. But like with so many
questions today, I didn't have a good answer. "I don't know. Let's
get back to the car."
We scrambled back the way we'd come. Neither of us fell down
this time. A record.
When we were at the car I put the gun away. I probably hadn't
needed it at all, but then again . . . something cut down those
trees.
I used the aloe and lanolin baby wipes that I kept in the car to
wipe off blood, to wipe the sap from my hand. The wipes worked
nearly as well on tree blood as it did on human.
We drove on, searching for lights. We had to be close to Bloody
Bones, unless the directions were way off. Here's hoping they
weren't.
"Is that a torch?" Larry asked.
I stared into the darkness. There was a flicker of fire, too
high off the ground to be a campfire. Two torches on long poles
illuminated a wide gravel turnaround to the left of the road. The
trees had been pushed back here, too, but years ago. It was an old,
established clearing. The trees formed a backdrop for a one-story
building. A wooden sign hung from the eaves. It was hard to read by
torchlight, but it might have read "Bloody Bones."
Dark wooden shingles covered the roof and climbed down the
walls, so that the entire building looked like a natural growth
that had sprung from the red clay soil. About twenty cars and
trucks were parked haphazardly on the dark gravel.
The sign swung in the wind, the torchlight reflecting off the
deeply carved words. "Bloody Bones" was carved in smooth, curving
letters.
I walked carefully over the gravel in my high heels. Larry's
dress shoes worked better on gravel than mine did. "Bloody Bones is
a strange name for a bar and grill."
"Maybe they serve ribs," I said.
He made a face at me. "I could not face barbecue anything right
now."
"It wouldn't be my first choice either."
The door swung inward directly into the bar. The door swung shut
and we were plunged into a fire-shot twilight. Most bars are gloomy
places to drink and hide. A place of refuge from the noisy shiny
world outside. But as refuges went, this was a good one. There was
a bar along one side of the room, and a dozen small tables
scattered on the dark polished wood floor. There was a small stage
to the left and a jukebox near the back wall where a small hallway
probably led to bathrooms and the kitchen beyond.
Every surface was dark wood and polished 'til it shone. Candles
with chimney glass over them shone from the walls. A chandelier
with more chimney glass and candles hung from the low, dark wood
ceiling. The wood was the darkest of mirrors, glowing in the light
rather than reflecting it.
The beams that supported the ceiling were carved with fruiting
vines and stray leaves that looked like oaks. Every face was turned
towards us like a bad western. A lot of the faces were male; the
eyes slid over me, saw Larry, and most went back to their drinks. A
few stayed hopeful, but I ignored them. It was too early in the
night for anybody to be drunk enough to give me grief. Besides, we
were armed.
The women were grouped three deep at the bar. They were dressed
for a Friday night, if you planned to spend Friday night on a
street corner propositioning strangers. They stared at Larry like
they wondered if he'd be good to eat. Me, they seemed to hate on
sight. If I knew any of them, I'd have said they were jealous, but
I'm not the kind of woman to elicit jealousy on sight. Not tall
enough, not blonde enough, not Nordic enough, not exotic enough.
I'm pretty, but I'm not beautiful. The women looked at me like they
saw something I didn't. It made me glance behind me to see if
someone had come in behind us, even though I knew no one had.
"What's going on?" Larry whispered.
That was another thing. It was quiet. I'd never been in a bar on
a Friday night that you could whisper in and be heard.
"I don't know," I said softly.
The women at the bar parted like someone had asked, giving us a
clear view of the bar. There was a man behind the bar. I thought
what beautiful hair she had when I first saw him. The hair
fell to his waist like thick, chestnut-colored water. The candle
flames gleamed in his hair the same way they shone in the polished
wood of the bar.
He raised startling blue-green eyes, like deep sea water, to us.
He was dark and lovely rather than handsome, androgynous as a cat.
He was exotic as hell and I suddenly understood why the bar was
three deep in women.
He sat an amber-filled glass down on a tiny napkin and said,
"You're up, Earl." His voice was surprisingly low, like he'd sing
deep bass.
A man got up from the tables, Earl probably. He was a large,
lumbering man, formed of soft squares like a gentler version of
Boris Karloff's monster. Not a cover boy. He reached for his drink,
and his arm brushed the back of one of the women. The woman turned,
angry. I expected her to tell him to go to hell, but the bartender
touched her arm. She was suddenly very still, as if listening to
voices I couldn't hear.
The air wavered. I was suddenly very aware that Earl smelled of
soap and water. His hair was still damp from the shower. I could
lick the water from his skin, feel those big hands on my body.
I shook my head and stepped back into Larry. He caught my arm.
"What's wrong?"
I stared at him, clutching his arm, my fingers digging through
the cloth of his suit, until I could feel his arm solid under my
hand. I turned back to the bar.
Earl and the woman had gone to sit at a table. She was kissing
the palm of his calloused hand.
"Jesus," I said.
"What's wrong, Anita?" Larry asked.
I took a deep breath and stood away from him. "I'm okay; it was
just unexpected."
"What was?"
"Magic." I stepped up to the bar.
Those amazing eyes stared back at me, but there was no power to
them. It wasn't like dealing with a vampire. I could gaze into
those beautiful eyes forever, and they would still just be eyes.
Sort of.
I placed my hands on the gleaming wood of the bar. More vines
and leaves curved around the edge of the heavy wood. I ran my
fingers over the deep set carvings. Hand-carved, all of it.
His fingertips caressed the wood like it was skin. It was a
proprietal touch, the way some men touch their girlfriends when
they're into ownership. I was betting that he'd carved every inch
of it.
A brunette in a dress two sizes smaller than it should have been
touched his arm. "Magnus, you don't need a stranger."
Magnus Bouvier turned to the brunette. He trailed those
caressing fingertips down her arm. She shivered. He raised her hand
gently from his arm, pressing his lips to the back of her hand.
"Pick anyone you want, darlin'. You are too beautiful to be denied
tonight."
She wasn't beautiful. Her eyes were small and muddy brown, her
chin too sharp, nose too large for a thin face. I was staring right
at her from not a foot away, and her face smoothed. Her eyes were
suddenly large and sparkling, her thin lips full and moist. It was
like seeing her through one of those soft filters they used during
the sixties, except more.
I glanced at Larry. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck. A
slim, lovely truck. I stared out over the bar, and every other male
in the place except Earl was staring at the woman in exactly the
same way, as if she'd just appeared before them like Cinderella
transformed by her fairy godmother. Not a bad analogy.
I turned back to Magnus Bouvier. He was not staring at the
woman. He was staring at me.
I leaned into the bar, meeting his gaze. He smiled slightly. I
said, "Love charms are illegal."
The smile widened. "You're much too pretty to be the police." He
reached out to touch my arm.
"Touch me and I'll have you arrested for using undue
preternatural influence."
"It's a misdemeanor," he said.
"Not if you're not human, it isn't," I said.
He blinked at me. I didn't know him well enough to be sure, but
I think I surprised him, like I should have believed he was human.
Yeah, right.
"Let's talk at a table," he said.
"Fine with me."
"Dorrie, can you take over for a few minutes?"
A woman came behind the bar. She had the same thick chestnut
hair, but it was tied back from her face in a severe ponytail, high
and tight on her head. The long, shining tail of hair swung as she
moved, like it was alive. Her face, free of hair and makeup, was
triangular, exotic, catlike. Her eyes were the same startling
seawater green as Magnus's.
The men nearest the bar watched her out of the corners of their
eyes, as if afraid to look directly at her. Larry stared at her
open-mouthed.
"I'll watch the bar, but that's all," she said. She turned those
eyes to Larry and said, "What are you staring at?" Her voice was
harsh, thick with scorn.
Larry blinked, closed his mouth, and stuttered. "N-nothing."
She glared at him like she knew he was lying. I got an inkling
why the men weren't staring at her.
"Dorcas, be nice to the customers."
She glared at Magnus; he smiled, but he backed down. Magnus
stepped out from behind the bar. He was wearing a soft blue dress
shirt untucked over jeans so faded they were almost white. The
shirt hit him at nearly mid-thigh; he'd had to roll the sleeves
over his forearms. Black and silver cowboy boots completed the
outfit. Everything but the boots looked borrowed. He should have
looked sloppy, too casual among everyone else duded up for a Friday
night, but he didn't. His utter confidence made the outfit seem
perfect. A woman at one of the tables grabbed the hem of his shirt
as he moved past. He pulled it out of her hands with a playful
smile.
Magnus led us to a table near the empty stage. He stood, letting
me choose my seat; very gentlemanly of him. I sat with my back to
the wall so I could see both doors and the room. It was sort of
cowboyish, but magic rode the air. Illegal magic.
Larry sat to my right. He'd watched me and scooted his chair a
little back from the table so he could see the room too. It was
almost frightening how seriously Larry watched what I did. It would
keep him alive, but it was like being followed around by a
three-year-old with a carry permit. Kind of intimidating.
Magnus smiled at us both, indulgently, like we were doing
something cute or amusing. I wasn't in the mood to be amusing.
"Love charms are illegal," I said.
"You said that already," Magnus said. He flashed me a smile that
I think was meant to be charming and harmless. It wasn't. There
wasn't anything he could do to make himself less than exotic. He
sure as hell wasn't harmless.
I stared at him until the smile wilted around the edges, and he
swallowed. He spread his long-fingered hands on the tabletop,
staring at them. When he looked up, the smile was gone. He looked
solemn, a little nervous even. Good.
"It's not a charm," he said.
"The hell it isn't," I said.
"It isn't. A spell, but nothing as mundane as a charm."
"You're splitting hairs," I said.
Larry was staring at us intently. "Was that stuff at the bar a
love charm?"
"What stuff at the bar?" Magnus's face was incredibly mild, as
if he thought Larry would believe him.
Larry looked at me. "Is he kidding? The woman went from a three
to a twenty-three. It had to be magic."
Magnus turned his attention to Larry for the first time,
excluding me—and I felt excluded. It was like a ray of sunshine had
moved away from me, and I was just a little colder, a little more
in the dark.
I shook my head. "Cut the glamor crap."
Magnus turned back to me, and for a minute I felt that warmth.
"Stop it."
"What?"
I stood up. "Fine; let's see how funny you think you are in
jail."
Magnus encircled my wrist with his hand. His skin should have
been work-roughened, but it wasn't. His skin was unnaturally soft,
like living velvet. Of course, that could have been illusionary,
too.
I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip tightened. I kept
pulling, and he kept tightening with that certainty of someone who
knew that I couldn't get away. He was wrong. It wasn't just a
matter of strength, it was a matter of leverage.
I turned my wrist towards his fingers in a quick turning motion,
jerking at the same time. His fingers slid over my skin trying to
dig in, but it was over. My wrist felt rubbed raw where his finger
had scraped along the skin. It wasn't bleeding, but it hurt anyway.
It would have felt better if I rubbed it, but I wouldn't give him
the satisfaction. I was, after all, a tough-as-nails vampire
slayer. Besides, it would have ruined some of the effect, and I
liked the surprise on Magnus's face.
"Most women don't pull away once I've touched them."
"You use magic on me one more time, and I'll feed you to the
cops."
He stared up at me, a thoughtful look on his face. He nodded.
"You win. No more magic on you or your friend."
"Or anyone else," I said. I sat back down carefully, putting a
little more distance between me and him. I angled the chair just a
little to one side so the grab for my gun would be smoother. I
didn't think I'd have to shoot him, but my wrist was aching where
he'd squeezed. I had arm wrestled with vampires and shapeshifters.
I knew preternatural strength when I felt it. He had it. He could
have squeezed until my bones popped out of my skin, but he hadn't
squeezed fast enough. He hadn't really wanted to hurt me. His
mistake.
"Oh, my customers wouldn't like the magic going away," he
said.
"You can't manipulate them like this. It is illegal, and I will
turn you in for it."
"But everyone knows that Friday night is lovers' night at Bloody
Bones," Magnus said.
"What's lovers' night?" Larry asked.
Magnus smiled, already regaining some of his easy charm, but
that flicker of warmth was gone. He was being true to his word, as
far as I could tell. Even vampires couldn't work mind control on me
without my knowing it. That Magnus could made me nervous.
"I make everyone beautiful or handsome, or sexy, tonight. For a
few hours you can be the lover of your own dreams, and someone
else's. Though I wouldn't spend the night. The glamor doesn't last
that long."
"What are you?" Larry asked.
"What looks like Homo sapiens, can breed with Homo
sapiens, but isn't Homo sapiens?" I asked.
Larry's eyes widened. "Homo arcanus. He's a
fairie?"
"Please keep your voice down," Magnus said. He glanced around at
the near tables. No one was playing much attention to us. They were
too busy gazing into each other's magically enhanced eyes.
"You can't be passing for human," I said.
"The Bouviers have told the future and made love charms for
centuries around here."
"You said it wasn't a love charm," I said.
"They think it is, but you know what it is."
"Glamor," I said.
"What's glamor?" Larry asked.
"It's fairie magic. It's what allows them to cloud our minds,
make things seem better or worse than they are."
Magnus nodded, smiling, as if pleased that I knew so much.
"Exactly; it's really a minor magic compared to some."
I shook my head. "I've read about glamor, and it doesn't work
this well unless you're high court, Daoine Sidhe. The
seelie court of fairyland doesn't interbreed with mortals often. At
least not commoners. The unseelie court, on the other hand,
does."
He stared at me with his beautiful eyes, looking, even without
glamor, so gorgeous you wanted to touch him. Wanted to see if his
hair was as luxuriant as it looked. He was like a really fine
sculpture; you wanted to run your hands over it and feel the
lines.
Magnus smiled gently. "The unseelie court is evil, cruel. What I
do here is not evil. For one night these people can come here and
be their own fantasies. They think it's love charms, and I let
them. We all keep the secret of this small illegal act. The local
police know. They even come down once in a while and join in."
"But it's not love charms."
"No, it's natural talent on my part. Using my own homegrown
magic isn't illegal if everyone knows I'm doing it."
"So you pretend it's love charms, and everyone looks the other
way because they're having a good time, but it's really fairie
glamor, which isn't illegal with permission of the
participants."
"Exactly," he said.
"Which makes it all legal."
He nodded. "Now if I was descended from the dark side of fairie,
would I do anything to bring pleasure to so many?"
"If it suited your needs, yeah."
"Isn't there a ban on unseelie court moving to this country?"
Larry asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Not if my family moved here before the ban went into effect.
The Bouviers have been here for nearly three hundred years."
"Not possible," I said. "Nobody but the Indians have been here
that long."
"Llyn Bouvier was a French fur trapper. He was the first
European to set foot on this land. He married into the local tribe,
Christianized them."
"Bully for him. So how come you didn't want to sell to Raymond
Stirling?"
He blinked at me. "It would disappoint me greatly to find out
you are working for him."
"Sorry to disappoint you," I said.
"What are you?"
He hadn't asked who, he'd asked what. It was a very different
question. It sort of stopped me for a second.
"I'm Anita Blake; this is Larry Kirkland. We're animators."
"I take it you don't draw cartoons," he said.
It made me smile. "No. We raise the dead; 'animate' from the
Latin, to give life."
"Is that all you do?" He was staring at me very intently, like
there was something written on the inside of my skull and he was
trying to read it.
It was an uncomfortable level of scrutiny, but I've been stared
at by the best. I met his eyes and answered. "I'm a licensed
vampire executioner."
He shook his head gently. "I didn't ask what you did for a
living. I asked what you were."
I frowned. "Maybe I don't understand the question."
"Perhaps you don't, but your friend asked what I was. You said I
was a fairie. I ask you what you are, and you describe your job. It
would be like me saying I'm a bartender."
"I don't know how to answer you, then," I said.
He was still staring at me. "Yes, you do. I can see a word in
your eyes. One word."
When he said it, a word did come to mind. "Necromancer. I'm a
necromancer."
Magnus nodded. "Does Mr. Stirling know what you are?"
"I doubt he'd understand even if I told him."
"Do you really have the ability to control all types of undead?"
Magnus asked.
"Can you really make a hundred shoes in a single night?" I
asked.
Magnus smiled. "Wrong kind of fairie."
"Yeah," I said.
"If you're working for Stirling, why are you here? I hope you
didn't come here to try to persuade me to sell. I'd hate to have to
say no to such a lovely woman."
"Can the compliments, Magnus. It won't get you anywhere."
"What would get me somewhere?"
I sighed. "I've got too many men on my plate now."
"That's the God's honest truth," Larry muttered.
I frowned at him.
"I'm not asking you out on a date. I'm asking you into my
bed."
I frowned at Magnus. No, glared was a better word. "Not in this
lifetime."
"Sex between supernatural beings is always amazing, Anita."
"I'm not a supernatural being."
"Now who's splitting hairs?"
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing. I rarely
get in trouble with silence.
Magnus smiled. "I've made you uncomfortable. I am sorry, but I'd
never have forgiven myself if I hadn't asked. It's been a long time
since I was with anyone who wasn't straight human. Let me buy you
both drinks, to make up for my rudeness."
I shook my head. "Menus would be fine. We haven't eaten
yet."
"The meals will be on the house."
"No," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't particularly like you, and I don't take favors
from people I don't like."
He sat back in his chair, a strange, almost startled expression
on his face. "You are direct."
"You have no idea," Larry said.
I resisted the urge to kick Larry under the table and said, "Can
we have some menus?"
He raised a hand and called, "Two menus, Dorrie."
Dorrie brought them over. "I'm part owner of this place, not
your waitress, Magnus. Hurry it up."
"Don't forget that appointment I've got tonight, Dorrie." His
voice was mild. She wasn't fooled.
"You aren't leaving me alone with these people. I will not . .
." She glanced at us. "I don't approve of lovers' night. You know
that."
"I'll take care of everybody before I leave. You won't have to
sully your morals."
She glared at all of us in turn. "You're leaving with them?"
"No," he said.
She turned on her heel and stalked back to the bar. The men who
weren't paired off watched her swaying back, carefully, not staring
until she couldn't see them.
"Your sister doesn't approve of abusing glamor?" I asked.
"Dorrie doesn't approve of a lot of things."
"She has morals."
"Implying I don't," he said.
I shrugged. "You said it, not me."
"She always this judgmental?" he asked Larry.
Larry nodded. "Usually."
"Let's just order our food," I said.
Larry smiled, but he looked down at the menu.
It was a laminated piece of paper printed on both sides. I
ordered a cheeseburger, well done, house fries, and a large Coke. I
hadn't had caffeine in several hours; I was running low.
Larry was frowning at the menu. "I don't think I could eat a
hamburger right now."
"They've got salads," I said.
Magnus laid his fingertips against the back of Larry's hand.
"Something swims up behind your eyes. Something . . . awful just
behind your eyes."
Larry stared at him. "I don't know what you mean."
I grabbed Magnus's wrist and pulled him away from Larry. He
turned his eyes to me, but there was more than just their color to
make them hard to stare at. The pupil of his eyes had spiraled down
like the eye of a bird. Human eyes just didn't do that.
I was suddenly very aware that I was still holding his wrist. I
drew my hand away. "Stop reading us, Magnus."
"You wore gloves, or I'd be able to tell what you'd touched," he
said.
"It's an ongoing police investigation. Anything you discern by
psychic means must be held confidential, or you're liable just as
if you stole information out of our files."
"Do you always do that?" he asked.
"What?"
"Quote the law when you're nervous."
"Sometimes," I said.
"I saw blood, that's all. My gifts are rather limited in the
area of far-seeing. You should shake Dorrie's hand. Far-seeing is
her strong suit."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Larry said.
He smiled. "You are not police, or you wouldn't have threatened
me with the police, but you were with them earlier. Why?"
"I thought all you saw was blood," I said.
He had the grace to look embarrassed; nice to know he could be
embarrassed. "A little bit more, perhaps."
"Touch clairvoyance isn't a traditional fey power."
"Our many-times-great-grandmother was the daughter of a shaman,
so the story goes."
"Getting magic from both sides of the family tree," I said.
"Dirty pool."
"Clairvoyance isn't magic," Larry said.
"A really good clairvoyant will make you think it is," I said. I
stared at Magnus. The last clairvoyant who had touched me and seen
blood had been horrified. He hadn't wanted to touch me again. He
hadn't wanted me anywhere near him. Magnus didn't look horrified,
and he'd offered to have sex with me. Different strokes for
different folks.
"I'll take your order through to the kitchen myself, if you'll
just decide what you want," he said.
Larry stared at the menu. "A salad, I guess. No dressing." He
thought about it some more. "No tomatoes."
Magnus started to stand.
"Why won't you sell to Stirling?" I asked.
Magnus cocked his head to one side, smiling. "The land has been
in our family for centuries. It's our land."
I looked at him and couldn't read his face. It could have been
the absolute truth, or a boldfaced lie.
"So the only reason you don't want to be a millionaire is
because of what . . . family tradition?"
The smile deepened. He leaned closer, long hair spilling
forward. He whispered, and it was quiet enough that he needed to
whisper. "Money is not everything, Anita. Though Stirling seems to
think it is."
His face was very close, just barely far enough away for me not
to complain. I could smell his aftershave, faint as if you'd have
to get very near his skin to smell it, but it would be worth the
effort.
"What do you want, Magnus, if it's not money?" I stared at him
from too close. His long hair trailed over my hand.
"I told you what I wanted."
Even without the glamor be was trying to sweet-talk me, distract
me. "What happened to the trees out by your road?" I didn't
distract that easily.
He blinked long lashes. Something slid behind his eyes. "I
happened."
"You cut down those trees?" Larry asked.
Magnus turned to him, and I was glad not to be staring at him
from inches away. "Sadly, yes."
"Why?" I asked.
He straightened up, suddenly businesslike. "I got drunk and went
on a little rampage." He shrugged. "Embarrassing, isn't it?"
"That's one word for it," I said.
"I'll go get your food. One naked salad coming up."
"You remember what I'm getting?" I asked.
"Meat burned to death; I remember."
"You sound like a vegetarian."
"Oh, no," he said. "I eat all sorts of things."
He walked away through the crowd before I could decide if I'd
been insulted or not. Just as well. For the life of me, I couldn't
think of a good comeback line.
Chapter 10
Dorcas brought our food without a word. She seemed angry—maybe
not at us, but with us. Or with everything. I sympathized. Magnus
went behind the bar, spreading his own special brand of magic to
his customers once more. He glanced our way and smiled but didn't
come back to finish our talk. Of course; we'd been finished. I was
all out of questions.
I took a bite of my cheeseburger. It was almost crispy around
the edges, not a smidgen of pink in the center. Perfect.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked. He was nibbling at a lettuce
leaf.
I swallowed. "Why should something be wrong?"
"You're frowning," he said.
"Magnus didn't come back to the table."
"So? He answered all our questions."
"Maybe we just don't know the right questions to ask."
"You suspect him of something now?" Larry shook his head. "You
have been hanging around with cops too long, Anita. You think
everyone's up to something."
"They usually are." I took another bite of burger.
Larry squinched his eyes tight.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked.
"There's juice coming out of your burger. How can you eat that
after what we just saw?"
"I guess this means you don't want me to put ketchup on my
fries."
He looked at me with something near physical pain on his face.
"How can you make jokes?"
My beeper went off. Had they found the vampire? I hit the
button, and Dolph's number flashed at me. Now what?
"It's Dolph. Eat hearty. I'll phone from the Jeep and be
back."
Larry stood up with me. He put a tip on the table and left his
salad nearly untouched. "I'm done."
"Well, I'm not. Have Magnus pack my meal to go." I left him
staring forlornly down at my half-eaten burger.
"You're not going to eat it in the car, are you?"
"Just have it packed up." I went for the Jeep and its fancy
phone. Dolph answered on the third ring. "Anita?"
"Yeah, Dolph, it's me. What's up?"
"Vampire victim out near you."
"Shit, another one."
"What do you mean another one?"
That stopped me. "Freemont didn't call you after I talked to
her?"
"Yeah, she said good things about you."
"That surprises me; she wasn't too friendly."
"How not friendly?"
"She wouldn't let me hunt vampires with her."
"Tell me," Dolph said.
I told him.
Dolph was quiet for a very long time after I finished. "You
still there, Dolph?"
"I'm here. I wish I wasn't."
"What's going on, Dolph? Why would Freemont call and tell you
what a good job I'm doing, but not ask for the squad's help on
something this big?"
"I bet she hasn't called the Feds either," Dolph said.
"What's going on, Dolph?"
"I think Detective Freemont is pulling a Lone Ranger on us."
"The federal boys are going to want a piece of this. The first
vampire serial killer in recorded history. Freemont can't keep it
to herself."
"I know," Dolph said.
"What are we going to do?"
"The body on the ground this time sounds like a straightforward
vampire kill. It's classic, bite marks, no other damage to the
body. Could it be a different vamp?"
"Could be," I said.
"You sound doubtful."
"Two rogue vamps in this small a geographical area, this far
from a city, doesn't seem likely."
"The body wasn't cut up."
"There is that," I said.
"How sure are you that the first killer is a vamp? Is there
anything else it could be?"
I opened my mouth to say no, and closed it. Anybody who could
cut down all those trees in one drunken brawl could certainly cut
up people. Magnus had his glamor. I wasn't sure it was capable of
doing what I'd seen in the clearing, but . . .
"Anita?"
"I might have an alternative."
"What?"
"Who," I said. I hated giving Magnus up to the cops. He'd kept
his secret so long, but . . . what if the question I should ask
was, had he killed five people? I'd felt the strength in his hands.
I remembered the clean trunks of the trees, cut by just one blow,
two at most. I flashed on the murder scene. The blood, the naked
bone. I couldn't rule Magnus out, and I couldn't afford to be
wrong.
I gave him up to Dolph. "Can you keep the part about him being
fairie out of it for a while?"
"Why?"
"Because if he didn't do it, then his life is ruined."
"A lot of people have fey blood in them, Anita."
"Tell that to the college student last year whose fiance beat
her to death when he found out he was about to marry a fairie. He
protested in court that he hadn't meant to kill her. The fey were
supposed to be hard to kill, weren't they?"
"Not everyone is like that, Anita."
"Not everyone, but enough."
"I'll try, Anita, but I can't promise."
"Fair enough," I said. "Where's the new victim?"
"Monkey's Eyebrow," he said.
"What?"
"That's the name of the town."
"Jesus. Monkey's Eyebrow, Missouri. Let me guess. It's a small
town."
"Big enough to have a sheriff and a murder."
"Sorry. Do you have directions?" I fished my small, spiral-bound
notebook out of the pocket of the black jacket.
He gave me directions. "Sheriff St. John is holding the body for
you. He called us first. Since Freemont wants to go it alone, we'll
let her."
"You're not going to tell her?"
"No."
"I don't suppose Monkey's Eyebrow has a crime scene unit, Dolph.
If we don't have Freemont come in with her people, we're going to
need somebody. Can you guys come down yet?"
"We're still working our own murder. But since Sheriff St. John
called us in for his murder, we'll be in the area as soon as we can
get there. Not tonight, but tomorrow."
"Freemont's supposed to send over crime-scene photos from the
first couple that was killed. I bet if I asked she might send over
photos from the second scene, too. Show-and-tell tomorrow when you
get here."
"Freemont may be suspicious about you asking for more pictures,"
Dolph said.
"I'll tell her I want them for comparison. She may be trying to
hog the case for herself, but she wants it solved. She just wants
to solve it herself."
"She's a glory hound," Dolph said.
"Looks that way."
"I don't know if I'll be able to keep Freemont out of the second
case or not, but I'll try to give you some lead time, so you can
look around without her breathing down your neck."
"Much appreciated."
"She said you had your assistant with you at the crime scene.
Had to be Larry Kirkland, right?"
"Right."
"What are you doing bringing him to crime scenes?"
"He'll have a degree in preternatural biology this spring. He's
an animator and a vampire slayer. I can't be everywhere, Dolph. If
I think he can handle it, I thought it might be nice to have two
monster experts."
"It might. Freemont said Larry lost his lunch all over the crime
scene."
"He didn't throw up on the crime scene, just near it."
There was a moment of silence. "Better than throwing up on the
body."
"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
"No," Dolph said, "you aren't."
"Great. Larry and I will get out there as soon as we can. It's
about a thirty-minute drive, maybe more."
"I'll tell Sheriff St. John you're on your way." He hung up.
I hung up. Dolph was training me never to say good-bye over the
phone.
Chapter 11
Larry slumped in the seat as far as the seat belt would let him.
His hands were clenched tight in his lap. He stared out into the
dark like he was seeing something besides the passing scenery.
Images of butchered teenagers dancing in his head, I bet. They
weren't dancing in mine. Not yet. I might see them in my dreams,
but not awake, not yet.
"How bad will this one be?" he asked. His voice sounded quiet,
strained.
"I don't know. It's a vampire victim. Could be neat, just a
couple of puncture wounds; could be carnage."
"Carnage like the three boys?"
"Dolph said no, said it's classic, just bite marks."
"So it won't be messy?" His voice was squeezed down to a near
whisper.
"Won't know until we get there," I said.
"You couldn't just comfort me?" His voice sounded so small, so
uncertain that I almost offered to turn the Jeep around. He didn't
have to see another murder scene. It was my job, but it wasn't his
job, not yet.
"You don't ever have to see another murder scene, Larry."
He turned his head and looked at me. "What do you mean?"
"You've had your quota of blood and guts for one day. I can turn
around and drop you back at the hotel."
"If I don't come tonight, what happens next time?"
"If you aren't cut out for this kind of work, you aren't cut out
for it. No shame in that."
"What about next time?" he asked.
"There won't be a next time."
"You aren't getting rid of me that easy," he said.
I hoped the darkness hid the smile on my face. I kept it
small.
"Tell me about vampires, Anita. I thought a vampire couldn't
drink enough blood in one night to kill somebody."
"Pretty to think so," I said.
"They told us in college that a vampire couldn't drain a human
being with one bite. Are you saying that's not true?"
"They can't drink a human dry with one bite, in one night, but
they can drain one with one bite."
He frowned at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"They can pierce the flesh and drain the blood without drinking
it."
"How?" he asked.
"Just put the fangs in, start the blood flow, and let the blood
fall down your body onto the ground."
"But that's not taking blood for food, that's just murder,"
Larry said.
"And your point is?" I said.
"Hey, isn't that our turnoff?"
I caught a glimpse of the road sign. "Damn." I slowed down, but
couldn't see over the crest of the hill. I didn't dare U-turn until
I was sure there were no cars coming the other way. It was another
half mile before we came to a gravel road. There was a row of
mailboxes beside the road.
Trees grew so close to the road that even winter-bare they
covered the one-lane road in shadows. There was no place to turn
around. Hell, if a second car had come, one of us would have had to
back up.
The road rose up and up, as if it were going to go straight into
the sky. At the crest of the hill I could see nothing in front of
the car. I had to simply trust that there was more road in front of
us, rather than some endless precipice.
"Jesus, this is steep," Larry said.
I eased the Jeep forward and the tires touched road. My
shoulders loosened just a little. There was a house just up ahead.
The porch light was on, like they were expecting company. The bare
light bulb was not kind. The house was unpainted wood with a
rusting tin roof. Its raised porch sagged under the weight of the
front seat of a car that was sitting by the screen door. I turned
around in the dirt in front of the house that passed for a front
yard. It looked like we weren't the first car to do it. There were
deep wheel ruts in the powder-dry dirt from years of cars turning
in and out.
By the time we got down to the end of the road, the darkness was
pure as velvet. I hit the Jeep's high beams, but it was like
driving in a tunnel. The world existed only in the light;
everything else was blackness.
"I'd give a lot for a few streetlights right now," Larry
said.
"Me, too. Help me spot our road. I don't want to drive past it
twice."
He leaned forward in his seat, straining against the shoulder
belt. "There." He pointed as he spoke. I slowed and turned
carefully onto the road. The headlights filled the tunnel of trees.
This road was just bare red earth. The dirt rose in a mist around
the Jeep. For once I was glad of the drought. Mud would have been a
real bitch on a dirt road.
The road was wide enough that if you had nerves of steel, or
were driving someone else's car, you could drive two cars abreast.
A stream cut across the road, with a ditch at least fifteen feet
deep. The bridge was nothing but planks laid across some beams. No
rails, no nothing. As the Jeep crept over the bridge, the planks
rattled and moved. They weren't nailed in. God.
Larry was staring at the drop, his face pressed against the
tinted glass. "This bridge isn't much wider than the car."
"Thank's for telling me, Larry. I'd have never noticed on my
own."
"Sorry."
Past the bridge, the road was still wide enough for two cars. I
guess if two cars met at the bridge they took turns. There was
probably some traffic law to cover it. First car on the left gets
to go first, maybe.
At the crest of the hill, lights showed in the distance. Police
lights strobed the darkness like muticolored lightning. They were
farther away than they looked. We had two more hills to go up and
down before the lights reflected off the bare trees, making them
look black and unreal. The road spilled into a wide clearing. A
lawn spread up from the road, surrounding a large white house. It
was a real house with siding and shutters and a wraparound porch.
It was two-storied and edged with neatly trimmed shrubs. The
driveway was white gravel, which meant someone had shipped it in.
Narcissus edged the driveway in two thick stripes.
A uniformed policeman stopped us in the foot of the sloping
drive. He was tall, big through the shoulders, and had dark hair.
He shined a flashlight into the car. "I'm sorry, miss, but you
can't go up there right now."
I flashed my ID at him and said, "I'm Anita Blake. I'm with the
Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. I was told Sheriff St.
John is expecting me."
He leaned into the open window and flashed his light at Larry.
"Who's this?"
"Larry Kirkland. He's with me."
He stared at Larry for a few seconds. Larry smiled, doing his
best to look harmless. He's almost as good at it as I am.
I had a good view of the cop's gun as he leaned into the window.
It was a Colt .45. Big gun, but he had the hands for it. I caught a
whiff of his aftershave; Brut. He'd leaned too far into the window
to look at Larry. If I'd had a gun hidden in my lap, I could have
fed it to him. He was big, and I bet sheer size saw him through a
lot, but it was careless. Guns don't care how big you are.
He nodded and pulled out of the car. "Go on up to the house.
Sheriff's expecting you." He didn't sound particularly happy about
that.
"You got a problem?" I asked.
He gave a smile, but it was sour. He shook his head. "It's our
case. I don't think we need any help; that includes you."
"You got a name?" I asked.
"Coltrain. Deputy Zack Coltrain."
"Well, Deputy Coltrain, we'll see you up at the house."
"I guess you will, Miss Blake."
He thought I was a cop and deliberately didn't call me "officer"
or "detective." I let it go. If I really had a professional title
I'd have demanded it, but getting into an argument because he
wouldn't call me "detective" when I wasn't one seemed
counterproductive.
I drove up and parked between the police cars. I clipped my ID
to my lapel. We walked up the pale curve of sidewalk, and no one
stopped us. We stood outside the door in a silence that was almost
eerie. I'd been to a lot of murder scenes. One thing they weren't
was silent. There was no static crackle of police radios, no men
milling around. Murder scenes were always thick with people:
plainclothes detectives, uniforms, crime scene techs, people taking
photographs, video, the ambulance waiting to take the body away. We
stood on the freshly swept porch in the cool spring night with the
only sounds the calls of frogs. The high-pitched, peeping sound
played oddly with the swirling police lights.
"Are we waiting for something?" Larry asked.
"No," I said. I rang the glowing doorbell. The sound gave a rich
bong deep within the house. A small dog barked furiously,
somewhere deep in the house. The door opened. A woman stood framed
in the light from the hall, placing most of her in shadow. The
police lights strobed across her face, painting in neon Crayola
flashes. She was about my height with dark hair that was either
naturally curly or had a really good perm. But she'd done more with
it than I did, and it framed her face neatly. Mine always looked
sort of unruly. She was wearing a button-down shirt with long
sleeves untucked over jeans. She looked about seventeen, but I
wasn't fooled. I looked young for my age, too. Heck, so did Larry.
It can't just be being short, can it?
"You aren't the state police," she said. She seemed very sure of
that.
"I'm with the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team," I
said. "Anita Blake. This is my colleague Larry Kirkland."
Larry smiled and nodded.
The woman moved back out of the door, and the light from the
hallway fell full on her face. It added five years to her age, but
they were a good five years. It took me a minute to realize she was
wearing very understated makeup. "Please come in, Miss Blake. My
husband, David is waiting with the body." She shook her head. "It's
awful."
She peered out into the colored darkness before she closed the
door. "David told him to turn off those lights. We don't want
everyone for miles to know what's happened."
"What's your name?" I asked.
She blushed slightly. "I'm sorry; I'm not usually this
scattered. I'm Beth St. John. My husband is the sheriff. I've been
sitting with the parents." She made a small motion towards a set of
double doors to the left of the main entrance.
The dog was still barking behind those doors like a small furry
machine gun. A man's voice said, "Quiet Raven." The barking
stopped.
We were standing in an entryway that had a ceiling that soared
up to the roof, as if the architect had cut a piece out of the room
above us to create the sweeping space. A crystal chandelier
sparkled light down on us. The light cut a rectangle out of the
darkened room to our right. There was a glimpse of a cherrywood
dining room set so polished it gleamed.
The hallway cut straight back to a distant door that probably
led to the kitchen. Stairs ran along the wall with the double
doors. The bannister and door edges were white, the carpet was pale
blue, the wallpaper white with tiny blue flowers and tinier leaves.
It was open and airy, bright and welcoming, and utterly quiet. If
we could have found a piece of uncarpeted floor, we would have
dropped a pin and listened to it bounce.
Beth St. John led us up the blue-and-white stairway. In the
center of the hallway on the right-hand side was a series of family
portraits. They began with a smiling couple; smiling couple and
smiling baby; smiling couple and one smiling baby, one crying baby.
I walked down the hallway, watching the years pass by. The babies
became children, a girl and a boy. A miniature black poodle
appeared in the pictures. The girl was the oldest, but only by
about a year. The parents grew older, but didn't seem to mind. The
parents and the girl smiled; sometimes the boy did, sometimes he
didn't. The boy smiled more on the other wall, where the camera had
caught him tanned with a fish, or with hair slicked back from just
coming out of the pool. The girl smiled everywhere you looked. I
wondered which of them was dead.
There was a window at the end of the hallway. The white drapes
framed it; no one had bothered to draw them. The window looked like
a black mirror. The darkness pressed against the glass like it had
weight.
Beth St. John knocked on the last door to the right, next to
that pressing darkness. "David, the detectives are here." I let
that slide. The sin of omission is a many-splendored thing.
I heard movement in the room, but she stepped back before the
door could open. Beth St. John backed up into the middle of the
hallway so there would be no chance of her seeing inside the room.
Her eyes flicked from one picture to another, catching glimpses of
smiling faces. She put a slender hand to her chest, as if she was
having trouble breathing.
"I'm going to go make coffee. Do you want some?" Her voice was
strained around the edges.
"Sure," I said.
"Sounds good," Larry said.
She gave a weak smile and marched down the hallway. She did not
run, which got her a lot of brownie points in my book. I was
betting it was Beth St. John's first murder scene.
The door opened. David St. John was wearing a pale blue uniform
that matched the one his deputy wore, but there the resemblance
ended. He was about five-foot-ten, thin without being skinny, like
a marathon runner. His hair was a paler, browner version of Larry's
red. You noticed his glasses before you noticed his eyes, but the
eyes were worth noticing. A perfect pale green like a cat's. Except
for the eyes it was a very ordinary face, but it was one of those
faces you wouldn't grow tired of. He offered me his hand. I took it.
He barely touched my hand, as if afraid to squeeze. A lot of men
did that, but at least he offered to shake hands; most don't
bother.
"I'm Sheriff St. John. You must be Anita Blake. Sergeant Storr
told me you'd be coming." He glanced at Larry. "Who's this?"
"Larry Kirkland."
St. John's eyes narrowed. He stepped fully into the hallway,
closing the door behind him. "Sergeant Storr didn't mention anyone
else. Can I see some ID?"
I unclipped my badge ID. He looked at it and shook his head.
"You're not a detective."
"No, I'm not." I was mentally cursing Dolph. I'd known it
wouldn't work.
"How about him?" He jerked his chin at Larry.
"All I have on me is a driver's license," Larry said.
"Who are you?" the sheriff asked.
"I am Anita Blake. I am part of the Spook Squad. I just don't
happen to have a badge. Larry is a trainee." I fished my new
vampire executioner's license out of my jacket pocket. It looked
like a glorified driver's license, but it was the best I had.
He peered at the license. "You're a vampire hunter? It's a
little early for you to be called in. I don't know who did it
yet."
"I'm attached to Sergeant Storr's squad. I come in at the start
of a case instead of the end. It tends to keep the body count down
that way."
He handed back the license. "I didn't think Brewster's law had
gone into effect."
Brewster was the senator whose daughter got eaten. "It hasn't.
I've been working with the police for a long time."
"How long?"
"Nearly three years."
He smiled. "Longer than I've been sheriff." He nodded, almost as
if he'd answered a question for himself. "Sergeant Storr said if
anybody could help me solve this, it was you. If the head of RPIT
has that much confidence in you, I'm not going to refuse the help.
We've never had a vampire kill out here, ever."
"Vampires tend to stay near cities," I said. "They can hide
their victims better that way."
"Well, no one tried to hide this one." He pushed the door open
and made a little arm gesture, ushering us in.
The wallpaper was all pink roses, big old-fashioned cabbage
roses. There was an honest-to-God vanity, with a raised mirror and
everything, that looked like it might be an antique, but everything
else was white wicker and pink lace. It looked like the room for a
much younger girl.
The girl lay on the narrow bed. The bedspread matched the
wallpaper. The sheets twisted up underneath her body were jellybean
pink. Her head lay on the edge of the pillows, as if it had slipped
to one side after she was laid on them.
The pink curtains fanned against the open window. A cool breeze
crawled through the room, ruffling her thick black hair. It had
been curled and styled with hair gel. There was a small red stain
under her face and neck where the sheets had soaked up some blood.
I was betting there was a bite mark on that side of the neck. She
wore makeup not nearly as well applied as Beth St. John's, but the
attempt had been made. The lipstick was badly smeared. One arm hung
off into space, the hand half-cupped as if reaching for something.
The nails were shiny with fresh red nail polish. Her long legs were
spread-eagled on the bed. There were two fang marks high on her
inner thigh—not fresh, though. Her toenails were painted to match
her fingers.
She was still almost wearing the black teddy she'd started the
night in. The straps had been pushed down her shoulders, exposing
small, well-formed breasts. The crotch had been ripped out, or was
one of the ones that snapped open, because the bottom was pushed up
nearly to her waist until the teddy was little more than a belt.
With her legs spread wide, she was completely exposed.
That, more than anything, pissed me off. He could have at least
covered her up, not left her like some whore. It was arrogant and
cruel.
Larry was standing across the room at the other window. It was
open too, spilling cool air into the room.
"Have you touched anything?"
St. John shook his head.
"Have you taken any photos?"
"No."
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was a guest here
and had no official status. I could not afford to piss him off.
"What have you done?"
"Called you, and the state cops."
I nodded. "How long ago did you find the body?"
He checked his watch. "An hour ago. How did you get here so
fast?"
"I wasn't ten miles away," I said.
"Lucky for me," he said.
I looked at the girl's body. "Yeah."
Larry was hugging the windowsill, gripping it with his hands.
"Larry, why don't you run down to the Jeep and get some gloves out
of my bag?"
"Gloves?"
"I've got a box of surgical gloves in with my animating stuff.
Bring the box."
He swallowed hard and nodded. Every freckle stood out on his
face like ink spots. He moved very quickly to the door and shut it
behind him. I had two sets of gloves in my jacket pocket, but Larry
needed air.
"This his first murder?"
"Second," I said. "How old is the girl?"
"Seventeen," he said.
"Then it's murder even if she consented."
"Consented? What are you talking about?" There was the very
first hint of anger in his voice.
"What do you think happened here, Sheriff?"
"A vampire climbed in her window while she was getting ready for
bed and killed her."
"Where's all the blood?"
"There's more blood under her neck. You can't see the mark, but
that's where he drained her."
"That's not enough blood to kill her."
"He drank the rest." He sounded a little outraged.
I shook my head. "No single vampire can consume the entire blood
supply of an adult human in one sitting."
"Then there was more than one," he said.
"You mean the bites on her thighs?"
"Yeah, yeah." He paced the pink shag carpet in quick, nervous
strides.
"Those marks are at least a couple of days old," I said.
"So he hypnotized her twice before, but this time he killed
her."
"It's awfully early for a teenager to be going to bed."
"Her mother said she wasn't feeling well."
That I believed. Even if you want it to happen, that much blood
loss can take the sparkle out of your step.
"She fixed her hair and makeup before she went to bed," I
said.
"So?"
"Did you know this girl?"
"Yes, hell yes. This is a small town, Miss Blake. We all know
each other. She was a good kid, never in any trouble. You never
found her parked with a boy, or out drinking. She was a good
girl."
"I believe she was a good girl, Sheriff St. John. Being murdered
doesn't make you a bad person."
He nodded, but his eyes were sort of wild, too much white
showing. I wanted to ask how many murders he'd seen, but didn't.
Whether this was his first or his twenty-first, he was sheriff.
"What do you think happened here, Sheriff?" I'd asked the
question once, but I was willing to try it again.
"A vampire raped and killed Ellie Quinlan, that's what happened
here." He said it almost defiantly, like he didn't believe it
either.
"This wasn't rape, Sheriff. Ellie Quinlan invited her killer
into this room."
He paced to the far window and stood like Larry had, staring out
into the darkness. He wrapped his arms around himself like he was
hugging himself. "How am I going to tell her parents, her kid
brother, that she let some . . . thing make love to her? That she'd
been letting it feed off her? How can I tell them that?"
"Well, in three nights, two counting tonight, Ellie can rise
from the dead and tell them herself."
He turned back to me, his face pale with shock. He shook his
head slowly.
"They want her staked."
"What?"
"They want her staked. They don't want her to rise as a
vampire."
I stared down at the still-warm body. I shook my head. "She'll
rise in two more nights."
"The family doesn't want it."
"If she was a vampire, it would be murder to stake her just
because her family doesn't want her to be one."
"But she's not a vampire yet," St. John said. "She's a
corpse."
"The coroner will have to certify death before she can be
staked. That can take a little time."
He shook his head. "I know Doc Campbell; he'll speed it along
for us."
I stood there, staring down at the girl. "She didn't plan to
die, Sheriff. This isn't a suicide. She's planning on coming
back."
"You can't know that."
I stared at him. "I do know that, and so do you. If we stake her
before she can rise from the dead, it's murder."
"Not according to the law."
"I am not going to take out the head and heart of a
seventeen-year-old girl just because her parents don't like the
lifestyle she's chosen."
"She's dead, Miss Blake."
"It's Ms. Blake, and I know she's dead. I know what she'll
become. Probably better than you do."
"Then you understand why they want it done."
I looked at him. I did understand. There was a time when I could
have done it and felt good about it. Felt like I was helping the
family, freeing her soul. Now, I just wasn't sure anymore.
"Let her parents think about it for twenty-four hours. Trust me
on this. They're horrified right now, and grief-stricken; are they
really in a position to decide what happens to her?"
"They're her parents."
"Yeah, and two days from now would they rather have her on her
feet, talking to them, or dead in a box?"
"She'll be a monster," he said.
"Maybe, probably, but I think we should hold off for just a
little while until they've had some time. I think the immediate
problem is the blood-sucker that did this."
"I agree, we find him and kill him."
"We can't kill him without a court order of execution," I
said.
"I know the local judge. I can get you a court order."
"I bet you can."
"What's the matter with you? Don't you want to kill him?"
I looked at the girl. If he'd really wanted her to rise as a
vampire, he'd have taken the body with him. He'd have hidden her
until she rose to keep her safe from people like me. If he cared
for her. "Yeah, I'll kill him for you."
"Alright, what can we do?"
"Well, first, the killing took place just after dark, so his
daytime resting place had to be very near here. Are there any old
houses, caves, some place where you could hide a coffin?"
"There's an old homestead about a mile from here, and I know
there's a cave down along the stream. I used to go there when I was
little. We all did."
"Here's the deal, Sheriff. If we go out into the dark after him
now, he'll probably kill some of us. But if we don't try it
tonight, he'll move his coffin. We might not find him again."
"We'll look for him tonight. Now."
"How long have you and your wife been married?" I asked.
"Five years; why?"
"You love her?"
"Yes, we were high school sweethearts. What kind of question is
that?"
"If you go out after the vampire, you may never see her again.
If you've never hunted one out there at night in its own territory,
you don't know what we're up against, and nothing I can tell you
will prepare you for it. But think about never seeing Beth again.
Never holding her hand. Never hearing her voice. We can go out in
the morning. The vampire may not move its coffin tonight, or it
might move from the cave to the homestead, or vice versa. We might
catch it tomorrow without risking anybody's life."
"Do you think it won't move tonight?"
I took a deep breath and wanted to lie. God knows I wanted to
lie. "No, I think it'll leave the immediate area tonight. That's
probably why he came just after full dark. It gives him all night
to run."
"Then we go after him."
I nodded. "Okay, but we have to have some ground rules here. I'm
in charge. I've done this before and I'm still alive; that makes me
an expert. If you do everything I say, maybe, just maybe, we can
all live until morning."
"Except for the vampire," St. John said.
"Yeah, sure." It had been a long time since I had gone up
against a vampire at night in the open. My vampire kit was at home
in my closet. It was illegal to carry it with me without a specific
court order of execution. I had the cross I was wearing, the two
handguns, the two knives, and that was it. No holy water, no extra
crosses, no shotgun. Hell, no stake and mallet.
"Do you have silver bullets?"
"I can get some."
"Do it, and find me a shotgun and silver ammo for that too. Is
there a Catholic or Episcopalian church around here?"
"Of course," he said.
"We need some holy water and holy wafer, the host."
"I know you can throw the holy water on the vampire, but I
didn't know you could throw the host."
I had to smile. "They aren't like little holy grenades. I want
the host to give to the Quinlans so they can put one at every
windowsill, every doorsill."
"You think it'll come for them?"
"No, but the girl invited it in, only she can revoke the
invitation, and she's dead. Until we get the bastard, better safe
than sorry."
He hesitated, then nodded. "I'll go to the church. I'll see what
I can do." He went for the door.
"And, Sheriff?"
He stopped and turned to me.
"I want that court order in my hands before we leave. I'm not
going to be up on murder charges."
He nodded, sort of nervously, head bobbing like one of those
dogs you see in the backs of cars. "You'll have it, Ms. Blake." He
left, closing the door behind him.
I was left alone with the dead girl. She lay there pale and
unmoving, growing colder, deader. If her parents had their way, it
would be permanent. And it would be my job to make it happen. There
were schoolbooks scattered beside the bed, as if she had been
studying in bed before he came. I pushed one of the book covers
closed with my toe, careful not to rearrange it. Calculus. She'd
been studying calculus before she put on her makeup and black
teddy. Shit.
Chapter 12
While we waited for the court order, I talked to the family. Not
my favorite thing to do, but necessary. This hadn't been a random
attack, which meant they probably knew the vampire, or had known
him before he died.
The living room continued the pastel theme, blue predominating.
Beth St. John had made coffee. She'd shanghaied Larry into carrying
up a tray. I guess she didn't want to see the body again. Couldn't
say I blamed her. I'd seen bloodier murder scenes, a lot bloodier,
but each death has its own peculiar poignancy. There was something
very piteous about Ellie Quinlan stretched across her pink candy
sheets, and I hadn't known her. Beth St. John had. Made it
hard.
The family sat huddled on the white sofa. The man was broad, not
fat, but square like a linebacker. He had short black hair that was
going nicely grey at the sideburns. Very distinguished. His
complexion was ruddy, not tanned, but colorful just the same. He
was dressed in a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, but
sleeves still sporting their cufflinks. His face was very tight,
immobile like a mask, as if underneath something entirely different
was going on. He looked calm, composed, but the effort thrummed
along his skin. Anger glittered in his dark eyes.
His arm was around his wife's shoulders. She leaned into him
crying softly, eyes closed as if that would make it better. Her eye
makeup had smeared in long, multicolored streaks like an oil slick
down her cheeks. She had thick black hair done in some short,
complicated style that looked too stiff to touch. She wore a
long-sleeved, button-down blouse with a delicate flower pattern on
it, pink predominating. Her slacks were a matching pink. Her feet
were bare except for dark hose. A delicate gold cross and wedding
rings were her only jewelry.
The boy was only about my height and slender as a willow. He
hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, and it made him look younger than
he was. His face had that soft, perfect skin that said he'd never
had a pimple and shaving was a distant dream. If the girl was
seventeen, he had to be at least fifteen, maybe sixteen. He could
have passed for twelve. A perfect victim, except for his eyes and
the way he held himself. Even in the midst of grief with the lines
of tears drying on his face, he looked sure of himself,
self-possessed. His eyes held a quick intelligence and a rage that
would hold the bullies at bay.
His hair was the perfect black of his father's, but it was baby
fine, probably the natural texture of Mrs. Quinlan's before she
styled it to death.
A little black poodle was in his lap. It had barked like a
machine gun, rat-a-tat-tat, yip-yip-yip until he'd picked it up and
held it. A soft growl tickled out of its curly jaws.
"Hush, Raven," the boy said. He petted the dog as he said it,
thus rewarding the growling. The dog growled again; he petted it
again. I decided to ignore it. If the poodle got loose, I figured I
could take it. I was armed.
"Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan, my name's Anita Blake. I need to ask you
a few questions."
"Have you staked the body yet?" the man asked.
"No, Mr. Quinlan, the sheriff and I agreed to wait twenty-four
hours."
"Her immortal soul is in jeopardy. We want it done now."
"If you still want it done tomorrow night, I'll do it."
"We want it done now." He was holding his wife very tight,
fingers digging into her shoulder.
She opened her eyes and blinked at him. "Jeffrey, please, you're
hurting me."
He swallowed hard and loosened his grip. "I'm sorry, Sally. I'm
sorry." The apology seemed to take some of the anger out of him.
The lines in his face softened. He shook his head. "We must save
her soul. Her life is gone, but her soul remains. We must save that
at least."
There had been a time when I believed that, too. Down to my toes
I thought all vampires were evil. Now, I wasn't so sure. I knew too
many of them who didn't seem that bad. I knew evil when I felt it,
and that wasn't what they were. I didn't know what they were, but
were they damned? According to the Catholic Church, yes, they were,
and so was the girl upstairs. But then, according to the Church, so
was I. I'd become Episcopalian when the church declared all
animators excommunicates.
"Are you Catholic, Mr. Quinlan?"
"Yes; what difference does that make?"
"I was raised Catholic. So I understand your beliefs."
"They are not beliefs, Miss . . . What is your name?"
"Blake, Anita Blake."
"They are not beliefs, Miss Blake. They are facts. Ellie's
immortal soul is in danger of eternal damnation. We must help
her."
"Do you understand what you're asking me to do?" I asked.
"To save her."
I shook my head. Mrs. Quinlan was looking at me. Her eyes were
very intent. I was betting I could cause a little family
disagreement.
"I will put a stake through her heart and chop off her head." I
left the fact out that most of my executions were done with a
shotgun now, at close range. It was messy and you needed a closed
coffin, but it was a lot easier on me and a quicker death for the
vampire.
Mrs. Quinlan started to cry again, huddling against her husband.
She buried her face against him, smearing makeup on his clean white
shirt.
"Are you trying to upset my wife?"
"No, sir, but I want you all to realize that two nights from now
Ellie will rise as a vampire. She'll walk and talk. Eventually,
she'll be able to be around you. If I stake her, all she'll be is
dead."
"She is already dead. We want you to do your job," he said.
Mrs. Quinlan wouldn't look at me. Either she believed as
strongly as her hubby, or she wouldn't fight him. Not even for her
daughter's continued existence.
I let it go. I could stall for twenty-four hours. I doubted that
Mr. Quinlan was going to change his mind. I had hopes for Mrs.
Quinlan.
"Does the poodle always bark at strangers?"
They all three blinked at me like rabbits caught in headlights.
The change of subject was too abrupt for their grief.
"What has that got to do with anything?" he asked.
"There is a murderous vampire out there somewhere. I'm going to
catch him, but I need your help. So please just answer my questions
as best you can."
"What does the dog have to do with it?"
I sighed and sipped my coffee. He had just found his daughter
dead, murdered, raped, I'm sure he'd told himself. The horror of it
cut him some slack, but he was beginning to use it up.
"The poodle barked its head off when I came to the door. Does it
bark every time a stranger comes to the house?"
The boy saw what I was getting at. "Yeah, Raven always barks at
strangers."
I ignored his parents and talked to the most reasonable person
in the room. "What's your name?"
"Jeff," he said. God, Jeffrey Junior, of course.
"How many times would I have to come to the house before Raven
stopped barking at me?"
He thought about that, rolling his lower lip under, really
thinking about it.
Mrs. Quinlan sat up, a little apart from her husband. "Raven
always barks when someone comes to the door. Even if she knows
you."
"Did she bark tonight?"
The parents frowned at me. Jeff said, "Yeah. She barked like
crazy until Ellie let her in her room just after dark. Ellie let
her in, then a few minutes later Raven came back downstairs."
"How'd you find the body?"
"Raven started barking again and wouldn't stop. Ellie didn't let
her in. Ellie always lets her in. I mean, I'm not allowed in her
room, but Raven gets to go in even when Ellie wants her privacy."
He made that last word sound like he usually said it with a lot of
eye-rolling.
"I knocked at the door and she didn't answer. Raven was
scratching at the door. It was locked. She locked her door a lot,
but she wouldn't answer." A tear escaped from his wide eyes. "I
went and got Dad."
"You unlocked the door, Mr. Quinlan?"
He nodded. "Yes, and she was just lying there. I couldn't bear
to touch her. She's unclean now. I . . ." He was choking on tears,
trying so hard not to cry that his face was turning purple.
Jeff came and put his arm around his dad, leaning against his
mother, the poodle still gripped in his other arm. The dog whined
softly, licked the makeup from Mrs. Quinlan's face. The woman
looked up and gave a choked laugh, petting the curly fur.
I wanted to leave. I wanted to let them huddle together and
grieve. Hell, the death was so fresh, they hadn't gotten to
grieving yet. They were still in shock. But I couldn't leave.
Sheriff St. John would be back with the warrant, and I needed as
much information as I could get before we braved the darkness.
Larry was sitting in the corner in a pale blue chair. He was
being so quiet you'd almost forget he was there. But his eyes were
eager, noticing everything, filing it all away. When I first
realized he damn near memorized everything I said and did, it was
intimidating. Now I counted on it.
Beth St. John came into the room with a tray of sandwiches,
coffee, and soft drinks. I didn't remember anybody asking for them,
but I think Beth was needing something to do besides sit here and
watch the Quinlans cry. Me, too.
She set the tray on the coffee table between the couch and the
love seat. The Quinlans ignored it. I took a fresh mug of coffee.
Grilling grieving families always goes down better with
caffeine.
The group huddle broke up. The poodle was transferred to the
wife's arms, and the two men sat on either side of her. Jeffrey and
Jeff looked at me with identical eyes. It was almost eerie.
Genetics at work.
"The vampire had to be in the room with Ellie when she let the
dog in at full dark," I said.
"My daughter would not have let in her murderer."
"If she was eighteen, Mr. Quinlan, it wouldn't be murder."
"Being made a vampire against your will is still murder, Miss
Blake."
I was getting tired of everyone calling me "Miss," but the
grieving father could do it a few more times. "I believe your
daughter knew the vampire. I believe she let him in willingly."
"You are crazy. Beth, go get the sheriff. I want this woman out
of my house."
Beth stood up uncertainly. "David's gone to get some things,
Jeffrey. I . . . Deputy Coltrain's upstairs with the body, but . .
."
"Then get him down here."
Beth looked at me, then back to him. She gripped her small hands
together, almost wringing them. "Jeffrey, she's a licensed vampire
hunter. She's done this a lot. Listen to her."
He stood up. "My daughter was raped and murdered by some
soulless, bloodsucking animal, and I want this woman out of my
house, now." If he hadn't been crying at the same time, I'd have
been pissed.
Beth looked at me. She was willing to stand up to him if I
needed her to. Mucho points for her. "Has anyone you know vanished
or died recently?" I asked.
Quinlan squinted at me. He looked confused. The change of
subject again was just too abrupt. I was hoping I could distract
him from throwing me out long enough to learn something.
"What?"
"Has anyone you know gone missing or died recently?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Andy's missing," Jeff said.
Quinlan shook his head again. "That boy is no concern of
ours."
"Who's Andy?" I asked.
"Ellie's boyfriend."
"He is not her boyfriend," Quinlan said.
I caught Jeff's gaze. The look said it all. Andy had been a
boyfriend, and dear old dad hadn't liked him one little bit.
"Why didn't you like Andy, Mr. Quinlan?"
"He was a criminal."
I raised my eyebrows. "In what way?"
"He was arrested for drug abuse."
"He smoked some pot," Jeff said.
I was beginning to wish I could just go off and talk with Jeff.
He seemed to know what was going on and wasn't trying to hide it.
Trick was how to manage it.
"He was a corrupting influence on my daughter, and I put a stop
to it."
"And he's missing?" I asked.
"Yes," Jeff said.
"I will answer Miss Blake's questions, Jeff. I am the man of the
house."
Jesus, man of the house. Hadn't heard that in a while. "I'd like
to see the rest of the house in case the vampire entered somewhere
other than her room. If Jeff could show me the doors, I'd
appreciate it."
"I can show you around, Miss Blake," Quinlan said.
"I'm sure your wife needs you right now, Mr. Quinlan. Jeff can
show me around, but only you can comfort your wife."
Mrs. Quinlan looked up at him, then at me, as if she wasn't sure
she wanted to be comforted, but I knew the image would appeal to
him.
He nodded. "Perhaps you're right." He touched his wife's
shoulder. "Sally needs me right now."
Sally cooperated with fresh crying, using the poodle as a sort
of impromptu handkerchief. The poodle squirmed and whined. Quinlan
sat down and took his wife in his arms. The dog squirmed free and
trotted over to Jeff.
I stood. Larry stood. I moved toward the door and looked back at
the boy. Jeff stood and the poodle trotted at his side. I opened
the doors and ushered us all outside. Raven the poodle eyed me
suspiciously, but she came along.
I caught a last glimpse of Beth St. John gazing at the door as
if she wanted to go with us, but she sat down beside the unwanted
sandwiches and the cooling coffee. She sat like a good soldier. She
would not abandon her post.
I closed the door, feeling cowardly. I was glad it wasn't my job
to hold the Quinlans' hands. Facing the vampire even in the dark
didn't seem so bad by comparison. Of course, I was still safe
inside the house. Out there in the dark with the vampire, I might
feel different.
Chapter 13
We stood out in the entryway. The air felt cooler out here,
easier to breathe. Had to be my imagination. The poodle was
sniffing at my foot. She gave a low growl and Jeff picked her up,
tucking her under one arm, in a familiar gesture like he'd done it
a hundred times before.
"You don't really want to see the doors, do you?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Dad's all right. He's just . . ." He shrugged. "He's just
right, and everyone else is wrong. He doesn't mean anything by
it."
"I know. He's scared right now, too. That makes everyone
bitchy."
Jeff grinned. I wasn't sure if it was the "scared" comment or
the word "bitchy." Probably didn't hear many people saying either
about his dad.
"How serious were Andy and your sister?"
He glanced at the closed doors and lowered his voice just a
little. "Dad'll say not very, but they were serious. Real serious."
He glanced at the door again.
"We can go somewhere else to talk," I said. "Your choice of
rooms."
He looked at me. "You're really a vampire hunter?" If the
circumstances had been different, he would have been enjoying
himself. It's hard not to think it's cool to put stakes through
people's chests.
"Yeah, and we raise zombies, too."
"Both of you?" He sounded surprised.
"I'm a full-fledged animator," Larry said.
Jeff shook his head. "We can talk in my room." He led the way up
the stairs. We followed.
If I'd been a cop, questioning a juvenile without a guardian or
lawyer present would have been illegal, but I wasn't a cop. And he
wasn't a suspect. Just gathering information, folks. Just grilling
a sixteen-year-old boy about his sister's sex life. Murder
investigations are never pleasant, and some of that unpleasantness
has nothing to do with the corpse.
Jeff hesitated at the head of the stairs, peering down the
hallway. Deputy Coltrain was standing outside Ellie's room, back
stiff, hands behind his back, alert for intruders. The door was
open. Too hard to stand in the room with the body, I guess. He saw
Jeff and closed the door, still standing in front of it. Nice of
Coltrain to make sure Jeff didn't see the body. But standing
outside the closed door was not the best idea. A vampire, if it was
old enough, could have come in the room behind him and opened the
door before he could have drawn his gun. The undead make no
noise.
I debated on whether to tell him that. I let it go. If the vamp
had meant to take out more people, it could have. He could have
taken out the entire family. Instead, when the dog barked he
panicked and ran. This was not an ancient bloodsucker. This was
someone who was new at the job. I was betting on the boyfriend,
Andy, but I'd keep an open mind. Andy might have just driven to
California to find fame and fortune, but I doubted it.
Jeff opened the door near the head of the stairs and went in.
His room was smaller than his sister's. Being firstborn does have
its advantages. The wallpaper was tan with cowboys and Indians on
it. The bed had a matching spread. It was the room of a much
younger person, just like his sister's. The walls were bare, no
pinups, no sports figures. There was a desk stacked high with
books. A small pile of clothes lay near the closet door. Raven the
poodle sniffed the clothes. Jeff shooed her away and kicked the
clothes into the closet and closed the door.
"Sit down anywhere you can." He pulled the desk chair out a
little, then stood near the window, not sure what to do. I doubted
he had many adults up to his room for a talk. Parents didn't count.
Though frankly I couldn't imagine either of the Quinlans coming in
for a quiet chat.
I took the chair. I figured Jeff would feel more comfortable
lounging on his bed with Larry than with me. Besides, I wasn't used
to wearing skirts this short yet, and every once in a while I
forgot. The chair seemed safer.
Larry sat down on the bed with his back pressed against the
wall. Jeff sat down next to him, propping some of the pillows into
the corner for a back rest. Raven jumped up on the bed, circled his
lap twice, and lay down. Cozy.
"How hot an item were Andy and your sister?" No prelims; off
with the clothes.
He glanced at both of us. Larry gave him an encouraging smile.
He shifted more securely against his mound of pillows and said,
"Pretty hot. I mean, they hung all over each other at school."
"Embarrassing," I said.
"Yeah. I mean, she was my sister. She's only a year older than
me, and there's this guy pawing her." He shook his head. He rubbed
the poodle's ears, hands moving down her small curly body. He
petted her like it was habit, a comfort measure.
"Did you like Andy?"
He shrugged. "He was older and sort of cool, but no, I thought
Ellie could have done better."
"How so?"
"He did smoke pot and didn't have any plans for college. Andy
wasn't going anywhere. It was like the fact that he loved my sister
was everything. Like they'd live on love or something stupid like
that."
I agreed that that was stupid. "When your dad put a stop to it,
did it stop?"
He grinned at me. "No. They just started sneaking around. I
think if anything, telling Ellie she couldn't see him made it
worse."
"It usually does," I said. "When did Andy disappear?"
"About two weeks ago. His car went missing, too, so everybody
thought he'd run off, but he wouldn't have left Ellie behind. He
was sort of creepy, but he wouldn't have left her."
"Was Ellie upset at being left behind?"
He frowned, hugging the dog against his chest. Raven licked his
chin with her small pink tongue. "That was the weird part. I mean,
I know she had to pretend not to care in front of Mom and Dad, but
even at school or out with our friends she didn't seem to care. I
was kinda glad. I mean, Andy was a loser, but it was like she
didn't believe he was gone or knew something the rest of us didn't.
I thought he'd just gone off to find like an out-of-town job and
was going to send for her."
"Maybe he did," I said.
The frown deepened between his smooth, unblemished brows. "What
do you mean?"
"I think Andy may be the vampire that did your sister."
A look of disgust crumbled his face even further. "I don't
believe that. Andy loved Ellie; he wouldn't kill her."
"If he's a vampire, Jeff, he wouldn't think turning her into the
undead is killing her. He'd probably think of it as bringing her
over."
Jeff shook his head. Raven wiggled out of his grasp as if he was
squeezing too hard. She hopped off his lap and lay down on the
covers. "Andy wouldn't hurt Ellie. Doesn't it hurt to die?"
"Probably," I said.
"The bushes underneath her end window are all crushed," Larry
said.
I looked at him. "Say again."
He smiled, pleased with himself. "I took a look around outside.
That's what took me so long when you sent me out for gloves that
you didn't need. The bushes under the end window to the girl's room
are all smashed like something heavy fell on them."
I had a moment to visualize Larry out in the dark all alone,
unarmed except for his cross. The thought made my skin cold. I
opened my mouth to yell at him and closed it. Never dress anyone
down in public unless it's an object lesson. I said, "Any tracks?"
I gave myself a dozen brownie points for not yelling.
"Do I look like Tonto? Besides, the ground is just grass and
it's been so dry lately. I don't think there'd be any tracks." He
frowned at me. "Can you track vampires?"
"Not normally, but if this one is as new as I think he is, then
maybe." I nodded. "Yeah." I stood up. "I've got to go ask the
deputy something. Thank you for your help, Jeff." I offered him my
hand to shake. He took it. His handshake was a little uncertain, as
if he wasn't used to it.
I went for the door and Larry followed.
"You will find him and kill him, even if it's Andy?" Jeff
asked.
I turned back and looked at him. His dark eyes were still
intelligent, still full of purpose, but there was also a little boy
needing reassurance.
"Yeah, we'll find him."
"And kill him?"
"And kill him," I said.
"Good," he said. "Good."
I wasn't sure if "good" was the word I would have chosen, but it
wasn't my sister lying dead in the other room.
"You got a cross?" I asked.
He frowned, but said, "Yeah."
"You wearing it?"
He shook his head.
"Get it and wear it until we catch him. Okay?"
"You think he'll come back?" Fear glittered at the edge of his
eyes.
"No, but you never know, Jeff. Just humor me."
He got up and went to his bureau. There was a line of glittering
chain on one corner of the mirror. When he picked it up, a tiny
gold cross dangled from it. I watched him put it on. The dog
watched it all with anxious eyes.
I smiled. "We'll see you later."
He nodded, fingering the cross, scared now underneath the shock.
We left him in the tender care of Raven.
"You really think the vamp will come back to the house?" Larry
asked.
"No," I said, "but just in case your little visit out into the
dark gives him ideas, I want Jeff to at least have a cross on."
"Heh," he said. "I found a clue."
Deputy Coltrain was watching us, but we were running out of
privacy. I kept my voice down and hoped that was enough. "Yeah, and
you went out, alone, unarmed, in the dark with a vampire that had
already killed once on the loose."
"You said it was a really new vampire."
"Not before you went out after the gloves."
"Maybe I figured out that it was a new one all on my own," he
said. He was looking stubborn, like far from taking my warning to
heart, he just might do it again.
"New vampires can still kill you, Larry."
"With a cross on?"
He had a point. Very few of the new dead could get past the pain
of a cross, or play enough head games to get you to take it off
voluntarily.
"Fine, Larry, but where's the vampire that made him? That one
may be a couple of centuries old, and it's out in the dark,
too."
He went a little pale around the edges. "I never thought of
that."
"I did."
He gave a shrug and had the grace to look embarrassed. "That's
why you're the boss."
"That's right," I said.
"All right, all right. I promise to be good."
"Great; now let's go ask Deputy Coltrain if he knows anyone who
could track our vampire."
"Can you really track a vampire like that?"
"I don't know, but with one less than two weeks old, one that
falls out a window and into some shrubs, you might be able to. They
at least might be able to narrow down where we should look
first."
He was grinning very broadly at me.
"Yeah, knowing it fell out the window is useful information. It
might not have occurred to me to check for tracks outside the
window."
If he grinned any wider, he was going to pull something.
"And if a vampire old enough to get past your cross had eaten
your face, I'd have never known about the shrubs."
"Ah, Anita. I done good."
I shook my head. For all that Larry had seen of vampires, it
wasn't enough. He still didn't fully appreciate what they were. He
didn't have any scars yet. If he stayed in the business long enough
to get his license, that would change.
God help him.
Chapter 14
The wind was cool and smelled of rain. I turned my face to the
soft touch of it. The air smelled of green growing things. It
smelled clean and new. I stood on the grass looking upward. Ellie
Quinlan's window shone like a soft yellow beacon. Ellie had opened
the windows, but her father had turned on the lights. She had met
her vampire lover in darkness. The better not to see him for the
walking corpse he was.
I had the coverall back on, unzipped halfway so I could get to
the Browning. I'd only brought an inner pants holster for the
Firestar, so I shoved it into a pocket of the coveralls. Not handy
for a quick draw, but better than not having it. An inner pants
holster just doesn't work well with a skirt on.
Larry had his very own gun in a shoulder rig. He stood beside me
shrugging his shoulders, trying to get the straps more comfortable.
It isn't really uncomfortable if it's a good fit, but it isn't
really comfortable either. It's sort of like a bra. They fit and
they are necessary, but they are never completely comfortable.
He was wearing the extra coverall unzipped and flapping nearly
to his hips. A flashlight flicked over us, glinting on Larry's
cross. The light swept over me, glaring in my eyes. "Now that
you've ruined my night vision, get that damn thing out of my
eyes."
Deep masculine laughter came from behind the brilliant beam of
light. Two state cops had arrived just in time to join us on the
hunt. Oh, joy.
"Wallace," a man's voice said, "do what the lady says." The
voice was deep and vaguely threatening. A voice to say, "lean on
the hood of the car and spread 'em." And you'd do it or else.
Officer Granger walked up to us, his flashlight pointed at the
ground. He wasn't as tall as Wallace, and a gut was beginning to
creep over his belt, but he moved through the dark like he knew
what he was doing. Like maybe he'd hunted in the dark before. Maybe
not vampires but something. Maybe men.
Wallace walked over to us, flashlight swimming around us like an
oversized firefly. It wasn't in my eyes, but it was still not
helping my night vision.
"Turn off the flashlight . . . please," I said.
Wallace took a step closer, looming over me. He was tall, built
like a football player, With long legs. A running back, maybe. He
and Deputy Coltrain could arm wrestle later. Right now I just
wanted him to back the fuck off me.
"Turn it off, Wallace," Granger said. He'd already clicked off
his own.
"I won't be able to see a damn thing," he protested.
"Afraid of the dark?" I asked, smiling up at him.
Larry laughed. It was the wrong thing to do.
Wallace turned on him. "You think that's funny?" He stepped up
to Larry until they were almost touching, using his size to
intimidate. But Larry's like me; he's been small all his life. He'd
been bullied by the best. He stood his ground.
"Are you?" Larry asked.
"Am I what?" Wallace asked.
"Afraid of the dark?"
Animating wasn't the only thing Larry was learning from me.
Unfortunately for Larry, he was a boy. I could get away with being
a pain in the ass and most people wouldn't take a swing at me.
Larry wasn't so lucky.
Wallace balled his hands into Larry's coverall and lifted him to
tiptoes. His flashlight fell to the grass, rolling around
spotlighting our ankles.
Officer Granger stepped up close to them but didn't touch
Wallace. Even in the dark you could see the tension in his
shoulders and arms. Not from lifting Larry, but from wanting to hit
him and resisting the urge.
"Ease down, Wallace. He didn't mean anything."
Wallace didn't say anything, he just pulled Larry closer to him,
leaning over to put his face next to Larry's. A square of yellow
light fell across his face. The muscle along the edge of his jaw
was jutting out, throbbing like it would pop out of his face. There
was a scar under the bone of his jawline. A scar that disappeared
into the collar of his jacket.
Wallace nearly put his face nose to nose with Larry.
"I-am-not-afraid-of-anything." Each word was squeezed out.
I stepped up close to him. He was bent down to intimidate Larry,
so I could whisper in his ear. "Nice scar, Wallace."
He jumped like I'd bit him. He released Larry so suddenly that
Larry stumbled. He whirled, one big hand raised to smash my face.
At least he'd let go of Larry.
He swung at me. I swept his arm to one side and past me. He
stumbled. I brought my knee up into his stomach hard. It took a lot
not to follow through and really hurt him. He was a cop. One of the
good guys. You don't beat up on them. I stepped back, out of reach,
and hoped that one near miss had cooled him down. I could have hurt
him badly in the initial rush, but now he'd be ready. Harder to
hurt.
He was nearly a foot taller than me and outweighed me by more
than a hundred pounds. If the fight turned serious, I was in
trouble. I hoped I wouldn't regret my gallant gesture.
Wallace ended on all fours near the shrubs by the house. He got
to his feet quicker than I wanted him to, but he stayed half bent
over, hands on his knees. He looked up at me. I wasn't sure what
his expression meant, but it wasn't completely hostile. It was more
a considering sort of look, as if I'd surprised him. I get that
look a lot.
"You all right now, Wallace?" Granger asked.
Wallace nodded. Hard to talk after a good gut shot.
Granger glanced at me. "You all right, Ms. Blake?"
"I'm fine."
He nodded. "Yes, you are."
Larry moved up beside me. He was standing too close. If Wallace
came back at me, I would need more room to maneuver. I knew that
Larry meant it as a show of support. After we got Larry's shooting
up to speed, we'd have to work on some basic hand-to-hand
techniques.
Why was I training him to shoot before I taught him to fight?
Because you don't arm wrestle vampires. You shoot them. He would
live through a beating from Officer Wallace. He wouldn't live
through a vampire attack. Not if he couldn't shoot.
"Were you with him when he got that scar?" I asked.
Granger shook his head. "His first partner didn't make it."
"Vampire got him?"
He nodded.
Wallace stood up sort of slow. He arched his back just a bit, as
if working the kinks out. "Nice shot," he said.
I shrugged. "It was my knee, not my fist."
"Still a good shot. I don't have any excuses good enough for
what I just did."
"No," I said, "you don't."
He just looked down at the ground, then up. "I don't know what
made me do it."
"Let's take a little walk." I started off into the dark without
looking back, as if I had no doubt he'd follow me. This technique
works more often than you think it would.
He followed me. He had stopped to pick up his flashlight, but
bravely turned it off.
I stopped just short of the woods and stared off into the trees,
letting my eyes adjust to the dark. I didn't look at anything in
particular. I let my eyes just sort of see everything. I was
looking for movement. Any movement. The tree limbs moved fitfully
in the spring wind, but it was a general movement like ocean waves.
The trees weren't what worried me.
Wallace tapped the darkened flashlight against his thigh. A soft
whap, whap. I wanted to tell him to stop but didn't. If it
comforted him, I could live with it.
I let the silence stretch between us. The wind picked up,
filling the night with a rushing, hurrying sound. You could smell
the rain on the wind.
He gripped the flashlight in both hands. I could hear his intake
of breath above the wind. "What was that?"
"The wind," I said.
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty much."
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Is this the first vamp you've gone after since your partner's
death?"
He looked at me. "Granger told you?"
"Yeah, but I saw your neck. I was pretty sure what had done
it."
I wanted to tell him it was okay to be scared. Hell, I was
scared, but he was a cop and a man, and I didn't know him well
enough to know how he'd take a pep talk from me. But I had to know
if he'd follow me into those woods. I had to know if I could depend
on him. If he stayed this scared, I couldn't.
"What happened?" I asked. Maybe talking about it right now was
the wrong thing to do, but ignoring it wasn't working very
well.
He shook his head. "Headquarters says you're in charge, Ms.
Blake. Fine, I'll do what I'm told. But I don't have to answer
personal questions."
It was too much trouble to shrug out of the overall, and I
really didn't want my arms trapped. I undid one button on my blouse
and spread the cloth.
"What are you doing?"
"How good's your night vision?"
"Why?"
"Can you see the scar?"
"What are you talking about?" He sounded suspicious. Suspicious
that I was crazy, maybe.
My night vision would have picked it up, but most people don't
have my eyes. "Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"I am about to give you a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Just give me
your damn hand."
He did, sort of hesitatingly, glancing back at the waiting
men.
His hand was cold to the touch. He was one scared puppy. I
traced his large, blunt fingers along my collarbone. The moment he
touched the scar tissue, his hand jerked like he'd had an electric
shock. I pulled my hand away, and he traced the scar again on his
own.
He took his hand back, slowly, rubbing his fingers together like
he was remembering the feel of my skin. "What did that?"
"Same thing that did your neck. A vampire that wasn't neat with
its food."
"Jesus," he said.
"Yeah," I said. I rebuttoned my blouse. "Tell me what happened,
Wallace. Please."
He looked at me for a moment longer, then nodded. "Harry, my
partner, and me, we got a call that someone had found a body with
its throat torn out." He made the words very bland, ordinary, but I
knew he was seeing it in his head. Watching it all happen again
behind his eyeballs.
"It was a construction site. Just us in the middle of the place
with our flashlights. There was a sound like wind whistling, and
something hit Harry. He went down with a man on top of him. He
screamed, and I had my gun out. I fired into the man's back. I hit
him solid three, four times. He turned on me and his face was
bloody. I didn't have time to wonder why, 'cause he jumped me. I
emptied my gun into him before I hit the ground."
He took a deep breath, big hands twisting back and forth on the
flashlight. He was looking off into the trees, too, but not for
vampires, or at least not for this one.
"He ripped my jacket and shirt like they were paper. I tried to
fight him, but . . ." He shook his head. "He caught me with his
eyes. He caught me with his eyes, and when he tore into my neck, I
wanted him to do it, wanted it worse than I've ever wanted anything
in my life."
He turned a little away from me, as if not meeting my eyes
wasn't enough. "When I woke up, he was just gone. Harry was dead.
The girl was dead. I was alive."
He turned to me finally, looked me straight in the eyes and
said, "Why didn't he kill me, Ms. Blake?"
I looked into his earnest eyes and didn't have a good answer. "I
don't know, Wallace. He wanted to make you one of them, maybe. I
don't know why you and not Harry. You ever catch him?"
"The local master sent his head in a box to the station. The
note apologized for his uncivilized behavior. That's what the note
said, 'uncivilized behavior.'"
"It's hard to look at it as murder when you feed off humans
yourself."
"Do they all do that? Feed off people?"
"I've never met one that didn't."
"Can't they eat animals?"
"Theoretically, yes. In practice it seems to lack certain
nutrients." Truth was, feeding was too close to sex for most vamps.
They weren't into bestiality, so they didn't feed off animals. I
didn't think the sex analogy would go over well with Officer
Wallace.
"Can you do this, Wallace?"
"What do you mean?"
"Can you go out into the dark and hunt vampires?"
"It's my job."
"I didn't ask if it was your job. I asked if you can go out into
that darkness and hunt vampires."
"You think there's more than one?"
"Always best to assume so," I said.
He nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Scared?" I asked.
"Are you?"
I looked off into the windswept night. The trees tossed and
moaned in the wind. There was movement everywhere. Soon there would
be rain, and what light the stars gave would be gone.
"Yeah, I'm scared."
"But you're a vampire hunter," he said. "How can you do this
night after night if it scares you?"
"Doesn't it scare you to know that every time you pull over some
yahoo for a traffic violation that he could be armed? You walk up
on that car and never know."
"It's my job."
"And this is my job."
"But you're scared?"
"Down to my toes."
Larry called, "The sheriff's back. He's got the warrant."
Wallace and I looked at each other. "You got silver bullets?" I
asked.
"Yes."
I smiled. "Then let's go. You'll be fine," I said. I believed
it. Wallace would do his job. I would do my job. We would all do
our jobs. And come morning, some of us would be alive and some of
us wouldn't. Of course, maybe there was just the one newly dead
vampire to deal with. If so, we might all see the sunrise.
But I hadn't lived this long assuming the best. Assuming the
worst was always safer. And usually truer.
Chapter 15
I'd gotten used to the sawed-off shotgun that I had at home.
Yeah, it is illegal, but it's easy to carry and makes mincemeat out
of vampires. What more could a modern vampire hunter want? The
Ithaca pump action 12 gauge was close.
"Why don't I get a shotgun?" Larry asked.
I just looked at him. He looked serious. I shook my head. "When
you can handle the nine, we'll talk about shotguns."
"Great."
Oh, for the enthusiasm of youth. Larry was only four years
younger than I was. Sometimes it seemed like a million.
"He's not going to shoot us in the back by accident, is he?"
Deputy Coltrain asked.
I smiled, not sweetly. "He promised not to."
Coltrain looked at me like he wasn't sure I was kidding.
Sheriff St. John joined us at the edge of the woods. He had a
shotgun, too. I had to trust that he knew how to use it. Wallace
had the shotgun from their unit. His partner Granger had a
wicked-looking rifle like something a sniper would carry. It looked
like the wrong tool for tonight's job, and I had said so. Granger
had just looked at me. I'd shrugged and let it go. It was his neck
and his gun.
I looked around at them. They looked at me. Waiting for me to
give the word.
"Everybody got their holy water?" I asked.
Larry patted his coverall pocket. Everyone else nodded, or
mumbled yes.
"Remember the three rules of vampire hunting. One: Never, ever
look them in the eyes. Two: Never, ever give up your cross. Three:
Aim for the head and heart. Even with silver ammo, it won't be a
killing blow anywhere else." I felt like a kindergarten teacher
sending her kiddies off to a hostile playground. "Don't panic if
you get bitten. The bite can be cleansed. As long as they don't
mesmerize you with their eyes, you can still fight."
I looked at them, all silent, all taller than me, even Larry by
an inch or two. They could all arm wrestle me and win. So why did I
want to order them all into the house where'd they'd be safe? Heck,
we could all go inside. Have a nice cup of hot cocoa. Tell the
Quinlans their little girl would be fine. I mean, liquid diets are
in with teens. Right?
I took a deep breath and let it out slow. "Let's do it, boys.
We're wasting starlight." Either nobody got my John Wayne
reference, or nobody thought it was funny. Hard to tell which.
I had to let St. John lead the way into the black trees. I
didn't know the area. He did. But I didn't like him taking point. I
didn't like it at all. I wanted to bring him back to his wife. His
high school sweetheart. Five years married and still in love.
Jesus, I didn't want to get him killed.
The trees closed around us. St. John threaded his way through
them like he knew what he was doing. There was very little
undergrowth this time of year. It made it easier, but there is
still an art to going through thick woods, especially in the dark.
You can't really see even with a flashlight. You have to sort of
give yourself over to the trees the way you give yourself to water
when you swim. You don't really concentrate on the water, or even
on your own body. You concentrate on the rhythm of your body
cutting, sliding through the cool liquid. For the forest you find a
rhythm, too. You concentrate on sliding your body through the
natural openings. Finding the place where the forest itself will
let you through. If you fight it, it will fight you back. And, just
like water, it can kill you. Anyone who doesn't believe that the
forest is a deadly place has never been lost in one.
St. John knew how to move, and so did I. I was pretty pleased at
that, actually. I'd been a city girl for a long time. Larry
stumbled into me. I had to brace, or we'd have both gone down.
"Sorry," he said, pushing himself away from me.
"How ya doing up there, vampire hunter?" Coltrain called. He was
bringing up the rear. I had to go second to back up St. John, and I
wouldn't let Larry take rear. Coltrain had wanted it. Said he and
the sheriff would guard our ass. Fine with me.
"Yell a little louder," Wallace said. "I don't think the vampire
heard you."
"I don't need no statie telling me how to do my job."
"It knows we're here," I said.
That stopped them. They both looked at me. Granger, who was just
ahead of Wallace, looked at me, too. I had everyone's
attention.
"Even if the vampire is only a few weeks old, its hearing is
incredibly acute. It knows we're here. It knows we're coming. It
doesn't matter if we're quiet or have a brass band. It's all the
same. We won't surprise it in the dark." It would probably surprise
us, but I didn't add that part aloud. We were all thinking it
anyway.
"We are wasting time here, Deputy," St. John said.
Coltrain didn't apologize or even look sorry. Wallace did. "I'm
sorry, Sheriff. It won't happen again."
St. John nodded and turned without another word and led us
farther into the woods.
Coltrain made a small humphing sound but let it go. Whatever he
said, I didn't think Wallace would rise to bait again. At least I
hoped not. I didn't care if he was scared; we had enough problems
without fighting among ourselves.
The trees rustled and swayed around us. Last year's dead leaves
crunched underfoot. Someone cursed softly behind me. The wind blew
in a wild gust, streaming my hair back from my face. Up ahead the
quality of darkness was different. We were approaching the
clearing.
St. John stopped just short of the tree line. He glanced back at
me. "How do you want to do this?"
I could taste the rain on the wind coming closer. If possible, I
wanted us out of here before it came. Visibility sucked as it
was.
"We kill it, and we get the hell back to the house. It's not a
hard plan."
He nodded, as if I'd said something profound.
Wish I had.
A figure stepped in front of us. One minute nothing, the next
there he was. Darkness and shadows, magic. He grabbed St. John as
he went for his gun and threw him out into the clearing in a high
looping arch.
I shot the vampire in the chest at almost point-blank range. He
collapsed to his knees. I caught a glimpse of the whites of his
eyes, like he couldn't believe it. I had to pump the shotgun to
jack another shell in place.
Granger's rifle exploded behind me like a cannon. Someone
screamed. I shot the vampire between the eyes. His head splattered
into the leaves. I turned with the shotgun to my shoulder before
the body hit the ground.
Larry was on the ground with a vamp on top of him. I had a
glimpse of long brown hair before his cross flared to life in a
brilliant flash of blue-white fire. She flung herself backwards
with a scream, scrambling into the dark. Gone.
A vamp with long blonde hair held Granger in her slender arms,
head pressed to his neck. I couldn't use the shotgun. They were
pressed too close together. At this range I'd kill them both.
I dropped the shotgun into Larry's surprised lap. He was still
lying on the ground, blinking. I drew the Browning and fired into
the vampire's broad chest. She jerked but didn't let go of Granger.
The vampire looked at me, the man still clasped to her chest. She
hissed at me. I fired a round into her gaping mouth. It blew the
back of her head out.
The vamp shuddered. I fired a second round into her head. She
let go of Granger and fell to the leaves in convulsions. Granger
just lay there. In the dark I couldn't see his face or neck. Dead
or alive, I'd done all I could.
Larry was on his feet, shotgun awkward in his hands.
There was a scream, low and pain-filled. Wallace was on the
ground with a slender-bodied vamp on top of him. Fangs sunk in his
arm. The bone broke with a loud, brittle snap. He screamed
again.
I had a glimpse of Coltrain standing, frozen, just beyond. There
was movement behind him. I stared straight at it, waiting for the
vampire to take shape from the shadows, but something gleamed. A
dull silver blade flashed into sight. I stared straight at it, but
I lost a second somehow. The next thing I knew the blade tip
exploded from Coltrain's throat. I lost another second, blinking at
shadows, and the vampire tore the blade from his throat and was
gone. It scuttled through the trees like nothing human,
unbelievably fast, like a nightmare seen from the corner of your
eye.
Larry raised the shotgun to his shoulder, aimed in Wallace's
direction. I grabbed it from him, and something smashed into my
back and rode me into the leaves. A hand pressed my face into the
dry, crackling leaves. A second hand ripped the back of my coverall
so violently it wrenched one shoulder. There was an explosion just
behind my head, and the vampire was gone. I rolled over, ears
ringing.
Larry was standing over me with his arm extended, gun out.
Whatever he'd shot was gone out in the dark.
My left shoulder was hurt, but not as badly as it might be if I
didn't get up. I struggled to my feet. The vampires were gone.
Wallace was sitting up, cradling his arm. Coltrain lay on the
ground without moving. A sound behind us. I turned, Browning
pointed. Larry was turning too, but too slow. I sighted down the
barrel, and it was St. John.
"Don't shoot. It's me."
Larry held his gun two-handed pointed at the ground. "Sweet
Jesus," he said.
Amen. "What happened to you?"
"The fall knocked me out. I followed the sound of shots," St.
John said.
A gust of wind slapped against us. It smelled so strongly of
rain I almost felt it on my skin.
"Check Granger's pulse, Larry," I said.
"What?" Larry looked shell-shocked.
"See if he's alive." It was a messy job, and I'd have done it
myself, but I trusted me more than Larry to keep the vampires away.
He'd saved me once tonight, but I still trusted me more.
St. John walked past us. He touched Wallace, who nodded. "My
arm's broke, but I'll live." St. John went to Coltrain's still
form.
Larry knelt by Granger. He switched his gun to his left hand,
not the best thing to do, but I understood. Hard to check for a
pulse in the dark on a throat warm with blood; better to use your
dominant hand.
"I've got a pulse." He looked up, his broad smile a dim
whiteness in the dark.
"Coltrain's dead," St. John said. "God help me, he's dead." He
raised a hand and the skin glistened with blood, black in the dim
light. "He's nearly decapitated. What did this?"
"Sword," I said. I'd seen it. Watched it happen. But all I could
remember was a black shape larger than a human being. Or larger
than most. A shadow with a sword was all I'd seen, and I'd been
looking right at it.
Something flowed across my skin, and it wasn't the wind. Power
filled the spring night like water. "There's something old out
here," I said.
"What are you talking about?" St. John said.
"An ancient vampire. It's here. I can feel it." I searched the
darkness, but nothing moved but the trees, the wind. There was
nothing to see. Nothing to fight. But it was here and it was close.
Sword in hand, maybe.
Granger sat up so suddenly that Larry fell back into the leaves
with a squeak. The big man's eyes turned to me. I saw his hand go
for his gun, and I knew what the vampire was doing.
I pointed the Browning at his head and waited. I had to be
sure.
Granger didn't hunt for his dropped rifle. He drew his sidearm
and pointed it very slowly, as if he didn't want to do it. He
pointed it at Larry from less than a foot away.
Wallace yelled, "Granger, what the fuck are you doing?"
I fired.
Granger jerked; the gun wavered, then his hand came back up. I
fired again, and again. His hand fell slowly to the ground, gun
still in it. He fell straight back into the leaves.
"Granger!" Wallace was screaming, crawling toward his partner.
Shit.
I got there first and kicked the gun out of his hand. If he'd
twitched, I'd have shot him again. He didn't twitch. He just lay
there, dead.
Wallace tried to cradle him one-handed. "Why'd you shoot him?
Why?"
"He was going to kill Larry. You saw it."
"Why?"
"The vamp that bit him. His master is out here. And he's a
powerful son of a bitch. He used him."
Wallace had Granger's bloody head in his lap, his own ravaged
arm pressed to Granger's chest. He was crying.
Shit.
A sound rode the rising wind. A sharp, furious barking. A
woman's scream, high and clear, cut across the sound.
"Oh, God," I whispered.
"Beth." St. John was on his feet running before I could say
anything.
I grabbed Wallace's shoulder, pulling on his jacket. He looked
up.
"What's happening?"
"They're in the house," I said. "Can you walk?"
He nodded. I helped him to his feet.
Another scream came. It wasn't the same scream. A man this time,
or a boy.
"Stay with him, Larry. Get to the house as soon as you can."
"What if they're trying to split us up?" Larry asked.
"Then it's going to work," I said. "Shoot anything that moves."
I touched his arm, as if that would make him more real, keep him
safe. It wouldn't, but it was all I had. I had to go for the house.
Larry had signed up to be a monster slayer. The Quinlans and Beth
St. John hadn't.
I holstered the Browning, kept a two-handed grip on the shotgun,
and threw myself into the trees. I ran, not trying to see where I
was going. Rushing through openings in the trees that I wasn't sure
were there, but they were. I jumped over a log and nearly fell but
caught myself and kept running. A branch slashed my face, bringing
tears to my eye. The forest that had seemed passable before was now
a maze of roots and branches that grabbed and tripped. I was
running blind. It was not a good way to stay alive with vampires in
the dark. I spilled out onto the Quinlans' lawn on my knees,
shotgun tightly gripped.
The front door was open. Light spilled in a warm rectangle.
Shots sounded from inside the house. I got to my feet and ran for
the light.
The poodle lay broken by the door, crumpled like someone had
tried to force it into a ball.
The doors to the living room were open. A second shot sounded. I
went in to the left of the door, wall at my back, shotgun
ready.
Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan were huddled in the far corner with their
crosses held out before them. The metal glowed with a white-hot
light like burning magnesium.
The thing in front of them didn't look much like a vampire. It
looked like a skeleton with muscle and flesh stretched over a bone
frame. It was stretched impossibly thin and tall. A sword rode its
back, gleaming and wide as a scimitar. Coltrain's killer?
St. John was firing into the brown-haired vamp from the woods.
She had long brown hair parted in the middle, straight and lovely,
framing a face that was blood-smeared and stretched wide over
fangs.
I had a glimpse of Beth St. John on the floor behind her. She
wasn't moving.
St. John kept firing into the vampire's body. She just kept
coming. Blood blossomed on the front of her jean jacket. His gun
clicked, empty. The vampire staggered, then fell to her knees. She
fell forward on all fours, and you could see that her back was so
much raw meat. She lay gasping on the floor while St. John
reloaded.
I got to my feet, trying to keep an eye on the door just in case
this wasn't all. I walked towards the Quinlans and the thing that
stood in front of them. I needed a better angle before I used the
shotgun. Didn't want to catch them in the shot pattern.
The thing turned on me. I had a glimpse of a face that was
neither human nor animal, but stretched thin and alien with fangs
and blind, glowing eyes. It shrank, and skin flowed over the bare
flesh, covered the nearly naked bone. I'd never seen anything like
it. When I aimed the shotgun, I was looking into what could have
passed for a human face. Long white hair framed a fine-boned face,
and it ran—if running was the word for that blur of motion. It ran
like some of them flew, almost like it was doing something else
altogether, but I had no better word for it. Some of them flew;
this one ran. It was gone before I could pull the trigger.
I was left staring at the open door where the barrel had
followed its movement. Could I have fired? Had I hesitated? I
didn't think so, but I wasn't sure. It was like in the woods when
Coltrain died, like I'd missed a few seconds. The vampire had to be
our killer, but the only thing I'd seen clearly in the woods had
been the sword.
St. John shot into the fallen vampire. He fired until his gun
clicked empty again. The gun went click, click, click.
I walked over to him. The vampire's head was bloody meat and
heavier, wetter things. There was no face left. "It's dead, St.
John. You killed it."
He just stared at it, down the barrel of his empty gun. He was
shaking. He collapsed to his knees suddenly, as if he just couldn't
stand any longer. He crawled over to his wife, gun left behind him
on the carpet. He cradled her in his arms, half-lifting, rocking
her. She was soaked with blood. Her throat was so much raw meat on
one side.
St. John was making a high, keening sound deep in his
throat.
The Quinlans's crosses had stopped glowing. They stood still
clinging to each other, blinking as if blinded by the light.
"Jeff—he took Jeff," Mrs. Quinlan said.
I looked at her. Her eyes were too wide. "He took Jeff."
"Who took Jeff?" I asked.
"The big one," Mr. Quinlan said. "That thing, that thing told
Jeff to take his cross off, and Jeff did it." He looked at me with
startled eyes. "Why did he do that? Why did he take it off?"
"The vampire caught him with his eyes," I said. "He couldn't
help himself."
"If his faith had been stronger, he wouldn't have given in,"
Quinlan said.
"It wasn't your son's fault."
Quinlan shook his head. "He wasn't strong enough."
I turned away from him. Which put me staring at St. John. He had
folded as much of his wife's body into his lap and arms as he
could. He rocked her, eyes distant. He wasn't seeing this room.
He'd gone somewhere deep inside. Someplace better. I hoped.
I went for the door. I didn't have to see this. Watching St.
John rock his wife's body was not part of my job description.
Honest.
I sat down on the stairs where I could see the door, the
hallway, and the stairs as far as the landing. St. John started
singing in a strange, broken voice. It took me a few minutes to
figure out what he was singing. It was "You Are So Beautiful." I
got up and went for the outer door. Larry and Wallace were just
limping up onto the porch.
I just shook my head and kept walking. I was almost to the
driveway before I couldn't hear the singing. I stood there taking
deep breaths, letting them out slowly. I concentrated on my
breathing, concentrated on the sound of frogs and wind. I
concentrated on anything but the sound that was building in my
throat. I stood there in the dark, in the open, knowing it was
dangerous, and not sure I cared. I stood there until I was sure I
wasn't going to start screaming. Then I turned and went back to the
house.
It was the bravest thing I'd done all night.
Chapter 16
Detective Freemont sat on one end of the Quinlans' couch and I
perched on the other. We were as far away from each other as we
could get and share it. Only pride kept me from taking a chair. I
wouldn't flinch under her cool cop eyes. So I stayed nailed to my
end of the couch, but it was an effort.
Her voice was low and careful, every word enunciated, as if she
thought she might yell if she rushed the words. "Why didn't you
call and tell me you had a second vampire kill?"
"Sheriff St. John called the state cops. I assumed you'd be
told."
"Well, I wasn't."
I stared up into her cool eyes. "You're twenty minutes away with
a crime scene unit looking into a possible vampire kill. Why
wouldn't they send you over to a second vampire scene?"
Freemont's eyes shifted to one side, then back to me. Her cool
cop eyes had melted just a little. It was hard to read for sure,
but she looked uneasy. Maybe even scared.
"You haven't told them it was a vampire kill, have you?"
Her eyes flinched.
"Shit, Freemont. I know you don't want the Feds to steal your
case, but withholding information from your own people . . . Bet
your superiors aren't happy with you."
"That's my business."
"Fine. Whatever plan you've got, more power to you, but why are
you pissed at me?"
She took a deep, shaking breath and blew it out like a runner
trying to get that extra kick. "How sure are you the vampire used a
sword?"
"You saw the body," I said.
She nodded. "A vampire could have ripped the neck apart."
"I saw a blade, Freemont."
"The ME will either back you up, or not."
"Why don't you want this to be vampires?"
She smiled. "I thought I had this case all solved. Thought I'd
make an arrest this morning. I didn't think it was vampires."
I stared at her. I wasn't smiling. "If it wasn't vamps, then
what was it?"
"Fairies."
I stared at her for a heartbeat. "What do you mean?"
"Your boss, Sergeant Storr, called me. Told me what you'd found
out about Magnus Bouvier. He's got no alibi for the time of the
killings, and even you think he could have done it."
"Because he could have done it, doesn't mean he did," I
said.
Freemont shrugged. "He ran when we tried to question him.
Innocent people don't run."
"What do you mean, he ran? If you were there questioning him,
how could he run?"
Freemont settled back into the couch, hands clasped together so
tightly her fingers were mottled. "He used magic to cloud our
minds, and made his escape."
"What sort of magic?"
Freemont shook her head. "What do you want me to say, Ms.
Preternatural Expert? Four of us sat there in his restaurant like
idiots while he just walked out. We didn't even see him get up from
the table."
She looked at me, no smiles. Her eyes were back to that neutral
coolness. You could stare all day at someone with eyes like that
and keep all your secrets safe.
"He looked human to me, Blake. He looked like a nice, normal
guy. I wouldn't have picked him out of a crowd. How did you know
what he was?"
I opened my mouth, and closed it. I wasn't exactly sure how to
answer the question. "He tried to use glamor on me, but I knew what
was happening."
"What's glamor, and how did you know he was using a spell on
you?"
"Glamor isn't exactly a spell," I said. I always hated
explaining preternatural things to people who had no skill in the
area. It was like having quantum physics explained to me. I could
follow the concepts, but I had to take their word for it on the
math. The math was beyond me, hated to admit it, but it was. But
not understanding quantum physics wouldn't get me killed. Not
understanding preternatural creatures might get Freemont
killed.
"I'm not stupid, Blake. Explain it to me."
"I don't think you're stupid, Detective Freemont. It's just hard
to explain. I was riding with two uniforms in St. Louis. They were
transporting me from a crime scene, playing taxi. The driver
spotted this guy just walking along. He pulled over, put him up
against a car. The guy was carrying a weapon, and was wanted in
another state for armed robbery. If I'd been in a room with him,
I'd have noticed the gun, but just passing by in a car, no way. I
wouldn't have seen it. Even his partner asked him how he spotted
him. He couldn't explain so that we could do it, but he knew how to
do it."
"So it's practice?" Freemont said.
I sighed. "In part, but hell, Detective, I raise the dead for a
living. I have some preternatural abilities. It gives me a leg
up."
"How the hell are we supposed to police creatures, Ms. Blake? If
Bouvier had pulled a gun, we'd have sat there and let him shoot us.
We just sort of woke up and he wasn't there anymore. I've never
seen anything like it."
"There are things you can do to protect yourself from fairie
glamor," I said.
"What?"
"A four-leaf clover will break glamor, but it won't keep the fey
from killing you by hand. There are other plants you can wear, or
carry that break glamor: Saint-John's-wort, red verbena, daisies,
rowan, and ash. My choice would be an ointment made of either
four-leaf clovers or Saint-John's-wort. Spread it on your eyelids,
mouth, ears, and hands. It'll make you proof against glamor."
"Where do I get this stuff?"
I thought about that for a second. "Well, in St. Louis I'd know
where to go. Here, try health-food stores and occult shops. Any
fairie ointment will be hard to find because we don't have any
fairies native to this country. Ointment from four-leaf clovers is
very expensive, and rare. Try for the Saint-John's-wort."
She sighed. "Will this ointment work on any mind control, like
for vamps?"
"Nope," I said. "You could drop a vamp in a whole tub of
Saint-John's-wort and it wouldn't give a damn."
"What do you do against vampires, then?"
"Keep your cross, avoid eye contact, pray. They can do things
that'll make Magnus look like an amateur."
She rubbed her eyes, smearing eye shadow on the ball of her
thumb. She suddenly looked tired. "How do we protect the public
against something like that?"
"You don't," I said.
"Yes, we do," she said. "We have to; it's our job."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't try. "So you
thought it was Magnus because he ran, and he doesn't have an
alibi?"
"Why else would he run?"
"I don't know," I said. "But he didn't do it. I saw the thing in
the woods. It wasn't Magnus. Hell, I've only heard about vampires
forming from shadows. I'd never seen it before."
She looked at me. "You've never seen it before. That's not
comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be. But since it wasn't Magnus, you can call
off the warrant."
She shook her head. "He used magic on police officers while
committing a crime. That's a class C felony."
"What was his crime?"
"Escaping."
"But he wasn't under arrest."
"I had a warrant for his arrest," she said.
"You didn't have enough for a warrant," I said.
"Helps to know the right judge."
"He didn't kill those kids, or Coltrain."
"You pointed the finger at him," she said.
"Just an alternate possibility. With five people dead, I
couldn't afford to be wrong."
She stood. "Well, you got your wish. It was vampires, and I
don't know why the hell Magnus Bouvier ran from us. But just using
magic on a police officer is a felony."
"Even if he was innocent of the original crime you were trying
to bring him in on?" I asked.
"Felonious use of magic is a serious crime, Ms. Blake. There's a
warrant for his arrest. You see him, you remember that."
"I know Magnus isn't nice people, Detective Freemont. I don't
know why he ran, but if you put out the word that he used magic on
cops, someone'll shoot him."
"He's dangerous, Ms. Blake."
"Yeah, but so are a lot of people, Detective. You don't hunt
them down and arrest them for it."
She nodded. "We've all got prejudices, Ms. Blake; makes us all
wrong once in a while. At least here we know what did it."
"Yeah," I said. "We know what did it."
"Do you know when the girl's body was taken?" she asked. She got
a notebook out of her coat pocket. Down to business.
I shook my head. "No. It was just gone when I went up."
"What made you think to check on the body?"
I looked at her. Her eyes were pleasant and unreadable. "They'd
gone to a lot of trouble to make her one of them. I thought they
might try to get her. They did."
"The father's making noises that he asked you to stake her body
before you went out after the vampires. Is that true?" Her voice
was soft, matter-of-fact. But she was paying attention to the
answers. She didn't take as many notes as Dolph did. The notebook
seemed to be more something to do with her hands than anything
else. I was finally seeing Freemont doing her job. She seemed good
at it. That was reassuring.
"Yeah, that's true."
"Why didn't you stake the girl when the parents requested
it?"
"I had a father. A widower. His daughter and only child got bit.
He wanted her staked. I did it that night, right away. Next morning
he's in my office crying, wanting me to undo it. Wanting me to
bring her back as a vampire." I leaned back into the couch, hugging
myself. "You put a stake through a new vamp's heart, and it's dead
for good."
"I thought you had to take a vampire's head to be sure."
"You do," I said. "If I had staked the Quinlan girl, I would
have taken out her heart, cut off her head." I shook my head.
"There isn't much left."
She drew something on her note pad. I couldn't see what. I was
betting it was a doodle and not a word. "I see why you wanted to
wait, but Mr. Quinlan is talking about suing you."
"Yeah, I know."
Freemont raised her eyebrows. "Just thought you'd want to
know."
"Thanks."
"We haven't found the boy's body yet."
"I don't think you will," I said.
Her eyes didn't look pleasant anymore. They looked narrow and
suspicious. "Why?"
"If they wanted to kill him, they could have done it here,
tonight. I think they want to make him one of them."
"Why?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. But usually when a vampire takes this
personal an interest in a family, there's a reason for it."
"You mean a motive?"
I nodded. "You've seen the Quinlans. They're devout Catholics.
The church sees vampirism as suicide. Their children will be damned
for all eternity if they become vampires."
"Worse than just killing them," she said.
"To the Quinlans, I think so."
"You think the vampires will be back to get the parents?"
I thought about that for a minute. "Hell, I don't know. I mean,
before vampires were legal you had some cases where a master vamp
would take out entire families. Sometimes befriend them first.
Sometimes just for revenge for some slight. But since they've been
legal, I don't know why the vamp would do it. I mean, the vampire
can take them to court. What could the Quinlans have done that was
bad enough for this?"
The doors opened. Freemont turned, a frown already in place. Two
men appeared in the doorway. They were both dressed in dark suits,
dark ties, white shirts. Standard federal issue. One was short and
white, the other tall and black. That alone should have made them
look different, but there was a sameness to them, like the same
cookie cutter had been used no matter how well cooked the outside
was.
The shorter of the two flipped his badge at us. "I'm Special
Agent Bradford, this is Agent Elwood. Which one of you is Detective
Freemont?"
Freemont walked towards them with her hand out. Showing she was
unarmed and friendly. Yeah, right. "I'm Detective Freemont. This is
Anita Blake."
I appreciated being included in the introductions. I stood up
and joined the foursome.
Agent Bradford looked at me for a long time. Long enough that it
got on my nerves. "Is there something wrong, Agent Bradford?"
He shook his head. "I attended Sergeant Storr's lectures at
Quantico. The way he talked about you, I thought you'd be bigger."
He smiled when he said it, halfway between friendly and
condescending.
A lot of scathing comebacks came to mind, but never get in a
pissing contest with the Feds. You'll lose. "Sorry to disappoint
you."
"We've already talked with Officer Wallace. He makes you sound
taller, too."
I shrugged. "Hard to make me sound shorter."
He smiled. "We'd like to speak with Detective Freemont in
private, Ms. Blake. But don't go far; we'll want a statement from
you and your associate, Mr. Kirkland."
"Sure."
"I took Ms. Blake's statement personally," Freemont said. "I
don't think we need her any more tonight."
Bradford looked at her. "I think we'll be the judge of
that."
"If Ms. Blake had called me in when there was only one body on
the ground, there wouldn't be two dead policemen, and a dead
civilian," Freemont said.
I just looked at her. Somebody's ass was going to be in a sling,
and Freemont didn't want it to be hers. Fine.
"Don't forget the missing boy," I said. Everyone looked at me.
"You want to start pointing fingers, fine; there's enough blame to
go around. If you hadn't chased me off earlier, I might have called
you in, but I did call the state police. If you'd told your
superiors everything I told you, they'd have connected the two
cases, and you'd have been here anyway."
"I had enough men with me to cover the house and the civilians,"
Freemont said. "Not including me cost lives."
I nodded. "Probably. But you'd have come down here and kicked me
out again. You'd have taken St. John and his people out in the dark
with five vampires, one of them ancient, when all you've seen is
pictures of vampire kills. They'd have slaughtered you, but maybe,
just maybe, Beth St. John would be alive. Maybe Jeff Quinlan would
still be here."
I stared up at her, and watched the anger drain from her eyes.
We looked at each other. "It took both of us to fuck this one up,
Sergeant." I turned back to the two agents. "I'll wait
outside."
"Wait," Bradford said. "Storr said that sometimes the legal
vampire community will help on a case like this. Who do I talk to
down here?"
"Why would they hunt down one of their own?" Agent Elwood
asked.
"This kind of shit is bad for business. Especially right now
with Senator Brewster's daughter getting killed. Vampires don't
need any more bad publicity. Most of them like being legal. They
like the fact that killing them is murder."
"So who do I talk to?" Bradford asked.
I sighed. "In this area, I don't know. I'm not a hometown
girl."
"How do I go about finding out who to talk to?"
"I might be able to help you there."
"How?"
I shook my head. "I know someone who might know a name. I'm not
trying to give you a hard time here, but a lot of the monsters
don't like dealing with cops. It just hasn't been that long ago
that the police shot them on sight."
"So you're saying the vampires will talk to you and not to us?"
Elwood said.
"Something like that."
"That makes no sense. You're a vampire executioner. Your job is
to kill them. Why would they believe you and not us?" he asked.
I didn't know how to explain it, and wasn't sure I wanted to. "I
also raise zombies, Agent Elwood. I think they sort of consider me
one of the monsters."
"Even though you're their version of an electric chair."
"Even though."
"That's not logical."
I laughed then; I couldn't help it. "God, has anything that
happened here tonight been logical?"
Elwood gave a very small smile. I pegged him as the newer of the
two. I don't think he'd gotten over the thought that FBI agents
don't smile.
"You wouldn't be withholding information from the FBI, would
you, Ms. Blake?" Bradford asked.
"If I come up with a vampire in this area that will talk to you,
I'll give you the name."
Bradford stared at me. "How about if you come up with any
vampires in this area, you give us the names. Let us worry about
whether they'll talk to us or not."
I looked at him for a heartbeat and lied. "Sure." If I expected
the monsters to help me, I couldn't give them all over to the cops.
Only a select few.
He looked like he didn't believe me, but couldn't quite call me
a liar to my face. "When we find the vampires responsible, we'll be
sure to call you in for the kill."
That was more than Freemont had been willing to do. The night
was looking up. "Beep me any time."
"We'll talk to Sergeant Freemont now, Ms. Blake." I was
dismissed. Fine with me. He offered his hand. I took it. We shook.
Agent Elwood and I shook. Everyone smiled. I left.
Larry was waiting out in the entryway. He got up off the stairs
where he'd been sitting. "What now?"
"I need to make a phone call."
"Who to?"
Two more men with "Federal Agent" tattooed on their foreheads
walked up the hallway from the direction of the kitchen. I shook my
head and went out the door into the cool windy night. The place was
swarming with cops. I'd never seen so many federal agents in my
life. But hey, the very first vampire serial killer was news.
Everyone would want a piece. Watching everyone mill around on the
carefully tended lawn, I suddenly wanted to go home. To just pack
up and go home. It was still early. Hours and hours left of
darkness. It only seemed like it had been an eternity since we left
the graveyard. Hell, there'd be time to go back and look at
Stirling's boneyard before dawn.
I got in the jeep that Bayard had loaned us. I'd use the nifty
portable phone it came with.
Larry got in the passenger side.
"Private call."
"Come on, Anita."
"Out, Larry."
"Out in the dark with the vampires." He blinked his big blue
eyes at me.
"The place is lousy with cops. I think you'll be safe. Out."
He got out, grumbling under his breath. He could grumble all he
wanted to. Larry wanted to be a vampire hunter, fine; but he didn't
have to be as intimately involved with the monsters as I was. I was
trying to keep him as out of it as I could. Not easy, but worth the
effort.
I'd lied to the nice agents. It wasn't the fact that I raised
zombies that got me in good with the vampires. It was the fact that
the Master of the City, of St. Louis, had the hots for me. Was
maybe in love with me, or at least thought he was.
I knew the number by heart, which was a bad sign all on its own.
"Guilty Pleasures, where your darkest fantasies come true. This is
Robert. How may I help you?"
Great; Robert, one of my least favorite vampires. "Hi, Robert,
this is Anita. I need to speak to Jean-Claude."
He hesitated, then said, "I'll transfer you to his office phone.
It's a new system, so if I disconnect you, call back."
The phone clicked before I could answer. A moment of silence,
and the voice came on the line. You can criticize a lot about
Jean-Claude, but he gives good phone.
"Good evening, ma petite." That was it, all he said,
but even over the buzzing phone his voice was like fur inside my
skull.
"I'm near Branson. I need to contact the Master of the City down
here."
"No 'Good evening, Jean-Claude, how are you doing?'? Just down
to business. How terribly rude, ma petite."
"Look, I don't have time for games right now. Some vampires down
here are on the rampage. They've kidnapped a young boy. I want to
find him before they can make him one of them."
"How young is the boy?"
"Sixteen."
In centuries past, ma petite, that was not considered a
child."
"It isn't legal age right this minute."
"Did he go willingly?"
"No."
"You know that for a fact, or were you merely told he was
kidnapped?"
"I talked to him before. He didn't go willingly."
Jean-Claude sighed. The sound slithered down my skin like cool
fingers. "What do you want of me, ma petite?"
"I want to talk to the Master of the City down here. I need the
name. I'm assuming you do know who the Master is down here?"
"Of course, but it is not that simple."
"We only have three nights to save him, and a hell of a lot less
if they just want a snack."
"The Master will not talk to you without a guide to take you
in."
"Send someone, then."
"Who? Robert? Willie? Neither of them is powerful enough to be
your escort."
"If you mean they can't protect me, I can protect myself."
"I know you can take care of yourself, ma petite. You
have made that abundantly clear. But you do not look as dangerous
as you are. You might have to shoot one or two to teach them their
place. If you got out alive, they would not help you."
"I want to get this boy back intact, Jean-Claude. Work with me
here."
"Ma petite . . ."
I had an image of Jeff Quinlan's brown eyes. His room with its
cowboy wallpaper. "Help me, Jean-Claude."
He was silent for a moment. "I am the only one powerful enough
to be your escort. Do you wish me to drop everything and rush down
to you?"
It was my turn to be quiet. Put like that, it didn't sound
right. It sounded like a big favor. I didn't want to be indebted to
him. But I'd probably live through owing him a favor. Jeff Quinlan
might not.
"Fine," I said.
"You want me to come help you?"
I gritted my teeth and said, "Yes."
"I will fly down tomorrow night."
"Tonight."
"Ma petite, ma petite, what am I to do with
you?"
"You said you'd help me."
"And I will, but these things take time."
"What things?"
"It might be helpful if you thought of Branson as a foreign
country. A potentially hostile foreign country where I am working
to get us safe passage. There are customs to be observed. If I
barge in, it will be seen as a declaration of war."
"Isn't there any way to start tonight?" I asked. "Short of
starting a war?"
"Perhaps, but if you wait one more night, ma petite, we
can enter much more safely. "
"We can take care of ourselves. Jeff Quinlan can't."
"That is his name?"
"Yeah."
He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh that made me
shiver. I would have told him to stop that, but it would have
amused him, so I didn't.
"I will fly down tonight. How do I contact you?"
I gave him the name of my hotel and then, with a sigh, my beeper
number.
"I will call you when I arrive."
"How long will it take you to fly this far?"
"Anita, do you think I am going to fly myself down, as a bird
would?"
I didn't like the faint amusement in his voice, but I answered
truthfully. "It was a thought."
He laughed, and it raised goose-bumps on my arms. "Oh, ma
petite, ma petite, you are precious."
Just what I wanted to hear. "So how are you getting here?"
"My private jet."
Of course, he had a private jet. "When can you be here?"
"I will be there as soon as I can, my impatient flower."
"I prefer ma petite to flower."
"As you like, ma petite."
"I want to see the Master of Branson tonight before dawn."
"You have made that abundantly clear, and I will try."
"Do more than try."
"You are feeling guilty about this boy; why?"
"I'm not feeling guilty."
"Responsible, then," he said.
I sat there, not sure what to say. He was right. "I don't
suppose you read my mind just then?"
"No, ma petite, just your voice and your
impatience."
I hated that he knew me that well. Hated it. "Yeah, I feel
responsible."
"Why?"
"I was in charge."
"Did you do all you could to keep him safe?"
"I had hosts put at every entrance."
"Someone let them in, then?"
"They had a doggie door that exited through the garage, into the
house wall. They didn't want to cut a hole through any of the outer
doors."
"Was there a child vampire among them?"
"No."
"Then how?"
I described the thin, skeletal vampire. "It was almost a form
change. He changed back in seconds. Once he changed back, he could
have passed for human in dim light. I've never seen anything like
it."
"I've only seen the ability once," he said.
"You know who it is, don't you?"
"I will be with you as soon as I am able, ma
petite."
"You sound serious all of a sudden; why?"
He gave a small laugh, but this one was bitter, like swallowing
broken glass. It hurt just to hear it. "You know me too well,
ma petite."
"Just answer the question."
"Did the boy who was taken look younger than his years?"
"Yeah; why?"
Silence thick enough to slice was the only answer.
"Talk to me, Jean-Claude."
"Have there been any other young boys gone missing?"
"Not to my knowledge, but I haven't asked."
"Ask," he said.
"How young?"
"Twelve, fourteen, older if they look young enough."
"Like Jeff Quinlan," I said.
"I fear so."
"Is this vampire into more than just kidnapping?"
"What do you mean, ma petite?"
"Murder, not just biting them, but murder."
"What sort of murder?"
I hesitated. I didn't discuss ongoing police investigations with
the monsters.
"I know you do not trust me, ma petite, but it is
important. Tell me of these deaths, please."
He didn't say please very often. I told him. Not in great
detail, but enough.
"Were they violated?"
"What do you mean, violated?" I asked.
"Violated, ma petite, violated. There are other words
for it, but none better for children."
"Oh," I said. "I don't know if they were sexually assaulted.
They were still clothed."
"There are things that can be done without removing clothing,
ma petite. But the abuse would have happened before the
killings. Systematic abuse over a period of weeks or months."
"I'll find out if they were assaulted." An idea occurred to me.
"Would this vamp ever do a girl?"
"By 'do,' you mean sex?"
"Yeah."
"If pressed for company, he would take a young girl,
prepubescent, but only if he could find nothing else."
I swallowed hard. We were talking about children like they were
things, objects. "No, this girl looked like a woman. She didn't
look young."
"Then, no, he would not willingly touch her."
"What do you mean, willingly? What other choice would there
be?"
"His master could order him to do it, and he might, if he feared
the master enough. Though I cannot think of many people that he
would fear enough to do something he found repugnant."
"You know this vampire. Who is he? Give me a name."
"When I arrive, ma petite."
"Just give me the name."
"So you can give it to the police?"
"That is their job."
"No, ma petite. If it is who I think it is, it will not
be a matter for the police."
"Why not?"
"Put simply, he is too dangerous and too exotic to be revealed
to the general public. If mortals found out we could have among us
such things, they might turn on us all together. You must be aware
of that nasty law floating around the Senate."
"I'm aware."
"Then you must understand my caution."
"Maybe, but if more people die because of your caution, it's
going to help Brewster's law get passed. You think about that."
"Oh, I am, ma petite. Trust that I am. Now farewell. I
have much to do." He hung up.
I sat there staring at the phone. Damn him. What did he mean by
exotic? What could this new vampire do that others couldn't? He
could slim himself down enough to fit through a doggie door. Maybe
it made Houdini jealous, but it was hardly a crime. But I
remembered its face. Not human. Not even just a corpse's face. It
had been something else altogether. Something different. And I
remembered those few seconds I lost, twice. Me, the great vampire
hunter, helpless as any civilian for just a heartbeat. With
vampires, a heartbeat was enough.
Visions of such things would get you talking of demons, which
Quinlan had done briefly. The police ignored him, and I didn't back
up his story. Quinlan had never met a real demon, or he wouldn't
have made the mistake. Once you've been in the presence of demons,
you never forget it. I'd rather fight a dozen vampires than one
demonic presence. They don't give a shit about silver bullets.
Chapter 17
It was after 2:00 a.m. before we got back to the graveyard. The
Feds had kept us forever, like they didn't believe we were telling
them the whole truth. Fancy that. I hated being accused of
concealing evidence when I wasn't. Made me want to lie to them just
so they wouldn't be disappointed. I think Freemont had painted a
less than charitable picture of me. That'll teach me to be
generous. But it seemed petty to point fingers at each other, and
say she did it, when Beth St. John's blood was still wet on the
carpet.
The wind that had all but promised rain had drifted away. The
thick clouds that had obscured the woods while we were playing tag
with vampires were suddenly gone. The moon rode high and two days
past full. Since dating Richard, I'd paid more attention to the
lunar cycles. Fancy that.
The moon sailed the shining night sky, gleaming like it had been
polished. The moonlight was so strong it cast faint shadows. You
didn't need a flashlight, but Raymond Stirling had one. A big
freaking halogen torch that filled his hand like a captive sun.
I watched him start to point it at Larry and me. I raised an arm
and said, "Don't point it at us. You'll ruin our night vision." It
wasn't very diplomatic, but I was tired, and it had been a long
night.
He hesitated in mid-motion. I didn't have to see his face to
know he didn't like it. Men like Raymond give orders better than
they take them.
He clicked off the light. Good for him. He waited with Ms.
Harrison, Bayard, and Beau gathered around him. He was the only one
with a flashlight. I bet that his entourage wasn't worried about
night vision, and would have liked to have had a light.
Larry and I were still wearing the coveralls. I was getting
tired of mine. What I really wanted to do was go back to the hotel
and sleep. But once Jean-Claude arrived I wouldn't be sleeping
anyway; might as well work. Besides, Stirling was my only paying
client. Well, yeah I do get money for killing vampires if it's a
legal kill, but it's not a lot of money. Stirling was financing
this trip. He deserved his money's worth, I guess.
"We've been waiting for a very long time, Ms. Blake."
"I'm sorry that the death of a young girl inconvenienced you,
Mr. Stirling. Shall we go up?"
"I am not unsympathetic to another's loss, Ms. Blake, and I
resent the implication that I am." He stood there in the moonlit
dark, very straight, very commanding. Ms. Harrison and Bayard moved
a little closer, showing support. Beau just stood there, looking
sort of amused behind Stirling's back. He was wearing a black
slicker with a hood. He looked like a phantom.
I looked up at the clear, sparkling sky. Looked at Beau. He
grinned broadly enough for his teeth to flash in the moonlight. I
just shook my head and let it go. Maybe he'd been a Boy Scout,
always prepared and all that.
"Fine, whatever you say. Let's get this over with." I didn't
wait for them. I just walked past them and started up.
Larry, at my side, said, "You're being rude."
I glanced at him.
"Yeah, I am."
"He is a paying client, Anita."
"Look, I don't need you to chastise me, okay?"
"What's wrong with you?"
I stopped. "What we just left is what's wrong with me. I'd think
it'd bother you a little more, too."
"It bothers me, but I don't have to take it out on everyone
else."
I took a deep breath and let it out slow. He was right. Damn.
"Alright, you've made your point. I'll try to be nicer."
Stirling marched up to us, entourage in tow. "Are you coming,
Ms. Blake?" He walked past us, his back ramrod-straight.
Ms. Harrison stumbled, and only Bayard's grab on her elbow kept
her from falling flat on her butt. She was still wearing her high
heels. Maybe it was against the executive secretary code to wear
tennis shoes.
Beau followed with his black slicker flapping around his long
legs. It made a distinctive slap-slap sound that was most
irritating.
Okay, maybe everything was irritating right now. I was feeling
decidedly grumpy. Jeff Quinlan was out there somewhere. He was
either already dead or had one bite by now. It wasn't my fault. I'd
told his father to put a piece of the host in front of every
entrance. I would have thought of the doggie door if I'd seen it,
but I'd never gone that far into the house. Even I would have
thought it was paranoid to guard the doggie entrance. But I would
have done it, and Beth St. John would be alive.
I'd dropped the ball. I couldn't bring Beth St. John back, but I
could save Jeff. And I would. I would. I didn't want to avenge him
by killing the vampire that killed him. For once I wanted to be in
time. For once I wanted to save someone and leave revenge for
someone else.
Was Jeff being violated, right this minute? Was that thing I'd
seen in the Quinlans' living room doing more than just biting his
neck? God, I hoped not. I was pretty sure I could bring Jeff back
from a vampire bite, but combine that with rape by a monster, and I
wasn't so sure. What if I found him and there wasn't much left to
save? The mind is a surprisingly fragile thing sometimes.
I prayed as we walked up the hill. I prayed and felt a measure
of calm return. No visions. No angels singing. But a feeling of
peace flowed over me. I took a deep breath, and something hard and
tight and ugly in my heart let go. I took it as a good sign that
I'd get to Jeff in time. But part of me was skeptical. God doesn't
always save someone. Often He just helps you live through the loss.
I guess I don't entirely trust God. I never doubt Him, but His
motives are too beyond me. Through a glass darkly and all that.
Just once I'd like to see through the damn glass clearly.
The moon shone down on the top of the hill like silver fire. The
air was almost luminescent. The rain was gone, giving its blessing
somewhere else. Heaven knows we could have used the rain, but
personally I was just as glad I didn't have to walk the raw dirt in
a downpour. Mud would have been just too perfect.
"Well, Ms. Blake, shall we begin?" Stirling asked.
I glanced at him. "Yeah." I took a breath and swallowed the
blunt things I wanted to say. Larry was right. Stirling was a pain
in the ass, but he wasn't who I was mad at. He was just a
convenient target.
"Mr. Kirkland and I will walk the graveyard. But you need to
stay here. Other people moving around are very distracting." There;
that was diplomatic.
"If you were going to make us stand here like an audience, you
could have said so at the bottom of this mountain. And saved us the
walk."
So much for diplomacy. "Would you have liked me telling you to
stay at the bottom of the hill where you couldn't see what we were
doing?"
He thought about that for a minute. "No, I suppose I wouldn't
have liked it."
"Then what are you complaining about?"
"Anita," Larry said very softly under his breath.
I ignored him. "Look, Mr. Stirling, it has been a really rough
night. I am just out of niceness right now. Please, just let me do
my job. The faster I get this done, the sooner we go home.
Okay?"
Honesty. I was hoping profound honesty would work. It was about
all I had left.
He hesitated a minute, then nodded. "All right, Ms. Blake. Do
your job, but know this. You have been decidedly unpleasant. It
better be pretty spectacular."
I opened my mouth, and Larry touched my arm. He gripped my arm
not too hard, but hard enough. I swallowed what I was going to say
and walked away from all of them. Larry trailed after me. Brave
Larry.
"What's the matter with you tonight?" he asked when we were out
of earshot of Stirling and Co.
"I told you."
"No," he said, "it isn't just the murder tonight. Hell, I've
seen you kill people and be less upset afterwards. What's
wrong?"
I stopped walking and just stood there for a minute. He'd seen
me kill people and be less upset. Was that true? I thought about it
for a heartbeat. It was true. That was pretty damn sad.
I knew what was wrong. I'd seen too many slaughtered people in
the last few months. Too much blood. Too much killing. I'd done
some of the killing. Not all of it had been sanctioned by the
state. I also wanted to be looking for Jeff Quinlan. I couldn't do
anything until Jean-Claude arrived. I really couldn't. But I felt
like my job was interfering with my police work. Was that a bad
sign? Or a good one?
I took a deep breath of the cool mountain air. I let it out very
slowly, concentrating on just breathing, in and out, in and out.
When I felt calm again, I looked at Larry.
"I'm just a little on edge tonight, Larry. I'll be alright."
"If I said a little on edge with a surprised lilt in my voice,
would you get mad?"
I smiled. "Yeah, I would."
"You've been in a blacker mood than usual since you talked to
Jean-Claude. What's up?"
I stared into his smiling face and didn't want to tell him. He
wasn't that much older than Jeff Quinlan, four years. He could
still have passed for a high-schooler. "Fine," I said, and told
him.
"A vampire pedophile; isn't that against the rules?"
"What rules?"
"That you can only be one kind of monster at a time."
"It kind of caught me off guard, too."
A strange look flashed across his face. "Sweet Jesus, Jeff
Quinlan is with that thing." He looked at me, all the horror, all
the pain, or as much as he could imagine, flowing across his face.
"We have to do something, Anita. We have to save him." He turned as
if to go back down the mountain.
I grabbed his arm. "We can't do anything until Jean-Claude
arrives."
"But we can't just do nothing."
"We aren't doing nothing. We're doing our job."
"But how can we . . ."
"Because we can't do anything else right now."
Larry looked at me for a second, then nodded. "Okay; if you can
be calm, so can I."
"Good man."
"Thanks. Now show me this nifty trick you've been talking about.
I've never heard of anyone who could read the dead without raising
them first."
Truthfully, I didn't know if Larry could do it. But telling him
he might not be able to was not going to help his confidence.
Magic, if that was the right word, often rises and falls on your
own belief in your abilities. I've seen very powerful people
completely crippled by self-doubt.
"I'm going to walk the cemetery." I tried to think of how to put
it into words. How do you explain something that you don't fully
understand yourself?
I have always had an affinity with the dead. Even as a small
child, I always knew if the soul had fled the body. I remember my
great-aunt Katerine's funeral. I'm named after her, my middle name.
She was my father's favorite aunt. We went early to view the body
and make sure everything was ready. I felt her soul hovering above
the coffin. I looked up expecting to see it, but there was nothing
for my eyes to hold onto. I've never seen a soul. I've felt them,
but I've never seen one.
I know now that Aunt Katerine's soul hung around a long time.
Most souls leave within three days, some leave instantly, some
don't. My mother's soul was gone by the time the funeral arrived. I
didn't feel her there. There was nothing but a closed coffin and a
blanket of pink roses over the coffin, as if the coffin would get
cold.
It was at home where I felt my mother hovering close. Not her
soul, not really, but some piece of her that couldn't let go
immediately. I would hear her footsteps in the hall outside my
bedroom as if she was coming to kiss me good night. She moved
through the house for months, and I found it comforting. When she
finally left, I was ready to let her go. I never told my father. I
was only eight, but even then I knew that he couldn't hear her.
Maybe he heard other things. I don't know. My father and I never
talked much about my mother's death. It made him cry.
I'd been able to sense ghosts long before I could raise the
dead. What I was about to do was just an extension of that, or
maybe a combination of both skills. I don't know. But it was like
trying to explain that there was a soul hovering over Aunt
Katerine's coffin. Either you knew the soul was there or you
didn't. Words didn't quite cover it.
"Can you see ghosts?"
"You mean right now?"
I smiled and shook my head. "No, just in general."
"Well, I knew the Calvin house wasn't haunted, no matter how
many stories people made up. But there was a little cave near town
that had something in it. Something not nice."
"Was it a ghost?"
He shrugged. "I never tried to find out, but nobody else seemed
able to feel it."
"Do you know when the soul leaves the body? I mean, can you tell
it?"
"Sure." He said it like, Couldn't everybody do that?
I had to smile. "Good enough. I'm just going to do it. I don't
know what you'll see, if anything. I know that Raymond is going to
be disappointed because he won't see anything, unless he's a lot
more talented than he looks."
"What are you going to do, Anita? They never talked about
'walking a cemetery' in college."
"It's not like a magic spell, a few words or gestures and it
works. It isn't anything like that." I struggled to put into words
something that we had no vocabulary for. "It's closer to psychic
ability than magic. It's not physical. It's not a muscle to move,
or even a thought. It's . . . I just do it. Let me get started;
then if I can, I'll bring you in or try and talk to you while I do
it. Okay?"
He shrugged. "I guess so. I still don't understand what the heck
you're doing, but that's okay. I usually don't know what's going
on."
"But you always figure it out," I said.
He grinned. "I do, don't I?"
"You bet."
I stood in nearly the dead center of the raw earth. Not so long
ago I was afraid of what I was about to do. It wasn't really
frightening in and of itself. I was scared of the fact that I could
do it at all. It wasn't a very human thing to be able to do.
But then, lately I'd been rethinking exactly what made you
human, and what made you one of the monsters. Once I'd been very
sure of myself, and everyone else. I wasn't so sure anymore.
Besides, I'd been practicing.
Of course, I'd been practicing in empty graveyards where there
was nothing but me and the dead. Okay, night insects, but
arthropods never bothered my concentration. People did.
Even with my back turned, I could feel Larry like a warm
presence behind me. It bugged me. "Can you move back farther?"
"Sure; how far?"
I shook my head. "As far as you can get and still be in
sight."
