[book jacket summary] [Version History]

Cerulean Sins

by Laurell K. Hamilton

#11 in the Anita Blake--Vampire Hunter series

Copyright  2003 by Laurell K Hamilton

Berkley hardcover edition,'April 2003

ISBN 0-425-18836-1

To J.,

who says yes more than he says no;

who never makes me feel like a freak,

and who came up with the title for this book.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Karen and Bear, who helped me find new places to hide the
bodies. To Joanie and Melissa, who helped entertain Trinity when she
needed more playtime than a hardworking mommy can supply. To Trinity,
who helped me finish this book by being old enough to entertain herself.
Every year just gets better. To Carniffex and Maerda, who helped me with
research, and who should have been mentioned here books ago. To Darla,
without whom so much would go undone. To Sherry, for keeping the place
livable. To Sergeant Robert Cooney of the St. Louis City Police Mobile
Reserve Unit, for answering my last-minute questions. He did not have
time to read over this manuscript, so all mistakes are mine and mine
alone. And, as always, to my writing group: Tom Drennan, N. L. Drew,
Rhett McPhearson, Deborah Millitello, Marella Sands, Sharon Shinn, and
Mark Sumner.

1

It was early September, a busy time of year for raising the dead. The
pre-Halloween rush seemed to start earlier and earlier every year. Every
animator at Animators Inc. was booked solid. I was no exception; in
fact, I'd been offered more work than even my ability to go without
sleep could supply.

Mr. Leo Harlan should have been grateful to get the appointment. He
didn't look grateful. Truthfully, he didn't have the look of anything.
Harlan was medium. Medium height, dark hair, but not too dark. Skin
neither too pale nor too tan. Eyes brown, but an indistinguishable shade
of brown. In fact the most remarkable thing about Mr. Harlan was that
there was nothing remarkable about him. Even his suit was dark,
conservative. A businessman's outfit that had been in style for the last
twenty years and probably would still be in style twenty years down the
road. His shirt was white, his tie neatly knotted, his not-too-big,
not-too-small hands were well groomed but not manicured.

His appearance told me so little that that in itself was interesting,
and vaguely disturbing.

I took a sip from my coffee mug with the motto, "If you slip me decaf,
I'll rip your head off." I'd brought it to work when our boss, Bert, had
put decaf in the coffeemaker without telling anyone, thinking we
wouldn't notice. Half the office thought they had mono for a week, until
we discovered Bert's dastardly plot.

The coffee that our secretary, Mary, had gotten for Mr. Harlan sat on
the edge of my desk. His mug was the one with the logo of Animators Inc.
on it. He'd taken a minute sip of the coffee, when Mary had first handed
it to him. He'd taken the coffee black, but he sipped it like he hadn't
tasted it, or it didn't really matter what it tasted like. He'd taken it
out of politeness, not out of desire.

I sipped my own coffee, heavy on the sugar and cream, trying to make up
for the late work the night before. Caffeine and sugar, the two basic
food groups.

His voice was like the rest of him, so ordinary it was extraordinary. He
spoke with absolutely no accent, no hint of region, or country. "I want
you to raise my ancestor, Ms. Blake."

'So you said."

'You seem to doubt me, Ms. Blake."

'Call it skepticism."

'Why would I come in here and lie to you?"

I shrugged. "People have done it before."

'I assure you, Ms. Blake, I am telling the truth."

Trouble was, I just didn't believe him. Maybe I was being paranoid, but
my left arm under the nice navy suit jacket was crisscrossed with
scars--from the crooked cross-shaped burn scar, where a vampire's
servant had branded me, to the slashing claw marks of a shape-shifted
witch. Plus knife scars, thin and clean compared to the rest. My right
arm had only one knife scar, it was nothing in comparison. And there
were other scars hidden under the navy skirt and royal blue shell. Silk
didn't care if it slid over scars or smooth, untouched skin. I'd earned
my right to be paranoid.

'What ancestor do you want raised, and why?" I smiled when I said it,
pleasant, but the smile didn't reach my eyes. I'd begun to have to work
at getting my smiles to reach all the way up to my eyes.

He smiled too, and it left his eyes as unaffected as my own. Smile
because you were smiled at, not because it really meant anything. He
reached out to pick up the coffee mug again, and this time I noticed a
heaviness in the left front of his jacket. He wasn't wearing a shoulder
holster--I'd have noticed that--but there was something heavier than a
wallet in his left breast pocket. It could have been a lot of things,
but my first thought was, gun. I've learned to listen to my first
thoughts. You're not paranoid if people really are out to get you.

I had my own gun tucked under my left arm in a shoulder holster. That
evened things up, but I did not want my office to turn into the O. K.
Corral. He had a gun. Maybe. Probably. For all I knew it could have been
a really heavy cigar case. But I'd have bet almost anything that that
heaviness was a weapon. I could either sit here and try to talk myself
out of that belief, or I could act as if I was right. If I was wrong,
I'd apologize later; if I was right, well, I'd be alive. Better alive
and rude than dead and polite.

I interrupted his talk about his family tree. I hadn't really heard any
of it. I was fixated on that heaviness in his pocket. Until I found out
whether it was a gun or not, nothing else much mattered to me. I smiled
and forced it up into my eyes. "What is it exactly that you do for a
living, Mr. Harlan?"

He drew a slightly deeper breath, settling into his chair, just a bit.
It was the closest thing I'd seen to tension in the man. The first real,
human movement. People fidget. Harlan didn't.

People don't like dealing with people who raise the dead. Don't ask me
why, but we make them nervous. Harlan wasn't nervous, he wasn't
anything. He was just sitting across the desk from me, chilling,
nondescript eyes pleasant and empty. I was betting he'd lied about his
reason for coming here and that he'd brought a gun hidden on his person
in a place that wasn't easy to spot.

I was liking Leo Harlan less and less.

I sat my coffee mug gently on my desk blotter, still smiling. I'd freed
up my hands, which was step one. Drawing my gun would be step two; I was
hoping to avoid that step.

'I want you to raise one of my ancestors, Ms. Blake. I don't see where
my work has any relevance here."

'Humor me," I said, still smiling, but feeling it slide out of my eyes
like melting ice.

'Why should I?" he said.

'Because if you don't, I'll refuse to take your case."

'Mr. Vaughn, your boss, has already taken my money. He accepted on your
behalf."

I smiled, and this time it held real humor. "Actually, Bert is only the
business manager at Animators Inc., now. Most of us are full partners in
the firm, like a law firm. Bert still handles the business end of
things, but he's not exactly my boss anymore."

His face, if it was possible, went quieter, more closed, more secretive.
It was like looking at a bad painting, one that had all the
technicalities down, yet held no feel of life. The only humans I'd ever
seen that could be this closed down were scary ones.

'I wasn't aware of your change in status, Ms. Blake." His voice had gone
a tone deeper, but it was as empty as his face.

He was ringing every alarm bell I had, my shoulders were tight with the
need to pull my gun first. My hands slid downward without me thinking
about it. It wasn't until his hands raised to the arms of his chair that
I realized what I'd done. We were both maneuvering to a better position
to draw down.

Suddenly there was tension, thick and heavy like invisible lightning in
the room. There was no more doubt. I saw it in his empty eyes, and in
the small smile on his face. This was a real smile, no fake, no
pretense. We were seconds away from doing one of the most real things
one human being can do to another. We were about to try to kill each
other. I watched, not his eyes, but his upper body, waiting for that
betraying movement. There was no more doubt, we both knew.

Into that heavy, heavy tension, his voice fell like a stone thrown down
a deep well. His voice alone almost made me go for my gun. "I am a
contract killer, but I'm not here for you, Anita Blake."

I didn't take my eyes from his body, the tension didn't slacken. "Why
tell me then?" My voice was softer than his, almost breathy.

'Because I haven't come to St. Louis to kill anyone. I really am
interested in getting my ancestor raised from the dead."

'Why?" I asked, still watching his body, still treading the tension.

'Even hitmen have hobbies, Ms. Blake." His voice was matter-of-fact, but
his body stayed very, very still. I realized, suddenly, that he was
trying not to spook me.

I let my gaze flick to his face. It was still bland, still unnaturally
empty, but it also held something else… a trace of humor.

'What's so funny?" I asked.

'I didn't know that coming to see you was tempting fate."

'What do you mean?" I was trying to hold on to that edge of tension, but
it was slipping away. He sounded too ordinary, too suddenly real, for me
to keep thinking about drawing a gun and shooting up my office. It
suddenly seemed a little silly, and yet… looking into his dead eyes
that humor never completely filled, it didn't seem all that silly.

'There are people all over the world who would love to see me dead, Ms.
Blake. There are people who have spent considerable money and effort to
see that such a thing would happen, but no one has come close, until
today."

I shook my head. "This wasn't close."

'Normally, I'd agree with you, but I knew something of your reputation,
so I didn't wear a gun in my usual manner. You noticed the weight of it
when I bent forward that last time, didn't you?"

I nodded.

'If we'd had to draw down on each other, your holster is a few seconds
faster than this inner jacket shit that I'm wearing."

'Then why wear it?" I asked.

'I didn't want to make you nervous by coming in here armed, but I don't
go anywhere unarmed, so I thought I'd be slick, and you wouldn't
notice."

'I almost didn't."

'Thanks for that, but we both know better."

I wasn't sure about that, but I let it go; no need to argue when I
seemed to be winning.

'What do you really want, Mr. Harlan, if that is your real name?"

He smiled at that. "As I've said, I really do want my ancestor raised
from the dead. I didn't lie about that." He seemed to think for a
second. "Strange, but I haven't lied about anything." He looked puzzled.
"It's been a long time since that was true."

'My condolences," I said.

He frowned at me. "What?"

'It must be difficult never being able to tell the truth. I know I'd
find it exhausting."

He smiled, and again it was that slight flexing of lips that seemed to
be his genuine smile. "I haven't thought about it in a long time." He
shrugged. "I guess you get used to it."

It was my turn to shrug. "Maybe. What ancestor do you want raised, and
why?"

'Why what?"

'Why do you want to raise this particular ancestor?"

'Does it matter?" he asked.

'Yes."

'Why?"

'Because I don't believe the dead should be disturbed without a good
reason."

That small smile flexed again. "You've got animators in this town that
raise zombies every night for entertainment."

I nodded. "Then by all means go to one of them. They'll do anything you
want, pretty much, if the price is right."

'Can they raise a corpse that's almost two hundred years old?"

I shook my head. "Out of their league."

'I heard an animator could raise almost anything, if they were willing
to do a human sacrifice." His voice was quiet.

I shook my head, again. "Don't believe everything you hear, Mr. Harlan.
Some animators could raise a few hundred years worth of corpse with the
help of a human sacrifice. Of course, that would be murder and thus
illegal."

'Rumor has it that you've done it."

'Rumor can say anything it damn well pleases, I don't do human
sacrifice."

'So you can't raise my ancestor." He made it a flat statement.

'I didn't say that."

His eyes widened, the closest to surprise that he'd shown. "You can
raise a nearly two-hundred-year-old corpse without a human sacrifice?" I
nodded. "Rumor said that, too, but I didn't believe it."

'So you believed that I did human sacrifice, but not that I could raise
a few hundred years worth of dead people on my own."

He shrugged. "I'm used to people killing other people, I've never seen
anyone raised from the dead."

'Lucky you."

He smiled, and his eyes thawed just a little. "So you'll raise my
ancestor?"

'If you tell me a good enough reason for doing it."

'You don't get distracted much, do you, Ms. Blake."

'Tenacious, that's me," I said, and smiled. Maybe I'd spent too much
time around really bad people, but now that I knew that Leo Harlan
wasn't here to kill me, or anyone else in town, I had no problem with
him. Why did I believe him? For the same reason I hadn't believed him
the first time. Instinct.

'I've followed the records of my family in this country back as far as I
can, but my original ancestor is on no official documents. I believe he
gave a false name from the beginning. Until I get his true name, I can't
track my family through Europe. I very much wish to do that."

'Raise him, ask his real name, his real reason for coming to this
country, and put him back?" I made it a question.

Harlan nodded. "Exactly."

'It sounds reasonable enough."

'So you'll do it," he said.

'Yes, but it ain't cheap. I'm probably the only animator in this country
that can raise someone this old without using a human sacrifice. It's
sort of a seller's market, if you catch my drift."

'In my own way, Ms. Blake, I am as good at my job as you are at yours."
He tried to look humble and failed. He looked pleased with himself, all
the way to those ordinary, and frightening, brown eyes. "I can pay, Ms.
Blake, never fear."

I mentioned an outrageous figure. He never flinched. He started to reach
into the inside of his jacket. I said, "Don't."

'My credit card, Ms. Blake, nothing more." He took his hands out of his
jacket and held them, fingers spread, so I could see them clearly.

'You can finish the paperwork and pay in the outer office. I've got
other appointments."

He almost smiled. "Of course." He stood. I stood. Neither of us offered
to shake hands. He hesitated at the door; I stopped a ways back, not
following as closely as I normally do. Room to maneuver, you know.

'When can you do the job?"

'I'm booked solid this week. I might be able to squeeze you in next
Wednesday. Maybe next Thursday."

'What happened to next Monday and Tuesday?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Booked up."

'You said, and I quote, 'I'm booked solid this week.' Then you mentioned
next Wednesday."

I shrugged again. There was a time when I wasn't good at lying, even now
I'm not great at it, but not for the same reasons. I felt my eyes going
flat and empty, as I said, "I meant to say I was booked up for most of
the next two weeks."

He stared at me, hard enough to make me want to squirm. I fought off the
urge and just gave him blank, vaguely friendly eyes.

'Next Tuesday is the night of the full moon," he said in a quiet voice.

I blinked at him, fighting to keep the surprise off my face, and I think
I succeeded, but I failed on my body language. My shoulders tensed, my
hands flexed. Most people noticed your face, not the rest of you, but
Harlan was a man who would notice. Damn it.

'So it's the full moon, yippee-skippy, what of it?" My voice was as
matter-of-fact as I could make it.

He gave that small smile of his. "You're not very good at being coy, Ms.
Blake."

'No, I'm not, but since I'm not being coy, that's not a problem."

'Ms. Blake," he said, voice almost cajoling, "please, do not insult my
intelligence."

I thought about saying, but it's so easy, but didn't. First, it wasn't
easy at all; second, I was a little nervous about where this line of
questioning was going. But I was not going to help him by volunteering
information. Say less, it irritates people.

'I haven't insulted your intelligence."

He made a frown that I think was as true as that small smile. The real
Harlan peeking through. "Rumor says that you haven't worked on the night
of the full moon for a few months now." He seemed very serious all of a
sudden, not in a menacing way, almost as if I'd been impolite, forgotten
my table manners, or something, and he was correcting me.

'Maybe I'm Wiccan. The full moon is a holy day for them you know. Or
rather night."

'Are you Wiccan, Ms. Blake?"

It never took me long to grow tired of word games. "No, Mr. Harlan, I am
not."

'Then why don't you work on the night of the full moon?" He was studying
my face, searching it, as if for some reason the answer were more
important than it should have been.

I knew what he wanted me to say. He wanted me to confess to being a
shape-shifter of some kind. Trouble was I couldn't confess, because it
wasn't true. I was the first human Nimir-Ra, leopard queen, of a
wereleopard pard in their history. I'd inherited the leopards when I was
forced to kill their old leader, to keep him from killing me. I was also
Bolverk of the local werewolf pack. Bolverk was more than a bodyguard,
less than an executioner. It was basically someone who did the things
that the Ulfric either couldn't, or wouldn't do. Richard Zeeman was the
local Ulfric. He'd been my off-again, on-again honey-bun for a couple of
years. Right now, it was off, very off. His parting shot to me had been,
"I don't want to love someone who is more at home with the monsters than
I am." What do you say to that? What can you say? Damned if I know. They
say love conquers everything. They lie.

As Nimir-Ra and Bolverk, I had people depending on me. I took the full
moon off, so I'd be available. It was simple really, and nothing I was
willing to share with Leo Harlan.

'I sometimes take personal days, Mr. Harlan. If they've coincided with
the full moon, I assure you, it's coincidental."

'Rumor says you got cut up by a shifter a few months back, and now
you're one of them." His voice was still quiet, but I was ready for this
one. My face, my body, everything was calm, because he was wrong.

'I am not a shape-shifter, Mr. Harlan."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you, Ms. Blake."

I sighed. "I don't really care if you believe me, Mr. Harlan. My being a
lycanthrope, or not, has no bearing on how good I am at raising the
dead."

'Rumor says you're the best, but you keep telling me the rumors are
wrong. Are you really as good as they say you are?"

'Better."

'You're rumored to have raised entire graveyards."

I shrugged. "You'll turn a girl's head with talk like that."

'Are you saying it's true?"

'Does it really matter? Let me repeat: I can raise your ancestor, Mr.
Harlan. I'm one of the few, if not the only, animator in this country
that can do it without resorting to a human sacrifice." I smiled at him,
my professional smile, the one that was all bright and shiny and as
empty of meaning as a lightbulb. "Will next Wednesday or Thursday be
alright?"

He nodded. "I'll leave my cell phone number, you can reach me
twenty-four hours a day."

'Are you in a hurry for this?"

'Let's just say that I never know when an offer may come my way that I
would find hard to resist."

'Not just money," I said.

He gave that smile again. "No, not just money, Ms. Blake. I have enough
money, but a job that holds new interests… new challenges. I'm always
searching for that."

'Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Harlan. There's always someone out
there bigger and badder than you are."

'I have not found it so."

I smiled then. "Either you're even scarier than you seem, or you haven't
been meeting the right people."

He looked at me for a long moment, until I felt the smile slide from my
eyes. I met his dead eyes with my own. In that moment that well of
quietness filled me. It was a peaceful place, the place I went when I
killed. A great white static empty place, where nothing hurt, where
nothing felt. Looking into Harlan's empty eyes, I wondered if his head
was white and empty and staticky. I almost asked, but I didn't, because
for just a second I thought he'd lied, lied about it all, and he was
going to try and draw his gun from his jacket. It would explain why he
wanted to know if I was a shape-shifter. For a heartbeat or two, I
thought I'd have to kill Mr. Leo Harlan. I wasn't scared now or nervous,
I just readied myself. It was his choice, live or die. There was nothing
but that slow eternal second where choices are made and lives are lost.

Then he shook himself, almost like a bird settling its feathers back in
place. "I was about to remind you that I am a very scary person all by
myself, but I won't now. It would be stupid to keep playing with you
like this, like poking a rattlesnake with a stick."

I just looked at him with empty eyes, still held in that quiet place. My
voice came out slow, careful, like my body felt. "I hope you haven't
lied to me today, Mr. Harlan."

He gave that unsettling smile. "So do I, Ms. Blake, so do I." With that
odd comment, he opened the door carefully, never taking his eyes from
me. Then he turned and left quickly, shutting the door firmly behind
him, and left me alone with the adrenaline rush draining like a puddle
to my feet.

It wasn't fear that left me weak, but the adrenaline. I raised the dead
for a living and was a legal vampire executioner. Wasn't that unique
enough? Did I have to attract scary clients too?

I knew I should have told Harlan no dice, but I had told him the truth.
I could raise this zombie, and no one else in the country could do
it--without a human sacrifice. I was pretty sure that if I turned it
down, Harlan would find someone else to do it. Someone else that didn't
have either my abilities or my morals. Sometimes you deal with the devil
not because you want to, but because if you don't, someone else will.

2

Lindel Cemetery was one of those new modern affairs, where all the
headstones are low to the ground and you aren't allowed to plant
flowers. It makes mowing easier, but it also makes for a depressingly
empty space. Nothing but flat land, with little oblong shapes in the
dark. It was as empty and featureless as the dark side of the moon, and
about as cheerful. Give me a cemetery with tombs and mausoleums, stone
angels weeping over the portraits of children, the Mother Mary praying
for us all, her silent eyes turned heavenward. A cemetery should have
something to remind the people passing by that there is a heaven, and
not just a hole in the ground with rock on top of it.

I was here to raise Gordon Bennington from the dead because Fidelis
Insurance Company hoped he was a suicide, not an accidental death. There
was a multimillion dollar insurance claim at stake. The police had ruled
the death accidental, but Fidelis wasn't satisfied. They opted to pay my
rather substantial fee in the hopes of saving millions. I was expensive,
but not that expensive. Compared with what they stood to lose, I was a
bargain.

There were three groups of cars in the cemetery. Two of the groups were
at least fifty feet apart because both Mrs. Bennington and Fidelis's
head lawyer, Arthur Conroy, had restraining orders against each other.
The third group of two cars was parked in between the others. A marked
police car and an unmarked police car. Don't ask me to explain how I
knew it was an unmarked police car, it just had that look.

I parked a little in back of the first group of cars. I got out of my
brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee, which was partially purchased by money I
got from my now deceased Jeep Country Squire. The insurance company
hadn't wanted to pay up on my claim. They didn't believe that werehyenas
had eaten the Country Squire. They sent out some people to take photos
and measurements, to see the bloodstains. They finally paid up, but they
also dropped my policy. I'm paying month by month to a new company that
will grant me a full policy, if, and only if, I can manage not to
destroy another car for two years. Fat chance of that. My sympathies
were all for Gordon Bennington's family. Of course, it's hard to have
sympathy for an insurance company that is trying to squirm out of paying
a widow with three children.

The cars closest to me turned out to be those of Fidelis Insurance.
Arthur Conroy came towards me, hand outstretched. He was on the tall end
of short, with thinning blond hair that he combed over his bald spot, as
if that hid it, silver-framed glasses that circled large gray eyes. If
his eyelashes and eyebrows had been darker, his eyes would have been his
best feature. But his eyes were so large and unadorned that I thought he
looked vaguely froglike. But then maybe my recent disagreement with my
insurance company had made me uncharitable. Maybe.

Conroy was accompanied by a near-solid wall of other dark-suited men. I
shook Conroy's hand and glanced behind him at the two six-foot-plus men.

'Bodyguards?" I made it a question.

Conroy's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

I shook my head. "They look like bodyguards, Mr. Conroy."

I shook hands with the other two Fidelis people. I didn't offer to shake
hands with the bodyguards. Most of them won't shake hands, even if you
do offer. I don't know if it ruins the tough-guy image or they just want
to keep their gun hands free. Either way, I didn't offer, and neither
did they.

The dark-haired bodyguard, with shoulders nearly as broad as I was tall,
smiled, though. "So you're Anita Blake."

'And you are?"

'Rex, Rex Canducci."

I raised eyebrows at him. "Is Rex really your first name?"

He laughed, that surprised burst of laughter that is so masculine--and
usually at a woman's expense. "No."

I didn't bother to ask what his real first name was, probably something
embarrassing, like Florence, or Rosie. The second bodyguard was blond
and silent. He watched me with small pale eyes. I didn't like him.

'And you are?" I asked.

He blinked as if my asking had surprised him. Most people ignored
bodyguards, some out of fear of not knowing what to do, because they've
never met one; some because they have met one and figure they're just
furniture, to be ignored until needed.

He hesitated, then said, "Balfour."

I waited a second, but he didn't add anything. "Balfour, one name, like
Madonna or Cher?" I asked, voice mild.

His eyes narrowed, his shoulders a little tense. He'd been too easy to
rattle. He had the stare down and the sense of menace, but he was just
muscle. Scary looking, and knew it, but maybe not much else.

Rex intervened, "I thought you'd be taller." He made it a joke, with his
happy-to-meet-you voice.

Balfour's shoulders had relaxed, the tension draining away. They'd
worked together before, and Rex knew that his partner was not the most
stable cookie in the box.

I met Rex's eyes. Balfour would be a problem if things turned messy,
he'd overreact. Rex wouldn't.

I heard raised voices, one of them a woman. Shit. I'd told Mrs.
Bennington's lawyers to keep her home. They'd either ignored me or been
unable to withstand her winning personality.

The nice plainclothes policeman was talking to her, his voice calm, but
carrying, in a low, wordless rumble, as he, apparently, tried to keep
her fifty feet away from Conroy. Weeks ago she'd slapped the lawyer, and
he'd bitch-slapped her back. She'd then put a fist to his jaw and sat
him on his ass. That was about the time the court bailiffs had had to
step in and break things up.

I'd been present for all the festivities, because I was part of the
court settlement, sort of. Tonight would decide the issue. If Gordon
Bennington rose from the grave and said he'd died by accident, Fidelis
had to pay. If he admitted to suicide, then Mrs. Bennington got nothing.
I called her Mrs. Bennington at her insistence. When I'd referred to her
as Ms. Bennington, she'd nearly bitten my head off. She was not one of
your liberated women. She liked being a wife and mother. I was glad for
her, it meant more freedom for the rest of us.

I sighed and walked across the white gravel driveway towards the sound
of rising voices. I passed the uniformed cop leaning against his car. I
nodded, said, "Hi."

He nodded back, his eyes mostly on the insurance people, as if someone
had told him that it was his job to make sure they didn't start coming
over. Or maybe he just didn't like the size of Rex and Balfour. Both men
had him by a hundred pounds. He was slender for a police officer and
still had that untried look in his face, as if he hadn't been on the job
long, and hadn't yet quite decided whether he wanted to be on the job at
all.

Mrs. Bennington was yelling at the nice officer who was barring her way.
"Those bastards have hired her, and she'll do what they say. She'll make
Gordon lie, I know it!"

I sighed. I'd explained to everyone that the dead don't lie. Pretty much
only the judge had believed me, and the cops. I think Fidelis thought my
fee had insured their outcome, and Mrs. Bennington thought the same.

She finally spotted me over the cop's broad shoulders. In her high heels
she was taller than the officer. Which meant she was tall, and he wasn't
very. He was maybe five nine, tops.

She tried to push past him, yelling at me now. He moved just enough so
that he blocked her way, but didn't have to grab her. She banged against
his shoulder and frowned down at him. It stopped her yelling, for a
second.

'Get out of my way," she said.

'Mrs. Bennington," his deep voice grumbled, "Ms. Blake is here by order
of the court. You have to let her do her job." He had short gray hair, a
little longer on top. I didn't think it was a fashion statement, more
like he hadn't had time to go to the barbershop in awhile.

She tried to push past him again, and this time she grabbed him, as if
she'd move him out of her way. He wasn't tall, but he was broad, built
like a square, a muscular square. She realized quickly that she couldn't
push him, so she moved to walk around him, still determined to give me a
piece of her mind.

He had to grab her arm to keep her away from me. She raised a hand to
him, and his deep voice came clear in the still October night, "If you
hit me, I will handcuff you and put you in the back of the squad car
until we're all finished here."

She hesitated, her hand raised, but there must have been something in
his face, still turned away from me, that said, clearly, that he meant
every word.

His tone of voice had been enough for me. I'd have done what he said.

Finally, she lowered her arm. "I'll have your badge if you touch me."

'Striking a police officer is considered a crime, Mrs. Bennington," he
said in that deep voice.

Even by moonlight you could see the astonishment on her face, as if
somehow she hadn't quite realized any of the rules applied to her. The
realization seemed to take a lot of the wind out of her. She settled
back and let her cadre of dark-suited lawyers lead her a little away
from the nice police officer.

I was the only one close enough to hear him say, "If she'd been my wife,
I'd have shot myself too."

I laughed, I couldn't help it.

He turned, eyes angry, defensive, but whatever he saw in my face made
him smile.

'Count yourself lucky," I said, "I've seen Mrs. Bennington on several
occasions." I held out my hand.

He shook like he meant business, good, solid. "Lieutenant Nicols, and my
condolences on having to deal with…" He hesitated.

I finished the sentence for him, "… that crazy bitch. I believe that
is the phrase you're searching for."

He nodded. "That is the phrase. I sympathize with a widow and children
getting the money that is due them," he said, "but she makes it awful
hard to sympathize with her personally."

'I've noticed that," I said, smiling.

He laughed and reached into his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. "Mind?"

'Not out here in the open, I guess. Besides, you've earned it, dealing
with our wonderful Mrs. Bennington."

He tapped the cigarette out with one of those expert movements that
longtime smokers use. "If Gordon Bennington rises from the grave and
says he offed himself, she is going to go ballistic, Ms. Blake. I'm not
allowed to shoot her, but I'm not sure what else I'm going to be able to
do with her."

'Maybe her lawyers can sit on her. I think there's enough of them to
hold her down."

He put the cig between his lips, still talking. "They've been fu…
freaking useless, too afraid of losing their fee."

'Fucking useless, Lt. Fucking useless is the phrase you're searching
for."

He laughed again, hard enough that he had to take the cigarette out of
his mouth. "Fucking useless, yeah, that's the phrase." He put the cig
between his lips again and took out one of those big metal lighters that
you don't see much anymore. The flame flared orangey red, as he cupped
his hands around it automatically, even though there was no wind. When
the end of his cig was glowing bright, he snapped the lighter shut and
slid it back into his pocket, then took the cig out of his mouth and
blew a long line of smoke.

I took an involuntary step back to avoid the smoke, but we were outdoors
and Mrs. Bennington was enough to drive anyone to smoke. Or would that
be drink?

'Can you call in more men?"

'They won't be allowed to shoot her either," Nicols said.

I smiled. "No, but maybe they can form a wall of flesh and keep her from
hurting anyone."

'I could probably get another uniform, maybe two, but that's it. She's
got connections with the top brass because she's got money, and may end
up having a lot more after tonight. But she's also been fucking
unpleasant." He seemed to relish saying the F-word almost as much as
smoking the cigarette, as if he'd had to watch his language around the
grieving widow, and it had hurt.

'Her political clout getting a little tarnished?" I asked.

'The papers plastered her decking Conroy all over the front page. The
powers that be are worried that this is going to turn into a mess, and
they don't want the mess to land on them."

'So they're distancing themselves in case she does something even more
unfortunate," I said.

He took a deep, deep pull off the cig, holding it almost like someone
smoking a joint, then let the smoke trickle out of his mouth and nose as
he answered me, "Distancing, that's one word for it."

'Bailing, jumping ship, abandoning ship…"

He was laughing again, and he hadn't finished blowing out all the smoke,
so he choked just a little, but didn't seem to mind. "I don't know if
you're really this amusing or if I just needed a laugh."

'It's stress," I said, "most people don't find me funny at all."

He gave me a look sort of sideways out of surprisingly pale eyes. I was
betting they were blue in sunlight. "I heard that about you, that you
were a pain in the ass, and rub a lot of people the wrong way."

I shrugged. "A girl does what she can."

He smiled. "But the same people that said you could be a pain in the ass
had no trouble working a case with you. Fact is, Ms. Blake," he threw
the cigarette on the ground, "most said they'd take you as backup over a
lot of cops they could name."

I didn't know what to say to that. There is no higher praise between
policemen than that they'd let you back them up in a life or death
situation.

'You're going to make me blush, Lt. Nicols." I didn't look at him as I
said it.

He seemed to be gazing down at the still-smoldering cigarette on the
white gravel. "Zerbrowski over at RPIT says that you don't blush much."

'Zerbrowski is a cheerfully lecherous shit," I said.

He chuckled, a deep roll of laughter, and stomped out his cigarette, so
that even that small glow was lost in the dark. "That he is, that he is.
You ever met his wife?"

'I've met Katie."

'Ever wonder how Zerbrowski managed to nab her?"

'Every damn time I see her," I said.

He sighed. "I'll call for another squad car, try for two uniforms. Let's
get this done and get the hell away from these people."

'Let's," I said.

He went to make the call. I went to fetch my zombie-raising equipment.
Since one of my main tools is a machete bigger than my forearm, I'd left
it in the car. It tends to scare people. I would try very hard tonight
not to scare the bodyguards, or the nice policemen. I was pretty sure
there was nothing I could do to scare Mrs. Bennington. I was also pretty
sure there was nothing I could do to make her happy with me.

3

My zombie-raising equipment was in a gray Nike gym bag. Some animators
have elaborate cases. I've even seen one who had a little suitcase that
turned into a table like a magician's or a street vendor's. Me, I made
sure everything was packed tight so nothing got broken or scratched up,
but other than that, I didn't see the point to being fancier than you
needed to be. If people wanted a show they could go down to the Circus
of the Damned and watch zombies crawl from the grave with actors
pretending to be terrified of them. I wasn't an entertainer, I was an
animator, and this was work.

I turned down Halloween parties every year, where people wanted zombies
raised at the stroke of midnight or some such nonsense. The scarier my
reputation got, the more people wanted me to come be scary for them. I'd
told Bert I could always go and threaten to shoot all the partygoers,
that'd be scary. Bert had not been amused. But he had stopped asking me
to do parties.

I'd been trained to use an ointment spread over face, hands, heart. The
smell of rosemary, like breathing in a Christmas tree, still held a
great nostalgia for me, but I didn't use the ointment anymore. I'd
raised the dead in emergencies without it, more than once, so it got me
to thinking. Some believed it helped the spirits enter you, so the
powers that be could use you to raise the dead. Most, in America anyway,
believed that the scent and touch of the herbal mixture enhanced your
psychic abilities, or helped open them so they'd work at all. I never
seemed to have any trouble raising the dead. My psychic abilities were
always on line for animating. So I still carried the ointment, just in
case, but I didn't use it much anymore.

The three things I did still need for animating were steel, fresh blood,
and salt. Though the salt actually was to put the zombie back in the
grave once we were finished with it. I'd cut my paraphernalia to the
absolute minimum, and recently, I'd cut it down even more. And I mean
that "cut" part literally.

My left hand was covered in little bandages. I was using the clear ones,
so I didn't look like a tan version of the mummy's hand. There were
larger bandages on my left forearm. All the wounds were self-inflicted,
and it was beginning to piss me off.

I had been learning how to control my growing psychic powers by studying
with Marianne, who had been a psychic when I met her, but had become a
witch. She was Wiccan now. Not all witches are Wiccan, and if Marianne
had been another flavor of witch, I wouldn't have had to cut myself up.
Marianne, as my teacher, shared some of my karmic debt, or so her
group--read coven--believed. The fact that I killed an animal every time
I raised the dead, three, four times a night, almost every night, had
made her coven rant, rave, scream, and basically lose it. Blood magic is
black magic to a Wiccan. Taking a life for magical purposes, any life,
even a chicken's, is very black magic.

How could Marianne have tied herself to someone who was being so…
evil? they demanded to know.

To help Marianne's karmic burden--and mine, the coven assured me--I'd
been trying to raise the dead without killing anything. I'd done it in
emergencies without an animal to sacrifice, so I knew it was possible.
But--surprise, surprise--while it was true that I could do my job
without killing anything, I could not do it without fresh blood. Blood
magic is still black magic to Wiccans, so what to do? The compromise was
that I would use only my own blood. I wasn't sure it would work. But it
did, for the recently dead, at least.

I'd started out slicing up my left forearm, but that had rapidly lost
its appeal, since I needed to do it three or more times a night. Then
I'd taken to pricking my fingers. Just a little blood seemed to be
enough for those dead under six months. But I'd run out of fingers, and
my arm had enough scars already. I'd also found that when I practiced
left-handed shooting that I was slower, because the cuts freaking hurt.
I would not cut up my right hand, because I couldn't afford to be slower
with my right. I'd pretty much decided that, while I was sorry I had to
kill a few chickens or goats to raise the dead, the animal's lives were
not worth my own. There I've said it, a totally selfish judgment call.

I'd really hoped the tiny cuts would heal instantly. Thanks to my ties
to Jean-Claude, master vamp of the city, I healed fast, very fast. The
little cuts didn't heal fast. Marianne said it was probably because I
was using a magically charged blade to do the cutting. But I liked my
machete. Truthfully, I wasn't a hundred percent sure that I could raise
the dead with only a prick of blood without a magically charged blade.
It was a problem.

I was going to have to call Marianne and tell her I'd failed the Wiccan
test of goodness. Why should they be any different? Most right-wing
Christian groups hated me too.

I glanced behind me at my audience. Two new uniformed police officers
had joined Lt. Nicols and the first officer. The police stood in the
middle of the two groups, which had been allowed to come close enough to
the grave to hear what the zombie would say. It was way closer than
fifty feet, but both parties needed to hear Gordon Bennington, or so the
judge had ruled. The judge in question had actually joined us, along
with a court reporter and her little machine. He'd also brought along
two burly looking bailiffs, which made me think the judge was even
smarter than he looked, and I'd been pretty impressed before. Not every
judge will take zombie testimony.

For tonight Lindel graveyard was court. I was glad that Court TV hadn't
gotten wind of it. It was just the kind of weird crap that they liked to
televise. You know--transsexual's custody case; female teacher rapes
thirteen-year-old boy student; pro-football player's murder trial. The
O. J. Simpson trial had not been a good influence on American
television.

The judge said in his booming, court voice, which echoed strangely in
the flat emptiness of the cemetery, "Go ahead, Ms. Blake, we're all
assembled."

Ordinarily I'd have beheaded a chicken and used its body to help me
sprinkle a blood circle, a circle of power, to contain the zombie once
it was raised so it wouldn't go wandering all over the place. The circle
also helped focus power and raise energy. But I had no chickens at the
moment. There was a chance that if I'd tried to get enough blood out of
my body to walk even a small circle of power, I'd be finished for the
night, too dizzy and too light-headed to do anything else. So what's a
morally upright animator supposed to do?

I sighed and unsheathed the machete and heard several gasps behind me.
It was a big blade, but I'd found that in beheading a chicken one-handed
you needed a big, sharp blade. I stared at my left hand and tried to
find a space that was bandage free. I put the top edge of the blade
against my middle finger (the symbolism was not lost on me) and pressed.
I kept the machete too sharp to risk drawing the blade down my finger.
It would be a bitch to need stitches because I'd cut too deep.

The cut didn't hurt immediately, which meant I'd probably cut deeper
than I wanted. I raised my hand so the moonlight fell on it, and saw the
first dark welling of blood. The moment I saw it, the cut hurt. Why was
it that everything hurt worse when you realized you were bleeding?

I began to walk the circle, holding the steel point downward, my
bleeding finger flat to the earth, so that occasional drops would hit
the ground. I'd never truly felt the machete carving the magic circle
through the ground, through me, until I stopped killing animals. It had
probably always been like a steel pencil tracing my circle, but I'd
never ever been able to feel it over the stronger rush of the death. I
felt each drop of blood that fell, felt the earth almost hungry for it,
like rain in a drought, but it wasn't the moisture the earth drank, it
was the power. I knew when I'd walked the entire circle around the
headstone, because the moment I touched the place where I'd begun, the
circle closed with a skin-tingling, hair-raising rush.

I turned to face the headstone, feeling the circle around me like an
invisible trembling in the air. I went to the headstone, which was at
the far end of the circle. I tapped the headstone with the machete.
"Gordon Bennington, with steel I call you from your grave." I touched my
bloody hand to the cold stone. "With blood I call you from your grave."
I moved back to the far edge of the circle, at the foot of the grave.
"Hear me now, Gordon Bennington, hear and obey. With steel, blood, and
power, I command you to rise from your grave. Rise from your grave and
walk amongst us."

The earth rolled like heavy water and just spilled the body upward. In
the movies the zombies always crawl from the grave with reaching hands
like the ground tries to keep them prisoner, but most of the time, the
earth gives freely, and the zombie simply rises to the top, like
something floating to the surface of a liquid. There were no flowers to
get in the way this time, nothing for the body to trip over, as the
zombie sat up and looked around.

One thing I had noticed with not killing the animals was that my zombies
weren't as pretty. With a chicken I could have made Gordon Bennington
look like his photo in the paper. With only my own blood, he looked like
what he was, a reanimated corpse.

He wasn't awful, I'd seen much worse, but his widow screamed, long and
loud, and began to sob. There had been more than one reason I wanted
Mrs. Bennington to stay home.

The nice blue suit hid the chest wound that had killed him. But you
could still tell he was dead. It was the odd color of his skin. The way
the flesh had begun to sink into the bones of his face. His eyes left
too round, too large, too bare, so they rolled in their sockets barely
contained by the waxy flesh. His blond hair was patchy and looked like
it had grown. But that was illusion, caused by the shrinking of the meat
of his body. Hair and fingernails do not grow after death, contrary to
popular belief.