He raised his eyebrows. "Do you want me to go over and wait with
Mr. Stirling?"
"If you can stand it."
"I can stand it. I schmooze clients better than you do."
That was the God's honest truth. "Great. When I call you over,
come slowly. I've never tried to talk to someone while I do
this."
"Whatever you say." He gave a laugh that was almost nervous. "I
can't wait to see this."
I let that go, and turned away. I walked away from him. When I
glanced back, he was walking to the others. I hoped Larry wouldn't
be disappointed. I still wasn't sure if he'd be able to even sense
anything. I turned my back on all of them. Seeing them huddled
there would distract me, that much I was sure of.
The top of the mountain had been stripped. It was like standing
on the edge of the world looking down. The moonlight bathed
everything in a soft glow. It was so bright up here near the sky
without any trees to hide it that the air itself glowed with
diffused light. A gentle wind traced just about head-high. It
smelled green and fresh, almost as if the rain had actually fallen.
I closed my eyes and let the wind touch my skin, ruffle my hair.
There was almost no sound but the singing of insects from below.
Nothing but the wind, me, and the dead.
I couldn't tell Larry exactly how to do it, because I wasn't
completely sure myself. If it was a muscle, I would move it. If it
was a thought, I would think it. If it was a magic word, I would
say it. It is none of those things. It is like my skin opens up.
All my nerve endings naked to the wind. My skin grew cool. It's
like a cool wind emanates from my body. It isn't really wind. You
can't see it. You can't feel it, or no one else can. But it's
there. It's real.
The cool fingers of "wind" stretched outward from me. Within a
ten- to fifteen-foot radius I would be able to search the graves.
As I moved, the circle would move with me, searching.
I raised my arm and waved. I didn't turn around to see if Larry
saw me. I stayed tight inside my private circle. I was holding it
in, trying not to start searching the dead until Larry got over
here. I was hoping he'd be able to sense what was going on. Seemed
logical that it would be easier to figure out if he saw it from the
beginning.
I heard his footsteps on the dry earth. They seemed thunderously
loud, as if I could hear every grain of dirt under his shoes.
He stopped behind me. "Jesus, what is that?"
"What?" My voice sounded distant and loud at the same time.
"Wind, a cold wind." He sounded a little scared. Good. You
should always be a little afraid when you do magic. It's when you
start taking it for granted that you get in trouble.
"Come closer, but don't touch me." I wasn't sure on that last,
but it sounded like a good idea. Better cautious than not.
He came slowly, one hand held out like he was feeling the wind
against his skin. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Anita, it's coming from
you. The wind is coming from you."
"Yes," I said.
His eyes were wide. He looked like his voice sounded, a little
scared.
"If I stood right next to Stirling, he wouldn't feel a thing.
None of them would."
Larry shook his head. "How could they miss it?" His hand hovered
just off my body, almost touching but not quite. "It's colder, or
stronger, or something the closer I get to your body."
"Interesting," I said.
"What now?" he asked.
"Now, I touch the dead." I let go of it, like unclenching a
hand. The fingers of "wind" stretched downward. How does it feel to
go through solid earth and touch the dead beneath? Like nothing
human. It was as if the invisible fingers could melt through the
dirt searching for the dead. This time we didn't have to search
far. The earth was disturbed, and the dead lay on top of the raw
land.
I'd never tried this in anything but a well-organized cemetery.
Where each grave, each body, was distinct. The wind touched Larry
like a stone in a stream. The power rippled around him. He was
alive, and it disturbed us. But we'd been practicing, and we could
work around him.
I was standing on top of bones. Under the earth where eyes could
not see. I tried to step off them, and only stepped on more. The
earth was thick with bodies, like raisins in a pudding. No getting
around them.
I stood on top on a raft of bones in a sea of dry, red earth.
Everywhere I touched was a body—a piece of bone. There was no clear
space. No breathing space. I stood there, huddled in on myself,
trying to sort through what I was sensing.
The rib cage just to the left belonged with the thighbone yards
away. The wind leaked out and touched piece after piece. I could
have put the skeleton back together like a giant jigsaw puzzle.
That was what my power would do if I tried to raise it.
I moved, stepping on the dead, and everywhere I walked I put
bodies together. The pieces stayed separate, but I remembered.
Larry moved with me. He moved surprisingly smoothly through the
power, like a swimmer leaving the smallest possible ripples
behind.
A ghost flared to life like a pale, dancing flame. I walked
towards it. It rose like a swaying snake, watching me without eyes.
There was that thread of hostility that some ghosts seem to feel
towards the living. A jealousy. But if I'd been tied to some
forsaken piece of earth for a hundred years or more, I might be
hostile, too.
"What is that?" Larry whispered.
"What do you see?" I asked.
"I think it's a ghost. I've just never seen one materialize
before." He reached out as if to touch it.
I grabbed his wrist before he could ever have reached. I felt
his power flare to life in a rush of wind that should have poured
my hair back from my face.
The circle suddenly widened, like a camera lens spreading wide.
The dead awoke under our combined power like twigs touched by fire.
Our power spread over them, and they gave up their secrets. Bits of
muscle withered to bone, gaping skulls, all the pieces were there.
All we had to do was call them forth. Two more ghosts rose from the
ground like smoke. It was a lot of active ghosts for this small and
this old a cemetery. And they were all angry at being disturbed.
The level of hostility was unusual.
Combining our powers hadn't doubled the circle—it had quadrupled
it.
The nearest ghost stood like a white pillar of flame. It was
strong, powerful. A full-blown ghost in a graveyard that hadn't
seen a burial in over two hundred years.
I stared at it. Larry stared at it. As long as we didn't touch
it, we were safe. Heck, we were safe even if we did touch it.
Ghosts can't cause physical harm, not really. They can grab you,
but if you ignore them they fall away. If you pay attention, they
can be bothersome. Frightening, but if a spirit causes real harm it
isn't just a ghost. Demon, evil sorcerous dead, but not a normal
ghost.
Staring at the wavering shape, I wasn't at all sure this was a
normal ghost. Ghosts wear out. They fade to haunts, which don't
usually materialize, hot spots that can give you a jolt, then just
shivery places. Ghosts do not last forever. These looked pretty
damn solid. For ghosts.
"Stop!" a man's voice yelled.
Larry and I turned towards the voice. Magnus Bouvier scrambled
up the side of the mountain opposite from where we had walked up.
His hair fell across his face, hiding everything but his eyes from
the moonlight. His eyes glowed in the dark, reflecting lights I
could not see.
"Stop!" He was waving his hands. His long-sleeved shirt was
untucked over jeans. He hit the circle of wind and froze. He put
his hands up as if he was trying to touch it.
Two people in one night who could sense the power. Unusual, but
sort of cool. If Magnus hadn't been on the run from the police, we
could have sat down and had a nice talk about it.
"We told you to stay off this land, Mr. Bouvier," Stirling
said.
Bouvier looked at him, turning his head slowly as if
concentrating on anything besides the feel of power was hard.
"We've tried being nice about this," Stirling said. "We are not
going to be nice any longer. Beau."
The pump action on a shotgun is a very distinctive sound. I
turned towards the sound, gun in hand. I don't remember thinking
about it. I was just looking down the barrel of a gun at Beau. He
was cradling a shotgun in his arms, not aimed at anything. That
saved him. I know if it had been pointed near us, I'd have shot
him.
I was still seeing double. I could see the graveyard behind my
eyes where there is no optic nerve. The cemetery was mine. I knew
the bodies. I knew the ghosts. I knew where all the pieces lay. I
stared down the gun, seeing Beau and the shotgun, but inside my
head the dead still reached out for their scattered parts.
The ghosts were still real. The power had agitated them. They'd
dance and sway on their own for a while. But they'd fade back into
the ground. There was more than one way to raise the dead, but not
permanently.
I couldn't look away from the shotgun to see what Bouvier was
doing. "Anita, please don't raise the dead." His surprisingly deep
voice held a note of pleading.
I fought an urge to glance at him. "Why not, Magnus?"
"Get off my land," Stirling said.
"This is not your land."
"Get off my land or you will be shot for trespassing."
Beau glanced my way. "Mr. Stirling?" He was being very careful
that the shotgun stayed loose, and harmless, in his hands.
"Beau, show him we mean business."
"Mr. Stirling," he said again, with a little more urgency in his
voice.
"Do what I pay you for," Stirling said.
He started to raise the shotgun to his shoulder, but slowly,
watching me.
"Don't do it," I said. I let my breath out all the way until my
body was still and quiet. There was nothing but the gun and what I
was aiming at.
Beau lowered the shotgun.
I took a breath and said, "Put it on the ground, now."
"Ms. Blake, this is none of your business," Stirling said.
"You are not going to shoot someone for trespassing on a piece
of land while I watch."
Larry had his gun out too, now. It wasn't pointed at anybody in
particular, which I was grateful for. Pointed guns have a tendency
to go off if you don't know what you're doing.
"On the ground, Beau, now. I won't ask a third time."
He laid the shotgun on the ground.
"I pay your salary."
"You don't pay me enough to get killed."
Stirling made an exasperated sound and moved forward as if he
would pick up the gun himself.
"Don't touch it, Raymond. You'll bleed just as easy as anybody
else."
He turned to me. "I cannot believe that you would hold me at
gunpoint on my own property."
I lowered my gun arm just a touch; it gets shaky if you hold a
shooting pose too long. "I cannot believe that you had Beau come up
here armed. You knew my little show would attract Bouvier. You knew
it and planned for it. You cold-blooded son of a bitch."
"Mr. Kirkland, are you going to let her talk to me like that? I
am a client."
Larry shook his head. "I'm with her on this one, Mr. Stirling.
You were going to ambush that man. Murder him. Why?"
"Good question," I said. "Why are you so afraid of the Bouvier
family? Or is it just him that you're afraid of?"
"I am afraid of no one. Come along; we will leave you to your
new friend." He marched away, and the others followed. Beau sort of
hesitated.
"I'll bring the shotgun down for you," I said.
He nodded. "Figured that."
"And you better not be waiting down there with another gun."
He looked at me for a long minute. At both of us. He shook his
head. "I'm going home to my wife."
"You do that, Beau," I said.
He walked away, black slicker flapping against his legs. He
hesitated, then said, "I'm out of it from now on. Money doesn't
spend if you're dead."
I knew a few vampires that would argue with him, but I said,
"Glad to hear it."
"I just don't want to get shot," he said. He walked away down
the slope, out of sight.
I stood there with the Browning pointed skyward. I turned in a
slow circle, surveying the mountaintop. We were alone, the three of
us. So why didn't I want to put my gun up?
Magnus took a step up the slope and stopped. He raised slender
hands towards the power-charged air. He trailed fingertips down it,
like it was water. I felt the ripples of his touch shiver down my
skin, tremble through my magic.
No, I wasn't putting my gun up yet.
"What was that?" Larry asked. His gun was still out, pointed at
the ground.
Bouvier moved his gleaming eyes to Larry. "He is not a
necromancer, Anita, but he is more than he seems."
"Aren't we all," I said. "Why didn't you want me to raise the
dead, Magnus?"
He stared up at me. His eyes were full of glinting lights like
reflections in a pool, but the reflections were of things that were
not there.
"Answer me, Magnus."
"Or what?" he asked. "You'll shoot me?"
"Maybe," I said.
The slope made him shorter than I was, so I was looking down on
him. "I didn't believe anyone could raise dead this old without a
human sacrifice. I thought you'd take Stirling's money, try, fail,
and go home." He took a step forward, trailing his hands through
the power again, as if he were testing it. As if he weren't sure he
could cross into it. The touch made Larry gasp.
"With this power you can raise some of them, maybe enough of
them," Magnus said.
"Enough for what?" I asked.
He stared up at me, as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud. "You
mustn't raise the dead on this mountain, Anita, Larry. You must
not."
"Give us a reason not to," I said.
He smiled up at me. "I don't suppose just because I asked."
I shook my head. "Not hardly."
"This would be so much easier if glamor worked on you." He took
another step up the slope. "Of course, if glamor worked on you, we
wouldn't be here, would we?"
If he wouldn't answer one question, I'd try another one. "Why'd
you run from the police?"
He took another step closer, and I backed up. He'd done nothing
overtly threatening, but there was something about him as he stood
there, something alien.
There were images in his eyes that made me want to glance behind
to see what was reflecting in his eyes. I could almost see trees,
water . . . It was like the things you see out of the corner of
your eye, except in color.
"You told the police my secret; why?"
"I had to."
"You really think I did those awful things to those boys?" He
took another step, moving into the flow of power, but he didn't
slip easily as Larry had. Magnus was like a mountain, huge, forcing
the power to go wide around him, as if he filled more space
magically than could be seen with the naked eye.
I pointed the Browning two-handed at his chest. "No, I
don't."
"Then why point a gun at me?"
"Why all this fey magic shit?"
He smiled. "I performed a lot of glamor tonight. It's like a
high."
"You feed off your customers," I said. "You don't just do it for
business. You siphon them; that's fucking unseelie court."
He gave a graceful shrug. "I am what I am."
"How'd you know the victims were boys?" I asked.
Larry moved to my left, gun pointed carefully at the ground. I'd
yelled at him for pointing guns at people too soon.
"The police said so."
"Liar."
He smiled gently. "One of them touched me. I saw it all."
"Convenient," I said.
He reached out towards me. "Don't even think it."
Larry pointed his gun at Magnus. "What's going on, Anita?"
"I'm not sure."
"I can't allow you to raise the dead here. I am sorry."
"How are you going to stop us?" I asked.
He stared at me, and I felt something push against my magic,
like something large swimming just out of sight in the dark. It
made me gasp.
"Freeze, right there, or I will pull this trigger."
"I haven't moved a muscle," he said softly.
"No games, Magnus; you're too damn close to being dead."
"What did he just do?" Larry asked. There was a fine tremor in
his two-handed grip.
"Later," I said. "Clasp your hands on top of your head, Magnus,
slowly, very slowly."
"Are you going to take me in, as they say on television?"
"Yeah," I said. "You've got a better chance of getting to the
jail alive with me than with most of the cops."
"I don't think I'll go with you." Staring down two guns, and he
still sounded sure of himself. He was either stupid or knew
something I didn't. I didn't think he was stupid.
"Tell me when to shoot him," Larry said.
"When I shoot him, you can shoot him, too."
"Okay," Larry said.
Magnus looked from one to the other of us. "You would take my
life for such a small thing?"
"In a heartbeat," I said, "Now clasp your hands slowly on top of
your head."
"If I don't?"
"I don't bluff, Magnus."
"Do you have silver bullets in those guns?"
I just stared at him. I could feel Larry shift slightly beside
me. You can only point a gun so long without getting tired, or
antsy.
"I'll bet they're silver. Silver isn't very effective against
fairies."
"Cold iron works best," I said. "I remember."
"Even normal lead bullets would be better than silver. The metal
of the moon is a friend to the fey."
"Hands, now, or we find out how fairie flesh holds up to silver
bullets."
He raised his hands slowly, gracefully upward. His hands were
above shoulder level when he threw himself backwards, falling down
the slope. I fired, but he kept on rolling down the earth, and
somehow I couldn't quite see him. It was like the air blurred
around him.
Larry and I stood at the top of the slope and fired down on him,
and I don't think either of us hit him.
He scrambled down the raw earth faster than he looked because he
got harder to see even in the moonlight until he vanished into the
underbrush left near the midpoint on that side.
"Please tell me he didn't just go poof," Larry said.
"He didn't just go poof," I said.
"What did he do, then?"
"How the hell do I know. This wasn't covered in Fairies 301." I
shook my head. "Let's get out of here. I don't know what's going
on, but whatever it is, I think we lost our client."
"You think we lost our hotel rooms?"
"I don't know, Larry. Let's go find out." I clicked the safety
on the Browning but left it out in my hand. I'd have left the
safety off, but that didn't seem wise while stumbling down a rocky
mountainside even in the moonlight.
"I think you can put the gun up now, Larry." He hadn't put his
safety on.
"You aren't."
"But I've got the safety on."
"Oh." He looked a little sheepish, but he clicked the safety on
and holstered it. "You think they would have really killed
him?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Beau would have shot at him, but see how
much good it did us."
"Why does Stirling want Magnus dead?"
"I don't know."
"Why did Magnus run from the police?"
"I don't know."
"It makes me nervous when you keep answering all my questions
with 'I don't know.'"
"Me, too," I said.
I glanced back once just before we lost sight of the
mountaintop. The ghosts twisted and flared like candle flames, cool
white flames. I knew something else I hadn't known before tonight.
Some of the bodies were nearly three hundred years old. A hundred
years older than Stirling had told us they were. A hundred years
makes a lot of difference in a zombie raising. Why had he lied?
Afraid I'd refuse, maybe. Maybe. Some of the bodies were Indian
remains. Bits and pieces of jewelry, animal bone, stuff that wasn't
European. The Indians in this area didn't bury their dead, at least
not in simple graves. And this wasn't a mound.
Something was going on, and I didn't have the faintest idea what
it was. But I'd find out. Maybe tomorrow after we got new hotel
rooms, gave back the nifty jeep, rented a new car, and told Bert we
no longer had a client. Maybe I'd let Larry break the news to him.
What are apprentices for if they can't do some of the grunt
work?
Okay, okay, I'd tell Bert myself, but I wasn't looking forward
to it.
Chapter 18
Stirling and Co. were gone when we trudged down off the
mountain. We drove the Jeep back to the hotel. I was frankly
surprised they hadn't taken the Jeep with them and left us to walk.
Stirling didn't strike me as a man who liked having guns pointed at
him. But then, who does?
Larry's room was first down the hall. He hesitated with his room
card in the lock. "You think the rooms are paid for tonight, or do
we pack?"
"We pack," I said.
He nodded, and shoved the card in its little slot. The door
handle turned, and in he went. I went to the next door and put in
my own card. There was a connecting door between the rooms. We
hadn't unlocked it, but it was there. Personally I liked my
privacy, even from my friends. And especially from my
coworkers.
The room's silence flowed around me. It was wonderful. A few
minutes of quiet before I faced Bert and told him all that money
had just flown the coop.
The room was a suite with an outer room and a separate bedroom.
My apartment wasn't much bigger. There was a bar set into the
left-hand wall. Being a teetotaler, that was a real plus for me.
The walls were a soft pink with a delicate pattern of gilt-edged
leaves, the carpet a deep burgundy. The full-sized couch was a
purple so dark it looked nearly black. A love seat matched it. Two
armchairs were done in a purple, burgundy, and white floral
pattern. All exposed wood was very dark and highly polished. I had
suspected I had some kind of honeymoon suite until I saw Larry's
room. It was nearly a mirror of mine, but done in shades of
green.
A cherrywood desk that looked like a genuine antique sat against
the far wall. The connecting door was beside it but opened opposite
so you wouldn't accidentally bump the desk. Monogrammed stationery
graced the desk, along with a second telephone line for your modem
I guess.
I don't know if I'd ever stayed in a room this expensive. I
doubted seriously if Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein would
want to pick up the tab now.
A sound jerked me around. The Browning sort of materialized in
my hand. I was staring down the barrel at Jean-Claude. He stood in
the doorway leading to the bedroom. The shirt had long, full
sleeves that had been gathered in three puffs down the length of
the arm to end in a spill of cloth that framed his long, pale
fingers. The collar was high and tied with a white cravat that
spilled lace down the front of him tucked into a vest. It was black
and velvety with pinpricks of silver on it. Thigh-high black boots
fit his legs like a second skin.
His hair was nearly as black as the vest, making it hard to tell
where the curls ended and the velvety cloth began. A silver and
onyx stickpin that I'd seen before pierced the white lace at his
chest.
"Well, ma petite, are you going to shoot me?"
I was still standing there with the gun pointed at him. He had
not moved. He had been very careful to do nothing that could be
taken as threatening. His blue, blue eyes stared at me. Serious,
waiting.
I pointed the gun at the ceiling and let out a breath I hadn't
realized I was holding. "How the hell did you get in here?"
He smiled then, and pushed away from the doorjamb. He walked
into the room with that wonderful gliding motion of his. Part cat,
part dancer, part something else. Whatever the "else" was, it
wasn't human.
I put the gun away, though I wasn't sure I wanted to. It made me
feel better having it in my hand. Trouble was, a gun wouldn't help
me against Jean-Claude. Oh, if I was going to kill him it would,
but that's not what we were doing lately. Lately we were—dating.
Can you stand it? I wasn't sure I could.
"The desk clerk let me in." His voice was very mild, amused,
whether with himself or with me it was hard to tell.
"Why would he do that?"
"Because I asked him to." He walked around me like a shark
circling its prey.
I didn't turn with him. I stared straight ahead and let him
circle me. It would only amuse him if I kept him in sight. The
hairs at the back of my neck stood up. I took a step forward and
felt his hand fall back. He'd been about to touch my shoulder. I
didn't want him to touch me.
"You used mind tricks on the desk clerk?"
"Yes," he said. That one word was full of so much more. I turned
towards him so I could see his face.
He was staring at my legs. He raised his face to mine, and
somehow that one quick gaze took in my entire body. His midnight
blue eyes looked even darker than usual. We weren't sure how I was
able to meet his gaze. I was beginning to suspect that being a
necromancer had more fringe benefits than just being good with
zombies.
"Red becomes you, ma petite." His voice had grown
softer, deeper. He moved closer to me, not touching. He knew better
than that, but somehow his eyes showed where his hands wanted to
be. "I like this very much."
His voice was soft and warm, and far more intimate than his
words. "Your legs are wonderful." His words were growing softer. A
whisper in the dark that hovered around my body like a line of
warmth. His voice was always like that, touchable. He still had the
best voice I'd ever heard.
"Stop it, Jean-Claude. I'm too short to have wonderful
legs."
"I do not understand this modern obsession with height." He ran
his hands just above my hose, so close I could almost feel it like
a breath of warmth against my skin.
"Stop it," I said.
"Stop what?" His voice was utterly mild, harmless. Ri-ight.
I shook my head. Asking Jean-Claude not to be a pain in the ass
was like asking rain not to be wet. Why try?
"Fine, flirt all you want, but keep in mind that you're here to
save the life of a young boy. A young boy who may be being raped
while we sit here and waste time."
He sighed deeply and walked towards me. Something must have
shown on my face because he sat down in the other chair, not trying
to come closer. "You have a habit, ma petite, of taking
all the fun out of seducing you."
"Yippee," I said. "Now, can we get down to business?"
He smiled his lovely, perfect smile. "I had arranged to meet
with the Master of Branson tonight."
"Just like that," I said.
"Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" he asked. His voice held
that amused edge again.
"Yeah. I'm just not used to you giving me exactly what I ask
for."
"I would give you anything you wanted, ma petite, if
you would only let me."
"I wanted you out of my life. You don't seem to want to do
that."
He sighed. "No, ma petite, I do not want to do that."
He let it go at that. No accusations about me wanting to be with
Richard instead of him. No vague threats on Richard's life. It was
sort of odd.
"You're up to something," I said.
He turned, eyes wide, long fingers pressed to his heart.
"Moi?"
"Yeah, you," I said. I shook my head and let it go. He was up to
something. I knew him well enough to know the signs, but I also
knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't tell me until he was
good and ready. Nobody kept a secret like Jean-Claude, and nobody
else had as many of them. There was no deceit in Richard.
Jean-Claude lived and breathed it.
"I've got to change and pack before we can leave."
"Change your lovely red skirt, why? Because I like it?"
"Not just that," I said, "though admittedly it's a plus. I can't
wear my inner pants holster with the skirt."
"I will not argue that having a second gun will help our show of
force tomorrow night."
I stopped and turned. "What do you mean, tomorrow night?"
He spread his hands wide. "It is too close to dawn, ma
petite. We cannot even drive to the master's lair before the
sun rises."
"Dammit," I said softly and with feeling.
"I did my part, ma petite. But even I cannot stop the
sun from rising."
I leaned against the back of the love seat, hands gripping the
edge hard enough to hurt. I shook my head. "We're going to be too
late to save him."
"Ma petite, ma petite." He knelt in front of
me, staring up at me. "Why does this boy bother you so very much?
Why is his life so precious to you?"
I stared down into Jean-Claude's perfect face, and had no
answer. "I don't know."
He laid his hands on top of my hands. "You're hurting yourself,
ma petite."
I moved my hands out from under his, crossing my arms over my
stomach. Jean-Claude remained kneeling, a hand on either side of
me. He was entirely too close to me, and I was suddenly very aware
of how short the skirt was.
"I have to go pack," I said.
"Why? Don't you like your room?" Without moving, he seemed
closer somehow. I could feel the line of his body against my legs
like heat.
"Move," I said.
He leaned backwards, sitting on his heels, forcing me to move
past him. The hem of my skirt brushed his cheek as I walked past.
"You are such a pain in the ass."
"So nice of you to notice, ma petite. Now, why are you
leaving this lovely room?"
"A client's paying for the room, and he's not a client
anymore."
"Why ever not, ma petite?"
"I pulled a gun on him."
His eyes widened, his face a perfect mask of surprise. The mask
slipped and he stared at me with ancient eyes. Eyes that had seen
much but still didn't know what to make of me. "Why would you do
that?"
"They were going to shoot a man for trespassing."
"Was he trespassing?"
"Technically, yeah."
Jean-Claude just looked at me. "Does he not have the right to
protect his own land?"
"No, not if it means killing people. A piece of land isn't worth
killing over."
"Protecting our lands has been a valid excuse for slaughter
since the beginning of time, ma petite. Did you suddenly
change the rules?"
"I wasn't going to stand there and watch them kill a man for
walking on a piece of ground. Besides, I think it was a setup."
"A setup? You mean a plot to kill the man."
"Yeah."
"Were you part of this plot?"
"I may have been bait. He could feel my power over the dead. It
called to him."
"Now that is interesting. What is this man's name?"
"You give me the name of the mystery vampire first."
"Xavier," he said.
"Just like that. Why wouldn't you give me the name earlier?"
"I do not want the police to have it."
"Why not?"
"I explained all that. Now, the name of the man you saved
tonight."
I stared at him, and didn't want to give it to him. I didn't
like how interested he was in the name. But a deal was a deal.
"Bouvier, Magnus Bouvier."
"I do not know the name."
"Should you?"
He just smiled at me. It meant nothing and everything.
"You are an irritating son of a bitch."
"Ah, ma petite, how can I resist you when you whisper
such sweet endearments to me?"
I glared at him, which made him smile wider. There was just the
faintest hint of fang peeking into view.
Someone knocked on the door. Probably the manager telling me to
get out. I walked to the door. I didn't bother looking through the
peephole, so I was caught off guard by who was outside. It was
Lionel Bayard.
Had he come to throw us out in person?
I stood there for a second, looking at him. He spoke first,
clearing his throat nervously. "Ms. Blake, may I speak with you for
a moment?"
He was being awfully polite for someone who had come to kick us
out. "I'm listening, Mr. Bayard."
"I really don't think the hallway is the place to discuss
this."
I stepped to one side, ushering him into the room. He stepped
past me, hands smoothing his tie. His gaze flicked to Jean-Claude,
who was standing now. Jean-Claude smiled at Bayard. Pleasant,
charming.
"I didn't realize you had company, Ms. Blake. I can come
back."
I closed the door. "No, Mr. Bayard, it's all right. I told
Jean-Claude about our misunderstanding this evening."
"Ah, yes, uh . . ." Bayard looked from one to the other of us,
as if not sure what to say.
Jean-Claude didn't so much sit in the chair as fold his body
around it. The movement was almost catlike. "Anita and I have no
secrets from one another, Mr . . ."
"Bayard, Lionel Bayard." He walked over and offered his hand to
Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow but took the offered
hand.
The handshake seemed to make Bayard feel better. A normal
gesture. He didn't know what Jean-Claude was. How he could look at
him and think him human was beyond me. I'd only seen one vampire
that could have passed for human, and he hadn't been human at all.
Bayard turned back to me, adjusting his glasses, which didn't need
adjusting. That nervous little gesture again. Something was up.
"What's up, Bayard?" I asked. I'd closed the door and was
leaning to one side of it, arms crossed over my stomach.
"I'm here to offer our most sincere apologies for earlier
tonight."
I just stared at him. "You're apologizing to me?"
"Yes. Mr. Stirling was overzealous. Why, if you had not been
there to bring us all to our senses, a great tragedy might have
occurred."
I tried to keep my face blank. I wanted to frown at him, or look
confused. "Stirling's not mad at me?"
"On the contrary, Ms. Blake. He's grateful to you."
I didn't believe that. "Really," I said.
"Oh, yes. In fact, I've been authorized to offer you a
bonus."
"Why?"
"To make up for our behavior tonight."
"Your behavior was fine," I said.
He smiled modestly. His act was about as sincere as faux pearls,
but not half so realistic.
"How much is the bonus?"
"Twenty thousand," he said.
I stayed leaning against the wall, staring at him. "No."
He blinked at me. "Excuse me?"
"I don't want the bonus."
"I'm not authorized to go higher than twenty thousand, but I
could speak with Mr. Stirling. Perhaps he would go higher."
I shook my head and pushed away from the wall. "I don't want
more money. I don't want the bonus at all."
"You aren't quitting on us, are you, Ms. Blake?" He was blinking
so fast I thought he'd pass out. Me quitting bothered him. A
lot.
"No, I'm not quitting. But you're already paying an enormous
fee. You don't need to pay more."
"Mr. Stirling is just very anxious that he has not offended
you."
I let that one go. Too easy. "Tell Mr. Stirling I'd have thought
better of his apology if it had been delivered in person."
"Mr. Stirling is a very busy man. He would have come himself,
but he had pressing business."
I wondered how often Bayard had to apologize for the big man. I
wondered how often the apology was for telling a fellow flunkie to
shoot someone. "Fine, you've delivered the message. Tell Mr.
Stirling that it isn't the gunfight that's going to make me bail. I
read the cemetery tonight. Some of the corpses are closer to three
hundred than two hundred. Three hundred years, Lionel; that's an
old zombie."
"Can you raise them?" He had stepped closer, hands fidgeting
with his lapels. He was close to invading my space. I'd have rather
had Jean-Claude next to me.
"Maybe. The question isn't can I, but will I, Lionel."
"What do you mean?"
"You lied to me, Lionel. You underestimated the age of the dead
by nearly a century."
"Not deliberately, Ms. Blake, I assure you. I merely repeated
what our research department told me. I did not deliberately
mislead you."
"Sure."
He reached out almost like he wanted to touch me. I moved back,
just enough. He seemed terribly intense. He let his hand drop.
"Please, Ms. Blake, I did not lie on purpose."
"The problem, Lionel, is that I'm not sure I can raise zombies
this old without a human sacrifice. Even I have my limits."
"So nice to know," Jean-Claude said softly.
I frowned at him. He smiled.
"You will try, won't you, Ms. Blake?"
"Maybe. I haven't decided yet."
He shook his head. "We will do anything to make this oversight
up to you, Ms. Blake. It is entirely my fault that I did not
double-check the research department's findings. Is there anything
that I can do personally to make it up to you?"
"Just leave. I'll call your office tomorrow to discuss details.
I may need some extra . . . paraphernalia to attempt the
raising."
"Anything, anything at all, Ms. Blake."
"Fine; I'll call." I opened the door and stood by it. I thought
it was enough of a hint. It was. Bayard went to the door and almost
backed out, apologizing as he went.
I closed the door and stood there for a minute.
"That little man is up to something," Jean-Claude said.
I turned and looked at him. He was still curled in the chair,
looking scrumptious.
"I didn't need vampiric powers to tell me that."
"Neither," he said, "did I." He rose from the chair easily. If
I'd curled up in a chair like that, I'd have been stiff.
"I've got to tell Larry that he can stop packing. I don't
understand why we're still hired, but we are."
"Can anyone else raise the graveyard?"
"Not without a human sacrifice, maybe not even then," I
said.
"They need you, ma petite. From the little man's
anxiety, they must need the dead raised very badly."
"Millions of dollars are at stake."
"I do not think money is all that is at stake," he said.
I shook my head. "Me either."
He came to join me by the door. "What extra paraphernalia will
you need to raise a three-hundred-year-old corpse, ma
petite?"
I shrugged. "A bigger death. I'd originally thought to use a
couple of goats." I opened the door.
"What are you thinking about using now?"
"An elephant, maybe," I said.
We were out in the hall and he was staring at me.
"I'm kidding. Honest. Besides, elephants are an endangered
species. I was thinking maybe a cow."
Jean-Claude stared down at me for a long space of moments, his
face very serious. "Remember, ma petite, I can tell if you
are lying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You meant the elephant comment."
I frowned up at him. What could I say? "Okay, but just for a
minute. I wouldn't really do in an elephant. I'm telling the
truth."
"Yes, ma petite, I know."
I hadn't really meant the crack about the elephant. Not really.
It was just the biggest animal I could think of on short notice.
And if I was going to attempt to raise several
three-hundred-year-old corpses, I was going to need something big.
I didn't think a cow would do. Hell, I didn't think a herd of cows
would do it. I just hadn't thought of a good alternative yet.
But no elephants, I promise. Besides, can you imagine trying to
slit the throat of an elephant? The logistics of just getting one
to hold still while you killed it were mind boggling. There's a
reason why most sacrifices are our size or smaller. Makes it easier
to hold them down.
"We can't just leave Jeff with that monster," Larry said. He was
standing in the middle of his forest green carpet. Jean-Claude was
sitting in the corner of the green patterned couch. He was looking
amused, like a cat that had found a very interesting mouse.
"We aren't leaving him," I said. "We just can't go looking for
him tonight."
He whirled and pointed a finger at Jean-Claude. "Why, because he
says so?"
Jean-Claude's smile widened. Definitely amused.
"Check the time, Larry. It'll be dawn soon. All the vampires
will be asnooze in their coffins."
Larry shook his head. The look on his face reminded me of me.
Stubborn, not wanting to accept it. "We have to do something,
Anita."
"We can't talk to vampires during daylight hours, Larry. That's
just the way it is."
"And what happens to Jeff today, while we wait for the sun to go
down?" His pale skin had gone almost white. His freckles looked
like brown ink spots. His pale blue eyes glittered like angry
glass. I'd never seen Larry so mad. Hell, I'd never seen him
angry.
I glanced at Jean-Claude; he just looked at me. I was on my own.
Wasn't I always. "Xavier will have to sleep. He won't be able to
harm Jeff once the sun rises."
Larry shook his head. "Will we get him back in time?"
I wanted to say "Sure," but I wouldn't lie. "I don't know. I
hope so."
His soft, Howdy-Doody face was set in very stubborn lines. I
looked at him and understood why so many people underestimate me.
He looked so harmless. Hell, he was sort of harmless, but he was
armed now, and learning how to be dangerous. And in his face for
the first time I saw a grim purpose building. I'd planned on
leaving him behind when I went to talk to the Master of Branson.
Looking at him now, I wasn't sure he was going to let me do that.
He'd had his first vampire hunt tonight. I'd managed to keep him
out of the rough stuff until now. But it wasn't going to last. I'd
been hoping he'd give up the idea of hunting vampires. Staring into
his glittering eyes, I realized I was the one who was fooling
myself. In his own way Larry was as stubborn as I was. Frightening
thought, that. But for tonight he was safe.
"You couldn't just comfort me? Tell me we'll find him?" Larry
asked.
I smiled. "I try not to lie to you, if I can avoid it."
"For once," Larry said, "I'd have liked to have heard the
lie."
"Sorry," I said.
He took in a deep breath and let it out slow. His anger was gone
just like that. Larry didn't know what it was to hold onto his
rage. He didn't brood over things. One of the main differences
between us. I never forgave anyone for anything. A character flaw
to be sure, but hell, everyone's got to have at least one.
There was a knock on the door. Larry went for the door.
Jean-Claude was suddenly standing by me. I hadn't seen him move.
Hadn't heard his leather boots slither over the carpet. Nothing.
Magic. My heart was suddenly thudding in my throat.
"Stomp your feet or something when you do that."
"Do what, ma petite?"
I glared up at him. "That wasn't a mind trick, was it?"
"No," he said. That one word slithered across my skin like a low
creeping breeze.
"Damn you," I said softly and with feeling.
He smiled. "We've been over that, ma petite; you are
too late."
Larry had closed the door. "There's a guy out in the hall says
he's with Jean-Claude."
"A guy or a vampire?" I asked.
Larry frowned. "Not a vampire, but if you mean human I wouldn't
go that far."
"You expecting company?" I asked.
"Yes, I am."
"Who?"
He stalked to the door and put a hand on the doorknob. "Someone
I believe you've already met." He opened the door with a flourish,
stepping to one side to let me have a clear view.
Jason stood in the open door, smiling, relaxed. He was my height
exactly, not something you find in a man often. Straight blond hair
barely touched the top of his collar; his eyes were the innocent
blue of spring skies. The last time I'd seen him he'd been trying
to eat me. Werewolves will do that sometimes.
He was dressed in an oversized black sweater that hit him almost
at mid-thigh. He'd had to roll the sleeves over his wrists. His
pants were leather, laced up the side from waist to mid-calf, where
the laces vanished into boots. The lacings were loose enough that
there was a pale line of flesh all the way down.
"Hello, Anita."
"Hi, Jason. What are you doing here?"
He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm Jean-Claude's new
pet."
He said the last word like it was alright. Richard wouldn't have
said it that way.
"You didn't tell me you brought company," I said.
"We are going to be calling on the Master of the City. We must
make a good show of it."
"So a werewolf, and what . . . me?"
He sighed. "Yes, ma petite, whether you bear my marks
or not, most consider you my human servant." He raised a hand.
"Please, Anita, I know you are not my human servant in the
technical sense. But you have helped me defend my territory. You
have killed to protect me. That is the best definition of what a
human servant does."
"So, what? I have to pretend to be your human servant on this
visit?"
"Something like that," he said.
"Forget it."
"Anita, I need a show of strength here. Branson was part of
Nikolaos's territory. I gave it up because the population density
could support another group. But it was still my land, and now it's
not. Some view that as weakness rather than practicality."
"So without any marks at all you've finally got me to play
servant for you. You manipulative son of a bitch."
"You asked me down here, ma petite." A thread of warmth
cut through his words. He stalked towards me. "I am doing you a
favor, do not forget that."
"I don't think you'll let me forget," I said.
He made a harsh sound, as if he had no words for his anger. "Why
do I put up with you? You insult me at every turn. There are many
who would give their souls for what I offer you."
He stood in front of me, eyes like dark sapphires, skin white as
marble. His skin glowed like there was a light inside him. He
looked like some kind of live sculpture made of light, jewels, and
stone.
He was impressive and scary, but I'd seen it before. "Cut the
vampire powers shit, Jean-Claude. It's almost dawn; don't you have a
coffin to crawl into somewhere?"
He laughed, but it wasn't pleasant, it was bitter like the touch
of steel wool. Something to irritate rather than entice. "Our
luggage has not arrived, has it, my wolf?"
"No, master," Jason said.
"Your coffin hasn't arrived?" I asked.
"Either I have chosen a very lax skycab, or . . ." He let the
words trail off, face bland and pleasant.
"Or what?" Larry asked.
"Ma petite."
"You think the local master took your coffin," I said.
"A punishment for entering her territory without observing all
the social niceties." He looked at me when he said it.
"I suppose that's my fault," I said.
He gave that infuriating shrug. "I could have said no, ma
petite."
"Stop being so civilized about it."
"Would you be happier if I was angry?" His voice was very mild
when he said it.
"Maybe," I said. It would have made me feel less guilty, but I
didn't say that out loud.
"Go to the airport and find our luggage if you can, Jason. Bring
it back to Anita's room."
"Wait a minute. You are not moving into my room."
"It is nearly dawn, ma petite. I have no choice.
Tomorrow we will find other accommodations."
"You planned this."
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Even my deviousness knows some
bounds, ma petite. I would not willingly be without my
coffin this close to dawn."
"What are you going to do without your coffin?" Larry asked. He
looked anxious.
Jean-Claude smiled. "Do not fear, Lawrence, all I need is
darkness, or rather lack of sunlight. The coffin itself is not
absolutely necessary, simply more secure."
"I've never known a vampire that didn't sleep in a coffin," I
said.
"If I am underground in a secure place, I forego my coffin.
Though truthfully, once daylight finds me I am insensible and could
sleep on a bed of nails and not know it."
I wasn't sure I believed him. He worked harder than most at
passing for human. "You will see the truth of my words soon enough,
ma petite."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I said.
"You can sleep on the couch if you prefer, but I am telling you
truly that once full daylight arrives I will be harmless, helpless
if you like. I would be unable to molest you even if I wanted
to."
"And what other fairy tales am I supposed to believe? I've seen
you move around after dawn, hidden from light, but you worked just
fine."
"After eight hours or so of sleep, if it is still daylight I can
move around, true, but I doubt you will stay abed for eight hours.
You have clients or something, a murder investigation, some
business that will take you out and about."
"If I leave you alone, who'll see that some maid doesn't come
in, pull the curtains back and French fry you?"
The smile widened. "Concern over my well-being. I am
touched."
I looked at him. He looked pleasant, amused, but it was a mask.
His expression when he didn't want you to know what he was
thinking, but didn't want you to know that he didn't want you to
know. "What are you up to?"
"For once, ma petite, nothing."
"Yeah, right."
"If I find the coffin, I'll need to rent a truck," Jason
said.
"You can use our Jeep," Larry said.
I glared at him. "No, he can't."
"Think of it as expediency, ma petite. If Jason must
rent a truck, then I may have to spend another day in your bed. I
know you do not want that." There was amusement in his voice, and
an undercurrent of something else. It might have been
bitterness.
"I'll drive," Larry said.
"No, you won't," I said.
"It's almost dawn, Anita. I'll be alright."
I shook my head. "No."
"You can't treat me like a kid brother forever. I can drive the
Jeep."
"I promise not to eat him," Jason said.
Larry held out his hand for the keys. "You have to trust me
sometime."
I just looked at him.
"I promise to shoot anything, human or monster, that threatens
me while I'm gone." He made the Boy Scout sign, three fingers to
heaven. "You can bail me out of jail and explain that I was just
following orders."
I sighed. "Alright, dammit." I gave him the keys.
He grinned at me. "Thanks."
I shook my head. "Just hurry back, okay?"
"Anything you say."
"Just get out of here, and be careful."
Larry left with Jason trailing behind. I stared at the door
after it closed, wondering if I should have gone with them. Knowing
that Larry would have gotten mad, but mad was better than dead.
Hell, it was a simple errand; go to the airport and pick up a
coffin. What could go wrong with less than an hour of darkness
left? Shit.
"You cannot protect him, Anita."
"I can try."
Jean-Claude gave that infuriating shrug that meant anything you
wanted it to mean, and nothing at all. "Shall we retire to your
room, ma petite?"
I opened my mouth to tell him he could bunk with Larry, but
didn't say it. I didn't really believe he'd munch on Larry, but I
was sure he wouldn't munch on me. "Sure," I said.
He looked a little surprised, as if he'd expected an argument.
But I was all out of argument tonight. He could have the bed. I'd
take the couch. What could be more innocent? Biker Nuns from Hell,
but besides that.
Chapter 19
I could feel dawn pressing against the windows like a cool hand
when we got back to my room. It was very near. Jean-Claude smiled
at me. "The first time I manage to share a hotel room with you, and
there is no time." He gave an elaborate sigh. "Things never work as
I plan with you, ma petite."
"Maybe that's a hint," I said.
"Perhaps." He glanced at the closed drapes. "I must go, ma
petite. Until darkness." He shut the bedroom door a little
hurriedly. I could feel the coming light pressing around the
building. I'd noticed over the years of hunting vamps that I'd
become aware of dawn, and sunset. There had been times when I'd
struggled from disaster to disaster just to stay alive until that
soft growing pressure of light could sweep the sky and save my
cookies. For the first time I wondered what it would be like to see
it as a danger instead of a blessing.
After he'd closed the door I realized my suitcase was in the
bedroom. Damn. I hesitated, and finally knocked. No answer. I
opened the door just a crack, then farther. He wasn't in there.
Water ran in the bathroom. A line of light showed under the door.
What did vampires do in bathrooms? Better not to know.
I grabbed my suitcase from the floor and carried it out before
the bathroom door could open. I did not want to see him again. I
did not want to see what happened to him when the sun rose.
When the sun had risen enough to pulse against the closed drapes
like pale lemon liquid, I changed into a t-shirt and jeans. I had a
robe with me, but if I was going to greet both Larry and Jason I
wanted to be wearing some pants.
I called down for extra blankets and a pillow. No one bitched
that it was a quarter past dawn, and a strange time to need
bedclothes. They just brought the stuff. True class. The maid
didn't even glance at the closed bedroom door.
I spread the blanket on the couch and stared at it. It was a
pretty couch but didn't look terribly comfortable. Oh, well, virtue
had its punishments. Of course, maybe it wasn't virtue that kept me
out of the bedroom. If it had been Richard curled up in the next
room, then only moral fortitude would have kept me out. With
Jean-Claude . . . I had never seen him after dawn when he was dead
to the world. I wasn't sure I wanted to see. I knew I didn't want
to cuddle up next to him while the warmth left his body.
There was a knock on the door. I hesitated. It was probably
Larry, but then again . . . I went to the door with the Browning
naked in my hand. Beau had had a shotgun last night. Paranoia, or
caution; hard to tell the difference sometimes.
I stood to one side of the door and said, "Yes."
"Anita, it's us."
I hit the safety and put the barrel of the Browning down the
front of my jeans. It was too big a gun to wear in an inner pants
holster, but for temporary holding, that worked.
I opened the door.
Larry leaned against the doorjamb, looking rumpled and tired. He
had a McDonald's sack in one hand, and four cups shoved into one of
those Styrofoam holders. Two of the cups held coffee, the other two
sodas.
Jason had a large leather suitcase under each arm, a battered,
much smaller suitcase in his right hand, and a second McDonald's
bag in his left. He didn't look the least bit tired. A morning
person, even after no sleep at all. It was disgusting. His eyes
flicked to the gun shoved in my waistband. He noticed, but he
didn't comment. Point for him.
Larry never even blinked at the gun.
"Food?" I asked.
"I didn't eat much last night. Besides, Jason was hungry, too,"
Larry said. He came inside, putting the drinks and food on the wet
bar. None of us drank; good to use the bar for something.
Jason walked through the door sideways with the suitcases and
food, but there was no effort to it. He wasn't straining one little
bit to carry it all.
"Showoff," I said.
He sat the luggage on the floor. "This isn't even close to
showing off," he said.
I locked the door behind them. "I suppose you can bring the
coffin up single-handedly."
"No, but not because it's heavy. It's just too long. The balance
isn't right."
Great. Super werewolf. Though for all I knew, all lycanthropes
could lift that much weight. Maybe Richard could lift coffins with
one arm. It was not a comforting thought.
Jason started laying food out on the bar. Larry had already
climbed onto one of the bar stools. He was pouring sugar into one
of the coffees.
"Did you just leave the coffin in the lobby?" I asked. I had to
lay the Browning on the bar to sit down. I was just too
short-waisted to have it down my pants.
Larry sat the unopened coffee in front of me. "It's
missing."
I stared at him. "You found the suitcases but not the
coffin?"
"Yep," Jason said, as he finished dividing the food into three
piles. He'd pushed some of it in front of both of us, but the
lion's share was in front of him.
"How can you eat this early in the morning?"
"I'm always hungry," he said. He looked at me sort of
expectantly.
I let it slide. It was too easy.
"Come on, I fed you that one," he said.
"You don't seem particularly worried," I said.
He shrugged, and slid onto a bar stool. "What do you want me to
say? I've seen some weird shit since I became a werewolf. If I got
hysterical every time something went wrong, every time someone I
knew died, I'd be in the loony bin by now."
"I thought fights for dominance in the pack, except for pack
leader, weren't to the death," I said.
"People forget," he said.
"I'll have to talk to Richard when I get back in town. He hasn't
been mentioning any of this."
"Nothing to mention," Jason said. "Just business as usual."
Great. "Did anybody see who took the coffin?"
Larry answered, his voice sluggish even with the caffeine and
sugar. There's only so much you can do on no sleep at all. "No one
saw anybody take it. In fact, the only guy left from the night
shift said, 'I just turned away for a second, and it wasn't there.
Just the luggage standing there by itself.'"
"Shit," I said.
"Why take the coffin?" he asked. He drank most of his coffee.
His Egg McMuffin sat untouched in front of him. They'd put hotcakes
in front of me with a little tub of syrup beside it.
"Your breakfast is getting cold," Jason said.
He was enjoying himself too much. I frowned at him, but I opened
my coffee. I didn't want the food. "I think the master is flexing a
little muscle. What do you think, Jason?" I kept my voice
casual.
He smiled at me around a mouthful of food, swallowed, and said,
"I think whatever Jean-Claude wants me to think."
Maybe my voice had been too casual. I should really give up on
subtlety; I just wasn't good enough at it. "Did he tell you not to
talk to me?"
"No, just to be careful what I said."
"He says jump, and you say how high; is that it?"
"That's it." He ate a bite of scrambled egg, his face
peaceful.
"Doesn't that bother you?"
"I don't make the rules, Anita. I'm not an alpha anything."
"And it doesn't bother you?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Sometimes, but there's nothing I can do about it.
Why fight it?"
"I don't understand that at all," Larry said.
"Me either."
"You don't have to understand it," he said. He couldn't have
been more than twenty, but the look in his eyes wasn't young. It
was the look of someone who'd seen a lot, done a lot, and not all
of it nice. It was the look I was dreading to see on Larry's face
someday. They were nearly the same age; what had people been doing
to Jason to give him such jaded eyes?
"What do we do now?" Larry asked.
"You're the vampire experts. I'm just Jean-Claude's pet."
He said it like it didn't bother him. It would have bothered me.
I shook my head. "I'm going to call the cops, then get some
sleep."
"What are you going to tell them?" Jason asked.
"I'm going to tell them about Xavier."
"Did Jean-Claude say you could tell the cops?"
I looked at him. "I didn't ask for permission."
"Jean-Claude wouldn't like you bringing in the police."
I just stared at him.
He blinked at me. "Don't do it just because I said that,
please."
"He knows you pretty well for someone who's only met you twice,"
Larry said.
"Three times," I said. "Two out of three times, he's tried to
eat me."
Larry's eyes widened a little. "You're kidding."
"She just looks so tasty," Jason said.
"I've had about enough of you," I said.
"What's wrong? Jean-Claude and Richard both tease you."
"I'm dating both of them," I said. "I'm not dating you."
"Maybe you've got a thing for monsters. I can be just as scary
as the next guy."
I stared at him. "No," I said, "you can't. That's why you're not
alpha. That's why you're Jean-Claude's pet, because you aren't
scary enough."
Something flowed through his pale blue eyes. Something angry and
dangerous. Sitting there with his forkful of scrambled eggs, and a
Coke in one hand, he was suddenly different. It was hard to put
into words, but it raised the hair on the back of my neck.
"Ease down, wolf-boy," I said. My voice was soft, careful. I was
sitting less than a foot away from him. At this distance he could
jump me easy. The Browning was an inch away from my right hand, but
I knew better. I might grab the gun, but I'd never get it pointed
in time. I'd seen him move before, and I wasn't quick enough. Lack
of sleep was making me trusting, or stupid. Same thing.
A low, trickling growl rumbled out of him. My pulse beat a
little faster.
Larry's gun was suddenly pointing past my nose at the werewolf's
face. "Don't," Larry said. His voice was low and even, and very
damn serious.
I eased back off the bar stool, bringing the Browning with me.
Didn't really want Larry's gun to go off right next to my face.
I pointed my gun at Jason's chest, one-handed, almost casual.
"Don't ever threaten me again."
Jason stared at me. His beast lurked just behind his eyes like a
wave rushing towards the shore.
"You start going furry, and I won't wait to find out if you're
bluffing," I said.
Larry had one knee on the bar stool, gun still pointed nice and
steady. I hoped he didn't fall off the bar stool and accidentally
shoot Jason. If he shot him, I wanted it to be on purpose.
Jason's shoulders relaxed. His hands unclenched, leaving the
fork and the drink on the bar. He closed his eyes and sat very
still for nearly a full minute. Larry and I waited, guns still
pointed. Larry's eyes flicked to me. I shook my head.
Jason opened his eyes and let out a deep, sighing breath. He
looked normal again, that tension drained away. He grinned. "I had
to try."
I took another step back, putting my back to the wall. Out of
reach, I lowered the gun. Larry hesitated, but followed my
lead.
"So you tried; now what?"
He shrugged. "You're dominant to me."
"Just like that," I said.
"Would you be happier if I made you fight me?"
I shook my head.
"But I backed her up," Larry said. "She didn't do it alone."
"Doesn't matter. You're loyal to her, would risk your life for
her. There's more to being dominant than just muscle, or guns."
Larry looked puzzled. "What do you mean, dominant? I feel like
I'm missing part of the conversation."
"Why are you working so damn hard at not being human, Jason?" I
asked.
He smiled and went back to his breakfast.
"Answer me, Jason."
He finished off his eggs and said, "No."
"What's going on?" Larry said.
"Mind games," I said.
Larry made an exasperated noise. "Someone explain to me why we
had to pull a gun on someone who's supposed to be on our side."
"Jean-Claude keeps telling me Richard isn't any more human than
he is. Jason's little display helps emphasize that. Doesn't it,
wolf-boy?"
Jason ate the rest of his food like we weren't there.
"Answer me," I said.
He turned on the bar stool, putting his elbows behind him. "I
have too many masters now, Anita. I don't need another one."
"And I've got too many monsters messing with me right now. Don't
add yourself to the list, Jason."
"Is it a short list?" he asked.
"Gets shorter all the time," I said.
He smiled and slid off the bar stool. "Is anybody tired but
me?"
Larry and I stared at him. The werewolf didn't look tired—more
than I could say for us mere humans.
Jason wasn't going to answer my questions, and they weren't
important enough to shoot him over. Stalemate.
"Fine; where are you sleeping?" I asked.
"If you trust me not to eat him, in Larry's room."
"No way," I said.
"You want me here, with you?"
"I told him he could stay in my room on the ride over," Larry
said.
"That was before he pulled the werewolf crap," I said.
Larry shrugged. "You've got the Master of the City tucked into
your bed. I think I can handle one werewolf."
I didn't think so. But I didn't want to discuss it in front of
the werewolf. "No, Larry."
He was instantly angry. "What do I have to do to prove myself to
you?"
"Stay alive," I said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're not a shooter, Larry."
"I was willing to shoot him." Larry pointed to the smiling
werewolf.
"I know."
"Because I'm not trigger-happy, you don't trust me to handle
myself?"
I sighed. "Larry, please. If Jason turned furry in the middle of
the day and killed you, I couldn't live with myself."
"And if he kills you?" Larry said.
"He won't."
"Why not?" Larry asked.
"Because Jean-Claude would kill him. If he hurt you, I'd kill
him, but I don't know if Jean-Claude would avenge you. Jason's more
frightened of Jean-Claude than he is of me. Aren't you, Jason?"
Jason had sat down on the end of the couch on my blanket. "Oh,
yes."
"I don't know why," Larry said. "You're the one who kills for
Jean-Claude. He never seems to kill anyone on his own."
"Larry, who would you be more afraid of, Jean-Claude or me?"
"You wouldn't hurt me," he said.
"If you had to face one of us, which would you prefer?"
Larry looked at me for a long time. The anger drained away,
replaced by something tired and old in his eyes. "Him."
"For God's sake, why?" I asked.
"I've seen you kill a lot of people, Anita. A lot more than
Jean-Claude. He might try to frighten me to death, but you'd just
kill me."
My mouth was open, just a little. "If you really believe that
I'm more dangerous than Jean-Claude, then you haven't been paying
attention."
"I didn't say you were more dangerous. I said you'd kill me
quicker."
"That's why I'm not as afraid of Anita as I am of Jean-Claude,"
Jason said.
Larry looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"All she'll do is kill me, quick, neat. Jean-Claude wouldn't
kill me quick, or easy. He'd make sure it hurt."
The two men stared at each other. Each one's logic was sound as
far as it went. I was with Jason. "If you really believe what
you're saying, Larry, then you haven't seen enough vampires."
"How am I ever going to see enough vampires if you keep me at
arm's length, Anita?"
Had I really kept him out of it that much? Had I overprotected
him? Let him see my ruthlessness but not Jean-Claude's?
"And I'm going to the master's tomorrow night. You are not
leaving me behind anymore."
"You're right," I said. The answer seemed to surprise both of
them.
"If you really believe that I'd kill someone quicker than
Jean-Claude would, I have overprotected you. You have to understand
how dangerous they are, Larry. How deadly, or someday I won't be
around and you'll get killed."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My stomach was tight
with fear. Fear that Larry would get killed because I'd kept him
out of it. It was something I hadn't anticipated.
"Come on, Jason," Larry said.
Jason stood up.
"No. Tomorrow you can be ass-deep in vampires with me watching.
Until you understand how dangerous the monsters are, I don't want
you alone with them."
His eyes were angry and hurt. I'd undercut his confidence, his
self-esteem. But . . . what else could I do?
Larry turned abruptly on his heel and left. He didn't argue. He
didn't say goodbye. He slammed the door behind him, and I fought an
urge to follow him. What could I say? I leaned my forehead against
the door, and whispered, "Damn."
"Do I get the couch?" Jason asked.
I turned and leaned against the door. I still had the Browning
in my hand, though I wasn't sure why anymore. I was getting tired,
sloppy. "No, I get the couch."
"Where do you want me, then?"
"I don't care; just not near me."
He ran his hands down the edge of the blanket, running the cloth
between his fingers. "If you're really sleeping out here, I'd just
as soon have the bed."
"It's taken," I said.
"How big is the bed?"
"King-size, but what difference does it make?"
"Jean-Claude won't mind if I share with him. He'd prefer it was
you, but . . ." He shrugged.
I looked at him, at his tranquil, pleasant face. "Is this the
first time you've shared a bed with Jean-Claude?"
"No," he said.
It must have shown on my face, because he lowered the high neck
of the sweater enough for me to see two fang marks. I pushed away
from the wall and walked closer. Close enough to see that the bite
was almost healed.
"Sometimes he likes a snack when he first wakes up," Jason
said.
"Jesus," I said.
Jason let go of the collar, and it slid over the bite like it
wasn't there. The same way you'd hide a hickey. Jason sat there
looking harmless. He was exactly my height, and had the face of a
knowledgeable angel.
"Richard didn't let Jean-Claude snack on him," I said.
"No," he said.
"No. That's all you have to say."
"What do you want me to say, Anita?"
I thought about that for a second. "I want you to be outraged.
Angry."
"Why?"
I shook my head. "Go to bed, Jason. You're making me tired."
He went into the bedroom without another word. I didn't peek to
see if he changed into a wolf and curled up on the carpet, or if he
crawled into bed beside the corpse. None of my business, or at
least nothing I wanted to see.
Chapter 20
I put the Browning under the pillow with the safety on. At home
with the gun in the special holster I'd added to the headboard of
the bed, the safety would have been off. But I'd look pretty silly
if I accidentally shot myself during the night—day—trying to
protect myself from werewolves.
The Firestar I put under the couch cushion, safety on. Normally
it would have been in my luggage, but I was feeling just a little
insecure.
The knives were in the luggage. Things weren't quite dangerous
enough to wear the wrist sheaths to bed. Besides, they weren't very
comfortable, not to sleep in, anyway.
I had just settled down for a long day's sleep when I realized I
hadn't called Special Agent Bradford. Damn. I threw the blanket
back and padded to the telephone in nothing but a t-shirt and
undies. Yes, the Browning came with me. Doesn't do you a damn bit
of good to have a weapon if it isn't with you.
I dialed the number and got no answer. Fancy that. Didn't
everyone work twenty-four hours a day? I had his beeper number.
Could the news about Xavier wait? Would even having the name help
them? Agent Bradford had made it very clear that I was persona non
grata. First, Freemont had blackballed me; second, the Quinlans
were threatening to sue everybody unless I was kept away from the
case. I'd done such a bang-up job protecting their family, they
didn't want a repeat. They seemed to think I'd get their son
killed. Fancy that.
I had Bradford's beeper number. He'd given strict orders that if
I found out anything I was to tell him, and only him. Made me not
want to tell him a bloody thing. But who was I to say the FBI
didn't have a vampire file somewhere? Maybe the name would mean
something to them. Maybe it would help them find Jeff. Besides,
Jean-Claude hadn't told me not to give Xavier's name to the cops. I
used the beeper number. I left my phone number. Now I could either
go back to bed, and let his return call wake me, or I could sit in
the chair for a few minutes and wait. I waited.
The phone rang in under five minutes. I like a man who returns
his pages promptly. I said "Hello," in case it wasn't him. It
was.
"Special Agent Bradford. This number was on my beeper." His
voice was rough with sleep.
"This is Anita Blake."
A moment of silence, then, "Do you know what time it is?"
"I haven't been to bed yet, so yeah, I know what time it
is."
Another silence. "What do you want, Ms. Blake?"
I took a deep breath and let it out slow. Getting mad would not
be helpful. "I have a possible name for the vampire that's been
slaughtering kids."
"What's the name?"
"Xavier."
"Last name?"
"Vampires don't have last names, as a general rule."
"Thank you for the name, Ms. Blake. How did you get it?"
I thought about that for a few seconds. I couldn't think of a
really good answer. "It sort of fell into my lap."
"Why don't I believe that, Ms. Blake? I thought I'd made myself
clear this evening. You are not to involve yourself in this case,
in any way."
"Look, I didn't have to call, but I want Jeff Quinlan back
alive. I thought the FBI might be able to use the name of the
vampire who took him."
"I want to know how you got the name," he said.
"An informant."
"I'd like to talk to this informant," he said.
"No," I said.
"Are you withholding information from a federal investigation,
Ms. Blake?"
"No, Agent Bradford, I am going out of my way to share
information."
He was quiet again. "Alright, Ms. Blake, you're right. Thank you
for the name. We'll run it in the computers."
"This vampire has a history of harming preadolescent boys. He's
a pedophile."
"Good lord, a vampire pedophile." He finally sounded genuinely
interested in what I was saying. "And he has the Quinlan boy."
"Yeah," I said.
"I would really like to talk to this source of yours," he
said.
"He's a little shy around the police."
"I could insist, Ms. Blake. We've got reports that a private jet
flew in last night, and a coffin got unloaded. It's registered to a
J. C. Corporation. They seem to own a lot of vampire-related, St.
Louis-based businesses. Do you know anything about that, Ms.
Blake?"
Lying to the FBI seemed like a bad idea, but I wasn't sure what
they'd do with the truth. The Feds were investigating vampire
crime, and suddenly a new vamp shows up in town. The least they
would do was question him. The worst . . . well, there was the
vampire in Mississippi that had been accidentally transferred to a
cell with a window. The sun rose, and . . . French fried vampire.
An ACLU lawyer had sued the cops' asses, and won, but that didn't
bring the vamp back. Admittedly the dead vamp was one of the newly
dead. Jean-Claude would have escaped fairly easily, but just
escaping from the law by using vampire powers would get a warrant
for his arrest. Sort of like what was happening to Magnus.
Besides, a vampire had killed a cop last night. The police might
not be terribly careful with any vampire right now. The police are
only human, after all.
"You still there, Blake?"
"I'm here."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Where was the coffin delivered?" I asked.
"It wasn't. It just disappeared."
"So what do you want from me?"
"There was some luggage that went with it. The luggage was
picked up a little while ago by two young men. The description of
one of them sounds a lot like Larry Kirkland."
"Is that so?"
"That's so."
We both sat on our ends of the phone waiting for someone to say
something. "I could send some agents down to your hotel room."
"There are no coffins in my hotel room, Agent Bradford."
"You sure of that, Blake?"
"My hand to God."
"Do you know who runs this J. C. Corporation?"
"No." It was the truth. Until Bradford told me about it, I'd
never heard of the J. C. Corporation. It would only have been an
educated guess if I'd said Jean-Claude owned it. Okay, I was
fooling myself, but so what?
"Do you know where the coffin was delivered?" he asked.
"Nope."
"Would you tell me if you knew?"
"If it would help find Jeff Quinlan, you bet."
"Alright, Blake, but no more helping. Stay the fuck out of this
case. When we find the vampires we'll call you in, and you can do
your job. You're a vampire hunter, not a cop. Try to remember
that."
"Fine," I said.
"Good. Now I'm going back to sleep. I suggest you do the same.
We'll find the vampires today, Blake. And let's just say I don't
believe everything Freemont said. We'll call you in for the
kill."
"Thanks."
"Good night, Blake."
"Good night, Bradford."
We hung up. I sat there for a minute, just letting it all sink
in. If they found Jean-Claude in my room, what would they do? I'd
seen the cops pop a comatose vampire in a body bag, transport it to
the station house, and wait for nightfall to question it. I'd
thought it was a bad idea because the vamp would wake up pissed. It
did. I ended up killing it. I've always felt bad about that
particular kill. It was an out-of-state job. The local cops invited
me in to advise them. Once we found the vamp, they stopped
listening to my advice. Reminded me of now. That vampire had also
just been brought in for questioning.
I was suddenly tired. It was like the entire night just hit me
in one grinding wave. Sleep dragged at me. I had to go to sleep. I
couldn't help Jeff Quinlan, or anybody else, until I'd had a few
hours of sleep. Besides, maybe the Feds would find him. Stranger
things had happened.
I left a wake-up call with the desk for noon, and cuddled under
the blanket. The Browning was lumpy under the pillow. At least I
couldn't feel the Firestar under the couch cushion. I half wished
I'd packed Sigmund, my stuffed toy penguin, but somehow having
Jean-Claude or Jason find me sleeping with a stuffed toy bothered
me almost as much as them trying to eat me. What price
machismo?
Chapter 21
Someone was banging on the door. I opened my eyes to a room
filled with soft, indirect sunlight. The curtains in here weren't
nearly as thick as the ones in the bedroom. Which was why I was out
here and Jean-Claude was in there.
I struggled into the jeans I'd left on the floor and yelled,
"I'm coming."
The banging stopped, then it sounded like they kicked the door.
Was this a federal wake-up call? I went to the door with the
Browning in my hand. Somehow I didn't think the FBI would be so
rude. I stood to the side of the door and asked, "Who is it?"
"It's Dorcas Bouvier." She kicked the door again. "Open this
damn door."
I peeked through the little peephole. It was Dorcas Bouvier, or
her evil twin. She didn't have a weapon in sight. I was probably
safe. I put the Browning under the t-shirt in the waistband of my
pants. The t-shirt was a large and fell to mid-thigh. It hid the gun
and then some.
I unlocked the door and stood to one side. Dorcas shoved the
door open, leaving it swinging open behind her. I closed and locked
the door, leaning against it watching her.
Dorcas stalked through the room like some sort of exotic cat.
Her waist-length, chestnut hair swung like a curtain as she moved.
She finally turned and glared at me with those sea-green eyes that
were a mirror of her brother's. The pupil had spiraled downward to
a pinpoint, leaving the irises floating and making her look almost
blind.
"Where is he?"
"Where's who?" I asked.
She glared at me and went for the bedroom door. I couldn't get
there in time to stop her, and I wasn't willing to shoot her
yet.
When I came up behind her she was two steps into the bedroom,
back rigid, staring at the bed. It was worth staring at.
Jean-Claude lay on his back with the wine-dark sheets pulled up
to mid-chest. One shoulder and a pale, pale arm were stretched
across the dark sheets. In the semidarkness his hair blended with
the pillow to leave his face white and nearly ethereal.
Jason lay on his stomach. The only things under the sheet were
one leg and, barely, his buttocks. If he was wearing clothes, I
couldn't tell. He raised up on his elbows and turned to us. His
yellow hair had fallen into his face, and he blinked like he'd been
deeply asleep. He smiled when he saw Dorcas Bouvier.
"It isn't Magnus," she said.
"No," I said, "it isn't. You want to talk outside?"
"Don't go on my account," Jason said. He rolled onto one elbow.
The silken sheet slid across his hips as he moved.
Dorcas Bouvier turned on her heel and marched out of the room. I
closed the door to the sound of Jason's laughter.
Dorcas looked shaken, embarrassed even. Good to see. I was
embarrassed, too, but didn't know what to do about it. Trying to
explain your way out of situations like this never works. People
are always willing to believe the worst of you. So I didn't try. I
just stood there looking at her. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
After a nice uncomfortable silence that caused heat to wash up
her face, she said, "I don't know what to say. I thought my brother
was in there. I . . ." She met my eyes finally. She was already
regaining her composure, her surety of purpose. You could watch it
solidify in her eyes. She was here for more than rousting her
brother out of my bed.
"Why in the world would you think Magnus was here?"
"May I sit down?"
I motioned her to a seat. She sat in one of the chairs, spine
very straight, perfect posture. My stepmother, Judith, would have
been proud. I leaned on the arm of the couch because I couldn't sit
down with the Browning down my pants. I wasn't sure how she'd take
me being armed, so I didn't want to show the gun. Some people
freeze up around firearms. Go figure.
"I know Magnus was with you last night."
"With me?" I said.
"I don't mean . . ." Heat crept up her face again. "I don't mean
with you. I mean I know you saw him last night."
"He tell you that?"
She shook her head, making her hair slide like fur over her
shoulders. It was eerily reminiscent of Magnus. "I saw you
together."
I studied her face, trying to read past the embarrassment. "You
weren't there last night."
"Where?" she asked.
I frowned at her. "How did you see us?"
"You admit you saw him last night, then," she said. Her
eagerness came back in a rush.
"What I want to know is how you saw us together."
She took a deep breath. "That's my business."
"Magnus said his sister was better at visions than he was. Is
that true?"
"What didn't he tell you?" she asked. She was angry again. Her
emotions seemed to collide, spinning too fast over her face and
voice.
"He didn't tell me why he ran from the police."
She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "I don't know
why he ran. It doesn't make any sense." She looked back up at me. "I
know he didn't kill those children."
"I agree," I said.
Surprise showed on her face. "I thought you told the police he
did it."
I shook my head. "No, I told them he could have done it. I never
said he did it."
"But . . . The detective was so sure. She said you'd told
her."
I cursed softly under my breath. "Detective Freemont?"
"Yes."
"Don't believe everything she tells you, especially about me.
She doesn't seem to like me very much."
"If you didn't tell them, then why are they so sure Magnus did
these horrible things? He would have no reason to kill these
people."
I shrugged. "Magnus isn't wanted for the killings anymore.
Didn't anybody tell you that?"
She shook her head. "No. You mean he can come back home?"
I sighed. "It's not that simple. Magnus used glamor on the
police to escape. That's a felony all on its own. The cops will
kill him on sight, Ms. Bouvier. They don't mess around where magic
is concerned. Can't say I blame them."
"I saw the two of you talking outside under the sky."
"I did see him last night."
"Did you tell the police?"
"No."
She stared at me. "Why not?"
"Magnus is probably guilty of something, or he wouldn't have
run, but he deserves better treatment than he's getting."
"Yes," she said, "he does."
"What made you think he'd be in my bed?"
She looked down at her lap again. "Magnus can be very
persuasive. I can't remember the last time a woman told him no. I
apologize for assuming that about you." She stopped, glanced
towards the bedroom, then back to me. She blushed again.
I was not going to explain how I ended up with two males in my
bed. Surely it was obvious from the blanket and pillow that I'd
slept out here. Surely.
"What do you want from me, Ms. Bouvier?"
"I want to find Magnus before he gets himself killed. I thought
you could help me. How could you have betrayed Magnus to the
police? Surely you know what it's like to be different."
I wanted to ask if it showed, if she could see "Necromancer"
written across my forehead, but I didn't. If the answer was yes, I
wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"If he hadn't run away, they would have simply questioned him.
They didn't have enough to arrest him. Do you have any idea why he
ran?"
She shook her head. "I've tried to think of something, anything,
but it doesn't make any sense to me, Ms. Blake. My brother is a
little amoral, but he's not a bad man."
I wasn't sure you could be a little amoral, but I let it slide.
"If he turns himself in to me, I'll walk him into the police
station. But short of that, I don't know what I can do."
"I've been everywhere I can think of, but he's just not there. I
even checked the mound."
"The mound?" I asked.
She stared up at me. "He didn't tell you about the
creature?"
I thought about lying to see if I could get information, but the
look in her eyes told me I'd blown it. "He didn't mention any
creature."
"Of course; if he had told you, the police would be down there
with dynamite. Dynamite won't kill it, but it would screw our
magical wards six ways to Sunday."
"What creature?" I asked.
"Is there anything Magnus told you that you didn't tell the
police?" Dorcas asked.
I thought about that for a second. "No."
"He was right not to tell you."
"Maybe, but I'm trying to help him now."
"Do you have a guilty conscience?" she asked.
"Maybe," I said.
She looked at me. Her pupils had resurfaced, and she looked
almost normal. Almost. "How can I trust you?"
"You probably can't. But I do want to help Magnus. Please talk
to me, Ms. Bouvier."
"I have to have your word that you won't tell the police. I am
serious, Ms. Blake. If the police interfere, they could loose the
thing and people would die."
I debated but couldn't see any reason the police would need to
know. "Okay, I give you my word."
"I may not have Magnus's way with glamor, but an oath to one of
the fey is a serious matter, Ms. Blake. Lying to us tends to go
badly."
"Is that a threat?"
"Think of it as a warning." The air moved between us like heat
rising off a road. Her eyes swirled like miniature whirlpools.
Maybe I should have shown her my gun. "Don't threaten me,
Dorcas. I'm not in the mood."
The magic seemed to seep away like water running into a crack in
the rocks. You knew it was still there, below the surface. But for
someone who had been threatened by werewolves and vampires, she
paled in comparison. Magnus seemed to have most of the talent in
the family. On the scale of scariness, Magnus was up there.
"Just so we understand each other, Ms. Blake. If you tell the
police and they let loose the creature, the deaths will be on your
head."
"Alright, I'm impressed; now tell me about it."
"Did Magnus tell you about our ancestor, Llyn Bouvier?"
"Yeah, he was the first European in this area. He married into
the local tribe. Converted them to Christianity. He was also
fey."
She nodded. "He brought another fey with him."
"A wife?" I asked.
"No, he had captured one of the less intelligent fairies. He
imprisoned it in a magically constructed box. It escaped and
slaughtered nearly the entire tribe we're descended from. He
finally managed to contain it with the help of an Indian shaman, or
priest, but he never regained control over it. The best he could do
was to imprison it."
"What kind of fairie did he bring over?"
"Bloody Bones isn't just the name of our bar," she said. "It's
short for Rawhead and Bloody Bones."
My eyes widened. "But that's a nursery boggle; why would your
ancestor want to capture one? They don't have any treasure, or
wishes, to give out. Or am I wrong on that?"
"No, you're quite correct. Bloody Bones has no riches or gentle
magic to grant wishes."
"Then why capture it?"
"Most children born of human and fairie blood don't have a lot
of magic."
"That's what the legends say," I said, "but Magnus proves that
wrong."
"Llyn Bouvier made a sort of pact for himself and his
descendants. We would all have fey power, at a price."
She was dragging this out, and I was tired. "Just tell me, Ms.
Bouvier. The suspense is getting irritating."
"Has it ever occurred to you that this might be embarrassing for
me to admit?" she asked.
"No; if that's the case, I apologize."
"My ancestor imprisoned Bloody Bones so he could make a potion
of its blood. But the potion had to be remade periodically,
retaken, or his magic deserted him."
I stared at her. "How did the other fey take this little
idea?"
"He was forced to flee Europe, or they would have killed him. It
is forbidden among us to use each other like that."
"I can see why."
"His barbaric act gave us glamor. Power. But it was still
purchased by blood, Ms. Blake. After Rawhead and Bloody Bones was
imprisoned, my ancestor gave up his potion. He finally saw it as
evil. Though his power faded, his children had the power of fairie
in their blood. So here we are," she said.
"So you've got Rawhead and Bloody Bones hidden in some magic box
somewhere?" I asked.
She smiled, and it made her face seem suddenly young and lovely.
I had no way of judging her age. I couldn't see a line on her face.
"When the magic failed the first time, Rawhead and Bloody Bones
grew to its full size. It is bigger than a person, almost as big as
a giant. It is imprisoned in a mound of earth and magic."
"You say it nearly wiped out an entire tribe way back when?"
She nodded.
I sighed. "I have to see where it's imprisoned."
"You promised . . ."
"I promised not to tell the police, but you've just told me
there's a giant-sized creature capable of mass destruction
imprisoned near here. I have to see that it's secure, that it's not
going to break out and start slaughtering people."
"I assure you, Ms. Blake, our family has managed for centuries.
We know what we're doing."
"If I can't tell the cops, I have to see for myself."
She stood up, trying to use her height to intimidate me. She
wasn't even close. "And you'll bring the police, right? Do you
think I'm that stupid?"
"I won't bring the cops, Ms. Bouvier, but I have to see it. If
it does break out and I didn't warn the cops, then it would be my
fault that no one was prepared."
"You can't prepare for Bloody Bones," she said. "It is immortal,
Ms. Blake, truly immortal. It cannot die. You could cut off its
head and it would not die. The police can do nothing but make
things worse."
She had a point. "I still need to see for myself."
"You are a stubborn woman."
"Yeah, I can be a real pain in the ass, Ms. Bouvier. Let's not
dance, just take me to see the prison, and if it's secure I'll
leave you to it."
"If it's not secure enough for you?" she asked.
"We contact a witch and see what she recommends."
She frowned. "You wouldn't just go to the police?"
"If my home was robbed, I'd call the cops. If I need help with
magic, I call somebody who can do magic."
"You are a strange woman, Ms. Blake. I don't understand
you."
"There's a lot of that going around," I said. "Do I get to see
where Rawhead and Bloody Bones is buried, or not?"
"Alright, I'll show you."
"When?"
"Without Magnus we're shorthanded at the bar, so not today. Come
to the bar around three tomorrow. I'll take you from there."
"I have a coworker that I'd like to bring along," I said.
"One of those in the bedroom?"
"No."
"Why do you want to bring him?"
"Because I'm training him, and when will he ever get to see fey
magic again?" She seemed to think about it for a minute, then
nodded. "Alright, you may bring one other person with you, but no
more."
"Trust me, Ms. Bouvier, one is plenty."
"My friends call me Dorrie," she said. She held out her
hand.
"I'm Anita." I shook her hand. She had a nice, firm grip for a
woman. Sexist but true. Most women don't seem to know how to give a
good handshake.
She held my hand longer than she had to. When she took her hand
back, I remembered Magnus's clairvoyance. Dorrie turned those wide,
eerie eyes to me. She held her hand to her chest like it hurt. "I
see blood, and pain, and death. It follows you like a cloud, Anita
Blake."
I watched horror seep into her eyes. Horror at the brief glimpse
she'd had of me, my life, my past. I didn't look away. If you're
not ashamed, you don't need to look away. Sometimes I would prefer
a different line of work, but it's what I do, who I am.
The look faded from her eyes, and she blinked. "I won't
underestimate you, Anita."
Dorrie looked normal again, or as normal as she had when she
first came in, which wasn't very. Now for the first time I looked
at her and wondered if I was seeing what was really there. Was she
using glamor on me now, to appear normal? To appear less powerful
than she was?
"I'll return the favor, Dorrie."
She flashed me that lovely smile again that made her seem young
and vulnerable. Illusion, maybe? "Until tomorrow, then."
"Until tomorrow," I said.
She left, and I locked the door behind her. So Magnus's family
were the guardians of a monster. Had that had something to do with
why he ran? Dorrie didn't think it was a reason. She should know.
But there was a feeling in the room of power gently moving on the
air currents. A faint whiff of magic traced the air like perfume,
and I hadn't known it until just before she left. Maybe Dorrie was
just as good with glamor as Magnus, just more subtle. Could I
really trust Dorrie Bouvier? Hmmm.
Why had I asked if Larry could go along? Because I knew it would
please him. It might even make up for treating him so badly in
front of Jason. But standing there, sensing Dorrie Bouvier's power
hanging like a ghost in the air, I wasn't sure it was a good idea.
Oh, hell, I knew it wasn't, but I was going, and Larry would go,
too. He had a right to go. He even had a right to endanger himself.
I couldn't keep him safe forever. He was going to have to learn to
take care of himself. I hated it, but I knew it was true.
I wasn't ready to cut the apron strings, but I was going to have
to lengthen them a bit. I was going to give Larry the proverbial
rope. Here was hoping he didn't hang himself.
Chapter 22
I slept most of the day, and when I woke up, I discovered that
nobody would let me come play. Everybody was running scared of the
Quinlan lawsuit, and I was persona non grata everywhere I tried to
go. Agent Bradford sent me packing, and threatened to have me
jailed for obstruction of justice and hampering a police
investigation. That's gratitude for you. The day was a bust. The
only person who would talk to me was Dolph. All he could tell me
was that they hadn't found any sign of Jeff Quinlan, or his
sister's body. No one had seen Magnus either. The cops were
questioning people, searching for clues, while I twiddled my
thumbs, but neither of us came up with anything useful.
I watched darkness fall with a sense of relief; at least now we
could get on with it. Larry had gone back to his room. I hadn't
asked. Maybe he wanted to give me some privacy with Jean-Claude.
Scary thought, that. At least Larry was talking to me. Nice that
someone was.
I opened the drapes and watched the glass turn black. I'd
brushed my teeth in Larry's room today. My own bathroom was
suddenly off limits. I just didn't want to see Jason naked, and I
certainly didn't want to see Jean-Claude. So, I borrowed part of
Larry's room for the day.
I heard the bedroom door open but didn't turn. Somehow I knew
who it was. "Hello, Jean-Claude."
"Good evening, ma petite."
I turned. The room was almost in darkness. The only light was
from the streetlights outside, and the glowing sign of the hotel.
Jean-Claude stepped into that faint glow. His shirt had a collar so
high it covered his neck completely. Mother-of-pearl buttons
fastened the high collar so that his face was framed by the white,
white fabric. There must have been a dozen buttons gleaming down
the pleated front of his shirt. A black waist-high jacket that was
almost too black to be seen hid the sleeves. Only the shirt's cuffs
showed; wide and stiff, covering half his hand. He raised a hand to
the light and the cuffs bent back underneath to give his hand a
full range of motion. His tight black pants were stuffed into
another pair of black boots. They came all the way up his legs, so
that he was encased in leather; black on black buckled straps held
the soft leather in place.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"Yeah, it's spiffy."
"Spiffy?" There was an edge of humor to that one word.
"You just can't take a compliment," I said.
"My apologies, ma petite. It was a compliment. Thank
you."
"Don't mention it. Can we go get your coffin now?"
He stepped out of the light, so I couldn't see his face. "You
make it sound so simple, ma petite."
"Isn't it?"
Silence then, so thick the room felt empty. I almost called out
to him; instead I walked to the bar and turned on the track
lighting above it. The soft white light glowed in the dark like a
lighted cave. I felt better with the light. But with my back to
where I thought he should be, I couldn't sense Jean-Claude. The
room felt empty. I turned and there he was, sitting in one of the
chairs. Even when I looked at him, there was no sense of movement.
It was like a stop-action picture waiting for the switch to go
on.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," I said.
He turned his head and looked at me. His eyes were solid
darkness. The faint light picked up blue sparks from them. "Do
what, ma petite?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. What's so complicated about tonight?
I feel like you're not telling me everything."
He stood in one smooth motion almost like he skipped part of the
process, and was just suddenly on his feet. "It is within our rules
for Serephina to challenge me tonight."
"Is that the master's name, Serephina?"
He nodded.
"You don't think I'll tell the cops?"
"I will take you to her, ma petite. There will be no
time for your impatience to make you foolish."
If I'd been stuck here all day with nothing much to do, but had
had the name, would I have tried to find her on my own? Yeah, I
would have.
"Fine, let's go."
He paced the room, smiling and shaking his head. "Ma
petite, do you understand what it will mean if she challenges
me tonight?"
"It means we fight them, right?"
He stopped pacing and came into the light. He slid onto one of
the bar stools. "There is no fear in you, none."
I shrugged. "Being afraid doesn't help. Being prepared does. Are
you afraid of her?" I looked at him, trying to read that lovely
mask.
"I do not fear her power. I believe us to be near equals in
that, but let us say I am wary. All things being equal, I am still
in her territory with only one of my wolves, my human servant, and
Monsieur Lawrence. It is not the show of force I would have chosen
to confront her after two centuries.
"Why didn't you bring more people? More werewolves, anyway."
"If I had had time to negotiate more of an entourage I would
have, but with the rush . . ." He looked at me. "There was no time
to bargain."
"Are you in danger?"
He laughed, and it wasn't entirely pleasant. "Am I in danger,
she asks. When the council asked me to divide my lands, they
promised to set in place someone of power equal to or less than
mine. But they did not expect me to enter her territory so
unprepared."
"Who are they? What council?"
He cocked his head to one side. "Have you really come among us
so long and not heard of our council?"
"Just tell me," I said.
"We have a council, ma petite. It has existed for a
very long time. It is not so much a governing body as a court, or
police, perhaps. Before your courts made us citizens with rights,
we had very few rules, and only one law. Thou shalt not draw
attention to yourself. That's the law that Tepes forgot."
"Tepes," I said, "Vlad Tepes? You mean Dracula?"
Jean-Claude just looked at me. His face was perfectly blank, no
expression. He looked like a particularly lovely statue, if a
statue's eyes could glitter like sapphires. I could not read that
expressionless face, nor was I meant to.
"I don't believe you."
"About the council, our law, or Tepes?"
"The last part."
"Oh, I assure you we did kill him."
"You make it sound like you were around when it happened. He
died in, what, the 1300s?"
"Was it 1476, or was it 1477?" He made a great show of trying to
remember.
"You are not that old," I said.
"Are you sure, ma petite?" He turned that unnervingly blank face
to me; even his eyes went dead and empty. It was like looking at a
well-constructed doll.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
He smiled, and sighed. Life, for lack of a better word, rushed
back into his face, his body. It was like watching Pinocchio spring
to life.
"Shit."
"So nice to know that I can still unnerve you from time to time,
ma petite." I let that go. He knew exactly the effect he
had on me. "If Serephina is your equal, then you take care of her,
and I'll shoot everybody else."
"You know it will not be that simple."
"It never is."
He stared at me, smiling.
"Do you really think she'll challenge you?"
"No, but I wanted you to know that she could."
"Is there anything else I need to know?"
He smiled wide enough to flash a little bit of fang. He looked
wonderful in the light. His skin was pale but not too pale. I
touched his hand. "You're warm."
He glanced up at me. "Yes, ma petite; what of it?"
"You've slept an entire day. You should be cold to the touch
until after you've fed."
He just looked at me with his drowning eyes.
"Shit," I said. I went for the bedroom. He didn't try to stop
me. He didn't even try. It made me nervous. I was half-running by
the time I hit the door.
All I could see was a pale outline on the bed. I turned on the
switch by the door. The overhead light was glaring, and
merciless.
Jason lay on his stomach, blond hair bright against the dark
pillows. He was naked except for a pair of vibrant blue bikini
briefs. I walked towards the bed, staring at his back, willing him
to breathe. When I was almost at the bed I could see him breathe.
Something tight in my chest loosened.
I had to kneel on the edge of the bed to reach him. I touched
his shoulder. He moved under my hand. I rolled him onto his side,
and he didn't try to help. He was totally passive. He stared up at
me with heavy-lidded eyes. Two thin crimson lines flowed down his
neck. Not a lot of blood, at least not spilled onto the sheets. I
had no way of knowing how much he'd lost. How much Jean-Claude had
taken.
Jason smiled at me. It was a slow, lazy smile.
"Are you alright?"
His hand slid around my waist as he rolled onto his back.
"I'll take that as a yes." I tried to back off the bed, but his
arm was firm around me, holding me. He pulled me down to his chest.
I pulled the Browning on the way down. He could have stopped me,
but he didn't try.
I shoved the gun against his ribs. My other hand was pressed to
his bare chest, trying to hold my face a little above his. He
raised his face towards mine.
"I will pull this trigger."
He stopped with his face inches from mine. "I'll heal."
"Is one kiss worth getting a hole punched in your side?"
"I don't know," he said. "Everyone else seems to think so." His
face moved towards me slowly, giving me plenty of time to
decide.
"Jason, release her, now." Jean-Claude's voice filled the room
with whispers like tiny echoes.
Jason let me go. I slid off the bed, the gun still naked in my
hand.
"I need my wolf tonight, Anita. Try not to shoot him until after
we've seen Serephina."
"Tell him to stop hitting on me," I said.
"Oh, I shall, ma petite, I shall."
Jason lay back against the pillows. He raised one knee, his
hands lying across his stomach. He looked relaxed, lascivious, but
his eyes stayed on Jean-Claude.
"You are almost the perfect pet, Jason, but do not provoke
me."
"You never said she was off limits."
"I am saying it now," Jean-Claude said.
Jason sat up on the bed. "I'll be a perfect gentleman from now
on."
"Yes," Jean-Claude said, "you will." He stood there in the
doorway, still lovely to look at, but dangerous. You could feel it
building in the room, whispering through his voice. "Leave us for a
moment, ma petite."
"We don't have time for this," I said.
Jean-Claude looked at me. His eyes were still a solid midnight
blue; the whites had drowned. "Are you protecting him?"
"I don't want him hurt because he got out of hand with me."
"Yet you would have shot him."
I shrugged. "I never said I was consistent, just serious."
Jean-Claude laughed. The abrupt change in mood made both Jason
and me jump. His laughter was rich and thick as chocolate, as if
you could pull it from the air and eat it.
I glanced at Jason. He was watching Jean-Claude the way a
well-trained dog will watch its master, looking for clues to what
its master wanted next.
"Get dressed, my wolf, and you, ma petite, you must
change as well."
I was wearing black jeans and a royal blue polo shirt. "What's
wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"We must make a show of it tonight, ma petite. I would
not ask if it were not important."
"I am not wearing a dress tonight."
He smiled. "Of course not. Just something a little more stylish.
If your young friend does not have anything suitable, I believe he
and Jason are about the same size. I'm sure we could find
something."
"You'll have to talk to Larry about that."
Jean-Claude looked at me for a heartbeat. "As you like, ma
petite. Now, if you would leave Jason to dress? I will stay in
here until you have chosen more appropriate attire."
I wanted to argue. I didn't like being told what to wear, or
what not to wear. But I let it go. I'd been around vampires enough
to know they admired the spectacular, or the dangerous. If
Jean-Claude said we needed to make a show of it, maybe he was
right. It wouldn't kill me to dress up a little. It might get us
all killed to refuse. I just didn't know the rules in this
situation. I suspected that there weren't any.
I hadn't packed with meeting a master vampire in mind, so my
choices were sort of limited. I settled for a crimson blouse with a
high collar and a spill of lace down the front. There was even a
little frilly cuff at each sleeve. It looked like a cross between a
Victorian blouse and a business shirt. It would have looked very
conservative if it hadn't been screaming vermillion red. I hated
the idea of wearing it, because I knew Jean-Claude would like it.
Except for the color, it looked like something he might wear.
I put the all-purpose black jacket over the blouse. With both
guns, both knives, and a cross around my neck inside the blouse, I
was ready to go.
"Ma petite, may we come out?"
"Sure."
He opened the door and took it all in with a glance. "You look
splendid, ma petite. I appreciate the makeup."
"I look pale in crimson without it."
"Of course; do you have other shoes?"
"I only have the Nikes and high heels. I move better in the
Nikes."
"The blouse was more than I hoped for; keep your jogging shoes.
They are black, at least."
Jason walked out of the bedroom. He was wearing black leather
pants tight enough that I knew he wasn't wearing the underwear
anymore. The top was vaguely oriental with one of those upright
collars and one black button, the kind where a loop of thread comes
over the button. The sleeves were full, and the collar was a soft
shining blue that matched his eyes to perfection. It was
embroidered in yellow so dark it looked gold, and darker blue
thread. The sleeves, collar, and edge of the fabric were
embroidered black on black. When Jason moved, the shirt gaped just
a little, enough to show glimpses of his bare stomach. Soft black
boots rode up over his knees.
"Well, I know who your tailor is," I said. I was going to be
woefully underdressed.
"If you would fetch Monsieur Kirkland. When he is dressed, we
can go."
"Larry may not want to change."
"Then he won't. I will not force him."
I looked at him, not quite sure I believed him, but I got Larry.
He agreed to go into the bedroom and see what other goodies were in
the luggage, but he didn't promise to change.
He came out still wearing dark blue jeans and Nikes. He had
changed his T-shirt for a silk dress shirt that was a rich, vibrant
blue. It made his eyes look even bluer than usual. A black leather
jacket that was just a touch big in the shoulders hid his shoulder
holster. I guess it was an improvement over the oversized flannel
he'd been wearing. The collar of the shirt was spread over the
jacket so that it framed his face.
"You should see some of the stuff in there," Larry said. He
shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it. "I wouldn't even
know how to get into some of it."
"You look nice," I said.
"Thanks."
"Can we go now?" I asked.
"Yes, ma petite, we can go. It will be interesting to
meet Serephina after two centuries."
"I know this is old home week for you, but let's remember why
we're here," I said. "Xavier has Jeff Quinlan. Who knows what he's
doing to him? I want him home safe. It's the second night. We have
to get to him tonight, or find someone else who can."
Jean-Claude nodded. "Then let us be off, ma petite.
Serephina awaits us." He sounded almost eager, like he was looking
forward to seeing her. For the first time I wondered if he and
Serephina had been lovers. I knew Jean-Claude wasn't a virgin. I
mean, get real. But knowing he had lovers and meeting one were two
different things. I realized with a start that it would bother
me.
He smiled at me, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. The
whites of his eyes had reappeared. It made him look almost human.
Almost.
Chapter 23
Jean-Claude walked across the parking lot in his boots and
jacket, looking like someone should be snapping his picture, or
asking for an autograph. The rest of us followed like his
entourage. Which was what we were, whether I liked it or not. But
to save Jeff Quinlan I could do a little bootlicking. Even I will
toady a little if it's in a good enough cause.
"You driving, or do I get directions to Serephina's house now?"
I asked.
"I will tell you where to turn when it is time."
"You think I'm going to run to the cops with directions to her
house?"
"No," he said. That was all he said.
I frowned at him, but we all got in the Jeep. Guess who got the
front seat.
We drove out onto the main road, the Strip. The traffic was
bumper-to-bumper. If traffic is bad, it can take a couple of hours
to drive the four miles that make up the Strip. Jean-Claude had me
turn on a small road. It looked like a driveway leading to yet
another theater, but it turned out to be an access road. If you
knew your way around the smaller roads, you could avoid most of the
congestion.
You would never know from the main drag of Branson but just out
of sight, over the next hill, is the real Ozarks. Mountains,
forests, houses where people who don't make their living off
tourists live. On the Strip it was all neon and artifice; within
fifteen minutes we were surrounded by trees, on a road that wound
through the Ozark Mountains.
Darkness closed around the Jeep. The only light was a spill of
stars pressed against the blackness, and the tunnel of my own
headlights.
"You seem to be looking forward to seeing Serephina, even with
the coffin missing," I said.
Jean-Claude turned in his seat as far as the seat belt would
allow. I'd insisted everybody wear seat belts, which amused the
vampire. I guess it was silly to have a dead man buckle up, but
hey, I was driving.
"I believe Serephina still thinks of me as the very young
vampire she knew centuries ago. If she thought me a worthy
opponent, she would have confronted me or my minions directly. She
would not have simply stolen the coffin. She is overconfident."
"Speaking as one of your minions," Larry called from the back
seat, "are you sure you're not the one who's overconfident?"
Jean-Claude glanced back at him. "Serephina was centuries old
when I met her. The limit of a vampire's powers is well established
after two or three centuries. I know her limits, Lawrence."
"Stop calling me Lawrence. The name's Larry."
Jean-Claude sighed. "You have trained him well."
"He came that way," I said.
"Pity."
Jean-Claude made this sound like a hostile family reunion, or is
that an oxymoron? I hoped he was right, but one thing I've learned
about vampires—they keep pulling new rabbits out of their cloaks.
Big, fanged, carnivorous bunnies that'll eat your eyeballs if
you're not paying attention.
"What's wolf-boy in the back going to do?"
"I do what I'm told," Jason said.
"Great," I said.
We drove in silence. Jean-Claude rarely sweats small talk, and I
wasn't in the mood. We could all have a nice little visit, but out
there somewhere Jeff Quinlan had woken to a second night in
Xavier's tender care. Sort of ruined the mood for me.
"The turn is just ahead to your right, ma petite."
Jean-Claude's voice made me jump. I had sunk into the silence and
the dark hush of the highway.
I slowed the Jeep. Didn't want to miss the turnoff. A gravel
road, like a hundred other gravel roads, spilled off the main road.
There was nothing to make it stand out. Nothing special.
The road was narrow with trees growing so close on either side
it was like driving through a tunnel. The naked branches of trees
curved around us like interlocking pieces of a wall. The headlights
slid over the nearly naked trees, bouncing when the Jeep eased over
a pothole. Naked wooden fingers tapped the roof of the Jeep. It was
damn near claustrophobic.
"Geez," Larry said. He had pressed his face to the dark glass as
far as the seat belt would allow. "If I didn't know there was a
house down this road, I'd turn back."
"That is the idea," Jean-Claude said. "Many of the older ones
value their privacy above almost all else."
The headlights picked up a hole that stretched across the entire
road. It looked like a gully wash where rainwater had eaten the
road away over decades.
Larry leaned over the back of the seat, straining against his
seatbelt. "Where'd the road go?"
"The Jeep can make it," I said.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Pretty sure," I said.
Jean-Claude had settled back into the seat. He seemed totally
relaxed, almost detached, like he was listening to music I couldn't
hear, thinking thoughts that I never would understand.
Jason leaned forward, putting a hand on the back of my seat.
"Why wouldn't she pave the road? She's been here almost a
year."
I glanced back at Jason. It was interesting to find out that he
knew more about Jean-Claude's business than I did.
"This is her moat," Jean-Claude said. "Her barrier against the
curious. Many find our new status hard to accept and still closet
themselves away."
The wheels slid over the edge. It was like driving into a
crater. Miraculously, the Jeep crawled out the other side. If we'd
been in a car, we'd have had to walk.
The road climbed upward for about a hundred yards, and suddenly
on the right-hand side of the road was an opening. It didn't look
big enough to drive the Jeep through, not without scratching the
paint job to hell. The only thing that really told you it was a
clearing was the moonlight pulsing against the darkness of the
trees. That much moonlight meant something was there. Grass had
grown over a scattering of gravel that might once have been a
driveway.
"Is this it?" I asked, just to make sure.
"I believe so," Jean-Claude said.
I eased the Jeep into the trees and listened to branches slap
the sides. I hoped Stirling's company owned the Jeep, and wasn't
just renting. We crawled free of the trees with a last metallic
scritch. An acre of open land spread out before us,
silver-edged with moonlight. The grass was butchered short like
someone had bush-hogged it last fall, and left it naked and
unfinished through the winter. There was a neglected orchard behind
the house. The land rose in a gentle slope up towards the foot of a
mountain. Just beyond the bush-hogged grass was forest, thick and
untouched.
A house sat in the middle of the gentle rise. The house was
silver-grey in the moonlight. Curling flecks of paint clung here
and there, like the last sad remnants of an accident victim's
clothes. A large stone porch graced the front of the house, hid the
door and windows in a well of shadow.
"Turn off the lights, ma petite."
I looked at that dark porch and didn't want to hit the lights.
The moonlight should have penetrated those shadows.
"Ma petite, the lights."
I hit the lights. The moonlight bathed us like a wash of visible
air. The porch stayed dark and still like a cup of ink. Jean-Claude
undid his seat belt and slid out. The boys followed suit. I got out
last.
Large, flat stones were set in the grass, forming a curving
sidewalk to the foot of the steps that led up to the porch. There
was a large picture window to one side of the peeling door. The
glass was jagged. Someone had nailed plywood behind the broken
window to keep out the night air.
The smaller window on the other side of the door was intact, but
so covered in grime it was blind. The shadows were viscous, and
seemed thick enough to touch. It reminded me of the darkness that
the sword had come swinging out of. But it wasn't as thick. I could
see through this darkness. There was nothing there but shadows.
"What's with the shadows?" I asked.
"A parlor trick," Jean-Claude said. "Nothing more." He glided up
the steps without a backward glance. If he was worried, it didn't
show. Jason glided up the steps behind him. Larry and I just walked
up. It was the best we could do. The shadows were colder than they
should have been, and Larry shivered beside me. But there was no
sense of power to it. As Jean-Claude had said, a parlor trick.
The screen door had been ripped off its hinges. It lay on the
porch, torn and forgotten. Even with the protection the porch
offered, the inner door was warped and peeling, exposed to too much
weather. Leaves lay in piles at the edges of the porch railings
where the wind had blown them.
"Are you sure this is it?" Larry asked.
"I am sure," Jean-Claude said.
I understood the question. If it hadn't been for the shadows,
I'd have said the house was deserted. "The shadows would discourage
any casual passersby," I said.
"Well, I wouldn't come trick-or-treating," Larry said.
Jean-Claude glanced back at us. "Our hostess comes."
The pitted, broken door opened. I had expected a haunted-house
screech of rusty hinges but the door opened smoothly. A
woman stood in the doorway. The room behind her was dark, her body
silhouetted against the room and the night. But even in the dark I
knew two things: she was a vampire, and she wasn't old enough to be
Serephina.
The vampire was only a few inches taller than I was. She raised
an unlit candle in one hand. The hairs on the back of my neck stood
at attention, as a trickle of power slid through the room. The
candle flared to life, leaving stars dancing across my night
vision.
The vampire had brown hair, cut so short the hair on either side
of her head had been shaved. Silver stud earrings glittered up the
curve of her ears. One long earring dangled from her left ear. It
was a green enamel leaf on a silver chain. She wore a red leather
dress that was so tight on top, it was how I'd known in the dark
she was a girl. The skirt of the dress fell to her ankles, loose
once you got past the hips. A leather formal; wow.
She grinned at us, flashing fangs. "I'm Ivy." Her voice had an
edge of laughter to it, but unlike Jean-Claude's laugh that always
felt vaguely sexual, or fattening, hers felt sharp as broken glass,
meant to hurt, terrify, not titillate.
"Enter our dwelling, and be welcome." The words sounded too
formal, like a rehearsed speech, or an incantation that you don't
understand.
"Thank you, Ivy, for your most generous invitation," Jean-Claude
said. He was suddenly holding her hand. I hadn't seen him reach for
it. I hadn't seen him move. It was like I'd missed a frame of the
film. From the look on Ivy's face, so had she. She looked
pissed.
Jean-Claude raised her hand, very slowly, towards his lips. He
never took his eyes off her. The way you bow to someone on the dojo
mat, because if you look away they may spill you on your ass.
A line of wax trickled down the side of the white candle. She
was holding it in her bare fist, no candle holder. Jean-Claude
slowly raised her hand and laid his lips on the back of it. The wax
dripped faster than it should have.
He released her hand in time for her to save herself, but she
stood there and let the line of hot wax drip down her skin. Only
the faintest flicker in her eyes showed that it hurt. She left the
wax to harden on her hand. A faint redness spread from the line of
wax. She ignored it.
No more wax dripped from the candle. Usually when a candle runs
that soon, it keeps running. The wax made a little golden pool at
the top of the candle, like a drop of water under tension.
I glanced from one vampire to the other and shook my head. Does
the term "childish" mean anything to you? I didn't say it out loud,
though. For all I knew, this was some kind of ancient vampire
ritual. Though I doubted it pretty damn sincerely.
"Aren't your companions going to come inside?" Ivy stepped aside
with a swish of leather skirts, holding the candle high, lighting
our way.
Jean-Claude stepped to the other side of the door so we would
have to walk between the two vampires to get into the house. I
trusted Jean-Claude not to munch on me. I even trusted him to keep
Ivy from munching on me. But I didn't like how much fun Jean-Claude
was having. Made me nervous. I've never been around vampires that
were having a good time when it didn't get ugly.
Jason walked between them, into the house. Larry glanced at me.
I shrugged and walked inside. He followed at my heels, trusting
that if I went inside it would be okay. It probably would be.
Probably.
Chapter 24
The door closed behind us, and I don't think anybody closed it,
not with hands anyway. Safe or not, these little displays of power
were getting on my nerves.
The air in the room was utterly still, stale. It smelled musty,
dry, with an undertaste of mildew. You knew even with your eyes
closed that these rooms had been empty for a very long time. There
was an open archway to the left that led into a smaller room. I
could see a bed, complete with bedspread and pillows, so covered in
dust it looked grey. A vanity sat in one corner with its mirror
reflecting the empty room.
There was no furniture left in the living room. The wooden floor
was dust-coated. The hem of Ivy's dress trailed in the thick dust as
she moved towards a door in the far wall. A thin line of light
showed under that door. Golden and thicker than electricity. I was
betting on more candles.
The door opened before Ivy reached it. A rich wave of light
spilled out, brighter than it should have been because we'd been in
the dark so long. A male vamp stood framed in the light. He was
short, slender, with a face too young to be handsome, more pretty.
He was so newly dead that his skin still held the tan he'd picked
up at the beach, or lake, or some other sun-soaked place. He looked
frightfully young to be dead. He had to be eighteen, anything
younger and it was illegal, but he still looked delicate and
half-finished. Jailbait forever.
"I'm Bruce." He seemed vaguely embarrassed. Maybe it was the
clothes. He was dressed in a pale grey tux complete with tails, and
a charcoal grey strip down the outside leg of the pants. His gloves
were white and matched what could be seen of his shirt. His vest
was a silky grey. His bow tie and cummerbund were a red that
matched Ivy's dress. They looked like they were going to the
prom.
Two man-sized candelabra stood on either side of the door,
filling the room with moving, golden light. The room beyond was
twice the size of the living room. and had probably been the
kitchen once upon a time. But unlike the front rooms. there'd been
some redecorating.
A Persian carpet was spread across the floor. The colors were so
bright it looked like stained glass. Wall hangings covered the two
longest walls. On one wall a unicorn fled from a pack of hounds.
The other hanging was a battle scene so dimmed with age that parts
of the figures had vanished into the cloth. Bright silken drapes
covered the far end of the room, hung from the ceiling with heavy
cords. A door opened to the left of the drapes.
Ivy sat the candle she'd been holding in an empty sconce on the
candelabra. She moved in front of Jean-Claude. She had to tilt her
head up to look him in the eyes. "You are beautiful." She ran her
fingers along the edge of his jacket. "I thought they'd lied. That
nobody could be that beautiful." She fingered the mother-of-pearl
buttons, starting at his neck and working down. Jean-Claude moved
her hand when she reached the last button before the shirt
disappeared into his pants.
Ivy seemed to find that amusing. She stood on tiptoe, leaning
her hands and forearms on his chest. Her mouth was tilted towards
him, kissable. "Do you fuck as good as you look? They said you did.
But you're sooo pretty. Nobody could be that good a lay."
Jean-Claude laid his fingers on either side of her face,
cradling her jawline. He smiled at her.
Her red lips curved into a smile. She pressed against him,
letting her full weight rest against his body.
Jean-Claude kept his light touch on her face as if she wasn't
leaning full out against him.
Her smile began to fade, slipping from her face like the sun
sinking below the earth. She slid slowly down to stand flat-footed
in front of him. Her face was blank and empty in the cradle of his
hands.
Bruce the vampire jerked her back by one arm. Ivy stumbled and
would have fallen if he hadn't caught her. She looked around
bewildered, as if she expected to be elsewhere.
Jean-Claude wasn't smiling now. "It has been a long time since I
was anyone's meat that wanted me. A very long time."
Ivy stood half-collapsed in Bruce's arms. Her face was harsh
with fear. She pushed away from Bruce to stand straight and alone.
She tugged at the red dress as if to settle it into place. The fear
was mostly gone from her face; just a certain tightness remained
around the eyes.
"How did you do that?"
"Centuries of practice, little one."
Anger made her eyes dark. "You aren't supposed to be able to
capture another vampire with your gaze."
"You aren't?" he asked, his voice lilting with amazement.
"Don't you laugh at me."
I had some sympathy for her frustration. Jean-Claude can be such
a pain in the ass when he wants to be.
"You were told to lead us somewhere, children; do so."
Ivy stood in front of him, hands balled into fists. Her anger
spilled into her eyes, and the brown irises bled onto the whites of
her eyes until she looked blind. Her power breathed through the
room, creeping along the skin, raising the tiny hairs on my body as
if a finger had been run just above them.
My hand started for the Browning. Old habits.
"No, Anita, that is not necessary," Jean-Claude said. "This
little one cannot hurt me. She shows her fangs, but unless she
wishes to die on this lovely carpet she had best remember who and
what I am."
"I am the Master of the City!" His voice thundered through the
house, echoing in the room until the air was so thick with echoes
that it was like breathing his words.
When the sound died, I was shaking. Ivy had pulled herself
together. She still looked angry, but her eyes had bled back to
normal.
Bruce had laid a hand on her shoulder, as if he wasn't sure she
would listen to reason. She shook off his hand and motioned
gracefully towards the open door.
"We are to take you downstairs. Others await you there."
Jean-Claude gave a low theatrical bow, never taking his eyes
from her. "After you, my sweet. A lady should always walk before a
gentleman, never behind."
She smiled, suddenly pleased with herself again. "Then your
human lady can walk beside me."
"I don't think so," I said.
She turned innocent brown eyes to me. "Are you not a lady,
then?" She stalked towards me with an exaggerated sway of her hips.
"Did you bring us someone who is not a lady, Jean-Claude?"
I heard him sigh. "Anita is a lady. Walk beside her, ma
petite, but carefully."
"What does it matter what these assholes think of me?"
"If you are not a lady, then you are a whore. You do not want to
know what would happen to a human whore within these walls." He
seemed tired as he said it, as if he'd been there, done that, and
hadn't had a good time.
Ivy smiled at me, giving me a big dose of brown eyes. I met her
gaze and smiled.
She frowned. "You are human. You can't meet my gaze, not like
that."
"Surprise, surprise," I said.
"Shall we go?" Jean-Claude said.
Ivy frowned again, but she stepped into that open door, and down
a step or two, one hand on her dress to keep the hem from tripping
her feet. She turned and looked back at me. "Are you coming?"
I asked Jean-Claude, "How careful do I need to be?"
Larry and Jason came to stand beside me.
"Defend yourself if they offer violence first. But do not shed
the first blood, or strike the first blow. Defend, but do not
attack, ma petite. We are playing games tonight, unless
you make it more; the stakes are not that high."
I scowled at him. "I don't like this."
He smiled. "I know, but bear with us, ma petite.
Remember the human you wish to save, and control that wonderful
temper of yours."
"Well, human?" Ivy said. She was waiting for me on the steps.
She looked like an impatient child, petulant.
"I'm coming," I said. I did not run to catch up with the
waiting vampire. I walked at a normal pace, though the weight of
her gaze made my skin itch. I stopped at the head of the stairs and
peered downward. Cool, damp air pushed against my face. The smell
was thick, enclosed, and mildewed. You knew there would be no
windows, and somewhere water was eating the walls. A basement. I
hated basements.
I took a deep breath of the fetid air and walked down the steps.
They were the widest stairs I'd ever seen in a basement. The wood
felt new and raw, like they hadn't taken time to stain or sand it.
There was enough room for the two of us to share a step. I didn't
want to share a step. Maybe she wasn't a threat to Jean-Claude, but
I had no illusions about what she could do to me. She was a baby
master, not full grown yet, but the power was there bubbling under
the surface, crawling along my skin. I stopped a step above her,
waiting for her to go down.
Ivy smiled. She could smell my fear. "If we are both ladies,
then we should walk together. Come, Anita." She held out a hand to
me. "Let us go down together."
I didn't want to be that close to her. If she tried to jump me,
there wouldn't be time to do much. I might get a weapon out in
time, I might not. It irritated me that I wasn't supposed to show a
weapon first. And scared me. One of the things that's kept me alive
is shooting first and asking questions later. Doing it the other
way around was no way to stay alive.
"Is Jean-Claude's human servant afraid of me?" She stood there
framed against the darkness beyond, smiling. The basement was like
a great black pit behind her.
But she couldn't sense vampire marks, or she'd have known I
wasn't his servant. She wasn't as hot as she thought she was. I
hoped.
I ignored the outstretched hand, but walked down those two
steps. My shoulder brushed her bare skin, and it felt like worms
were crawling down my arm. I kept walking down the steps into the
dark beyond, left hand in a death grip on the railing. I heard her
high heels clattering down the steps to catch up with me. I could
feel her irritation like heat rising from her skin. I heard the
menfolk following us, but didn't look behind to check. We were
playing chicken tonight. It was one of my best games.
We went down the steps together like horses pulling a carriage,
my left hand on the railing, her hands lifting her dress. I kept up
a pace that made gliding effortlessly impossible, unless she could
levitate. She couldn't.
She grabbed my right arm and whirled me around to face her. I
couldn't go for a gun. Because I was wearing wrist sheaths, I
couldn't even go for a knife. I stood there nearly face to face
with an angry vampire and couldn't reach a weapon. All that could
save me was her not killing me. Trusting my life to Ivy's
beneficence seemed like a bad bet.
Her anger spilled along my skin. Heat flowed down her body. I
could feel her hand, hot, even through the leather jacket. I didn't
try to pull away; things that can bench-press Toyotas don't let go.
Her touch didn't burn, because it wasn't that kind of heat, but it
was hard to convince my body that it wouldn't hurt eventually.
Years of warnings, don't touch, it's hot. Heat flared along my body
like I was standing next to a fire. If she hadn't been doing it
unintentionally, it would have been impressive. Hell, it was still
impressive. Give her a few centuries and she'd be scary as hell, as
if she wasn't already.
I could still meet her eyes, drowning deep and glowing with
their own light. That was going to do me a hell of a lot of good
when she ripped my throat out.
"If you hurt her, Ivy, our truce is over." Jean-Claude glided
down the steps to stand just above us. "You do not want the truce
to be over, Ivy." He ran his fingertip along the edge of her
jaw.
I felt the jolt of power jump from him, to her, to me. I gasped,
but she let me go. My arm was numb at my side like it'd gone to
sleep. I couldn't have held a gun. I wanted to ask what the hell
he'd done, but didn't. As long as I got the use of my arm back, we
could argue about it later.
Bruce pushed between us, hovering over Ivy like a worried
boyfriend. Watching his face, I realized that was accurate. I was
betting she'd brought him over.
Ivy pushed him away so hard that he went tumbling backwards down
the stairs, lost in the thicker darkness. Everything seemed to be
working on her just fine. I could barely feel my fingertips.
Heat rushed over me like a scalding wind, and swept outward into
the dark. Torches flared to life in sconces along the walls with a
whoosh and a shower of sparks. A large kerosene lamp
suspended from the ceiling filled with fire. Its glass chimney
exploded in a shower of glass, its flame burning naked on the
wick.
"Serephina will make you clean up your mess," Jean-Claude said.
He made it sound like she'd spilled her milk.
Ivy walked down the rest of the steps in a hip-swinging glide.
"Serephina will not care. Broken glass and flame have so many
uses." I didn't like the way she phrased that.
The basement was black. Black walls, black floors, black
ceiling. It was like being in a great dark box. Chains hung from
the walls, some with what looked like fur on the cuffs. Straps
dangled from the ceiling like obscene decorations. There were . . .
devices placed throughout the room. I recognized some of them. A
rack, an iron maiden, but most of it was like looking at bondage
paraphernalia. You were pretty sure what the point was, but not how
it worked. There were always more holes than I could figure out
what to do with, and nothing ever seemed to come with
instructions.
There was a drain in the floor, and a thin trickle of water ran
down it. But I was betting that the drain wasn't there just for
water.
Larry moved down the steps to stand beside me. "Are those what I
think they are?"
"Yeah, they're torture devices." I forced my hand to make a
fist, and another one. The feeling was coming back.
"I thought they weren't going to harm us," he said.
"I think it's supposed to scare us."
"It's working," he said.
I didn't like the decor much either, but I could feel my hand. I
could have held a gun if I had to.
A door that I hadn't even seen opened to the left. A secret
panel. A vampire came through the door. He had to bend nearly
double to make it through the door frame. He unfolded, impossibly
tall and thin, cadaverous. He had not fed tonight. and was wasting
no power on looking pretty. His skin was the color of old parchment
and clung to the bones of his face like a thin film barely covering
his skull. His eyes were sunken and dull in his head, the dead blue
of fish eyes. His sickly hands were long and bony with impossibly
long fingers, like white spiders sticking from the sleeves of his
black coat.
He stalked into the room with the edges of his black coat
sweeping behind him like a cloak. He was dressed entirely in black;
only his skin and the short cut white hair on his head betrayed
him. As he moved through the black room, it looked like his head
and hands were floating on their own.
I shook my head to clear the image. When I looked back, he
seemed a touch more normal. "He's using his powers to make himself
look frightening," I said.
"Yes, ma petite, he is." There was something in his
voice that made me turn and look at him. His face was its usual
lovely mask-but in his eyes, for just a second, I saw fear.
"What's going on, Jean-Claude?"
"The rules have not changed. Do not draw a weapon. Do not strike
the first blow. They cannot harm us unless we break these
rules."
"Why are you suddenly scared?"
"That is not Serephina," he said. His voice was very bland when
he said it.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound reverberated
through the room, echoing and outwardly joyous. But I could taste
it on the back of my tongue, and it was bitter. "It means, ma
petite, that I am a fool."
Chapter 25
Jean-Claude's laughter faded away in bits and pieces, like the
sound was clinging to the walls. "Where is Serephina?" he
asked.
Ivy and Bruce walked out of the room. I didn't know where they
were going, but it had to be better than this. How many torture
rooms could a house this size have? Don't answer that.
The tall vampire looked at us with his dead-fish eyes. There was
no pull, nothing; it was like looking into the eyes of a
corpse.
His voice, when it came, was almost shocking. It was rich and
deep, resonant, but not with vampiric powers. It was the voice of
an actor, or an opera singer. I watched it come out of the thin,
lipless mouth and it still looked like a parlor trick, like the
mouth should move out of sync with the words, but they didn't.
"You must pass through me before she will see you."
"You surprise me, Janos." Jean-Claude glided down the steps. I
guess we were going down. Pity. "You are more powerful than
Serephina. How is it you do her bidding?"
"When you have seen her, you will understand. Now come, all of
you, join us. The night is young, and I want to see you all naked
and bleeding before dawn."
"Who is this guy?" I asked. I could use my hand again; might as
well smart off.
Jean-Claude stopped on the last step. Jason moved up, one step
behind him. Larry and I stayed a little behind that. I don't think
either of us was too eager to go down.
The vampire turned his dead eyes on me. "I am Janos."
"Dandy, but the rules say you can't bleed us, or anything else.
Or did I miss something?"
"You miss very little, ma petite," Jean-Claude
said.
"You will not be harmed against your will," Janos said. "You
must all consent for any harm to befall you."
"Then we're safe," I said.
He smiled, the skin of his face stretching like paper. I
half-expected bone to break through, but it didn't. The smile was
nicely hideous.
"We shall see."
Jean-Claude took that last step, and moved farther into the
room. Jason followed, and after a moment's hesitation so did I.
Larry followed me like a trooper.
"This room is your idea, Janos," Jean-Claude said.
"I do nothing without my master's consent."
"She cannot be your master, Janos. She is not powerful
enough."
"Yet, here I am, Jean-Claude. Here I am."
Jean-Claude walked around the dark wood of the rack, trailing a
pale hand over it. "Serephina was never much for torture. She was
many things, but not sadistic." Jean-Claude came to stand in front
of Janos. "I think you are master here and she is your stalking
horse. She is known as master so all the challenges come her way.
When she dies, you will find another puppet.
"I promise you, Jean-Claude, she is my master. Think of this
room as my reward for being a faithful servant." He looked around
the room with a proprietary smile, like a storekeeper admiring
well-stocked shelves.
"What do you plan for us in this room of yours?"
"But wait a few moments, my impatient boy, and all will be
revealed."
It was odd to have someone call Jean-Claude "boy," as if he were
a much younger cousin that Janos had watched grow up. Had Janos
known him when he was a little vampire? Freshly dead?
A woman's voice: "Where are you taking me? You're hurting me."
Ivy and Bruce dragged a young woman through the side door.
Literally dragged her. She had let her legs collapse, trying to use
them like a dog does when you try to take it to the vet. But she
only had two legs and a vampire on each arm. She wasn't having much
luck slowing them down.
She had straight blonde hair that barely touched the tops of her
shoulders. Her eyes were large and blue, and the makeup she'd
started the night with was smeared from crying.
Ivy seemed to be having a good time. Bruce had very wide eyes.
He was afraid of Janos. Hard not to be, I guess.
The girl stared wordlessly at Janos for a second, then screamed.
Ivy cuffed her absently like you'd swat a barking dog. The girl
whimpered and fell silent, staring at the floor, fresh tears
trailing down her cheeks.
There was only Janos and the two youngsters in the room with us.
I was betting we could take them. Two more vampires came in, but
they didn't drag in the next girl. She walked in, eyes glittering
with anger, back very straight, hands in fists at her sides. She
was short, a little heavy, but not quite fat, as if a good burst of
growth would take care of the weight. Her hair was a nondescript
brown, glasses framed small brown eyes, freckles dusted her face.
The personality that radiated from that face was not nondescript. I
liked her instantly.
"Oh, Lisa," she said, "get up." She sounded embarrassed as well
as angry. The blonde girl, Lisa, just cried harder.
The two vamps that were guarding the second girl were not young.
They were both tall, around six feet, dressed in black leather, one
with her long yellow hair in a braid down her back, the other with
black hair falling free around her face. Their bare arms were
muscled and firm. They looked like female bodyguards from some bad
spy movie.
The power that radiated from the two of them was not a B movie
effect. It crept through the room like a current of water, thick
and cool. When the line of power poured over my body it took my
breath away. The power crawled into my bones and made them ache.
Larry gasped behind me.
I glanced at him just to make sure he was gasping for the same
reason I was. No new monsters behind us, just the power of the two
new vamps.
"What are you guys doing, running a halfway house for all
vampires over five hundred years?" I asked.
Everyone turned towards me. The two female vamps smiled, most
unpleasantly. They looked at me like I was a piece of candy and
they wondered what sort of center I had. Soft and gooey, or hard
with a nut in the middle? I'd had men undress me with their eyes,
but I'd never had anything trying to picture what I'd look like
with my skin off. Yikes.
"Do you have something to add?" Janos asked.
"You can't just drag a couple of underage girls in here and
expect us to do nothing."
"On the contrary, Anita, we expect you to do many things."
I didn't like the phrasing of that. "What's that supposed to
mean?"
"First, the young women aren't underage, are you, girls?"
The second girl just glared at him. Lisa shook her head, still
staring at the floor.
"Tell her your ages," Janos said.
Neither of them answered. Ivy yanked hard enough to make the
blonde girl cry out.
"Eighteen. I'm eighteen." She collapsed on the floor in a
sobbing heap, and the vampires let go of her so she could do
it.
One of the female vamps said, "Your age, now." Her voice was
like quiet thunder, a warning of the coming storm.
The second girl's eyes widened behind her glasses. "I'm
nineteen." There was fear now peeking out from behind her
anger.
"Fine; they're over eighteen, but an unwilling human is still an
unwilling human, regardless of age," I said.
"Would you play policeman here, Anita?" Janos asked. He sounded
amused.
"I won't just stand here and watch you hurt them."
"You have a high opinion of yourself, Anita. Confident. I like
that. Always so much more entertaining to break someone strong. The
weaklings fold and cry and snivel, but the brave ones, they almost
demand that you hurt them." He stalked towards me, reaching out one
white spider-hand. "Do you want me to hurt you?"
I remembered Jean-Claude's warning not to use weapons, but fuck
it, I was going for the Browning.
Jean-Claude was just suddenly there, holding Janos's wrist.
Janos seemed impressed. Truthfully, so was I. I hadn't seen him
move, and apparently neither had Janos. A nifty trick, that.
I let my hand relax away from the gun, though I was pretty sure
that drawing it would make me feel better. But the purpose of
tonight's exercise was not to make me feel better, it was to stay
alive.
"No harm to any of us; that was the promise," Jean-Claude
said.
Janos drew his wrist from Jean-Claude's grasp slowly, almost
lingeringly, as if he enjoyed it. "Once Serephina's promise is
given, she keeps it."
"Then why are the young women here?"
"Those two"—he motioned to Larry and me—"would truly not stand
by and watch harm come to strangers?" He sounded surprised, but not
unhappy about it.
"Sadly, yes," Jean-Claude said.
"And if they join the fray, you will come in to protect her?"
Janos asked.
"If I must."
Janos smiled, and I could hear his skin creak with the strain of
holding in his bones. "Splendid."
I saw a tremor run through Jean-Claude's back, as if he had been
caught off guard. I was just plain confused.
"The two young women came willingly into our house. They knew
what we were, and agreed to help us entertain guests."
I glanced at the second girl. "Is that true?"
One of her vampire guards touched her shoulder, lightly, but it
was enough. "We came willingly, but we didn't know . . ." The
vampire's hand squeezed. The girl's face crumbled in pain but she
made no sound.
"They came of their own free will, and they are of the age of
consent," Janos said.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
"Ivy, chain that one over there." He pointed as he said it to
some fur-lined manacles to the left of the door. Ivy and Bruce
picked up the girl, pulled her to her feet, and led her stumbling
to the wall.
"Her back facing the room, please."
I stepped next to Jean-Claude and whispered, though I knew
within reason they'd hear, "I don't like this."
"Nor I, ma petite."
"Can we stop it without breaking the truce?"
"Not unless they offer harm to us directly, no."
"What happens if I break the truce?"
"They will try to kill us, most likely."
There were five vampires in the room, three of them older than
Jean-Claude. We would die. Dammit.
The blonde girl sobbed and struggled, pulling at her arms as the
vampires chained her to the wall. She screamed and pulled so
violently that without the fur lining she'd have bloodied her
wrists.
A woman stepped into the room from the side door. She was tall,
taller than Jean-Claude. Her skin was the color of coffee with two
creams. Her dark hair fell in long cornrows to her waist. She was
dressed in a black, patent leather body suit. It left very little
to the imagination. She strode hard on her heels, a very human
walk. But she wasn't human.
"Kissa," Jean-Claude said. "You are still with Serephina." He
sounded surprised.
"Not all of us have your luck." Her voice was thick like honey.
There was a smell like spices in the air, and I wasn't sure if it
was her perfume or illusion.
Her high-boned face was empty of makeup and still she was
beautiful—though I wondered what she'd look like if she weren't
clouding my mind. Because surely no human could have radiated the
raw sexuality that clung to Kissa like a touchable cloud.
"I am sorry you are here, Kissa."
She smiled. "Don't pity me, Jean-Claude. Serephina has promised
you to me, before Janos breaks that beautiful body of yours."
Six vampires, four of them older than Jean-Claude. The odds were
not going in our favor.
"Chain the other girl there." Janos motioned to a matching set
of manacles to the right of the door.
The girl shook her head. "No way." She just refused to go, and
she struggled better than the blonde. She threw her body on the
ground and used every inch of it, not to fight, just not to go.
Two vampires several centuries old, powerful enough to make my
teeth hurt, and they had to pick her up from both ends and carry
her to the wall. She'd finally started to scream, one loud, ragged,
rage-filled sound after another. The dark-haired vamp pinned her to
the wall, and the other one chained her.
"I can't just watch this," Larry said. He was standing very
close to me; maybe he didn't know the vampires would hear his
whispers.
It didn't really matter. "Neither can I."
We were going to get ourselves killed; might as well take as
many of them with us as we could.
Jean-Claude turned around, as if he could smell us going for our
guns. "Ma petite, Monsieur Kirkland, do not go for your
weapons. They are treading legalities. The women have come to help
entertain. They will not kill them."
"You're sure of that?" I asked.
He frowned. "I am sure of nothing anymore, but I believe that
they will keep their word. The women are frightened and a little
bruised, but they are not harmed."
"This isn't harm?" Larry asked. He looked outraged, and I
couldn't blame him.
I answered him. "Vampires have a very unique sense of what's
harmful, don't they, Jean-Claude?"
He met my gaze. "I see accusation in your eyes, but remember
this, ma petite, you asked me to bring you here. So do not
blame this particular problem on me."
"Is our entertainment so boring?" Janos asked.
"We were discussing whether to kill you all now, or later," I
said, my voice very matter-of-fact.
Janos gave a low chuckle. "Please do break the truce, Anita. I
would love to have an excuse to get you on one of my novelties. I
think you would take a long time to break. Then again, it is
sometimes the braggarts who break first."
"I don't brag, Janos. I tell the truth."
"She believes what she says," Kissa said.
"Yes, she has a disturbing hint of truth to her," Janos said.
"Most tasty."
The blonde, Lisa, had stopped struggling against the chains. She
sagged in them, nearly incoherent with crying. The other girl, now
that she was chained, stood very still, but a fine trembling had
started in her arms and hands. She balled her hands into fists, but
could not stop the trembling.
"The women came for a little adventure. They are certainly
getting their money's worth," Janos said.
The two female vamps opened panels in the black walls. They each
took out a long coil of whip. Neither of the girls could see. I was
glad.
I couldn't stand and watch, I couldn't. It would kill something
inside me to just stand and watch, even if it meant I died. I'd at
least go down fighting, and I'd take some of them with me. Better
than nothing. But before we all committed suicide, I'd try to talk.
"If you're not trying to goad us into breaking the truce, then what
the hell do you want?"
"Want?" Janos said. "Want? Why, many things, Anita."
I was beginning to hate the way he said my name, sort of
half-amused, and intimate, like we were friends, or close
enemies.
"What do you want, Janos?"
"Shouldn't you be negotiating for your people?" he asked
Jean-Claude.
"Anita does well enough on her own," Jean-Claude said.
Janos gave another rictus smile. "Very well. What do we
want?"
The vampires went to the girls. They held up the whips so the
two girls could see them.
"What is that?" the blonde asked. "What is that?" Her voice was
high and bubbly with fear.
"It's a whip," the second girl said. Firm and clipped, her voice
did not betray her the way her trembling body did.
The two vampires backed away, just enough for good whipping
distance, I guess.
"What the bloody hell do you want?" I asked.
"Are you familiar with the term 'whipping boy'?" Janos
asked.
"It was a person used by royalty to be beaten in the place of
the royal heir."
"Very good; so few young people have a sense of history."
"What does the history lesson have to do with anything?"
"The girls are whipping boys for your two young men," Janos
said.
The two vampires snaked the whips along the floor, and cracked
them nearly in unison, but neither whip touched the girls. The
second girl screamed, a short, clipped sound, when the whip
whistled into the wall next to her. The blonde just sank against
the wall, sobbing, "Please, please, please," over and over in a
ragged voice.
"Don't hurt them," Larry said. "Please."
"Would you take her place?" Janos asked.
I finally understood where we were heading. "You can't hurt us
without our cooperation. You treacherous son of a bitch."
He smiled. "Answer me, lad. Would you take her place?"
Larry nodded.
I grabbed his arm. "No."
"Surely it is his choice," Janos said.
"Let go of my arm, Anita."
I stared at his eyes, searching to see if he understood what he
was doing. "You don't know what a whip will do to human flesh. You
don't know what you're offering."
"We can remedy that," Janos said. The vampires ripped the backs
of the girls' blouses with a harsh, quick tearing.
The blonde screamed.
"We can't just watch," Larry said.
He was right; whether I liked it or not, he was right.
"I've seen what a whip can do," Jason said suddenly. "Don't hurt
them."
I stared at him. "You don't strike me as the self-sacrificing
kind."
He shrugged. "We all have our moments."
"Would it make this an easier choice if I swore that if your
young man takes the girl's place we will not cripple him?"
"How about kill him?" I said. "You can die of shock from a
whipping."
"No killing, no crippling. We simply want our pound of flesh,
and a quart of blood."
Something must have shown on our faces, because he laughed.
"Figuratively speaking, of course. You will wear scars until you
die, but no greater harm."
"This is ridiculous," I said. "We aren't going to do this."
"If we pull our guns, can we take them?" Larry asked.
I looked away from his earnest eyes. He touched my arm.
"Anita?"
"We can take some of them with us," I said.
"But we'll still be dead, and once we're dead who'll help the
girls?"
I shook my head. "There's got to be a better way."
Larry looked at Jean-Claude. "Will he keep his word? Will they
not kill me?"
"Janos's word has always been reliable, or at least it was a
couple of centuries ago."
"Can we trust them?" Jason asked.
"No," I said.
"Yes," Jean-Claude said.
I glared at him.
"I know you would rather shoot it out, but you would only
succeed in getting us all killed. Or perhaps some of us made into
vampires."
Larry touched my shoulders. He made me look at him. "It's
alright."
"It's not alright," I said.
"Fine, but it's the best we can do right now."
"Don't do this."
"I don't have a choice," he said. "Besides, I'm a big boy,
remember? I can take care of myself."
I hugged him. I didn't know what else to do.
"I'll be alright," he whispered.
I just nodded. I didn't trust my voice, and I try never to lie
to my friends. He would not be alright. I knew it. He knew it. We
all knew it.
Jason walked away from us towards the vampires. "Oh, no, my good
shapeshifter, we don't want you chained to a wall."
"But you said . . ."
"I said you could save the girls, but not like that. Let the
human take his lashes. All you must agree to is satisfying the
desires of my two helpers, Bettina and Pallas."
Jason stared at the two vampires. They'd turned to face us. I
suddenly tried to see them from the viewpoint of a twenty-year-old
male. They were chesty, slim waisted; if Pallas's face was a little
too witchy-looking for my taste, and Bettina's eyes too small, that
was just me. Neither of them was pretty, or even beautiful; they
were handsome in the way that some tall, leggy women are. Handsome
in a good way, if they had been human.
Jason frowned. "It seems I'm getting the better deal here."
"Would it make any difference if I said you had to do it here in
this room, on the floor, in front of everyone?" Janos asked.
Jason thought about that for a minute. "If I say no, does the
girl get whipped?"
Janos nodded.
"Then I agree," he said, but his voice was soft and uncertain.
Being lascivious in private was one thing; doing it in public was
different.
"Come then, shapeshifter, let the show begin." Janos made a
sweeping motion with his white hands.
Jason glanced back at Jean-Claude like a kid on the first day of
school wondering if the bullies were really going to hurt him.
Jean-Claude gave no comfort. His face was as still and unreadable
as a painting. He gave a small nod that could have meant anything
from "It will be alright" to "Just do it."
I watched Jason's shoulders rise with a deep breath, and heard
him blow it out like a runner before a race. Why is it that most
things you might willingly do under other circumstances become
distasteful when you have no choice?
"Have you ever been with one of us?" Janos asked.
Jason shook his head.
Janos put a long-fingered hand on Jason's shoulder. Jason didn't
seem to enjoy that. Couldn't blame him. "There are many pleasures
that await you, my young shapeshifter. Things that no human or
wereanimal can give to you. Sensations that only the dead can
offer."
The two female vampires had stepped to the far end of the room
in a clear space on the black floor. The whips lay coiled at the
feet of the two girls, as if they were a reminder of what would
happen if anyone chickened out.
If Jason wanted to fuck a few vampires, that was fine with me.
Besides, he wasn't mine to protect. But the sex wasn't going to
last forever. I couldn't let them have Larry. I couldn't stand by
and watch him be tortured. I just couldn't. But if I pulled down
the room, then even if we got out of the basement—highly doubtful
all on its own—we'd have every vamp in the place after our ass.
There would be more; there were always more. But what had
Jean-Claude said? If they broke the truce first, we could draw
weapons. It had possibilities.
The one with long blonde hair had undone her braid. She shook
out her hair like it was a thick curtain of yellow waves. It hid
her face for a moment, and she seemed softer, more human. Maybe it
was illusion. Whatever, Jason touched that thick hair, wadded his
hands into it, then slid his hands around her waist. If he was
going to have to do it, it looked like he was going to have fun
while he did. Nice to see someone who enjoys his work.
The dark-haired vamp came in from behind, pressing her
leather-clad body against him. Jason was short enough that his face
was about breast level for both of them. He buried his face in the
blonde's chest. She unlaced the front of her leather vest, peeling
it back so he could suck her breasts.
I turned away. I was never much for voyeurism. Had an
embarrassing tendency to blush. Ivy and Bruce moved along the wall
to stand near the corner next to the threesome. Bruce was
fascinated and embarrassed, but he kept looking. There was no
embarrassment on Ivy's face. She moved along the wall, her back
pressed to it, hands feeling their way along. Her red lipsticked
mouth was partially open. She slid down the wall, the red dress
bunching around her thighs as she went to all fours. Watching them
move along the wall brought my gaze back to the entertainment.
Jason's shirt was gone. Wearing nothing but his leather pants
and his black boots, he matched the two vampires. He was on his
knees, his back arched so he was cradled against the brunette
behind him. She smoothed her hands down his naked chest. He turned,
giving her his lips. The kiss was long and deep, and full of more
probing than anybody but your doctor should be doing.
The blonde was sitting with her legs wide open in front of them,
undoing Jason's pants. She'd already done something to her leather
pants so that the crotch was open. She was a natural blonde. Why
was I surprised?
Ivy stretched out a hand to pull at the other vampire's long
yellow hair.
"Ivy," Janos said, "you were not invited."
She pulled her hand back but didn't back away. She was as close
to the action as she could get and not be part of it. Bruce was
still pinned to the wall, open-mouthed and a little sweaty, but he
didn't seem to want to come closer.
Janos stood very calmly watching. He had a tight grin on his
face, and for the first time there was some light in those
dead-fish eyes. He was enjoying himself.
Jean-Claude was half-leaning, half-sitting against a metal frame
that held the rough outline of a body. He was watching the show,
but his face was still unreadable, a beautiful mask.
He saw me looking at him, but there was no change in his eyes.
He was as closed and solitary as if he were standing in an empty
room. He wasn't breathing that I could see. Did he have a heartbeat
when he held himself so still? Or did everything stop?
Kissa stood by the door that we hadn't been through. She had her
arms crossed over her stomach. For someone that had wanted to jump
Jean-Claude's bones so badly, she didn't seem to like the show
much. Or maybe she was the guard to keep Larry and me from running
screaming from the room.
Larry had backed as far away from the action as he could get. He
was pressed up against the wall, trying to find something to look
at, but his eyes kept being drawn back to the other end of the
room. It was like trying not to watch a train wreck. You didn't
want to see it happen, but if it was going to happen you didn't
quite want to look away either. When would you ever get the chance
to see it again? A ménage à trois made up of two
vampires and a werewolf couldn't be that common a sight for Larry.
It wasn't even a common sight for me.
The two girls still chained to the wall couldn't see what was
going on. Probably just as well.
A low moan broke from the other side of the room. It made me
glance back. Jason's pants had been pulled partially down to reveal
most of the smooth expanse of his buttocks. His arms were braced,
leaving only his lower body touching the woman. His body rose and
fell rhythmically. The blonde vampire writhed under him, another
low moan escaping her throat. Her breasts spilled out of her black
leather vest like an offering as she did a sort of sit-up to meet
Jason's mouth.
The brunette licked a slow, pink tongue along his spine. His
back convulsed with the sensation, or maybe it was another
sensation. The effect looked the same.
I turned away, but the image was burned on my mind. I felt heat
crawl up my neck. Damn. Larry's eyes widened and I watched the
color drain from his face, until his skin was the surprised white
of paper and his eyes too big for his face.
I fought it for a minute, but I turned back to see, like Lot's
wife risking it all for one last forbidden glimpse. Jason had
collapsed, his face lost in the blonde's hair. Her face was turned
to the room. Her skin had thinned until you could see every bone in
her face. Her full lips had thinned back, making her teeth look
longer. She no longer had enough lips to hide her fangs.
The brunette knelt just behind them, her knees between both
their legs. She lowered her hands from her face, and one half of
that handsome face rotted away. She ran her hand through her long
dark hair and it came away in clumps.
She turned her face towards the rest of us. The skin sloughed
off the bones on the left side of her face and fell to the floor
with a thick wet plop.
I swallowed hard enough that it hurt going down and backed up to
stand by Larry. He wasn't white anymore; he was green.
"My turn now," one of the vampires said. My face turned back to
the scene at the end of the room, almost against my will. I
couldn't stand to watch, and couldn't stand to look away.
Jason rose in a sort of push-up motion. He caught a glimpse of
the blonde's face and his shoulders tensed, the line of his spine
tightening. He pulled away from her slowly, coming to his
knees.
The brunette ran her fingers down his naked back. Her flesh
sloughed away, leaving a trail of greenish slime behind. A tremor
ran through his body that had nothing to do with sex.
From across the room I could see Jason's chest rise and fall
faster and faster, as if he was hyperventilating. He stayed staring
straight ahead, making no move to turn and look behind him, as if
it would go away if he didn't look.
The brunette wrapped her decaying arms around his shoulders,
leaned her rotted face next to his, and whispered something.
Jason struggled away from them, crawling against the wall. His
bare chest was covered in bits of her flesh. His eyes were
impossibly wide, showing too much white. He couldn't seem to get
enough air. A strand of something thick and heavy slid slowly down
his neck onto his chest. He batted at it like you would swat at a
spider that you found crawling along your skin. He was pressed into
the black wall with his pants nearly to his thighs.
The blonde rolled off her back and crawled towards him, reaching
a hand out that was nothing but bones with bits of dried flesh. She
seemed to be decaying in dry ground. The brunette was wet. She lay
back on the floor, and some dark fluid rushed out from her to pool
beneath her body. She'd undone her own leather shirt, and her
breasts were like heavy bags of fluid.
"I'm ready for you," the brunette said. Her voice was still
clear and solid. No human voice should have come out of those
rotting lips.
The blonde grabbed Jason's arm, and he screamed.
Jean-Claude sat there watching, motionless, unmoved.
I found myself walking towards them. It surprised even me. I
kept waiting for the smell that should have accompanied the rotting
flesh, but with every step the air was clean.
I stood beside Jean-Claude and said, "Is this illusion?"
He wouldn't look at me. "No, ma petite, it is not an
illusion."
I poked him in the arm, and it was hard and firm as wood. It
didn't feel like flesh at all. "Is this illusion?"
"No, ma petite." He looked at me at last, and his eyes
were solid drowning blue. "Both forms were real." He stood, and
even standing next to him I could not see him breathe.
The brunette was on all fours reaching for Jason with a hand
that fell into wet pieces as it moved. Jason screamed and pressed
himself into the wall as if he wanted to crawl through it. He hid
his face like a child ignoring the monster under his bed, but this
was no child, and he knew the monsters were real.
"Help him," I whispered, and I wasn't sure which of us I was
talking to.
"I shall do what I can," Jean-Claude said. I was staring at him
when I heard the next words in my head. His lips never moved. "If
they break the truce first, ma petite, then you are free
to slaughter everyone in this room."
I stared at him, but his face betrayed nothing. Only the echo of
him inside my head told me I hadn't hallucinated it. There was no
time to bitch about the fact that he'd invaded my head. Later; we
could argue later.
"Janos." That one word reverberated through the room until it
echoed up the soles of my feet like a deep bass drum.
Janos turned to look at Jean-Claude, his skeletal face set in a
pleased expression. "You rang?"
"I challenge you." The three words were bland; they fell like
off-key notes jangling along my nerves. If the tone bothered Janos,
you couldn't tell it.
"You cannot prevail against me," Janos said.
"That remains to be seen, does it not?" Jean-Claude asked.
Janos smiled until the skin nearly snapped. "If by some miracle
you best me, what do you want?"
"Safe passage for all my people." I cleared my throat. "And the
two girls."
"And if I win," Janos said, "what do I get?"
"What do you want?"
"You know what we want."
"Say it," Jean-Claude said.
"You give up your safe passage. We get you, to do with as we
like."
Jean-Claude gave a small nod. "So be it." He pointed at the
rotting vampires. "Get them away from my wolf."
Janos smiled. "They will not hurt him, but if you fail . . .
I'll make a gift of him to my two beauties."
A low sound like a swallowed scream crawled from Jason's throat.
The brunette's hand started the crawl down his stomach to his
privates. He screamed and pushed her away, but unless he resorted
to violence he was trapped. And if we broke the truce first we were
dead, but if they broke the truce . . . Jean-Claude and Janos had
moved back to the center of the room. They stood a few yards apart.
Jean-Claude stood with his feet spaced as if he was bracing for a
fight. Janos stood with his feet together, easy, unconcerned.
"You will lose everything, Jean-Claude; what are you up to?"
Jean-Claude just shook his head. "Challenge has been offered and
accepted; what are you waiting on, Janos? Are you afraid of me at
long last?"
"Afraid of you? Never, Jean-Claude. Not a hundred years ago, not
a moment ago."
"Enough talk, Janos." His voice had gone low and soft, yet it
carried through the entire room, and crawled up the black walls to
rain down in drops of sound that were dark and anger-filled.
Janos laughed, but the sound had none of the touchable qualities
of Jean-Claude's voice. "Let us dance." Silence fell so abruptly on
the room I thought I'd gone deaf. Then I realized I could still
hear my own heartbeat, the blood rushing in my own head. Waves of
something rose between the two master vampires like heat rising off
summer pavement. What poured along my skin wasn't heat, it was . .
. power.
A whirling, rushing storm of power. I'd felt Jean-Claude go up
against other vampires, and I'd never felt anything like this. My
hair streamed in a wind that was coming from the two.
Jean-Claude's face was thinning down, his white skin glowing
like polished alabaster. His eyes were blue flames that bled
sapphire fire down every vein under his skin. His bones glowed
gold. His humanity was folding away, and it wouldn't be enough. He
would lose.
Unless they broke the truce first.
Kissa stood by the door, still guarding it. Her dark face was
impassive. She was no help to me. The two rotted things still
crawled over Jason. Only Ivy and Bruce were still standing. Bruce
looked scared, Ivy looked excited. She watched the two master vamps
with half-parted lips, her lower lip drawn under with concentration
or excitement.
I'd been able to meet her eyes, and that had bothered her—a
lot.
I crossed the room behind Jean-Claude. When I passed him, the
current of power lashed out and curled around me like an arm. I
kept walking and it slipped away, but my skin shivered where it had
touched me. The shit was going to hit the fan unless I could stop
it.
Kissa watched me move past her with narrowed eyes. I ignored
her. One master vampire at a time. I walked past Bruce and stopped
in front of Ivy. She stared past me at the two masters, ignoring
me.
I opened my mouth. As I spoke, the silence split apart and sound
came back to me ears with a nearly painful clap like a tiny sonic
boom.
"I challenge you."
Ivy blinked at me as if I'd just appeared. "What did you
say?"
"I challenge you," I said. I kept my face blank and tried very
hard not to think about what I was doing.
Ivy laughed. "You are mad. I am a master vampire. You cannot
challenge me."
"But I can meet your eyes," I said. I let a small smile play
along my lips. I tried to keep my mind blank, no thought to betray
me, no fear to leak out, but of course once I thought of fear it
was there curling in my stomach.
She laughed, high and tinkling like broken glass. It nearly cut
skin just to hear it. What the hell was I doing?
The wind rushed against my back, nearly flinging me into her. I
glanced back in time to see Jean-Claude stagger and a splash of
blood spill from his hand. Janos hadn't broken a sweat yet.
Whatever I was doing, I'd better do it fast.
"After Jean-Claude loses, I'm going to ask Janos to make him
fuck me. Your master is going to be everybody's meat, and so will
you."
My eyes flicked to the rotted things clawing at Jason. Incentive
enough. I turned back to Ivy and met her brown eyes. "You won't do
shit. You can't even outstare one puny human being."
She glared at me. Her anger was instantaneous, like fire
springing out of a match. I watched the brown of her irises spread
across her eyes from a space of less than ten inches. Her eyes were
shining pools of dark light. My pulse threatened to choke me, and a
little voice in my head was screaming, "Run away, run away." I
stood there and stared her down.
She was a master vampire but a young one. A hundred years from
now she'd have eaten me for breakfast, but right now, tonight,
maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't.
She hissed at me, flashing her fangs.
"Oh, that's impressive," I said. "Like a dog showing its
teeth."
"This dog could tear your throat out." Her voice had gone low
and evil crawling along my spine, until I spent most of my effort
not to shiver.
I didn't trust my voice not to shake, so I spoke low, and soft,
and very clear. "Try it; see how far you get."
She darted forward, but I saw her move, felt her come for me, I
threw myself backwards away from her, but she grabbed my arm and
lifted me off my feet with her elbow braced so that she could hold
me aloft. Her strength was incredible. She could have crushed my
arm and I couldn't have done a damn thing about it.
Kissa was suddenly there. "Put her down, now!"
Ivy put me down. She threw me across the room. Air rushed past
me, the world blurring so quickly it was like being blind. The air
stopped rushing, and down I came.
Chapter 26
Falling does not cover the speed and abruptness of being thrown
from less than ten feet high. I smacked into the wall and tried to
slam my arms and hands against it to take some of the momentum
before my head smacked into it. I slid down the wall, though slid
implies something slow, and there was nothing slow about it. I
collapsed at the base of the wall in a crumbled, breathless heap,
blinking at bright jarring images that didn't quite make pictures
yet.
The first image that came clear was a rotted face with a patch
of long, dark hair dangling from its scalp. The vamp's tongue
rolled behind broken teeth; something black and thicker than blood
spilled with a plop out of her mouth.
I pushed to my knees and found skeletal arms wrapped around my
shoulders. The blonde's dried, fang-filled mouth whispered in my
ear. "Come to play." Something hard and stiff poked my ear. It was
her tongue. I scrambled away, but claws caught in my jacket. Hands
that should have been weak as dried sticks were like steel
bands.
"They broke the truce, ma petite. I cannot hold him
long."
I had a moment to glance up and find Jean-Claude on his knees
with both hands extended towards Janos. Janos still stood, but he
did nothing else. I had a few moments, nothing more.
I stopped trying to get free of the two vampires. They swarmed
over me, and in the mess of arms and legs and body fluids, I drew
the Browning. I fired it point-blank into the rotted one's chest.
She staggered, but didn't go down. Fangs sank into my back, and I
screamed.
A gun exploded from across the room, but there was no time to
look. Jason was suddenly there, pulling the blonde off me. I fired
into the rotting skull of the brunette. She finally collapsed onto
the floor in a puddle of liquid and jerking limbs.
I turned back to Jean-Claude and found him nearly prone on the
floor, a pool of blood in front of him. He had one arm still held
outward towards Janos.
Janos made a small, flicking motion, and blood flew in an arc
from Jean-Claude's body. He collapsed to the floor, and power
rushed outward, blowing back my hair. The world suddenly stank of
rotting corpses.
I gagged and pulled the trigger on that long black body.
Janos turned. It seemed like slow motion, as if I had all the
time in the world to aim and fire again, but somehow he was facing
me when I pulled the trigger the second time. The bullet took him
squarely in the chest. He staggered, but didn't go down.
I sighted on that round, skeletal head. His white hand came up
and slashed the air. And impossibly, I felt like some invisible
claw had slashed my arm. I fired, but my aim was a little off. The
bullet grazed the side of his face.
He slashed at me again, and I saw blood start to drip down my
hands. Scare tactics. It didn't hurt that much, not nearly as much
as it would hurt if he got his hands on me for real.
A second gun sounded, and Janos staggered as a bullet took him
in the shoulder. Larry was behind him, gun out.
My vision faded, as if fog was rolling in behind my eyes. I
lowered my aim to the larger target of his upper body and pulled
the trigger again. I heard Larry's bullet go high and wide into the
wall behind me.
A startled, "Hey!" let me know Jason was still back there.
I saw Janos go for the door, like watching slow motion through a
fog so thick I could barely see. I fired twice more and knew I hit
him at least once. When he was out of the room I fell forward onto
all fours, and waited for my vision to clear. Hoped it would
clear.
Through my ruined vision I saw Jean-Claude still lying
motionless in a pool of his own blood. The question that came into
my head was, Is he dead? A stupid question about a vampire, but it
was still the first thing I thought of.
I glanced behind me and found Jason scattering bits of the two
female vampires around the floor. He was tearing at them with his
bare hands, cracking their bones and throwing them far away from
each other, as if by sheer destruction he could wash away what
they'd done to him.
Bruce lay on his back by the wall. Blood had soaked into his
tuxedo. I couldn't tell for sure, but he looked dead. Ivy and Kissa
were nowhere to be seen.
Larry was still standing across the room, gun extended, as if he
didn't realize that Janos was gone. He was frowning. Everybody was
up, everybody was moving except Jean-Claude. Shit.
I crawled towards him, not trusting myself to stand with my
vision so spotty. It seemed to take a long time to reach him, as if
more than my eyesight wasn't working quite right.
My vision was mostly clear by the time I got to him. I knelt in
a thick pool of his blood and stared down at him. How do you tell
if a vampire is dead? Sometimes he didn't have a pulse, or a
heartbeat, or didn't breathe. Shit, again.
I holstered the Browning. There was nothing here right now to
shoot, and I needed my hands. I bled on my shirt and looked at my
hands for the first time. It looked like fingernails had scraped
down both of them, a little deeper than normal, but they'd heal.
Probably wouldn't even be a scar.
I touched Jean-Claude's shoulder and the flesh was soft, very
human. I rolled him over onto his back. His hand flopped against
the floor with a bonelessness that only the dead have. Some trick
of the night had made his face beautiful again. The most human I'd
ever seen it, except for the fact that no one was that pretty.
I checked for the big pulse in his neck. I held my fingers
against his cooling skin, and felt nothing. Something like tears
welled against my eyes, and my throat was tight. But I wouldn't
cry, not yet. I wasn't even sure I wanted to.
When is dead, dead for a vampire? Is there such a thing as CPR
for the undead? Hell, he breathed some of the time. He had a heart,
and it beat most of the time. Not beating couldn't be a good
thing.
I positioned his head, pinched his nose closed, and blew a
breath into his mouth. His chest rose with it. I tried two more
breaths, but he didn't breathe on his own. I unbuttoned his shirt
and found the spot above his breastbone, and pressed, one, two,
three, four, all the way to fifteen compressions. Two breaths.
Jason staggered over to me, then collapsed to his knees. "Is he
gone?"
"I don't know." I pumped with everything I had in me, hard
enough to break ribs on a human being, but he wasn't human. He lay
there, his body moving only when I moved it, as loose and boneless
as only the dead can be. His lips were half-parted, his closed eyes
edged with the black lace of his thick eyelashes. His curling black
hair still framed his pale face.
I'd pictured Jean-Claude dead. I'd even thought about killing
him myself once or twice, but now that his death was a fact I
didn't know how to feel. It didn't seem fair somehow. I'd brought
him here. I'd asked him to come, and he came. And now he was dead,
well and truly dead. And it was partially my fault, partially my
doing. If I killed Jean-Claude, I wanted to actually pull the
trigger and watch his eyes as he died. Not like this.
I stared down at him. I thought about no more Jean-Claude. This
beautiful body rotting at last in the grave it so richly deserved.
I shook my head. I couldn't let that happen, not if I could save
him. I only knew one thing that all dead respected, craved. Blood.
I tried to breathe life into him one more time, with one
difference. I smeared my blood on his mouth first. My lips touched
his, and I tasted the sweet, metallic taste of my own blood.
Nothing.
Larry knelt beside us. "Where did Janos go?"
He hadn't been able to see through the fog, but I didn't have
time to explain. "Watch the door; shoot anything that comes
through."
"Can I let the girls go?"
"Sure." I'd forgotten about the girls. I'd forgotten about Jeff
Quinlan. I'd have traded them all for Jean-Claude to blink his eyes
at me. Not if the choice had been offered to me as an either-or,
but just now they were strangers. He wasn't.
"More blood, maybe," Jason said softly.
I looked at him. "You offering?"
"Neither of us can feed him back to full strength without dying,
but I'll help," he said.
"You fed him once tonight already. Can you donate twice?"
"I'm a werewolf. I heal quick. Besides, my blood has more kick
to it than a human's, more power."
I really looked at him then. He was covered in slime. A big
black smear covered most of one cheek. His blue eyes didn't look
wolfish; they looked haunted, hurt. There are things that harm a
lot more than physically.
I took a deep breath and slid one of my knives out of its
sheath. I sliced my left wrist. The pain was sharp and immediate. I
placed the wound against Jean-Claude's lips. Blood welled into his
mouth. Blood filled his mouth like wine pouring into a cup. It
seeped out the corner of his mouth and slid down his cheek. I
stroked his throat to make him swallow the blood.
How he'd laugh to know I'd finally opened a vein for him. More
blood spilled from his unresponsive lips. Dammit.
I breathed into his mouth and got a taste of my own blood. I
made his chest rise, breathing in my own blood. I thought one word
at him: Live, live, live.
A shudder ran through the body. The throat convulsed, swallowed.
I pulled back from him. He caught my wrist as I moved it back from
his chin. His grip hurt. I could feel that unnatural strength that
could break bone. His eyes were still closed; only the grip on my
wrist let me know we were making progress.
I put a hand on his chest. He wasn't breathing on his own yet.
No heartbeat. Was that bad? Good? Indifferent? Hell, I didn't
know.
"Jean-Claude, can you hear me? It's Anita."
He raised up in a small motion and pressed my bleeding wrist to
his mouth. He bit me, and I gasped. He used both hands to press my
wrist to his mouth and sucked me. In the middle of sex it might
have felt good; now it just hurt.
"Damn," I said.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked.
"It hurts," I said.
"I thought it was supposed to feel good," the blonde girl
said.
I shook my head. "Not unless you're under hypnotic control."
"How long will this take?" Larry asked.
"As long as it takes," I said. "Watch the door."
"Which one?"
"Oh, hell, just shoot anything that comes through it." I was
feeling lightheaded. How much had he drunk?
"Jason, I'm getting a little woozy here." I tried to pull my
wrist free, but his hands were like iron forged to my skin. "I
can't get him off."
Jason pulled at the pale hands, but couldn't budge them. "I
could tear the fingers off one at a time and get you loose, but . .
."
"Yeah, Jean-Claude would be pissed." Dizziness was coming in
waves, nausea starting to build in the pit of my stomach. I had to
get him off me.
"Let go of me, Jean-Claude. Let go of me, dammit!"
His eyes were still closed, his face blank. He fed like a baby
with single-minded determination, but this baby was draining my life
away. I could feel it going down my arm. My heart was beginning to
pound in my ears as if I'd been running, pumping the blood faster.
Feeding him faster. Killing me faster.
Spots were dancing in front of my eyes. The darkness beginning
to eat the light. I drew the Browning.
"What are you doing?" Jason asked.
"He's going to kill me."
"He doesn't know what he's doing."
"I'll still be dead."
"Something's moving around at the head of the stairs," Larry
called.
Great. "Jean-Claude, let go of me, now!"
I pressed the barrel of the gun to the flawless skin of his
forehead. Darkness was eating my vision in great moving bites.
Nausea burned up my throat.
I leaned over him and whispered, "Please, Jean-Claude, let me
go. It's your ma petite, let me go." I sat back up.
"Vampires coming," Larry said. "Hurry up."
I stared down at that beautiful face locked on my arm, eating me
alive, and squeezed. His eyes flew open. I moved my whole finger to
keep from squeezing down.
He lay his head back onto the floor, still holding my wrist but
no longer feeding. His mouth was crimson with my blood. The gun was
still pointed at him.
"Ah, ma petite, haven't we done this before?"
"The gun," I said, "but not this." I drew my wrist from his
reluctant hands and sat back with the Browning cradled in my lap.
Nausea and darkness flew inside my head like clouds driven by the
wind.
I saw Larry crouched by the foot of the stairs, gun out. But it
was like looking down a tunnel, distant and not as important as it
should have been.
Jason lay down on the bloody floor. I blinked at him. "The neck
hurts less," he said, just as if I'd asked. Jean-Claude crawled on
top of him. Jason turned his head to one side without being asked.
Jean-Claude pressed his bloodstained mouth over the big pulse in
Jason's neck. I saw the muscles in his mouth and jaw as he sank
fangs into the tender skin.
Even if I'd known the neck hurt less, I wouldn't have offered
it. It looked too much like sex. The wrist at least let me pretend
we weren't doing something intimate.
"Anita!"
I turned back to the stairs. Larry was crouched there, alone,
with his gun. The two girls had moved back away from the door. The
blonde was having hysterics again. Couldn't really blame her.
I shook my head, lifted the Browning in a teacup grip, and
pointed it at the door. I needed the extra arm to steady me. There
was a faint tremor to my arms that wasn't going to help my aim
much.
Power breathed through the room, prickling along my skin. You
could almost smell it like perfumed sheets in the dark. I wondered
if Jean-Claude and I had given off that kind of power when he'd fed
off me. I hadn't noticed it.
Something white appeared in the doorway. It took me a second to
figure out what it was. A white handkerchief tied to a stick.
"What the fuck is that?" I asked.
"A flag of truce, ma petite."
I didn't look away from the stairs to that thick, honey-dipped
voice. Jean-Claude sounded better, or worse, than ever, each word
like fur rubbing along my tired body. His voice was thick enough to
wrap around all the aches and pains. He could make them go away. I
just knew it.
I swallowed and lowered the gun towards the floor. "Stay the
fuck out of my head."
"My apologies, ma petite. I can taste you in my mouth,
feel your frantic heartbeat like a treasured memory. I will curb my
enthusiasm, but with effort, Anita, with great effort." He sounded
like I had let him have just a little sex, and he wanted more.
I glanced at him. He was sitting beside Jason's half-naked body.
Jason was staring at the ceiling, eyes heavy-lidded like he was
half-asleep. Blood trickled from two new puncture wounds in his
neck. He didn't look like he'd felt much pain. In fact, it looked
like it had felt good. I'd taken the edge off Jean-Claude's need,
and Jason had gotten a smoother ride. Bully for him.
"May we talk?" A voice from the hallway, a man's. I couldn't
place it. Hell, I was having trouble focusing on anything, let
alone who the disembodied voices belonged to.
"Anita, what do you want me to do?" Larry asked.
"It's a flag of truce," I said. My words felt slurred, though
they sounded clear enough. I felt almost drunk, or drugged. It was
a bad drunk, a dangerous downer.
Magnus stepped into the doorway. For a second I thought I was
seeing things. It was so damned unexpected. He was dressed all in
white from his tux to his shoes. The cloth seemed to shine against
his dark skin. His long hair was tied back with a loose white
ribbon. He had the handkerchief-coated stick gripped in one hand.
He walked down the steps in a graceful, almost dancelike movement.
It wasn't a vampire's glide, but it was close.
Larry kept his gun trained on him. "Stay where you are," Larry
said. He sounded a little scared, but like he meant it. The gun was
pointed nice and steady.
"We've discussed the fact that silver bullets don't work on the
fey."
"Who says this gun has silver bullets?" Larry said.
It was a good lie. I was proud of him. I was certainly too gone
to have thought of it.
"Anita?" Magnus looked past Larry like he wasn't there, but he
didn't come down those last few steps.
"I'd do what he says, Magnus. Now what do you want?"
Magnus smiled and spread his arms away from his body. To show he
was unarmed, I guess. But I knew, and Larry knew, that weapons
weren't what made him dangerous. "I mean you no harm. We know that
Ivy broke the truce first. Serephina offers her most sincere
apologies. She asks that you come directly to her audience chamber.
No more tests. We have all been unforgivably rude to a visiting
master."
"Do we believe him?" I asked of no one in particular.
"He speaks the truth," Jean-Claude said.
Great. "Let him pass, Larry."
"You sure that's a good idea?"
"No, but do it anyway."
Larry pointed his gun at the floor, but he didn't look happy.
Magnus walked down the stairs, smiling, mostly at Larry. He walked
past him and made a show of giving him his back. It was almost
enough to make me wish Larry would shoot him.
He stopped a few feet in front of the rest of us. We were all
still on the floor, sitting, or in Jason's case, lying. Magnus
looked down at us, amused, or bemused.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.
Jean-Claude glanced at me. "You seem to know each other."
"This is Magnus Bouvier," I said. "What are you doing here, with
them?"
He loosened the tie at his collar and spread the stiff cloth. I
was pretty sure what he was trying to show me, but I couldn't see
from the floor. I wasn't at all sure I could stand without falling
over. "If you want me to take a peek, you're going to have to come
down here."
"With pleasure." He knelt in front of me less than two feet
away. He had two healing bite marks on his neck.
"Shit, Magnus. Why?"
He looked at me, eyes flicking to my bloody wrist. "I might ask
you the same thing."
"I donated blood to save his life. What's your excuse?"
He smiled. "Nothing half as nice as that." Magnus undid the
ribbon and let his hair fall like a curtain around his shoulders.
He looked at me with his turquoise blue eyes, and crawled on all
fours towards Jean-Claude. He moved like he had muscles in places
that people didn't. It was like watching a great cat move. People
just didn't move like that.
He knelt in front of Jean-Claude, so close they were almost
touching. He swept his hair to one side and offered his neck.
"No," Jean-Claude said.
"What's going on?" Larry asked.
It was a good question. I didn't have a good answer. I didn't
even have a bad one.
Magnus slipped off his white jacket and let it slide to the
floor. He undid the cuff to his right wrist and pushed the cloth
back. He offered his bare wrist to Jean-Claude. The skin was smooth
and unbroken. Jean-Claude took his hand and raised the skin to his
lips.
I almost looked away, but in the end I didn't. Looking away is
like lying to yourself. You pretend it isn't happening, but it
is.
Jean-Claude brushed his lips across the skin, then released
Magnus's hand. "The offer is generous, but I would be drunk indeed
if I added your blood to theirs."
"Drunk?" I asked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Ah, ma petite, you do have a way with words."
"Shut up."
"Losing a quantity of blood makes you grumpy," he said.
"Fuck off."
He laughed, and the sound was sweet. It had a taste just outside
description, like some forbidden candy that was not just fattening
but poisonous. But what a way to go.
Magnus stayed kneeling, staring at the laughing vampire. "You
won't taste me?"
Jean-Claude shook his head, as if he didn't trust himself to
speak. His eyes glittered with suppressed laughter.
"The blood has been offered." Magnus crawled back towards me.
His hair had spilled forward on one side so one eye was lost,
glittering like a jewel through his hair. Eyes just weren't
supposed to be that color. He crawled up to me until our faces were
inches apart. "A pint of blood, a pound of flesh." He whispered it,
leaning in towards me as if for a kiss.
I leaned back, away from him, and overbalanced. I ended up on my
back on the floor. It was not an improvement. Magnus crawled over
me, still on all fours, hovering. I pressed the Browning into his
chest.
"Back off, or bite it."
Magnus crawled backwards, but not very far. I sat up, keeping
the gun on him one-handed. The barrel wavered a lot more than
normal. "What was that all about?"
Jean-Claude said, "Janos spoke of taking blood and flesh from us
this night. As an apology, Serephina offers us blood, and
flesh."
I stared at Magnus, still on all fours, still looking feral and
dangerous. I lowered the gun. "No, thanks."
Magnus sat back on the floor, smoothing his hands through his
hair, brushing it back from his face. "You have refused Serephina's
peace offerings. Do you refuse her apology as well?"
"Take us to Serephina, and you will have done what was asked of
you," Jean-Claude said.
Magnus looked at me. "What of you, Anita? Are you content that I
take you to Serephina? Do you accept her apology?"
I shook my head. "Why should I?"
"Anita is not a master," Jean-Claude said. "It is my vengeance,
my pardon, you should be asking."
"I am doing what I was told," he said. "She challenged Ivy to a
test of wills. Ivy lost."
"I didn't throw her across the room," I said.
Jean-Claude frowned. "She resorted to brute force, ma
petite. She could not win by force of will or vampire wiles
against a human being." He looked suddenly very serious. "She lost
. . . to you."
"So?"
"So, ma petite, you declared yourself a master, and
proved that claim."
I shook my head. "That's ridiculous; I'm not a vampire."
"I did not declare you a master vampire, ma petite. I
said you were a master."
"A master what? Human being?"
It was his turn to shake his head. "I do not know, ma
petite." He turned to Magnus. "What does Serephina say?"
"Serephina says to bring her."
Jean-Claude nodded and stood like he was pulled by strings. He
looked fresh and new, if a little bloodstained. How dare he look so
good when I felt like shit?
He looked down at Jason and me. His strange good humor had
returned. He smiled down at me, and even with blood staining his
mouth he was beautiful. His eyes glittered with some amusing
secret. He was full of himself in a way I'd never seen before.
"I do not know if my companions are able to walk. They're
feeling a little drained." He chuckled at his own joke, putting a
hand in front of his eyes, as if it was too funny even for him.
"You are drunk," I said.
He nodded. "I believe I am."
"You can't be drunk on blood."
"I've drunk deep of two mortals, but neither of you are
human."
I didn't want to hear this. "What the hell are you talking
about?"
"Necromancer with a chaser of werewolf; a drink to make any
vampire giddy." He giggled. Jean-Claude never giggled.
I ignored him, if you can ignore an intoxicated vampire. "Jason,
can you stand?"
"I think so." His voice was thick, heavy but not sleepy, more
the languor after sex. Maybe I was glad my bite had hurt.
"Larry?"
Larry walked over to us, glancing at Magnus, gun naked in his
hand. He didn't look happy. "Can we trust him?"
"We're going to," I said. "Help me stand up, and let's get out
of here before fangface busts a gut."
Jean-Claude was doubled over with laughter. He seemed to think
"fangface" was outrageously funny. Ye gods.
Larry helped me stand, and after a second of dizziness I was
okay. He offered a hand to Jason without being asked. Jason swayed
on his feet, but stayed standing.
"Can you walk?"
"If you can, I can," he said.
A man after my own heart. I took a step, another, and was on my
way across the room. Jason and Larry followed. Jean-Claude
staggered to his feet, still laughing softly.
Magnus was standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting for us.
He had the jacket slung over one arm. He'd even found the ribbon to
tie back his hair.
Jason walked wide around the torn bodies of his two would-be
lovers and picked his shirt off the floor. The shirt covered the
mess on his chest, but the goo was still on his face, and his hair
was stiff and nearly as dark as his pants.
Even the back of Jean-Claude's clothes and hair were thick with
congealing blood. I had my own share of blood and goop. Good thing
I wore mostly black tonight; didn't show dirt as badly. The crimson
blouse was looking a little worse for wear.
Larry was the only one without any blood or gore on him. Here
was hoping he could keep up the good work.
The two girls had hidden under the stairs while we discussed
things. I was betting it was the brown-haired girl's idea to hide.
Lisa seemed too scared to think, let alone do anything smart. Not
that I could blame her, but hysteria gets you nowhere but dead.
The brown-haired girl walked over to Larry. The blonde came
along for the ride, her hands dug so tightly into the other one's
torn blouse it would have taken surgery to remove them.
"We just want to go home now. Can we do that?" Her voice was a
little breathy, but for the most part solid. I stared into her
brown eyes and nodded.
Larry looked at me.
"Magnus," I said.
He raised his eyebrows, still waiting by the stairs like a tour
guide, or a butler ready to escort us up. "You called?"
"I want the girls to leave now, safe."
He glanced at them. "I don't see why not. Serephina had us
collect them mostly for your benefit, Anita. They've served their
purpose."
I didn't like the way he said that last. "Safe, Magnus, no more
harm. Are we clear on what that means?"
He smiled. "They walk out the door, and go home. Is that clear
enough for you?"
"Why so cooperative all of a sudden?"
"Would letting them go be apology enough?" Magnus asked.
"Yeah, if they go free, unharmed. I'll accept her apology."
He nodded. "Then consider it done."
"Don't you have to check with your master first?"
"My master whispers sweetly to me, Anita, and I obey." He smiled
while he said it, but there was a tightness around his eyes, an
involuntary flexing of his hands.
"You don't like being her lap dog."
"Perhaps, but there's not much I can do about it." He started up
the stairs. "Shall we go up?"
Jean-Claude paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Do you need
some help, ma petite? I have taken quite a bit of your
blood. You do not recover as quickly as my wolf."
Truthfully, the stairs looked longer going up than they had
coming down. But I shook my head. "I can make it."
"Of that, ma petite, I have no doubt." He stepped close
to me, but did not whisper; instead I felt him in my mind. "You are
weak, ma petite. Let me help you."
"Stop doing that, dammit."
He smiled and sighed. "As you like, ma petite." He
walked up the steps like he could have flown, barely touching them.
Larry and the girls went up next; none of them seemed tired. I
slogged up after them. Jason brought up the rear. He looked
hollow-eyed. It may have felt good, but donating that much blood is
still rough, even on the temporarily furry. If Jean-Claude had
offered to carry him up the stairs, would he have agreed?
Jason caught me looking, but he didn't smile; he just stared
back. Maybe he'd have said no, too. Weren't we all just being
uncooperative tonight?
Chapter 27
The silken drapes had been drawn aside. A throne sat in the far
right-hand corner. There was no other word for it; "chair" just
didn't cover that golden, bejeweled thing. Cushions were scattered
on the floor around it, heaped like they should be covered with
harem girls, or at least small pampered dogs. Nothing sat on them.
It was like an empty stage waiting for the actors to appear.
A small wall-hanging on the back wall had been pushed aside to
reveal a door. The door had been wedged open with a triangular
piece of wood. The spring air poured through the open door, chasing
back the smell of decay. I started to say "Come on, girls," but the
wind changed. It blew harder, colder, and I knew it wasn't wind at
all. My skin prickled, the fine muscles along my arms and shoulders
twitching with it.
"What is that?" Larry asked.
"Ghosts," I said.
"Ghosts? What the hell are ghosts doing here?"
"Serephina can call ghosts," Jean-Claude said. "It is a unique
ability among us."
Kissa appeared in the doorway. Her right arm hung loose at her
side. Blood dripped down her arm in a slow, heavy line.
"Your handiwork?" I asked.
Larry nodded. "I shot her, but it didn't seem to slow her down
much."
"You hurt her."
Larry widened his eyes. "Great." He didn't sound great when he
said it. Wounded master vampires get cranky as hell.
"Serephina bids you come outside," Kissa said.
Magnus dropped to the cushions, boneless as a cat. He looked
like he'd curled up there before.
"You aren't coming?" I asked.
"I've seen the show," he said.
Jean-Claude walked towards the door. Jason had moved up beside
him, but back a couple of steps like a good dog.
The two girls were holding onto Larry's jacket. He had been the
one who unchained them. They'd seen him shoot the bad guys. He was
a hero. And like all good heroes, he'd get himself killed
protecting them.
Jean-Claude was suddenly at my side. "What is wrong, ma
petite?"
"Can the girls go out the front?"
"Why?"
"Because whatever's out there is big and bad, and I want them
out of it."
"What's wrong?" Jason asked. He stood a little to one side. He
was flexing his hands, closed, open, closed, open. He'd seemed a
lot more relaxed thirty minutes ago, but then, weren't we all?
Jean-Claude turned to Kissa. "Was this one right?" He motioned
to Magnus. "Are the girls free to go?"
"They may go; so says our master."
He turned to the girls. "Go," he said.
They looked at each other, then at Larry. "Alone?" the blonde
said.
The brown-haired one shook her head. "Come on, Lisa, they're
letting us go. Come on." She looked at Larry. "Thank you."
"Just go home," he said. "Be safe."
She nodded and started for the far door with Lisa clinging to
her. They left the door to the room open, and we watched them walk
out the front. Nothing swooped down upon them. No screams cut the
night. What do you know?
"Are you ready now, ma petite? We must pay our
respects." He took a step forward, looking at me. Jason already
stood at his side, nervous hands and all.
I nodded and fell into step behind Jean-Claude. Larry stayed at
my side like a second shadow. I could feel his fear like a
trembling against my skin.
I understood why he was scared. Janos had beaten Jean-Claude.
Janos was afraid of Serephina, which meant she could take
Jean-Claude without raising a sweat. If she could take the vampire
that was on our side, she wouldn't find us much of a challenge. If
I was smart, I'd shoot her as soon as I saw her. Of course, we were
here to ask for her help. It sort of cut my options.
The cool wind played in our hair like it had little hands. It
was almost alive. I'd never felt any wind that could make me want
to brush it off, like an overly amorous date. But I wasn't afraid.
I should have been. Not of the ghosts, but of whatever had called
them up. But I felt distant and faintly unreal. Blood loss will do
that to you.
We walked out the door and down two small stone steps. Rows of
small, gnarled fruit trees decorated the back of the house. There
was a wall of darkness just beyond the orchard. It was a thick wall
of shadows, so black that I couldn't see through it. The naked tree
branches were framed against the blackness.
"What is that?" I asked.
"Some of us can weave shadows and darkness around us,"
Jean-Claude said.
"I know. I saw it when Coltrain was killed, but this is a
freaking wall."
"It is impressive," he said. His voice was very bland,
matter-of-fact. I glanced at him, but even in the bright moonlight
I couldn't read his face.
A sparkle of white light showed behind the blackness. Beams of
cold, pale light pierced the darkness. The light ate away at the
dark like paper burns, the blackness crumbling, vanishing as the
light consumed it. When the last of the darkness had shredded away,
a pale figure stood among the trees.
Even from this distance you wouldn't have mistaken her for
human, but then she wasn't trying to pass. A pale, white
luminescence swirled above her head, a glowing cloud, yards across
like colorless neon. Vague figures darted out from it, then swirled
back.
"Is that what I think it is?" Larry asked.
"Ghosts," I said.
"Shit," he said.
"My thoughts exactly."
The ghosts flowed out into the trees. They hung on the dead
branches like a froth of early blossoms, if blossoms could move and
writhe and glow.
The strange wind blew against my face, sending my hair streaming
backwards. A long, thin line of phosphorescent figures whirled out.
The ghosts came sweeping towards us, low to the ground.
"Anita!"
"Just ignore them, Larry. They can't actually hurt you as long
as you keep moving and ignore them."
The first ghost was long and thin with a wide, screaming mouth
that looked like a smoke ring. It hit me at mid-chest; the shock
ran through me like electricity. The small muscles in my arms
jerked with it. Larry gasped.
"What the hell was that?" Jason asked.
I took a step forward. "Keep walking and ignore them."
I didn't mean to, but my pace took me ahead of Jean-Claude. The
next ghost swept over my face. There was a moment of smothering but
I kept walking and it passed.
Jean-Claude touched my arm. I stared into his face and wasn't
sure what I saw. He was definitely trying to tell me something. He
stepped out in front of me, still staring at me.
I nodded, and let him lead. It didn't cost me anything.
"I don't like this," Larry said in a singsong voice.
"Me either," Jason said. He was batting at a tiny swirl of
whiteness like a tame mist. The more he swatted at it, the more
solid it became. A face was forming out of the mist.
I walked back to Jason and grabbed his arms. "Ignore it."
The small ghost perched on his shoulder. It had a large, bulbous
nose and two half-formed eyes.
Jason's arms tensed under my hands. "Every time you notice them,
you give them power to manifest themselves," I said. A ghost hit me
in the back. It was like a lump of moving ice in the center of my
body. It crawled out the front of my body like a cold rope being
pulled through me. The sensation was unnerving as hell, but it
wasn't permanent. It didn't even really hurt.
The ghost dived into Jason's chest, and he cried out. Only my
grip on his arms kept him from clawing at the thing. Every muscle
in Jason's body twitched like a horse being eaten alive by flies.
He sagged when the ghost was through him, looking at me with
horror-filled eyes. It was nice to know he could be scared. The
vampires seemed to have taken some of his courage with their
rotting arms. Couldn't blame him. I'd have had screaming fits,
too.
Larry jumped when a ghost popped through him, but that was all.
His eyes were a little wide, but he knew where the danger lay, and
it wasn't the ghosts.
Jean-Claude came to stand near us. "What is wrong, my wolf?"
There was an undercurrent of warning, anger. His pet was not living
up to his reputation.
"We're fine," I said. I squeezed Jason's hand; his eyes were
still wide, but he nodded. "We'll be fine."
Jean-Claude walked towards the distant white figure once more,
his movement graceful, unhurried, as if he wasn't as scared as the
rest of us. Maybe he wasn't. I pulled Jason with me. Larry had
moved to my back. The three of us walked like normal human beings
behind Jean-Claude. We looked like good little soldiers except for
the fact that I was holding the werewolf's hand. His hand was
sweating against my skin. Couldn't afford to have a hysterical
werewolf. My right hand was still free to go for a gun, or a knife.
We'd hurt them once; if they didn't behave themselves, we could
finish the job. Or at least go down trying.
Jean-Claude led us among the naked trees with the ghosts
crawling over the bare branches like phantom snakes. He stopped a
few feet away from the vampire. I almost expected him to bow, but
he didn't. "Greetings, Serephina."
"Greetings, Jean-Claude." She was dressed in a simple white
dress that fell in folds of shining cloth over her feet. White
gloves covered her arms almost completely. Her hair was grey with
streaks of white, left unadorned save for a headband of silver and
pearls. It wasn't a headband, probably called a coronet or
something. Her face was lined with age. Delicate makeup had been
added, but not enough to hide the fact that she was old. Vampires
didn't age. That was the whole point, wasn't it?
"Shall we go inside?" she asked.
"If you like," he said.
She gave a faint smile. "You may escort me inside, as you did of
old."
"But it is not olden days, Serephina. We are both masters
now."
"I have many masters serving me, Jean-Claude."
"I serve only myself," he said.
She stared at him for a space of heartbeats, then nodded. "You
have made your point. Now be a gentleman."
Jean-Claude took a deep enough breath that I heard it sigh from
his lips. He offered her his arm, and she slid one gloved hand
through it, her hand resting on his wrist.
The ghosts floated downward behind her like a great flowing
train. They brushed past the rest of us with a skin-prickling rush,
then floated upward, hovering about ten feet off the ground.
"You may walk with us," Serephina said. "They will not molest
you."
"Comforting," I said.
She smiled again. It was hard to tell in the moonlight and
ghostly glow, but her eyes were pale, maybe grey, maybe blue. You
didn't need to see the color to not like the look in them.
"I have looked forward to meeting you, necromancer."
"Wish I could say the same."
The smile didn't widen, and didn't fade; it didn't move at all.
It was like her face was a well-constructed mask. I raised my
glance to her eyes, for just a moment. They didn't try to suck me
under, but there was an energy in them, a deep burning that pushed
at the surface of her being like a banked fire; move a log just
wrong, and the flames would come licking out and burn us all up. I
couldn't judge her age; she was stopping me. I'd never met anyone
that could actually stop me—trick me into believing them younger,
yes, but not just glare at me and keep me from doing it.
She turned and walked through the door. Jean-Claude helped her
up the steps, as if she needed it. The easy distance of the blood
loss was receding, leaving me real, and alive, and wanting to stay
that way. Maybe it was Jason's hand warm in my own. The sweat on
his palm. The reality of him. I was suddenly scared, and she hadn't
done a damn thing to me.
The ghosts flowed into the house, some pouring through the door,
some sliding through the walls. Watching them pull free of the
wood, you almost expected a sound, like a plop, but it was utterly
quiet. The undead make no noise.
The ghosts bounced along the ceiling like helium-filled
balloons, poured down the walls in back of the throne like milky
water. They were translucent near the candle flames, like
bubbles.
Serephina sat down in the corner on her throne. Magnus curled in
the cushions at her feet. There was a flash of anger in his eyes,
there, and gone. He wasn't enjoying being Serephina's boy toy. That
got him an extra point in my book.
"Come sit by me, Jean-Claude," Serephina said. She motioned to
the cushions on the opposite side from Magnus. They'd have made an
interesting pair.
"No," Jean-Claude said. That one word was warning enough. I drew
my hand slowly from Jason's. If we really were going to fight, I'd
need both hands.
Serephina laughed, and with that sound her power broke open and
crashed on us poor humans.
The power rode down on me like pounding horses. My whole body
vibrated with it. My mouth was too dry to swallow, and I couldn't
quite get a full breath of air. She didn't have to touch me to hurt
me. She could just sit on her throne and throw power at me. She
could grind my bones into dust from a nice safe distance.
Something touched my arm. I jerked and turned, and it felt like
slow motion. It has hard to focus on Jean-Claude's face, but once I
did, the grinding power receded like the ocean pulling back from
the shore.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, then another; every breath was
firmer. "Illusion," I whispered. "Fucking illusion."
"Yes, ma petite." He turned from me and went to Larry
and Jason, who were still standing spellbound.
I looked back at the throne. The ghosts had formed a glowing
nimbus around her; most impressive. But not nearly as impressive as
her eyes. I had one wild glimpse of eyes that seemed to go on
forever, then I stared at the hem of her white dress as hard as I
could.
"Can you not meet my gaze?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Can you really be that powerful a necromancer when you cannot
even meet my eyes?"
I wasn't just not meeting her eyes. I was hunched over. I
straightened but didn't move my eyes. "You're only about six
hundred years old." I raised my eyes slowly, inch by inch up the
white dress until I could see her chin. "How the hell did you get
to be this powerful in that amount of time?"
"Such bravado. Meet my eyes and I will answer you."
I shook my head. "I don't want to know that badly."
She chuckled, and the sound was low and dark. It slid down my
spine like something loathsome and half-alive. "Ah, Janos, Ivy, so
good of you to join us."
Janos glided through the door with Ivy at his side. Janos looked
more human than he had since I'd first met him. His skin was pale
but fleshy. His face was still thin, and he couldn't have passed
for completely human, but he looked less monstrous. He also looked
healed.
"Shit."
"Is something wrong, necromancer?" Serephina asked.
"I hate to waste that many bullets."
She gave that low chuckle again. It made my skin feel tight.
"Janos is very talented."
He walked past us. I could see bullet holes in his shirt. At
least I'd ruined his wardrobe.
Ivy looked dandy. Had she run when the shooting started? Had she
left Bruce to die?
Janos went down on one knee among the cushions. Ivy knelt with
him. They stayed there, head bent, waiting for her to notice
them.
Kissa moved to stand beside Magnus, bleeding, her arm held close
to her side. But she glanced from the two kneeling vampires to
Serephina, and back again. She looked . . . worried.
Something was up. Something unpleasant.
She left them kneeling, and said, "What business brings you to
me, Jean-Claude?"
"I believe you have something that belongs to me," he said.
"Janos," she said.
Janos rose to his feet and went back out the door. He was out of
sight only a moment, then came back carrying a large cloth sack
like something Santa Claus would have carried. He untied the cord
that held it shut and emptied the contents on the floor at
Jean-Claude's feet. Splinters of wood, none of them big enough to
make a decent stake, fell into a medium-sized pile. The wood was
dark and polished where it wasn't white with new cuts.
"With my compliments," Janos said. He shook the last bits of
wood out of the sack and knelt back on the steps.
Jean-Claude stared down at the splintered wood. "This is
childish, Serephina. Something I would have expected from you
centuries ago. Now . . ." He motioned at the ghosts, at everything.
"How have you managed to subdue Janos? You feared him once."
"State your business, Jean-Claude, before I grow impatient and
challenge you myself."
He smiled and gave a graceful bow, arms out to his sides like an
actor. When he raised up, the smile was gone. His face was like a
beautiful mask. "Xavier is in your territory," he said.
"Did you truly think I would feel the presence of your pet
necromancer, and not sense Xavier? I know he is here. If he
challenges me, I will deal with him. Speak the rest of your
business, or was that it? Did you come all this way to warn me? How
touching."
"I realize you are more powerful than Xavier now," Jean-Claude
said, "but he is slaughtering humans. Not just the attack on the
missing boy's home, but many deaths. He has gone back to cutting up
his pets. He draws attention to us all."
"Then let the council kill him."
"You are master in this territory, Serephina; it is your task to
police it."
"Do not presume to tell me my duties. I was centuries old when
you died. You were nothing but a catamite for any vampire that
wanted you. Our beautiful Jean-Claude." She made beautiful sound
like a bad thing.
"I know what I was, Serephina. Now I am Master of the City and
follow the council's laws. We are not to allow humans to be
slaughtered in our territories. It is bad for business."
"Let Xavier kill hundreds. There are always more," she said.
"Nice attitude," I said.
She turned her attention to me, and I wished I hadn't said
anything. Her power pulsed against me, like a great beating
heart.
"How dare you disapprove of me," Serephina said. I heard the
rustle of her silk dress as she stood. No one else moved, and I
heard her dress slither across the cushions, sliding along the
floor, as she came closer. I did not want her to touch me.
I stared up the line of her body, and saw her gloved hand strike
outward. I gasped. Blood dripped down my hand.
"Shit!" It was a deeper cut than Janos had managed, and it hurt
more. I met her eyes, anger making me brave, or stupid. Her eyes
were pure white, like captive moons shining from her face. Those
eyes called to me. I wanted to fling myself into her pale arms, to
feel the touch of those soft lips, the sharp sweet caress of her
teeth. I wanted to feel her body cradling mine. I wanted her to
hold me like my mother once had. She would take care of me forever,
and never leave, never die, never desert me.
That stopped me. I stood very still. I was standing at the edge
of the pillows. The hem of her dress spilled at my feet. I could
have reached out a hand and touched her.
Fear pounded my heart in my head. I could taste my pulse on my
tongue.
She spread her arms wide. "Come to me, child, and I will always
be with you. I will hold you forever."
Her voice was everything good; warmth, food, shelter from all
the things that hurt, all the disappointment. I knew in that moment
that all I had to do was step into her arms and all the bad things
would go away.
I stood there with my hands balled into fists. My skin ached to
have her touch me, hold me. Blood still dripped down my hand from
where she'd cut me. I rubbed my fingers into the cut, making the
pain sharp.
I shook my head.
"Come to me, child. I will be your mother forever."
I found my voice. It sounded rusty, choked, but it came.
"Everything dies, bitch. You aren't immortal, none of you are."
I felt her power waver like a pebble thrown in a pool, and I
moved back a step, then another. It took everything I had left not
to run from that room, and to keep running. To run and run and run.
Away from her.
I didn't run. In fact, I stayed about two steps back, looking
around. People had been busy. Janos stood next to Jean-Claude. They
weren't trying their vampire wiles on each other, but the threat
was open, and there. Kissa stood to one side, blood pooling on the
pillows at her feet. There was a look on her face that I couldn't
read. It was almost amazement. Ivy was standing now, staring at me,
smiling, pleased that I'd nearly fallen into Serephina's arms.
I wasn't pleased. No one had ever come closer, not even
Jean-Claude. I was beyond scared. My skin was cold. I had broken
her hold over me, but it was temporary. She might not be able to
trick me with her mind, but I'd felt her mind brush mine. If she
wanted me, she could have me. It wouldn't be pretty. No illusions,
no tricks, just brute fucking force and she could have me. I would
never run into her arms, but she could crush my mind. That she
could do.
The knowledge was almost calming. If there was nothing I could
do to prevent it, might as well not worry about it. Worry about the
things you can control; the rest will either work themselves out,
or they'll kill you. Either way, no more worries.
"You are quite right, necromancer," Serephina said. "We are all
mortal in this room. Vampires can live a long, long time. It makes
us forget that we are mortal. But immortality eludes even us."
It wasn't a question, and I agreed with everything she said, so
I just looked at her.
"Janos told me you had an aura of power, necromancer. He said he
used it against you as he would another vampire. I did it just now
when I slashed your hand. I have never known a human that could be
harmed so."
"I don't know what you mean about an aura of power."
"It is what allowed you to slip my magic. No human could have
withstood me, and few vampires."
"Glad I could do something to impress you."
"I never said I was impressed, necromancer."
I shrugged. "Fine, maybe you don't give a damn about humans, or
keeping a low profile. I don't know about your council, or what
they'll do to you for not helping us. But I do know what I'll
do."
"What are you babbling about, human?"
"I am the vampire executioner for this state. Xavier and his
crew took a young boy. I want him back, alive. You help me get him
back alive, or I go to the courts and get a death warrant on
you."
"Jean-Claude, talk to her, or I will kill her."
"She has the weight of human law behind her, Serephina."
"What is human law to us?"
"The council says that it rules us as it rules the humans.
Refusing the human laws is the same as breaking with the
council."
"I don't believe you."
"You can taste the truth of my words. I could never lie to you,
not two hundred years ago, not now." His voice was very calm, very
sure.
"When did this new law go into effect?"
"When the council saw the benefit of being mainstream. They want
the money, the power, the freedom to walk the streets in safety.
They don't want to hide anymore, Serephina."
"You believe what you say; that much is true," she said. She
looked down at me, and the weight of that gaze even with me looking
away was like a giant hand mashing me down. I stayed on my feet,
but it was an effort. You should bow down to such power. Grovel
before it. Worship it.
"Stop it, Serephina," I said. "Cheap mind tricks won't work, and
you know it." The cold lump in my stomach wasn't so sure.
"You fear me, human. I can taste it on the back of my
tongue."
Oh, goody. "Yeah, you scare me. You probably scare everybody in
this room. So what?"
She drew herself up to every inch of her tall, thin frame. Her
voice was suddenly soft, breathing down my skin like fur. "I will
show you."
She gestured outward with one gloved hand. I tensed, waiting for
another cut, but it never came. A scream cut the air and whirled me
around.
Blood ran down Ivy's face. Another cut appeared on her bare arm.
Two more on her face. Long, slicing wounds with every gesture that
Serephina made.
Ivy shrieked. "Serephina, please!" She fell to her knees among
the bright cushions, one hand outstretched towards the master
vampire. "Serephina, master, please."
Serephina walked around her, one gliding movement at a time. "If
you had held your temper, they would all be ours now. I knew their
hearts, their minds, their deepest fears. We would have broken them
all. They would have broken the truce and we could have feasted on
them to our blood's content."
She was almost even with me. I wanted to move back away from
her, but she might see it as a sign of weakness. Her dress brushed
my leg, and I didn't care. I did not want her to touch me. I moved
back, and she caught my wrist. I hadn't even seen her move.
I stared at that silk-gloved hand as if a snake had just coiled
around my wrist. Hell, I'd have rather had the snake.
"Come, necromancer; help me punish this bad vampire."
"No, thanks," I said. My voice sounded shaky. It matched the
fluttering in my gut. She hadn't done anything to me yet except
touch me, but touch makes all powers stronger. If she tried a mind
trick now, I was finished.
"Ivy would have taken great delight in your pain,
necromancer."
"That's her problem, not mine." I was staring very hard at the
silky cloth of Serephina's dress. I had a terrible urge to look
upward, to meet her eyes. I didn't think it was her power, just my
own morbid compulsion. It's hard to be tough when you're staring at
someone's body and being led around by the hand like a child.
Ivy lay on the floor, half-propped on her arms. Her lovely face
was a mass of deep cuts. Bone gleamed in the candlelight from one
cheek. Her right arm had a cut that showed muscle twitching and
bloody.
Ivy stared up at me, and behind the pain was a hatred strong
enough to light a match. The anger rose from her in slapping
waves.
Serephina knelt beside her, drawing me down with her. I glanced
back at Jean-Claude. Janos had a white spider-hand on his chest.
Larry mouthed the word "gun." I shook my head. She hadn't hurt me
yet. Not yet.
The hand jerked my arm hard enough to wrench my head around to
face her. We were eye to eye, suddenly, horribly. What I saw in her
eyes wasn't horrible. Her eyes, which I would have sworn were some
pale shade, looked solid wood brown. My mother's eyes.
I think she meant for it to be comforting, or seductive. It
wasn't. My skin went cool with fear. "Stop it."
"You don't want me to stop," she said.
I tried to pull my arm out of her grasp. I might as well have
tried to move the sun to a different part of the sky. "All you can
offer me is death. My dead mother in your dead eyes." I stared into
those brown eyes that I never thought to see this side of heaven. I
yelled at my mother's eyes, because I couldn't look away. Serephina
wouldn't let me, and I couldn't fight her on that, not while she
touched me.
"You're a walking corpse, and everything else is just lies."
"I am not dead, Anita." There was an echo of my mother's voice
in her words. She raised her other hand as if to caress my
cheek.
I tried to close my eyes. Tried to look away. I couldn't. A
strange paralysis was sliding over my body, like the feeling you
get just on the edge of sleep when your body weighs a thousand
pounds and every movement is nearly impossible.
That hand came for me in slow motion, and I knew if she touched
me I would fall into her arms. I would cling to her and cry.
I remembered my mother's face the last time I'd seen her. The
coffin had been dark wood covered in a blanket of pink roses. I
knew Mommy was in there, but they wouldn't let me see. No one could
see. Closed coffin, they said, closed coffin. Every adult in my
life was having hysterics. The room was full of screams, sobbing.
My father collapsed to the floor. He was useless to me. I wanted my
mother. The latches on the coffin were silver. I opened them, and I
heard a cry behind me. I didn't have much time. The lid was heavy,
but I shoved it upward and it moved. I got a glimpse of white
satin, and shadows. I raised my arms over my head with every ounce
of strength and got a glimpse of something.
My Aunt Mattie grabbed me back. The lid clanged shut, and she
snapped the lock back in place, dragging me away. I didn't
struggle; I'd seen enough. It was like looking at one of those
pictures that you know must look like something, but your eyes
can't make sense of it. It took me years to make sense of it. But
what I saw wasn't my mother. Couldn't be my beautiful mother. It
had been a husk, something left behind. Something to hide in a dark
box and let rot.
I opened my eyes, and Serephina had pale grey eyes. I pulled my
wrist from her suddenly loose grasp and said, "Pain helps."
I stood and stepped away from her, and she didn't stop me. Which
was good, because I was shaking all over, and it wasn't from the
vampire. Memories have teeth, too.
She stayed kneeling by Ivy, and said, "Most impressive,
necromancer. I will help you find this boy you seek."
Her sudden cooperation was unnerving. "Why?"
"Because since I attained my full powers, no one has ever
slipped my illusions twice in one night. No one living or
dead."
She grabbed Ivy by one bloody arm and pulled her into her lap to
bleed on the white dress. Ivy gasped. "Remember this, young master
vampire: This mortal did what you could not. She stood against me
and won." She tossed her suddenly away, sending her sprawling
across the floor. "You are not worthy of my sight. Get out."
Serephina stood. The fresh blood stood out in scarlet relief
against her white dress and gloves. "You have impressed us. Now go,
all of you." She turned and walked back to her throne. She didn't
sit down. She stood with her back to us, one hand on the chair arm.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but she seemed tired. Her ghosts
flowed down to meet her in a swirling white mist. There weren't as
many individual shapes as before, as if the phantoms had lost some
of their solidity.
"Go," she said without turning around.
The back door was open, but Jean-Claude walked to the doorway
that led out the front. I wasn't going to argue. I just wanted out.
I didn't give a damn which door we took.
We walked coolly, calmly towards the door. I wanted to run.
Larry stood next to me, and I could see the pulse in his throat
jumping with the effort not to bolt. Jason reached the door a
little ahead of us, but he waited and turned and motioned us
through like a doorman, or a butler.
I caught a glimpse of his eyes, too wide, scared, and knew what
the gesture had cost him. We went through; he followed. Jean-Claude
brought up the rear. The doors slammed behind us, and we walked
out. Just like that.
But for the first time I knew that I'd been let go. I hadn't
fought my way out, or bluffed my way out. She could be impressed
all she wanted, but she had allowed us to go. Being allowed to
leave was not the same thing as winning.
I would never go back into that house voluntarily. I would never
be near her willingly. Because I'd been impressive tonight, but I
couldn't keep it up. Even now I knew that she could have me. This
vampire had my ticket. Had a lie almost worth my immortal soul.
Damn.
Chapter 28
Jason walked past me into the hotel room. He headed straight for
the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower." It was pushy, but he did smell
like a decayed corpse. We'd driven back with all the windows rolled
down. Most of the time if you stink, you can't smell someone else.
I had some of the rotted stuff on me, but I could still smell
Jason. Some smells are too unique to ever really go away.
"Wait," Larry said.
Jason turned, but not like he was happy.
"Use my shower." He held up a hand before I could say anything.
"It's an hour until dawn. If we want everybody tucked in before
that, it makes sense to use both bathrooms."
"I thought we'd all sleep in this room tonight," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
Jean-Claude stood by the love seat looking lovely and unhelpful.
Jason just looked impatient.
"Safety in numbers," I said.
Larry shook his head. "Alright, but I can take the werewolf next
door and let him shower. Or don't you trust me to even do that?" He
was getting angry again.
"I trust you, Larry. You did good tonight."
I expected a smile. I didn't get it. He looked very serious. "I
killed that vampire Bruce."
I nodded. "I thought we were going to have to kill everything in
the room."
"So did I." He sank into one of the chairs. "I've never killed
anyone before."
"It was a vampire. It's not the same thing as killing a
person."
"Yeah, right. And how many corpses have you given CPR to
lately?"
I glanced at Jean-Claude smiling at me. I shrugged. "Just one.
Can you give us some privacy here?" I asked.
"I will hear what you are saying no matter where I stand in this
room," Jean-Claude said.
"Illusion is all; just back off," I said.
Jean-Claude bowed his head slightly and took Jason to one side
of the room, near the windows. I knew he'd hear everything, but at
least he wouldn't be standing over us.
"You don't really believe he's dead, do you?" Larry asked.
"You saw what happened to those two vampires," I said. "They are
just rotting corpses; everything else is illusion."
"You think he ever looks like that?"
I looked at Jean-Claude's back for a minute. "I'm afraid I
do."
"How can you date him after seeing that?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
"Corpse or not, you tried to keep him alive." He reacted to the
look on my face. "Alive, undead, whatever you want to call it, you
tried to preserve it. You were scared he was really dead."
I just looked at him. "So?"
"So, I killed another living being, or undead being. Hell,
Anita, Bruce was so newly dead he seemed human."
"Probably why one bullet to the chest finished him."
"How am I supposed to feel about that?"
"Killing him, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"They are monsters, Larry. Some of them are prettier than
others, but they are monsters. Never doubt that."
"You can honestly tell me that you think Jean-Claude is a
monster." It was more statement than question.
I almost looked at the monster in question, but I didn't. I'd
looked at him enough for one night. "Yeah, I do."
"Now, ask her if she thinks she's a monster." Jean-Claude leaned
on the back of the love seat, his arms crossed over his chest.
Larry looked a little startled, but he said, "Anita?"
I shrugged. "Sometimes."
Jean-Claude smiled. "See, Lawrence? Anita thinks we're all
monsters."
"Larry's not," I said.
"Give him time."
That was a little too close to the truth. "I asked for privacy,
or did you forget?"
"I forget nothing, ma petite, but time grows short. My
wolf is not the only one that needs a bath. Only our young friend
is still fresh."
I looked at Larry. There wasn't a drop of blood on him. He was
the only one who hadn't wrestled with vampires tonight. He
shrugged. "Sorry; I just couldn't get anybody to bleed on me
tonight."
"Don't joke, Larry," I said. "With Serephina I think you'll get
another chance."
"Sadly, true, ma petite."
"How long can you go without a coffin?" I asked.
He smiled. "Concern over my well-being. I am touched."
"Don't give me crap. I opened a freaking vein for you
tonight."
"If I have not thanked you for saving my life tonight, ma
petite, my apologies."
I looked at him. He looked pleasant, amused, but it was a mask.
His expression when he didn't want you to know what he was
thinking, but didn't want you to know that he didn't want you to
know. "Don't mention it."
"I will remember that you saved me, ma petite. You
could have been free of me. Thank you."
It sounded sincere enough. "You're welcome."
"I need to get this crud off me," Jason said. He sounded just a
touch frantic. I was betting he'd be trying to scrub off more than
just dirt. But memories don't wash that easily. More's the
pity.
"Go on, both of you. Jason can scrub up in Larry's room. It's
only practical."
Larry grinned at me. "Thanks."
"I meant it when I said you did good tonight."
I finally got the smile I'd expected. "Come on, Jason, hot water
and fresh towels await." Larry held the door for Jason and gave me
a little salute. Geez.
Alone again with Jean-Claude. Would this night never end? "You
never answered my question about the coffin," I said.
"I will be alright for another night or two."
"How did Serephina go from being your equal in power to being
what we saw tonight?"
He shook his head. "I truly do not know, ma petite. She
surprised me badly. She did not have to let us go tonight. As long
as she did not harm us, we could have been her guests for the
day."
"Are you surprised she let us go?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
Jean-Claude pushed away from the love seat. "Take your shower,
ma petite. I will await the young men's return."
"I thought you could go next, wash the blood out of your
hair."
He put a hand up to the back of his hair. He grimaced at the
feel of it. "Distasteful, but I want a bath, ma petite. It
takes longer than a shower, so you go first."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"If you do not hurry, I will not have time for a bath before
dawn. I would hate to sleep on your clean sheets covered in
blood."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Fine; just be sure
you stay out of the bathroom."
"My word of honor that I will not barge in on you."
"Yeah, right." Though, strangely enough, I believed him.
Jean-Claude had been trying to seduce me for a long time. A frontal
assault just wasn't his style. I went to take my shower.
Chapter 29
Ronnie had dragged me into Victoria's Secret. I had pointed out
that no one would see my underwear or my nightclothes except other
women in the gym locker room. Ronnie had replied, "You'll see
them." The logic escaped me but she had talked me into a robe.
It was burgundy, the color of wine-dark peonies. It glowed
against my pale skin and matched some of the bruises blossoming on
my back. Nothing like getting thrown into a wall to give you a
little color. The bite mark on my back wasn't very deep. Hard for
humanoid fangs to sink in from that angle. The fang marks on my
wrist were deeper. They were two neat little holes, almost dainty.
It didn't hurt as much as it should have. Maybe vampires did have
painkillers in their saliva, or maybe it was the fangs.
I still couldn't believe that I'd let him sink fangs into me.
Shit.
I pulled the robe closer around me. The material was heavy
enough to be cozy on a winter evening, and had wide silky cuffs,
and more silk lining the edges. It looked vaguely Victorian, a
little masculine. I looked delicate in it, like a Victorian doll
that hadn't gotten completely dressed yet. I put on an oversized
black t-shirt under the robe. It ruined some of the effect, but it
beat the heck out of wearing nothing but a robe and underwear out
to greet the boys.
I retrieved the Browning from the back of the stool where it had
sat during my shower. I carried it with me to the bedroom, and
hesitated. I always went armed. Hell, I slept with a gun, but I
didn't feel like slipping on a holster. I put the Browning away and
settled for slipping the Firestar into the robe pocket. Made the
cloth hang funny, but if something nasty came through the door I
was ready for it.
Jean-Claude was standing at the window when I opened the bedroom
door. He had opened the drapes, and was leaning against the
window's edge staring out into the darkness. He turned when the
door opened, though I knew he'd heard me before that.
"Ma petite, you look lovely."
"It's the only robe I own," I said.
"Of course," he said. His face had that amused mask on it again;
this time I would have liked to know what he was thinking. His
midnight blue eyes were very intense; they didn't match the
nonchalant expression. Maybe I didn't want to know what he was
thinking.
"Where are Larry and Jason?"
"They have come and gone," he said.
"Gone?"
"Jason had a sudden craving, and Larry drove him in the
Jeep."
I just looked at him. "There is such a thing as room
service."
"It is the wee hours of the morning, ma petite. The
room service menu is somewhat limited. Jason has donated blood
twice to me tonight; he needed protein." Jean-Claude smiled. "It
was either take-out, or he could eat Larry. I thought you'd prefer
take-out."
"Very funny. You shouldn't have sent them alone."
"We are safe from Serephina tonight, ma petite, and as
long as they stay in town, safe from Xavier."
"How can you be so sure?" I crossed my arms over my stomach.
He leaned his back against the window and looked at me. "Your
Monsieur Kirkland handled himself well tonight. I think you worry
unnecessarily about him."
"One night of heroics doesn't keep you safe," I said.
"It will be dawn soon, ma petite; even Xavier cannot
bear the light of day. All the vampires will be seeking shelter.
They will have no time to chase our young men."
I stared at him, trying to read past his pleasant face. "I wish
I was as sure as you seem to be."
He smiled then, and pushed away from the wall. He slid out of
his jacket and let it fall to the rose-colored carpet.
"What are you doing?"
"Undressing."
I jerked a thumb at the bedroom, "Undress in there."
He began unbuttoning his shirt.
"In the other room, right now," I said.
He pulled the white shirt out of his pants, working the last few
buttons as he walked towards me. The flesh of his chest and stomach
had more color than the shirt. He was pumped up and human-looking
on blood, part of it mine. The dried bloodstains that had soaked
through the shirt marred the pale perfection of his body.
I expected him to try to kiss me, or something, but he walked
past me. The back of the shirt was brownish with dried blood. He
peeled it off his skin with a sound like tearing. He dropped the
shirt on the carpet and walked into the bedroom.
I stood there staring after him. There had been white scars on
his back. At least I thought that's what they were. Hard to tell
through all the blood. He left the bedroom door open, and in a few
minutes I heard water running in the bathtub.
I sat down in one of the straight-back chairs. I wasn't sure
what else I was supposed to do. Water ran for a long time, then
silence, then sloshing water. He was in the tub. He hadn't closed
the bathroom door first. Great.
"Ma petite," he called.
I sat there for a minute, unwilling to move.
"Ma petite, I know you are there. I can hear you
breathing."
I walked to the edge of the bedroom door, very careful not to
look inside. I leaned my back against the wall and crossed my arms.
"What do you want?"
"There seem to be no clean towels."
"What am I supposed to do about it?"
"Could you call down to housekeeping and have some sent up?"
"I guess so."
"Thank you, ma petite."
I stomped over to the phone, pissed. He'd known there were no
clean towels before he got into the tub. Hell, I'd known there were
no clean towels, but I'd been so busy listening to him splash
around in the water I hadn't thought of it.
I was as mad at me as I was at him. He was always a tormenting
son of a bitch. I was supposed to watch myself around him better
than this. I was in a hotel room that looked like a freaking bridal
suite with Jean-Claude all naked and soapy in the next room. After
what I'd seen with Jason, there shouldn't have been this much
sexual tension in the air, but there was. Maybe it was habit, or
maybe Larry was right. I just didn't believe that Jean-Claude was a
rotting corpse.
I called for more towels.
They would be happy to bring some up. No one bitched about the
time. No one questioned. You can always tell how much you're paying
for a room by how little they complain.
A maid brought me four big, soft towels. I looked at her for a
full minute, hesitating. I could have her take the towels into
Jean-Claude.
She said, "Ma'am?"
I took the towels, said thanks, and closed the door. I just
couldn't let a strange woman see that I had a naked vampire in my
tub. I wasn't even sure the vampire part was what made it
embarrassing. Good girls do not end up with naked male anything in
their bathtubs at four something in the morning. Maybe I wasn't a
good girl. Maybe I never had been.
I hesitated at the bedroom door. The room was dark. The only
light came from the bathroom, spilling in an oblong across the
carpet.
I crushed the towels to my chest, took a deep breath, and
stepped into the room. I could see the bathtub from here, but
mercifully not all of it. I had a glimpse of white porcelain and a
mound of white bubbles. Just seeing the bubble bath made the
muscles in my shoulders relax a little. Bubbles can hide a
multitude of sins.
I stopped at the bathroom door.
Jean-Claude lay back against the edge of the tub. His black hair
was wet and had obviously been cleaned. Strands of it clung to his
bare shoulders. His arms lay propped on the edge of the bathtub,
his head resting against the dark tile of the wall. One pale hand
was suspended in midair as if reaching for something, but the hand
was utterly limp. His eyes were closed, making black half-moons
against his pale cheeks. Beads of water clung to his face and what
I could see of his body. He looked almost asleep.
His knee came up through the mound of bubbles, a surprising
glimpse of bare wet skin. He turned his head and opened his eyes.
The midnight blue of his eyes seemed darker. Maybe it was the way
the water made his hair seem heavier, blacker.
I took a shallow breath and said, "Here are the towels."
"Could you place them here, please?" He gestured with that one
half-suspended hand.
"Here" was the closed top of the toilet, which was close enough
to the tub for grabbing. "I'll, put them on the edge of the
sink."
"I'll drip water all over the floor getting them from there," he
said. His voice was neutral, no vampiric tricks, almost no tone at
all.
He was right, and I was being silly. He wouldn't grab me and
ravish me. If that'd been the plan, he could have done that years
ago.
I placed the towels on the stool, eyes studiously anywhere but
the tub.
"You must have questions about tonight," he said.
I glanced at him. The water on his naked torso caught the light
like quicksilver. Suds clung to his chest, just under one nipple. I
had a horrible urge to brush off the bubbles. I stepped back until
I was standing by the far wall.
"It's not like you to offer answers," I said.
"I am feeling generous tonight." His voice had that quality that
voices get when they are edging towards sleep.
"If you weren't naked in a tub of bubble bath, would you be
offering to answer questions?"
He smiled then, a quick, familiar expression. "Perhaps not, but
if I must answer your ravenous curiosity, isn't it more fun this
way?"
"Fun for whom?"
"Both of us, if you would only admit it."
That got a smile from me, and I didn't want to smile. I didn't
want to be enjoying watching him all soapy and wet. I wanted to be
afraid of him, and I was, but I also wanted him. Wanted to run my
hands down his wet flesh, wanted to touch what lay under those
bubbles. I didn't want intercourse. I couldn't imagine that with
him, but I wanted to do a little exploring. I hated that. He was a
corpse; surely what I'd seen tonight convinced me of that.
"You're frowning, ma petite; why?"
"I asked you if the two rotting vampires were illusion, you said
no. I asked if your form was real, you said yes. Both forms are
real, you said."
"That is true," he said.
"Are you a rotting corpse?"
He settled lower in the warm, soapy water, drawing his arms into
it, until only his head showed above the surface of the water.
"That is not one of my forms."
"That isn't an answer."
He raised a pale hand from the water, a handful of bubbles
cupped like a snowball. "There are different vampiric abilities,
ma petite; you know that."
"What's that have to do with it?"
He raised his other hand and began to play with the bubbles,
trailing them from hand to hand. "Janos and his two female
companions are a different type of vampire than I am. Than most of
us are. They are much rarer. If you ever see me as a rotted corpse,
I will be well and truly dead. They can rot and reform, and it
makes them much harder to kill. The only true surety is fire."
"Volunteering an awful lot of information, aren't you?"
He lowered his hands in the water, washing the soap away. He sat
up a little straighter; suds clung to his body. "Perhaps I am
afraid you will think that what happened with Jason would happen
with us."
"We will never test that theory," I said.
"You sound so sure of that," he said. "Your lust perfumes the
air, and yet you truly believe that we will never make love. How
can you want me almost as much as I want you, yet be sure we will
never know each other's bodies?"
I wasn't sure I had an answer for that one. I slid down the wall
and sat with my knees drawn up to my chest. The pocket with the gun
in it clunked against the wall. I moved the gun to a better
position and said, "We just won't, Jean-Claude, not ever. I just
can't." A part of me regretted that, but only part.
"Why, ma petite?"
"Sex is about trust. I'd have to trust someone implicitly to
have sex with them. I don't trust you."
He stared at me with his blue, blue eyes, looking all
scrumptious and wet. "You mean that, don't you?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I do."
"I do not understand you, ma petite. I try, but still I
do not."
"You're pretty much a riddle to me, too. If that's any
comfort."
"It isn't. If you were a woman who had casual lusts, we would
have been in bed long ago." He sighed and sat up even straighter in
the water so it hit him just above the waist. "Of course, if you
were a woman of casual appetites, I don't think I would love
you."
"You enjoy the chase, the challenge," I said.
"True, but it is more than that with you, if only you would
believe me." He leaned forward, drawing his knees to his naked
chest, rounding his shoulders to hug himself. White scars dribbled
down his back from his shoulders to vanish into the water, not a
lot of them, but enough.
"What made the scars on your back? Unless it was a holy item,
you should have been able to heal them."
He laid his cheek on his knees so he could look at me. He looked
younger, more human, vulnerable suddenly. "Not if the injury
occurred before I died."
"Who whipped you?"
"I was the whipping boy for an aristocrat's son."
I stared at him. "You're telling me the truth, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Is that why Janos chose whips tonight, to remind you where you
came from?"
"Yes."
"You weren't born into the aristocracy?"
"I was born in a house with a dirt floor, ma
petite."
I looked at him. "Yeah, right."
He raised his head. "If I was going to make something up, ma
petite, it would be more romantic, more entertaining than
being a French peasant."
"So you were a servant in the castle?"
"I was their only son's constant companion. When he had clothes
made, so did I. His tutor was my tutor. His riding instructor,
mine. I learned swordplay and dancing and the proper way to eat at
table. And when he was bad I was punished, because he was their
only child, their only heir to an old family name. People speak of
child abuse now." He leaned back in the tub, cuddling down into the
warm water. "They complain of spanking. They have no idea what true
abuse is. When I was a boy, parents thought nothing of taking a
horse whip to a misbehaving child, or beating them bloody. Even the
aristocrats beat their children. It was normal.
"But he was the only heir, the only child. So they paid money to
my parents and took me. The lady of the manor chose me because I
was fair of face. When the vampire who made me sought me out, she
said my beauty called to her."
"Wait a minute."
He turned his head to give me the full weight of those dark blue
eyes. I worked hard at not looking away.
"This gorgeous body and face is all vampire illusion, right? I
mean, no one's this beautiful."
"I told you once that it was not my power that made you see me
as you do, not most of the time at any rate."
"Serephina said you were a catamite for any vampire that would
have you. What did she mean?"
"Vampires kill for food, but they bring others over for many
reasons. Some for money, wealth, even title, love, but I was
brought over for lust. When I was young and weak, they passed me
around among them. One would grow tired of me, but there was always
another."
I stared at him, horrified. "You're right. If you were going to
make up a story, this wouldn't be it."
"The truth is so often disappointing, or ugly; don't you find
that, ma petite?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Serephina was old. I thought vampires weren't
supposed to age."
"Whatever age we die at is the age we remain."
"Did you know Serephina when you were young?"
"Yes."
"Did you sleep with her?"
"Yes."
"How could you let her touch you?"
"I was given to her as a gift by a master that makes even her
new and improved powers seem weak. I had very little choice." He
stared at me. "She knows what you want. Your greatest need, your
most treasured wish, and she'll make it come true, or seem to. What
did she offer you, ma petite? What could she offer you
that nearly won you tonight?"
I looked away then; I didn't want to meet his eyes. "What did
she offer you all those years ago?"
"Power."
I looked up at that. "Power?"
He nodded. "Power to escape them all."
"But you had to have the ability to be a master vampire inside
you from the beginning. No one can give that to you," I said.
He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "I know that now, but
then I thought only she could save me from an eternity of . . ."
His words trailed off and he submerged, leaving only a few black
locks floating on the top of the water. He sat up with a loud
breath of air, blinking the water from his eyes. The water had
clumped his thick, dark eyelashes. He ran his hands through his wet
hair, and it trailed over his shoulders.
"Your hair wasn't this long when we first met."
"You seem to prefer longer hair on your men."
"If you're dead, how can your hair grow?"
"That is a question for you to answer," he said. He ran his
hands through his hair again, squeezing the ends out. He reached
out a hand for a towel.
I scrambled to my feet. "I'll leave you to get dressed."
"Have Jason and Larry returned?" he asked.
"No."
"Then I won't be getting dressed." He stood, drawing the towel
towards him. I had a glimpse of one side of his pale naked body,
water streaming from it. The towel moved into view just in time. I
fled.
Chapter 30
I huddled in the straight-back chair farthest from the bedroom.
But I was staring at the doorway. Shit. I wanted to run from the
room, but why? It wasn't Jean-Claude I didn't trust. It was me.
Fuck.
I touched the gun in my robe pocket. It was smooth and hard and
reassuring, but it wouldn't help me now. Violence I understood; sex
gave me more problems.
I honestly didn't want to sleep with him, but part of me was
hoping for another glimpse of naked flesh. A long line of naked
thigh, perhaps. Or maybe . . . I put the palms of my hands over my
eyes, as if I could get the image out of my head by just
pressing.
"Ma petite?" His voice sounded closer than the
bathroom.
I didn't want to look, as if, just as Grandma Blake had said,
I'd be struck blind. I felt him standing in front of me. Felt the
movement of air. I lowered my hands a millimeter at a time. He was
kneeling in front of me, one of the thick white towels wrapped
around his waist.
I lowered my hands to my lap. Beads of water still clung to his
skin. He'd combed his hair, but it was wet, slicked back, leaving
his face plainer, more unadorned than normal. His eyes seemed bluer
without his hair to frame them.
He put a hand on each chair arm and raised himself up. His lips
brushed mine in a soft, nearly chaste kiss. He moved back from me,
letting go of the chair.
I could taste my heart in my throat, and it wasn't fear.
Jean-Claude touched my hands, lifted them up. He placed my hands
on his bare shoulders. The skin was warm, smooth, wet. He held my
wrists in his hands, lightly, very lightly. I could have pulled
away at any time. He ran my hands down his slick body.
I pulled my hands free. He said nothing, did nothing. He stayed
kneeling, looking at me. Waiting. I could see the pulse in his neck
jumping against the skin, and I wanted to touch it.
I slid my hands across his shoulders and lowered my face to his.
He started to move into me for a kiss, but I slid my hand along his
jaw and turned his head away. I touched lips to his neck and slid
my mouth down his skin, until I could taste his pulse beating
against my tongue. He tasted of perfumed soap, water, and clean
skin.
I slid from the chair to the floor, kneeling in front of him. He
was taller now, but not too tall. I licked water off his chest, and
let myself do something I'd wanted to do for months. I ran my
tongue over his nipple, and he shuddered against me.
I licked water off the center of his chest and ran my hands
along his waist up the damp curve of his back.
He pulled the sash of my robe, and I didn't protest. I let his
hands slide under the robe, around my waist, with nothing but the
t-shirt between his flesh and mine. He ran his hands up my sides,
his thumbs playing over my rib cage. The gun swung heavily in the
loose cloth. It was annoying.
I raised my face to his. His arms slid behind my back, pressing
me against the long wet line of his body. The towel was perilously
loose.
His lips brushed mine; then the kiss became something more.
Harder, nearly bruising, with his arms locked behind my shoulders.
My hands slid down his waist, rubbed the sliding top of the towel,
and found it had already slipped. My hand touched the smooth top of
his buttocks. Only the pressure of our bodies kept the towel in
place.
He ate at my mouth and I felt something sharp, painful. I jerked
back and tasted blood.
Jean-Claude let me go. He sat back on his heels, the towel
gathered in his lap. "I am sorry, ma petite. I got carried
away."
I touched my mouth and came away with a spot of blood. "You
nicked me."
He nodded. "I am truly sorry."
"I'll just bet you are," I said.
"Do not go all self-righteous on me, ma petite. You
have finally admitted to yourself, to me, that you feel the pull of
my body."
I sat on the floor by the chair with my robe in disarray. The
t-shirt had ridden up to my waist. I guess it was a little too late
to protest my innocence.
"Fine, lust; you happy?"
"Almost," he said, and now there was something in his eyes.
Something dark and drowning, and older than it should have
been.
"I can offer you my mortal body, and more, ma petite.
It can be between us much more than any human lover could
offer."
"Would I lose a little blood each time?"
"That was an accident," he said.
I stared at him, all pale and damp, kneeling on the floor with
the white towel bundled into his lap, leaving nearly every inch of
him bare.
"This is the first time I've cheated on Richard," I said.
"You have been dating me for weeks," he said.
I shook my head. "But I haven't been cheating. This is
cheating."
"Then have you been cheating on me, with Richard?"
I didn't know what to say to that. "Go get dressed."
"Do you really want me to dress?" he asked.
I looked away. I was embarrassed now and uncomfortable. "Yes,
please."
He stood up, the towel gripped in his hands. I looked down at
the floor and didn't have to see his face to picture the smile on
it.
He walked away from me, and didn't bother moving the towel
around behind him. Muscles moved under his skin from calf to waist.
He walked naked into the bedroom, and I enjoyed the view.
I touched my finger to my tongue. It was still bleeding. That's
what I got for French kissing a vampire. Even thinking about it
made me nervous.
"Ma petite?" he called from the other room.
"Yeah."
"Do you have a blow dryer?"
"In my suitcase. Help yourself."
Thankfully, I'd dragged my suitcase into the bedroom beside the
bathroom door. One point for laziness. I was spared another glimpse
of his naked body. Now that hormones were receding, I was
embarrassed.
I heard the dryer and wondered if he was standing naked in front
of the bathroom mirror while he dried his hair. I was very aware
that all I had to do was go to the doorway and I could see for
myself.
I stood up, pulled my t-shirt down, tied my robe securely in
place, and sat down on the couch. My back was to the bedroom. I
wouldn't be seeing anything else. I took the Firestar out of my
pocket and laid it on the coffee table in front of me. The gun sat
there looking very solid, very black, and somehow accusatory.
The dryer stopped, and he called to me again. "Ma
petite?"
"What?"
"Come talk to me as the sun rises."
I glanced up at the window he had opened. The sky outside was
less black, not light yet, but not pure darkness anymore. I closed
the drapes and went to the bedroom. I left the gun on the table.
The Browning was in the bedroom anyway.
Jean-Claude had neatly folded the bedspread and blanket at the
foot of the bed. Only the wine-dark sheet covered him. He lay with
his black hair soft and curling over the dark pillows. The sheet
was bunched at his waist. "You can join me if you like."
I leaned against the wall and shook my head.
"I'm not offering sex, ma petite; dawn is too close for
that. I offer you your half of the bed."
"I'll take the couch; thanks anyway."
He smiled, a slow knowing curve of lips—his old arrogance
peeking back out. It was almost comforting to know nothing had
really changed. "It is not me that you do not trust. It is
you."
I shrugged.
He raised the sheet in front of his chest, an almost protective
gesture. "It comes." Fear in his voice.
"What comes?"
"The sun."
I glanced at the closed drapes against the far wall. They were
double thick, but a line of greyish light edged them. "You'll be
alright like this without your coffin?"
"As long as no one opens the drapes." He looked at me for a long
moment. "I love you, ma petite, as much as I'm able."
I didn't know what to say. Saying I lusted after him didn't seem
appropriate. Saying I loved him would be a lie.
The light grew stronger, a white edge around the curtains. His
body slumped back against the bed. He rolled onto his side, one
hand outstretched, the other curling the sheets against his chest.
He stared at the growing light, and I could taste his fear.
I knelt beside the bed. I almost took his hand but didn't. "What
happens now?"
"You want the truth, then watch." I expected his eyes to
flutter, his voice to grow sluggish as if he were falling asleep.
It didn't happen that way. He closed his eyes all at once. Pain
flashed across his face. He whispered, "It hurts." His face went
slack. I'd seen people die, watched the light fade from their
bodies. Felt their souls slip away. That was what I saw. He died.
The light grew against the drapes, and when it was a solid white
line, he died. His breath went out of him in a long rattle.
I knelt beside the bed and stared. I knew dead when I saw it,
and this was it. Shit.
I put my arms on the bed and propped my chin on them. I watched
him, waiting for him to breathe, to twitch, something. But there
was nothing. I reached out to his one outstretched arm. My fingers
hovered above his skin, then I touched him. The skin was still
warm, still human, but he did not move. I checked his wrist, and
there was no pulse. No blood moved in this body.
Did he know I was here? Did he feel me touching him? I stared at
him for what seemed like a long time. So this answered the
question. Vampires were dead. Whatever animated them was like my
own power, some sort of necromancy. But I knew death when I saw it.
It gave necrophilia a whole new slant.
Had I only imagined that I felt the brush of his soul leave his
body? Surely vampires had no souls—that was part of the point—but
I'd felt something leave. If not a soul, what? If a soul, where did
it go for the daylight hours? Who watched all the vampires' souls
while they lay dead?
There was a knock at the door, probably the other boys. I stood
up, pulling my robe in tight. I was cold, and wasn't sure why. I
went to answer the door. The cut on my tongue had almost stopped
bleeding.
Chapter 31
I dreamed. In the dream, someone held me in their lap. Smooth
dark arms wrapped around me. I looked up into my mother's laughing
face. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. I snuggled
against her body, and the clean smell of her skin was there. She'd
always smelled of Hypnotique bath powder. She bent and kissed me on
the lips. I had forgotten the taste of her lipstick, the way she
brushed my mouth with her thumb, and laughed because she'd gotten
bright red lipstick on my small mouth.
Her thumb came away with something brighter than lipstick. Blood
dripped down her thumb. She'd pricked her skin with a safety pin.
It was bleeding. She held her thumb out to me and said, "Kiss it,
Anita, make it all better."
But there was too much blood. It ran down her hand. I stared up
at her laughing face, and blood ran down it like rain. I woke
sitting bolt upright on the velvet couch, gasping for breath. I
could still taste her lipstick on my mouth, and the smell of
Hypnotique bath powder clung to me.
Larry sat up on the love seat, rubbing at his eyes. "What's
wrong? Did we get our wake-up call?"
"No, I had a bad dream."
He nodded, stretching, then frowned. "Do you smell perfume?"
I stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"Perfume or powder or something; do you smell it?"
I swallowed and nearly choked on my own pulse. "Yeah. I smell
it."
I flung back the extra blanket and threw the lumpy pillow across
the room.
Larry swung his legs off the love seat. "What is wrong with
you?"
I went to the window and flung the drapes open. The bedroom door
was closed, and Jean-Claude was safely inside. Jason was sleeping in
there. I stood in the sunlight and let the heat sink into me. I
leaned against the warm glass, and only then realized that I was
wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and my undies. Oh, well. I
stayed in the sunlight for a few minutes, waiting for my pulse to
calm down.
"Serephina sent me a dream. The smell is my mother's
perfume."
Larry came to stand beside me. He was wearing a pair of gym
shorts and a green t-shirt. His curly red hair stuck up in all
directions. His blue eyes squinted when he stepped into the light.
"I thought only a vampire that had a connection with you, a hold on
you, could invade your dreams."
"That's what I thought," I said.
"How could I smell perfume from your dream?"
I shook my head, forehead against the glass. "I don't know."
"Has she marked you?"
"I don't know."
He touched my shoulder, squeezing. "It'll be alright."
I stepped away from him to pace the room. "It won't be alright,
Larry. Serephina invaded my dreams. No one but Jean-Claude has ever
done that." I stopped, because that wasn't true. Nikolaos had done
it. But that was after she'd bitten me. I shook my head. Either
way, it was a very bad sign.
"What are you going to do?"
"Kill her."
"Murder her, you mean."
If Larry's earnest eyes hadn't been staring at me, I'd have
said, "You bet." But it's hard to contemplate murder with someone
staring at you like you've kicked their favorite puppy.
"I'll try to get a warrant," I said.
"If you can't?"
"If it's her or me, Larry, then it's her. Okay?"
Larry looked at me sadly. "What I did last night was murder. I
know that, but I didn't go in planning to kill someone."
"You stay in this business long enough and you will."
He shook his head. "I don't believe that."
"Believe what you want, but it's still the truth. These things
are too dangerous to play fair."
"If you really believe that, then how can you date Jean-Claude?
How can you let him touch you?"
I shook my head. "I never said I was consistent."
"You can't defend yourself, can you?"
"Defend which one? Killing Serephina or dating Jean-Claude?"
"Either, both. Hell, Anita, if you're one of the bad guys you
can't be one of the good guys."
I opened my mouth and closed it. What could I say? "I am one of
the good guys, Larry. But I'm not going to be a martyr. If that
means breaking the law, so be it."
"Are you going to get a warrant?" His face was very neutral as
he asked. He looked older suddenly. Even with his orangey curls
sticking up, he looked solemn.
I was watching Larry grow older before my eyes. Not in age, but
in experience. The expression in his eyes was older than it had
been a few months ago. Seen too much, done too much. He was still
trying to be Sir Galahad, but Galahad had had God on his side. All
Larry had was me. It wasn't enough.
"The only way I could get a death warrant is to lie," I
said.
"I know," he said.
I stared at him. "Serephina hasn't broken any laws, yet. I won't
lie about that."
He smiled. "Good. When do we meet Dorcas Bouvier?"
"Three."
"Have you figured out what you can sacrifice to raise the
zombies Stirling wants done?" he asked.
"Nope."
He stared at me. "What are you going to tell Stirling?"
I shook my head. "I don't know yet. I wish I knew why he's so
hot and heavy to kill Bouvier."
"He wants the land," Larry said.
"Stirling and Company have been saying the Bouvier family, not
Magnus Bouvier. That means he's not the only one suing them. So
killing Magnus won't solve their problems."
"So why do it?" Larry asked.
"Exactly," I said.
Larry nodded. "We need to talk to Magnus again."
"Preferably without Serephina around," I said.
"Amen to that," Larry said.
"I'd love to talk to Magnus, but before we tackle Mr. Bouvier
again, I'd like to find some fairie ointment."
"Some what?"
"Didn't you take any classes on fairies?"
"It was an elective," he said.
"Fairie ointment makes you proof against glamor. Just in case
whatever else Magnus is hiding is nastier than Serephina."
"Nothing's nastier than that," he said.
"True, but just in case, he won't be able to work magic on us.
In fact, it's not a bad precaution before we meet Dorrie. She may
not be as scary as Magnus, but she shines, and I'd just as soon she
didn't shine all over us."
"You think Serephina will find Jeff Quinlan?"
"If anyone can, she can. She seemed pretty confident she could
take Xavier, but then Jean-Claude had been pretty confident he could
take her last night. He was wrong."
He frowned. "So we're rooting for Serephina?"
It sounded wrong, put that way, but I nodded. "If it's a choice
between a vampire that obeys most of the laws, and one that
slaughters kids, yeah, we're on her side."
"You were talking about killing her just a little bit ago."
"I can stay out of her way until she saves Jeff, and kills
Xavier."
"Why would she kill him?" Larry asked.
"He's killing people in her territory. She can say anything she
wants, but that's a direct challenge to her authority. Besides, I
don't think Xavier will give up Jeff without a fight."
"What do you think happened to him last night?" Larry asked.
I shook my head. "It doesn't do any good to dwell on it, Larry.
We're doing all we can."
"We could tell the FBI about Serephina."
"One thing I've learned is that master vamps don't talk to the
cops. Too many years of the cops killing them on sight, or trying
to."
"Okay," he said, "but we've still got to come up with something
big enough to kill for raising the cemetery tonight," he said.
"I'll think on it."
"You really have no idea what to do?" He sounded surprised.
"Short of a human sacrifice, Larry, I don't think I can raise
several three-hundred-year-old corpses. Even I've got my
limits."
He grinned. "Nice to hear you admit it."
I had to smile. "It'll be our little secret."
He put his hand out, and I slapped it. He slapped mine back, and
I felt better. Larry had a way of making me smile. Friends will do
that to you.
Chapter 32
Dorcas Bouvier was leaning on a car in the parking lot. Her hair
gleamed in the sunlight, swirling as she moved, like heavy water.
In jeans and a green tank top, she was flawless.
Larry tried not to stare at her, but it was hard work. Larry was
wearing a blue T-shirt, jeans, white Nikes, and an oversized
checked flannel shirt to hide his shoulder holster.
I was in jeans and a navy blue polo shirt, black Nikes, and an
oversized blue dress shirt. I'd had to borrow it from Larry after
my black jacket had gotten covered in vampire goop. Had to have
something to hide the Browning. Makes people nervous if you go
around with a naked gun. Larry and I looked like we'd dressed from
the same closet.
Dorrie pushed away from the car. "Shall we go?"
"We'd like to talk to Magnus."
"So you can turn him in to the cops?"
I shook my head. "So we can find out why Stirling is so hot to
kill him."
"I don't know where he is," Dorcas said.
Maybe it showed on my face, because she said, "I don't know
where he is, but if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Using magic on the
police is a death penalty case. I won't turn him in."
"I'm not the police."
She looked at me, eyes narrowing. "Did you come to look at
Bloody Bones, or to question me about my brother?"
"How did you know to be waiting here for us?" I asked.
"I knew you'd be on time." Her pupils swirled downward to
pinpoints, like the eyes of an excited parrot.
"Let's go," I said.
She led us to the back of the restaurant where it nearly touched
the woods. A path began at the edge of the clearing. It was barely
wide enough for a man. Even though we walked single file, the
branches whipped at my shoulders. The new green leaves rubbed like
velvet along my cheek. The path was deep and rutted down to naked
tree roots in places, but weeds were beginning to encroach on the
path, as if it wasn't used as much as it once had been.
Dorrie moved down the uneven path with an easy, swinging stride.
She was obviously familiar with the path, but it was more than
that. The tree limbs that caught on my shirt didn't get caught in
her hair. The roots that threatened to trip me didn't slow her
down.
We'd found ointment at a health food store. So the bushes moving
for her and not for us was real, not illusion. Maybe glamor wasn't
the only thing to worry about. Which was why the Browning was
loaded with nonsilver bullets. I'd had to go out and buy some
special for the occasion. Larry was loaded up too, and for the
first time I wished he had two guns. I still had the Firestar with
silver ammo, but Larry was out of luck if a vamp jumped us. Of
course, it was broad daylight. I was more worried about fairies
than vamps right this minute. There was salt in our shirt pockets,
not a lot, but you didn't need much, just enough to throw on the
fey or the thing being magicked. Salt disrupted fey magic.
Temporarily.
A breeze came up the path. It grew into a wind in one fitful
gust. The air smelled clean and fresh. You hoped the beginning of
time smelled like that; like fresh bread, clean laundry, childhood
memories of spring. It probably smelled like ozone and swamp water.
Reality almost always smells worse than daydream.
Dorrie stopped and turned back to us. "The trees across the path
are just illusion. They're not solid."
"What trees?" Larry asked. I cursed silently. It would have been
nice to keep the ointment a secret.
Dorrie took two steps back towards us. She stared at my face
from inches away, then made a face like she'd seen something
unclean. "You're wearing ointment." She made it sound like a very
bad thing.
"Magnus did try to bedazzle us twice. Nothing wrong with being
cautious," I said.
"Well, our illusions won't matter to you, then." She took off at
a faster pace, leaving us to stumble after her.
The path led into a clearing that was nearly a perfect circle.
There was a small mound in the center with a white stone Celtic
cross in the middle of a mass of vibrant blue flowers. Every inch
of ground was covered with bluebells. English bluebells, thick and
fleshy, bluer than the sky. The flowers never grew in this country
without help. They never grew in Missouri without more water than
was practical. But standing in the solid mass of blue surrounded by
trees, it seemed worth it.
Dorrie stood frozen nearly knee-deep in the flowers. She was
staring open-mouthed, a look of horror on her lovely face.
Magnus Bouvier knelt in the flowers on top of the mound, near
the cross. His mouth was bright with fresh blood. Something moved
around him, in front of him. Something more felt than seen. If it
was illusion, the ointment should have taken care of it. I tried
looking at it out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes peripheral
vision works better on magic than straight-on sight.
From the corner of my eye I could see the air swimming in
something that was almost a shape. It was bigger than a man.
Magnus turned and saw us. He stood up abruptly, and the swimming
air blinked out like it had never been. He wiped a sleeve across
his mouth.
"Dorrie . . ." His voice was soft and strangled.
Dorrie clawed her way up the hill. She screamed, "Blasphemy!"
and smacked him. I could hear the slap all the way across the
clearing.
"Ouch," Larry said. "Why is she mad?"
She hit him again, hard enough to sit him down on his butt in
the flowers. "How could you? How could you do such a vile
thing?"
"What did he do?" Larry asked.
"He's been feeding off Rawhead and Bloody Bones just like his
ancestor," I said.
Dorrie turned to me. She looked haggard, horrified, as if she
had caught her brother molesting children. "It was forbidden to
feed." She turned back to Magnus. "You knew that!"
"I wanted the power, Dorrie. What harm did it do?"
"What harm? What harm?" She grabbed a handful of his long hair
and pulled him to his knees. She exposed the bite marks on his
neck. "This is why that creature can call you. This is why one of
the Daoine Sidhe, even a half-breed like you, is called by
death." She let go so abruptly he fell forward on his hands and
knees.
Dorrie sat down in the flowers and cried.
I waded into the flowers. They parted like water, but they
didn't move. They were just never exactly where you were
stepping.
"Jesus, are they moving out of the way?" Larry asked.
"Not exactly," Magnus said. He walked down the mound to stand at
its base. He was wearing the white tuxedo from last night, or what
was left of it. The smear of blood on his shirtsleeve was very
bright against the whiteness.
We waded through the flowers that were moving and not moving, to
join him in front of the mound.
He'd shoved his hair back behind his ears so his face was
visible. And no, his ears weren't pointed. Where do these rumors
get started?
He met my eyes without flinching. If he was ashamed of what he'd
done, it didn't show. Dorrie was still weeping in the bluebells
like her heart would break.
"So now you know," he said.
"You can't bleed a fairie, in the flesh or not in the flesh,
without ritual magic. I've read the spell, Magnus. It's a doozy," I
said.
He smiled at that, and the smile was still lovely, but the blood
at the corner of his mouth ruined the effect. "I had to tie myself
to the beastie. I had to give him some of my mortality in order to
get his blood."
"The spell isn't meant to help you gather blood," I said. "It's
to help the fairies kill each other."
"If it got some of your mortality, did you get some of its
immortality?" Larry asked. It was a good question.
"Yes," Magnus said, "but that wasn't why I did it."
"You did it for power, you son of a bitch," Dorrie said. She
came down the mound, sliding in the strange flowers. "You just had
to do real glamor, real magic. My God, Magnus, you must have been
drinking its blood for years, ever since you were a teenager.
That's when your powers suddenly got so strong. We all thought it
was puberty."
"Afraid not, sister dear."
She spit at him. "Our family was cursed, tied to this land
forever in repentance for doing what you have done. Bloody Bones
broke free last time someone tried to drink from his veins."
"It's been safely imprisoned for ten years, Dorrie."
"How do you know? How do you know that nebulous thing you called
up hasn't been out scaring children?"
"As long as it doesn't hurt any of them, what's the harm?"
"Wait a minute," said Larry. "Why would it scare children?"
"I told you, it's a nursery boggle. It was supposed to eat bad
children," I said. I had an idea, an awful idea. I'd seen a vampire
use a sword, but was I absolutely sure of what I'd seen? No. "When
the thing got out and started slaughtering the Indian tribe, did it
use a weapon, or its hands?"
Dorrie looked at me. "I don't know. Does it matter?"
Larry said, "Oh, my God."
"It might matter a great deal," I said.
"You can't mean those killings," Magnus said. "Bloody Bones
cannot manifest itself physically. I've seen to that."
"Are you sure, brother dear? Are you absolutely sure?" Dorrie's
voice cut and sliced; she wielded scorn like a weapon.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"We'll have to have a witch look at this. I don't know enough
about it," I said.
Dorrie nodded. "I understand. The sooner the better."
"Rawhead and Bloody Bones did not do those killings," Magnus
said.
"For your sake, Magnus, I hope not," I said.
"What do you mean?"
"Because five people have died. Five people who didn't do a damn
thing to deserve it."
"It's imprisoned by a combination of Indian, Christian, and
fairie power," he said. "It's not breaking free of that."
I walked around the mound slowly. The fleshy flowers still moved
out of the way. I'd tried watching my feet, but it was dizzying,
because the flowers moved yet didn't, like trying to watch one of
them bloom. You knew it did, but you could never watch the actual
event.
I ignored the flowers and concentrated on the mound. I wasn't
trying to sense the dead, so daylight was fine. There was magic
here, lots of it. I'd never felt fairie magic before. There was
something here that had a familiar taste to it, and it wasn't the
Christianity. "Some kind of death magic went into this," I said. I
walked around the mound until I could see Magnus's face. "A little
human sacrifice, perhaps?"
"Not exactly," Magnus said.
"We would never condone human sacrifice," Dorrie said.
Maybe she wouldn't, but I wasn't so sure about Magnus. I didn't
say it out loud. Dorrie was upset enough already.
"If it's not sacrifice, then what is it?"
"Three hills are buried with our dead. Each death is like a
stake to hold old Bloody Bones down," Magnus said.
"How did you lose track of which hills belonged to you?" I
asked.
"It's been over three hundred years," Magnus said. "There were
no deeds back then. I wasn't a hundred percent sure the hill was
the right hill myself. But when they raked up the dead, I felt it."
He huddled in on himself as if the air had suddenly grown colder.
"You can't raise the dead from that hillside. If you do it, then
Bloody Bones will be loosed. The magic to stop it is complicated.
Truthfully, I'm not sure I'm up to it myself. And I don't know any
Indian shamans anymore."
"You have made a mockery of everything we stand for," Dorrie
said.
"What did Serephina offer you?" I asked.
He looked at me, surprised. "What are you talking about?"
"She offers everyone their heart's desire. What was yours,
Magnus?"
"Freedom and power. She said she'd find another guardian for
Rawhead and Bloody Bones. She said she'd find a way for me to keep
the power I'd borrowed from it without having to tend it."
"And you believed her?"
He shook his head. "I'm the only person in the family who has
the power. We are the guardians forever as penance for stealing it,
for letting it kill." He collapsed to his knees in the blue, blue
flowers, his head bowed, hair spilling forward to hide his face.
"I'll never be free."
"You don't deserve to be free," Dorrie said.
"Why did Serephina want you so badly?" I asked.
"She's afraid of death. She says drinking from something as
long-lived as I am helps her keep death at bay."
"She's a vampire," Larry protested.
"But not immortal," I said.
Magnus looked up, strange aquamarine eyes glimmering out through
his shining hair. Maybe it was the hair, or the eyes, or his being
nearly covered in the strange moving, not moving flowers, but he
didn't look very human.
"She fears death," he said. "She fears you." His voice was low
and echoing.
"She nearly cleaned my clock last night. Why's she afraid of
me?"
"You brought death among us last night."
"It can't be the first time," I said.
"She came to me for my long life, my immortal blood. Perhaps she
will go to you next. Perhaps instead of running from death, she
will embrace it."
The skin on my arms twitched, marching in gooseflesh up to my
elbows. "She tell you that last night?"
"There is a power involved, hurting her old enemy Jean-Claude,
but in the end, Anita, she wonders if your power would make the
difference. If she drank you up, would she be immortal? Would you
be able to keep death from her with your necromancy?"
"You could leave town," Larry said. I wasn't sure which of us he
was speaking to.
I shook my head. "Master vampires don't give up that easy. I'll
tell Stirling that I won't be raising his dead, Magnus. No one else
can do it but me, so it won't get done."
"But they won't give back the land," Magnus said in his strange
voice. "If they simply blow up the mountain, the result might be
the same."
"Is that true, Dorrie?"
She nodded. "It could be."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
Magnus crawled through the flowers, peering at me through the
shining curtain of his hair. His eyes were swirling bands of green
and blue, whirling until I was dizzy. I looked away.
"Raise a handful of the dead. Can you do that?" he asked.
"No sweat," I said. "But will everybody's lawyers agree to
that?"
"I'll see that they do," he said.
"Dorrie?" I asked.
She nodded. "I'll see to it."
I stared at Magnus for a moment. "Will Serephina really rescue
the boy?"
"Yes," he said.
I stared down at him. "Then I'll see you tonight."
"No, I'll be well and truly drunk again. It's not foolproof, but
it helps drown her out."
"Fine; I'll raise you a handful of dead. Keep your land
safe."
"You have our gratitude," Magnus said. He looked feral,
frightening, beautiful crouched in the flowers. His gratitude might
be worth something if Serephina didn't kill him first.
Hell, if she didn't kill me first.
Chapter 33
I called Special Agent Bradford late in the day. They hadn't
found Xavier. They hadn't found Jeff. They hadn't found any
vampires that I needed to kill, and why the hell was I calling him?
I was not on this case, remember? I remembered. And yes, the two
youngest victims had been sexually assaulted, but not the same day
they were killed. I probably should have brought Magnus in, but he
was the only one who understood the spells on Bloody Bones. He
wouldn't be any good to us locked up. Dorrie knew a local witch she
trusted. I'd thought that maybe Bloody Bones was our killer. I'd
never seen a vampire hide itself so completely from me as the one
that killed Coltrain. I'd added it to my list of suspects, but
hadn't told the cops. Now I was glad I hadn't. The sexual assault
had Xavier written all over it. Besides, explaining that a nursery
boggle from Scotland was committing murders on the ethereal plane
sounded far-fetched even to me.
The sky was thick with clouds that glowed like jewels. They
shimmered and stretched across the sky like a gigantic gleaming
blanket that some great beast had shredded with massive claws.
Through the holes in the clouds, the sky peeked through black with
a few diamond-chip stars bright enough to compete with the gleaming
sky.
I stood on the hilltop staring up at the sky, breathing in the
cool spring air. Larry stood beside me, looking up. His eyes
reflected the glowing light.
"Get on with it," Stirling said.
I turned and looked at him. Him, Bayard, and Ms. Harrison. Beau
had been with them, but I'd made him wait at the bottom of the
mountain. I'd even told him if he so much as showed his face up
top, I'd put a bullet in it. I wasn't sure Stirling believed me,
but Beau had.
"Not an appreciator of nature's beauty, are you, Raymond?"
Even by moonlight I could see his scowl. "I want this over with,
Ms. Blake. Now, tonight."
Strangely enough, I agreed with him. It made me nervous. I
didn't like Raymond. It made me want to argue with him, regardless
of whether I agreed. But I didn't argue. Point for me.
"I'll get it done tonight, Raymond; don't sweat it."
"Please stop calling me by my first name, Ms. Blake." He made
the request through clenched teeth, but he had said "please."
"Fine. It'll be done tonight, Mr. Stirling. Okay?"
He nodded. "Thank you; now get on with it."
I opened my mouth to say something smart, but Larry said very
softly, "Anita."
He was right, as usual. As much fun as it was to yank Stirling's
chain, it was just delaying the inevitable. I was tired of
Stirling, of Magnus, and of everything. It was time to do this job
and go home. Well, maybe not straight home. I wouldn't leave
without Jeff Quinlan, one way or another.
The goat gave a high, questioning bleat. It was staked out in
the middle of the boneyard. It was a brown-and-white-spotted goat
with those strange yellow eyes they sometimes have. It had floppy
white ears and seemed to like having the top of its head scratched.
Larry had petted it in the Jeep on the drive over. Always a bad
idea. Never get friendly with the sacrifices. Makes it hard to kill
them.
I had not petted the goat. I knew better. This was Larry's first
goat. He'd learn. Hard or easy, he'd learn. There were two more
goats at the bottom of the hill. One of them was even smaller and
cuter than this one.
"Shouldn't we have the Bouviers' lawyers present, Mr. Stirling?"
Bayard said.
"The Bouviers waived having their attorney present," I said.
"Why would they do that?" Stirling asked.
"They trust me not to lie to them," I said.
Stirling looked at me for a long moment. I couldn't see his eyes
clearly, but I could feel the wheels inside his head moving.
"You're going to lie for them, aren't you?" he said. His voice
was cold, repressed, too angry for heat.
"I don't lie about the dead, Mr. Stirling. Sometimes about the
living, but never about the dead. Besides, Bouvier didn't offer me
a bribe. Why should I help him if he doesn't throw money at
me?"
Larry didn't call me on that one. He was looking at Stirling,
too. Wondering what he'd say, maybe.
"You've made your point, Ms. Blake. Can we get on with it now?"
He sounded reasonable, ordinary suddenly. All that anger, all that
mistrust, had had to go somewhere. But it wasn't in his voice.
"Fine." I knelt and opened the gym bag at my feet. It held my
animating equipment. I had another one that held vampire gear. I
used to just transfer whatever I wanted into the bag. I bought a
second bag after I showed up once at a zombie raising with the
wrong bag. It was also illegal to carry vampire slaying stuff if
you didn't have a warrant of execution on you. Brewster's law might
change that, but until then . . . I had two bags. The zombie was my
normal burgundy one; the vampire bag was white. Even in the dark,
it was easy to tell them apart. That was the plan.
Larry's zombie bag was a nearly virulent green with Teenage
Mutant Ninja Turtles on it. I was almost afraid to ask what his
vampire bag looked like.
"Let me test my understanding here," Larry said. My words fed
back to me. He knelt and unzipped his bag.
"Go ahead, " I said. I got out my jar of ointment. I knew
animators who had special containers for the ointment. Crockery,
hand-blown glass, mystical symbols carved into the sides. I used an
old Mason jar that had once held Grandma Blake's green beans.
Larry fished out a peanut butter jar with the label still on it.
Extra-crunchy. Yum-yum.
"We have to raise a minimum of three zombies, right?"
"Right," I said.
He stared around at the scattered bones. "A mass grave is hard
to raise from, right?"
"This isn't a mass grave. It's an old cemetery that was
disturbed. That's easier than a mass grave."
"Why?" he asked.
I laid the machete down beside the jar of ointment. "Because
each grave had rites performed that would tie the dead individual
to the grave, so that if you call it you have a better chance of
getting an individual to answer."
"Answer?"
"Rise from the dead."
He nodded. He laid a wicked curved blade on the ground. It
looked like a freaking scimitar.
"Where did you get that?"
He dipped his head, and I would have bet he was blushing. Just
couldn't see it by moonlight.
"Guy at college."
"Where'd he get it?"
Larry looked at me, surprise plain on his face. "I don't know.
Is something wrong with it?"
I shook my head. "Just a little fancy for beheading chickens and
slitting a few goats open."
"It felt good in my hand." He shrugged. "Besides, it looks
cool." He grinned at me.
I shook my head, but I let it go. Did I really need a machete to
behead a few chickens, no, but the occasional cow, yeah.
Why, you may ask, didn't we have a cow tonight? No one would
sell Bayard one. He had the brilliant idea of telling the farmers
why he wanted the cow. The God-fearing folk would sell their cows
to be eaten, but not for raising zombies. Prejudiced bastards.
"The youngest of the dead here are two hundred years old,
right?" Larry asked.
"Right," I said.
"We're going to raise a minimum of three of these corpses in
good enough condition for them to answer questions."
"That's the plan," I said.
"Can we do that?"
I smiled at him. "That's the plan."
His eyes widened. "Damn, you don't know if we can do it either,
do you?" His voice had dropped to an amazed whisper.
"We raise three zombies a night every night routinely. We're
just doing them back to back."
"We don't raise two-hundred-year-old zombies routinely."
"True, but the theory's the same."
"Theory?" He shook his head. "I know we're in trouble when you
start talking about theories. Can we do this?"
The honest answer was no, but the thing that dictated more than
anything else what you could raise and what you couldn't was
confidence. Believing you could do it. So . . . I was tempted to
lie. But I didn't. Truth between Larry and me.
"I think we can do it."
"But you don't know for sure," he said.
"No."
"Geez, Anita."
"Don't get rattled on me. We can do this."
"But you aren't sure."
"I'm not sure we'll survive the plane ride home, but I'm still
getting on the plane."
"Was that supposed to be comforting?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"It wasn't," he said.
"Sorry, but this is as good as it gets. You want certainty, be
an accountant."
"I'm not good at math."
"Me either."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright, boss, how
do we combine powers?"
I told him.
"Neat." He didn't look nervous anymore. He looked eager. Larry
may have wanted to be a vampire executioner, but he was an
animator. It wasn't a career choice, it was a gift, or a curse. No
one could teach you to raise the dead unless you had the power in
your blood. Genetics is a wonderful thing: brown eyes, curly hair,
zombie raising.
"Whose ointment you want to use?" Larry asked.
"Mine." I'd given Larry the recipe for the ointment and told him
which ingredients you couldn't mess with, like the graveyard mold,
but there was room for experimentation. Every animator had their
own special recipe. You never knew what Larry's ointment would
smell like. For sharing powers you used the same ointment, so we
were using mine.
For all I knew, we didn't have to use the same ointment, but I'd
only shared my powers three times. Twice with the man who trained
me as an animator. Each time we'd used the same ointment. I had
acted as a focus all three times. Which meant I was in charge.
Where I liked to be, right?
"Could I act as a focus?" Larry asked. "Not this time, but
later?"
"If this comes up again, we'll try it," I said. Truth was, I
didn't know if Larry had the power to be a focus. Manny, who taught
me, couldn't do it. Very few animators could act as a focus. Those
who could were mistrusted by the rest, and most wouldn't play with
us. We would literally share our powers. A lot of animators
wouldn't be willing to do that. There is a theory that you could
permanently steal another's magic. But I don't buy it. Raising the
dead isn't like a magic charm that someone can take with them, and
leave you without. Animating is built into the cells of our bodies.
It's part of us. You can't steal that.
I opened the ointment, and the spring air suddenly smelled like
Christmas trees. I used a lot of rosemary.
The ointment was thick and waxy and always felt cool. Flecks of
glowing graveyard mold looked like ground-up lightning bugs. I
smeared ointment across Larry's forehead, down his cheeks. He
untucked his t-shirt and raised it so I could dab it over his
heart. Which is harder than it sounds with a shoulder holster on,
but we'd both worn a gun apiece. I had left both knives and my
backup gun in the Jeep. I touched his skin and could feel his heart
pounding under my hand.
I handed Larry the Mason jar. He dipped two fingers into the
thick ointment. He traced ointment over my face. His hand was very
steady, face blank with concentration. Eyes utterly serious.
I unbuttoned the polo shirt and Larry slipped his fingers inside
to touch my heart. His fingers rubbed the chain of my crucifix,
spilling it out of my shirt. I slipped it back inside next to my
skin. He handed the jar back to me, and I screwed the lid on tight.
Wouldn't do to let it dry out.
I'd never heard of anyone doing exactly what we were about to
attempt. Not the age part, but the scattered bodies. We only wanted
three, but there weren't three intact bodies. Even doing them one
at a time, it was chancy. How to raise just so much dead and no
more when they were lying jumbled together? I had no names to use.
No gravesite to encircle with power. How to do it?
It was a puzzlement.
But for now we just had to close the circle. One problem at a
time.
"Make sure both of your hands have ointment on them," I
said.
Larry rubbed his hands together like he was putting on lotion.
"Aye, aye, boss; what next?"
I drew a deep silver bowl out of my bag. It gleamed in the
moonlight like another piece of sky.
Larry's eyes widened.
"It doesn't have to be silver. There are no mystical symbols on
it. You could use a Tupperware bowl, but the life of another living
creature is going in here. Use something nice to show some respect,
but understand that it doesn't have to be silver, or this shape, or
anything. It's just a container. Okay?"
Larry nodded. "Why not have the other goats up here on top? It's
going to be a trek to get them up here every time."
I shrugged. "First, they'd panic. Second, it seems cruel for
them to watch their friends bite the dust, knowing they're
next."
"My zoology prof would say you're humanizing them."
"Let him. I know they feel pain, and fear. That's enough."
Larry looked at me for a long moment. "You don't like doing it
either."
"No. You want to help hold or feed the carrot?"
"Carrot?"
I dug a carrot, complete with leafy green top, out of the
bag.
"Was that what you got in the grocery store while I waited in
the car with the goats?"
"Yeah."
I held the carrot up in the air. The goat strained to the end of
its picket line, towards the carrot. I let the goat lip the leafy
top. It bleated and strained towards me. I let him get a little
more leaf. His stubby little tail started wagging. Happy goat.
I handed Larry the silver bowl. "Put it on the ground under the
throat. When the blood starts coming, catch as much as you
can."
I had the machete behind my back in my right hand, carrot in my
left. I felt like a child's dentist. No, nothing behind my back.
Pay no attention to that huge needle. Except this needle was
permanent.
The goat yanked most of the leaves off the carrot, and I waited
while it snaked them up into its mouth. Larry knelt beside it, bowl
on the ground. I offered the meat of the carrot to the goat. It got
a taste of it, and I drew the carrot out, out, until the goat
strained its neck out as far as it could, trying to get more of the
hard orange flesh.
I laid the machete against the hairy throat, not cutting,
gentle. The neck vibrated against the blade, straining for the
carrot. I drew the blade across the neck.
The machete was sharp, and I had practice. There was no sound,
only the shocked, widened eyes, and blood pouring from the
neck.
Larry picked up the bowl, holding it under the wound. Blood
splashed down his arms onto the blue t-shirt. The goat collapsed to
its knees. Blood filled the bowl, dark and glinting, more black
than red.
"There's bits of carrot in the blood," Larry said.
"It's alright," I said. "Carrot's inert."
The goat's head fell slowly forward until it touched the ground.
The bowl sat under its throat, filling with blood. It had been
nearly a perfect kill. Goats could be sort of pesky, but sometimes,
like tonight, it all worked. Of course, we weren't done.
I laid the bloody knife against my left arm and sliced it open.
The pain was sharp and immediate. I held the wound over the bowl,
letting the thick drops mingle with the goat's blood.
"Give me your right arm," I said.
Larry didn't argue. He just held out his bare arm. I'd told him
what would happen, but it was still a very trusting gesture. His
face turned up to me was without any trace of fear. God.
I sliced his arm. He winced but didn't draw back. "Let it drip
into the bowl."
He held his arm over the bowl. All the blood was red-black in
the moonlight.
The beginnings of power trickled over my skin. My power, Larry's
power, the power of a ritual sacrifice. Larry looked up at me with
wide eyes.
I knelt beside him and laid the machete across the mouth of the
bowl. I held out my left hand to him. He gave me his right. We
clasped hands and pressed the wounds in our forearms together,
letting the blood mingle. Larry held one side of the blood-filled
bowl and I held the other. Blood trickled down our arms to drip off
our elbows into the bowl, onto the bloody naked steel.
We stood still clasped together, still holding the bowl. I
withdrew my hand from his slowly, then took the bowl from him. He
followed my every movement like he always did. He'd be able to
close his eyes and mimic me.
I walked to the edge of the circle I had in my mind and plunged
my hand into the bowl. The blood was still amazingly warm, almost
hot. I grasped the handle of the machete with my bloody hand and
began using the blade to sprinkle blood as I walked.
I could feel Larry standing in the center of the circle that I
walked like there was a rope stretched between us. As I walked,
that rope stretched tighter and tighter like a rubber band being
twisted. The power grew with each step, each drop of blood. The
earth was hungry for it. I'd never raised the dead on ground that
had seen death rituals before. Magnus should have mentioned that.
Maybe he hadn't known. Charitable of me.
It didn't matter now. There was magic here for blood and death.
Something that was eager for me to close the circle. Eager for me
to raise the dead. Hungry.
I stood nearly where I'd begun. I was a sprinkle of blood away
from closing the circle. The line of power between Larry and me was
so tight it hurt. The potential power was frightening, and
exhilarating. We'd awakened something old and long dormant. It made
me hesitate. Made me not want to finish the circle. Stubbornness,
and fear. I didn't completely understand what I was feeling. It was
someone else's magic, someone's spell. We'd triggered it, but I
didn't know what it would do. We could raise our dead, but it would
be like walking a tightrope between the other spell and . . .
something.
I felt old Bloody Bones in its barrow miles away. I felt it
watching me, urging me to take that last step. I shook my head as
if the fey creature could see me. I just didn't understand the
spell well enough to risk it.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked. His voice sounded strangled. We
were choking on unused power, and damned if I knew what to do with
it.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Ivy stood at the
edge of the mountain. She was wearing hiking boots with thick white
socks folded over them, baggy black shorts, and a skin-tight neon
pink top, with a checked flannel shirt over it. The chain of her
dangling earring gleamed in the moonlight. She'd dressed herself
tonight.
All I had to do was drop that last bit of blood, and the circle
would close. And I could hold this circle against her, against them
all. Nothing would cross it that I didn't want to cross it. Well,
within reason. Demons and angels could probably cross it, but
vampires couldn't.
I felt a surge of triumph from the thing trapped in its mound.
It wanted me to close the circle. I tossed the bowl and machete
behind me towards the center of the circle, away from the outer
edge so no blood would fall on it. Ivy started towards me in a
faster-than-light display, a blur of speed. I went for my gun, felt
it slide from the holster, and she smashed into me. The impact
knocked the Browning out of my hand. I hit the ground with nothing
in my hands but air.
Chapter 34
Ivy reared backwards, fangs flashing. Larry screamed, "Anita!" I
heard the gun go off, felt the bullet hit her body. It hit her in
the shoulder, twisted her body, but she turned back to me with a
smile. She dug fingers into my shoulders and rolled us over,
putting me on top, with one of her hands leeched to the back of my
neck. She squeezed until I gasped.
"I'll snap her spine unless you throw that toy away," she
said.
"She'll kill me anyway. Don't do it."
"Anita . . ."
"Now, or I'll kill her while you watch."
"Shoot her!" But there wasn't a clear shot. He'd have to walk
around me and fire point-blank. Ivy could kill me twice over before
he got to us.
Ivy forced my neck lower. I braced my right arm on the ground.
She'd have to break something to get me down to her. If she broke
my neck, it'd be over; a broken arm would just hurt.
I heard something hit the ground, a dull, heavy thump. Larry's
gun. Damn.
She pressed harder on the back of my neck. I dug the palm of my
hand into the ground hard enough to leave an imprint.
"I can break that arm and bring you to me. Your choice: easy, or
hard."
"Hard," I said between gritted teeth.
She grabbed for my arm, and I had an idea. I collapsed forward
on top of her. It caught her off guard. I had a handful of seconds
to pull the chain around my neck out of my shirt.
Her hand slid through my hair like a lover's, pressing my face
against her cheek, not hard, almost gentle. "Three nights from now
you'll like me, Anita. You'll worship me."
"I doubt that." The chain slid forward, the crucifix pooled
against her throat. There was a blinding flash of white, white
light. A rush of heat that singed my hair.
Ivy screamed and clawed at the cross, scrambling from underneath
me.
I stayed on all fours with the cross dangling in front of me.
The blue-white flames died away because it wasn't touching vampiric
flesh anymore, but it glowed like a captive star, and she backed
away from it.
I didn't know where my gun was, but the machete gleamed against
the dark earth. I wrapped my hand around it and got to my feet.
Larry was behind me with his own cross out, held in front of him to
the length of its chain. The white light with its core of blue was
almost painfully bright.
Ivy screamed, shielding her eyes. All she had to do was walk
away. But she was frozen, immobile in the face of the crosses, and
two true believers.
"Gun," I said to Larry.
"Can't find it."
Both guns were matte black so they wouldn't reflect light at
night and make us a target; now it made them invisible.
We advanced on the vampire. She threw both arms up before her
face and screamed, "Nooo!" She'd backed up nearly to the edge of
the circle. If she ran, we wouldn't chase her, but she didn't run.
Maybe she couldn't.
I shoved the machete up under her ribs. Blood poured down the
blade onto my hands. I drove the blade upward into her heart. I
gave it that last little wrench to slice it up.
Her arms fell away from her face slowly. Her eyes were wide,
surprised. She stared down at the blade in her stomach, as if she
didn't understand what it was doing there. The flesh of her neck
was black where the cross had burned her.
She fell to her knees and I went with her, keeping my grip on
the machete. She didn't die. I hadn't really expected her to. I
jerked the blade out of her, doing more damage. She made a low
gurgling sound, but stayed on her knees. Her hands touched the
blood flowing out of her chest and stomach. She stared at the
gleaming darkness as if she'd never seen blood before. The blood
flow was already slowing; unless I killed her soon, the wound would
close.
I stood over her and brought the machete back in a two-handed
grip. I put everything I had into that downswing. The blade bit
into her neck, down to the spine, catching on the bone.
Ivy stared up at me with blood streaming down her neck. I swung
back for another chop, and she watched me do it, too hurt to run
now. I had to struggle to get the blade out of the spine, and still
she blinked up at me. If I didn't finish her, she'd heal even
this.
I brought the blade down one last time and felt the last edge of
bone give. The blade came out the other side, and her head slid off
her shoulders in a spray of blood like a black fountain. That black
blood poured over the circle and closed it.
Power filled the circle until we were drowning in it. Larry fell
to his knees. The light from the crosses faded like dying stars.
The vampire was dead, and the crosses couldn't help us now.
"What's happening?"
I could feel the power like water on every side, choking close.
I was breathing it in, soaking it up through my skin.
I screamed wordlessly and fell to the ground. I fell through
layers of power, and the moment I hit the ground I could feel the
power below me, stretching downward, outward.
I was lying on top of bones. They twitched like something moving
in its sleep. I crawled to my knees, hands digging into the earth.
I touched a long, thin arm bone, and it moved. I scrambled to my
feet, slow, too slow through the pressing air, and watched.
Bones slid through the earth like water, coming together. The
earth heaved and rocked underfoot like giant moles were
crawling.
Larry was on his feet now, too. "What's happening?"
"Something bad," I said.
I'd never seen the dead coalesce. They always came to the
surface of the grave all in one piece. I'd never realized it was
like putting together a macabre jigsaw puzzle. A skeleton formed at
my feet, and flesh began to crawl over it, flow like clay, molding
itself back to the bones.
"Anita?"
I turned to Larry. He was pointing at a skeleton at the far edge
of the circle. Half the bones were on the outside of the circle.
Flesh crawled over this side of the bones and pushed against the
blood circle. The earth gave one last heave, and the magic poured
out over the ground. I heard it pop inside my head like a release
of pressure. The air spread out, not so drowning-thick. It poured
over the hillside like invisible flame, and everywhere it touched
the dead formed bodies.
"Stop it, Anita. Stop it."
"I can't." The killing magic in the ground had stolen the reins.
All I could do was watch and feel the power spreading outward.
Enough power to ride forever. Enough power to raise a thousand
dead.
I knew when Rawhead and Bloody Bones burst its prison. I felt
the power sag as the thing escaped. Then the power lashed back into
this bit of ground and drove us to our knees. The dead struggled
from the earth like swimmers dragging themselves to shore. When
nearly twenty dead stood waiting with empty eyes, the power flowed
outward. I felt it seeking more dead, something else to raise. This
I could stop. The fairie was gone, out of the loop; he had what he
wanted.
I called the power back. I drew it into me, back through the
ground, like pulling a snake by its tail out of a hole. I flung it
into the zombies. Flung it into them and said, "Live."
The wrinkled flesh filled out. The dead eyes gleamed. The
tattered clothing, mended itself. Dirt fell away from a long
gingham dress. A woman with midnight hair, dark skin, and Magnus's
startled eyes looked at me. They all looked at me. Twenty dead, all
over two hundred years old, and they could have passed for
human.
"My God," Larry whispered.
Even I was impressed.
"Very impressive, Ms. Blake." Stirling's voice was wrenching, as
if he shouldn't have been there. He was a different part of reality
from the near-perfect zombies. The fairie was out, but I'd do my
job, for what good it would do any of us.
"Which of you is a Bouvier?"
There was a murmur of voices, most of them speaking French.
Nearly all of them were Bouviers. The woman introduced herself as
Anias Bouvier. She looked very alive.
"Looks like you'll have to move your hotel," I said.
"Oh, I don't think so," Stirling said.
I turned and looked at him.
He had a big shiny silver gun out. A nickel-plated .45. He held
it like it was a movie, kind of out in front of him, waist-high. A
.45 is a big gun; you don't hit much from a waist shot. Or that's
the theory. With it pointed at us, I wasn't eager to try the
theory.
Bayard was pointing a .22 automatic vaguely in our direction. It
didn't look like he'd held a gun before. Maybe he forgot and left
the safety on.
Ms. Harrison had a nickel-plated .38 pointed very steadily at
me. She stood with her legs apart, balanced on her ridiculous high
heels. She held the gun in a two-handed grip like she knew what she
was doing.
I flashed on her face. Her eyes in her thick makeup were a
little wide, but she was rock steady. Steadier than Bayard and a
better stance than Stirling. I hoped Stirling paid her well.
"What's going on, Stirling?" I asked. My voice was even, but
there was an edge of power to it. I was still riding the power,
enough power to put the zombies back in the ground. Enough power to
do a lot of things.
He smiled visibly in the bright reflected light. "You've
released the creature; now we shall kill you."
"Why the hell do you care if Bloody Bones is out?" I saw the
guns and still didn't know why.
"It came into my dreams, Ms. Blake. It promised me all the
Bouvier land. All of it."
"The fey breaking out won't get you the land," I said.
"It will with Bouvier dead. The deed that got us this hillside
will be found to include all the land, once there's no one to fight
it."
"Even with Magnus dead, you won't get the land," I said, but my
voice didn't sound so sure.
"You mean his sister?" Stirling said. "She'll die just as easily
as Magnus."
My stomach was tight. "Her children?"
"Rawhead and Bloody Bones loves children best of all," he
said.
"You son of a bitch." It was Larry. He took a step forward, and
Ms. Harrison's gun swung to him. I grabbed his arm with my free
hand. I still had the machete in my hand. Larry stopped, and the
gun stayed on him. I wasn't sure that was an improvement.
Tension sang down Larry's arm. I'd seen him angry, but never
like this. The power responded to that anger. The zombies all
turned to us in a rustle of cloth. Their glittering eyes, so alive,
were waiting for us.
"Move in front of us," I whispered. The zombies began walking
towards us. The closest ones moved in front of us immediately. I
lost sight of the gun-toting trio. Here was hoping they'd lost
sight of us.
"Kill them," Stirling said, loud, almost a yell.