There was one more thing I had to do to help Gordon Bennington speak.
Blood. The Odyssey speaks of blood sacrifice to get a dead seer's ghost
to give Odysseus advice. It's a very old truism that the dead crave
blood. I walked across the now solid ground and knelt by his puzzled,
wizened face. I couldn't smooth my skirt down in back because one hand
was full of machete and the other was bleeding. Everyone got a nice long
glimpse of thigh, but it didn't really matter, I was about to do the
thing that disturbed me the most since I stopped sacrificing poultry.

I held out my hand towards Gordon Bennington's face. "Drink, Gordon,
drink of my blood and speak to us."

Those round, rolling eyes stared at me, then his sunken nose caught the
scent of blood, and he grabbed my hand with both of his, and lowered his
mouth to the wound. His hands felt like cold wax with sticks inside. His
mouth was almost lipless, so his teeth pressed close in my flesh as he
sucked at my hand. His tongue whipped back and forth on the wound like
something separate and alive in his mouth, feeding from me.

I took a deep, steadying breath, breathe in and out, in and out. I would
not be sick. Nope. I would not embarrass myself in front of this many
people.

When I thought he'd had enough, I said, "Gordon Bennington."

He didn't react, but kept his mouth pressed to the wound, his hands
clutching my wrist.

I tapped the top of his head gently with the side of the machete. "Mr.
Bennington, people are waiting to talk to you."

I don't know if it was the words or the tap with the blade, but he
looked up, and slowly began to pull back from my hand. His eyes held
more of him now. The blood always seemed to do that, fill them back up
with themselves.

'Are you Gordon Bennington?" I asked. We had to be all formal.

He shook his head.

The judge said, "We need you to answer out loud, Mr. Bennington, for the
record."

He stared up at me. I repeated what the judge had said, and Bennington
spoke, "I am, was, Gordon Bennington."

One of the upsides to raising the dead with only my blood was that they
always knew they were dead. I'd raised some before where they didn't
know that, and that was a bitch, telling someone that they were dead,
and you were about to put them back in the grave. Real nightmare stuff,
that was.

'How did you die, Mr. Bennington?" I asked.

He sighed, drawing in air, and I heard it whistle, because most of the
right side of his chest was missing. The suit hid it, but I'd seen the
forensic photos. Besides I knew what a mess a twelve-gauge shotgun makes
at close range.

'I got shot."

There was a tension behind me, I could feel it over the buzz of the
power circle. "How did you get shot?" I asked, voice calm, soothing.

'I shot myself going down the stairs to our basement."

There was a cry of triumph from one side of the crowd and an
inarticulate scream from the other.

'Did you shoot yourself on purpose?" I asked.

'No, of course not. I tripped, gun went off, so stupid, really. So
stupid."

There was a lot of screaming behind me. Mostly Mrs. Bennington yelling,
"I told you so, little bitch…"

I turned and called, "Judge Fletcher, did you hear all that?"

'Most of it," he said. He turned that booming voice on overdrive and
shouted, "Mrs. Bennington, if you will be quiet long enough to listen,
your husband has just said he died by accident."

'Gail," Gordon Bennington's voice was tentative, "Gail, are you there?"

I did not want a tearful reunion on top of the grave. "Are we finished,
Judge? Can I put him back?"

'No," this from Fidelis Insurance's lawyers. Conroy stepped closer. "We
have some questions for Mr. Bennington."

They asked questions, at first I had to repeat them for Bennington to be
able to answer, but he got better at answering. He didn't look any
better, physically, but he was gathering himself up, being more alert,
more aware of his surroundings. He spotted his wife, and said, "Gail,
I'm so sorry. You were right about the guns. I wasn't careful enough.
I'm so sorry to leave you and the kids."

Mrs. Bennington came towards us, with her lawyers in tow. I thought I'd
have to ask them to keep her off the grave, but she stopped outside the
circle, as if she could feel it. Sometimes the people that turn out to
be psychically gifted surprise you. I doubt if she was even aware of why
she stopped moving forward. Of course, she was holding her hands tight
to her body. She was not reaching out to touch her husband. I don't
think she wanted to find out what that waxy looking skin felt like. I
couldn't blame her.

Conroy and the other lawyers tried to keep asking questions, but it was
the judge who said, "Gordon Bennington has answered all your questions
in detail. It's time to let him get back to… rest."

I agreed. Mrs. Bennington was in tears, and Gordon would have been too,
except his tear ducts had dried up months ago.

I got Gordon Bennington's attention. "Mr. Bennington, I'm going to put
you back now."

'Will Gail and the children get the insurance money now?"

I glanced behind me at the judge. He nodded.

'Yes, Mr. Bennington, they will."

He smiled, or tried to. "Thank you, then, I'm ready." He gazed back at
his wife, who was still kneeling on the grass by his grave. "I'm glad I
got to say good-bye."

She was shaking her head, over and over, tears streaming down her face.
"Me, too, Gordie, me, too. I miss you."

'I miss you too, my little hell cat."

She burst into sobs at that. Hiding her face in her hands. If one of the
lawyers hadn't grabbed her she'd have fallen to the ground.

'My little hell cat" didn't sound like a term of endearment to me, but
hey, it proved Gordon Bennington had really known his wife. It probably
also proved that she would miss him for the rest of her life. I could
forgive her a few temper tantrums in the face of that much pain.

I squeezed on the wound in my finger and thankfully got a little more
blood. Some nights I had to reopen a wound, or make another one, to get
the zombie put back. I touched my bloody hand to his forehead, leaving a
small dark mark.

'With blood I bind you to your grave, Gordon Bennington." I touched him
with the edge of the machete, gently. "With steel I bind you to your
grave." I switched the machete to my left hand and picked up the open
container of salt that I'd left inside the circle. I sprinkled him with
salt, and it sounded like dry sleet as it hit him. "With salt I bind you
to your grave, Gordon Bennington. Go and rise no more."

With the touch of the salt, his eyes lost their alertness, he was empty
as he lay back on the earth. The ground swallowed him, like some great
beast had rippled its fur and he was just gone, sunk back into the
grave. Gordon Bennington's corpse was back where it belonged, and there
was nothing to distinguish this grave from any other. Not so much as a
blade of grass was out of place. Magic.

I still had to walk the circle backwards and uncast it. Normally, I
don't have an audience for that part. The zombie goes back in the grave,
everyone leaves. But Conroy of Fidelis Insurance was arguing with the
judge, who was threatening to cite him for contempt. And Mrs. Bennington
was not in a condition to walk yet.

The police were standing around watching the show. Lieutenant Nicols
looked at me and shook his head, smiling. He walked over to me as the
circle went down, and I began to clean my new wound with antiseptic
wipes.

He lowered his voice so the truly grieving widow wouldn't hear him. "You
could not pay me enough to let that thing suck my blood."

I half-shrugged, holding gauze over my finger so it would stop bleeding.
"You'd be surprised what people pay for this kind of work."

'It ain't enough," he said, an unlit cigarette already in his hand.

I started to give some flip answer, when I felt the presence of a
vampire, like a chill across my skin. Out there in the dark, someone was
waiting. There was a gust of wind, and there was no wind tonight. I
looked up, and no one else did, because humans never look up, never
expect death to fall upon them from the sky.

I had seconds to say, "Don't shoot, he's a friend," before Asher
appeared in our midst, very close to me, his long hair streaming behind
him, his booted feet touching down. He was forced to make a half running
step to catch the momentum of his flight, which brought him to my side.

I turned and put myself in front of his body. He was too tall for me to
cover all of him, but I did my best, moving us so that if anyone shot at
him they'd risk hitting me. Every policeman, every bodyguard had drawn a
gun, and every barrel was pointed at Asher, and at me.

4

I stared at the half circle of guns, trying to keep an eye on everyone
at once and failing, because there were too many of them. I kept my
hands out from my body, fingers spread, universal sign for I'm harmless.
I didn't want anyone thinking I was going for my own gun, that would be
bad.

'He's a friend," I said, voice a little high, but otherwise calm.

'Whose friend?" Nicols asked.

'Mine," I said.

'Well, he ain't my friend," one of the uniforms said.

'He's not a threat," I said, pressing my body back enough that I could
feel Asher in a long line against me.

He said something in French, everybody gripped their guns a little
tighter. "English, Asher, English."

He took a deep shuddering breath. "It was not my intent to frighten
anyone."

Not too long ago, the police were allowed to shoot a vampire on sight,
just for being a vampire. It had only been five years since Addison V.
Clark had made vamps "alive" again, at least to the law. They were
citizens with rights now, and shooting them without just cause was
murder. But it still happened now and then.

'If you shoot with me in the way, you can all kiss your badges
good-bye."

'I don't have a badge to lose." It was Balfour, of course, being tough,
but he had a big gun to go with his big talk.

I looked at him. "If you shoot, you better kill me, because you won't
get a second chance."

'Nobody's shooting anybody," Nicols said, and I was close enough to hear
him mutter, "damn it," under his breath.

He'd moved his gun to point at the bodyguards. "Put the guns down, now."
The other policemen followed his lead, and suddenly the circle of guns
was pointed away from me, and at Balfour and Rex. I let out a breath I
hadn't realized I was holding, and sagged a little against Asher.

He knew better than to have surprised a bunch of humans, especially
policemen, by flying into their midst. Nothing freaked people out like
seeing vampires do things that were impossible. He'd also spoken in
French, which meant he was scared enough, or angry enough, to have
forgotten his English. Something was very wrong, but I couldn't question
him, not yet. First, get out of the line of fire, then fix the rest.

We were standing so close together that his wavy golden hair brushed
against my own black curls. He put his hands on my shoulders, and I
could feel the tension. He was scared. What had happened?

The police had convinced the bodyguards to put their guns away. The
uniforms divided up and walked the two interested parties back to their
respective cars. It left Nicols, the judge, and the court reporter
standing near us. At least the court reporter wasn't still typing.

Nicols turned to me, his gun pointed downward, tapping a little against
the leg of his slacks. He frowned, eyes flicking to Asher, then to me.
He knew enough not to risk staring the vampire in the eyes. They could
bespell you with their eyes, if they wanted to. I was immune because I
was the human servant of the Master Vampire of the City. Through
Jean-Claude I was safe from most of what Asher could do. Not all, but
most.

Nicols was obviously unhappy. "Okay, what was so damned urgent that he
had to fly in here like that?"

Damn, he was too good a cop. Even though he'd probably dealt very little
with vampires, he'd made the logic jump that only an emergency would
make Asher appear as he had.

His eyes flicked up to Asher again, then down to my face. "It's a good
way to get yourself shot, Mr…"

'Asher," I answered for him.

'I didn't ask you, Ms. Blake. I asked him."

'I am Asher," he said in a voice that fell on the air like a caress. He
was using vampire powers to make himself more acceptable. If Nicols
figured out what he was doing, it would backfire. But it didn't.

'What's wrong, Mr. Asher?"

'Just Asher," and the voice glided across my skin so soothing. I had
some immunity to the voice, but Nicols didn't.

He blinked, then frowned, puzzled. "Fine, Asher, what the hell is the
rush?"

Asher's fingers tightened minutely on my shoulders, and I felt him take
a breath. I had a second to hope that he wasn't going to try an Obi-Wan
on Lieutenant Nicols. You know, these are not the droids you're looking
for. Nicols was stronger willed than that.

'Musette has been gravely injured. I came to take Anita to her side."

I felt the color drain from my face, my breath caught in my throat.
Musette was one of Belle Morte's lieutenants. Belle Morte was the
fountainhead, le sourdre de sang of Jean-Claude and Asher's bloodline.
She was also a member of the Council of Vampires that had a home base
somewhere in Europe. Every time council members had visited us, people
had died. Some of them ours, some of them theirs. But Belle Morte had
never sent anyone, until now. There had been some careful negotiations
about Musette coming over for a visit. She was due three months from
now, just after Thanksgiving. So what the hell was she doing in town a
month and some change before Halloween? I didn't for a minute believe
Musette was hurt. That was Asher's sneaky way of telling me how bad
things were in front of witnesses.

I didn't have to pretend to be shocked, or scared. My face must have
looked like someone who'd just gotten bad news. Nicols nodded, as if
satisfied. "You close to this Musette?"

'Lieutenant, can we please go? I want to get there as soon as possible."
I was already looking around for my gym bag. I was glad it was already
packed. My skin was cold with the thought of what Musette might be doing
right now to people I cared about. The very mention of her name had
always been enough to make Jean-Claude and Asher go pale.

Nicols nodded again, putting up his gun. "Yeah, go on. I hope… your
friend is okay."

I looked up at him, and didn't try to hide the confusion in my eyes. "I
hope so, too." I wasn't thinking of Musette, I was thinking of everyone
else. So many people she could hurt if she had the blessing of the
council, or at least the blessing of Belle Morte. I'd learned that
council politics meant that having one member as an enemy didn't mean
that the others hated you. In fact, many of the council seemed to
believe the old Sicilian adage, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

The judge murmured his thanks, and hopes for speedy recovery of my
friend. The court reporter didn't say anything--she was gazing at Asher
as if mesmerized. I didn't think he'd bespelled her, more like she'd
never seen anything so beautiful. Maybe she hadn't.

His hair in the reflected glow of the headlights was truly gold, a
curtain of nearly metallic waves flowing like a shining sea across the
right side of his face. The hair looked even more gold against the dark
brown of his silk shirt. The shirt was long-sleeved and untucked over
blue jeans and brown boots. He looked like he'd dressed in haste, but I
knew that was how he usually dressed. He made sure that the left side of
his face, that most perfect of profiles was what showed to the light.
Asher was a master at using light and shadow to highlight what he wished
seen, and hide what he did not. The one eye that was visible was a
clear, pale blue like the eyes of a Siberian husky dog. Human beings
just didn't have eyes like that. Even in life he must have been
extraordinary.

You got glimpses of that full mouth, the glimmer of his other blue, blue
eye. What he was careful not to show to the light was that a few inches
past his eye, trailing in a line nearly to his mouth were scars.
Rivulets of scars, where holy water had been poured on that most
beautiful of faces. More scars ran down the right side of his body,
hidden under the clothes.

The court reporter stared at him so still, as if she'd stopped
breathing. Asher saw it and stiffened beside me. Perhaps because he knew
that with a flick of his head he could show her the scars and watch that
adoration turn to horror, or pity.

I touched his arm. "Let's go."

He walked towards my Jeep. Normally he sort of glided, as if vampire
feet never rolled on gravel but floated just above it. Tonight he moved
almost as heavily as a human.

Neither of us spoke until we were inside my Jeep. We had the privacy of
the darkened car, no one would overhear us.

I buckled myself in while I talked, "What's happened?"

'Musette arrived an hour ago."

I put the Jeep in gear and began to drive carefully over the gravel
around the still-parked police cars. I waved at Nicols as we went past,
and he waved back, a cigarette flaring in his other hand.

'I thought we hadn't finished negotiating on how many people she could
bring over with her."

'We had not." His voice held sorrow so thick you could have squeezed it
out, tears in your cup. Jean-Claude's voice was better at sharing joy,
seduction, but Asher was the master at sharing the darker emotions.

I glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead, his face very still,
hiding whatever he was feeling. "Then didn't she break some treaty or
law or something by invading our territory like this?"

He nodded, his hair sliding around his face, hiding himself from me. I
hated to watch him hide his scars from me. I found him beautiful, scars
and all, but he never quite believed me. I think he thought the
attraction was part Jean-Claude's memories in my head, and part pity.
There was no pity, but I couldn't deny Jean-Claude's memories. I was
Jean-Claude's human servant, and that gave me all kinds of interesting
side benefits. One of those benefits was getting glimpses of
Jean-Claude's memories.

I remembered Asher's skin like cool silk on my fingertips, every inch of
him flawless. But it was Jean-Claude's fingers that had done the
touching, not mine. The fact that I remembered the touch of Asher's skin
so strongly that even now, I had the urge to reach for his hand, just to
see if the memory was real, was just one of those odd things I had to
live with. Even if Jean-Claude had been in the car, he wouldn't have
touched Asher either. It had been centuries since they'd been part of a
mnage  trois with Julianna, Asher's human servant. Julianna had been
burned as a witch by the same people that had used holy water to cleanse
Asher's evil. Jean-Claude had been able to save Asher, but he'd been too
late for Julianna. Neither of the men had forgiven Jean-Claude for his
tardiness.

'If Musette broke the law, can't we punish her, or kick her out of our
territory?" I was at the edge of the cemetery now, watching for
nonexistent traffic.

'If it were another master vampire come so rudely, then we would be
within our rights to slay her, but it is Musette. As you are Bolverk for
the werewolves, so Musette is Belle's…" He seemed to be searching for
the word. "I do not know the word in English, but in French, Musette is
the bourreau. She is our bogeyman, Anita, and she has been such for over
six hundred years."

'Fine," I said, "she's scary, I accept that, but that doesn't change the
fact that she's invaded our lands. If we let her get away with it,
she'll try for more."

'Anita, it is more than that. She is the…" he seemed to grope for a
word again. That he was forgetting this many English words spoke to how
frightened he was. "The vaisseau--why can I not think of the English for
it?"

'You're upset."

'I am frightened," he said, "but Belle Morte has made Musette her
vessel. To harm Musette is to harm Belle."

'Literally?" I asked, as I turned onto Mackenzie.

'Non, it is more like a courtesy than magic. She has given Musette her
seal, her ring of office, which means Musette in effect speaks for
Belle, we are forced to treat her as we would treat Belle Morte herself.
This was most unexpected."

'What difference does this vaisseau make?" I asked. We were stuck at the
light on Watson, staring at the McDonald's and the Union Planters Bank.

'If Musette were not Belle's vessel, then we could punish her for coming
early and breaking off negotiations. But if we punish her now, then it
would mean that we would do the same to Belle if she came here."

'So? Why wouldn't we punish Belle for entering our territory so rudely,
as you put it?"

Asher looked at me then, but I couldn't hold eye contact because the
light had finally changed. "You do not understand what you are saying,
Anita."

'Explain it to me then."

'Belle is our sourdre de sang, our fountainhead. She is our bloodline.
We cannot harm her."

'Why not?"

He looked at me full face, letting his hair fall back so that his whole
face showed at last. I think he was too shocked at my question to worry
about hiding himself.

'It is not done, that is all."

'What is not done? Defending your territory against all encroachers?"

'Attacking the head of your line, your sourdre de sang, your fountain of
blood, it is just not done."

'And I say again, why not? Belle has insulted us. Not the other way
around. Jean-Claude has negotiated in good faith. It's Musette that's
been the bad little vampire. And if she comes with Belle's blessing,
then Belle is abusing her status. She thinks we'll just take whatever
she dishes out."

'Dishes out?" he made it a question.

'Whatever she does to us, she thinks we'll just take it, just suck it up
and take it without complaining."

'She is right," Asher said.

I frowned at him, then turned, still frowning, back to the road. "Why?
Why shouldn't we treat any threat or insult the same?"

He ran his hands through his thick hair, pulling it back from his face.
The streetlights crisscrossed his face in light and shadow. We were
stopped at another light with an SUV beside us so that their window was
even with ours. The woman behind the wheel glanced at us, then did a
double take. Her eyes went round, and Asher didn't notice. I looked at
her and she looked away, embarrassed at being caught staring. Americans
are taught not to stare at anything that isn't perfect. It's like to
look at it is to make it more real. Ignore it, it'll go away.

Asher never noticed as the light changed and we drove off. He was
exposing his face to strangers, and not noticing the effect it was
having. No matter how angry, no matter how sad, no matter how anything,
he never forgot the scars. They dominated his thoughts, his actions, his
life. For him to forget like this said more than anything how serious
the situation was, and I still didn't understand why.

'I don't understand, Asher. We defended ourselves when council members
invaded our territory awhile back. We hurt them, did our best to kill
them. Why is this different?"

He let go of his hair and swung it back into place like a curtain. I
don't think he was any less upset, it was just habit. "Last time it was
not Belle Morte."

'What difference does that make?"

'Mon Dieu, do you not understand what it means that Belle is the mother
of our line?"

'Apparently I don't, explain it to me. We're going to the Circus of the
Damned, right? It will take awhile to get there. You'll have time."

'Oui." He stared out the window of the Jeep, as if looking for
inspiration in the electric lights, the strip malls, and fast food
restaurants.

He finally turned to face me. "How do I explain to you what you have
never understood? You have never had a king or queen, you are American
and young, and you do not understand the duty owed a liege lord."

I shrugged. "I guess I don't."

'Then how can you understand what it is we owe Belle Morte, and how it
would be… treason to raise a hand against her."

I shook my head. "That's a great theory, Asher, but I've dealt with
enough vampire politics to know one thing. If we let her push us around,
she'll see it as a sign of weakness, and she'll push and push until she
sees how weak, or how strong we are."

'We are not at war with Belle Morte," he said.

'No, but if she thinks we are weak enough, that might be next. I've seen
how you guys operate. The big vampire fish eat the little vampire fish.
We can't afford for Musette or Belle to think we're little fish."

'Anita, don't you understand, yet? We are little fish, compared to Belle
Morte, we are very little fish indeed."

5

I had a hard time believing we were very little fish indeed. Maybe not
big fish, but that wasn't the same thing as being very little. But Asher
was so obviously convinced of it that I didn't argue.

I did call on my cell phone and leave messages around town about
Musette's early arrival. Richard may have been pissed at me, but he was
still the other third of our triumvirate of power; Ulfric to
Jean-Claude's Master of the City, and my necromancer. Richard was
Jean-Claude's animal to call, and I was his human servant, whether we
liked it, or whether we didn't. I also called Micah Callahan who was my
Nimir-Raj and took care of all the shape-shifters when I was off doing
other things. I was so often embroiled in other things, I needed the
help. Micah was also my boyfriend, along with Jean-Claude. Neither of
them seemed to mind, though it still made me uncomfortable. I was raised
to believe that a girl didn't date two people at once, at least not
seriously.

I got only machines, and left messages that were as succinct and calm as
I could make them. How do you leave phone messages like this? "Hi,
Micah, this is Anita, Musette has come to town early, invading
Jean-Claude's territory. Asher and I are driving to the Circus now, if
you don't hear from me by dawn, send help. But don't come down to the
Circus before that unless I call personally. The fewer people in the
line of fire, the better." I let Asher leave the message on Richard's
machine, sometimes he erased messages from me without listening to them.
It depended on how bad a mood he was in that day. Though he'd dumped me,
not the other way around, he acted like the wounded party and blamed me
for everything. I gave him as wide a berth as I could, but there were
times, like now, when we were probably going to have to work together to
keep all our people alive and healthy. Survival took precedence over
emotional pain. It had to. I hoped Richard remembered that.

The Circus of the Damned was a combination of a live action drama with
frightening themes; traditional, if macabre, circus performances; a
carnival complete with rides, games, corn dogs, funnel cakes; and a side
show that would give even me nightmares.

Behind the Circus was dark and quiet. The calliope music that blared out
front was a distant dream back here. Once upon a time I'd only come to
the Circus to kill vampires. Now I used the employee parking lot. Oh,
how the mighty have fallen.

I was actually a few steps from the Jeep, when I realized that Asher was
still sitting in the car, immobile. I sighed and went back to the car. I
had to tap on his window to get him to look at me. I half expected him
to jump, but he didn't. He just turned his face slowly towards me like
someone in a nightmare who knows if they move too fast the monster will
get them.

I expected him to open the door, but he just stared at me. I took a deep
breath and counted slowly. I did not have time to hold his emotional
wounds closed. Jean-Claude, my sweetie, was down under the Circus,
entertaining the bogeyman of vampire-kind. Asher had told me no harm had
come to anyone, yet. But I wouldn't actually believe it until I saw
Jean-Claude, touched his hand. As much as I cared for Asher, I did not
have time for this. None of us did.

I opened the door for him. Still, he did not move. "Asher, don't fall
apart on me here. We need you tonight."

He shook his head. "You must know. Anita, Jean-Claude didn't send me to
you because I travel faster than anyone else. He sent me to get me away
from her."

'Are you not supposed to go back in?" I asked.

He shook his head again, all those golden waves swimming around his
face. His eyes were their normal ice-blue in the dome light. "I am his
tmoin, his second, I must go back inside."

'Then you're going to have to get out of the Jeep," I said.

He looked down at his hands, limp in his lap. "I know." But he still
didn't move.

I put one hand on the door and the other on the roof, leaning in towards
him. "Asher… if you can't do this, then fly to my house, hide in the
basement, we've got an extra coffin."

He did look up then. There was anger in his face. "Let you go in there
alone? No, never. If something happened to you…" He looked down again,
his hair hiding his face like the curtain he'd made of it. "I could not
live with the knowledge that I had failed you."

I sighed again. "Great, thanks for the sentiment. I know you mean it,
but that means you have to get out of the car now."

A gust of wind slapped against my back, too much wind, like the wind
Asher had raised in the cemetery. I went for my gun as I dropped to one
knee.

Damian landed in front of me. The barrel of the gun was aimed low at his
body. If he'd been a little shorter than six feet, it would have been
chest high.

I let out a breath slowly and eased my finger off the trigger. "Damn,
Damian, you startled me, and that can be real unhealthy." I got to my
feet.

'Sorry," he said, "but Micah wanted you to have someone else with you."
He spread his hands wide, showing himself both unarmed and harmless. He
might have been unarmed, but harmless, never that. It wasn't just that
Damian was handsome--a lot of men, dead and alive, are handsome. His
hair fell in a straight, silken curtain, scarlet, like a spill of blood.
It was what red hair looked like after more than six hundred years of no
sun. He blinked green eyes into the lights of the streetlamps overhead.
A green that any cat would envy. The eyes were three shades brighter
than the T-shirt that clung to his upper body. Black slacks fell over
black dress shoes. A black belt with a silver buckle completed the
outfit. Damian hadn't dressed up, he'd just been wearing slacks and
dress shoes. Most of the vamps that had recently come from Europe didn't
feel comfortable in jeans and jogging shoes.

Yeah, he was a treat for the eyes, but that wasn't the danger. The fact
that I wanted to touch him, to run my hands up the white, white skin of
his arms. That was the danger. It wasn't love, or even lust. Through a
series of accidents and emergencies, I'd bound Damian to me as my
vampire servant. Which was impossible, I mean vamps have human servants,
but humans don't have vampire servants. I was beginning to understand
why the Council used to kill all necromancers on sight. Damian was
glowing with good health, which meant he'd recently fed on someone, but
I knew it had been a willing victim, because I'd forbidden him to hunt.
He would do exactly what I said, no more, no less. He obeyed me in all
things, because he had no choice.

'I knew I could get here before you went inside," he said.

'Yeah, flying does have its benefits." I shook my head and put up my
gun. I had to rub my hand on my skirt to keep from touching him. The
palm of my hand ached to caress his skin. He wasn't my lover, or
boyfriend, yet I craved his touch when he was near me, in a way that
felt disturbingly familiar.

I took a deep breath that seemed to shake just a little. "I told Micah
not to send anyone until I'd found out what was up."

Damian shrugged, hands up. "Micah said, go, so here I am." He kept his
face carefully blank. There was a tension to him that said he was
waiting for me to hurt the messenger.

'Touch him," Asher said.

His quiet voice from right behind me made me jump, but at least he'd
gotten out of the Jeep.

'What?"

'Touch him, ma cherie, touch your servant."

I felt heat climb up my face. "Is it that obvious?"

He smiled at me, but not like he was happy. "I remember what it was like
with… Julianna." He said her name in a whisper that still carried on
the cool autumn air. It startled me a little to hear him say her name,
he avoided her name if he could; saying it, or hearing it.

'I'm Jean-Claude's human servant, but I don't feel an overwhelming need
to touch him every time I see him."

He looked up at me. "You don't."

I started to say, no, then had to think about it. I did want to touch
Jean-Claude when I saw him, but that was the sex, the rush of being a
relatively new couple, wasn't it?

I frowned and concentrated on something else. "Does Jean-Claude feel the
same need to touch me?" Like I feel for Damian went unsaid.

'Almost certainly," Asher said.

I frowned harder. "He hides it well."

'Because to expose such raw need to you would have made you run away."
He touched my elbow, a light touch. "I did not mean to give away
uncomfortable secrets, but we must show a united front for… her, this
night. When you touch Damian you gain power, just as when Jean-Claude
touches you and Richard, he gains power."

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. One thing I was almost certain
of was that Richard wouldn't be here tonight. He hadn't come near the
Circus of the Damned since we broke up. It weakened us that one-third of
our triumvirate was missing. He'd promised to come to the Circus in
three months' time to greet Musette, but he wouldn't come early. I would
bet my life on that, and maybe I was. Who the hell knew what was inside
the Circus waiting for us?

I glanced from one vampire to the other, then shook my head. We needed
to get inside, and I needed to stop being squeamish. Asher needed it,
too, but I couldn't control what he did, only what I did.

I touched Damian's arm, and power flared between us like a breath of
wind. I slid my hand down the smoothness of his arm, using everything
but the tips of my fingers. The tips of my fingers hurt when they
brushed things too solidly. His breath came out in a shudder, as I slid
my left hand into his right, squeezing my fingers 'round his. As long as
I didn't squeeze too hard, my bandaged fingers were fine. It felt so
right to touch him. It was hard to explain, because touching him didn't
make me think of sex. It wasn't like touching Jean-Claude, or Micah, or
even Richard. Richard and I were feuding, but he could still affect me
just by being present. When I could be in the same room with Richard and
not feel my body tighten, then I'd know that I was truly out of love
with him.

'I don't mind that Micah sent backup."

I felt his hand, his arm, his body give up the tension I hadn't even
realized he was holding. He smiled and squeezed my hand back. "Good."

'You've mellowed," a voice behind us called. We all whirled, to find
Jason walking towards us over the pavement. He was grinning, proud he'd
startled us, I think.

'Damn quiet for a werewolf," I said.

He was wearing jeans, jogging shoes, and a short leather jacket. Jason
was as American as I was, we liked the casual look. His blond hair was
still cut short like a young executive. It made him look older, more
grown-up. Somehow without the hair to trail around his face, you noticed
his eyes more, blue, the color of an innocent spring sky. The color
never matched the twinkle in his eye.

'A little warm for a leather jacket," I said.

He unzipped the jacket in one smooth motion, and flashed his bare chest
and stomach, still walking towards us, never missing a beat. Sometimes I
forgot that Jason's day job was as a stripper at Guilty Pleasures, one
of Jean-Claude's other clubs. Then there were moments like this when he
managed to remind me.

'I didn't have time to dress when Jean-Claude sent me out to wait for
you."

'Why the hurry?" I asked.

'Musette has offered to share her pomme de sang with Jean-Claude, if
he'll share me with her."

Pomme de sang meant literally, apple of blood, it was slang with the
vamps for someone that was much more than simply a blood donor.
Jean-Claude had once described it as a beloved mistress, except instead
of sex you got blood. A kept woman, or in Jason's case, a kept man.

'I thought it was a faux pas to ask to feed on someone else's pomme de
sang," I said.

'It can also be a great courtesy and honor," Asher said. "You may trust
Musette to turn custom into torment if she is able."

'So she's not offering up her pomme de sang to honor Jean-Claude, she's
doing it because she knows he won't want to share Jason?"

'Oui," Asher said.

'Great, just great. What other little vampire customs are going to come
up and bite us on the butt tonight?"

He smiled and raised my hand to his lips for a quick, chaste kiss.
"Many, I would think, ma cherie, very many." He looked at Jason. "In
truth, I am amazed that Musette allowed you to leave her presence
without sharing blood."

Jason's grin faded. "Her pomme de sang is illegal in this country, so
Jean-Claude had to decline."

'Illegal," I said, "in what way?"

He sighed, looking decidedly unhappy. "The girl can't be more than
fifteen."

'And it's against the law to take blood from a minor," I said.

'Jean-Claude informed her of this, which is how I come to be standing
out here in the cold."

'It's not cold," Damian said.

Jason shivered. "That is a matter of opinion." He huddled the still
unzipped jacket around his bare body. "Jean-Claude doesn't want you to
be surprised, Anita, but two of the vamps with her are children."

I could feel my face tightening with anger.

'It's not that bad, they aren't new. At a guess I'd say several hundred
years old, minimum. Even in the United States they'd be grandfathered in
under the current law."

I tried to ease some of the tension I was holding. I'd let go of
everyone's hand, because I had this urge to have my hands free for
weapons. There was nothing to fight, not yet, but the urge was still
there.

Damian touched my arm, tentative, afraid the anger would spill over onto
him, I think. My usual theory was anybody to be angry at was better than
nobody to be angry at. I was trying to be better than that, more fair,
but damn, it was hard.

When I didn't jerk away, or yell at him, Damian touched my hand, and his
fingers light across my skin made me feel calmer. "Do you think Musette
brought an underage pomme just to see what we'd do?"

'Musette likes the young," Asher said, voice still very quiet, not a
whisper but close, as if he were afraid of being overheard. And maybe he
was.

I looked up at Asher. Damian's fingers were still moving, lightly, over
the back of my hand. "She's not a pedophile, please tell me she's not."

He shook his head. "No, not for sex, Anita, but blood, yes, she likes
them young."

Yuck. "She cannot take blood from anyone under eighteen while she's in
this country. Doing that can get you an order of execution with your
name on it, and I'm the Executioner."

'I believe that Musette was carefully chosen by Belle Morte. Belle has
other lieutenants that have less objectionable habits. I believe that
Musette is an ordeal in the traditional sense of the word. She has been
sent by Belle to test us, especially you, I think, you and perhaps
Richard."

'Why do we get special treatment?" I asked.

'Because Belle does not know either of you of old. She likes to test her
blades before blooding them, Anita."

'I am not her blade, I'm not her anything."

Asher had a patient look on his face. "She is le sourdre de sang, the
fountainhead of our bloodline. Belle is like an empress, and all the
master vampires that descend from her line are kings that owe her
fealty. To owe fealty means to owe so many troops to the cause."

'What cause?"

He let out an exasperated breath. "Whatever cause the empress wishes."

I shook my head. "You're not really making sense to me here." Damian's
hand was still playing lightly over mine. I think if he hadn't been
touching me, I'd have been more upset.

'Belle considers all who descend from her line, hers, thus through
Jean-Claude you and Richard belong to her."

I shook my head and started to speak. Asher held up his hand. "Please,
let me finish. It does not matter, Anita, whether you agree that you and
Richard belong to Belle. It matters only that she believes you belong to
her. She sees you as more weapons in her arsenal. Can you understand
that?"

'I understand what you're saying, I don't agree that I belong to anyone,
but I can see where Belle Morte might think so."

He nodded, looked a little relieved, as if he hadn't been sure what he'd
do if I'd continued to argue. "Bon, bon, then you must agree that Belle
will want to test the metal of her two newest weapons."

'Test how?" I asked.

'For one thing, by bringing an underage pomme de sang to America and
flaunting it in front of the Executioner herself. If Musette has offered
to share pomme de sangs, then she may also offer to share human
servants. It is considered a great honor to do so."

'Share?" I asked, instantly suspicious. Damian's fingers had sped up,
but I didn't tell him to stop, because anger was tightening my
shoulders, my arms.

'Share blood, probably, because most vampires take blood from their
human servants. Do not worry about sex, ma cherie, Musette is not a
lover of women."

I half shrugged. "I guess that's a relief." I frowned. "If she considers
me and Richard part of her… whatever, then what about his pack and my
pard? Does Belle consider our people her people?"

Asher licked his lips, and I knew the answer before he said it. "It
would be like her to assume that."

'So Musette and company will be testing not just me, or Richard, but the
rest of our people." I made it a statement.

'It is logical to assume so," he said.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I hate vampire politics."

'She's not yelling yet," Jason said, "I've never seen her this calm
after this much bad news."

I opened my eyes and frowned at him.

'I believe it is Damian's influence," Asher said.

Jason's eyes flicked down to where Damian was playing gently with my
hand. "You mean just touching her like that is helping her hold her
temper?"

Asher nodded.

I had an urge to make Damian stop touching me, but I didn't, because I
was furious. How dare anyone come into our territory and test us? How
arrogant! How typically vampire. And I was tired already, tired of the
games to come. If Jean-Claude would just let me shoot everyone in
Musette's party tonight, it would save a lot of trouble. I just knew it
would.

I did make Damian stop playing with my hand by taking his hand in mine
and holding it firmly. The edge of my anger softened. I was still angry,
but it was distant, manageable. Damn, Asher was right. I hated that.
Hated that some new metaphysical bullshit had reached up to force me
into closer personal contact with yet another vampire. Why couldn't
metaphysics work just once without all the touchie-feelie crap?

Jason was looking at us, an odd expression on his face. "I think we
should attach Damian to Anita for the night."

'You think Musette is going to piss me off that badly?" I asked.

'She's not hurt anyone, yet, Anita, not raised a finger to anyone, yet
everyone's terrified. I'm fucking terrified, and I can't figure out why.
She's this cute little blond thing, and she's gorgeous like a life size
Barbie doll, with smaller breasts, but hey a man doesn't need more than
a mouthful, right?"

'You're over-sharing," I said.

He didn't smile at me. His face was way too serious. "Normally, I
wouldn't mind a gorgeous vampire sinking fang into me, but Anita, I do
not want this chick to touch me." He looked scared all of a sudden,
scared and younger even than his twenty-two years. "I do not want her
touching me." He stared up at me with haunted eyes. "Jean-Claude's
promised me that Musette isn't one of those vampires who rots all over
you. But it doesn't matter, I'm still so scared of her that it makes my
stomach hurt."

I reached out my free hand, and Jason came to me. I hugged him and could
feel a fine tremble running through him. He was cold, but not the kind
of cold that extra clothes would fix. "We'll keep her off of you,
Jason."

He hugged me so tight it was hard to breath, and he spoke with his face
against my neck. "Don't promise things you can't deliver, Anita."

I opened my mouth to promise just that, when Asher interrupted. "No,
Anita, do not promise safe passage to any of us, not yet, not until you
have met Musette."

I drew back from Jason and looked up at Asher. "If I just shoot her dead
when I walk in the room what would Belle do?"

He paled, and that's a neat trick for a vampire, even one that's fed.
"You cannot, you must not, Anita… I beg of you."

'You know that if I killed her tonight we'd all be safer."

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it. "Anita, ma cherie, please…"

Jason stepped back from me and made a motion with his hands. Damian was
at my back, hands on my shoulders. The moment he touched me, I felt
better, not exactly calmer, not even clearer-headed. Because I was
right, we should kill Musette tonight. In the short run it would save so
much trouble. But in the long run Belle Morte, maybe even the whole
council, would come in force and kill us. I knew that. With Damian's
hands kneading gently on the tight muscles of my shoulders I could even
agree with it.

'Why does Damian's touch make me feel less like killing things?" I
asked.

'I have noticed that you seem to gain a measure of calm, an extra layer
of thoughtfulness before you pull the trigger when he is touching you."

'Jean-Claude isn't one bit less ruthless when I'm around him."

'You can only gain from your servant what your servant has to offer,"
Asher said. "I would say that you have helped make Jean-Claude more
ruthless, not less, because that is your nature." He looked at the
vampire standing behind me. "Damian survived for centuries with a
mistress that tolerated no anger, no pride. Her will and her will alone
was allowed. Damian learned to be less angry, less ruthless, or
she-who-made-him would have destroyed him long ago."

Damian's hands had gone very still against my shoulders. I patted one of
his hands the way you'd pat a friend that was hearing bad news. "It's
alright, Damian, she can't touch you now."

'No, Jean-Claude bargained for my freedom from her, and I will always
owe him a great debt for that. But that has nothing to do with blood
oaths or vampiric bonds. I owe him for bringing me out of a terrible
bondage."

'If you can keep Anita from doing anything unfortunate tonight, then you
will have paid part of that debt," Asher said.

I felt Damian nod. "Then let us go down to the underground, for I know
Musette of old and I do not fear her, as much as I fear
she-who-made-me."

I turned so I could see Damian's face. "Are you implying that you fear
Musette only a little less than she-who-made-you?"

He seemed to think about that for a second, or two, then slowly nodded.
"I fear my old master more, but yes, I fear Musette."

'All fear her," Asher said.

Damian nodded. "All fear her."

I laid the top of my head against Damian's chest, shaking my head back
and forth, messing up my hair, but I didn't care. "Damn it, if you'd
just let me kill her tonight, now, it would save so much trouble. I'm
right, you know I'm right."

Damian raised my face so I had to meet his eyes. "If you slay Musette,
then Belle Morte will destroy Jean-Claude."

'What if Musette does something really terrible?"

Damian looked behind me at Asher. I turned so I could watch the vampires
exchanging glances. Asher finally spoke, "I would never want to tell you
that under no circumstances are we to slay Musette, because there may
come a time when she gives you no choice. I would not have you endanger
yourself by hesitating, if that time comes. But I think that Musette
will play the political game very well and will give you no excuse so
awful as that."

I sighed.

'If you don't handcuff Damian to Anita tonight, she's never going to
make it through Musette's little show," Jason said.

'I do not believe that will be necessary," Asher said, "will it, Anita?"

I frowned. "How the hell should I know? Besides, I'm fresh out of
handcuffs."

Jason drew a pair out of his jacket pocket. "You can borrow mine."

I frowned harder. "What are you doing carrying around a pair of
handcuffs?" I held up my hand. "Wait, I don't want to know."

He grinned at me. "I'm a stripper, Anita, I use all sorts of props."

On one hand it was good to know that Jason didn't carry the handcuffs
around for his own love life. On the other hand, I wasn't sure I wanted
to know that handcuffs were part of his props as a stripper. What kind
of shows were they doing down at Guilty Pleasures these days? Wait, I
didn't really want an answer to that question either.

We all trooped to the back door of Circus of the Damned. We didn't use
Jason's handcuffs, but I did end up walking down all those stairs
holding Damian's hand. There was a growing list of people that walking
hand in hand with I would have found romantic or titillating. Damian
wasn't on the list, more's the pity.

6

Deep under the Circus of the Damned were what seemed like miles of
underground rooms. They had been the home of St. Louis's Master of the
City, whoever that happened to be, for as long as anyone could remember.
Only the huge warehouse above ground had changed. Jean-Claude had
modernized the underground, redecorated some of it, but that was all. It
was still room after room of stone and torches.

To soften the stone look, Jean-Claude had used huge gauzy drapes to make
a sort of tent for his living room walls. The outside was white, but
once you parted the first set of hangings the "walls" were silver, gold,
and white. Jason had reached out to part the drapes, when Jean-Claude
pushed through. He motioned us all back, a finger to his lips.

I swallowed my greeting. He was wearing skin-tight leather pants tucked
into thigh-high boots, so it was hard to tell where the pants left off
and the boots began. The shirt was one of his typical shirts, something
sort of 1700s, with mounds of ruffles at sleeves, and neck. But the
color of all that silk was something I'd never seen him in. A vibrant
blue somewhere between royal and navy. The color made his midnight eyes
bluer than ever. His face was as always flawless, breathtaking. It was,
as always, like some wet dream come to life, too beautiful to be real,
too sensuous to be safe.

My heart was hammering in my throat. I wanted to fling myself on him, to
wrap myself around him like a blanket. I wanted all those black curls to
sweep along my body like I was being caressed by living silk. I wanted
him. I almost always wanted him, but tonight, I WANTED him. With
everything that was happening and about to happen, all I could think of
was sex, sex with Jean-Claude.

He glided towards me, and I held out a hand so he wouldn't touch me. If
he laid so much as a finger on me, I wasn't sure what I'd do.

He looked puzzled, and I heard his voice in my head, "What is wrong, ma
petite?"

I still didn't have the trick of talking mind-to-mind down pat, so I
didn't try. I just held up my left hand and pointed at my watch. It was
ten to midnight.

Like Cinderella, I needed to be home by midnight every night. I'd told
my coworkers that it was a lunch break, and it was, sometimes I even got
food. But what I had to feed every twelve hours didn't have much to do
with my stomach. No, lower places, definitely lower places.

Jean-Claude's eyes went wide. In my head, he said, "Ma petite, please
tell me you have fed the ardeur already."

I shrugged. "Twelve hours ago." I didn't bother to whisper; the vampires
behind the curtains would hear it, so I used a normal tone of voice. It
wasn't like I was going to be able to hide the ardeur from them anyway.
The ardeur was one of the side effects of being Jean-Claude's human
servant. In another age, Jean-Claude would have been considered an
incubus, because he could feed on lust. Not just feed upon it, but cause
others to lust after him. It was a way of making more of what you
needed. In an emergency, he could feed off of lust and forgo blood for a
few days. It was very rare for a vampire to have a secondary power like
this. Damian's master had been able to feed off of fear. She'd been what
they call a night hag, or mora.

Belle Morte, of course, held the ardeur. She had used it for centuries
to manipulate kings and emperors. Jean-Claude was one of the few of her
bloodline to inherit this particular power. And I was, to my knowledge,
the only human servant to ever inherit it from anyone.

When the ardeur first awoke in a vamp, it controlled them just like the
blood lust, then gradually they learned to control it. Or that was the
plan. Since I'd had it, I'd fought like hell so that I only had to feed
every twelve hours or so. The feeling didn't have to involve
intercourse, but there did have to be sexual contact. All those old
stories about succubi and incubi killing people by loving them to death
were true. I could not feed off the same person every time. Micah let me
feed off him. Jean-Claude had been waiting to share the ardeur with me
for years, though he'd thought it would be him doing the feeding, not
me. I'd been forced to make Nathaniel, one of my wereleopards, into my
own version of a pomme de sang. Embarrassing as hell, but it beat the
heck out of molesting strangers, which was entirely possible if you
fought the ardeur. It was a hard taskmistress just like Belle Morte.

The plan for tonight had been to go to my house and meet with Micah, but
instead I was here at the Circus. That wasn't bad in itself, because
Jean-Claude was always willing. Unfortunately, we had big bad vampires
in the next room, and I didn't think they'd wait while we had hot monkey
sex. Call it a hunch, but I suspected Musette would be sympathetic.

The trouble was, the ardeur wasn't sympathetic either.

The men were all standing around with that oh, my god silence thick on
the ground. We were all looking at Jean-Claude to solve this. "What do
we do?" I asked.

He looked lost for a moment, then he laughed, that touchable, caressable
laugh. It made me shudder, and only Damian grabbing me kept me from
falling. I waited for the ardeur to spread to him like the contagious
disease it could be, but it didn't. The moment he touched me, the ardeur
receded like the ocean pulling back from the shore. I felt light and
clean, clearheaded. I could think again. I clutched Damian's arm like it
was the last piece of wood in the ocean.

I turned wide eyes to Jean-Claude. He was looking very serious. "I feel
it too, ma petite."

We knew through practice that if Jean-Claude concentrated on controlling
the ardeur, he could help me control it as well. But when he wasn't
concentrating, the fire burned through us both like some overwhelming
force of nature.

I felt Damian's sorrow at my cool touch, felt it like a taste across my
tongue, as if rain could have a flavor.

I knew that Damian wanted me, in that good ol'-fashioned way that had
very little to do with hearts and flowers, and everything to do with
lust. He craved me the way he did blood, because to be without me was to
die. Damian was over six hundred years old, but he'd never be a master
vampire. Which meant that literally his original mistress had made his
heart beat, his body walk. Then Jean-Claude had been his animating
force, and then, accidentally, I'd stolen him from Jean-Claude, and now
it was my necromancy that made his blood flow, his heart beat.

I'd been horrified to find that I had, in effect, a pet vampire. I'd
tried to ignore what I'd done, run from it. I'd been running from so
many things. But I knew that Damian wasn't one of those things that I
could ignore.

If I cut myself off from Damian, he would first go mad, then he would
die in truth. Of course, long before he faded away, the other vampires
would have had to execute him. You couldn't have a six-hundred-year-old
vampire gone stark raving mad running around the city slaughtering
people. It was bad for business. How did I know what would happen if I
denied Damian? Because I hadn't known he was my vampire servant for the
first six months after it had happened. He had gone mad, and he had
slaughtered innocents. Jean-Claude had imprisoned him, waiting for me to
come home, waiting for me to live up to my responsibilities instead of
running from them. Damian had been one of my object lessons that you
either embraced your power, or others paid the price.

I looked at Jean-Claude. He was still beautiful, but I could look at him
without wanting to swarm all over him. "This is amazing," I said.

'If you would have let Damian touch you like this months ago, we would
have discovered it sooner," Jean-Claude said.

There was a time, not that long ago, that I would have resented being
reminded of my own shortcomings, but one of my new resolutions was not
to argue about everything. Picking my battles, that was the goal.

Jean-Claude nodded, walked over to me, and held out his hand. "My
apologies for the earlier indiscretion, ma petite, but I am master now,
no longer pawn of the fire that burns us both."

I stared at the hand, so pale, long-fingered, graceful. Even without the
ardeur's interference, he was always fascinating in ways that I had no
words for. I took his hand, while still clutching Damian's arm.
Jean-Claude's fingers closed around mine, and my heart stayed calm. The
ardeur did not raise its lascivious head.

He raised my hand to his mouth, slowly, touched his lips to my knuckles.
Nothing happened. He risked a caress of his lips, sliding along my skin.
It did make me catch my breath, but the ardeur did not rise.

He stood upright, my hand still in his. He smiled, that brilliant smile
that I valued, because it was real, or as close to real as he could
come. He'd spent centuries schooling his face, his every motion to be
courtly, graceful, and give nothing away. He found it hard to simply
react. "Come, ma petite, come let us meet our guests."

I nodded. "Sure."

He wrapped my arm through his and looked at Damian. "Take her other arm,
mon ami, let us escort her inside."

Damian settled my hand on the smooth, muscled skin of his forearm. "With
pleasure, master."

Normally, Jean-Claude didn't like his vamps calling him master, but
tonight we'd be formal. We were trying to impress people who hadn't been
impressed by anything in centuries.

Asher stepped forward to get the drapes, Jason went to the other side,
and they held the drapes aside for us so we could enter without having
to bat at the drapes. There are reasons that wall-hangings over doorways
fell out of favor.

The only downside to having an attractive vampire on each arm was that I
couldn't go for my gun quickly. Of course, if I had to draw a gun as
soon as we went through the door, then the night was going to be a bad
one. Bad enough that we might survive this night, but not the next.

7

Musette stood by the white brick fireplace. It had to be her, because
she was the only little blond Barbie doll in the room, and that's how
Jason had described her. Jason had a lot of faults, but describing a
woman inaccurately was not one of them.

She was indeed small, shorter than me by at least three inches. Which
made her barely five feet tall, if she was wearing heels under the long
white gown, then she was tinier still. Her hair fell around her
shoulders in blond waves, but her eyebrows were black and perfectly
arched. Either she dyed one thing or the other, or she was one of those
rare blonds where body and head hair didn't match. Which did happen, but
not often. The blond hair, pale skin, dark eyebrows and eyelashes framed
blue eyes like spring skies. I realized that her eyes were only a few
shades bluer than Jason's. Maybe it was the dark eyebrows and lashes
that made them seem so much more vivid.

She smiled with a rosebud mouth that was so red I knew she was wearing
lipstick, and once I saw that I knew she was wearing more makeup. Well
done, understated, but there were touches here and there that helped a
striking, almost childlike beauty along.

Her pomme de sang knelt at her feet like a pet. The girl's long brown
hair was piled on top of her head in a complicated layer of curls that
made her look even younger than she was. She was pale, not vampire pale,
but pale, and the icy blue of her long, old-fashioned dress didn't help
give her any color. Her slender neck was smooth and untouched. If
Musette was taking blood, where was she taking it from? Did I want to
know? Not really.

A man stood between the fireplace and the large white couch with its
spill of gold and silver pillows. He was the opposite of Musette in
almost every way. Well over six feet tall, built like an overly large
swimmer, broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, narrow-hipped, with legs that
seemed longer than I was tall. His hair was black, black like mine was
black--with blue highlights. It was tied in a thick braid down his back.
His skin was as dark as skin that hadn't seen much sun in centuries
could be. I was betting he tanned with very little effort. He just
hadn't had much opportunity to catch any rays. His eyes were an odd blue
green, aqua, like the waters of the Caribbean. They were startling in
his dark face and should have added warmth and beauty. But they were
cold. He should have been handsome, but he wasn't, the sour expression
on his face stole all that. He looked as if he were always in a bad
mood.

Maybe it was the clothes. He was dressed as if he'd stepped out of a
centuries-old painting. If I had to go around in tights, I might be
grumpy, too.

Though I had a man on either arm, it was definitely Jean-Claude who led
us between the two overstuffed chairs, one gold, one silver, with their
piles of white pillows. He stopped in front of the white wood coffee
table with its crystal bowl of white and yellow carnations. Damian also
stopped instantly, standing very still under the touch of my hand. Jason
flopped, gracefully, into the gold chair closest to the fireplace. Asher
stood on the other side of the silver chair, as far away from Musette as
he could get without leaving the room.

Musette said something in French. Jean-Claude replied in French, and I
actually understood that he'd told her that I didn't speak French. She
said something else that was a complete mystery to me, then she switched
to a heavily accented English. Most vampires have no accent, at least in
America, but Musette had a doozy. Thick enough in places that I knew if
she spoke too fast, English or not, I wouldn't be able to understand
her.

'Damian, it has been long since you graced our court with your
presence."

'My old mistress did not care for the life of the court."

'She is an odd one, your mistress Morvoren."

I felt Damian's body react to the name like he'd been slapped. I stroked
the top of his hand the way you'd sooth a worried child.

'Morvoren is powerful enough to compete for a council seat. She was even
offered the Earthmover's old place. She would not even have had to fight
for it. It was a gift." Musette was watching Damian, studying his face,
his body, his reactions. "Why do you think she refused such a bounty?"

Damian swallowed, his breath shaky. "As I said," he had to clear his
throat, to finish, "my old mistress is not one for court life. She
prefers her solitude."

'But to give up a seat on the council without a battle to risk, that is
madness. Why would Morvoren do that?"

Each time she said the name, Damian flinched. "Damian answered your
question," I said, "his old master likes her privacy."

Musette turned those blue eyes to me, and the flat unfriendliness of the
stare made me half wish I hadn't interrupted.

'So, this is the new one." She walked towards us, and it wasn't just
gliding, it was a sway of hips, there were high heels under the skirt.
You didn't get that sashay without them.

The tall dark and scary man moved behind her like a shadow. The young
girl stayed sitting in front of the fireplace, her pale blue skirts
spread around her like they'd been arranged. Her hands were very still
in her lap. She looked arranged, too, as if she'd been told sit here,
like this, and she would sit there, like that, until Musette told her to
move. Definitely yucky.

'May I present Anita Blake, my human servant, the very first I have ever
called to me. There is no other, there is only she." Jean-Claude used
his hand in mine to sweep me outward away from the coffee table, and
incidentally, Musette. It was almost a dance move, as if I was supposed
to curtsy, or something. Damian followed the movement, making it look
like a very graceful game of crack the whip. The vampires bowed, and,
caught between them, I had little choice but to do what they did. Maybe
there was more than one reason that Jean-Claude had put me in the
middle.

Musette swayed towards us, her hips making a dance of the billowing
white skirt. "You know the one I mean, Asher's servant, what was her
name?" There was a look in those blue eyes that said she knew damn well
what the name was.

'Julianna," Jean-Claude said, voice as neutral as he could make it. But
neither Asher nor he could say Julianna's name without some emotion.

'Ah, yes, Julianna, a pretty name for someone so common." She'd come to
stand in front of us. The tall dark man stood behind her, menacing by
his very size. He had to be damn close to seven feet tall. "Why is it
that Asher and you choose such common women? I suppose there is
something comforting about good, sturdy, peasant stock."

I laughed before I could think. Jean-Claude squeezed my hand. Damian
went very still under my other hand.

Musette didn't like being laughed at, that was plain on her face. "You
laugh, girl, why?"

Jean-Claude squeezed my hand tight enough that it was just this side of
pain. "Sorry," I said, "but calling me a peasant isn't much of an
insult."

'Why is it not?" she asked, and she looked genuinely puzzled.

'Because, you're right, as far back as anyone can trace my family tree I
have nothing but soldiers and farmers. I am good peasant stock and proud
of it."

'Why would you be proud of that?"

'Because everything we've gotten, we've made with our two hands, the
sweat of our brows, that kind of thing. We've had to work for everything
we have. No one has ever given us anything."

'I do not understand," she said.

'I don't know if I can explain it to you," I said. I was thinking it was
like Asher trying to explain to me what you owed a liege lord. I had
nothing in my life that prepared me to understand that sort of
obligation. I didn't say that out loud though, because I didn't want to
bring up the idea that I owed Belle Morte anything. Because I didn't
feel I did.

'I am not stupid, Anita, I would understand if you would explain
yourself clearly."

Asher moved from behind, to the other side of us, still as far as he
could stay from Musette, but it was brave of him to draw attention to
himself. "I attempted to explain to Anita earlier what one owes a liege
lord, and she could not understand it. She is young and American, they
have never had the… benefit of being ruled here."

She turned her head to one side, disturbingly like a bird just before it
takes a bite out of a worm. "And what has her lack of understanding of
civilized ways to do with anything?"

A human being would have licked their lips, Asher went still, quiet.
(Hold still enough, and the fox won't know you're there.) "You, lovely
Musette, have never lived where you were not subject to a lord, or lady,
or where you did not rule others. You have never lived without knowing
the duties one owes one's liege."

'Oui?" she made that one word cold, so cold, as if to say, go on, dig
yourself a deeper hole to be buried in.

'You have never dreamt of the possibility that being a peasant, owing no
one, would be a freeing experience."

She waved a carefully manicured hand, as if clearing the very thought
from the air. "Absurd. 'Freeing experience,' what does that mean?"

'I believe," Jean-Claude said, "that the fact that you do not understand
what that means is Asher's exact point."

She frowned at them both. "I do not understand, thus it cannot be that
important." She dismissed it all with a wave of dainty hands. Then she
turned her attention back to me, and it was frightening. I wasn't sure
what it was about the mere gaze of those eyes, but it chilled the marrow
in my bones.

'Have you seen our present to Jean-Claude and Asher?"

I must have looked as confused as I felt, because she turned and tried
to motion behind her, but all I could see was her very large human
servant. "Angelito, move so she may see." Angelito? Somehow the name,
"little angel" didn't fit him. He moved, and she finished the motion
towards the fireplace.

It was only the fireplace with it's painting above it, then something
about the painting caught my eye. It was supposed to be a painting of
Jean-Claude, Asher, and Julianna in clothing a la the Three Musketeers,
but it wasn't. If there hadn't been new and strange vampires in the
room, I'm sure I would have noticed it sooner. Oh, yes, I would have
noticed it sooner.

It was a picture of Cupid and Psyche, that traditional scene where Cupid
asleep is finally revealed to the candle-wielding Psyche. Valentine's
Day has robbed Cupid of what he was in the beginning. He was not a
chubby sexless baby with wings. He was a god, a god of love.

I knew who had posed for Cupid, because no one else had ever had that
golden hair, that long, flawless body. I had memories of what Asher had
looked like before, but I'd never seen it, not me, myself. I walked
towards the painting like a flower pulled towards the sun. It was
irresistible.

Asher lay on his side in the painting, one hand curled against his
stomach, the other hand flung outward, limp with sleep. His skin glowed
golden in the candlelight, only a few shades lighter than the foam of
hair that framed his face and shoulders.

He was nude, but that word didn't do him justice. The candlelight made
his skin glow warm from the broadening of his shoulders to the curve of
his feet. His nipples were like dark halos against the swell of his
chest, his stomach was flat to the grace of his belly button as if an
angel had touched that flawless skin and left a delicate imprint, a line
of hair dark gold, almost auburn, traced the edge of his stomach, and
ran in a line down, down to curl around him, where he lay swollen,
partially erect, caught forever between sleep and passion. The curve of
his hip was the most perfect few inches of skin that I'd ever seen. That
curve drew the eye down to the line of his thigh, the long sweep of his
legs.

I remembered with Jean-Claude's memories what the curve of that hip had
felt like under my fingertips. I remembered arguing about whose hip was
the softest, the most perfect. Belle Morte had said that the lines of
both their bodies were the closest to perfection she'd ever seen on a
man. Jean-Claude had always believed that Asher was the more beautiful,
and Asher had believed the same of Jean-Claude.

The artist had painted white wings on the sleeping figure, so detailed
they looked as if they'd be soft if you could touch them. The wings were
huge and reminded me of renaissance pictures of angels. They seemed out
of place on that golden body.

Psyche was peering around the edge of one wing, so that it shielded her
upper body, yet revealed a shoulder, the edge of her body, down to that
first curve of hip, but most of her was lost behind Cupid's body. I
frowned up at the picture. I knew that shoulder, the curve of the ribs
under that white skin. Though traced with golden candlelight, I knew the
line of that body. I'd expected Psyche to be Belle Morte, I'd been
wrong.

I looked past the long black curls that didn't so much hide the figure
as decorate it, and the face peering around the candle's edge was
Jean-Claude's. It took me a second to be sure, because he seemed more
delicately beautiful than normal, until I realized that he was wearing
makeup--that centuries-old version of it, anyway. Things had been done
to soften the line of his face, make his lips more pouting. But the
eyes, the eyes were unchanged, with their black lace of lashes and that
drowning deep color.

The painting was too large for me to stand next to the fireplace and see
it all, but there was something about the eyes of the Cupid figure. I
had to move close to see that they were open a mere slit, enough to show
the cold blue fire that I'd seen when the hunger was upon Asher.

Jean-Claude touched my face, and it made me jump. Damian had moved back,
giving us space. Jean-Claude traced the tears on my cheeks. The look in
his eyes said clearly that I was crying tears for both of us. He
couldn't afford to appear weak in front of Musette. And I couldn't help
it.

We both turned to Asher, but he was standing as far away as the room
would allow. He had turned away, so that all you could see of his face
was that golden fall of hair. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as if
he'd been struck.

Musette came to stand on the other side of Jean-Claude. "Our mistress
thought, since you are together again as of old, that you would enjoy
this little reminder of days gone by."

The look I gave her around Jean-Claude's shoulder was not a friendly
one. I saw the girl who was her pomme de sang on the other side of the
couch. I hadn't even been aware she'd moved away from the fireplace. If
the bad guys had wanted to take me out, they could have done it, because
I had seen nothing for a few minutes but the painting.

'The painting is our guest gift to our host, but we have a more personal
gift just for Asher."

Angelito moved up beside her like a dark mountain, a much smaller
painting in his hands. There were remnants of the paper and twine that
had covered it like a discarded skin on the floor. It was half the size
of the other, but obviously in the same style, realistic, but in glowing
colors, hyperrealistic, very Titian.

The only light in the painting was firelight, the glow of the forge.
Asher's body was colored gold and crimson with the reflected firelight.
He was nude again, the edge of the anvil hid his groin, but the right
side of his body was bare to the light. Even his hair was tied back in a
loose ponytail so that the right side of his face couldn't be hidden.
His arms were still strong as they pretended to forge the blade that lay
on the anvil, but the right side of his face, the right side of chest,
his stomach, his thigh, were a melted ruin.

These were not the old white scars that I was used to seeing, these were
raw, red, discolored, angry lines, like some monster had slashed and
gouged at his body. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a memory that was
not mine.

Asher lying on the floor of the torture room, freed of the silver
chains, the men who had tormented him slaughtered around him, in an
explosion of blood. He reached out to us, his face… his face…

I swooned, and Jean-Claude and I fell in a heap on the floor, because I
was experiencing directly what he was remembering.

Damian and Jason moved up beside us, but Asher stayed well back. I
didn't blame him in the least.

8

'Asher, come and see your gift," Musette called.

Damian was already on the ground beside me, his hands on my shoulders,
fingers digging in. I think he was afraid of what I would do. He should
have been.

Asher's voice came strained, but clear, "I have seen that particular
gift before. I know it well."

'Do you wish us to return to Belle Morte and tell her you did not
appreciate her gift?"

'You may tell Belle Morte, that I have gotten exactly what she wished me
to get out of her gifts."

'And what is that?"

'I am reminded of what I was, and of what I am."

I got to my feet, Damian still with a death grip on my shoulders.
Jean-Claude rose gracefully like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. I
would never be that graceful, but tonight it didn't matter.

Musette turned back to Jean-Claude. "We have given our gift to you
Jean-Claude, and to Asher. We await our guest gifts."

His voice was empty, so bland it was like listening to silence. "I have
told you, Musette, our guest gifts are weeks away from completion."

'I'm sure you can find something to stand in their stead." She stared at
me.

I found my voice, and it wasn't bland. "How dare you come here three
months early, knowing we won't be prepared and make demands on us?"
Damian was clinging to my back a little frantically, but I was polite,
for me. After what she and Belle Morte had just done, I was downright
kind. "Your rudeness will not be used as an excuse to force us to do
anything we don't want to do."

Damian's arms slid over my shoulders so he was cradling me against his
body. I didn't fight it, because without his presence I think I would
probably have struck her, or shot her. Which sounded like such a good
idea.

Jean-Claude tried to smooth things over, but Musette waved him aside.
"Let your servant talk, if she has something to say."

I opened my mouth to call her a heartless bitch, but it wasn't what came
out. "Did you believe that gifts worthy of such beauty could be hurried?
Would you really take some poor substitute in the place of the
magnificence we had commissioned?"

I stopped talking. All of our men were staring at me, except Damian, who
was hugging me for all he was worth.

'Ventriloquism," Jason said, from the other side of Jean-Claude, "it's
the only answer."

Jean-Claude nodded. "A miracle indeed." Then he turned to Musette. "All,
save one, pales before your beauty, Musette. How could I offer anything
less than something beautiful to grace your loveliness?"

Her gaze turned back to me. "Is she not a beauty to equal mine?"

I laughed. Damian's arms tightened enough that I had to pat his arm so I
could keep breathing comfortably. "Don't worry, I've got this one
covered." I don't think anyone believed me, but I did, honest. "Musette,
I know I'm pretty, I can admit that, but compared to the otherworldly
triplets here, I am not the most beautiful person on our side."

'Triplets," Jason said, "why do I think I'm not included in that
threesome?"

'Sorry, Jason, but you're like me, we clean up nice, but with these
three standing here we are out of our league."

'You include Asher in the three beauties?" Musette said.

I nodded. "If you are cataloging beautiful people and Asher is in the
room, then he always makes the list."

'Once, oui, but not now, not for centuries," she said.

'I disagree," I said.

'You lie."

I looked at her. "You're a Master Vampire, can't you tell when someone's
lying, or telling the truth? Can't you feel it in my words, smell it on
my skin?" I watched her face, those beautiful but frightening eyes. She
couldn't tell if I was lying, or not. I'd only met one other Master Vamp
that couldn't tell truth from lie, and that was because she was lying so
badly to herself that truth would have gotten in her way. Musette was
blind to truth, which meant we could lie through our teeth to her. That
had possibilities.

She frowned at me and waved it all away with those tiny well-manicured
hands. "Enough of this." She was intelligent enough to realize she was
losing part of this argument, but she wasn't bright enough to know why.
So she was moving on to something she thought she could win.

'Even Asher with his ruined beauty is more lovely than you are, Anita."

It was my turn to frown at her. "I think I already said that."

She frowned again. It was like she had been sent with certain lines to
say, and I wasn't making the replies she'd expected. I was throwing her
performance off, and Musette didn't seem to enjoy improvisation.

'It doesn't bother you that you are not more beautiful than the men?"

'I had to make peace with being the homely one of the group a long time
ago."

She frowned so hard it looked painful. "You are a very hard woman to
insult."

I shrugged as much as I could with Damian's arms still wrapped around
me. "Truth is truth, Musette. I've broken the cardinal girl rule."

'And that would be?"

'Never date anyone prettier than you are."

That made her laugh, a surprised burst of sound. "Non, non, the rule is
never to admit it." The smile faded. "You truly have no… difficulty
with me saying I am more lovely than you."

I shook my head. "Nope."

She looked completely lost for a moment, until her own human servant
touched her shoulder. She shuddered, took a deep shaking breath, as if
remembering who and what she was, and why she was there. The last sign
of laughter faded from her eyes.

'You have admitted that your beauty cannot rival mine, thus taking blood
from you would not be a gift worthy of replacing the bauble that
Jean-Claude is having made for me. You are correct, also, about your
wolf. He is charming, but not as charming as the three of them.

I suddenly had a bad feeling about where this was headed.

'Damian is somehow yours. I do not understand it, but I can feel it. He
is yours the way Angelito is mine, and you are Jean-Claude's. As Master
of the City, Jean-Claude cannot be drink for the taking, but Asher
belongs to no one. Give him to me for my guest gift."

'He is my second in command, my tmoin," Jean-Claude said, still in that
empty, means-nothing voice, "I would not lightly share him."

'I have met some of your other vampires this night. Meng Die has an
animal to call. She is more powerful than Asher, why is she not your
second?"

'She is another's second and will be going back to him in a few months."

'Why is she here then?"

'I called her."

'Why?"

The real reason was that while I was off doing my soul-searching
Jean-Claude had needed more backup. But I didn't think he'd share that.
He didn't. "A master calls home his flock periodically, especially if he
thinks they will soon become masters of their own territory. A last
visit before he loses the power to call them."

'Belle was most perturbed that you rose to Master of the City without
that one last visit, Jean-Claude. She woke speaking your name, saying
that you had struck out on your own. None of us thought you would ever
rise so high."

He gave a low, sweeping bow, and she was standing so close that his hair
almost brushed her skirt. "It is not often that anyone so surprises
Belle Morte. I am most honored."

Musette frowned. "You should be. She was most… unhappy."

He stood slowly. "Why would my rise to power make her unhappy?"

'Because to be Master of the City is to be beyond the ties of
obligation."

Ties of obligation seemed to mean more to the vampires than it did to
me, because I felt them go all quiet. Damian was so still around my body
that it was like he wasn't there at all. Only the weight of his arms let
me know he was still clinging to me. The beat and pulse of his body was
gone, tucked away somewhere deep inside.

'But Asher has not risen so high. He could still be called home," she
said.

I glanced at Jean-Claude, but his face was utterly blank, that polite
nothingness that meant he was hiding his every reaction. "That is, of
course, within her purview, but I would need some notice before Asher
was called away. America is less settled than Europe, and fights for
territory are much less civilized." His voice was still empty,
emotionless, nothing mattered. "If my second were to simply vanish,
others would see that as a weakness."

'Do not worry, our mistress is not going to call him home, but she
admits to being puzzled."

We all waited for her to go on, but Musette seemed content to let the
silence stand.

Even with Damian hanging on to me, I broke first. "Puzzled about what?"

'Why Asher left her side, of course."

Asher moved up closer, though still keeping a much greater distance
between himself and Musette than the rest of us. "I did not leave her
side," he said, "Belle Morte had not touched me in centuries. She would
not even watch entertainments where I was… featured. She said I
offended her eye."

'It is her prerogative to do with her people as she sees fit," Musette
said.

'True," Asher said, "but she bid me come to America with Yvette as my
overseer. Yvette died, and I had no more orders."

'And if our mistress ordered you home?"

Silence, ours this time.

Asher's face was as empty of emotion as Jean-Claude's. Whatever he felt
was hidden, but the very blankness of both their faces said that it did
matter, and it was important.

'Belle Morte encourages her people to strike out on their own,"
Jean-Claude said. "It is one of the reasons her bloodline rules more
territories than any other, especially here in the United States."

Musette turned those beautiful pitiless eyes on him. "But Asher did not
leave to become a Master of the City, he left to have revenge on you and
your human servant. He wanted to extract payment for his beloved
Julianna's death."

See, she had known the name all along.

'Yet, here your servant stands, strong, well, and unharmed. Where is
your vengeance, Asher? Where is the price Jean-Claude was to pay for his
murder of your servant?"

Asher seemed to close in upon himself, so very, very still. I thought if
I blinked, he'd have vanished altogether. His voice came distant, empty.
"I found that, perhaps, I had blamed Jean-Claude in error. That,
perhaps, he too mourned her loss."

'So," she snapped her fingers, "like that, all your pain, your hatred is
forgotten."

'Not just like that, non, but I have learned many things that I had
forgotten."

'Such as the sweet touch of Jean-Claude's body?" she asked.

The silence this time was so thick I could hear my blood roaring in my
ears. Damian felt like a ghost against my body. All the vampires, I was
sure, were wishing themselves away.

Either Jean-Claude and Asher had been doing it behind my back. Which was
not impossible. But if not, to answer the question truthfully would be
bad.

Jason caught my eye, but neither of us dared even shrug. I don't think
we were sure what was going on, but that it would end some place painful
was almost certain.

Musette swayed around Jean-Claude, to stand closer to Asher. "Are you
and Jean-Claude a happy couple, once more, or," here she looked at me,
"is it a happy mnage  trois? Is that why you did not come home?" She
pushed past Asher and Jean-Claude, making them move back, so she could
stand in front of me. "How can the touch of such as this compare to the
magnificence of our mistress?"

I think she'd just implied that I wasn't as good in bed as Belle Morte,
but I wasn't entirely sure that's what she meant, and I didn't care. She
could insult me all she wanted. Insulting me was less painful than so
many other things she could be doing.

'Belle Morte is sickened at the sight of me," Asher said, finally, "she
avoids me in all things." He motioned at the painting that Angelito was
still holding up. "This is how she sees me. How she will always see me."

Musette swayed her way back to stand in front of Asher. "To be least
among her court is better than ruling anywhere else."

I couldn't help myself. "Are you saying it's better to serve in Heaven
than rule in Hell?"

She nodded, smiling, seemingly oblivious to the literary allusion. "Oui,
precisement. Our mistress is the sun, the moon, the all. To be parted
from her, only that is true death."

Musette's face was rapturous, glowing with that inner certainty usually
reserved for Holy Rollers and television evangelists. She was, indeed, a
true believer.

I couldn't see Damian's face, but I was betting it was as carefully
blank as the rest. Jason was staring at Musette as if she had sprouted a
second head, an ugly, spiky second head. She was a zealot, and zealots
are never quite sane.

She turned to Asher with that radiance still suffusing her face. "Our
mistress does not understand why you left her, Asher."

I did. I think everyone in the room did, except maybe for Angelito and
the girl who was still standing on the other side of the couch where
Musette had put her.

'Look at the painting of me as Vulcan, Musette, see what our mistress
thinks of me."

Musette didn't bother to look behind her. She gave that Gallic shrug
that meant everything and nothing.

'Anita does not see me that way," he said.

'Jean-Claude cannot look at you without seeing what was lost," she said.

'The time when you could speak for me, Musette, is long past. You do not
know my heart, or my mind, you never truly did," Jean-Claude said.

She turned to him. "Are you truly telling me that you would touch him,
as he is now? Be careful how you answer, Jean-Claude, know that our
mistress has seen deep into your heart and mind. You may lie to me, but
never to her."

Jean-Claude was quiet for a time, but finally he told the truth. "We are
not currently together in that way."

'See, you refuse to touch him, as she refuses to touch him."

I loosened Damian's arms enough so I could move more easily. "Not
exactly," I said, "sorry, but it's my fault that they aren't a couple."

She turned to me. "What do you mean, servant?"

'You know, even if I was, like a maid, I know enough about polite
society to know that you don't call a maid, simply, maid. You don't call
a servant, servant, not unless you truly have never interacted with
servants." I folded my arms across my stomach, looking puzzled on
purpose. Damian's hands stayed lightly on my shoulders. "Is that it,
Musette? Are you not an aristocrat, after all? Is it all pretend, and
you simply don't know any better?"

Jean-Claude gave me a look that she couldn't see.

'How dare you!" Musette said.

'Then prove you are noble, address me at least like someone who has
truly had servants."

She opened her mouth to argue, then she seemed to hear something that I
couldn't hear. She let out a long breath. "As you like, Blake, then."

'Blake is fine," I said, "and what I mean is that I'm not entirely
comfortable with this bisexual thing. I won't share Jean-Claude with
another woman, and definitely not with a man."

Musette did that head to the side movement again, as if she'd spied the
worm she intended to eat. "Very good, then Asher has no tie to any of
you. He is merely your second."

I looked from one vampire to another, only Jason looked as confused as I
felt. The vamps were acting like a trap had been sprung, and I didn't
see it yet. "What's going on?" I asked.

Musette laughed, and it wasn't anywhere near as good a laugh as
Jean-Claude or Asher were capable of. It was just a laugh, a vaguely
unpleasant one, at that. "I am within my rights to ask for him as my
gift for tonight," she said.

'Wait," I said, and Damian's hands tried to pull me back in against him,
but I wasn't moving this time. "I thought you agreed with Belle that
Asher isn't pretty enough to have sex with anymore."

'Whoever said anything about sex?" Musette asked.

Now I really was puzzled. "Why else would you want him for the night?"

She laughed then, head back, very unladylike, a bray of sound like a
hound baying. I hadn't said anything that funny, had I?

Jean-Claude's quiet voice came into the silence that followed that
laugh. "Musette's interests run to pain more than sex, ma petite."

I looked at him. "You don't mean dominance and submission where you have
safe words, do you?"

'There is no word in any language that I have ever heard screamed that
would dissuade Musette from her pleasures."

I licked my suddenly dry lips. They lie about that moisturizing
lipstick. Your lips still dry out when you get scared. "Let me test my
understanding. If Asher was your lover, or mine, or anyone's, then he'd
be safe from her?"

'Non, ma petite, Asher would only be safe if he belonged to you, or me.
Lesser powers cannot protect those they love."

'But because we're not doing him, he's free meat?" I asked.

He seemed to think about that for a time. "That is accurate enough,
oui."

'Fuck," I said.

'Oui, ma petite, oui." A thread of tiredness had finally broken through
his empty voice.

I looked at Asher, and he was hiding behind that shining hair again.
What was I supposed to say, that if I hadn't been so squeamish this
wouldn't be happening? I'm sorry I have issues with my boyfriend doing
other men. I'm sorry I have issues with me doing other men. Why was I
always being made to feel guilty because I wasn't having sex with more
people? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Musette held her hand out to Asher. He stood there for a second or two,
then he took her hand. He looked back once at Jean-Claude, a shine of
eyes in all that hair. Jean-Claude never reacted, as if he were trying
to pretend he wasn't there.

I moved forward, only Damian's fingers digging into my shoulders brought
me up short. "We are not letting her do this," I said.

'She is Musette, and Belle Morte's lieutenant." Jean-Claude's voice had
gone small and distant.

Musette didn't take him through the drapes into another room. She
stopped a few yards away, not even that close to the "walls." She turned
Asher to face her, then she drew a knife from her white skirts, and
plunged it into his stomach before anyone could react. Asher could move
faster than the eye could follow, but he made no move to protect
himself. He just let her sink the knife home, grinding it until the hilt
met his skin, and she couldn't push it in any farther.

I had my gun out of the holster, and Jean-Claude grabbed my hand. "The
knife is not silver, ma petite, when it is removed he will heal almost
instantly."

I looked up at him, straining to raise the gun, and making some
progress. Thanks to his own vampire marks, I was stronger than I should
have been. "How do you know it's not silver?"

'Because I have played this game with Musette before."

That made me stop trying to bring the gun up. I went quiet in his hands.
Their hands, I should have said, because Damian's hands were plastered
to my shoulders. Only Jason hadn't joined in trying to hold me back.
From the look on his face I think he wanted to help me, not hinder me.

I looked past Jean-Claude to see Asher still standing, his hands to his
stomach where blood blossomed across the skin of his hands. The brown of
the shirt was dark enough to hide the first rush of blood. Musette put
the knife to her delicate mouth and licked down the blade.

I knew through Jean-Claude's memories that vampire blood gives no
sustenance. You cannot feed from the dead, not in that way.

Asher looked at us. "It is not silver, ma cherie, it will not kill me."
His breath was cut off in his throat, as Musette plunged the knife in a
second time.

The world swam in streamers of colors. I closed my eyes for a second and
spoke in a low, careful voice. "Let go of me, Damian." The hands at my
back dropped away instantly, because I'd given a direct order. I opened
my eyes and met Jean-Claude's gaze. We stared at each other, until his
hand dropped, slowly, away. His voice echoed like a whisper in my mind,
"You cannot kill her for this."