I started to drop to the ground, still holding Larry's arm. He
resisted. Gunfire exploded around us and he kissed dirt, flat.
With the side of his face pressed to the ground, he said, "What
now?"
Bullets were hitting the zombies. The bodies jerked and
twitched. Some of the very alive faces stared down, alarmed as
holes appeared in their bodies. But there was no pain. The panic
was reflex.
Someone was yelling; it wasn't us. "Stop it, stop it. We can't
do this. We can't just kill them."
It was Bayard.
"It is late for an attack of conscience," Ms. Harrison said. It
may have been the first time I'd heard her voice. She sounded
efficient.
"Lionel, you are either with me, or against me."
"Shit," I muttered. I wormed forward, trying to see what was
happening. I pushed aside a billowing skirt just in time to see
Stirling shoot Lionel in the stomach. The .45 gave out a booming
sound and nearly jerked itself out of Stirling's hand, but he held
on. From less than ten inches away, you could shoot nearly anything
with a .45.
Bayard collapsed to his knees, looking up at Stirling. He was
trying to say something, but no sound came out.
Stirling took the gun from Bayard's hand and put it in his own
jacket pocket. He turned his back on Bayard and walked out onto the
hard, dry soil.
Ms. Harrison hesitated, but she followed her boss.
Bayard fell onto his side with a dark flood draining out of him.
His glasses reflected the moonlight, making him look blind.
Stirling and Ms. Harrison were coming in after us. Stirling
pushed among the dead as if they were trees and he was wading
through. The dead didn't move for him. They stood there like
stubborn, fleshy barriers. I hadn't told them to move, so they
wouldn't.
Ms. Harrison had stopped trying to force her way through.
Moonlight glinted on her shiny gun as she used a zombie's shoulder
to sight on us.
"Kill her," I whispered.
The zombie she was using as a sighting post turned towards her.
She made an exasperated sound, and the dead closed on her.
Larry looked at me. "What did you tell them?"
Ms. Harrison was screaming now. High, frightened shrieks. She
fired her gun again and again. It clicked empty. Slow, eager hands
and mouths latched onto her body.
"Stop them," Larry said. He grabbed my arm. "Stop them."
I could feel the hands tearing bits of flesh from Ms. Harrison.
Teeth sank into her shoulder, tore that tender neck, and I knew
when blood flowed into that mouth.
Larry was along for the ride. "Oh, God, stop it!" He was on his
knees pulling at me, begging.
Stirling hadn't fired a shot. Where was he?
"Stop," I whispered.
The dead froze like automatons, stopped in mid-action. Ms.
Harrison slid to the ground in a moaning heap.
Stirling came in from one side, the big gun pointed very
steadily at us, out in a two-handed grip like it was supposed to be
held. He'd made his way behind us while the zombies worked over Ms.
Harrison. He was standing nearly on top of us. It took a lot of
nerve to come that close to the zombies.
Larry's fingers dug into my arm. "Don't, Anita; please don't."
Even staring down the barrel of a gun, Larry stuck to his morals.
Admirable.
"If you say a word, Ms. Blake, I will kill you."
I just stared up at him. I was so close to him I could have
reached out and touched his pants leg. The .45 was pointed very
solidly at my head. If he pulled the trigger, I was gone.
"Careless of you not to have the zombies attack both of us."
I agreed with him, but all I could do was stare up at him. I
still had the machete in one hand. I tried not to tighten my grip
on it. Not to draw attention to it.
I must have made some betraying motion because he said, "Take
your hand away from the knife, Ms. Blake, slowly."
I didn't do it. I stared up at him and his gun.
"Now, Ms. Blake, or . . ." He thumbed back the hammer on the
gun. Not necessary but always dramatic.
I let go of the machete.
"Hand away from it, Ms. Blake."
I moved my hand away. I didn't move away from him and the gun. I
wanted to, but I made myself be still. A few inches wouldn't make
the gun less deadly, but it might make a big difference if I tried
to jump him. Not my first choice, but if we ran out of other
options . . . I wouldn't go down without a fight.
"Can you lay these zombies to rest, Mr. Kirkland?"
Larry hesitated. "I don't know."
Good boy. If he'd said no, Stirling might have killed him. If
he'd said yes, he'd have killed me.
Larry let go of my arm and moved just a little away from me.
Stirling's eyes flicked to him, back to me, but the gun barrel
never wavered. Damn.
Larry was on his knees, still moving away from me, forcing
Stirling to keep an eye on both of us. The .45 moved an inch from
the center of my forehead, towards Larry. I took a breath and held
it. Not yet, not yet . . . If I tried something too soon, I'd be
dead.
Larry lunged for something on the ground. The .45 swung towards
him.
I did two things at once. I slipped my left hand behind
Stirling's leg and pulled, and I grabbed his groin with my right
and shoved with all I was worth. I was doing the wrong thing to
cause a lot of pain, but it tipped him over. He fell flat on his
back with the gun swinging back towards me.
I'd hoped he'd drop the gun, or be slower. He didn't, and he
wasn't. So I only had a split-second to decide whether to try to
pull his privates out of his body, and cause as much pain as
possible, or go for the gun. I went for the gun, not trying to grab
it, but sweeping my hands into his arms. If I could control his
arms, I could control the gun.
The gun went off. I didn't look. No time. Larry was either hit,
or he wasn't. If he wasn't, I had to get that gun. Stirling's arms
were on the ground, my hands keeping them there, but I had no
leverage. He raised his arms off the ground, and I couldn't stop
him. I shoved my feet into the ground and forced his arms over his
head, but it had become a wrestling match now, and he outweighed me
by sixty pounds.
"Drop the gun." Larry's voice behind me. I couldn't look.
Couldn't take my attention from the gun. We both ignored him.
"I will shoot you," Larry said.
That got Stirling's attention. His eyes flicked to Larry; for
just a moment his body hesitated. I kept my grip on his wrists and
shoved myself forward, up his body. I dug my knee into his groin,
trying to reach the ground through him. He let out a strangled cry.
His hands spasmed.
I moved my hands up and touched the gun. His grip tightened. He
wasn't letting go.
I came up beside Stirling's arms and braced his arms against my
hip. I pulled the arm against my body, just one quick movement, and
snapped his arm at the elbow. The hand went numb, and the gun fell
into my hand.
I crawled away from him, the gun in one hand.
Larry was standing over us with a gun pointed at Stirling.
Stirling didn't seem to care. He was rocking back and forth over
the ground, trying to cradle both injuries at once.
"I had a gun. You could have just moved away from him," Larry
said.
I just shook my head. I trusted Larry to shoot Stirling. I just
hadn't trusted Stirling not to shoot Larry. "I had my hands on the
gun. Seemed a shame to let it go," I said.
Larry pointed the gun at the ground, but kept a nice two-handed
grip on it. "It's yours; you want it?"
I shook my head. "Keep it until we get to the car."
I looked up at the zombies. They were watching me with calm
eyes. There was blood on the mouth of the dark-haired woman. It had
been her teeth that tore into Ms. Harrison's neck.
Ms. Harrison was lying very still on the ground. Passed out, at
the very least.
The power was beginning to unravel at the edges. If I was going
to put everybody back in the ground, it had to be now.
"Go back into the ground. Back to your graves. Go back, all of
you, go back."
The dead walked upon the earth, moving among one another like
children in a game of musical chairs. Then one by one they lay down
upon the earth, and it swallowed them like water. The earth moved
and buckled in waves, until they were all tucked out of sight.
There were no bones protruding from the earth. The earth was
smooth and soft, as if the entire top of the mountain had been dug
up and smoothed over.
The power shredded, flowing back into the ground, or wherever
the hell it came from. We had to get down to the Jeep and start
making phone calls. There was a rampaging fey on the loose. We at
least had to get cops out to the Bouviers' place.
Larry knelt beside Ms. Harrison. He touched her neck. "She's
alive." His hand came away stained with blood.
I looked at Stirling. He'd stopped rolling around and was just
sort of huddled on his side, his arm held at an obscene angle. The
look he gave me was part pain and part hate. If he ever got a
second chance, I was dead.
"Shoot him if he moves," I said.
Larry got to his feet and pointed the gun dutifully at
Stirling.
I went to check on Bayard. He lay on his side, half-crumpled
around the wound in his belly. A wide black circle showed where his
blood had soaked into the thirsty ground. I knew dead when I saw
it, but I knelt on the far side of his body so I could keep an eye
on Stirling. It wasn't that I didn't trust Larry. I just didn't
trust Stirling.
There was no pulse in his neck. The skin was already cooling in
the soft spring air. It hadn't been an instant death. Lionel Bayard
had died while we were fighting. He'd died alone, and he'd known he
was dying, and that he'd been betrayed. It was a bad way to
die.
I stood up and looked at Stirling. I wanted to kill him for
Bayard, for Magnus, for Dorrie Bouvier, for her kids. For being a
heartless son of bitch.
He'd witnessed me using zombies as a weapon. Using magic as a
killing weapon was punishable by death. Self-defense was not an
acceptable plea.
I stared very calmly across at Stirling and the unconscious Ms.
Harrison, and realized that I could have crossed that ground and
put a bullet in both of them, and slept just fine.
Sweet Jesus.
Larry glanced my way, gun still steady, but he'd taken his eyes
off Stirling for a second. Not fatal, tonight, but I'd have to
break him of it. "Is Bayard dead?"
"Yeah." I started back towards them, wondering what I was going
to do. I didn't think Larry would let me shoot them in cold blood.
Part of me was glad. Part of me wasn't.
Wind blew against my face. There was a rustling sound in the
wind, like that made by trees or cloth. There were no trees on top
of this mountain. I turned with the big .45 in a two-handed grip,
and Janos was just there, on the edge of the mountain. Staring at
his skeletal face, I think I stopped breathing. He was dressed all
in black; even his hands were hidden inside black gloves. For one
wild moment he looked like a floating skull. "We have the boy," he
said.
Chapter 35
The crosses were still in plain sight. They glowed with a soft
white radiance. No burning light, not yet. We weren't in active
danger, but the cross grew warm even through my shirt.
Janos put a hand in front of his eyes, the way I would guard my
eyes from the sun in the car. "Please put those away, so we may
talk."
He hadn't asked us to take them off. I could live with tucking
my cross in my shirt. It could come out again later. I spilled the
chain back down my shirt one-handed, keeping the .45 ready. I
realized then that I didn't know if the gun had silver ammo. Now
was not the time to ask. Stirling would probably lie anyway.
Larry slipped his own cross out of sight. The glowing night was
just a little dimmer.
"Alright, now what?" I asked.
Kissa came up behind him, Jeff Quinlan in front of her like a
shield. His glasses were gone, and he looked even younger without
them. She had his arm behind his back, at an angle that could be
painful with just a tug.
He was wearing a cream-colored tuxedo with a cummerbund done two
shades darker to match the bow tie. Kissa was in black leather.
Jeff stood out against her in wonderful contrast.
I swallowed; my pulse threatened to choke me. What was going on?
"You alright, Jeff?"
"I guess so."
Kissa gave a little tug.
He winced. "I'm okay." His voice was a little higher than it
should have been. a little scared.
I held out my hand to him. "Come here."
"Not yet," Janos said.
I'd tried. "What do you want?"
"First drop your guns."
"If we don't?" I thought I knew the answer, but I wanted him to
say it.
"Kissa will kill the boy, and you will have done all this for
nothing,"
"Help me," Stirling said. "She's mad. She attacked Ms. Harrison
with zombies. When we tried to defend ourselves, she nearly killed
us."
That was probably what he'd say in court, too. And a jury would
believe him. They'd want to believe him. I would be the big, bad
zombie queen, and he would be the innocent victim.
Janos laughed, his paper-thin skin threatening to split, but
never quite doing it. "Oh, no, Mr. Stirling, I watched from the
darkness. I saw you murder the other man."
Fear flashed across his face. "I don't know what you mean. We
hired him in good faith. He turned on us."
"My master opened your mind to Bloody Bones. She freed him to
whisper in your dreams about land, money, and power. All that you
desire."
"Serephina sent Ivy to kill me, or rather for me to kill her. So
she'd be sure to have Bloody Bones free," I said.
"Yes," he said. "Serephina told her she had to rid herself of
the disgrace of losing to you."
"By killing me."
"Yes."
"What if she'd succeeded?"
"My master had faith in you, Anita. You are death come among us.
A breath of mortality."
"Why'd she want the thing freed?" I seemed to be asking that a
lot tonight.
"She wishes to taste immortal blood."
"This is all sort of elaborate for a little extra kick in your
food."
He gave another rictus grin. "You are what you eat, Anita. Think
upon it."
I did, and my eyes widened. "She thinks by drinking immortal
blood, she'll be truly immortal?"
"Very good, Anita."
"It won't work," I said.
"We shall see," he said.
"What do you get out it?" I asked.
He cocked his skeletal head to one side, like a decaying bird.
"She is my master, and she shares her bounty."
"You want immortality, too?"
"I want power," he said.
Great. "And it doesn't bother you that the thing will kill
children? That it's already killed some?"
"We feed, Bloody Bones feeds, what does it matter?"
"And Bloody Bones is going to just let you feed off it?"
"Serephina has found the spell that Magnus's ancestor used. She
controls the fairie."
"How?"
He shook his head and smiled. "No more delays, Anita. Drop the
gun, or Kissa will taste him before your eyes."
Kissa ran a hand through Jeff's short hair, a caressing gesture.
It pushed his head to one side, baring a long smooth line of
neck.
"No!" Jeff tried to pull away, and Kissa yanked on his arm hard
enough that he cried out.
"I will break the arm, boy," she growled.
The pain held him immobile, but his eyes were wide and
terrified. He looked at me. He wouldn't plead, no begging, but his
eyes did it for him.
Kissa's lips pulled back from her teeth in a flashy snarl, fangs
visible.
"Don't," I said, and hated it. I tossed the .45 to the ground.
Larry threw my gun down. Disarmed twice in one night. It was a
record even for me.
Chapter 36
"Now what?" I asked.
"Serephina awaits us at the party. She sent suitable clothing
for you. You can change in the limousine," Janos said.
"What party?" I asked.
"The one we have come to invite you to. She is delivering
Jean-Claude's invitation in person."
That didn't sound good. "I think we'll pass on the party."
"I don't think so," Janos said.
Another vampire stepped out of the trees. It was the brunette
that had tormented Jason. She stalked forward in a long black dress
that covered her from neck to ankle. She slid her arms around
Janos, nuzzling his neck, giving us a glimpse of her pale back.
Only a fine webbing of black straps covered her back. The dress
moved like it would slide down her body at the least movement, but
somehow it stayed in place. Fashion-plate magic. Her dark hair was
in a looping braid to one side of her face. She looked good for
someone I'd seen ripped to rotting bits of flesh.
I couldn't keep the surprise off my face.
"I thought she was dead," Larry said.
"So did I."
"I would never have risked Pallas if I truly thought your
werewolf could kill her," Janos said.
A second figure came out of the dark woods. Long white hair
framed a thin, fine-boned face. His eyes glowed blood-red. I'd seen
vampires with glowing eyes before, but they always glowed the color
of their irises. No one who had ever been human had red irises. He
wore a proverbial black tux and tails, complete with a nearly
ankle-length cape.
"Xavier," I said softly.
Larry looked at me. "This is the vampire that's been killing
everyone?"
I nodded.
"Then what's he doing here?"
"That's how you found Jeff so quickly. You're working with
Xavier," I said. "Does Serephina know?"
Janos smiled. "She is master of all, Anita, even him." He said
the last like it impressed him.
"You won't get to munch on your fairie for long if the cops
trace Xavier to you."
"Xavier was following orders. He was on a recruitment drive."
Janos seemed to like saying that last bit like it was an
in-joke.
"Why did you want Ellie Quinlan?"
"Xavier likes a bit of young boy now and then. It is his one
weakness. He turned the girl's lover, and the boy wanted her with
him forever. Tonight she will rise and feed with us."
Not if I could help it. "What do you want, Janos?"
"I was sent to make your life easier," he said.
"Yeah, right."
Pallas uncurled herself from Janos. She glided over to
Stirling.
Stirling stared up at her, cradling his broken arm. It had to
hurt like hell, but it wasn't pain on his face now, it was fear. He
stared up at the vampire; all the arrogance had slipped away. He
looked like a kid who'd discovered the thing under the bed was
really there.
A third vampire moved out of the trees. It was the blonde half
of the pair. She looked fine, like she'd never rotted right before
our eyes. I'd never known a vampire that could look so dead, and
not be.
"You remember Bettina," he said.
Bettina wore a black dress that left her pale shoulders bare. A
throw of black cloth went over one shoulder and down the front of
the dress. A gold belt held it in place, cinching her waist tight.
Her yellow braid was wound in a crown atop her head.
She walked towards us, and her face was perfect. The dry,
rotting skin had been a bad dream, a nightmare. I wish. Fire,
Jean-Claude had said, fire was the only surety. I thought he'd
meant just Janos.
Janos reached over and grabbed Jeff from Kissa. He gripped the
boy's shoulders with both black-gloved hands. His fingers were
longer than they should have been, as though they had an extra
joint. Against the white of Jeff's jacket, you could tell that the
index finger was as long as the middle finger. Another myth that
was true, at least for Janos. Those long, strange fingers dug into
Jeff just a little.
Jeff's eyes were so wide it looked painful.
"What's going on?" I asked.
Kissa was dressed in the same black vinyl outfit she'd had on in
the torture room, though it couldn't be the exact same one, because
the first one had Larry's bullet hole in it. She stood beside him,
her hands in fists. She stood very still, as only the dead can, but
there was a tension to her, a wariness. She wasn't happy. Her dark
skin was strangely pale. She hadn't fed yet tonight. I could always
tell . . . with most vampires. There are always exceptions.
Xavier moved in a shadow of that impossible blurring speed past
Stirling, to stand beside the still unconscious Ms. Harrison. Larry
shook his head. "Did he just appear there, or did I see him
move?"
"He moved," I said.
I expected Janos to send Kissa out to join the others, but he
didn't. A figure crawled over the lip of the hill, dragging itself
into sight like it hurt to move. Pale hands dug into the naked
dirt, pale arms bare to the spring night. The head drooped towards
the ground, short dark hair hiding the face. With one upward
motion, the face raised into the moonlight. Thin, bloodless lips
drew back from fangs. The face was ravaged with hunger. I knew the
eyes were brown only because I'd seen them staring lifelessly at
the ceiling of Ellie Quinlan's bedroom. There was no pull to her
eyes, but down in the dark depths a flicker of something burned. It
wasn't sanity; hunger, maybe. An animal's emotion, nothing human.
Maybe after they'd let her feed for the first time, she'd have time
for emotions; now everything had narrowed down to one basic
need.
"Is that who I think it is?" Larry asked.
"Yeah," I said.
Jeff tried to run to her. "Ellie!"
Janos jerked him tight against his chest, one arm around his
shoulders like an embrace. Jeff struggled against that arm, tried
to run to his dead sister. I was with Janos on this one. The newly
risen have a tendency to eat first and ask questions later. The
thing that had once been Ellie Quinlan would have gladly torn out
her baby brother's throat. She'd have bathed in the blood, and
minutes, or days, or weeks later, she would realize what she'd
done. She might even regret it.
"Go, Angela; go to Xavier," Janos said.
"A new name won't change who she was," I said.
Janos looked at me. "She is two years dead, and her name is
Angela."
"Her name is Ellie," Jeff said. He'd stopped struggling, but he
looked at his dead sister with fresh horror, as if just beginning
to really see her.
"People will recognize her, Janos."
"We shall be careful, Anita. Our new angel will see no one that
we do not wish."
"Well, isn't that cozy?" I said.
"It will be," he said, "once she has drunk her fill."
"I'm impressed that you dragged her this far without feeding her
first."
"I did it." Xavier's voice was surprisingly pleasant. It was
disturbing hearing that voice coming from that pale, ghostly
face.
I looked at him, careful to avoid his gaze. "Impressive," I
said.
"Andy brought her over, and I brought Andy over. I am her
master."
Since Andy hadn't shown up, I was betting I'd killed him in the
woods with Sheriff St. John. Probably not a good time to bring that
up. "And who is your master?"
"Serephina, for now," Xavier said.
I glanced at Janos. "You haven't worked out which of you is top
dog, have you?" I smiled.
"You waste our time, Anita. Our master awaits you eagerly. Let
us finish this. Call our angel."
Xavier held out one pale hand. Ellie made a noise low in her
throat, and scrambled on all fours over the raw dirt. The long
black dress tangled around her legs. She tore at it impatiently.
The cloth ripped like paper in her hands, the skirt shredding
around her bare legs. She grabbed Xavier's hand like it was a
lifeline. She bent over his wrist, and only his hand in her hair
kept her from trying to feed on him.
"There is no sustenance for you from the dead, Angela," Janos
said. "Feed on the living."
Pallas and Bettina knelt on either side of Stirling. Xavier fell
gracefully beside Ms. Harrison, his black cape spread out around
him like a pool of blood. He kept hold of Ellie's hair the whole
way down, forcing her snarling face to touch the dirt. Her hands
dug at his hands, mewling sounds crawling from her throat. Nothing
that was human should have made sounds like that.
"Ms. Blake," Stirling said, "you're the law. You have to protect
me."
"I thought you were going to see me in court, Raymond. Something
about me attacking you and Ms. Harrison with zombies."
"I didn't mean it." He glanced up at the kneeling vampires, then
back to me. "I won't tell. I won't tell anyone. Please."
I just looked at him. "Begging for mercy, Raymond?"
"Yes, yes, I'm begging."
"Like the mercy you showed Bayard?"
"Please."
Bettina caressed Stirling's cheek. He jerked like it had burned.
"Please!"
Shit.
"We can't just watch," Larry said.
"You have another suggestion?"
"You never give anyone over to the monsters, not for any reason.
It's a rule," he said.
It was my rule. I'd believed in it once, back when I'd been sure
who the monsters were.
He was pulling the chain out from inside his shirt.
"Don't do this, Larry. Don't get us killed for Raymond
Stirling."
His cross spilled out in the open air. It glowed like
Serephina's eyes. He just looked at me.
I sighed, and brought out my own cross. "This is a bad
idea."
"I know," he said. "But I can't just watch."
I stared at his earnest face, and knew it was true. He couldn't
just watch. I could have. I might not have enjoyed it, but I could
have let it happen. More's the pity.
"What are you doing with your little holy objects?" Janos
asked.
"Stopping this," I said.
"You want them dead, Anita."
"Not like this," I said.
"Would you have me let you use your gun and waste all this
blood?"
He was offering to let me shoot them. I shook my head. "I don't
think that's an option anymore."
"It was never an option," Larry said.
I let that go; no need to disillusion him. I walked towards
Pallas and Bettina. Larry walked towards Ellie and Xavier, cross
held outward to the length of its chain, as if that made it work
better. Nothing wrong with a little dramatic gesture, but I'd have
to clue him in that it didn't really help. But later.
The cross's glow grew until it was like wearing a 100-watt
lightbulb naked around your neck. I saw the world as a black circle
outside the glow.
Xavier was on his feet facing Larry, but the others had crawled
away from their prey, beaten by the light.
"Thank you, Ms. Blake," Stirling said. "Thank you." He grabbed
my leg with his good hand, fawning over me. I fought an urge to
shake him off.
"Thank Larry; I'd have let you die."
He didn't seem to hear me. He was nearly crying with relief,
slobbering all over my Nikes.
"Back away from them, please." The voice was female and
honey-thick.
I blinked over the glow of the cross and saw Kissa holding a
gun. A revolver that looked like a Magnum; hard to tell in the
glow. Whatever it was, it'd make a big hole.
"Move away from them, now."
"I thought Serephina didn't want me dead."
"Kissa will shoot your young friend."
I stopped in mid-breath and let it out. "If you kill him, I
won't cooperate with whatever you have in mind for tonight."
"You misunderstand us, Anita," Janos said. "My master does not
require your cooperation. Everything she wants from you can be
taken by force."
I stared at him over the shining light. He had Jeff cuddled
against him; most heartwarming.
"Take off your crosses and throw them far out into the trees,"
Janos said. He ran a gloved hand along both sides of Jeff's face,
planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Now that we know you would give up your safety for both young
men, we have one more hostage than is absolutely necessary." He put
his hands on either side of Jeff's neck, just holding, not hurting,
not yet.
"Take off your crosses and throw them into the woods. I will not
ask a third time."
I stared at him. I didn't want to give up my cross. I glanced at
Larry. He was still facing off against Xavier, his cross glowing
bravely. Shit.
"Kissa, shoot the man."
"No," I said. I undid the chain. "Don't shoot him."
"Don't do it , Anita," Larry said.
"I can't watch them shoot you, not if I can stop it." I let the
chain pool in my hand; the cross shone with a blue-white flame like
burning magnesium. It was a bad idea to throw it away. A real bad
idea. I tossed it into the woods. The cross glittered like a
falling star and died out of sight in the dark.
"Now your cross, Larry," Janos said.
Larry shook his head. "You'll have to shoot me."
"We'll shoot the boy," Janos said. "Or perhaps I'll feed upon
him while you watch." He pinned Jeff against himself with one arm,
while his other hand dug into the boy's hair, holding him immobile,
neck exposed.
Larry looked at me. "What do I do, Anita?"
"You have to decide this one for yourself," I said.
"They'll really kill him, won't they?"
"Yeah, they will."
He cursed under his breath and let the cross fall against his
chest. He undid the chain and threw it out into the woods with a
lot of force to it, as if he could throw his anger with it.
When the light from his cross died away, we stood there in the
darkness. The moonlight that had seemed so bright before was a dim
substitute.
My night vision returned in stages. Kissa stepped closer, the
gun still pointed at us. The first time I'd seen her, she had
exuded sexuality, power; now she was docile, quiet, as though some
of her power had been drained away. She looked pale and drawn. She
needed to feed.
"Why haven't they let you feed tonight?" I asked.
"Our master is not a hundred percent sure of Kissa's loyalty. It
needed testing, didn't it, my dark beauty?"
Kissa didn't answer. She stared at me with large, dark eyes, but
the gun never wavered.
"Feed, children, feed."
Pallas and Bettina walked over to Stirling. They stared at me
over him. I stared back.
Stirling grabbed my leg. "You can't let them have me. Please,
please."
Pallas knelt by him. Bettina walked around to the side I was on.
She pulled Stirling's hand off my leg. The vampire's lower back
brushed my legs. I took a step back, and Stirling started
screaming.
Xavier and Ellie had already started to feed on the blessedly
unconscious Ms. Harrison. Larry looked at me, hands out, empty,
helpless.
I didn't know what to say.
"Don't touch me, don't touch me!" Stirling batted at Pallas with
his good hand, and the vampire caught it easily, held it.
"At least put him under," I said.
Pallas looked up at me. "After he tried to kill you? Why show
him mercy?"
"Maybe I don't want to hear him scream."
Pallas smiled. Her eyes flashed dark fire. "For you, Anita,
anything."
She grabbed Stirling's chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"Ms. Blake, help me. Help . . ." The words died in his
mouth.
I watched everything slide out of his eyes, until they were
empty and waiting.
"Come to me, Raymond," Pallas said. "Come to me."
Stirling sat up, his one good arm embracing the vampire. He
tried to use the broken arm, but it wouldn't bend at the elbow.
Bettina bent the broken arm backward and forward, laughing.
Stirling never reacted to the pain. He snuggled against Pallas. The
look on his face was one of happiness, joy. Eagerness.
Pallas sank fangs into his neck. Stirling spasmed for a second,
then relaxed and began making soft noises in his throat.
Pallas moved Stirling's head to one side, sucking on the wound
but leaving enough room on the other side for someone else. Bettina
sank fangs into the exposed flesh.
The two vampires fed, heads so close together their hair
mingled, gold and black. And Raymond Stirling made happy noises
while they killed him.
Larry walked away to the edge of the clearing, hugging his arms
tight across his chest.
I stayed where I was. I watched. I had wanted Stirling dead. It
would be cowardly to look away. Besides, I should have to watch. I
needed to remember who the monsters were. Maybe if I forced myself
not to look away, not to blink, I wouldn't forget again.
I stared at Stirling's happy, eager face, until his arm dropped
away from Pallas's back, and his eyes closed. He passed out from
blood loss and shock, and the vampires hugged him tight, and
fed.
His eyes flew open wide, and a gurgling sound crawled out of his
throat. Fear screamed out of his eyes. Pallas raised a hand and
stroked Stirling's hair, a gesture you'd use on a frightened child.
The fear died out of his eyes, and I watched the last light die
with it. I watched Raymond Stirling die, and knew I would remember
that last look of terror in my dreams for weeks to come.
Chapter 37
There was a rush of wind that raised a fine cloud of dirt.
Jean-Claude appeared as if conjured from the air itself. I had
never been so happy to see him. I didn't run to his arms, but I
moved to stand near him. Larry followed me. Jean-Claude wasn't
always the safest refuge, but right now he looked pretty damn
good.
He was dressed in one of his white shirts. This one had so much
lace on the front it looked fluffy. A short white jacket hit him
just at the waist. More lace peeked from the sleeves of the jacket.
He wore tight white pants with a black belt. The belt matched his
velvet black boots.
"I did not expect you here, Jean-Claude," Janos said. I couldn't
tell for sure, but he sounded surprised. Goody.
"Serephina delivered her invitation in person, Janos, but it was
not enough."
"You surprise me, Jean-Claude," he said.
"I surprised Serephina, as well." He sounded terribly calm. If
he was afraid standing outnumbered on the hilltop, it didn't show.
I'd have loved to know how he'd surprised Serephina.
Jason walked up the far side of the hill, from the direction of
the Jeep. He wore black leather pants that looked like they'd been
poured on him, short black boots, and no shirt. There was what
looked like a silver-studded dog collar around his neck, and a
black glove on either hand, but other than that he was naked from
the waist up. I hoped Jason had chosen his own outfit for
tonight.
The right side of his face was bruised from chin to forehead as
though something large had hit him.
"I see your pet joined the struggle," Janos said.
"He is mine in every way, Janos. They are all mine."
Just this once I let it go. If my choice was belonging to
Jean-Claude or to Serephina, I knew what my vote would be.
Larry moved so close to me that I could have taken his hand.
Maybe he didn't like being included in Jean-Claude's menagerie.
"You have lost that air of humbleness that I found so appealing,
Jean-Claude. Have you refused Serephina's invitation
altogether?"
"I will come to Serephina's party, but on my own with my people
around me."
I glanced at him. Was he crazy?
He frowned. "Serephina wanted you at the party in chains."
"We can all live with this choice, Janos."
"Are you saying you would challenge us all here and now?" There
was an edge of laughter in his voice.
"I will not die alone, Janos. In the end you may have me, but it
will cost you dearly."
"If you will truly come of your own free will, then come," Janos
said. "Our master calls; let us answer that call." Janos, Bettina,
and Pallas were just suddenly airborne. It wasn't flying, or
levitation. I had no word for it. Larry whispered, "Dear God." The
first time you see a vampire fly is a red-letter night.
The others scattered into the trees in that blurring motion that
made them disappear almost as fast as flying. Ellie Quinlan had
vanished with the rest of them. Her brother had been carried away
by Janos. Until that moment I hadn't known a vampire could carry
more than its own body weight while "flying." Learn something new
every night.
We found our guns and walked down the mountainside. Our crosses
were well and truly lost. Even Jean-Claude walked, and I knew he
had other methods of transportation. Was it considered impolite to
fly when others couldn't?
The Jeep was still where I'd parked it. The night was still
thick. It was hours until dawn, and I just wanted to go home.
"I took the liberty of choosing clothes for you to wear
tonight," Jean-Claude said. "They are in the Jeep."
"I locked the Jeep," I said.
He just smiled at me.
I sighed. "Fine." When I tried the handle it was unlocked.
Clothes were folded in the passenger seat. They were black leather.
I shook my head. "I don't think so."
"Your clothes, ma petite, are on the driver's side.
Those are Lawrence's clothes."
Larry peered over my shoulder. "You've got to be kidding."
I walked around the Jeep and found a clean pair of black jeans.
The tightest pair I owned. A bloodred tank top that I didn't
remember buying. It felt like silk. There was a black duster coat
that I had never seen. When I tried it for length it hit me at
mid-calf, and billowed capelike when I moved. I liked the coat. The
silk blouse I could have done without.
"Not bad," I said.
"Mine is bad," Larry said. "I don't even know how to get into
these pants."
"Jason, help him dress." Jason picked up the bundle of leather
and carried them to the back of the Jeep. Larry followed him but
didn't look happy.
"No boots?" I said.
Jean-Claude smiled. "I didn't think you would give up your
jogging shoes."
"Damn straight."
"Change quickly, ma petite; we must arrive at
Serephina's before she decides to kill the boy just for spite."
"Would Xavier let her kill his new toy?"
"If she is truly his master, he has no choice. Now, dress,
ma petite, quickly." I walked towards the far side of the
Jeep but that brought me within earshot, and nearly eyesight, of
Larry. I stopped and sighed. What the hell.
I turned my back on Jean-Claude and slid out of my shoulder
holster. "How did you guys get away from Serephina?" I slipped my
shirt over my head. I fought the urge to look back. I knew
Jean-Claude was watching; why check?
"Jason jumped her at a crucial moment. It was distraction enough
for us to flee, but little else. I'm afraid the room is something
of a mess."
His voice was so mild I had to see his face. I slid the red tank
top on and turned. He was standing closer than I'd thought, nearly
within touching distance. He stood there in his white clothes,
spotless and perfect.
"Step a few paces back, please. I'd like a little privacy."
He smiled, but he did what I asked. A first.
"Had she underestimated you that badly?" I asked. I changed
jeans as quickly as I could. I tried not to think of him watching.
It was too embarrassing.
"I was forced to flee, ma petite. Janos calls her
master, and he defeated me. I cannot stand against her, not in a
fair fight."
I slipped the shoulder holster back on, threading the belt I'd
been wearing back through it. The straps chafed a little with no
sleeves but it was better than not having it. I got the Firestar
from under my seat and tucked the inner pants holster down the
front of my jeans. It would show, even with the duster. I finally
put it at the small of my back, though it wasn't my first or even
second choice of places. I got the silver knives out of the glove
compartment and strapped them to my forearms. I also got out a
small box. It held two extra crosses. Vampires seemed to always be
taking them from me.
Jean-Claude watched it all with interest. His dark eyes followed
my hands like he was memorizing the movements.
I put the duster on and walked a few steps to get the feel of
everything. I drew both knives just to make sure the coat sleeves
weren't too tight. I drew both guns and still didn't like the
Firestar. I finally shifted the inner pants holster to one side. It
dug into my side hard enough to bruise, but I could draw it in a
reasonable time. That was more important than comfort tonight. I
slipped an extra clip for both guns in the coat pockets. They were
loaded with nonsilver bullets. It made me nervous to only have the
silver bullets that were in the guns, but Rawhead and Bloody Bones
was going to make his appearance sometime tonight. Magnus might
even be there. I wanted ammo for everything I'd meet tonight.
Larry came out from behind the Jeep. I bit my lip to keep from
laughing. It wasn't that he looked bad, he just looked so
uncomfortable. He seemed to have trouble walking in the black
leather pants.
"Just walk naturally," Jason said.
"I can't," Larry said. He had a silk tank top that was the twin
of mine except it was blue instead of red. He had short black boots
on. The black jacket he'd borrowed from Jason last night completed
the outfit.
I looked at the boots.
"Black jogging shoes perhaps, ma petite, but white
jogging shoes with black leather? I do not think so."
"I feel ridiculous," Larry said. "How can you wear this all the
time?"
"I like leather," Jason said.
"We must be off," Jean-Claude said. "Anita, if you would
drive?"
"I thought you might want to fly," I said.
"It is important we arrive together," he said.
Larry and I added salt to our pockets. With the extra ammo clips
in one pocket and salt in the other, my coat hung a little crooked,
but hey, we weren't going to a fashion show. We all slid into the
Jeep. There was a lot of protesting from the back seat. "These
pants are even more uncomfortable sitting down."
"I will remember your dislike of leather in the future,
Lawrence."
"My name is Larry."
I drove the Jeep down the rutted road that led out of the
construction site. "Serephina wants to be immortal." I turned onto
the main road and headed back towards Branson, though of course
we'd be stopping at Serephina's on the way.
Jean-Claude turned in his seat to stare at me. "What are you
saying, ma petite?"
I told him. I told him about Rawhead and Bloody Bones, and
Serephina's plan. "She's mad."
"Not entirely, ma petite. It might not give her
immortality, but it would give her undreamt-of power. The question
remaining is, how did Serephina grow powerful enough to snag Janos
before she fed off Magnus and Bloody Bones?"
"What do you mean?"
"Janos was in the old country. He would not have left
voluntarily. He followed her. Where did she get the power to
subjugate him?"
"Maybe Magnus isn't the first fairie she's fed off," I said.
"Perhaps," he said, "or perhaps she has found other food."
"What other food?"
"That, ma petite, is the question that I would very
much like answered."
"Thinking of changing diets?" I asked.
"Power is always tempting, ma petite, but for tonight I
was thinking of more practical matters. If we can discover her
source of power, we might be able to undo it."
"How?"
He shook his head. "I do not know, but unless we can find some
trick to pull out of our hats tonight, ma petite, we are
doomed." He sounded remarkably calm about it. I wasn't calm. My
pulse was thundering so fast I could feel it in my throat and
wrists. Hear it like a rushing in my ears. Doomed: it had a bad
ring to it. With Serephina waiting at the other end, it had a very
bad ring to it indeed.
Chapter 38
We walked up the stone steps to the porch. Moonlight and soft
darkness filled the porch. There were no thick, unnatural shadows,
no hint of what lay inside. It was just an abandoned house, nothing
special. The nervous flutter in my stomach didn't buy it
either.
Kissa opened the door. Candlelight spilled behind her from the
open door to the far room. No pretense tonight that the empty room
was all there was. Sweat beaded on her face, golden drops in the
warm light. She was still being punished. I wondered why, but it
wasn't my biggest problem.
Kissa led us through that open door without a word. Serephina
sat on her throne in the corner of the big room. She was dressed in
a white ball gown like Cinderella, her hair piled atop her head.
Diamonds like a string of fire glimmered in her hair as she nodded
her greeting.
Magnus was curled at her feet in a white tux and tails. Gloves,
a white top hat, and a cane were laid next to his knees. His long
chestnut hair was the only color in the picture. Every master vamp
I'd ever met had been into dramatic presentation. Janos and his two
females stood in black behind the throne, like a living curtain of
darkness. Ellie lay on her side in the cushions, looking almost
alive. Even in her torn and stained black dress she looked content,
like a cat that was full of cream. Her eyes sparkled, lips curled
with a secret smile. Ellie, alias Angela, was enjoying being
undead. So far. Kissa stalked to them, and knelt on the side away
from Magnus. Her black leather blended with Janos's cloak.
Serephina stroked Kissa's sweating face with a white-gloved
hand.
Serephina smiled, and it was lovely until you glimpsed her eyes.
They glowed with a pale phosphorescence. You could still get a hint
of pupil, but it was sinking fast. Her eyes matched her dress. Now
that was color-coordinating.
Jeff and Xavier were missing. I didn't like that. I opened my
mouth to ask, and Jean-Claude looked at me. For just this once, the
look was enough. He was the master; I was playing servant. Fine, as
long as he asked the right questions.
"We have come, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "Give us the boy,
and we will leave you in peace."
She laughed. "But I will not leave you in peace, Jean-Claude."
She turned her softly glowing eyes to me. It was like being looked
at by twin flashlights, and just as human. "Niña, I am so
happy to see you."
I stopped breathing for a second. Niña: it had been my
mother's nickname for me. Something flared in her eyes, like a
distant glimpse of fire; then the light banked back to a cool
wavering light. She wasn't trying to capture me with her eyes. Why?
Because she was that sure of me.
My skin suddenly went cold. That was it. I would have said it
was arrogance, but I believed it. She offered something better than
sex, more fulfilling than power. Home. Lie or not, it was a good
offer.
Larry touched my hand. "You're shaking."
I swallowed hard. "Never admit how scared you are out loud,
Larry; ruins the effect."
"Sorry."
I stepped away from him; no sense in huddling. I glanced at
Jean-Claude, sort of silently asking if I was about to break
vampire protocol.
"She has acknowledged you as she would another master. Answer as
one." He didn't seem bothered by that; I was.
"What do you want, Serephina?" I asked.
She stood, gliding across the carpeted floor. It looked like
whatever was under that full skirt wasn't legs. Feet just didn't
move like that. Maybe she was levitating. However she managed it,
she kept coming closer. I wanted desperately to back away. I didn't
want her close to me.
Larry moved a step behind me. Jason moved a step up to
Jean-Claude's other side. I stood my ground. It was the best I
could do.
Something flickered in her eyes, like a distant glimpse of
movement through a fringe of trees. Eyes didn't do that. I looked
away and realized I didn't remember looking at her eyes. So how was
I looking away?
I felt her move towards me. Her gloved hand came into view. I
jerked back and looked up at the same time. I barely glanced at her
face, but it was enough. Her eyes had fire burning down a long dark
tunnel, as if the inside of her head fell away into an impossible
darkness, and some small creatures had lit a fire against that
darkness. I could warm my hands by that flame forever.
I screamed. Screamed and covered my eyes with my hands.
A hand touched my shoulder. I jerked away and screamed again.
"Ma petite, I am here."
"Then do something," I said.
"I am," he said.
"I will have this one by sunrise." She motioned to me. She took
a gliding step towards Jason. She caressed her gloved hand down his
bare chest. He stood there and took it. I wouldn't have let her
touch me on a dare.
"I will give you to Bettina and Pallas. They will teach you to
enjoy rotting flesh."
Jason stared straight ahead, but his eyes widened just a little.
Bettina and Pallas had moved from behind the throne to stand a few
feet behind Serephina. Dramatic gestures are us.
"Or perhaps I will force you to change into wolf form until it
becomes more natural than this human shell." She slid a finger
under the collar on his throat. "I will chain you to my wall, and
you will be my guard dog."
"Enough of this, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "The night bleeds
away. These petty torments are beneath one of your power."
"I am feeling petty tonight, Jean-Claude, and soon I will have
the power to be as petty as I feel." She glanced at Larry. "He will
join my flock." She stared up at Jean-Claude. I hadn't realized he
was taller. "And you, my lovely catamount, will serve us all for
all eternity."
Jean-Claude stared down at her, utterly arrogant. "I am Master
of the City now, Serephina. We cannot torture each other. We cannot
steal each other's possessions, no matter how attractive they
are."
It took me a second to realize the possessions he was referring
to were us.
Serephina smiled. "I will have your businesses, your money, your
lands, and your people before the night is out. Did the council
really think I would be content with the crumbs from your
table?"
If she challenged him officially, we were all dead. Jean-Claude
couldn't take her, and neither could I. Distraction, we needed a
distraction. "You're wearing enough diamonds to buy your own
businesses, your own house."
She turned those glowing eyes to me, and I half wished I had
kept quiet. "Do you think I live in this house because I cannot
afford better?"
"I don't know."
She glided back to her throne and settled onto it, smoothing her
skirts. "I do not trust your human laws. I will remain the secret
we have always been; let others walk in the spotlight. I will be
here when such modern thinkers are no more." She suddenly slashed
out with one hand.
Jean-Claude staggered. Blood flew from his face, splattering on
his white shirt and jacket in bright crimson flecks. Drops of it
clung to my hair and cheek.
She slashed again, and another cut exploded on the other side of
his face, splashing Jason with Jean-Claude's blood.
Jean-Claude stayed on his feet. He never cried out. He didn't
touch the wounds. He stood there utterly still; except for the
blood there was no movement to him. His eyes were drowning pools of
sapphire floating in a mask of blood.
Naked muscle twitched in his cheek. Bone glistened at jaw and
cheek. It was a frighteningly deep wound. But I knew he could heal
it. Horrible as it looked, it was a scare tactic. I kept telling
that to the pounding of my heart. I wanted to go for a gun. To
shoot the bitch. But I couldn't shoot them all. I wasn't even sure
Janos could be shot.
"I don't have to kill you, Jean-Claude. Hot metal in your
wounds, and they'll be permanent. Your beautiful face ravaged for
all time. You can still pretend to be Master of the City, but I
will rule. You will be my puppet."
"Say the word, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "Say it and be done
with these games." His voice was bland, as normal as it ever was.
His voice gave nothing away, not pain, or fear, or terror.
"Challenge: is that the word you want to hear, Jean-Claude?"
"It will do." His power crawled over my skin like cool fire. The
power lashed out suddenly; I felt it sweep past me like a giant
fist. It slammed into Serephina, scattering the air currents. Kissa
caught the edge of it and fell back from the throne, thrown nearly
prone among the cushions.
Serephina threw back her head and laughed. The laughter died in
mid-motion, gone like it had never been. Her face was a mask with
eyes of white fire. Her skin seemed to grow paler, whiter until it
was like translucent marble. Veins showed under her skin like lines
of blue flame. Her power flowed through the room like rising water,
deeper and deeper until when she released it we would all be
drowned.
"Where are your ghosts, Serephina?" I asked.
I thought for a second she would ignore me, but that masklike
face turned slowly, slowly towards me.
"Where are your ghosts?"
Even though she was looking straight at me, I couldn't tell if
she heard. It was like trying to read the face of an animal; no,
the face of a statue. There was no one home.
"Can't control Bloody Bones and your ghosts at the same time? Is
that it? Did you have to give up one of them?"
Serephina rose to her feet, and I knew she was floating, rising
on tiny currents of her own power to hover above the cushions. She
floated slowly upward towards the ceiling, and it was impressive. I
was babbling, trying to buy time, but time for what? What the hell
could we do?
A voice echoed in my head. "Crosses, ma petite; do not
be bashful on my account." I didn't argue or hesitate.
The cross spilled out of my shirt in a ball of light so bright
it was painful. I squinted and looked away, only to find Larry's
cross behind me blazing to life.
Jean-Claude cowered beside me, hunched away, arms shielding his
face. Serephina shrieked and half-fell to the floor. She could
stand before a cross, but she couldn't do tricks in front of one.
She landed in a heap of silken skirts. The other vamps shielded
their faces, hissing.
Magnus rose from the cushions. He stalked towards us. Jason
stepped in front of Jean-Claude, moving to stand in front of me. He
glanced at me with amber eyes; his beast stared at me over the glow
of the cross, and had no fear. For a heartbeat I was glad I had
silver bullets just in case.
Serephina said, "No, Magnus, not you."
Magnus hesitated, staring at Jason. A thin growl crawled out of
Jason's throat. "I can take him," Magnus said.
There was a sound from the open door to the basement. Something
was coming up the stairs. Something heavy. The stairs creaked in
protest. A hand came out of the darkness, large enough to palm my
head. The fingernails were long and dirty, almost clawlike. Ragged
clothes clung to huge, square shoulders. The thing was at least ten
feet tall. It had to bend sideways to come through the door, and
when it stood, its head brushed the ceiling, and you couldn't
pretend it was human anymore.
Its huge, oversized head had no skin. The flesh was raw and open
like a wound. The veins pulsed and throbbed with blood flowing
through them, but it didn't bleed. It opened a mouth full of broken
yellow teeth and said, "I am here." It was shocking to hear words
out of that mouth, that face. Its voice was like the sound at the
bottom of a well; deep, and rough, and lost.
The room suddenly seemed small. Rawhead and Bloody Bones could
have reached out one long arm and touched me. Not good. Jason had
moved back a step to rejoin us. Magnus had moved back to
Serephina's side. He was staring at the creature as wide-eyed as
the rest of us. Had he never seen it in the flesh before?
"Come to me," Serephina said. She held out her hands to the
creature, and it moved towards her, surprisingly graceful. It had a
liquidness to its walk that was all wrong. Nothing that big and
that ugly should move like quicksilver, but it did. In that
movement I saw Magnus and Dorrie. It moved like something
beautiful.
Serephina cradled its huge, dirty hand in her white-gloved
hands. She pushed back the ragged sleeve, laying the thick, muscled
wrist bare.
"Stop her, ma petite."
I glanced down at Jean-Claude, who was still cowering before the
crosses' fire. "What?"
"If she drinks from it, the crosses may not work against
her."
I didn't question him; there was no time. I drew the Browning
and felt Larry draw his gun.
Serephina bent over the fairie's wrist, mouth wide, fangs
glistening.
I pulled the trigger. The bullet smacked into the side of her
head. The force rocked her, and blood dribbled down. She could be
shot. Life was good. Janos threw himself in front of her, and it
was like trying to hit Superman. I pulled the trigger twice,
staring at his dead-eyed face from just over a yard. He smiled at
me. Silver bullets just weren't going to do it.
Larry had stepped around Jean-Claude. He was firing at Pallas
and Bettina. They kept coming. Kissa stayed on the floor. Ellie
seemed frozen in the face of the crosses.
Bloody Bones stood there like it was waiting for orders, or
didn't give a damn. It was staring at Magnus like it recognized
him. It was not a friendly look.
Serephina's voice came from behind Janos's protective body.
"Give me your wrist."
The fairie gave a ragged smile. "Soon I will be free to kill
you." It looked at Magnus when it said it.
I didn't really want something the size of a small giant mad at
me, but I didn't want Serephina to have its power either. I fired
into its raw head, and I might as well have spit at it. The shot
did earn me a dirty look. "I have no quarrel with you," the fairie
said. "Do not make one."
Staring into its monstrous face, I agreed. But what could I do?
"What'll we do?" Larry asked. He'd moved to stand nearly back to
back with me. Bettina and Pallas had stopped just out of touching
range, held at bay by the crosses, not the guns. Jean-Claude had
gone to his knees, face cradled away from the glare of the crosses,
but he didn't crawl away. He stayed within the protective touch of
that light.
Silver bullets wouldn't hurt the fey, so . . . I hit the button
on the Browning and popped the clip out. I fished in my pocket for
the extra clip and slid it home. I aimed at the thing's chest,
where I hoped the heart was, and pulled.
Bloody Bones bellowed. Blood blossomed on its ragged clothes. I
knew when it felt Serephina bite into its flesh. Power whirled
through the room, raising every hair on my body. For a heartbeat I
couldn't breathe; there was too much magic in the room for
something as mundane as breathing.
Serephina rose slowly from behind Janos's dark form. She
levitated to the ceiling, bathing in the light of the crosses,
smiling. The bullet wound in her head was healed. Her eyes licked
white flame around her face, and I knew we were going to die.
Xavier appeared in the door to the basement. He held a sword in
his hands, but it was heavier, softer-edged than any blade I'd ever
seen. He stared at Serephina and smiled.
"I have fed you," Bloody Bones said. "Free me."
Serephina threw her hands skyward, caressing the ceiling. "No,"
she breathed, "never. I will drink you dry and bathe in your
power."
"You promised," Bloody Bones said.
She stared at him, floating; her eyes of fire were even with his
raw face. "I lied," she said.
Xavier cried, "No!" He tried to come closer, but the crosses
kept him just out of reach.
I threw a handful of salt on Serephina and Bloody Bones. She
laughed at me. "What are you doing, Niña?"
"Never break your word to the fey," I said. "It negates all
bargains."
A sword appeared in Bloody Bones' hands, just appeared like the
fey had grabbed it out of mid-air. It was the one I'd seen Xavier
carrying at the Quinlans' house. How many scimitars as long as my
upper body could there be? He stabbed it through Serephina's chest,
spitting her in midair like a butterfly. Normal steel shouldn't
have touched her, but backed by the fairie's magic, it could. He
pinned her to the wall, driving the hilt into her chest. He tore
the sword out of her, twisting it, doing as much damage as he
could.
She shrieked and slid down, leaving a bloody trail on the naked
wall.
Bloody Bones turned back to the rest of us. It touched fingers
to its bleeding chest. "I will forgive you this wound, because you
freed me. When he is dead, there will be no more wounds." He drove
the sword into Magnus. The move was so quick, it looked like stop
action. He was as fast as Xavier. Shit.
Magnus fell to his knees, mouth wide with a scream he had no
breath to make. Bloody Bones drew the sword upward like he had with
Serephina, and it reminded me of the wounds that the boys had
had.
If Bloody Bones would help us escape Serephina and company, I
had no problem with that, but then what? It drew the sword outward,
and Magnus was still alive, staring up at me. He reached out to me,
and I could have let him die. Bloody Bones raised the blade back
for a final blow.
I pointed the Browning at it. "Don't move. Until you kill him,
you're mortal, and bullets can kill you."
The fairie froze, staring at me. "What do you want, mortal?"
"You killed the boys in the woods, didn't you?"
Bloody Bones blinked at me. "They were wicked children."
"If you get out of here, will you kill more wicked
children?"
Bloody Bones looked at me, blinked, then said, "It is what I do.
What I am."
I fired before I could think. If it moved first, I was dead. The
bullet took it between the eyes. It staggered backwards, but didn't
go down.
"Ma petite, the crosses, or I cannot help you."
Jean-Claude's voice was a harsh whisper.
I slipped the cross inside my shirt; a second later Larry
followed suit. The room was suddenly darker, colder with just the
candlelight. Bloody Bones raced forward, and it was just a blur. I
fired into it and didn't know if I hit it or not.
The sword swung out to meet me, and Jean-Claude was suddenly
there hanging onto the arm, sending it off balance. Larry moved up
beside me, and we both fired into the fey's chest.
It shook Jean-Claude off, sending him skittering into a wall.
Larry and I stood our ground, shoulder to shoulder. I saw the sword
coming like a blur of silver, and knew I couldn't get out of the
way in time.
Xavier was suddenly in front of me, the strange sword blocking
Bloody Bones' blade. The steel blade stopped an inch from my face.
Xavier's sword was notched where the steel had bit into it. The
strange sword shoved upward through Bloody Bones' chest. The fairie
bellowed, slicing at Xavier, but he was in too close for the
fairie's giant sword.
Bloody Bones collapsed to its knees. Xavier twisted the sword as
if hunting for the heart. He jerked the sword out in a wash of
gore. The fairie collapsed on its stomach, shrieking. It tried to
raise itself. I pressed the barrel of the Browning against its
skull and fired as fast as I could. From point-blank range you
didn't need to aim. Larry moved up beside me and fired. We emptied
the clips into it, and it was still breathing. Xavier drove the
sword through its back, pinning it to the floor. Its chest rose and
fell, struggling for air.
I switched the Firestar and changed its clip to nonsilver. Three
shots more, and as if a critical mass had been reached, the head
exploded in a rush of bone and blood and thicker, wetter
things.
Xavier was on its back when it blew. We stood there covered in
bloody brains. Xavier drew the sword out of its back. The sword
came out notched, dented from contact with bone. We stood there by
the dead giant, the two of us isolated in one clear moment of
understanding.
"The sword's cold iron, isn't it?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. The pupils of his eyes were scarlet as a cherry,
not the blood color of an albino, but truly red. Humans didn't have
eyes like that.
"You're fey," I said.
"Don't be silly. The fairie can't become vampires, everyone
knows that."
I stared at him, and shook my head. "You tampered with Magnus's
spell. You did this to him."
"He did this to himself," Xavier said.
"Did you help Bloody Bones kill the teenagers, the children, or
did you just give him the sword?"
"I fed him my victims when I grew tired of them."
I had eight shots left in the Firestar. Maybe he saw the thought
move behind my eyes. "Neither lead nor silver bullets will harm me.
I am proof against both."
"Where's Jeff Quinlan?"
"He's down in the basement."
"Get him."
"I don't think so." And suddenly there was sound again, movement
again, besides us. He'd bespelled me, and bad things had been
happening while I'd been caught.
Jason was coughing blood on the carpet. If he'd been human, I'd
have said he was dying. Being a lycanthrope, he might live to see
morning. One of the vampires had hurt him badly. I didn't know
which one.
Jean-Claude was lying under a pile of vampires made up of Ellie,
Kissa, Bettina, and Pallas. His voice came out in a thundering
yell, echoing through the room. It was impressive, but not enough.
"Do not do it, ma petite."
Janos stood near the throne with Larry. They'd tied his hands
behind his back with one of the cords that held the drapes. A piece
of cloth was shoved in his mouth. Janos had one pale spider hand
around Larry's neck.
Serephina was propped on her throne, black blood pouring out of
her. I'd never seen anyone lose so much blood so quickly. Her chest
was torn open so wide I had a glimpse of a frantically beating
heart.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"No, ma petite." Jean-Claude struggled to move and
couldn't. "It is a trap."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"She wants you, necromancer," Janos said.
I let that sink in for a minute. "Why?"
"You have stolen her immortal blood from her. You will take its
place."
"It wasn't immortal," I said. "We proved that."
"It was powerful, necromancer, as you are powerful. She will
drink you up and live."
"What about me?"
"You will live forever, Anita, forever."
I let the "forever" part go; I knew better.
"She will take you and kill him anyway," Jean-Claude said.
He was probably right, but what could I do? "She let the girls
go."
"You do not know that, ma petite. Have you seen them
alive?" He had a point.
"Necromancer." Janos's voice jerked me back to him. Serephina
lay propped on the throne beside him. Blood had drenched the white
dress, turning it black, plastering it to her thin body.
"Come, necromancer," Janos said. "Come now, or the human
suffers."
I started forward and Jean-Claude yelled, "No!"
Janos slashed outward with one pale spider-hand, just above
Larry's body. Larry's white shirt sliced open, and blood soaked it.
He couldn't scream with the gag, but if Janos hadn't held him, he'd
have fallen.
"Drop all your weapons and come to us, necromancer."
"Ma petite, do not do this. I beg you."
"I have to do this, Jean-Claude. You know that."
"She knows that," he said.
I looked at him, struggling helplessly under three times his
body weight in vampires. It should have been ridiculous, but it
wasn't.
"She doesn't just want you for herself. She doesn't want me to
have you. She will take you to spite me."
"I invited you to come play this time, remember?" I said. "It's
my party."
I walked towards Janos. I tried not to look behind him, not to
see what else I was moving towards.
"Ma petite, don't do this. You are an acknowledged
master. She cannot take you by force. You must consent.
Refuse."
I just shook my head and kept going.
"Your weapons first, necromancer," Janos said.
I laid both guns on the floor.
Larry was shaking his head furiously. He made little protesting
noises. He struggled, failing to his knees. Janos had to release
his grip on his neck to keep from strangling him.
"Now your knives," Janos said.
"I don't . . ."
"Do not try to lie to us here and now."
He had a point. I put the knives on the floor.
My heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe. I stopped
just in front of Larry. I stared into Larry's blue eyes. I pulled
out the gag, somebody's silk scarf.
"Don't do it. God, Anita, don't do it. Not for me. Please!"
Fresh slashes cut his shirt; more blood flowed. He gasped, but
didn't scream.
I looked up at Serephina. "You said this slashing only works
with an aura of power."
"He has his own aura," Janos said.
"Let him go. Let them all go, and I'll do it."
"Do not do this for me, ma petite."
"I'm doing it for Larry; doesn't cost any more to throw
everybody in."
Janos glanced at Serephina. She was slumped to one side, eyes
half-closed. "Come to me, Anita. Let me touch your arm, and they
will release them all, my word, one master to another."
"Anita, no!" Larry struggled not to get away but to come after
me.
Janos slashed his hand through the air, and the sleeve of
Larry's jacket flew with blood. Larry screamed.
"Stop it," I said. "Stop it." I stalked towards him. "Don't
touch him again. Don't ever touch him again."
I spit the last words in his face, staring up into his dead eyes
and feeling nothing. A hand brushed my arm, and I jerked, gasping.
I'd let anger carry me those last few steps. What I was about to do
scared me too much to think about it.
Serephina had lost a glove. It was her bare hand that encircled
my wrist, not too tight, not painful in the least. I stared at her
hand on my arm and couldn't talk past the beating of my own
heart.
"Release him," she said.
The minute Janos let him go, Larry tried to come to me. Janos
gave him a casual slap that knocked him to the floor and sent him
skidding back a couple of yards.
I stayed frozen with her hand on my arm. For one awful moment I
thought they'd killed him, but he moaned and tried to get back
up.
I glanced past Larry, and met Jean-Claude's eyes. He'd been
after me for years; now here I was letting another master vamp sink
her fangs into me.
Serephina jerked me to my knees, squeezing the bones of my arm
so hard I thought she'd broken it. The pain brought me up to meet
her eyes. They were solid perfect brown, so dark they were nearly
black. Those eyes smiled at me gently.
I smelled my mother's perfume, her hair spray, her skin. I shook
my head. It was a lie. It was all a lie. I couldn't breathe. She
knelt over me, and when her face came forward it was my mother's
thick, black hair that fell against my cheek.
"No! It's not real."
"It can be as real as you want it to be, Niña." I stared
up into those eyes, and I fell down the long black tunnel of her
eyes. I fell towards that tiny flame. I reached towards it. It
would warm my flesh, comfort my heart. It would be all things, all
people, everything to me.
Distant and dreamlike I heard Jean-Claude scream my name,
"Anita!" But it was too late. Her fire warmed me, made me feet
whole. The pain was such a small price to pay.
The black tunnel collapsed behind me until there was nothing but
the darkness and the flicker of Serephina's eyes.
Chapter 39
I dreamed. I was very small. Small enough that I fit all in my
mother's lap, only my feet stuck off the edge of her knees. When
she wrapped her arms around me I was so safe, so sure that nothing
could ever hurt me as long as Mommy was here. I laid my head
against her chest. I could hear the beat of her heart against my
ear. A strong, sure rhythm that pounded louder and louder against
my face.
The sound woke me. But I wasn't awake. The darkness was so
complete it was like being blind. I lay in my mother's arms in the
dark. I'd fallen asleep in bed with her and Dad. Her heart pounded
against my ear, and the rhythm was wrong. Mommy had a heart murmur.
The beat of her heart was a fraction of a second slow, a
hesitation, then two quick thumps to catch up. The heart beating
against my skin was as regular as a clock.
I tried to raise up, off her, and bumped my head against
something hard and firm. My hands slid over the body that I was
pinned to. I touched a satin dress with smooth jewels sewn into it.
I lay there in the absolute dark and tried to roll off her. I slid
into the crook of her arm. Her naked flesh slid along my bare
shoulders, boneless as the dead, but her heart filled the darkness
even with me struggling not to touch her.
Our bodies were molded against each other. It was not a coffin
built for two. Sweat broke out on my skin in a rush. The dark was
suddenly chokingly close, hot. I couldn't breathe. I tried to roll
onto my back. Tried to roll off her, and I couldn't. There wasn't
room.
Every small struggle made her boneless body move, jiggling the
soft, loose flesh. I couldn't smell my mother's perfume anymore. I
smelled old blood, and a stale, neck-ruffling smell that I'd
smelled before. Vampires.
I screamed and tried to do a push-up to get some distance, and
the lid moved. I stayed on my arms, shoving my back into the satin
and wood. The lid slammed backwards, and I was suddenly straddling
her body, my upper body raised in a half push-up.
Dim light edged the lines in her face. The careful makeup looked
wrong, like a badly made-up corpse. I scrambled out of the coffin,
nearly falling to the floor.
Serephina's coffin sat on the stage in the Bloody Bones bar and
grill. Ellie lay curled at the base of the stage. I stepped around
her, half-expecting her to grab at my ankles, but she did not move.
Not even to breathe. She was the newly dead, and with the sun up
she was truly dead.
Serephina wasn't breathing either, but her heart was pounding,
beating, alive. Why? For my comfort? Because of my touch? Hell, I
didn't know. If I got out, I'd ask Jean-Claude. If he was alive. If
she had kept her word.
Janos lay in the middle of the floor, on his back, hands folded
on his chest. Bettina and Pallas were snuggled up against him, one
on either side. A coffin lay on the floor. I had no way of knowing
what time of day it was. I would have bet that Serephina didn't
have to sleep all day. I was getting out of here.
"I told her you wouldn't sleep all day."
The voice jerked me around. Magnus was behind the bar, leaning
his elbows on its smooth surface. He was slicing a lime with a very
sharp-looking knife. He looked at me with his green-blue eyes. His
long auburn hair spilled around his face. He straightened up
suddenly, stretching his back. He was wearing one of those frilly
shirts that you rent for wearing with a tux. The shirt was pale
green and brought out the green in his eyes.
"You scared me," I said.
He leaped over the bar easily, landing on his feet light as a
cat. He smiled, and it wasn't a friendly smile. "I didn't think you
scared that easy."
I took a step back. "You recovered damn fast."
"I drank immortal blood; it helps." He stared at me with a heat
in his eyes that I didn't like at all.
"What's wrong with you, Magnus?"
He swept his long hair to one side. He pulled the collar of his
shirt until the first two buttons popped, spinning to the floor.
There was a new bite mark on the smooth skin of his neck.
I took another step back towards the door. "So what?" I ran my
hand over my neck and found my own bite marks. "So we've got a
matching pair. So what?"
"She forbade me to drink. She said you'd sleep all day. That
she'd keep you sleeping all day, but I thought she'd underestimated
you."
I took another step towards the door.
"Don't, Anita."
"Why not?" But I was afraid I knew the answer.
"Serephina told me to keep you here until she wakes." He looked
at me, and it was a sad, woebegone expression. "Just have a seat.
I'll fix you something to eat."
"No, thanks."
"Don't run, Anita. Don't make me hurt you."
"Who's in the other coffin?" I asked.
The question seemed to surprise him. He let his hair fall back
over his neck. The shirt gaped open over his chest. I didn't
remember noticing his chest this much last time, or the way his
hair swept over his shoulders. The ointment must have worn off.
"Stop it, Magnus."
"Stop what?"
"Glamor won't work on me."
"Glamor would be a more pleasant alternative," he said.
"Who's in the coffin?"
"Xavier and the boy."
I ran for the door. He was suddenly behind me, impossibly fast,
but I'd seen faster. Most of them just happened to be dead. I
didn't try to open the door. I turned into his body, and it
surprised him. He fell into a shoulder roll almost textbook
perfect. I tried to throw him three feet under the floor,
everything I had.
He lay stunned for a second. I flung open the door. The spring
sunlight poured in and fell on Janos and his women. Janos's face
twisted away from the light. I didn't wait to see more. I ran.
Screams followed me out into the sunlight. I heard the door slam
behind me, but didn't look back. I hit the gravel parking lot
running with everything I had. I heard him pounding up behind me. I
wasn't going to outrun him. I waited until the last second, stopped
running, and kicked him. He saw it coming and dived under it,
taking my other leg out from under me, sending us both to the
ground. I threw a handful of gravel at his face, and he hit me in
the jaw with his fist. There is a frozen moment after a really good
shot to the face. A moment of shock, of paralysis where all you can
do is blink. Magnus's face appeared over me. He didn't ask if I was
alright; that had been the point. He picked me up and flung me over
his shoulders. I got a nice view of the ground about the time I was
able to move again.
I walked my hands up his back, trying to get enough leverage to
swing a two-handed grip at his shoulders. I let him brace my lower
body, but before I could try it, he kicked the door open and tossed
me to the floor, none too gently. He leaned against the door and
locked it.
"You just had to do it the hard way, didn't you?"
I got to my feet and backed away from him, which took me closer
to the vampires. Not an improvement. I backed towards the bar.
There had to be a back door. "I don't know any other way,
Magnus."
He took a deep breath and pushed away from the door. "It's going
to be a long day, then."
I put a hand on the smooth wood of the bar. "Yeah," I said. The
half-sliced lime and the knife lay just a few inches away. I stared
at Magnus, trying very hard not to look at the knife again. To not
draw attention to it. Which isn't nearly as easy as it sounds.
His eyes flicked to the knife. He smiled and shook his head.
"Don't do it, Anita."
I put my hands on the bar and pushed myself up on it. I heard
him coming but I didn't look back. Never look back; something is
always gaining on you. I grabbed the knife and rolled over the bar
at the same time. Magnus's face appeared above the bar too fast. I
wasn't ready. All I could do was look up at him with the knife
gripped in my hand. If he'd been just a little slower, I'd have
stabbed him in the throat, or that had been the plan.
Magnus crouched on the bar, staring down at me. His aquamarine
eyes glittered. Lights and colors played in them, reflecting things
that were not there. He stayed on the bar above me, swaying
slightly on the balls of his feet, one hand on the bar for balance.
His hair had fallen forward, trailing thick strands across his
face. He was going all feral on me, like he had at the mound. But
this time he wasn't trying to be one of the good guys. I expected
him to leap down on me, but he didn't. Of course, he wasn't
fighting me, he was just trying to keep me from leaving.
I glanced at what was under the bar. Liquor in bottles, clean
glasses, a tub of ice, some clean towels, napkins. None of it
looked helpful. Shit. I got slowly to my feet, back pressed to the
wall, as far from Magnus as I could get. I began to inch my way
towards the side of the bar towards the door. Magnus paced me,
sidling on the bar, making the awkward movement graceful.
He was faster than me, stronger than me, but I was armed. The
knife was good quality, made for slicing food, not people, but a
good knife is a good knife. It's versatile. I had to force myself
not to squeeze too tight on the handle, to relax. I'd get out of
this. I would. My eyes flicked to Serephina's open coffin. I
thought I saw her breathe.
Magnus jumped me. His body slammed into mine, and I drove the
knife into his stomach. He grunted, and his weight rode me to the
floor. I drove the knife in hilt-deep. His fist closed over my
hand, and he rolled off me, taking the knife with him.
I scrambled around the edge of the bar on all fours. Magnus was
there, yanking me to my feet by one arm. Blood had soaked the front
of his shirt. He raised the bloody knife in front of my face. "That
hurt," he said. He laid the edge of the blade against the side of
my throat. It felt like my pulse was jumping out to meet the blade.
He started backing up, pulling me with him.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"You'll see," he said. I didn't like that he wouldn't tell
me.
His feet bumped against Ellie's body. I could glimpse
Serephina's coffin behind him, if I rolled my eyes. Hard to move
your head when a knife's at your throat. He pulled on my arm, and I
didn't go. I leaned back on my heels, just a little, aware of the
knife, but I was more afraid of Serephina than any blade.
"Come on, Anita."
"Not until you tell me what we're doing." I spoke very carefully
around the knife.
Ellie lay motionless, boneless, dead at our feet. Magnus's blood
dropped onto her empty face. If it had been one of the others, they
might have licked the blood off even in their slumber, but Ellie
was well and truly dead. She was the newly risen, empty, waiting
for her "personality" to rebuild, if it ever did. I'd seen vamps
that never recovered. Never became close to the human being they'd
once been.
"I'm going to put you in the coffin and lock it until Serephina
wakes up."
"No," I said.
Magnus squeezed my arm like his fingers were searching for the
bone. If he didn't break it, it would be a hell of a bruise. I
didn't cry out, but it was an effort. "I can hurt you, Anita, in
all sorts of ways. Just get in."
"Nothing you can do to me scares me as much as getting in that
coffin again."
I meant it. Which meant unless he was really going to kill me,
the knife didn't work anymore. I turned my head into the blade. He
was forced to move it away from my skin before I drove it into
myself.
I stared at him from about a foot away, and saw something in his
eyes that I hadn't seen before. He was afraid.
"Bloody Bones died because he shared your mortality. Were you
harder to kill before, Magnus? No immortality to draw from, is that
it?"
"You are just too damn smart for your own good," he said
softly.
I smiled. "Mortal just like the rest of us; poor baby."
He smiled, a quick baring of teeth. "I can still take more
damage than you can dish out."
"If you really believed that, you wouldn't be putting me back in
the coffin."
His hand moved in a blur of speed that was almost vampire-quick.
He hit my arm, and it took a handful of seconds to realize he'd cut
me. Blood welled from the cut and dripped down my arm. He switched
his grip from my upper arm to my wrist, faster than I could take
advantage of it.
I watched the blood drip down my arm towards my elbow. It wasn't
much of a cut, might not even leave a scar; of course, on my left
arm, who could tell? "Couldn't you have cut the right arm? I
haven't got nearly as many scars on that one. "
He made one quick slice downward and opened my right arm from my
shoulder damn near to my elbow. "Always happy to oblige a
lady."
The slice hurt and was deeper than the first one. Me and my big
mouth. Blood ran down my arm in a thin crimson line. Blood on my
left arm trembled on my elbow and fell with a soft plop onto
Ellie's cheek. The blood slid down her skin, into her mouth. A
tingle of magic went up my spine. I held my breath. I could feel
it. I could feel the body at our feet.
It was broad daylight. I shouldn't have been able to raise even
a zombie, let alone a vampire. It was impossible; yet I could feel
the body feel the magic. I knew it was mine if I wanted it. I
wanted it.
"What's wrong?" Magnus jerked my arm, bringing my eyes back to
his face. I'd been staring at the vampire. Hadn't meant to, it was
just so damn unexpected.
I could feel the magic just out of reach, almost there. But how
to push it over the edge? How? I smiled at Magnus. "You planning to
just whittle me down until I get in the coffin?"
"I could."
"The only way I'm going in that coffin is dead, Magnus, and
Serephina doesn't want me dead." I stepped into him; he started to
move back, but forced himself to stand his ground. Our bodies were
nearly pressed against each other. Great. I ran my hand under his
shirt, along his bare skin.
Magnus's eyes widened. "What are you up to?"
I smiled, and traced the trail of fresh blood upward to the
wound. I trailed the edge of the wound, and he made a small sound
like it had hurt. I smoothed my one free hand over his skin,
smearing his blood across his flesh like finger paints.
"You saw the murder scene when you touched me and still wanted
to have sex with me, remember?"
He took a breath, and it trembled when he let it out between his
lips.
I drew my blood-coated hand out from under his shirt. I held it
up to him, let him see it. His breath came just a little quicker. I
knelt, slowly; he didn't let go, he didn't put down the knife, but
he didn't stop me. I smeared the blood on Ellie's mouth. The magic
flared, sparked down my skin like cool fire. It crawled up my arm
and onto Magnus.
"Shit!" Magnus swung the knife at me.
I blocked his wrist with my arm and came up under him, driving
up from my knees. He was balanced across my shoulders, but he still
had the knife. I flung him on top of Ellie.
I stood over him, breathing hard. "Ellie, rise."
The vampire's eyes flew open wide. Magnus started to push away
from her.
"Grab him," I said.
Ellie wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. He stabbed
her with the knife, and she screamed. God help me, she screamed.
Zombies didn't scream.
I ran for the door.
Magnus came after me, dragging Ellie behind him. He was moving
faster than I'd thought he would, but not fast enough. I flung open
the door, and a long bar of sunlight spilled in through the door. I
was a step out the door when the screaming started. I glanced back;
I couldn't help it. Ellie was on fire. Magnus tried to loosen her
arms, screaming. But nothing holds on like the dead.
I ran out into the parking lot.
"Niña, don't go."
The voice stopped me at the edge of the parking lot. I looked
back. Magnus had dragged himself out the door and onto the gravel.
Ellie was burning white hot. Magnus's shirt and hair were
burning.
I screamed, "Go back, you son of a bitch!" But the same voice
that kept me pinned to the edge of the parking lot kept him coming
out into the light.
The voice came again. "Come back to bed, Anita. You're tired.
You must rest."
I was suddenly tired, so tired. I felt every cut, every bruise.
She would make it all better. She would touch me with her cool
hands and make it all better.
Magnus collapsed in the middle of the driveway, shrieking. The
vampire was melting into him, burning him alive. Sweet Jesus.
He reached one hand out to me. He screamed, "Help me!" The
vampire was melting into his flesh, eating it away.
I ran. I ran with Serephina's voice whispering in my ear:
"Niña, Mother misses you."
Chapter 40
I flagged a car down on the highway. I was covered in dried
blood, cut, scraped, bruised, and still an elderly couple picked me
up. Who says there are no more good Samaritans? They wanted to take
me to the police, and I let them.
The nice policemen took one look at me and asked if I needed an
ambulance. I said no, and could they page Special Agent Bradford,
and tell him it was Anita Blake.
They tried to get me to go to the hospital, but there was no
time. It was mid-afternoon. We had to move before dark. I asked the
police to send a two-man car to make sure that no one moved the
coffins. I told them there might be a hurt man in the parking lot
and if he was still there to call an ambulance, but under no
circumstances go inside the place.
Everybody nodded and agreed with me. Most of the cops in the
area had been through Serephina's house last night and today. The
cops told me Kirkland had brought the cops back to the vampire's
lair after they took me. It took me a second to realize that
Kirkland was Larry. Which meant Serephina had kept her word and let
them go. The relief at knowing for sure that Larry was alive made
me weak-kneed, and I was wobbly enough as it was.
The cops had found over a dozen bodies buried in the basement of
Serephina's house. She should have buried them in the woods. For
all I knew, she'd raised their ghosts. I didn't know. It didn't
matter. All that mattered was that we had a warrant of execution,
and the cops were listening to me today.
They sat me in an interrogation room with a cup of black coffee,
thick enough to walk on, and a blanket to wrap around me. I was
shivering and couldn't seem to stop.
Bradford came in and sat down across from me. He stared at me
with eyes that were just a little too wide. "The locals say you
found the master vampire's lair."
I laughed, and it came out wrong, almost like a sob. "I wouldn't
say I found Serephina's lair. More like I woke up in it." I raised
the coffee to my mouth and had to stop in mid-motion. My hands were
shaking so badly I was about to slosh coffee onto the table. I took
a deep breath, blew it out, and concentrated on taking a drink of
coffee. Just concentrated on the simple physical movement. It
helped. I got coffee, and calmer at the same time.
"You need to go to the hospital," Bradford said.
"I need Serephina dead."
"We've got warrants for all of them. All the vampires involved.
How do you want to do it?"
"Burn them out. Block off everything but the front door. If
Magnus is inside, he'll come out."
"Magnus Bouvier?" he asked.
"Yeah." There was something about the way he said it that I
didn't like.
"The cops found what's left of him in the parking lot. It looks
like something melted the lower half of his body. Would you know
anything about that?" He looked at me very steadily when he asked
it.
I took another careful sip of coffee, and met his eyes without
blinking. What was I supposed to say? "The vampires were
controlling him. He was supposed to keep me in the bar until
nightfall. Maybe they punished him for failing." What I'd done to
Magnus and Ellie was enough to earn me a death sentence. I wasn't
admitting that to the Feds.
"The vampires punished him?" He made it a question.
"Yeah."
He looked at me for a long time, then nodded and changed the
subject. "Won't the vampires try to make a break when the fire
starts?"
"Sunlight or fire," I said. "Just a choice of how well done you
want your vampires to be." I finished the last of the coffee in my
cup.
"Your protege, Mr. Kirkland, said you were kidnapped from the
graveyard. Is that your story, too?"
"It happens to be the truth, Agent Bradford." It was the truth
as far as it went. Omission is a wonderful thing.
He smiled and shook his head. "You are hiding more shit from me
than you're telling me."
I stared at him until the smile wilted around the edges. "Truth
is a mixed blessing, Agent Bradford, don't you think?"
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe, Ms. Blake,
maybe."
I called the hotel, and no one answered in Larry's room. I tried
my room, and got Larry there. There was a moment of stunned silence
when he realized it was me.
"Anita, oh my God, oh my God. Are you alright? Where are you?
I'll come get you."
"I'm at the police station in town. I'm alright, sort of. I need
you to bring me some clothes to change into. The ones I have on
smell like vampire. We're going after Serephina."
Another silence. "When?"
"Now, today."
"I'll be right there."
"Larry?"
"I'll bring the guns and the knives, and an extra cross."
"Thanks."
"I've never been so glad to hear anybody's voice in my entire
life," he said.
"Yeah," I said. "Get here soon. Wait, Larry."
"You need something else?" he said.
"Are Jean-Claude and Jason alright?"
"Yeah. Jason's in the hospital, but he'll live. Jean-Claude's in
the bedroom asleep. After Serephina bit you, she hit Jean-Claude
with some kind of power, energy. I felt it, and it was awesome. She
knocked him out and left. The others went with her."
Everyone was alive, or as alive as they had started out. It was
more than I'd hoped for. "Great; I'll see you soon." I hung up the
phone and had a horrible urge to cry, but I fought it off. I was
afraid if I started to cry I wouldn't be able to stop. I couldn't
have hysterics just yet.
As agent on site, Bradford was in charge. Special Agent Bradley
Bradford, yes Bradley Bradford, seemed to think I knew what I was
doing. Nothing like getting almost killed to give you credentials.
For once, badge or no badge, nobody was arguing with me. A
refreshing change, that.
I did not hug Larry when he brought my clothes; he hugged me. I
pushed away sooner than I wanted to, because I wanted to collapse
into his arms in tears. To just let a pair of friendly arms hold me
while I melted down. Later, later.
A huge bruise had blossomed on the side of his face from jaw to
mid-temple. It looked like he'd been hit by a baseball bat. He was
lucky Janos hadn't broken his jaw.
Larry had brought me blue jeans, a red polo shirt, jogging
socks, my white Nikes, an extra cross from my suitcase, the silver
knives, the Firestar complete with inner pants holster, and the
Browning and its shoulder holster. He'd forgotten a bra, but hey,
except for that it was perfect.
The wrist sheaths stung going over the cuts, but it felt
wonderful to be armed again. I didn't try to hide the guns. The
cops knew who I was, and I wasn't fooling any of the bad guys.
Barely two hours after I'd crawled out of Serephina's coffin, we
pulled up in front of Bloody Bones. There were ambulances, and more
cops than you could shake a stick at. Local cops, state cops,
federal cops; it was a smorgasbord of policemen. A fire truck plus
fire emergency services completed the official list. Oh, Larry and
me.
With Magnus dead, Serephina and company were unguarded. Not
helpless. Oh, no. Nothing this side of Hell would have gotten me
inside that building voluntarily. But there were alternatives.
The gas truck pulled around to the back and busted out a window.
I watched them snake the hose into the window of the back door and
turn on the juice.
I stood there in the warm sunlight, a cool breeze playing on my
skin, and whispered, "May you rot in Hell."
"Did you say something?" Larry asked.
I shook my head. "Nothing important."
The hose shivered to life, and the sharp, sweet smell of
gasoline filled the air.
I felt her wake up. I felt her eyes open wide in the dark. I
breathed in the sweet smell of gasoline, felt my hands gripping the
coffin edges.
I put my hands over my eyes. "Oh, God."
Larry touched my shoulder. "What is it?"
I kept my hands pressed to my face. "Take the guns, now."
"What . . ."
"Do it!" My hands came down and I looked at him. I looked at his
familiar face, and Serephina saw him, too.
She whispered, "Kill him."
I ripped the knives out of the sheaths and let them fall to the
ground. I started backing up towards the cops. I needed people with
guns around me, right now.
The voice in my head said, "Anita, what are you doing to your
mother? You don't want to hurt me. Niña, help Mommy."
"Oh, God." I ran and nearly collided with Bradford.
"Help me, Niña. Help me!"
My hand closed on the Browning. I balled my hands into fists at
my side. "Bradford, disarm me now. Please."
He stared at me, but he took the guns from their holsters.
"What's wrong, Blake?"
"Cuffs, you got cuffs?"
"Yeah."
I held my hands out to him. "Use them." My voice sounded
squeezed, my throat so tight I couldn't breathe.
I smelled Hypnotique perfume, tasted my mother's lipstick on my
mouth. The cuffs snapped into place. I jerked away from him, stared
at the handcuffs. I opened my mouth to say "Take them off," and
closed it.
I could feel my mother's hair tickling my face.
"I smell perfume," Larry said.
I looked at him with wide eyes. I couldn't speak, I couldn't
move. I didn't trust myself to do anything at that moment.
"Oh, my God," Larry said. "You're going to feel her burn."
I just looked at him.
"What can I do?"
"Help me." My voice was squeezed down to a whisper.
"What's happening to her?" Bradford asked.
"Serephina's trying to get Anita to help save her."
"The vampire's awake in there?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
Serephina was out of her coffin. The full skirt of her ball gown
brushed the edges of the door that led to the kitchen. She couldn't
go closer, because there was a spill of daylight from the window.
Gasoline was pouring across the floor towards her.
"Anita, help Mommy."
"It's a lie," I said.
"What's a lie?" Bradford said.
I shook my head.
"Anita, help me, you don't want me to die. You don't want me to
die, not when you can save me."
I collapsed to my knees, cuffed hands digging into the gravel of
the parking lot. "Stop the gasoline."
Larry knelt beside me. "Why?"
It was a good question. Serephina had a good answer. "Jeff
Quinlan is in there. He's inside."
"Shit," Larry said. He looked up at Bradford. "We can't torch
the place. There's a kid inside."
"Stop the gas," Bradford said. He walked away from us, towards
the truck, motioning them off.
And I felt a surge of triumph from Serephina. It was a lie.
Xavier had brought Jeff over last night. There was nothing alive in
that building.
I gripped Larry's arm with my cuffed hands. "Larry, it's a lie.
She's lying to me. Through me. Get me in the back of a squad car,
now, and torch the place."
He stared at me. "But if Jeff . . ."
"Don't argue with me, just do it!" I screamed it, burying my
face between my arms, trying to ignore the voice in my head.
I could taste Hypnotique on my tongue. It was too much.
Serephina was scared.
Larry called Bradford back, and they half-carried me to a marked
car. I started to struggle when they tried to shove me in the back,
but I did my best not to fight, and they closed the door. I was in
a metal and glass cage. I gripped my fingers through the mesh in
front of me, digging it into my skin until it hurt. But even pain
didn't help.
The gasoline was everywhere, soaking into everything. Serephina
was choking on it. "Niña, don't do this. Don't hurt your
Mommy. Don't lose me again."
I started rocking back and forth, hands digging into the wire.
Back and forth, back and forth. It'd be over soon. It'd be over
soon.
I felt a gentle touch on my face, a memory so real it made me
turn and look for someone. "My death will be as real, Anita."
Somebody lit it. The flames roared to life, and I screamed
before they hit her. I slammed my cuffed hands against the glass
and screamed, "Nooo!"
Heat washed over her, crumbled the cloth of her dress like a
melting flower, and ate her flesh.
I pounded my hands against the glass until I couldn't feel them
anymore. I had to help her. I had to go to her. I fell to my back
and kicked the window. I kicked it and kicked it, feeling the shock
all the way up my back. I screamed and kicked the glass, and it
cracked. The glass cracked and fell outward.
She was screaming my name. "Anita! Anita!"
I was halfway out the window before somebody tried to grab me. I
let them grab my arm, but pushed my legs free of the window. I had
to get to her; nothing else mattered. Nothing.
I fell to the ground with someone holding my arm. I got halfway
up and threw them in a shoulder roll onto the ground. I ran for the
fire. I could feel the heat now, rippling along my skin. I could
feel the heat inside eating us alive.
Someone tackled me, and I beat at them with my hands made into
one fist.
The hands let go, and I scrambled to my feet. Shouting, and
someone else holding me. He lifted me off the ground, arms wrapped
around my waist, pinning my arms. I kicked backwards, and hit his
knees. The arms loosened, but there were more arms. More hands.
Someone lay on top of me. A hand the size of my head pressed the
side of my face against the rocks. Hands pinned my hands against
the rocks, his full body weight on just my wrists. Someone was
sitting on my legs.
"Niña! Niña!"
I screamed with her. I screamed while I choked on the smell of
burning hair and Hypnotique bath powder. I saw the needle coming in
from the side, and started to cry, "No, no! Mommy! Mommy!"
The needle sank home, and darkness swallowed the world. A
darkness that smelled like burning flesh, and tasted like lipstick,
and blood.
Chapter 41
I spent a few days in the hospital. Bruises, cuts, some
stitches, but mainly the second-degree burns on my back and arms.
The burns weren't that bad; there wouldn't be any scarring. The
doctors just couldn't figure out how I'd gotten burned. I didn't
feel like explaining, mainly because I wasn't sure I could.
Jason had broken ribs, a punctured lung, and other internal
damage. He healed perfectly and in record time. There are benefits
to being a lycanthrope.
Jean-Claude healed. His face was once again that perfection that
had attracted Serephina to him so long ago.
Stirling's company rebought the land from Dorcas Bouvier, and
made her wealthy. With Bloody Bones dead, she can leave the land.
She's free.
The Quinlans are still suing me. Bert has lawyers that promise
to keep us out of court, though I'm not sure how. If I'd walked the
house personally, checked every inch of it myself, maybe . . .
Hell, even I might not have protected the doggie door. Maybe I do
deserve to be sued. I told the Quinlans Ellie was dead. They had to
take my word for it; there wasn't anything left of Ellie to prove
it. When vampires burn, they burn; no dental records, no nothing.
Jeff was well and truly dead, too. Both their children were lost to
them. It had to be somebody's fault; why not mine?
I'd raised a vampire like a zombie, which wasn't possible.
Necromancers were supposed to be able to control all types of
undead. But that was legend, not real. Right?
Serephina is dead, but the nightmares live on. The nightmares
are tangled with the real memories of my mother's death. They are a
bitch. For the first time in my life, I'm having insomnia.
What to do with the two men in my life? How the hell do I know?
In Richard's arms, breathing in the warmth of his body, is the
closest I've ever found to my mother's arms. It isn't the same,
because I know that though Richard would give his life for me, even
that might not be enough. When I was a child, I believed it would
be. There is no real safety. Innocence lost can never be regained.
But sometimes with Richard I want to believe in it again.
There is nothing comforting about Jean-Claude's arms. He doesn't
make me feet safe in the least. He's like some forbidden pleasure
that you know eventually you'll regret. I've decided not to wait;
I'm regretting it now, but I'm still seeing him.
Somehow Jean-Claude has crossed that line that a handful of
other vampires have crossed. I don't think of him as a monster
anymore.
God have mercy on my soul.
It was St. Patrick's Day, and the only green I was wearing was a
button that read, "Pinch me and you're dead meat." I'd started work
last night with a green blouse on, but I'd gotten blood all over it
from a beheaded chicken. Larry Kirkland, zombie-raiser in training,
had dropped the decapitated bird. It did the little headless
chicken dance and sprayed both of us with blood. I finally caught
the damn thing, but the blouse was ruined.
I had to run home and change. The only thing not ruined was the
charcoal grey suit jacket that had been in the car. I put it back
on over a black blouse, black skirt, dark hose, and black pumps.
Bert, my boss, didn't like us wearing black to work, but if I had
to be at the office at seven o'clock without any sleep at all, he
would just have to live with it.
I huddled over my coffee mug, drinking it as black as I could
swallow it. It wasn't helping much. I stared at a series of 8-by-10
glossy blowups spread across my desktop. The first picture was of a
hill that had been scraped open, probably by a bulldozer. A
skeletal hand reached out of the raw earth. The next photo showed
that someone had tried to carefully scrape away the dirt, showing
the splintered coffin and bones to one side of the coffin. A new
body. The bulldozer had been brought in again. It had plowed up the
red earth and found a boneyard. Bones studded the earth like
scattered flowers.
One skull spread its unhinged jaws in a silent scream. A
scraggle of pale hair still clung to the skull. The dark, stained
cloth wrapped around the corpse was the remnants of a dress. I
spotted at least three femurs next to the upper half of a skull.
Unless the corpse had had three legs, we were looking at a real
mess.
The pictures were well done in a gruesome sort of way. The color
made it easier to differentiate the corpses, but the high gloss was
a little much. It looked like morgue photos done by a fashion
photographer. There was probably an art gallery in New York that
would hang the damn things and serve cheese and wine while people
walked around saying, "Powerful, don't you think? Very
powerful."
They were powerful, and sad.
There was nothing but the photos. No explanation. Bert had said
to come to his office after I'd looked at them. He'd explain
everything. Yeah, I believed that. The Easter Bunny is a friend of
mine, too.
I gathered the pictures up, slipped them into the envelope,
picked my coffee mug up in the other hand, and went for the
door.
There was no one at the desk. Craig had gone home. Mary, our
daytime secretary, didn't get in until eight. There was a two-hour
space of time when the office was unmanned. That Bert had called me
into the office when we were the only ones there bothered me a lot.
Why the secrecy?
Bert's office door was open. He sat behind his desk, drinking
coffee, shuffling some papers around. He glanced up, smiled, and
motioned me closer. The smile bothered me. Bert was never pleasant
unless he wanted something.
His thousand-dollar suit framed a white-on-white shirt and tie.
His grey eyes sparkled with good cheer. His eyes are the color of
dirty window glass, so sparkling is a real effort. His snow-blond
hair had been freshly buzzed. The crewcut was so short I could see
scalp.
"Have a seat, Anita."
I tossed the envelope on his desk and sat down. "What are you up
to, Bert?" His smile widened. He usually didn't waste the smile on
anybody but clients. He certainly didn't waste it on me. "You
looked at the pictures?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"Could you raise them from the dead?"
I frowned at him and sipped my coffee. "How old are they?"
"You couldn't tell from the pictures?"
"In person I could tell you, but not just from pictures. Answer
the question."
"Around two hundred years."
I just stared at him. "Most animators couldn't raise a zombie
that old without a human sacrifice."
"But you can," he said.
"Yeah. I didn't see any headstones in the pictures. Do we have
any names?"
"Why?"
I shook my head. He'd been the boss for five years, started the
company when it was just him and Manny, and he didn't know shit
about raising the dead. "How can you hang around a bunch of
zombie-raisers for this many years and know so little about what we
do?"
The smile slipped a little, the glow beginning to fade from his
eyes. "Why do you need names?"
"You use names to call the zombie from the grave."
"Without a name you can't raise them?"
"Theoretically, no," I said.
"But you can do it," he said. I didn't like how sure he was.
"Yeah, I can do it. John can probably do it, too."
He shook his head. "They don't want John."
I finished the last of my coffee. "Who's they?"
"Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein."
"A law firm," I said.
He nodded.
"No more games, Bert. Just tell me what the hell's going
on."
"Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein have some clients
building a very plush resort in the mountains near Branson. A very
exclusive resort. A place where the wealthy country stars that
don't own a house in the area can go to get away from the crowds.
Millions of dollars are at stake."
"What's the old cemetery have to do with it?"
"The land they're building on was in dispute between two
families. The courts decided the Kellys owned the land, and they
were paid a great deal of money. The Bouvier family claimed it was
their land and there was a family plot on it to prove it. No one
could find the cemetery."
Ah. "They found it," I said.
"They found an old cemetery, but not necessarily the Bouvier
family plot."
"So they want to raise the dead and ask who they are?"
"Exactly."
I shrugged. "I can raise a couple of the corpses in the coffins.
Ask who they are. What happens if their last name is Bouvier?"
"They have to buy the land a second time. They think some of the
corpses are Bouviers. That's why they want all the bodies
raised."
I raised my eyebrows. "You're joking."
He shook his head, looking pleased. "Can you do it?"
"I don't know. Give me the pictures again." I set my coffee mug
on his desk and took the pictures back. "Bert, they've screwed this
six ways to Sunday. It's a mass grave, thanks to the bulldozers.
The bones are all mixed together. I've only read about one case of
anyone raising a zombie from a mass grave. But they were calling a
specific person. They had a name." I shook my head. "Without a name
it may not be possible."
"Would you be willing to try?"
I spread the pictures over the desk, staring at them. The top
half of a skull had turned upside down like a bowl. Two finger
bones attached by something dry and desiccated that must once had
been human tissue lay next to it. Bones, bones everywhere but not a
name to speak.
Could I do it? I honestly didn't know. Did I want to try? Yeah.
I did.
"I'd be willing to try."
"Wonderful."
"Raising them a few every night is going to take weeks, even if
I can do it. With John's help it would be quicker."
"It will cost them millions to delay that long," Bert said.
"There's no other way to do it."
"You raised the Davidsons' entire family plot, including
Great-Grandpa. You weren't even supposed to raise him. You can
raise more than one at a time."
I shook my head. "That was an accident. I was showing off. They
wanted to raise three family members. I thought I could save them
money by doing it in one shot."
"You raised ten family members, Anita. They only asked for
three."
"So?"
"So can you raise the entire cemetery in one night?"
"You're crazy," I said.
"Can you do it?"
I opened my mouth to say no, and closed it. I had raised an
entire cemetery once. Not all of them had been two centuries old,
but some of them had been older, nearly three hundred. And I raised
them all. Of course, I had two human sacrifices to ride for power.
It was a long story how I ended up with two people dying inside a
circle of power. Self-defense, but the magic didn't care. Death is
death.
Could I do it? "I really don't know, Bert."
"That's not a no," he said. He had an eager, anticipatory look
on his face.
"They must have offered you a bundle of money," I said.
He smiled. "We're bidding on the project."
"We're what?"
"They sent this package to us, the Resurrection Company in
California and the Essential Spark in New Orleans."
"They prefer Élan Vital to the English translation," I
said. Frankly, it sounded more like a beauty salon than an
animating firm, but nobody had asked me. "So what? The lowest bid
gets it?"
"That was their plan," Bert said.
He looked entirely too satisfied with himself. "What?" I
asked.
"Let me play it back to you," he said. "There are what, three
animators in the entire country that could raise a zombie that old
without a human sacrifice? You and John are two of them. I'm
including Phillipa Freestone of Resurrection in this."
"Probably," I said.
He nodded. "Okay. Could Phillipa raise without a name?"
"I don't have any way of knowing that. John could. Maybe she
could."
"Could either she or John raise from the mass bones, not the
ones in the coffin?"
That stopped me. "I don't know."
"Would either of them stand a chance of raising the entire
graveyard?" He was staring at me very steadily.
"You're enjoying this too much," I said.
"Just answer the question, Anita."
"I know John couldn't do it. I don't think Phillipa is as good
as John, so no, they couldn't do it."
"I'm going to up the bid," Bert said.
I laughed. "Up the bid?"
"Nobody else can do it. Nobody but you. They tried treating this
like any other construction problem. But there aren't going to be
any other bids, now are there?"
"Probably not," I said.
"Then I'm going to take them to the cleaners," he said with a
smile.
I shook my head. "You greedy son of a bitch."
"You get a share of the fee, you know."
"I know." We looked at each other. "What if I try and can't
raise them all in one night?"
"You'll still be able to raise them all eventually, won't
you?"
"Probably." I stood, picking up my coffee mug. "But I wouldn't
spend the check until after I've done it. I'm going to go get some
sleep."
"They want the bid this morning. If they accept our terms,
they'll fly you up in a private helicopter."
"Helicopter—you know I hate to fly."
"For this much money you'll fly."
"Great."
"Be ready to go at a moment's notice."
"Don't push it, Bert." I hesitated at the door. "Let me take
Larry with me."
"Why? If John can't do it, then Larry certainly can't."
I shrugged. "Maybe not, but there are ways to combine power
during a raising. If I can't do it alone, maybe I can get a boost
from our trainee."
He looked thoughtful. "Why not take John? Combined, you could do
it."
"Only if he'd give his power willingly to me. You think he'd do
that?"
Bert shook his head.
"You going to tell him that the client didn't want him? That you
offered him to the client and they asked for me by name?"
"No," Bert said.
"That's why you're doing it like this; no witnesses."
"Time is of the essence, Anita."
"Sure, Bert, but you didn't want to face Mr. John Burke with yet
another client that wants me over him."
Bert looked down at his blunt-fingered hands clasped on the
desktop. He looked up, grey eyes serious. "John is almost as good
as you are, Anita. I don't want to lose him."
"You think he'll walk if one more client asks for me?"
"His pride's hurt," Bert said.
"And there's so much of it to hurt," I said.
Bert smiled. "You needling him doesn't help."
I shrugged. It sounded petty to say he'd started it, but he had.
We'd tried dating, and John couldn't handle me being a female
version of him. No; he couldn't handle me being a better version of
him.
"Try to behave yourself, Anita. Larry's not up to speed yet; we
need John."
"I always behave myself, Bert."
He sighed. "If you didn't make me so much money, I wouldn't put
up with your shit."
"Ditto," I said.
That about summed up our relationship. Commerce at its best. We
didn't like each other, but we could do business together. Free
enterprise at work.
Chapter 2
At noon Bert called and said we had it. "Be at the office packed
and ready to go at two o'clock. Mr. Lionel Bayard will fly up with
you and Larry."
"Who's Lionel Bayard?"
"A junior partner in the firm of Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and
Lowenstein. He likes the sound of his own voice. Don't give him a
rough time about it."
"Who, me?"
"Anita, don't tease the help. He may be wearing a
three-thousand-dollar suit, but he's still the help."
"I'll save it up for one of the partners. Surely Beadle, Beadle,
Stirling, or Lowenstein will appear in person sometime this
weekend."
"Don't tease the bosses either," he said.
"Anything you say." My voice was utterly mild.
"You'll do whatever you want no matter what I say, won't
you?"
"Gee, Bert, who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?"
"Just be here at two o'clock. I called Larry. He'll be
here."
"I'll be there, Bert. I've got one stop to make, so if I'm a few
minutes late, don't worry."
"Don't be late."
"Be there as soon as I can." I hung up before he could argue
with me.
I had to shower, change, and go to Seckman Junior High School.
Richard Zeeman taught science there. We had a date set up for
tomorrow. At one point Richard had asked me to marry him. That was
sort of on hold, but I did owe him more than a message on his
answering machine, saying sorry, honey, can't make the date. I'm
going to be out of town. A message would have been easier for me,
but cowardly.
I packed one suitcase. It was enough for four days and then
some. If you pack extra underwear and clothes that mix and match,
you can live for a week out of a small suitcase.
I did add a few extras. The Firestar 9mm and its inner pants
holster. Enough extra ammo to sink a battleship and two knives plus
wrist sheaths. I'd had four knives. All handcrafted for little ol'
moi. Two of them had been lost beyond recovery. I was
having them replaced, but hand forging takes time, especially when
you insist on the highest silver content possible in the steel. Two
knives, two guns should be enough for one weekend business trip.
I'd wear the Browning Hi-Power.
Packing wasn't a problem. What to wear today was the problem.
They'd want me to raise them tonight if I could. Hell, the
helicopter might fly directly to the construction site. Which meant
I'd be walking over raw dirt, bones, shattered coffins. It didn't
sound like high-heel territory. Yet, if a junior partner was
wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit, the people who'd just hired
me would expect me to look the part. I could either dress
professionally or in feathers and blood. I'd actually had one
client who was disappointed that I didn't show up nude smeared with
blood. There could have been more than one reason for his
disappointment. I don't think I've ever had a client that would
have objected to some kind of ceremonial getup, but jeans and
jogging shoes didn't seem to inspire confidence. Don't ask me
why.
I could pack my coverall and put it over whatever I wore. Yeah,
I liked that. Veronica Sims—Ronnie, my very best friend—had talked
me into buying a fashionably short navy skirt. It was short enough
that I was a little embarrassed, but the skirt fit inside the
coverall. The skirt didn't wrinkle or bunch up after I'd worn the
outfit to vampire stakings or murder scenes. Take the coverall off,
and I was set to go to the office or out for the evening. I was so
pleased, I went out and bought two more in different colors.
One was crimson, the other purple. I hadn't been able to find
one in black yet. At least not one that wasn't so short that I
refused to wear it. Admittedly, the short skirts made me look
taller. They even made me look leggy. When you're five-foot-three,
that's saying something. But the purple didn't match much that I
owned, so crimson it was.
I'd found a short-sleeved blouse that was the exact same shade
of red. Red with violet undertones, a cold, hard color that looked
great with my pale skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. The
shoulder holster and 9mm Browning Hi-Power looked very dramatic
against it. A black belt cinched tight at the waist held down the
loops on the holster. A black jacket with rolled-back sleeves went
over everything to hide the gun. I twirled in front of the mirror
in my bedroom. The skirt wasn't much longer than the jacket, but
you couldn't see the gun. At least not easily. Unless you're
willing to have things tailor-made, it's hard to hide a gun,
especially in women's dress-up clothes.
I put on just enough makeup so the red didn't overwhelm me. I
was also going to be saying good-bye to Richard for several days. A
little makeup couldn't hurt. When I say makeup, I mean eye shadow,
blush, lipstick, and that's it. Outside of a television interview
that Bert talked me into, I don't wear base.
Except for the hose and black high heels, which I would've had
to wear no matter what skirt I wore, the outfit was comfortable. As
long as I remembered not to bend directly at the waist, I was
safe.
The only jewelry I wore was the silver cross tucked into the
blouse, and the watch on my wrist. My dress watch had broken and I
just had never gotten around to getting it fixed. The present watch
was a man's black diving watch that looked out of place on my small
wrist. But hey, it glowed in the dark if you pressed a button. It
showed me the date, what day it was, and could time a run. I hadn't
found a woman's watch that could do all that.
I didn't have to cancel running with Ronnie tomorrow morning.
She was out of town on a case. A private detective's work is never
done.
I loaded the suitcase into my Jeep and was on the way to
Richard's school by one o'clock. I was going to be late to the
office. Oh, well. They'd wait for me or they wouldn't. It wouldn't
break my heart to miss the helicopter ride. I hated planes, but a
helicopter . . . scared the shit out of me.
I hadn't been afraid of flying until I was on a plane that
plunged several thousand feet in seconds. The stewardess ended up
plastered against the ceiling, covered in coffee. People screamed
and prayed. The elderly woman beside me recited the Lord's Prayer
in German. She'd been so scared, tears had come down her face. I
offered her my hand, and she gripped it. I knew I was going to die
and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. But we would die
holding on to human hands. Die covered in human tears, and human
prayers. Then the plane straightened out and suddenly we were safe.
I haven't trusted air transportation since.
Normally in St. Louis there is no real spring. There's winter,
two days of mild weather, and summer heat. This year spring had
come early and stayed. The air was soft against your skin. The wind
smelled of green growing things, and winter seemed to have been a
bad dream. Redbuds bent from the trees on either side of the road.
Tiny purple blossoms like a delicate lavender mist here and there
through the naked trees. There were no leaves yet, but there was a
hint of green. Like someone had taken a giant paintbrush and tinted
everything. Look directly at them and the trees were bare and
black, but look sideways, not at a particular tree but at all the
trees, and there was a touch of green.
270 South is about as pleasant as a highway can be; it gets you
where you're going fairly fast, and it's over quickly. I exited at
Tesson Ferry Road. The road is thick with strip malls, a hospital,
and fast-food restaurants, and when you leave the commerce behind
you hit new housing developments so thick they nearly touch. There
are still stands of woods and open spaces, but they won't last.
The turn to Old 21 is at the crest of a hill just past the
Meramec River. It is mostly houses with a few gas stations, the
area water district office, and a large gas field to the right.
Where the hills march out and out.
At the first stoplight I turned left past a little shopping
area. The road is a curving narrow thing that snakes between houses
and woods. There were glimpses of daffodils in the yards. The road
dips down into a valley, and at the bottom of a steep hill is a
stop sign. The road climbs quickly to the crest of a hill, to a T,
turn left and you're almost there.
The one-story school sits on the floor of a wide, flat valley
surrounded by hills. Having been raised in Indiana farm country,
I'd have called them mountains once. The elementary school sits
separate, but close enough to share a playground. If you got recess
in junior high. When I was too little to go to junior high, it
seemed you did get recess. By the time I got there, you didn't. The
way of the world.
I parked as close to the building as I could. This was my second
visit to Richard's school, and my first during the actual school
day. We'd come once to get some papers he'd forgotten. No students
then. I entered the main entrance and ran into a crowd. It must
have been between classes when they moved the warm bodies from one
room to another.
I was instantly aware that I was about the same height as or
shorter than everyone I saw. There was something claustrophobic
about being jostled by the book-carrying, backpack-wearing crowd.
There had to be a circle of Hell where you were eternally fourteen,
eternally in junior high. One of the lower circles.
I flowed with the crowd towards Richard's room. I admit I took
comfort in the fact that I was better dressed than most of the
girls. Petty as hell, but I had been chunky in junior high. There
isn't a lot of difference between chunky and fat when it comes to
teasing. I'd had my growth spurt and never been fat again. That's
right; I'd been even tinier once. Shortest kid in school for years
and years.
I stood to one side of the doorway, letting the students come
and go. Richard was showing something in a textbook to a young
girl. She was blonde, wearing a flannel shirt over a black dress
that was three sizes too big for her. She was wearing what looked
like black combat boots with heavy white socks rolled over the tops
of them. The outfit was very now. The look of adoration on her face
was not. She was shiny and eager just because Mr. Zeeman was giving
her some one-on-one help.
I had to admit that Richard was worth a crush or two. His thick
brown hair was tied back in a ponytail that gave the illusion that
his hair was very short and close to his head. He has high, full
cheekbones and a strong jaw, with a dimple that softens his face
and makes him look almost too perfect. His eyes are a solid
chocolate brown with those thick lashes that so many men have and
women want. The bright yellow shirt made his permanently tanned
skin seem even darker. His tie was a dark, rich green that matched
the dress slacks he wore. His jacket was draped across the back of
his desk chair. The muscles in his upper arms worked against the
cloth of his shirt as he held the book.
The class was mostly seated, the hallway nearly silent. He
closed the book and handed it to the girl. She smiled and scrambled
for the door, late to her next class. Her eyes flicked over me as
she passed, wondering what I was doing there.
She wasn't the only one. Several of the seated students were
glancing my way. I stepped into the room.
Richard smiled. It warmed me down to my toes. The smile saved
him from being too handsome. It wasn't that it wasn't a great
smile. He could have done toothpaste commercials. But the smile was
a little boy's smile, open and welcoming. There was no guile to
Richard, no deep, dark plan. He was the world's biggest Boy Scout.
The smile showed that.
I wanted to go to him, have him wrap his arms around me. I had a
horrible urge to grab his tie and lead him out of the room. I
wanted to touch his chest underneath the yellow shirt. The urge was
so strong, I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Mustn't
shock the students. Richard affects me like that sometimes. Okay,
most of the time when he's not furry, or licking blood off his
fingers. He's a werewolf. Did I mention that? No one at the school
knows. If they did, he'd be out of a job. People don't like
lycanthropes teaching their precious kiddies. It's illegal to
discriminate against someone for a disease, but everyone does it.
Why should the educational system be different?
He touched my cheek, just his fingertips. I turned my face into
his hand, brushing lips against his fingers. So much for being cool
in front of the kiddies. There were a few oohs and nervous
laughs.
"I'll be right back, guys." More oohs, louder laughter, one "Way
to go, Mr. Zeeman." Richard motioned me out the door and I went,
hands still in my pockets. Normally, I'd have said I wasn't going
to embarrass myself in front of a bunch of eighth-graders, but
lately I wasn't entirely trustworthy.
Richard led me a little ways from his classroom into the
deserted hallway. He leaned up against the wall of lockers and
looked down at me. The little-boy smile was gone. The look in his
dark eyes made me shiver. I ran my hand down his tie, smoothing it
against his chest.
"Am I allowed to kiss you, or would that scandalize the
kiddies?" I didn't look up at him as I asked. I didn't want him to
see the raw need in my eyes. It was embarrassing enough that I knew
he sensed it. You can't hide lust from a werewolf. They can smell
it.
"I'll risk it." His voice was soft, low, with a warm edge that
made my stomach clench.
I felt him bend over me. I raised my face to his. His lips were
so soft. I leaned against his body, palms flat against his chest. I
could feel his nipples harden under my skin. My hands slid to his
waist, smoothing along the cloth of his shirt. I wanted to pull his
shirt out of his pants and run my hands over bare skin. I stepped
back from him feeling just a little breathless.
It was my idea that we wouldn't have sex before marriage. My
idea. But damn, it was hard. The more we dated, the harder it
got.
"Jesus, Richard." I shook my head. "It gets harder, doesn't
it?"
Richard's smile didn't look innocent or Boy Scoutish in the
least. "Yes, it does."
Heat rushed up my face. "I didn't mean that."
"I know what you meant." His voice was gentle, taking the sting
out of the teasing.
My face was still hot with embarrassment, but my voice was
steady. Point for me. "I've got to go out of town on business."
"Zombie, vampire, or police?"
"Zombie."
"Good."
I looked up at him. "Why good?"
"I worry more when you go away on police business, or vampire
stakings. You know that."
I nodded. "Yeah, I know that." We stood there in the hallway,
staring at each other. If things had been different, we'd be
engaged, maybe planning a wedding. All this sexual tension would
have been coming to some kind of conclusion. As it was . . .
"I'm going to be late as it is. I've got to go."
"Are you going to tell Jean-Claude bye in person?" His face was
neutral when he asked, but his eyes weren't.
"It's daylight. He's in his coffin."
"Ah," Richard said.
"I didn't have a date planned with him this weekend, so I don't
owe him an explanation. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"Close enough," he said. He took a step away from the lockers,
bringing our bodies very close together. He bent to kiss me
good-bye. Giggles erupted down the hall.
We turned to see most of his class huddled in the doorway gazing
at us. Great.
Richard smiled. He raised his voice enough so they'd hear him.
"Back inside, you monsters."
There were catcalls, and one small brunette girl gave me a very
dirty look. I think there must have been a lot of girls that had a
crush on Mr. Zeeman.
"The natives are restless. I've got to get back."
I nodded. "I'm hoping to be back by Monday."
"We'll go hiking next weekend, then."
"I put Jean-Claude off this weekend. I can't not see him two
weeks in a row."
Richard's face clouded up with the beginnings of anger. "Hike
during the day, see the vampire at night. Only fair."
"I don't like this any better than you do," I said.
"I wish I believed that."
"Richard."
He gave a long sigh. The anger sort of leaked out of him. I
never understood how he did that. He could be furious one minute
and calm the next. Both emotions seemed genuine. Once I was angry,
I was angry. Maybe it's a character flaw?
"I'm sorry, Anita. It's not like you're dating him behind my
back."
"I would never do anything behind your back; you know that."
He nodded. "I know that." He glanced back at his classroom.
"I've got to go before they set the room on fire." He walked down
the hallway without looking back.
I almost called after him, but I let him go. The mood was sort
of spoiled. Nothing like knowing your girlfriend is dating someone
else to take the wind out of your sails. I wouldn't have put up
with it if it was the other way around. A double standard that, but
one we could all three live with. If living was the term for
Jean-Claude.
Oh, hell, my personal life was too confusing for words. I walked
off down the hall, having to pass by his open classroom door. My
high heels made loud, rackety echoes. I didn't try to catch a last
glimpse of him. It would make me feel worse about leaving.
It hadn't been my idea to date the Master of the City.
Jean-Claude had given me two choices; either he could kill Richard,
or I could date both of them. It had seemed a good idea at the
time. Five weeks later I wasn't so sure.
It had been my morals that had kept Richard and me from
consummating our relationship. Consummating, nice euphemism. But
Jean-Claude had made it clear that if I did something with Richard,
I had to do it with him too. Jean-Claude was trying to woo me. If
Richard could touch me but he couldn't, it wasn't fair. He had a
point, I guess. But the thought of having to have sex with the
vampire was more likely to keep me chaste than any high ideals.
I couldn't date both of them indefinitely. The sexual tension
alone was killing me. I could move. Richard might even let me do
that. He wouldn't like it, but if I wanted free of him, he'd let me
go. Jean-Claude, on the other hand . . . He'd never let me go. The
question was, did I want him to let me go? Answer: hell, yes. The
real trick was how to break free without anybody dying.
Yeah, that was the $64,000 question. Trouble was, I didn't have
an answer. We were going to need one sooner or later. And later was
getting closer all the time.
Chapter 3
I huddled against the side of the helicopter, one hand in a
death grip on the strap that was bolted to the wall. I wanted to
use both hands to hold on, as if by holding very tightly to the
stupid strap it would save me when the helicopter plummeted to
earth. I used one hand because two hands looked cowardly. I was
wearing a headset, sort of like ear protection for the shooting
range, but with a microphone so you could talk above the
teeth-rattling noise. I hadn't realized that most of a helicopter
was clear, like being suspended in a great buzzing, vibrating
bubble. I kept my eyes closed as much as possible.
"Are you all right, Ms. Blake?" Lionel Bayard asked.
The voice startled me. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You don't look well."
"I don't like to fly," I said.
He gave a weak smile. I don't think I was inspiring confidence
in Lionel Bayard, lawyer and flunkie of Beadle, Beadle, Stirling,
and Lowenstein. Lionel Bayard was a small, neat man with a tiny
blond mustache that looked like it was as much facial hair as he
would ever get. His triangular jaw was as smooth as my own. Maybe
the mustache was glued on. His brown suit with a thin yellow tweed
fit his body like a well-tailored glove. His thin tie was
brown-and-yellow striped with a gold tie tack. The tie tack was
monogrammed. His slender leather briefcase was monogrammed as well.
Everything matched, down to his gold-tasseled loafers.
Larry twisted in his seat. He was sitting beside the pilot.
"You're really afraid of flying?" I could see his lips move, but
all the sound came out of my headset; without them we'd never have
been able to talk over the noise. He sounded amused.
"Yes, Larry, I'm really afraid of flying." I hoped sarcasm
traveled the headsets as clearly as amusement did.
Larry laughed. Evidently, sarcasm traveled. Larry looked freshly
scrubbed. He was dressed in his other blue suit, his white
shirt—which was one of three he owned—and his second-best tie. His
best tie had blood all over it. He was still in college, working
weekends for us until he graduated. His short hair was the color of
a surprised carrot. He was freckled and about my height, short,
with pale blue eyes. He looked like a grown-up Opie.
Bayard was working hard at not frowning at me. The effort showed
enough that he shouldn't have bothered. "Are you sure you're up to
this assignment?"
I met his brown eyes. "You better hope I am, Mr. Bayard, because
I'm all you got."
"I am aware of your specialized skills, Ms. Blake. I spent the
last twelve hours contacting every animating firm in the United
States. Phillipa Freestone of the Resurrection Company told me she
couldn't do what we wanted, that the only person in the country who
might be able to do it was Anita Blake. Élan Vital in New
Orleans told us the same thing. They mentioned John Burke but
weren't confident that he could do all we wanted. We must have all
the dead raised or it's useless to us."
"Did my boss explain to you that I am not a hundred percent sure
that I can do it?"
Bayard blinked at me. "Mr. Vaughn seemed very confident that you
could do what we asked."
"Bert can be as confident as he wants. He doesn't have to raise
this mess."
"I realize the earthmoving equipment has complicated your task,
Ms. Blake, but we did not do it deliberately."
I let that go. I'd seen the pictures. They'd tried to cover it
up. If the construction crew hadn't been local with some Bouvier
sympathizers, they'd have plowed up the boneyard, poured some
concrete, and voilá, no evidence.
"Whatever. I'll do what I can with what you've left me."
"Would it have been that much easier if you had been brought in
before the graves were disturbed?"
"Yeah."
He sighed. It vibrated through the headphones. "Then my
apologies."
I shrugged. "Unless you did it personally, you're not the one
who owes me an apology."
He shifted a little in his seat. "I did not order the digging.
Mr. Stirling is on site."
"The Mr. Stirling?" I asked.
Bayard didn't seem to get the humor. "Yes, that Mr. Stirling."
Or maybe he really expected me to know the name.
"You always have a senior partner looking over your
shoulder?"
He used one finger to adjust his gold-framed glasses. It looked
like an old gesture from a time before new glasses and designer
suits. "With this much money at stake, Mr. Stirling thought he
should be in the area in case there were more problems."
"More problems?" I asked.
He blinked at me rapidly, like a well-groomed rabbit. "The
Bouvier matter."
He was lying. "What else is going wrong with your little
project?"
"Whatever do you mean, Ms. Blake?" His manicured fingers
smoothed down his tie.
"You've had more problems than just the Bouviers." I made it a
statement.
"Any problems we may or may not be having, Ms. Blake, are not
your concern. We hired you to raise the dead and establish the
identity of said deceased persons. Beyond that, you have no duties
here."
"Have you ever raised a zombie, Mr. Bayard?"
He blinked again. "Of course not." He sounded offended.
"Then how do you know the other problems won't affect my
job?"
Small frown lines formed between his eyebrows. He was a lawyer
and was earning a good living, but thinking seemed to be hard for
him. Made you wonder where he'd graduated from.
"I don't see how our little difficulties could affect your
job."
"You've just admitted you don't know anything about my job," I
said. "How do you know what will affect it and what won't?"
Alright, I was fishing. Bayard was probably right. The other
problems probably wouldn't affect me, but you never know. I don't
like being kept in the dark. And I don't like being lied to, not
even by omission.
"I think Mr. Stirling would have to make the call about whether
you are enlightened or not."
"Not senior enough to make the decision," I said.
"No," Bayard said, "I am not."
Geez, some people you can't even needle. I glanced at Larry. He
shrugged. "Looks like we're going to land."
I glanced out at the rapidly growing land. We were in the middle
of the Ozark Mountains, hovering over a blasted scar of reddish
naked earth. The construction site, I presume.
The ground swelled up to meet us. I closed my eyes and swallowed
hard. The ride was almost over. I would not throw up this close to
the ground. The ride was almost over. Almost over. Almost over.
There was a bump that made me gasp.
"We've landed," Larry said. "You can open your eyes now."
I did. "You are enjoying the hell out of this, aren't you?"
He grinned. "I don't get to see you out of your element
often."
The helicopter was surrounded by a fog of reddish dirt. The
blades began to slow with a thick whump, whump sound. As
the blades stopped, the dirt settled down and we could see where we
were.
We were in a small, flat area between a cluster of mountains. It
looked like it had once been a narrow valley, but bulldozers had
widened it, flattened it, made it a landing pad. The earth was so
red it looked like a river of rust. The mountain in front of the
helicopter was one red mound. Heavy equipment and cars were
clustered to the far side of the valley. Men were clustered around
the equipment, shielding their eyes from the dust.
When the blades came to a sliding stop, Bayard unbuckled his
seat belt. I did, too. We lifted off the headsets and Bayard opened
his door. I opened mine and found that the ground was farther away
than you'd think. I had to expose a long line of thigh to touch the
ground.
The construction workers were appreciative. Whistles, catcalls,
and one offer to check under my skirt. No, those weren't the exact
words used.
A tall man in a white hard hat strode towards us. He was wearing
a pair of tan coveralls, but his dirt-covered shoes were Gucci and
his tan was health-club perfect. A man and a woman followed at his
back.
The man looked like the real foreman. He was dressed in jeans
and a work shirt with the sleeves rolled over muscular forearms.
Not from racquetball or a little tennis, but from plain hard
work.
The woman wore the traditional skirt suit complete with little
blousy tie at her throat. The suit was expensive, but was an
unfortunate shade of puce that did nothing for the woman's auburn
hair but did match the blush that she'd smeared on her cheeks. I
checked her neckline, and yes, she did have a pale line just above
her collar where the base had not been blended in. She looked like
she'd been made up at clown school.
She didn't look that young. You'd think someone somewhere would
have clued her in to how bad she looked. Of course, I wasn't going
to tell her either. Who was I to criticize?
Stirling had the palest grey eyes I'd ever seen. The irises were
only a few shades darker than the whites of his eyes. He stood
there with his entourage behind him. He looked me up and down. He
didn't seem to like what he saw. His strange eyes flicked to Larry
in his cheap, wrinkled suit. Mr. Stirling frowned.
Bayard came around, smoothing his jacket into place. "Mr.
Stirling, this is Anita Blake. Ms. Blake, this is Raymond
Stirling."
He just stood there, looking at me like he was disappointed. The
woman had a clipboard notebook, pen poised. Had to be his
secretary. She looked worried, as if it was very important that Mr.
Raymond Stirling like us.
I was beginning not to care if he liked us or not. What I wanted
to say was, "You got a problem?" What I said was, "Is there a
problem, Mr. Stirling?" Bert would have been pleased.
"You're not what I expected, Ms. Blake."
"How so?"
"Pretty, for one thing." It wasn't a compliment.
"And?"
He motioned at my outfit. "You're not dressed appropriately for
the job."
"Your secretary's wearing heels."
"Ms. Harrison's attire is not your concern."
"And my attire is none of yours."
"Fair enough, but you're going to have a hell of time getting up
that mountain in those shoes."
"I've got a coverall and Nikes in my suitcase."
"I don't think I like your attitude, Ms. Blake."
"I know I don't like yours," I said.
The foreman behind him was having trouble not smiling. His eyes
were getting shiny with the effort. Ms. Harrison looked a little
scared. Bayard had moved to one side, closer to Stirling. Making
clear whose side he was on. Coward.
Larry moved closer to me.
"Do you want this job, Ms. Blake?"
"Not enough to take grief about it, no."
Ms. Harrison looked like she'd swallowed a bug. A big, nasty,
squirming bug. I think I'd missed my cue to fall down and worship
at her boss's feet.
The foreman coughed behind his hand. Stirling glanced at him,
then back to me. "Are you always this arrogant?" he asked.
I sighed. "I prefer the word 'confident' to 'arrogant,' but I'll
tell you what. I'll tone it down if you will."
"I am so sorry, Mr. Stirling," Bayard said. "I apologize. I had
no idea . . ."
"Shut up, Lionel," Stirling said.
Lionel shut up.
Stirling was looking at me with his strange pale eyes. He
nodded. "Agreed, Ms. Blake." He smiled. "I'll tone it down."
"Great," I said.
"All right, Ms. Blake, let's go up to the top and see if you're
really as good as you think you are."
"I can look at the graveyard, but until full dark I can't do
anything else."
He frowned and glanced at Bayard. "Lionel." That one word had a
lot of heat in it. Anger looking for a target. He'd stop picking on
me, but Lionel was fair game.
"I did fax you a memo, sir, as soon as I realized that Ms. Blake
would be unable to help us until after dark."
Good man. When in doubt, cover your ass with paper.
Stirling glared at him. Bayard looked apologetic but he stood
his ground, safe behind his memo.
"I called Beau and had him bring everybody down here on the
understanding we could get some work done today." His gaze was very
steady on Bayard. Lionel wilted just a little; evidently one memo
was not protection enough.
"Mr. Stirling, even if I can raise the graveyard in one night,
and that's a big if, what if the dead are all Bouviers? What if it
is their family plot? My understanding is that construction will
stop until you rebuy the land."
"They don't want to sell," Beau said.
Stirling glared at him. The foreman just smiled softly.
"Are you saying that the entire project is off if this is the
Bouvier family plot?" I asked Bayard. "Why, Lionel, you didn't tell
me that."
"There was no need for you to know," Bayard said.
"Why wouldn't they want to sell the land for a million dollars?"
Larry asked. It was a good question.
Stirling looked at him like he'd just appeared out of thin air.
Evidently, the flunkies weren't supposed to talk. "Magnus and
Dorcas Bouvier have only a restaurant, called Bloody Bones. It is
nothing. I have no idea why they wouldn't want to be
millionaires."
"Bloody Bones? What kind of name is that for a restaurant?"
Larry asked.
I shrugged. "It doesn't exactly say bon appetit." I looked at
Stirling. He looked angry but that was all. I would have bet a
million dollars that he knew exactly why the Bouviers didn't want
to sell. But it didn't show on his face. His cards were close to
his chest and unreadable.
I turned to Bayard. There was an unhealthy flush to his cheeks,
and he avoided my gaze. I'd play poker with Bayard any day. But not
in front of his boss.
"Fine. I'll change into something more bulky and we'll go take a
look." The pilot handed out my suitcase. The coverall and shoes
were on top.
Larry came up to me. "Gee, I wished I'd thought of the coverall.
This suit's not going to survive the trip."
I pulled out two pairs of coveralls. "Be prepared," I said.
He grinned. "Thanks."
I shrugged. "One good thing about being nearly the same size." I
slipped off the black jacket, which left the gun in plain
sight.
"Ms. Blake," Stirling said. "Why are you armed?"
I sighed. I was tired of Raymond. I hadn't even gone up the hill
and I didn't want to go. The last thing I wanted to do was stand
here and debate whether I needed a gun. The red blouse was
short-sleeved. Visual aids are always better than lectures.
I walked over to him with my arms bent outward, exposing the
inside of both forearms. There's a rather neat knife scar on my
right arm, nothing too dramatic. My left arm is a mess. It had only
been a little over a month since a shapeshifting leopard had opened
my arm. A nice doctor had stitched it back together, but there is
only so much you can do with claw marks. The cross-shaped burn scar
that some inventive vampire servants had put on me was now a little
crooked because of the claws. The mound of scar tissue at the bend
of my arm where a vampire had bitten through the flesh and gnawed
the bone dribbled white scars like water.
"Jesus," Beau said.
Stirling looked a touch pale but he held up well, like he'd seen
worse. Bayard looked green. Ms. Harrison paled so that the makeup
floated on her suddenly pale skin like impressionist water
lilies.
"I don't go anywhere unarmed, Mr. Stirling. Live with it,
because I have to."
He nodded, eyes very serious. "Fine, Ms. Blake. Is your
assistant armed as well?"
"No," I said.
He nodded again. "Fine. Change, and when you're ready we'll go
up."
Larry was zipping up his coverall when I walked back. "I could
have been armed, you know," he said.
"You brought your gun?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Unloaded in your suitcase?"
"Just like you told me."
"Good." I let it go. Larry wanted to be a vampire executioner as
well as an animator, which meant he needed to know how to use a
gun. A gun with silver-plated bullets that could slow a vampire
down. We'd work up to shotguns, which could take out a head and
heart from a relatively safe distance. Beat the hell out of
staking.
I'd gotten him a carry permit on the condition he didn't carry
it concealed until I thought he was a good enough shot not to blow
a hole in himself or me. I'd gotten him the permit mainly so we
could carry it around in the car and go to the range in any spare moments.
The coverall went over the skirt like magic. I took off the
heels and put the Nikes on. I left the coverall unzipped enough
that I could go for the gun if needed, and I was set to go.
"Are you going up with us, Mr. Stirling?"
"Yes," he said.
"Then lead the way," I said.
He walked past me, glancing at the coveralls. Or maybe
visualizing the gun under it. Beau started to follow but Stirling
said, "No, I'll take her up alone."
Silence among the three flunkies. I'd expected Ms. Harrison to
stay behind in her high-heeled pumps, but I'd been sure the two men
would come along. So, from the looks on their faces, had they.
"Wait a minute. You said 'her.' You want Larry to wait down
here, too?"
"Yes."
I shook my head. "He's in training. You can't learn if you don't
see it done."
"Will you be doing anything that he needs to see today?"
I thought about that for a minute. "I guess not."
"I do get to come up after dark?" Larry asked.
"You'll get to see the down and dirty, Larry. Don't worry."
"Of course," Stirling said. "I have no problem with your
associate doing his job."
"Why can't he come along now?" I asked.
"At the price we're paying, humor me, Ms. Blake."
He was being strangely polite, so I nodded. "Okay."
"Mr. Stirling," Bayard said, "are you sure you should go up
alone?"
"Why ever not, Lionel?"
Bayard opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "No reason, Mr.
Stirling."
Beau shrugged. "I'll tell the men to go home for the day." He
started to turn away, then stopped. "Do you want the crew back
tomorrow?"
Stirling looked at me. "Ms. Blake?"
I shook my head. "I don't know yet."
"What's your best guess?" he asked.
I looked over at the waiting men. "Do they get paid whether they
show up or not?"
"Only if they show up," Stirling said.
"Then no work tomorrow. I can't guarantee they'll have anything
to do."
Stirling nodded. "You heard her, Beau."
Beau looked at me, then back to Stirling. He had a strange took
on his face, half amused, half something I couldn't read. "Anything
you say, Mr. Stirling, Ms. Blake." He turned and strode off over
the raw ground, waving at the men as he moved. The men began to
leave long before he got to them.
"What do you want us to do, Mr. Stirling?" Bayard asked.
"Wait for us."
"The helicopter, too? It has to leave before dark."
"Will we be down before dark, Ms. Blake?"
"Sure. I'm just going to take a quick look around. I'll need to
get back in here after dark, though."
"I'll give you a car and driver for your stay."
"Thanks."
"Shall we, Ms. Blake?" He motioned me forward. Something had
changed in the way he was treating me. I couldn't put my finger on
it, but I didn't like it.
"After you, Mr. Stirling."
He nodded and took the lead, striding over the red earth in his
thousand-dollar shoes.
Larry and I exchanged glances. "I won't be long, Larry."
"Us flunkies aren't going anywhere," he said.
I smiled. He smiled. I shrugged. Why did Stirling want it to be
just the two of us? I watched the senior partner's broad back as he
marched across the torn earth. I followed him. I'd find out what
the secrecy was all about when we got to the top. I was betting I
wouldn't like what I'd hear. Just me and the big cheese on top of
the mountain with the dead. What could be better?
Chapter 4
The view from the top of the mountain was worth the hike. Trees
stretched out and out to the horizon. We stood in a circle of
forest that showed no hand of man as far as the eye could see. That
first blush of green was more pronounced here. But the thing you
noticed most was the lavender color of redbuds through the dark
trees. Redbuds are such delicate things that if they came out in
the height of summer they'd get lost in all the leaves and flowers,
but here with nothing but naked trees the redbuds were
eye-catching. A few dogwoods had started to bloom, adding their
white to the lavender. Spring in the Ozarks, ah.
"The view is magnificent," I said.
"Yes," Stirling said, "it is, isn't it?"
My black Nikes were covered in rust-colored dirt. The raw,
wounded earth filled the mountaintop. This hilltop had probably
been just as pretty as the rest once. There was an arm bone
sticking out of the dirt next to my feet. The lower arm, judging
from the length. The bones were slender and still connected by a
dry remnant of tissue.
Once I'd seen one bone, my eyes found more to look at. It was
like one of those magic-eye pictures where you stare and stare and
suddenly see what's there. I saw them all, studding the ground like
hands reaching up through a river of rust.
There were a few splintered coffins, their broken halves
spilling out into the air, but mostly it was just bones. I knelt
and put my hands palm down on the ruined earth. I tried to get some
sense of the dead. There was something faint and far-off like a
whiff of perfume, but it was no good. In the bright spring sunlight
I couldn't work my . . . magic. Raising the dead isn't evil, but it
does require darkness. I don't know why.
I stood up, brushing my hands against the coverall, trying to
clean the red dust away. Stirling was standing at the edge of the
naked dirt staring off into space. There was a distance to his gaze
that said he wasn't admiring the trees.
He spoke without looking at me, "I can't bully you, can I, Ms.
Blake?"
"Nope," I said.
He turned to me with a smile, but it left his eyes empty,
haunted. "I invested everything I had into this project. Not just
my money, but clients' money. Do you understand what I am saying,
Ms. Blake?"
"If the bodies up here are Bouviers, you're screwed."
"How eloquently you put it."
"Why are we up here alone, Mr. Stirling? Why all the
skullduggery?"
He took a deep breath of the gentle air and said, "I want you to
say they aren't Bouvier ancestors even if they are." He looked at
me when he said it. Watched my face.
I smiled and shook my head. "I won't lie for you."
"Can't you make the zombies lie?"
"The dead are very honest, Mr. Stirling. They don't lie."
He took a step towards me, face very sincere. "My entire future
is riding on you, Ms. Blake."
"No, Mr. Stirling, your future rides on the dead at your feet.
Whatever comes out of their mouths will decide it."
He nodded. "I suppose that is fair."
"Fair or not, it's the truth."
He nodded again. Some light had gone out of his face, like
someone had turned down the power. The lines in his face were
suddenly clearer. He aged ten years in a few seconds. When he met
my gaze, his dramatic eyes were woeful.
"I'll give you a piece of the profits, Ms. Blake. You could be a
billionaire in a few years."
"You know bribing won't work."
"I knew it wouldn't work just a few minutes after we met, but I
had to try."
"You really do believe this is the Bouvier family plot, don't
you?" I asked.
He took a deep breath and walked away from me to gaze off at the
trees. He wasn't going to answer my question, but he didn't have
to. He wouldn't be so desperate if he didn't believe he was
screwed.
"Why won't the Bouviers sell?"
He glanced back at me. "I don't know."
"Look, Stirling, there are just the two of us up here, nobody to
impress, no witnesses. You know why they won't sell. Just tell
me."
"I don't know, Ms. Blake," he said.
"You're a control freak, Mr. Stirling. You've overseen every
detail of this deal. You have personally seen that every 'i' was
dotted, every 't' crossed. This is your baby. You know everything
about the Bouviers and their problem. Just tell me."
He just looked at me. His pale eyes were opaque, empty as a
window with no one home. He knew, but he wasn't going to tell me.
Why?
"What do you know about the Bouviers?"
"The locals think they're witches. They do a little
fortune-telling, a few harmless spells." There was something about
the way he said it, too casual, too offhand. Made me want to meet
the Bouviers in person.
"They any good at magic?" I asked.
"How am I supposed to know?"
I shrugged. "Just curious. Is there a reason why it had to be
this mountain?"
"Look at it." He spread his arms wide. "It's perfect. It is
perfect."