I put my gun back in its holster. "Yeah, I know." I couldn't kill her,
because she wasn't trying to kill Asher, but I would not stand here and
watch him be tortured. I would not, could not, do it. I'd once thought
that arm wrestling vampires was a bad idea. She was stronger than me,
even with Jean-Claude's marks, but I was also betting she wasn't trained
in hand-to-hand fighting. If I was wrong, I was about to get my ass
kicked. If I was right, well, we'd see.

9

Musette made no move to protect herself. Angelito stayed with the other
men across the room. It was as if neither of them saw me as a threat.
You'd think with my reputation, vampires would stop underestimating me.
But dead or alive, there are always fools.

I could feel myself smiling, and I didn't need a mirror to know that it
wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile I got when I'd been pissed off too
much and I'd finally decided to do something about it.

Musette made a big show of licking the knife clean, while Asher stood in
front of her and bled. She licked it like a kid with a Popsicle on a hot
day--got to lick carefully, but quickly, or it drips down your hand, and
you lose some of it. Her eyes were all for me, the show was all for me.
It was as if Asher didn't matter at all to her. Maybe he didn't.

She had actually turned back to plunge the blade home a third time, when
I was within touching distance. I don't know what she thought I planned
to do, because she seemed totally surprised when I grabbed her hand.
Maybe she expected me to fight like a girl, whatever the hell that
means.

I pushed my shoulder into her, and she tottered backwards on her high
heels. I hooked my heel behind hers, and foot swept her leg out from
under her. She fell backwards, because I helped. I rode her body down to
the ground, turning the knife in her hand with mine, and when she hit
the floor, I plunged the knife home. I leaned my knee into the back of
our hands and felt the blade come out the back of her body.

I whispered to her, "It's not silver, you'll heal."

She screamed.

I didn't so much hear Angelito move as feel him. "If you come over here,
Angelito, I will force this blade up into her heart, and it won't matter
if it's silver, or if it's not. I'll shred her heart before you can
cross the room."

The far drapes opened and vampires spilled into the room, some ours,
some hers. I don't know what would have happened, but I heard the far
door open, behind the drapes. I heard a lot of movement, and I almost
tore the blade up through her, not at all sure the metal was strong
enough to take the strain. With a better blade I could have dug for her
heart, with this one I wasn't sure.

A split second before I tried it, I heard a sound that raised the hair
on my arms. The sound of hyenas hunting. It's a hell of a lot creepier
than the howl of a wolf, but that joined with it. I knew the moment I
heard the noises that it was our calvary coming, not Musette's.

I didn't look behind, because I didn't dare take my eyes off the vampire
I had pinned to the floor. But I felt the crowd surge behind me, felt
the neck-ruffling power of shape-shifters filling the room like an
electric cloud.

The touch of so many of them with such tension called my own beast like
a snake in my gut to writhe and flow inside my body. I wasn't a
shape-shifter, but through Richard and my tie to the wereleopards, I had
the closest thing a human being could have to their very own private
beast.

It was Bobby Lee, who was actually a wererat, that came forward enough
for me to see him. His southern drawl always sounded so out of place in
a fight. "You planning to kill her?"

'I'm thinking about it."

He knelt on one knee beside us. "You think that's the smart thing to
do?" He glanced up at the vampires on the other side of the room.

'Probably not."

'Then maybe you should oughta ease up there, before you gut her."

'Micah send you?" I asked, eyes still on Musette's pain-filled face. I
was happy to see her hurting. I didn't usually enjoy causing pain to
anyone, but I just didn't mind hurting Musette.

'He didn't send any of your leopards, cause you told him not to, but he
contacted the other leaders, and here we are. If you're not going to
kill her, girl, you should probably let her go."

'Not yet," I said.

He didn't ask again, but stood up near us, like the good bodyguard he
was.

I spoke directly to Musette, but I made sure my voice carried. "No one
comes into our territory and harms our people. No one, not the council,
not even le sourdre de sang of our bloodline. Everyone tells me that
when I speak to you I'm speaking to Belle herself, well, here's the
message. The next one of her people to harm one of our people is dead. I
will take their heads, their hearts, and I'll burn the rest."

Musette found her voice, at long last, though it was strained, and a
little afraid. "You would not dare."

I leaned into the blade, a little bit more, made her grunt with the
force of it. "Try me."

The pain in Musette's face faded, vanishing like someone wiped it away,
and her blue eyes began to darken. I rode the knife into her while
Belle's pale brown eyes swirled to the surface, the dark overwhelming
all that blue, until Musette's eyes were the color of poisoned honey.

I'd seen Belle do this trick once before, but it had been in a mirror,
and my own eyes. Fear drove through me like a blade, chilling my skin,
bringing my heart into my neck like a trapped thing. Fear can either
chase back the beast, or call it. This fear calmed it, dampened it, so
that that rising power sank away, leaving me alone, and scared. It
wasn't a vampire trick that made me want to let her go and run away. I'd
felt Belle move through my own body, and I never wanted her to be able
to do it again. If I took Musette's heart with Belle inside her, could I
kill them both? Probably not, but God, it was tempting.

Belle's voice came without a trace of fear, or strain. If the knife hurt
her too, it didn't show. "Jean-Claude, have you taught her nothing?" The
voice was not Musette's, it was deeper, richer, a low contralto. The
irreverent thought that she'd give really good phone sex crossed my
mind.

Jean-Claude started gliding towards us. He motioned for Damian to
follow, and the red-haired vampire fell into step behind him.
Jean-Claude came to kneel beside us and motioned Damian to do the same.
They both bowed their heads, carefully out of reach. "Musette
overstepped the bounds for a visitor to my lands. You would not tolerate
such treatment of one of your own people. I have learned well the
lessons you taught me, Belle Morte."

'What lesson is this?" she asked.

'Tolerate nothing. No hint of disobedience. No breath of revolution. No
insult is tolerated. I admit that I forgot this in the rush of fear that
Musette brought with her. The thought of insulting you, even indirectly
was unthinkable, but I am no longer your creature. I am a Master of the
City now. I am my own creature, and Asher is mine now. I will be what
you brought me up to be, Belle, I will truly be your child. I will let
ma petite be as ruthless as she likes, and Musette will either learn
better manners, or she will not be coming home to you ever again."

She sat up. With the knife plunged through her body, she sat up, and I
could not keep her pinned down. The movement pushed me backwards enough
to brush against Damian. He touched my back, and when I didn't tell him
not to, he touched my shoulder.

Belle even dropped Musette's hand away from the knife, so that my hand
held it in place. But she showed no pain, in fact she ignored me to look
at Jean-Claude. I began to feel silly with my bloody hands and the knife
still stuck in Musette. No, not silly, superfluous.

'You know what I would do to you if you harmed her," Belle said.

'I know that according to our own laws, the laws you helped enact, that
no one is allowed to simply enter a territory without negotiating safe
passage. Musette and her people are here three months before we gave
them permission to enter, which means, in effect, they are outlaw, and
have no rights, no safety. I could slaughter them all and council law
would be on my side. You have too many people on the council that fear
you, Belle, they would think it a good joke."

'You would not dare," she said.

'I will not allow you to harm Asher, not anymore."

'He is nothing to you, Jean-Claude."

'You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, magnificent in your
lust; I am humbled by your power, awed by the political maneuvering that
you do so effortlessly. But I have been long away from you, and I have
learned that beauty is not always what it seems, that lust is not always
better than love, that power alone is not enough to fill the bed or the
heart, and that I don't have your patience for the politics."

She reached out a slender hand towards him. "I showed you love such as
no mortal ever could."

'You showed me lust, mistress, sexual appetite."

'Oui, amour" she said, her voice sultry enough to cause goosebumps on my
arms.

Jean-Claude shook his head. "Non, lust, not love, never love."

A look passed over her face, like a badly designed mask moving liquid
under Musette's skin. It reminded me uncomfortably of watching the beast
glide under the skin of a shape-shifter before it springs forth. If she
changed into Belle completely, I was trying for her heart while I had
the chance.

'You loved me once, Jean-Claude."

'Oui, with all my heart and all my soul."

'But you do not love me now," her voice was soft, there might even have
been a trace of loss.

'I have learned that love can grow without the touch of sex, and that
sex does not always lead to love."

'I would love you again," she whispered.

'Non, you would possess me again, and love is not about possession."

'You speak in riddles," she said.

'I speak truth as I have come to know it," he said.

Those pale honey brown eyes turned to me. "You have done this. Somehow,
you have done this."

I was beginning to feel positively silly with the knife still in
Musette, but I was afraid to take it out, because I was half expecting
Belle to stand up and say, aha, that was what I was waiting for. So I
kept the blade in and tried to think what to do. Staring into those pale
brown eyes it was hard to think, hard not to either run away or try and
kill her. If I can't run from my fears, I have a tendency to try and
kill them. It's a strategy that's worked so far.

'What have I done?" I asked, and my voice showed the strain. Damian's
hands kneaded gently at my shoulders, not so much a massage, as a
reassurance that he was there, I think.

'You have turned him against me," she said.

'No," I said, "you did that all on your own, centuries before I was
born."

That liquid mask moved under Musette's skin again. If I touched her face
I thought I'd feel things underneath that should not have been there. "I
took him to my bed, what more does anyone desire of Belle Morte?"

'You showed him what your love was worth when you cast Asher out of your
bed."

'What does Asher's fate have to do with Jean-Claude's love?"

That anyone who knew the two of them could ask that was amazing. That
the vampire that brought them together could ask that was both
frightening and sad.

'You need to leave now, Belle," I said.

'Why, what have I said to upset you?"

I shook my head. "The list is too long, Belle, we don't have all night,
let me hit the highlights. Go away, for now, please, just leave. I'm
tired of trying to explain color to the blind."

'I do not understand what that means."

'No," I said, "you don't."

She stared up at me. Her hand came up as if to touch my face. "If you
touch me," I said, "I'll see if Musette can survive without her heart."

'Why is the touch of my hand worse then the touch of our bodies one
against the other?"

'Call it a hunch, but I don't want you touching me on purpose. Besides
it's not your body, it's Musette's. Although I'm not sure about that, so
call me cautious, and just don't touch me."

'I will see you again, Anita, I promise you that."

'Yeah, yeah, I know."

'You don't seem to believe me."

'Oh, I believe you, I just can't get too worked up over it."

'Worked up?" she made it a question.

'She means she cannot get too upset about your threat," Jean-Claude
said.

Belle looked back at me. "Why can you not?"

'I've had a lot of vampires threaten me, I can't panic every time."

'I am Belle Morte, member of the council on high, do not underestimate
me, Anita."

'Tell that to the Earthmover," I said. He'd been a council member that
had come to town once upon a time. He'd died.

'I have not forgotten that Jean-Claude slew a council member."

Actually, I'd slain him, but why quibble? "Just go, Belle, please, just
go."

'And if I choose to stay? What will you do? What can you do?"

I thought about several options, most of them fatal to one or both of
us. Finally, I said, "If you want to keep this body, fine. It's not my
body. It's not even my vampire. You want it, knock yourself out."

I leaned back from her and jerked the knife out. There was no way I was
leaving a weapon on Musette. She was too likely to take the blade out
and stick it in me. The blade pulling out brought a gasp from Belle that
plunging it in hadn't.

She grabbed my wrist, as if to keep me from hurting her, but I should
have known better. Some small, screaming part of me knew I was still
kneeling on the carpet in Jean-Claude's living room, but the rest of me
was in a dark, candlelit room. The bed was large and soft, mounded with
pillows as if it would rise up in a soft cushioned wave and engulf me.
The woman pressed into all that softness lay in a bed of her own dark
hair, her eyes a solid golden brown fire, like staring at the sun
through a piece of colored glass. Belle Morte stared up at me, her pale
body naked. The glory of her spread before me, nothing hidden. I wanted
her, wanted her as I'd never wanted anything else in my life.

I came back to myself, with a gasp. Jean-Claude held my other hand in a
death grip. Damian was a weight against the back of my body. Jason stood
over the rest of us as we knelt. His hands were on Jean-Claude's
shoulder, and against the side of my neck, above Damian's hand. I could
feel the pulse in my neck pounding against the pulse in the palm of
Jason's hand.

I could smell the musty scent of fur, the rich, almost eatable smell of
the forest. It was the smell of the pack. The werewolves that had come
to guard our back had stepped up through the crowd. I could feel the
wolves ranged behind me, feel them like there was an invisible thread
between Jason, me, and them. Jean-Claude's ties to the wolves were
direct, they were his animal to call. He didn't need Richard's beast to
call the wolves. I needed a surrogate wolf to bind me to them. Richard
should have been at our back, but he wasn't. If Jason had not been there
to be our third, then Belle might have raised the ardeur, drowned us in
memories of her sweet flesh. Flung us out into the room and turned my
Mexican standoff into an orgy.

But Jean-Claude gave me his control through the press of his hand;
Damian gave me his desperate reserve through his body molded against my
back; Jason fed the pulse of the pack into the bend of my neck. We were
not merely a triumvirate of power; through Damian's addition, we were
more. And that more was stronger than Belle Morte trapped in Musette's
body. If she'd been here in person, it might have been a different
story, but she wasn't. She was way the hell in Europe somewhere.

A howl broke out behind me, and another, and another. Jason threw his
head back, making a long clean line of his throat. A howl trembled from
his mouth, to join with the chorus behind us. The sound rose and fell,
one wolf's note dying off, another taking up the call, until the sound
rose and fell like music--lonely, trembling, amazing music.

I met Belle's pale brown eyes and found them full of fire, like staring
at flames through brown glass. It did remind me of her eyes in the
memory she had chosen, but it was just a memory. There was no bite or
pull to it now. The ardeur lay quiet, held behind the bars we had forged
for it, from sheer force of will, and months of practice.

'The last time you rolled the ardeur over us, it was new to me. It's not
new anymore," I said.

Something flowed under Musette's skin. It was like watching a second
face roll underneath her skin. Again, I half expected Belle to burst out
through Musette's body like some kind of shape-shifter. But the rolling
shape stopped, and those dark fire eyes stared into mine.

'There will be other nights, Anita," she said, in that low, almost
purring voice of hers.

I nodded. "I know."

With that she vanished. Musette fell back onto the floor into a… dead
faint. Her vampires rushed forward. The wolves stayed at my back, the
werehyenas stepped up, the wererats drew guns, and Bobby Lee said,
"Don't queer our shot, gentlemen."

The werehyenas hesitated, forming two groups one to either side of the
vampires. Our vampires peeled off from Musette's and eased through the
crowd of wereanimals. "Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt," Bobby Lee said.

'Let them fetch their mistress," Jean-Claude said.

Some of the shape-shifters looked his way, none of the wererats did. We
had this much backup not because Jean-Claude had a tie to any other
animal except the wolves, but because I'd made friends. The wererats and
werehyenas were here for me, not him.

'Ease down, Bobby Lee, let them get Musette. I certainly don't want to
have to take care of her."

The men and women, wererats all, with their guns nicely pointed, moved
back in two lines so the vampires had to walk between them to reach
Musette. Angelito had joined them, but Bobby Lee motioned him back with
a wave of his gun barrel. Angelito was imposing, but he was also one of
the few humans among them. I wasn't sure the big man was the most
dangerous person on their side. A little girl of seven or eight with
dark curls cut short around an angelic face flashed dainty fangs and
hissed at me. An older boy who looked like a young twelve, or an old
ten, picked Musette's shoulders up, raising her limp figure off the
ground as if she weighed nothing. He didn't flash fangs, he just looked
at me with dark, unfriendly eyes.

A male vamp in a dark conservative suit got Musette's feet, though he
made no move to take the small woman from the boy. I knew the male vamp
could have carried her easily, but he didn't argue with the boy. The boy
didn't lack strength, just height, and leverage.

They carried her back to Angelito, who took her from the others. Musette
looked tiny held in his long arms. There were people in the room who had
thicker arms than Angelito. The werehyenas were bodybuilders, but there
was no one on our side that had the length and size of Musette's little
angel.

Jean-Claude stood, drawing me to my feet. Damian moved as I moved.
Jason, too. "We have rooms prepared for all of you. You will be escorted
to them, then we will leave guards outside your doors, for the
protection of all concerned."

Bobby Lee was still holding his gun nice and steady on the vamps.
"Anita?" he made my name a question.

'I don't want them wandering around without guards on them, so yeah,
sounds like a good idea to me. You guys able to stick around that long?"

'Honey-child, I would follow you to the ends of the earth. 'Course we
can." He laid the southern accent on thick enough to walk across.

'Thanks, Bobby."

'Our pleasure."

'Meng Die, Faust, you know the way to the rooms, show our guards where
to go." Meng Die was lovely, delicate, with perfectly straight black
hair cut just above her shoulders; her skin was like pale porcelain. She
would have looked like a perfect China doll if she hadn't liked wearing
skintight black leather most of the time. The leather sort of ruined the
image. She was a Master Vampire, and her animal to call, I'd been
surprised to learn, was the wolf. Strangely, this didn't make her any
more attractive to the wolves or me. She was just too damn unfriendly.

Faust was not much taller than Meng Die, but he didn't make you think
delicate, just short. He was cheerfully attractive--like the boy next
door if he happened to be a vampire--and had dyed his hair a dark
wine-burgundy. His eyes were the color of new pennies as if the brown
had a touch of fresh blood in it. He was a Master Vampire but not strong
enough to ever be Master of the City, or at least not hold on to it. A
weak Master of the City is usually a dead one.

Meng Die and Faust led the way through the drapes and the far corridor
beyond. Musette's vamps went next. The wererats and the werehyenas
brought up the rear. The drapes swished closed behind them. We were left
alone with our thoughts. I hoped everyone else's thoughts were more
useful than mine, because all I could think was that Belle wouldn't like
being given her hat and shown the door. She'd find a way to make us eat
the insult, if she could. Maybe she couldn't, but she was over two
thousand years old, according to Jean-Claude. You didn't survive that
long without knowing things, things that would make your enemies run
screaming. The council member we'd killed had been able to cause
earthquakes simply by thinking about it. I was pretty sure Belle had her
own special tricks. I just hadn't seen them yet.

10

Less than an hour later Jean-Claude and I were in his room, alone.
Damian was one of the guards outside our door. We'd split our vamps up
among the wereanimals so that, hopefully, the bad vampires couldn't use
mind tricks on the wereanimals without the vamps knowing it. We'd done
the best we could do, which had actually been pretty damned good. The
ardeur was still in hiding. I wasn't questioning it, just grateful.

Jean-Claude's large four-poster bed was draped in blue silk, mounded
with pillows in at least three vibrant shades of blue. He traded the
drapes and pillows to match whatever color the sheets were, so I knew
without looking that the sheets would be blue silk. Jean-Claude did not
do white sheets, no matter what they were made out of.

He was sitting in the room's only chair, slumped down, hands crossed
over his stomach. I was sitting on the rug that he'd put beside the bed.
The rug was actually fur, thick and soft, and somehow just by touch you
knew it had once been alive. We'd both been strangely reluctant to go to
bed. I think we were both afraid the ardeur would rise, and we weren't
ready for it.

'Let me test my understanding," I said.

Jean-Claude looked at me, moving only his eyes.

'Tomorrow night, if Asher is still nobody's, will they be within their
rights to ask for him?"

'Not as they did tonight, no, you have made that impossible now, unless
they can take him by force."

I shook my head. "I've been around enough vamp politics to know that if
you stop them from doing one thing, they'll do something else, not
because they want to, but because it will cause you pain."

He frowned at me.

I sighed. "Let me try that again. Here's the deal, what are they within
their rights to ask from us, while they're here?"

'Hunting rights, or willing donors, lovers--the basic needs to be met."

'Sex is a basic need?"

He just looked at me.

'Sorry, sorry. So I understand the willing donor part, they've got to
eat. But the lovers, what does that mean, exactly?"

'It would be dclass to demand lovers for the servants, so Musette's
lady's maid and butler are not to be worried over. The two children are
special cases. The girl is physically too young, she does not think of
such things. The boy is a problem. Bartolom was precocious, which is
why Belle sent Musette to take him."

I stared at him. "Please, tell me that Musette never had sex with the
kid?"

He seemed suddenly tired, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. "Do you
wish the truth, or a more pleasant lie?"

'The truth, I guess."

'Belle Morte can smell sexual appetite, it is one of her gifts.
Bartolom may look like a child, but he does not think like one, nor did
he when he was human and a true boy of eleven going on twelve. He was
the heir to a great fortune. Belle wanted to control that fortune. He
was also notorious in an age when noble sons were allowed almost any
indiscretion with women who were not of noble blood."

'Explain that," I said.

'He looked like a child, Anita, and he would use that innocent face to
maneuver women into compromising situations. By the time they realized
that they were in danger of abuse, it was often too late. More than
that, he threatened to accuse them of being the aggressor. There was no
such phrase as child molestation in that century, but everyone knew it
happened. Children were often married as young as ten or eleven, so the
people who had such tastes could satisfy their needs within the marriage
bed, until their spouses became too old for their tastes, then they
would look outside their marriage, or by that time their own children
might be old enough."

I stared at him. "I don't think I wanted to know that last part. That is
beyond disgusting."

'Oui, ma petite, but it is still true. A fortune as large as Bartolom's
would normally be Belle's task. She would never leave such monies, or
lands, or titles, to anyone else. But she is not a lover of children, no
matter how grown-up they may be, so she cast it to Musette. Who, as you
now realize, will do anything our mistress bids her do."

'I got that impression."

'So, yes, she seduced, or allowed herself to be seduced by the boy.
Belle gave her a touch of the ardeur and Bartolom was enraptured. Belle
did not mean to bring him over to us as a boy. She meant to wait until
he grew older, but Bartolom was thrown from his horse. He had crushed
his skull, and was dying. His next brother was only five, and Belle
would have no hold on him. She needed Bartolom, and so she bid Musette
finish him."

'How did he feel when he woke up?"

'He was happy to be alive."

'How'd he feel when he finally realized he'd be a little boy forever, no
matter how precocious?"

Jean-Claude sighed. "He was… unhappy. Bringing children over is
forbidden for a reason. Musette did not make Valentina one of us. Belle
found that one of her Master Vampires was a pedophile and had brought
over children to be his permanent… companions." His voice went soft at
the end.

I felt ill. I breathed deep and slow. "Sweet Jesus," I said.

'He had broken our prohibition against bringing over children, and when
Belle Morte found out why he had done it… she slew him. With full
permission of the council, she slew him. They destroyed most of the
children he had made. They were vampires trapped in children's bodies,
and they had been abused." He shook his head. "Their minds did not
survive, not whole."

'So how did Valentina escape?" I asked.

'She was his newest and had yet to be touched. She was a child and a
vampire but she was not mad. Belle took her in and found her people to
care for her. She had human nannies for many years. She had human
playmates. I must say that Belle did her best for Valentina. I think she
blamed herself for not realizing what a true monster Sebastian was."

'Why do I think this ideal picture doesn't stay ideal?"

'You know us too well, ma petite. Valentina tried to turn some of her
playmates into vampires, so she would not be the only one. When her
nanny discovered her, Valentina slit her throat. That was the end of
human nannies and human playmates."

'That's why the vampire nanny," I said.

He nodded. "She does not truly need one in the traditional sense of a
child's need, but she is forever eight years old, and even today she
cannot catch a taxi by herself, register in a hotel, without people
wondering. Some well-meaning human will call the police to report the
poor abandoned child that's staying in their hotel."

'She must hate it."

'It?"

'Her existence," I said.

He gave half a shrug. "I do not know. I do not speak to Valentina."

'You're afraid of her."

'Non, ma petite, but I am unnerved by her. The few children that survive
for centuries are twisted things. It cannot be otherwise."

'How did she end up with Musette's entourage?"

'Valentina was taken before her body grew large enough for much physical
pleasure. She has turned such energies into other," he licked his lips,
"avenues of interest."

I sighed. "Musette is Belle's torturer, which means that Valentina is
what, her little assistant in the torture?"

He nodded, head resting against the chair back, eyes closed. "Valentina
has been a very apt pupil."

'She's tortured you?"

He nodded, eyes still closed. "I told you that the price for Belle
saving Asher's life was my servitude for a century among them. But Belle
wished to punish me for leaving her, and for a long time she gave me to
pain rather than pleasure."

I went to him, crawling on the floor by his chair, smoothing my skirts
down automatically, though there was no one there to see. "So Valentina
won't be asking for a lover."

'Non."

'Will she try for a… what? Submissive?"

'Oui."

'Can we just refuse?"

'Oui."

'Can we make the 'no' stick?"

He opened his eyes and looked down at me. "I believe so, but to say
absolutely would be too close to a lie."

I shook my head. "If Musette left tonight, and returned in three months,
would we have less ground to stand on?"

'She will not leave, ma petite."

'No, that's not what I mean. What I mean is, if she had come in three
months after good faith negotiations had gone through, would I still
have been allowed to get away with what I did tonight? Or would we have
faced the council's wrath?"

'We would have chosen a victim for Musette, or chosen a lover for her,
or both before she arrived. It would have been settled and not a
surprise."

'You know most human guests don't expect their hosts to supply them with
sex partners."

'Nor do most of the bloodlines that descend from the council, but
Belle's line is built upon sex, and it has become custom to offer any of
Belle's line sex when they visit you. It is assumed that we all carry a
touch of her succubus within us."

'That's not true," I said.

'Non, but no one of her line has ever wished to dissuade others of the
lie."

I smiled, thought about laughing, and was too tired. "We can keep Willie
and Hannah safe because they've got to be in charge of the two clubs.
We've already negotiated that our businesses are not to be disrupted by
the visit," I said.

'Belle was always one to keep her mind on where the money was coming
from, so yes, Willie is my manager for The Laughing Corpse, and Hannah
is temporary manager of Danse Macabre. The two weakest of my flock are
safe away."

'Damian is my vampire servant, I'm your human servant, you're Master of
the City, Jason is your pomme de sang, Nathaniel is my pomme de sang,
Micah is my lover and my Nimir-Raj, Richard is Ulfric, and the
bodyguards can't guard our bodies if they're screwing other people."

'We have made everyone as safe as we can, ma petite."

'There's one name that's conspicuously absent from that list,
Jean-Claude."

'Three actually, ma petite, four if you count Gretchen."

'Gretchen is crazy, Jean-Claude. You got a special pass for her from
Belle because she's still ill, right?" Gretchen had tried to kill me
once, as punishment, she got locked up in a coffin for a while. The
isolation had driven her even crazier.

'Oui, Gretchen will keep to her room for Musette's visit, but that does
not protect Meng Die or Faust."

'Faust likes men, and to my knowledge nobody in Musette's party is gay,
right?"

'Oui, but that is not always a barrier."

'We laid down the law tonight, that no one was to be hurt again. Forcing
someone to have sex with a partner they find repugnant is a form of
rape, and thus it's harm."

He looked at me, surprised. "Ma petite, you are becoming devious."

I shook my head. "Nope, just practical. So Faust is safe, because he
only likes men and none of Musette's men likes men. Torture is out,
because that's just harm."

'Meng Die will fascinate Bartolom."

'But again, Meng Die doesn't like children, so Bartolom would have to
rape her to get his way with her, thus…"

'She is safe from his advances." He seemed to think about that for a
second or two. "But what of Angelito?"

'Isn't he a couple with Musette? Aren't they doing each other?"

'When they wish to, yes."

I frowned at him. "Not a hot pair?"

'Musette's true love is not sex, which is why she and Valentina have
been so close for so long."

'Not our problem. If everyone has access to someone they can fuck, or we
have no suitable partners for them outside of rape, then everyone's
covered. Or have I missed something?"

He thought about it quietly for a few minutes. "Non, ma petite. Your
machinations are worthy of Belle herself, if her intention were to keep
her people safe." Then he looked at me. "Except for one problem. Musette
has had sex with Asher in the past, so you cannot make a charge of
rape."

'Having sex in the past doesn't mean it can't be rape in the present," I
said.

He waved that away with his hand. "I know that you believe that, ma
petite, I will not even disagree, but Musette will not be dissuaded by
the argument. Asher likes both men and women, he has had sex with her
and enjoyed it in the past. You have made sure she cannot physically
harm him, so it would be merely sex, merely fucking. He would not be
harmed by that."

I raised eyebrows at him. "You believe that, that there'd be no harm to
it?"

'Non, nor does Musette in truth. Musette knows, Belle knows, that to
have sex with Musette again after all these years will be painful for
Asher. It will harm him, but not in a way that Belle will let us
negotiate around. To Belle Morte, if a man has an orgasm, then he must
have enjoyed himself. It is her reasoning."

'She really doesn't understand that there's a difference between lust
and love, does she?"

'Non, ma petite, trs non."

'Why is it always Asher that we can't protect? Asher that we can't
save?"

He shook his head. "I have asked that for a very, very long time, ma
petite. I have yet to find an answer."

I laid my cheek against his knee. "This is the longest I've ever been
able to go between feedings." I glanced a my watch. "It's almost two."

'Dawn will come in three, almost four hours. I must rescind the control
I have lent you for the ardeur before then. You must feed it."

'It's not only your control is it?"

'No, it is fear and exhaustion, and thinking too hard, and your own
growing abilities. In a few more months you will be down to one feeding
a day, or a night. You will be able to store up the feedings and go
longer."

'My head is practically in your lap, and I don't feel the least
stirrings."

He stroked my hair, and it was a comforting touch. I wanted to be held
more than I wanted sex. I wanted him to hold me while I drifted off to
sleep. That sounded better than anything else I could think of right
now.

'Once dawn comes my tie with you will weaken, and you will not be able
to keep the ardeur at bay. I am sorry, ma petite, but we must feed it."

'You're as tired as I am," I said.

'I want nothing more than to climb between the silk sheets and wrap our
nude bodies around one another. I want to hold and be held. Sex is a
wondrous thing, but tonight I wish to be comforted more than pleasured.
I feel like a child in the dark who knows the monsters are under the
bed. I want to be told it will be alright, but I am far too old to
believe such comforting lies."

Maybe it was because I was tired. Maybe it was because Jean-Claude had
just said out loud almost exactly how I felt. I remembered other nights
when we'd all been this tired, this frightened, this unsure of what the
next nightfall would bring. I remembered Asher and Julianna, and I, we,
Jean-Claude holding each other. Simply holding each other, the feel of
bare skin and warmth, like a grown-up version of a teddy bear. Hold me
tonight, Julianna used to say, and unspoken between the two men had been
how often her fears allowed them to be as close and frightened as they
truly were.

Julianna had been the bridge between the two men. They would never have
been able to be so close for so long without her. I had the memories, I
knew how many times her needs had brought them together, her love for
each of them had bound them close. Jean-Claude had been the brains,
Asher the charm, though both were charming and both intelligent, but
Julianna had been their heart. One living, beating heart for all three
of them.

I could never be Julianna. I didn't have her kindness, her gentleness,
her patience. We were so unalike, but here I was centuries later with
the same two men. I let out a long breath, took in another, let it out,
listened to it shake.

'Is something wrong, ma petite, I mean more wrong than I know?"

I raised my face from his knee. "If Asher was truly a mnage  trois
with us, then Musette would have to leave him alone, wouldn't she?"

Some expression passed over his face, quickly swallowed away, hidden
behind that beautiful, polite mask he wore when he was not sure what
expression would help, and what would hurt. "If we had been able to
answer truthfully tonight that Asher was in our bed, then Musette could
not have asked for him. This is true."

'If he joined us tonight, then tomorrow he'd be safe." My voice sounded
so matter of fact, as if I were proposing we go shopping, or get dinner.

His voice was even more careful than mine. "That would be true."

'If I had just let you and Asher be a couple when I wasn't around, then
he would have been safe, but I can't." I shook my head. "In theory I
don't have a problem with it. I like men. I see men as attractive, so I
understand everyone seeing them as attractive. That men are attracted to
men makes perfect sense to me. But in practice I can't bring myself to
share my man with another man. I can't do it. If I found out you and
Asher had been doing it behind my back, I'd dump your ass. I know it's
amazingly unfair. I'm sleeping with Micah, and damn near sleeping with
Nathaniel, and was having sex with Richard until a few months ago. Yet
you have to be with just me. It's monstrously unfair, I know that."

'I am not alienated from your bed when the others are with you, except
for Richard, who would never share."

'I know, you get blood from the men because I still won't donate blood
to you, but it's not the same."

'I want no one but you, ma petite. I have made that clear."

I looked up at him then. "You've made it clear, but I know that you do
want someone else besides me. I've felt what you feel when you look at
Asher. I see the way you two look at each other. It hurts sometimes just
to watch you be in a room together."

'I am sorry, ma petite."

I tucked my knees to my chest and hugged them there. "Let me finish this
thought, Jean-Claude, please."

He motioned for me to go ahead.

'I can't let you take Asher to your bed, and I can't take Asher to mine.
But I remember what it was like for the three of you. I remember how
safe it felt. There are moments when I forget that these aren't my
memories and I long for what the three of you had. It seems a hell of a
lot more peaceful than what we're doing."

I hugged my legs so tight, my arms trembled with the force of it. "I
don't know if I can go through with it, but I'd like to try."

'Try what, ma petite?" His voice was very careful.

'I want Asher safe."

Jean-Claude had gone very still. "I do not understand, ma petite."

'Yes, you do."

He shook his head. "Non, I will have no misunderstandings here. You must
be precise in your meaning."

I couldn't look at him while I said it. "Bring Asher in here for the
night. I don't promise, but I want him warm and nude beside us. I want
to chase that hurt from his eyes. I want to show him with my hands and
my body that I find him lovely." I looked up at him, then, and found his
face unreadable. "I don't know at what point I'm going to scream foul
and bail on you both. I'm sure there's going to come a point, there
usually is, but if we bring him into our bed tonight, in whatever way,
then he's safe for tomorrow, right?"

'What will your Nimir-Raj say?"

'He assumed that you and I were intimate with Asher when he got to town.
A lot of people assume it."

'You have told him the truth?"

'Yes."

'And won't he be angry about sharing you with yet another man?"

I shook my head. "Micah is more practical than I am, Jean-Claude. It's
not just love, or lust, that brings me back to Asher. Tonight it's
securing our power base. If Asher is safe, then we're all safer. His
pain can't be used against us."

'How very practical of you, ma petite."

'I've learned from the best."

He gave me a look, one eyebrow raised. "If I were truly practical in
matters of the heart, things would have gone more quickly between us."

'Maybe, or maybe not, you knew if you pushed too hard, I'd have either
run, or tried to kill you."

He gave that graceful shrug. "Perhaps, but I should ask, so there are no
misunderstandings, do you mean to bring Asher to our bed only for
tonight?"

'Would it make a difference?" I asked.

'It may to him."

I tried to wrap my head around it all, and failed. "I don't know. I know
that I don't want to give up alone time with you, just you. I know that
I don't want to always have company."

'Julianna and Asher managed alone time even though we were a threesome."

'For the first time in a long time my personal life is as close as it's
ever been to working. I don't want to screw that up."

'I understand."

'I guess, I want Asher safe, I want to chase that flinching out of his
eyes, but in the real world we are just running this up the flagpole. If
it works, great, but if it doesn't work, then what? Will Asher have to
leave? Will you lose your second? Will it hurt you and Asher more?
Will…"

He touched fingertips to my lips. "Shhh, ma petite. I have called Asher.
He comes even now."

I felt my eyes go big, my breath freeze in my throat, while my pulse
beat like a crazed thing. What had I done? Nothing yet. The ten thousand
dollar question was, what was I about to do, and could I live with it
later?

11

Asher came through the door, slowly, his face carefully hidden behind a
fall of golden hair. He'd changed to a fresh, unbloodied shirt. It was
white and the color did not suit him. "You called," he said. I froze,
still hugging my knees, my pulse suddenly pounding in my throat. Yet my
breath stopped for a second or two.

'We did," Jean-Claude said in that careful voice.

Asher looked up then, a glimpse of face through all that hair. I think
it was the "we" that brought the reaction.

Jean-Claude had sat up very straight before Asher came to the door. He
was elegant, poised, in his leather and silk.

I was still huddled on the rug at his feet, staring at Asher like he was
the fox and I was the rabbit. Jean-Claude touched my shoulder, and I
jumped.

I looked up at him, and he was staring down at me. "It must be your
decision, ma petite."

'Why is everything always my decision?" I asked.

'Because you will not tolerate anything else."

Oh, I remembered now. "Great," I whispered.

He squeezed my shoulder gently. "Nothing has been said. We can go on as
we are."

I shook my head. "No, I won't be the one responsible for tomorrow night
if it goes all wrong. I won't risk him, because of my moral outrage."

'As you like, ma petite," he said, in that careful voice that said
nothing.

'What has happened now?" Asher asked, and his voice wasn't quite empty,
there was a thread of fear in it. With what was sleeping down the hall,
I couldn't blame him.

I eased my arms from around my knees. They were stiff from holding on
too tight. I tried to smooth my numb hands down my legs to touch my
skirt and found only my hose. The navy skirt was too short for me to
have been sitting the way I was. If there'd been anyone in the room to
see, they'd have been able to tell my underwear matched it.

I got my knees under me, moving slowly, stiffly, my body tight with
tension.

'What has happened?" Asher asked, and this time his voice was bland.

'Nothing, mon ami," Jean-Claude said, "or rather, nothing more."

'It's my fault," I said. I got to my feet, still moving slowly.

'What is your fault?" Asher was looking from one to the other of us,
trying to read something from our faces.

I stepped off the fur, and my high heels made a sharp sound on the
floor. "That you're in danger from Musette."

'You have done all you can to protect me, Anita, more than I had ever
dreamt. No one challenges Musette for fear of Belle Morte. You have done
what many council members would fear to do."

'Ignorance is bliss," I said.

He gave me a quick look through the shine of his hair. "What does that
mean?"

I walked towards him, where he still stood just inside the door. "It
means that maybe I can be brave because I don't know any better. I've
never seen Belle in person. Don't get me wrong, she's impressive enough
from a distance, but I've never met the real thing."

I was standing in front of him now. He had turned his face so that only
the perfect half showed. He hadn't hidden himself from me this
completely in months.

I reached up to touch the side of his face he'd turned away, and he
flinched, jerking back hard enough to make the door rattle. "Non, non."

'I've touched you before," I said, and my voice was low, soft, the voice
you'd use to talk to a skittish animal or a man on a ledge.

He turned his whole face away from me. "You saw the paintings. You saw
what I once was, and you have seen now what I looked like when the…
wounds were fresh." He turned his back, hands on the door, shaking his
head. "You have seen what Belle Morte saw."

I shook my head, realized he couldn't see it, and touched his shoulder.

He flinched.

I glanced back at Jean-Claude, and his face was empty, only his eyes
shown the barest glimpse of a pain so deep it had nearly destroyed three
people.

I pressed my body against Asher's back, moved my arms up his sides,
hugging him from behind. He froze under my touch, so still, folding
himself away, going deep inside where it wouldn't hurt. I pressed my
cheek against his back and held him while his body went quiet under my
touch.

I swallowed past tears that I would not shed. My voice was steady,
though. "I have seen you through Jean-Claude's memories long before
tonight. I remember the glory of you under my hands, against my body." I
molded my body against his, clung to him. "I needed no painting to show
me your beauty."

A shudder ran through his body, and he tried to turn, to throw me off,
but I held on, and he couldn't move away without hurting me. "Let me go,
Anita, let me go."

'No," I said, "no, not tonight."

He made small struggling motions trapped against the door, like a man
trying to pace a room that was only an inch wider than his own body.

'What do you want from me?" There was something close to tears in his
voice.

'Join us tonight, that's what I want, join us."

He stopped his restless movements and went still again, but not like
before. I could feel his heart beating against my cheek. I'd have sworn
it hadn't been beating a second before.

'Join you how?" his voice was a strangled whisper.

I grabbed his shirt and used it to turn him around. He moved slowly,
like trying to turn the earth against its axis. He pressed his back to
the door and showed me only what remained of that perfect profile.

I pulled on the shirt, trying to lead him into the room, but he would
not be moved this far. He looked past me to Jean-Claude. "I cannot do
this." His voice held such pain.

'What do you think she is asking?" Jean-Claude's voice was still so
carefully empty.

'She will do anything to keep her people safe, even take a cripple to
her bed for one night."

I wadded the shirt in my hands and was forced to go to him, because he
would not come to me. "I do want to keep you safe from Musette, and this
will do it, but that's not why, not really."