"It is a great view," I said. "But wouldn't the view be equally
good over on that mountaintop? Why did you have to have this one?
Why did you have to have the Bouviers' mountain?"
His shoulders slumped; then he straightened and glared at me. "I
wanted this land, and I got it."
"You got it. Trick is, Raymond, can you keep it?"
"If you are not going to help me, then don't taunt me. And don't
call me Raymond."
I opened my mouth to say something else and my beeper went off.
I fished under the coverall for it, and checked the number. "Shit,"
I said.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm being paged by the police. I've got to get to a phone."
He frowned at me. "Why would the police be calling you?"
So much for being a household name. "I'm the legal vampire
executioner for a three-state area. I'm attached to the Regional
Preternatural Investigation Team."
He was looking very steadily at me. "You surprise me, Ms. Blake.
Not many people do that."
"I need to find a phone."
"I have a portable with a battery pack at the bottom of this
damned hill."
"Great. I'm ready to head down if you are."
He did one last turn, taking in that breath-stealing
billion-dollar view. "Yes, I'm ready to go down."
It was an interesting choice of words, a Freudian slip you might
say. Stirling had wanted this land for some perverse reason. Maybe
because he was told he couldn't have it. Some people are like that.
The more you say no, the more they want you. It reminded me of a
certain master vampire I knew.
Tonight I'd walk the land, visit with the dead. It would
probably be tomorrow night before I actually tried to raise them.
If the police matter was pressing enough, it might be longer. I
hoped it wasn't pressing. Pressing usually meant dead bodies. When
the monsters are involved, it's never just one dead body. One way
or another, the dead multiply.
Chapter 5
We got back to the valley. The construction crew was
gone except for Beau the foreman. Ms. Harrison and Bayard stood
next to the helicopter, as if huddling against the wilderness.
Larry and the pilot stood to one side, smoking, sharing that
comradery of all people who are determined to blacken their
lungs.
Stirling walked towards them all, his stride firm and
confident once more. He'd left his doubts on top of the mountain.
or so it seemed. He was the impervious senior partner once more.
Illusion is all.
"Bayard, get the phone. Ms. Blake needs to use
it."
Bayard gave a startled little jump, like he'd been
caught doing something he shouldn't have. Ms. Harrison looked a
little flushed. Was there romance in the air? And was that not
allowed? No fraternizing among the flunkies.
Bayard ran off across the dirt towards the last car.
He fetched what looked like a small, black leather backpack with a
handle. He pulled a phone out and handed it to me. It looked like
an antennaed walkie-talkie.
Larry walked over smelling of smoke. "What's up?"
"I got beeped."
"Bert?"
I shook my head. "Police." I walked a little ways
from our group. Larry was polite enough to stay with them, though
he didn't have to. I dialed Dolph's number. Detective Sergeant
Rudolf Storr was head of the Regional Preternatural Investigation
Team.
He answered on the second ring. "Anita?"
"Yeah, Dolph, it's me. What's up?"
"Three dead bodies."
"Three? Shit," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
"I can't be there soon, Dolph."
"Yes, you can," he said.
There was something in his voice. "What's that
supposed to mean?"
"The victims are right near you."
"Near Branson?"
"Twenty-five minutes east of Branson," he said.
"I'm already forty miles from Branson in the middle
of freaking nowhere."
"The middle of nowhere is where this one is," Dolph
said.
"Are you guys flying up?" I asked.
"No, we got a vampire victim in town."
"Jesus, are the other three vamp victims?"
"I don't think so," he said.
"What do you mean, you don't think so?" I asked.
"Missouri State Highway Patrol has this one. Sergeant
Freemont is the investigator in charge. She doesn't think it was a
vampire because the bodies are cut up. Pieces of the bodies are
missing. I had to do a lot of tap dancing to get that much
information out of her. Sergeant Freemont seems convinced that RPIT
is going to come in and steal all the glory. She was particularly
worried about our headline-stealing pet zombie queen."
"It's the pet part that I mind the most," I said.
"But she sounds charming."
"I'll bet she's even more charming in person," Dolph
said.
"And I get to meet her?"
"Given the choice between a large chunk of the squad
coming down later and just you right now, she chose you. I think
she sees you alone, without us to back you up, as the lesser
evil."
"Nice to be the lesser evil for a change," I
said.
"You might get upgraded," Dolph said. "She doesn't
know you too well yet."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Let me test my
understanding here. None of you are coming up to the scene?"
"Not right away. You know we're shorthanded until
Zerbrowski gets back on duty."
"What does the Missouri State Highway Patrol think
about a civilian helping them in a murder investigation?"
"I made it clear that you are a valuable member of my
squad."
"Thanks for the compliment, but I still don't have a
badge to flash."
"You may if that new federal law goes into effect,"
Dolph said.
"Don't remind me."
"Don't you want to be a federal marshal?" His voice
was very mild. Nah, amused.
"I agreed they should license us, but giving us what
amounts to federal marshal status is ridiculous."
"You could handle it."
"But who else? John Burke with the power of the law
behind him? Give me a break."
"It won't get passed, Anita. The pro-vampire lobby is
too strong."
"From your lips to God's ear. Unless they revoke the
need for court orders of execution, it won't make killing them any
easier, and they won't do that. I've already gone out of state to
execute vamps. I don't need no stinking badge."
Dolph laughed. "If you run into trouble, give a
yell."
"I really don't like this, Dolph. I'm out here
investigating a murder without any official status."
"See, you do need a badge." I heard him sigh over the
phone. "Look, Anita, I wouldn't leave you solo if we didn't have
problems of our own. I've got a body on the ground here. When I
can, I'll send somebody. Hell, I'd like you to come take a look at
our corpse. You're our resident monster expert."
"Give me some details and I'll try to play
Kreskin."
"Male, early twenties, rigor hasn't set in."
"Where's the body?"
"His apartment."
"How'd you get there so soon?"
"Neighbor heard a fight, called 911. They called
us."
"Give me his name."
"Fredrick Michael Summers, Freddy Summers."
"He got any old vampire bites on his body? Healed
bites?"
"Yeah, quite a few. Looks like a damn pincushion.
How'd you know?"
"What's the first rule of a homicide?" I said. "You
check the nearest and dearest. If he had a vamp lover, there'd be
healed bite marks. The more of them, the longer the relationship
has gone on. No vamp can bite a victim three times within a month
without running the risk of killing them and raising them as a
vamp. You can have different vamps bite somebody, but that would
make Freddy a vampire junkie. Ask the neighbors if there were a lot
of different guys or girls going in and out at night."
"It never occurred to me that a vampire could be
someone's nearest and dearest," Dolph said.
"Legally, they're people. Means they get to have
sweethearts, too."
"I'll check the bite radiuses," Dolph said, "If they
match one vamp, a lover; different ones, and our boy was doing
groups."
"Hope for a lover," I said. "If it's all one vamp, he
might even rise from the dead."
"Most vamps know enough to slit the throat or take
the head," he said.
"Doesn't sound well planned. Crime of passion,
maybe."
"Maybe. Freemont is holding the bodies for you.
Eagerly awaiting your expertise."
"I bet."
"Don't bust Freemont's balls on this, Anita."
"I won't start anything, Dolph."
"Be polite," he said.
"Always," I said in my mildest voice.
He sighed. "Try to remember that the staties may
never have seen bodies with pieces missing."
It was my turn to sigh. "I'll be good, scout's honor.
Do you have directions?" I got a small notebook with a pen stuck in
its spiral top out of a pocket of the coverall. I'd started
carrying notebooks just for such occasions.
He gave me what Freemont had given him. "If you see
anything fishy at the crime scene, keep the scene intact and I'll
try to send some people down. Otherwise, look over the victim, give
the staties your opinion, and let them do their job."
"You really think Freemont would let me close up her
shop and force her to wait for RPIT?"
Silence for a second; then, "Do the best you can,
Anita. Call if we can do anything from this end."
"Yeah, sure."
"I'd rather have you on a murder than a lot of the
cops I know," Dolph said.
That was a very big compliment coming from Dolph. He
is the world's ultimate policeman. "Thanks, Dolph."
I was talking to empty air. Dolph had hung up. He was
always doing that. I hit the button, turning the phone off, and
just stood there for a minute.
I didn't like being out here in unfamiliar territory
with unfamiliar police, and partially eaten victims. Hanging around
with the Spook Squad legitimized me. I'd even pulled that "I'm with
the squad" at crime scenes. I had a little ID badge that clipped to
my clothes. It wasn't a police badge, but it did look official. But
pretending on home turf, where I knew I could run to Dolph if I got
in trouble for it, was one thing; out here with no backup was
another story.
The police have absolutely no sense of humor about
civilians meddling in their homicide cases. Can't really blame
them. I wasn't really a civilian, but I had no official status. No
clout. Maybe the new law would be a good thing.
I shook my head. Theoretically, I'd be able to go
into any police station in the country and demand help, or involve
myself uninvited in any case. Theoretically. In the real world, the
cops would hate it. I'd be as welcome as a wet dog on a cold night.
Not federal, not local, and there weren't enough licensed vamp
executioners in the country to fill a dozen slots. I could only
name eight of us; two of those were retired.
Most of them specialized in vampires. I was one of
the few who would look at other types of kills. There was talk of
the new law being expanded to include all preternatural kills. Most
of the vampire executioners would be out of their depth. It was an
informal apprenticeship. I had a college degree in preternatural
biology, but that wasn't common. Most of the rogue lycanthropes,
occasional trolls run amok, and other more solid beasties were
taken out by bounty hunters. But the new law wouldn't give special
powers to bounty hunters. Vampire executioners, most of them,
worked very strictly within the confines of the law. Or maybe we
just had better press.
I'd been screaming about vamps being monsters for
years. But until a senator's daughter got herself attacked just a
few weeks ago, nobody did shit. Now suddenly it's a cause celebre.
The legitimate vampire community delivered the supposed attacker in
a sack to the senator's home. They left his head and torso intact,
which meant even without arms and legs he wouldn't die. He
confessed to the attack. He'd been the new dead and just got
carried away on a date, like any other twenty-one-year-old
red-blooded male. Yeah, right.
The local hitter, Gerald Mallory, had done the
execution. He's based out of Washington, D.C. He has to be in his
sixties now. He still uses a stake and hammer. Can you believe
it?
There had been some talk that cutting off their arms
and legs would allow us to keep vamps in jail. This was vetoed
mainly on the grounds of cruel and unusual punishment. It also
wouldn't have worked, not for the really old vampires. It isn't
just their bodies that are dangerous.
Besides, I didn't believe in torture. If cutting
someone's arms and legs off and putting them in a little box for
all eternity isn't torture, I don't know what is.
I walked back to the group. I handed the phone to
Bayard. "I hope it isn't bad news," he said.
"Not personally," I said.
He looked puzzled. Not an uncommon occurrence for
Lionel.
I talked directly to Stirling. "I've got to go to a
crime scene near here. Is there someplace to rent a car?"
He shook his head. "I said you'd have a car and
driver while you were here. I meant it."
"Thanks. I'm not so sure about the driver, though.
This is a crime scene they won't want civilians hanging
around."
"A car, then; no driver. Lionel, see that Ms. Blake
gets anything she wants."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll meet you back here at full dark, Ms.
Blake."
"I'll be here at dusk if I can, Mr. Stirling, but the
police matter takes precedence."
He frowned at me. "You are working for me, Ms.
Blake."
"Yes, but I'm also a licensed vampire executioner.
Cooperation with the local police takes precedence."
"So it's a vampire kill?"
"I am not free to share police information with
anyone," I said. But I cursed myself. By bringing up the word
"vampire," I'd started a rumor that would grow with the telling.
Damn.
"I can't leave the investigation early just to come
look at your mountain. I'll be here when I can. I'll definitely
look the dead over before daylight, so you won't really lose any
time."
He didn't like it, but he let it go. "Fine, Ms.
Blake. I will wait here for you even if it takes all night. I'm
curious about what you do. I've never seen a zombie raised
before."
"I won't raise the dead tonight, Mr. Stirling. We've
been over that."
"Of course." He just looked at me. For some reason it
was hard to meet his pale eyes. I made myself meet his gaze and
didn't look away, but it was an effort. It was like he was willing
me to do something, trying to compel me with his eyes like a
vampire. But a vampire, even a little one, he was not.
He blinked and walked away without saying another
word. Ms. Harrison toddled after him in her high heels on the
uneven ground. Beau nodded at me and followed. I guess they'd all
come in the same car. Or maybe Beau was Stirling's driver. What a
joyous job that must be.
"We'll fly you to the hotel where we booked your
rooms. You can unpack, and I'll have a car brought around for you,"
Bayard said.
"No unpacking, just a car. Murder scenes age fast," I
said.
He nodded. "As you like. If you'll get back into the
helicopter, we'll be off."
It wasn't until I was taking off the coveralls and
repacking both of them that I realized I could have gone with Mr.
Stirling. I could have driven out of here, instead of flying.
Shit.
Chapter 6
Bayard had gotten us a black Jeep with black-tinted windows and
more bells and whistles than I could even guess at. I'd been
worried they'd saddle me with a Cadillac or something equally
ridiculous. Bayard had given me the keys with the comment, "Some of
these roads are not even paved. I thought you might need something
more substantial than just a car."
I resisted the urge to pat him on the head and say "Good
flunkie." Hell, he'd made a great choice. Maybe he'd make full
partner someday after all.
The trees made long, thin shadows across the road. In the
valleys between mountains, the sunlight had softened to a
late-afternoon haze. We might make it back to the graveyard by full
dark.
Yes, we. Larry sat beside me in his wrinkled blue suit. The cops
wouldn't mind his cheap suit. My outfit, on the other hand, might
raise a few eyebrows. There aren't many female cops out in the
boonies. And fewer who wear short red skirts. I was beginning to
really regret my choice of clothes. Insecure: who, me?
Larry's face was shiny with excitement. His eyes sparkled like a
kid's on Christmas Day. He was drumming his fingers on the armrest.
Nervous tension.
"How you doing?"
"I've never been to a murder scene before," he said.
"There's always a first time."
"Thanks for letting me come along."
"Just remember the rules."
He laughed. "Don't touch anything. Don't walk through the blood.
Don't speak unless spoken to." He frowned. "Why the last? I
understand all the others, but why can't I talk?"
"I'm a member of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team.
You're not. If you go around saying golly gee whiz a dead body,
they may catch on."
"I won't embarrass you." He sounded insulted; then a thought
occurred to him. "Are we impersonating police officers?"
"No. Keep repeating I'm a member of the Spook Squad, I'm a
member of the Spook Squad, I'm a member of the Spook Squad."
"But I'm not," he said.
"That's why I don't want you talking."
"Oh," he said. He settled back into his seat, a little of the
shine dimming around the edges. "I've never actually seen a freshly
dead body before."
"You raise the dead for a living, Larry. You see corpses all the
time."
"It's not the same thing, Anita." He sounded grumpy.
I glanced at him. He had slumped down as far into the seat as
the seat belt would allow, arms crossed over his chest. We were at
the crest of a hill. A band of sunlight fell like an explosion over
his orange hair. His blue eyes looked translucent for a moment as
we passed from light into shadow. He looked all scrunched and
sulky.
"Have you ever seen a dead person outside of a funeral or a
freshly raised zombie?"
He was quiet for a minute. I concentrated on driving, letting
the silence fill the Jeep. It was a comfortable silence, at least
for me.
"No," he said at last. He sounded like a little boy who had been
told he couldn't go outside and play.
"I'm not always good around fresh bodies either," I said.
He looked at me sort of sideways. "What do you mean?"
It was my turn to scrunch into the seat. I fought the urge and
sat up straighter. "I threw up on a murder victim once." Even
saying it very fast, it was still embarrassing.
Larry scooted up in his seat, grinning. "You're just telling me
that to make me feel better."
"Would I tell a story like that about myself if it wasn't true?"
I asked.
"You really threw up on a body at a crime scene?"
"You don't have to sound so happy about it," I said.
He giggled. I swear he giggled. "I don't think I'll throw up on
the body."
I shrugged. "Three bodies, with parts missing. Don't make
promises you can't keep."
He swallowed loud enough for me to hear it. "What do they mean,
parts missing."
"We'll find out," I said. "This isn't part of your job
description, Larry. I get paid for helping the cops; you
don't."
"Will it be awful?" His voice was low, uncertain.
Chopped-up bodies. Was he kidding? "I don't know until we get
there."
"But what do you think?" He was staring at me very
earnestly.
I glanced back at the road, then at Larry. He looked very
solemn, like a relative who'd asked the doctor for the truth. If he
would be brave, I could be truthful. "Yeah, it'll be awful."
Chapter 7
It was awful. Larry had managed to stagger from the crime scene
before he threw up. The only comfort I could offer him was that he
wasn't the only one. Some of the cops were looking a little green
around the edges, too. I hadn't thrown up yet, but I was keeping it
as an option for later.
The bodies lay in a small hollow near the base of a hill. The
ground was nearly knee-deep with leaves. Nobody rakes in the woods.
The drought had dried the leaves to a fine, biting crunch
underfoot. The hollow was ringed by naked trees and bushes with
branches like thin brown whips. When the leaves came out, the
hollow would be hidden on all sides.
The body nearest to me was a blond man with hair cut so short it
looked like an old-fashioned butch. Blood pooled around the
eyeballs, flowing from them down the face. There was something
wrong with the face, besides the eyes, but I couldn't quite figure
out what. I knelt in the dry leaves, glad that the leg of the
coverall was protecting my hose from the leaves and the blood.
Blood had pooled to either side of the boy's face, soaking into the
leaves. The blood had dried to a tacky maroon substance. It looked
like the teenager's eyes had been crying dark tears.
I touched the tip of my gloved fingers to the blond's chin. It
moved in a boneless, wiggling movement that chins were not meant to
do.
I swallowed hard and tried to take shallow breaths. I was glad
it was still spring. If the bodies had been sitting this long in
full summer heat, they'd have been ripe in more ways than one. Cool
weather was a blessing.
I put my hands in the leaves and bent from the waist in an
awkward sort of push-up motion. I was trying to see under his chin
without moving the body again. There, nearly lost in the blood on
the neck, was a puncture mark. A puncture mark wider than my
outspread hand. I'd seen knife wounds and claw marks that could
make a similar wound, but it was too big for a knife and too clean
for a claw. Besides, what the hell had a claw that big? It looked
like a massive blade had been shoved under the blond's chin, close
enough to the front of his face to slice the eyes up from inside
the head. That's why the eyes were bleeding, but still looked
intact. The sword had nearly pulled the blond's face off his
skull.
I ran my gloved fingers over the blond's short hair and found
what I was looking for. The tip of the sword, if that's what it
was, had come out the top of his head. Then the blade had been
withdrawn and the blond had dropped to the leaves. Dead, I hoped,
but dying I was sure of.
His legs were missing just below the hip joint. There was almost
no blood where the legs had been bisected. They'd been cut off
after he'd died. Small blessing, that. He'd died relatively
quickly, and had not been tortured. There were worse ways to
die.
I knelt by the stubs of his legs. The left bone had been cut
clean with one blow. The right bone had splintered, as if the sword
struck from the left side, cut the left cleanly, but only got a
piece of the right leg. A second blow had been needed to sever the
right leg.
Why take the legs? A trophy? Maybe. Serial killers took
trophies, clothing, personal items, a body part. Maybe a
trophy?
The other two boys were shorter, neither of them over five feet.
Younger maybe, maybe not. They were both small and dark-haired,
slender. Probably the kind of boys who looked pretty rather than
handsome but, frankly, it was hard to tell.
One lay on his back almost opposite from the blond. One brown
eye stared up at the sky, glassy and immobile, somehow unreal like
the eyes of a taxidermy animal. The rest of his face was sliced in
two huge gaping furrows, as if the tip of the sword had been used
coming and going like a backhand slap. The third slice had taken
out his neck. It was a very clean wound; they all were. The damn
sword, or whatever it was, was incredibly sharp. But it was more
than a good blade. No human could have been fast enough to take
them all without a struggle. But most beasties that will kill a
human being won't pick up a weapon to do it.
A lot of things will claw us apart, or eat us alive, but the
list of preternatural beings that will cut us up with weapons is
pretty small. A troll may tear up a tree and whap you to death, but
it won't use a blade. Not only had this thing used a sword, not a
common weapon, but it had some skill.
The blows to the face hadn't killed the boy. Why didn't the
other two run? If the blond was killed first, why didn't this one
run? Nothing was fast enough that it could take out three teenage
boys with a sword before any of them could run. These were not
quick blows. Whoever, or whatever, had done this had taken some
time with each kill. But they all acted as if they'd been hit by
surprise.
The boy had fallen onto his back in the leaves, hands clutching
at his throat. The leaves had been scuffed away where his feet had
kicked them. I took a shallow breath. I didn't want to probe the
wounds, but I was beginning to have a nasty idea.
I knelt and traced the neck wound with my fingertips. The edges
of the skin were so smooth. But it was still human flesh, human
skin, blood dried to a thick stickiness. I swallowed hard and
closed my eyes and let my fingers search for what I thought I'd
find. The edge of the wound had two lips, starting about midway. I
opened my eyes and traced the double wound with my fingers. My eyes
still couldn't see it. There was too much blood. Once the wound was
clean, you'd see it, but not here, not like this. The neck had been
sliced twice, deeply. One cut was enough to kill. Why twice?
Because they were hiding something on the neck.
Fang marks, maybe? Being killed by a vampire would explain why
he hadn't tried to crawl away. He'd just lain in the leaves and
kicked until he died.
I stared at the last teenager. He was crumpled on his right
side. Blood had pooled under him. He was so cut up that at first my
eyes didn't want to make sense of what I was seeing. I wanted to
look away before my brain caught up to my eyes, but I didn't.
Where the face should have been was just a ripped, gapping hole.
The creature had done the same thing to this one as to the blond,
but it had been more thorough. The front of the skull had been
ripped away. I glanced around, searching the leaves for the piece
of bone and flesh, but didn't see it. I had to look back then, at
the body. I knew what I was looking at now. I liked it better when
I didn't.
The back of the skull was full of blood and gore, like a
gruesome cup, but the brain was gone. The blade had sliced him open
across the chest and stomach. His intestines spilled out in a
thick, rubbery mass. What I thought was his stomach had spilled out
from the wound like a balloon half-inflated. The left leg had been
chopped off at the hip joint. The ragged cloth of his jeans clung
to the hole like the petals of an unopened flower. The left arm had
been ripped out just below the elbow. The bone of the humerus was
dark with dried blood, sticking up at an odd angle as if the entire
arm had been broken at the shoulder and no longer moved. More
violent. Had this one struggled a little?
My eyes flicked back to his face. I didn't want to look again,
but I hadn't really examined it. There was something horribly
personal about disfiguring a person's face. If it had been humanly
possible to do all this, I'd have said check their nearest and
dearest. As a general rule, only people who love you will cut up
your face. It implies passion that you can't get from strangers.
One exception is serial killers. They're working through a
pathology in which the victims can represent someone else. Someone
that the killer has a personal passion for. When cutting up the
faces of strangers they'd be symbolically cutting up, say, a hated
father figure.
The fine bones of the boy's sinus cavities had been cracked
open. The maxillary was gone, making the face look incomplete. Part
of the mandible was still there, but it had been cracked apart back
to the rear molars. Some trick of blood flow had left two teeth
white and clean. One of the teeth had a filling in it. I stared at
that ruined face. I'd been doing pretty good at thinking of it as
so much meat, just dead meat. But dead meat didn't get cavities,
didn't go to dentists. It was suddenly a teenager, or maybe even
younger. I was only judging on height and the apparent age of the
other two. Maybe this one with no face was a child, a tall child. A
little boy.
The spring afternoon wavered around me. I took a deep breath to
steady myself, and it was a mistake. I got a big whiff of bowels
and stale death. I scrambled for the side of the hollow. Never
throw up on the murder victims. Pisses off the cops.
I fell to my knees at the top of the small rise where all the
cops were gathered. I hadn't exactly fallen so much as thrown
myself down. I took deep, cleansing breaths of the cool air. It
helped. A small breeze was blowing up here, thinning out the smell
of death. It helped more.
Cops of all shapes and sizes were huddled at the top of the
rise. Nobody was spending more time than they had to down among the
dead. There were ambulances waiting on the distant road, but
everybody else had had their piece of the bodies. They had been
videotaped and trooped through with the crime scene technicians.
Everybody had done their job, except me.
"Are you going to be sick, Ms. Blake?" The voice was that of
Sergeant Freemont, Division of Drug and Crime Control,
DD/CC—affectionately known as D2C2. Her tone was gentle but
disapproving. I understood the tone. We were the only two women at
the crime scene, which meant we were playing with the big boys. You
had to be tougher than the men, stronger, better, or they held it
against you. Or they treated you like a girl. I was betting
Sergeant Freemont hadn't gotten sick. She wouldn't have allowed
it.
I took another cleansing breath and let it out. I looked up at
her. From my knees she looked every inch of her five-foot-eight.
Her hair was straight, dark, cut just below her chin. The ends were
curled under to frame her face. Her pants were a bright sunny
yellow, jacket black, blouse a softer yellow. I had a good view of
her polished black loafers. There was a gold wedding band on her
left hand, but no engagement ring. Deep smile lines put her on the
far side of forty, but she wasn't smiling now.
I swallowed once more, trying not to taste that smell on the
back of my tongue. I got to my feet. "No, Sergeant Freemont, I'm
not going to be sick." I was glad that it was true. I just hoped
she didn't make me go back down into the hollow. I'd toss my
cookies if I had to look at the bodies again.
"What did that?" she asked. I didn't turn and look where she
pointed. I knew what was down there.
I shrugged. "I don't know."
Her brown eyes were neutral and unreadable, good cop eyes. She
frowned. "What do you mean, you don't know? You're supposed to be
the monster expert."
I let the "supposed to be" go. She hadn't called me a zombie
queen to my face; in fact she'd been very polite, correct, but
there was no warmth to it. She wasn't impressed, and in her quiet
way, with a look or the slightest inflection, she let me know. I
was going to have to pull a very big corpse out of my hat to
impress Sergeant Freemont, DD/CC. So far I wasn't even close.
Larry walked up to us. His face was the color of yellow-green
tissue paper. It clashed with his red hair. His eyes were
red-rimmed where his eyes had teared while he threw up. If it's
violent enough, sometimes you cry while you vomit.
I didn't ask Larry if he was okay; the answer was too obvious.
But he was on his feet, ambulatory. If he didn't faint, he'd be
fine.
"What do you want from me, Sergeant?" I asked. I'd been more
than patient. For me, I'd been downright conciliatory. Dolph would
be proud. Bert would have been amazed.
She crossed her arms over her stomach. "I let Sergeant Storr
talk me into letting you see the crime scene. He said you were the
best. According to the newspapers, you just do a little magic and
figure it all out. Or maybe you can just raise the dead and ask
them who killed them."
I took a deep breath and let it out. I didn't use magic to solve
crimes, as a general rule; I used knowledge, but saying so would be
defending myself. I didn't need to prove anything to Freemont.
"Don't believe everything you read in the papers, Sergeant
Freemont. As for raising the dead, it won't work with these
three."
"Are you telling me you can't raise zombies, either?" She shook
her head. "If you can't help us then go home, Ms. Blake."
I glanced at Larry. He gave a small shrug. He still looked
shaky. I don't think he had the energy yet to tell me to behave
myself. Or maybe he was as tired of Freemont as I was.
"I could raise them as zombies, Sergeant, but you have to have a
mouth and a working throat to talk with."
"They could write it down," Freemont said.
It was a good suggestion. It made me think better of her. If she
was a good cop, I could put up with a little hostility. As long as
I never had to see another set of bodies like the ones below, I
could put up with a lot of hostility.
"Maybe, but the dead often lose higher brain function faster
after a traumatic death. They might not be able to write, but even
if they could, they might not know what killed them."
"But they saw it," Larry said. His voice sounded hoarse, and he
coughed gently behind his hand to clear it.
"None of them tried to run away, Larry. Why?"
"Why are you asking him?" Freemont said.
"He's in training," I said.
"Training? You brought a trainee in on my murder case?"
I stared up at her. "I don't tell you how to do your job. Don't
tell me how to do mine."
"You haven't done a damn thing yet. Except for your assistant
throwing up in the bushes."
An unhealthy flush crept up Larry's neck. Embarrassed when he
was almost too nauseated to stand.
"Larry wasn't the only one upchucking in the weeds, just the
only one without a badge." I shook my head. "We don't need this
shit." I brushed past Freemont. "Come on, Larry."
Larry followed, obedient to the last.
"I don't want any of this leaked to the press, Ms. Blake. If the
media gets hold of it, I'll know where it came from." She wasn't
yelling, but her voice carried.
I turned. I wasn't yelling either, but everyone could hear me.
"You have an unknown preternatural creature that uses a sword, and
is faster than a vampire."
Something flickered across her face, like maybe I'd finally done
something interesting. "How do you know it's faster than a
vampire?"
"None of the boys tried to get away. All of them died where they
stood. Either it's faster, or it has some amazing mind
control."
"It's not a lycanthrope, then?"
"Even a lycanthrope isn't that fast, and they don't have the
ability to cloud men's minds. If a lycanthrope came in there with a
sword, the boys would have screamed and run. There would have at
least been signs of a struggle."
Freemont just stood there looking. It was a very serious look,
like she was weighing and measuring me. She still wasn't happy with
me, but she was listening.
"I can help you, Sergeant Freemont. I can help you figure out
what did this, maybe, before it does it again."
Her quiet, confident mask crumbled around the edge for a second.
If I hadn't been staring at her neutral brown eyes, I'd have missed
it.
"Shit," I said, loud. I walked back over to her and lowered my
voice. "That's it, isn't it? These aren't the first killings."
She glanced down at the ground, then met my eyes, jaw sort of
thrust forward. Her eyes weren't neutral now; they were just a
little bit scared. Not for herself, but for what she'd done, or not
done.
"The State Highway Patrol can handle a homicide." Her voice was
the gentlest I'd heard it.
"How many?" I asked.
"Two before. A couple of teenagers, boy and a girl. Probably
necking in the woods." Her voice was soft, almost tired.
"What's the M.E. say?"
"You're right," she said. "It was a blade, probably a sword. The
monsters don't use weapons, Ms. Blake. I thought it was the girl's
ex-boyfriend. He's got a collection of Civil War memorabilia,
including swords. It seemed pretty cut-and-dried."
I nodded. "Sounds logical."
"None of his swords matched the blows, but I thought he'd
ditched the murder weapon. I didn't think . . ." She looked away
from me, hands shoved so hard into her pants pockets I thought
they'd split the cloth. "The first scene wasn't like this. They
were killed with the first blow; it pinned them through the chest
into the ground. A human being could have done that." She looked
back at me as if wanting me to agree with her. I did.
"Were their bodies cut up beyond the death wound?"
She nodded. "Disfigured faces, her left hand missing. The one
that had worn the ex-boyfriend's ring."
"Were their throats cut?"
She frowned, thinking, then nodded. "Hers was. Not much blood
either, like it'd been done after she died."
My turn to nod. "Great."
"Great?" Larry asked.
"I think you've got a vampire on your hands, Sergeant
Freemont."
They both frowned at me. "Look at the body parts that are
missing. The legs of the one boy were cut off after he died. The
femoral artery is in the thigh near the groin. I've seen vamps take
blood from that in preference to the neck. Cut off the legs, and no
fang marks."
"What about the other two?" Freemont asked.
"Maybe the smallest boy was bitten. His neck was sliced twice
for no reason. Maybe it was just a little extra violence like the
disfigurement of the face. I don't know. But a vamp can take blood
from the wrist, the bend of the arm. All parts that are
missing."
"One of their brains is missing," Freemont said.
Larry swayed gently beside me. He wiped a hand over his suddenly
sweating face.
"You going to be alright?" I asked.
He nodded, not trusting his voice. Brave Larry.
"What better way to throw us off the track than to take
something a vamp wouldn't be interested in?" I said.
"Okay, say it makes some sense. Why this way? This is . . ." She
spread her hands wide, staring down at the carnage. She was the
only one of the three of us still looking at it. "This is nuts. If
it was human, I'd say we had a serial killer on our hands."
"We may have," I said softly.
Freemont stared at me. "What the hell do you mean?"
"A vampire was a person once. Just being dead doesn't cure you
of any problems you had as a live human being. If you have a
violent pathology before death, that won't change just because
you're dead."
Freemont looked at me like I was the one who was crazy. I think
it was the word "dead" that was bothering her. Once her suspects
were dead, they weren't suspects anymore. I tried again. "Say
Johnny is a serial killer. He becomes a vampire. Why should being a
vampire make him suddenly less violent? Why not more violent?"
"Oh, my God," Larry said.
Freemont took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out
slow. "Okay, maybe you're right. I'm not saying you are. I've seen
pictures of vampire victims and they don't look like this, but if
you are, what do you need from me?"
"The pictures from the first crime scene. And a look at where it
happened."
"I'll send the file to your hotel," she said.
"Where was the couple killed?"
"Just a few hundred yards from here."
"Let's go take a look."
"I'll have one of the troopers take you over," she said.
"This is a damn small geographic area. I assume you searched
it."
"With a fine-tooth comb. But frankly, Ms. Blake, I wasn't sure
what we were looking for. The leaves and the dry weather make it
almost impossible to find tracks."
"Yeah," I said. "Tracks would help." I glanced back the way I'd
come. The leaves were disturbed coming up the hill. "If it is a
vampire . . ."
Freemont cut me off. "What do you mean, if?"
I met her suddenly accusing eyes. "Look, Sergeant, if it is a
vampire it has more mind control than I've ever seen. I've never
met a vampire, even a master vampire, that could hold three humans
in thrall while he killed them. Until I saw this, I'd have said it
couldn't be done."
"What else could it be?" Larry asked.
I shrugged. "I think it's a vamp, but if I said I was a hundred
percent sure, I'd be lying. I try not to lie to the police. There
may be no tracks up the hill even if the ground was soft, because
the vampire could have flown in."
"Like a bat?" Freemont asked.
"No, they don't change shape into a bat, but they can . . ." I
searched for a word and there wasn't one. "They can levitate, sort
of fly. I've seen it. I can't explain it, but I've seen it."
"A serial killer vampire." She shook her head, the lines near
her mouth deepening. "The Feds are going to be all over this."
"No joke," I said. "Did you find the missing body parts?"
"No, I thought maybe it had eaten them."
"If it ate that much, why not more? If it ate, why no teeth
marks? If it ate, why not some scattered body parts, like
crumbs?"
She clenched her hands into fists. "You've made your point. It
was a vampire. Even a dumb cop knows they don't eat flesh." She
turned her brown eyes to me, and there was a lot of anger in them.
Not at me, exactly, but I might make a good target. I stared back
at her, not flinching. She looked away first. Maybe I wouldn't make
a good target.
"I don't like having a civilian contractor in on a homicide
investigation, but you spotted things down there that I missed.
You're either very good, or you know something that you aren't
telling me."
I could have just said I'm good at my job, but I didn't. Didn't
want the police thinking I was holding out information when I
wasn't. "I've got one advantage over a normal homicide detective, I
expect it to be a monster. No one ever calls me in if it's just a
stabbing, or a hit-and-run. I don't spend a lot of time trying to
come up with nice, normal explanations. It means I get to ignore a
lot of theories."
She nodded. "Alright, if you help me catch this thing, I don't
care what you do for a living."
"Glad to hear it," I said.
"But no reporters, no media. I am in charge here. This is my
investigation. I decide when we go public. Is that clear?"
"Sure."
She stared at me like she didn't believe me. "I mean it about
the media, Ms. Blake."
"I don't have a problem with no media, Sergeant Freemont. I
prefer it that way."
"For a person who doesn't want the media around, you get a lot
of attention."
I shrugged. "I'm involved in only sensational cases, detective.
Cases that make good press, good sound bites. I slay vampires, for
God's sake; it makes great headlines."
"As long as we understand each other, Ms. Blake."
"No media; it's not a hard concept," I said.
She nodded. "I'll have someone walk you over to the first crime
scene. I'll see you get the file at your hotel." She started to
turn away.
"Sergeant Freemont?"
She turned back, but it was not a friendly look. "What is it
now, Ms. Blake? You've done your job."
"You can't treat this like a human serial killer."
"I'm in charge of this investigation, Ms. Blake. I can do what I
damn well please."
I stared up at her, met her hostile eyes. I wasn't feeling too
friendly myself. "I am not trying to steal your thunder here. But
vampires aren't just people with fangs. If the vamp could catch
their minds and hold them while he slaughtered each of them in
turn, he could capture your mind, anyone's mind. A vampire that
talented could make you think black was white. Do you understand
me?"
"It's daylight, Ms. Blake; if it's a vampire then we find it and
stake it."
"You'll need a court order of execution."
"We'll get one."
"When you get it, I'll come back and finish the job."
"I think we can handle it."
"You ever stake a vampire?" I asked.
She just looked at me. "No, but I've shot a man. It can't be
that much harder."
"It's not harder in the way you mean," I said. "But it's a hell
of a lot more dangerous."
She shook her head. "Until the Feds get here, I'm in charge, and
not you or anyone else is taking over. Is that clear, Ms.
Blake?"
I nodded. "Crystal, Sergeant Freemont." I stared at the
cross-shaped pin in the lapel of her suit jacket. Most
plainclothesmen had a cross-shaped tie tack. Standard police issue
across the country. "You do have silver ammo, right?"
"I'll take care of my men, Ms. Blake."
I raised my hands slightly. So much for girl talk. "Fine, we're
leaving. You've got my beeper number. Use it if you need it,
Detective Freemont."
"I won't need it."
I took a deep breath and swallowed a lot of words. Picking a
fight with the cop in charge of a murder investigation was not the
way to get invited back to play. I walked past her without saying
good-bye. If I opened my mouth, I wasn't sure what would come out.
Nothing pleasant, and nothing useful.
Chapter 8
People who don't camp much think darkness falls from the sky. It
doesn't. Darkness slides from the trees and fills them first, then
spreads outward to the open places. It was so dark under the trees
that I wished for a flashlight. When we stumbled to the road, and
our waiting Jeep, it was only dusk.
Larry looked up at the coming night, and said, "We can get back
and walk the graveyard for Stirling."
"First let's eat," I said.
He looked at me. "You wanting to stop for food, that's a first.
I usually have to beg for drive-up."
"I forgot to eat lunch," I said.
He grinned. "That I believe." The smile faded slowly from his
face. "The first time you offer me food voluntarily, and I don't
think I can eat." He stared at me. There was enough light left for
me to see him search my face. "Could you really eat after what we
just saw?"
I looked at him. I didn't know what to say. Not so long ago, the
answer would have been no. "Well, I wouldn't want to face a plate
of spaghetti, or steak tartare, but yeah, I could eat."
He shook his head. "What the heck is steak tartare?"
"Raw beef, pretty much," I said.
He swallowed hard, looking just a little paler than he had a
second ago. "How can you even think of stuff like that so soon
after . . ." He let the words trail off. We'd both seen it; no
words were needed.
I shrugged. "I've been going to murder scenes for nearly three
years, Larry. You learn to survive. Which means you learn to eat
after seeing cut-up bodies." I didn't add that I'd seen worse. I'd
seen human bodies reduced to a roomful of blood and gobbets of
unrecognizable flesh. Not enough left to fill a gallon-size baggie.
I hadn't gone out for Big Macs after that one.
"Are you up to at least trying to eat?"
He was looking at me sort of suspiciously. "Where did you have
in mind?"
I untied the Nikes and stepped carefully on the gravel road.
Didn't want to snag the hose. I unzipped the coverall and stepped
out of it. Larry did the same, but he tried to keep his shoes on.
He managed to work his feet through, but it required some hopping
on one leg.
I folded my coverall carefully so the blood wouldn't touch the
Jeep's immaculate interior. I tossed the Nikes into the back
floorboard and got the high heels out.
Larry was trying to brush wrinkles from his suit pants, but some
things only a dry cleaner could fix.
"How would you like to go to Bloody Bones?" I asked.
He looked up at me, hands still patting at the wrinkles. He
frowned. "Where?"
"It's the restaurant that Magnus Bouvier owns. Stirling
mentioned it."
"Did he tell us where it was?" Larry said.
"No, but I asked one of the local cops for restaurants, and
Bloody Bones isn't that far from here."
Larry squinted suspiciously at me. "Why do you want to go
there?"
"I want to talk to Magnus Bouvier."
"Why?" he asked.
It was a good question. I wasn't sure I had a good answer. I
shrugged and climbed into the Jeep. Larry had no choice but to join
me, unless he didn't want to continue the conversation. When we
were all settled in the Jeep, I still didn't have a really good
answer.
"I don't like Stirling. I don't trust him."
"I got the impression you didn't like him," Larry said, his
voice very dry. "But why not trust him?"
"Do you trust him?" I asked.
Larry frowned and thought about it. He shook his head. "Not as
far as I could throw him."
"See?" I said.
"I guess so, but you think talking to Bouvier will help?"
"I hope so. I don't like raising the dead for people I don't
trust. Especially something this big."
"Okay, so we go eat dinner at Bouvier's restaurant and talk to
him; then what?"
"If we don't learn anything new, we go see Stirling and walk the
graveyard for him."
Larry was looking at me like he wasn't sure he trusted me. "What
are you up to?"
"Don't you want to know why Stirling had to have that mountain?
Why the Bouviers' mountain and not someone else's?"
Larry looked at me. "You've been hanging around the police too
long. You don't trust anybody."
"The cops didn't teach me that, Larry; it's natural talent." I
put the Jeep in gear and off we went.
The trees made long, thin shadows. In the valleys between
mountains, the shadows formed pools of coming night. We should have
driven straight to the graveyard. Just walking the cemetery
wouldn't hurt anything. But if I couldn't go vampire hunting, I
could question Magnus Bouvier. That part of my job nobody could
chase me out of.
I didn't really want to go vampire hunting. It was almost dark.
Hunting vamps after dark was a good way to get killed. Especially
one that could control minds like this one could. A vampire can
cloud your mind and even hurt you, if its control is good enough,
and you won't mind. But once its concentration is off you, onto
someone else, and that person starts screaming, you'll wake up.
You'll run. But the boys hadn't run. They hadn't woken up. They'd
just died.
If this thing wasn't stopped, other people would die. I could
almost guarantee it. Freemont should have let me stay. They needed
a vampire expert with them on this one. They needed me. Okay, they
really needed police with expertise in monsters, but they didn't
have that. It had only been three years since Addison v. Clark made
vampires legally alive. Three years ago Washington had made the
bloodsuckers living citizens with rights. Nobody had thought what
that meant for the police. Before the law changed, preternatural
crime was handled by bounty hunters, vampire hunters. Those private
citizens with enough experience to keep them alive. Most of us had
some sort of preternatural power that helped give us an edge
against the monsters. Most cops didn't.
Ordinarily human beings didn't fare well against the monsters.
There have always been a few of us who had a talent for taking out
the beasties. We've done a good job, but suddenly the cops are
expected to take over. No extra training, no extra manpower,
nothing. Hell, most police departments wouldn't even spring for the
silver ammunition.
It had taken this long for Washington, D.C., to realize they
might have been hasty. That maybe, just maybe, the monsters were
really monsters and the police needed some extra training. It would
take years to train the cops, so they were going to short-circuit
the process, just make cops out of all the vampire hunters and
monster slayers. For myself, personally, it might work. I would've
loved to have a badge to shove in Freemont's face. She couldn't
have chased me off then, not if it was federal. But for most
vampire hunters, it was going to be a mess. You needed more than
preternatural expertise to work a homicide case. You sure as hell
needed more than vampire expertise to carry a badge.
There were no easy answers. But out there in the coming darkness
were a bunch of police hunting a vampire that could do things I
never thought they could do. If I had a badge, I could be with
them. I wasn't an automatic safety zone, but I knew a damn sight
more than a state cop who had "seen" pictures of vampire victims.
Freemont had never seen the real thing. Here was hoping she
survived her first encounter.
Chapter 9
Bloody Bones bar and grill lay up a red gravel road. Someone had
butchered the trees back to either side, so the Jeep climbed upward
towards a black blanket of sky, sprinkled with a million stars. The
shine of stars was the only light in sight.
"It is really dark out here," Larry said.
"No streetlights," I said.
"Shouldn't we see the lights from the restaurant by now?"
"I don't know." I was staring at the broken trees. The trunks
gleamed white and ragged. It had been done recently, as if someone
had gone mad with an axe, or maybe a sword, or something big had
ripped off the trunks.
I slowed down, scanning the darkness. Was I wrong? Was it
trolls? Was there a Greater Ozark Mountain Troll left in these
mountains? One that would use a sword? I was a big believer in a
first time for everything.
I brought the Jeep almost to a stop.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked.
I hit the emergency flashers. The road was narrow, barely two
cars wide, but it was going uphill. Anybody coming down wouldn't
see the Jeep right away. The lights helped, but if someone was
speeding . . . Hell, I was going to do it; why quibble? I put the
Jeep in park and got out.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm wondering if a troll ripped the trees apart."
Larry started to get out on his side. I stopped him. "Slide over
on my side if you want to get out."
"Why?"
"You're not armed." I got the Browning out. It was a solid,
comforting weight, but truthfully, against something the size of
one of the great mountain trolls, it wasn't too useful. Maybe with
exploding bullets, but short of that a 9mm wasn't the gun for
hunting something the size of a small elephant.
Larry closed his door and slid across. "You really think there's
a troll out here?"
I stared off into the darkness. Nothing moved. "I don't know." I
moved to a dry gully that cut the edge of the road. I stepped very
carefully into it. The heels sank in the dry, sandy soil. I grabbed
a handful of weeds with my left hand and levered myself up the
slope. I had to grab one of the butchered trunks to keep from
sliding backwards in the loose leaves and pine needles.
My hand came up against thick sap. I fought the urge to jerk
away, forcing myself to keep hold of the sticky bark.
Larry scrambled up the bank, slick-soled dress shoes sliding in
the dry leaves. I didn't have a free hand to offer him. He caught
himself in a sort of half pushup, and used the weeds to move up
beside me. "Damn dress shoes."
"At least you're not in heels," I said.
"And don't think I'm not grateful," he said. "I'd break my
neck."
Nothing moved in the dark, dark night except us. There was the
sound of spring peepers close by, musical, but nothing bigger. I
let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I pulled myself
up to more solid footing and looked at the trees.
"What are we looking for?" Larry asked.
"An axe makes a wide, smooth stroke. If a troll snapped the
trunks, they'll be ragged and full of jagged points of wood."
"Looks smooth to me," he said. He ran his fingertips over the
naked wood. "But it doesn't look like an axe."
The wood was too smooth. An axe will come in at an angle. This
was almost flat, like each tree had been felled with a single
stroke, two at most. Some of the trees had been nearly a foot in
diameter. No human could do that, even with an axe.
"Who could have done this?"
I searched the darkness, fighting an urge to aim the gun into
the dark, but I kept it skyward. Safety first. "A vampire with a
sword, maybe."
He stared off into the darkness. "You mean the one that killed
the guys? Why would the vampire chop down a bunch of trees after he
killed them?"
It was a good question. A great question. But like with so many
questions today, I didn't have a good answer. "I don't know. Let's
get back to the car."
We scrambled back the way we'd come. Neither of us fell down
this time. A record.
When we were at the car I put the gun away. I probably hadn't
needed it at all, but then again . . . something cut down those
trees.
I used the aloe and lanolin baby wipes that I kept in the car to
wipe off blood, to wipe the sap from my hand. The wipes worked
nearly as well on tree blood as it did on human.
We drove on, searching for lights. We had to be close to Bloody
Bones, unless the directions were way off. Here's hoping they
weren't.
"Is that a torch?" Larry asked.
I stared into the darkness. There was a flicker of fire, too
high off the ground to be a campfire. Two torches on long poles
illuminated a wide gravel turnaround to the left of the road. The
trees had been pushed back here, too, but years ago. It was an old,
established clearing. The trees formed a backdrop for a one-story
building. A wooden sign hung from the eaves. It was hard to read by
torchlight, but it might have read "Bloody Bones."
Dark wooden shingles covered the roof and climbed down the
walls, so that the entire building looked like a natural growth
that had sprung from the red clay soil. About twenty cars and
trucks were parked haphazardly on the dark gravel.
The sign swung in the wind, the torchlight reflecting off the
deeply carved words. "Bloody Bones" was carved in smooth, curving
letters.
I walked carefully over the gravel in my high heels. Larry's
dress shoes worked better on gravel than mine did. "Bloody Bones is
a strange name for a bar and grill."
"Maybe they serve ribs," I said.
He made a face at me. "I could not face barbecue anything right
now."
"It wouldn't be my first choice either."
The door swung inward directly into the bar. The door swung shut
and we were plunged into a fire-shot twilight. Most bars are gloomy
places to drink and hide. A place of refuge from the noisy shiny
world outside. But as refuges went, this was a good one. There was
a bar along one side of the room, and a dozen small tables
scattered on the dark polished wood floor. There was a small stage
to the left and a jukebox near the back wall where a small hallway
probably led to bathrooms and the kitchen beyond.
Every surface was dark wood and polished 'til it shone. Candles
with chimney glass over them shone from the walls. A chandelier
with more chimney glass and candles hung from the low, dark wood
ceiling. The wood was the darkest of mirrors, glowing in the light
rather than reflecting it.
The beams that supported the ceiling were carved with fruiting
vines and stray leaves that looked like oaks. Every face was turned
towards us like a bad western. A lot of the faces were male; the
eyes slid over me, saw Larry, and most went back to their drinks. A
few stayed hopeful, but I ignored them. It was too early in the
night for anybody to be drunk enough to give me grief. Besides, we
were armed.
The women were grouped three deep at the bar. They were dressed
for a Friday night, if you planned to spend Friday night on a
street corner propositioning strangers. They stared at Larry like
they wondered if he'd be good to eat. Me, they seemed to hate on
sight. If I knew any of them, I'd have said they were jealous, but
I'm not the kind of woman to elicit jealousy on sight. Not tall
enough, not blonde enough, not Nordic enough, not exotic enough.
I'm pretty, but I'm not beautiful. The women looked at me like they
saw something I didn't. It made me glance behind me to see if
someone had come in behind us, even though I knew no one had.
"What's going on?" Larry whispered.
That was another thing. It was quiet. I'd never been in a bar on
a Friday night that you could whisper in and be heard.
"I don't know," I said softly.
The women at the bar parted like someone had asked, giving us a
clear view of the bar. There was a man behind the bar. I thought
what beautiful hair she had when I first saw him. The hair
fell to his waist like thick, chestnut-colored water. The candle
flames gleamed in his hair the same way they shone in the polished
wood of the bar.
He raised startling blue-green eyes, like deep sea water, to us.
He was dark and lovely rather than handsome, androgynous as a cat.
He was exotic as hell and I suddenly understood why the bar was
three deep in women.
He sat an amber-filled glass down on a tiny napkin and said,
"You're up, Earl." His voice was surprisingly low, like he'd sing
deep bass.
A man got up from the tables, Earl probably. He was a large,
lumbering man, formed of soft squares like a gentler version of
Boris Karloff's monster. Not a cover boy. He reached for his drink,
and his arm brushed the back of one of the women. The woman turned,
angry. I expected her to tell him to go to hell, but the bartender
touched her arm. She was suddenly very still, as if listening to
voices I couldn't hear.
The air wavered. I was suddenly very aware that Earl smelled of
soap and water. His hair was still damp from the shower. I could
lick the water from his skin, feel those big hands on my body.
I shook my head and stepped back into Larry. He caught my arm.
"What's wrong?"
I stared at him, clutching his arm, my fingers digging through
the cloth of his suit, until I could feel his arm solid under my
hand. I turned back to the bar.
Earl and the woman had gone to sit at a table. She was kissing
the palm of his calloused hand.
"Jesus," I said.
"What's wrong, Anita?" Larry asked.
I took a deep breath and stood away from him. "I'm okay; it was
just unexpected."
"What was?"
"Magic." I stepped up to the bar.
Those amazing eyes stared back at me, but there was no power to
them. It wasn't like dealing with a vampire. I could gaze into
those beautiful eyes forever, and they would still just be eyes.
Sort of.
I placed my hands on the gleaming wood of the bar. More vines
and leaves curved around the edge of the heavy wood. I ran my
fingers over the deep set carvings. Hand-carved, all of it.
His fingertips caressed the wood like it was skin. It was a
proprietal touch, the way some men touch their girlfriends when
they're into ownership. I was betting that he'd carved every inch
of it.
A brunette in a dress two sizes smaller than it should have been
touched his arm. "Magnus, you don't need a stranger."
Magnus Bouvier turned to the brunette. He trailed those
caressing fingertips down her arm. She shivered. He raised her hand
gently from his arm, pressing his lips to the back of her hand.
"Pick anyone you want, darlin'. You are too beautiful to be denied
tonight."
She wasn't beautiful. Her eyes were small and muddy brown, her
chin too sharp, nose too large for a thin face. I was staring right
at her from not a foot away, and her face smoothed. Her eyes were
suddenly large and sparkling, her thin lips full and moist. It was
like seeing her through one of those soft filters they used during
the sixties, except more.
I glanced at Larry. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck. A
slim, lovely truck. I stared out over the bar, and every other male
in the place except Earl was staring at the woman in exactly the
same way, as if she'd just appeared before them like Cinderella
transformed by her fairy godmother. Not a bad analogy.
I turned back to Magnus Bouvier. He was not staring at the
woman. He was staring at me.
I leaned into the bar, meeting his gaze. He smiled slightly. I
said, "Love charms are illegal."
The smile widened. "You're much too pretty to be the police." He
reached out to touch my arm.
"Touch me and I'll have you arrested for using undue
preternatural influence."
"It's a misdemeanor," he said.
"Not if you're not human, it isn't," I said.
He blinked at me. I didn't know him well enough to be sure, but
I think I surprised him, like I should have believed he was human.
Yeah, right.
"Let's talk at a table," he said.
"Fine with me."
"Dorrie, can you take over for a few minutes?"
A woman came behind the bar. She had the same thick chestnut
hair, but it was tied back from her face in a severe ponytail, high
and tight on her head. The long, shining tail of hair swung as she
moved, like it was alive. Her face, free of hair and makeup, was
triangular, exotic, catlike. Her eyes were the same startling
seawater green as Magnus's.
The men nearest the bar watched her out of the corners of their
eyes, as if afraid to look directly at her. Larry stared at her
open-mouthed.
"I'll watch the bar, but that's all," she said. She turned those
eyes to Larry and said, "What are you staring at?" Her voice was
harsh, thick with scorn.
Larry blinked, closed his mouth, and stuttered. "N-nothing."
She glared at him like she knew he was lying. I got an inkling
why the men weren't staring at her.
"Dorcas, be nice to the customers."
She glared at Magnus; he smiled, but he backed down. Magnus
stepped out from behind the bar. He was wearing a soft blue dress
shirt untucked over jeans so faded they were almost white. The
shirt hit him at nearly mid-thigh; he'd had to roll the sleeves
over his forearms. Black and silver cowboy boots completed the
outfit. Everything but the boots looked borrowed. He should have
looked sloppy, too casual among everyone else duded up for a Friday
night, but he didn't. His utter confidence made the outfit seem
perfect. A woman at one of the tables grabbed the hem of his shirt
as he moved past. He pulled it out of her hands with a playful
smile.
Magnus led us to a table near the empty stage. He stood, letting
me choose my seat; very gentlemanly of him. I sat with my back to
the wall so I could see both doors and the room. It was sort of
cowboyish, but magic rode the air. Illegal magic.
Larry sat to my right. He'd watched me and scooted his chair a
little back from the table so he could see the room too. It was
almost frightening how seriously Larry watched what I did. It would
keep him alive, but it was like being followed around by a
three-year-old with a carry permit. Kind of intimidating.
Magnus smiled at us both, indulgently, like we were doing
something cute or amusing. I wasn't in the mood to be amusing.
"Love charms are illegal," I said.
"You said that already," Magnus said. He flashed me a smile that
I think was meant to be charming and harmless. It wasn't. There
wasn't anything he could do to make himself less than exotic. He
sure as hell wasn't harmless.
I stared at him until the smile wilted around the edges, and he
swallowed. He spread his long-fingered hands on the tabletop,
staring at them. When he looked up, the smile was gone. He looked
solemn, a little nervous even. Good.
"It's not a charm," he said.
"The hell it isn't," I said.
"It isn't. A spell, but nothing as mundane as a charm."
"You're splitting hairs," I said.
Larry was staring at us intently. "Was that stuff at the bar a
love charm?"
"What stuff at the bar?" Magnus's face was incredibly mild, as
if he thought Larry would believe him.
Larry looked at me. "Is he kidding? The woman went from a three
to a twenty-three. It had to be magic."
Magnus turned his attention to Larry for the first time,
excluding me—and I felt excluded. It was like a ray of sunshine had
moved away from me, and I was just a little colder, a little more
in the dark.
I shook my head. "Cut the glamor crap."
Magnus turned back to me, and for a minute I felt that warmth.
"Stop it."
"What?"
I stood up. "Fine; let's see how funny you think you are in
jail."
Magnus encircled my wrist with his hand. His skin should have
been work-roughened, but it wasn't. His skin was unnaturally soft,
like living velvet. Of course, that could have been illusionary,
too.
I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip tightened. I kept
pulling, and he kept tightening with that certainty of someone who
knew that I couldn't get away. He was wrong. It wasn't just a
matter of strength, it was a matter of leverage.
I turned my wrist towards his fingers in a quick turning motion,
jerking at the same time. His fingers slid over my skin trying to
dig in, but it was over. My wrist felt rubbed raw where his finger
had scraped along the skin. It wasn't bleeding, but it hurt anyway.
It would have felt better if I rubbed it, but I wouldn't give him
the satisfaction. I was, after all, a tough-as-nails vampire
slayer. Besides, it would have ruined some of the effect, and I
liked the surprise on Magnus's face.
"Most women don't pull away once I've touched them."
"You use magic on me one more time, and I'll feed you to the
cops."
He stared up at me, a thoughtful look on his face. He nodded.
"You win. No more magic on you or your friend."
"Or anyone else," I said. I sat back down carefully, putting a
little more distance between me and him. I angled the chair just a
little to one side so the grab for my gun would be smoother. I
didn't think I'd have to shoot him, but my wrist was aching where
he'd squeezed. I had arm wrestled with vampires and shapeshifters.
I knew preternatural strength when I felt it. He had it. He could
have squeezed until my bones popped out of my skin, but he hadn't
squeezed fast enough. He hadn't really wanted to hurt me. His
mistake.
"Oh, my customers wouldn't like the magic going away," he
said.
"You can't manipulate them like this. It is illegal, and I will
turn you in for it."
"But everyone knows that Friday night is lovers' night at Bloody
Bones," Magnus said.
"What's lovers' night?" Larry asked.
Magnus smiled, already regaining some of his easy charm, but
that flicker of warmth was gone. He was being true to his word, as
far as I could tell. Even vampires couldn't work mind control on me
without my knowing it. That Magnus could made me nervous.
"I make everyone beautiful or handsome, or sexy, tonight. For a
few hours you can be the lover of your own dreams, and someone
else's. Though I wouldn't spend the night. The glamor doesn't last
that long."
"What are you?" Larry asked.
"What looks like Homo sapiens, can breed with Homo
sapiens, but isn't Homo sapiens?" I asked.
Larry's eyes widened. "Homo arcanus. He's a
fairie?"
"Please keep your voice down," Magnus said. He glanced around at
the near tables. No one was playing much attention to us. They were
too busy gazing into each other's magically enhanced eyes.
"You can't be passing for human," I said.
"The Bouviers have told the future and made love charms for
centuries around here."
"You said it wasn't a love charm," I said.
"They think it is, but you know what it is."
"Glamor," I said.
"What's glamor?" Larry asked.
"It's fairie magic. It's what allows them to cloud our minds,
make things seem better or worse than they are."
Magnus nodded, smiling, as if pleased that I knew so much.
"Exactly; it's really a minor magic compared to some."
I shook my head. "I've read about glamor, and it doesn't work
this well unless you're high court, Daoine Sidhe. The
seelie court of fairyland doesn't interbreed with mortals often. At
least not commoners. The unseelie court, on the other hand,
does."
He stared at me with his beautiful eyes, looking, even without
glamor, so gorgeous you wanted to touch him. Wanted to see if his
hair was as luxuriant as it looked. He was like a really fine
sculpture; you wanted to run your hands over it and feel the
lines.
Magnus smiled gently. "The unseelie court is evil, cruel. What I
do here is not evil. For one night these people can come here and
be their own fantasies. They think it's love charms, and I let
them. We all keep the secret of this small illegal act. The local
police know. They even come down once in a while and join in."
"But it's not love charms."
"No, it's natural talent on my part. Using my own homegrown
magic isn't illegal if everyone knows I'm doing it."
"So you pretend it's love charms, and everyone looks the other
way because they're having a good time, but it's really fairie
glamor, which isn't illegal with permission of the
participants."
"Exactly," he said.
"Which makes it all legal."
He nodded. "Now if I was descended from the dark side of fairie,
would I do anything to bring pleasure to so many?"
"If it suited your needs, yeah."
"Isn't there a ban on unseelie court moving to this country?"
Larry asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Not if my family moved here before the ban went into effect.
The Bouviers have been here for nearly three hundred years."
"Not possible," I said. "Nobody but the Indians have been here
that long."
"Llyn Bouvier was a French fur trapper. He was the first
European to set foot on this land. He married into the local tribe,
Christianized them."
"Bully for him. So how come you didn't want to sell to Raymond
Stirling?"
He blinked at me. "It would disappoint me greatly to find out
you are working for him."
"Sorry to disappoint you," I said.
"What are you?"
He hadn't asked who, he'd asked what. It was a very different
question. It sort of stopped me for a second.
"I'm Anita Blake; this is Larry Kirkland. We're animators."
"I take it you don't draw cartoons," he said.
It made me smile. "No. We raise the dead; 'animate' from the
Latin, to give life."
"Is that all you do?" He was staring at me very intently, like
there was something written on the inside of my skull and he was
trying to read it.
It was an uncomfortable level of scrutiny, but I've been stared
at by the best. I met his eyes and answered. "I'm a licensed
vampire executioner."
He shook his head gently. "I didn't ask what you did for a
living. I asked what you were."
I frowned. "Maybe I don't understand the question."
"Perhaps you don't, but your friend asked what I was. You said I
was a fairie. I ask you what you are, and you describe your job. It
would be like me saying I'm a bartender."
"I don't know how to answer you, then," I said.
He was still staring at me. "Yes, you do. I can see a word in
your eyes. One word."
When he said it, a word did come to mind. "Necromancer. I'm a
necromancer."
Magnus nodded. "Does Mr. Stirling know what you are?"
"I doubt he'd understand even if I told him."
"Do you really have the ability to control all types of undead?"
Magnus asked.
"Can you really make a hundred shoes in a single night?" I
asked.
Magnus smiled. "Wrong kind of fairie."
"Yeah," I said.
"If you're working for Stirling, why are you here? I hope you
didn't come here to try to persuade me to sell. I'd hate to have to
say no to such a lovely woman."
"Can the compliments, Magnus. It won't get you anywhere."
"What would get me somewhere?"
I sighed. "I've got too many men on my plate now."
"That's the God's honest truth," Larry muttered.
I frowned at him.
"I'm not asking you out on a date. I'm asking you into my
bed."
I frowned at Magnus. No, glared was a better word. "Not in this
lifetime."
"Sex between supernatural beings is always amazing, Anita."
"I'm not a supernatural being."
"Now who's splitting hairs?"
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing. I rarely
get in trouble with silence.
Magnus smiled. "I've made you uncomfortable. I am sorry, but I'd
never have forgiven myself if I hadn't asked. It's been a long time
since I was with anyone who wasn't straight human. Let me buy you
both drinks, to make up for my rudeness."
I shook my head. "Menus would be fine. We haven't eaten
yet."
"The meals will be on the house."
"No," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't particularly like you, and I don't take favors
from people I don't like."
He sat back in his chair, a strange, almost startled expression
on his face. "You are direct."
"You have no idea," Larry said.
I resisted the urge to kick Larry under the table and said, "Can
we have some menus?"
He raised a hand and called, "Two menus, Dorrie."
Dorrie brought them over. "I'm part owner of this place, not
your waitress, Magnus. Hurry it up."
"Don't forget that appointment I've got tonight, Dorrie." His
voice was mild. She wasn't fooled.
"You aren't leaving me alone with these people. I will not . .
." She glanced at us. "I don't approve of lovers' night. You know
that."
"I'll take care of everybody before I leave. You won't have to
sully your morals."
She glared at all of us in turn. "You're leaving with them?"
"No," he said.
She turned on her heel and stalked back to the bar. The men who
weren't paired off watched her swaying back, carefully, not staring
until she couldn't see them.
"Your sister doesn't approve of abusing glamor?" I asked.
"Dorrie doesn't approve of a lot of things."
"She has morals."
"Implying I don't," he said.
I shrugged. "You said it, not me."
"She always this judgmental?" he asked Larry.
Larry nodded. "Usually."
"Let's just order our food," I said.
Larry smiled, but he looked down at the menu.
It was a laminated piece of paper printed on both sides. I
ordered a cheeseburger, well done, house fries, and a large Coke. I
hadn't had caffeine in several hours; I was running low.
Larry was frowning at the menu. "I don't think I could eat a
hamburger right now."
"They've got salads," I said.
Magnus laid his fingertips against the back of Larry's hand.
"Something swims up behind your eyes. Something . . . awful just
behind your eyes."
Larry stared at him. "I don't know what you mean."
I grabbed Magnus's wrist and pulled him away from Larry. He
turned his eyes to me, but there was more than just their color to
make them hard to stare at. The pupil of his eyes had spiraled down
like the eye of a bird. Human eyes just didn't do that.
I was suddenly very aware that I was still holding his wrist. I
drew my hand away. "Stop reading us, Magnus."
"You wore gloves, or I'd be able to tell what you'd touched," he
said.
"It's an ongoing police investigation. Anything you discern by
psychic means must be held confidential, or you're liable just as
if you stole information out of our files."
"Do you always do that?" he asked.
"What?"
"Quote the law when you're nervous."
"Sometimes," I said.
"I saw blood, that's all. My gifts are rather limited in the
area of far-seeing. You should shake Dorrie's hand. Far-seeing is
her strong suit."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Larry said.
He smiled. "You are not police, or you wouldn't have threatened
me with the police, but you were with them earlier. Why?"
"I thought all you saw was blood," I said.
He had the grace to look embarrassed; nice to know he could be
embarrassed. "A little bit more, perhaps."
"Touch clairvoyance isn't a traditional fey power."
"Our many-times-great-grandmother was the daughter of a shaman,
so the story goes."
"Getting magic from both sides of the family tree," I said.
"Dirty pool."
"Clairvoyance isn't magic," Larry said.
"A really good clairvoyant will make you think it is," I said. I
stared at Magnus. The last clairvoyant who had touched me and seen
blood had been horrified. He hadn't wanted to touch me again. He
hadn't wanted me anywhere near him. Magnus didn't look horrified,
and he'd offered to have sex with me. Different strokes for
different folks.
"I'll take your order through to the kitchen myself, if you'll
just decide what you want," he said.
Larry stared at the menu. "A salad, I guess. No dressing." He
thought about it some more. "No tomatoes."
Magnus started to stand.
"Why won't you sell to Stirling?" I asked.
Magnus cocked his head to one side, smiling. "The land has been
in our family for centuries. It's our land."
I looked at him and couldn't read his face. It could have been
the absolute truth, or a boldfaced lie.
"So the only reason you don't want to be a millionaire is
because of what . . . family tradition?"
The smile deepened. He leaned closer, long hair spilling
forward. He whispered, and it was quiet enough that he needed to
whisper. "Money is not everything, Anita. Though Stirling seems to
think it is."
His face was very close, just barely far enough away for me not
to complain. I could smell his aftershave, faint as if you'd have
to get very near his skin to smell it, but it would be worth the
effort.
"What do you want, Magnus, if it's not money?" I stared at him
from too close. His long hair trailed over my hand.
"I told you what I wanted."
Even without the glamor be was trying to sweet-talk me, distract
me. "What happened to the trees out by your road?" I didn't
distract that easily.
He blinked long lashes. Something slid behind his eyes. "I
happened."
"You cut down those trees?" Larry asked.
Magnus turned to him, and I was glad not to be staring at him
from inches away. "Sadly, yes."
"Why?" I asked.
He straightened up, suddenly businesslike. "I got drunk and went
on a little rampage." He shrugged. "Embarrassing, isn't it?"
"That's one word for it," I said.
"I'll go get your food. One naked salad coming up."
"You remember what I'm getting?" I asked.
"Meat burned to death; I remember."
"You sound like a vegetarian."
"Oh, no," he said. "I eat all sorts of things."
He walked away through the crowd before I could decide if I'd
been insulted or not. Just as well. For the life of me, I couldn't
think of a good comeback line.
Chapter 10
Dorcas brought our food without a word. She seemed angry—maybe
not at us, but with us. Or with everything. I sympathized. Magnus
went behind the bar, spreading his own special brand of magic to
his customers once more. He glanced our way and smiled but didn't
come back to finish our talk. Of course; we'd been finished. I was
all out of questions.
I took a bite of my cheeseburger. It was almost crispy around
the edges, not a smidgen of pink in the center. Perfect.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked. He was nibbling at a lettuce
leaf.
I swallowed. "Why should something be wrong?"
"You're frowning," he said.
"Magnus didn't come back to the table."
"So? He answered all our questions."
"Maybe we just don't know the right questions to ask."
"You suspect him of something now?" Larry shook his head. "You
have been hanging around with cops too long, Anita. You think
everyone's up to something."
"They usually are." I took another bite of burger.
Larry squinched his eyes tight.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked.
"There's juice coming out of your burger. How can you eat that
after what we just saw?"
"I guess this means you don't want me to put ketchup on my
fries."
He looked at me with something near physical pain on his face.
"How can you make jokes?"
My beeper went off. Had they found the vampire? I hit the
button, and Dolph's number flashed at me. Now what?
"It's Dolph. Eat hearty. I'll phone from the Jeep and be
back."
Larry stood up with me. He put a tip on the table and left his
salad nearly untouched. "I'm done."
"Well, I'm not. Have Magnus pack my meal to go." I left him
staring forlornly down at my half-eaten burger.
"You're not going to eat it in the car, are you?"
"Just have it packed up." I went for the Jeep and its fancy
phone. Dolph answered on the third ring. "Anita?"
"Yeah, Dolph, it's me. What's up?"
"Vampire victim out near you."
"Shit, another one."
"What do you mean another one?"
That stopped me. "Freemont didn't call you after I talked to
her?"
"Yeah, she said good things about you."
"That surprises me; she wasn't too friendly."
"How not friendly?"
"She wouldn't let me hunt vampires with her."
"Tell me," Dolph said.
I told him.
Dolph was quiet for a very long time after I finished. "You
still there, Dolph?"
"I'm here. I wish I wasn't."
"What's going on, Dolph? Why would Freemont call and tell you
what a good job I'm doing, but not ask for the squad's help on
something this big?"
"I bet she hasn't called the Feds either," Dolph said.
"What's going on, Dolph?"
"I think Detective Freemont is pulling a Lone Ranger on us."
"The federal boys are going to want a piece of this. The first
vampire serial killer in recorded history. Freemont can't keep it
to herself."
"I know," Dolph said.
"What are we going to do?"
"The body on the ground this time sounds like a straightforward
vampire kill. It's classic, bite marks, no other damage to the
body. Could it be a different vamp?"
"Could be," I said.
"You sound doubtful."
"Two rogue vamps in this small a geographical area, this far
from a city, doesn't seem likely."
"The body wasn't cut up."
"There is that," I said.
"How sure are you that the first killer is a vamp? Is there
anything else it could be?"
I opened my mouth to say no, and closed it. Anybody who could
cut down all those trees in one drunken brawl could certainly cut
up people. Magnus had his glamor. I wasn't sure it was capable of
doing what I'd seen in the clearing, but . . .
"Anita?"
"I might have an alternative."
"What?"
"Who," I said. I hated giving Magnus up to the cops. He'd kept
his secret so long, but . . . what if the question I should ask
was, had he killed five people? I'd felt the strength in his hands.
I remembered the clean trunks of the trees, cut by just one blow,
two at most. I flashed on the murder scene. The blood, the naked
bone. I couldn't rule Magnus out, and I couldn't afford to be
wrong.
I gave him up to Dolph. "Can you keep the part about him being
fairie out of it for a while?"
"Why?"
"Because if he didn't do it, then his life is ruined."
"A lot of people have fey blood in them, Anita."
"Tell that to the college student last year whose fiance beat
her to death when he found out he was about to marry a fairie. He
protested in court that he hadn't meant to kill her. The fey were
supposed to be hard to kill, weren't they?"
"Not everyone is like that, Anita."
"Not everyone, but enough."
"I'll try, Anita, but I can't promise."
"Fair enough," I said. "Where's the new victim?"
"Monkey's Eyebrow," he said.
"What?"
"That's the name of the town."
"Jesus. Monkey's Eyebrow, Missouri. Let me guess. It's a small
town."
"Big enough to have a sheriff and a murder."
"Sorry. Do you have directions?" I fished my small, spiral-bound
notebook out of the pocket of the black jacket.
He gave me directions. "Sheriff St. John is holding the body for
you. He called us first. Since Freemont wants to go it alone, we'll
let her."
"You're not going to tell her?"
"No."
"I don't suppose Monkey's Eyebrow has a crime scene unit, Dolph.
If we don't have Freemont come in with her people, we're going to
need somebody. Can you guys come down yet?"
"We're still working our own murder. But since Sheriff St. John
called us in for his murder, we'll be in the area as soon as we can
get there. Not tonight, but tomorrow."
"Freemont's supposed to send over crime-scene photos from the
first couple that was killed. I bet if I asked she might send over
photos from the second scene, too. Show-and-tell tomorrow when you
get here."
"Freemont may be suspicious about you asking for more pictures,"
Dolph said.
"I'll tell her I want them for comparison. She may be trying to
hog the case for herself, but she wants it solved. She just wants
to solve it herself."
"She's a glory hound," Dolph said.
"Looks that way."
"I don't know if I'll be able to keep Freemont out of the second
case or not, but I'll try to give you some lead time, so you can
look around without her breathing down your neck."
"Much appreciated."
"She said you had your assistant with you at the crime scene.
Had to be Larry Kirkland, right?"
"Right."
"What are you doing bringing him to crime scenes?"
"He'll have a degree in preternatural biology this spring. He's
an animator and a vampire slayer. I can't be everywhere, Dolph. If
I think he can handle it, I thought it might be nice to have two
monster experts."
"It might. Freemont said Larry lost his lunch all over the crime
scene."
"He didn't throw up on the crime scene, just near it."
There was a moment of silence. "Better than throwing up on the
body."
"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
"No," Dolph said, "you aren't."
"Great. Larry and I will get out there as soon as we can. It's
about a thirty-minute drive, maybe more."
"I'll tell Sheriff St. John you're on your way." He hung up.
I hung up. Dolph was training me never to say good-bye over the
phone.
Chapter 11
Larry slumped in the seat as far as the seat belt would let him.
His hands were clenched tight in his lap. He stared out into the
dark like he was seeing something besides the passing scenery.
Images of butchered teenagers dancing in his head, I bet. They
weren't dancing in mine. Not yet. I might see them in my dreams,
but not awake, not yet.
"How bad will this one be?" he asked. His voice sounded quiet,
strained.
"I don't know. It's a vampire victim. Could be neat, just a
couple of puncture wounds; could be carnage."
"Carnage like the three boys?"
"Dolph said no, said it's classic, just bite marks."
"So it won't be messy?" His voice was squeezed down to a near
whisper.
"Won't know until we get there," I said.
"You couldn't just comfort me?" His voice sounded so small, so
uncertain that I almost offered to turn the Jeep around. He didn't
have to see another murder scene. It was my job, but it wasn't his
job, not yet.
"You don't ever have to see another murder scene, Larry."
He turned his head and looked at me. "What do you mean?"
"You've had your quota of blood and guts for one day. I can turn
around and drop you back at the hotel."
"If I don't come tonight, what happens next time?"
"If you aren't cut out for this kind of work, you aren't cut out
for it. No shame in that."
"What about next time?" he asked.
"There won't be a next time."
"You aren't getting rid of me that easy," he said.
I hoped the darkness hid the smile on my face. I kept it
small.
"Tell me about vampires, Anita. I thought a vampire couldn't
drink enough blood in one night to kill somebody."
"Pretty to think so," I said.
"They told us in college that a vampire couldn't drain a human
being with one bite. Are you saying that's not true?"
"They can't drink a human dry with one bite, in one night, but
they can drain one with one bite."
He frowned at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"They can pierce the flesh and drain the blood without drinking
it."
"How?" he asked.
"Just put the fangs in, start the blood flow, and let the blood
fall down your body onto the ground."
"But that's not taking blood for food, that's just murder,"
Larry said.
"And your point is?" I said.
"Hey, isn't that our turnoff?"
I caught a glimpse of the road sign. "Damn." I slowed down, but
couldn't see over the crest of the hill. I didn't dare U-turn until
I was sure there were no cars coming the other way. It was another
half mile before we came to a gravel road. There was a row of
mailboxes beside the road.
Trees grew so close to the road that even winter-bare they
covered the one-lane road in shadows. There was no place to turn
around. Hell, if a second car had come, one of us would have had to
back up.
The road rose up and up, as if it were going to go straight into
the sky. At the crest of the hill I could see nothing in front of
the car. I had to simply trust that there was more road in front of
us, rather than some endless precipice.
"Jesus, this is steep," Larry said.
I eased the Jeep forward and the tires touched road. My
shoulders loosened just a little. There was a house just up ahead.
The porch light was on, like they were expecting company. The bare
light bulb was not kind. The house was unpainted wood with a
rusting tin roof. Its raised porch sagged under the weight of the
front seat of a car that was sitting by the screen door. I turned
around in the dirt in front of the house that passed for a front
yard. It looked like we weren't the first car to do it. There were
deep wheel ruts in the powder-dry dirt from years of cars turning
in and out.
By the time we got down to the end of the road, the darkness was
pure as velvet. I hit the Jeep's high beams, but it was like
driving in a tunnel. The world existed only in the light;
everything else was blackness.
"I'd give a lot for a few streetlights right now," Larry
said.
"Me, too. Help me spot our road. I don't want to drive past it
twice."
He leaned forward in his seat, straining against the shoulder
belt. "There." He pointed as he spoke. I slowed and turned
carefully onto the road. The headlights filled the tunnel of trees.
This road was just bare red earth. The dirt rose in a mist around
the Jeep. For once I was glad of the drought. Mud would have been a
real bitch on a dirt road.
The road was wide enough that if you had nerves of steel, or
were driving someone else's car, you could drive two cars abreast.
A stream cut across the road, with a ditch at least fifteen feet
deep. The bridge was nothing but planks laid across some beams. No
rails, no nothing. As the Jeep crept over the bridge, the planks
rattled and moved. They weren't nailed in. God.
Larry was staring at the drop, his face pressed against the
tinted glass. "This bridge isn't much wider than the car."
"Thank's for telling me, Larry. I'd have never noticed on my
own."
"Sorry."
Past the bridge, the road was still wide enough for two cars. I
guess if two cars met at the bridge they took turns. There was
probably some traffic law to cover it. First car on the left gets
to go first, maybe.
At the crest of the hill, lights showed in the distance. Police
lights strobed the darkness like muticolored lightning. They were
farther away than they looked. We had two more hills to go up and
down before the lights reflected off the bare trees, making them
look black and unreal. The road spilled into a wide clearing. A
lawn spread up from the road, surrounding a large white house. It
was a real house with siding and shutters and a wraparound porch.
It was two-storied and edged with neatly trimmed shrubs. The
driveway was white gravel, which meant someone had shipped it in.
Narcissus edged the driveway in two thick stripes.
A uniformed policeman stopped us in the foot of the sloping
drive. He was tall, big through the shoulders, and had dark hair.
He shined a flashlight into the car. "I'm sorry, miss, but you
can't go up there right now."
I flashed my ID at him and said, "I'm Anita Blake. I'm with the
Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. I was told Sheriff St.
John is expecting me."
He leaned into the open window and flashed his light at Larry.
"Who's this?"
"Larry Kirkland. He's with me."
He stared at Larry for a few seconds. Larry smiled, doing his
best to look harmless. He's almost as good at it as I am.
I had a good view of the cop's gun as he leaned into the window.
It was a Colt .45. Big gun, but he had the hands for it. I caught a
whiff of his aftershave; Brut. He'd leaned too far into the window
to look at Larry. If I'd had a gun hidden in my lap, I could have
fed it to him. He was big, and I bet sheer size saw him through a
lot, but it was careless. Guns don't care how big you are.
He nodded and pulled out of the car. "Go on up to the house.
Sheriff's expecting you." He didn't sound particularly happy about
that.
"You got a problem?" I asked.
He gave a smile, but it was sour. He shook his head. "It's our
case. I don't think we need any help; that includes you."
"You got a name?" I asked.
"Coltrain. Deputy Zack Coltrain."
"Well, Deputy Coltrain, we'll see you up at the house."
"I guess you will, Miss Blake."
He thought I was a cop and deliberately didn't call me "officer"
or "detective." I let it go. If I really had a professional title
I'd have demanded it, but getting into an argument because he
wouldn't call me "detective" when I wasn't one seemed
counterproductive.
I drove up and parked between the police cars. I clipped my ID
to my lapel. We walked up the pale curve of sidewalk, and no one
stopped us. We stood outside the door in a silence that was almost
eerie. I'd been to a lot of murder scenes. One thing they weren't
was silent. There was no static crackle of police radios, no men
milling around. Murder scenes were always thick with people:
plainclothes detectives, uniforms, crime scene techs, people taking
photographs, video, the ambulance waiting to take the body away. We
stood on the freshly swept porch in the cool spring night with the
only sounds the calls of frogs. The high-pitched, peeping sound
played oddly with the swirling police lights.
"Are we waiting for something?" Larry asked.
"No," I said. I rang the glowing doorbell. The sound gave a rich
bong deep within the house. A small dog barked furiously,
somewhere deep in the house. The door opened. A woman stood framed
in the light from the hall, placing most of her in shadow. The
police lights strobed across her face, painting in neon Crayola
flashes. She was about my height with dark hair that was either
naturally curly or had a really good perm. But she'd done more with
it than I did, and it framed her face neatly. Mine always looked
sort of unruly. She was wearing a button-down shirt with long
sleeves untucked over jeans. She looked about seventeen, but I
wasn't fooled. I looked young for my age, too. Heck, so did Larry.
It can't just be being short, can it?
"You aren't the state police," she said. She seemed very sure of
that.
"I'm with the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team," I
said. "Anita Blake. This is my colleague Larry Kirkland."
Larry smiled and nodded.
The woman moved back out of the door, and the light from the
hallway fell full on her face. It added five years to her age, but
they were a good five years. It took me a minute to realize she was
wearing very understated makeup. "Please come in, Miss Blake. My
husband, David is waiting with the body." She shook her head. "It's
awful."
She peered out into the colored darkness before she closed the
door. "David told him to turn off those lights. We don't want
everyone for miles to know what's happened."
"What's your name?" I asked.
She blushed slightly. "I'm sorry; I'm not usually this
scattered. I'm Beth St. John. My husband is the sheriff. I've been
sitting with the parents." She made a small motion towards a set of
double doors to the left of the main entrance.
The dog was still barking behind those doors like a small furry
machine gun. A man's voice said, "Quiet Raven." The barking
stopped.
We were standing in an entryway that had a ceiling that soared
up to the roof, as if the architect had cut a piece out of the room
above us to create the sweeping space. A crystal chandelier
sparkled light down on us. The light cut a rectangle out of the
darkened room to our right. There was a glimpse of a cherrywood
dining room set so polished it gleamed.
The hallway cut straight back to a distant door that probably
led to the kitchen. Stairs ran along the wall with the double
doors. The bannister and door edges were white, the carpet was pale
blue, the wallpaper white with tiny blue flowers and tinier leaves.
It was open and airy, bright and welcoming, and utterly quiet. If
we could have found a piece of uncarpeted floor, we would have
dropped a pin and listened to it bounce.
Beth St. John led us up the blue-and-white stairway. In the
center of the hallway on the right-hand side was a series of family
portraits. They began with a smiling couple; smiling couple and
smiling baby; smiling couple and one smiling baby, one crying baby.
I walked down the hallway, watching the years pass by. The babies
became children, a girl and a boy. A miniature black poodle
appeared in the pictures. The girl was the oldest, but only by
about a year. The parents grew older, but didn't seem to mind. The
parents and the girl smiled; sometimes the boy did, sometimes he
didn't. The boy smiled more on the other wall, where the camera had
caught him tanned with a fish, or with hair slicked back from just
coming out of the pool. The girl smiled everywhere you looked. I
wondered which of them was dead.
There was a window at the end of the hallway. The white drapes
framed it; no one had bothered to draw them. The window looked like
a black mirror. The darkness pressed against the glass like it had
weight.
Beth St. John knocked on the last door to the right, next to
that pressing darkness. "David, the detectives are here." I let
that slide. The sin of omission is a many-splendored thing.
I heard movement in the room, but she stepped back before the
door could open. Beth St. John backed up into the middle of the
hallway so there would be no chance of her seeing inside the room.
Her eyes flicked from one picture to another, catching glimpses of
smiling faces. She put a slender hand to her chest, as if she was
having trouble breathing.
"I'm going to go make coffee. Do you want some?" Her voice was
strained around the edges.
"Sure," I said.
"Sounds good," Larry said.
She gave a weak smile and marched down the hallway. She did not
run, which got her a lot of brownie points in my book. I was
betting it was Beth St. John's first murder scene.
The door opened. David St. John was wearing a pale blue uniform
that matched the one his deputy wore, but there the resemblance
ended. He was about five-foot-ten, thin without being skinny, like
a marathon runner. His hair was a paler, browner version of Larry's
red. You noticed his glasses before you noticed his eyes, but the
eyes were worth noticing. A perfect pale green like a cat's. Except
for the eyes it was a very ordinary face, but it was one of those
faces you wouldn't grow tired of. He offered me his hand. I took it.
He barely touched my hand, as if afraid to squeeze. A lot of men
did that, but at least he offered to shake hands; most don't
bother.
"I'm Sheriff St. John. You must be Anita Blake. Sergeant Storr
told me you'd be coming." He glanced at Larry. "Who's this?"
"Larry Kirkland."
St. John's eyes narrowed. He stepped fully into the hallway,
closing the door behind him. "Sergeant Storr didn't mention anyone
else. Can I see some ID?"
I unclipped my badge ID. He looked at it and shook his head.
"You're not a detective."
"No, I'm not." I was mentally cursing Dolph. I'd known it
wouldn't work.
"How about him?" He jerked his chin at Larry.
"All I have on me is a driver's license," Larry said.
"Who are you?" the sheriff asked.
"I am Anita Blake. I am part of the Spook Squad. I just don't
happen to have a badge. Larry is a trainee." I fished my new
vampire executioner's license out of my jacket pocket. It looked
like a glorified driver's license, but it was the best I had.
He peered at the license. "You're a vampire hunter? It's a
little early for you to be called in. I don't know who did it
yet."
"I'm attached to Sergeant Storr's squad. I come in at the start
of a case instead of the end. It tends to keep the body count down
that way."
He handed back the license. "I didn't think Brewster's law had
gone into effect."
Brewster was the senator whose daughter got eaten. "It hasn't.
I've been working with the police for a long time."
"How long?"
"Nearly three years."
He smiled. "Longer than I've been sheriff." He nodded, almost as
if he'd answered a question for himself. "Sergeant Storr said if
anybody could help me solve this, it was you. If the head of RPIT
has that much confidence in you, I'm not going to refuse the help.
We've never had a vampire kill out here, ever."
"Vampires tend to stay near cities," I said. "They can hide
their victims better that way."
"Well, no one tried to hide this one." He pushed the door open
and made a little arm gesture, ushering us in.
The wallpaper was all pink roses, big old-fashioned cabbage
roses. There was an honest-to-God vanity, with a raised mirror and
everything, that looked like it might be an antique, but everything
else was white wicker and pink lace. It looked like the room for a
much younger girl.
The girl lay on the narrow bed. The bedspread matched the
wallpaper. The sheets twisted up underneath her body were jellybean
pink. Her head lay on the edge of the pillows, as if it had slipped
to one side after she was laid on them.
The pink curtains fanned against the open window. A cool breeze
crawled through the room, ruffling her thick black hair. It had
been curled and styled with hair gel. There was a small red stain
under her face and neck where the sheets had soaked up some blood.
I was betting there was a bite mark on that side of the neck. She
wore makeup not nearly as well applied as Beth St. John's, but the
attempt had been made. The lipstick was badly smeared. One arm hung
off into space, the hand half-cupped as if reaching for something.
The nails were shiny with fresh red nail polish. Her long legs were
spread-eagled on the bed. There were two fang marks high on her
inner thigh—not fresh, though. Her toenails were painted to match
her fingers.
She was still almost wearing the black teddy she'd started the
night in. The straps had been pushed down her shoulders, exposing
small, well-formed breasts. The crotch had been ripped out, or was
one of the ones that snapped open, because the bottom was pushed up
nearly to her waist until the teddy was little more than a belt.
With her legs spread wide, she was completely exposed.
That, more than anything, pissed me off. He could have at least
covered her up, not left her like some whore. It was arrogant and
cruel.
Larry was standing across the room at the other window. It was
open too, spilling cool air into the room.
"Have you touched anything?"
St. John shook his head.
"Have you taken any photos?"
"No."
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was a guest here
and had no official status. I could not afford to piss him off.
"What have you done?"
"Called you, and the state cops."
I nodded. "How long ago did you find the body?"
He checked his watch. "An hour ago. How did you get here so
fast?"
"I wasn't ten miles away," I said.
"Lucky for me," he said.
I looked at the girl's body. "Yeah."
Larry was hugging the windowsill, gripping it with his hands.
"Larry, why don't you run down to the Jeep and get some gloves out
of my bag?"
"Gloves?"
"I've got a box of surgical gloves in with my animating stuff.
Bring the box."
He swallowed hard and nodded. Every freckle stood out on his
face like ink spots. He moved very quickly to the door and shut it
behind him. I had two sets of gloves in my jacket pocket, but Larry
needed air.
"This his first murder?"
"Second," I said. "How old is the girl?"
"Seventeen," he said.
"Then it's murder even if she consented."
"Consented? What are you talking about?" There was the very
first hint of anger in his voice.
"What do you think happened here, Sheriff?"
"A vampire climbed in her window while she was getting ready for
bed and killed her."
"Where's all the blood?"
"There's more blood under her neck. You can't see the mark, but
that's where he drained her."
"That's not enough blood to kill her."
"He drank the rest." He sounded a little outraged.
I shook my head. "No single vampire can consume the entire blood
supply of an adult human in one sitting."
"Then there was more than one," he said.
"You mean the bites on her thighs?"
"Yeah, yeah." He paced the pink shag carpet in quick, nervous
strides.
"Those marks are at least a couple of days old," I said.
"So he hypnotized her twice before, but this time he killed
her."
"It's awfully early for a teenager to be going to bed."
"Her mother said she wasn't feeling well."
That I believed. Even if you want it to happen, that much blood
loss can take the sparkle out of your step.
"She fixed her hair and makeup before she went to bed," I
said.
"So?"
"Did you know this girl?"
"Yes, hell yes. This is a small town, Miss Blake. We all know
each other. She was a good kid, never in any trouble. You never
found her parked with a boy, or out drinking. She was a good
girl."
"I believe she was a good girl, Sheriff St. John. Being murdered
doesn't make you a bad person."
He nodded, but his eyes were sort of wild, too much white
showing. I wanted to ask how many murders he'd seen, but didn't.
Whether this was his first or his twenty-first, he was sheriff.
"What do you think happened here, Sheriff?" I'd asked the
question once, but I was willing to try it again.
"A vampire raped and killed Ellie Quinlan, that's what happened
here." He said it almost defiantly, like he didn't believe it
either.
"This wasn't rape, Sheriff. Ellie Quinlan invited her killer
into this room."
He paced to the far window and stood like Larry had, staring out
into the darkness. He wrapped his arms around himself like he was
hugging himself. "How am I going to tell her parents, her kid
brother, that she let some . . . thing make love to her? That she'd
been letting it feed off her? How can I tell them that?"
"Well, in three nights, two counting tonight, Ellie can rise
from the dead and tell them herself."
He turned back to me, his face pale with shock. He shook his
head slowly.
"They want her staked."
"What?"
"They want her staked. They don't want her to rise as a
vampire."
I stared down at the still-warm body. I shook my head. "She'll
rise in two more nights."
"The family doesn't want it."
"If she was a vampire, it would be murder to stake her just
because her family doesn't want her to be one."
"But she's not a vampire yet," St. John said. "She's a
corpse."
"The coroner will have to certify death before she can be
staked. That can take a little time."
He shook his head. "I know Doc Campbell; he'll speed it along
for us."
I stood there, staring down at the girl. "She didn't plan to
die, Sheriff. This isn't a suicide. She's planning on coming
back."
"You can't know that."
I stared at him. "I do know that, and so do you. If we stake her
before she can rise from the dead, it's murder."
"Not according to the law."
"I am not going to take out the head and heart of a
seventeen-year-old girl just because her parents don't like the
lifestyle she's chosen."
"She's dead, Miss Blake."
"It's Ms. Blake, and I know she's dead. I know what she'll
become. Probably better than you do."
"Then you understand why they want it done."
I looked at him. I did understand. There was a time when I could
have done it and felt good about it. Felt like I was helping the
family, freeing her soul. Now, I just wasn't sure anymore.
"Let her parents think about it for twenty-four hours. Trust me
on this. They're horrified right now, and grief-stricken; are they
really in a position to decide what happens to her?"
"They're her parents."
"Yeah, and two days from now would they rather have her on her
feet, talking to them, or dead in a box?"
"She'll be a monster," he said.
"Maybe, probably, but I think we should hold off for just a
little while until they've had some time. I think the immediate
problem is the blood-sucker that did this."
"I agree, we find him and kill him."
"We can't kill him without a court order of execution," I
said.
"I know the local judge. I can get you a court order."
"I bet you can."
"What's the matter with you? Don't you want to kill him?"
I looked at the girl. If he'd really wanted her to rise as a
vampire, he'd have taken the body with him. He'd have hidden her
until she rose to keep her safe from people like me. If he cared
for her. "Yeah, I'll kill him for you."
"Alright, what can we do?"
"Well, first, the killing took place just after dark, so his
daytime resting place had to be very near here. Are there any old
houses, caves, some place where you could hide a coffin?"
"There's an old homestead about a mile from here, and I know
there's a cave down along the stream. I used to go there when I was
little. We all did."
"Here's the deal, Sheriff. If we go out into the dark after him
now, he'll probably kill some of us. But if we don't try it
tonight, he'll move his coffin. We might not find him again."
"We'll look for him tonight. Now."
"How long have you and your wife been married?" I asked.
"Five years; why?"
"You love her?"
"Yes, we were high school sweethearts. What kind of question is
that?"
"If you go out after the vampire, you may never see her again.
If you've never hunted one out there at night in its own territory,
you don't know what we're up against, and nothing I can tell you
will prepare you for it. But think about never seeing Beth again.
Never holding her hand. Never hearing her voice. We can go out in
the morning. The vampire may not move its coffin tonight, or it
might move from the cave to the homestead, or vice versa. We might
catch it tomorrow without risking anybody's life."
"Do you think it won't move tonight?"
I took a deep breath and wanted to lie. God knows I wanted to
lie. "No, I think it'll leave the immediate area tonight. That's
probably why he came just after full dark. It gives him all night
to run."
"Then we go after him."
I nodded. "Okay, but we have to have some ground rules here. I'm
in charge. I've done this before and I'm still alive; that makes me
an expert. If you do everything I say, maybe, just maybe, we can
all live until morning."
"Except for the vampire," St. John said.
"Yeah, sure." It had been a long time since I had gone up
against a vampire at night in the open. My vampire kit was at home
in my closet. It was illegal to carry it with me without a specific
court order of execution. I had the cross I was wearing, the two
handguns, the two knives, and that was it. No holy water, no extra
crosses, no shotgun. Hell, no stake and mallet.
"Do you have silver bullets?"
"I can get some."
"Do it, and find me a shotgun and silver ammo for that too. Is
there a Catholic or Episcopalian church around here?"
"Of course," he said.
"We need some holy water and holy wafer, the host."
"I know you can throw the holy water on the vampire, but I
didn't know you could throw the host."
I had to smile. "They aren't like little holy grenades. I want
the host to give to the Quinlans so they can put one at every
windowsill, every doorsill."
"You think it'll come for them?"
"No, but the girl invited it in, only she can revoke the
invitation, and she's dead. Until we get the bastard, better safe
than sorry."
He hesitated, then nodded. "I'll go to the church. I'll see what
I can do." He went for the door.
"And, Sheriff?"
He stopped and turned to me.
"I want that court order in my hands before we leave. I'm not
going to be up on murder charges."
He nodded, sort of nervously, head bobbing like one of those
dogs you see in the backs of cars. "You'll have it, Ms. Blake." He
left, closing the door behind him.
I was left alone with the dead girl. She lay there pale and
unmoving, growing colder, deader. If her parents had their way, it
would be permanent. And it would be my job to make it happen. There
were schoolbooks scattered beside the bed, as if she had been
studying in bed before he came. I pushed one of the book covers
closed with my toe, careful not to rearrange it. Calculus. She'd
been studying calculus before she put on her makeup and black
teddy. Shit.
Chapter 12
While we waited for the court order, I talked to the family. Not
my favorite thing to do, but necessary. This hadn't been a random
attack, which meant they probably knew the vampire, or had known
him before he died.
The living room continued the pastel theme, blue predominating.
Beth St. John had made coffee. She'd shanghaied Larry into carrying
up a tray. I guess she didn't want to see the body again. Couldn't
say I blamed her. I'd seen bloodier murder scenes, a lot bloodier,
but each death has its own peculiar poignancy. There was something
very piteous about Ellie Quinlan stretched across her pink candy
sheets, and I hadn't known her. Beth St. John had. Made it
hard.
The family sat huddled on the white sofa. The man was broad, not
fat, but square like a linebacker. He had short black hair that was
going nicely grey at the sideburns. Very distinguished. His
complexion was ruddy, not tanned, but colorful just the same. He
was dressed in a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, but
sleeves still sporting their cufflinks. His face was very tight,
immobile like a mask, as if underneath something entirely different
was going on. He looked calm, composed, but the effort thrummed
along his skin. Anger glittered in his dark eyes.
His arm was around his wife's shoulders. She leaned into him
crying softly, eyes closed as if that would make it better. Her eye
makeup had smeared in long, multicolored streaks like an oil slick
down her cheeks. She had thick black hair done in some short,
complicated style that looked too stiff to touch. She wore a
long-sleeved, button-down blouse with a delicate flower pattern on
it, pink predominating. Her slacks were a matching pink. Her feet
were bare except for dark hose. A delicate gold cross and wedding
rings were her only jewelry.
The boy was only about my height and slender as a willow. He
hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, and it made him look younger than
he was. His face had that soft, perfect skin that said he'd never
had a pimple and shaving was a distant dream. If the girl was
seventeen, he had to be at least fifteen, maybe sixteen. He could
have passed for twelve. A perfect victim, except for his eyes and
the way he held himself. Even in the midst of grief with the lines
of tears drying on his face, he looked sure of himself,
self-possessed. His eyes held a quick intelligence and a rage that
would hold the bullies at bay.
His hair was the perfect black of his father's, but it was baby
fine, probably the natural texture of Mrs. Quinlan's before she
styled it to death.
A little black poodle was in his lap. It had barked like a
machine gun, rat-a-tat-tat, yip-yip-yip until he'd picked it up and
held it. A soft growl tickled out of its curly jaws.
"Hush, Raven," the boy said. He petted the dog as he said it,
thus rewarding the growling. The dog growled again; he petted it
again. I decided to ignore it. If the poodle got loose, I figured I
could take it. I was armed.
"Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan, my name's Anita Blake. I need to ask you
a few questions."
"Have you staked the body yet?" the man asked.
"No, Mr. Quinlan, the sheriff and I agreed to wait twenty-four
hours."
"Her immortal soul is in jeopardy. We want it done now."
"If you still want it done tomorrow night, I'll do it."
"We want it done now." He was holding his wife very tight,
fingers digging into her shoulder.
She opened her eyes and blinked at him. "Jeffrey, please, you're
hurting me."
He swallowed hard and loosened his grip. "I'm sorry, Sally. I'm
sorry." The apology seemed to take some of the anger out of him.
The lines in his face softened. He shook his head. "We must save
her soul. Her life is gone, but her soul remains. We must save that
at least."
There had been a time when I believed that, too. Down to my toes
I thought all vampires were evil. Now, I wasn't so sure. I knew too
many of them who didn't seem that bad. I knew evil when I felt it,
and that wasn't what they were. I didn't know what they were, but
were they damned? According to the Catholic Church, yes, they were,
and so was the girl upstairs. But then, according to the Church, so
was I. I'd become Episcopalian when the church declared all
animators excommunicates.
"Are you Catholic, Mr. Quinlan?"
"Yes; what difference does that make?"
"I was raised Catholic. So I understand your beliefs."
"They are not beliefs, Miss . . . What is your name?"
"Blake, Anita Blake."
"They are not beliefs, Miss Blake. They are facts. Ellie's
immortal soul is in danger of eternal damnation. We must help
her."
"Do you understand what you're asking me to do?" I asked.
"To save her."
I shook my head. Mrs. Quinlan was looking at me. Her eyes were
very intent. I was betting I could cause a little family
disagreement.
"I will put a stake through her heart and chop off her head." I
left the fact out that most of my executions were done with a
shotgun now, at close range. It was messy and you needed a closed
coffin, but it was a lot easier on me and a quicker death for the
vampire.
Mrs. Quinlan started to cry again, huddling against her husband.
She buried her face against him, smearing makeup on his clean white
shirt.
"Are you trying to upset my wife?"
"No, sir, but I want you all to realize that two nights from now
Ellie will rise as a vampire. She'll walk and talk. Eventually,
she'll be able to be around you. If I stake her, all she'll be is
dead."
"She is already dead. We want you to do your job," he said.
Mrs. Quinlan wouldn't look at me. Either she believed as
strongly as her hubby, or she wouldn't fight him. Not even for her
daughter's continued existence.
I let it go. I could stall for twenty-four hours. I doubted that
Mr. Quinlan was going to change his mind. I had hopes for Mrs.
Quinlan.
"Does the poodle always bark at strangers?"
They all three blinked at me like rabbits caught in headlights.
The change of subject was too abrupt for their grief.
"What has that got to do with anything?" he asked.
"There is a murderous vampire out there somewhere. I'm going to
catch him, but I need your help. So please just answer my questions
as best you can."
"What does the dog have to do with it?"
I sighed and sipped my coffee. He had just found his daughter
dead, murdered, raped, I'm sure he'd told himself. The horror of it
cut him some slack, but he was beginning to use it up.
"The poodle barked its head off when I came to the door. Does it
bark every time a stranger comes to the house?"
The boy saw what I was getting at. "Yeah, Raven always barks at
strangers."
I ignored his parents and talked to the most reasonable person
in the room. "What's your name?"
"Jeff," he said. God, Jeffrey Junior, of course.
"How many times would I have to come to the house before Raven
stopped barking at me?"
He thought about that, rolling his lower lip under, really
thinking about it.
Mrs. Quinlan sat up, a little apart from her husband. "Raven
always barks when someone comes to the door. Even if she knows
you."
"Did she bark tonight?"
The parents frowned at me. Jeff said, "Yeah. She barked like
crazy until Ellie let her in her room just after dark. Ellie let
her in, then a few minutes later Raven came back downstairs."
"How'd you find the body?"
"Raven started barking again and wouldn't stop. Ellie didn't let
her in. Ellie always lets her in. I mean, I'm not allowed in her
room, but Raven gets to go in even when Ellie wants her privacy."
He made that last word sound like he usually said it with a lot of
eye-rolling.
"I knocked at the door and she didn't answer. Raven was
scratching at the door. It was locked. She locked her door a lot,
but she wouldn't answer." A tear escaped from his wide eyes. "I
went and got Dad."
"You unlocked the door, Mr. Quinlan?"
He nodded. "Yes, and she was just lying there. I couldn't bear
to touch her. She's unclean now. I . . ." He was choking on tears,
trying so hard not to cry that his face was turning purple.
Jeff came and put his arm around his dad, leaning against his
mother, the poodle still gripped in his other arm. The dog whined
softly, licked the makeup from Mrs. Quinlan's face. The woman
looked up and gave a choked laugh, petting the curly fur.
I wanted to leave. I wanted to let them huddle together and
grieve. Hell, the death was so fresh, they hadn't gotten to
grieving yet. They were still in shock. But I couldn't leave.
Sheriff St. John would be back with the warrant, and I needed as
much information as I could get before we braved the darkness.
Larry was sitting in the corner in a pale blue chair. He was
being so quiet you'd almost forget he was there. But his eyes were
eager, noticing everything, filing it all away. When I first
realized he damn near memorized everything I said and did, it was
intimidating. Now I counted on it.
Beth St. John came into the room with a tray of sandwiches,
coffee, and soft drinks. I didn't remember anybody asking for them,
but I think Beth was needing something to do besides sit here and
watch the Quinlans cry. Me, too.
She set the tray on the coffee table between the couch and the
love seat. The Quinlans ignored it. I took a fresh mug of coffee.
Grilling grieving families always goes down better with
caffeine.
The group huddle broke up. The poodle was transferred to the
wife's arms, and the two men sat on either side of her. Jeffrey and
Jeff looked at me with identical eyes. It was almost eerie.
Genetics at work.
"The vampire had to be in the room with Ellie when she let the
dog in at full dark," I said.
"My daughter would not have let in her murderer."
"If she was eighteen, Mr. Quinlan, it wouldn't be murder."
"Being made a vampire against your will is still murder, Miss
Blake."
I was getting tired of everyone calling me "Miss," but the
grieving father could do it a few more times. "I believe your
daughter knew the vampire. I believe she let him in willingly."
"You are crazy. Beth, go get the sheriff. I want this woman out
of my house."
Beth stood up uncertainly. "David's gone to get some things,
Jeffrey. I . . . Deputy Coltrain's upstairs with the body, but . .
."
"Then get him down here."
Beth looked at me, then back to him. She gripped her small hands
together, almost wringing them. "Jeffrey, she's a licensed vampire
hunter. She's done this a lot. Listen to her."
He stood up. "My daughter was raped and murdered by some
soulless, bloodsucking animal, and I want this woman out of my
house, now." If he hadn't been crying at the same time, I'd have
been pissed.
Beth looked at me. She was willing to stand up to him if I
needed her to. Mucho points for her. "Has anyone you know vanished
or died recently?" I asked.
Quinlan squinted at me. He looked confused. The change of
subject again was just too abrupt. I was hoping I could distract
him from throwing me out long enough to learn something.
"What?"
"Has anyone you know gone missing or died recently?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Andy's missing," Jeff said.
Quinlan shook his head again. "That boy is no concern of
ours."
"Who's Andy?" I asked.
"Ellie's boyfriend."
"He is not her boyfriend," Quinlan said.
I caught Jeff's gaze. The look said it all. Andy had been a
boyfriend, and dear old dad hadn't liked him one little bit.
"Why didn't you like Andy, Mr. Quinlan?"
"He was a criminal."
I raised my eyebrows. "In what way?"
"He was arrested for drug abuse."
"He smoked some pot," Jeff said.
I was beginning to wish I could just go off and talk with Jeff.
He seemed to know what was going on and wasn't trying to hide it.
Trick was how to manage it.
"He was a corrupting influence on my daughter, and I put a stop
to it."
"And he's missing?" I asked.
"Yes," Jeff said.
"I will answer Miss Blake's questions, Jeff. I am the man of the
house."
Jesus, man of the house. Hadn't heard that in a while. "I'd like
to see the rest of the house in case the vampire entered somewhere
other than her room. If Jeff could show me the doors, I'd
appreciate it."
"I can show you around, Miss Blake," Quinlan said.
"I'm sure your wife needs you right now, Mr. Quinlan. Jeff can
show me around, but only you can comfort your wife."
Mrs. Quinlan looked up at him, then at me, as if she wasn't sure
she wanted to be comforted, but I knew the image would appeal to
him.
He nodded. "Perhaps you're right." He touched his wife's
shoulder. "Sally needs me right now."
Sally cooperated with fresh crying, using the poodle as a sort
of impromptu handkerchief. The poodle squirmed and whined. Quinlan
sat down and took his wife in his arms. The dog squirmed free and
trotted over to Jeff.
I stood. Larry stood. I moved toward the door and looked back at
the boy. Jeff stood and the poodle trotted at his side. I opened
the doors and ushered us all outside. Raven the poodle eyed me
suspiciously, but she came along.
I caught a last glimpse of Beth St. John gazing at the door as
if she wanted to go with us, but she sat down beside the unwanted
sandwiches and the cooling coffee. She sat like a good soldier. She
would not abandon her post.
I closed the door, feeling cowardly. I was glad it wasn't my job
to hold the Quinlans' hands. Facing the vampire even in the dark
didn't seem so bad by comparison. Of course, I was still safe
inside the house. Out there in the dark with the vampire, I might
feel different.
Chapter 13
We stood out in the entryway. The air felt cooler out here,
easier to breathe. Had to be my imagination. The poodle was
sniffing at my foot. She gave a low growl and Jeff picked her up,
tucking her under one arm, in a familiar gesture like he'd done it
a hundred times before.
"You don't really want to see the doors, do you?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Dad's all right. He's just . . ." He shrugged. "He's just
right, and everyone else is wrong. He doesn't mean anything by
it."
"I know. He's scared right now, too. That makes everyone
bitchy."
Jeff grinned. I wasn't sure if it was the "scared" comment or
the word "bitchy." Probably didn't hear many people saying either
about his dad.
"How serious were Andy and your sister?"
He glanced at the closed doors and lowered his voice just a
little. "Dad'll say not very, but they were serious. Real serious."
He glanced at the door again.
"We can go somewhere else to talk," I said. "Your choice of
rooms."
He looked at me. "You're really a vampire hunter?" If the
circumstances had been different, he would have been enjoying
himself. It's hard not to think it's cool to put stakes through
people's chests.
"Yeah, and we raise zombies, too."
"Both of you?" He sounded surprised.
"I'm a full-fledged animator," Larry said.
Jeff shook his head. "We can talk in my room." He led the way up
the stairs. We followed.
If I'd been a cop, questioning a juvenile without a guardian or
lawyer present would have been illegal, but I wasn't a cop. And he
wasn't a suspect. Just gathering information, folks. Just grilling
a sixteen-year-old boy about his sister's sex life. Murder
investigations are never pleasant, and some of that unpleasantness
has nothing to do with the corpse.
Jeff hesitated at the head of the stairs, peering down the
hallway. Deputy Coltrain was standing outside Ellie's room, back
stiff, hands behind his back, alert for intruders. The door was
open. Too hard to stand in the room with the body, I guess. He saw
Jeff and closed the door, still standing in front of it. Nice of
Coltrain to make sure Jeff didn't see the body. But standing
outside the closed door was not the best idea. A vampire, if it was
old enough, could have come in the room behind him and opened the
door before he could have drawn his gun. The undead make no
noise.
I debated on whether to tell him that. I let it go. If the vamp
had meant to take out more people, it could have. He could have
taken out the entire family. Instead, when the dog barked he
panicked and ran. This was not an ancient bloodsucker. This was
someone who was new at the job. I was betting on the boyfriend,
Andy, but I'd keep an open mind. Andy might have just driven to
California to find fame and fortune, but I doubted it.
Jeff opened the door near the head of the stairs and went in.
His room was smaller than his sister's. Being firstborn does have
its advantages. The wallpaper was tan with cowboys and Indians on
it. The bed had a matching spread. It was the room of a much
younger person, just like his sister's. The walls were bare, no
pinups, no sports figures. There was a desk stacked high with
books. A small pile of clothes lay near the closet door. Raven the
poodle sniffed the clothes. Jeff shooed her away and kicked the
clothes into the closet and closed the door.
"Sit down anywhere you can." He pulled the desk chair out a
little, then stood near the window, not sure what to do. I doubted
he had many adults up to his room for a talk. Parents didn't count.
Though frankly I couldn't imagine either of the Quinlans coming in
for a quiet chat.
I took the chair. I figured Jeff would feel more comfortable
lounging on his bed with Larry than with me. Besides, I wasn't used
to wearing skirts this short yet, and every once in a while I
forgot. The chair seemed safer.
Larry sat down on the bed with his back pressed against the
wall. Jeff sat down next to him, propping some of the pillows into
the corner for a back rest. Raven jumped up on the bed, circled his
lap twice, and lay down. Cozy.
"How hot an item were Andy and your sister?" No prelims; off
with the clothes.
He glanced at both of us. Larry gave him an encouraging smile.
He shifted more securely against his mound of pillows and said,
"Pretty hot. I mean, they hung all over each other at school."
"Embarrassing," I said.
"Yeah. I mean, she was my sister. She's only a year older than
me, and there's this guy pawing her." He shook his head. He rubbed
the poodle's ears, hands moving down her small curly body. He
petted her like it was habit, a comfort measure.
"Did you like Andy?"
He shrugged. "He was older and sort of cool, but no, I thought
Ellie could have done better."
"How so?"
"He did smoke pot and didn't have any plans for college. Andy
wasn't going anywhere. It was like the fact that he loved my sister
was everything. Like they'd live on love or something stupid like
that."
I agreed that that was stupid. "When your dad put a stop to it,
did it stop?"
He grinned at me. "No. They just started sneaking around. I
think if anything, telling Ellie she couldn't see him made it
worse."
"It usually does," I said. "When did Andy disappear?"
"About two weeks ago. His car went missing, too, so everybody
thought he'd run off, but he wouldn't have left Ellie behind. He
was sort of creepy, but he wouldn't have left her."
"Was Ellie upset at being left behind?"
He frowned, hugging the dog against his chest. Raven licked his
chin with her small pink tongue. "That was the weird part. I mean,
I know she had to pretend not to care in front of Mom and Dad, but
even at school or out with our friends she didn't seem to care. I
was kinda glad. I mean, Andy was a loser, but it was like she
didn't believe he was gone or knew something the rest of us didn't.
I thought he'd just gone off to find like an out-of-town job and
was going to send for her."
"Maybe he did," I said.
The frown deepened between his smooth, unblemished brows. "What
do you mean?"
"I think Andy may be the vampire that did your sister."
A look of disgust crumbled his face even further. "I don't
believe that. Andy loved Ellie; he wouldn't kill her."
"If he's a vampire, Jeff, he wouldn't think turning her into the
undead is killing her. He'd probably think of it as bringing her
over."
Jeff shook his head. Raven wiggled out of his grasp as if he was
squeezing too hard. She hopped off his lap and lay down on the
covers. "Andy wouldn't hurt Ellie. Doesn't it hurt to die?"
"Probably," I said.
"The bushes underneath her end window are all crushed," Larry
said.
I looked at him. "Say again."
He smiled, pleased with himself. "I took a look around outside.
That's what took me so long when you sent me out for gloves that
you didn't need. The bushes under the end window to the girl's room
are all smashed like something heavy fell on them."
I had a moment to visualize Larry out in the dark all alone,
unarmed except for his cross. The thought made my skin cold. I
opened my mouth to yell at him and closed it. Never dress anyone
down in public unless it's an object lesson. I said, "Any tracks?"
I gave myself a dozen brownie points for not yelling.
"Do I look like Tonto? Besides, the ground is just grass and
it's been so dry lately. I don't think there'd be any tracks." He
frowned at me. "Can you track vampires?"
"Not normally, but if this one is as new as I think he is, then
maybe." I nodded. "Yeah." I stood up. "I've got to go ask the
deputy something. Thank you for your help, Jeff." I offered him my
hand to shake. He took it. His handshake was a little uncertain, as
if he wasn't used to it.
I went for the door and Larry followed.
"You will find him and kill him, even if it's Andy?" Jeff
asked.
I turned back and looked at him. His dark eyes were still
intelligent, still full of purpose, but there was also a little boy
needing reassurance.
"Yeah, we'll find him."
"And kill him?"
"And kill him," I said.
"Good," he said. "Good."
I wasn't sure if "good" was the word I would have chosen, but it
wasn't my sister lying dead in the other room.
"You got a cross?" I asked.
He frowned, but said, "Yeah."
"You wearing it?"
He shook his head.
"Get it and wear it until we catch him. Okay?"
"You think he'll come back?" Fear glittered at the edge of his
eyes.
"No, but you never know, Jeff. Just humor me."
He got up and went to his bureau. There was a line of glittering
chain on one corner of the mirror. When he picked it up, a tiny
gold cross dangled from it. I watched him put it on. The dog
watched it all with anxious eyes.
I smiled. "We'll see you later."
He nodded, fingering the cross, scared now underneath the shock.
We left him in the tender care of Raven.
"You really think the vamp will come back to the house?" Larry
asked.
"No," I said, "but just in case your little visit out into the
dark gives him ideas, I want Jeff to at least have a cross on."
"Heh," he said. "I found a clue."
Deputy Coltrain was watching us, but we were running out of
privacy. I kept my voice down and hoped that was enough. "Yeah, and
you went out, alone, unarmed, in the dark with a vampire that had
already killed once on the loose."
"You said it was a really new vampire."
"Not before you went out after the gloves."
"Maybe I figured out that it was a new one all on my own," he
said. He was looking stubborn, like far from taking my warning to
heart, he just might do it again.
"New vampires can still kill you, Larry."
"With a cross on?"
He had a point. Very few of the new dead could get past the pain
of a cross, or play enough head games to get you to take it off
voluntarily.
"Fine, Larry, but where's the vampire that made him? That one
may be a couple of centuries old, and it's out in the dark,
too."
He went a little pale around the edges. "I never thought of
that."
"I did."
He gave a shrug and had the grace to look embarrassed. "That's
why you're the boss."
"That's right," I said.
"All right, all right. I promise to be good."
"Great; now let's go ask Deputy Coltrain if he knows anyone who
could track our vampire."
"Can you really track a vampire like that?"
"I don't know, but with one less than two weeks old, one that
falls out a window and into some shrubs, you might be able to. They
at least might be able to narrow down where we should look
first."
He was grinning very broadly at me.
"Yeah, knowing it fell out the window is useful information. It
might not have occurred to me to check for tracks outside the
window."
If he grinned any wider, he was going to pull something.
"And if a vampire old enough to get past your cross had eaten
your face, I'd have never known about the shrubs."
"Ah, Anita. I done good."
I shook my head. For all that Larry had seen of vampires, it
wasn't enough. He still didn't fully appreciate what they were. He
didn't have any scars yet. If he stayed in the business long enough
to get his license, that would change.
God help him.
Chapter 14
The wind was cool and smelled of rain. I turned my face to the
soft touch of it. The air smelled of green growing things. It
smelled clean and new. I stood on the grass looking upward. Ellie
Quinlan's window shone like a soft yellow beacon. Ellie had opened
the windows, but her father had turned on the lights. She had met
her vampire lover in darkness. The better not to see him for the
walking corpse he was.
I had the coverall back on, unzipped halfway so I could get to
the Browning. I'd only brought an inner pants holster for the
Firestar, so I shoved it into a pocket of the coveralls. Not handy
for a quick draw, but better than not having it. An inner pants
holster just doesn't work well with a skirt on.
Larry had his very own gun in a shoulder rig. He stood beside me
shrugging his shoulders, trying to get the straps more comfortable.
It isn't really uncomfortable if it's a good fit, but it isn't
really comfortable either. It's sort of like a bra. They fit and
they are necessary, but they are never completely comfortable.
He was wearing the extra coverall unzipped and flapping nearly
to his hips. A flashlight flicked over us, glinting on Larry's
cross. The light swept over me, glaring in my eyes. "Now that
you've ruined my night vision, get that damn thing out of my
eyes."
Deep masculine laughter came from behind the brilliant beam of
light. Two state cops had arrived just in time to join us on the
hunt. Oh, joy.
"Wallace," a man's voice said, "do what the lady says." The
voice was deep and vaguely threatening. A voice to say, "lean on
the hood of the car and spread 'em." And you'd do it or else.
Officer Granger walked up to us, his flashlight pointed at the
ground. He wasn't as tall as Wallace, and a gut was beginning to
creep over his belt, but he moved through the dark like he knew
what he was doing. Like maybe he'd hunted in the dark before. Maybe
not vampires but something. Maybe men.
Wallace walked over to us, flashlight swimming around us like an
oversized firefly. It wasn't in my eyes, but it was still not
helping my night vision.
"Turn off the flashlight . . . please," I said.
Wallace took a step closer, looming over me. He was tall, built
like a football player, With long legs. A running back, maybe. He
and Deputy Coltrain could arm wrestle later. Right now I just
wanted him to back the fuck off me.
"Turn it off, Wallace," Granger said. He'd already clicked off
his own.
"I won't be able to see a damn thing," he protested.
"Afraid of the dark?" I asked, smiling up at him.
Larry laughed. It was the wrong thing to do.
Wallace turned on him. "You think that's funny?" He stepped up
to Larry until they were almost touching, using his size to
intimidate. But Larry's like me; he's been small all his life. He'd
been bullied by the best. He stood his ground.
"Are you?" Larry asked.
"Am I what?" Wallace asked.
"Afraid of the dark?"
Animating wasn't the only thing Larry was learning from me.
Unfortunately for Larry, he was a boy. I could get away with being
a pain in the ass and most people wouldn't take a swing at me.
Larry wasn't so lucky.
Wallace balled his hands into Larry's coverall and lifted him to
tiptoes. His flashlight fell to the grass, rolling around
spotlighting our ankles.
Officer Granger stepped up close to them but didn't touch
Wallace. Even in the dark you could see the tension in his
shoulders and arms. Not from lifting Larry, but from wanting to hit
him and resisting the urge.
"Ease down, Wallace. He didn't mean anything."
Wallace didn't say anything, he just pulled Larry closer to him,
leaning over to put his face next to Larry's. A square of yellow
light fell across his face. The muscle along the edge of his jaw
was jutting out, throbbing like it would pop out of his face. There
was a scar under the bone of his jawline. A scar that disappeared
into the collar of his jacket.
Wallace nearly put his face nose to nose with Larry.
"I-am-not-afraid-of-anything." Each word was squeezed out.
I stepped up close to him. He was bent down to intimidate Larry,
so I could whisper in his ear. "Nice scar, Wallace."
He jumped like I'd bit him. He released Larry so suddenly that
Larry stumbled. He whirled, one big hand raised to smash my face.
At least he'd let go of Larry.
He swung at me. I swept his arm to one side and past me. He
stumbled. I brought my knee up into his stomach hard. It took a lot
not to follow through and really hurt him. He was a cop. One of the
good guys. You don't beat up on them. I stepped back, out of reach,
and hoped that one near miss had cooled him down. I could have hurt
him badly in the initial rush, but now he'd be ready. Harder to
hurt.
He was nearly a foot taller than me and outweighed me by more
than a hundred pounds. If the fight turned serious, I was in
trouble. I hoped I wouldn't regret my gallant gesture.
Wallace ended on all fours near the shrubs by the house. He got
to his feet quicker than I wanted him to, but he stayed half bent
over, hands on his knees. He looked up at me. I wasn't sure what
his expression meant, but it wasn't completely hostile. It was more
a considering sort of look, as if I'd surprised him. I get that
look a lot.
"You all right now, Wallace?" Granger asked.
Wallace nodded. Hard to talk after a good gut shot.
Granger glanced at me. "You all right, Ms. Blake?"
"I'm fine."
He nodded. "Yes, you are."
Larry moved up beside me. He was standing too close. If Wallace
came back at me, I would need more room to maneuver. I knew that
Larry meant it as a show of support. After we got Larry's shooting
up to speed, we'd have to work on some basic hand-to-hand
techniques.
Why was I training him to shoot before I taught him to fight?
Because you don't arm wrestle vampires. You shoot them. He would
live through a beating from Officer Wallace. He wouldn't live
through a vampire attack. Not if he couldn't shoot.
"Were you with him when he got that scar?" I asked.
Granger shook his head. "His first partner didn't make it."
"Vampire got him?"
He nodded.
Wallace stood up sort of slow. He arched his back just a bit, as
if working the kinks out. "Nice shot," he said.
I shrugged. "It was my knee, not my fist."
"Still a good shot. I don't have any excuses good enough for
what I just did."
"No," I said, "you don't."
He just looked down at the ground, then up. "I don't know what
made me do it."
"Let's take a little walk." I started off into the dark without
looking back, as if I had no doubt he'd follow me. This technique
works more often than you think it would.
He followed me. He had stopped to pick up his flashlight, but
bravely turned it off.
I stopped just short of the woods and stared off into the trees,
letting my eyes adjust to the dark. I didn't look at anything in
particular. I let my eyes just sort of see everything. I was
looking for movement. Any movement. The tree limbs moved fitfully
in the spring wind, but it was a general movement like ocean waves.
The trees weren't what worried me.
Wallace tapped the darkened flashlight against his thigh. A soft
whap, whap. I wanted to tell him to stop but didn't. If it
comforted him, I could live with it.
I let the silence stretch between us. The wind picked up,
filling the night with a rushing, hurrying sound. You could smell
the rain on the wind.
He gripped the flashlight in both hands. I could hear his intake
of breath above the wind. "What was that?"
"The wind," I said.
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty much."
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Is this the first vamp you've gone after since your partner's
death?"
He looked at me. "Granger told you?"
"Yeah, but I saw your neck. I was pretty sure what had done
it."
I wanted to tell him it was okay to be scared. Hell, I was
scared, but he was a cop and a man, and I didn't know him well
enough to know how he'd take a pep talk from me. But I had to know
if he'd follow me into those woods. I had to know if I could depend
on him. If he stayed this scared, I couldn't.
"What happened?" I asked. Maybe talking about it right now was
the wrong thing to do, but ignoring it wasn't working very
well.
He shook his head. "Headquarters says you're in charge, Ms.
Blake. Fine, I'll do what I'm told. But I don't have to answer
personal questions."
It was too much trouble to shrug out of the overall, and I
really didn't want my arms trapped. I undid one button on my blouse
and spread the cloth.
"What are you doing?"
"How good's your night vision?"
"Why?"
"Can you see the scar?"
"What are you talking about?" He sounded suspicious. Suspicious
that I was crazy, maybe.
My night vision would have picked it up, but most people don't
have my eyes. "Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"I am about to give you a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Just give me
your damn hand."
He did, sort of hesitatingly, glancing back at the waiting
men.
His hand was cold to the touch. He was one scared puppy. I
traced his large, blunt fingers along my collarbone. The moment he
touched the scar tissue, his hand jerked like he'd had an electric
shock. I pulled my hand away, and he traced the scar again on his
own.
He took his hand back, slowly, rubbing his fingers together like
he was remembering the feel of my skin. "What did that?"
"Same thing that did your neck. A vampire that wasn't neat with
its food."
"Jesus," he said.
"Yeah," I said. I rebuttoned my blouse. "Tell me what happened,
Wallace. Please."
He looked at me for a moment longer, then nodded. "Harry, my
partner, and me, we got a call that someone had found a body with
its throat torn out." He made the words very bland, ordinary, but I
knew he was seeing it in his head. Watching it all happen again
behind his eyeballs.
"It was a construction site. Just us in the middle of the place
with our flashlights. There was a sound like wind whistling, and
something hit Harry. He went down with a man on top of him. He
screamed, and I had my gun out. I fired into the man's back. I hit
him solid three, four times. He turned on me and his face was
bloody. I didn't have time to wonder why, 'cause he jumped me. I
emptied my gun into him before I hit the ground."
He took a deep breath, big hands twisting back and forth on the
flashlight. He was looking off into the trees, too, but not for
vampires, or at least not for this one.
"He ripped my jacket and shirt like they were paper. I tried to
fight him, but . . ." He shook his head. "He caught me with his
eyes. He caught me with his eyes, and when he tore into my neck, I
wanted him to do it, wanted it worse than I've ever wanted anything
in my life."
He turned a little away from me, as if not meeting my eyes
wasn't enough. "When I woke up, he was just gone. Harry was dead.
The girl was dead. I was alive."
He turned to me finally, looked me straight in the eyes and
said, "Why didn't he kill me, Ms. Blake?"
I looked into his earnest eyes and didn't have a good answer. "I
don't know, Wallace. He wanted to make you one of them, maybe. I
don't know why you and not Harry. You ever catch him?"
"The local master sent his head in a box to the station. The
note apologized for his uncivilized behavior. That's what the note
said, 'uncivilized behavior.'"
"It's hard to look at it as murder when you feed off humans
yourself."
"Do they all do that? Feed off people?"
"I've never met one that didn't."
"Can't they eat animals?"
"Theoretically, yes. In practice it seems to lack certain
nutrients." Truth was, feeding was too close to sex for most vamps.
They weren't into bestiality, so they didn't feed off animals. I
didn't think the sex analogy would go over well with Officer
Wallace.
"Can you do this, Wallace?"
"What do you mean?"
"Can you go out into the dark and hunt vampires?"
"It's my job."
"I didn't ask if it was your job. I asked if you can go out into
that darkness and hunt vampires."
"You think there's more than one?"
"Always best to assume so," I said.
He nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Scared?" I asked.
"Are you?"
I looked off into the windswept night. The trees tossed and
moaned in the wind. There was movement everywhere. Soon there would
be rain, and what light the stars gave would be gone.
"Yeah, I'm scared."
"But you're a vampire hunter," he said. "How can you do this
night after night if it scares you?"
"Doesn't it scare you to know that every time you pull over some
yahoo for a traffic violation that he could be armed? You walk up
on that car and never know."
"It's my job."
"And this is my job."
"But you're scared?"
"Down to my toes."
Larry called, "The sheriff's back. He's got the warrant."
Wallace and I looked at each other. "You got silver bullets?" I
asked.
"Yes."
I smiled. "Then let's go. You'll be fine," I said. I believed
it. Wallace would do his job. I would do my job. We would all do
our jobs. And come morning, some of us would be alive and some of
us wouldn't. Of course, maybe there was just the one newly dead
vampire to deal with. If so, we might all see the sunrise.
But I hadn't lived this long assuming the best. Assuming the
worst was always safer. And usually truer.
Chapter 15
I'd gotten used to the sawed-off shotgun that I had at home.
Yeah, it is illegal, but it's easy to carry and makes mincemeat out
of vampires. What more could a modern vampire hunter want? The
Ithaca pump action 12 gauge was close.
"Why don't I get a shotgun?" Larry asked.
I just looked at him. He looked serious. I shook my head. "When
you can handle the nine, we'll talk about shotguns."
"Great."
Oh, for the enthusiasm of youth. Larry was only four years
younger than I was. Sometimes it seemed like a million.
"He's not going to shoot us in the back by accident, is he?"
Deputy Coltrain asked.
I smiled, not sweetly. "He promised not to."
Coltrain looked at me like he wasn't sure I was kidding.
Sheriff St. John joined us at the edge of the woods. He had a
shotgun, too. I had to trust that he knew how to use it. Wallace
had the shotgun from their unit. His partner Granger had a
wicked-looking rifle like something a sniper would carry. It looked
like the wrong tool for tonight's job, and I had said so. Granger
had just looked at me. I'd shrugged and let it go. It was his neck
and his gun.
I looked around at them. They looked at me. Waiting for me to
give the word.
"Everybody got their holy water?" I asked.
Larry patted his coverall pocket. Everyone else nodded, or
mumbled yes.
"Remember the three rules of vampire hunting. One: Never, ever
look them in the eyes. Two: Never, ever give up your cross. Three:
Aim for the head and heart. Even with silver ammo, it won't be a
killing blow anywhere else." I felt like a kindergarten teacher
sending her kiddies off to a hostile playground. "Don't panic if
you get bitten. The bite can be cleansed. As long as they don't
mesmerize you with their eyes, you can still fight."
I looked at them, all silent, all taller than me, even Larry by
an inch or two. They could all arm wrestle me and win. So why did I
want to order them all into the house where'd they'd be safe? Heck,
we could all go inside. Have a nice cup of hot cocoa. Tell the
Quinlans their little girl would be fine. I mean, liquid diets are
in with teens. Right?
I took a deep breath and let it out slow. "Let's do it, boys.
We're wasting starlight." Either nobody got my John Wayne
reference, or nobody thought it was funny. Hard to tell which.
I had to let St. John lead the way into the black trees. I
didn't know the area. He did. But I didn't like him taking point. I
didn't like it at all. I wanted to bring him back to his wife. His
high school sweetheart. Five years married and still in love.
Jesus, I didn't want to get him killed.
The trees closed around us. St. John threaded his way through
them like he knew what he was doing. There was very little
undergrowth this time of year. It made it easier, but there is
still an art to going through thick woods, especially in the dark.
You can't really see even with a flashlight. You have to sort of
give yourself over to the trees the way you give yourself to water
when you swim. You don't really concentrate on the water, or even
on your own body. You concentrate on the rhythm of your body
cutting, sliding through the cool liquid. For the forest you find a
rhythm, too. You concentrate on sliding your body through the
natural openings. Finding the place where the forest itself will
let you through. If you fight it, it will fight you back. And, just
like water, it can kill you. Anyone who doesn't believe that the
forest is a deadly place has never been lost in one.
St. John knew how to move, and so did I. I was pretty pleased at
that, actually. I'd been a city girl for a long time. Larry
stumbled into me. I had to brace, or we'd have both gone down.
"Sorry," he said, pushing himself away from me.
"How ya doing up there, vampire hunter?" Coltrain called. He was
bringing up the rear. I had to go second to back up St. John, and I
wouldn't let Larry take rear. Coltrain had wanted it. Said he and
the sheriff would guard our ass. Fine with me.
"Yell a little louder," Wallace said. "I don't think the vampire
heard you."
"I don't need no statie telling me how to do my job."
"It knows we're here," I said.
That stopped them. They both looked at me. Granger, who was just
ahead of Wallace, looked at me, too. I had everyone's
attention.
"Even if the vampire is only a few weeks old, its hearing is
incredibly acute. It knows we're here. It knows we're coming. It
doesn't matter if we're quiet or have a brass band. It's all the
same. We won't surprise it in the dark." It would probably surprise
us, but I didn't add that part aloud. We were all thinking it
anyway.
"We are wasting time here, Deputy," St. John said.
Coltrain didn't apologize or even look sorry. Wallace did. "I'm
sorry, Sheriff. It won't happen again."
St. John nodded and turned without another word and led us
farther into the woods.
Coltrain made a small humphing sound but let it go. Whatever he
said, I didn't think Wallace would rise to bait again. At least I
hoped not. I didn't care if he was scared; we had enough problems
without fighting among ourselves.
The trees rustled and swayed around us. Last year's dead leaves
crunched underfoot. Someone cursed softly behind me. The wind blew
in a wild gust, streaming my hair back from my face. Up ahead the
quality of darkness was different. We were approaching the
clearing.
St. John stopped just short of the tree line. He glanced back at
me. "How do you want to do this?"
I could taste the rain on the wind coming closer. If possible, I
wanted us out of here before it came. Visibility sucked as it
was.
"We kill it, and we get the hell back to the house. It's not a
hard plan."
He nodded, as if I'd said something profound.
Wish I had.
A figure stepped in front of us. One minute nothing, the next
there he was. Darkness and shadows, magic. He grabbed St. John as
he went for his gun and threw him out into the clearing in a high
looping arch.
I shot the vampire in the chest at almost point-blank range. He
collapsed to his knees. I caught a glimpse of the whites of his
eyes, like he couldn't believe it. I had to pump the shotgun to
jack another shell in place.
Granger's rifle exploded behind me like a cannon. Someone
screamed. I shot the vampire between the eyes. His head splattered
into the leaves. I turned with the shotgun to my shoulder before
the body hit the ground.
Larry was on the ground with a vamp on top of him. I had a
glimpse of long brown hair before his cross flared to life in a
brilliant flash of blue-white fire. She flung herself backwards
with a scream, scrambling into the dark. Gone.