He looked down at me, and there was a world in his eyes, a world of pain
and need and horror, so big, so lonely. The first hot tear grazed my
cheek. I spoke softly to him in French, and I understood some of what I
said.

Asher grabbed my wrists and forced me away from him. "Non, Jean-Claude,
not like this. It is either her desire, or it is not to be. I will not
divide you from what remains of your triumvirate. I would rather spend a
night in Musette's bed than weaken your power so. You must be strong
while they are here, or we will all perish."

I took a deep breath, and it was as if something had pulled back from
me, like a veil being lifted. I turned and glanced at the vampire behind
me. "Did you do that on purpose?"

He hid his face in his hands and said, spoke, voice no longer empty, "I
cannot help wanting what I want, ma petite, forgive me."

I turned back to Asher. "It isn't my desire you want, Asher. You know
I'm attracted to you."

He tried to look away, but I touched his face, and this time he didn't
flinch away. He let me turn him to face me again, my fingers on the edge
of his chin. The skin was still smooth there, even though it was on the
right side where most was ruined. It was almost as if the people that
had done this to him couldn't bring themselves to ruin the perfect curve
of his lips.

'It's not lust you want from me."

His gaze dropped. He almost closed his eyes, the expression on his face
like a man bracing for a blow. He whispered, "No."

I went up on tiptoe, put my hands on either side of his face, one so
smooth like satin and silk, but softer, the other rough, pitted, hardly
feeling like skin at all. "I do love you, Asher."

His eyes opened, and they were so raw, so full of so many things that
could be used to hurt.

'I don't know how much was Jean-Claude's memories at first, but whatever
it began as, I do love you. Me, no one else."

'Yet you have not taken me to your bed."

'I love a lot of people that I don't sleep with. Okay, that I don't have
sex with."

The expression in his eyes began to die. I realized what I'd said, "I
want you to come to bed tonight, please, Asher, and not just for
sleeping."

He put his hands on either side of mine. "Only to keep me safe from
Musette."

I couldn't argue that, but… "That's true, but does that matter so very
much? Does it matter that that's why?"

He smiled gently and moved my hands away from his face. "Yes, Anita, it
does matter why. You will take me to your bed tonight, but tomorrow you
will feel guilty and you will run away again."

I frowned at him. "You talk like I've done this before with you, and I
haven't."

He patted my hands between his. "You took four men into that bed over
there, four of us, yet you have sex with only Jean-Claude. You feed the
ardeur from Nathaniel, but you have not fucked him." He let go of my
hands and shook his head, laughing. "Only you could have the strength of
will to sleep night after night beside such beauty and not take all that
Nathaniel had to offer. I have met saints and priests over the centuries
that had not your will to resist temptation."

'I don't seem to be resisting all that much anymore," I said, hands on
hips.

He laughed again, smile fading as he did it. "Jason you have put firmly
back into the box, marked 'friend.' But what of me? I do not wish to
join you in that bed again, if tomorrow I will be merely another friend.
I cannot bear it."

I frowned up at him. I'd done my best to forget what happened when Belle
Morte caused the ardeur to rise months ago. Thanks to her, I'd
participated in the closest thing I hoped to ever get to an orgy. No
intercourse, but a lot of hands and bodies touching where they shouldn't
have been. Asher was right; I'd done my best to ignore the whole thing.
Ignore it hard enough, and it never happened. But of course it had
happened, and I'd not dealt with it.

'What do you want me to say? I'm sorry that I'm a little squeamish about
having been in bed with four men at the same time. Yeah, it embarrassed
me, so sue me."

'Tonight will embarrass you, too."

'A lot of things embarrass me, Asher, I can't help that."

'You cannot help but be who and what you are, Anita. I would not change
you, but I also will not be just a night of charity in your bed. I tell
you I could not bear being cast out again."

I knew in that instant that he didn't mean me casting him out from our
bed after the ardeur. He meant what Belle had done to him all those
centuries ago. She had thrown him away like a damaged toy. After all,
you can always buy more toys.

I started to pace back and forth in front of him, not looking at either
of them, but doing something, anything for the nervous energy that was
building up. "What do you want from me, Asher? A guarantee?"

'Yes," he said, at last. "That is exactly what I want from you."

I stopped pacing and looked at him. "What kind of guarantee? That I
won't freak out about this tomorrow?" I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I
can't promise, because I don't know how I'll feel."

'What will Micah say, if he finds out you've been with me?"

'Micah is okay with it."

Asher looked at me.

'I know, I know, I keep waiting for him to pitch a fit about something.
He's fine with sharing me with Jean-Claude, and Nathaniel, and, I quote,
anyone else that you need to include,' unquote."

Asher widened eyes at me. "My, isn't he understanding."

'You have no idea," I said. "When he came into my life, he said he'd do
anything to stay with me, anything to be my Nimir-Raj. So far he's meant
it."

'He seems perfect for you," Asher said, voice full of a soft irony.

'I know, makes me wonder when the other shoe will drop and he'll turn on
me."

Asher touched my face, which made me look at him. He was looking full at
me now, those ice blue eyes so sincere. "I would never want to do
anything that would damage what you have built in your life. If we do
this and you run away, then Jean-Claude will have damaged his
relationship with you, and I will leave."

I felt my eyes go wide. "What do you mean, you'll leave?"

'I mean if you take me to your bed tonight and cast me out tomorrow, I
will leave. I will no longer watch Jean-Claude be in love with others
while I wait. It will take time to find another Master who will want me,
and probably not as a second. I know that I am weak for a master. I have
no animal to call," he shook his head, "so many of my powers are useless
except in intimate situations, and once," he almost touched the scarred
side of his face, but let his hand fall away, "once this happened, no
one would let me get close enough to use my powers on them."

He licked his lips, sighing at the same time, and that one gesture made
me catch my breath. I did want him, I'd wanted him the way a woman wants
a man for a long time. But lust alone had never been enough for me.

'You're saying that if we take you to our bed tonight, but I freak
tomorrow, and it's only this one time, that you'll leave us?" I asked.

He nodded. He didn't even need to think about it.

'You're giving me an ultimatum, Asher, I'm not good at ultimatums."

'I know that, but I have to protect myself, Anita. I cannot live this
close to heaven and not be allowed inside. I think it will drive me mad
in the end." He leaned back against the door and looked past me to
Jean-Claude. "I have been thinking for some months now that I should go.
It is too hard on all of us. Know that it has healed some of the wounds
to be with you as a friend again, Jean-Claude." He turned and smiled at
me. "And seeing the way you watch me has helped, more than it's hurt,
Anita." He turned, put his hand on the doorknob.

I put my hand flat on the door, holding it.

Asher looked at me. "Let me go, Anita, you know you don't want this."

'What am I supposed to say to that, Asher? That you're right? That if
Musette hadn't come today that I wouldn't be making this offer now?
You're right, I wouldn't be." I pressed myself against the side of the
door. "But the thought of you leaving, of never seeing you again…" I
shook my head, and damn it if I was going to cry again. "Don't go,
please, don't go."

'I have to go, Anita." He touched my shoulder, tried to move me out of
the way so he could open the door.

I shook my head. "No."

He frowned at me. "Ma cherie, you do not love me, not truly. If you do
not love me, and you do not want me, then you must let me go."

'I do love you, and I do want you."

'You love me as a friend, you want me, but you want many men, yet you do
not give yourself to them. I have all eternity, but my patience is not
good enough to out wait you, ma cherie. You have defeated me. I would
have tried to seduce you, but…" Again he almost touched the scarred
side of his face, but his hand fell away, as if he could not bare to
touch himself. "I have seen the men you have turned down. Such
perfection, and you walk away without so much as a regret." He frowned
as if he didn't understand it, but he knew it to be true. "What could I
offer that they could not?"

He put his hands against my shoulder and gently tried to move me out of
the way. I pressed my back into the doorframe, my hand on the doorknob.
"No," was all I could think to say.

'Yes, ma cherie, yes. It is time."

I shook my head. "No." I pressed my back into the door so hard that I
knew I'd be bruised in the morning. I couldn't let him go. I knew
somehow that if he opened that door, we would never get another chance.

I prayed for words. I prayed to be able to speak my heart and not to be
afraid. "I let Richard walk out on me. I think he'd have gone anyway,
but I just sat on the floor and watched him go. I didn't stand in his
way. I figured it was his choice, and you can't hold someone if they
don't want to be held. If someone really wants to be free of you, you
have to let them go. Well, fuck that, fuck that all to hell. Don't go,
Asher, please, don't go. I love the way your hair shines in the light. I
love the way you smile when you're not trying to hide or impress anyone.
I love your laughter. I love the way your voice can hold sorrow like the
taste of rain. I love the way you watch Jean-Claude when he moves
through a room, when you don't think anyone's watching, because it's
exactly the way I watch him. I love your eyes. I love your pain. I love
you."

I closed the distance between us, wrapped my arms around him, pressed my
cheek to his chest, dried tears on the silk of his shirt, and was still
whispering, "I love you, I do love you," when he raised my face and
kissed me, really kissed me, for the very first time.

12

We broke from that gentle kiss, and I led Asher to the bed by the hand.
He pulled back, coming like a reluctant child.

Jean-Claude stood by the bed, his face as blank as he could make it.
"There is one thing I must say before we begin. I am controlling ma
petite's ardeur, but there will come a point in all this where I will
lose control. I cannot guarantee what will happen when that control is
lost."

Asher and I stood beside him, holding hands. He was clinging to my hand
with a fierceness that was almost painful. His voice did not show the
tension I felt in his body. "If I thought it was only the ardeur which
made Anita want to take me to her bed, then I would say no, because when
the ardeur had cooled, she would cast me aside as she did before." He
raised my hand to his lips and laid the softest touch across my
knuckles. "I believe Anita wishes me in her bed. The ardeur may rise, or
fall, it is all the same to me now."

Jean-Claude looked at me. "Ma petite."

'I would rather do as much of this as possible before the ardeur, but I
understand that it's going to be… hard on you." I shrugged. "I don't
know. I know I'm committed to this, so I guess it's okay."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "You are never convincing when you lie, ma
petite."

'Now that's just not true," I said, "I lie very well, thank you."

'Not to me."

I shrugged. "I'm doing the best I can here, Jean-Claude." I looked up at
the ceiling as if I could see the sky through all the rock above us. "I
know one thing, I want whatever we're doing done before dawn. I do not
want you guys to fade in the middle."

'Ma petite still finds it unnerving that we die at dawn," Jean-Claude
said.

'What time is it?" Asher asked.

I looked at my watch. "We're down to about two and a half hours."

'Barely enough time," Asher said. And something about what he said, or
the way he said it, made Jean-Claude do that masculine chuckle that only
men do, and only about women, or sex. I wasn't sure I'd ever heard that
sound from Jean-Claude.

I was suddenly very aware that I was the only girl, and they were both
men. I know that sounds silly. I mean, I knew that already, but… I
suddenly felt it. It was like walking into a bar and feeling all those
eyes follow you as you walk, like lions watching gazelles.

If either of the men had turned that same look to me, I think I would
have bolted, but they didn't. Jean-Claude crawled onto the bed, still
fully clothed, and held out his hand to me. I stared at that
long-fingered, pale hand, graceful even in that small movement. Asher's
hand squeezed, more gently, on my other hand.

I realized in that moment that if I chickened out, that would be the end
of it. There would be no pressure from either of them. But Asher would
be gone, not tonight, but soon. I didn't want him to be gone.

I took Jean-Claude's hand, and he pulled me gently onto the silk
bedspread. Silk is slippery when you're wearing hose. Their hands on
mine kept me from slipping off the edge of the bed. They half pulled me
onto the bed.

'Why is it," I said, "that you never slide off the bed when you're
wearing silk?"

'Centuries of practice," Jean-Claude said.

'I recall when you weren't so practiced. Remember the Duchess Vicante?"
said Asher.

Jean-Claude blushed, a faint hint of pink. I hadn't even known he could
blush. "What happened?" I asked.

'I fell," he said, trying for dignity and failing, because he smiled.

'What he will not say is that he cut his chin on a silver mirror that he
broke when he fell off the Duchess and her silk sheets. Blood
everywhere, and the cuckold husband on the stairs."

I looked at Jean-Claude. He nodded, shrugged.

'What happened?" I asked.

'The duchess cut herself on one of the shards of glass and told her
husband it was her own blood. She was a very enterprising woman, was the
Duchess Vicante."

'So you both knew each other when you weren't perfectly suave."

Jean-Claude said, "No, Asher watched me learn my lessons, but he had
five years with Belle before I came to court. If he had rough edges they
were worn away by the time I arrived."

'I had them, mon ami," Asher said, and he smiled. I was overwhelmed with
a flood of images of that smile. That smile when his hair was in long
locks and the hat on his head graceful with feathers, that smile by
candlelight, that smile while we played chess and Julianna sewed by the
fire, that smile in a spill of clean sheets and Julianna's laughter.

It had been a long time since we'd seen that smile. We drew him to the
bed, and the smile vanished. Jean-Claude swept the bedspread aside to
reveal sheets a little bluer than Asher's eyes, blue as the daytime sky,
cerulean blue. But Asher stayed on his knees, as if afraid to lay upon
the bed. I could see his pulse thudding in his throat, and it had
nothing to do with vampire or shape-shifter powers, only fear, I think.

Asher was afraid. I could taste his fear on the back of my tongue. I
could swallow it, enjoy the bouquet of it, like a fine wine to whet the
appetite.

The fear called to that piece of me that was Richard's beast. It roiled
inside me like a cat stretching, exploring the space it was trapped in.
A thin growl trickled from my lips.

'Control, ma petite, do not lose it so soon."

It was hard to think, let alone talk. I came to my knees and raised
Asher's shirt, my fingers playing along his skin. I wanted to rip his
shirt off and put my mouth to that tender skin. But it wasn't sex I was
thinking of. Vampires may not feed off each other, but a werewolf will
eat a vampire.

I closed my eyes, forced my hands away from his body. "I'm trying, but
you know what happens if I push the ardeur off too long."

'The other hungers rise, oui, ma petite. I have not forgotten."

'You can't help control Richard's beast." My voice sounded hoarse.

'Non."

I looked into Asher's wide blue eyes, so afraid, so very afraid, and not
of my beast. It helped steady me, but I knew it wouldn't last long,
whatever we were going to do had to be done quickly.

'I want to see you nude for the first time without the ardeur riding me,
Asher. But there isn't much time." I tried to draw him down onto the
bed, but he wouldn't come.

Jean-Claude propped himself up on the pillows and held out his arms,
almost the way you'd reach for a baby. He spoke softly in French, but I
couldn't catch it all, most of it was a plea to hurry.

Asher crawled onto the bed completely, though every movement was slow,
reluctant. He let himself be settled down against Jean-Claude's body,
but they were both fully clothed, and the way they were sitting, they
could have been in any club. It wasn't so much sexual as comforting.

I looked at the two of them and knew someone was going to have to take
off some clothes. Fine. I stripped off my jacket and tossed it to the
floor.

Jean-Claude raised eyebrows.

'If we keep going this carefully it'll be dawn and nothing will have
changed." I had to slide off the bed to get the skirt off, and left it
in a pile with my blouse. The panties and bra were a matched pair, a
shiny navy satin. When I'd found them, they had reminded me of the color
of Jean-Claude's eyes.

I expected to feel embarrassed standing there in my underwear, but I
didn't. Maybe I'd spent too much time around the shape-shifters and
their casual nudist policy. Or perhaps, it just didn't seem wrong to be
undressed in front of Asher. I don't know, but I didn't question it. I
climbed carefully back onto the cerulean silk, so that I didn't slide
off again.

'You have truly decided to do this," Asher said, in a voice that was
soft, uncertain.

I nodded, as I crawled in my thigh-high hose and high heels across the
bed to them. I kept the heels because I knew Jean-Claude liked it, and
he'd worn enough boots to bed for me. Turn about can be fair play.

I tapped Asher's ankles, and he opened his legs a little. I crawled
between his legs, having to force my body up between his calves, his
knees. Jean-Claude's legs on either side of his seemed to hold him tight
against me. I was left to worm my way between his thighs, using my hips,
my legs, and finally impatient, my hands, to spread him wide before me.
It left me, finally, kneeling between his legs, my knees pressed up
against him, which was actually a lot less erotic than it sounds,
because he was still wearing his pants, and the angle was odd.

I reached for the buttons on his shirt. Asher grabbed my hands. "Slowly,
ma cherie."

I raised eyebrows at him. "We don't have time for slow."

He rolled his head back so he could see Jean-Claude. "Is she always this
impatient?"

'She begins like an American man, but she does foreplay like she's
French."

'What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

'Let us help you undress, mon ami, and you will not need to ask
questions, for you will know."

Asher's hands dropped away from mine, and I unbuttoned his shirt. I did
do it quickly, because time was not on our side. I did not want to be in
the bed with them when they died at dawn. I was still unnerved when
Jean-Claude did it with me, I did not want to see it done in stereo.

Jean-Claude raised Asher up, and between the two of us we peeled the
long-sleeved shirt off of his upper body. "I would love to linger on
every piece of your body, Asher, but I want to see you nude before dawn.
Next time, if we start earlier, we can take our time."

He smiled. "Next time, you have not seen all there is to see, do not
promise until you have seen, as they say, the whole show."

I leaned into him, our faces only inches apart. "I don't believe there
is anything you could show me that would make me not want you."

'I almost believe that, ma cherie, almost."

I leaned back enough on my knees to cradle his face between my hands.
The difference in texture wasn't jarring, it was just part of touching
Asher. I kissed him, long, slow, exploring him, softly with my lips. I
drew back enough to see his face.

'Believe it." I drew my fingers down the edge of his jaw on either side,
tickling nails across the smooth line of his neck, one hand mirroring
the other, until I came to his chest. It wasn't hands I wanted to use
there.

I kissed along the scarred edge of his collarbone, but the scars made
the skin too thick, I had to move to the other side to nibble along his
collarbone, to give him that safe edge of teeth.

He shuddered for me.

I moved back to the right side and kissed down until I found his nipple,
stranded in all that hardness. I wasn't sure if his nipple had the
sensitivity it had had before. There was only one way to find out. I
licked his nipple, a quick flick of tongue and felt the skin move,
contract. I used my hands to help mound that side of his chest so that I
could find a mouthful of him. The scars were harsh to my mouth, but his
nipple drew tight under my tongue, my mouth, and lightly, teeth. Only
when I'd thoroughly explored the right, did I turn to the left. His left
nipple was easier to take into my mouth, easier to tease. I used more
teeth, and he groaned as I marked him, lightly, nothing that wouldn't
fade within moments.

I licked down the left side of his chest, his stomach, then moved back
to the right and explored the scarred flesh as I had the other, because
I knew now, that scarred or not, it worked. He could feel my mouth on
his skin, my fingers trailing lower. If he could feel then I wanted to
give him everything I could.

My mouth came to his waist, the belt, the top of his pants. I licked
from one side of his waist to the other, then came back to the right
side and licked along the front of his flat stomach, so the tip of my
tongue eased inside the very top of his pants, even with the belt.

Asher's voice came breathy, harsh, "You have taught her well."

'I can take little credit for it, mon ami, she enjoys her work."

I rolled eyes up at them. "Please, stop talking about me like I can't
understand you."

'Our most sincere apologies," Jean-Claude said.

'Oui," Asher said, "it was not an insult."

'No, but you assume that if I'm any good it has to be because a man
taught me. That's so sexist."

'We can only apologize again, ma petite."

I undid the buckle on Asher's belt, and he didn't stop me this time. I
got the top fastener undone, but I've never been good at unzipping a man
when he's sitting down. I think I'm always a little afraid I'll get him
caught in the zipper.

'Some help here," I said.

Jean-Claude lifted, Asher helped, and the zipper came down, revealing
that he was wearing royal blue bikinis in silk, what else? There is no
way to get real pants off of anyone gracefully. I peeled the pants down
Asher's long legs, slipped off the shoes that he was still wearing,
there were no socks to bother with. He lay back, cradled against
Jean-Claude, wearing nothing but the tiny blue silk undies. I wanted to
snatch them away from him. I wanted to see him completely nude, it
seemed more important than anything else. To finally see if the scars
went all the way across.

I crawled forward and licked the edge of his stomach, so that my tongue
dipped just below the waistband of the silk, an echo of what I'd done to
his pants. I could feel him pressed against the thin cloth, the hardness
of him brushing against my chin as I moved around his waist.

I went back to the right side and the scars that dribbled down to
mid-thigh. I licked, kissed, and bit along them until he cried out. Then
I did the same to his other thigh, going lower until I licked the back
of his knee, and he whimpered.

Jean-Claude's voice came almost strangled, "Ma petite, please."

I looked up, the tip of my tongue still playing lightly on the very edge
of the bend of Asher's knee. Asher's eyes were rolled almost back into
his head. I knew things through Jean-Claude's memories that only a lover
would know, such as the fact that he loved having the backs of his knees
licked.

'Please, what?" I asked.

'Please, finish it."

I knew what he meant. I crawled back up until I was kneeling between
their legs again. The blue silk was stretched tight, and this time it
was very erotic.

I slid my fingers in the top of the silk, and it was Asher's hands that
spilled eager, helping slide the silk down his hips. I pulled the silk
down his thighs, but was only half paying attention, because I was
staring at what had been revealed.

Scars dribbled from his thigh towards the groin like white worms frozen
under the skin, but they stopped a few inches short of the groin, and he
lay thick, and long, and straight, and perfect.

I had a confused image of him with the scars fresh, and he was
misshapen, unable to become fully erect, twisted to one side, unable to
perform.

I had to shake my head to clear the memory. I met Jean-Claude's gaze.
I'd never seen him look so utterly lost, shocked, amazed. I had never
seen so many different emotions flow across his face. He was finally
caught between laughter and tears. "Mon ami, what…"

'There was a doctor only a few years ago, who thought that most of the
scarring was in the foreskin, and it was."

Jean-Claude laid his head on Asher's shoulder, lost in that golden hair,
and he wept, and cried. "All this time… all this time, and I thought
it was my fault, you were ruined, and it was my fault."

Asher reached back and stroked Jean-Claude's hair. "It was never your
fault, mon ami. If you had been with us when we were taken, they would
have done to you what they did to me, and that I could not have borne.
If you had not been free to save me, I would be dead now, along with our
Julianna."

They held each other and cried, and laughed, and healed, and I was
suddenly superfluous, kneeling on the bed in my lingerie. And for once,
I didn't mind in the least.

13

Jean-Claude released the ardeur with less than an hour to go, before
they would die. I did not want to be trapped underneath anyone when that
happened. But the ardeur had been denied longer than I'd ever denied it,
and it was like a force of nature, a storm that broke over us, washed
away Jean-Claude's clothes and what was left of mine.

I took Asher into my mouth and explored the perfection of him, found the
one thin scar that trailed down his scrotum. I sucked the ridge of scar
tissue into my mouth and made him cry out above me.

It was chance more than planning that put Jean-Claude underneath me,
inside me, with Asher at my back, his weight beating into both of us,
but without an opening to claim. Or without an opening I was willing to
share. I could feel the length of Asher pressed along my back. Every
time Jean-Claude pushed himself up inside me, Asher pushed himself
against my back, wedged between the cheeks of my buttocks. They echoed
each other perfectly. When one moved, the other moved. Until somewhere
in the middle of it all, I begged, Asher to enter me, take me.

Jean-Claude's voice came as if from a great distance, "Non, mon
chardonneret, we have done no preparation. She has never had it done
before."

Dimly I realized what I'd asked and was happy someone could think well
enough to stop me from letting others hurt me. But part of me was angry,
the ardeur wanted Asher inside, wanted to drink him in.

I rode Jean-Claude's body, while Asher's body rode mine. Jean-Claude's
hands were on my waist, holding me in place, steadying me, directing me,
the way you lead a dance partner. One of Asher's hands propped him up on
the bed but the other had spilled up to cup my breast, his hand
kneading, pulling, just this side of pain.

I felt the building pressure inside me, that feeling that preceded the
explosion, and I didn't want it yet, not yet. I wanted Asher, the way I
wanted Jean-Claude. I wanted, needed him to pierce my body. "Please,
Asher, please, be inside me, please!"

He drew my hair to one side and bared my neck. The ardeur flared through
me. "Yes, Asher, yes."

That warm deep well was filling up, up inside me, there were only
seconds to have him join us. I wanted his release with ours. I wanted
him with us.

There seemed like there was something else I should have been
remembering but it was lost in the pounding of Jean-Claude's body, the
rhythm of my hips, the feel of his hands on my waist, Asher's hand on my
breast, tight enough for pain now, the feel of him so solid, so wet from
his own body, so that he moved in a channel of his own moisture, yet I
knew he had not come.

He raised the hand from the bed and cupped my head to one side, holding
it, straining my neck in a long, clean line.

It was as if they knew, they both knew what my body was about to do, as
if they could smell it, or hear it, or taste it. At the moment that that
warmth spilled over the edge, as the first drop of it spilled over my
skin, tightened my body; Asher struck. There was one moment of sharp
pain, and the pain fed into the pleasure, and I remembered what I had
forgotten. Asher's bite was pleasure.

I rode that pleasure over and over and over until I screamed out,
wordless, soundless, skinless, boneless, I was nothing, but the warm
spilling pleasure. There was nothing else.

Jean-Claude came screaming, his nails digging into my skin, and that
brought me back, reminded me I had a body, that skin contained me, that
bones and muscles rode the body underneath me. Asher came in a scalding
wave against my back, as his mouth stayed locked on my throat. We fed on
one another.

My ardeur drank Jean-Claude up through the warm moistness of my body,
through the skin wherever it touched his. His ardeur drank me down,
pulling down the long shaft of him like a hand inside my body taking
things away. My ardeur drank Asher down, absorbed him where he lay on my
skin, sucked him in as he pulled at me. The feel of his mouth locked on
my neck was like a trap, the ardeur sucking him down through his mouth,
and he, sucking my blood, feeding, swallowing, drinking me down. As long
as he fed, he brought orgasm in one crashing wave after another, wave
after wave of pleasure, and it wasn't until Jean-Claude cried out
underneath me that I realized, through his own marks, he was able to
feel what I was feeling.

Asher rode us both, rode us and brought us, rode us and brought us,
until when he drew back there was blood pouring from his mouth and I
knew he'd taken more than he needed merely to feed. It wouldn't kill me,
but in that one shining moment I wasn't sure it mattered. It was the
kind of pleasure you'd beg for, kill for, maybe, maybe even let yourself
die for.

I collapsed on top of Jean-Claude, twitching, unable to control my body,
unable to do more than shiver. Jean-Claude lay trembling underneath me.
Asher collapsed on top of us. I felt him tremble against my back. We lay
shaking, trembling, waiting for one of us to be able to move enough to
walk, or scream, or anything. Then dawn came, and I felt their souls
slip away, felt their bodies go slack and empty. I was pressed between
the frantic pulse and warmth of their bodies, the fluids not even cooled
on our skin, and suddenly, Asher was heavy, and Jean-Claude was totally
limp under all the weight.

I struggled to get out from between them, but my arms and legs weren't
working yet. I did not want to lie here while their bodies cooled. I
couldn't get up. I couldn't get Asher off of me. I couldn't make my body
work. How much blood had I lost? Too much? How much?

I was dizzy, light-headed, and I couldn't tell if it was from the sex,
or if Asher had truly taken too much blood. I tried to push him off of
me, I should have been able to do that, and I couldn't. The first edge
of nausea hit me, and I knew it was blood loss. I touched my neck and
found that blood was still seeping from the puncture wounds. That
shouldn't have been happening. Should it? I never donated blood
voluntarily. I didn't know how long the wounds should bleed.

I tried to lift with my arms, like doing a push-up, and the world swam
in streams of colors, dizziness threatened to engulf the world. I did
the only thing I could think of--I screamed.

14

The door opened and it was Jason. I don't think I'd ever been so happy
to see him. I managed to say, "Help me." My voice sounded weak and
scared, and I hated it, but I also was feeling nauseous and dizzy, and
that wasn't post-coital languor, it was blood loss.

Now that I could see again, I realized I was drenched in blood--and
other things--but it was mainly the blood that was worrying me, because
it was all mine.

Jason rolled Asher off of me. He moved with that boneless ease that only
a truly dead body has. I don't know what the difference between sleep
and death is, but you know instantly when you move even an arm whether
it's death, or whether it's sleep.

Asher lay there on his back, his hair spilled around his face like a
halo, crimson blood glittered on his chin, his neck, his upper chest.
The scars didn't take away from the beauty of him nude. They weren't the
first thing you noticed, or even the third. He lay, drenched in my
blood, like some fallen god, come down to death at last.

Even sick from loss of blood, I could not find him anything but
beautiful. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Jason had to help me slide off of Jean-Claude, catching me in his arms,
holding me like you'd hold a child. I was nude, he'd just dragged me
from a bed where I'd obviously had sex with two men, yet Jason hadn't
made a single quip, or joke. When Jason had this much ammunition but
didn't tease, things were bad.

I laid my head against Jason's shoulder, and that helped the dizziness,
made the world a little less shaky. He started to turn me away from the
bed, but I said, "Wait, not yet."

He stopped moving. "What?"

'I want to remember this."

'What?" he asked again.

'The way they look together." They both lay on their backs, but whereas
Asher looked like some fallen death god, Jean-Claude looked like a god
of a different kind. His thick black hair lay in a heavy mass around his
head, carelessly arranged like a dark frame for that pale, pale face.
His lips were half-parted, his lashes thick as lace upon his cheeks. He
lay as if he had fallen asleep after some great passion, one hand across
his stomach, the other at his side, one knee bent, so that he seemed
almost displayed. Only Jean-Claude could die and look this pretty while
he did it.

'Anita, Anita," I realized that Jason had been talking for awhile. "How
much blood did they take?"

My voice came out hoarse, my mouth was dry. "Not they, only Asher."

He settled me closer in his arms, almost like he was hugging me. His
leather jacket creaked as he moved. His bare chest was very warm against
my naked skin. "He didn't just feed." Jason sounded disapproving, which
you didn't hear much.

'He got caught up in the moment, I think."

He shifted me so that he could free up a hand to touch my forehead,
which seemed silly since I was nude, but we often fall into habit when
we're stressed. You check someone's temperature on their foreheads, even
if they're naked.

'You don't feel feverish. If anything you feel a little cool."

That made me remember something, and the fact that I'd forgotten said I
was feeling worse than I knew. "Is my neck still bleeding?"

'A little."

'Should it be?"

He carried me towards the bathroom. "Have you never been bitten this
badly before?" He opened the door with his knee and one hand, and
carried me through.

'Not without passing out afterwards, non." I frowned. "Did I just say,
non, instead of no?"

'Yep," he said.

'Shit," I said.

'Yeah," he said. He sat on the edge of the huge black marble tub,
balancing me in his lap while he turned on the water. The water spilled
out of a silver swan's mouth, which I'd always thought was ostentatious,
but hey, it wasn't my bathroom.

The nausea had passed, the dizziness was waning. "Down, put me down."

'The marble is cold," he said.

I sighed. "I need to find out how well my body's working."

'Just try sitting up in my lap without me holding you. If you're okay,
I'll fetch towels and you can sit on them, but trust me you don't want
to sit naked on this marble."

'Practical," I said.

'Don't tell anyone I actually made sense, it'll ruin my image."

I smiled. "Secret's safe with me." I tried sitting up, while Jason
fidgeted with the water, trying to get the right temperature. I could
sit up. Great. I tried to stand, and only Jason's arm around my waist
kept me from falling on the marble steps leading down from the tub.

He tucked me safely back in his lap. "Don't try and do so much so fast,
Anita."

I leaned back against him, his arm like a safety belt around my waist.
"Why I am so weak?"

'How can you have been around vampires this long and ask me that?"

'I don't let them feed," I said.

'I do, and trust me, when you've donated this much, it takes a little
while to recover." He seemed satisfied with the water temperature at
last. He turned the faucets on harder and had to talk louder over the
sound of the water. "We'll get you cleaned up and see how you feel."

I could feel myself frowning, and I wasn't sure why. I felt like I
should be angry. I should be something, and I wasn't. Now that I wasn't
trapped between Jean-Claude and Asher anymore, I was strangely calm. No,
not just calm, I felt good, and I shouldn't have.

I frowned harder, trying to chase this wonderful lassitude away. It was
like trying to wake from a bad dream when it didn't want to let you go.
Except instead of fighting to wake from a nightmare, I was fighting to
destroy a good dream. That seemed wrong, too. Everything seemed wrong. I
felt, vaguely, like I'd missed something important, but for the life of
me, I couldn't place it.

I felt out of sorts and wonderful at the same time. It was as if my
natural grumpiness was fighting some warm happy thought. The warm happy
thought was winning, but I wasn't sure that that was necessarily a good
thing.

'What's wrong with me?" I asked.

'What do you mean?" Jason asked.

'I feel good, and I shouldn't. I feel wonderful. A few minutes ago I was
terrified, dizzy, sick, and scared. But once you got me out of the bed,
it all seemed better."

'Just better?" he asked. He was slipping out of his leather jacket, one
arm at a time, while he took turns holding me with the other arm.

'You're right, not just better. Once I wasn't scared, it was wonderful
again." I frowned and tried to think, and was still having trouble doing
it. "Why can't I think through this?"

He rearranged me in his lap so he could unzip his boots, and push them
off with his feet. It finally hit me that he was undressing himself,
while still holding me in his lap. Who says that the skills you learn at
work don't come in useful in your everyday life?

'Why are you undressing?"

'You can't move around without falling down, I'd hate for you to drown
in the tub."

I tried pushing this wonderful feeling farther away, but it was like
trying to fight a warm, comforting mist. You could strike out, but there
was nothing solid to hit. The mist just moved and reformed, and stayed.

'Stop," I said, the one word was firm enough, though I didn't feel very
firm inside.

'What?" he asked, as he moved me enough forward so that he could
unfasten the tops of his jeans.

'This should bother me, you trying to get naked, while I'm naked, in a
tub, that should bother me, right?"

'But it doesn't, does it," he said. He was unbuttoning his button fly
jeans with one hand. That took talent.

'No, it doesn't," I said, frowning again, "why doesn't it bother me?"

'You really don't know, do you?" he asked.

'No," I said, not even sure what I was saying no to.

He'd gotten his jeans unbuttoned. "I can either lay you down on the very
cold tile, or I can throw you over my shoulder for a few seconds while I
take the pants off, lady's choice."

The decision seemed too hard for me. "I don't know."

He didn't ask a second time, just tossed me, as gently as he could over
his shoulder, sort of half a fireman's carry. Being upside down made the
world spin again, and I wondered if I was going to be sick all over his
back. He balanced me there while he wormed out of his jeans.

I was now staring down his bare back as the jeans slid down the top of
his butt. The nausea had passed, and I giggled--I never giggle--"Nice
ass."

He choked, or laughed. "I never knew you noticed."

'Underwear," I said.

'What?"

'You had underwear, I caught a glimpse of it." I had this horrible urge
to run my hands over his butt, just because it was there, and I could.
It was like I was drunk or high.

'Yeah, I had underwear on, what about it?"

'Can you put it back on?"

'You don't really care if I have underwear on, or not, do you?" and
there was something in his voice that was almost teasing.

'Nope." I shook my head, which made the world spin again. "Oh, God, I
think I'm going to be sick."

'Stop moving, it'll pass. You wouldn't be sick at all if you hadn't
fought to get out from between the two of them. Too much physical
exertion right afterwards will make you sick as a dog. Sink into the
feeling, just ride it, and it feels wonderful."

I felt a little silly talking to his ass, but it didn't seem nearly as
silly as it should have. "What feels wonderful?"

'Guess," he said.

That made me frown. "Don't want to guess." God, what was wrong with me?
"Tell me."

'Let's get you in the tub, a bath will help clear your head."

He moved me back to his arms, and stepped over the edge of the tub.
"You're naked," I said.

'So are you," he said.

That had a certain logic to it that I couldn't quite argue with, though
I felt I should have argued with it. "Weren't you going to put something
back on?"

'The underwear is silk, I'm not going to ruin it by wearing it in the
tub, because you think I should put it on. Besides, you don't really
care if I'm naked or not. Remember?"

A headache was beginning just behind one eye. "No," I said, "but I
should care, shouldn't I? I mean…"

Jason lowered us both into the water. It felt wonderful, so warm, so
smooth, so good against my skin. Jason moved me gently in the water
until I was sitting in front of him, cradled against his body.

The water was so warm, so warm, and I was so tired. It would feel so
good to just sleep.

Jason's arm on my waist jerked me back. "Anita, you can't sleep in the
bathtub, you'll drown."

'You won't let me drown," I said, and my voice was thick with warmth and
sleep.

'No, I won't let you drown," he said.

I frowned, as I half-floated in the water. "What is wrong with me,
Jason? I feel drunk."

'You have been well and truly rolled by a vampire, Anita."

'Jean-Claude can't, his own marks protect me," my voice seemed to be
coming from a long way away.

'I never said it was Jean-Claude."

'Asher," I whispered the name.

'I've shared blood with him before, and it is the most amazing thing.
Jean-Claude says he always holds back, because he knows I'm not his
pomme de sang, I'm just a loaner."

'Loaner," I said.

'I don't think Asher held back with you tonight."

'The ardeur, we… were doing… the ardeur." Each word was thick with
effort.

'The ardeur could have made him careless," Jason said. His hands were
very solid on me, cradling me in the water more than against his body.

'Careless?" I said.

'Go ahead and pass out, Anita. When you wake up, we'll talk."

''bout what?"

'Things," he said, and his voice was sinking away into the candlelit
dark. I didn't remember him lighting the candles that Jean-Claude
usually kept around the tub.

I started to ask, what things? but the words never made it out loud. I
fell into a warm, soft darkness, where there was no fear, no pain. So
warm, so safe, so loved.

15

I woke to the phone ringing. I huddled in the sheets, trying not to hear
it. God, I was tired. The bed moved, someone else rumbling for it. It
wasn't until Jason's voice said, "Hello," softly, as if he were afraid
of waking me, that I woke completely. Why was Jason in my bedroom?

That question was answered as soon as I opened my eyes. I wasn't in my
bedroom, in fact, I didn't know where the hell I was. The bed was a
king-size, but it was only pillows and a bed, no headboard, no
footboard, only a bed, very modern, very normal. The only light was from
a small door directly across from the foot of the bed, I could catch a
glimpse of a bathtub, or shower. I followed the dim light out and found
bare stone walls and knew I was still inside the Circus of the Damned,
somewhere.

'She's sick," Jason said. He was quiet for a second. "She's asleep. I'd
rather not wake her."

I tried to remember why I was here and came up with nothing, just a
blank. I started to roll over, I think to ask who it was, when I
realized I was naked. I pulled the sheets up over my breasts and turned
over to see Jason.

He was laying on his side, his back to me, the sheet pulled down enough
that I could see the top of his buttocks. What the fuck was I doing
naked in a bed with Jason? Where was Jean-Claude? Okay, probably in his
coffin, or his bed. I never shared the bed when he was stone cold. But
why hadn't I gone home?

'I don't think she's going to be well enough to come out today."

I tried to sit up and found that the world wasn't quite steady. Maybe
sitting up wasn't such a good idea. I stayed on my back, sheet clutched
to my chest, and had to try twice to say, "I'm awake." My mouth was
incredibly dry.

Jason turned towards me. The movement pooled the sheet into his lap and
left the backside of his body bare. He covered the receiver with his
hand. "How do you feel?"

'How did I get here? Why am I here?" I asked in a voice so hoarse it
barely sounded like me.

'Do you remember anything?"

I frowned, and that hurt. My throat hurt. I raised a hand and found a
large bandage on the right side of my neck. There was a vampire bite
under the bandages, I knew that, and with that knowledge, I remembered.

I remembered everything, and it wasn't just my mind that remembered it.
My body convulsed against the bed, my spine bowing, hands clawing at the
sheets, a moan tore from my throat, before my body stole all the breath
from me, and I bucked against the bed, caught in a sensory memory. It
wasn't as good as the original, but damn it was close.

I dug my fists into the sheets, balling the cloth up, trying to find
something to hold on to. Jason was suddenly beside me, he grabbed my
upper arms, tried to hold me still. "Anita, what's wrong?"