A vamp with long blonde hair held Granger in her slender arms,
head pressed to his neck. I couldn't use the shotgun. They were
pressed too close together. At this range I'd kill them both.
I dropped the shotgun into Larry's surprised lap. He was still
lying on the ground, blinking. I drew the Browning and fired into
the vampire's broad chest. She jerked but didn't let go of Granger.
The vampire looked at me, the man still clasped to her chest. She
hissed at me. I fired a round into her gaping mouth. It blew the
back of her head out.
The vamp shuddered. I fired a second round into her head. She
let go of Granger and fell to the leaves in convulsions. Granger
just lay there. In the dark I couldn't see his face or neck. Dead
or alive, I'd done all I could.
Larry was on his feet, shotgun awkward in his hands.
There was a scream, low and pain-filled. Wallace was on the
ground with a slender-bodied vamp on top of him. Fangs sunk in his
arm. The bone broke with a loud, brittle snap. He screamed
again.
I had a glimpse of Coltrain standing, frozen, just beyond. There
was movement behind him. I stared straight at it, waiting for the
vampire to take shape from the shadows, but something gleamed. A
dull silver blade flashed into sight. I stared straight at it, but
I lost a second somehow. The next thing I knew the blade tip
exploded from Coltrain's throat. I lost another second, blinking at
shadows, and the vampire tore the blade from his throat and was
gone. It scuttled through the trees like nothing human,
unbelievably fast, like a nightmare seen from the corner of your
eye.
Larry raised the shotgun to his shoulder, aimed in Wallace's
direction. I grabbed it from him, and something smashed into my
back and rode me into the leaves. A hand pressed my face into the
dry, crackling leaves. A second hand ripped the back of my coverall
so violently it wrenched one shoulder. There was an explosion just
behind my head, and the vampire was gone. I rolled over, ears
ringing.
Larry was standing over me with his arm extended, gun out.
Whatever he'd shot was gone out in the dark.
My left shoulder was hurt, but not as badly as it might be if I
didn't get up. I struggled to my feet. The vampires were gone.
Wallace was sitting up, cradling his arm. Coltrain lay on the
ground without moving. A sound behind us. I turned, Browning
pointed. Larry was turning too, but too slow. I sighted down the
barrel, and it was St. John.
"Don't shoot. It's me."
Larry held his gun two-handed pointed at the ground. "Sweet
Jesus," he said.
Amen. "What happened to you?"
"The fall knocked me out. I followed the sound of shots," St.
John said.
A gust of wind slapped against us. It smelled so strongly of
rain I almost felt it on my skin.
"Check Granger's pulse, Larry," I said.
"What?" Larry looked shell-shocked.
"See if he's alive." It was a messy job, and I'd have done it
myself, but I trusted me more than Larry to keep the vampires away.
He'd saved me once tonight, but I still trusted me more.
St. John walked past us. He touched Wallace, who nodded. "My
arm's broke, but I'll live." St. John went to Coltrain's still
form.
Larry knelt by Granger. He switched his gun to his left hand,
not the best thing to do, but I understood. Hard to check for a
pulse in the dark on a throat warm with blood; better to use your
dominant hand.
"I've got a pulse." He looked up, his broad smile a dim
whiteness in the dark.
"Coltrain's dead," St. John said. "God help me, he's dead." He
raised a hand and the skin glistened with blood, black in the dim
light. "He's nearly decapitated. What did this?"
"Sword," I said. I'd seen it. Watched it happen. But all I could
remember was a black shape larger than a human being. Or larger
than most. A shadow with a sword was all I'd seen, and I'd been
looking right at it.
Something flowed across my skin, and it wasn't the wind. Power
filled the spring night like water. "There's something old out
here," I said.
"What are you talking about?" St. John said.
"An ancient vampire. It's here. I can feel it." I searched the
darkness, but nothing moved but the trees, the wind. There was
nothing to see. Nothing to fight. But it was here and it was close.
Sword in hand, maybe.
Granger sat up so suddenly that Larry fell back into the leaves
with a squeak. The big man's eyes turned to me. I saw his hand go
for his gun, and I knew what the vampire was doing.
I pointed the Browning at his head and waited. I had to be
sure.
Granger didn't hunt for his dropped rifle. He drew his sidearm
and pointed it very slowly, as if he didn't want to do it. He
pointed it at Larry from less than a foot away.
Wallace yelled, "Granger, what the fuck are you doing?"
I fired.
Granger jerked; the gun wavered, then his hand came back up. I
fired again, and again. His hand fell slowly to the ground, gun
still in it. He fell straight back into the leaves.
"Granger!" Wallace was screaming, crawling toward his partner.
Shit.
I got there first and kicked the gun out of his hand. If he'd
twitched, I'd have shot him again. He didn't twitch. He just lay
there, dead.
Wallace tried to cradle him one-handed. "Why'd you shoot him?
Why?"
"He was going to kill Larry. You saw it."
"Why?"
"The vamp that bit him. His master is out here. And he's a
powerful son of a bitch. He used him."
Wallace had Granger's bloody head in his lap, his own ravaged
arm pressed to Granger's chest. He was crying.
Shit.
A sound rode the rising wind. A sharp, furious barking. A
woman's scream, high and clear, cut across the sound.
"Oh, God," I whispered.
"Beth." St. John was on his feet running before I could say
anything.
I grabbed Wallace's shoulder, pulling on his jacket. He looked
up.
"What's happening?"
"They're in the house," I said. "Can you walk?"
He nodded. I helped him to his feet.
Another scream came. It wasn't the same scream. A man this time,
or a boy.
"Stay with him, Larry. Get to the house as soon as you can."
"What if they're trying to split us up?" Larry asked.
"Then it's going to work," I said. "Shoot anything that moves."
I touched his arm, as if that would make him more real, keep him
safe. It wouldn't, but it was all I had. I had to go for the house.
Larry had signed up to be a monster slayer. The Quinlans and Beth
St. John hadn't.
I holstered the Browning, kept a two-handed grip on the shotgun,
and threw myself into the trees. I ran, not trying to see where I
was going. Rushing through openings in the trees that I wasn't sure
were there, but they were. I jumped over a log and nearly fell but
caught myself and kept running. A branch slashed my face, bringing
tears to my eye. The forest that had seemed passable before was now
a maze of roots and branches that grabbed and tripped. I was
running blind. It was not a good way to stay alive with vampires in
the dark. I spilled out onto the Quinlans' lawn on my knees,
shotgun tightly gripped.
The front door was open. Light spilled in a warm rectangle.
Shots sounded from inside the house. I got to my feet and ran for
the light.
The poodle lay broken by the door, crumpled like someone had
tried to force it into a ball.
The doors to the living room were open. A second shot sounded. I
went in to the left of the door, wall at my back, shotgun
ready.
Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan were huddled in the far corner with their
crosses held out before them. The metal glowed with a white-hot
light like burning magnesium.
The thing in front of them didn't look much like a vampire. It
looked like a skeleton with muscle and flesh stretched over a bone
frame. It was stretched impossibly thin and tall. A sword rode its
back, gleaming and wide as a scimitar. Coltrain's killer?
St. John was firing into the brown-haired vamp from the woods.
She had long brown hair parted in the middle, straight and lovely,
framing a face that was blood-smeared and stretched wide over
fangs.
I had a glimpse of Beth St. John on the floor behind her. She
wasn't moving.
St. John kept firing into the vampire's body. She just kept
coming. Blood blossomed on the front of her jean jacket. His gun
clicked, empty. The vampire staggered, then fell to her knees. She
fell forward on all fours, and you could see that her back was so
much raw meat. She lay gasping on the floor while St. John
reloaded.
I got to my feet, trying to keep an eye on the door just in case
this wasn't all. I walked towards the Quinlans and the thing that
stood in front of them. I needed a better angle before I used the
shotgun. Didn't want to catch them in the shot pattern.
The thing turned on me. I had a glimpse of a face that was
neither human nor animal, but stretched thin and alien with fangs
and blind, glowing eyes. It shrank, and skin flowed over the bare
flesh, covered the nearly naked bone. I'd never seen anything like
it. When I aimed the shotgun, I was looking into what could have
passed for a human face. Long white hair framed a fine-boned face,
and it ran—if running was the word for that blur of motion. It ran
like some of them flew, almost like it was doing something else
altogether, but I had no better word for it. Some of them flew;
this one ran. It was gone before I could pull the trigger.
I was left staring at the open door where the barrel had
followed its movement. Could I have fired? Had I hesitated? I
didn't think so, but I wasn't sure. It was like in the woods when
Coltrain died, like I'd missed a few seconds. The vampire had to be
our killer, but the only thing I'd seen clearly in the woods had
been the sword.
St. John shot into the fallen vampire. He fired until his gun
clicked empty again. The gun went click, click, click.
I walked over to him. The vampire's head was bloody meat and
heavier, wetter things. There was no face left. "It's dead, St.
John. You killed it."
He just stared at it, down the barrel of his empty gun. He was
shaking. He collapsed to his knees suddenly, as if he just couldn't
stand any longer. He crawled over to his wife, gun left behind him
on the carpet. He cradled her in his arms, half-lifting, rocking
her. She was soaked with blood. Her throat was so much raw meat on
one side.
St. John was making a high, keening sound deep in his
throat.
The Quinlans's crosses had stopped glowing. They stood still
clinging to each other, blinking as if blinded by the light.
"Jeff—he took Jeff," Mrs. Quinlan said.
I looked at her. Her eyes were too wide. "He took Jeff."
"Who took Jeff?" I asked.
"The big one," Mr. Quinlan said. "That thing, that thing told
Jeff to take his cross off, and Jeff did it." He looked at me with
startled eyes. "Why did he do that? Why did he take it off?"
"The vampire caught him with his eyes," I said. "He couldn't
help himself."
"If his faith had been stronger, he wouldn't have given in,"
Quinlan said.
"It wasn't your son's fault."
Quinlan shook his head. "He wasn't strong enough."
I turned away from him. Which put me staring at St. John. He had
folded as much of his wife's body into his lap and arms as he
could. He rocked her, eyes distant. He wasn't seeing this room.
He'd gone somewhere deep inside. Someplace better. I hoped.
I went for the door. I didn't have to see this. Watching St.
John rock his wife's body was not part of my job description.
Honest.
I sat down on the stairs where I could see the door, the
hallway, and the stairs as far as the landing. St. John started
singing in a strange, broken voice. It took me a few minutes to
figure out what he was singing. It was "You Are So Beautiful." I
got up and went for the outer door. Larry and Wallace were just
limping up onto the porch.
I just shook my head and kept walking. I was almost to the
driveway before I couldn't hear the singing. I stood there taking
deep breaths, letting them out slowly. I concentrated on my
breathing, concentrated on the sound of frogs and wind. I
concentrated on anything but the sound that was building in my
throat. I stood there in the dark, in the open, knowing it was
dangerous, and not sure I cared. I stood there until I was sure I
wasn't going to start screaming. Then I turned and went back to the
house.
It was the bravest thing I'd done all night.
Chapter 16
Detective Freemont sat on one end of the Quinlans' couch and I
perched on the other. We were as far away from each other as we
could get and share it. Only pride kept me from taking a chair. I
wouldn't flinch under her cool cop eyes. So I stayed nailed to my
end of the couch, but it was an effort.
Her voice was low and careful, every word enunciated, as if she
thought she might yell if she rushed the words. "Why didn't you
call and tell me you had a second vampire kill?"
"Sheriff St. John called the state cops. I assumed you'd be
told."
"Well, I wasn't."
I stared up into her cool eyes. "You're twenty minutes away with
a crime scene unit looking into a possible vampire kill. Why
wouldn't they send you over to a second vampire scene?"
Freemont's eyes shifted to one side, then back to me. Her cool
cop eyes had melted just a little. It was hard to read for sure,
but she looked uneasy. Maybe even scared.
"You haven't told them it was a vampire kill, have you?"
Her eyes flinched.
"Shit, Freemont. I know you don't want the Feds to steal your
case, but withholding information from your own people . . . Bet
your superiors aren't happy with you."
"That's my business."
"Fine. Whatever plan you've got, more power to you, but why are
you pissed at me?"
She took a deep, shaking breath and blew it out like a runner
trying to get that extra kick. "How sure are you the vampire used a
sword?"
"You saw the body," I said.
She nodded. "A vampire could have ripped the neck apart."
"I saw a blade, Freemont."
"The ME will either back you up, or not."
"Why don't you want this to be vampires?"
She smiled. "I thought I had this case all solved. Thought I'd
make an arrest this morning. I didn't think it was vampires."
I stared at her. I wasn't smiling. "If it wasn't vamps, then
what was it?"
"Fairies."
I stared at her for a heartbeat. "What do you mean?"
"Your boss, Sergeant Storr, called me. Told me what you'd found
out about Magnus Bouvier. He's got no alibi for the time of the
killings, and even you think he could have done it."
"Because he could have done it, doesn't mean he did," I
said.
Freemont shrugged. "He ran when we tried to question him.
Innocent people don't run."
"What do you mean, he ran? If you were there questioning him,
how could he run?"
Freemont settled back into the couch, hands clasped together so
tightly her fingers were mottled. "He used magic to cloud our
minds, and made his escape."
"What sort of magic?"
Freemont shook her head. "What do you want me to say, Ms.
Preternatural Expert? Four of us sat there in his restaurant like
idiots while he just walked out. We didn't even see him get up from
the table."
She looked at me, no smiles. Her eyes were back to that neutral
coolness. You could stare all day at someone with eyes like that
and keep all your secrets safe.
"He looked human to me, Blake. He looked like a nice, normal
guy. I wouldn't have picked him out of a crowd. How did you know
what he was?"
I opened my mouth, and closed it. I wasn't exactly sure how to
answer the question. "He tried to use glamor on me, but I knew what
was happening."
"What's glamor, and how did you know he was using a spell on
you?"
"Glamor isn't exactly a spell," I said. I always hated
explaining preternatural things to people who had no skill in the
area. It was like having quantum physics explained to me. I could
follow the concepts, but I had to take their word for it on the
math. The math was beyond me, hated to admit it, but it was. But
not understanding quantum physics wouldn't get me killed. Not
understanding preternatural creatures might get Freemont
killed.
"I'm not stupid, Blake. Explain it to me."
"I don't think you're stupid, Detective Freemont. It's just hard
to explain. I was riding with two uniforms in St. Louis. They were
transporting me from a crime scene, playing taxi. The driver
spotted this guy just walking along. He pulled over, put him up
against a car. The guy was carrying a weapon, and was wanted in
another state for armed robbery. If I'd been in a room with him,
I'd have noticed the gun, but just passing by in a car, no way. I
wouldn't have seen it. Even his partner asked him how he spotted
him. He couldn't explain so that we could do it, but he knew how to
do it."
"So it's practice?" Freemont said.
I sighed. "In part, but hell, Detective, I raise the dead for a
living. I have some preternatural abilities. It gives me a leg
up."
"How the hell are we supposed to police creatures, Ms. Blake? If
Bouvier had pulled a gun, we'd have sat there and let him shoot us.
We just sort of woke up and he wasn't there anymore. I've never
seen anything like it."
"There are things you can do to protect yourself from fairie
glamor," I said.
"What?"
"A four-leaf clover will break glamor, but it won't keep the fey
from killing you by hand. There are other plants you can wear, or
carry that break glamor: Saint-John's-wort, red verbena, daisies,
rowan, and ash. My choice would be an ointment made of either
four-leaf clovers or Saint-John's-wort. Spread it on your eyelids,
mouth, ears, and hands. It'll make you proof against glamor."
"Where do I get this stuff?"
I thought about that for a second. "Well, in St. Louis I'd know
where to go. Here, try health-food stores and occult shops. Any
fairie ointment will be hard to find because we don't have any
fairies native to this country. Ointment from four-leaf clovers is
very expensive, and rare. Try for the Saint-John's-wort."
She sighed. "Will this ointment work on any mind control, like
for vamps?"
"Nope," I said. "You could drop a vamp in a whole tub of
Saint-John's-wort and it wouldn't give a damn."
"What do you do against vampires, then?"
"Keep your cross, avoid eye contact, pray. They can do things
that'll make Magnus look like an amateur."
She rubbed her eyes, smearing eye shadow on the ball of her
thumb. She suddenly looked tired. "How do we protect the public
against something like that?"
"You don't," I said.
"Yes, we do," she said. "We have to; it's our job."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't try. "So you
thought it was Magnus because he ran, and he doesn't have an
alibi?"
"Why else would he run?"
"I don't know," I said. "But he didn't do it. I saw the thing in
the woods. It wasn't Magnus. Hell, I've only heard about vampires
forming from shadows. I'd never seen it before."
She looked at me. "You've never seen it before. That's not
comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be. But since it wasn't Magnus, you can call
off the warrant."
She shook her head. "He used magic on police officers while
committing a crime. That's a class C felony."
"What was his crime?"
"Escaping."
"But he wasn't under arrest."
"I had a warrant for his arrest," she said.
"You didn't have enough for a warrant," I said.
"Helps to know the right judge."
"He didn't kill those kids, or Coltrain."
"You pointed the finger at him," she said.
"Just an alternate possibility. With five people dead, I
couldn't afford to be wrong."
She stood. "Well, you got your wish. It was vampires, and I
don't know why the hell Magnus Bouvier ran from us. But just using
magic on a police officer is a felony."
"Even if he was innocent of the original crime you were trying
to bring him in on?" I asked.
"Felonious use of magic is a serious crime, Ms. Blake. There's a
warrant for his arrest. You see him, you remember that."
"I know Magnus isn't nice people, Detective Freemont. I don't
know why he ran, but if you put out the word that he used magic on
cops, someone'll shoot him."
"He's dangerous, Ms. Blake."
"Yeah, but so are a lot of people, Detective. You don't hunt
them down and arrest them for it."
She nodded. "We've all got prejudices, Ms. Blake; makes us all
wrong once in a while. At least here we know what did it."
"Yeah," I said. "We know what did it."
"Do you know when the girl's body was taken?" she asked. She got
a notebook out of her coat pocket. Down to business.
I shook my head. "No. It was just gone when I went up."
"What made you think to check on the body?"
I looked at her. Her eyes were pleasant and unreadable. "They'd
gone to a lot of trouble to make her one of them. I thought they
might try to get her. They did."
"The father's making noises that he asked you to stake her body
before you went out after the vampires. Is that true?" Her voice
was soft, matter-of-fact. But she was paying attention to the
answers. She didn't take as many notes as Dolph did. The notebook
seemed to be more something to do with her hands than anything
else. I was finally seeing Freemont doing her job. She seemed good
at it. That was reassuring.
"Yeah, that's true."
"Why didn't you stake the girl when the parents requested
it?"
"I had a father. A widower. His daughter and only child got bit.
He wanted her staked. I did it that night, right away. Next morning
he's in my office crying, wanting me to undo it. Wanting me to
bring her back as a vampire." I leaned back into the couch, hugging
myself. "You put a stake through a new vamp's heart, and it's dead
for good."
"I thought you had to take a vampire's head to be sure."
"You do," I said. "If I had staked the Quinlan girl, I would
have taken out her heart, cut off her head." I shook my head.
"There isn't much left."
She drew something on her note pad. I couldn't see what. I was
betting it was a doodle and not a word. "I see why you wanted to
wait, but Mr. Quinlan is talking about suing you."
"Yeah, I know."
Freemont raised her eyebrows. "Just thought you'd want to
know."
"Thanks."
"We haven't found the boy's body yet."
"I don't think you will," I said.
Her eyes didn't look pleasant anymore. They looked narrow and
suspicious. "Why?"
"If they wanted to kill him, they could have done it here,
tonight. I think they want to make him one of them."
"Why?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. But usually when a vampire takes this
personal an interest in a family, there's a reason for it."
"You mean a motive?"
I nodded. "You've seen the Quinlans. They're devout Catholics.
The church sees vampirism as suicide. Their children will be damned
for all eternity if they become vampires."
"Worse than just killing them," she said.
"To the Quinlans, I think so."
"You think the vampires will be back to get the parents?"
I thought about that for a minute. "Hell, I don't know. I mean,
before vampires were legal you had some cases where a master vamp
would take out entire families. Sometimes befriend them first.
Sometimes just for revenge for some slight. But since they've been
legal, I don't know why the vamp would do it. I mean, the vampire
can take them to court. What could the Quinlans have done that was
bad enough for this?"
The doors opened. Freemont turned, a frown already in place. Two
men appeared in the doorway. They were both dressed in dark suits,
dark ties, white shirts. Standard federal issue. One was short and
white, the other tall and black. That alone should have made them
look different, but there was a sameness to them, like the same
cookie cutter had been used no matter how well cooked the outside
was.
The shorter of the two flipped his badge at us. "I'm Special
Agent Bradford, this is Agent Elwood. Which one of you is Detective
Freemont?"
Freemont walked towards them with her hand out. Showing she was
unarmed and friendly. Yeah, right. "I'm Detective Freemont. This is
Anita Blake."
I appreciated being included in the introductions. I stood up
and joined the foursome.
Agent Bradford looked at me for a long time. Long enough that it
got on my nerves. "Is there something wrong, Agent Bradford?"
He shook his head. "I attended Sergeant Storr's lectures at
Quantico. The way he talked about you, I thought you'd be bigger."
He smiled when he said it, halfway between friendly and
condescending.
A lot of scathing comebacks came to mind, but never get in a
pissing contest with the Feds. You'll lose. "Sorry to disappoint
you."
"We've already talked with Officer Wallace. He makes you sound
taller, too."
I shrugged. "Hard to make me sound shorter."
He smiled. "We'd like to speak with Detective Freemont in
private, Ms. Blake. But don't go far; we'll want a statement from
you and your associate, Mr. Kirkland."
"Sure."
"I took Ms. Blake's statement personally," Freemont said. "I
don't think we need her any more tonight."
Bradford looked at her. "I think we'll be the judge of
that."
"If Ms. Blake had called me in when there was only one body on
the ground, there wouldn't be two dead policemen, and a dead
civilian," Freemont said.
I just looked at her. Somebody's ass was going to be in a sling,
and Freemont didn't want it to be hers. Fine.
"Don't forget the missing boy," I said. Everyone looked at me.
"You want to start pointing fingers, fine; there's enough blame to
go around. If you hadn't chased me off earlier, I might have called
you in, but I did call the state police. If you'd told your
superiors everything I told you, they'd have connected the two
cases, and you'd have been here anyway."
"I had enough men with me to cover the house and the civilians,"
Freemont said. "Not including me cost lives."
I nodded. "Probably. But you'd have come down here and kicked me
out again. You'd have taken St. John and his people out in the dark
with five vampires, one of them ancient, when all you've seen is
pictures of vampire kills. They'd have slaughtered you, but maybe,
just maybe, Beth St. John would be alive. Maybe Jeff Quinlan would
still be here."
I stared up at her, and watched the anger drain from her eyes.
We looked at each other. "It took both of us to fuck this one up,
Sergeant." I turned back to the two agents. "I'll wait
outside."
"Wait," Bradford said. "Storr said that sometimes the legal
vampire community will help on a case like this. Who do I talk to
down here?"
"Why would they hunt down one of their own?" Agent Elwood
asked.
"This kind of shit is bad for business. Especially right now
with Senator Brewster's daughter getting killed. Vampires don't
need any more bad publicity. Most of them like being legal. They
like the fact that killing them is murder."
"So who do I talk to?" Bradford asked.
I sighed. "In this area, I don't know. I'm not a hometown
girl."
"How do I go about finding out who to talk to?"
"I might be able to help you there."
"How?"
I shook my head. "I know someone who might know a name. I'm not
trying to give you a hard time here, but a lot of the monsters
don't like dealing with cops. It just hasn't been that long ago
that the police shot them on sight."
"So you're saying the vampires will talk to you and not to us?"
Elwood said.
"Something like that."
"That makes no sense. You're a vampire executioner. Your job is
to kill them. Why would they believe you and not us?" he asked.
I didn't know how to explain it, and wasn't sure I wanted to. "I
also raise zombies, Agent Elwood. I think they sort of consider me
one of the monsters."
"Even though you're their version of an electric chair."
"Even though."
"That's not logical."
I laughed then; I couldn't help it. "God, has anything that
happened here tonight been logical?"
Elwood gave a very small smile. I pegged him as the newer of the
two. I don't think he'd gotten over the thought that FBI agents
don't smile.
"You wouldn't be withholding information from the FBI, would
you, Ms. Blake?" Bradford asked.
"If I come up with a vampire in this area that will talk to you,
I'll give you the name."
Bradford stared at me. "How about if you come up with any
vampires in this area, you give us the names. Let us worry about
whether they'll talk to us or not."
I looked at him for a heartbeat and lied. "Sure." If I expected
the monsters to help me, I couldn't give them all over to the cops.
Only a select few.
He looked like he didn't believe me, but couldn't quite call me
a liar to my face. "When we find the vampires responsible, we'll be
sure to call you in for the kill."
That was more than Freemont had been willing to do. The night
was looking up. "Beep me any time."
"We'll talk to Sergeant Freemont now, Ms. Blake." I was
dismissed. Fine with me. He offered his hand. I took it. We shook.
Agent Elwood and I shook. Everyone smiled. I left.
Larry was waiting out in the entryway. He got up off the stairs
where he'd been sitting. "What now?"
"I need to make a phone call."
"Who to?"
Two more men with "Federal Agent" tattooed on their foreheads
walked up the hallway from the direction of the kitchen. I shook my
head and went out the door into the cool windy night. The place was
swarming with cops. I'd never seen so many federal agents in my
life. But hey, the very first vampire serial killer was news.
Everyone would want a piece. Watching everyone mill around on the
carefully tended lawn, I suddenly wanted to go home. To just pack
up and go home. It was still early. Hours and hours left of
darkness. It only seemed like it had been an eternity since we left
the graveyard. Hell, there'd be time to go back and look at
Stirling's boneyard before dawn.
I got in the jeep that Bayard had loaned us. I'd use the nifty
portable phone it came with.
Larry got in the passenger side.
"Private call."
"Come on, Anita."
"Out, Larry."
"Out in the dark with the vampires." He blinked his big blue
eyes at me.
"The place is lousy with cops. I think you'll be safe. Out."
He got out, grumbling under his breath. He could grumble all he
wanted to. Larry wanted to be a vampire hunter, fine; but he didn't
have to be as intimately involved with the monsters as I was. I was
trying to keep him as out of it as I could. Not easy, but worth the
effort.
I'd lied to the nice agents. It wasn't the fact that I raised
zombies that got me in good with the vampires. It was the fact that
the Master of the City, of St. Louis, had the hots for me. Was
maybe in love with me, or at least thought he was.
I knew the number by heart, which was a bad sign all on its own.
"Guilty Pleasures, where your darkest fantasies come true. This is
Robert. How may I help you?"
Great; Robert, one of my least favorite vampires. "Hi, Robert,
this is Anita. I need to speak to Jean-Claude."
He hesitated, then said, "I'll transfer you to his office phone.
It's a new system, so if I disconnect you, call back."
The phone clicked before I could answer. A moment of silence,
and the voice came on the line. You can criticize a lot about
Jean-Claude, but he gives good phone.
"Good evening, ma petite." That was it, all he said,
but even over the buzzing phone his voice was like fur inside my
skull.
"I'm near Branson. I need to contact the Master of the City down
here."
"No 'Good evening, Jean-Claude, how are you doing?'? Just down
to business. How terribly rude, ma petite."
"Look, I don't have time for games right now. Some vampires down
here are on the rampage. They've kidnapped a young boy. I want to
find him before they can make him one of them."
"How young is the boy?"
"Sixteen."
In centuries past, ma petite, that was not considered a
child."
"It isn't legal age right this minute."
"Did he go willingly?"
"No."
"You know that for a fact, or were you merely told he was
kidnapped?"
"I talked to him before. He didn't go willingly."
Jean-Claude sighed. The sound slithered down my skin like cool
fingers. "What do you want of me, ma petite?"
"I want to talk to the Master of the City down here. I need the
name. I'm assuming you do know who the Master is down here?"
"Of course, but it is not that simple."
"We only have three nights to save him, and a hell of a lot less
if they just want a snack."
"The Master will not talk to you without a guide to take you
in."
"Send someone, then."
"Who? Robert? Willie? Neither of them is powerful enough to be
your escort."
"If you mean they can't protect me, I can protect myself."
"I know you can take care of yourself, ma petite. You
have made that abundantly clear. But you do not look as dangerous
as you are. You might have to shoot one or two to teach them their
place. If you got out alive, they would not help you."
"I want to get this boy back intact, Jean-Claude. Work with me
here."
"Ma petite . . ."
I had an image of Jeff Quinlan's brown eyes. His room with its
cowboy wallpaper. "Help me, Jean-Claude."
He was silent for a moment. "I am the only one powerful enough
to be your escort. Do you wish me to drop everything and rush down
to you?"
It was my turn to be quiet. Put like that, it didn't sound
right. It sounded like a big favor. I didn't want to be indebted to
him. But I'd probably live through owing him a favor. Jeff Quinlan
might not.
"Fine," I said.
"You want me to come help you?"
I gritted my teeth and said, "Yes."
"I will fly down tomorrow night."
"Tonight."
"Ma petite, ma petite, what am I to do with
you?"
"You said you'd help me."
"And I will, but these things take time."
"What things?"
"It might be helpful if you thought of Branson as a foreign
country. A potentially hostile foreign country where I am working
to get us safe passage. There are customs to be observed. If I
barge in, it will be seen as a declaration of war."
"Isn't there any way to start tonight?" I asked. "Short of
starting a war?"
"Perhaps, but if you wait one more night, ma petite, we
can enter much more safely. "
"We can take care of ourselves. Jeff Quinlan can't."
"That is his name?"
"Yeah."
He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh that made me
shiver. I would have told him to stop that, but it would have
amused him, so I didn't.
"I will fly down tonight. How do I contact you?"
I gave him the name of my hotel and then, with a sigh, my beeper
number.
"I will call you when I arrive."
"How long will it take you to fly this far?"
"Anita, do you think I am going to fly myself down, as a bird
would?"
I didn't like the faint amusement in his voice, but I answered
truthfully. "It was a thought."
He laughed, and it raised goose-bumps on my arms. "Oh, ma
petite, ma petite, you are precious."
Just what I wanted to hear. "So how are you getting here?"
"My private jet."
Of course, he had a private jet. "When can you be here?"
"I will be there as soon as I can, my impatient flower."
"I prefer ma petite to flower."
"As you like, ma petite."
"I want to see the Master of Branson tonight before dawn."
"You have made that abundantly clear, and I will try."
"Do more than try."
"You are feeling guilty about this boy; why?"
"I'm not feeling guilty."
"Responsible, then," he said.
I sat there, not sure what to say. He was right. "I don't
suppose you read my mind just then?"
"No, ma petite, just your voice and your
impatience."
I hated that he knew me that well. Hated it. "Yeah, I feel
responsible."
"Why?"
"I was in charge."
"Did you do all you could to keep him safe?"
"I had hosts put at every entrance."
"Someone let them in, then?"
"They had a doggie door that exited through the garage, into the
house wall. They didn't want to cut a hole through any of the outer
doors."
"Was there a child vampire among them?"
"No."
"Then how?"
I described the thin, skeletal vampire. "It was almost a form
change. He changed back in seconds. Once he changed back, he could
have passed for human in dim light. I've never seen anything like
it."
"I've only seen the ability once," he said.
"You know who it is, don't you?"
"I will be with you as soon as I am able, ma
petite."
"You sound serious all of a sudden; why?"
He gave a small laugh, but this one was bitter, like swallowing
broken glass. It hurt just to hear it. "You know me too well,
ma petite."
"Just answer the question."
"Did the boy who was taken look younger than his years?"
"Yeah; why?"
Silence thick enough to slice was the only answer.
"Talk to me, Jean-Claude."
"Have there been any other young boys gone missing?"
"Not to my knowledge, but I haven't asked."
"Ask," he said.
"How young?"
"Twelve, fourteen, older if they look young enough."
"Like Jeff Quinlan," I said.
"I fear so."
"Is this vampire into more than just kidnapping?"
"What do you mean, ma petite?"
"Murder, not just biting them, but murder."
"What sort of murder?"
I hesitated. I didn't discuss ongoing police investigations with
the monsters.
"I know you do not trust me, ma petite, but it is
important. Tell me of these deaths, please."
He didn't say please very often. I told him. Not in great
detail, but enough.
"Were they violated?"
"What do you mean, violated?" I asked.
"Violated, ma petite, violated. There are other words
for it, but none better for children."
"Oh," I said. "I don't know if they were sexually assaulted.
They were still clothed."
"There are things that can be done without removing clothing,
ma petite. But the abuse would have happened before the
killings. Systematic abuse over a period of weeks or months."
"I'll find out if they were assaulted." An idea occurred to me.
"Would this vamp ever do a girl?"
"By 'do,' you mean sex?"
"Yeah."
"If pressed for company, he would take a young girl,
prepubescent, but only if he could find nothing else."
I swallowed hard. We were talking about children like they were
things, objects. "No, this girl looked like a woman. She didn't
look young."
"Then, no, he would not willingly touch her."
"What do you mean, willingly? What other choice would there
be?"
"His master could order him to do it, and he might, if he feared
the master enough. Though I cannot think of many people that he
would fear enough to do something he found repugnant."
"You know this vampire. Who is he? Give me a name."
"When I arrive, ma petite."
"Just give me the name."
"So you can give it to the police?"
"That is their job."
"No, ma petite. If it is who I think it is, it will not
be a matter for the police."
"Why not?"
"Put simply, he is too dangerous and too exotic to be revealed
to the general public. If mortals found out we could have among us
such things, they might turn on us all together. You must be aware
of that nasty law floating around the Senate."
"I'm aware."
"Then you must understand my caution."
"Maybe, but if more people die because of your caution, it's
going to help Brewster's law get passed. You think about that."
"Oh, I am, ma petite. Trust that I am. Now farewell. I
have much to do." He hung up.
I sat there staring at the phone. Damn him. What did he mean by
exotic? What could this new vampire do that others couldn't? He
could slim himself down enough to fit through a doggie door. Maybe
it made Houdini jealous, but it was hardly a crime. But I
remembered its face. Not human. Not even just a corpse's face. It
had been something else altogether. Something different. And I
remembered those few seconds I lost, twice. Me, the great vampire
hunter, helpless as any civilian for just a heartbeat. With
vampires, a heartbeat was enough.
Visions of such things would get you talking of demons, which
Quinlan had done briefly. The police ignored him, and I didn't back
up his story. Quinlan had never met a real demon, or he wouldn't
have made the mistake. Once you've been in the presence of demons,
you never forget it. I'd rather fight a dozen vampires than one
demonic presence. They don't give a shit about silver bullets.
Chapter 17
It was after 2:00 a.m. before we got back to the graveyard. The
Feds had kept us forever, like they didn't believe we were telling
them the whole truth. Fancy that. I hated being accused of
concealing evidence when I wasn't. Made me want to lie to them just
so they wouldn't be disappointed. I think Freemont had painted a
less than charitable picture of me. That'll teach me to be
generous. But it seemed petty to point fingers at each other, and
say she did it, when Beth St. John's blood was still wet on the
carpet.
The wind that had all but promised rain had drifted away. The
thick clouds that had obscured the woods while we were playing tag
with vampires were suddenly gone. The moon rode high and two days
past full. Since dating Richard, I'd paid more attention to the
lunar cycles. Fancy that.
The moon sailed the shining night sky, gleaming like it had been
polished. The moonlight was so strong it cast faint shadows. You
didn't need a flashlight, but Raymond Stirling had one. A big
freaking halogen torch that filled his hand like a captive sun.
I watched him start to point it at Larry and me. I raised an arm
and said, "Don't point it at us. You'll ruin our night vision." It
wasn't very diplomatic, but I was tired, and it had been a long
night.
He hesitated in mid-motion. I didn't have to see his face to
know he didn't like it. Men like Raymond give orders better than
they take them.
He clicked off the light. Good for him. He waited with Ms.
Harrison, Bayard, and Beau gathered around him. He was the only one
with a flashlight. I bet that his entourage wasn't worried about
night vision, and would have liked to have had a light.
Larry and I were still wearing the coveralls. I was getting
tired of mine. What I really wanted to do was go back to the hotel
and sleep. But once Jean-Claude arrived I wouldn't be sleeping
anyway; might as well work. Besides, Stirling was my only paying
client. Well, yeah I do get money for killing vampires if it's a
legal kill, but it's not a lot of money. Stirling was financing
this trip. He deserved his money's worth, I guess.
"We've been waiting for a very long time, Ms. Blake."
"I'm sorry that the death of a young girl inconvenienced you,
Mr. Stirling. Shall we go up?"
"I am not unsympathetic to another's loss, Ms. Blake, and I
resent the implication that I am." He stood there in the moonlit
dark, very straight, very commanding. Ms. Harrison and Bayard moved
a little closer, showing support. Beau just stood there, looking
sort of amused behind Stirling's back. He was wearing a black
slicker with a hood. He looked like a phantom.
I looked up at the clear, sparkling sky. Looked at Beau. He
grinned broadly enough for his teeth to flash in the moonlight. I
just shook my head and let it go. Maybe he'd been a Boy Scout,
always prepared and all that.
"Fine, whatever you say. Let's get this over with." I didn't
wait for them. I just walked past them and started up.
Larry, at my side, said, "You're being rude."
I glanced at him.
"Yeah, I am."
"He is a paying client, Anita."
"Look, I don't need you to chastise me, okay?"
"What's wrong with you?"
I stopped. "What we just left is what's wrong with me. I'd think
it'd bother you a little more, too."
"It bothers me, but I don't have to take it out on everyone
else."
I took a deep breath and let it out slow. He was right. Damn.
"Alright, you've made your point. I'll try to be nicer."
Stirling marched up to us, entourage in tow. "Are you coming,
Ms. Blake?" He walked past us, his back ramrod-straight.
Ms. Harrison stumbled, and only Bayard's grab on her elbow kept
her from falling flat on her butt. She was still wearing her high
heels. Maybe it was against the executive secretary code to wear
tennis shoes.
Beau followed with his black slicker flapping around his long
legs. It made a distinctive slap-slap sound that was most
irritating.
Okay, maybe everything was irritating right now. I was feeling
decidedly grumpy. Jeff Quinlan was out there somewhere. He was
either already dead or had one bite by now. It wasn't my fault. I'd
told his father to put a piece of the host in front of every
entrance. I would have thought of the doggie door if I'd seen it,
but I'd never gone that far into the house. Even I would have
thought it was paranoid to guard the doggie entrance. But I would
have done it, and Beth St. John would be alive.
I'd dropped the ball. I couldn't bring Beth St. John back, but I
could save Jeff. And I would. I would. I didn't want to avenge him
by killing the vampire that killed him. For once I wanted to be in
time. For once I wanted to save someone and leave revenge for
someone else.
Was Jeff being violated, right this minute? Was that thing I'd
seen in the Quinlans' living room doing more than just biting his
neck? God, I hoped not. I was pretty sure I could bring Jeff back
from a vampire bite, but combine that with rape by a monster, and I
wasn't so sure. What if I found him and there wasn't much left to
save? The mind is a surprisingly fragile thing sometimes.
I prayed as we walked up the hill. I prayed and felt a measure
of calm return. No visions. No angels singing. But a feeling of
peace flowed over me. I took a deep breath, and something hard and
tight and ugly in my heart let go. I took it as a good sign that
I'd get to Jeff in time. But part of me was skeptical. God doesn't
always save someone. Often He just helps you live through the loss.
I guess I don't entirely trust God. I never doubt Him, but His
motives are too beyond me. Through a glass darkly and all that.
Just once I'd like to see through the damn glass clearly.
The moon shone down on the top of the hill like silver fire. The
air was almost luminescent. The rain was gone, giving its blessing
somewhere else. Heaven knows we could have used the rain, but
personally I was just as glad I didn't have to walk the raw dirt in
a downpour. Mud would have been just too perfect.
"Well, Ms. Blake, shall we begin?" Stirling asked.
I glanced at him. "Yeah." I took a breath and swallowed the
blunt things I wanted to say. Larry was right. Stirling was a pain
in the ass, but he wasn't who I was mad at. He was just a
convenient target.
"Mr. Kirkland and I will walk the graveyard. But you need to
stay here. Other people moving around are very distracting." There;
that was diplomatic.
"If you were going to make us stand here like an audience, you
could have said so at the bottom of this mountain. And saved us the
walk."
So much for diplomacy. "Would you have liked me telling you to
stay at the bottom of the hill where you couldn't see what we were
doing?"
He thought about that for a minute. "No, I suppose I wouldn't
have liked it."
"Then what are you complaining about?"
"Anita," Larry said very softly under his breath.
I ignored him. "Look, Mr. Stirling, it has been a really rough
night. I am just out of niceness right now. Please, just let me do
my job. The faster I get this done, the sooner we go home.
Okay?"
Honesty. I was hoping profound honesty would work. It was about
all I had left.
He hesitated a minute, then nodded. "All right, Ms. Blake. Do
your job, but know this. You have been decidedly unpleasant. It
better be pretty spectacular."
I opened my mouth, and Larry touched my arm. He gripped my arm
not too hard, but hard enough. I swallowed what I was going to say
and walked away from all of them. Larry trailed after me. Brave
Larry.
"What's the matter with you tonight?" he asked when we were out
of earshot of Stirling and Co.
"I told you."
"No," he said, "it isn't just the murder tonight. Hell, I've
seen you kill people and be less upset afterwards. What's
wrong?"
I stopped walking and just stood there for a minute. He'd seen
me kill people and be less upset. Was that true? I thought about it
for a heartbeat. It was true. That was pretty damn sad.
I knew what was wrong. I'd seen too many slaughtered people in
the last few months. Too much blood. Too much killing. I'd done
some of the killing. Not all of it had been sanctioned by the
state. I also wanted to be looking for Jeff Quinlan. I couldn't do
anything until Jean-Claude arrived. I really couldn't. But I felt
like my job was interfering with my police work. Was that a bad
sign? Or a good one?
I took a deep breath of the cool mountain air. I let it out very
slowly, concentrating on just breathing, in and out, in and out.
When I felt calm again, I looked at Larry.
"I'm just a little on edge tonight, Larry. I'll be alright."
"If I said a little on edge with a surprised lilt in my voice,
would you get mad?"
I smiled. "Yeah, I would."
"You've been in a blacker mood than usual since you talked to
Jean-Claude. What's up?"
I stared into his smiling face and didn't want to tell him. He
wasn't that much older than Jeff Quinlan, four years. He could
still have passed for a high-schooler. "Fine," I said, and told
him.
"A vampire pedophile; isn't that against the rules?"
"What rules?"
"That you can only be one kind of monster at a time."
"It kind of caught me off guard, too."
A strange look flashed across his face. "Sweet Jesus, Jeff
Quinlan is with that thing." He looked at me, all the horror, all
the pain, or as much as he could imagine, flowing across his face.
"We have to do something, Anita. We have to save him." He turned as
if to go back down the mountain.
I grabbed his arm. "We can't do anything until Jean-Claude
arrives."
"But we can't just do nothing."
"We aren't doing nothing. We're doing our job."
"But how can we . . ."
"Because we can't do anything else right now."
Larry looked at me for a second, then nodded. "Okay; if you can
be calm, so can I."
"Good man."
"Thanks. Now show me this nifty trick you've been talking about.
I've never heard of anyone who could read the dead without raising
them first."
Truthfully, I didn't know if Larry could do it. But telling him
he might not be able to was not going to help his confidence.
Magic, if that was the right word, often rises and falls on your
own belief in your abilities. I've seen very powerful people
completely crippled by self-doubt.
"I'm going to walk the cemetery." I tried to think of how to put
it into words. How do you explain something that you don't fully
understand yourself?
I have always had an affinity with the dead. Even as a small
child, I always knew if the soul had fled the body. I remember my
great-aunt Katerine's funeral. I'm named after her, my middle name.
She was my father's favorite aunt. We went early to view the body
and make sure everything was ready. I felt her soul hovering above
the coffin. I looked up expecting to see it, but there was nothing
for my eyes to hold onto. I've never seen a soul. I've felt them,
but I've never seen one.
I know now that Aunt Katerine's soul hung around a long time.
Most souls leave within three days, some leave instantly, some
don't. My mother's soul was gone by the time the funeral arrived. I
didn't feel her there. There was nothing but a closed coffin and a
blanket of pink roses over the coffin, as if the coffin would get
cold.
It was at home where I felt my mother hovering close. Not her
soul, not really, but some piece of her that couldn't let go
immediately. I would hear her footsteps in the hall outside my
bedroom as if she was coming to kiss me good night. She moved
through the house for months, and I found it comforting. When she
finally left, I was ready to let her go. I never told my father. I
was only eight, but even then I knew that he couldn't hear her.
Maybe he heard other things. I don't know. My father and I never
talked much about my mother's death. It made him cry.
I'd been able to sense ghosts long before I could raise the
dead. What I was about to do was just an extension of that, or
maybe a combination of both skills. I don't know. But it was like
trying to explain that there was a soul hovering over Aunt
Katerine's coffin. Either you knew the soul was there or you
didn't. Words didn't quite cover it.
"Can you see ghosts?"
"You mean right now?"
I smiled and shook my head. "No, just in general."
"Well, I knew the Calvin house wasn't haunted, no matter how
many stories people made up. But there was a little cave near town
that had something in it. Something not nice."
"Was it a ghost?"
He shrugged. "I never tried to find out, but nobody else seemed
able to feel it."
"Do you know when the soul leaves the body? I mean, can you tell
it?"
"Sure." He said it like, Couldn't everybody do that?
I had to smile. "Good enough. I'm just going to do it. I don't
know what you'll see, if anything. I know that Raymond is going to
be disappointed because he won't see anything, unless he's a lot
more talented than he looks."
"What are you going to do, Anita? They never talked about
'walking a cemetery' in college."
"It's not like a magic spell, a few words or gestures and it
works. It isn't anything like that." I struggled to put into words
something that we had no vocabulary for. "It's closer to psychic
ability than magic. It's not physical. It's not a muscle to move,
or even a thought. It's . . . I just do it. Let me get started;
then if I can, I'll bring you in or try and talk to you while I do
it. Okay?"
He shrugged. "I guess so. I still don't understand what the heck
you're doing, but that's okay. I usually don't know what's going
on."
"But you always figure it out," I said.
He grinned. "I do, don't I?"
"You bet."
I stood in nearly the dead center of the raw earth. Not so long
ago I was afraid of what I was about to do. It wasn't really
frightening in and of itself. I was scared of the fact that I could
do it at all. It wasn't a very human thing to be able to do.
But then, lately I'd been rethinking exactly what made you
human, and what made you one of the monsters. Once I'd been very
sure of myself, and everyone else. I wasn't so sure anymore.
Besides, I'd been practicing.
Of course, I'd been practicing in empty graveyards where there
was nothing but me and the dead. Okay, night insects, but
arthropods never bothered my concentration. People did.
Even with my back turned, I could feel Larry like a warm
presence behind me. It bugged me. "Can you move back farther?"
"Sure; how far?"
I shook my head. "As far as you can get and still be in
sight."
He raised his eyebrows. "Do you want me to go over and wait with
Mr. Stirling?"
"If you can stand it."
"I can stand it. I schmooze clients better than you do."
That was the God's honest truth. "Great. When I call you over,
come slowly. I've never tried to talk to someone while I do
this."
"Whatever you say." He gave a laugh that was almost nervous. "I
can't wait to see this."
I let that go, and turned away. I walked away from him. When I
glanced back, he was walking to the others. I hoped Larry wouldn't
be disappointed. I still wasn't sure if he'd be able to even sense
anything. I turned my back on all of them. Seeing them huddled
there would distract me, that much I was sure of.
The top of the mountain had been stripped. It was like standing
on the edge of the world looking down. The moonlight bathed
everything in a soft glow. It was so bright up here near the sky
without any trees to hide it that the air itself glowed with
diffused light. A gentle wind traced just about head-high. It
smelled green and fresh, almost as if the rain had actually fallen.
I closed my eyes and let the wind touch my skin, ruffle my hair.
There was almost no sound but the singing of insects from below.
Nothing but the wind, me, and the dead.
I couldn't tell Larry exactly how to do it, because I wasn't
completely sure myself. If it was a muscle, I would move it. If it
was a thought, I would think it. If it was a magic word, I would
say it. It is none of those things. It is like my skin opens up.
All my nerve endings naked to the wind. My skin grew cool. It's
like a cool wind emanates from my body. It isn't really wind. You
can't see it. You can't feel it, or no one else can. But it's
there. It's real.
The cool fingers of "wind" stretched outward from me. Within a
ten- to fifteen-foot radius I would be able to search the graves.
As I moved, the circle would move with me, searching.
I raised my arm and waved. I didn't turn around to see if Larry
saw me. I stayed tight inside my private circle. I was holding it
in, trying not to start searching the dead until Larry got over
here. I was hoping he'd be able to sense what was going on. Seemed
logical that it would be easier to figure out if he saw it from the
beginning.
I heard his footsteps on the dry earth. They seemed thunderously
loud, as if I could hear every grain of dirt under his shoes.
He stopped behind me. "Jesus, what is that?"
"What?" My voice sounded distant and loud at the same time.
"Wind, a cold wind." He sounded a little scared. Good. You
should always be a little afraid when you do magic. It's when you
start taking it for granted that you get in trouble.
"Come closer, but don't touch me." I wasn't sure on that last,
but it sounded like a good idea. Better cautious than not.
He came slowly, one hand held out like he was feeling the wind
against his skin. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Anita, it's coming from
you. The wind is coming from you."
"Yes," I said.
His eyes were wide. He looked like his voice sounded, a little
scared.
"If I stood right next to Stirling, he wouldn't feel a thing.
None of them would."
Larry shook his head. "How could they miss it?" His hand hovered
just off my body, almost touching but not quite. "It's colder, or
stronger, or something the closer I get to your body."
"Interesting," I said.
"What now?" he asked.
"Now, I touch the dead." I let go of it, like unclenching a
hand. The fingers of "wind" stretched downward. How does it feel to
go through solid earth and touch the dead beneath? Like nothing
human. It was as if the invisible fingers could melt through the
dirt searching for the dead. This time we didn't have to search
far. The earth was disturbed, and the dead lay on top of the raw
land.
I'd never tried this in anything but a well-organized cemetery.
Where each grave, each body, was distinct. The wind touched Larry
like a stone in a stream. The power rippled around him. He was
alive, and it disturbed us. But we'd been practicing, and we could
work around him.
I was standing on top of bones. Under the earth where eyes could
not see. I tried to step off them, and only stepped on more. The
earth was thick with bodies, like raisins in a pudding. No getting
around them.
I stood on top on a raft of bones in a sea of dry, red earth.
Everywhere I touched was a body—a piece of bone. There was no clear
space. No breathing space. I stood there, huddled in on myself,
trying to sort through what I was sensing.
The rib cage just to the left belonged with the thighbone yards
away. The wind leaked out and touched piece after piece. I could
have put the skeleton back together like a giant jigsaw puzzle.
That was what my power would do if I tried to raise it.
I moved, stepping on the dead, and everywhere I walked I put
bodies together. The pieces stayed separate, but I remembered.
Larry moved with me. He moved surprisingly smoothly through the
power, like a swimmer leaving the smallest possible ripples
behind.
A ghost flared to life like a pale, dancing flame. I walked
towards it. It rose like a swaying snake, watching me without eyes.
There was that thread of hostility that some ghosts seem to feel
towards the living. A jealousy. But if I'd been tied to some
forsaken piece of earth for a hundred years or more, I might be
hostile, too.
"What is that?" Larry whispered.
"What do you see?" I asked.
"I think it's a ghost. I've just never seen one materialize
before." He reached out as if to touch it.
I grabbed his wrist before he could ever have reached. I felt
his power flare to life in a rush of wind that should have poured
my hair back from my face.
The circle suddenly widened, like a camera lens spreading wide.
The dead awoke under our combined power like twigs touched by fire.
Our power spread over them, and they gave up their secrets. Bits of
muscle withered to bone, gaping skulls, all the pieces were there.
All we had to do was call them forth. Two more ghosts rose from the
ground like smoke. It was a lot of active ghosts for this small and
this old a cemetery. And they were all angry at being disturbed.
The level of hostility was unusual.
Combining our powers hadn't doubled the circle—it had quadrupled
it.
The nearest ghost stood like a white pillar of flame. It was
strong, powerful. A full-blown ghost in a graveyard that hadn't
seen a burial in over two hundred years.
I stared at it. Larry stared at it. As long as we didn't touch
it, we were safe. Heck, we were safe even if we did touch it.
Ghosts can't cause physical harm, not really. They can grab you,
but if you ignore them they fall away. If you pay attention, they
can be bothersome. Frightening, but if a spirit causes real harm it
isn't just a ghost. Demon, evil sorcerous dead, but not a normal
ghost.
Staring at the wavering shape, I wasn't at all sure this was a
normal ghost. Ghosts wear out. They fade to haunts, which don't
usually materialize, hot spots that can give you a jolt, then just
shivery places. Ghosts do not last forever. These looked pretty
damn solid. For ghosts.
"Stop!" a man's voice yelled.
Larry and I turned towards the voice. Magnus Bouvier scrambled
up the side of the mountain opposite from where we had walked up.
His hair fell across his face, hiding everything but his eyes from
the moonlight. His eyes glowed in the dark, reflecting lights I
could not see.
"Stop!" He was waving his hands. His long-sleeved shirt was
untucked over jeans. He hit the circle of wind and froze. He put
his hands up as if he was trying to touch it.
Two people in one night who could sense the power. Unusual, but
sort of cool. If Magnus hadn't been on the run from the police, we
could have sat down and had a nice talk about it.
"We told you to stay off this land, Mr. Bouvier," Stirling
said.
Bouvier looked at him, turning his head slowly as if
concentrating on anything besides the feel of power was hard.
"We've tried being nice about this," Stirling said. "We are not
going to be nice any longer. Beau."
The pump action on a shotgun is a very distinctive sound. I
turned towards the sound, gun in hand. I don't remember thinking
about it. I was just looking down the barrel of a gun at Beau. He
was cradling a shotgun in his arms, not aimed at anything. That
saved him. I know if it had been pointed near us, I'd have shot
him.
I was still seeing double. I could see the graveyard behind my
eyes where there is no optic nerve. The cemetery was mine. I knew
the bodies. I knew the ghosts. I knew where all the pieces lay. I
stared down the gun, seeing Beau and the shotgun, but inside my
head the dead still reached out for their scattered parts.
The ghosts were still real. The power had agitated them. They'd
dance and sway on their own for a while. But they'd fade back into
the ground. There was more than one way to raise the dead, but not
permanently.
I couldn't look away from the shotgun to see what Bouvier was
doing. "Anita, please don't raise the dead." His surprisingly deep
voice held a note of pleading.
I fought an urge to glance at him. "Why not, Magnus?"
"Get off my land," Stirling said.
"This is not your land."
"Get off my land or you will be shot for trespassing."
Beau glanced my way. "Mr. Stirling?" He was being very careful
that the shotgun stayed loose, and harmless, in his hands.
"Beau, show him we mean business."
"Mr. Stirling," he said again, with a little more urgency in his
voice.
"Do what I pay you for," Stirling said.
He started to raise the shotgun to his shoulder, but slowly,
watching me.
"Don't do it," I said. I let my breath out all the way until my
body was still and quiet. There was nothing but the gun and what I
was aiming at.
Beau lowered the shotgun.
I took a breath and said, "Put it on the ground, now."
"Ms. Blake, this is none of your business," Stirling said.
"You are not going to shoot someone for trespassing on a piece
of land while I watch."
Larry had his gun out too, now. It wasn't pointed at anybody in
particular, which I was grateful for. Pointed guns have a tendency
to go off if you don't know what you're doing.
"On the ground, Beau, now. I won't ask a third time."
He laid the shotgun on the ground.
"I pay your salary."
"You don't pay me enough to get killed."
Stirling made an exasperated sound and moved forward as if he
would pick up the gun himself.
"Don't touch it, Raymond. You'll bleed just as easy as anybody
else."
He turned to me. "I cannot believe that you would hold me at
gunpoint on my own property."
I lowered my gun arm just a touch; it gets shaky if you hold a
shooting pose too long. "I cannot believe that you had Beau come up
here armed. You knew my little show would attract Bouvier. You knew
it and planned for it. You cold-blooded son of a bitch."
"Mr. Kirkland, are you going to let her talk to me like that? I
am a client."
Larry shook his head. "I'm with her on this one, Mr. Stirling.
You were going to ambush that man. Murder him. Why?"
"Good question," I said. "Why are you so afraid of the Bouvier
family? Or is it just him that you're afraid of?"
"I am afraid of no one. Come along; we will leave you to your
new friend." He marched away, and the others followed. Beau sort of
hesitated.
"I'll bring the shotgun down for you," I said.
He nodded. "Figured that."
"And you better not be waiting down there with another gun."
He looked at me for a long minute. At both of us. He shook his
head. "I'm going home to my wife."
"You do that, Beau," I said.
He walked away, black slicker flapping against his legs. He
hesitated, then said, "I'm out of it from now on. Money doesn't
spend if you're dead."
I knew a few vampires that would argue with him, but I said,
"Glad to hear it."
"I just don't want to get shot," he said. He walked away down
the slope, out of sight.
I stood there with the Browning pointed skyward. I turned in a
slow circle, surveying the mountaintop. We were alone, the three of
us. So why didn't I want to put my gun up?
Magnus took a step up the slope and stopped. He raised slender
hands towards the power-charged air. He trailed fingertips down it,
like it was water. I felt the ripples of his touch shiver down my
skin, tremble through my magic.
No, I wasn't putting my gun up yet.
"What was that?" Larry asked. His gun was still out, pointed at
the ground.
Bouvier moved his gleaming eyes to Larry. "He is not a
necromancer, Anita, but he is more than he seems."
"Aren't we all," I said. "Why didn't you want me to raise the
dead, Magnus?"
He stared up at me. His eyes were full of glinting lights like
reflections in a pool, but the reflections were of things that were
not there.
"Answer me, Magnus."
"Or what?" he asked. "You'll shoot me?"
"Maybe," I said.
The slope made him shorter than I was, so I was looking down on
him. "I didn't believe anyone could raise dead this old without a
human sacrifice. I thought you'd take Stirling's money, try, fail,
and go home." He took a step forward, trailing his hands through
the power again, as if he were testing it. As if he weren't sure he
could cross into it. The touch made Larry gasp.
"With this power you can raise some of them, maybe enough of
them," Magnus said.
"Enough for what?" I asked.
He stared up at me, as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud. "You
mustn't raise the dead on this mountain, Anita, Larry. You must
not."
"Give us a reason not to," I said.
He smiled up at me. "I don't suppose just because I asked."
I shook my head. "Not hardly."
"This would be so much easier if glamor worked on you." He took
another step up the slope. "Of course, if glamor worked on you, we
wouldn't be here, would we?"
If he wouldn't answer one question, I'd try another one. "Why'd
you run from the police?"
He took another step closer, and I backed up. He'd done nothing
overtly threatening, but there was something about him as he stood
there, something alien.
There were images in his eyes that made me want to glance behind
to see what was reflecting in his eyes. I could almost see trees,
water . . . It was like the things you see out of the corner of
your eye, except in color.
"You told the police my secret; why?"
"I had to."
"You really think I did those awful things to those boys?" He
took another step, moving into the flow of power, but he didn't
slip easily as Larry had. Magnus was like a mountain, huge, forcing
the power to go wide around him, as if he filled more space
magically than could be seen with the naked eye.
I pointed the Browning two-handed at his chest. "No, I
don't."
"Then why point a gun at me?"
"Why all this fey magic shit?"
He smiled. "I performed a lot of glamor tonight. It's like a
high."
"You feed off your customers," I said. "You don't just do it for
business. You siphon them; that's fucking unseelie court."
He gave a graceful shrug. "I am what I am."
"How'd you know the victims were boys?" I asked.
Larry moved to my left, gun pointed carefully at the ground. I'd
yelled at him for pointing guns at people too soon.
"The police said so."
"Liar."
He smiled gently. "One of them touched me. I saw it all."
"Convenient," I said.
He reached out towards me. "Don't even think it."
Larry pointed his gun at Magnus. "What's going on, Anita?"
"I'm not sure."
"I can't allow you to raise the dead here. I am sorry."
"How are you going to stop us?" I asked.
He stared at me, and I felt something push against my magic,
like something large swimming just out of sight in the dark. It
made me gasp.
"Freeze, right there, or I will pull this trigger."
"I haven't moved a muscle," he said softly.
"No games, Magnus; you're too damn close to being dead."
"What did he just do?" Larry asked. There was a fine tremor in
his two-handed grip.
"Later," I said. "Clasp your hands on top of your head, Magnus,
slowly, very slowly."
"Are you going to take me in, as they say on television?"
"Yeah," I said. "You've got a better chance of getting to the
jail alive with me than with most of the cops."
"I don't think I'll go with you." Staring down two guns, and he
still sounded sure of himself. He was either stupid or knew
something I didn't. I didn't think he was stupid.
"Tell me when to shoot him," Larry said.
"When I shoot him, you can shoot him, too."
"Okay," Larry said.
Magnus looked from one to the other of us. "You would take my
life for such a small thing?"
"In a heartbeat," I said, "Now clasp your hands slowly on top of
your head."
"If I don't?"
"I don't bluff, Magnus."
"Do you have silver bullets in those guns?"
I just stared at him. I could feel Larry shift slightly beside
me. You can only point a gun so long without getting tired, or
antsy.
"I'll bet they're silver. Silver isn't very effective against
fairies."
"Cold iron works best," I said. "I remember."
"Even normal lead bullets would be better than silver. The metal
of the moon is a friend to the fey."
"Hands, now, or we find out how fairie flesh holds up to silver
bullets."
He raised his hands slowly, gracefully upward. His hands were
above shoulder level when he threw himself backwards, falling down
the slope. I fired, but he kept on rolling down the earth, and
somehow I couldn't quite see him. It was like the air blurred
around him.
Larry and I stood at the top of the slope and fired down on him,
and I don't think either of us hit him.
He scrambled down the raw earth faster than he looked because he
got harder to see even in the moonlight until he vanished into the
underbrush left near the midpoint on that side.
"Please tell me he didn't just go poof," Larry said.
"He didn't just go poof," I said.
"What did he do, then?"
"How the hell do I know. This wasn't covered in Fairies 301." I
shook my head. "Let's get out of here. I don't know what's going
on, but whatever it is, I think we lost our client."
"You think we lost our hotel rooms?"
"I don't know, Larry. Let's go find out." I clicked the safety
on the Browning but left it out in my hand. I'd have left the
safety off, but that didn't seem wise while stumbling down a rocky
mountainside even in the moonlight.
"I think you can put the gun up now, Larry." He hadn't put his
safety on.
"You aren't."
"But I've got the safety on."
"Oh." He looked a little sheepish, but he clicked the safety on
and holstered it. "You think they would have really killed
him?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Beau would have shot at him, but see how
much good it did us."
"Why does Stirling want Magnus dead?"
"I don't know."
"Why did Magnus run from the police?"
"I don't know."
"It makes me nervous when you keep answering all my questions
with 'I don't know.'"
"Me, too," I said.
I glanced back once just before we lost sight of the
mountaintop. The ghosts twisted and flared like candle flames, cool
white flames. I knew something else I hadn't known before tonight.
Some of the bodies were nearly three hundred years old. A hundred
years older than Stirling had told us they were. A hundred years
makes a lot of difference in a zombie raising. Why had he lied?
Afraid I'd refuse, maybe. Maybe. Some of the bodies were Indian
remains. Bits and pieces of jewelry, animal bone, stuff that wasn't
European. The Indians in this area didn't bury their dead, at least
not in simple graves. And this wasn't a mound.
Something was going on, and I didn't have the faintest idea what
it was. But I'd find out. Maybe tomorrow after we got new hotel
rooms, gave back the nifty jeep, rented a new car, and told Bert we
no longer had a client. Maybe I'd let Larry break the news to him.
What are apprentices for if they can't do some of the grunt
work?
Okay, okay, I'd tell Bert myself, but I wasn't looking forward
to it.
Chapter 18
Stirling and Co. were gone when we trudged down off the
mountain. We drove the Jeep back to the hotel. I was frankly
surprised they hadn't taken the Jeep with them and left us to walk.
Stirling didn't strike me as a man who liked having guns pointed at
him. But then, who does?
Larry's room was first down the hall. He hesitated with his room
card in the lock. "You think the rooms are paid for tonight, or do
we pack?"
"We pack," I said.
He nodded, and shoved the card in its little slot. The door
handle turned, and in he went. I went to the next door and put in
my own card. There was a connecting door between the rooms. We
hadn't unlocked it, but it was there. Personally I liked my
privacy, even from my friends. And especially from my
coworkers.
The room's silence flowed around me. It was wonderful. A few
minutes of quiet before I faced Bert and told him all that money
had just flown the coop.
The room was a suite with an outer room and a separate bedroom.
My apartment wasn't much bigger. There was a bar set into the
left-hand wall. Being a teetotaler, that was a real plus for me.
The walls were a soft pink with a delicate pattern of gilt-edged
leaves, the carpet a deep burgundy. The full-sized couch was a
purple so dark it looked nearly black. A love seat matched it. Two
armchairs were done in a purple, burgundy, and white floral
pattern. All exposed wood was very dark and highly polished. I had
suspected I had some kind of honeymoon suite until I saw Larry's
room. It was nearly a mirror of mine, but done in shades of
green.
A cherrywood desk that looked like a genuine antique sat against
the far wall. The connecting door was beside it but opened opposite
so you wouldn't accidentally bump the desk. Monogrammed stationery
graced the desk, along with a second telephone line for your modem
I guess.
I don't know if I'd ever stayed in a room this expensive. I
doubted seriously if Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein would
want to pick up the tab now.
A sound jerked me around. The Browning sort of materialized in
my hand. I was staring down the barrel at Jean-Claude. He stood in
the doorway leading to the bedroom. The shirt had long, full
sleeves that had been gathered in three puffs down the length of
the arm to end in a spill of cloth that framed his long, pale
fingers. The collar was high and tied with a white cravat that
spilled lace down the front of him tucked into a vest. It was black
and velvety with pinpricks of silver on it. Thigh-high black boots
fit his legs like a second skin.
His hair was nearly as black as the vest, making it hard to tell
where the curls ended and the velvety cloth began. A silver and
onyx stickpin that I'd seen before pierced the white lace at his
chest.
"Well, ma petite, are you going to shoot me?"
I was still standing there with the gun pointed at him. He had
not moved. He had been very careful to do nothing that could be
taken as threatening. His blue, blue eyes stared at me. Serious,
waiting.
I pointed the gun at the ceiling and let out a breath I hadn't
realized I was holding. "How the hell did you get in here?"
He smiled then, and pushed away from the doorjamb. He walked
into the room with that wonderful gliding motion of his. Part cat,
part dancer, part something else. Whatever the "else" was, it
wasn't human.
I put the gun away, though I wasn't sure I wanted to. It made me
feel better having it in my hand. Trouble was, a gun wouldn't help
me against Jean-Claude. Oh, if I was going to kill him it would,
but that's not what we were doing lately. Lately we were—dating.
Can you stand it? I wasn't sure I could.
"The desk clerk let me in." His voice was very mild, amused,
whether with himself or with me it was hard to tell.
"Why would he do that?"
"Because I asked him to." He walked around me like a shark
circling its prey.
I didn't turn with him. I stared straight ahead and let him
circle me. It would only amuse him if I kept him in sight. The
hairs at the back of my neck stood up. I took a step forward and
felt his hand fall back. He'd been about to touch my shoulder. I
didn't want him to touch me.
"You used mind tricks on the desk clerk?"
"Yes," he said. That one word was full of so much more. I turned
towards him so I could see his face.
He was staring at my legs. He raised his face to mine, and
somehow that one quick gaze took in my entire body. His midnight
blue eyes looked even darker than usual. We weren't sure how I was
able to meet his gaze. I was beginning to suspect that being a
necromancer had more fringe benefits than just being good with
zombies.
"Red becomes you, ma petite." His voice had grown
softer, deeper. He moved closer to me, not touching. He knew better
than that, but somehow his eyes showed where his hands wanted to
be. "I like this very much."
His voice was soft and warm, and far more intimate than his
words. "Your legs are wonderful." His words were growing softer. A
whisper in the dark that hovered around my body like a line of
warmth. His voice was always like that, touchable. He still had the
best voice I'd ever heard.
"Stop it, Jean-Claude. I'm too short to have wonderful
legs."
"I do not understand this modern obsession with height." He ran
his hands just above my hose, so close I could almost feel it like
a breath of warmth against my skin.
"Stop it," I said.
"Stop what?" His voice was utterly mild, harmless. Ri-ight.
I shook my head. Asking Jean-Claude not to be a pain in the ass
was like asking rain not to be wet. Why try?
"Fine, flirt all you want, but keep in mind that you're here to
save the life of a young boy. A young boy who may be being raped
while we sit here and waste time."
He sighed deeply and walked towards me. Something must have
shown on my face because he sat down in the other chair, not trying
to come closer. "You have a habit, ma petite, of taking
all the fun out of seducing you."
"Yippee," I said. "Now, can we get down to business?"
He smiled his lovely, perfect smile. "I had arranged to meet
with the Master of Branson tonight."
"Just like that," I said.
"Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" he asked. His voice held
that amused edge again.
"Yeah. I'm just not used to you giving me exactly what I ask
for."
"I would give you anything you wanted, ma petite, if
you would only let me."
"I wanted you out of my life. You don't seem to want to do
that."
He sighed. "No, ma petite, I do not want to do that."
He let it go at that. No accusations about me wanting to be with
Richard instead of him. No vague threats on Richard's life. It was
sort of odd.
"You're up to something," I said.
He turned, eyes wide, long fingers pressed to his heart.
"Moi?"
"Yeah, you," I said. I shook my head and let it go. He was up to
something. I knew him well enough to know the signs, but I also
knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't tell me until he was
good and ready. Nobody kept a secret like Jean-Claude, and nobody
else had as many of them. There was no deceit in Richard.
Jean-Claude lived and breathed it.
"I've got to change and pack before we can leave."
"Change your lovely red skirt, why? Because I like it?"
"Not just that," I said, "though admittedly it's a plus. I can't
wear my inner pants holster with the skirt."
"I will not argue that having a second gun will help our show of
force tomorrow night."
I stopped and turned. "What do you mean, tomorrow night?"
He spread his hands wide. "It is too close to dawn, ma
petite. We cannot even drive to the master's lair before the
sun rises."
"Dammit," I said softly and with feeling.
"I did my part, ma petite. But even I cannot stop the
sun from rising."
I leaned against the back of the love seat, hands gripping the
edge hard enough to hurt. I shook my head. "We're going to be too
late to save him."
"Ma petite, ma petite." He knelt in front of
me, staring up at me. "Why does this boy bother you so very much?
Why is his life so precious to you?"
I stared down into Jean-Claude's perfect face, and had no
answer. "I don't know."
He laid his hands on top of my hands. "You're hurting yourself,
ma petite."
I moved my hands out from under his, crossing my arms over my
stomach. Jean-Claude remained kneeling, a hand on either side of
me. He was entirely too close to me, and I was suddenly very aware
of how short the skirt was.
"I have to go pack," I said.
"Why? Don't you like your room?" Without moving, he seemed
closer somehow. I could feel the line of his body against my legs
like heat.
"Move," I said.
He leaned backwards, sitting on his heels, forcing me to move
past him. The hem of my skirt brushed his cheek as I walked past.
"You are such a pain in the ass."
"So nice of you to notice, ma petite. Now, why are you
leaving this lovely room?"
"A client's paying for the room, and he's not a client
anymore."
"Why ever not, ma petite?"
"I pulled a gun on him."
His eyes widened, his face a perfect mask of surprise. The mask
slipped and he stared at me with ancient eyes. Eyes that had seen
much but still didn't know what to make of me. "Why would you do
that?"
"They were going to shoot a man for trespassing."
"Was he trespassing?"
"Technically, yeah."
Jean-Claude just looked at me. "Does he not have the right to
protect his own land?"
"No, not if it means killing people. A piece of land isn't worth
killing over."
"Protecting our lands has been a valid excuse for slaughter
since the beginning of time, ma petite. Did you suddenly
change the rules?"
"I wasn't going to stand there and watch them kill a man for
walking on a piece of ground. Besides, I think it was a setup."
"A setup? You mean a plot to kill the man."
"Yeah."
"Were you part of this plot?"
"I may have been bait. He could feel my power over the dead. It
called to him."
"Now that is interesting. What is this man's name?"
"You give me the name of the mystery vampire first."
"Xavier," he said.
"Just like that. Why wouldn't you give me the name earlier?"
"I do not want the police to have it."
"Why not?"
"I explained all that. Now, the name of the man you saved
tonight."
I stared at him, and didn't want to give it to him. I didn't
like how interested he was in the name. But a deal was a deal.
"Bouvier, Magnus Bouvier."
"I do not know the name."
"Should you?"
He just smiled at me. It meant nothing and everything.
"You are an irritating son of a bitch."
"Ah, ma petite, how can I resist you when you whisper
such sweet endearments to me?"
I glared at him, which made him smile wider. There was just the
faintest hint of fang peeking into view.
Someone knocked on the door. Probably the manager telling me to
get out. I walked to the door. I didn't bother looking through the
peephole, so I was caught off guard by who was outside. It was
Lionel Bayard.
Had he come to throw us out in person?
I stood there for a second, looking at him. He spoke first,
clearing his throat nervously. "Ms. Blake, may I speak with you for
a moment?"
He was being awfully polite for someone who had come to kick us
out. "I'm listening, Mr. Bayard."
"I really don't think the hallway is the place to discuss
this."
I stepped to one side, ushering him into the room. He stepped
past me, hands smoothing his tie. His gaze flicked to Jean-Claude,
who was standing now. Jean-Claude smiled at Bayard. Pleasant,
charming.
"I didn't realize you had company, Ms. Blake. I can come
back."
I closed the door. "No, Mr. Bayard, it's all right. I told
Jean-Claude about our misunderstanding this evening."
"Ah, yes, uh . . ." Bayard looked from one to the other of us,
as if not sure what to say.
Jean-Claude didn't so much sit in the chair as fold his body
around it. The movement was almost catlike. "Anita and I have no
secrets from one another, Mr . . ."
"Bayard, Lionel Bayard." He walked over and offered his hand to
Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow but took the offered
hand.
The handshake seemed to make Bayard feel better. A normal
gesture. He didn't know what Jean-Claude was. How he could look at
him and think him human was beyond me. I'd only seen one vampire
that could have passed for human, and he hadn't been human at all.
Bayard turned back to me, adjusting his glasses, which didn't need
adjusting. That nervous little gesture again. Something was up.
"What's up, Bayard?" I asked. I'd closed the door and was
leaning to one side of it, arms crossed over my stomach.
"I'm here to offer our most sincere apologies for earlier
tonight."
I just stared at him. "You're apologizing to me?"
"Yes. Mr. Stirling was overzealous. Why, if you had not been
there to bring us all to our senses, a great tragedy might have
occurred."
I tried to keep my face blank. I wanted to frown at him, or look
confused. "Stirling's not mad at me?"
"On the contrary, Ms. Blake. He's grateful to you."
I didn't believe that. "Really," I said.
"Oh, yes. In fact, I've been authorized to offer you a
bonus."
"Why?"
"To make up for our behavior tonight."
"Your behavior was fine," I said.
He smiled modestly. His act was about as sincere as faux pearls,
but not half so realistic.
"How much is the bonus?"
"Twenty thousand," he said.
I stayed leaning against the wall, staring at him. "No."
He blinked at me. "Excuse me?"
"I don't want the bonus."
"I'm not authorized to go higher than twenty thousand, but I
could speak with Mr. Stirling. Perhaps he would go higher."
I shook my head and pushed away from the wall. "I don't want
more money. I don't want the bonus at all."
"You aren't quitting on us, are you, Ms. Blake?" He was blinking
so fast I thought he'd pass out. Me quitting bothered him. A
lot.
"No, I'm not quitting. But you're already paying an enormous
fee. You don't need to pay more."
"Mr. Stirling is just very anxious that he has not offended
you."
I let that one go. Too easy. "Tell Mr. Stirling I'd have thought
better of his apology if it had been delivered in person."
"Mr. Stirling is a very busy man. He would have come himself,
but he had pressing business."
I wondered how often Bayard had to apologize for the big man. I
wondered how often the apology was for telling a fellow flunkie to
shoot someone. "Fine, you've delivered the message. Tell Mr.
Stirling that it isn't the gunfight that's going to make me bail. I
read the cemetery tonight. Some of the corpses are closer to three
hundred than two hundred. Three hundred years, Lionel; that's an
old zombie."
"Can you raise them?" He had stepped closer, hands fidgeting
with his lapels. He was close to invading my space. I'd have rather
had Jean-Claude next to me.
"Maybe. The question isn't can I, but will I, Lionel."
"What do you mean?"
"You lied to me, Lionel. You underestimated the age of the dead
by nearly a century."
"Not deliberately, Ms. Blake, I assure you. I merely repeated
what our research department told me. I did not deliberately
mislead you."
"Sure."
He reached out almost like he wanted to touch me. I moved back,
just enough. He seemed terribly intense. He let his hand drop.
"Please, Ms. Blake, I did not lie on purpose."
"The problem, Lionel, is that I'm not sure I can raise zombies
this old without a human sacrifice. Even I have my limits."
"So nice to know," Jean-Claude said softly.
I frowned at him. He smiled.
"You will try, won't you, Ms. Blake?"
"Maybe. I haven't decided yet."
He shook his head. "We will do anything to make this oversight
up to you, Ms. Blake. It is entirely my fault that I did not
double-check the research department's findings. Is there anything
that I can do personally to make it up to you?"
"Just leave. I'll call your office tomorrow to discuss details.
I may need some extra . . . paraphernalia to attempt the
raising."
"Anything, anything at all, Ms. Blake."
"Fine; I'll call." I opened the door and stood by it. I thought
it was enough of a hint. It was. Bayard went to the door and almost
backed out, apologizing as he went.
I closed the door and stood there for a minute.
"That little man is up to something," Jean-Claude said.
I turned and looked at him. He was still curled in the chair,
looking scrumptious.
"I didn't need vampiric powers to tell me that."
"Neither," he said, "did I." He rose from the chair easily. If
I'd curled up in a chair like that, I'd have been stiff.
"I've got to tell Larry that he can stop packing. I don't
understand why we're still hired, but we are."
"Can anyone else raise the graveyard?"
"Not without a human sacrifice, maybe not even then," I
said.
"They need you, ma petite. From the little man's
anxiety, they must need the dead raised very badly."
"Millions of dollars are at stake."
"I do not think money is all that is at stake," he said.
I shook my head. "Me either."
He came to join me by the door. "What extra paraphernalia will
you need to raise a three-hundred-year-old corpse, ma
petite?"
I shrugged. "A bigger death. I'd originally thought to use a
couple of goats." I opened the door.
"What are you thinking about using now?"
"An elephant, maybe," I said.
We were out in the hall and he was staring at me.
"I'm kidding. Honest. Besides, elephants are an endangered
species. I was thinking maybe a cow."
Jean-Claude stared down at me for a long space of moments, his
face very serious. "Remember, ma petite, I can tell if you
are lying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You meant the elephant comment."
I frowned up at him. What could I say? "Okay, but just for a
minute. I wouldn't really do in an elephant. I'm telling the
truth."
"Yes, ma petite, I know."
I hadn't really meant the crack about the elephant. Not really.
It was just the biggest animal I could think of on short notice.
And if I was going to attempt to raise several
three-hundred-year-old corpses, I was going to need something big.
I didn't think a cow would do. Hell, I didn't think a herd of cows
would do it. I just hadn't thought of a good alternative yet.
But no elephants, I promise. Besides, can you imagine trying to
slit the throat of an elephant? The logistics of just getting one
to hold still while you killed it were mind boggling. There's a
reason why most sacrifices are our size or smaller. Makes it easier
to hold them down.
"We can't just leave Jeff with that monster," Larry said. He was
standing in the middle of his forest green carpet. Jean-Claude was
sitting in the corner of the green patterned couch. He was looking
amused, like a cat that had found a very interesting mouse.
"We aren't leaving him," I said. "We just can't go looking for
him tonight."
He whirled and pointed a finger at Jean-Claude. "Why, because he
says so?"
Jean-Claude's smile widened. Definitely amused.
"Check the time, Larry. It'll be dawn soon. All the vampires
will be asnooze in their coffins."
Larry shook his head. The look on his face reminded me of me.
Stubborn, not wanting to accept it. "We have to do something,
Anita."
"We can't talk to vampires during daylight hours, Larry. That's
just the way it is."
"And what happens to Jeff today, while we wait for the sun to go
down?" His pale skin had gone almost white. His freckles looked
like brown ink spots. His pale blue eyes glittered like angry
glass. I'd never seen Larry so mad. Hell, I'd never seen him
angry.
I glanced at Jean-Claude; he just looked at me. I was on my own.
Wasn't I always. "Xavier will have to sleep. He won't be able to
harm Jeff once the sun rises."
Larry shook his head. "Will we get him back in time?"
I wanted to say "Sure," but I wouldn't lie. "I don't know. I
hope so."
His soft, Howdy-Doody face was set in very stubborn lines. I
looked at him and understood why so many people underestimate me.
He looked so harmless. Hell, he was sort of harmless, but he was
armed now, and learning how to be dangerous. And in his face for
the first time I saw a grim purpose building. I'd planned on
leaving him behind when I went to talk to the Master of Branson.
Looking at him now, I wasn't sure he was going to let me do that.
He'd had his first vampire hunt tonight. I'd managed to keep him
out of the rough stuff until now. But it wasn't going to last. I'd
been hoping he'd give up the idea of hunting vampires. Staring into
his glittering eyes, I realized I was the one who was fooling
myself. In his own way Larry was as stubborn as I was. Frightening
thought, that. But for tonight he was safe.
"You couldn't just comfort me? Tell me we'll find him?" Larry
asked.
I smiled. "I try not to lie to you, if I can avoid it."
"For once," Larry said, "I'd have liked to have heard the
lie."
"Sorry," I said.
He took in a deep breath and let it out slow. His anger was gone
just like that. Larry didn't know what it was to hold onto his
rage. He didn't brood over things. One of the main differences
between us. I never forgave anyone for anything. A character flaw
to be sure, but hell, everyone's got to have at least one.
There was a knock on the door. Larry went for the door.
Jean-Claude was suddenly standing by me. I hadn't seen him move.
Hadn't heard his leather boots slither over the carpet. Nothing.
Magic. My heart was suddenly thudding in my throat.
"Stomp your feet or something when you do that."
"Do what, ma petite?"
I glared up at him. "That wasn't a mind trick, was it?"
"No," he said. That one word slithered across my skin like a low
creeping breeze.
"Damn you," I said softly and with feeling.
He smiled. "We've been over that, ma petite; you are
too late."
Larry had closed the door. "There's a guy out in the hall says
he's with Jean-Claude."
"A guy or a vampire?" I asked.
Larry frowned. "Not a vampire, but if you mean human I wouldn't
go that far."
"You expecting company?" I asked.
"Yes, I am."
"Who?"
He stalked to the door and put a hand on the doorknob. "Someone
I believe you've already met." He opened the door with a flourish,
stepping to one side to let me have a clear view.
Jason stood in the open door, smiling, relaxed. He was my height
exactly, not something you find in a man often. Straight blond hair
barely touched the top of his collar; his eyes were the innocent
blue of spring skies. The last time I'd seen him he'd been trying
to eat me. Werewolves will do that sometimes.
He was dressed in an oversized black sweater that hit him almost
at mid-thigh. He'd had to roll the sleeves over his wrists. His
pants were leather, laced up the side from waist to mid-calf, where
the laces vanished into boots. The lacings were loose enough that
there was a pale line of flesh all the way down.
"Hello, Anita."
"Hi, Jason. What are you doing here?"
He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm Jean-Claude's new
pet."
He said the last word like it was alright. Richard wouldn't have
said it that way.
"You didn't tell me you brought company," I said.
"We are going to be calling on the Master of the City. We must
make a good show of it."
"So a werewolf, and what . . . me?"
He sighed. "Yes, ma petite, whether you bear my marks
or not, most consider you my human servant." He raised a hand.
"Please, Anita, I know you are not my human servant in the
technical sense. But you have helped me defend my territory. You
have killed to protect me. That is the best definition of what a
human servant does."
"So, what? I have to pretend to be your human servant on this
visit?"
"Something like that," he said.
"Forget it."
"Anita, I need a show of strength here. Branson was part of
Nikolaos's territory. I gave it up because the population density
could support another group. But it was still my land, and now it's
not. Some view that as weakness rather than practicality."
"So without any marks at all you've finally got me to play
servant for you. You manipulative son of a bitch."
"You asked me down here, ma petite." A thread of warmth
cut through his words. He stalked towards me. "I am doing you a
favor, do not forget that."
"I don't think you'll let me forget," I said.
He made a harsh sound, as if he had no words for his anger. "Why
do I put up with you? You insult me at every turn. There are many
who would give their souls for what I offer you."
He stood in front of me, eyes like dark sapphires, skin white as
marble. His skin glowed like there was a light inside him. He
looked like some kind of live sculpture made of light, jewels, and
stone.
He was impressive and scary, but I'd seen it before. "Cut the
vampire powers shit, Jean-Claude. It's almost dawn; don't you have a
coffin to crawl into somewhere?"
He laughed, but it wasn't pleasant, it was bitter like the touch
of steel wool. Something to irritate rather than entice. "Our
luggage has not arrived, has it, my wolf?"
"No, master," Jason said.
"Your coffin hasn't arrived?" I asked.
"Either I have chosen a very lax skycab, or . . ." He let the
words trail off, face bland and pleasant.
"Or what?" Larry asked.
"Ma petite."
"You think the local master took your coffin," I said.
"A punishment for entering her territory without observing all
the social niceties." He looked at me when he said it.
"I suppose that's my fault," I said.
He gave that infuriating shrug. "I could have said no, ma
petite."
"Stop being so civilized about it."
"Would you be happier if I was angry?" His voice was very mild
when he said it.
"Maybe," I said. It would have made me feel less guilty, but I
didn't say that out loud.
"Go to the airport and find our luggage if you can, Jason. Bring
it back to Anita's room."
"Wait a minute. You are not moving into my room."
"It is nearly dawn, ma petite. I have no choice.
Tomorrow we will find other accommodations."
"You planned this."
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Even my deviousness knows some
bounds, ma petite. I would not willingly be without my
coffin this close to dawn."
"What are you going to do without your coffin?" Larry asked. He
looked anxious.
Jean-Claude smiled. "Do not fear, Lawrence, all I need is
darkness, or rather lack of sunlight. The coffin itself is not
absolutely necessary, simply more secure."
"I've never known a vampire that didn't sleep in a coffin," I
said.
"If I am underground in a secure place, I forego my coffin.
Though truthfully, once daylight finds me I am insensible and could
sleep on a bed of nails and not know it."
I wasn't sure I believed him. He worked harder than most at
passing for human. "You will see the truth of my words soon enough,
ma petite."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I said.
"You can sleep on the couch if you prefer, but I am telling you
truly that once full daylight arrives I will be harmless, helpless
if you like. I would be unable to molest you even if I wanted
to."
"And what other fairy tales am I supposed to believe? I've seen
you move around after dawn, hidden from light, but you worked just
fine."
"After eight hours or so of sleep, if it is still daylight I can
move around, true, but I doubt you will stay abed for eight hours.
You have clients or something, a murder investigation, some
business that will take you out and about."
"If I leave you alone, who'll see that some maid doesn't come
in, pull the curtains back and French fry you?"
The smile widened. "Concern over my well-being. I am
touched."
I looked at him. He looked pleasant, amused, but it was a mask.
His expression when he didn't want you to know what he was
thinking, but didn't want you to know that he didn't want you to
know. "What are you up to?"
"For once, ma petite, nothing."
"Yeah, right."
"If I find the coffin, I'll need to rent a truck," Jason
said.
"You can use our Jeep," Larry said.
I glared at him. "No, he can't."
"Think of it as expediency, ma petite. If Jason must
rent a truck, then I may have to spend another day in your bed. I
know you do not want that." There was amusement in his voice, and
an undercurrent of something else. It might have been
bitterness.
"I'll drive," Larry said.
"No, you won't," I said.
"It's almost dawn, Anita. I'll be alright."
I shook my head. "No."
"You can't treat me like a kid brother forever. I can drive the
Jeep."
"I promise not to eat him," Jason said.
Larry held out his hand for the keys. "You have to trust me
sometime."
I just looked at him.
"I promise to shoot anything, human or monster, that threatens
me while I'm gone." He made the Boy Scout sign, three fingers to
heaven. "You can bail me out of jail and explain that I was just
following orders."
I sighed. "Alright, dammit." I gave him the keys.
He grinned at me. "Thanks."
I shook my head. "Just hurry back, okay?"
"Anything you say."
"Just get out of here, and be careful."
Larry left with Jason trailing behind. I stared at the door
after it closed, wondering if I should have gone with them. Knowing
that Larry would have gotten mad, but mad was better than dead.
Hell, it was a simple errand; go to the airport and pick up a
coffin. What could go wrong with less than an hour of darkness
left? Shit.
"You cannot protect him, Anita."
"I can try."
Jean-Claude gave that infuriating shrug that meant anything you
wanted it to mean, and nothing at all. "Shall we retire to your
room, ma petite?"
I opened my mouth to tell him he could bunk with Larry, but
didn't say it. I didn't really believe he'd munch on Larry, but I
was sure he wouldn't munch on me. "Sure," I said.
He looked a little surprised, as if he'd expected an argument.
But I was all out of argument tonight. He could have the bed. I'd
take the couch. What could be more innocent? Biker Nuns from Hell,
but besides that.
Chapter 19
I could feel dawn pressing against the windows like a cool hand
when we got back to my room. It was very near. Jean-Claude smiled
at me. "The first time I manage to share a hotel room with you, and
there is no time." He gave an elaborate sigh. "Things never work as
I plan with you, ma petite."
"Maybe that's a hint," I said.
"Perhaps." He glanced at the closed drapes. "I must go, ma
petite. Until darkness." He shut the bedroom door a little
hurriedly. I could feel the coming light pressing around the
building. I'd noticed over the years of hunting vamps that I'd
become aware of dawn, and sunset. There had been times when I'd
struggled from disaster to disaster just to stay alive until that
soft growing pressure of light could sweep the sky and save my
cookies. For the first time I wondered what it would be like to see
it as a danger instead of a blessing.
After he'd closed the door I realized my suitcase was in the
bedroom. Damn. I hesitated, and finally knocked. No answer. I
opened the door just a crack, then farther. He wasn't in there.
Water ran in the bathroom. A line of light showed under the door.
What did vampires do in bathrooms? Better not to know.
I grabbed my suitcase from the floor and carried it out before
the bathroom door could open. I did not want to see him again. I
did not want to see what happened to him when the sun rose.
When the sun had risen enough to pulse against the closed drapes
like pale lemon liquid, I changed into a t-shirt and jeans. I had a
robe with me, but if I was going to greet both Larry and Jason I
wanted to be wearing some pants.
I called down for extra blankets and a pillow. No one bitched
that it was a quarter past dawn, and a strange time to need
bedclothes. They just brought the stuff. True class. The maid
didn't even glance at the closed bedroom door.
I spread the blanket on the couch and stared at it. It was a
pretty couch but didn't look terribly comfortable. Oh, well, virtue
had its punishments. Of course, maybe it wasn't virtue that kept me
out of the bedroom. If it had been Richard curled up in the next
room, then only moral fortitude would have kept me out. With
Jean-Claude . . . I had never seen him after dawn when he was dead
to the world. I wasn't sure I wanted to see. I knew I didn't want
to cuddle up next to him while the warmth left his body.
There was a knock on the door. I hesitated. It was probably
Larry, but then again . . . I went to the door with the Browning
naked in my hand. Beau had had a shotgun last night. Paranoia, or
caution; hard to tell the difference sometimes.
I stood to one side of the door and said, "Yes."
"Anita, it's us."
I hit the safety and put the barrel of the Browning down the
front of my jeans. It was too big a gun to wear in an inner pants
holster, but for temporary holding, that worked.
I opened the door.
Larry leaned against the doorjamb, looking rumpled and tired. He
had a McDonald's sack in one hand, and four cups shoved into one of
those Styrofoam holders. Two of the cups held coffee, the other two
sodas.
Jason had a large leather suitcase under each arm, a battered,
much smaller suitcase in his right hand, and a second McDonald's
bag in his left. He didn't look the least bit tired. A morning
person, even after no sleep at all. It was disgusting. His eyes
flicked to the gun shoved in my waistband. He noticed, but he
didn't comment. Point for him.
Larry never even blinked at the gun.
"Food?" I asked.
"I didn't eat much last night. Besides, Jason was hungry, too,"
Larry said. He came inside, putting the drinks and food on the wet
bar. None of us drank; good to use the bar for something.
Jason walked through the door sideways with the suitcases and
food, but there was no effort to it. He wasn't straining one little
bit to carry it all.
"Showoff," I said.
He sat the luggage on the floor. "This isn't even close to
showing off," he said.
I locked the door behind them. "I suppose you can bring the
coffin up single-handedly."
"No, but not because it's heavy. It's just too long. The balance
isn't right."
Great. Super werewolf. Though for all I knew, all lycanthropes
could lift that much weight. Maybe Richard could lift coffins with
one arm. It was not a comforting thought.
Jason started laying food out on the bar. Larry had already
climbed onto one of the bar stools. He was pouring sugar into one
of the coffees.
"Did you just leave the coffin in the lobby?" I asked. I had to
lay the Browning on the bar to sit down. I was just too
short-waisted to have it down my pants.
Larry sat the unopened coffee in front of me. "It's
missing."
I stared at him. "You found the suitcases but not the
coffin?"
"Yep," Jason said, as he finished dividing the food into three
piles. He'd pushed some of it in front of both of us, but the
lion's share was in front of him.
"How can you eat this early in the morning?"
"I'm always hungry," he said. He looked at me sort of
expectantly.
I let it slide. It was too easy.
"Come on, I fed you that one," he said.
"You don't seem particularly worried," I said.
He shrugged, and slid onto a bar stool. "What do you want me to
say? I've seen some weird shit since I became a werewolf. If I got
hysterical every time something went wrong, every time someone I
knew died, I'd be in the loony bin by now."
"I thought fights for dominance in the pack, except for pack
leader, weren't to the death," I said.
"People forget," he said.
"I'll have to talk to Richard when I get back in town. He hasn't
been mentioning any of this."
"Nothing to mention," Jason said. "Just business as usual."
Great. "Did anybody see who took the coffin?"
Larry answered, his voice sluggish even with the caffeine and
sugar. There's only so much you can do on no sleep at all. "No one
saw anybody take it. In fact, the only guy left from the night
shift said, 'I just turned away for a second, and it wasn't there.
Just the luggage standing there by itself.'"
"Shit," I said.
"Why take the coffin?" he asked. He drank most of his coffee.
His Egg McMuffin sat untouched in front of him. They'd put hotcakes
in front of me with a little tub of syrup beside it.
"Your breakfast is getting cold," Jason said.
He was enjoying himself too much. I frowned at him, but I opened
my coffee. I didn't want the food. "I think the master is flexing a
little muscle. What do you think, Jason?" I kept my voice
casual.
He smiled at me around a mouthful of food, swallowed, and said,
"I think whatever Jean-Claude wants me to think."
Maybe my voice had been too casual. I should really give up on
subtlety; I just wasn't good enough at it. "Did he tell you not to
talk to me?"
"No, just to be careful what I said."
"He says jump, and you say how high; is that it?"
"That's it." He ate a bite of scrambled egg, his face
peaceful.
"Doesn't that bother you?"
"I don't make the rules, Anita. I'm not an alpha anything."
"And it doesn't bother you?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Sometimes, but there's nothing I can do about it.
Why fight it?"
"I don't understand that at all," Larry said.
"Me either."
"You don't have to understand it," he said. He couldn't have
been more than twenty, but the look in his eyes wasn't young. It
was the look of someone who'd seen a lot, done a lot, and not all
of it nice. It was the look I was dreading to see on Larry's face
someday. They were nearly the same age; what had people been doing
to Jason to give him such jaded eyes?
"What do we do now?" Larry asked.
"You're the vampire experts. I'm just Jean-Claude's pet."
He said it like it didn't bother him. It would have bothered me.
I shook my head. "I'm going to call the cops, then get some
sleep."
"What are you going to tell them?" Jason asked.
"I'm going to tell them about Xavier."
"Did Jean-Claude say you could tell the cops?"
I looked at him. "I didn't ask for permission."
"Jean-Claude wouldn't like you bringing in the police."
I just stared at him.
He blinked at me. "Don't do it just because I said that,
please."
"He knows you pretty well for someone who's only met you twice,"
Larry said.
"Three times," I said. "Two out of three times, he's tried to
eat me."
Larry's eyes widened a little. "You're kidding."
"She just looks so tasty," Jason said.
"I've had about enough of you," I said.
"What's wrong? Jean-Claude and Richard both tease you."
"I'm dating both of them," I said. "I'm not dating you."
"Maybe you've got a thing for monsters. I can be just as scary
as the next guy."
I stared at him. "No," I said, "you can't. That's why you're not
alpha. That's why you're Jean-Claude's pet, because you aren't
scary enough."
Something flowed through his pale blue eyes. Something angry and
dangerous. Sitting there with his forkful of scrambled eggs, and a
Coke in one hand, he was suddenly different. It was hard to put
into words, but it raised the hair on the back of my neck.
"Ease down, wolf-boy," I said. My voice was soft, careful. I was
sitting less than a foot away from him. At this distance he could
jump me easy. The Browning was an inch away from my right hand, but
I knew better. I might grab the gun, but I'd never get it pointed
in time. I'd seen him move before, and I wasn't quick enough. Lack
of sleep was making me trusting, or stupid. Same thing.
A low, trickling growl rumbled out of him. My pulse beat a
little faster.
Larry's gun was suddenly pointing past my nose at the werewolf's
face. "Don't," Larry said. His voice was low and even, and very
damn serious.
I eased back off the bar stool, bringing the Browning with me.
Didn't really want Larry's gun to go off right next to my face.
I pointed my gun at Jason's chest, one-handed, almost casual.
"Don't ever threaten me again."
Jason stared at me. His beast lurked just behind his eyes like a
wave rushing towards the shore.
"You start going furry, and I won't wait to find out if you're
bluffing," I said.
Larry had one knee on the bar stool, gun still pointed nice and
steady. I hoped he didn't fall off the bar stool and accidentally
shoot Jason. If he shot him, I wanted it to be on purpose.
Jason's shoulders relaxed. His hands unclenched, leaving the
fork and the drink on the bar. He closed his eyes and sat very
still for nearly a full minute. Larry and I waited, guns still
pointed. Larry's eyes flicked to me. I shook my head.
Jason opened his eyes and let out a deep, sighing breath. He
looked normal again, that tension drained away. He grinned. "I had
to try."
I took another step back, putting my back to the wall. Out of
reach, I lowered the gun. Larry hesitated, but followed my
lead.
"So you tried; now what?"
He shrugged. "You're dominant to me."
"Just like that," I said.
"Would you be happier if I made you fight me?"
I shook my head.
"But I backed her up," Larry said. "She didn't do it alone."
"Doesn't matter. You're loyal to her, would risk your life for
her. There's more to being dominant than just muscle, or guns."
Larry looked puzzled. "What do you mean, dominant? I feel like
I'm missing part of the conversation."
"Why are you working so damn hard at not being human, Jason?" I
asked.
He smiled and went back to his breakfast.
"Answer me, Jason."
He finished off his eggs and said, "No."
"What's going on?" Larry said.
"Mind games," I said.
Larry made an exasperated noise. "Someone explain to me why we
had to pull a gun on someone who's supposed to be on our side."
"Jean-Claude keeps telling me Richard isn't any more human than
he is. Jason's little display helps emphasize that. Doesn't it,
wolf-boy?"
Jason ate the rest of his food like we weren't there.
"Answer me," I said.
He turned on the bar stool, putting his elbows behind him. "I
have too many masters now, Anita. I don't need another one."
"And I've got too many monsters messing with me right now. Don't
add yourself to the list, Jason."
"Is it a short list?" he asked.
"Gets shorter all the time," I said.
He smiled and slid off the bar stool. "Is anybody tired but
me?"
Larry and I stared at him. The werewolf didn't look tired—more
than I could say for us mere humans.
Jason wasn't going to answer my questions, and they weren't
important enough to shoot him over. Stalemate.
"Fine; where are you sleeping?" I asked.
"If you trust me not to eat him, in Larry's room."
"No way," I said.
"You want me here, with you?"
"I told him he could stay in my room on the ride over," Larry
said.
"That was before he pulled the werewolf crap," I said.
Larry shrugged. "You've got the Master of the City tucked into
your bed. I think I can handle one werewolf."
I didn't think so. But I didn't want to discuss it in front of
the werewolf. "No, Larry."
He was instantly angry. "What do I have to do to prove myself to
you?"
"Stay alive," I said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're not a shooter, Larry."
"I was willing to shoot him." Larry pointed to the smiling
werewolf.
"I know."
"Because I'm not trigger-happy, you don't trust me to handle
myself?"
I sighed. "Larry, please. If Jason turned furry in the middle of
the day and killed you, I couldn't live with myself."
"And if he kills you?" Larry said.
"He won't."
"Why not?" Larry asked.
"Because Jean-Claude would kill him. If he hurt you, I'd kill
him, but I don't know if Jean-Claude would avenge you. Jason's more
frightened of Jean-Claude than he is of me. Aren't you, Jason?"
Jason had sat down on the end of the couch on my blanket. "Oh,
yes."
"I don't know why," Larry said. "You're the one who kills for
Jean-Claude. He never seems to kill anyone on his own."
"Larry, who would you be more afraid of, Jean-Claude or me?"
"You wouldn't hurt me," he said.
"If you had to face one of us, which would you prefer?"
Larry looked at me for a long time. The anger drained away,
replaced by something tired and old in his eyes. "Him."
"For God's sake, why?" I asked.
"I've seen you kill a lot of people, Anita. A lot more than
Jean-Claude. He might try to frighten me to death, but you'd just
kill me."
My mouth was open, just a little. "If you really believe that
I'm more dangerous than Jean-Claude, then you haven't been paying
attention."
"I didn't say you were more dangerous. I said you'd kill me
quicker."
"That's why I'm not as afraid of Anita as I am of Jean-Claude,"
Jason said.
Larry looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"All she'll do is kill me, quick, neat. Jean-Claude wouldn't
kill me quick, or easy. He'd make sure it hurt."
The two men stared at each other. Each one's logic was sound as
far as it went. I was with Jason. "If you really believe what
you're saying, Larry, then you haven't seen enough vampires."
"How am I ever going to see enough vampires if you keep me at
arm's length, Anita?"
Had I really kept him out of it that much? Had I overprotected
him? Let him see my ruthlessness but not Jean-Claude's?
"And I'm going to the master's tomorrow night. You are not
leaving me behind anymore."
"You're right," I said. The answer seemed to surprise both of
them.
"If you really believe that I'd kill someone quicker than
Jean-Claude would, I have overprotected you. You have to understand
how dangerous they are, Larry. How deadly, or someday I won't be
around and you'll get killed."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My stomach was tight
with fear. Fear that Larry would get killed because I'd kept him
out of it. It was something I hadn't anticipated.
"Come on, Jason," Larry said.
Jason stood up.
"No. Tomorrow you can be ass-deep in vampires with me watching.
Until you understand how dangerous the monsters are, I don't want
you alone with them."
His eyes were angry and hurt. I'd undercut his confidence, his
self-esteem. But . . . what else could I do?
Larry turned abruptly on his heel and left. He didn't argue. He
didn't say goodbye. He slammed the door behind him, and I fought an
urge to follow him. What could I say? I leaned my forehead against
the door, and whispered, "Damn."
"Do I get the couch?" Jason asked.
I turned and leaned against the door. I still had the Browning
in my hand, though I wasn't sure why anymore. I was getting tired,
sloppy. "No, I get the couch."
"Where do you want me, then?"
"I don't care; just not near me."
He ran his hands down the edge of the blanket, running the cloth
between his fingers. "If you're really sleeping out here, I'd just
as soon have the bed."
"It's taken," I said.
"How big is the bed?"
"King-size, but what difference does it make?"
"Jean-Claude won't mind if I share with him. He'd prefer it was
you, but . . ." He shrugged.
I looked at him, at his tranquil, pleasant face. "Is this the
first time you've shared a bed with Jean-Claude?"
"No," he said.
It must have shown on my face, because he lowered the high neck
of the sweater enough for me to see two fang marks. I pushed away
from the wall and walked closer. Close enough to see that the bite
was almost healed.
"Sometimes he likes a snack when he first wakes up," Jason
said.
"Jesus," I said.
Jason let go of the collar, and it slid over the bite like it
wasn't there. The same way you'd hide a hickey. Jason sat there
looking harmless. He was exactly my height, and had the face of a
knowledgeable angel.
"Richard didn't let Jean-Claude snack on him," I said.
"No," he said.
"No. That's all you have to say."
"What do you want me to say, Anita?"
I thought about that for a second. "I want you to be outraged.
Angry."
"Why?"
I shook my head. "Go to bed, Jason. You're making me tired."
He went into the bedroom without another word. I didn't peek to
see if he changed into a wolf and curled up on the carpet, or if he
crawled into bed beside the corpse. None of my business, or at
least nothing I wanted to see.
Chapter 20
I put the Browning under the pillow with the safety on. At home
with the gun in the special holster I'd added to the headboard of
the bed, the safety would have been off. But I'd look pretty silly
if I accidentally shot myself during the night—day—trying to
protect myself from werewolves.
The Firestar I put under the couch cushion, safety on. Normally
it would have been in my luggage, but I was feeling just a little
insecure.
The knives were in the luggage. Things weren't quite dangerous
enough to wear the wrist sheaths to bed. Besides, they weren't very
comfortable, not to sleep in, anyway.
I had just settled down for a long day's sleep when I realized I
hadn't called Special Agent Bradford. Damn. I threw the blanket
back and padded to the telephone in nothing but a t-shirt and
undies. Yes, the Browning came with me. Doesn't do you a damn bit
of good to have a weapon if it isn't with you.
I dialed the number and got no answer. Fancy that. Didn't
everyone work twenty-four hours a day? I had his beeper number.
Could the news about Xavier wait? Would even having the name help
them? Agent Bradford had made it very clear that I was persona non
grata. First, Freemont had blackballed me; second, the Quinlans
were threatening to sue everybody unless I was kept away from the
case. I'd done such a bang-up job protecting their family, they
didn't want a repeat. They seemed to think I'd get their son
killed. Fancy that.
I had Bradford's beeper number. He'd given strict orders that if
I found out anything I was to tell him, and only him. Made me not
want to tell him a bloody thing. But who was I to say the FBI
didn't have a vampire file somewhere? Maybe the name would mean
something to them. Maybe it would help them find Jeff. Besides,
Jean-Claude hadn't told me not to give Xavier's name to the cops. I
used the beeper number. I left my phone number. Now I could either
go back to bed, and let his return call wake me, or I could sit in
the chair for a few minutes and wait. I waited.
The phone rang in under five minutes. I like a man who returns
his pages promptly. I said "Hello," in case it wasn't him. It
was.
"Special Agent Bradford. This number was on my beeper." His
voice was rough with sleep.
"This is Anita Blake."
A moment of silence, then, "Do you know what time it is?"
"I haven't been to bed yet, so yeah, I know what time it
is."
Another silence. "What do you want, Ms. Blake?"
I took a deep breath and let it out slow. Getting mad would not
be helpful. "I have a possible name for the vampire that's been
slaughtering kids."
"What's the name?"
"Xavier."
"Last name?"
"Vampires don't have last names, as a general rule."
"Thank you for the name, Ms. Blake. How did you get it?"
I thought about that for a few seconds. I couldn't think of a
really good answer. "It sort of fell into my lap."
"Why don't I believe that, Ms. Blake? I thought I'd made myself
clear this evening. You are not to involve yourself in this case,
in any way."
"Look, I didn't have to call, but I want Jeff Quinlan back
alive. I thought the FBI might be able to use the name of the
vampire who took him."
"I want to know how you got the name," he said.
"An informant."
"I'd like to talk to this informant," he said.
"No," I said.
"Are you withholding information from a federal investigation,
Ms. Blake?"
"No, Agent Bradford, I am going out of my way to share
information."
He was quiet again. "Alright, Ms. Blake, you're right. Thank you
for the name. We'll run it in the computers."
"This vampire has a history of harming preadolescent boys. He's
a pedophile."
"Good lord, a vampire pedophile." He finally sounded genuinely
interested in what I was saying. "And he has the Quinlan boy."
"Yeah," I said.
"I would really like to talk to this source of yours," he
said.
"He's a little shy around the police."
"I could insist, Ms. Blake. We've got reports that a private jet
flew in last night, and a coffin got unloaded. It's registered to a
J. C. Corporation. They seem to own a lot of vampire-related, St.
Louis-based businesses. Do you know anything about that, Ms.
Blake?"
Lying to the FBI seemed like a bad idea, but I wasn't sure what
they'd do with the truth. The Feds were investigating vampire
crime, and suddenly a new vamp shows up in town. The least they
would do was question him. The worst . . . well, there was the
vampire in Mississippi that had been accidentally transferred to a
cell with a window. The sun rose, and . . . French fried vampire.
An ACLU lawyer had sued the cops' asses, and won, but that didn't
bring the vamp back. Admittedly the dead vamp was one of the newly
dead. Jean-Claude would have escaped fairly easily, but just
escaping from the law by using vampire powers would get a warrant
for his arrest. Sort of like what was happening to Magnus.
Besides, a vampire had killed a cop last night. The police might
not be terribly careful with any vampire right now. The police are
only human, after all.
"You still there, Blake?"
"I'm here."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Where was the coffin delivered?" I asked.
"It wasn't. It just disappeared."
"So what do you want from me?"
"There was some luggage that went with it. The luggage was
picked up a little while ago by two young men. The description of
one of them sounds a lot like Larry Kirkland."
"Is that so?"
"That's so."
We both sat on our ends of the phone waiting for someone to say
something. "I could send some agents down to your hotel room."
"There are no coffins in my hotel room, Agent Bradford."
"You sure of that, Blake?"
"My hand to God."
"Do you know who runs this J. C. Corporation?"
"No." It was the truth. Until Bradford told me about it, I'd
never heard of the J. C. Corporation. It would only have been an
educated guess if I'd said Jean-Claude owned it. Okay, I was
fooling myself, but so what?
"Do you know where the coffin was delivered?" he asked.
"Nope."
"Would you tell me if you knew?"
"If it would help find Jeff Quinlan, you bet."
"Alright, Blake, but no more helping. Stay the fuck out of this
case. When we find the vampires we'll call you in, and you can do
your job. You're a vampire hunter, not a cop. Try to remember
that."
"Fine," I said.
"Good. Now I'm going back to sleep. I suggest you do the same.
We'll find the vampires today, Blake. And let's just say I don't
believe everything Freemont said. We'll call you in for the
kill."
"Thanks."
"Good night, Blake."
"Good night, Bradford."
We hung up. I sat there for a minute, just letting it all sink
in. If they found Jean-Claude in my room, what would they do? I'd
seen the cops pop a comatose vampire in a body bag, transport it to
the station house, and wait for nightfall to question it. I'd
thought it was a bad idea because the vamp would wake up pissed. It
did. I ended up killing it. I've always felt bad about that
particular kill. It was an out-of-state job. The local cops invited
me in to advise them. Once we found the vamp, they stopped
listening to my advice. Reminded me of now. That vampire had also
just been brought in for questioning.
I was suddenly tired. It was like the entire night just hit me
in one grinding wave. Sleep dragged at me. I had to go to sleep. I
couldn't help Jeff Quinlan, or anybody else, until I'd had a few
hours of sleep. Besides, maybe the Feds would find him. Stranger
things had happened.
I left a wake-up call with the desk for noon, and cuddled under
the blanket. The Browning was lumpy under the pillow. At least I
couldn't feel the Firestar under the couch cushion. I half wished
I'd packed Sigmund, my stuffed toy penguin, but somehow having
Jean-Claude or Jason find me sleeping with a stuffed toy bothered
me almost as much as them trying to eat me. What price
machismo?
Chapter 21
Someone was banging on the door. I opened my eyes to a room
filled with soft, indirect sunlight. The curtains in here weren't
nearly as thick as the ones in the bedroom. Which was why I was out
here and Jean-Claude was in there.
I struggled into the jeans I'd left on the floor and yelled,
"I'm coming."
The banging stopped, then it sounded like they kicked the door.
Was this a federal wake-up call? I went to the door with the
Browning in my hand. Somehow I didn't think the FBI would be so
rude. I stood to the side of the door and asked, "Who is it?"
"It's Dorcas Bouvier." She kicked the door again. "Open this
damn door."
I peeked through the little peephole. It was Dorcas Bouvier, or
her evil twin. She didn't have a weapon in sight. I was probably
safe. I put the Browning under the t-shirt in the waistband of my
pants. The t-shirt was a large and fell to mid-thigh. It hid the gun
and then some.
I unlocked the door and stood to one side. Dorcas shoved the
door open, leaving it swinging open behind her. I closed and locked
the door, leaning against it watching her.
Dorcas stalked through the room like some sort of exotic cat.
Her waist-length, chestnut hair swung like a curtain as she moved.
She finally turned and glared at me with those sea-green eyes that
were a mirror of her brother's. The pupil had spiraled downward to
a pinpoint, leaving the irises floating and making her look almost
blind.
"Where is he?"
"Where's who?" I asked.
She glared at me and went for the bedroom door. I couldn't get
there in time to stop her, and I wasn't willing to shoot her
yet.
When I came up behind her she was two steps into the bedroom,
back rigid, staring at the bed. It was worth staring at.
Jean-Claude lay on his back with the wine-dark sheets pulled up
to mid-chest. One shoulder and a pale, pale arm were stretched
across the dark sheets. In the semidarkness his hair blended with
the pillow to leave his face white and nearly ethereal.
Jason lay on his stomach. The only things under the sheet were
one leg and, barely, his buttocks. If he was wearing clothes, I
couldn't tell. He raised up on his elbows and turned to us. His
yellow hair had fallen into his face, and he blinked like he'd been
deeply asleep. He smiled when he saw Dorcas Bouvier.
"It isn't Magnus," she said.
"No," I said, "it isn't. You want to talk outside?"
"Don't go on my account," Jason said. He rolled onto one elbow.
The silken sheet slid across his hips as he moved.
Dorcas Bouvier turned on her heel and marched out of the room. I
closed the door to the sound of Jason's laughter.
Dorcas looked shaken, embarrassed even. Good to see. I was
embarrassed, too, but didn't know what to do about it. Trying to
explain your way out of situations like this never works. People
are always willing to believe the worst of you. So I didn't try. I
just stood there looking at her. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
After a nice uncomfortable silence that caused heat to wash up
her face, she said, "I don't know what to say. I thought my brother
was in there. I . . ." She met my eyes finally. She was already
regaining her composure, her surety of purpose. You could watch it
solidify in her eyes. She was here for more than rousting her
brother out of my bed.
"Why in the world would you think Magnus was here?"
"May I sit down?"
I motioned her to a seat. She sat in one of the chairs, spine
very straight, perfect posture. My stepmother, Judith, would have
been proud. I leaned on the arm of the couch because I couldn't sit
down with the Browning down my pants. I wasn't sure how she'd take
me being armed, so I didn't want to show the gun. Some people
freeze up around firearms. Go figure.
"I know Magnus was with you last night."
"With me?" I said.
"I don't mean . . ." Heat crept up her face again. "I don't mean
with you. I mean I know you saw him last night."
"He tell you that?"
She shook her head, making her hair slide like fur over her
shoulders. It was eerily reminiscent of Magnus. "I saw you
together."
I studied her face, trying to read past the embarrassment. "You
weren't there last night."
"Where?" she asked.
I frowned at her. "How did you see us?"
"You admit you saw him last night, then," she said. Her
eagerness came back in a rush.
"What I want to know is how you saw us together."
She took a deep breath. "That's my business."
"Magnus said his sister was better at visions than he was. Is
that true?"
"What didn't he tell you?" she asked. She was angry again. Her
emotions seemed to collide, spinning too fast over her face and
voice.
"He didn't tell me why he ran from the police."
She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "I don't know
why he ran. It doesn't make any sense." She looked back up at me. "I
know he didn't kill those children."
"I agree," I said.
Surprise showed on her face. "I thought you told the police he
did it."
I shook my head. "No, I told them he could have done it. I never
said he did it."
"But . . . The detective was so sure. She said you'd told
her."
I cursed softly under my breath. "Detective Freemont?"
"Yes."
"Don't believe everything she tells you, especially about me.
She doesn't seem to like me very much."
"If you didn't tell them, then why are they so sure Magnus did
these horrible things? He would have no reason to kill these
people."
I shrugged. "Magnus isn't wanted for the killings anymore.
Didn't anybody tell you that?"
She shook her head. "No. You mean he can come back home?"
I sighed. "It's not that simple. Magnus used glamor on the
police to escape. That's a felony all on its own. The cops will
kill him on sight, Ms. Bouvier. They don't mess around where magic
is concerned. Can't say I blame them."
"I saw the two of you talking outside under the sky."
"I did see him last night."
"Did you tell the police?"
"No."
She stared at me. "Why not?"
"Magnus is probably guilty of something, or he wouldn't have
run, but he deserves better treatment than he's getting."
"Yes," she said, "he does."
"What made you think he'd be in my bed?"
She looked down at her lap again. "Magnus can be very
persuasive. I can't remember the last time a woman told him no. I
apologize for assuming that about you." She stopped, glanced
towards the bedroom, then back to me. She blushed again.
I was not going to explain how I ended up with two males in my
bed. Surely it was obvious from the blanket and pillow that I'd
slept out here. Surely.
"What do you want from me, Ms. Bouvier?"
"I want to find Magnus before he gets himself killed. I thought
you could help me. How could you have betrayed Magnus to the
police? Surely you know what it's like to be different."
I wanted to ask if it showed, if she could see "Necromancer"
written across my forehead, but I didn't. If the answer was yes, I
wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"If he hadn't run away, they would have simply questioned him.
They didn't have enough to arrest him. Do you have any idea why he
ran?"
She shook her head. "I've tried to think of something, anything,
but it doesn't make any sense to me, Ms. Blake. My brother is a
little amoral, but he's not a bad man."
I wasn't sure you could be a little amoral, but I let it slide.
"If he turns himself in to me, I'll walk him into the police
station. But short of that, I don't know what I can do."
"I've been everywhere I can think of, but he's just not there. I
even checked the mound."
"The mound?" I asked.
She stared up at me. "He didn't tell you about the
creature?"
I thought about lying to see if I could get information, but the
look in her eyes told me I'd blown it. "He didn't mention any
creature."
"Of course; if he had told you, the police would be down there
with dynamite. Dynamite won't kill it, but it would screw our
magical wards six ways to Sunday."
"What creature?" I asked.
"Is there anything Magnus told you that you didn't tell the
police?" Dorcas asked.
I thought about that for a second. "No."
"He was right not to tell you."
"Maybe, but I'm trying to help him now."
"Do you have a guilty conscience?" she asked.
"Maybe," I said.
She looked at me. Her pupils had resurfaced, and she looked
almost normal. Almost. "How can I trust you?"
"You probably can't. But I do want to help Magnus. Please talk
to me, Ms. Bouvier."
"I have to have your word that you won't tell the police. I am
serious, Ms. Blake. If the police interfere, they could loose the
thing and people would die."
I debated but couldn't see any reason the police would need to
know. "Okay, I give you my word."
"I may not have Magnus's way with glamor, but an oath to one of
the fey is a serious matter, Ms. Blake. Lying to us tends to go
badly."
"Is that a threat?"
"Think of it as a warning." The air moved between us like heat
rising off a road. Her eyes swirled like miniature whirlpools.
Maybe I should have shown her my gun. "Don't threaten me,
Dorcas. I'm not in the mood."
The magic seemed to seep away like water running into a crack in
the rocks. You knew it was still there, below the surface. But for
someone who had been threatened by werewolves and vampires, she
paled in comparison. Magnus seemed to have most of the talent in
the family. On the scale of scariness, Magnus was up there.
"Just so we understand each other, Ms. Blake. If you tell the
police and they let loose the creature, the deaths will be on your
head."
"Alright, I'm impressed; now tell me about it."
"Did Magnus tell you about our ancestor, Llyn Bouvier?"
"Yeah, he was the first European in this area. He married into
the local tribe. Converted them to Christianity. He was also
fey."
She nodded. "He brought another fey with him."
"A wife?" I asked.
"No, he had captured one of the less intelligent fairies. He
imprisoned it in a magically constructed box. It escaped and
slaughtered nearly the entire tribe we're descended from. He
finally managed to contain it with the help of an Indian shaman, or
priest, but he never regained control over it. The best he could do
was to imprison it."
"What kind of fairie did he bring over?"
"Bloody Bones isn't just the name of our bar," she said. "It's
short for Rawhead and Bloody Bones."
My eyes widened. "But that's a nursery boggle; why would your
ancestor want to capture one? They don't have any treasure, or
wishes, to give out. Or am I wrong on that?"
"No, you're quite correct. Bloody Bones has no riches or gentle
magic to grant wishes."
"Then why capture it?"
"Most children born of human and fairie blood don't have a lot
of magic."
"That's what the legends say," I said, "but Magnus proves that
wrong."
"Llyn Bouvier made a sort of pact for himself and his
descendants. We would all have fey power, at a price."
She was dragging this out, and I was tired. "Just tell me, Ms.
Bouvier. The suspense is getting irritating."
"Has it ever occurred to you that this might be embarrassing for
me to admit?" she asked.
"No; if that's the case, I apologize."
"My ancestor imprisoned Bloody Bones so he could make a potion
of its blood. But the potion had to be remade periodically,
retaken, or his magic deserted him."
I stared at her. "How did the other fey take this little
idea?"
"He was forced to flee Europe, or they would have killed him. It
is forbidden among us to use each other like that."
"I can see why."
"His barbaric act gave us glamor. Power. But it was still
purchased by blood, Ms. Blake. After Rawhead and Bloody Bones was
imprisoned, my ancestor gave up his potion. He finally saw it as
evil. Though his power faded, his children had the power of fairie
in their blood. So here we are," she said.
"So you've got Rawhead and Bloody Bones hidden in some magic box
somewhere?" I asked.
She smiled, and it made her face seem suddenly young and lovely.
I had no way of judging her age. I couldn't see a line on her face.
"When the magic failed the first time, Rawhead and Bloody Bones
grew to its full size. It is bigger than a person, almost as big as
a giant. It is imprisoned in a mound of earth and magic."
"You say it nearly wiped out an entire tribe way back when?"
She nodded.
I sighed. "I have to see where it's imprisoned."
"You promised . . ."
"I promised not to tell the police, but you've just told me
there's a giant-sized creature capable of mass destruction
imprisoned near here. I have to see that it's secure, that it's not
going to break out and start slaughtering people."
"I assure you, Ms. Blake, our family has managed for centuries.
We know what we're doing."
"If I can't tell the cops, I have to see for myself."
She stood up, trying to use her height to intimidate me. She
wasn't even close. "And you'll bring the police, right? Do you
think I'm that stupid?"
"I won't bring the cops, Ms. Bouvier, but I have to see it. If
it does break out and I didn't warn the cops, then it would be my
fault that no one was prepared."
"You can't prepare for Bloody Bones," she said. "It is immortal,
Ms. Blake, truly immortal. It cannot die. You could cut off its
head and it would not die. The police can do nothing but make
things worse."
She had a point. "I still need to see for myself."
"You are a stubborn woman."
"Yeah, I can be a real pain in the ass, Ms. Bouvier. Let's not
dance, just take me to see the prison, and if it's secure I'll
leave you to it."
"If it's not secure enough for you?" she asked.
"We contact a witch and see what she recommends."
She frowned. "You wouldn't just go to the police?"
"If my home was robbed, I'd call the cops. If I need help with
magic, I call somebody who can do magic."
"You are a strange woman, Ms. Blake. I don't understand
you."
"There's a lot of that going around," I said. "Do I get to see
where Rawhead and Bloody Bones is buried, or not?"
"Alright, I'll show you."
"When?"
"Without Magnus we're shorthanded at the bar, so not today. Come
to the bar around three tomorrow. I'll take you from there."
"I have a coworker that I'd like to bring along," I said.
"One of those in the bedroom?"
"No."
"Why do you want to bring him?"
"Because I'm training him, and when will he ever get to see fey
magic again?" She seemed to think about it for a minute, then
nodded. "Alright, you may bring one other person with you, but no
more."
"Trust me, Ms. Bouvier, one is plenty."
"My friends call me Dorrie," she said. She held out her
hand.
"I'm Anita." I shook her hand. She had a nice, firm grip for a
woman. Sexist but true. Most women don't seem to know how to give a
good handshake.
She held my hand longer than she had to. When she took her hand
back, I remembered Magnus's clairvoyance. Dorrie turned those wide,
eerie eyes to me. She held her hand to her chest like it hurt. "I
see blood, and pain, and death. It follows you like a cloud, Anita
Blake."
I watched horror seep into her eyes. Horror at the brief glimpse
she'd had of me, my life, my past. I didn't look away. If you're
not ashamed, you don't need to look away. Sometimes I would prefer
a different line of work, but it's what I do, who I am.
The look faded from her eyes, and she blinked. "I won't
underestimate you, Anita."
Dorrie looked normal again, or as normal as she had when she
first came in, which wasn't very. Now for the first time I looked
at her and wondered if I was seeing what was really there. Was she
using glamor on me now, to appear normal? To appear less powerful
than she was?
"I'll return the favor, Dorrie."
She flashed me that lovely smile again that made her seem young
and vulnerable. Illusion, maybe? "Until tomorrow, then."
"Until tomorrow," I said.
She left, and I locked the door behind her. So Magnus's family
were the guardians of a monster. Had that had something to do with
why he ran? Dorrie didn't think it was a reason. She should know.
But there was a feeling in the room of power gently moving on the
air currents. A faint whiff of magic traced the air like perfume,
and I hadn't known it until just before she left. Maybe Dorrie was
just as good with glamor as Magnus, just more subtle. Could I
really trust Dorrie Bouvier? Hmmm.
Why had I asked if Larry could go along? Because I knew it would
please him. It might even make up for treating him so badly in
front of Jason. But standing there, sensing Dorrie Bouvier's power
hanging like a ghost in the air, I wasn't sure it was a good idea.
Oh, hell, I knew it wasn't, but I was going, and Larry would go,
too. He had a right to go. He even had a right to endanger himself.
I couldn't keep him safe forever. He was going to have to learn to
take care of himself. I hated it, but I knew it was true.
I wasn't ready to cut the apron strings, but I was going to have
to lengthen them a bit. I was going to give Larry the proverbial
rope. Here was hoping he didn't hang himself.
Chapter 22
I slept most of the day, and when I woke up, I discovered that
nobody would let me come play. Everybody was running scared of the
Quinlan lawsuit, and I was persona non grata everywhere I tried to
go. Agent Bradford sent me packing, and threatened to have me
jailed for obstruction of justice and hampering a police
investigation. That's gratitude for you. The day was a bust. The
only person who would talk to me was Dolph. All he could tell me
was that they hadn't found any sign of Jeff Quinlan, or his
sister's body. No one had seen Magnus either. The cops were
questioning people, searching for clues, while I twiddled my
thumbs, but neither of us came up with anything useful.
I watched darkness fall with a sense of relief; at least now we
could get on with it. Larry had gone back to his room. I hadn't
asked. Maybe he wanted to give me some privacy with Jean-Claude.
Scary thought, that. At least Larry was talking to me. Nice that
someone was.
I opened the drapes and watched the glass turn black. I'd
brushed my teeth in Larry's room today. My own bathroom was
suddenly off limits. I just didn't want to see Jason naked, and I
certainly didn't want to see Jean-Claude. So, I borrowed part of
Larry's room for the day.
I heard the bedroom door open but didn't turn. Somehow I knew
who it was. "Hello, Jean-Claude."
"Good evening, ma petite."
I turned. The room was almost in darkness. The only light was
from the streetlights outside, and the glowing sign of the hotel.
Jean-Claude stepped into that faint glow. His shirt had a collar so
high it covered his neck completely. Mother-of-pearl buttons
fastened the high collar so that his face was framed by the white,
white fabric. There must have been a dozen buttons gleaming down
the pleated front of his shirt. A black waist-high jacket that was
almost too black to be seen hid the sleeves. Only the shirt's cuffs
showed; wide and stiff, covering half his hand. He raised a hand to
the light and the cuffs bent back underneath to give his hand a
full range of motion. His tight black pants were stuffed into
another pair of black boots. They came all the way up his legs, so
that he was encased in leather; black on black buckled straps held
the soft leather in place.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"Yeah, it's spiffy."
"Spiffy?" There was an edge of humor to that one word.
"You just can't take a compliment," I said.
"My apologies, ma petite. It was a compliment. Thank
you."
"Don't mention it. Can we go get your coffin now?"
He stepped out of the light, so I couldn't see his face. "You
make it sound so simple, ma petite."
"Isn't it?"
Silence then, so thick the room felt empty. I almost called out
to him; instead I walked to the bar and turned on the track
lighting above it. The soft white light glowed in the dark like a
lighted cave. I felt better with the light. But with my back to
where I thought he should be, I couldn't sense Jean-Claude. The
room felt empty. I turned and there he was, sitting in one of the
chairs. Even when I looked at him, there was no sense of movement.
It was like a stop-action picture waiting for the switch to go
on.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," I said.
He turned his head and looked at me. His eyes were solid
darkness. The faint light picked up blue sparks from them. "Do
what, ma petite?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. What's so complicated about tonight?
I feel like you're not telling me everything."
He stood in one smooth motion almost like he skipped part of the
process, and was just suddenly on his feet. "It is within our rules
for Serephina to challenge me tonight."
"Is that the master's name, Serephina?"
He nodded.
"You don't think I'll tell the cops?"
"I will take you to her, ma petite. There will be no
time for your impatience to make you foolish."
If I'd been stuck here all day with nothing much to do, but had
had the name, would I have tried to find her on my own? Yeah, I
would have.
"Fine, let's go."
He paced the room, smiling and shaking his head. "Ma
petite, do you understand what it will mean if she challenges
me tonight?"
"It means we fight them, right?"
He stopped pacing and came into the light. He slid onto one of
the bar stools. "There is no fear in you, none."
I shrugged. "Being afraid doesn't help. Being prepared does. Are
you afraid of her?" I looked at him, trying to read that lovely
mask.
"I do not fear her power. I believe us to be near equals in
that, but let us say I am wary. All things being equal, I am still
in her territory with only one of my wolves, my human servant, and
Monsieur Lawrence. It is not the show of force I would have chosen
to confront her after two centuries.
"Why didn't you bring more people? More werewolves, anyway."
"If I had had time to negotiate more of an entourage I would
have, but with the rush . . ." He looked at me. "There was no time
to bargain."
"Are you in danger?"
He laughed, and it wasn't entirely pleasant. "Am I in danger,
she asks. When the council asked me to divide my lands, they
promised to set in place someone of power equal to or less than
mine. But they did not expect me to enter her territory so
unprepared."
"Who are they? What council?"
He cocked his head to one side. "Have you really come among us
so long and not heard of our council?"
"Just tell me," I said.
"We have a council, ma petite. It has existed for a
very long time. It is not so much a governing body as a court, or
police, perhaps. Before your courts made us citizens with rights,
we had very few rules, and only one law. Thou shalt not draw
attention to yourself. That's the law that Tepes forgot."
"Tepes," I said, "Vlad Tepes? You mean Dracula?"
Jean-Claude just looked at me. His face was perfectly blank, no
expression. He looked like a particularly lovely statue, if a
statue's eyes could glitter like sapphires. I could not read that
expressionless face, nor was I meant to.
"I don't believe you."
"About the council, our law, or Tepes?"
"The last part."
"Oh, I assure you we did kill him."
"You make it sound like you were around when it happened. He
died in, what, the 1300s?"
"Was it 1476, or was it 1477?" He made a great show of trying to
remember.
"You are not that old," I said.
"Are you sure, ma petite?" He turned that unnervingly blank face
to me; even his eyes went dead and empty. It was like looking at a
well-constructed doll.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
He smiled, and sighed. Life, for lack of a better word, rushed
back into his face, his body. It was like watching Pinocchio spring
to life.
"Shit."
"So nice to know that I can still unnerve you from time to time,
ma petite." I let that go. He knew exactly the effect he
had on me. "If Serephina is your equal, then you take care of her,
and I'll shoot everybody else."
"You know it will not be that simple."
"It never is."
He stared at me, smiling.
"Do you really think she'll challenge you?"
"No, but I wanted you to know that she could."
"Is there anything else I need to know?"
He smiled wide enough to flash a little bit of fang. He looked
wonderful in the light. His skin was pale but not too pale. I
touched his hand. "You're warm."
He glanced up at me. "Yes, ma petite; what of it?"
"You've slept an entire day. You should be cold to the touch
until after you've fed."
He just looked at me with his drowning eyes.
"Shit," I said. I went for the bedroom. He didn't try to stop
me. He didn't even try. It made me nervous. I was half-running by
the time I hit the door.
All I could see was a pale outline on the bed. I turned on the
switch by the door. The overhead light was glaring, and
merciless.
Jason lay on his stomach, blond hair bright against the dark
pillows. He was naked except for a pair of vibrant blue bikini
briefs. I walked towards the bed, staring at his back, willing him
to breathe. When I was almost at the bed I could see him breathe.
Something tight in my chest loosened.
I had to kneel on the edge of the bed to reach him. I touched
his shoulder. He moved under my hand. I rolled him onto his side,
and he didn't try to help. He was totally passive. He stared up at
me with heavy-lidded eyes. Two thin crimson lines flowed down his
neck. Not a lot of blood, at least not spilled onto the sheets. I
had no way of knowing how much he'd lost. How much Jean-Claude had
taken.
Jason smiled at me. It was a slow, lazy smile.
"Are you alright?"
His hand slid around my waist as he rolled onto his back.
"I'll take that as a yes." I tried to back off the bed, but his
arm was firm around me, holding me. He pulled me down to his chest.
I pulled the Browning on the way down. He could have stopped me,
but he didn't try.
I shoved the gun against his ribs. My other hand was pressed to
his bare chest, trying to hold my face a little above his. He
raised his face towards mine.
"I will pull this trigger."
He stopped with his face inches from mine. "I'll heal."
"Is one kiss worth getting a hole punched in your side?"
"I don't know," he said. "Everyone else seems to think so." His
face moved towards me slowly, giving me plenty of time to
decide.
"Jason, release her, now." Jean-Claude's voice filled the room
with whispers like tiny echoes.
Jason let me go. I slid off the bed, the gun still naked in my
hand.
"I need my wolf tonight, Anita. Try not to shoot him until after
we've seen Serephina."
"Tell him to stop hitting on me," I said.
"Oh, I shall, ma petite, I shall."
Jason lay back against the pillows. He raised one knee, his
hands lying across his stomach. He looked relaxed, lascivious, but
his eyes stayed on Jean-Claude.
"You are almost the perfect pet, Jason, but do not provoke
me."
"You never said she was off limits."
"I am saying it now," Jean-Claude said.
Jason sat up on the bed. "I'll be a perfect gentleman from now
on."
"Yes," Jean-Claude said, "you will." He stood there in the
doorway, still lovely to look at, but dangerous. You could feel it
building in the room, whispering through his voice. "Leave us for a
moment, ma petite."
"We don't have time for this," I said.
Jean-Claude looked at me. His eyes were still a solid midnight
blue; the whites had drowned. "Are you protecting him?"
"I don't want him hurt because he got out of hand with me."
"Yet you would have shot him."
I shrugged. "I never said I was consistent, just serious."
Jean-Claude laughed. The abrupt change in mood made both Jason
and me jump. His laughter was rich and thick as chocolate, as if
you could pull it from the air and eat it.