My hands came up, automatically, grabbing his forearms, holding on. My
eyes rolled back into my head, my body convulsed, and my hands tore down
his forearms. I felt my nails sink into his flesh, felt his skin give
under me.

Jason cried out, somewhere between a scream and a moan.

I lay back against the bed, panting, eyes unable to focus. I held onto
Jason's arms, because it was the only solid thing I had.

'Anita," he said, his voice, strained, "are you alright?"

I tried to say yes, but finally was reduced to nodding. He pried my
fingers from his arms, gently, folding my hands across the sheet and my
stomach. I felt the bed move as he moved. I realized my eyes were shut.
I didn't remember shutting them.

'What the hell was that?" he asked.

I started to say, I didn't know, but I did know. I remembered Asher
sitting at a long banquet table with his hair in golden ringlets,
dressed in gold and crimson. The wife of our host crushed her wine glass
in her gloved hand, her mouth half-parted, her breath making the white
mounds of her breasts rise and fall. A small sound escaped her, and when
she could speak, she asked for her maid and to be helped to her room,
for she was ill. She wasn't ill. Asher had seduced her the night before,
on Belle's orders. He had complained to Jean-Claude that the woman
simply lay there, eyes rolled back in her head, true, but with almost no
other reaction. It had been most disappointing.

She'd experienced a flashback of the orgasm the night before at the
dinner table, but she was a quiet sex partner, which meant that her
flashbacks could be explained away in public. Sort of.

I lay there staring up at Jason, seeing him now instead of candlelit
rooms long deserted and people long gone to dust. I found my voice, and
it was more hoarse than before, as if the screaming had taken the rest
of my voice.

'It was a flashback." I coughed.

'To what?" he asked.

'Water, please?"

He hopped off the bed and knelt by a small refrigerator next to the bed.
He got out a small bottle of some athletic juicer. "It helps replace the
electrolytes better than water."

'I don't like this shit."

'Trust me, you'll feel better if you drink it than if you drink water.
Water can make you nauseous."

Suddenly the neon blue drink looked a whole lot better. He opened it and
handed it to me. Blood had filled the scratches on his forearms and was
slowly seeping down his skin in red rivulets.

'Jesus, Jason, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cut you up." I took a sip of
the neon bright liquid. The taste was as bad as I remembered, but a few
small sips, and I did feel a little better. When I talked, my voice
didn't sound like I'd been in the desert for a month.

He held his arms up. "It's okay, though normally when I get this cut up
it's because I did a wonderful job entertaining a friend." He smiled.

I shook my head, and I wasn't dizzy this time. Good.

'You said this was a flashback, a flashback to what?" he asked.

'To what happened with Jean-Claude and Asher."

He raised eyebrows at me. "You mean that was a flashback to what, the
orgasm?"

I felt heat creep up my face. "Something like that," I muttered.

He laughed. "You're joking."

'I don't think so." I drank some more of the vile drink, and avoided
looking at him.

'I've served as refreshment for Jean-Claude for years and I've never had
any reaction like that."

'It's something Asher can do."

'What?" he asked.

'You're bleeding all over the place," I said.

'I'll doctor myself in a minute. First I want you to finish this
explanation."

'You know, Asher's bite can be…"

'Orgasmic," he finished for me.

'Yeah," I said.

'I've experienced the mild version of it," Jason said. "So have you once
in Tennessee when Asher was dying. He rolled your mind. If I remember
right, you didn't like it much."

'It wasn't that I didn't like it, Jason, it was that I liked it maybe
too much, so yeah, it scared me."

'Jean-Claude said that Asher always holds back unless he can keep the
person, whatever that means."

I nodded, took a drink, nodded again. "I think, no, I know that Asher
didn't hold back last night."

'How do you know?" he asked.

'I've got some of Jean-Claude's memories. I'm reacting like a woman that
Belle had Asher seduce once."

'Acting how?" he asked, "Slicing people up?"

'I said I was sorry."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, one knee tucked up, the other down,
so that he was pretty much flaunting himself at me. Generally I don't
have trouble making eye contact with a man, but it was sort of eye
catching.

'I'm just teasing, Anita." He seemed totally unaware of his nudity, like
most of the shape-shifters I knew.

I handed him an edge of sheet. "Please cover up a little."

He grinned. "Why, we slept for," he glanced at the bedside clock, "four
hours naked together. Why should I dress now?"

I frowned at him, and suddenly it was easy to have eye contact. It
usually is when I glare.

'How are you acting like this other woman?" he asked.

'Echoes, flashbacks to the pleasure that happened when Asher took
blood."

'Is that going to keep happening?" he asked.

I blushed again. "Off and on, fuck."

'What?" he asked.

'The woman I'm remembering was quiet in bed, she didn't jump around a
lot, not according to Asher."

'So?"

'She could hide it better than I can."

He laughed out loud. "Are you telling me that all this jumping around is
normal for you?"

I glared at him. "You should know, you've seen me in bed once, you
helped bring me, remember." I was blushing so hard my head was beginning
to hurt.

His smile faded. It had taken me months to be comfortable around Jason
after that. "The ardeur was riding all of us," he said, "we were all a
little jumpier than usual."

I shook my head, not looking at him, tucking my knees and the sheet to
my chest. "Except for wanting to tear out your throat, that was about
normal for me."

He coughed, laughed, and finally said, "No way."

I kept my eyes firmly on the sheets. "Fine, make fun."

He took the bottle from me. "I need a drink."

I hugged my knees to my chest, huddling in the sheet. "You are so not
funny."

He slid to his knees beside the bed, so I'd see his face. "I'm sorry,
really, but…" He gave a small shrug. "You can't blame me. You cannot
tell me that you have these violent, amazing, orgasms, then expect me
not to tease you. It's me, Anita, you know I can't really help it."

He looked so boyish, so innocent. It was all an act. By the time I'd met
Jason he'd been ridden hard and put up wet, and his innocence had been
long gone.

He handed the drink back to me. "Forgive me, okay, maybe it's just
envy."

'Don't go there," I said.

'Not of you," he said, "but hell if Asher's bite is that good, why
didn't I get the full treatment?"

I tried to frown at him, and only half-succeeded. "You said it yourself,
you're not his pomme de sang, you're only a loaner."

'And you're Jean-Claude's human servant, not Asher's, so why do you rate
the full orgasmic blowout?"

He had a point, a good point. I shrugged. "I think the ardeur overrode
things. I don't know. I guess I'll have to ask them when they wake up."
Why would Asher do this to me? Had it been on purpose? I knew only Asher
could do with the mere taking of blood what most men couldn't do with
their whole bodies. Asher had done something to me that Jean-Claude
alone couldn't duplicate. The memory of it tightened my body, and I had
just enough time to shove the bottle at Jason before I threw myself back
on the bed.

It wasn't as violent as the last time, and Jason made no move to try and
touch me. I guess he'd had enough scratches. When I was done, panting on
the bed, with the sheet down around my stomach, and my vision clearing,
Jason asked from the far side of the bed, "Is it safe now?"

'Shut up," I managed.

He laughed and bounced back on the bed. He raised me up with one hand
and offered the bottle with the other. "Lean against the pillows, drink
this slowly, I'm going to put some bandages on my arms."

'Antiseptic cream, too," I said.

'I'm a werewolf, Anita, I don't get infections."

Oh. "Fine, then why bother with bandages at all?"

'I don't want to bleed all over my clothes, and I can't let the police
see me like this."

'Police, why police?"

'That was who was on the phone when you woke up. That is who's been
calling for about the last hour. Lieutenant Storr and Detective
Zerbrowski have both called, and have requested your presence. The
lieutenant made noises about coming to find you and drag you out of my
bed."

'How did he know I was in your bed?"

He grinned at me in the door of the bathroom, opening it wide so the
light framed his body. "I don't know, maybe he guessed."

'Jason, you did not tease Dolph, please tell me you didn't."

He put a hand to his chest. "Me, tease someone?"

'Sweet Jesus, you did."

'I'd call him back ASAP, if I were you. I'd hate to have the SWAT team
crash our little party."

'We are not having a party."

'I don't think your lieutenant friend will believe that if he finds us
naked in the bedroom together." He held his arms up. "Especially if he
sees this."

'He's not going to see your arms, or any other part of you. Just give me
my clothes and I'll get out of your hair."

'And if you have another flashback while you're driving, what then? And
let me just add that I've been donating blood to vampires a lot longer
than you have. I know how hard it can be when you lose as much as you
lost. You may feel fine, but if you overdo it, you'll get dizzy again,
and nauseous. That wouldn't be good at a crime scene, would it?"

'Dolph does not let civilians at his crime scenes."

'I'll sit in the Jeep, but I can't let you drive yourself around today."

'Call Micah, or Nathaniel, they'll come pick me up."

He shook his head. "Nathaniel passed out at the club last night."

'What!"

'Micah thinks that feeding the ardeur at least once a day for three
months has taken its toil on Nathaniel."

'Is he alright?"

'He just needs a day off. Jean-Claude only takes blood from me every
other day, usually."

'I switch off with Micah and Jean-Claude for the ardeur," I said.

'Yeah, but Jean-Claude only needs to feed once a day, you need to feed
twice a day. Let's face it, Anita, you need a larger stable of pomme de
sangs."

'What, you volunteering?"

An expression of delight crossed his face. "Oh, hell yes, I'd love to be
on the receiving end of one of those spine cracking orgasms."

'Jason," I said, and the one word was warning enough.

'Fine, be that way, but who else are you going to put in Nathaniel's
place while he recovers?"

I sighed. "Damn it."

'See, you don't know, do you?"

'I can feed on Asher now."

'Yes, but he's not going to wake up for hours and hours. You need some
more day-walking donors, Anita. It doesn't have to be me, but it has to
be somebody. Think about it. But today I am your escort, because you
can't go out alone, not with the blood loss, and whatever the hell Asher
did to you. You could call Micah, but by the time he drove out here, and
the two of you drove out to wherever the police want to be, I think your
police friends would be having fits."

'Fine, you've made your point."

'Have I? It's always so hard to tell with you. Sometimes I think I've
won the argument, then you get a second wind and beat me all to hell
with it."

'Just go, Jason, put some bandages on the scrapes."

'Scrapes hell, if I were human, you'd be taking me to the emergency
room. Remember, Anita, you have some of the strength of both a vampire
and a werewolf. We can punch our finger through someone's ribs."

'Are you really hurt?" I asked, all joking aside, I didn't want him
hurt.

'Not permanently, but it'll heal almost human slow."

'I'm sorry, Jason." I remembered enough to say, "And thanks for taking
care of me."

His grin faded, and something close to a serious look spilled through
his eyes, then it was gone, hidden behind another smile. "All in a day's
work, ma'am." He tipped an imaginary hat and started to shut the door.
"I'd turn on the lamp before I close the door, it's damn dark without
windows."

I reached over and switched on a small lamp beside the clock, on top of
the little refrigerator. The glow seemed unnaturally bright.

'Your cell phone is on the floor on my side of the bed. I dropped it
when you started convulsing."

'I was not convulsing," I said.

'Oh, sorry, I dropped it when you had your raging, overwhelming,
screaming orgasm. Was that better? It sounded better didn't it?"

'Go clean up," I said, sounding grumpy when I said it.

He was laughing as he closed the door.

I was left alone with the little lamp, the big bed, and no clothes in
sight. I was about to debate on whether to try and find some clothes
before hunting up my phone, when it rang again. I scrambled across the
bed, jerking the sheets off so they wouldn't tangle me. I half slid,
half fell to the floor and found my phone by sitting on it.

It was Dolph, and he wasn't happy. While he'd been waiting for me, there
had been a second call, to a second crime scene. He was pissed with
Jason's antics on the phone, with both crime scenes, and especially, it
seemed, with me.

16

The first crime scene was in Wildwood, that new bastion of money and
social climbing. The hot addresses used to be Ladue, Clayton, Creve
Coeur, but they've all become pass. Nope, the hot new place to be is
Wildwood. The fact that it's in the middle of freaking nowhere doesn't
seem to dissuade the nouveau riche, or wanna-be rich. Personally, the
only reason I lived in the middle of nowhere, at a much less fashionable
address, was the fact that I didn't want to get my neighbors shot up.

By the time Jason had driven through all the windy roads that led to the
murder scene, we'd found out several things. First, my eyes were light
sensitive, so my sunglasses were my friends. Second, my stomach didn't
like the twisting roads. We hadn't had to stop so I could throw up,
which was good, since unless we pulled into someone's drive, there was
no shoulder to the road. It was bordered by woods, hills, tame
wilderness, where real wolves no longer roam and even the black bears
have found deeper holes to hide in.

Normally I love a drive through the country. Today all the bright greens
meant was that when my vision swirled, it did it in Technicolor green
like a frog smeared across my vision, which actually made the nausea
worse.

'How can you endure this?" I asked.

'If you'd slept the day away like a normal pomme de sang or human
servant, you wouldn't be sick at all."

'Forgive me for having a day job."

'Also if Asher had taken enough for just a feeding, then you might be a
bit sick," he negotiated a turn, "but I think that whatever Asher did to
you along with taking blood made it worse." He paused. "Truthfully, you
shouldn't be this sick, at all."

We crested the rise, and the soft hills stretched out for miles, shades
of green with a hint of gold here and there.

'At least I'm not nauseous anymore when I look at the trees."

'That's good, but I mean it, Anita. After you'd slept, and then gotten
up and around, you should have been fine." He took the next curve
carefully, a lot slower than he'd taken the first one.

'So what went wrong?" I asked.

He shrugged, and slowed even further, trying to see the address on a
cluster of mailboxes.

'Dolph said the crime scene was on the main road. You won't miss it,
Jason."

'How can you be sure?"

'Trust me."

He flashed me another grin, his own blue eyes hidden behind mirrored
sunglasses. "I do trust you."

'What went wrong?" I asked again.

'What were you doing when dawn broke?" he asked, speeding back up and
taking the next curve a little faster than I would have liked.

'The ardeur, Asher was feeding, and…" I hesitated only for a second,
"having sex."

'With both of them at once," he said, voice mock serious, "I am so
disappointed in you, Anita."

'Disappointed why?"

'That I wasn't invited."

'You are so lucky you're driving right now."

He grinned, but didn't turn away from the road this time. "Why do you
think I said it while I was driving?" He slowed. "I see what you meant
about not missing it."

I turned my attention from Jason's face to the road. Police cars, marked
and unmarked, were everywhere. Two emergency vehicles were parked on the
edge of the road, which effectively blocked traffic. If we'd been
planning to drive farther on, we'd have had to find another way around.
But lucky us, we were stopping here.

Jason pulled the Jeep over, driving into the grass in a vain attempt to
leave some space for anyone else that might be coming behind us.

A uniformed officer started walking towards us before Jason had turned
off the engine. I got my badge out of my suit jacket pocket. I, Anita
Blake, vampire executioner, was technically a federal marshal. All
vampire hunters that were currently state licensed in the United States
had been grandfathered in to federal status, if they could qualify on a
shooting range. I'd qualified, and now I was a fed. They were still
arguing in Washington, D.C., about whether they'd be able to give us
anything more than the pittance that each state pays us per kill, which
is not enough so you could afford to do it as a day job. But then,
luckily the vampires haven't gotten so out of hand that any state needed
a vampire hunter full time.

I wasn't getting any more money, so why had I wanted the badge? Because
it meant I could chase the vampires, or other supernatural bad guys,
across state lines, different law enforcement jurisdictions, and not
have to ask anyone's permission. I also wouldn't be up on murder charges
if I killed a vamp on the wrong side of a state line where I wasn't
licensed.

But for me, more than most vampire hunters, there was an extra benefit
to having a badge of my very own. I no longer had to rely on policemen
friends to get me into crime scenes.

I didn't know the uniformed officer that was about to knock on our Jeep
window, but it didn't matter. He couldn't keep me out of the crime
scene. I was a federal marshal--I could stick my nose into any
preternaturally related crime I wanted to. A real federal marshal could
have intruded into any investigation, and technically my badge didn't
specify that I was relegated to preternatural crime, but I know my
limitations. I know monsters, and monster-related crime. A regular cop I
am not. What I'm good at, I'm very good at, but what I don't know shit
about, I don't know shit about. Take me away from the monsters and I
wasn't sure how much use I'd be.

I was out of the Jeep and flashing my badge before the uniform got to
us. He sized me up the way men will do from shoes to face--in that
order. Any man who starts at my feet and then goes up has lost pretty
much any chance he has to impress me.

I read his name tag, "Officer Jenkins, I'm Anita Blake. Lieutenant Storr
is expecting me."

'Storr isn't here," he said, arms crossed over his chest.

Great, he didn't recognize my name--so much for being a celebrity--and
he was going to play'don't want the feds pissing in my pond!'

Jason had gotten out on his side of the Jeep. Maybe I looked a little
disreputable in my slightly wrinkled suit, with a run in my hose that
went from toe to thigh, but Jason didn't look like a fed, or a cop. He
was dressed in blue jeans that had faded through enough washings to be
comfortable, a blue T-shirt that almost matched his eyes, still hidden
behind the mirrored shades, and white jogging shoes. It had turned out
to be one of those unusually warm fall days we get sometimes. Too warm
for his leather jacket, so he hadn't bothered with anything else. The
white gauze and tape on his forearms were very noticeable.

He leaned on the hood of the Jeep, smiling pleasantly and looking so not
like a federal anything.

Officer Jenkins's eyes flicked to Jason, then back to me. "We didn't
call the feds in."

Standing there in my three-inch heels on the slightly uneven road was
making me feel light-headed again. I did not have the patience, or the
strength, to debate.

'Officer Jenkins, I am a federal marshal, do you know what that means?"

'Nope," he said, making the word longer than it was.

'It means that I don't need your permission to enter this crime scene. I
don't need anybody's permission. So it doesn't matter if the lieutenant
is here or not. I told you who alerted me to this crime out of courtesy,
but if you don't want to be courteous, officer, then we don't have to
be."

I turned and looked at Jason. Normally, I would have left him at the
car, but I wasn't a hundred percent sure I could make it up the rest of
the hill without falling over. I genuinely didn't feel well enough to be
here. But here I was, and I was going to see this crime scene.

I motioned Jason to me. He came around the Jeep, his smile fading around
the edges. Maybe I looked as pale as I felt.

'Let's go."

'He's not a fed," Jenkins said.

I'd had enough of Jenkins. If I'd been feeling better I would have
bullied our way through, but… there were other ways to bully.

I waited until Jason was there to steady me, then I moved my hair to one
side showing the white gauze and tape on my own neck. I pulled on one
side of the tape until it peeled down, and I could flash the bite at
Jenkins. It wasn't a neat puncture wound. Asher had gotten carried away,
because the edges of the wounds were torn.

'Shit," Jenkins said.

I let Jason tape the wound back up, while I talked to the other man. "I
have had a hard night, Officer Jenkins, and I have the authority to go
into any preternaturally related crime scene that I see fit to enter."

The tape was smoothed back into place, and Jason was standing very close
to my left arm, as if he knew how unsteady I was feeling. Jenkins didn't
seem to notice.

'It isn't a vampire attack," Jenkins said.

'Am I not speaking English here, Jenkins? Did I say it had anything to
do with vampires?"

'No, sir, I mean… no."

'Then either escort us to the crime scene, officer, or step aside and
we'll find our own way."

Flashing the vampire bite had thrown him, but he still didn't want a fed
messing with his crime. Probably his boss wouldn't like it, but that
wasn't my problem. I had a federal badge. In theory, I had the right to
the crime scene. In actuality, if the local police barred my way there
wasn't much I could do. I could go get a court order and force the
issue, but that would take time, and I didn't have that kind of time.
Dolph was already pissed at me. I didn't want to keep him waiting that
long.

Jenkins finally stepped aside. We started walking up the hill. I had to
take Jason's arm about halfway up. My goal in life for that moment was
not to fall down, throw up, or faint, while Jenkins was still puzzling
over whether he'd done the right thing letting us get past him.

17

My badge on its little cord around my neck got us past most of the cops.
The few that questioned us recognized my name, or had worked with me
before. Always good to be known. They questioned Jason's presence. I
finally told them that I'd deputized him.

A big statie, with shoulders wider than either of us was tall, said,
"I've heard it called a lot of things, but deputy isn't one of 'em."

I turned on him, slowly, because I couldn't move fast, and the very
slowness of the turn helped the menace. It's hard to be menacing to
someone when you barely reach their waist, but I have had lots of
practice.

Jason must have been afraid of what I'd say, because he said, "You're
just jealous."

The big man shook his head in his Smokey the bear hat. "I like my women
bigger."

'Funny," I said, "that's what your wife says."

It took him a minute to get it, then he unfolded those beefy arms and
took a step towards us. "Why you…"

'Trooper Kennedy," a voice said from behind us, "don't you have some
speeders to go catch?"

I turned to see Zerbrowski walking towards us. He was dressed in his
usual--sloppy as hell, as if he'd slept in the brown suit, a yellow
shirt with the collar on one side pointing up, and a tie at half-mast,
already stained with something, even though he probably hadn't had
breakfast. His wife, Katie, was always neat as a pin. I'd never figured
out how she let him go out looking like that.

'I'm on my own time here, detective," Trooper Kennedy said.

'And this is my crime scene, trooper. I don't think we need you here."

'She says that she deputized him."

'She's a federal marshal, Kennedy, she can do that."

The big man looked perplexed. "I didn't mean anything by the comment,
sir."

'I know you didn't, Kennedy, just as Marshall Blake here didn't mean
anything by hers. Did you, Anita?"

'I don't know his wife, so no, just pulling your leg, Officer Kennedy,
sorry about that."

Kennedy frowned, thinking harder than was good for him, I think. "No
offense taken, and none meant, ma'am." He couldn't quite bring himself
to call me officer, or marshal, which was fine with me. The federal
status was so new that I didn't always look up when someone called
marshal. I kept forgetting they meant me.

When the big trooper had wandered away to his car, Zerbrowski called
over one of the other detectives on the Regional Preternatural
Investigation Team, affectionately know as RPIT. If you wanted to piss
them off, call them RIP.

'See if you can clear out some of the personnel we don't need."

'You got it, Sarge," and the man went to talk with all the nice
policemen from all the many jurisdictions.

'Sarge," I said, "I knew Dolph made lieutenant finally, I didn't hear
your news."

He shrugged, running a hand through his already messy curls. Katie would
make him go in for a haircut soon. "When they moved Dolph up, he needed
a second whip, I got tapped."

'They throw you a party yet?"

He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. They didn't need adjusting. "Yeah."

If I'd been a man, I'd have let it go, but I was a girl, and girl's poke
at things more than men. "I was invited to Dolph's party for making
louie, but not yours?"

'I like Micah, Anita, but Dolph… didn't expect you to bring Micah. I
don't think he could take seeing him at my shindig, too."

'He just can't handle the fact that my main squeeze is a shape-shifter."

Zerbrowski shrugged. "Katie gave me strict orders to invite you and
Micah over for dinner the next time I saw you. So here it is, and when
can you come over?"

There are points where you stop pushing. I didn't ask if Katie had
really told Zerbrowski that, she probably had, but, whatever, he was
trying to offer a social peace pipe, and I was going to take it.

'I'll ask Micah what our schedule looks like."

His eyes flicked to Jason, and he grinned. The grin reminded me so much
of Jason's grin, that it made me wonder what Zerbrowski had been like in
college, when Katie and he met. "Unless you've changed guys again?"

'No," I said, "Jason's just a friend."

'The friend speech," Jason clutched his heart with his free hand, the
other still wrapped around mine, "it cuts so deep."

'Yeah, I've been trying to get into her pants for years. She just won't
come across."

'Tell me about it," Jason said.

'Both of you, stop it, right now," I said.

They both laughed, and the laughs were so similar that it was kind of
unnerving. "I know you have the right to make him a deputy, but I know
what Mr. Schulyer here is, and where his primary residence is."
Zerbrowski leaned in close enough to us that no one else would hear.
"Dolph would kill me if I let him into the crime scene."

'You catch me if I pass out, and he can stay out here."

'Pass out," Zerbrowski said, "you're joking, right?"

'I wish I was." I had both hands on Jason's arm now, fighting the urge
to totter on my high heels.

'Dolph said that you'd said you were sick. Did he know how sick?"

'He didn't seem to care, just wanted me to get my ass out here."

Zerbrowski frowned. "If he'd known you were this shaky, he wouldn't have
insisted."

'Pretty to think so," I said. I could feel the blood draining from my
face. I needed to sit down, soon, just for a few minutes.

'I would ask if it's the flu, but I see the bandage on your neck. What
did it?"

'Vampire," I said.

'You want to report a crime?"

'It's been taken care of."

'You kill his ass?"

I looked at him through the dark lenses of the glasses. "I really need
to sit down for a few minutes, Zerbrowski, and you know I wouldn't ask
if I didn't need it."

He offered me his arm. "I'll escort you through, but Schulyer there
can't come." He looked at Jason. "Sorry, man."

Jason shrugged. "It's okay, I'm really good at entertaining myself."

'Behave yourself," I said.

He grinned. "Don't I always?"

I would have stayed there and made sure he promised me how good he would
be, but I had only about enough energy to walk into the house and sit
down before my legs gave. I'd leave the police officers and emergency
crews to Jason's mercy. He wouldn't do anything bad, just irritating.

I stumbled on the steps leading up to the small front porch. If
Zerbrowski hadn't caught me, I'd have fallen.

'Jesus, Anita, you should be in bed."

'That's what I told Dolph."

He eased me through the door and found me a small straight-backed chair
in the hallway. "I'll tell Dolph how sick you are and let the kid take
you home."

'No," I said, though I did lay my forehead on my knees while the world
steadied around me.

'Jesus, Anita, you're as stubborn as he is. Dolph won't take no for an
answer, so you drag your ass out of a sickbed to come down here. I give
you an out, where I'll take the heat from Dolph, but nooo, you're going
to show Dolph that you're just as stubborn and bullheaded as he is. You
planning to faint in his arms? That'll really show him."

'Shut up, Zerbrowski."

'Fine, you sit there for a few minutes. I'll come back and check on you,
and I'll escort you through the crime scene. But you're being stupid."

I spoke with my face still in my lap. "If Dolph were sick, he'd still be
here."

'That doesn't prove you're right, Anita, that just proves you're both
stupid." With that he walked away, farther into the house. It was good
that he left, because for the life of me, I couldn't have argued with
him.

18

When Zerbrowski first led me into the room, I thought, there's a man
levitating against that wall. He did look like he was floating. I knew
that wasn't true, but for just a moment my eyes, my mind, tried to make
that what I saw. Then I saw the dark lines where blood had dried on the
body. It looked as if he'd been shot, a lot, and bled, but bullets
wouldn't have kept him pinned to the wall.

Strangely, I wasn't faint, or nauseous, or anything. I felt light and
distant, and more solid than I'd felt in hours. I kept walking towards
the man on the wall. Zerbrowski's hand slipped away from mine, and I was
steady on my high heels in the soft carpet.

I had to be almost underneath the body before my eyes could make sense
of it, and even then, I was going to have to ask someone who was more
tool-oriented if I was right.

It looked like someone had taken a nail gun, one of those industrial
size nail guns, and nailed the man to the wall. His shoulders were about
eight feet off the ground, so either they'd used a ladder, or they'd
been close to seven feet tall.

The dark spots on the body were at both palms, both wrists, forearms
just above the elbows, shoulders, collarbones, lower legs just below the
knees, just above the ankles, then through each foot. The legs were
apart, not pierced together. They hadn't tried to imitate the
Crucifixion. If you went to this much trouble, it was almost odd to not
echo that long-ago drama. The very fact that they hadn't tried seemed
strange to me.

The man's head slumped forward. His neck showed pale and whole. There
was a dark patch of blood on his nearly white hair just behind one ear.
If the nails were as big as I thought they were, if that blood had been
caused by a nail, the tip should have protruded from the face, but it
didn't. I stood on tiptoe. I wanted to see the face.

The white hair and the face, slack with death, said he was older than
the rest of him looked. The body was well cared for--exercise, probably
weights, running--only the face and white hair said he was probably over
fifty. All that work to maintain health and well-being, and some nutcase
comes along and nails you to a wall. It seemed so unfair.

I leaned forward too far and had to put my fingertips out to catch
myself. My fingers touched dried blood on the wall. Only then did I
realize I'd forgotten my surgical gloves. Fuck.

Zerbrowski was there with a hand on my elbow to steady me, whether I
needed it, or not.

'How could you let me come in here without gloves on?"

'I didn't expect you to touch the evidence," he said. He fished a bottle
of hand sanitizer out of one of his pockets. "Katie makes me carry it."

I let him pour some into my hands, and I scrubbed them. It wasn't that I
was really worried about catching anything from that one small touch, I
did it more out of habit. You didn't take pieces of the crime scene home
if you didn't have to.

The gel evaporated against my skin making my hands feel wet, though I
knew they weren't. I looked around at the crime scene, taking in what
else was there.

Colored chalk had been used on the off-white walls. There were
pentagrams of varying sizes on either side of the body. Pink, blue, red,
green; almost decorative. Any fool that's trying to fake a ritual murder
knows enough to use a few pentagrams. But there were also Nordic runes
drawn among the candy-colored pentagrams. Not every nutcase knows that
Nordic runes can be used in ritual magic.

I'd had one semester of comparative religion with a professor who had
really liked the Norse. It had left me with a better knowledge of runes
than most Christians had. It had been years, but I still recognized
enough to be confused.

'This makes no sense," I said.

'What?" Zerbrowski asked.

I pointed at the wall, while I spoke. "It's been awhile since I studied
runes in college, but the perps used all the runes in a pretty standard
order. If you're really doing ritual, you have a specific purpose. You
don't use all the Norse runes, because some of them are contradictory. I
mean, you don't want to use a rune for chaos and a rune for order. I
can't think of a true ritual where you would use them all. Even if you
were doing a working where you wanted to invoke polarity, healing,
harming, chaos, order, god, goddess, you still wouldn't. Some of them
aren't easily made to fit any true polarity,'opposite sort of thing. And
they're also in a pretty standard textbook order."

I backed up, taking him with me, because he was still holding on to my
elbow. I pointed to the left side of the body as we looked at it. "It
starts with Fehu here and descends straight through, ending with Dagaz
at the other side. Someone just copied this, Zerbrowski."

'I know this sounds funky, but do you feel any magic?" he asked.

I thought about that. "Do you mean was this a spell?"

He nodded. "Yeah, can you feel a spell?"

'No, there's been nothing of power in this room."

'How can you be so sure?" he asked.

'Magic, power of any kind of a metaphysical nature, leaves a residue
behind. Sometimes it's just a tingling at the back of your neck,
goosebumps on your skin, but sometimes it's like a slap in the face, or
even a wall that you run into. But this room is dead, Zerbrowski. I'm
not psychically gifted enough to pick up emotions from what happened
here, and I'm glad. But if this had been some big spell, there'd been
something left of it, and the room is just a crime scene, nothing else."

'So if no spell, why all the symbols?" he asked.

'I haven't the faintest idea. From the looks of things he was shot
behind the ear and nailed to the wall. The body isn't arranged to
imitate any mystical or religious symbolism that I'm familiar with. Then
they threw some pentagrams around and copied runes out of a book."

'Which book?"

'There are a lot of books on the runes, everything from college
textbooks to the occult to New Age. You'd probably have to go to a
college store or one of the New Age shops, or you could probably special
order it through any bookstore."

'So this isn't a ritual murder," he said.

'There may be ritual to it from the killer's point of view, but was it
done with magical purpose? No."

He let out a deep breath. "Good, that's what Reynolds told Dolph."

'Detective Tammy Reynolds, your one and only witch on staff?" I asked.

He nodded.

'Why didn't Dolph believe her?"

'He said he wanted confirmation."

I shook my head, and it didn't make me dizzy to do it. Great. "He
doesn't trust her, does he?"

Zerbrowski shrugged. "Dolph's just careful."

'Bull-fucking-shit, Zerbrowski, he doesn't trust her because she's a
witch. She's a Christian witch for heaven's sake, a Follower of the Way.
You can't get more mainstream in your occult expert than a Christian
witch."

'Hey, don't get mad at me, I didn't drag you out of bed to double-check
Reynolds's work."

'And would he have dragged her down here to check my work, if I'd been
first on the scene?"

'You'd have to ask Dolph about that."

'Maybe I will," I said.

Zerbrowski went a little pale. "Anita, please don't go after Dolph
angry. He is in a bad, bad mood."

'Why?"

He shrugged again. "Dolph doesn't confide in me."

'Is he just in a bad mood today, or for the last few days, what?"

'The last few days have been worse, but two murders in one night have
sort of given him a reason to be grumpy, and he's taking full advantage
of it."

'Great, just great," I said. My anger helped me stomp off towards the
bank of windows that took up most of the other wall. I stood there and
stared off at the amazing view. Nothing but hills, trees, it did look as
if the house sat in the middle of some vast wilderness.

Zerbrowski came to stand beside me. "Nice view, huh?"

'Whoever did this had to have scouted the house." I motioned at the
windows. "They had to know for sure that there was no neighbor out there
that could see what they were doing. Shooting him, you might take your
chances, but putting him up on the wall, and all the symbols, no, they
had to be sure they wouldn't be seen."

'That's pretty organized for a wacko," Zerbrowski said.

'Not if it's really someone wanting you to think they're a wacko."

'What do you mean?"

'Don't tell me that you and Dolph haven't thought of that."

'What?"

'That it's someone near and dear to the dead man, someone who stands to
inherit all this." I looked around at the living room, which was as
large as the entire downstairs of my house. "I was too sick to really
notice when I came in, but if the rest of the house is as impressive as
this, then there's money to be had."

'You haven't seen the pool yet, have ya?"

'Pool?"

'Indoors, with a Jacuzzi big enough for twelve."

I sighed. "Like I said, money. Follow the money, find out who stands to
gain. The ritual is only window dressing, a smoke screen that the
murderers hope will throw you off."

He stood staring off at the beautiful view, hands behind his back, sort
of rocking on his heels. "You're right, that's exactly what Dolph
thought once Reynolds said there was no magic to it."

'I'm not going over to the other scene just to check her work again, am
I? Because if that's the case, I'm headed home. I may not always like
Detective Tammy, but she's pretty good at what she does."

'You just don't like that she's dating Larry Kirkland, your animator in
training."

'No, I don't like that she and Larry are dating. She's his first serious
girlfriend, so forgive me, but I felt protective."

'Funny, I don't feel protective of Reynolds at all."

'That's because you're weird, Zerbrowski."

'No," he said, "it's because I see the way Reynolds and Kirkland look at
each other. They are dead gone, Anita, in L-O-V-E."

I sighed. "Maybe."

'If you haven't noticed, it's because you didn't want to see it."

'Maybe I've been busy."

For once Zerbrowski stayed quiet.

I looked at him. "You never answered my first question, am I going to
the next murder scene to check Tammy's work?"

He stopped rocking on his heels and stood quiet, face serious. "I don't
know, probably some."

'I'm going home then."

He touched my arm. "Go to the second scene, Anita, please. Don't give
Dolph any more reason to be more pissy."

'That is not my problem, Zerbrowski. Dolph is making his own life hard
on this one."

'I know, but the couple officers that have been at both scenes say the
second one is a bad one. More up your alley than Reynolds's."

'Up my alley, how?"

'Violent, real violent. Dolph doesn't want to know if it's magic, he
wants to know if something that wasn't human did it."

'Dolph's a fanatic about not giving details away to his people before
they've seen a crime scene, Zerbrowski. What you've just told me would
piss him off mightily."

'I was afraid you wouldn't go, if I didn't… add a little."

'Why do you care if Dolph and I are feuding?"

'We're here to solve crimes, Anita, not fight each other. I don't know
what's eating Dolph, but one of you has to be the grown-up." He smiled.
"Yeah. I know things have come to a sorry state when you're the one, but
there it is."

I shook my head and slapped his arm. "You are such a pain in the ass,
Zerbrowski."

'It's good to be appreciated," he said.

The anger was fading, and with it the spurt of energy. I leaned my head
against his shoulder. "Get me outside before I start feeling bad again.
I'll go see the second crime scene."

He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me half a hug. "That's my
little federal marshal."

I raised my head. "Don't push it, Zerbrowski."

'Can't help myself, sorry."

I sighed. "You're right, you can't help yourself. Forget I said
anything, keep saying witty irritating things as you walk me back to
Jason."

He started me across the room, arm still across my shoulders. "How did
you end up with a werewolf stripper as your driver for the day?"

'Just lucky I guess."

19

The second scene was in Chesterfield, which had been a hot address for
the up-and-comers before most of the money moved even farther out to
Wildwood and beyond. The neighborhood that Jason drove us through was a
sharp contrast to the big isolated houses we'd just seen. This was
middle-class, middle America, backbone of the nation kind of
neighborhood. There are thousands of subdivisions exactly like it.
Except in this one, not all the houses were identical. They were still
too close together and had a sameness about them, as if a hive mind had
designed them all, but some were two-story, some only one, some brick,
some not. Only the garage seemed to be the same on all of them, as if
the architect wasn't willing to compromise on that one feature.

There were medium sized trees in the yards, which meant the area was
over ten years old. It takes time to grow trees.

I saw the giant antenna of the news van before I saw the police cars.
"Shit."

'What?" Jason asked.

'The reporters are already here."

He glanced up. "How do you know?"

'Have you never seen a news van with one of those big antennas?"

'I guess not."

'Lucky you," I said.

Probably because of the news van, the police had blocked the street.
When someone had time, they'd probably bring up those official-looking
sawhorses. Right now they had a police cruiser, a uniformed officer
leaning against it, and yellow do-not-cross tape strung from mailbox to
mailbox across the entire street.

There were two local news vans and a handful of print media. You can
always tell print, because they have the still cameras and no
microphones. Though they will shove tape recorders in your face.

We had to park about half a block away because of them. When the engine
shut off, Jason asked, "How did they hear about it so quickly?"

'One of the neighbors called it in, or one of the news vans was close
for something else. Once something hits the police scanners, the
reporters know about it."

'Why weren't there reporters at the first scene?"

'The first one was more isolated, harder to get to, and still make your
deadline. Or there could be a local celebrity involved here, or it's
just better copy."

'Better copy?" he asked.

'More sensational." In my own head, I wondered how you could get much
more sensational than having someone nailed to their living room wall,
but of course, those kinds of details weren't released to the media, not
if it could be kept under wraps.

I undid my seat belt and put a hand on the door handle. "Getting through
the press is going to be the first hurdle here. I'm something of a local
celebrity now, myself, whether I like it or not."

'The Master of the City's lady love," Jason said, smiling.

'I don't think anyone's been that polite," I said, "but, yeah. Though
today they'll be more interested in the murder. They'll be asking me
questions about that, not Jean-Claude."

'You seem to be feeling some better," Jason said.

'I am, not sure why."

'Maybe whatever caused the bad reaction is fading."

I nodded. "Maybe."

'Are we going to get out of the car, or are we going to watch from
here?"

I sighed. "Getting out, getting out."

Jason opened his door and was around to my side before I could get more
than one foot on the ground. Today I let him help me. I was feeling
better, but I still wasn't at my best. I'd hate to refuse help and then
fall flat on my face. I was really trying to tone down the machismo
today. Mine, not Jason's.

I put my hand on Jason's arm, and we started down the sidewalk towards
the crowd. There were lots of people, and most of them weren't
reporters. The first murder scene had been isolated, no neighbors close
enough to walk out their doors and see the show. But this neighborhood
was thick with houses, so we had a crowd.

I had my badge around my neck on its little cord, I hadn't taken it off
from the last scene. Now that I was feeling better, it occurred to me
that Jason's arm was in the way if I had to go for the gun under my left
arm. I didn't want him on my right side, because that was my gun hand,
but even on my left he was in the way, a little at least.

I was feeling better if I could be worrying this much over my gun. Good
to know. Feeling bad sucks, and nausea is one of the great evils of the
universe.

I think because I had Jason on my arm it took the reporters longer to
realize who I was, and that we weren't just part of the growing crowd of
gawkers. We were actually working our way through the crowd, almost to
the yellow tape before one of the reporters spotted me.

The tape recorder was shoved at me, "Ms. Blake, why are you here, was
the murdered woman a vampire victim?"

Fuck, if I just said, no comment, they'd be printing possible vampire
kill all over this one. "I'm called in on a lot of preternaturally
related crime, Mr. Miller, isn't it? Not just vampires."

He was happy I'd remembered his name. Most people love to have you
remember their names. "So it wasn't a vampire kill."

Shit. "I haven't been up to the crime scene yet, Mr. Miller, I don't
know any more than you do."

The reporters closed like a fist around me. There was a big shoulder cam
on us now. We'd make the noon news if nothing more exciting happened.

The questions came from all directions, "Is it a vampire kill? What kind
of monster is it? Do you think they'll be more victims?" One woman got
in so close that only a death grip on Jason's hand kept us from being
separated. "Anita, is this your new boyfriend? Have you dumped
Jean-Claude?"

That a reporter would ask that question with a fresh body only yards
away said just how bad the media interest in Jean-Claude's personal life
had gotten.

Once the question was raised, several more asked similar questions. I
did not understand why my personal life was more interesting, or even as
interesting, as a murder. It made no sense to me.

If I said Jason was a friend, they'd misconstrue it. If I said he was a
bodyguard, they'd plaster the fact that I needed a bodyguard all over
the papers. I finally stopped trying to answer questions and held my
badge up so the uniformed officer could see it.

He raised the tape to let us inside and then had to push back the press
of bodies that tried to follow us through. We walked towards the house
to a hail of questions that I ignored. God knew what they'd do with the
few things I'd said. It could be anything from the Executioner says,
vampire attack, to the Executioner says not a vampire, to my love life.
I'd stopped reading the papers, or watching the news, if I thought I
might be on. First I hate to watch myself on a moving camera. Second, it
always pissed me off. I was not free to discuss an ongoing police
investigation, no one was, so the press were left to speculate on what
few facts they had. And if Jean-Claude and our love life was the topic
of choice, I never wanted to see, or read the coverage.

For some reason being caught in the media feeding frenzy had made me
feel shaky again. Not as bad as earlier, but not as good as I'd felt
when I first got out of the Jeep. Great, just great.

There were fewer cops here, and most of them were faces I recognized,
members of RPIT. No one questioned my right to be at the scene, or
Jason's presence. They trusted me. The uniform on the door looked pale,
his dark eyes flashing too much white. "Lieutenant Storr is expecting
you, Ms. Blake." I didn't correct the title to marshal. Marshal Blake
made me feel like I should have been guest-starring on Gunsmoke.

The uniform opened the door for us because he was wearing rubber gloves.
I'd left my crime scene kit at home, because when I raised a zombie for
the higher-end clients, Bert liked me to not be covered in a baggy
overall. He said it didn't look professional. Once he'd agreed to
reimburse me for all dry cleaning incurred from this little rule, I'd
agreed.

I told Jason, "Don't touch anything until I get us some gloves."

'Gloves?"

'Surgical gloves, that way if they find a latent print, they won't get
all excited and then find out it was yours, or mine."

We were standing in a narrow entryway with stairs leading straight up
from the door, a living room to the left, and an opening to the right
that led into what looked like a dining room. There was an opening
beyond that where I caught a glimpse of countertop and sink.

I couldn't see the color scheme clearly because I was still wearing
sunglasses. I debated whether taking them off would make the headache
come back. I slipped them off, slowly. I was left blinking painfully,
but after a few seconds, it was okay. If I could stay out of direct
sunlight I'd probably be all right.

It was Detective Merlioni who walked into the living room and saw us
first. "Blake, thought you'd chickened out."

I looked up at the tall man with his curling gray hair cut short. The
neck of his white long-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned, his tie tugged down
crooked, as if he'd loosened everything without caring what it looked
like. Merlioni hated ties, but he usually tried to be neater than this.

'It must be a bad one," I said.

He frowned at me. "What makes you say that?"

'You've tugged your tie all crooked like you needed air, and you haven't
called me girlie or chickie, yet."

He grinned flashing white teeth. "It's early days, chickie."

I shook my head. "Do you have some gloves we can borrow? I wasn't
expecting to do a crime scene today."

He glanced at Jason then, as if seeing him for the first time, but I
knew he'd seen him. Cops see almost everything around a crime scene.
"Who's this?"

'My driver for the day."

He raised eyebrows at that. "Driver, woo-woo, coming up in the world."

I frowned at him. "Dolph knew I was too shaky to drive, so he gave me
permission to bring a driver with me. If there weren't enough press
outside to cover an entire city block I'd have had him leave me at the
door, but I don't want him going back out in that. They'll never believe
he's not involved in the investigation."

Merlioni stepped to the big picture window in the living room and lifted
the edge of the drape enough to peek out. "They are damned persistent
today."

'How'd they get here so quick?"

'Neighbor called them probably. Everyone wants to be on fucking
television these days." He turned back to us. "What's your driver's
name?"

'Jason Schulyer."

He shook his head. "Name doesn't mean anything to me."

'I don't know who you are either," Jason said, with a smile.

I frowned. "You know Merlioni, I don't know your first name. I can't
introduce you."

He flashed those pearly whites at me. "Rob, Rob Merlioni."

'You don't look like a Rob."

'My mama doesn't think so either, she's always after me--Roberto, I give
you such a nice name, you should use it."

'Roberto Merlioni, I like it." I introduced them more formally than I
think I'd ever introduced anyone to anyone at a crime scene. Merlioni
was stalling, he didn't want to go back inside.

'There's a box of gloves in the kitchen, on the counter, help yourself.
I'm going outside for a smoke."

'I didn't know you smoked," I said.

'I just started." He looked at me, and his eyes were haunted. "I've seen
worse, Blake, hell we've waded through worse together, you and me, but
I'm tired today. Maybe I'm gettin' old."

'Not you, Merlioni, never you."

He smiled, but not like he meant it. "I'll be back in a few." Then the
smile widened. "Don't let Dolph know I didn't make your driver wait
outside."

'Mum's the word," I said.

He went out, closing the door softly behind him. The house was very
quiet, only the rushing hush of the air conditioning. It was too quiet
for a fresh murder scene, and too still. There should have been people
all over the place. Instead we stood in the small entryway in a well of
silence so thick you could almost hear the blood in your own ears,
thrumming, filling the silence with something, anything.

The hair at the back of my neck stood at attention, and I turned to
Jason. He was standing there in his baby blue T-shirt, his peaceful face
behind the mirrored shades, but the energy trickled off of him, raised
the skin along my arms in a nervous creep.

He looked so harmless, pleasant. But if you had the ability to sense
what he was, he was suddenly not harmless, or pleasant.

'What's with you?" I whispered.

'Don't you smell it?" his voice was a hoarse whisper.

'Smell what?"

'Meat, blood."

Shit. "No," I said, but of course his creeping energy along my skin
raised my own beast, like a ghost in my gut. That phantom shape
stretched inside me like some great cat waking from a long nap, and I
did smell it. Not just blood, Jason was right, meat. Blood smells sort
of sweet and metallic like old pennies, or nickels, but a lot of blood
smells like hamburger. You know it's going to be bad, really bad, when a
human being is reduced to the smell of so much ground meat.

My head lifted, and I sniffed the air, drew in a great breath of air and
tested it. My foot was on the bottom step of the stairs before I came to
myself. "It's upstairs." I whispered it.

'Yes," Jason said, and there was the thinnest edge of growl to his
voice. If someone didn't know what they were listening to, they'd have
thought his voice was just deeper than normal. But I knew what I was
hearing.

'What's happening?" I asked, and I was still whispering, I think because
I didn't want to be overheard. Maybe that was why Jason was whispering,
or maybe not. I didn't ask. If he was fighting the urge to run upstairs
and roll around in the murder scene, I did not want to know.

I hugged my arms, trying to rub away the goosebumps. "Let's go get those
gloves," I said.

He looked at me, and even through the glasses I could feel him
struggling to remember what I was saying, or rather what the words
meant.

'Don't go all preverbal on me, Jason, I need you here with me."

He took a deep breath that seemed to come from the soles of his feet and
slide out the top of his head. His shoulders hunched then straightened
like he was trying to shake something off.

'I'm okay."

'You sure?" I asked.

'I can do it, if you can."

I frowned at that. "Am I going to have more trouble?"

'I don't have to go up into that room, you do."

I sighed. "I am so tired of this shit."

'Which shit?" he asked.

'All of it."

He smiled. "Come on, marshal, let's go get those gloves."

I shook my head, but I led the way through the dining room towards the
kitchen. I could see the box of gloves sitting beside an open, nearly
full trash bag. There'd been a lot of personnel through here to fill up
one of those large bags. So where was everyone, and where was Dolph?

20

Dolph found us in the kitchen while I was helping Jason with the gloves.
There's an art to putting them on, and it was Jason's first time, so he
was like a small child with his first set of gloves, too few fingers and
too many holes.

Dolph came in through the dining room the same way we'd come, though he
almost filled the doorway, whereas Jason and I had walked through
together with plenty of room to spare. Dolph is built like a
pro-wrestler, wide, and he's six eight. I'm sort of used to him by now,
but Jason did what most people do. He looked up, and up. Other than
that, he behaved himself, which for Jason was a minor miracle.

'What's he doing here?" Dolph asked.

'You said if I wasn't well enough to drive I could bring a civvie
driver. Jason's my driver."

He shook his head, his dark hair so freshly cut that his ears looked
pale and stranded. "Don't you have any human friends left?" he asked.

I concentrated on helping Jason into the gloves and counted to ten.
"Yeah, but most of them are cops, and they don't like playing chauffer."

'He doesn't need gloves, Anita, because he is not staying."

'We had to park too far back for me to walk without someone to catch me
if I needed it. I can't send him back through that pack of reporters."

'Yeah, you can," Dolph said.

I finally got the last finger in place. Jason stood there flexing his
hands inside the gloves. "How come it feels wet and powdery all at the
same time?"

'I don't know, but it always does," I said.

'He is out of here, Anita, do you hear me?"

'If he sits on the front stoop, they're going to have pictures of him.
What if someone recognizes him? Do you really want the headlines to read
werewolves attack suburbia?" I slipped into my own pair of gloves with
practiced ease.

'Gosh," Jason said, "that was nifty, you made that look easy."

'Anita!" It was almost a yell.

We both looked up at Dolph. "You don't have to shout, Dolph, I can hear
you just fine."

'Then why is he still standing here?"

'I can't send him back to the car. He can't sit out front. Where would
you like him to be while I check out the crime scene?"

He balled his big hands into even bigger fists.
"I--want-him-out-of-here." Every word was squeezed out through gritted
teeth. "I don't care where he fucking goes."

I ignored the anger, because it didn't get me anywhere to pay attention
to it. He was in a bad mood, it was a bad scene, and Dolph wasn't too
fond of the monsters lately.

Merlioni came into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway between
kitchen and dining room, as if he'd picked up on the tension. "What's
going on?"

Dolph pointed a finger at Jason. "He is out of here."

Merlioni glanced at me.

'You do not fucking look at her, you look at me!" The anger was hot in
his voice. He wasn't yelling, but he didn't really need to.

Merlioni walked around Dolph, carefully, and reached out to take Jason's
arm. I stopped him with one gloved hand on his hand.

Merlioni glanced back at Dolph, then moved a little farther down the
kitchen, out of the line of fire, I think.

'Is there a backyard?" I asked.

'Why?" Dolph asked, his voice gone low and growling, not with the edge
of any beast, but with anger.

'Merlioni can take him out back. He'll be out of the house and still
safe from the reporters."

'No," Dolph said, "he's out of here. Gone, completely gone."

My headache was coming back, a flutter of pain behind one eye, but it
had the promise of great things to come. "Dolph, I do not feel well
enough for this shit."

'What shit?"

'Your shit with anyone not lily-human," I said, and I sounded tired, not
angry.

'Get out."

I looked up at him. "What did you say?"

'Get out, take your pet werewolf and go home."

'You bastard."

He gave me that look that had been making grown policemen cringe for
years. I was too tired and too disgusted with it all to flinch.

'I told you I was too sick to drive when you woke me up. You agreed I
could bring a driver, even a civilian. You didn't say he had to be
human. Now after dragging my ass down here, you're going to send me home
without having seen the crime scene?"

'Yes," Dolph said, that one word almost choking in its brevity.

'No," I said, "you're not."

'This is my murder, Anita, and I say who stays and who goes."

I was finally beginning to get angry. You can only cut even your friends
so much slack. I stepped in front of Jason, closer to Dolph. "I'm not
here on your sufferance, Dolph. I'm a federal marshal now, and I have
the right to investigate any preternatural crime that I see fit."

'Are you refusing my direct order?" his voice was very quiet now. Not
heated--empty--and that should have scared me more, but I wasn't scared
of Dolph. I never had been.

'If I think your direct orders are jeopardizing this investigation,
then, yes I am."

He took one step towards me. He loomed over me, but I was used to that,
a lot of people loomed over me. "Never question my professionalism
again, Anita, never."

'When you act like a professional, I won't."

His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You want to see
why I don't want him at this scene? You want to see it?"

'Yeah," I said, "I want to see it."

He grabbed me by the upper arm. I don't know if Dolph had ever touched
me before. It caught me off guard, and it wasn't until he'd
half-marched, half-dragged me across the kitchen to the dining room door
that I unfroze. I looked behind me and shook my head at Jason. He
probably didn't like it, but he settled back against the cabinets. I
caught a glimpse of Merlioni's shocked face before we were into the
dining room.

He dragged me to the stairs, and when I stumbled, he didn't give me time
to get to my feet, but literally dragged me up the stairs.

The door opened behind us, and I heard a man say, "Lieutenant!" I
thought I recognized the voice, but I wasn't sure, and there wasn't time
to look, I was too busy trying not to get rug burns from the stairs.

I couldn't get my feet under me long enough to stand in the heels. The
headache burst full-blown behind my eye, and the world was a trembling
thing.

I found my voice, "Dolph, Dolph, damn it!"

He opened a door and jerked me to my feet. I staggered while the world
ran in streamers of dark color. He held me with one of his big hands on
each of my arms, only his grip kept me on my feet.

My vision cleared in pieces, as if the scene were some sort of video
puzzle. There was a bed against the far wall. I glimpsed white pillows
against a lavender wall, then a woman's head, and some of her shoulders.
It didn't look real, as if someone had propped a fake head against the
pillows. From about collar bones down, there was only a red ruin. I
don't mean a body. I mean it was as if the bed had been dipped in dark
fluid. The blood wasn't red, it was black. A trick of the light, or the
fact that it wasn't just blood.

The smell hit me then--meat. Everything smelled like hamburger. I saw
the pile of bedclothes, black, and red, and sodden, soaked in gore.
Gore, not just blood, gore. I looked back at the woman's head, I didn't
want to, but I couldn't help it. I looked, and I finally could see. It
was all that was left of her, all that was left of an adult woman. It
was as if she'd exploded with her head on the pillows, and her body…
everywhere.

I felt the scream building in my throat, and knew I couldn't do it. I
had to be stronger than this, better than this. I swallowed the scream,
and my stomach tried to come up my throat. I swallowed that, too, and
tried to think.

'What do you think?" Dolph said, and he pushed me, trapped between his
big hands, towards the bed. "Pretty enough for you? Because one of your
friends did this." He pressed me too close to the bed, and my legs
squeezed against the gore-soaked bed clothes. The blood was cool to the
touch, and it helped keep my beast from curling up my body. What good
was blood if it wasn't hot and fresh?

'Dolph, stop this," I said, and my voice didn't sound like me.

'Lieutenant," a voice came from the open door.

Dolph turned with me still gripped between his hands. Detective Clive
Perry stood in the doorway. He was a slender African American man,
dressed conservatively, neatly, but well dressed. He was one of the most
soft-spoken men I'd ever met, and the most soft-spoken policeman.

'What is it, Perry?"

Perry took a deep breath, that moved his shoulders and chest up and
down. "Lieutenant, I think Ms. Blake has seen enough of the crime scene
for now."

Dolph gave me a little shake that sent my head rattling and my stomach
churning. "Not yet, she hasn't." He jerked me around to face back into
the room. He dragged me towards the headboard, which was painted a
lavender so close to the wall's color I hadn't seen it. He pushed me
forward until my face was inches from it. There was a fresh claw mark
like a pale scar in the wood and paint.

'What do you think did that, Anita?" He jerked me around until he was
holding me facing him, his big hands still wrapped around my upper arms.

'Let go, Dolph." My voice still didn't sound like me. No one else could
have done this to me. I'd have fought back by now, or been scared, or
pissed. I still wasn't any of those things.

'What do you think did that?" And he gave me a little shake. It made my
head rattle, my vision stream.

'Lieutenant Storr, I must insist that you let Ms. Blake go." Detective
Perry was behind him, to one side, so I could see his face.

Dolph turned on him, and I think only the fact that his hands were
already full kept him from grabbing Perry. "She knows. She knows what
did this, because she knows every fucking monster in town."

'Let her go, Lieutenant, please."

I closed my eyes, which helped the dizziness. His hands on my arms let
me know where his body was. I rammed the pointed heel of my shoe into
his instep. He flinched, his hands loosened. I opened my eyes and did
what I'd been trained to do. I brought my arms up between his and swept
outward, downward. It broke his hold on me, and I drew my right arm
back, and hit him a short uppercut into his gut. If he'd been shorter
I'd have tried for the solar plexus, but the angle was bad, so I hit
what I could get.

The air went out of him in a grunt, and he bent double, hands over his
stomach. I still haven't quite come to terms with being more than human
strong. I had a second where I hoped I hadn't hurt him more than I meant
to, then I stepped back, away from him. The world was trembling, like I
was looking at everything through wavy glass.

I kept backing up, and my heels hit something slick and thicker than
just blood, and down I went. I landed hard on my ass, and blood
spattered upwards. It soaked through my skirt and I struggled to my
knees to keep it from soaking into my panties. The blood was cool to the
touch, and then my knee smeared in something that wasn't blood.

I screamed and scrambled to my feet. If Perry hadn't caught me I'd have
fallen again. But he was moving too slow for the door. I didn't want to
throw up in here. I pushed away from him and half-staggered, half-ran
through the doorway. When I hit the hallway I fell to all fours and
threw up on the pale carpet. My head roared with pain, and my vision
exploded with starbursts of white, white light.

I crawled towards the head of the stairs, not sure what I planned to do.
The floor came up to smack into my body, and there was nothing but a
soft, gray nothingness, then the world was black, and my head didn't
hurt at all.

21

The tile felt so good against my cheek, so cool. Someone was moving
around. I thought about opening my eyes, but it seemed like too much
effort. Someone put a cool cloth against my neck. It made me shiver, and
I opened my eyes. My vision took a second to focus, then I saw the knee
beside my face was wearing hose, and a skirt.

I knew it wasn't one of the men, unless they had hobbies I didn't know
about. "Anita, it's me, Tammy, how you feeling?"

I rolled my eyes, but some of my own hair was in the way, and I couldn't
see up that far. I tried to say, help me sit up, but it didn't come out.
I tried again, and she had to lean close to hear me. She pushed a piece
of her straight brown hair behind her ear, as if that would help her
hear better.

'Help me," I swallowed, "sit up."

She got an arm under my shoulders and lifted. Detective Tammy Reynolds
was five ten, and she worked out at least enough to keep the other--read
male--cops from giving her grief. She didn't have much trouble getting
me up, my back against the bathtub.

Staying there was my job, and that was a little more trouble. I propped
myself on one arm and leaned against the tub.

She picked the rag up from the edge of the sink where she'd laid it, and
put it against my forehead. The rag was cold, and I jerked away from
her. I felt cold, that was a new symptom. I thought of something.

'Have you been," I coughed to clear my throat, "putting cool rags on
me?"

'Yes, it helps me when I'm sick."

'Cold rags don't seem to be helping me." I didn't tell her that it was
probably one of the worst things she could have done for me. Ever since
I had inherited Richard's beast, or whoever's beast, cold didn't seem to
help me when I was sick. I healed like a lycanthrope now, and that meant
that my temperature ran hot when I was sick, like my body was cooking
itself. A well-meaning doctor had almost killed me with ice baths for
what they thought was a dangerously high fever.

I started to shiver.

She got up, rinsing the washrag out, and spreading it out to dry on the
edge of the sink. "I threw up in the yard," she said. She put her hands
on the sink, head bowed.

I hugged myself, trying to stop the shivering, but it didn't really
help. I was cold. I hadn't been cold earlier today. Was a new symptom
good or bad?

'It's a bad scene," I said, "I'm sure you weren't the only cop who lost
their breakfast."

Tammy looked at me through a trailing edge of her hair. She had to keep
her hair above her collar, just like the male policemen, but she kept it
as long as she could. "Maybe, but I'm the only one who passed out."

'Except for me," I said.

'Yeah, you and me, the only women at the scene." She sounded so tired.

Tammy and I weren't actually friends. She was a Follower of the Way,
Christianity's version of witches. Most of the Followers of the Way were
zealots, more Christian than the right-wingers, as if they had to prove
they really were worthy of salvation. Tammy had mellowed since she'd
been dating Larry Kirkland, my fellow animator. But this was the first
time I'd realized how much of that bright and shiny exterior had been
worn away. Police work will eat you up and spit you out.

As women we needed to be tougher just to be accepted. Today hadn't
helped either of us.

'It's not your fault," I said. The shivering was beginning to get a
little worse.

'No, it's my damn doctor's fault."

I looked up at her. "Excuse me?"

'He gives me a prescription for birth control pills then prescribes
antibiotics, and doesn't warn me that while I'm taking the antibiotic,
the pill won't work."

My eyes went wide. "I'm sorry, are you saying…"

'That I'm pregnant, yes."

I know the surprise showed on my face, I couldn't help it. "Does Larry
know?"

She nodded. "Yes."

'What…" I tried to think of something good to say, and gave up. "What
are you going to do?"

'Get married, damn it."

Something must have showed on my face, because she knelt by me. "I love
Larry, but I didn't plan on marrying now, and I certainly didn't plan on
having a baby. Do you know how hard it is to get ahead in this job as a
woman? Of course, you do. Sorry."

'No," I said, "it's not the same for me. Police work isn't my entire
career." The shivering had started up again; no amount of astonishment
could keep me warm.

She took her own jacket off, showing her gun in its front holster. She
wrapped the jacket around me. I didn't argue, but clutched it closed
with my hands.

'Is the shivering from the pregnancy?" she asked. "Someone said you said
you were sick, are you?"

It took me a second or two, blinking at her sort of stupidly to
understand what she'd said. "Did you just say 'pregnancy'?"

She made a face at me. "Anita, please, I haven't told anyone either, but
they're going to guess. I threw up at the murder scene, I've never done
that. I didn't pass out cold like you did, but I came close. Perry had
to help me out into the yard so I could be sick. It won't take them long
to figure it out."

'This is not the first scene I've thrown up at, not even the fourth," I
said. "I haven't done it in a while, but I've certainly done it before.
Surely they've told you the story about me throwing up on the body.
Zerbrowski loves that one."

'Sure, but I thought he was exaggerating. You know how Zerbrowski is."

'He wasn't exaggerating."

'You can lie to me if you want to, but unless you're planning to abort,
they'll all figure it out sooner or later."

'I am not pregnant," I said, though I had a little trouble saying it,
because I was shivering so badly it was hard to talk. "I'm just sick."

'You're freezing, Anita, you don't have a fever."

How could I explain to her that I was having a bad reaction to a vampire
bite and the fact that I shared Richard's beast. Odd metaphysics weren't
easy to explain. Pregnancy was nice and simple, compared to that.

She grabbed my arms, a lot like Dolph had. "I am three months pregnant.
How far along are you? Please tell me, tell me I haven't been a fool.
Tell me I haven't ruined my life by not reading the fine print on a
bottle of medicine."

I was shivering so hard, it was hard to talk, but I managed to get out,
"I--am--not pregnant."

She stood and turned her back on me. "Damn you for not sharing."

I tried to say something, I wasn't even sure what, but she left, leaving
the door open behind her. I wasn't sure being left alone was a good
thing, the shivering was getting worse, like I was freezing to death
from the inside. Larry Kirkland was off being trained to be a federal
marshal. He didn't have four years as a vamp executioner yet, so he
couldn't get grandfathered in. I wondered if the pregnancy was making it
harder for him to be away from Tammy, or easier. Damn it, anyway.

Perry brought Jason up to me. He touched me. "God, you're cold." He
picked me up in his arms like I weighed nothing. "I'm taking her home."

'We'll give you an escort through the press," Perry said.

Jason didn't argue. He carried me down the stairs. We waited for a few
minutes, while Perry rounded up enough warm bodies to act as a sort of
living gauntlet to try and keep the press at bay.

The door opened, the sunlight hit my eyes and the headache roared to
life. I buried my face against Jason's chest. Jason seemed to know what
was wrong, because he raised an edge of Tammy's jacket across my eyes.

'Are you ready?" Perry's voice.

'Let's do it," Jason said.

Normally, I'd have felt humiliated to be carried out of a murder scene
like a wilting flower, but I was working too hard on keeping the
shivering under control. It took all my concentration not to let my body
shake itself apart. What the hell was wrong with me?

We were outside, and moving at a good pace. I could judge how close we
were to the press by how loud the yelling was getting. "What's wrong
with Ms. Blake?" "What happened to her?" "Who are you?" "Where are you
taking her?" There were more questions, lots more. They all melded into
a noise like the ocean against the shore. The crowd surged around us.
There was a moment when I felt them closing like a fist around us, but
Merlioni's voice rose to a shout, "Back up, back up now, or we'll clear
this area."

Jason got me inside the Jeep, leaning his shoulder into me, so he could
fasten the seat belt. The jacket was across my face now, and strangely
it felt claustrophobic.

'Close your eyes," he said.

I was already doing what he'd asked, but I didn't say anything. The
jacket moved away, and the sun was bright against my closed eyelids. I
felt the sunglasses slip over my eyes, and I opened them cautiously.
Better.

There was a line of detectives and uniforms in front of the Jeep,
keeping the pack of reporters back, so we could make our getaway. Every
camera they had was pointed our way. God knew what the captions would
read once they were done with it.

Jason gunned the engine and backed up with a screech of tires. He was a
ways down the street before I could chatter out, "you'll get a ticket."

'I've called Micah. He's waiting. You and Nathaniel can share the
bathtub."

I managed to get out, "What?"

'I don't know exactly what's wrong, Anita, but you're acting like a
shape-shifter that's been badly hurt. Like your body's trying to heal
some deep wound. You need heat, and the touch of your group."

'I," teeth chattering so hard I couldn't finish, "haven't…" I stopped
trying for a sentence and settled for, "Not hurt."

'I know that you're not hurt that badly. But even if it was the vampire
bite, you'd be warm to the touch, hot, cooking to heal yourself. You
shouldn't feel cold."

My ears started ringing. It sounded like someone was hitting a chime
over and over. The ringing drowned out Jason's voice, the sound of the
engine, and finally everything. I passed out for the second time in less
than two hours. This was not turning out to be one of my better days.

22

I was floating in water, warm, warm water. Arms held me in place, a
man's body brushed against mine in the water. I opened my eyes to the
flickering light of candles. Was I back at the Circus of the Damned? Two
things happened to let me know exactly where I was: pale tile gleamed on
the edge of the bathtub, and the arms around my shoulders tightened,
drew me closer. The moment the back of my body settled firmly against
the front of his, I knew it was Micah.

I knew the curve of his shoulder, the way my body seemed to slide into
every line and hollow of his body. His tanned arms were delicate for a
man's, but as he snuggled me against him, muscles moved under his skin.
I knew how much strength there was in his slender body. He was like me,
a lot more than met the eye.

'How are you feeling?" he asked, voice so close to my ear that a whisper
seemed loud.

My voice came distant and hollow the way I'd been feeling all day.
"Better."

'At least you're warmer," he said. "Jason said you were sick, dizzy. Has
that passed?"

I thought about it, trying to feel my body, and not just the comforting
warmth and closeness. "Yeah, I do feel better. What the hell was wrong
with me?"

He turned me in his arms, so that he held me across him, and we could
look at each other. He smiled down at me. The tan that he'd come with
had started to fade a little, but he was still dark, and that darkness
framed his most startling feature. His eyes were kitty-cat eyes. I'd
originally thought they were yellow green, but they were yellow, or
green, or any combination of either, depending on his mood, the light,
the color of shirt he wore.

His pupils had spread like black pools, and the thin line of color that
chased round them was a pale true green. Human eyes weren't really
green, not really. Grayish green, maybe, but a true clear green, rarely.
But Micah's eyes were.

Those eyes sat in a face that was beautiful in the way a woman's face
was beautiful. Delicate. There was a line to the jaw, a chin that was
male, but gently so. His mouth was wide, with the bottom lip thicker
than his upper, giving him a permanent pout.

I wanted to feel his lips on mine, feel the brush of his skin under my
hands. He affected me as he'd affected me almost from the first moment I
saw him--like he was a missing piece of myself that I had to bring as
close to my body as I could, as if we'd meld together someday.

He didn't argue as I brought him down for the kiss. He didn't tell me
that I was hurt and needed to rest. He just leaned in and pressed his
mouth against mine.

Kissing him was like breathing, automatic, something your body did so
that it wouldn't die. There was no thought to wanting to touch Micah, no
waffling indecision like with every other man in my life. He was my
Nimir-Raj, and from the moment we had been together it had been deeper
than marriage, more permanent than anything words or paper could bind.

My arms slid over his back, his shoulders, the slick wetness of his
skin, and our beasts rose. His energy was like a hot breath along my
skin, shimmering everywhere we touched. My beast rose up through the
depths of my body, and I felt Micah's beast echoing mine. They moved in
our two separate bodies like two swimming shapes, up and up, each racing
the other with only our skin to keep them apart. Then it was as if the
skin was not enough to contain them, and our beasts swam through each of
us. It bowed my back, brought Micah's voice in something near a scream.
Our beasts writhed between our bodies, the energies intertwined more
than our bodies ever could. They wove and danced like some invisible
rope, knotting, tying, gliding in and out of us, until I raked my nails
down Micah's body, and he set teeth into my shoulder.

I don't know if it was the pain, the pleasure, the beasts, or all of it
together, but suddenly I could think again. Suddenly, I knew why I'd
been sick all day.

I felt that long metaphysical cord that bound me to Jean-Claude, saw him
in his bed at the Circus of the Damned with Asher still beside him.
There was a shadow sitting on Jean-Claude's bare chest, a dark shape.
The longer I looked at it, the more solid it became, until it turned a
misshapen face to me, snarling, and showed me eyes burning with dark
honey flame.

I looked at the hungry shadow of Belle Morte's power that had been
trying to leech "life" from Jean-Claude all day. But the Master
Vampire's fail-safe systems had kicked in--his human servant, and
probably his animal to call. Richard had refused to help us directly,
but he was probably paying the price for it today.

The thing hissed at me again, like some great demonic cat, and I decided
to treat it like one. I threw my beast down the long line of
metaphysical cord. What I hadn't planned for was that Micah's beast
would follow mine, that when we attacked it would be together, ripping
the thing to smoky tatters. It fled through the wall.

I wondered where it had gotten to, and the thought was enough. I saw it
in the guest room we'd prepared for Musette. The shadow sat on her chest
for a second, then seemed to melt into her body. There was a moment when
that swimming thing moved underneath the vampire's dead skin, then all
was quiet.

Angelito's voice, "Mistress are you there?"

Then I was back in the warm water, and Micah's arms. "What was that?" he
asked, voice soft, strangled.

'The shadowy thing was a piece of Belle Morte's power that she gave to
Musette."

'It was like it was trying to feed on Jean-Claude, but it couldn't."

'I'm his human servant, Micah. I think when Musette tried to steal
Jean-Claude's strength, the attack deflected to me. She's been sucking
on me all day."

'Did Jean-Claude do that on purpose?" he asked.

'No, he's truly dead to the world. It's just the way the system is set
up. If she could have sucked Jean-Claude dry, then she could have taken
the energy of all of his vamps, everyone that had a blood tie to him."

'Instead she's been feeding off of you."

'Yeah, and probably Richard. I bet he called in sick to school today."

Micah held me tight against him. "How do we keep it from happening
again?"

I patted his arm. "You know that's one of the things I like most about
you. Most people would spend time worrying about what could have
happened, how bad it could have been, you go straight to the practical."

'We need to do something before it hops back through the wall."

'Is my cell phone in here anywhere?"

'In the pile with your clothes," he said.

'Can you reach it?"

He stretched out one long arm. His arms were longer than they looked. He
used fingertips to move the phone close enough to pick up. He handed it
to me without a single question. Micah didn't make me waste time
explaining myself.

I called the Circus of the Damned, the special number that wasn't in the
phone book. Ernie, who was Jean-Claude's human errand boy and sometimes
appetizer, answered. I asked if Bobby Lee was still there. When I
described him, Ernie said, "Yeah, can't get rid of him. Seems to think
he's in charge."

Since I sort of thought he was in charge, too, that worked for me. Bobby
Lee came on the line. "Anita, what's happening?"

'Ask Ernie to find you some crosses, and put them on the doors to the
guest rooms."

'Can I ask why?"

'To keep the bad vampires from doing any more metaphysical tricks
today."

'That explains absolutely nothing to me."

'Just do it."

'Don't you need to put crosses on the coffins to keep vampires from
using their powers?"

'There's only one exit from each room, it's like a bigger coffin. Trust
me, it'll work."

'You're the boss, at least until Rafael tells me otherwise." He asked
Ernie for the crosses. I could hear Ernie's voice protesting in tone,
though not the words.

Bobby Lee came back on line. "He's worried that the crosses being in
plain sight on the doors will impede our vampires when they wake."

'Maybe, but I'm more worried about what our guests are doing right now.
When night falls, we'll worry about it. Until then just do it."

'Are you ever going to explain to me why I'm doing it?"

'You want to know, fine, the new vamps are using vampire wiles to suck
energy from Jean-Claude, and through him, me. I have felt like shit all
day."

'You know, I like you, Anita, you explain things when I ask. I almost
never understand what the hell you're talking about, but you talk to me
like I'm bright enough to understand it, and know enough about magic to
follow all the big words."

'I'm hanging up now, Bobby Lee."

'Yes, ma'am."

I handed the phone to Micah so he could put it close to the pile of
clothes, which I had no chance of reaching without dribbling water all
over the place.

I leaned back against Micah, and he sank deeper into the water, so that
even the tip of my chin was submerged. I wanted to sink in against his
body, be held, and drowse. Now that the shadow was off of Jean-Claude, I
was tired. It was almost as if now I had permission to sleep.

But there was one other crisis to talk about. "Jason told me that
Nathaniel collapsed at work last night."

'He's tucked into his room, sandwiched between Zane and Cherry. He's
fine." Micah kissed the side of my head.

'Is it true that he collapsed because the two of you can't keep feeding
my ardeur twice a day?"

Micah went very still around me, and his silence said it all.

'Did you know that the two of you couldn't sustain me?"

'You feed on Jean-Claude, too," he said.

'Fine, did you know that the three of you couldn't sustain me?"

'Jean-Claude keeps saying that your appetite should go down soon. The
three of us could feed you if you only needed to be fed once a day.
Twice a day is harder."

'Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

He hugged me, and I let him, but I wasn't happy.

'Because I know how hard it is for you to take new people to your bed. I
was hoping you wouldn't have to."

That reminded me. "I sort of did."

'Did what?" he asked.

'Took someone else to my bed." I felt like I should be squirming with
embarrassment, but my ability to be embarrassed wasn't what it used to
be.

'Who?" he asked, voice soft.

'Asher."

'You and Jean-Claude," he made it more statement than question.

'Yeah."

He cuddled me against him. "Why now?"

I told him my reasoning.

'You are going to make those vampires very unhappy tonight."

'I hope so." I turned in his arms enough to see his face. He looked
peaceful enough by candlelight. "Does it bother you, about Asher?"

He seemed to think about it for a second or two. "Yes, and no."

'Explain the yes," I said.

'While you need the ardeur fed, there's plenty of your time to go
around. I'm a little worried about what happens if you get a string of
men now, with the ardeur rising, then the ardeur goes away. You're going
to have some unhappy people, if you get too many of them."

I frowned. "I hadn't thought about that. I mean I haven't had
intercourse with anyone but you and Jean-Claude."

'I'll say what Jean-Claude would say if he were here: Ma petite, you are
splitting hairs."

'Fine, fine, I don't plan on kicking Nathaniel out of my bed just
because the ardeur is quiet."

'No, but will you be willing to touch him the way he's come to expect?"

I turned so I wouldn't have to meet those honest eyes of his. "I don't
know, that's the truth, I don't know."

'And Asher?"

'One step at a time with him, okay."

'And Richard?"

I shook my head against Micah's chest. "That's moot. Richard can barely
stand to be within twenty feet of me."

'Are you seriously saying that if he showed up today and asked to come
back, you'd say no?"

It was my turn to go quiet in his arms. I thought about it, tried to
think about it, clearly, level-headed. The trouble was that Richard was
never a topic I was logical on.

'I don't know, but I'm leaning towards no."

'Really?"

'Micah, I still have feelings for Richard, but he dumped me. He dumped
me because I'm more comfortable with the monsters than he is. He dumped
me because I'm too bloodthirsty for him. He dumped me because I'm not
the person he wants me to be. I will never be the person he wants me to
be."

'Richard will never be the person he wants himself to be," Micah said,
softly.

I sighed. It was true. Richard wanted, more than anything else, to be
human. He didn't want to be a monster. He wanted to be a junior high
science teacher, marry a nice girl, settle down, have 2.5 children, and
maybe a dog. He was a science teacher, but the rest… Richard was like
me, he would never have a normal life. I had accepted that, but he was
still fighting. Fighting to be human, fighting to be ordinary, fighting
not to love me. He'd succeeded on that last.

'If Richard comes back to me, it won't be for good. He'll come back
because he can't help himself, but he hates himself too much to love
anyone else."

'That's harsh," he said.

'But true," I said.

Micah didn't argue with me. He didn't when he knew he was wrong, or knew
I was right. Richard would have argued. Richard always argued. Richard
seemed to believe that if he pretended the world was a nicer place than
it really was, that that would change the world. It didn't. The world
was what it was. And no amount of anger, or hatred, or self-loathing, or
stubborn blindness would change it.

Maybe Richard would learn to accept himself, but I was beginning to
believe that he would learn that lesson without me in his life.

I hugged Micah's arms around me like a warm coat, but I was tired now,
achingly tired. If Richard knocked on the door today, and asked to come
back, what would I do? Truthfully, I didn't know. But one thing I knew,
Richard wouldn't let me feed the ardeur off of him. He thought it was
monstrous. And he wouldn't share me physically with anyone but
Jean-Claude. Even if he wanted to come back, unless he'd let me feed the
ardeur off of others, it wouldn't work. Pure practicality. The ardeur
had to be fed. Richard wouldn't feed it. Richard wouldn't let me feed it
off of anyone but Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude alone couldn't sustain my
appetite. Hell, Micah, Jean-Claude, and Nathaniel together weren't
sustaining it. If Richard came back today, what would I do, offer him
one-third of my bed, on the other side from Micah?

Richard had consented to dating me at the same time I dated Jean-Claude,
but never to sharing a bed with him and me at the same time. Richard
would try to go back to what we had. I couldn't do that.

What would I do if Richard knocked on the door right now? Offer to let
him join us in the bathtub, watch his face show all the hurt and rage,
watch him stomp out again. What would I do if Richard wanted to come
back? The only thing I could do, say no. The question was, was I strong
enough to say it? Probably not.

23

I didn't so much wake, as come to the surface of sleep, enough to hear
voices. Micah's voice first, "What did Gregory say?"

'That his father tried to contact him," Cherry's voice.

'Why is that bad?"

'His father is the one that pimped him and Stephen out when they were
children."

'Every time I think I've heard the worst of people, I'm wrong," Micah
said.

I fought to open my eyes, and it was as if my eyelids weighed a hundred
pounds apiece. I blinked and found Micah still curled against me, but
propped up on one elbow. Cherry was standing beside the bed. She was
tall, slender, long-waisted, with blond hair cut boyishly short. She
wasn't wearing any makeup which meant she was in a hurry, and she was
actually wearing clothes which was unusual for one of the wereleopards.
They usually only got dressed if I insisted. Either she was going out,
or something was wrong. But of course, something was wrong.