I glanced at Jason. He was watching Jean-Claude the way a
well-trained dog will watch its master, looking for clues to what
its master wanted next.
"Get dressed, my wolf, and you, ma petite, you must
change as well."
I was wearing black jeans and a royal blue polo shirt. "What's
wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"We must make a show of it tonight, ma petite. I would
not ask if it were not important."
"I am not wearing a dress tonight."
He smiled. "Of course not. Just something a little more stylish.
If your young friend does not have anything suitable, I believe he
and Jason are about the same size. I'm sure we could find
something."
"You'll have to talk to Larry about that."
Jean-Claude looked at me for a heartbeat. "As you like, ma
petite. Now, if you would leave Jason to dress? I will stay in
here until you have chosen more appropriate attire."
I wanted to argue. I didn't like being told what to wear, or
what not to wear. But I let it go. I'd been around vampires enough
to know they admired the spectacular, or the dangerous. If
Jean-Claude said we needed to make a show of it, maybe he was
right. It wouldn't kill me to dress up a little. It might get us
all killed to refuse. I just didn't know the rules in this
situation. I suspected that there weren't any.
I hadn't packed with meeting a master vampire in mind, so my
choices were sort of limited. I settled for a crimson blouse with a
high collar and a spill of lace down the front. There was even a
little frilly cuff at each sleeve. It looked like a cross between a
Victorian blouse and a business shirt. It would have looked very
conservative if it hadn't been screaming vermillion red. I hated
the idea of wearing it, because I knew Jean-Claude would like it.
Except for the color, it looked like something he might wear.
I put the all-purpose black jacket over the blouse. With both
guns, both knives, and a cross around my neck inside the blouse, I
was ready to go.
"Ma petite, may we come out?"
"Sure."
He opened the door and took it all in with a glance. "You look
splendid, ma petite. I appreciate the makeup."
"I look pale in crimson without it."
"Of course; do you have other shoes?"
"I only have the Nikes and high heels. I move better in the
Nikes."
"The blouse was more than I hoped for; keep your jogging shoes.
They are black, at least."
Jason walked out of the bedroom. He was wearing black leather
pants tight enough that I knew he wasn't wearing the underwear
anymore. The top was vaguely oriental with one of those upright
collars and one black button, the kind where a loop of thread comes
over the button. The sleeves were full, and the collar was a soft
shining blue that matched his eyes to perfection. It was
embroidered in yellow so dark it looked gold, and darker blue
thread. The sleeves, collar, and edge of the fabric were
embroidered black on black. When Jason moved, the shirt gaped just
a little, enough to show glimpses of his bare stomach. Soft black
boots rode up over his knees.
"Well, I know who your tailor is," I said. I was going to be
woefully underdressed.
"If you would fetch Monsieur Kirkland. When he is dressed, we
can go."
"Larry may not want to change."
"Then he won't. I will not force him."
I looked at him, not quite sure I believed him, but I got Larry.
He agreed to go into the bedroom and see what other goodies were in
the luggage, but he didn't promise to change.
He came out still wearing dark blue jeans and Nikes. He had
changed his T-shirt for a silk dress shirt that was a rich, vibrant
blue. It made his eyes look even bluer than usual. A black leather
jacket that was just a touch big in the shoulders hid his shoulder
holster. I guess it was an improvement over the oversized flannel
he'd been wearing. The collar of the shirt was spread over the
jacket so that it framed his face.
"You should see some of the stuff in there," Larry said. He
shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it. "I wouldn't even
know how to get into some of it."
"You look nice," I said.
"Thanks."
"Can we go now?" I asked.
"Yes, ma petite, we can go. It will be interesting to
meet Serephina after two centuries."
"I know this is old home week for you, but let's remember why
we're here," I said. "Xavier has Jeff Quinlan. Who knows what he's
doing to him? I want him home safe. It's the second night. We have
to get to him tonight, or find someone else who can."
Jean-Claude nodded. "Then let us be off, ma petite.
Serephina awaits us." He sounded almost eager, like he was looking
forward to seeing her. For the first time I wondered if he and
Serephina had been lovers. I knew Jean-Claude wasn't a virgin. I
mean, get real. But knowing he had lovers and meeting one were two
different things. I realized with a start that it would bother
me.
He smiled at me, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. The
whites of his eyes had reappeared. It made him look almost human.
Almost.
Chapter 23
Jean-Claude walked across the parking lot in his boots and
jacket, looking like someone should be snapping his picture, or
asking for an autograph. The rest of us followed like his
entourage. Which was what we were, whether I liked it or not. But
to save Jeff Quinlan I could do a little bootlicking. Even I will
toady a little if it's in a good enough cause.
"You driving, or do I get directions to Serephina's house now?"
I asked.
"I will tell you where to turn when it is time."
"You think I'm going to run to the cops with directions to her
house?"
"No," he said. That was all he said.
I frowned at him, but we all got in the Jeep. Guess who got the
front seat.
We drove out onto the main road, the Strip. The traffic was
bumper-to-bumper. If traffic is bad, it can take a couple of hours
to drive the four miles that make up the Strip. Jean-Claude had me
turn on a small road. It looked like a driveway leading to yet
another theater, but it turned out to be an access road. If you
knew your way around the smaller roads, you could avoid most of the
congestion.
You would never know from the main drag of Branson but just out
of sight, over the next hill, is the real Ozarks. Mountains,
forests, houses where people who don't make their living off
tourists live. On the Strip it was all neon and artifice; within
fifteen minutes we were surrounded by trees, on a road that wound
through the Ozark Mountains.
Darkness closed around the Jeep. The only light was a spill of
stars pressed against the blackness, and the tunnel of my own
headlights.
"You seem to be looking forward to seeing Serephina, even with
the coffin missing," I said.
Jean-Claude turned in his seat as far as the seat belt would
allow. I'd insisted everybody wear seat belts, which amused the
vampire. I guess it was silly to have a dead man buckle up, but
hey, I was driving.
"I believe Serephina still thinks of me as the very young
vampire she knew centuries ago. If she thought me a worthy
opponent, she would have confronted me or my minions directly. She
would not have simply stolen the coffin. She is overconfident."
"Speaking as one of your minions," Larry called from the back
seat, "are you sure you're not the one who's overconfident?"
Jean-Claude glanced back at him. "Serephina was centuries old
when I met her. The limit of a vampire's powers is well established
after two or three centuries. I know her limits, Lawrence."
"Stop calling me Lawrence. The name's Larry."
Jean-Claude sighed. "You have trained him well."
"He came that way," I said.
"Pity."
Jean-Claude made this sound like a hostile family reunion, or is
that an oxymoron? I hoped he was right, but one thing I've learned
about vampires—they keep pulling new rabbits out of their cloaks.
Big, fanged, carnivorous bunnies that'll eat your eyeballs if
you're not paying attention.
"What's wolf-boy in the back going to do?"
"I do what I'm told," Jason said.
"Great," I said.
We drove in silence. Jean-Claude rarely sweats small talk, and I
wasn't in the mood. We could all have a nice little visit, but out
there somewhere Jeff Quinlan had woken to a second night in
Xavier's tender care. Sort of ruined the mood for me.
"The turn is just ahead to your right, ma petite."
Jean-Claude's voice made me jump. I had sunk into the silence and
the dark hush of the highway.
I slowed the Jeep. Didn't want to miss the turnoff. A gravel
road, like a hundred other gravel roads, spilled off the main road.
There was nothing to make it stand out. Nothing special.
The road was narrow with trees growing so close on either side
it was like driving through a tunnel. The naked branches of trees
curved around us like interlocking pieces of a wall. The headlights
slid over the nearly naked trees, bouncing when the Jeep eased over
a pothole. Naked wooden fingers tapped the roof of the Jeep. It was
damn near claustrophobic.
"Geez," Larry said. He had pressed his face to the dark glass as
far as the seat belt would allow. "If I didn't know there was a
house down this road, I'd turn back."
"That is the idea," Jean-Claude said. "Many of the older ones
value their privacy above almost all else."
The headlights picked up a hole that stretched across the entire
road. It looked like a gully wash where rainwater had eaten the
road away over decades.
Larry leaned over the back of the seat, straining against his
seatbelt. "Where'd the road go?"
"The Jeep can make it," I said.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Pretty sure," I said.
Jean-Claude had settled back into the seat. He seemed totally
relaxed, almost detached, like he was listening to music I couldn't
hear, thinking thoughts that I never would understand.
Jason leaned forward, putting a hand on the back of my seat.
"Why wouldn't she pave the road? She's been here almost a
year."
I glanced back at Jason. It was interesting to find out that he
knew more about Jean-Claude's business than I did.
"This is her moat," Jean-Claude said. "Her barrier against the
curious. Many find our new status hard to accept and still closet
themselves away."
The wheels slid over the edge. It was like driving into a
crater. Miraculously, the Jeep crawled out the other side. If we'd
been in a car, we'd have had to walk.
The road climbed upward for about a hundred yards, and suddenly
on the right-hand side of the road was an opening. It didn't look
big enough to drive the Jeep through, not without scratching the
paint job to hell. The only thing that really told you it was a
clearing was the moonlight pulsing against the darkness of the
trees. That much moonlight meant something was there. Grass had
grown over a scattering of gravel that might once have been a
driveway.
"Is this it?" I asked, just to make sure.
"I believe so," Jean-Claude said.
I eased the Jeep into the trees and listened to branches slap
the sides. I hoped Stirling's company owned the Jeep, and wasn't
just renting. We crawled free of the trees with a last metallic
scritch. An acre of open land spread out before us,
silver-edged with moonlight. The grass was butchered short like
someone had bush-hogged it last fall, and left it naked and
unfinished through the winter. There was a neglected orchard behind
the house. The land rose in a gentle slope up towards the foot of a
mountain. Just beyond the bush-hogged grass was forest, thick and
untouched.
A house sat in the middle of the gentle rise. The house was
silver-grey in the moonlight. Curling flecks of paint clung here
and there, like the last sad remnants of an accident victim's
clothes. A large stone porch graced the front of the house, hid the
door and windows in a well of shadow.
"Turn off the lights, ma petite."
I looked at that dark porch and didn't want to hit the lights.
The moonlight should have penetrated those shadows.
"Ma petite, the lights."
I hit the lights. The moonlight bathed us like a wash of visible
air. The porch stayed dark and still like a cup of ink. Jean-Claude
undid his seat belt and slid out. The boys followed suit. I got out
last.
Large, flat stones were set in the grass, forming a curving
sidewalk to the foot of the steps that led up to the porch. There
was a large picture window to one side of the peeling door. The
glass was jagged. Someone had nailed plywood behind the broken
window to keep out the night air.
The smaller window on the other side of the door was intact, but
so covered in grime it was blind. The shadows were viscous, and
seemed thick enough to touch. It reminded me of the darkness that
the sword had come swinging out of. But it wasn't as thick. I could
see through this darkness. There was nothing there but shadows.
"What's with the shadows?" I asked.
"A parlor trick," Jean-Claude said. "Nothing more." He glided up
the steps without a backward glance. If he was worried, it didn't
show. Jason glided up the steps behind him. Larry and I just walked
up. It was the best we could do. The shadows were colder than they
should have been, and Larry shivered beside me. But there was no
sense of power to it. As Jean-Claude had said, a parlor trick.
The screen door had been ripped off its hinges. It lay on the
porch, torn and forgotten. Even with the protection the porch
offered, the inner door was warped and peeling, exposed to too much
weather. Leaves lay in piles at the edges of the porch railings
where the wind had blown them.
"Are you sure this is it?" Larry asked.
"I am sure," Jean-Claude said.
I understood the question. If it hadn't been for the shadows,
I'd have said the house was deserted. "The shadows would discourage
any casual passersby," I said.
"Well, I wouldn't come trick-or-treating," Larry said.
Jean-Claude glanced back at us. "Our hostess comes."
The pitted, broken door opened. I had expected a haunted-house
screech of rusty hinges but the door opened smoothly. A
woman stood in the doorway. The room behind her was dark, her body
silhouetted against the room and the night. But even in the dark I
knew two things: she was a vampire, and she wasn't old enough to be
Serephina.
The vampire was only a few inches taller than I was. She raised
an unlit candle in one hand. The hairs on the back of my neck stood
at attention, as a trickle of power slid through the room. The
candle flared to life, leaving stars dancing across my night
vision.
The vampire had brown hair, cut so short the hair on either side
of her head had been shaved. Silver stud earrings glittered up the
curve of her ears. One long earring dangled from her left ear. It
was a green enamel leaf on a silver chain. She wore a red leather
dress that was so tight on top, it was how I'd known in the dark
she was a girl. The skirt of the dress fell to her ankles, loose
once you got past the hips. A leather formal; wow.
She grinned at us, flashing fangs. "I'm Ivy." Her voice had an
edge of laughter to it, but unlike Jean-Claude's laugh that always
felt vaguely sexual, or fattening, hers felt sharp as broken glass,
meant to hurt, terrify, not titillate.
"Enter our dwelling, and be welcome." The words sounded too
formal, like a rehearsed speech, or an incantation that you don't
understand.
"Thank you, Ivy, for your most generous invitation," Jean-Claude
said. He was suddenly holding her hand. I hadn't seen him reach for
it. I hadn't seen him move. It was like I'd missed a frame of the
film. From the look on Ivy's face, so had she. She looked
pissed.
Jean-Claude raised her hand, very slowly, towards his lips. He
never took his eyes off her. The way you bow to someone on the dojo
mat, because if you look away they may spill you on your ass.
A line of wax trickled down the side of the white candle. She
was holding it in her bare fist, no candle holder. Jean-Claude
slowly raised her hand and laid his lips on the back of it. The wax
dripped faster than it should have.
He released her hand in time for her to save herself, but she
stood there and let the line of hot wax drip down her skin. Only
the faintest flicker in her eyes showed that it hurt. She left the
wax to harden on her hand. A faint redness spread from the line of
wax. She ignored it.
No more wax dripped from the candle. Usually when a candle runs
that soon, it keeps running. The wax made a little golden pool at
the top of the candle, like a drop of water under tension.
I glanced from one vampire to the other and shook my head. Does
the term "childish" mean anything to you? I didn't say it out loud,
though. For all I knew, this was some kind of ancient vampire
ritual. Though I doubted it pretty damn sincerely.
"Aren't your companions going to come inside?" Ivy stepped aside
with a swish of leather skirts, holding the candle high, lighting
our way.
Jean-Claude stepped to the other side of the door so we would
have to walk between the two vampires to get into the house. I
trusted Jean-Claude not to munch on me. I even trusted him to keep
Ivy from munching on me. But I didn't like how much fun Jean-Claude
was having. Made me nervous. I've never been around vampires that
were having a good time when it didn't get ugly.
Jason walked between them, into the house. Larry glanced at me.
I shrugged and walked inside. He followed at my heels, trusting
that if I went inside it would be okay. It probably would be.
Probably.
Chapter 24
The door closed behind us, and I don't think anybody closed it,
not with hands anyway. Safe or not, these little displays of power
were getting on my nerves.
The air in the room was utterly still, stale. It smelled musty,
dry, with an undertaste of mildew. You knew even with your eyes
closed that these rooms had been empty for a very long time. There
was an open archway to the left that led into a smaller room. I
could see a bed, complete with bedspread and pillows, so covered in
dust it looked grey. A vanity sat in one corner with its mirror
reflecting the empty room.
There was no furniture left in the living room. The wooden floor
was dust-coated. The hem of Ivy's dress trailed in the thick dust as
she moved towards a door in the far wall. A thin line of light
showed under that door. Golden and thicker than electricity. I was
betting on more candles.
The door opened before Ivy reached it. A rich wave of light
spilled out, brighter than it should have been because we'd been in
the dark so long. A male vamp stood framed in the light. He was
short, slender, with a face too young to be handsome, more pretty.
He was so newly dead that his skin still held the tan he'd picked
up at the beach, or lake, or some other sun-soaked place. He looked
frightfully young to be dead. He had to be eighteen, anything
younger and it was illegal, but he still looked delicate and
half-finished. Jailbait forever.
"I'm Bruce." He seemed vaguely embarrassed. Maybe it was the
clothes. He was dressed in a pale grey tux complete with tails, and
a charcoal grey strip down the outside leg of the pants. His gloves
were white and matched what could be seen of his shirt. His vest
was a silky grey. His bow tie and cummerbund were a red that
matched Ivy's dress. They looked like they were going to the
prom.
Two man-sized candelabra stood on either side of the door,
filling the room with moving, golden light. The room beyond was
twice the size of the living room. and had probably been the
kitchen once upon a time. But unlike the front rooms. there'd been
some redecorating.
A Persian carpet was spread across the floor. The colors were so
bright it looked like stained glass. Wall hangings covered the two
longest walls. On one wall a unicorn fled from a pack of hounds.
The other hanging was a battle scene so dimmed with age that parts
of the figures had vanished into the cloth. Bright silken drapes
covered the far end of the room, hung from the ceiling with heavy
cords. A door opened to the left of the drapes.
Ivy sat the candle she'd been holding in an empty sconce on the
candelabra. She moved in front of Jean-Claude. She had to tilt her
head up to look him in the eyes. "You are beautiful." She ran her
fingers along the edge of his jacket. "I thought they'd lied. That
nobody could be that beautiful." She fingered the mother-of-pearl
buttons, starting at his neck and working down. Jean-Claude moved
her hand when she reached the last button before the shirt
disappeared into his pants.
Ivy seemed to find that amusing. She stood on tiptoe, leaning
her hands and forearms on his chest. Her mouth was tilted towards
him, kissable. "Do you fuck as good as you look? They said you did.
But you're sooo pretty. Nobody could be that good a lay."
Jean-Claude laid his fingers on either side of her face,
cradling her jawline. He smiled at her.
Her red lips curved into a smile. She pressed against him,
letting her full weight rest against his body.
Jean-Claude kept his light touch on her face as if she wasn't
leaning full out against him.
Her smile began to fade, slipping from her face like the sun
sinking below the earth. She slid slowly down to stand flat-footed
in front of him. Her face was blank and empty in the cradle of his
hands.
Bruce the vampire jerked her back by one arm. Ivy stumbled and
would have fallen if he hadn't caught her. She looked around
bewildered, as if she expected to be elsewhere.
Jean-Claude wasn't smiling now. "It has been a long time since I
was anyone's meat that wanted me. A very long time."
Ivy stood half-collapsed in Bruce's arms. Her face was harsh
with fear. She pushed away from Bruce to stand straight and alone.
She tugged at the red dress as if to settle it into place. The fear
was mostly gone from her face; just a certain tightness remained
around the eyes.
"How did you do that?"
"Centuries of practice, little one."
Anger made her eyes dark. "You aren't supposed to be able to
capture another vampire with your gaze."
"You aren't?" he asked, his voice lilting with amazement.
"Don't you laugh at me."
I had some sympathy for her frustration. Jean-Claude can be such
a pain in the ass when he wants to be.
"You were told to lead us somewhere, children; do so."
Ivy stood in front of him, hands balled into fists. Her anger
spilled into her eyes, and the brown irises bled onto the whites of
her eyes until she looked blind. Her power breathed through the
room, creeping along the skin, raising the tiny hairs on my body as
if a finger had been run just above them.
My hand started for the Browning. Old habits.
"No, Anita, that is not necessary," Jean-Claude said. "This
little one cannot hurt me. She shows her fangs, but unless she
wishes to die on this lovely carpet she had best remember who and
what I am."
"I am the Master of the City!" His voice thundered through the
house, echoing in the room until the air was so thick with echoes
that it was like breathing his words.
When the sound died, I was shaking. Ivy had pulled herself
together. She still looked angry, but her eyes had bled back to
normal.
Bruce had laid a hand on her shoulder, as if he wasn't sure she
would listen to reason. She shook off his hand and motioned
gracefully towards the open door.
"We are to take you downstairs. Others await you there."
Jean-Claude gave a low theatrical bow, never taking his eyes
from her. "After you, my sweet. A lady should always walk before a
gentleman, never behind."
She smiled, suddenly pleased with herself again. "Then your
human lady can walk beside me."
"I don't think so," I said.
She turned innocent brown eyes to me. "Are you not a lady,
then?" She stalked towards me with an exaggerated sway of her hips.
"Did you bring us someone who is not a lady, Jean-Claude?"
I heard him sigh. "Anita is a lady. Walk beside her, ma
petite, but carefully."
"What does it matter what these assholes think of me?"
"If you are not a lady, then you are a whore. You do not want to
know what would happen to a human whore within these walls." He
seemed tired as he said it, as if he'd been there, done that, and
hadn't had a good time.
Ivy smiled at me, giving me a big dose of brown eyes. I met her
gaze and smiled.
She frowned. "You are human. You can't meet my gaze, not like
that."
"Surprise, surprise," I said.
"Shall we go?" Jean-Claude said.
Ivy frowned again, but she stepped into that open door, and down
a step or two, one hand on her dress to keep the hem from tripping
her feet. She turned and looked back at me. "Are you coming?"
I asked Jean-Claude, "How careful do I need to be?"
Larry and Jason came to stand beside me.
"Defend yourself if they offer violence first. But do not shed
the first blood, or strike the first blow. Defend, but do not
attack, ma petite. We are playing games tonight, unless
you make it more; the stakes are not that high."
I scowled at him. "I don't like this."
He smiled. "I know, but bear with us, ma petite.
Remember the human you wish to save, and control that wonderful
temper of yours."
"Well, human?" Ivy said. She was waiting for me on the steps.
She looked like an impatient child, petulant.
"I'm coming," I said. I did not run to catch up with the
waiting vampire. I walked at a normal pace, though the weight of
her gaze made my skin itch. I stopped at the head of the stairs and
peered downward. Cool, damp air pushed against my face. The smell
was thick, enclosed, and mildewed. You knew there would be no
windows, and somewhere water was eating the walls. A basement. I
hated basements.
I took a deep breath of the fetid air and walked down the steps.
They were the widest stairs I'd ever seen in a basement. The wood
felt new and raw, like they hadn't taken time to stain or sand it.
There was enough room for the two of us to share a step. I didn't
want to share a step. Maybe she wasn't a threat to Jean-Claude, but
I had no illusions about what she could do to me. She was a baby
master, not full grown yet, but the power was there bubbling under
the surface, crawling along my skin. I stopped a step above her,
waiting for her to go down.
Ivy smiled. She could smell my fear. "If we are both ladies,
then we should walk together. Come, Anita." She held out a hand to
me. "Let us go down together."
I didn't want to be that close to her. If she tried to jump me,
there wouldn't be time to do much. I might get a weapon out in
time, I might not. It irritated me that I wasn't supposed to show a
weapon first. And scared me. One of the things that's kept me alive
is shooting first and asking questions later. Doing it the other
way around was no way to stay alive.
"Is Jean-Claude's human servant afraid of me?" She stood there
framed against the darkness beyond, smiling. The basement was like
a great black pit behind her.
But she couldn't sense vampire marks, or she'd have known I
wasn't his servant. She wasn't as hot as she thought she was. I
hoped.
I ignored the outstretched hand, but walked down those two
steps. My shoulder brushed her bare skin, and it felt like worms
were crawling down my arm. I kept walking down the steps into the
dark beyond, left hand in a death grip on the railing. I heard her
high heels clattering down the steps to catch up with me. I could
feel her irritation like heat rising from her skin. I heard the
menfolk following us, but didn't look behind to check. We were
playing chicken tonight. It was one of my best games.
We went down the steps together like horses pulling a carriage,
my left hand on the railing, her hands lifting her dress. I kept up
a pace that made gliding effortlessly impossible, unless she could
levitate. She couldn't.
She grabbed my right arm and whirled me around to face her. I
couldn't go for a gun. Because I was wearing wrist sheaths, I
couldn't even go for a knife. I stood there nearly face to face
with an angry vampire and couldn't reach a weapon. All that could
save me was her not killing me. Trusting my life to Ivy's
beneficence seemed like a bad bet.
Her anger spilled along my skin. Heat flowed down her body. I
could feel her hand, hot, even through the leather jacket. I didn't
try to pull away; things that can bench-press Toyotas don't let go.
Her touch didn't burn, because it wasn't that kind of heat, but it
was hard to convince my body that it wouldn't hurt eventually.
Years of warnings, don't touch, it's hot. Heat flared along my body
like I was standing next to a fire. If she hadn't been doing it
unintentionally, it would have been impressive. Hell, it was still
impressive. Give her a few centuries and she'd be scary as hell, as
if she wasn't already.
I could still meet her eyes, drowning deep and glowing with
their own light. That was going to do me a hell of a lot of good
when she ripped my throat out.
"If you hurt her, Ivy, our truce is over." Jean-Claude glided
down the steps to stand just above us. "You do not want the truce
to be over, Ivy." He ran his fingertip along the edge of her
jaw.
I felt the jolt of power jump from him, to her, to me. I gasped,
but she let me go. My arm was numb at my side like it'd gone to
sleep. I couldn't have held a gun. I wanted to ask what the hell
he'd done, but didn't. As long as I got the use of my arm back, we
could argue about it later.
Bruce pushed between us, hovering over Ivy like a worried
boyfriend. Watching his face, I realized that was accurate. I was
betting she'd brought him over.
Ivy pushed him away so hard that he went tumbling backwards down
the stairs, lost in the thicker darkness. Everything seemed to be
working on her just fine. I could barely feel my fingertips.
Heat rushed over me like a scalding wind, and swept outward into
the dark. Torches flared to life in sconces along the walls with a
whoosh and a shower of sparks. A large kerosene lamp
suspended from the ceiling filled with fire. Its glass chimney
exploded in a shower of glass, its flame burning naked on the
wick.
"Serephina will make you clean up your mess," Jean-Claude said.
He made it sound like she'd spilled her milk.
Ivy walked down the rest of the steps in a hip-swinging glide.
"Serephina will not care. Broken glass and flame have so many
uses." I didn't like the way she phrased that.
The basement was black. Black walls, black floors, black
ceiling. It was like being in a great dark box. Chains hung from
the walls, some with what looked like fur on the cuffs. Straps
dangled from the ceiling like obscene decorations. There were . . .
devices placed throughout the room. I recognized some of them. A
rack, an iron maiden, but most of it was like looking at bondage
paraphernalia. You were pretty sure what the point was, but not how
it worked. There were always more holes than I could figure out
what to do with, and nothing ever seemed to come with
instructions.
There was a drain in the floor, and a thin trickle of water ran
down it. But I was betting that the drain wasn't there just for
water.
Larry moved down the steps to stand beside me. "Are those what I
think they are?"
"Yeah, they're torture devices." I forced my hand to make a
fist, and another one. The feeling was coming back.
"I thought they weren't going to harm us," he said.
"I think it's supposed to scare us."
"It's working," he said.
I didn't like the decor much either, but I could feel my hand. I
could have held a gun if I had to.
A door that I hadn't even seen opened to the left. A secret
panel. A vampire came through the door. He had to bend nearly
double to make it through the door frame. He unfolded, impossibly
tall and thin, cadaverous. He had not fed tonight. and was wasting
no power on looking pretty. His skin was the color of old parchment
and clung to the bones of his face like a thin film barely covering
his skull. His eyes were sunken and dull in his head, the dead blue
of fish eyes. His sickly hands were long and bony with impossibly
long fingers, like white spiders sticking from the sleeves of his
black coat.
He stalked into the room with the edges of his black coat
sweeping behind him like a cloak. He was dressed entirely in black;
only his skin and the short cut white hair on his head betrayed
him. As he moved through the black room, it looked like his head
and hands were floating on their own.
I shook my head to clear the image. When I looked back, he
seemed a touch more normal. "He's using his powers to make himself
look frightening," I said.
"Yes, ma petite, he is." There was something in his
voice that made me turn and look at him. His face was its usual
lovely mask-but in his eyes, for just a second, I saw fear.
"What's going on, Jean-Claude?"
"The rules have not changed. Do not draw a weapon. Do not strike
the first blow. They cannot harm us unless we break these
rules."
"Why are you suddenly scared?"
"That is not Serephina," he said. His voice was very bland when
he said it.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound reverberated
through the room, echoing and outwardly joyous. But I could taste
it on the back of my tongue, and it was bitter. "It means, ma
petite, that I am a fool."
Chapter 25
Jean-Claude's laughter faded away in bits and pieces, like the
sound was clinging to the walls. "Where is Serephina?" he
asked.
Ivy and Bruce walked out of the room. I didn't know where they
were going, but it had to be better than this. How many torture
rooms could a house this size have? Don't answer that.
The tall vampire looked at us with his dead-fish eyes. There was
no pull, nothing; it was like looking into the eyes of a
corpse.
His voice, when it came, was almost shocking. It was rich and
deep, resonant, but not with vampiric powers. It was the voice of
an actor, or an opera singer. I watched it come out of the thin,
lipless mouth and it still looked like a parlor trick, like the
mouth should move out of sync with the words, but they didn't.
"You must pass through me before she will see you."
"You surprise me, Janos." Jean-Claude glided down the steps. I
guess we were going down. Pity. "You are more powerful than
Serephina. How is it you do her bidding?"
"When you have seen her, you will understand. Now come, all of
you, join us. The night is young, and I want to see you all naked
and bleeding before dawn."
"Who is this guy?" I asked. I could use my hand again; might as
well smart off.
Jean-Claude stopped on the last step. Jason moved up, one step
behind him. Larry and I stayed a little behind that. I don't think
either of us was too eager to go down.
The vampire turned his dead eyes on me. "I am Janos."
"Dandy, but the rules say you can't bleed us, or anything else.
Or did I miss something?"
"You miss very little, ma petite," Jean-Claude
said.
"You will not be harmed against your will," Janos said. "You
must all consent for any harm to befall you."
"Then we're safe," I said.
He smiled, the skin of his face stretching like paper. I
half-expected bone to break through, but it didn't. The smile was
nicely hideous.
"We shall see."
Jean-Claude took that last step, and moved farther into the
room. Jason followed, and after a moment's hesitation so did I.
Larry followed me like a trooper.
"This room is your idea, Janos," Jean-Claude said.
"I do nothing without my master's consent."
"She cannot be your master, Janos. She is not powerful
enough."
"Yet, here I am, Jean-Claude. Here I am."
Jean-Claude walked around the dark wood of the rack, trailing a
pale hand over it. "Serephina was never much for torture. She was
many things, but not sadistic." Jean-Claude came to stand in front
of Janos. "I think you are master here and she is your stalking
horse. She is known as master so all the challenges come her way.
When she dies, you will find another puppet.
"I promise you, Jean-Claude, she is my master. Think of this
room as my reward for being a faithful servant." He looked around
the room with a proprietary smile, like a storekeeper admiring
well-stocked shelves.
"What do you plan for us in this room of yours?"
"But wait a few moments, my impatient boy, and all will be
revealed."
It was odd to have someone call Jean-Claude "boy," as if he were
a much younger cousin that Janos had watched grow up. Had Janos
known him when he was a little vampire? Freshly dead?
A woman's voice: "Where are you taking me? You're hurting me."
Ivy and Bruce dragged a young woman through the side door.
Literally dragged her. She had let her legs collapse, trying to use
them like a dog does when you try to take it to the vet. But she
only had two legs and a vampire on each arm. She wasn't having much
luck slowing them down.
She had straight blonde hair that barely touched the tops of her
shoulders. Her eyes were large and blue, and the makeup she'd
started the night with was smeared from crying.
Ivy seemed to be having a good time. Bruce had very wide eyes.
He was afraid of Janos. Hard not to be, I guess.
The girl stared wordlessly at Janos for a second, then screamed.
Ivy cuffed her absently like you'd swat a barking dog. The girl
whimpered and fell silent, staring at the floor, fresh tears
trailing down her cheeks.
There was only Janos and the two youngsters in the room with us.
I was betting we could take them. Two more vampires came in, but
they didn't drag in the next girl. She walked in, eyes glittering
with anger, back very straight, hands in fists at her sides. She
was short, a little heavy, but not quite fat, as if a good burst of
growth would take care of the weight. Her hair was a nondescript
brown, glasses framed small brown eyes, freckles dusted her face.
The personality that radiated from that face was not nondescript. I
liked her instantly.
"Oh, Lisa," she said, "get up." She sounded embarrassed as well
as angry. The blonde girl, Lisa, just cried harder.
The two vamps that were guarding the second girl were not young.
They were both tall, around six feet, dressed in black leather, one
with her long yellow hair in a braid down her back, the other with
black hair falling free around her face. Their bare arms were
muscled and firm. They looked like female bodyguards from some bad
spy movie.
The power that radiated from the two of them was not a B movie
effect. It crept through the room like a current of water, thick
and cool. When the line of power poured over my body it took my
breath away. The power crawled into my bones and made them ache.
Larry gasped behind me.
I glanced at him just to make sure he was gasping for the same
reason I was. No new monsters behind us, just the power of the two
new vamps.
"What are you guys doing, running a halfway house for all
vampires over five hundred years?" I asked.
Everyone turned towards me. The two female vamps smiled, most
unpleasantly. They looked at me like I was a piece of candy and
they wondered what sort of center I had. Soft and gooey, or hard
with a nut in the middle? I'd had men undress me with their eyes,
but I'd never had anything trying to picture what I'd look like
with my skin off. Yikes.
"Do you have something to add?" Janos asked.
"You can't just drag a couple of underage girls in here and
expect us to do nothing."
"On the contrary, Anita, we expect you to do many things."
I didn't like the phrasing of that. "What's that supposed to
mean?"
"First, the young women aren't underage, are you, girls?"
The second girl just glared at him. Lisa shook her head, still
staring at the floor.
"Tell her your ages," Janos said.
Neither of them answered. Ivy yanked hard enough to make the
blonde girl cry out.
"Eighteen. I'm eighteen." She collapsed on the floor in a
sobbing heap, and the vampires let go of her so she could do
it.
One of the female vamps said, "Your age, now." Her voice was
like quiet thunder, a warning of the coming storm.
The second girl's eyes widened behind her glasses. "I'm
nineteen." There was fear now peeking out from behind her
anger.
"Fine; they're over eighteen, but an unwilling human is still an
unwilling human, regardless of age," I said.
"Would you play policeman here, Anita?" Janos asked. He sounded
amused.
"I won't just stand here and watch you hurt them."
"You have a high opinion of yourself, Anita. Confident. I like
that. Always so much more entertaining to break someone strong. The
weaklings fold and cry and snivel, but the brave ones, they almost
demand that you hurt them." He stalked towards me, reaching out one
white spider-hand. "Do you want me to hurt you?"
I remembered Jean-Claude's warning not to use weapons, but fuck
it, I was going for the Browning.
Jean-Claude was just suddenly there, holding Janos's wrist.
Janos seemed impressed. Truthfully, so was I. I hadn't seen him
move, and apparently neither had Janos. A nifty trick, that.
I let my hand relax away from the gun, though I was pretty sure
that drawing it would make me feel better. But the purpose of
tonight's exercise was not to make me feel better, it was to stay
alive.
"No harm to any of us; that was the promise," Jean-Claude
said.
Janos drew his wrist from Jean-Claude's grasp slowly, almost
lingeringly, as if he enjoyed it. "Once Serephina's promise is
given, she keeps it."
"Then why are the young women here?"
"Those two"—he motioned to Larry and me—"would truly not stand
by and watch harm come to strangers?" He sounded surprised, but not
unhappy about it.
"Sadly, yes," Jean-Claude said.
"And if they join the fray, you will come in to protect her?"
Janos asked.
"If I must."
Janos smiled, and I could hear his skin creak with the strain of
holding in his bones. "Splendid."
I saw a tremor run through Jean-Claude's back, as if he had been
caught off guard. I was just plain confused.
"The two young women came willingly into our house. They knew
what we were, and agreed to help us entertain guests."
I glanced at the second girl. "Is that true?"
One of her vampire guards touched her shoulder, lightly, but it
was enough. "We came willingly, but we didn't know . . ." The
vampire's hand squeezed. The girl's face crumbled in pain but she
made no sound.
"They came of their own free will, and they are of the age of
consent," Janos said.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
"Ivy, chain that one over there." He pointed as he said it to
some fur-lined manacles to the left of the door. Ivy and Bruce
picked up the girl, pulled her to her feet, and led her stumbling
to the wall.
"Her back facing the room, please."
I stepped next to Jean-Claude and whispered, though I knew
within reason they'd hear, "I don't like this."
"Nor I, ma petite."
"Can we stop it without breaking the truce?"
"Not unless they offer harm to us directly, no."
"What happens if I break the truce?"
"They will try to kill us, most likely."
There were five vampires in the room, three of them older than
Jean-Claude. We would die. Dammit.
The blonde girl sobbed and struggled, pulling at her arms as the
vampires chained her to the wall. She screamed and pulled so
violently that without the fur lining she'd have bloodied her
wrists.
A woman stepped into the room from the side door. She was tall,
taller than Jean-Claude. Her skin was the color of coffee with two
creams. Her dark hair fell in long cornrows to her waist. She was
dressed in a black, patent leather body suit. It left very little
to the imagination. She strode hard on her heels, a very human
walk. But she wasn't human.
"Kissa," Jean-Claude said. "You are still with Serephina." He
sounded surprised.
"Not all of us have your luck." Her voice was thick like honey.
There was a smell like spices in the air, and I wasn't sure if it
was her perfume or illusion.
Her high-boned face was empty of makeup and still she was
beautiful—though I wondered what she'd look like if she weren't
clouding my mind. Because surely no human could have radiated the
raw sexuality that clung to Kissa like a touchable cloud.
"I am sorry you are here, Kissa."
She smiled. "Don't pity me, Jean-Claude. Serephina has promised
you to me, before Janos breaks that beautiful body of yours."
Six vampires, four of them older than Jean-Claude. The odds were
not going in our favor.
"Chain the other girl there." Janos motioned to a matching set
of manacles to the right of the door.
The girl shook her head. "No way." She just refused to go, and
she struggled better than the blonde. She threw her body on the
ground and used every inch of it, not to fight, just not to go.
Two vampires several centuries old, powerful enough to make my
teeth hurt, and they had to pick her up from both ends and carry
her to the wall. She'd finally started to scream, one loud, ragged,
rage-filled sound after another. The dark-haired vamp pinned her to
the wall, and the other one chained her.
"I can't just watch this," Larry said. He was standing very
close to me; maybe he didn't know the vampires would hear his
whispers.
It didn't really matter. "Neither can I."
We were going to get ourselves killed; might as well take as
many of them with us as we could.
Jean-Claude turned around, as if he could smell us going for our
guns. "Ma petite, Monsieur Kirkland, do not go for your
weapons. They are treading legalities. The women have come to help
entertain. They will not kill them."
"You're sure of that?" I asked.
He frowned. "I am sure of nothing anymore, but I believe that
they will keep their word. The women are frightened and a little
bruised, but they are not harmed."
"This isn't harm?" Larry asked. He looked outraged, and I
couldn't blame him.
I answered him. "Vampires have a very unique sense of what's
harmful, don't they, Jean-Claude?"
He met my gaze. "I see accusation in your eyes, but remember
this, ma petite, you asked me to bring you here. So do not
blame this particular problem on me."
"Is our entertainment so boring?" Janos asked.
"We were discussing whether to kill you all now, or later," I
said, my voice very matter-of-fact.
Janos gave a low chuckle. "Please do break the truce, Anita. I
would love to have an excuse to get you on one of my novelties. I
think you would take a long time to break. Then again, it is
sometimes the braggarts who break first."
"I don't brag, Janos. I tell the truth."
"She believes what she says," Kissa said.
"Yes, she has a disturbing hint of truth to her," Janos said.
"Most tasty."
The blonde, Lisa, had stopped struggling against the chains. She
sagged in them, nearly incoherent with crying. The other girl, now
that she was chained, stood very still, but a fine trembling had
started in her arms and hands. She balled her hands into fists, but
could not stop the trembling.
"The women came for a little adventure. They are certainly
getting their money's worth," Janos said.
The two female vamps opened panels in the black walls. They each
took out a long coil of whip. Neither of the girls could see. I was
glad.
I couldn't stand and watch, I couldn't. It would kill something
inside me to just stand and watch, even if it meant I died. I'd at
least go down fighting, and I'd take some of them with me. Better
than nothing. But before we all committed suicide, I'd try to talk.
"If you're not trying to goad us into breaking the truce, then what
the hell do you want?"
"Want?" Janos said. "Want? Why, many things, Anita."
I was beginning to hate the way he said my name, sort of
half-amused, and intimate, like we were friends, or close
enemies.
"What do you want, Janos?"
"Shouldn't you be negotiating for your people?" he asked
Jean-Claude.
"Anita does well enough on her own," Jean-Claude said.
Janos gave another rictus smile. "Very well. What do we
want?"
The vampires went to the girls. They held up the whips so the
two girls could see them.
"What is that?" the blonde asked. "What is that?" Her voice was
high and bubbly with fear.
"It's a whip," the second girl said. Firm and clipped, her voice
did not betray her the way her trembling body did.
The two vampires backed away, just enough for good whipping
distance, I guess.
"What the bloody hell do you want?" I asked.
"Are you familiar with the term 'whipping boy'?" Janos
asked.
"It was a person used by royalty to be beaten in the place of
the royal heir."
"Very good; so few young people have a sense of history."
"What does the history lesson have to do with anything?"
"The girls are whipping boys for your two young men," Janos
said.
The two vampires snaked the whips along the floor, and cracked
them nearly in unison, but neither whip touched the girls. The
second girl screamed, a short, clipped sound, when the whip
whistled into the wall next to her. The blonde just sank against
the wall, sobbing, "Please, please, please," over and over in a
ragged voice.
"Don't hurt them," Larry said. "Please."
"Would you take her place?" Janos asked.
I finally understood where we were heading. "You can't hurt us
without our cooperation. You treacherous son of a bitch."
He smiled. "Answer me, lad. Would you take her place?"
Larry nodded.
I grabbed his arm. "No."
"Surely it is his choice," Janos said.
"Let go of my arm, Anita."
I stared at his eyes, searching to see if he understood what he
was doing. "You don't know what a whip will do to human flesh. You
don't know what you're offering."
"We can remedy that," Janos said. The vampires ripped the backs
of the girls' blouses with a harsh, quick tearing.
The blonde screamed.
"We can't just watch," Larry said.
He was right; whether I liked it or not, he was right.
"I've seen what a whip can do," Jason said suddenly. "Don't hurt
them."
I stared at him. "You don't strike me as the self-sacrificing
kind."
He shrugged. "We all have our moments."
"Would it make this an easier choice if I swore that if your
young man takes the girl's place we will not cripple him?"
"How about kill him?" I said. "You can die of shock from a
whipping."
"No killing, no crippling. We simply want our pound of flesh,
and a quart of blood."
Something must have shown on our faces, because he laughed.
"Figuratively speaking, of course. You will wear scars until you
die, but no greater harm."
"This is ridiculous," I said. "We aren't going to do this."
"If we pull our guns, can we take them?" Larry asked.
I looked away from his earnest eyes. He touched my arm.
"Anita?"
"We can take some of them with us," I said.
"But we'll still be dead, and once we're dead who'll help the
girls?"
I shook my head. "There's got to be a better way."
Larry looked at Jean-Claude. "Will he keep his word? Will they
not kill me?"
"Janos's word has always been reliable, or at least it was a
couple of centuries ago."
"Can we trust them?" Jason asked.
"No," I said.
"Yes," Jean-Claude said.
I glared at him.
"I know you would rather shoot it out, but you would only
succeed in getting us all killed. Or perhaps some of us made into
vampires."
Larry touched my shoulders. He made me look at him. "It's
alright."
"It's not alright," I said.
"Fine, but it's the best we can do right now."
"Don't do this."
"I don't have a choice," he said. "Besides, I'm a big boy,
remember? I can take care of myself."
I hugged him. I didn't know what else to do.
"I'll be alright," he whispered.
I just nodded. I didn't trust my voice, and I try never to lie
to my friends. He would not be alright. I knew it. He knew it. We
all knew it.
Jason walked away from us towards the vampires. "Oh, no, my good
shapeshifter, we don't want you chained to a wall."
"But you said . . ."
"I said you could save the girls, but not like that. Let the
human take his lashes. All you must agree to is satisfying the
desires of my two helpers, Bettina and Pallas."
Jason stared at the two vampires. They'd turned to face us. I
suddenly tried to see them from the viewpoint of a twenty-year-old
male. They were chesty, slim waisted; if Pallas's face was a little
too witchy-looking for my taste, and Bettina's eyes too small, that
was just me. Neither of them was pretty, or even beautiful; they
were handsome in the way that some tall, leggy women are. Handsome
in a good way, if they had been human.
Jason frowned. "It seems I'm getting the better deal here."
"Would it make any difference if I said you had to do it here in
this room, on the floor, in front of everyone?" Janos asked.
Jason thought about that for a minute. "If I say no, does the
girl get whipped?"
Janos nodded.
"Then I agree," he said, but his voice was soft and uncertain.
Being lascivious in private was one thing; doing it in public was
different.
"Come then, shapeshifter, let the show begin." Janos made a
sweeping motion with his white hands.
Jason glanced back at Jean-Claude like a kid on the first day of
school wondering if the bullies were really going to hurt him.
Jean-Claude gave no comfort. His face was as still and unreadable
as a painting. He gave a small nod that could have meant anything
from "It will be alright" to "Just do it."
I watched Jason's shoulders rise with a deep breath, and heard
him blow it out like a runner before a race. Why is it that most
things you might willingly do under other circumstances become
distasteful when you have no choice?
"Have you ever been with one of us?" Janos asked.
Jason shook his head.
Janos put a long-fingered hand on Jason's shoulder. Jason didn't
seem to enjoy that. Couldn't blame him. "There are many pleasures
that await you, my young shapeshifter. Things that no human or
wereanimal can give to you. Sensations that only the dead can
offer."
The two female vampires had stepped to the far end of the room
in a clear space on the black floor. The whips lay coiled at the
feet of the two girls, as if they were a reminder of what would
happen if anyone chickened out.
If Jason wanted to fuck a few vampires, that was fine with me.
Besides, he wasn't mine to protect. But the sex wasn't going to
last forever. I couldn't let them have Larry. I couldn't stand by
and watch him be tortured. I just couldn't. But if I pulled down
the room, then even if we got out of the basement—highly doubtful
all on its own—we'd have every vamp in the place after our ass.
There would be more; there were always more. But what had
Jean-Claude said? If they broke the truce first, we could draw
weapons. It had possibilities.
The one with long blonde hair had undone her braid. She shook
out her hair like it was a thick curtain of yellow waves. It hid
her face for a moment, and she seemed softer, more human. Maybe it
was illusion. Whatever, Jason touched that thick hair, wadded his
hands into it, then slid his hands around her waist. If he was
going to have to do it, it looked like he was going to have fun
while he did. Nice to see someone who enjoys his work.
The dark-haired vamp came in from behind, pressing her
leather-clad body against him. Jason was short enough that his face
was about breast level for both of them. He buried his face in the
blonde's chest. She unlaced the front of her leather vest, peeling
it back so he could suck her breasts.
I turned away. I was never much for voyeurism. Had an
embarrassing tendency to blush. Ivy and Bruce moved along the wall
to stand near the corner next to the threesome. Bruce was
fascinated and embarrassed, but he kept looking. There was no
embarrassment on Ivy's face. She moved along the wall, her back
pressed to it, hands feeling their way along. Her red lipsticked
mouth was partially open. She slid down the wall, the red dress
bunching around her thighs as she went to all fours. Watching them
move along the wall brought my gaze back to the entertainment.
Jason's shirt was gone. Wearing nothing but his leather pants
and his black boots, he matched the two vampires. He was on his
knees, his back arched so he was cradled against the brunette
behind him. She smoothed her hands down his naked chest. He turned,
giving her his lips. The kiss was long and deep, and full of more
probing than anybody but your doctor should be doing.
The blonde was sitting with her legs wide open in front of them,
undoing Jason's pants. She'd already done something to her leather
pants so that the crotch was open. She was a natural blonde. Why
was I surprised?
Ivy stretched out a hand to pull at the other vampire's long
yellow hair.
"Ivy," Janos said, "you were not invited."
She pulled her hand back but didn't back away. She was as close
to the action as she could get and not be part of it. Bruce was
still pinned to the wall, open-mouthed and a little sweaty, but he
didn't seem to want to come closer.
Janos stood very calmly watching. He had a tight grin on his
face, and for the first time there was some light in those
dead-fish eyes. He was enjoying himself.
Jean-Claude was half-leaning, half-sitting against a metal frame
that held the rough outline of a body. He was watching the show,
but his face was still unreadable, a beautiful mask.
He saw me looking at him, but there was no change in his eyes.
He was as closed and solitary as if he were standing in an empty
room. He wasn't breathing that I could see. Did he have a heartbeat
when he held himself so still? Or did everything stop?
Kissa stood by the door that we hadn't been through. She had her
arms crossed over her stomach. For someone that had wanted to jump
Jean-Claude's bones so badly, she didn't seem to like the show
much. Or maybe she was the guard to keep Larry and me from running
screaming from the room.
Larry had backed as far away from the action as he could get. He
was pressed up against the wall, trying to find something to look
at, but his eyes kept being drawn back to the other end of the
room. It was like trying not to watch a train wreck. You didn't
want to see it happen, but if it was going to happen you didn't
quite want to look away either. When would you ever get the chance
to see it again? A ménage à trois made up of two
vampires and a werewolf couldn't be that common a sight for Larry.
It wasn't even a common sight for me.
The two girls still chained to the wall couldn't see what was
going on. Probably just as well.
A low moan broke from the other side of the room. It made me
glance back. Jason's pants had been pulled partially down to reveal
most of the smooth expanse of his buttocks. His arms were braced,
leaving only his lower body touching the woman. His body rose and
fell rhythmically. The blonde vampire writhed under him, another
low moan escaping her throat. Her breasts spilled out of her black
leather vest like an offering as she did a sort of sit-up to meet
Jason's mouth.
The brunette licked a slow, pink tongue along his spine. His
back convulsed with the sensation, or maybe it was another
sensation. The effect looked the same.
I turned away, but the image was burned on my mind. I felt heat
crawl up my neck. Damn. Larry's eyes widened and I watched the
color drain from his face, until his skin was the surprised white
of paper and his eyes too big for his face.
I fought it for a minute, but I turned back to see, like Lot's
wife risking it all for one last forbidden glimpse. Jason had
collapsed, his face lost in the blonde's hair. Her face was turned
to the room. Her skin had thinned until you could see every bone in
her face. Her full lips had thinned back, making her teeth look
longer. She no longer had enough lips to hide her fangs.
The brunette knelt just behind them, her knees between both
their legs. She lowered her hands from her face, and one half of
that handsome face rotted away. She ran her hand through her long
dark hair and it came away in clumps.
She turned her face towards the rest of us. The skin sloughed
off the bones on the left side of her face and fell to the floor
with a thick wet plop.
I swallowed hard enough that it hurt going down and backed up to
stand by Larry. He wasn't white anymore; he was green.
"My turn now," one of the vampires said. My face turned back to
the scene at the end of the room, almost against my will. I
couldn't stand to watch, and couldn't stand to look away.
Jason rose in a sort of push-up motion. He caught a glimpse of
the blonde's face and his shoulders tensed, the line of his spine
tightening. He pulled away from her slowly, coming to his
knees.
The brunette ran her fingers down his naked back. Her flesh
sloughed away, leaving a trail of greenish slime behind. A tremor
ran through his body that had nothing to do with sex.
From across the room I could see Jason's chest rise and fall
faster and faster, as if he was hyperventilating. He stayed staring
straight ahead, making no move to turn and look behind him, as if
it would go away if he didn't look.
The brunette wrapped her decaying arms around his shoulders,
leaned her rotted face next to his, and whispered something.
Jason struggled away from them, crawling against the wall. His
bare chest was covered in bits of her flesh. His eyes were
impossibly wide, showing too much white. He couldn't seem to get
enough air. A strand of something thick and heavy slid slowly down
his neck onto his chest. He batted at it like you would swat at a
spider that you found crawling along your skin. He was pressed into
the black wall with his pants nearly to his thighs.
The blonde rolled off her back and crawled towards him, reaching
a hand out that was nothing but bones with bits of dried flesh. She
seemed to be decaying in dry ground. The brunette was wet. She lay
back on the floor, and some dark fluid rushed out from her to pool
beneath her body. She'd undone her own leather shirt, and her
breasts were like heavy bags of fluid.
"I'm ready for you," the brunette said. Her voice was still
clear and solid. No human voice should have come out of those
rotting lips.
The blonde grabbed Jason's arm, and he screamed.
Jean-Claude sat there watching, motionless, unmoved.
I found myself walking towards them. It surprised even me. I
kept waiting for the smell that should have accompanied the rotting
flesh, but with every step the air was clean.
I stood beside Jean-Claude and said, "Is this illusion?"
He wouldn't look at me. "No, ma petite, it is not an
illusion."
I poked him in the arm, and it was hard and firm as wood. It
didn't feel like flesh at all. "Is this illusion?"
"No, ma petite." He looked at me at last, and his eyes
were solid drowning blue. "Both forms were real." He stood, and
even standing next to him I could not see him breathe.
The brunette was on all fours reaching for Jason with a hand
that fell into wet pieces as it moved. Jason screamed and pressed
himself into the wall as if he wanted to crawl through it. He hid
his face like a child ignoring the monster under his bed, but this
was no child, and he knew the monsters were real.
"Help him," I whispered, and I wasn't sure which of us I was
talking to.
"I shall do what I can," Jean-Claude said. I was staring at him
when I heard the next words in my head. His lips never moved. "If
they break the truce first, ma petite, then you are free
to slaughter everyone in this room."
I stared at him, but his face betrayed nothing. Only the echo of
him inside my head told me I hadn't hallucinated it. There was no
time to bitch about the fact that he'd invaded my head. Later; we
could argue later.
"Janos." That one word reverberated through the room until it
echoed up the soles of my feet like a deep bass drum.
Janos turned to look at Jean-Claude, his skeletal face set in a
pleased expression. "You rang?"
"I challenge you." The three words were bland; they fell like
off-key notes jangling along my nerves. If the tone bothered Janos,
you couldn't tell it.
"You cannot prevail against me," Janos said.
"That remains to be seen, does it not?" Jean-Claude asked.
Janos smiled until the skin nearly snapped. "If by some miracle
you best me, what do you want?"
"Safe passage for all my people." I cleared my throat. "And the
two girls."
"And if I win," Janos said, "what do I get?"
"What do you want?"
"You know what we want."
"Say it," Jean-Claude said.
"You give up your safe passage. We get you, to do with as we
like."
Jean-Claude gave a small nod. "So be it." He pointed at the
rotting vampires. "Get them away from my wolf."
Janos smiled. "They will not hurt him, but if you fail . . .
I'll make a gift of him to my two beauties."
A low sound like a swallowed scream crawled from Jason's throat.
The brunette's hand started the crawl down his stomach to his
privates. He screamed and pushed her away, but unless he resorted
to violence he was trapped. And if we broke the truce first we were
dead, but if they broke the truce . . . Jean-Claude and Janos had
moved back to the center of the room. They stood a few yards apart.
Jean-Claude stood with his feet spaced as if he was bracing for a
fight. Janos stood with his feet together, easy, unconcerned.
"You will lose everything, Jean-Claude; what are you up to?"
Jean-Claude just shook his head. "Challenge has been offered and
accepted; what are you waiting on, Janos? Are you afraid of me at
long last?"
"Afraid of you? Never, Jean-Claude. Not a hundred years ago, not
a moment ago."
"Enough talk, Janos." His voice had gone low and soft, yet it
carried through the entire room, and crawled up the black walls to
rain down in drops of sound that were dark and anger-filled.
Janos laughed, but the sound had none of the touchable qualities
of Jean-Claude's voice. "Let us dance." Silence fell so abruptly on
the room I thought I'd gone deaf. Then I realized I could still
hear my own heartbeat, the blood rushing in my own head. Waves of
something rose between the two master vampires like heat rising off
summer pavement. What poured along my skin wasn't heat, it was . .
. power.
A whirling, rushing storm of power. I'd felt Jean-Claude go up
against other vampires, and I'd never felt anything like this. My
hair streamed in a wind that was coming from the two.
Jean-Claude's face was thinning down, his white skin glowing
like polished alabaster. His eyes were blue flames that bled
sapphire fire down every vein under his skin. His bones glowed
gold. His humanity was folding away, and it wouldn't be enough. He
would lose.
Unless they broke the truce first.
Kissa stood by the door, still guarding it. Her dark face was
impassive. She was no help to me. The two rotted things still
crawled over Jason. Only Ivy and Bruce were still standing. Bruce
looked scared, Ivy looked excited. She watched the two master vamps
with half-parted lips, her lower lip drawn under with concentration
or excitement.
I'd been able to meet her eyes, and that had bothered her—a
lot.
I crossed the room behind Jean-Claude. When I passed him, the
current of power lashed out and curled around me like an arm. I
kept walking and it slipped away, but my skin shivered where it had
touched me. The shit was going to hit the fan unless I could stop
it.
Kissa watched me move past her with narrowed eyes. I ignored
her. One master vampire at a time. I walked past Bruce and stopped
in front of Ivy. She stared past me at the two masters, ignoring
me.
I opened my mouth. As I spoke, the silence split apart and sound
came back to me ears with a nearly painful clap like a tiny sonic
boom.
"I challenge you."
Ivy blinked at me as if I'd just appeared. "What did you
say?"
"I challenge you," I said. I kept my face blank and tried very
hard not to think about what I was doing.
Ivy laughed. "You are mad. I am a master vampire. You cannot
challenge me."
"But I can meet your eyes," I said. I let a small smile play
along my lips. I tried to keep my mind blank, no thought to betray
me, no fear to leak out, but of course once I thought of fear it
was there curling in my stomach.
She laughed, high and tinkling like broken glass. It nearly cut
skin just to hear it. What the hell was I doing?
The wind rushed against my back, nearly flinging me into her. I
glanced back in time to see Jean-Claude stagger and a splash of
blood spill from his hand. Janos hadn't broken a sweat yet.
Whatever I was doing, I'd better do it fast.
"After Jean-Claude loses, I'm going to ask Janos to make him
fuck me. Your master is going to be everybody's meat, and so will
you."
My eyes flicked to the rotted things clawing at Jason. Incentive
enough. I turned back to Ivy and met her brown eyes. "You won't do
shit. You can't even outstare one puny human being."
She glared at me. Her anger was instantaneous, like fire
springing out of a match. I watched the brown of her irises spread
across her eyes from a space of less than ten inches. Her eyes were
shining pools of dark light. My pulse threatened to choke me, and a
little voice in my head was screaming, "Run away, run away." I
stood there and stared her down.
She was a master vampire but a young one. A hundred years from
now she'd have eaten me for breakfast, but right now, tonight,
maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't.
She hissed at me, flashing her fangs.
"Oh, that's impressive," I said. "Like a dog showing its
teeth."
"This dog could tear your throat out." Her voice had gone low
and evil crawling along my spine, until I spent most of my effort
not to shiver.
I didn't trust my voice not to shake, so I spoke low, and soft,
and very clear. "Try it; see how far you get."
She darted forward, but I saw her move, felt her come for me, I
threw myself backwards away from her, but she grabbed my arm and
lifted me off my feet with her elbow braced so that she could hold
me aloft. Her strength was incredible. She could have crushed my
arm and I couldn't have done a damn thing about it.
Kissa was suddenly there. "Put her down, now!"
Ivy put me down. She threw me across the room. Air rushed past
me, the world blurring so quickly it was like being blind. The air
stopped rushing, and down I came.
Chapter 26
Falling does not cover the speed and abruptness of being thrown
from less than ten feet high. I smacked into the wall and tried to
slam my arms and hands against it to take some of the momentum
before my head smacked into it. I slid down the wall, though slid
implies something slow, and there was nothing slow about it. I
collapsed at the base of the wall in a crumbled, breathless heap,
blinking at bright jarring images that didn't quite make pictures
yet.
The first image that came clear was a rotted face with a patch
of long, dark hair dangling from its scalp. The vamp's tongue
rolled behind broken teeth; something black and thicker than blood
spilled with a plop out of her mouth.
I pushed to my knees and found skeletal arms wrapped around my
shoulders. The blonde's dried, fang-filled mouth whispered in my
ear. "Come to play." Something hard and stiff poked my ear. It was
her tongue. I scrambled away, but claws caught in my jacket. Hands
that should have been weak as dried sticks were like steel
bands.
"They broke the truce, ma petite. I cannot hold him
long."
I had a moment to glance up and find Jean-Claude on his knees
with both hands extended towards Janos. Janos still stood, but he
did nothing else. I had a few moments, nothing more.
I stopped trying to get free of the two vampires. They swarmed
over me, and in the mess of arms and legs and body fluids, I drew
the Browning. I fired it point-blank into the rotted one's chest.
She staggered, but didn't go down. Fangs sank into my back, and I
screamed.
A gun exploded from across the room, but there was no time to
look. Jason was suddenly there, pulling the blonde off me. I fired
into the rotting skull of the brunette. She finally collapsed onto
the floor in a puddle of liquid and jerking limbs.
I turned back to Jean-Claude and found him nearly prone on the
floor, a pool of blood in front of him. He had one arm still held
outward towards Janos.
Janos made a small, flicking motion, and blood flew in an arc
from Jean-Claude's body. He collapsed to the floor, and power
rushed outward, blowing back my hair. The world suddenly stank of
rotting corpses.
I gagged and pulled the trigger on that long black body.
Janos turned. It seemed like slow motion, as if I had all the
time in the world to aim and fire again, but somehow he was facing
me when I pulled the trigger the second time. The bullet took him
squarely in the chest. He staggered, but didn't go down.
I sighted on that round, skeletal head. His white hand came up
and slashed the air. And impossibly, I felt like some invisible
claw had slashed my arm. I fired, but my aim was a little off. The
bullet grazed the side of his face.
He slashed at me again, and I saw blood start to drip down my
hands. Scare tactics. It didn't hurt that much, not nearly as much
as it would hurt if he got his hands on me for real.
A second gun sounded, and Janos staggered as a bullet took him
in the shoulder. Larry was behind him, gun out.
My vision faded, as if fog was rolling in behind my eyes. I
lowered my aim to the larger target of his upper body and pulled
the trigger again. I heard Larry's bullet go high and wide into the
wall behind me.
A startled, "Hey!" let me know Jason was still back there.
I saw Janos go for the door, like watching slow motion through a
fog so thick I could barely see. I fired twice more and knew I hit
him at least once. When he was out of the room I fell forward onto
all fours, and waited for my vision to clear. Hoped it would
clear.
Through my ruined vision I saw Jean-Claude still lying
motionless in a pool of his own blood. The question that came into
my head was, Is he dead? A stupid question about a vampire, but it
was still the first thing I thought of.
I glanced behind me and found Jason scattering bits of the two
female vampires around the floor. He was tearing at them with his
bare hands, cracking their bones and throwing them far away from
each other, as if by sheer destruction he could wash away what
they'd done to him.
Bruce lay on his back by the wall. Blood had soaked into his
tuxedo. I couldn't tell for sure, but he looked dead. Ivy and Kissa
were nowhere to be seen.
Larry was still standing across the room, gun extended, as if he
didn't realize that Janos was gone. He was frowning. Everybody was
up, everybody was moving except Jean-Claude. Shit.
I crawled towards him, not trusting myself to stand with my
vision so spotty. It seemed to take a long time to reach him, as if
more than my eyesight wasn't working quite right.
My vision was mostly clear by the time I got to him. I knelt in
a thick pool of his blood and stared down at him. How do you tell
if a vampire is dead? Sometimes he didn't have a pulse, or a
heartbeat, or didn't breathe. Shit, again.
I holstered the Browning. There was nothing here right now to
shoot, and I needed my hands. I bled on my shirt and looked at my
hands for the first time. It looked like fingernails had scraped
down both of them, a little deeper than normal, but they'd heal.
Probably wouldn't even be a scar.
I touched Jean-Claude's shoulder and the flesh was soft, very
human. I rolled him over onto his back. His hand flopped against
the floor with a bonelessness that only the dead have. Some trick
of the night had made his face beautiful again. The most human I'd
ever seen it, except for the fact that no one was that pretty.
I checked for the big pulse in his neck. I held my fingers
against his cooling skin, and felt nothing. Something like tears
welled against my eyes, and my throat was tight. But I wouldn't
cry, not yet. I wasn't even sure I wanted to.
When is dead, dead for a vampire? Is there such a thing as CPR
for the undead? Hell, he breathed some of the time. He had a heart,
and it beat most of the time. Not beating couldn't be a good
thing.
I positioned his head, pinched his nose closed, and blew a
breath into his mouth. His chest rose with it. I tried two more
breaths, but he didn't breathe on his own. I unbuttoned his shirt
and found the spot above his breastbone, and pressed, one, two,
three, four, all the way to fifteen compressions. Two breaths.
Jason staggered over to me, then collapsed to his knees. "Is he
gone?"
"I don't know." I pumped with everything I had in me, hard
enough to break ribs on a human being, but he wasn't human. He lay
there, his body moving only when I moved it, as loose and boneless
as only the dead can be. His lips were half-parted, his closed eyes
edged with the black lace of his thick eyelashes. His curling black
hair still framed his pale face.
I'd pictured Jean-Claude dead. I'd even thought about killing
him myself once or twice, but now that his death was a fact I
didn't know how to feel. It didn't seem fair somehow. I'd brought
him here. I'd asked him to come, and he came. And now he was dead,
well and truly dead. And it was partially my fault, partially my
doing. If I killed Jean-Claude, I wanted to actually pull the
trigger and watch his eyes as he died. Not like this.
I stared down at him. I thought about no more Jean-Claude. This
beautiful body rotting at last in the grave it so richly deserved.
I shook my head. I couldn't let that happen, not if I could save
him. I only knew one thing that all dead respected, craved. Blood.
I tried to breathe life into him one more time, with one
difference. I smeared my blood on his mouth first. My lips touched
his, and I tasted the sweet, metallic taste of my own blood.
Nothing.
Larry knelt beside us. "Where did Janos go?"
He hadn't been able to see through the fog, but I didn't have
time to explain. "Watch the door; shoot anything that comes
through."
"Can I let the girls go?"
"Sure." I'd forgotten about the girls. I'd forgotten about Jeff
Quinlan. I'd have traded them all for Jean-Claude to blink his eyes
at me. Not if the choice had been offered to me as an either-or,
but just now they were strangers. He wasn't.
"More blood, maybe," Jason said softly.
I looked at him. "You offering?"
"Neither of us can feed him back to full strength without dying,
but I'll help," he said.
"You fed him once tonight already. Can you donate twice?"
"I'm a werewolf. I heal quick. Besides, my blood has more kick
to it than a human's, more power."
I really looked at him then. He was covered in slime. A big
black smear covered most of one cheek. His blue eyes didn't look
wolfish; they looked haunted, hurt. There are things that harm a
lot more than physically.
I took a deep breath and slid one of my knives out of its
sheath. I sliced my left wrist. The pain was sharp and immediate. I
placed the wound against Jean-Claude's lips. Blood welled into his
mouth. Blood filled his mouth like wine pouring into a cup. It
seeped out the corner of his mouth and slid down his cheek. I
stroked his throat to make him swallow the blood.
How he'd laugh to know I'd finally opened a vein for him. More
blood spilled from his unresponsive lips. Dammit.
I breathed into his mouth and got a taste of my own blood. I
made his chest rise, breathing in my own blood. I thought one word
at him: Live, live, live.
A shudder ran through the body. The throat convulsed, swallowed.
I pulled back from him. He caught my wrist as I moved it back from
his chin. His grip hurt. I could feel that unnatural strength that
could break bone. His eyes were still closed; only the grip on my
wrist let me know we were making progress.
I put a hand on his chest. He wasn't breathing on his own yet.
No heartbeat. Was that bad? Good? Indifferent? Hell, I didn't
know.
"Jean-Claude, can you hear me? It's Anita."
He raised up in a small motion and pressed my bleeding wrist to
his mouth. He bit me, and I gasped. He used both hands to press my
wrist to his mouth and sucked me. In the middle of sex it might
have felt good; now it just hurt.
"Damn," I said.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked.
"It hurts," I said.
"I thought it was supposed to feel good," the blonde girl
said.
I shook my head. "Not unless you're under hypnotic control."
"How long will this take?" Larry asked.
"As long as it takes," I said. "Watch the door."
"Which one?"
"Oh, hell, just shoot anything that comes through it." I was
feeling lightheaded. How much had he drunk?
"Jason, I'm getting a little woozy here." I tried to pull my
wrist free, but his hands were like iron forged to my skin. "I
can't get him off."
Jason pulled at the pale hands, but couldn't budge them. "I
could tear the fingers off one at a time and get you loose, but . .
."
"Yeah, Jean-Claude would be pissed." Dizziness was coming in
waves, nausea starting to build in the pit of my stomach. I had to
get him off me.
"Let go of me, Jean-Claude. Let go of me, dammit!"
His eyes were still closed, his face blank. He fed like a baby
with single-minded determination, but this baby was draining my life
away. I could feel it going down my arm. My heart was beginning to
pound in my ears as if I'd been running, pumping the blood faster.
Feeding him faster. Killing me faster.
Spots were dancing in front of my eyes. The darkness beginning
to eat the light. I drew the Browning.
"What are you doing?" Jason asked.
"He's going to kill me."
"He doesn't know what he's doing."
"I'll still be dead."
"Something's moving around at the head of the stairs," Larry
called.
Great. "Jean-Claude, let go of me, now!"
I pressed the barrel of the gun to the flawless skin of his
forehead. Darkness was eating my vision in great moving bites.
Nausea burned up my throat.
I leaned over him and whispered, "Please, Jean-Claude, let me
go. It's your ma petite, let me go." I sat back up.
"Vampires coming," Larry said. "Hurry up."
I stared down at that beautiful face locked on my arm, eating me
alive, and squeezed. His eyes flew open. I moved my whole finger to
keep from squeezing down.
He lay his head back onto the floor, still holding my wrist but
no longer feeding. His mouth was crimson with my blood. The gun was
still pointed at him.
"Ah, ma petite, haven't we done this before?"
"The gun," I said, "but not this." I drew my wrist from his
reluctant hands and sat back with the Browning cradled in my lap.
Nausea and darkness flew inside my head like clouds driven by the
wind.
I saw Larry crouched by the foot of the stairs, gun out. But it
was like looking down a tunnel, distant and not as important as it
should have been.
Jason lay down on the bloody floor. I blinked at him. "The neck
hurts less," he said, just as if I'd asked. Jean-Claude crawled on
top of him. Jason turned his head to one side without being asked.
Jean-Claude pressed his bloodstained mouth over the big pulse in
Jason's neck. I saw the muscles in his mouth and jaw as he sank
fangs into the tender skin.
Even if I'd known the neck hurt less, I wouldn't have offered
it. It looked too much like sex. The wrist at least let me pretend
we weren't doing something intimate.
"Anita!"
I turned back to the stairs. Larry was crouched there, alone,
with his gun. The two girls had moved back away from the door. The
blonde was having hysterics again. Couldn't really blame her.
I shook my head, lifted the Browning in a teacup grip, and
pointed it at the door. I needed the extra arm to steady me. There
was a faint tremor to my arms that wasn't going to help my aim
much.
Power breathed through the room, prickling along my skin. You
could almost smell it like perfumed sheets in the dark. I wondered
if Jean-Claude and I had given off that kind of power when he'd fed
off me. I hadn't noticed it.
Something white appeared in the doorway. It took me a second to
figure out what it was. A white handkerchief tied to a stick.
"What the fuck is that?" I asked.
"A flag of truce, ma petite."
I didn't look away from the stairs to that thick, honey-dipped
voice. Jean-Claude sounded better, or worse, than ever, each word
like fur rubbing along my tired body. His voice was thick enough to
wrap around all the aches and pains. He could make them go away. I
just knew it.
I swallowed and lowered the gun towards the floor. "Stay the
fuck out of my head."
"My apologies, ma petite. I can taste you in my mouth,
feel your frantic heartbeat like a treasured memory. I will curb my
enthusiasm, but with effort, Anita, with great effort." He sounded
like I had let him have just a little sex, and he wanted more.
I glanced at him. He was sitting beside Jason's half-naked body.
Jason was staring at the ceiling, eyes heavy-lidded like he was
half-asleep. Blood trickled from two new puncture wounds in his
neck. He didn't look like he'd felt much pain. In fact, it looked
like it had felt good. I'd taken the edge off Jean-Claude's need,
and Jason had gotten a smoother ride. Bully for him.
"May we talk?" A voice from the hallway, a man's. I couldn't
place it. Hell, I was having trouble focusing on anything, let
alone who the disembodied voices belonged to.
"Anita, what do you want me to do?" Larry asked.
"It's a flag of truce," I said. My words felt slurred, though
they sounded clear enough. I felt almost drunk, or drugged. It was
a bad drunk, a dangerous downer.
Magnus stepped into the doorway. For a second I thought I was
seeing things. It was so damned unexpected. He was dressed all in
white from his tux to his shoes. The cloth seemed to shine against
his dark skin. His long hair was tied back with a loose white
ribbon. He had the handkerchief-coated stick gripped in one hand.
He walked down the steps in a graceful, almost dancelike movement.
It wasn't a vampire's glide, but it was close.
Larry kept his gun trained on him. "Stay where you are," Larry
said. He sounded a little scared, but like he meant it. The gun was
pointed nice and steady.
"We've discussed the fact that silver bullets don't work on the
fey."
"Who says this gun has silver bullets?" Larry said.
It was a good lie. I was proud of him. I was certainly too gone
to have thought of it.
"Anita?" Magnus looked past Larry like he wasn't there, but he
didn't come down those last few steps.
"I'd do what he says, Magnus. Now what do you want?"
Magnus smiled and spread his arms away from his body. To show he
was unarmed, I guess. But I knew, and Larry knew, that weapons
weren't what made him dangerous. "I mean you no harm. We know that
Ivy broke the truce first. Serephina offers her most sincere
apologies. She asks that you come directly to her audience chamber.
No more tests. We have all been unforgivably rude to a visiting
master."
"Do we believe him?" I asked of no one in particular.
"He speaks the truth," Jean-Claude said.
Great. "Let him pass, Larry."
"You sure that's a good idea?"
"No, but do it anyway."
Larry pointed his gun at the floor, but he didn't look happy.
Magnus walked down the stairs, smiling, mostly at Larry. He walked
past him and made a show of giving him his back. It was almost
enough to make me wish Larry would shoot him.
He stopped a few feet in front of the rest of us. We were all
still on the floor, sitting, or in Jason's case, lying. Magnus
looked down at us, amused, or bemused.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.
Jean-Claude glanced at me. "You seem to know each other."
"This is Magnus Bouvier," I said. "What are you doing here, with
them?"
He loosened the tie at his collar and spread the stiff cloth. I
was pretty sure what he was trying to show me, but I couldn't see
from the floor. I wasn't at all sure I could stand without falling
over. "If you want me to take a peek, you're going to have to come
down here."
"With pleasure." He knelt in front of me less than two feet
away. He had two healing bite marks on his neck.
"Shit, Magnus. Why?"
He looked at me, eyes flicking to my bloody wrist. "I might ask
you the same thing."
"I donated blood to save his life. What's your excuse?"
He smiled. "Nothing half as nice as that." Magnus undid the
ribbon and let his hair fall like a curtain around his shoulders.
He looked at me with his turquoise blue eyes, and crawled on all
fours towards Jean-Claude. He moved like he had muscles in places
that people didn't. It was like watching a great cat move. People
just didn't move like that.
He knelt in front of Jean-Claude, so close they were almost
touching. He swept his hair to one side and offered his neck.
"No," Jean-Claude said.
"What's going on?" Larry asked.
It was a good question. I didn't have a good answer. I didn't
even have a bad one.
Magnus slipped off his white jacket and let it slide to the
floor. He undid the cuff to his right wrist and pushed the cloth
back. He offered his bare wrist to Jean-Claude. The skin was smooth
and unbroken. Jean-Claude took his hand and raised the skin to his
lips.
I almost looked away, but in the end I didn't. Looking away is
like lying to yourself. You pretend it isn't happening, but it
is.
Jean-Claude brushed his lips across the skin, then released
Magnus's hand. "The offer is generous, but I would be drunk indeed
if I added your blood to theirs."
"Drunk?" I asked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Ah, ma petite, you do have a way with words."
"Shut up."
"Losing a quantity of blood makes you grumpy," he said.
"Fuck off."
He laughed, and the sound was sweet. It had a taste just outside
description, like some forbidden candy that was not just fattening
but poisonous. But what a way to go.
Magnus stayed kneeling, staring at the laughing vampire. "You
won't taste me?"
Jean-Claude shook his head, as if he didn't trust himself to
speak. His eyes glittered with suppressed laughter.
"The blood has been offered." Magnus crawled back towards me.
His hair had spilled forward on one side so one eye was lost,
glittering like a jewel through his hair. Eyes just weren't
supposed to be that color. He crawled up to me until our faces were
inches apart. "A pint of blood, a pound of flesh." He whispered it,
leaning in towards me as if for a kiss.
I leaned back, away from him, and overbalanced. I ended up on my
back on the floor. It was not an improvement. Magnus crawled over
me, still on all fours, hovering. I pressed the Browning into his
chest.
"Back off, or bite it."
Magnus crawled backwards, but not very far. I sat up, keeping
the gun on him one-handed. The barrel wavered a lot more than
normal. "What was that all about?"
Jean-Claude said, "Janos spoke of taking blood and flesh from us
this night. As an apology, Serephina offers us blood, and
flesh."
I stared at Magnus, still on all fours, still looking feral and
dangerous. I lowered the gun. "No, thanks."
Magnus sat back on the floor, smoothing his hands through his
hair, brushing it back from his face. "You have refused Serephina's
peace offerings. Do you refuse her apology as well?"
"Take us to Serephina, and you will have done what was asked of
you," Jean-Claude said.
Magnus looked at me. "What of you, Anita? Are you content that I
take you to Serephina? Do you accept her apology?"
I shook my head. "Why should I?"
"Anita is not a master," Jean-Claude said. "It is my vengeance,
my pardon, you should be asking."
"I am doing what I was told," he said. "She challenged Ivy to a
test of wills. Ivy lost."
"I didn't throw her across the room," I said.
Jean-Claude frowned. "She resorted to brute force, ma
petite. She could not win by force of will or vampire wiles
against a human being." He looked suddenly very serious. "She lost
. . . to you."
"So?"
"So, ma petite, you declared yourself a master, and
proved that claim."
I shook my head. "That's ridiculous; I'm not a vampire."
"I did not declare you a master vampire, ma petite. I
said you were a master."
"A master what? Human being?"
It was his turn to shake his head. "I do not know, ma
petite." He turned to Magnus. "What does Serephina say?"
"Serephina says to bring her."
Jean-Claude nodded and stood like he was pulled by strings. He
looked fresh and new, if a little bloodstained. How dare he look so
good when I felt like shit?
He looked down at Jason and me. His strange good humor had
returned. He smiled down at me, and even with blood staining his
mouth he was beautiful. His eyes glittered with some amusing
secret. He was full of himself in a way I'd never seen before.
"I do not know if my companions are able to walk. They're
feeling a little drained." He chuckled at his own joke, putting a
hand in front of his eyes, as if it was too funny even for him.
"You are drunk," I said.
He nodded. "I believe I am."
"You can't be drunk on blood."
"I've drunk deep of two mortals, but neither of you are
human."
I didn't want to hear this. "What the hell are you talking
about?"
"Necromancer with a chaser of werewolf; a drink to make any
vampire giddy." He giggled. Jean-Claude never giggled.
I ignored him, if you can ignore an intoxicated vampire. "Jason,
can you stand?"
"I think so." His voice was thick, heavy but not sleepy, more
the languor after sex. Maybe I was glad my bite had hurt.
"Larry?"
Larry walked over to us, glancing at Magnus, gun naked in his
hand. He didn't look happy. "Can we trust him?"
"We're going to," I said. "Help me stand up, and let's get out
of here before fangface busts a gut."
Jean-Claude was doubled over with laughter. He seemed to think
"fangface" was outrageously funny. Ye gods.
Larry helped me stand, and after a second of dizziness I was
okay. He offered a hand to Jason without being asked. Jason swayed
on his feet, but stayed standing.
"Can you walk?"
"If you can, I can," he said.
A man after my own heart. I took a step, another, and was on my
way across the room. Jason and Larry followed. Jean-Claude
staggered to his feet, still laughing softly.
Magnus was standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting for us.
He had the jacket slung over one arm. He'd even found the ribbon to
tie back his hair.
Jason walked wide around the torn bodies of his two would-be
lovers and picked his shirt off the floor. The shirt covered the
mess on his chest, but the goo was still on his face, and his hair
was stiff and nearly as dark as his pants.
Even the back of Jean-Claude's clothes and hair were thick with
congealing blood. I had my own share of blood and goop. Good thing
I wore mostly black tonight; didn't show dirt as badly. The crimson
blouse was looking a little worse for wear.
Larry was the only one without any blood or gore on him. Here
was hoping he could keep up the good work.
The two girls had hidden under the stairs while we discussed
things. I was betting it was the brown-haired girl's idea to hide.
Lisa seemed too scared to think, let alone do anything smart. Not
that I could blame her, but hysteria gets you nowhere but dead.
The brown-haired girl walked over to Larry. The blonde came
along for the ride, her hands dug so tightly into the other one's
torn blouse it would have taken surgery to remove them.
"We just want to go home now. Can we do that?" Her voice was a
little breathy, but for the most part solid. I stared into her
brown eyes and nodded.
Larry looked at me.
"Magnus," I said.
He raised his eyebrows, still waiting by the stairs like a tour
guide, or a butler ready to escort us up. "You called?"
"I want the girls to leave now, safe."
He glanced at them. "I don't see why not. Serephina had us
collect them mostly for your benefit, Anita. They've served their
purpose."
I didn't like the way he said that last. "Safe, Magnus, no more
harm. Are we clear on what that means?"
He smiled. "They walk out the door, and go home. Is that clear
enough for you?"
"Why so cooperative all of a sudden?"
"Would letting them go be apology enough?" Magnus asked.
"Yeah, if they go free, unharmed. I'll accept her apology."
He nodded. "Then consider it done."
"Don't you have to check with your master first?"
"My master whispers sweetly to me, Anita, and I obey." He smiled
while he said it, but there was a tightness around his eyes, an
involuntary flexing of his hands.
"You don't like being her lap dog."
"Perhaps, but there's not much I can do about it." He started up
the stairs. "Shall we go up?"
Jean-Claude paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Do you need
some help, ma petite? I have taken quite a bit of your
blood. You do not recover as quickly as my wolf."
Truthfully, the stairs looked longer going up than they had
coming down. But I shook my head. "I can make it."
"Of that, ma petite, I have no doubt." He stepped close
to me, but did not whisper; instead I felt him in my mind. "You are
weak, ma petite. Let me help you."
"Stop doing that, dammit."
He smiled and sighed. "As you like, ma petite." He
walked up the steps like he could have flown, barely touching them.
Larry and the girls went up next; none of them seemed tired. I
slogged up after them. Jason brought up the rear. He looked
hollow-eyed. It may have felt good, but donating that much blood is
still rough, even on the temporarily furry. If Jean-Claude had
offered to carry him up the stairs, would he have agreed?
Jason caught me looking, but he didn't smile; he just stared
back. Maybe he'd have said no, too. Weren't we all just being
uncooperative tonight?
Chapter 27
The silken drapes had been drawn aside. A throne sat in the far
right-hand corner. There was no other word for it; "chair" just
didn't cover that golden, bejeweled thing. Cushions were scattered
on the floor around it, heaped like they should be covered with
harem girls, or at least small pampered dogs. Nothing sat on them.
It was like an empty stage waiting for the actors to appear.
A small wall-hanging on the back wall had been pushed aside to
reveal a door. The door had been wedged open with a triangular
piece of wood. The spring air poured through the open door, chasing
back the smell of decay. I started to say "Come on, girls," but the
wind changed. It blew harder, colder, and I knew it wasn't wind at
all. My skin prickled, the fine muscles along my arms and shoulders
twitching with it.
"What is that?" Larry asked.
"Ghosts," I said.
"Ghosts? What the hell are ghosts doing here?"
"Serephina can call ghosts," Jean-Claude said. "It is a unique
ability among us."
Kissa appeared in the doorway. Her right arm hung loose at her
side. Blood dripped down her arm in a slow, heavy line.
"Your handiwork?" I asked.
Larry nodded. "I shot her, but it didn't seem to slow her down
much."
"You hurt her."
Larry widened his eyes. "Great." He didn't sound great when he
said it. Wounded master vampires get cranky as hell.
"Serephina bids you come outside," Kissa said.
Magnus dropped to the cushions, boneless as a cat. He looked
like he'd curled up there before.
"You aren't coming?" I asked.
"I've seen the show," he said.
Jean-Claude walked towards the door. Jason had moved up beside
him, but back a couple of steps like a good dog.
The two girls were holding onto Larry's jacket. He had been the
one who unchained them. They'd seen him shoot the bad guys. He was
a hero. And like all good heroes, he'd get himself killed
protecting them.
Jean-Claude was suddenly at my side. "What is wrong, ma
petite?"
"Can the girls go out the front?"
"Why?"
"Because whatever's out there is big and bad, and I want them
out of it."
"What's wrong?" Jason asked. He stood a little to one side. He
was flexing his hands, closed, open, closed, open. He'd seemed a
lot more relaxed thirty minutes ago, but then, weren't we all?
Jean-Claude turned to Kissa. "Was this one right?" He motioned
to Magnus. "Are the girls free to go?"
"They may go; so says our master."
He turned to the girls. "Go," he said.
They looked at each other, then at Larry. "Alone?" the blonde
said.
The brown-haired one shook her head. "Come on, Lisa, they're
letting us go. Come on." She looked at Larry. "Thank you."
"Just go home," he said. "Be safe."
She nodded and started for the far door with Lisa clinging to
her. They left the door to the room open, and we watched them walk
out the front. Nothing swooped down upon them. No screams cut the
night. What do you know?
"Are you ready now, ma petite? We must pay our
respects." He took a step forward, looking at me. Jason already
stood at his side, nervous hands and all.
I nodded and fell into step behind Jean-Claude. Larry stayed at
my side like a second shadow. I could feel his fear like a
trembling against my skin.
I understood why he was scared. Janos had beaten Jean-Claude.
Janos was afraid of Serephina, which meant she could take
Jean-Claude without raising a sweat. If she could take the vampire
that was on our side, she wouldn't find us much of a challenge. If
I was smart, I'd shoot her as soon as I saw her. Of course, we were
here to ask for her help. It sort of cut my options.
The cool wind played in our hair like it had little hands. It
was almost alive. I'd never felt any wind that could make me want
to brush it off, like an overly amorous date. But I wasn't afraid.
I should have been. Not of the ghosts, but of whatever had called
them up. But I felt distant and faintly unreal. Blood loss will do
that to you.
We walked out the door and down two small stone steps. Rows of
small, gnarled fruit trees decorated the back of the house. There
was a wall of darkness just beyond the orchard. It was a thick wall
of shadows, so black that I couldn't see through it. The naked tree
branches were framed against the blackness.
"What is that?" I asked.
"Some of us can weave shadows and darkness around us,"
Jean-Claude said.
"I know. I saw it when Coltrain was killed, but this is a
freaking wall."
"It is impressive," he said. His voice was very bland,
matter-of-fact. I glanced at him, but even in the bright moonlight
I couldn't read his face.
A sparkle of white light showed behind the blackness. Beams of
cold, pale light pierced the darkness. The light ate away at the
dark like paper burns, the blackness crumbling, vanishing as the
light consumed it. When the last of the darkness had shredded away,
a pale figure stood among the trees.
Even from this distance you wouldn't have mistaken her for
human, but then she wasn't trying to pass. A pale, white
luminescence swirled above her head, a glowing cloud, yards across
like colorless neon. Vague figures darted out from it, then swirled
back.
"Is that what I think it is?" Larry asked.
"Ghosts," I said.
"Shit," he said.
"My thoughts exactly."
The ghosts flowed out into the trees. They hung on the dead
branches like a froth of early blossoms, if blossoms could move and
writhe and glow.
The strange wind blew against my face, sending my hair streaming
backwards. A long, thin line of phosphorescent figures whirled out.
The ghosts came sweeping towards us, low to the ground.
"Anita!"
"Just ignore them, Larry. They can't actually hurt you as long
as you keep moving and ignore them."
The first ghost was long and thin with a wide, screaming mouth
that looked like a smoke ring. It hit me at mid-chest; the shock
ran through me like electricity. The small muscles in my arms
jerked with it. Larry gasped.
"What the hell was that?" Jason asked.
I took a step forward. "Keep walking and ignore them."
I didn't mean to, but my pace took me ahead of Jean-Claude. The
next ghost swept over my face. There was a moment of smothering but
I kept walking and it passed.
Jean-Claude touched my arm. I stared into his face and wasn't
sure what I saw. He was definitely trying to tell me something. He
stepped out in front of me, still staring at me.
I nodded, and let him lead. It didn't cost me anything.
"I don't like this," Larry said in a singsong voice.
"Me either," Jason said. He was batting at a tiny swirl of
whiteness like a tame mist. The more he swatted at it, the more
solid it became. A face was forming out of the mist.
I walked back to Jason and grabbed his arms. "Ignore it."
The small ghost perched on his shoulder. It had a large, bulbous
nose and two half-formed eyes.
Jason's arms tensed under my hands. "Every time you notice them,
you give them power to manifest themselves," I said. A ghost hit me
in the back. It was like a lump of moving ice in the center of my
body. It crawled out the front of my body like a cold rope being
pulled through me. The sensation was unnerving as hell, but it
wasn't permanent. It didn't even really hurt.
The ghost dived into Jason's chest, and he cried out. Only my
grip on his arms kept him from clawing at the thing. Every muscle
in Jason's body twitched like a horse being eaten alive by flies.
He sagged when the ghost was through him, looking at me with
horror-filled eyes. It was nice to know he could be scared. The
vampires seemed to have taken some of his courage with their
rotting arms. Couldn't blame him. I'd have had screaming fits,
too.
Larry jumped when a ghost popped through him, but that was all.
His eyes were a little wide, but he knew where the danger lay, and
it wasn't the ghosts.
Jean-Claude came to stand near us. "What is wrong, my wolf?"
There was an undercurrent of warning, anger. His pet was not living
up to his reputation.
"We're fine," I said. I squeezed Jason's hand; his eyes were
still wide, but he nodded. "We'll be fine."
Jean-Claude walked towards the distant white figure once more,
his movement graceful, unhurried, as if he wasn't as scared as the
rest of us. Maybe he wasn't. I pulled Jason with me. Larry had
moved to my back. The three of us walked like normal human beings
behind Jean-Claude. We looked like good little soldiers except for
the fact that I was holding the werewolf's hand. His hand was
sweating against my skin. Couldn't afford to have a hysterical
werewolf. My right hand was still free to go for a gun, or a knife.
We'd hurt them once; if they didn't behave themselves, we could
finish the job. Or at least go down trying.
Jean-Claude led us among the naked trees with the ghosts
crawling over the bare branches like phantom snakes. He stopped a
few feet away from the vampire. I almost expected him to bow, but
he didn't. "Greetings, Serephina."
"Greetings, Jean-Claude." She was dressed in a simple white
dress that fell in folds of shining cloth over her feet. White
gloves covered her arms almost completely. Her hair was grey with
streaks of white, left unadorned save for a headband of silver and
pearls. It wasn't a headband, probably called a coronet or
something. Her face was lined with age. Delicate makeup had been
added, but not enough to hide the fact that she was old. Vampires
didn't age. That was the whole point, wasn't it?
"Shall we go inside?" she asked.
"If you like," he said.
She gave a faint smile. "You may escort me inside, as you did of
old."
"But it is not olden days, Serephina. We are both masters
now."
"I have many masters serving me, Jean-Claude."
"I serve only myself," he said.
She stared at him for a space of heartbeats, then nodded. "You
have made your point. Now be a gentleman."
Jean-Claude took a deep enough breath that I heard it sigh from
his lips. He offered her his arm, and she slid one gloved hand
through it, her hand resting on his wrist.
The ghosts floated downward behind her like a great flowing
train. They brushed past the rest of us with a skin-prickling rush,
then floated upward, hovering about ten feet off the ground.
"You may walk with us," Serephina said. "They will not molest
you."
"Comforting," I said.
She smiled again. It was hard to tell in the moonlight and
ghostly glow, but her eyes were pale, maybe grey, maybe blue. You
didn't need to see the color to not like the look in them.
"I have looked forward to meeting you, necromancer."
"Wish I could say the same."
The smile didn't widen, and didn't fade; it didn't move at all.
It was like her face was a well-constructed mask. I raised my
glance to her eyes, for just a moment. They didn't try to suck me
under, but there was an energy in them, a deep burning that pushed
at the surface of her being like a banked fire; move a log just
wrong, and the flames would come licking out and burn us all up. I
couldn't judge her age; she was stopping me. I'd never met anyone
that could actually stop me—trick me into believing them younger,
yes, but not just glare at me and keep me from doing it.
She turned and walked through the door. Jean-Claude helped her
up the steps, as if she needed it. The easy distance of the blood
loss was receding, leaving me real, and alive, and wanting to stay
that way. Maybe it was Jason's hand warm in my own. The sweat on
his palm. The reality of him. I was suddenly scared, and she hadn't
done a damn thing to me.
The ghosts flowed into the house, some pouring through the door,
some sliding through the walls. Watching them pull free of the
wood, you almost expected a sound, like a plop, but it was utterly
quiet. The undead make no noise.
The ghosts bounced along the ceiling like helium-filled
balloons, poured down the walls in back of the throne like milky
water. They were translucent near the candle flames, like
bubbles.
Serephina sat down in the corner on her throne. Magnus curled in
the cushions at her feet. There was a flash of anger in his eyes,
there, and gone. He wasn't enjoying being Serephina's boy toy. That
got him an extra point in my book.
"Come sit by me, Jean-Claude," Serephina said. She motioned to
the cushions on the opposite side from Magnus. They'd have made an
interesting pair.
"No," Jean-Claude said. That one word was warning enough. I drew
my hand slowly from Jason's. If we really were going to fight, I'd
need both hands.
Serephina laughed, and with that sound her power broke open and
crashed on us poor humans.
The power rode down on me like pounding horses. My whole body
vibrated with it. My mouth was too dry to swallow, and I couldn't
quite get a full breath of air. She didn't have to touch me to hurt
me. She could just sit on her throne and throw power at me. She
could grind my bones into dust from a nice safe distance.
Something touched my arm. I jerked and turned, and it felt like
slow motion. It has hard to focus on Jean-Claude's face, but once I
did, the grinding power receded like the ocean pulling back from
the shore.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, then another; every breath was
firmer. "Illusion," I whispered. "Fucking illusion."
"Yes, ma petite." He turned from me and went to Larry
and Jason, who were still standing spellbound.
I looked back at the throne. The ghosts had formed a glowing
nimbus around her; most impressive. But not nearly as impressive as
her eyes. I had one wild glimpse of eyes that seemed to go on
forever, then I stared at the hem of her white dress as hard as I
could.
"Can you not meet my gaze?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Can you really be that powerful a necromancer when you cannot
even meet my eyes?"
I wasn't just not meeting her eyes. I was hunched over. I
straightened but didn't move my eyes. "You're only about six
hundred years old." I raised my eyes slowly, inch by inch up the
white dress until I could see her chin. "How the hell did you get
to be this powerful in that amount of time?"
"Such bravado. Meet my eyes and I will answer you."
I shook my head. "I don't want to know that badly."
She chuckled, and the sound was low and dark. It slid down my
spine like something loathsome and half-alive. "Ah, Janos, Ivy, so
good of you to join us."
Janos glided through the door with Ivy at his side. Janos looked
more human than he had since I'd first met him. His skin was pale
but fleshy. His face was still thin, and he couldn't have passed
for completely human, but he looked less monstrous. He also looked
healed.
"Shit."
"Is something wrong, necromancer?" Serephina asked.
"I hate to waste that many bullets."
She gave that low chuckle again. It made my skin feel tight.
"Janos is very talented."
He walked past us. I could see bullet holes in his shirt. At
least I'd ruined his wardrobe.
Ivy looked dandy. Had she run when the shooting started? Had she
left Bruce to die?
Janos went down on one knee among the cushions. Ivy knelt with
him. They stayed there, head bent, waiting for her to notice
them.
Kissa moved to stand beside Magnus, bleeding, her arm held close
to her side. But she glanced from the two kneeling vampires to
Serephina, and back again. She looked . . . worried.
Something was up. Something unpleasant.
She left them kneeling, and said, "What business brings you to
me, Jean-Claude?"
"I believe you have something that belongs to me," he said.
"Janos," she said.
Janos rose to his feet and went back out the door. He was out of
sight only a moment, then came back carrying a large cloth sack
like something Santa Claus would have carried. He untied the cord
that held it shut and emptied the contents on the floor at
Jean-Claude's feet. Splinters of wood, none of them big enough to
make a decent stake, fell into a medium-sized pile. The wood was
dark and polished where it wasn't white with new cuts.
"With my compliments," Janos said. He shook the last bits of
wood out of the sack and knelt back on the steps.
Jean-Claude stared down at the splintered wood. "This is
childish, Serephina. Something I would have expected from you
centuries ago. Now . . ." He motioned at the ghosts, at everything.
"How have you managed to subdue Janos? You feared him once."
"State your business, Jean-Claude, before I grow impatient and
challenge you myself."
He smiled and gave a graceful bow, arms out to his sides like an
actor. When he raised up, the smile was gone. His face was like a
beautiful mask. "Xavier is in your territory," he said.
"Did you truly think I would feel the presence of your pet
necromancer, and not sense Xavier? I know he is here. If he
challenges me, I will deal with him. Speak the rest of your
business, or was that it? Did you come all this way to warn me? How
touching."
"I realize you are more powerful than Xavier now," Jean-Claude
said, "but he is slaughtering humans. Not just the attack on the
missing boy's home, but many deaths. He has gone back to cutting up
his pets. He draws attention to us all."
"Then let the council kill him."
"You are master in this territory, Serephina; it is your task to
police it."
"Do not presume to tell me my duties. I was centuries old when
you died. You were nothing but a catamite for any vampire that
wanted you. Our beautiful Jean-Claude." She made beautiful sound
like a bad thing.
"I know what I was, Serephina. Now I am Master of the City and
follow the council's laws. We are not to allow humans to be
slaughtered in our territories. It is bad for business."
"Let Xavier kill hundreds. There are always more," she said.
"Nice attitude," I said.
She turned her attention to me, and I wished I hadn't said
anything. Her power pulsed against me, like a great beating
heart.
"How dare you disapprove of me," Serephina said. I heard the
rustle of her silk dress as she stood. No one else moved, and I
heard her dress slither across the cushions, sliding along the
floor, as she came closer. I did not want her to touch me.
I stared up the line of her body, and saw her gloved hand strike
outward. I gasped. Blood dripped down my hand.
"Shit!" It was a deeper cut than Janos had managed, and it hurt
more. I met her eyes, anger making me brave, or stupid. Her eyes
were pure white, like captive moons shining from her face. Those
eyes called to me. I wanted to fling myself into her pale arms, to
feel the touch of those soft lips, the sharp sweet caress of her
teeth. I wanted to feel her body cradling mine. I wanted her to
hold me like my mother once had. She would take care of me forever,
and never leave, never die, never desert me.
That stopped me. I stood very still. I was standing at the edge
of the pillows. The hem of her dress spilled at my feet. I could
have reached out a hand and touched her.
Fear pounded my heart in my head. I could taste my pulse on my
tongue.
She spread her arms wide. "Come to me, child, and I will always
be with you. I will hold you forever."
Her voice was everything good; warmth, food, shelter from all
the things that hurt, all the disappointment. I knew in that moment
that all I had to do was step into her arms and all the bad things
would go away.
I stood there with my hands balled into fists. My skin ached to
have her touch me, hold me. Blood still dripped down my hand from
where she'd cut me. I rubbed my fingers into the cut, making the
pain sharp.
I shook my head.
"Come to me, child. I will be your mother forever."
I found my voice. It sounded rusty, choked, but it came.
"Everything dies, bitch. You aren't immortal, none of you are."
I felt her power waver like a pebble thrown in a pool, and I
moved back a step, then another. It took everything I had left not
to run from that room, and to keep running. To run and run and run.
Away from her.
I didn't run. In fact, I stayed about two steps back, looking
around. People had been busy. Janos stood next to Jean-Claude. They
weren't trying their vampire wiles on each other, but the threat
was open, and there. Kissa stood to one side, blood pooling on the
pillows at her feet. There was a look on her face that I couldn't
read. It was almost amazement. Ivy was standing now, staring at me,
smiling, pleased that I'd nearly fallen into Serephina's arms.
I wasn't pleased. No one had ever come closer, not even
Jean-Claude. I was beyond scared. My skin was cold. I had broken
her hold over me, but it was temporary. She might not be able to
trick me with her mind, but I'd felt her mind brush mine. If she
wanted me, she could have me. It wouldn't be pretty. No illusions,
no tricks, just brute fucking force and she could have me. I would
never run into her arms, but she could crush my mind. That she
could do.
The knowledge was almost calming. If there was nothing I could
do to prevent it, might as well not worry about it. Worry about the
things you can control; the rest will either work themselves out,
or they'll kill you. Either way, no more worries.
"You are quite right, necromancer," Serephina said. "We are all
mortal in this room. Vampires can live a long, long time. It makes
us forget that we are mortal. But immortality eludes even us."
It wasn't a question, and I agreed with everything she said, so
I just looked at her.
"Janos told me you had an aura of power, necromancer. He said he
used it against you as he would another vampire. I did it just now
when I slashed your hand. I have never known a human that could be
harmed so."
"I don't know what you mean about an aura of power."
"It is what allowed you to slip my magic. No human could have
withstood me, and few vampires."
"Glad I could do something to impress you."
"I never said I was impressed, necromancer."
I shrugged. "Fine, maybe you don't give a damn about humans, or
keeping a low profile. I don't know about your council, or what
they'll do to you for not helping us. But I do know what I'll
do."
"What are you babbling about, human?"
"I am the vampire executioner for this state. Xavier and his
crew took a young boy. I want him back, alive. You help me get him
back alive, or I go to the courts and get a death warrant on
you."
"Jean-Claude, talk to her, or I will kill her."
"She has the weight of human law behind her, Serephina."
"What is human law to us?"
"The council says that it rules us as it rules the humans.
Refusing the human laws is the same as breaking with the
council."
"I don't believe you."
"You can taste the truth of my words. I could never lie to you,
not two hundred years ago, not now." His voice was very calm, very
sure.
"When did this new law go into effect?"
"When the council saw the benefit of being mainstream. They want
the money, the power, the freedom to walk the streets in safety.
They don't want to hide anymore, Serephina."
"You believe what you say; that much is true," she said. She
looked down at me, and the weight of that gaze even with me looking
away was like a giant hand mashing me down. I stayed on my feet,
but it was an effort. You should bow down to such power. Grovel
before it. Worship it.
"Stop it, Serephina," I said. "Cheap mind tricks won't work, and
you know it." The cold lump in my stomach wasn't so sure.
"You fear me, human. I can taste it on the back of my
tongue."
Oh, goody. "Yeah, you scare me. You probably scare everybody in
this room. So what?"
She drew herself up to every inch of her tall, thin frame. Her
voice was suddenly soft, breathing down my skin like fur. "I will
show you."
She gestured outward with one gloved hand. I tensed, waiting for
another cut, but it never came. A scream cut the air and whirled me
around.
Blood ran down Ivy's face. Another cut appeared on her bare arm.
Two more on her face. Long, slicing wounds with every gesture that
Serephina made.
Ivy shrieked. "Serephina, please!" She fell to her knees among
the bright cushions, one hand outstretched towards the master
vampire. "Serephina, master, please."
Serephina walked around her, one gliding movement at a time. "If
you had held your temper, they would all be ours now. I knew their
hearts, their minds, their deepest fears. We would have broken them
all. They would have broken the truce and we could have feasted on
them to our blood's content."
She was almost even with me. I wanted to move back away from
her, but she might see it as a sign of weakness. Her dress brushed
my leg, and I didn't care. I did not want her to touch me. I moved
back, and she caught my wrist. I hadn't even seen her move.
I stared at that silk-gloved hand as if a snake had just coiled
around my wrist. Hell, I'd have rather had the snake.
"Come, necromancer; help me punish this bad vampire."
"No, thanks," I said. My voice sounded shaky. It matched the
fluttering in my gut. She hadn't done anything to me yet except
touch me, but touch makes all powers stronger. If she tried a mind
trick now, I was finished.
"Ivy would have taken great delight in your pain,
necromancer."
"That's her problem, not mine." I was staring very hard at the
silky cloth of Serephina's dress. I had a terrible urge to look
upward, to meet her eyes. I didn't think it was her power, just my
own morbid compulsion. It's hard to be tough when you're staring at
someone's body and being led around by the hand like a child.
Ivy lay on the floor, half-propped on her arms. Her lovely face
was a mass of deep cuts. Bone gleamed in the candlelight from one
cheek. Her right arm had a cut that showed muscle twitching and
bloody.
Ivy stared up at me, and behind the pain was a hatred strong
enough to light a match. The anger rose from her in slapping
waves.
Serephina knelt beside her, drawing me down with her. I glanced
back at Jean-Claude. Janos had a white spider-hand on his chest.
Larry mouthed the word "gun." I shook my head. She hadn't hurt me
yet. Not yet.
The hand jerked my arm hard enough to wrench my head around to
face her. We were eye to eye, suddenly, horribly. What I saw in her
eyes wasn't horrible. Her eyes, which I would have sworn were some
pale shade, looked solid wood brown. My mother's eyes.
I think she meant for it to be comforting, or seductive. It
wasn't. My skin went cool with fear. "Stop it."
"You don't want me to stop," she said.
I tried to pull my arm out of her grasp. I might as well have
tried to move the sun to a different part of the sky. "All you can
offer me is death. My dead mother in your dead eyes." I stared into
those brown eyes that I never thought to see this side of heaven. I
yelled at my mother's eyes, because I couldn't look away. Serephina
wouldn't let me, and I couldn't fight her on that, not while she
touched me.
"You're a walking corpse, and everything else is just lies."
"I am not dead, Anita." There was an echo of my mother's voice
in her words. She raised her other hand as if to caress my
cheek.
I tried to close my eyes. Tried to look away. I couldn't. A
strange paralysis was sliding over my body, like the feeling you
get just on the edge of sleep when your body weighs a thousand
pounds and every movement is nearly impossible.
That hand came for me in slow motion, and I knew if she touched
me I would fall into her arms. I would cling to her and cry.
I remembered my mother's face the last time I'd seen her. The
coffin had been dark wood covered in a blanket of pink roses. I
knew Mommy was in there, but they wouldn't let me see. No one could
see. Closed coffin, they said, closed coffin. Every adult in my
life was having hysterics. The room was full of screams, sobbing.
My father collapsed to the floor. He was useless to me. I wanted my
mother. The latches on the coffin were silver. I opened them, and I
heard a cry behind me. I didn't have much time. The lid was heavy,
but I shoved it upward and it moved. I got a glimpse of white
satin, and shadows. I raised my arms over my head with every ounce
of strength and got a glimpse of something.
My Aunt Mattie grabbed me back. The lid clanged shut, and she
snapped the lock back in place, dragging me away. I didn't
struggle; I'd seen enough. It was like looking at one of those
pictures that you know must look like something, but your eyes
can't make sense of it. It took me years to make sense of it. But
what I saw wasn't my mother. Couldn't be my beautiful mother. It
had been a husk, something left behind. Something to hide in a dark
box and let rot.
I opened my eyes, and Serephina had pale grey eyes. I pulled my
wrist from her suddenly loose grasp and said, "Pain helps."
I stood and stepped away from her, and she didn't stop me. Which
was good, because I was shaking all over, and it wasn't from the
vampire. Memories have teeth, too.
She stayed kneeling by Ivy, and said, "Most impressive,
necromancer. I will help you find this boy you seek."
Her sudden cooperation was unnerving. "Why?"
"Because since I attained my full powers, no one has ever
slipped my illusions twice in one night. No one living or
dead."
She grabbed Ivy by one bloody arm and pulled her into her lap to
bleed on the white dress. Ivy gasped. "Remember this, young master
vampire: This mortal did what you could not. She stood against me
and won." She tossed her suddenly away, sending her sprawling
across the floor. "You are not worthy of my sight. Get out."
Serephina stood. The fresh blood stood out in scarlet relief
against her white dress and gloves. "You have impressed us. Now go,
all of you." She turned and walked back to her throne. She didn't
sit down. She stood with her back to us, one hand on the chair arm.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but she seemed tired. Her ghosts
flowed down to meet her in a swirling white mist. There weren't as
many individual shapes as before, as if the phantoms had lost some
of their solidity.
"Go," she said without turning around.
The back door was open, but Jean-Claude walked to the doorway
that led out the front. I wasn't going to argue. I just wanted out.
I didn't give a damn which door we took.
We walked coolly, calmly towards the door. I wanted to run.
Larry stood next to me, and I could see the pulse in his throat
jumping with the effort not to bolt. Jason reached the door a
little ahead of us, but he waited and turned and motioned us
through like a doorman, or a butler.
I caught a glimpse of his eyes, too wide, scared, and knew what
the gesture had cost him. We went through; he followed. Jean-Claude
brought up the rear. The doors slammed behind us, and we walked
out. Just like that.
But for the first time I knew that I'd been let go. I hadn't
fought my way out, or bluffed my way out. She could be impressed
all she wanted, but she had allowed us to go. Being allowed to
leave was not the same thing as winning.
I would never go back into that house voluntarily. I would never
be near her willingly. Because I'd been impressive tonight, but I
couldn't keep it up. Even now I knew that she could have me. This
vampire had my ticket. Had a lie almost worth my immortal soul.
Damn.
Chapter 28
Jason walked past me into the hotel room. He headed straight for
the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower." It was pushy, but he did smell
like a decayed corpse. We'd driven back with all the windows rolled
down. Most of the time if you stink, you can't smell someone else.
I had some of the rotted stuff on me, but I could still smell
Jason. Some smells are too unique to ever really go away.
"Wait," Larry said.
Jason turned, but not like he was happy.
"Use my shower." He held up a hand before I could say anything.
"It's an hour until dawn. If we want everybody tucked in before
that, it makes sense to use both bathrooms."
"I thought we'd all sleep in this room tonight," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
Jean-Claude stood by the love seat looking lovely and unhelpful.
Jason just looked impatient.
"Safety in numbers," I said.
Larry shook his head. "Alright, but I can take the werewolf next
door and let him shower. Or don't you trust me to even do that?" He
was getting angry again.
"I trust you, Larry. You did good tonight."
I expected a smile. I didn't get it. He looked very serious. "I
killed that vampire Bruce."
I nodded. "I thought we were going to have to kill everything in
the room."
"So did I." He sank into one of the chairs. "I've never killed
anyone before."
"It was a vampire. It's not the same thing as killing a
person."
"Yeah, right. And how many corpses have you given CPR to
lately?"
I glanced at Jean-Claude smiling at me. I shrugged. "Just one.
Can you give us some privacy here?" I asked.
"I will hear what you are saying no matter where I stand in this
room," Jean-Claude said.
"Illusion is all; just back off," I said.
Jean-Claude bowed his head slightly and took Jason to one side
of the room, near the windows. I knew he'd hear everything, but at
least he wouldn't be standing over us.
"You don't really believe he's dead, do you?" Larry asked.
"You saw what happened to those two vampires," I said. "They are
just rotting corpses; everything else is illusion."
"You think he ever looks like that?"
I looked at Jean-Claude's back for a minute. "I'm afraid I
do."
"How can you date him after seeing that?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
"Corpse or not, you tried to keep him alive." He reacted to the
look on my face. "Alive, undead, whatever you want to call it, you
tried to preserve it. You were scared he was really dead."
I just looked at him. "So?"
"So, I killed another living being, or undead being. Hell,
Anita, Bruce was so newly dead he seemed human."
"Probably why one bullet to the chest finished him."
"How am I supposed to feel about that?"
"Killing him, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"They are monsters, Larry. Some of them are prettier than
others, but they are monsters. Never doubt that."
"You can honestly tell me that you think Jean-Claude is a
monster." It was more statement than question.
I almost looked at the monster in question, but I didn't. I'd
looked at him enough for one night. "Yeah, I do."
"Now, ask her if she thinks she's a monster." Jean-Claude leaned
on the back of the love seat, his arms crossed over his chest.
Larry looked a little startled, but he said, "Anita?"
I shrugged. "Sometimes."
Jean-Claude smiled. "See, Lawrence? Anita thinks we're all
monsters."
"Larry's not," I said.
"Give him time."
That was a little too close to the truth. "I asked for privacy,
or did you forget?"
"I forget nothing, ma petite, but time grows short. My
wolf is not the only one that needs a bath. Only our young friend
is still fresh."
I looked at Larry. There wasn't a drop of blood on him. He was
the only one who hadn't wrestled with vampires tonight. He
shrugged. "Sorry; I just couldn't get anybody to bleed on me
tonight."
"Don't joke, Larry," I said. "With Serephina I think you'll get
another chance."
"Sadly, true, ma petite."
"How long can you go without a coffin?" I asked.
He smiled. "Concern over my well-being. I am touched."
"Don't give me crap. I opened a freaking vein for you
tonight."
"If I have not thanked you for saving my life tonight, ma
petite, my apologies."
I looked at him. He looked pleasant, amused, but it was a mask.
His expression when he didn't want you to know what he was
thinking, but didn't want you to know that he didn't want you to
know. "Don't mention it."
"I will remember that you saved me, ma petite. You
could have been free of me. Thank you."
It sounded sincere enough. "You're welcome."
"I need to get this crud off me," Jason said. He sounded just a
touch frantic. I was betting he'd be trying to scrub off more than
just dirt. But memories don't wash that easily. More's the
pity.
"Go on, both of you. Jason can scrub up in Larry's room. It's
only practical."
Larry grinned at me. "Thanks."
"I meant it when I said you did good tonight."
I finally got the smile I'd expected. "Come on, Jason, hot water
and fresh towels await." Larry held the door for Jason and gave me
a little salute. Geez.
Alone again with Jean-Claude. Would this night never end? "You
never answered my question about the coffin," I said.
"I will be alright for another night or two."
"How did Serephina go from being your equal in power to being
what we saw tonight?"
He shook his head. "I truly do not know, ma petite. She
surprised me badly. She did not have to let us go tonight. As long
as she did not harm us, we could have been her guests for the
day."
"Are you surprised she let us go?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
Jean-Claude pushed away from the love seat. "Take your shower,
ma petite. I will await the young men's return."
"I thought you could go next, wash the blood out of your
hair."
He put a hand up to the back of his hair. He grimaced at the
feel of it. "Distasteful, but I want a bath, ma petite. It
takes longer than a shower, so you go first."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"If you do not hurry, I will not have time for a bath before
dawn. I would hate to sleep on your clean sheets covered in
blood."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Fine; just be sure
you stay out of the bathroom."
"My word of honor that I will not barge in on you."
"Yeah, right." Though, strangely enough, I believed him.
Jean-Claude had been trying to seduce me for a long time. A frontal
assault just wasn't his style. I went to take my shower.
Chapter 29
Ronnie had dragged me into Victoria's Secret. I had pointed out
that no one would see my underwear or my nightclothes except other
women in the gym locker room. Ronnie had replied, "You'll see
them." The logic escaped me but she had talked me into a robe.
It was burgundy, the color of wine-dark peonies. It glowed
against my pale skin and matched some of the bruises blossoming on
my back. Nothing like getting thrown into a wall to give you a
little color. The bite mark on my back wasn't very deep. Hard for
humanoid fangs to sink in from that angle. The fang marks on my
wrist were deeper. They were two neat little holes, almost dainty.
It didn't hurt as much as it should have. Maybe vampires did have
painkillers in their saliva, or maybe it was the fangs.
I still couldn't believe that I'd let him sink fangs into me.
Shit.
I pulled the robe closer around me. The material was heavy
enough to be cozy on a winter evening, and had wide silky cuffs,
and more silk lining the edges. It looked vaguely Victorian, a
little masculine. I looked delicate in it, like a Victorian doll
that hadn't gotten completely dressed yet. I put on an oversized
black t-shirt under the robe. It ruined some of the effect, but it
beat the heck out of wearing nothing but a robe and underwear out
to greet the boys.
I retrieved the Browning from the back of the stool where it had
sat during my shower. I carried it with me to the bedroom, and
hesitated. I always went armed. Hell, I slept with a gun, but I
didn't feel like slipping on a holster. I put the Browning away and
settled for slipping the Firestar into the robe pocket. Made the
cloth hang funny, but if something nasty came through the door I
was ready for it.
Jean-Claude was standing at the window when I opened the bedroom
door. He had opened the drapes, and was leaning against the
window's edge staring out into the darkness. He turned when the
door opened, though I knew he'd heard me before that.
"Ma petite, you look lovely."
"It's the only robe I own," I said.
"Of course," he said. His face had that amused mask on it again;
this time I would have liked to know what he was thinking. His
midnight blue eyes were very intense; they didn't match the
nonchalant expression. Maybe I didn't want to know what he was
thinking.
"Where are Larry and Jason?"
"They have come and gone," he said.
"Gone?"
"Jason had a sudden craving, and Larry drove him in the
Jeep."
I just looked at him. "There is such a thing as room
service."
"It is the wee hours of the morning, ma petite. The
room service menu is somewhat limited. Jason has donated blood
twice to me tonight; he needed protein." Jean-Claude smiled. "It
was either take-out, or he could eat Larry. I thought you'd prefer
take-out."
"Very funny. You shouldn't have sent them alone."
"We are safe from Serephina tonight, ma petite, and as
long as they stay in town, safe from Xavier."
"How can you be so sure?" I crossed my arms over my stomach.
He leaned his back against the window and looked at me. "Your
Monsieur Kirkland handled himself well tonight. I think you worry
unnecessarily about him."
"One night of heroics doesn't keep you safe," I said.
"It will be dawn soon, ma petite; even Xavier cannot
bear the light of day. All the vampires will be seeking shelter.
They will have no time to chase our young men."
I stared at him, trying to read past his pleasant face. "I wish
I was as sure as you seem to be."
He smiled then, and pushed away from the wall. He slid out of
his jacket and let it fall to the rose-colored carpet.
"What are you doing?"
"Undressing."
I jerked a thumb at the bedroom, "Undress in there."
He began unbuttoning his shirt.
"In the other room, right now," I said.
He pulled the white shirt out of his pants, working the last few
buttons as he walked towards me. The flesh of his chest and stomach
had more color than the shirt. He was pumped up and human-looking
on blood, part of it mine. The dried bloodstains that had soaked
through the shirt marred the pale perfection of his body.
I expected him to try to kiss me, or something, but he walked
past me. The back of the shirt was brownish with dried blood. He
peeled it off his skin with a sound like tearing. He dropped the
shirt on the carpet and walked into the bedroom.
I stood there staring after him. There had been white scars on
his back. At least I thought that's what they were. Hard to tell
through all the blood. He left the bedroom door open, and in a few
minutes I heard water running in the bathtub.
I sat down in one of the straight-back chairs. I wasn't sure
what else I was supposed to do. Water ran for a long time, then
silence, then sloshing water. He was in the tub. He hadn't closed
the bathroom door first. Great.
"Ma petite," he called.
I sat there for a minute, unwilling to move.
"Ma petite, I know you are there. I can hear you
breathing."
I walked to the edge of the bedroom door, very careful not to
look inside. I leaned my back against the wall and crossed my arms.
"What do you want?"
"There seem to be no clean towels."
"What am I supposed to do about it?"
"Could you call down to housekeeping and have some sent up?"
"I guess so."
"Thank you, ma petite."
I stomped over to the phone, pissed. He'd known there were no
clean towels before he got into the tub. Hell, I'd known there were
no clean towels, but I'd been so busy listening to him splash
around in the water I hadn't thought of it.
I was as mad at me as I was at him. He was always a tormenting
son of a bitch. I was supposed to watch myself around him better
than this. I was in a hotel room that looked like a freaking bridal
suite with Jean-Claude all naked and soapy in the next room. After
what I'd seen with Jason, there shouldn't have been this much
sexual tension in the air, but there was. Maybe it was habit, or
maybe Larry was right. I just didn't believe that Jean-Claude was a
rotting corpse.
I called for more towels.
They would be happy to bring some up. No one bitched about the
time. No one questioned. You can always tell how much you're paying
for a room by how little they complain.
A maid brought me four big, soft towels. I looked at her for a
full minute, hesitating. I could have her take the towels into
Jean-Claude.
She said, "Ma'am?"
I took the towels, said thanks, and closed the door. I just
couldn't let a strange woman see that I had a naked vampire in my
tub. I wasn't even sure the vampire part was what made it
embarrassing. Good girls do not end up with naked male anything in
their bathtubs at four something in the morning. Maybe I wasn't a
good girl. Maybe I never had been.
I hesitated at the bedroom door. The room was dark. The only
light came from the bathroom, spilling in an oblong across the
carpet.
I crushed the towels to my chest, took a deep breath, and
stepped into the room. I could see the bathtub from here, but
mercifully not all of it. I had a glimpse of white porcelain and a
mound of white bubbles. Just seeing the bubble bath made the
muscles in my shoulders relax a little. Bubbles can hide a
multitude of sins.
I stopped at the bathroom door.
Jean-Claude lay back against the edge of the tub. His black hair
was wet and had obviously been cleaned. Strands of it clung to his
bare shoulders. His arms lay propped on the edge of the bathtub,
his head resting against the dark tile of the wall. One pale hand
was suspended in midair as if reaching for something, but the hand
was utterly limp. His eyes were closed, making black half-moons
against his pale cheeks. Beads of water clung to his face and what
I could see of his body. He looked almost asleep.
His knee came up through the mound of bubbles, a surprising
glimpse of bare wet skin. He turned his head and opened his eyes.
The midnight blue of his eyes seemed darker. Maybe it was the way
the water made his hair seem heavier, blacker.
I took a shallow breath and said, "Here are the towels."
"Could you place them here, please?" He gestured with that one
half-suspended hand.
"Here" was the closed top of the toilet, which was close enough
to the tub for grabbing. "I'll, put them on the edge of the
sink."
"I'll drip water all over the floor getting them from there," he
said. His voice was neutral, no vampiric tricks, almost no tone at
all.
He was right, and I was being silly. He wouldn't grab me and
ravish me. If that'd been the plan, he could have done that years
ago.
I placed the towels on the stool, eyes studiously anywhere but
the tub.
"You must have questions about tonight," he said.
I glanced at him. The water on his naked torso caught the light
like quicksilver. Suds clung to his chest, just under one nipple. I
had a horrible urge to brush off the bubbles. I stepped back until
I was standing by the far wall.
"It's not like you to offer answers," I said.
"I am feeling generous tonight." His voice had that quality that
voices get when they are edging towards sleep.
"If you weren't naked in a tub of bubble bath, would you be
offering to answer questions?"
He smiled then, a quick, familiar expression. "Perhaps not, but
if I must answer your ravenous curiosity, isn't it more fun this
way?"
"Fun for whom?"
"Both of us, if you would only admit it."
That got a smile from me, and I didn't want to smile. I didn't
want to be enjoying watching him all soapy and wet. I wanted to be
afraid of him, and I was, but I also wanted him. Wanted to run my
hands down his wet flesh, wanted to touch what lay under those
bubbles. I didn't want intercourse. I couldn't imagine that with
him, but I wanted to do a little exploring. I hated that. He was a
corpse; surely what I'd seen tonight convinced me of that.
"You're frowning, ma petite; why?"
"I asked you if the two rotting vampires were illusion, you said
no. I asked if your form was real, you said yes. Both forms are
real, you said."
"That is true," he said.
"Are you a rotting corpse?"
He settled lower in the warm, soapy water, drawing his arms into
it, until only his head showed above the surface of the water.
"That is not one of my forms."
"That isn't an answer."
He raised a pale hand from the water, a handful of bubbles
cupped like a snowball. "There are different vampiric abilities,
ma petite; you know that."
"What's that have to do with it?"
He raised his other hand and began to play with the bubbles,
trailing them from hand to hand. "Janos and his two female
companions are a different type of vampire than I am. Than most of
us are. They are much rarer. If you ever see me as a rotted corpse,
I will be well and truly dead. They can rot and reform, and it
makes them much harder to kill. The only true surety is fire."
"Volunteering an awful lot of information, aren't you?"
He lowered his hands in the water, washing the soap away. He sat
up a little straighter; suds clung to his body. "Perhaps I am
afraid you will think that what happened with Jason would happen
with us."
"We will never test that theory," I said.
"You sound so sure of that," he said. "Your lust perfumes the
air, and yet you truly believe that we will never make love. How
can you want me almost as much as I want you, yet be sure we will
never know each other's bodies?"
I wasn't sure I had an answer for that one. I slid down the wall
and sat with my knees drawn up to my chest. The pocket with the gun
in it clunked against the wall. I moved the gun to a better
position and said, "We just won't, Jean-Claude, not ever. I just
can't." A part of me regretted that, but only part.
"Why, ma petite?"
"Sex is about trust. I'd have to trust someone implicitly to
have sex with them. I don't trust you."
He stared at me with his blue, blue eyes, looking all
scrumptious and wet. "You mean that, don't you?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I do."
"I do not understand you, ma petite. I try, but still I
do not."
"You're pretty much a riddle to me, too. If that's any
comfort."
"It isn't. If you were a woman who had casual lusts, we would
have been in bed long ago." He sighed and sat up even straighter in
the water so it hit him just above the waist. "Of course, if you
were a woman of casual appetites, I don't think I would love
you."
"You enjoy the chase, the challenge," I said.
"True, but it is more than that with you, if only you would
believe me." He leaned forward, drawing his knees to his naked
chest, rounding his shoulders to hug himself. White scars dribbled
down his back from his shoulders to vanish into the water, not a
lot of them, but enough.
"What made the scars on your back? Unless it was a holy item,
you should have been able to heal them."
He laid his cheek on his knees so he could look at me. He looked
younger, more human, vulnerable suddenly. "Not if the injury
occurred before I died."
"Who whipped you?"
"I was the whipping boy for an aristocrat's son."
I stared at him. "You're telling me the truth, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Is that why Janos chose whips tonight, to remind you where you
came from?"
"Yes."
"You weren't born into the aristocracy?"
"I was born in a house with a dirt floor, ma
petite."
I looked at him. "Yeah, right."
He raised his head. "If I was going to make something up, ma
petite, it would be more romantic, more entertaining than
being a French peasant."
"So you were a servant in the castle?"
"I was their only son's constant companion. When he had clothes
made, so did I. His tutor was my tutor. His riding instructor,
mine. I learned swordplay and dancing and the proper way to eat at
table. And when he was bad I was punished, because he was their
only child, their only heir to an old family name. People speak of
child abuse now." He leaned back in the tub, cuddling down into the
warm water. "They complain of spanking. They have no idea what true
abuse is. When I was a boy, parents thought nothing of taking a
horse whip to a misbehaving child, or beating them bloody. Even the
aristocrats beat their children. It was normal.
"But he was the only heir, the only child. So they paid money to
my parents and took me. The lady of the manor chose me because I
was fair of face. When the vampire who made me sought me out, she
said my beauty called to her."
"Wait a minute."
He turned his head to give me the full weight of those dark blue
eyes. I worked hard at not looking away.
"This gorgeous body and face is all vampire illusion, right? I
mean, no one's this beautiful."
"I told you once that it was not my power that made you see me
as you do, not most of the time at any rate."
"Serephina said you were a catamite for any vampire that would
have you. What did she mean?"
"Vampires kill for food, but they bring others over for many
reasons. Some for money, wealth, even title, love, but I was
brought over for lust. When I was young and weak, they passed me
around among them. One would grow tired of me, but there was always
another."
I stared at him, horrified. "You're right. If you were going to
make up a story, this wouldn't be it."
"The truth is so often disappointing, or ugly; don't you find
that, ma petite?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Serephina was old. I thought vampires weren't
supposed to age."
"Whatever age we die at is the age we remain."
"Did you know Serephina when you were young?"
"Yes."
"Did you sleep with her?"
"Yes."
"How could you let her touch you?"
"I was given to her as a gift by a master that makes even her
new and improved powers seem weak. I had very little choice." He
stared at me. "She knows what you want. Your greatest need, your
most treasured wish, and she'll make it come true, or seem to. What
did she offer you, ma petite? What could she offer you
that nearly won you tonight?"
I looked away then; I didn't want to meet his eyes. "What did
she offer you all those years ago?"
"Power."
I looked up at that. "Power?"
He nodded. "Power to escape them all."
"But you had to have the ability to be a master vampire inside
you from the beginning. No one can give that to you," I said.
He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "I know that now, but
then I thought only she could save me from an eternity of . . ."
His words trailed off and he submerged, leaving only a few black
locks floating on the top of the water. He sat up with a loud
breath of air, blinking the water from his eyes. The water had
clumped his thick, dark eyelashes. He ran his hands through his wet
hair, and it trailed over his shoulders.
"Your hair wasn't this long when we first met."
"You seem to prefer longer hair on your men."
"If you're dead, how can your hair grow?"
"That is a question for you to answer," he said. He ran his
hands through his hair again, squeezing the ends out. He reached
out a hand for a towel.
I scrambled to my feet. "I'll leave you to get dressed."
"Have Jason and Larry returned?" he asked.
"No."
"Then I won't be getting dressed." He stood, drawing the towel
towards him. I had a glimpse of one side of his pale naked body,
water streaming from it. The towel moved into view just in time. I
fled.
Chapter 30
I huddled in the straight-back chair farthest from the bedroom.
But I was staring at the doorway. Shit. I wanted to run from the
room, but why? It wasn't Jean-Claude I didn't trust. It was me.
Fuck.
I touched the gun in my robe pocket. It was smooth and hard and
reassuring, but it wouldn't help me now. Violence I understood; sex
gave me more problems.
I honestly didn't want to sleep with him, but part of me was
hoping for another glimpse of naked flesh. A long line of naked
thigh, perhaps. Or maybe . . . I put the palms of my hands over my
eyes, as if I could get the image out of my head by just
pressing.
"Ma petite?" His voice sounded closer than the
bathroom.
I didn't want to look, as if, just as Grandma Blake had said,
I'd be struck blind. I felt him standing in front of me. Felt the
movement of air. I lowered my hands a millimeter at a time. He was
kneeling in front of me, one of the thick white towels wrapped
around his waist.
I lowered my hands to my lap. Beads of water still clung to his
skin. He'd combed his hair, but it was wet, slicked back, leaving
his face plainer, more unadorned than normal. His eyes seemed bluer
without his hair to frame them.
He put a hand on each chair arm and raised himself up. His lips
brushed mine in a soft, nearly chaste kiss. He moved back from me,
letting go of the chair.
I could taste my heart in my throat, and it wasn't fear.
Jean-Claude touched my hands, lifted them up. He placed my hands
on his bare shoulders. The skin was warm, smooth, wet. He held my
wrists in his hands, lightly, very lightly. I could have pulled
away at any time. He ran my hands down his slick body.
I pulled my hands free. He said nothing, did nothing. He stayed
kneeling, looking at me. Waiting. I could see the pulse in his neck
jumping against the skin, and I wanted to touch it.
I slid my hands across his shoulders and lowered my face to his.
He started to move into me for a kiss, but I slid my hand along his
jaw and turned his head away. I touched lips to his neck and slid
my mouth down his skin, until I could taste his pulse beating
against my tongue. He tasted of perfumed soap, water, and clean
skin.
I slid from the chair to the floor, kneeling in front of him. He
was taller now, but not too tall. I licked water off his chest, and
let myself do something I'd wanted to do for months. I ran my
tongue over his nipple, and he shuddered against me.
I licked water off the center of his chest and ran my hands
along his waist up the damp curve of his back.
He pulled the sash of my robe, and I didn't protest. I let his
hands slide under the robe, around my waist, with nothing but the
t-shirt between his flesh and mine. He ran his hands up my sides,
his thumbs playing over my rib cage. The gun swung heavily in the
loose cloth. It was annoying.
I raised my face to his. His arms slid behind my back, pressing
me against the long wet line of his body. The towel was perilously
loose.
His lips brushed mine; then the kiss became something more.
Harder, nearly bruising, with his arms locked behind my shoulders.
My hands slid down his waist, rubbed the sliding top of the towel,
and found it had already slipped. My hand touched the smooth top of
his buttocks. Only the pressure of our bodies kept the towel in
place.
He ate at my mouth and I felt something sharp, painful. I jerked
back and tasted blood.
Jean-Claude let me go. He sat back on his heels, the towel
gathered in his lap. "I am sorry, ma petite. I got carried
away."
I touched my mouth and came away with a spot of blood. "You
nicked me."
He nodded. "I am truly sorry."
"I'll just bet you are," I said.
"Do not go all self-righteous on me, ma petite. You
have finally admitted to yourself, to me, that you feel the pull of
my body."
I sat on the floor by the chair with my robe in disarray. The
t-shirt had ridden up to my waist. I guess it was a little too late
to protest my innocence.
"Fine, lust; you happy?"
"Almost," he said, and now there was something in his eyes.
Something dark and drowning, and older than it should have
been.
"I can offer you my mortal body, and more, ma petite.
It can be between us much more than any human lover could
offer."
"Would I lose a little blood each time?"
"That was an accident," he said.
I stared at him, all pale and damp, kneeling on the floor with
the white towel bundled into his lap, leaving nearly every inch of
him bare.
"This is the first time I've cheated on Richard," I said.
"You have been dating me for weeks," he said.
I shook my head. "But I haven't been cheating. This is
cheating."
"Then have you been cheating on me, with Richard?"
I didn't know what to say to that. "Go get dressed."
"Do you really want me to dress?" he asked.
I looked away. I was embarrassed now and uncomfortable. "Yes,
please."
He stood up, the towel gripped in his hands. I looked down at
the floor and didn't have to see his face to picture the smile on
it.
He walked away from me, and didn't bother moving the towel
around behind him. Muscles moved under his skin from calf to waist.
He walked naked into the bedroom, and I enjoyed the view.
I touched my finger to my tongue. It was still bleeding. That's
what I got for French kissing a vampire. Even thinking about it
made me nervous.
"Ma petite?" he called from the other room.
"Yeah."
"Do you have a blow dryer?"
"In my suitcase. Help yourself."
Thankfully, I'd dragged my suitcase into the bedroom beside the
bathroom door. One point for laziness. I was spared another glimpse
of his naked body. Now that hormones were receding, I was
embarrassed.
I heard the dryer and wondered if he was standing naked in front
of the bathroom mirror while he dried his hair. I was very aware
that all I had to do was go to the doorway and I could see for
myself.
I stood up, pulled my t-shirt down, tied my robe securely in
place, and sat down on the couch. My back was to the bedroom. I
wouldn't be seeing anything else. I took the Firestar out of my
pocket and laid it on the coffee table in front of me. The gun sat
there looking very solid, very black, and somehow accusatory.
The dryer stopped, and he called to me again. "Ma
petite?"
"What?"
"Come talk to me as the sun rises."
I glanced up at the window he had opened. The sky outside was
less black, not light yet, but not pure darkness anymore. I closed
the drapes and went to the bedroom. I left the gun on the table.
The Browning was in the bedroom anyway.
Jean-Claude had neatly folded the bedspread and blanket at the
foot of the bed. Only the wine-dark sheet covered him. He lay with
his black hair soft and curling over the dark pillows. The sheet
was bunched at his waist. "You can join me if you like."
I leaned against the wall and shook my head.
"I'm not offering sex, ma petite; dawn is too close for
that. I offer you your half of the bed."
"I'll take the couch; thanks anyway."
He smiled, a slow knowing curve of lips—his old arrogance
peeking back out. It was almost comforting to know nothing had
really changed. "It is not me that you do not trust. It is
you."
I shrugged.
He raised the sheet in front of his chest, an almost protective
gesture. "It comes." Fear in his voice.
"What comes?"
"The sun."
I glanced at the closed drapes against the far wall. They were
double thick, but a line of greyish light edged them. "You'll be
alright like this without your coffin?"
"As long as no one opens the drapes." He looked at me for a long
moment. "I love you, ma petite, as much as I'm able."
I didn't know what to say. Saying I lusted after him didn't seem
appropriate. Saying I loved him would be a lie.
The light grew stronger, a white edge around the curtains. His
body slumped back against the bed. He rolled onto his side, one
hand outstretched, the other curling the sheets against his chest.
He stared at the growing light, and I could taste his fear.
I knelt beside the bed. I almost took his hand but didn't. "What
happens now?"
"You want the truth, then watch." I expected his eyes to
flutter, his voice to grow sluggish as if he were falling asleep.
It didn't happen that way. He closed his eyes all at once. Pain
flashed across his face. He whispered, "It hurts." His face went
slack. I'd seen people die, watched the light fade from their
bodies. Felt their souls slip away. That was what I saw. He died.
The light grew against the drapes, and when it was a solid white
line, he died. His breath went out of him in a long rattle.
I knelt beside the bed and stared. I knew dead when I saw it,
and this was it. Shit.
I put my arms on the bed and propped my chin on them. I watched
him, waiting for him to breathe, to twitch, something. But there
was nothing. I reached out to his one outstretched arm. My fingers
hovered above his skin, then I touched him. The skin was still
warm, still human, but he did not move. I checked his wrist, and
there was no pulse. No blood moved in this body.
Did he know I was here? Did he feel me touching him? I stared at
him for what seemed like a long time. So this answered the
question. Vampires were dead. Whatever animated them was like my
own power, some sort of necromancy. But I knew death when I saw it.
It gave necrophilia a whole new slant.
Had I only imagined that I felt the brush of his soul leave his
body? Surely vampires had no souls—that was part of the point—but
I'd felt something leave. If not a soul, what? If a soul, where did
it go for the daylight hours? Who watched all the vampires' souls
while they lay dead?
There was a knock at the door, probably the other boys. I stood
up, pulling my robe in tight. I was cold, and wasn't sure why. I
went to answer the door. The cut on my tongue had almost stopped
bleeding.
Chapter 31
I dreamed. In the dream, someone held me in their lap. Smooth
dark arms wrapped around me. I looked up into my mother's laughing
face. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. I snuggled
against her body, and the clean smell of her skin was there. She'd
always smelled of Hypnotique bath powder. She bent and kissed me on
the lips. I had forgotten the taste of her lipstick, the way she
brushed my mouth with her thumb, and laughed because she'd gotten
bright red lipstick on my small mouth.
Her thumb came away with something brighter than lipstick. Blood
dripped down her thumb. She'd pricked her skin with a safety pin.
It was bleeding. She held her thumb out to me and said, "Kiss it,
Anita, make it all better."
But there was too much blood. It ran down her hand. I stared up
at her laughing face, and blood ran down it like rain. I woke
sitting bolt upright on the velvet couch, gasping for breath. I
could still taste her lipstick on my mouth, and the smell of
Hypnotique bath powder clung to me.
Larry sat up on the love seat, rubbing at his eyes. "What's
wrong? Did we get our wake-up call?"
"No, I had a bad dream."
He nodded, stretching, then frowned. "Do you smell perfume?"
I stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"Perfume or powder or something; do you smell it?"
I swallowed and nearly choked on my own pulse. "Yeah. I smell
it."
I flung back the extra blanket and threw the lumpy pillow across
the room.
Larry swung his legs off the love seat. "What is wrong with
you?"
I went to the window and flung the drapes open. The bedroom door
was closed, and Jean-Claude was safely inside. Jason was sleeping in
there. I stood in the sunlight and let the heat sink into me. I
leaned against the warm glass, and only then realized that I was
wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and my undies. Oh, well. I
stayed in the sunlight for a few minutes, waiting for my pulse to
calm down.
"Serephina sent me a dream. The smell is my mother's
perfume."
Larry came to stand beside me. He was wearing a pair of gym
shorts and a green t-shirt. His curly red hair stuck up in all
directions. His blue eyes squinted when he stepped into the light.
"I thought only a vampire that had a connection with you, a hold on
you, could invade your dreams."
"That's what I thought," I said.
"How could I smell perfume from your dream?"
I shook my head, forehead against the glass. "I don't know."
"Has she marked you?"
"I don't know."
He touched my shoulder, squeezing. "It'll be alright."
I stepped away from him to pace the room. "It won't be alright,
Larry. Serephina invaded my dreams. No one but Jean-Claude has ever
done that." I stopped, because that wasn't true. Nikolaos had done
it. But that was after she'd bitten me. I shook my head. Either
way, it was a very bad sign.
"What are you going to do?"
"Kill her."
"Murder her, you mean."
If Larry's earnest eyes hadn't been staring at me, I'd have
said, "You bet." But it's hard to contemplate murder with someone
staring at you like you've kicked their favorite puppy.
"I'll try to get a warrant," I said.
"If you can't?"
"If it's her or me, Larry, then it's her. Okay?"
Larry looked at me sadly. "What I did last night was murder. I
know that, but I didn't go in planning to kill someone."
"You stay in this business long enough and you will."
He shook his head. "I don't believe that."
"Believe what you want, but it's still the truth. These things
are too dangerous to play fair."
"If you really believe that, then how can you date Jean-Claude?
How can you let him touch you?"
I shook my head. "I never said I was consistent."
"You can't defend yourself, can you?"
"Defend which one? Killing Serephina or dating Jean-Claude?"
"Either, both. Hell, Anita, if you're one of the bad guys you
can't be one of the good guys."
I opened my mouth and closed it. What could I say? "I am one of
the good guys, Larry. But I'm not going to be a martyr. If that
means breaking the law, so be it."
"Are you going to get a warrant?" His face was very neutral as
he asked. He looked older suddenly. Even with his orangey curls
sticking up, he looked solemn.
I was watching Larry grow older before my eyes. Not in age, but
in experience. The expression in his eyes was older than it had
been a few months ago. Seen too much, done too much. He was still
trying to be Sir Galahad, but Galahad had had God on his side. All
Larry had was me. It wasn't enough.
"The only way I could get a death warrant is to lie," I
said.
"I know," he said.
I stared at him. "Serephina hasn't broken any laws, yet. I won't
lie about that."
He smiled. "Good. When do we meet Dorcas Bouvier?"
"Three."
"Have you figured out what you can sacrifice to raise the
zombies Stirling wants done?" he asked.
"Nope."
He stared at me. "What are you going to tell Stirling?"
I shook my head. "I don't know yet. I wish I knew why he's so
hot and heavy to kill Bouvier."
"He wants the land," Larry said.
"Stirling and Company have been saying the Bouvier family, not
Magnus Bouvier. That means he's not the only one suing them. So
killing Magnus won't solve their problems."
"So why do it?" Larry asked.
"Exactly," I said.
Larry nodded. "We need to talk to Magnus again."
"Preferably without Serephina around," I said.
"Amen to that," Larry said.
"I'd love to talk to Magnus, but before we tackle Mr. Bouvier
again, I'd like to find some fairie ointment."
"Some what?"
"Didn't you take any classes on fairies?"
"It was an elective," he said.
"Fairie ointment makes you proof against glamor. Just in case
whatever else Magnus is hiding is nastier than Serephina."
"Nothing's nastier than that," he said.
"True, but just in case, he won't be able to work magic on us.
In fact, it's not a bad precaution before we meet Dorrie. She may
not be as scary as Magnus, but she shines, and I'd just as soon she
didn't shine all over us."
"You think Serephina will find Jeff Quinlan?"
"If anyone can, she can. She seemed pretty confident she could
take Xavier, but then Jean-Claude had been pretty confident he could
take her last night. He was wrong."
He frowned. "So we're rooting for Serephina?"
It sounded wrong, put that way, but I nodded. "If it's a choice
between a vampire that obeys most of the laws, and one that
slaughters kids, yeah, we're on her side."
"You were talking about killing her just a little bit ago."
"I can stay out of her way until she saves Jeff, and kills
Xavier."
"Why would she kill him?" Larry asked.
"He's killing people in her territory. She can say anything she
wants, but that's a direct challenge to her authority. Besides, I
don't think Xavier will give up Jeff without a fight."
"What do you think happened to him last night?" Larry asked.
I shook my head. "It doesn't do any good to dwell on it, Larry.
We're doing all we can."
"We could tell the FBI about Serephina."
"One thing I've learned is that master vamps don't talk to the
cops. Too many years of the cops killing them on sight, or trying
to."
"Okay," he said, "but we've still got to come up with something
big enough to kill for raising the cemetery tonight," he said.
"I'll think on it."
"You really have no idea what to do?" He sounded surprised.
"Short of a human sacrifice, Larry, I don't think I can raise
several three-hundred-year-old corpses. Even I've got my
limits."
He grinned. "Nice to hear you admit it."
I had to smile. "It'll be our little secret."
He put his hand out, and I slapped it. He slapped mine back, and
I felt better. Larry had a way of making me smile. Friends will do
that to you.
Chapter 32
Dorcas Bouvier was leaning on a car in the parking lot. Her hair
gleamed in the sunlight, swirling as she moved, like heavy water.
In jeans and a green tank top, she was flawless.
Larry tried not to stare at her, but it was hard work. Larry was
wearing a blue T-shirt, jeans, white Nikes, and an oversized
checked flannel shirt to hide his shoulder holster.
I was in jeans and a navy blue polo shirt, black Nikes, and an
oversized blue dress shirt. I'd had to borrow it from Larry after
my black jacket had gotten covered in vampire goop. Had to have
something to hide the Browning. Makes people nervous if you go
around with a naked gun. Larry and I looked like we'd dressed from
the same closet.
Dorrie pushed away from the car. "Shall we go?"
"We'd like to talk to Magnus."
"So you can turn him in to the cops?"
I shook my head. "So we can find out why Stirling is so hot to
kill him."
"I don't know where he is," Dorcas said.
Maybe it showed on my face, because she said, "I don't know
where he is, but if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Using magic on the
police is a death penalty case. I won't turn him in."
"I'm not the police."
She looked at me, eyes narrowing. "Did you come to look at
Bloody Bones, or to question me about my brother?"
"How did you know to be waiting here for us?" I asked.
"I knew you'd be on time." Her pupils swirled downward to
pinpoints, like the eyes of an excited parrot.
"Let's go," I said.
She led us to the back of the restaurant where it nearly touched
the woods. A path began at the edge of the clearing. It was barely
wide enough for a man. Even though we walked single file, the
branches whipped at my shoulders. The new green leaves rubbed like
velvet along my cheek. The path was deep and rutted down to naked
tree roots in places, but weeds were beginning to encroach on the
path, as if it wasn't used as much as it once had been.
Dorrie moved down the uneven path with an easy, swinging stride.
She was obviously familiar with the path, but it was more than
that. The tree limbs that caught on my shirt didn't get caught in
her hair. The roots that threatened to trip me didn't slow her
down.
We'd found ointment at a health food store. So the bushes moving
for her and not for us was real, not illusion. Maybe glamor wasn't
the only thing to worry about. Which was why the Browning was
loaded with nonsilver bullets. I'd had to go out and buy some
special for the occasion. Larry was loaded up too, and for the
first time I wished he had two guns. I still had the Firestar with
silver ammo, but Larry was out of luck if a vamp jumped us. Of
course, it was broad daylight. I was more worried about fairies
than vamps right this minute. There was salt in our shirt pockets,
not a lot, but you didn't need much, just enough to throw on the
fey or the thing being magicked. Salt disrupted fey magic.
Temporarily.
A breeze came up the path. It grew into a wind in one fitful
gust. The air smelled clean and fresh. You hoped the beginning of
time smelled like that; like fresh bread, clean laundry, childhood
memories of spring. It probably smelled like ozone and swamp water.
Reality almost always smells worse than daydream.
Dorrie stopped and turned back to us. "The trees across the path
are just illusion. They're not solid."
"What trees?" Larry asked. I cursed silently. It would have been
nice to keep the ointment a secret.
Dorrie took two steps back towards us. She stared at my face
from inches away, then made a face like she'd seen something
unclean. "You're wearing ointment." She made it sound like a very
bad thing.
"Magnus did try to bedazzle us twice. Nothing wrong with being
cautious," I said.
"Well, our illusions won't matter to you, then." She took off at
a faster pace, leaving us to stumble after her.
The path led into a clearing that was nearly a perfect circle.
There was a small mound in the center with a white stone Celtic
cross in the middle of a mass of vibrant blue flowers. Every inch
of ground was covered with bluebells. English bluebells, thick and
fleshy, bluer than the sky. The flowers never grew in this country
without help. They never grew in Missouri without more water than
was practical. But standing in the solid mass of blue surrounded by
trees, it seemed worth it.
Dorrie stood frozen nearly knee-deep in the flowers. She was
staring open-mouthed, a look of horror on her lovely face.
Magnus Bouvier knelt in the flowers on top of the mound, near
the cross. His mouth was bright with fresh blood. Something moved
around him, in front of him. Something more felt than seen. If it
was illusion, the ointment should have taken care of it. I tried
looking at it out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes peripheral
vision works better on magic than straight-on sight.
From the corner of my eye I could see the air swimming in
something that was almost a shape. It was bigger than a man.
Magnus turned and saw us. He stood up abruptly, and the swimming
air blinked out like it had never been. He wiped a sleeve across
his mouth.
"Dorrie . . ." His voice was soft and strangled.
Dorrie clawed her way up the hill. She screamed, "Blasphemy!"
and smacked him. I could hear the slap all the way across the
clearing.
"Ouch," Larry said. "Why is she mad?"
She hit him again, hard enough to sit him down on his butt in
the flowers. "How could you? How could you do such a vile
thing?"
"What did he do?" Larry asked.
"He's been feeding off Rawhead and Bloody Bones just like his
ancestor," I said.
Dorrie turned to me. She looked haggard, horrified, as if she
had caught her brother molesting children. "It was forbidden to
feed." She turned back to Magnus. "You knew that!"
"I wanted the power, Dorrie. What harm did it do?"
"What harm? What harm?" She grabbed a handful of his long hair
and pulled him to his knees. She exposed the bite marks on his
neck. "This is why that creature can call you. This is why one of
the Daoine Sidhe, even a half-breed like you, is called by
death." She let go so abruptly he fell forward on his hands and
knees.
Dorrie sat down in the flowers and cried.
I waded into the flowers. They parted like water, but they
didn't move. They were just never exactly where you were
stepping.
"Jesus, are they moving out of the way?" Larry asked.
"Not exactly," Magnus said. He walked down the mound to stand at
its base. He was wearing the white tuxedo from last night, or what
was left of it. The smear of blood on his shirtsleeve was very
bright against the whiteness.
We waded through the flowers that were moving and not moving, to
join him in front of the mound.
He'd shoved his hair back behind his ears so his face was
visible. And no, his ears weren't pointed. Where do these rumors
get started?
He met my eyes without flinching. If he was ashamed of what he'd
done, it didn't show. Dorrie was still weeping in the bluebells
like her heart would break.
"So now you know," he said.
"You can't bleed a fairie, in the flesh or not in the flesh,
without ritual magic. I've read the spell, Magnus. It's a doozy," I
said.
He smiled at that, and the smile was still lovely, but the blood
at the corner of his mouth ruined the effect. "I had to tie myself
to the beastie. I had to give him some of my mortality in order to
get his blood."
"The spell isn't meant to help you gather blood," I said. "It's
to help the fairies kill each other."
"If it got some of your mortality, did you get some of its
immortality?" Larry asked. It was a good question.
"Yes," Magnus said, "but that wasn't why I did it."
"You did it for power, you son of a bitch," Dorrie said. She
came down the mound, sliding in the strange flowers. "You just had
to do real glamor, real magic. My God, Magnus, you must have been
drinking its blood for years, ever since you were a teenager.
That's when your powers suddenly got so strong. We all thought it
was puberty."
"Afraid not, sister dear."
She spit at him. "Our family was cursed, tied to this land
forever in repentance for doing what you have done. Bloody Bones
broke free last time someone tried to drink from his veins."
"It's been safely imprisoned for ten years, Dorrie."
"How do you know? How do you know that nebulous thing you called
up hasn't been out scaring children?"
"As long as it doesn't hurt any of them, what's the harm?"
"Wait a minute," said Larry. "Why would it scare children?"
"I told you, it's a nursery boggle. It was supposed to eat bad
children," I said. I had an idea, an awful idea. I'd seen a vampire
use a sword, but was I absolutely sure of what I'd seen? No. "When
the thing got out and started slaughtering the Indian tribe, did it
use a weapon, or its hands?"
Dorrie looked at me. "I don't know. Does it matter?"
Larry said, "Oh, my God."
"It might matter a great deal," I said.
"You can't mean those killings," Magnus said. "Bloody Bones
cannot manifest itself physically. I've seen to that."
"Are you sure, brother dear? Are you absolutely sure?" Dorrie's
voice cut and sliced; she wielded scorn like a weapon.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"We'll have to have a witch look at this. I don't know enough
about it," I said.
Dorrie nodded. "I understand. The sooner the better."
"Rawhead and Bloody Bones did not do those killings," Magnus
said.
"For your sake, Magnus, I hope not," I said.
"What do you mean?"
"Because five people have died. Five people who didn't do a damn
thing to deserve it."
"It's imprisoned by a combination of Indian, Christian, and
fairie power," he said. "It's not breaking free of that."
I walked around the mound slowly. The fleshy flowers still moved
out of the way. I'd tried watching my feet, but it was dizzying,
because the flowers moved yet didn't, like trying to watch one of
them bloom. You knew it did, but you could never watch the actual
event.
I ignored the flowers and concentrated on the mound. I wasn't
trying to sense the dead, so daylight was fine. There was magic
here, lots of it. I'd never felt fairie magic before. There was
something here that had a familiar taste to it, and it wasn't the
Christianity. "Some kind of death magic went into this," I said. I
walked around the mound until I could see Magnus's face. "A little
human sacrifice, perhaps?"
"Not exactly," Magnus said.
"We would never condone human sacrifice," Dorrie said.
Maybe she wouldn't, but I wasn't so sure about Magnus. I didn't
say it out loud. Dorrie was upset enough already.
"If it's not sacrifice, then what is it?"
"Three hills are buried with our dead. Each death is like a
stake to hold old Bloody Bones down," Magnus said.
"How did you lose track of which hills belonged to you?" I
asked.
"It's been over three hundred years," Magnus said. "There were
no deeds back then. I wasn't a hundred percent sure the hill was
the right hill myself. But when they raked up the dead, I felt it."
He huddled in on himself as if the air had suddenly grown colder.
"You can't raise the dead from that hillside. If you do it, then
Bloody Bones will be loosed. The magic to stop it is complicated.
Truthfully, I'm not sure I'm up to it myself. And I don't know any
Indian shamans anymore."
"You have made a mockery of everything we stand for," Dorrie
said.
"What did Serephina offer you?" I asked.
He looked at me, surprised. "What are you talking about?"
"She offers everyone their heart's desire. What was yours,
Magnus?"
"Freedom and power. She said she'd find another guardian for
Rawhead and Bloody Bones. She said she'd find a way for me to keep
the power I'd borrowed from it without having to tend it."
"And you believed her?"
He shook his head. "I'm the only person in the family who has
the power. We are the guardians forever as penance for stealing it,
for letting it kill." He collapsed to his knees in the blue, blue
flowers, his head bowed, hair spilling forward to hide his face.
"I'll never be free."
"You don't deserve to be free," Dorrie said.
"Why did Serephina want you so badly?" I asked.
"She's afraid of death. She says drinking from something as
long-lived as I am helps her keep death at bay."
"She's a vampire," Larry protested.
"But not immortal," I said.
Magnus looked up, strange aquamarine eyes glimmering out through
his shining hair. Maybe it was the hair, or the eyes, or his being
nearly covered in the strange moving, not moving flowers, but he
didn't look very human.
"She fears death," he said. "She fears you." His voice was low
and echoing.
"She nearly cleaned my clock last night. Why's she afraid of
me?"
"You brought death among us last night."
"It can't be the first time," I said.
"She came to me for my long life, my immortal blood. Perhaps she
will go to you next. Perhaps instead of running from death, she
will embrace it."
The skin on my arms twitched, marching in gooseflesh up to my
elbows. "She tell you that last night?"
"There is a power involved, hurting her old enemy Jean-Claude,
but in the end, Anita, she wonders if your power would make the
difference. If she drank you up, would she be immortal? Would you
be able to keep death from her with your necromancy?"
"You could leave town," Larry said. I wasn't sure which of us he
was speaking to.
I shook my head. "Master vampires don't give up that easy. I'll
tell Stirling that I won't be raising his dead, Magnus. No one else
can do it but me, so it won't get done."
"But they won't give back the land," Magnus said in his strange
voice. "If they simply blow up the mountain, the result might be
the same."
"Is that true, Dorrie?"
She nodded. "It could be."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
Magnus crawled through the flowers, peering at me through the
shining curtain of his hair. His eyes were swirling bands of green
and blue, whirling until I was dizzy. I looked away.
"Raise a handful of the dead. Can you do that?" he asked.
"No sweat," I said. "But will everybody's lawyers agree to
that?"
"I'll see that they do," he said.
"Dorrie?" I asked.
She nodded. "I'll see to it."
I stared at Magnus for a moment. "Will Serephina really rescue
the boy?"
"Yes," he said.
I stared down at him. "Then I'll see you tonight."
"No, I'll be well and truly drunk again. It's not foolproof, but
it helps drown her out."
"Fine; I'll raise you a handful of dead. Keep your land
safe."
"You have our gratitude," Magnus said. He looked feral,
frightening, beautiful crouched in the flowers. His gratitude might
be worth something if Serephina didn't kill him first.
Hell, if she didn't kill me first.
Chapter 33
I called Special Agent Bradford late in the day. They hadn't
found Xavier. They hadn't found Jeff. They hadn't found any
vampires that I needed to kill, and why the hell was I calling him?
I was not on this case, remember? I remembered. And yes, the two
youngest victims had been sexually assaulted, but not the same day
they were killed. I probably should have brought Magnus in, but he
was the only one who understood the spells on Bloody Bones. He
wouldn't be any good to us locked up. Dorrie knew a local witch she
trusted. I'd thought that maybe Bloody Bones was our killer. I'd
never seen a vampire hide itself so completely from me as the one
that killed Coltrain. I'd added it to my list of suspects, but
hadn't told the cops. Now I was glad I hadn't. The sexual assault
had Xavier written all over it. Besides, explaining that a nursery
boggle from Scotland was committing murders on the ethereal plane
sounded far-fetched even to me.
The sky was thick with clouds that glowed like jewels. They
shimmered and stretched across the sky like a gigantic gleaming
blanket that some great beast had shredded with massive claws.
Through the holes in the clouds, the sky peeked through black with
a few diamond-chip stars bright enough to compete with the gleaming
sky.
I stood on the hilltop staring up at the sky, breathing in the
cool spring air. Larry stood beside me, looking up. His eyes
reflected the glowing light.
"Get on with it," Stirling said.
I turned and looked at him. Him, Bayard, and Ms. Harrison. Beau
had been with them, but I'd made him wait at the bottom of the
mountain. I'd even told him if he so much as showed his face up
top, I'd put a bullet in it. I wasn't sure Stirling believed me,
but Beau had.
"Not an appreciator of nature's beauty, are you, Raymond?"
Even by moonlight I could see his scowl. "I want this over with,
Ms. Blake. Now, tonight."
Strangely enough, I agreed with him. It made me nervous. I
didn't like Raymond. It made me want to argue with him, regardless
of whether I agreed. But I didn't argue. Point for me.
"I'll get it done tonight, Raymond; don't sweat it."
"Please stop calling me by my first name, Ms. Blake." He made
the request through clenched teeth, but he had said "please."
"Fine. It'll be done tonight, Mr. Stirling. Okay?"
He nodded. "Thank you; now get on with it."
I opened my mouth to say something smart, but Larry said very
softly, "Anita."
He was right, as usual. As much fun as it was to yank Stirling's
chain, it was just delaying the inevitable. I was tired of
Stirling, of Magnus, and of everything. It was time to do this job
and go home. Well, maybe not straight home. I wouldn't leave
without Jeff Quinlan, one way or another.
The goat gave a high, questioning bleat. It was staked out in
the middle of the boneyard. It was a brown-and-white-spotted goat
with those strange yellow eyes they sometimes have. It had floppy
white ears and seemed to like having the top of its head scratched.
Larry had petted it in the Jeep on the drive over. Always a bad
idea. Never get friendly with the sacrifices. Makes it hard to kill
them.
I had not petted the goat. I knew better. This was Larry's first
goat. He'd learn. Hard or easy, he'd learn. There were two more
goats at the bottom of the hill. One of them was even smaller and
cuter than this one.
"Shouldn't we have the Bouviers' lawyers present, Mr. Stirling?"
Bayard said.
"The Bouviers waived having their attorney present," I said.
"Why would they do that?" Stirling asked.
"They trust me not to lie to them," I said.
Stirling looked at me for a long moment. I couldn't see his eyes
clearly, but I could feel the wheels inside his head moving.
"You're going to lie for them, aren't you?" he said. His voice
was cold, repressed, too angry for heat.
"I don't lie about the dead, Mr. Stirling. Sometimes about the
living, but never about the dead. Besides, Bouvier didn't offer me
a bribe. Why should I help him if he doesn't throw money at
me?"
Larry didn't call me on that one. He was looking at Stirling,
too. Wondering what he'd say, maybe.
"You've made your point, Ms. Blake. Can we get on with it now?"
He sounded reasonable, ordinary suddenly. All that anger, all that
mistrust, had had to go somewhere. But it wasn't in his voice.
"Fine." I knelt and opened the gym bag at my feet. It held my
animating equipment. I had another one that held vampire gear. I
used to just transfer whatever I wanted into the bag. I bought a
second bag after I showed up once at a zombie raising with the
wrong bag. It was also illegal to carry vampire slaying stuff if
you didn't have a warrant of execution on you. Brewster's law might
change that, but until then . . . I had two bags. The zombie was my
normal burgundy one; the vampire bag was white. Even in the dark,
it was easy to tell them apart. That was the plan.
Larry's zombie bag was a nearly virulent green with Teenage
Mutant Ninja Turtles on it. I was almost afraid to ask what his
vampire bag looked like.
"Let me test my understanding here," Larry said. My words fed
back to me. He knelt and unzipped his bag.
"Go ahead, " I said. I got out my jar of ointment. I knew
animators who had special containers for the ointment. Crockery,
hand-blown glass, mystical symbols carved into the sides. I used an
old Mason jar that had once held Grandma Blake's green beans.
Larry fished out a peanut butter jar with the label still on it.
Extra-crunchy. Yum-yum.
"We have to raise a minimum of three zombies, right?"
"Right," I said.
He stared around at the scattered bones. "A mass grave is hard
to raise from, right?"
"This isn't a mass grave. It's an old cemetery that was
disturbed. That's easier than a mass grave."
"Why?" he asked.
I laid the machete down beside the jar of ointment. "Because
each grave had rites performed that would tie the dead individual
to the grave, so that if you call it you have a better chance of
getting an individual to answer."
"Answer?"
"Rise from the dead."
He nodded. He laid a wicked curved blade on the ground. It
looked like a freaking scimitar.
"Where did you get that?"
He dipped his head, and I would have bet he was blushing. Just
couldn't see it by moonlight.
"Guy at college."
"Where'd he get it?"
Larry looked at me, surprise plain on his face. "I don't know.
Is something wrong with it?"
I shook my head. "Just a little fancy for beheading chickens and
slitting a few goats open."
"It felt good in my hand." He shrugged. "Besides, it looks
cool." He grinned at me.
I shook my head, but I let it go. Did I really need a machete to
behead a few chickens, no, but the occasional cow, yeah.
Why, you may ask, didn't we have a cow tonight? No one would
sell Bayard one. He had the brilliant idea of telling the farmers
why he wanted the cow. The God-fearing folk would sell their cows
to be eaten, but not for raising zombies. Prejudiced bastards.
"The youngest of the dead here are two hundred years old,
right?" Larry asked.
"Right," I said.
"We're going to raise a minimum of three of these corpses in
good enough condition for them to answer questions."
"That's the plan," I said.
"Can we do that?"
I smiled at him. "That's the plan."
His eyes widened. "Damn, you don't know if we can do it either,
do you?" His voice had dropped to an amazed whisper.
"We raise three zombies a night every night routinely. We're
just doing them back to back."
"We don't raise two-hundred-year-old zombies routinely."
"True, but the theory's the same."
"Theory?" He shook his head. "I know we're in trouble when you
start talking about theories. Can we do this?"
The honest answer was no, but the thing that dictated more than
anything else what you could raise and what you couldn't was
confidence. Believing you could do it. So . . . I was tempted to
lie. But I didn't. Truth between Larry and me.
"I think we can do it."
"But you don't know for sure," he said.
"No."
"Geez, Anita."
"Don't get rattled on me. We can do this."
"But you aren't sure."
"I'm not sure we'll survive the plane ride home, but I'm still
getting on the plane."
"Was that supposed to be comforting?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"It wasn't," he said.
"Sorry, but this is as good as it gets. You want certainty, be
an accountant."
"I'm not good at math."
"Me either."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright, boss, how
do we combine powers?"
I told him.
"Neat." He didn't look nervous anymore. He looked eager. Larry
may have wanted to be a vampire executioner, but he was an
animator. It wasn't a career choice, it was a gift, or a curse. No
one could teach you to raise the dead unless you had the power in
your blood. Genetics is a wonderful thing: brown eyes, curly hair,
zombie raising.
"Whose ointment you want to use?" Larry asked.
"Mine." I'd given Larry the recipe for the ointment and told him
which ingredients you couldn't mess with, like the graveyard mold,
but there was room for experimentation. Every animator had their
own special recipe. You never knew what Larry's ointment would
smell like. For sharing powers you used the same ointment, so we
were using mine.
For all I knew, we didn't have to use the same ointment, but I'd
only shared my powers three times. Twice with the man who trained
me as an animator. Each time we'd used the same ointment. I had
acted as a focus all three times. Which meant I was in charge.
Where I liked to be, right?
"Could I act as a focus?" Larry asked. "Not this time, but
later?"
"If this comes up again, we'll try it," I said. Truth was, I
didn't know if Larry had the power to be a focus. Manny, who taught
me, couldn't do it. Very few animators could act as a focus. Those
who could were mistrusted by the rest, and most wouldn't play with
us. We would literally share our powers. A lot of animators
wouldn't be willing to do that. There is a theory that you could
permanently steal another's magic. But I don't buy it. Raising the
dead isn't like a magic charm that someone can take with them, and
leave you without. Animating is built into the cells of our bodies.
It's part of us. You can't steal that.
I opened the ointment, and the spring air suddenly smelled like
Christmas trees. I used a lot of rosemary.
The ointment was thick and waxy and always felt cool. Flecks of
glowing graveyard mold looked like ground-up lightning bugs. I
smeared ointment across Larry's forehead, down his cheeks. He
untucked his t-shirt and raised it so I could dab it over his
heart. Which is harder than it sounds with a shoulder holster on,
but we'd both worn a gun apiece. I had left both knives and my
backup gun in the Jeep. I touched his skin and could feel his heart
pounding under my hand.
I handed Larry the Mason jar. He dipped two fingers into the
thick ointment. He traced ointment over my face. His hand was very
steady, face blank with concentration. Eyes utterly serious.
I unbuttoned the polo shirt and Larry slipped his fingers inside
to touch my heart. His fingers rubbed the chain of my crucifix,
spilling it out of my shirt. I slipped it back inside next to my
skin. He handed the jar back to me, and I screwed the lid on tight.
Wouldn't do to let it dry out.
I'd never heard of anyone doing exactly what we were about to
attempt. Not the age part, but the scattered bodies. We only wanted
three, but there weren't three intact bodies. Even doing them one
at a time, it was chancy. How to raise just so much dead and no
more when they were lying jumbled together? I had no names to use.
No gravesite to encircle with power. How to do it?
It was a puzzlement.
But for now we just had to close the circle. One problem at a
time.
"Make sure both of your hands have ointment on them," I
said.
Larry rubbed his hands together like he was putting on lotion.
"Aye, aye, boss; what next?"
I drew a deep silver bowl out of my bag. It gleamed in the
moonlight like another piece of sky.
Larry's eyes widened.
"It doesn't have to be silver. There are no mystical symbols on
it. You could use a Tupperware bowl, but the life of another living
creature is going in here. Use something nice to show some respect,
but understand that it doesn't have to be silver, or this shape, or
anything. It's just a container. Okay?"
Larry nodded. "Why not have the other goats up here on top? It's
going to be a trek to get them up here every time."
I shrugged. "First, they'd panic. Second, it seems cruel for
them to watch their friends bite the dust, knowing they're
next."
"My zoology prof would say you're humanizing them."
"Let him. I know they feel pain, and fear. That's enough."
Larry looked at me for a long moment. "You don't like doing it
either."
"No. You want to help hold or feed the carrot?"
"Carrot?"
I dug a carrot, complete with leafy green top, out of the
bag.
"Was that what you got in the grocery store while I waited in
the car with the goats?"
"Yeah."
I held the carrot up in the air. The goat strained to the end of
its picket line, towards the carrot. I let the goat lip the leafy
top. It bleated and strained towards me. I let him get a little
more leaf. His stubby little tail started wagging. Happy goat.
I handed Larry the silver bowl. "Put it on the ground under the
throat. When the blood starts coming, catch as much as you
can."
I had the machete behind my back in my right hand, carrot in my
left. I felt like a child's dentist. No, nothing behind my back.
Pay no attention to that huge needle. Except this needle was
permanent.
The goat yanked most of the leaves off the carrot, and I waited
while it snaked them up into its mouth. Larry knelt beside it, bowl
on the ground. I offered the meat of the carrot to the goat. It got
a taste of it, and I drew the carrot out, out, until the goat
strained its neck out as far as it could, trying to get more of the
hard orange flesh.
I laid the machete against the hairy throat, not cutting,
gentle. The neck vibrated against the blade, straining for the
carrot. I drew the blade across the neck.
The machete was sharp, and I had practice. There was no sound,
only the shocked, widened eyes, and blood pouring from the
neck.
Larry picked up the bowl, holding it under the wound. Blood
splashed down his arms onto the blue t-shirt. The goat collapsed to
its knees. Blood filled the bowl, dark and glinting, more black
than red.
"There's bits of carrot in the blood," Larry said.
"It's alright," I said. "Carrot's inert."
The goat's head fell slowly forward until it touched the ground.
The bowl sat under its throat, filling with blood. It had been
nearly a perfect kill. Goats could be sort of pesky, but sometimes,
like tonight, it all worked. Of course, we weren't done.
I laid the bloody knife against my left arm and sliced it open.
The pain was sharp and immediate. I held the wound over the bowl,
letting the thick drops mingle with the goat's blood.
"Give me your right arm," I said.
Larry didn't argue. He just held out his bare arm. I'd told him
what would happen, but it was still a very trusting gesture. His
face turned up to me was without any trace of fear. God.
I sliced his arm. He winced but didn't draw back. "Let it drip
into the bowl."
He held his arm over the bowl. All the blood was red-black in
the moonlight.
The beginnings of power trickled over my skin. My power, Larry's
power, the power of a ritual sacrifice. Larry looked up at me with
wide eyes.
I knelt beside him and laid the machete across the mouth of the
bowl. I held out my left hand to him. He gave me his right. We
clasped hands and pressed the wounds in our forearms together,
letting the blood mingle. Larry held one side of the blood-filled
bowl and I held the other. Blood trickled down our arms to drip off
our elbows into the bowl, onto the bloody naked steel.
We stood still clasped together, still holding the bowl. I
withdrew my hand from his slowly, then took the bowl from him. He
followed my every movement like he always did. He'd be able to
close his eyes and mimic me.
I walked to the edge of the circle I had in my mind and plunged
my hand into the bowl. The blood was still amazingly warm, almost
hot. I grasped the handle of the machete with my bloody hand and
began using the blade to sprinkle blood as I walked.
I could feel Larry standing in the center of the circle that I
walked like there was a rope stretched between us. As I walked,
that rope stretched tighter and tighter like a rubber band being
twisted. The power grew with each step, each drop of blood. The
earth was hungry for it. I'd never raised the dead on ground that
had seen death rituals before. Magnus should have mentioned that.
Maybe he hadn't known. Charitable of me.
It didn't matter now. There was magic here for blood and death.
Something that was eager for me to close the circle. Eager for me
to raise the dead. Hungry.
I stood nearly where I'd begun. I was a sprinkle of blood away
from closing the circle. The line of power between Larry and me was
so tight it hurt. The potential power was frightening, and
exhilarating. We'd awakened something old and long dormant. It made
me hesitate. Made me not want to finish the circle. Stubbornness,
and fear. I didn't completely understand what I was feeling. It was
someone else's magic, someone's spell. We'd triggered it, but I
didn't know what it would do. We could raise our dead, but it would
be like walking a tightrope between the other spell and . . .
something.
I felt old Bloody Bones in its barrow miles away. I felt it
watching me, urging me to take that last step. I shook my head as
if the fey creature could see me. I just didn't understand the
spell well enough to risk it.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked. His voice sounded strangled. We
were choking on unused power, and damned if I knew what to do with
it.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Ivy stood at the
edge of the mountain. She was wearing hiking boots with thick white
socks folded over them, baggy black shorts, and a skin-tight neon
pink top, with a checked flannel shirt over it. The chain of her
dangling earring gleamed in the moonlight. She'd dressed herself
tonight.
All I had to do was drop that last bit of blood, and the circle
would close. And I could hold this circle against her, against them
all. Nothing would cross it that I didn't want to cross it. Well,
within reason. Demons and angels could probably cross it, but
vampires couldn't.
I felt a surge of triumph from the thing trapped in its mound.
It wanted me to close the circle. I tossed the bowl and machete
behind me towards the center of the circle, away from the outer
edge so no blood would fall on it. Ivy started towards me in a
faster-than-light display, a blur of speed. I went for my gun, felt
it slide from the holster, and she smashed into me. The impact
knocked the Browning out of my hand. I hit the ground with nothing
in my hands but air.
Chapter 34
Ivy reared backwards, fangs flashing. Larry screamed, "Anita!" I
heard the gun go off, felt the bullet hit her body. It hit her in
the shoulder, twisted her body, but she turned back to me with a
smile. She dug fingers into my shoulders and rolled us over,
putting me on top, with one of her hands leeched to the back of my
neck. She squeezed until I gasped.
"I'll snap her spine unless you throw that toy away," she
said.
"She'll kill me anyway. Don't do it."
"Anita . . ."
"Now, or I'll kill her while you watch."
"Shoot her!" But there wasn't a clear shot. He'd have to walk
around me and fire point-blank. Ivy could kill me twice over before
he got to us.
Ivy forced my neck lower. I braced my right arm on the ground.
She'd have to break something to get me down to her. If she broke
my neck, it'd be over; a broken arm would just hurt.
I heard something hit the ground, a dull, heavy thump. Larry's
gun. Damn.
She pressed harder on the back of my neck. I dug the palm of my
hand into the ground hard enough to leave an imprint.
"I can break that arm and bring you to me. Your choice: easy, or
hard."
"Hard," I said between gritted teeth.
She grabbed for my arm, and I had an idea. I collapsed forward
on top of her. It caught her off guard. I had a handful of seconds
to pull the chain around my neck out of my shirt.
Her hand slid through my hair like a lover's, pressing my face
against her cheek, not hard, almost gentle. "Three nights from now
you'll like me, Anita. You'll worship me."
"I doubt that." The chain slid forward, the crucifix pooled
against her throat. There was a blinding flash of white, white
light. A rush of heat that singed my hair.
Ivy screamed and clawed at the cross, scrambling from underneath
me.
I stayed on all fours with the cross dangling in front of me.
The blue-white flames died away because it wasn't touching vampiric
flesh anymore, but it glowed like a captive star, and she backed
away from it.
I didn't know where my gun was, but the machete gleamed against
the dark earth. I wrapped my hand around it and got to my feet.
Larry was behind me with his own cross out, held in front of him to
the length of its chain. The white light with its core of blue was
almost painfully bright.
Ivy screamed, shielding her eyes. All she had to do was walk
away. But she was frozen, immobile in the face of the crosses, and
two true believers.
"Gun," I said to Larry.
"Can't find it."
Both guns were matte black so they wouldn't reflect light at
night and make us a target; now it made them invisible.
We advanced on the vampire. She threw both arms up before her
face and screamed, "Nooo!" She'd backed up nearly to the edge of
the circle. If she ran, we wouldn't chase her, but she didn't run.
Maybe she couldn't.
I shoved the machete up under her ribs. Blood poured down the
blade onto my hands. I drove the blade upward into her heart. I
gave it that last little wrench to slice it up.
Her arms fell away from her face slowly. Her eyes were wide,
surprised. She stared down at the blade in her stomach, as if she
didn't understand what it was doing there. The flesh of her neck
was black where the cross had burned her.
She fell to her knees and I went with her, keeping my grip on
the machete. She didn't die. I hadn't really expected her to. I
jerked the blade out of her, doing more damage. She made a low
gurgling sound, but stayed on her knees. Her hands touched the
blood flowing out of her chest and stomach. She stared at the
gleaming darkness as if she'd never seen blood before. The blood
flow was already slowing; unless I killed her soon, the wound would
close.
I stood over her and brought the machete back in a two-handed
grip. I put everything I had into that downswing. The blade bit
into her neck, down to the spine, catching on the bone.
Ivy stared up at me with blood streaming down her neck. I swung
back for another chop, and she watched me do it, too hurt to run
now. I had to struggle to get the blade out of the spine, and still
she blinked up at me. If I didn't finish her, she'd heal even
this.
I brought the blade down one last time and felt the last edge of
bone give. The blade came out the other side, and her head slid off
her shoulders in a spray of blood like a black fountain. That black
blood poured over the circle and closed it.
Power filled the circle until we were drowning in it. Larry fell
to his knees. The light from the crosses faded like dying stars.
The vampire was dead, and the crosses couldn't help us now.
"What's happening?"
I could feel the power like water on every side, choking close.
I was breathing it in, soaking it up through my skin.
I screamed wordlessly and fell to the ground. I fell through
layers of power, and the moment I hit the ground I could feel the
power below me, stretching downward, outward.
I was lying on top of bones. They twitched like something moving
in its sleep. I crawled to my knees, hands digging into the earth.
I touched a long, thin arm bone, and it moved. I scrambled to my
feet, slow, too slow through the pressing air, and watched.
Bones slid through the earth like water, coming together. The
earth heaved and rocked underfoot like giant moles were
crawling.
Larry was on his feet now, too. "What's happening?"
"Something bad," I said.
I'd never seen the dead coalesce. They always came to the
surface of the grave all in one piece. I'd never realized it was
like putting together a macabre jigsaw puzzle. A skeleton formed at
my feet, and flesh began to crawl over it, flow like clay, molding
itself back to the bones.
"Anita?"
I turned to Larry. He was pointing at a skeleton at the far edge
of the circle. Half the bones were on the outside of the circle.
Flesh crawled over this side of the bones and pushed against the
blood circle. The earth gave one last heave, and the magic poured
out over the ground. I heard it pop inside my head like a release
of pressure. The air spread out, not so drowning-thick. It poured
over the hillside like invisible flame, and everywhere it touched
the dead formed bodies.
"Stop it, Anita. Stop it."
"I can't." The killing magic in the ground had stolen the reins.
All I could do was watch and feel the power spreading outward.
Enough power to ride forever. Enough power to raise a thousand
dead.
I knew when Rawhead and Bloody Bones burst its prison. I felt
the power sag as the thing escaped. Then the power lashed back into
this bit of ground and drove us to our knees. The dead struggled
from the earth like swimmers dragging themselves to shore. When
nearly twenty dead stood waiting with empty eyes, the power flowed
outward. I felt it seeking more dead, something else to raise. This
I could stop. The fairie was gone, out of the loop; he had what he
wanted.
I called the power back. I drew it into me, back through the
ground, like pulling a snake by its tail out of a hole. I flung it
into the zombies. Flung it into them and said, "Live."
The wrinkled flesh filled out. The dead eyes gleamed. The
tattered clothing, mended itself. Dirt fell away from a long
gingham dress. A woman with midnight hair, dark skin, and Magnus's
startled eyes looked at me. They all looked at me. Twenty dead, all
over two hundred years old, and they could have passed for
human.
"My God," Larry whispered.
Even I was impressed.
"Very impressive, Ms. Blake." Stirling's voice was wrenching, as
if he shouldn't have been there. He was a different part of reality
from the near-perfect zombies. The fairie was out, but I'd do my
job, for what good it would do any of us.
"Which of you is a Bouvier?"
There was a murmur of voices, most of them speaking French.
Nearly all of them were Bouviers. The woman introduced herself as
Anias Bouvier. She looked very alive.
"Looks like you'll have to move your hotel," I said.
"Oh, I don't think so," Stirling said.
I turned and looked at him.
He had a big shiny silver gun out. A nickel-plated .45. He held
it like it was a movie, kind of out in front of him, waist-high. A
.45 is a big gun; you don't hit much from a waist shot. Or that's
the theory. With it pointed at us, I wasn't eager to try the
theory.
Bayard was pointing a .22 automatic vaguely in our direction. It
didn't look like he'd held a gun before. Maybe he forgot and left
the safety on.
Ms. Harrison had a nickel-plated .38 pointed very steadily at
me. She stood with her legs apart, balanced on her ridiculous high
heels. She held the gun in a two-handed grip like she knew what she
was doing.
I flashed on her face. Her eyes in her thick makeup were a
little wide, but she was rock steady. Steadier than Bayard and a
better stance than Stirling. I hoped Stirling paid her well.
"What's going on, Stirling?" I asked. My voice was even, but
there was an edge of power to it. I was still riding the power,
enough power to put the zombies back in the ground. Enough power to
do a lot of things.
He smiled visibly in the bright reflected light. "You've
released the creature; now we shall kill you."
"Why the hell do you care if Bloody Bones is out?" I saw the
guns and still didn't know why.
"It came into my dreams, Ms. Blake. It promised me all the
Bouvier land. All of it."
"The fey breaking out won't get you the land," I said.
"It will with Bouvier dead. The deed that got us this hillside
will be found to include all the land, once there's no one to fight
it."
"Even with Magnus dead, you won't get the land," I said, but my
voice didn't sound so sure.
"You mean his sister?" Stirling said. "She'll die just as easily
as Magnus."
My stomach was tight. "Her children?"
"Rawhead and Bloody Bones loves children best of all," he
said.
"You son of a bitch." It was Larry. He took a step forward, and
Ms. Harrison's gun swung to him. I grabbed his arm with my free
hand. I still had the machete in my hand. Larry stopped, and the
gun stayed on him. I wasn't sure that was an improvement.
Tension sang down Larry's arm. I'd seen him angry, but never
like this. The power responded to that anger. The zombies all
turned to us in a rustle of cloth. Their glittering eyes, so alive,
were waiting for us.
"Move in front of us," I whispered. The zombies began walking
towards us. The closest ones moved in front of us immediately. I
lost sight of the gun-toting trio. Here was hoping they'd lost
sight of us.
"Kill them," Stirling said, loud, almost a yell.
I started to drop to the ground, still holding Larry's arm. He
resisted. Gunfire exploded around us and he kissed dirt, flat.
With the side of his face pressed to the ground, he said, "What
now?"
Bullets were hitting the zombies. The bodies jerked and
twitched. Some of the very alive faces stared down, alarmed as
holes appeared in their bodies. But there was no pain. The panic
was reflex.
Someone was yelling; it wasn't us. "Stop it, stop it. We can't
do this. We can't just kill them."
It was Bayard.
"It is late for an attack of conscience," Ms. Harrison said. It
may have been the first time I'd heard her voice. She sounded
efficient.
"Lionel, you are either with me, or against me."
"Shit," I muttered. I wormed forward, trying to see what was
happening. I pushed aside a billowing skirt just in time to see
Stirling shoot Lionel in the stomach. The .45 gave out a booming
sound and nearly jerked itself out of Stirling's hand, but he held
on. From less than ten inches away, you could shoot nearly anything
with a .45.
Bayard collapsed to his knees, looking up at Stirling. He was
trying to say something, but no sound came out.
Stirling took the gun from Bayard's hand and put it in his own
jacket pocket. He turned his back on Bayard and walked out onto the
hard, dry soil.
Ms. Harrison hesitated, but she followed her boss.
Bayard fell onto his side with a dark flood draining out of him.
His glasses reflected the moonlight, making him look blind.
Stirling and Ms. Harrison were coming in after us. Stirling
pushed among the dead as if they were trees and he was wading
through. The dead didn't move for him. They stood there like
stubborn, fleshy barriers. I hadn't told them to move, so they
wouldn't.
Ms. Harrison had stopped trying to force her way through.
Moonlight glinted on her shiny gun as she used a zombie's shoulder
to sight on us.
"Kill her," I whispered.
The zombie she was using as a sighting post turned towards her.
She made an exasperated sound, and the dead closed on her.
Larry looked at me. "What did you tell them?"
Ms. Harrison was screaming now. High, frightened shrieks. She
fired her gun again and again. It clicked empty. Slow, eager hands
and mouths latched onto her body.
"Stop them," Larry said. He grabbed my arm. "Stop them."
I could feel the hands tearing bits of flesh from Ms. Harrison.
Teeth sank into her shoulder, tore that tender neck, and I knew
when blood flowed into that mouth.
Larry was along for the ride. "Oh, God, stop it!" He was on his
knees pulling at me, begging.
Stirling hadn't fired a shot. Where was he?
"Stop," I whispered.
The dead froze like automatons, stopped in mid-action. Ms.
Harrison slid to the ground in a moaning heap.
Stirling came in from one side, the big gun pointed very
steadily at us, out in a two-handed grip like it was supposed to be
held. He'd made his way behind us while the zombies worked over Ms.
Harrison. He was standing nearly on top of us. It took a lot of
nerve to come that close to the zombies.
Larry's fingers dug into my arm. "Don't, Anita; please don't."
Even staring down the barrel of a gun, Larry stuck to his morals.
Admirable.
"If you say a word, Ms. Blake, I will kill you."
I just stared up at him. I was so close to him I could have
reached out and touched his pants leg. The .45 was pointed very
solidly at my head. If he pulled the trigger, I was gone.
"Careless of you not to have the zombies attack both of us."
I agreed with him, but all I could do was stare up at him. I
still had the machete in one hand. I tried not to tighten my grip
on it. Not to draw attention to it.
I must have made some betraying motion because he said, "Take
your hand away from the knife, Ms. Blake, slowly."
I didn't do it. I stared up at him and his gun.
"Now, Ms. Blake, or . . ." He thumbed back the hammer on the
gun. Not necessary but always dramatic.
I let go of the machete.
"Hand away from it, Ms. Blake."
I moved my hand away. I didn't move away from him and the gun. I
wanted to, but I made myself be still. A few inches wouldn't make
the gun less deadly, but it might make a big difference if I tried
to jump him. Not my first choice, but if we ran out of other
options . . . I wouldn't go down without a fight.
"Can you lay these zombies to rest, Mr. Kirkland?"
Larry hesitated. "I don't know."
Good boy. If he'd said no, Stirling might have killed him. If
he'd said yes, he'd have killed me.
Larry let go of my arm and moved just a little away from me.
Stirling's eyes flicked to him, back to me, but the gun barrel
never wavered. Damn.
Larry was on his knees, still moving away from me, forcing
Stirling to keep an eye on both of us. The .45 moved an inch from
the center of my forehead, towards Larry. I took a breath and held
it. Not yet, not yet . . . If I tried something too soon, I'd be
dead.
Larry lunged for something on the ground. The .45 swung towards
him.
I did two things at once. I slipped my left hand behind
Stirling's leg and pulled, and I grabbed his groin with my right
and shoved with all I was worth. I was doing the wrong thing to
cause a lot of pain, but it tipped him over. He fell flat on his
back with the gun swinging back towards me.
I'd hoped he'd drop the gun, or be slower. He didn't, and he
wasn't. So I only had a split-second to decide whether to try to
pull his privates out of his body, and cause as much pain as
possible, or go for the gun. I went for the gun, not trying to grab
it, but sweeping my hands into his arms. If I could control his
arms, I could control the gun.
The gun went off. I didn't look. No time. Larry was either hit,
or he wasn't. If he wasn't, I had to get that gun. Stirling's arms
were on the ground, my hands keeping them there, but I had no
leverage. He raised his arms off the ground, and I couldn't stop
him. I shoved my feet into the ground and forced his arms over his
head, but it had become a wrestling match now, and he outweighed me
by sixty pounds.
"Drop the gun." Larry's voice behind me. I couldn't look.
Couldn't take my attention from the gun. We both ignored him.
"I will shoot you," Larry said.
That got Stirling's attention. His eyes flicked to Larry; for
just a moment his body hesitated. I kept my grip on his wrists and
shoved myself forward, up his body. I dug my knee into his groin,
trying to reach the ground through him. He let out a strangled cry.
His hands spasmed.
I moved my hands up and touched the gun. His grip tightened. He
wasn't letting go.
I came up beside Stirling's arms and braced his arms against my
hip. I pulled the arm against my body, just one quick movement, and
snapped his arm at the elbow. The hand went numb, and the gun fell
into my hand.
I crawled away from him, the gun in one hand.
Larry was standing over us with a gun pointed at Stirling.
Stirling didn't seem to care. He was rocking back and forth over
the ground, trying to cradle both injuries at once.
"I had a gun. You could have just moved away from him," Larry
said.
I just shook my head. I trusted Larry to shoot Stirling. I just
hadn't trusted Stirling not to shoot Larry. "I had my hands on the
gun. Seemed a shame to let it go," I said.
Larry pointed the gun at the ground, but kept a nice two-handed
grip on it. "It's yours; you want it?"
I shook my head. "Keep it until we get to the car."
I looked up at the zombies. They were watching me with calm
eyes. There was blood on the mouth of the dark-haired woman. It had
been her teeth that tore into Ms. Harrison's neck.
Ms. Harrison was lying very still on the ground. Passed out, at
the very least.
The power was beginning to unravel at the edges. If I was going
to put everybody back in the ground, it had to be now.
"Go back into the ground. Back to your graves. Go back, all of
you, go back."
The dead walked upon the earth, moving among one another like
children in a game of musical chairs. Then one by one they lay down
upon the earth, and it swallowed them like water. The earth moved
and buckled in waves, until they were all tucked out of sight.
There were no bones protruding from the earth. The earth was
smooth and soft, as if the entire top of the mountain had been dug
up and smoothed over.
The power shredded, flowing back into the ground, or wherever
the hell it came from. We had to get down to the Jeep and start
making phone calls. There was a rampaging fey on the loose. We at
least had to get cops out to the Bouviers' place.
Larry knelt beside Ms. Harrison. He touched her neck. "She's
alive." His hand came away stained with blood.
I looked at Stirling. He'd stopped rolling around and was just
sort of huddled on his side, his arm held at an obscene angle. The
look he gave me was part pain and part hate. If he ever got a
second chance, I was dead.
"Shoot him if he moves," I said.
Larry got to his feet and pointed the gun dutifully at
Stirling.
I went to check on Bayard. He lay on his side, half-crumpled
around the wound in his belly. A wide black circle showed where his
blood had soaked into the thirsty ground. I knew dead when I saw
it, but I knelt on the far side of his body so I could keep an eye
on Stirling. It wasn't that I didn't trust Larry. I just didn't
trust Stirling.
There was no pulse in his neck. The skin was already cooling in
the soft spring air. It hadn't been an instant death. Lionel Bayard
had died while we were fighting. He'd died alone, and he'd known he
was dying, and that he'd been betrayed. It was a bad way to
die.
I stood up and looked at Stirling. I wanted to kill him for
Bayard, for Magnus, for Dorrie Bouvier, for her kids. For being a
heartless son of bitch.
He'd witnessed me using zombies as a weapon. Using magic as a
killing weapon was punishable by death. Self-defense was not an
acceptable plea.
I stared very calmly across at Stirling and the unconscious Ms.
Harrison, and realized that I could have crossed that ground and
put a bullet in both of them, and slept just fine.
Sweet Jesus.
Larry glanced my way, gun still steady, but he'd taken his eyes
off Stirling for a second. Not fatal, tonight, but I'd have to
break him of it. "Is Bayard dead?"
"Yeah." I started back towards them, wondering what I was going
to do. I didn't think Larry would let me shoot them in cold blood.
Part of me was glad. Part of me wasn't.
Wind blew against my face. There was a rustling sound in the
wind, like that made by trees or cloth. There were no trees on top
of this mountain. I turned with the big .45 in a two-handed grip,
and Janos was just there, on the edge of the mountain. Staring at
his skeletal face, I think I stopped breathing. He was dressed all
in black; even his hands were hidden inside black gloves. For one
wild moment he looked like a floating skull. "We have the boy," he
said.
Chapter 35
The crosses were still in plain sight. They glowed with a soft
white radiance. No burning light, not yet. We weren't in active
danger, but the cross grew warm even through my shirt.
Janos put a hand in front of his eyes, the way I would guard my
eyes from the sun in the car. "Please put those away, so we may
talk."
He hadn't asked us to take them off. I could live with tucking
my cross in my shirt. It could come out again later. I spilled the
chain back down my shirt one-handed, keeping the .45 ready. I
realized then that I didn't know if the gun had silver ammo. Now
was not the time to ask. Stirling would probably lie anyway.
Larry slipped his own cross out of sight. The glowing night was
just a little dimmer.
"Alright, now what?" I asked.
Kissa came up behind him, Jeff Quinlan in front of her like a
shield. His glasses were gone, and he looked even younger without
them. She had his arm behind his back, at an angle that could be
painful with just a tug.
He was wearing a cream-colored tuxedo with a cummerbund done two
shades darker to match the bow tie. Kissa was in black leather.
Jeff stood out against her in wonderful contrast.
I swallowed; my pulse threatened to choke me. What was going on?
"You alright, Jeff?"
"I guess so."
Kissa gave a little tug.
He winced. "I'm okay." His voice was a little higher than it
should have been. a little scared.
I held out my hand to him. "Come here."
"Not yet," Janos said.
I'd tried. "What do you want?"
"First drop your guns."
"If we don't?" I thought I knew the answer, but I wanted him to
say it.
"Kissa will kill the boy, and you will have done all this for
nothing,"
"Help me," Stirling said. "She's mad. She attacked Ms. Harrison
with zombies. When we tried to defend ourselves, she nearly killed
us."
That was probably what he'd say in court, too. And a jury would
believe him. They'd want to believe him. I would be the big, bad
zombie queen, and he would be the innocent victim.
Janos laughed, his paper-thin skin threatening to split, but
never quite doing it. "Oh, no, Mr. Stirling, I watched from the
darkness. I saw you murder the other man."
Fear flashed across his face. "I don't know what you mean. We
hired him in good faith. He turned on us."
"My master opened your mind to Bloody Bones. She freed him to
whisper in your dreams about land, money, and power. All that you
desire."
"Serephina sent Ivy to kill me, or rather for me to kill her. So
she'd be sure to have Bloody Bones free," I said.
"Yes," he said. "Serephina told her she had to rid herself of
the disgrace of losing to you."
"By killing me."
"Yes."
"What if she'd succeeded?"
"My master had faith in you, Anita. You are death come among us.
A breath of mortality."
"Why'd she want the thing freed?" I seemed to be asking that a
lot tonight.
"She wishes to taste immortal blood."
"This is all sort of elaborate for a little extra kick in your
food."
He gave another rictus grin. "You are what you eat, Anita. Think
upon it."
I did, and my eyes widened. "She thinks by drinking immortal
blood, she'll be truly immortal?"
"Very good, Anita."
"It won't work," I said.
"We shall see," he said.
"What do you get out it?" I asked.
He cocked his skeletal head to one side, like a decaying bird.
"She is my master, and she shares her bounty."
"You want immortality, too?"
"I want power," he said.
Great. "And it doesn't bother you that the thing will kill
children? That it's already killed some?"
"We feed, Bloody Bones feeds, what does it matter?"
"And Bloody Bones is going to just let you feed off it?"
"Serephina has found the spell that Magnus's ancestor used. She
controls the fairie."
"How?"
He shook his head and smiled. "No more delays, Anita. Drop the
gun, or Kissa will taste him before your eyes."
Kissa ran a hand through Jeff's short hair, a caressing gesture.
It pushed his head to one side, baring a long smooth line of
neck.
"No!" Jeff tried to pull away, and Kissa yanked on his arm hard
enough that he cried out.
"I will break the arm, boy," she growled.
The pain held him immobile, but his eyes were wide and
terrified. He looked at me. He wouldn't plead, no begging, but his
eyes did it for him.
Kissa's lips pulled back from her teeth in a flashy snarl, fangs
visible.
"Don't," I said, and hated it. I tossed the .45 to the ground.
Larry threw my gun down. Disarmed twice in one night. It was a
record even for me.
Chapter 36
"Now what?" I asked.
"Serephina awaits us at the party. She sent suitable clothing
for you. You can change in the limousine," Janos said.
"What party?" I asked.
"The one we have come to invite you to. She is delivering
Jean-Claude's invitation in person."
That didn't sound good. "I think we'll pass on the party."
"I don't think so," Janos said.
Another vampire stepped out of the trees. It was the brunette
that had tormented Jason. She stalked forward in a long black dress
that covered her from neck to ankle. She slid her arms around
Janos, nuzzling his neck, giving us a glimpse of her pale back.
Only a fine webbing of black straps covered her back. The dress
moved like it would slide down her body at the least movement, but
somehow it stayed in place. Fashion-plate magic. Her dark hair was
in a looping braid to one side of her face. She looked good for
someone I'd seen ripped to rotting bits of flesh.
I couldn't keep the surprise off my face.
"I thought she was dead," Larry said.
"So did I."
"I would never have risked Pallas if I truly thought your
werewolf could kill her," Janos said.
A second figure came out of the dark woods. Long white hair
framed a thin, fine-boned face. His eyes glowed blood-red. I'd seen
vampires with glowing eyes before, but they always glowed the color
of their irises. No one who had ever been human had red irises. He
wore a proverbial black tux and tails, complete with a nearly
ankle-length cape.
"Xavier," I said softly.
Larry looked at me. "This is the vampire that's been killing
everyone?"
I nodded.
"Then what's he doing here?"
"That's how you found Jeff so quickly. You're working with
Xavier," I said. "Does Serephina know?"
Janos smiled. "She is master of all, Anita, even him." He said
the last like it impressed him.
"You won't get to munch on your fairie for long if the cops
trace Xavier to you."
"Xavier was following orders. He was on a recruitment drive."
Janos seemed to like saying that last bit like it was an
in-joke.
"Why did you want Ellie Quinlan?"
"Xavier likes a bit of young boy now and then. It is his one
weakness. He turned the girl's lover, and the boy wanted her with
him forever. Tonight she will rise and feed with us."
Not if I could help it. "What do you want, Janos?"
"I was sent to make your life easier," he said.
"Yeah, right."
Pallas uncurled herself from Janos. She glided over to
Stirling.
Stirling stared up at her, cradling his broken arm. It had to
hurt like hell, but it wasn't pain on his face now, it was fear. He
stared up at the vampire; all the arrogance had slipped away. He
looked like a kid who'd discovered the thing under the bed was
really there.
A third vampire moved out of the trees. It was the blonde half
of the pair. She looked fine, like she'd never rotted right before
our eyes. I'd never known a vampire that could look so dead, and
not be.
"You remember Bettina," he said.
Bettina wore a black dress that left her pale shoulders bare. A
throw of black cloth went over one shoulder and down the front of
the dress. A gold belt held it in place, cinching her waist tight.
Her yellow braid was wound in a crown atop her head.
She walked towards us, and her face was perfect. The dry,
rotting skin had been a bad dream, a nightmare. I wish. Fire,
Jean-Claude had said, fire was the only surety. I thought he'd
meant just Janos.
Janos reached over and grabbed Jeff from Kissa. He gripped the
boy's shoulders with both black-gloved hands. His fingers were
longer than they should have been, as though they had an extra
joint. Against the white of Jeff's jacket, you could tell that the
index finger was as long as the middle finger. Another myth that
was true, at least for Janos. Those long, strange fingers dug into
Jeff just a little.
Jeff's eyes were so wide it looked painful.
"What's going on?" I asked.
Kissa was dressed in the same black vinyl outfit she'd had on in
the torture room, though it couldn't be the exact same one, because
the first one had Larry's bullet hole in it. She stood beside him,
her hands in fists. She stood very still, as only the dead can, but
there was a tension to her, a wariness. She wasn't happy. Her dark
skin was strangely pale. She hadn't fed yet tonight. I could always
tell . . . with most vampires. There are always exceptions.
Xavier moved in a shadow of that impossible blurring speed past
Stirling, to stand beside the still unconscious Ms. Harrison. Larry
shook his head. "Did he just appear there, or did I see him
move?"
"He moved," I said.
I expected Janos to send Kissa out to join the others, but he
didn't. A figure crawled over the lip of the hill, dragging itself
into sight like it hurt to move. Pale hands dug into the naked
dirt, pale arms bare to the spring night. The head drooped towards
the ground, short dark hair hiding the face. With one upward
motion, the face raised into the moonlight. Thin, bloodless lips
drew back from fangs. The face was ravaged with hunger. I knew the
eyes were brown only because I'd seen them staring lifelessly at
the ceiling of Ellie Quinlan's bedroom. There was no pull to her
eyes, but down in the dark depths a flicker of something burned. It
wasn't sanity; hunger, maybe. An animal's emotion, nothing human.
Maybe after they'd let her feed for the first time, she'd have time
for emotions; now everything had narrowed down to one basic
need.
"Is that who I think it is?" Larry asked.
"Yeah," I said.
Jeff tried to run to her. "Ellie!"
Janos jerked him tight against his chest, one arm around his
shoulders like an embrace. Jeff struggled against that arm, tried
to run to his dead sister. I was with Janos on this one. The newly
risen have a tendency to eat first and ask questions later. The
thing that had once been Ellie Quinlan would have gladly torn out
her baby brother's throat. She'd have bathed in the blood, and
minutes, or days, or weeks later, she would realize what she'd
done. She might even regret it.
"Go, Angela; go to Xavier," Janos said.
"A new name won't change who she was," I said.
Janos looked at me. "She is two years dead, and her name is
Angela."
"Her name is Ellie," Jeff said. He'd stopped struggling, but he
looked at his dead sister with fresh horror, as if just beginning
to really see her.
"People will recognize her, Janos."
"We shall be careful, Anita. Our new angel will see no one that
we do not wish."
"Well, isn't that cozy?" I said.
"It will be," he said, "once she has drunk her fill."
"I'm impressed that you dragged her this far without feeding her
first."
"I did it." Xavier's voice was surprisingly pleasant. It was
disturbing hearing that voice coming from that pale, ghostly
face.
I looked at him, careful to avoid his gaze. "Impressive," I
said.
"Andy brought her over, and I brought Andy over. I am her
master."
Since Andy hadn't shown up, I was betting I'd killed him in the
woods with Sheriff St. John. Probably not a good time to bring that
up. "And who is your master?"
"Serephina, for now," Xavier said.
I glanced at Janos. "You haven't worked out which of you is top
dog, have you?" I smiled.
"You waste our time, Anita. Our master awaits you eagerly. Let
us finish this. Call our angel."
Xavier held out one pale hand. Ellie made a noise low in her
throat, and scrambled on all fours over the raw dirt. The long
black dress tangled around her legs. She tore at it impatiently.
The cloth ripped like paper in her hands, the skirt shredding
around her bare legs. She grabbed Xavier's hand like it was a
lifeline. She bent over his wrist, and only his hand in her hair
kept her from trying to feed on him.
"There is no sustenance for you from the dead, Angela," Janos
said. "Feed on the living."
Pallas and Bettina knelt on either side of Stirling. Xavier fell
gracefully beside Ms. Harrison, his black cape spread out around
him like a pool of blood. He kept hold of Ellie's hair the whole
way down, forcing her snarling face to touch the dirt. Her hands
dug at his hands, mewling sounds crawling from her throat. Nothing
that was human should have made sounds like that.
"Ms. Blake," Stirling said, "you're the law. You have to protect
me."
"I thought you were going to see me in court, Raymond. Something
about me attacking you and Ms. Harrison with zombies."
"I didn't mean it." He glanced up at the kneeling vampires, then
back to me. "I won't tell. I won't tell anyone. Please."
I just looked at him. "Begging for mercy, Raymond?"
"Yes, yes, I'm begging."
"Like the mercy you showed Bayard?"
"Please."
Bettina caressed Stirling's cheek. He jerked like it had burned.
"Please!"
Shit.
"We can't just watch," Larry said.
"You have another suggestion?"
"You never give anyone over to the monsters, not for any reason.
It's a rule," he said.
It was my rule. I'd believed in it once, back when I'd been sure
who the monsters were.
He was pulling the chain out from inside his shirt.
"Don't do this, Larry. Don't get us killed for Raymond
Stirling."
His cross spilled out in the open air. It glowed like
Serephina's eyes. He just looked at me.
I sighed, and brought out my own cross. "This is a bad
idea."
"I know," he said. "But I can't just watch."
I stared at his earnest face, and knew it was true. He couldn't
just watch. I could have. I might not have enjoyed it, but I could
have let it happen. More's the pity.
"What are you doing with your little holy objects?" Janos
asked.
"Stopping this," I said.
"You want them dead, Anita."
"Not like this," I said.
"Would you have me let you use your gun and waste all this
blood?"
He was offering to let me shoot them. I shook my head. "I don't
think that's an option anymore."
"It was never an option," Larry said.
I let that go; no need to disillusion him. I walked towards
Pallas and Bettina. Larry walked towards Ellie and Xavier, cross
held outward to the length of its chain, as if that made it work
better. Nothing wrong with a little dramatic gesture, but I'd have
to clue him in that it didn't really help. But later.
The cross's glow grew until it was like wearing a 100-watt
lightbulb naked around your neck. I saw the world as a black circle
outside the glow.
Xavier was on his feet facing Larry, but the others had crawled
away from their prey, beaten by the light.
"Thank you, Ms. Blake," Stirling said. "Thank you." He grabbed
my leg with his good hand, fawning over me. I fought an urge to
shake him off.
"Thank Larry; I'd have let you die."
He didn't seem to hear me. He was nearly crying with relief,
slobbering all over my Nikes.
"Back away from them, please." The voice was female and
honey-thick.
I blinked over the glow of the cross and saw Kissa holding a
gun. A revolver that looked like a Magnum; hard to tell in the
glow. Whatever it was, it'd make a big hole.
"Move away from them, now."
"I thought Serephina didn't want me dead."
"Kissa will shoot your young friend."
I stopped in mid-breath and let it out. "If you kill him, I
won't cooperate with whatever you have in mind for tonight."
"You misunderstand us, Anita," Janos said. "My master does not
require your cooperation. Everything she wants from you can be
taken by force."
I stared at him over the shining light. He had Jeff cuddled
against him; most heartwarming.
"Take off your crosses and throw them far out into the trees,"
Janos said. He ran a gloved hand along both sides of Jeff's face,
planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Now that we know you would give up your safety for both young
men, we have one more hostage than is absolutely necessary." He put
his hands on either side of Jeff's neck, just holding, not hurting,
not yet.
"Take off your crosses and throw them into the woods. I will not
ask a third time."
I stared at him. I didn't want to give up my cross. I glanced at
Larry. He was still facing off against Xavier, his cross glowing
bravely. Shit.
"Kissa, shoot the man."
"No," I said. I undid the chain. "Don't shoot him."
"Don't do it , Anita," Larry said.
"I can't watch them shoot you, not if I can stop it." I let the
chain pool in my hand; the cross shone with a blue-white flame like
burning magnesium. It was a bad idea to throw it away. A real bad
idea. I tossed it into the woods. The cross glittered like a
falling star and died out of sight in the dark.
"Now your cross, Larry," Janos said.
Larry shook his head. "You'll have to shoot me."
"We'll shoot the boy," Janos said. "Or perhaps I'll feed upon
him while you watch." He pinned Jeff against himself with one arm,
while his other hand dug into the boy's hair, holding him immobile,
neck exposed.
Larry looked at me. "What do I do, Anita?"
"You have to decide this one for yourself," I said.
"They'll really kill him, won't they?"
"Yeah, they will."
He cursed under his breath and let the cross fall against his
chest. He undid the chain and threw it out into the woods with a
lot of force to it, as if he could throw his anger with it.
When the light from his cross died away, we stood there in the
darkness. The moonlight that had seemed so bright before was a dim
substitute.
My night vision returned in stages. Kissa stepped closer, the
gun still pointed at us. The first time I'd seen her, she had
exuded sexuality, power; now she was docile, quiet, as though some
of her power had been drained away. She looked pale and drawn. She
needed to feed.
"Why haven't they let you feed tonight?" I asked.
"Our master is not a hundred percent sure of Kissa's loyalty. It
needed testing, didn't it, my dark beauty?"
Kissa didn't answer. She stared at me with large, dark eyes, but
the gun never wavered.
"Feed, children, feed."
Pallas and Bettina walked over to Stirling. They stared at me
over him. I stared back.
Stirling grabbed my leg. "You can't let them have me. Please,
please."
Pallas knelt by him. Bettina walked around to the side I was on.
She pulled Stirling's hand off my leg. The vampire's lower back
brushed my legs. I took a step back, and Stirling started
screaming.
Xavier and Ellie had already started to feed on the blessedly
unconscious Ms. Harrison. Larry looked at me, hands out, empty,
helpless.
I didn't know what to say.
"Don't touch me, don't touch me!" Stirling batted at Pallas with
his good hand, and the vampire caught it easily, held it.
"At least put him under," I said.
Pallas looked up at me. "After he tried to kill you? Why show
him mercy?"
"Maybe I don't want to hear him scream."
Pallas smiled. Her eyes flashed dark fire. "For you, Anita,
anything."
She grabbed Stirling's chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"Ms. Blake, help me. Help . . ." The words died in his
mouth.
I watched everything slide out of his eyes, until they were
empty and waiting.
"Come to me, Raymond," Pallas said. "Come to me."
Stirling sat up, his one good arm embracing the vampire. He
tried to use the broken arm, but it wouldn't bend at the elbow.
Bettina bent the broken arm backward and forward, laughing.
Stirling never reacted to the pain. He snuggled against Pallas. The
look on his face was one of happiness, joy. Eagerness.
Pallas sank fangs into his neck. Stirling spasmed for a second,
then relaxed and began making soft noises in his throat.
Pallas moved Stirling's head to one side, sucking on the wound
but leaving enough room on the other side for someone else. Bettina
sank fangs into the exposed flesh.
The two vampires fed, heads so close together their hair
mingled, gold and black. And Raymond Stirling made happy noises
while they killed him.
Larry walked away to the edge of the clearing, hugging his arms
tight across his chest.
I stayed where I was. I watched. I had wanted Stirling dead. It
would be cowardly to look away. Besides, I should have to watch. I
needed to remember who the monsters were. Maybe if I forced myself
not to look away, not to blink, I wouldn't forget again.
I stared at Stirling's happy, eager face, until his arm dropped
away from Pallas's back, and his eyes closed. He passed out from
blood loss and shock, and the vampires hugged him tight, and
fed.
His eyes flew open wide, and a gurgling sound crawled out of his
throat. Fear screamed out of his eyes. Pallas raised a hand and
stroked Stirling's hair, a gesture you'd use on a frightened child.
The fear died out of his eyes, and I watched the last light die
with it. I watched Raymond Stirling die, and knew I would remember
that last look of terror in my dreams for weeks to come.
Chapter 37
There was a rush of wind that raised a fine cloud of dirt.
Jean-Claude appeared as if conjured from the air itself. I had
never been so happy to see him. I didn't run to his arms, but I
moved to stand near him. Larry followed me. Jean-Claude wasn't
always the safest refuge, but right now he looked pretty damn
good.
He was dressed in one of his white shirts. This one had so much
lace on the front it looked fluffy. A short white jacket hit him
just at the waist. More lace peeked from the sleeves of the jacket.
He wore tight white pants with a black belt. The belt matched his
velvet black boots.
"I did not expect you here, Jean-Claude," Janos said. I couldn't
tell for sure, but he sounded surprised. Goody.
"Serephina delivered her invitation in person, Janos, but it was
not enough."
"You surprise me, Jean-Claude," he said.
"I surprised Serephina, as well." He sounded terribly calm. If
he was afraid standing outnumbered on the hilltop, it didn't show.
I'd have loved to know how he'd surprised Serephina.
Jason walked up the far side of the hill, from the direction of
the Jeep. He wore black leather pants that looked like they'd been
poured on him, short black boots, and no shirt. There was what
looked like a silver-studded dog collar around his neck, and a
black glove on either hand, but other than that he was naked from
the waist up. I hoped Jason had chosen his own outfit for
tonight.
The right side of his face was bruised from chin to forehead as
though something large had hit him.
"I see your pet joined the struggle," Janos said.
"He is mine in every way, Janos. They are all mine."
Just this once I let it go. If my choice was belonging to
Jean-Claude or to Serephina, I knew what my vote would be.
Larry moved so close to me that I could have taken his hand.
Maybe he didn't like being included in Jean-Claude's menagerie.
"You have lost that air of humbleness that I found so appealing,
Jean-Claude. Have you refused Serephina's invitation
altogether?"
"I will come to Serephina's party, but on my own with my people
around me."
I glanced at him. Was he crazy?
He frowned. "Serephina wanted you at the party in chains."
"We can all live with this choice, Janos."
"Are you saying you would challenge us all here and now?" There
was an edge of laughter in his voice.
"I will not die alone, Janos. In the end you may have me, but it
will cost you dearly."
"If you will truly come of your own free will, then come," Janos
said. "Our master calls; let us answer that call." Janos, Bettina,
and Pallas were just suddenly airborne. It wasn't flying, or
levitation. I had no word for it. Larry whispered, "Dear God." The
first time you see a vampire fly is a red-letter night.
The others scattered into the trees in that blurring motion that
made them disappear almost as fast as flying. Ellie Quinlan had
vanished with the rest of them. Her brother had been carried away
by Janos. Until that moment I hadn't known a vampire could carry
more than its own body weight while "flying." Learn something new
every night.
We found our guns and walked down the mountainside. Our crosses
were well and truly lost. Even Jean-Claude walked, and I knew he
had other methods of transportation. Was it considered impolite to
fly when others couldn't?
The Jeep was still where I'd parked it. The night was still
thick. It was hours until dawn, and I just wanted to go home.
"I took the liberty of choosing clothes for you to wear
tonight," Jean-Claude said. "They are in the Jeep."
"I locked the Jeep," I said.
He just smiled at me.
I sighed. "Fine." When I tried the handle it was unlocked.
Clothes were folded in the passenger seat. They were black leather.
I shook my head. "I don't think so."
"Your clothes, ma petite, are on the driver's side.
Those are Lawrence's clothes."
Larry peered over my shoulder. "You've got to be kidding."
I walked around the Jeep and found a clean pair of black jeans.
The tightest pair I owned. A bloodred tank top that I didn't
remember buying. It felt like silk. There was a black duster coat
that I had never seen. When I tried it for length it hit me at
mid-calf, and billowed capelike when I moved. I liked the coat. The
silk blouse I could have done without.
"Not bad," I said.
"Mine is bad," Larry said. "I don't even know how to get into
these pants."
"Jason, help him dress." Jason picked up the bundle of leather
and carried them to the back of the Jeep. Larry followed him but
didn't look happy.
"No boots?" I said.
Jean-Claude smiled. "I didn't think you would give up your
jogging shoes."
"Damn straight."
"Change quickly, ma petite; we must arrive at
Serephina's before she decides to kill the boy just for spite."
"Would Xavier let her kill his new toy?"
"If she is truly his master, he has no choice. Now, dress,
ma petite, quickly." I walked towards the far side of the
Jeep but that brought me within earshot, and nearly eyesight, of
Larry. I stopped and sighed. What the hell.
I turned my back on Jean-Claude and slid out of my shoulder
holster. "How did you guys get away from Serephina?" I slipped my
shirt over my head. I fought the urge to look back. I knew
Jean-Claude was watching; why check?
"Jason jumped her at a crucial moment. It was distraction enough
for us to flee, but little else. I'm afraid the room is something
of a mess."
His voice was so mild I had to see his face. I slid the red tank
top on and turned. He was standing closer than I'd thought, nearly
within touching distance. He stood there in his white clothes,
spotless and perfect.
"Step a few paces back, please. I'd like a little privacy."
He smiled, but he did what I asked. A first.
"Had she underestimated you that badly?" I asked. I changed
jeans as quickly as I could. I tried not to think of him watching.
It was too embarrassing.
"I was forced to flee, ma petite. Janos calls her
master, and he defeated me. I cannot stand against her, not in a
fair fight."
I slipped the shoulder holster back on, threading the belt I'd
been wearing back through it. The straps chafed a little with no
sleeves but it was better than not having it. I got the Firestar
from under my seat and tucked the inner pants holster down the
front of my jeans. It would show, even with the duster. I finally
put it at the small of my back, though it wasn't my first or even
second choice of places. I got the silver knives out of the glove
compartment and strapped them to my forearms. I also got out a
small box. It held two extra crosses. Vampires seemed to always be
taking them from me.
Jean-Claude watched it all with interest. His dark eyes followed
my hands like he was memorizing the movements.
I put the duster on and walked a few steps to get the feel of
everything. I drew both knives just to make sure the coat sleeves
weren't too tight. I drew both guns and still didn't like the
Firestar. I finally shifted the inner pants holster to one side. It
dug into my side hard enough to bruise, but I could draw it in a
reasonable time. That was more important than comfort tonight. I
slipped an extra clip for both guns in the coat pockets. They were
loaded with nonsilver bullets. It made me nervous to only have the
silver bullets that were in the guns, but Rawhead and Bloody Bones
was going to make his appearance sometime tonight. Magnus might
even be there. I wanted ammo for everything I'd meet tonight.
Larry came out from behind the Jeep. I bit my lip to keep from
laughing. It wasn't that he looked bad, he just looked so
uncomfortable. He seemed to have trouble walking in the black
leather pants.
"Just walk naturally," Jason said.
"I can't," Larry said. He had a silk tank top that was the twin
of mine except it was blue instead of red. He had short black boots
on. The black jacket he'd borrowed from Jason last night completed
the outfit.
I looked at the boots.
"Black jogging shoes perhaps, ma petite, but white
jogging shoes with black leather? I do not think so."
"I feel ridiculous," Larry said. "How can you wear this all the
time?"
"I like leather," Jason said.
"We must be off," Jean-Claude said. "Anita, if you would
drive?"
"I thought you might want to fly," I said.
"It is important we arrive together," he said.
Larry and I added salt to our pockets. With the extra ammo clips
in one pocket and salt in the other, my coat hung a little crooked,
but hey, we weren't going to a fashion show. We all slid into the
Jeep. There was a lot of protesting from the back seat. "These
pants are even more uncomfortable sitting down."
"I will remember your dislike of leather in the future,
Lawrence."
"My name is Larry."
I drove the Jeep down the rutted road that led out of the
construction site. "Serephina wants to be immortal." I turned onto
the main road and headed back towards Branson, though of course
we'd be stopping at Serephina's on the way.
Jean-Claude turned in his seat to stare at me. "What are you
saying, ma petite?"
I told him. I told him about Rawhead and Bloody Bones, and
Serephina's plan. "She's mad."
"Not entirely, ma petite. It might not give her
immortality, but it would give her undreamt-of power. The question
remaining is, how did Serephina grow powerful enough to snag Janos
before she fed off Magnus and Bloody Bones?"
"What do you mean?"
"Janos was in the old country. He would not have left
voluntarily. He followed her. Where did she get the power to
subjugate him?"
"Maybe Magnus isn't the first fairie she's fed off," I said.
"Perhaps," he said, "or perhaps she has found other food."
"What other food?"
"That, ma petite, is the question that I would very
much like answered."
"Thinking of changing diets?" I asked.
"Power is always tempting, ma petite, but for tonight I
was thinking of more practical matters. If we can discover her
source of power, we might be able to undo it."
"How?"
He shook his head. "I do not know, but unless we can find some
trick to pull out of our hats tonight, ma petite, we are
doomed." He sounded remarkably calm about it. I wasn't calm. My
pulse was thundering so fast I could feel it in my throat and
wrists. Hear it like a rushing in my ears. Doomed: it had a bad
ring to it. With Serephina waiting at the other end, it had a very
bad ring to it indeed.
Chapter 38
We walked up the stone steps to the porch. Moonlight and soft
darkness filled the porch. There were no thick, unnatural shadows,
no hint of what lay inside. It was just an abandoned house, nothing
special. The nervous flutter in my stomach didn't buy it
either.
Kissa opened the door. Candlelight spilled behind her from the
open door to the far room. No pretense tonight that the empty room
was all there was. Sweat beaded on her face, golden drops in the
warm light. She was still being punished. I wondered why, but it
wasn't my biggest problem.
Kissa led us through that open door without a word. Serephina
sat on her throne in the corner of the big room. She was dressed in
a white ball gown like Cinderella, her hair piled atop her head.
Diamonds like a string of fire glimmered in her hair as she nodded
her greeting.
Magnus was curled at her feet in a white tux and tails. Gloves,
a white top hat, and a cane were laid next to his knees. His long
chestnut hair was the only color in the picture. Every master vamp
I'd ever met had been into dramatic presentation. Janos and his two
females stood in black behind the throne, like a living curtain of
darkness. Ellie lay on her side in the cushions, looking almost
alive. Even in her torn and stained black dress she looked content,
like a cat that was full of cream. Her eyes sparkled, lips curled
with a secret smile. Ellie, alias Angela, was enjoying being
undead. So far. Kissa stalked to them, and knelt on the side away
from Magnus. Her black leather blended with Janos's cloak.
Serephina stroked Kissa's sweating face with a white-gloved
hand.
Serephina smiled, and it was lovely until you glimpsed her eyes.
They glowed with a pale phosphorescence. You could still get a hint
of pupil, but it was sinking fast. Her eyes matched her dress. Now
that was color-coordinating.
Jeff and Xavier were missing. I didn't like that. I opened my
mouth to ask, and Jean-Claude looked at me. For just this once, the
look was enough. He was the master; I was playing servant. Fine, as
long as he asked the right questions.
"We have come, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "Give us the boy,
and we will leave you in peace."
She laughed. "But I will not leave you in peace, Jean-Claude."
She turned her softly glowing eyes to me. It was like being looked
at by twin flashlights, and just as human. "Niña, I am so
happy to see you."
I stopped breathing for a second. Niña: it had been my
mother's nickname for me. Something flared in her eyes, like a
distant glimpse of fire; then the light banked back to a cool
wavering light. She wasn't trying to capture me with her eyes. Why?
Because she was that sure of me.
My skin suddenly went cold. That was it. I would have said it
was arrogance, but I believed it. She offered something better than
sex, more fulfilling than power. Home. Lie or not, it was a good
offer.
Larry touched my hand. "You're shaking."
I swallowed hard. "Never admit how scared you are out loud,
Larry; ruins the effect."
"Sorry."
I stepped away from him; no sense in huddling. I glanced at
Jean-Claude, sort of silently asking if I was about to break
vampire protocol.
"She has acknowledged you as she would another master. Answer as
one." He didn't seem bothered by that; I was.
"What do you want, Serephina?" I asked.
She stood, gliding across the carpeted floor. It looked like
whatever was under that full skirt wasn't legs. Feet just didn't
move like that. Maybe she was levitating. However she managed it,
she kept coming closer. I wanted desperately to back away. I didn't
want her close to me.
Larry moved a step behind me. Jason moved a step up to
Jean-Claude's other side. I stood my ground. It was the best I
could do.
Something flickered in her eyes, like a distant glimpse of
movement through a fringe of trees. Eyes didn't do that. I looked
away and realized I didn't remember looking at her eyes. So how was
I looking away?
I felt her move towards me. Her gloved hand came into view. I
jerked back and looked up at the same time. I barely glanced at her
face, but it was enough. Her eyes had fire burning down a long dark
tunnel, as if the inside of her head fell away into an impossible
darkness, and some small creatures had lit a fire against that
darkness. I could warm my hands by that flame forever.
I screamed. Screamed and covered my eyes with my hands.
A hand touched my shoulder. I jerked away and screamed again.
"Ma petite, I am here."
"Then do something," I said.
"I am," he said.
"I will have this one by sunrise." She motioned to me. She took
a gliding step towards Jason. She caressed her gloved hand down his
bare chest. He stood there and took it. I wouldn't have let her
touch me on a dare.
"I will give you to Bettina and Pallas. They will teach you to
enjoy rotting flesh."
Jason stared straight ahead, but his eyes widened just a little.
Bettina and Pallas had moved from behind the throne to stand a few
feet behind Serephina. Dramatic gestures are us.
"Or perhaps I will force you to change into wolf form until it
becomes more natural than this human shell." She slid a finger
under the collar on his throat. "I will chain you to my wall, and
you will be my guard dog."
"Enough of this, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "The night bleeds
away. These petty torments are beneath one of your power."
"I am feeling petty tonight, Jean-Claude, and soon I will have
the power to be as petty as I feel." She glanced at Larry. "He will
join my flock." She stared up at Jean-Claude. I hadn't realized he
was taller. "And you, my lovely catamount, will serve us all for
all eternity."
Jean-Claude stared down at her, utterly arrogant. "I am Master
of the City now, Serephina. We cannot torture each other. We cannot
steal each other's possessions, no matter how attractive they
are."
It took me a second to realize the possessions he was referring
to were us.
Serephina smiled. "I will have your businesses, your money, your
lands, and your people before the night is out. Did the council
really think I would be content with the crumbs from your
table?"
If she challenged him officially, we were all dead. Jean-Claude
couldn't take her, and neither could I. Distraction, we needed a
distraction. "You're wearing enough diamonds to buy your own
businesses, your own house."
She turned those glowing eyes to me, and I half wished I had
kept quiet. "Do you think I live in this house because I cannot
afford better?"
"I don't know."
She glided back to her throne and settled onto it, smoothing her
skirts. "I do not trust your human laws. I will remain the secret
we have always been; let others walk in the spotlight. I will be
here when such modern thinkers are no more." She suddenly slashed
out with one hand.
Jean-Claude staggered. Blood flew from his face, splattering on
his white shirt and jacket in bright crimson flecks. Drops of it
clung to my hair and cheek.
She slashed again, and another cut exploded on the other side of
his face, splashing Jason with Jean-Claude's blood.
Jean-Claude stayed on his feet. He never cried out. He didn't
touch the wounds. He stood there utterly still; except for the
blood there was no movement to him. His eyes were drowning pools of
sapphire floating in a mask of blood.
Naked muscle twitched in his cheek. Bone glistened at jaw and
cheek. It was a frighteningly deep wound. But I knew he could heal
it. Horrible as it looked, it was a scare tactic. I kept telling
that to the pounding of my heart. I wanted to go for a gun. To
shoot the bitch. But I couldn't shoot them all. I wasn't even sure
Janos could be shot.
"I don't have to kill you, Jean-Claude. Hot metal in your
wounds, and they'll be permanent. Your beautiful face ravaged for
all time. You can still pretend to be Master of the City, but I
will rule. You will be my puppet."
"Say the word, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "Say it and be done
with these games." His voice was bland, as normal as it ever was.
His voice gave nothing away, not pain, or fear, or terror.
"Challenge: is that the word you want to hear, Jean-Claude?"
"It will do." His power crawled over my skin like cool fire. The
power lashed out suddenly; I felt it sweep past me like a giant
fist. It slammed into Serephina, scattering the air currents. Kissa
caught the edge of it and fell back from the throne, thrown nearly
prone among the cushions.
Serephina threw back her head and laughed. The laughter died in
mid-motion, gone like it had never been. Her face was a mask with
eyes of white fire. Her skin seemed to grow paler, whiter until it
was like translucent marble. Veins showed under her skin like lines
of blue flame. Her power flowed through the room like rising water,
deeper and deeper until when she released it we would all be
drowned.
"Where are your ghosts, Serephina?" I asked.
I thought for a second she would ignore me, but that masklike
face turned slowly, slowly towards me.
"Where are your ghosts?"
Even though she was looking straight at me, I couldn't tell if
she heard. It was like trying to read the face of an animal; no,
the face of a statue. There was no one home.
"Can't control Bloody Bones and your ghosts at the same time? Is
that it? Did you have to give up one of them?"
Serephina rose to her feet, and I knew she was floating, rising
on tiny currents of her own power to hover above the cushions. She
floated slowly upward towards the ceiling, and it was impressive. I
was babbling, trying to buy time, but time for what? What the hell
could we do?
A voice echoed in my head. "Crosses, ma petite; do not
be bashful on my account." I didn't argue or hesitate.
The cross spilled out of my shirt in a ball of light so bright
it was painful. I squinted and looked away, only to find Larry's
cross behind me blazing to life.
Jean-Claude cowered beside me, hunched away, arms shielding his
face. Serephina shrieked and half-fell to the floor. She could
stand before a cross, but she couldn't do tricks in front of one.
She landed in a heap of silken skirts. The other vamps shielded
their faces, hissing.
Magnus rose from the cushions. He stalked towards us. Jason
stepped in front of Jean-Claude, moving to stand in front of me. He
glanced at me with amber eyes; his beast stared at me over the glow
of the cross, and had no fear. For a heartbeat I was glad I had
silver bullets just in case.
Serephina said, "No, Magnus, not you."
Magnus hesitated, staring at Jason. A thin growl crawled out of
Jason's throat. "I can take him," Magnus said.
There was a sound from the open door to the basement. Something
was coming up the stairs. Something heavy. The stairs creaked in
protest. A hand came out of the darkness, large enough to palm my
head. The fingernails were long and dirty, almost clawlike. Ragged
clothes clung to huge, square shoulders. The thing was at least ten
feet tall. It had to bend sideways to come through the door, and
when it stood, its head brushed the ceiling, and you couldn't
pretend it was human anymore.
Its huge, oversized head had no skin. The flesh was raw and open
like a wound. The veins pulsed and throbbed with blood flowing
through them, but it didn't bleed. It opened a mouth full of broken
yellow teeth and said, "I am here." It was shocking to hear words
out of that mouth, that face. Its voice was like the sound at the
bottom of a well; deep, and rough, and lost.
The room suddenly seemed small. Rawhead and Bloody Bones could
have reached out one long arm and touched me. Not good. Jason had
moved back a step to rejoin us. Magnus had moved back to
Serephina's side. He was staring at the creature as wide-eyed as
the rest of us. Had he never seen it in the flesh before?
"Come to me," Serephina said. She held out her hands to the
creature, and it moved towards her, surprisingly graceful. It had a
liquidness to its walk that was all wrong. Nothing that big and
that ugly should move like quicksilver, but it did. In that
movement I saw Magnus and Dorrie. It moved like something
beautiful.
Serephina cradled its huge, dirty hand in her white-gloved
hands. She pushed back the ragged sleeve, laying the thick, muscled
wrist bare.
"Stop her, ma petite."
I glanced down at Jean-Claude, who was still cowering before the
crosses' fire. "What?"
"If she drinks from it, the crosses may not work against
her."
I didn't question him; there was no time. I drew the Browning
and felt Larry draw his gun.
Serephina bent over the fairie's wrist, mouth wide, fangs
glistening.
I pulled the trigger. The bullet smacked into the side of her
head. The force rocked her, and blood dribbled down. She could be
shot. Life was good. Janos threw himself in front of her, and it
was like trying to hit Superman. I pulled the trigger twice,
staring at his dead-eyed face from just over a yard. He smiled at
me. Silver bullets just weren't going to do it.
Larry had stepped around Jean-Claude. He was firing at Pallas
and Bettina. They kept coming. Kissa stayed on the floor. Ellie
seemed frozen in the face of the crosses.
Bloody Bones stood there like it was waiting for orders, or
didn't give a damn. It was staring at Magnus like it recognized
him. It was not a friendly look.
Serephina's voice came from behind Janos's protective body.
"Give me your wrist."
The fairie gave a ragged smile. "Soon I will be free to kill
you." It looked at Magnus when it said it.
I didn't really want something the size of a small giant mad at
me, but I didn't want Serephina to have its power either. I fired
into its raw head, and I might as well have spit at it. The shot
did earn me a dirty look. "I have no quarrel with you," the fairie
said. "Do not make one."
Staring into its monstrous face, I agreed. But what could I do?
"What'll we do?" Larry asked. He'd moved to stand nearly back to
back with me. Bettina and Pallas had stopped just out of touching
range, held at bay by the crosses, not the guns. Jean-Claude had
gone to his knees, face cradled away from the glare of the crosses,
but he didn't crawl away. He stayed within the protective touch of
that light.
Silver bullets wouldn't hurt the fey, so . . . I hit the button
on the Browning and popped the clip out. I fished in my pocket for
the extra clip and slid it home. I aimed at the thing's chest,
where I hoped the heart was, and pulled.
Bloody Bones bellowed. Blood blossomed on its ragged clothes. I
knew when it felt Serephina bite into its flesh. Power whirled
through the room, raising every hair on my body. For a heartbeat I
couldn't breathe; there was too much magic in the room for
something as mundane as breathing.
Serephina rose slowly from behind Janos's dark form. She
levitated to the ceiling, bathing in the light of the crosses,
smiling. The bullet wound in her head was healed. Her eyes licked
white flame around her face, and I knew we were going to die.
Xavier appeared in the door to the basement. He held a sword in
his hands, but it was heavier, softer-edged than any blade I'd ever
seen. He stared at Serephina and smiled.
"I have fed you," Bloody Bones said. "Free me."
Serephina threw her hands skyward, caressing the ceiling. "No,"
she breathed, "never. I will drink you dry and bathe in your
power."
"You promised," Bloody Bones said.
She stared at him, floating; her eyes of fire were even with his
raw face. "I lied," she said.
Xavier cried, "No!" He tried to come closer, but the crosses
kept him just out of reach.
I threw a handful of salt on Serephina and Bloody Bones. She
laughed at me. "What are you doing, Niña?"
"Never break your word to the fey," I said. "It negates all
bargains."
A sword appeared in Bloody Bones' hands, just appeared like the
fey had grabbed it out of mid-air. It was the one I'd seen Xavier
carrying at the Quinlans' house. How many scimitars as long as my
upper body could there be? He stabbed it through Serephina's chest,
spitting her in midair like a butterfly. Normal steel shouldn't
have touched her, but backed by the fairie's magic, it could. He
pinned her to the wall, driving the hilt into her chest. He tore
the sword out of her, twisting it, doing as much damage as he
could.
She shrieked and slid down, leaving a bloody trail on the naked
wall.
Bloody Bones turned back to the rest of us. It touched fingers
to its bleeding chest. "I will forgive you this wound, because you
freed me. When he is dead, there will be no more wounds." He drove
the sword into Magnus. The move was so quick, it looked like stop
action. He was as fast as Xavier. Shit.
Magnus fell to his knees, mouth wide with a scream he had no
breath to make. Bloody Bones drew the sword upward like he had with
Serephina, and it reminded me of the wounds that the boys had
had.
If Bloody Bones would help us escape Serephina and company, I
had no problem with that, but then what? It drew the sword outward,
and Magnus was still alive, staring up at me. He reached out to me,
and I could have let him die. Bloody Bones raised the blade back
for a final blow.
I pointed the Browning at it. "Don't move. Until you kill him,
you're mortal, and bullets can kill you."
The fairie froze, staring at me. "What do you want, mortal?"
"You killed the boys in the woods, didn't you?"
Bloody Bones blinked at me. "They were wicked children."
"If you get out of here, will you kill more wicked
children?"
Bloody Bones looked at me, blinked, then said, "It is what I do.
What I am."
I fired before I could think. If it moved first, I was dead. The
bullet took it between the eyes. It staggered backwards, but didn't
go down.
"Ma petite, the crosses, or I cannot help you."
Jean-Claude's voice was a harsh whisper.
I slipped the cross inside my shirt; a second later Larry
followed suit. The room was suddenly darker, colder with just the
candlelight. Bloody Bones raced forward, and it was just a blur. I
fired into it and didn't know if I hit it or not.
The sword swung out to meet me, and Jean-Claude was suddenly
there hanging onto the arm, sending it off balance. Larry moved up
beside me, and we both fired into the fey's chest.
It shook Jean-Claude off, sending him skittering into a wall.
Larry and I stood our ground, shoulder to shoulder. I saw the sword
coming like a blur of silver, and knew I couldn't get out of the
way in time.
Xavier was suddenly in front of me, the strange sword blocking
Bloody Bones' blade. The steel blade stopped an inch from my face.
Xavier's sword was notched where the steel had bit into it. The
strange sword shoved upward through Bloody Bones' chest. The fairie
bellowed, slicing at Xavier, but he was in too close for the
fairie's giant sword.
Bloody Bones collapsed to its knees. Xavier twisted the sword as
if hunting for the heart. He jerked the sword out in a wash of
gore. The fairie collapsed on its stomach, shrieking. It tried to
raise itself. I pressed the barrel of the Browning against its
skull and fired as fast as I could. From point-blank range you
didn't need to aim. Larry moved up beside me and fired. We emptied
the clips into it, and it was still breathing. Xavier drove the
sword through its back, pinning it to the floor. Its chest rose and
fell, struggling for air.
I switched the Firestar and changed its clip to nonsilver. Three
shots more, and as if a critical mass had been reached, the head
exploded in a rush of bone and blood and thicker, wetter
things.
Xavier was on its back when it blew. We stood there covered in
bloody brains. Xavier drew the sword out of its back. The sword
came out notched, dented from contact with bone. We stood there by
the dead giant, the two of us isolated in one clear moment of
understanding.
"The sword's cold iron, isn't it?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. The pupils of his eyes were scarlet as a cherry,
not the blood color of an albino, but truly red. Humans didn't have
eyes like that.
"You're fey," I said.
"Don't be silly. The fairie can't become vampires, everyone
knows that."
I stared at him, and shook my head. "You tampered with Magnus's
spell. You did this to him."
"He did this to himself," Xavier said.
"Did you help Bloody Bones kill the teenagers, the children, or
did you just give him the sword?"
"I fed him my victims when I grew tired of them."
I had eight shots left in the Firestar. Maybe he saw the thought
move behind my eyes. "Neither lead nor silver bullets will harm me.
I am proof against both."
"Where's Jeff Quinlan?"
"He's down in the basement."
"Get him."
"I don't think so." And suddenly there was sound again, movement
again, besides us. He'd bespelled me, and bad things had been
happening while I'd been caught.
Jason was coughing blood on the carpet. If he'd been human, I'd
have said he was dying. Being a lycanthrope, he might live to see
morning. One of the vampires had hurt him badly. I didn't know
which one.
Jean-Claude was lying under a pile of vampires made up of Ellie,
Kissa, Bettina, and Pallas. His voice came out in a thundering
yell, echoing through the room. It was impressive, but not enough.
"Do not do it, ma petite."
Janos stood near the throne with Larry. They'd tied his hands
behind his back with one of the cords that held the drapes. A piece
of cloth was shoved in his mouth. Janos had one pale spider hand
around Larry's neck.
Serephina was propped on her throne, black blood pouring out of
her. I'd never seen anyone lose so much blood so quickly. Her chest
was torn open so wide I had a glimpse of a frantically beating
heart.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"No, ma petite." Jean-Claude struggled to move and
couldn't. "It is a trap."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"She wants you, necromancer," Janos said.
I let that sink in for a minute. "Why?"
"You have stolen her immortal blood from her. You will take its
place."
"It wasn't immortal," I said. "We proved that."
"It was powerful, necromancer, as you are powerful. She will
drink you up and live."
"What about me?"
"You will live forever, Anita, forever."
I let the "forever" part go; I knew better.
"She will take you and kill him anyway," Jean-Claude said.
He was probably right, but what could I do? "She let the girls
go."
"You do not know that, ma petite. Have you seen them
alive?" He had a point.
"Necromancer." Janos's voice jerked me back to him. Serephina
lay propped on the throne beside him. Blood had drenched the white
dress, turning it black, plastering it to her thin body.
"Come, necromancer," Janos said. "Come now, or the human
suffers."
I started forward and Jean-Claude yelled, "No!"
Janos slashed outward with one pale spider-hand, just above
Larry's body. Larry's white shirt sliced open, and blood soaked it.
He couldn't scream with the gag, but if Janos hadn't held him, he'd
have fallen.
"Drop all your weapons and come to us, necromancer."
"Ma petite, do not do this. I beg you."
"I have to do this, Jean-Claude. You know that."
"She knows that," he said.
I looked at him, struggling helplessly under three times his
body weight in vampires. It should have been ridiculous, but it
wasn't.
"She doesn't just want you for herself. She doesn't want me to
have you. She will take you to spite me."
"I invited you to come play this time, remember?" I said. "It's
my party."
I walked towards Janos. I tried not to look behind him, not to
see what else I was moving towards.
"Ma petite, don't do this. You are an acknowledged
master. She cannot take you by force. You must consent.
Refuse."
I just shook my head and kept going.
"Your weapons first, necromancer," Janos said.
I laid both guns on the floor.
Larry was shaking his head furiously. He made little protesting
noises. He struggled, failing to his knees. Janos had to release
his grip on his neck to keep from strangling him.
"Now your knives," Janos said.
"I don't . . ."
"Do not try to lie to us here and now."
He had a point. I put the knives on the floor.
My heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe. I stopped
just in front of Larry. I stared into Larry's blue eyes. I pulled
out the gag, somebody's silk scarf.
"Don't do it. God, Anita, don't do it. Not for me. Please!"
Fresh slashes cut his shirt; more blood flowed. He gasped, but
didn't scream.
I looked up at Serephina. "You said this slashing only works
with an aura of power."
"He has his own aura," Janos said.
"Let him go. Let them all go, and I'll do it."
"Do not do this for me, ma petite."
"I'm doing it for Larry; doesn't cost any more to throw
everybody in."
Janos glanced at Serephina. She was slumped to one side, eyes
half-closed. "Come to me, Anita. Let me touch your arm, and they
will release them all, my word, one master to another."
"Anita, no!" Larry struggled not to get away but to come after
me.
Janos slashed his hand through the air, and the sleeve of
Larry's jacket flew with blood. Larry screamed.
"Stop it," I said. "Stop it." I stalked towards him. "Don't
touch him again. Don't ever touch him again."
I spit the last words in his face, staring up into his dead eyes
and feeling nothing. A hand brushed my arm, and I jerked, gasping.
I'd let anger carry me those last few steps. What I was about to do
scared me too much to think about it.
Serephina had lost a glove. It was her bare hand that encircled
my wrist, not too tight, not painful in the least. I stared at her
hand on my arm and couldn't talk past the beating of my own
heart.
"Release him," she said.
The minute Janos let him go, Larry tried to come to me. Janos
gave him a casual slap that knocked him to the floor and sent him
skidding back a couple of yards.
I stayed frozen with her hand on my arm. For one awful moment I
thought they'd killed him, but he moaned and tried to get back
up.
I glanced past Larry, and met Jean-Claude's eyes. He'd been
after me for years; now here I was letting another master vamp sink
her fangs into me.
Serephina jerked me to my knees, squeezing the bones of my arm
so hard I thought she'd broken it. The pain brought me up to meet
her eyes. They were solid perfect brown, so dark they were nearly
black. Those eyes smiled at me gently.
I smelled my mother's perfume, her hair spray, her skin. I shook
my head. It was a lie. It was all a lie. I couldn't breathe. She
knelt over me, and when her face came forward it was my mother's
thick, black hair that fell against my cheek.
"No! It's not real."
"It can be as real as you want it to be, Niña." I stared
up into those eyes, and I fell down the long black tunnel of her
eyes. I fell towards that tiny flame. I reached towards it. It
would warm my flesh, comfort my heart. It would be all things, all
people, everything to me.
Distant and dreamlike I heard Jean-Claude scream my name,
"Anita!" But it was too late. Her fire warmed me, made me feet
whole. The pain was such a small price to pay.
The black tunnel collapsed behind me until there was nothing but
the darkness and the flicker of Serephina's eyes.
Chapter 39
I dreamed. I was very small. Small enough that I fit all in my
mother's lap, only my feet stuck off the edge of her knees. When
she wrapped her arms around me I was so safe, so sure that nothing
could ever hurt me as long as Mommy was here. I laid my head
against her chest. I could hear the beat of her heart against my
ear. A strong, sure rhythm that pounded louder and louder against
my face.
The sound woke me. But I wasn't awake. The darkness was so
complete it was like being blind. I lay in my mother's arms in the
dark. I'd fallen asleep in bed with her and Dad. Her heart pounded
against my ear, and the rhythm was wrong. Mommy had a heart murmur.
The beat of her heart was a fraction of a second slow, a
hesitation, then two quick thumps to catch up. The heart beating
against my skin was as regular as a clock.
I tried to raise up, off her, and bumped my head against
something hard and firm. My hands slid over the body that I was
pinned to. I touched a satin dress with smooth jewels sewn into it.
I lay there in the absolute dark and tried to roll off her. I slid
into the crook of her arm. Her naked flesh slid along my bare
shoulders, boneless as the dead, but her heart filled the darkness
even with me struggling not to touch her.
Our bodies were molded against each other. It was not a coffin
built for two. Sweat broke out on my skin in a rush. The dark was
suddenly chokingly close, hot. I couldn't breathe. I tried to roll
onto my back. Tried to roll off her, and I couldn't. There wasn't
room.
Every small struggle made her boneless body move, jiggling the
soft, loose flesh. I couldn't smell my mother's perfume anymore. I
smelled old blood, and a stale, neck-ruffling smell that I'd
smelled before. Vampires.
I screamed and tried to do a push-up to get some distance, and
the lid moved. I stayed on my arms, shoving my back into the satin
and wood. The lid slammed backwards, and I was suddenly straddling
her body, my upper body raised in a half push-up.
Dim light edged the lines in her face. The careful makeup looked
wrong, like a badly made-up corpse. I scrambled out of the coffin,
nearly falling to the floor.
Serephina's coffin sat on the stage in the Bloody Bones bar and
grill. Ellie lay curled at the base of the stage. I stepped around
her, half-expecting her to grab at my ankles, but she did not move.
Not even to breathe. She was the newly dead, and with the sun up
she was truly dead.
Serephina wasn't breathing either, but her heart was pounding,
beating, alive. Why? For my comfort? Because of my touch? Hell, I
didn't know. If I got out, I'd ask Jean-Claude. If he was alive. If
she had kept her word.
Janos lay in the middle of the floor, on his back, hands folded
on his chest. Bettina and Pallas were snuggled up against him, one
on either side. A coffin lay on the floor. I had no way of knowing
what time of day it was. I would have bet that Serephina didn't
have to sleep all day. I was getting out of here.
"I told her you wouldn't sleep all day."
The voice jerked me around. Magnus was behind the bar, leaning
his elbows on its smooth surface. He was slicing a lime with a very
sharp-looking knife. He looked at me with his green-blue eyes. His
long auburn hair spilled around his face. He straightened up
suddenly, stretching his back. He was wearing one of those frilly
shirts that you rent for wearing with a tux. The shirt was pale
green and brought out the green in his eyes.
"You scared me," I said.
He leaped over the bar easily, landing on his feet light as a
cat. He smiled, and it wasn't a friendly smile. "I didn't think you
scared that easy."
I took a step back. "You recovered damn fast."
"I drank immortal blood; it helps." He stared at me with a heat
in his eyes that I didn't like at all.
"What's wrong with you, Magnus?"
He swept his long hair to one side. He pulled the collar of his
shirt until the first two buttons popped, spinning to the floor.
There was a new bite mark on the smooth skin of his neck.
I took another step back towards the door. "So what?" I ran my
hand over my neck and found my own bite marks. "So we've got a
matching pair. So what?"
"She forbade me to drink. She said you'd sleep all day. That
she'd keep you sleeping all day, but I thought she'd underestimated
you."
I took another step towards the door.
"Don't, Anita."
"Why not?" But I was afraid I knew the answer.
"Serephina told me to keep you here until she wakes." He looked
at me, and it was a sad, woebegone expression. "Just have a seat.
I'll fix you something to eat."
"No, thanks."
"Don't run, Anita. Don't make me hurt you."
"Who's in the other coffin?" I asked.
The question seemed to surprise him. He let his hair fall back
over his neck. The shirt gaped open over his chest. I didn't
remember noticing his chest this much last time, or the way his
hair swept over his shoulders. The ointment must have worn off.
"Stop it, Magnus."
"Stop what?"
"Glamor won't work on me."
"Glamor would be a more pleasant alternative," he said.
"Who's in the coffin?"
"Xavier and the boy."
I ran for the door. He was suddenly behind me, impossibly fast,
but I'd seen faster. Most of them just happened to be dead. I
didn't try to open the door. I turned into his body, and it
surprised him. He fell into a shoulder roll almost textbook
perfect. I tried to throw him three feet under the floor,
everything I had.
He lay stunned for a second. I flung open the door. The spring
sunlight poured in and fell on Janos and his women. Janos's face
twisted away from the light. I didn't wait to see more. I ran.
Screams followed me out into the sunlight. I heard the door slam
behind me, but didn't look back. I hit the gravel parking lot
running with everything I had. I heard him pounding up behind me. I
wasn't going to outrun him. I waited until the last second, stopped
running, and kicked him. He saw it coming and dived under it,
taking my other leg out from under me, sending us both to the
ground. I threw a handful of gravel at his face, and he hit me in
the jaw with his fist. There is a frozen moment after a really good
shot to the face. A moment of shock, of paralysis where all you can
do is blink. Magnus's face appeared over me. He didn't ask if I was
alright; that had been the point. He picked me up and flung me over
his shoulders. I got a nice view of the ground about the time I was
able to move again.
I walked my hands up his back, trying to get enough leverage to
swing a two-handed grip at his shoulders. I let him brace my lower
body, but before I could try it, he kicked the door open and tossed
me to the floor, none too gently. He leaned against the door and
locked it.
"You just had to do it the hard way, didn't you?"
I got to my feet and backed away from him, which took me closer
to the vampires. Not an improvement. I backed towards the bar.
There had to be a back door. "I don't know any other way,
Magnus."
He took a deep breath and pushed away from the door. "It's going
to be a long day, then."
I put a hand on the smooth wood of the bar. "Yeah," I said. The
half-sliced lime and the knife lay just a few inches away. I stared
at Magnus, trying very hard not to look at the knife again. To not
draw attention to it. Which isn't nearly as easy as it sounds.
His eyes flicked to the knife. He smiled and shook his head.
"Don't do it, Anita."
I put my hands on the bar and pushed myself up on it. I heard
him coming but I didn't look back. Never look back; something is
always gaining on you. I grabbed the knife and rolled over the bar
at the same time. Magnus's face appeared above the bar too fast. I
wasn't ready. All I could do was look up at him with the knife
gripped in my hand. If he'd been just a little slower, I'd have
stabbed him in the throat, or that had been the plan.
Magnus crouched on the bar, staring down at me. His aquamarine
eyes glittered. Lights and colors played in them, reflecting things
that were not there. He stayed on the bar above me, swaying
slightly on the balls of his feet, one hand on the bar for balance.
His hair had fallen forward, trailing thick strands across his
face. He was going all feral on me, like he had at the mound. But
this time he wasn't trying to be one of the good guys. I expected
him to leap down on me, but he didn't. Of course, he wasn't
fighting me, he was just trying to keep me from leaving.
I glanced at what was under the bar. Liquor in bottles, clean
glasses, a tub of ice, some clean towels, napkins. None of it
looked helpful. Shit. I got slowly to my feet, back pressed to the
wall, as far from Magnus as I could get. I began to inch my way
towards the side of the bar towards the door. Magnus paced me,
sidling on the bar, making the awkward movement graceful.
He was faster than me, stronger than me, but I was armed. The
knife was good quality, made for slicing food, not people, but a
good knife is a good knife. It's versatile. I had to force myself
not to squeeze too tight on the handle, to relax. I'd get out of
this. I would. My eyes flicked to Serephina's open coffin. I
thought I saw her breathe.
Magnus jumped me. His body slammed into mine, and I drove the
knife into his stomach. He grunted, and his weight rode me to the
floor. I drove the knife in hilt-deep. His fist closed over my
hand, and he rolled off me, taking the knife with him.
I scrambled around the edge of the bar on all fours. Magnus was
there, yanking me to my feet by one arm. Blood had soaked the front
of his shirt. He raised the bloody knife in front of my face. "That
hurt," he said. He laid the edge of the blade against the side of
my throat. It felt like my pulse was jumping out to meet the blade.
He started backing up, pulling me with him.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"You'll see," he said. I didn't like that he wouldn't tell
me.
His feet bumped against Ellie's body. I could glimpse
Serephina's coffin behind him, if I rolled my eyes. Hard to move
your head when a knife's at your throat. He pulled on my arm, and I
didn't go. I leaned back on my heels, just a little, aware of the
knife, but I was more afraid of Serephina than any blade.
"Come on, Anita."
"Not until you tell me what we're doing." I spoke very carefully
around the knife.
Ellie lay motionless, boneless, dead at our feet. Magnus's blood
dropped onto her empty face. If it had been one of the others, they
might have licked the blood off even in their slumber, but Ellie
was well and truly dead. She was the newly risen, empty, waiting
for her "personality" to rebuild, if it ever did. I'd seen vamps
that never recovered. Never became close to the human being they'd
once been.
"I'm going to put you in the coffin and lock it until Serephina
wakes up."
"No," I said.
Magnus squeezed my arm like his fingers were searching for the
bone. If he didn't break it, it would be a hell of a bruise. I
didn't cry out, but it was an effort. "I can hurt you, Anita, in
all sorts of ways. Just get in."
"Nothing you can do to me scares me as much as getting in that
coffin again."
I meant it. Which meant unless he was really going to kill me,
the knife didn't work anymore. I turned my head into the blade. He
was forced to move it away from my skin before I drove it into
myself.
I stared at him from about a foot away, and saw something in his
eyes that I hadn't seen before. He was afraid.
"Bloody Bones died because he shared your mortality. Were you
harder to kill before, Magnus? No immortality to draw from, is that
it?"
"You are just too damn smart for your own good," he said
softly.
I smiled. "Mortal just like the rest of us; poor baby."
He smiled, a quick baring of teeth. "I can still take more
damage than you can dish out."
"If you really believed that, you wouldn't be putting me back in
the coffin."
His hand moved in a blur of speed that was almost vampire-quick.
He hit my arm, and it took a handful of seconds to realize he'd cut
me. Blood welled from the cut and dripped down my arm. He switched
his grip from my upper arm to my wrist, faster than I could take
advantage of it.
I watched the blood drip down my arm towards my elbow. It wasn't
much of a cut, might not even leave a scar; of course, on my left
arm, who could tell? "Couldn't you have cut the right arm? I
haven't got nearly as many scars on that one. "
He made one quick slice downward and opened my right arm from my
shoulder damn near to my elbow. "Always happy to oblige a
lady."
The slice hurt and was deeper than the first one. Me and my big
mouth. Blood ran down my arm in a thin crimson line. Blood on my
left arm trembled on my elbow and fell with a soft plop onto
Ellie's cheek. The blood slid down her skin, into her mouth. A
tingle of magic went up my spine. I held my breath. I could feel
it. I could feel the body at our feet.
It was broad daylight. I shouldn't have been able to raise even
a zombie, let alone a vampire. It was impossible; yet I could feel
the body feel the magic. I knew it was mine if I wanted it. I
wanted it.
"What's wrong?" Magnus jerked my arm, bringing my eyes back to
his face. I'd been staring at the vampire. Hadn't meant to, it was
just so damn unexpected.
I could feel the magic just out of reach, almost there. But how
to push it over the edge? How? I smiled at Magnus. "You planning to
just whittle me down until I get in the coffin?"
"I could."
"The only way I'm going in that coffin is dead, Magnus, and
Serephina doesn't want me dead." I stepped into him; he started to
move back, but forced himself to stand his ground. Our bodies were
nearly pressed against each other. Great. I ran my hand under his
shirt, along his bare skin.
Magnus's eyes widened. "What are you up to?"
I smiled, and traced the trail of fresh blood upward to the
wound. I trailed the edge of the wound, and he made a small sound
like it had hurt. I smoothed my one free hand over his skin,
smearing his blood across his flesh like finger paints.
"You saw the murder scene when you touched me and still wanted
to have sex with me, remember?"
He took a breath, and it trembled when he let it out between his
lips.
I drew my blood-coated hand out from under his shirt. I held it
up to him, let him see it. His breath came just a little quicker. I
knelt, slowly; he didn't let go, he didn't put down the knife, but
he didn't stop me. I smeared the blood on Ellie's mouth. The magic
flared, sparked down my skin like cool fire. It crawled up my arm
and onto Magnus.
"Shit!" Magnus swung the knife at me.
I blocked his wrist with my arm and came up under him, driving
up from my knees. He was balanced across my shoulders, but he still
had the knife. I flung him on top of Ellie.
I stood over him, breathing hard. "Ellie, rise."
The vampire's eyes flew open wide. Magnus started to push away
from her.
"Grab him," I said.
Ellie wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. He stabbed
her with the knife, and she screamed. God help me, she screamed.
Zombies didn't scream.
I ran for the door.
Magnus came after me, dragging Ellie behind him. He was moving
faster than I'd thought he would, but not fast enough. I flung open
the door, and a long bar of sunlight spilled in through the door. I
was a step out the door when the screaming started. I glanced back;
I couldn't help it. Ellie was on fire. Magnus tried to loosen her
arms, screaming. But nothing holds on like the dead.
I ran out into the parking lot.
"Niña, don't go."
The voice stopped me at the edge of the parking lot. I looked
back. Magnus had dragged himself out the door and onto the gravel.
Ellie was burning white hot. Magnus's shirt and hair were
burning.
I screamed, "Go back, you son of a bitch!" But the same voice
that kept me pinned to the edge of the parking lot kept him coming
out into the light.
The voice came again. "Come back to bed, Anita. You're tired.
You must rest."
I was suddenly tired, so tired. I felt every cut, every bruise.
She would make it all better. She would touch me with her cool
hands and make it all better.
Magnus collapsed in the middle of the driveway, shrieking. The
vampire was melting into him, burning him alive. Sweet Jesus.
He reached one hand out to me. He screamed, "Help me!" The
vampire was melting into his flesh, eating it away.
I ran. I ran with Serephina's voice whispering in my ear:
"Niña, Mother misses you."
Chapter 40
I flagged a car down on the highway. I was covered in dried
blood, cut, scraped, bruised, and still an elderly couple picked me
up. Who says there are no more good Samaritans? They wanted to take
me to the police, and I let them.
The nice policemen took one look at me and asked if I needed an
ambulance. I said no, and could they page Special Agent Bradford,
and tell him it was Anita Blake.
They tried to get me to go to the hospital, but there was no
time. It was mid-afternoon. We had to move before dark. I asked the
police to send a two-man car to make sure that no one moved the
coffins. I told them there might be a hurt man in the parking lot
and if he was still there to call an ambulance, but under no
circumstances go inside the place.
Everybody nodded and agreed with me. Most of the cops in the
area had been through Serephina's house last night and today. The
cops told me Kirkland had brought the cops back to the vampire's
lair after they took me. It took me a second to realize that
Kirkland was Larry. Which meant Serephina had kept her word and let
them go. The relief at knowing for sure that Larry was alive made
me weak-kneed, and I was wobbly enough as it was.
The cops had found over a dozen bodies buried in the basement of
Serephina's house. She should have buried them in the woods. For
all I knew, she'd raised their ghosts. I didn't know. It didn't
matter. All that mattered was that we had a warrant of execution,
and the cops were listening to me today.
They sat me in an interrogation room with a cup of black coffee,
thick enough to walk on, and a blanket to wrap around me. I was
shivering and couldn't seem to stop.
Bradford came in and sat down across from me. He stared at me
with eyes that were just a little too wide. "The locals say you
found the master vampire's lair."
I laughed, and it came out wrong, almost like a sob. "I wouldn't
say I found Serephina's lair. More like I woke up in it." I raised
the coffee to my mouth and had to stop in mid-motion. My hands were
shaking so badly I was about to slosh coffee onto the table. I took
a deep breath, blew it out, and concentrated on taking a drink of
coffee. Just concentrated on the simple physical movement. It
helped. I got coffee, and calmer at the same time.
"You need to go to the hospital," Bradford said.
"I need Serephina dead."
"We've got warrants for all of them. All the vampires involved.
How do you want to do it?"
"Burn them out. Block off everything but the front door. If
Magnus is inside, he'll come out."
"Magnus Bouvier?" he asked.
"Yeah." There was something about the way he said it that I
didn't like.
"The cops found what's left of him in the parking lot. It looks
like something melted the lower half of his body. Would you know
anything about that?" He looked at me very steadily when he asked
it.
I took another careful sip of coffee, and met his eyes without
blinking. What was I supposed to say? "The vampires were
controlling him. He was supposed to keep me in the bar until
nightfall. Maybe they punished him for failing." What I'd done to
Magnus and Ellie was enough to earn me a death sentence. I wasn't
admitting that to the Feds.
"The vampires punished him?" He made it a question.
"Yeah."
He looked at me for a long time, then nodded and changed the
subject. "Won't the vampires try to make a break when the fire
starts?"
"Sunlight or fire," I said. "Just a choice of how well done you
want your vampires to be." I finished the last of the coffee in my
cup.
"Your protege, Mr. Kirkland, said you were kidnapped from the
graveyard. Is that your story, too?"
"It happens to be the truth, Agent Bradford." It was the truth
as far as it went. Omission is a wonderful thing.
He smiled and shook his head. "You are hiding more shit from me
than you're telling me."
I stared at him until the smile wilted around the edges. "Truth
is a mixed blessing, Agent Bradford, don't you think?"
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe, Ms. Blake,
maybe."
I called the hotel, and no one answered in Larry's room. I tried
my room, and got Larry there. There was a moment of stunned silence
when he realized it was me.
"Anita, oh my God, oh my God. Are you alright? Where are you?
I'll come get you."
"I'm at the police station in town. I'm alright, sort of. I need
you to bring me some clothes to change into. The ones I have on
smell like vampire. We're going after Serephina."
Another silence. "When?"
"Now, today."
"I'll be right there."
"Larry?"
"I'll bring the guns and the knives, and an extra cross."
"Thanks."
"I've never been so glad to hear anybody's voice in my entire
life," he said.
"Yeah," I said. "Get here soon. Wait, Larry."
"You need something else?" he said.
"Are Jean-Claude and Jason alright?"
"Yeah. Jason's in the hospital, but he'll live. Jean-Claude's in
the bedroom asleep. After Serephina bit you, she hit Jean-Claude
with some kind of power, energy. I felt it, and it was awesome. She
knocked him out and left. The others went with her."
Everyone was alive, or as alive as they had started out. It was
more than I'd hoped for. "Great; I'll see you soon." I hung up the
phone and had a horrible urge to cry, but I fought it off. I was
afraid if I started to cry I wouldn't be able to stop. I couldn't
have hysterics just yet.
As agent on site, Bradford was in charge. Special Agent Bradley
Bradford, yes Bradley Bradford, seemed to think I knew what I was
doing. Nothing like getting almost killed to give you credentials.
For once, badge or no badge, nobody was arguing with me. A
refreshing change, that.
I did not hug Larry when he brought my clothes; he hugged me. I
pushed away sooner than I wanted to, because I wanted to collapse
into his arms in tears. To just let a pair of friendly arms hold me
while I melted down. Later, later.
A huge bruise had blossomed on the side of his face from jaw to
mid-temple. It looked like he'd been hit by a baseball bat. He was
lucky Janos hadn't broken his jaw.
Larry had brought me blue jeans, a red polo shirt, jogging
socks, my white Nikes, an extra cross from my suitcase, the silver
knives, the Firestar complete with inner pants holster, and the
Browning and its shoulder holster. He'd forgotten a bra, but hey,
except for that it was perfect.
The wrist sheaths stung going over the cuts, but it felt
wonderful to be armed again. I didn't try to hide the guns. The
cops knew who I was, and I wasn't fooling any of the bad guys.
Barely two hours after I'd crawled out of Serephina's coffin, we
pulled up in front of Bloody Bones. There were ambulances, and more
cops than you could shake a stick at. Local cops, state cops,
federal cops; it was a smorgasbord of policemen. A fire truck plus
fire emergency services completed the official list. Oh, Larry and
me.
With Magnus dead, Serephina and company were unguarded. Not
helpless. Oh, no. Nothing this side of Hell would have gotten me
inside that building voluntarily. But there were alternatives.
The gas truck pulled around to the back and busted out a window.
I watched them snake the hose into the window of the back door and
turn on the juice.
I stood there in the warm sunlight, a cool breeze playing on my
skin, and whispered, "May you rot in Hell."
"Did you say something?" Larry asked.
I shook my head. "Nothing important."
The hose shivered to life, and the sharp, sweet smell of
gasoline filled the air.
I felt her wake up. I felt her eyes open wide in the dark. I
breathed in the sweet smell of gasoline, felt my hands gripping the
coffin edges.
I put my hands over my eyes. "Oh, God."
Larry touched my shoulder. "What is it?"
I kept my hands pressed to my face. "Take the guns, now."
"What . . ."
"Do it!" My hands came down and I looked at him. I looked at his
familiar face, and Serephina saw him, too.
She whispered, "Kill him."
I ripped the knives out of the sheaths and let them fall to the
ground. I started backing up towards the cops. I needed people with
guns around me, right now.
The voice in my head said, "Anita, what are you doing to your
mother? You don't want to hurt me. Niña, help Mommy."
"Oh, God." I ran and nearly collided with Bradford.
"Help me, Niña. Help me!"
My hand closed on the Browning. I balled my hands into fists at
my side. "Bradford, disarm me now. Please."
He stared at me, but he took the guns from their holsters.
"What's wrong, Blake?"
"Cuffs, you got cuffs?"
"Yeah."
I held my hands out to him. "Use them." My voice sounded
squeezed, my throat so tight I couldn't breathe.
I smelled Hypnotique perfume, tasted my mother's lipstick on my
mouth. The cuffs snapped into place. I jerked away from him, stared
at the handcuffs. I opened my mouth to say "Take them off," and
closed it.
I could feel my mother's hair tickling my face.
"I smell perfume," Larry said.
I looked at him with wide eyes. I couldn't speak, I couldn't
move. I didn't trust myself to do anything at that moment.
"Oh, my God," Larry said. "You're going to feel her burn."
I just looked at him.
"What can I do?"
"Help me." My voice was squeezed down to a whisper.
"What's happening to her?" Bradford asked.
"Serephina's trying to get Anita to help save her."
"The vampire's awake in there?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
Serephina was out of her coffin. The full skirt of her ball gown
brushed the edges of the door that led to the kitchen. She couldn't
go closer, because there was a spill of daylight from the window.
Gasoline was pouring across the floor towards her.
"Anita, help Mommy."
"It's a lie," I said.
"What's a lie?" Bradford said.
I shook my head.
"Anita, help me, you don't want me to die. You don't want me to
die, not when you can save me."
I collapsed to my knees, cuffed hands digging into the gravel of
the parking lot. "Stop the gasoline."
Larry knelt beside me. "Why?"
It was a good question. Serephina had a good answer. "Jeff
Quinlan is in there. He's inside."
"Shit," Larry said. He looked up at Bradford. "We can't torch
the place. There's a kid inside."
"Stop the gas," Bradford said. He walked away from us, towards
the truck, motioning them off.
And I felt a surge of triumph from Serephina. It was a lie.
Xavier had brought Jeff over last night. There was nothing alive in
that building.
I gripped Larry's arm with my cuffed hands. "Larry, it's a lie.
She's lying to me. Through me. Get me in the back of a squad car,
now, and torch the place."
He stared at me. "But if Jeff . . ."
"Don't argue with me, just do it!" I screamed it, burying my
face between my arms, trying to ignore the voice in my head.
I could taste Hypnotique on my tongue. It was too much.
Serephina was scared.
Larry called Bradford back, and they half-carried me to a marked
car. I started to struggle when they tried to shove me in the back,
but I did my best not to fight, and they closed the door. I was in
a metal and glass cage. I gripped my fingers through the mesh in
front of me, digging it into my skin until it hurt. But even pain
didn't help.
The gasoline was everywhere, soaking into everything. Serephina
was choking on it. "Niña, don't do this. Don't hurt your
Mommy. Don't lose me again."
I started rocking back and forth, hands digging into the wire.
Back and forth, back and forth. It'd be over soon. It'd be over
soon.
I felt a gentle touch on my face, a memory so real it made me
turn and look for someone. "My death will be as real, Anita."
Somebody lit it. The flames roared to life, and I screamed
before they hit her. I slammed my cuffed hands against the glass
and screamed, "Nooo!"
Heat washed over her, crumbled the cloth of her dress like a
melting flower, and ate her flesh.
I pounded my hands against the glass until I couldn't feel them
anymore. I had to help her. I had to go to her. I fell to my back
and kicked the window. I kicked it and kicked it, feeling the shock
all the way up my back. I screamed and kicked the glass, and it
cracked. The glass cracked and fell outward.
She was screaming my name. "Anita! Anita!"
I was halfway out the window before somebody tried to grab me. I
let them grab my arm, but pushed my legs free of the window. I had
to get to her; nothing else mattered. Nothing.
I fell to the ground with someone holding my arm. I got halfway
up and threw them in a shoulder roll onto the ground. I ran for the
fire. I could feel the heat now, rippling along my skin. I could
feel the heat inside eating us alive.
Someone tackled me, and I beat at them with my hands made into
one fist.
The hands let go, and I scrambled to my feet. Shouting, and
someone else holding me. He lifted me off the ground, arms wrapped
around my waist, pinning my arms. I kicked backwards, and hit his
knees. The arms loosened, but there were more arms. More hands.
Someone lay on top of me. A hand the size of my head pressed the
side of my face against the rocks. Hands pinned my hands against
the rocks, his full body weight on just my wrists. Someone was
sitting on my legs.
"Niña! Niña!"
I screamed with her. I screamed while I choked on the smell of
burning hair and Hypnotique bath powder. I saw the needle coming in
from the side, and started to cry, "No, no! Mommy! Mommy!"
The needle sank home, and darkness swallowed the world. A
darkness that smelled like burning flesh, and tasted like lipstick,
and blood.
Chapter 41
I spent a few days in the hospital. Bruises, cuts, some
stitches, but mainly the second-degree burns on my back and arms.
The burns weren't that bad; there wouldn't be any scarring. The
doctors just couldn't figure out how I'd gotten burned. I didn't
feel like explaining, mainly because I wasn't sure I could.
Jason had broken ribs, a punctured lung, and other internal
damage. He healed perfectly and in record time. There are benefits
to being a lycanthrope.
Jean-Claude healed. His face was once again that perfection that
had attracted Serephina to him so long ago.
Stirling's company rebought the land from Dorcas Bouvier, and
made her wealthy. With Bloody Bones dead, she can leave the land.
She's free.
The Quinlans are still suing me. Bert has lawyers that promise
to keep us out of court, though I'm not sure how. If I'd walked the
house personally, checked every inch of it myself, maybe . . .
Hell, even I might not have protected the doggie door. Maybe I do
deserve to be sued. I told the Quinlans Ellie was dead. They had to
take my word for it; there wasn't anything left of Ellie to prove
it. When vampires burn, they burn; no dental records, no nothing.
Jeff was well and truly dead, too. Both their children were lost to
them. It had to be somebody's fault; why not mine?
I'd raised a vampire like a zombie, which wasn't possible.
Necromancers were supposed to be able to control all types of
undead. But that was legend, not real. Right?
Serephina is dead, but the nightmares live on. The nightmares
are tangled with the real memories of my mother's death. They are a
bitch. For the first time in my life, I'm having insomnia.
What to do with the two men in my life? How the hell do I know?
In Richard's arms, breathing in the warmth of his body, is the
closest I've ever found to my mother's arms. It isn't the same,
because I know that though Richard would give his life for me, even
that might not be enough. When I was a child, I believed it would
be. There is no real safety. Innocence lost can never be regained.
But sometimes with Richard I want to believe in it again.
There is nothing comforting about Jean-Claude's arms. He doesn't
make me feet safe in the least. He's like some forbidden pleasure
that you know eventually you'll regret. I've decided not to wait;
I'm regretting it now, but I'm still seeing him.
Somehow Jean-Claude has crossed that line that a handful of
other vampires have crossed. I don't think of him as a monster
anymore.
God have mercy on my soul.