I fought to wake up enough to say something, and it took more effort
than was pretty. My voice came out thick, "What'd you say, 'bout
Gregory?"

Cherry bent closer, and it took almost everything I had to keep her in
focus as she moved in towards me. "You knew that Gregory and Stephen had
been abused as children?" she made it half question.

I managed to say, "Yeah." I frowned up at her. "Did you say their father
pimped them out as children?" Maybe I was dreaming? Either that, or I'd
misunderstood.

'You didn't know," Cherry said. Her face was so serious.

I was suddenly more awake. "No."

Zane came through the bedroom door with Nathaniel in his arms. Zane was
six feet tall, stretched a little too thin for my tastes, but since he
and Cherry were living together, it wasn't my tastes that counted. His
very short hair was white-blond now. It was the first color occurring in
nature that I'd ever seen him dye his hair. I had no idea what his true
hair color was.

Zane carried Nathaniel tucked in against his chest, like he was a
sleeping child. Nathaniel's nearly ankle-length auburn hair, in its
heavy braid, was clutched in one of Zane's hands. If you tried carrying
Nathaniel without controlling all that hair, you had a tendency to trip
on it. On either side of the braid his body was bare.

'He's wearing underwear," Zane said, "we know the rules. No sleeping
naked with you." He moved the hair enough to flash a pair of the satiny
jogging shorts that Nathaniel was fond of wearing for jammies.

I tried to prop myself up on my elbows, but that seemed too hard. I
settled for lying on my back with both eyes solidly open. "How's he
doing?"

'He's fine," Micah said.

I looked at him. I tried to make the look skeptical, but I failed, so I
had to say out loud, "He looks comatose."

'Say something to her, you lazy cat," Zane said.

Nathaniel turned his head slowly, almost painfully slow, as Zane carried
him around to the other side of the bed. He blinked lavender eyes at me,
and gave me a lazy smile. He looked almost as tired as I felt. And why
not? Hadn't he collapsed for the same reason I had--because some vampire
had been feeding off of him? The ardeur didn't take blood, but it was
still a type of vampirism.

Micah crawled out from the covers, flashing the perfectly tanned line of
his body. Mercifully, he kept most of his assets hidden from my view. I
think I was too tired to be tempted, but I knew I was too tired to want
to be tempted. He pulled clothes on with his back to me, but when he
turned around, pants safely zipped, the look on his face said plainly
that he knew I'd been watching him.

His dark, dark, brown hair curled around his shoulders. One movement of
his head sent all that heavy hair sliding to one side of his face. The
dark hair framed those extraordinary eyes, gleaming yellow and green at
the same time now.

'If you don't move out of her line of sight, we'll be here all bloody
day," Zane said.

'You sound jealous," Cherry chided him.

'Well," he said, "you don't watch me like that."

'I don't watch anybody like that," Cherry said.

Zane grinned at her. "I know."

They had one of those laughs that is a couple laugh, and you know that
you are on the outside of an inside joke. Zane was right about one
thing, I was delaying. It wasn't until I tried getting out of bed that I
realized I was still naked. I'd sort of known that, but in a distant,
floaty kind of way.

'I need clothes," I said.

Micah had pulled a polo shirt out of the communal drawer. It was one I'd
bought with him in mind, a deep rich forest green. It brought out the
green in his eyes. But the shirt fit both of us, as most of our shirts
did. Our casual clothes had become common property--only the dress-up
clothes were strictly his and hers.

Micah didn't so much make me lie back down, as touch my shoulder so I'd
stop trying to sit up. I didn't seem to be coordinated enough to sit up
in bed, keep the sheet over my breasts, and chew gum at the same time.
It was as if my body just wasn't listening to me yet.

'Anita, if you don't rest you're not going to be any good to anyone."

'Gregory's my leopard, I'm his Nimir-Ra."

Micah smoothed his hand down the side of my face. "And I'm his
Nimir-Raj. Go back to sleep. I'll take care of it, that's what you hired
me for, right?"

I had to smile at him, but I didn't like not going to Gregory's rescue.
It must have shown on my face, because he knelt beside the bed, taking
my hand in his. "Gregory is having hysterics because his father's in
town. I'm going to go and see how he's doing, maybe bring him back here
so his father can't find him through the phone book."

I was having trouble focusing on Micah's face. I'd crawled out of sleep,
but it was sucking at me again. "Yes," I said, voice starting to sound
distant, even to me, "bring him back here."

He kissed me gently on the forehead, my hand still in his. "I will. Now
sleep, or you're going to make yourself sick. A sick Nimir-Ra can't
protect anybody."

Since I couldn't keep my eyes from giving long blinks, it was hard to
argue. Him kissing my hand was the first hint I had that he'd stood up.
That had been a long blink.

The bed moved, and Nathaniel cuddled up against me. His arm across my
stomach, one leg across my thigh. It was one of his favorite sleeping
positions, but something wasn't right with it. "Clothes," I said, and I
frowned harder, "Can't feed off Nathaniel again."

Micah reappeared in my line of sight. "You've only been asleep about two
hours, that's why you're so tired. If you fed the ardeur at dawn, you've
got at least six hours before you need to feed again. We're just putting
him in here so he won't be alone."

The last few words floated out of the dark, and it wasn't until he'd
been quiet for a long time that I opened my eyes to an empty room.
Nathaniel was tucked in against me, his face hidden against my shoulder.
He snuggled in tighter, leaving me with about an inch of bed to spare. I
started to move him over and get out of bed to find the pajamas no one
had given me, but I fell back to sleep. The wereleopards were having a
bad influence on how comfortable I was being nude.

24

I dreamed. Belle Morte sat at her dressing table, her long black hair
fell in waves, freshly brushed, gleaming in the candlelight. She wore a
gown of deep yellow gold, and I knew before she turned those honey brown
eyes to me that the color of the robe brought out the gold in them.

Her lips were red and moist, as if she'd just licked them. She held out
her white hand towards me. "Come, ma petite, come, sit with me." She
smiled with that red, red mouth, and I wanted nothing more than to go to
her, to take that outstretched hand, and be held.

I actually started forward a step and found I was wearing a gown similar
to hers. I could feel the layers of petticoats, the metal of the stays
digging in, forcing my posture absolutely straight. The gown was a rich
crimson, a color that made my own skin gleam white, my hair blacker for
the contrast, my own lips redder than they truly were, my dark eyes
nearly black.

I touched the unfamiliar clothes, and it helped me to think, helped me
to hesitate. I shook my head. "No," and my whisper echoed oddly through
the room.

She waved that pale hand at me. "As you like, ma petite, but come
closer, so I may know you better."

I shook my head again, forcing my fingers to touch the heavy, unfamiliar
fabric of the gown. "I am not your ma petite."

'Of course you are, for everything that belongs to Jean-Claude is mine."

'No," I said. It seemed like I should have been saying more, but I
couldn't think with her sitting there wrapped in candlelight, a bowl of
old-fashioned roses on the table by her elbow. The roses were her rose,
created and named for her centuries ago.

She stood in a swish of skirts, that rustling sound that made my pulse
beat faster, and my body tighten. Run, run, I screamed it in my head,
but my body wasn't moving.

She walked slowly towards me, her breasts mounded by the tight clothing.
I had a sudden flash of memory of what it was like to kiss along that
gleaming skin.

I took two handfuls of the long skirt, turned on my high-heeled shoes,
and ran. The room vanished as I ran, and it was a long, endlessly long
corridor that I ran down. It was dark, but it was the dark of dreams
where even without light you could always see the monsters. Though what
lurked in the alcoves along the hallway weren't exactly monsters.

Couples entwined on either side of me. Glimpses of flesh, pale and dark,
images of carnal delights. I didn't see anything clearly, I didn't want
to. I ran, and tried not to see, but of course, I couldn't not see
everything. Breasts like ripe fruit spilling out of old-fashioned
dresses. Full skirts lifted to prove that there was nothing underneath
but flesh. A man with his pants around his thighs, and a woman bending
over him. Blood gleamed down the pale flesh, vampires raised fangs to
the light, and humans clung to them, begging for more.

I ran faster, and faster, struggling against the heavy skirts and the
tight upright corset. It was hard to breathe, hard to move, and no
matter how fast I ran, the door that I could see at the end of all these
carnal nightmares never seemed to get closer.

There was nothing too terribly frightening happening in the alcoves.
Nothing I hadn't either seen or participated in, in one form or another,
but somehow I knew that if I stopped running they'd get me. And, more
than anything else, I didn't want them to touch me.

The door was suddenly in front of me. I grabbed the handle, tugged on
it, and it was locked. Of course it was locked. I screamed, and knew
before I turned around that the things in the corridor weren't in the
alcoves anymore.

Belle's voice, "Come to me willingly, ma petite."

I put my forehead against the door, eyes closed, as if, if I didn't turn
around, didn't see them, they couldn't get me. "Stop calling me that."

She laughed, and it felt like sex sliding along my skin. Jean-Claude's
laugh was amazing, but this, this… the sound made me spasm against the
hard wood and metal of the door.

'You will feed us, ma petite. It will happen, your choice is only in
how."

I turned slowly, the way you do in nightmares. You turn, knowing that
the hot breath on your skin really is the monster.

Belle Morte stood in the center of the vast echoing space of the
corridor, and through Jean-Claude's memories I knew it was a real place,
this corridor. The people from the alcoves crowded to either side of her
and behind her, a huge, hungry-eyed, half-naked mob.

'I offer you my hand, come, take it, and it will be pleasure beyond your
dreams. Refuse me…" she motioned, and that one small movement seemed
to take in all the eager, leering faces. "It can be a dream, or a
nightmare. The choice is yours."

I shook my head. "You don't give choices, Belle, you never did."

'Then your choice is… pain."

The mob at her back rushed me, and the dream shattered. I was left
gasping in Nathaniel's worried face. "You cried out in your sleep. Were
you having a nightmare?" he said.

My heart was beating so hard I could barely swallow past my pulse. I
managed a breathy, "Oh, yeah."

Then I smelled roses, thick, cloying, old-fashioned, almost sickly
sweet. Belle's voice echoed through my head, "You will feed us."

The ardeur poured through me, raising heat along my skin. Nathaniel
jerked his hands back as if he'd been burned, but I knew it hadn't hurt.
He knelt in the tangle of sheets, eyes wide, the little satin jogging
shorts stretched tight over his thighs. They weren't stretched tight
over the front of him yet, he wasn't excited yet, and I wanted him to
be.

I rolled onto my side, reaching for him, one pale hand outstretched.
"Come, take my hand." The moment the words left my mouth, I was back in
my nightmare, except that I was playing Belle.

Nathaniel was reaching out towards me, to touch my hand, and I knew if
he did, the ardeur would spread to him, and I would feed. Nathaniel had
collapsed last night because I'd taken too much from him, what would
happen if I fed again this soon?

'Stop," I said, and it was almost firm. If it had been almost anyone
else, they wouldn't have stopped, but it was Nathaniel and he did what
he was told.

He stayed on his knees, those tiny shorts stretched so tight across his
body. He let his hand fall back into his lap. He was only inches away
from me. All I had to do was close that small distance.

I needed to get out of the bed, to walk away, but that strong I was not.
I couldn't seem to take my eyes away from him, so close, so eager, so
young. That thought wasn't mine.

I frowned, and the confusion helped me push back the ardeur long enough
to sit up, long enough to look at the mirror on the dresser against the
far wall. I was trying to see if my eyes were shining with honey-brown
fire, but they were my eyes. Belle hadn't possessed me like she had once
upon a time. But she'd done something--awakened the ardeur hours ahead
of time.

The bed moved, and my head swiveled back, like a predator hearing the
mouse in the grass. Nathaniel was exactly where I'd left him, but he
must have made some small movement, and that one small movement had been
enough. My pulse was in my throat, my body tight and swollen with need.
A need like nothing I'd ever experienced. I couldn't breathe past it,
couldn't move around it. It was as if need had taken me over and there
was nothing left of me.

This wasn't right. This wasn't me. I managed to shake my head, to let
out the breath I'd been holding. I was being messed about with. I even
knew who was doing it, but I didn't know how to stop it.

The door to the bedroom opened. It was Jason. He stood in the doorway
rubbing his hands on his bare arms. He'd pulled on his jeans but hadn't
bothered to zip or button them. I caught a flash of a new pair of silk
undies, pale blue to match the shirt he wasn't wearing anymore.

'What are you doing in here, Anita? The power is crawling over my skin."

I tried to talk around the ripeness of my own pulse and failed twice,
before I managed to say, "Ardeur."

He came farther into the room, still rubbing his arms trying to get rid
of the goosebumps. "It's hours too early."

I wanted to tell him about the dream, about Belle, but all I could
concentrate on was the glimpse of silk through his open jeans. I wanted
to go to him, to pull his pants down around his ankles, to take him in
my mouth…

The visual was so strong I had to close my eyes, had to hug myself tight
to keep myself on the bed. There was another small movement from
Nathaniel.

He had lain down on the bed, his braid trailing behind him like
Rapunzel. His face was peaceful. He would let me do anything I wanted to
him, even love him to death.

I drew my legs in against my body, wrapped my arms around myself so
tight, and held on. "Get out, Nathaniel, get out."

I felt the bed move, but didn't dare look. I kept my eyes tight shut.
"Get out!"

'You heard her, Nathaniel," Jason said, "leave now."

I heard small sounds as he crossed the room, then the door shut. "You
can look now, Anita, he's gone."

I opened my eyes, and the room was empty, except for the play of
sunlight, and Jason standing beside the bed. His hair was very yellow in
the light, the color of butter, his eyes so blue. I followed the line of
his body to the broad shoulders, the muscled edge of his arms, his chest
with its pale nipples. There was no hair on his chest or stomach. A lot
of strippers shaved their body hair. I'd seen Jason nude often enough to
know that he was mostly shaved. I just hadn't really noticed how shaved.
He was my friend, so even nude, he was still my friend. You don't stare
at your friend's crotch to see how much body hair there is.

Now, sitting on the bed, holding myself tight, I didn't feel friendly, I
felt crazed. I wanted to fling myself off the bed, onto him. I wanted
him naked.

'What do you need?" Jason asked.

I looked up at him, and didn't know whether to cry or scream, but
finally I found words, a hoarse voice squeezed past my pulse, "I have to
feed."

'I know." He looked so solemn. "What do you need me to do?"

I wanted to tell him to leave, too, but I didn't. Micah wasn't here. The
vampires were still dead to the world. Nathaniel was off-limits for
today. There were others outside this room, but no one I wanted to
touch. No one who was even my friend.

I looked up at Jason. A square of sunlight splashed across his chest,
painting him gold and warm.

'What do you want me to do, Anita?"

My voice came out barely above a whisper, "Feed me."

'Blood, flesh, or sex?" his face was careful as he asked, solemn.

My ardeur was always mixed with other desires, but not today. Today
there was only one need. "Sex." That one word, low, soft, while I kept
myself from going to him.

His so-serious face split into a sudden grin. "I'll take one for the
team."

I slid off the bed, to stand for a moment nude before him. I wanted to
run to him, to jump on him, to fuck him. There was no other word for
what my body was wanting. But I didn't want to do that. I wanted to
avoid intercourse, if I could. I'd managed to avoid it with Nathaniel
for months. Surely, just this once with Jason I could manage it.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, then I dropped to the
floor on all fours. I crawled towards him, feeling like I had muscles in
places that I shouldn't have. My beast curled through my body like a cat
on its back, stretching in the sunlight. But the ardeur roared over my
beast, as if the desire were some great hand, smashing down every other
need.

'Aren't you going to complain about being naked in front of me?"

'No," I whispered it, not trusting anything louder. His feet were bare.
I lowered my face to the smooth skin on top of his foot, licked along
it.

His breath came out in a shiver. "God."

I used my hands to crawl up his legs, tugging on the jeans, until I
knelt in front of him. I'd managed to pull the jeans lower on his hips
without meaning to, exposing a wide triangle of the blue silk undies. My
face was almost level with his groin. I could see him pressed tight and
firm under the cloth, the tip of him straining against the elastic of
the underwear, trapped. I wanted to lower that cloth, to help him.

I slid my hands around behind him, digging fingers into his jeans,
gripping his butt. It drew a sound from low in his throat, but it kept
me from ripping off his clothes.

I pressed my face against his thigh, turning it away from his groin. My
control hung from a rapidly fraying thread. I'd learned through long
practice with Nathaniel that the only way to keep from doing more was to
do everything carefully, slowly. But I didn't want to be careful, and I
felt anything but slow. I wanted to beg him to take me. Damn it, I could
do better than this.

Jason stroked my hair, and that one gentle touch brought my face back
up. I gazed up the line of his body to his face. There was that look
that comes on a man's face when he's sure of you, sure of what will
happen. I never thought to see that look on Jason's face, not for me.
That look in his spring blue eyes brought a sound low in my throat. He
touched my cheek. "Don't stop," he said, voice soft, "don't stop."

I lowered my face towards him, still gazing up. I licked him through the
silk, and watched his face while I did it. I licked along the length of
him until he threw his head back, his eyes closed. He was so hard, so
firm against my mouth, under the cloth. I wrapped my mouth around the
head of him through the silk, bringing one hand round to hold him, solid
and thick.

He made a noise halfway between a word and a shout, as if I'd surprised
him. He looked down at me, and his eyes were wild.

I drew back from him and the silk had turned dark blue where my mouth
had touched him.

His hands went to the back of his pants and it was Jason that slid the
silk and the jeans down his hips. Him that revealed himself to me while
I knelt in front of him.

He was smooth, the head wide and rounded, graceful, straight and fine,
running slightly to the side, so that he nestled in the hollow of his
own hip.

I took him in my hand, and his breath quickened. I lifted him away from
his body just enough so that I could spill my mouth over the head of
him, rolling my tongue along that graceful curve.

He shuddered under my touch.

I drew more of him into my mouth, sliding my hand down to cup lower
things. He was smooth to the touch, everywhere I could touch with hand
or mouth, there was nothing but the smooth perfection of him. He was
shaved smooth.

I'd been with men who trimmed, and shaved some, but never one that was
perfectly smooth. I liked it. It made so many things easier to take into
my mouth, to roll and explore.

Every touch, every caress, every lick, seemed to bring some new noise
from him--whimpers, soft cries, breathless words. It became a game to
see how many sounds I could draw from him.

I drew his pants down farther, so that I could spread his legs, lick
between them, along that thin line of skin between testicles and anus.

He cried out, and I moved up his body, one lick, one nibble at a time. I
took him into my mouth again, as much as I could from this angle,
wrapping my fingers in a ring around the rest of him, my other hand
cupping his testicles, playing along that line that ran between his
legs. His breath was coming quick and quicker. His body quivered against
me.

He grabbed a handful of my hair, drew me back from him. He looked down
at me like a drowning man. "Up," he said.

I frowned at him. "What?"

He bent down, grabbed my upper arms, drew me to my feet. He kissed me,
and it was like he was trying to crawl inside me through my mouth, lips,
tongue, teeth--something between a kiss and eating me.

His hands slid down my back, following the curve of my spine, then lower
over the swell of my hips, until his fingers found my thighs. He lifted
me, with just his hands on my thighs, our mouths still locked together.
The movement of his hands spread my legs, pressed me against him. The
feel of him so hard, so ready pressed against my body, drew small sounds
from me, and he ate those sounds straight from my mouth, as if he were
tasting my screams.

He used his hands to draw my lower body away from his, my arms still
locked around his shoulders, one hand sliding through the baby silkiness
of his hair. He moved one hand to my butt, supporting all my weight on
one hand, while he moved the other hand between us. I had a second to
realize what he was going to do. I fought the ardeur, I fought the feel
of his mouth on mine, the feel of him in my arms, to rear back enough to
try and say, something, I managed to say, "Jason," and he drove his hips
forward, upward. But the feel of him inside me was exactly what the
ardeur wanted. Exactly what I wanted.

He entered me, and it wasn't hesitant, or gentle. He fought against the
wet tightness of my body, both hands on the backs of my thighs, pulling
me to him, as he pushed himself inside me. It drew small screams out of
my throat, one after the other.

He walked us backward until he collapsed me on the edge of the bed, most
of my lower body still held in his hands, trapped against him. He stayed
standing, his body pinning me to the edge of the bed, his hands holding
me as if I weighed nothing.

He stared down at me with eyes that were no longer human, but wolf. He
drew himself out of my body, slowly, an inch at a time until I was
almost free, then he shoved himself back, and made me scream again. It
wasn't a scream of pain.

He found a rhythm that was fast, and deep, and hard, as if he were
trying to shove himself out the other side of me. He beat his body into
mine with a thick, meaty sound.

The orgasm caught me unprepared. One moment I was caught in the rhythm
of his body in mine, and the next I was screaming, writhing underneath
him. I raked nails down his body, anywhere I could touch him, and when
that wasn't enough I clawed my own body.

Jason's screams echoed mine, and his body tightened against me, spine
bowing, head thrown back, and a howl spilled from his lips. The ardeur
drank him down, his skin, his sweat, his seed.

He collapsed on top of me. His breath came in a painful struggle, and
his heart pounded like a trapped thing against my skin. He scooted us
more solidly onto the bed, his body still deep within mine. When we were
both lying on the bed, breathing hard, pulses quieting, he looked down
at me, and there was something in his eyes, something serious, and very
un-Jason.

His voice was still breathless, hoarse, when he said, "I know that this
may be the only time I get to do this. When I move, let me hold you for
just a little while."

My own voice wasn't much better than his, "Since I can't move from the
waist down yet, sure."

He laughed then, and because he was still inside me and partially erect,
the movement caused me to writhe underneath him, tightening, setting
nails into his back.

He screamed, and his hips ground himself against me again. When he could
breath again, he whispered, "Oh, god, don't do that again."

'Then get off me," I said, voice almost as breathless as his.

He raised up on his arms, almost like doing a push-up, and drew himself
out of me. Feeling him pulling out made me writhe again. He collapsed
beside me, half-laughing.

When I could talk again, I said, "What's funny?"

'God, you're amazing."

'Not bad yourself," I said.

'Not bad?" he said, and gave me wide eyes.

I had to smile. "Fine, you're amazing, too."

'Don't say it if you don't mean it," he said.

I finally managed to turn onto my side so I could see his face better.
"I do mean it. You were amazing."

He turned on his side so we lay there facing each other, but not
touching. "If I never get to do this again, I wanted it to be good."

I had to close my eyes, to fight off another urge to writhe on the bed.
I let out a long, steadying breath, then opened my eyes again. "Oh, it
was that. I had a really good time, but are you always this vigorous?
Not every girl likes to be pounded into the mattress."

'I've seen the men you've been sleeping with, Anita, I knew I could be
as hard and fast as I wanted to be, and not hurt you."

I frowned at him. "Are you implying that you're small?"

'No, I'm saying that I'm not huge. I'm good sized, but some of the men
in your bed are more than good-sized."

I blushed. I hadn't blushed the entire time we'd been making love, and
now I blushed. "I don't know what to say, Jason, I feel like I should
defend your ego, but…"

'But inch for inch I know where I stand, Anita." He laughed, and slid an
arm under my shoulders. I let him bring me into the curve of his
shoulder. I slid my hand across his stomach, my other arm underneath the
small of his back, my leg sliding over his thigh. We cuddled, almost as
close now as we had been earlier.

'You were wonderful," I said.

'I noticed how wonderful you thought I was." He raised his free arm up
so I could see the fresh bloody scratches I'd put down his arms.

I widened eyes at him. "Does your other arm look that bad?"

'Yes."

I frowned, and he touched my forehead. "Don't frown, Anita, I'm going to
enjoy every mark. I'll miss them when they heal."

'But…"

He touched fingertip to my lips, to keep me from finishing. "No buts,
just amazing sex, and I for one want to feel the aches and pains of it
as long as I can." He touched my arm where it lay across his stomach,
raised it so I could look at it. There were nail marks, some of them
seeping blood, some just red and raised. "These aren't my marks."

Of course, once I saw them, they started to hurt. Why is it that small
wounds don't hurt until you see them? "Actually," I said, "they are your
marks, or at least a sign of a job well done. I don't remember ever
marking myself up this badly."

He gave that low masculine chuckle with an edge of laughter that was
pure Jason. "Thanks for the compliment, but I know that whatever I did,
it can't be half as wonderful as what Asher and Jean-Claude did a few
hours ago. No amount of inches, or talent, will put a man in that
league."

I shivered, hugging him. "That's not necessarily a bad thing."

'How can you say that? I've felt a fraction of what Asher did to you,
and it's…" he seemed to be searching for just the right word, he
finally said, "wondrous, mind-blowing."

'Yeah," I said, "the kind of pleasure you'd do almost anything to
experience again." My voice sounded less than happy.

Jason touched my chin, raised me to look at him. "Are you thinking of
not going back for more?"

I tucked my face against his shoulder. "Let's just say that I'm not
completely happy about it."

'Why not?" he asked.

'I don't know exactly." I shook my head as much as I could pressed
against him. "Truth, is that it scares me."

'What scares you?"

'Sex is great, Jason, but this… what Asher can do with his bite." I
tried to put it into words, and knew that whatever I said would fail to
describe it. "Asher feels like a Master Vampire in my head, his level of
power, but he has no animal to call. He can do the voice trick like
Jean-Claude, but that's a minor power. I was a little puzzled, I mean,
he feels like a master, but where's his power?" I shivered again. "I
found out."

Jason rested his chin on the top of my head and said, "What do you
mean?"

'I mean that his power lies in seduction, sex, intimate play. He can't
feed off lust the way Jean-Claude can, and he doesn't cause lust in
those around him the way Jean-Claude does, but damn, once the
preliminaries are out of the way, he can cause such… pleasure. It
really is something that people would kill for, sign their fortunes away
for, do whatever Belle Morte wanted them to do, just as long as Asher
would keep visiting their beds."

'So he's like this amazing lay," Jason said.

'No, you're an amazing lay, Micah is an amazing lay, I'm not a hundred
percent sure that Jean-Claude is as good as I think he is, because I'm
not sure anymore how much of it is true talent and how much is vampire
powers. I did not have intercourse with Asher. We just shared blood."

Jason moved so he could frown down at me. "I'm sorry, but the wolf knows
these things. It wasn't just Jean-Claude I smelled when I walked into
the room."

I blushed again. "I didn't say Asher didn't have a good time, I just
said we didn't have intercourse."

'And your point is what?" he asked.

'My point is that if that was only taking blood, I'm afraid to have real
sex with him. I mean how much better could it be?"

He gave a laugh that held an edge of giggling, almost a giddy sound.
"I'd love to find out."

I raised up on one elbow. "Are you telling me you'd do Asher?"

He frowned, the laughter still glinting in his eyes. "I was a little
confused for awhile about exactly what my preferences were. I mean I've
been Jean-Claude's pomme de sang for about two years now. It's amazing
when he feeds, Anita, a-fucking-mazing. Enjoying being with him this
much made me think I might be gay." He traced his hand down my shoulder.
"But I like girls. I'm not saying that with the right person bisexual
isn't a possibility, but not if it means never being able to do this
again. I like girls." He drew "like" out into a multisyllabic word.

It made me laugh. "And I like men."

'I noticed," he said, still with a trace of laughter in his voice.

I sat up. "I think we've cuddled enough."

He touched my arm, face serious again. "Are you really not going to bed
Asher?"

I sighed. "You know how you said Jean-Claude is so amazing when he takes
blood."

'Yeah."

'Jean-Claude says that Asher's bite is orgasmic, literally. So that
means that Asher's bite is more pleasurable than even Jean-Claude's."

'Okay," he said. He propped himself up on pillows, hands folded across
his stomach as he listened to me.

I was sitting Indian fashion, still nude, and it didn't seem to matter.
It wasn't sexual now, just comfortable.

'I've had sex with Jean-Claude, but never allowed him to take blood with
it."

'Never?" he said.

'Never."

He shook his head. "You are the strongest willed person I've ever met.
No one else would have refused the double pleasure, not this long."

'You haven't done both with him," I said.

He grinned. "It's considered bad form to fuck your pomme de sang, unless
they initiate it. If they initiate it, then it's an extra treat, and
only if they've been good."

'You sound like you asked him about this."

'I did."

I raised eyebrows at that.

'Oh, come on, Anita, I've slept with him longer than you have. You'd
have to be more of a flaming heterosexual than I am to not wonder."

'He turned you down?"

'Very politely, but yeah."

I was frowning. "Did he say why?"

Jason nodded. "You."

I couldn't frown any harder, so I tried to stop, but I was puzzled. "Why
me? You've been his pomme longer than I've been his girlfriend, and a
hell of a lot longer than I've been his lover."

'By the time I asked, you were dating. He seemed to think that you would
dump his ass if you found out he was doing another man."

'You're making my head hurt," I said.

'Sorry, but if you don't want the truth, don't ask." He settled the
pillows more comfortably at his back. "But you've managed to avoid
answering my original question."

'What was it?" I asked.

He looked at me. "Don't try to be coy, Anita, you're so bad at it."

'Fine, Asher, what to do about Asher. I made sort of promises to them
both that we'd find a way to be a mnage  trois, or would that be a
mnage a quatre."

'Who's your fourth?"

'Micah," I said.

'Darn," he said.

I frowned at him.

'Couldn't help myself, sorry."

'If I go back on that promise we'll lose Asher."

'What do you mean, lose?"

I explained about Asher's plans to leave.

'So if you don't come across, he's gone."

'Yeah."

He frowned, laughed, then shook his head. "Let me think this through.
His bite is overwhelmingly orgasmic, mind-blowing pleasure. You think
that if you fuck him while he takes blood that it will be even more
amazing."

'Yes," I said.

'Why is this a problem?" Jason asked.

I hugged myself. "I'm afraid, Jason."

He sat up beside me. "Afraid of what?"

'Afraid of being…" I hesitated, tried to find a the words, and
finally, "I'm afraid of being consumed."

He frowned. "Consumed, I know what the word means, but I don't
understand what you mean by it."

'Aren't you afraid of wanting one of them so badly that you'd do
anything to have him with you?"

'Do you just mean vampires, or people in general?"

I rested my chin on my knees. "Vampires, of course."

'No, you don't mean just vampires, you're afraid of wanting anybody
completely, aren't you?"

I wouldn't look at him. "I don't know what you mean."

He pushed my hair back behind my ear, but it was too thick to stay.
"Don't lie to Uncle Jason, you didn't mean just vampires."

I looked at him, hugging my legs to me. "Maybe not, but the point is the
same. I don't want to want anyone so much that if they aren't with me, I
die."

A look passed through his eyes that I couldn't read. "You mean you're
afraid of loving anyone more than life itself?"

'Yes."

He smiled, and it was gentle, and a little sad. "I would give one of my
less favorite body parts for a woman to care for me as deeply as you do
for Nathaniel."

I started to protest that I didn't love Nathaniel.

Jason touched a finger to my lips. "Stop. I know you haven't given
yourself over heart and soul to Nathaniel, but then you haven't given
yourself over heart and soul to anybody, have you?"

I looked away, because watching that patient, grown-up look in his eyes
was uncomfortable to say the least. "One of my goals in life is, just
once to have a woman look at me the way you watch Jean-Claude. The way
you and Jean-Claude watch Asher. The way you watch Nathaniel. The way
Nathaniel looks at you."

'You left Micah off the list."

'You and he have this comfort level that you don't have with any of the
others, but it's almost as if the comfort comes at the expense of
something else."

'What?" I asked.

'I don't know, I've never been in love, how should I know."

'So, what, I'm not in love with Micah?"

'That is not my question to answer."

'I cannot be in love with four men at once."

'Why not?"

I looked at him.

'It's not a rule," he said.

'It would be ridiculous," I said.

'You fought Jean-Claude, because you were afraid of him. Then Richard
came along, and I think you loved him, really loved him, and that scared
you, so you backed off. I think you dated them both to keep from falling
in love with either of them."

'That's not true."

'Isn't it?"

'Originally, Jean-Claude said he'd kill Richard if he didn't get a
chance to woo me too."

'And why didn't you just kill Jean-Claude then? You don't tolerate
ultimatums, Anita, so why tolerate that one?"

I didn't have an answer for that, or at least not a good one.

'Richard grows more distant, more caught up in his own personal angst,
which leaves the field open for Jean-Claude. So suddenly you have
Nathaniel bunking with you. I know, I know, he's your pomme de sang,
your house leopard, but it was still interesting timing."

I wanted to tell him to stop, to not say anymore, but he didn't, he kept
on. I'd never thought of Jason as relentless before.

'Somewhere in all this, Asher comes up on the radar, maybe it's
Jean-Claude's old memories, maybe not. But whatever caused it, you're
drawn to him, but he's so full of anger that it's not a threat. He's
almost as full of self-loathing as Richard is. Then suddenly Richard
walks away for real this time. You're left with just Jean-Claude, and
Nathaniel, but Nathaniel isn't enough of a romantic threat to keep
Jean-Claude at bay, and suddenly there's Micah. Out of the blue, instant
lust, instant housekeeping. You have Micah, and now Jean-Claude is back
to sharing you with someone else, and you're safe again. You can't fall
madly in love with Jean-Claude, or anyone else, because you've divided
your world up into different parts with each of them. Because no one man
has your whole world, no one man can rock your whole world."

I got out of the bed, tugging the sheet around me like a robe. I
suddenly didn't want to be naked in front of Jason anymore.

'I thought it was all accidental, and it was, and it wasn't. You're
terrified of belonging to just one person, aren't you?"

I shook my head. "Not of belonging to just one person, Jason, of wanting
to belong to just one person."

'Why, why is that so frightening to you? Most people spend their lives
wanting exactly that, I know I do."

'I loved someone once with my whole heart, and he stomped on it."

'Please, not the fiance in college. Anita that was years ago, and he was
an asshole. You can't spend the rest of your life nursing one bad
experience."

I was at the foot of the bed now, wrapped shoulders to feet in the
sheet. I was cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. "It's
not only that," I said, voice soft.

'What is it then?"

I took a deep breath in, let it out slow. "I loved my mother with my
whole heart and whole soul, she was my world. She died, and it nearly
destroyed me." I thought about everything he'd said, and I couldn't
argue with it, and I couldn't pretend it didn't make sense. "I never
want to put my whole world in any one person's hands again, Jason. If
they die, I won't die with them."

'So you'll hold a little of yourself back from everybody."

'No," I said, "I'll hold back a piece of myself for myself. No one gets
all of me, Jason, no one, except me."

He shook his head. "So Jean-Claude gets sex, but no blood. Nathaniel
gets intimacy, but not intercourse. Asher gets blood but not
intercourse. Micah's getting intimacy and intercourse, what are you
holding back from him?"

'I don't love him yet."

'Liar."

'I lust after him, but I don't love him yet."

'And Richard, what did you hold back from Richard?"

I stood there wrapped in the damned sheet, feeling the world sinking
away to a small screaming thing. "Nothing," I said, "I held back
nothing, and he dumped my ass."

Jason just sat there for a second or two, then he got off the bed. I
think he meant to hold me, comfort me.

I put out a hand to stop him. "If you hug me, I'm going to cry, and
Richard has gotten the last tear out of me that he's going to get."

'I'm sorry, Anita."

'Not your fault."

'No, but it wasn't any of my business either. I don't have the right to
psychoanalyze you."

'You're just jealous," I said, and I tried to make it light, joking, and
failed.

'About what?" he asked.

'That I have so many people that I could be in love with, if I'd only
give that one last inch."

He sat back down on the edge of the bed. "You're right, damn it, but
you're right. I am jealous, but I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't
understand until the moment you said how afraid you were of being
consumed. I want to be consumed, Anita. I want someone to come along and
burn me up."

'You're a romantic," I said.

'You make that sound like a dirty word."

'Not dirty, Jason, just useless." I started for the door. "I'm going to
get cleaned up, help yourself to the upstairs shower if you want." Jason
called to me, but I kept walking. I'd had all the pillow talk I wanted
for one day.

25

I loved the new shower that I'd had installed in the downstairs master
bathroom. One of the bear lycanthropes in town turned out to be a
plumber. I'd still paid full price, but at least I knew he wouldn't be
asking stupid questions about my living arrangements. I liked a good
long bath when the occasion called for it, but at heart I was a shower
girl.

I set the showerhead on hard, so that the water beat against my neck,
head, shoulders. I hadn't been embarrassed about having sex with Jason,
and maybe that was wrong, but it hadn't felt sinful. Maybe because it
was just another way for him to take care of me. But the little talk
afterwards, that had bothered me. That hard emotional truths bothered me
more than having intercourse with someone I wasn't in love with probably
said something about how far down the well of moral decay I had fallen.

I stood in the hot, hot water, steam foaming against the glass doors of
the stall, and was happy that I didn't owe my heart to anyone. It was
mine damn it, and I was keeping it in one piece if I could. Richard had
broken some part of me, some last bit that had been trying to hang onto
a softer more romanticized view of love. He had left, dumped me because
I wasn't human enough for him. My fiance in college had dumped me
because I wasn't white bread enough for his mother. My stepmother,
Judith, had never let me forget that I was small and dark, and she and
her children and my father, were tall and blond, and blue-eyed. People
had spent my lifetime rejecting me for things I could not change about
myself. So fuck them, fuck them all.

I was sitting on the bottom of the shower. I hadn't meant to. I hadn't
meant to huddle in the water, hiding. Why was I always chasing after the
love of people who I could never be enough for? There were plenty of
others who wanted me exactly as I was, small, dark, hard, bloody, thick
with metaphysical shit. People who loved me just as I was.
Unfortunately, none of them were me.

There was a knock on the door, and I realized that someone had been
knocking for a while. I always locked the door when I went in, out of
habit,

I turned the water down, so I could hear better. "What is it?"

'Anita, it's Jamil, I need to come in."

'Why?" That one word held a universe of suspicion. If his reason had
been something I wouldn't hate he'd have already said why he needed to
come in.

I actually heard him sigh through the door. "It's Richard, he's hurt,
and we need to use the big bathtub."

'No," I said. I turned off the water and reached for the oversized
towel.

'Anita, since the pack sold Raina's house we don't have any body of
water big enough to soak him and other pack members in. I found him
unconscious on his bedroom floor, he's ice cold."

I wound a smaller towel around my wet hair. "You are not bringing him in
here, Jamil. There's got to be some place else to take him. Jean-Claude
would let you use the tub at his place."

'Anita, he's icy, if we don't get him warm soon, I don't know what'll
happen."

I leaned my head against the door. "Are you telling me that he's going
to die?"

'I'm telling you, I don't know. I've never seen another werewolf this
bad without some kind of wound to show for it. I don't know what's wrong
with him."

I did, unfortunately. Belle hadn't only fed her people off of me, she'd
been feeding off of Richard, too. I'd thought about that earlier in the
day, but I hadn't dreamed that he wouldn't call his pack and have some
of them near him, to strengthen himself on their collected energy. I
hadn't known that he would just let himself die. Because long before he
got that bad he'd have known something was very wrong.

'Did he call you for help?" I asked, still leaning against the door.

'No, I needed to ask him about pack business, and I tried him at the
school, but he'd called in sick. Then I called his house and got no
answer. Anita, please, let us in."

Mother fucking son of a bitch. I could not believe that I was having to
do this. The man that had broken my heart, called me a monster was about
to get soaked in my bathtub for God knew how long.

I unlocked the door and opened it with me behind, hiding, so I couldn't
be seen, or see.

Jamil eased through the door with Richard in his arms. It wasn't weight
that made it hard--Jamil could have bench-pressed the entire
bathroom--it was that Richard was broad-shouldered, and Jamil wasn't
small himself.

I tried not to look at either of them, getting only a brief glimpse of
Jamil's cornrowed hair, bright red beads intertwined. His shirt was a
red to match the beads, his suit jacket black. I didn't take the time to
see if his pants matched the jacket. I just started for the door, towels
clutched to me.

'Can you turn on the water for me, Anita?" Jamil asked.

'No," I said, and I fled.

26

I got dressed. I couldn't remember if I'd gotten around to using shampoo
on my hair, or only gotten it wet, and I didn't care. I had an image of
Richard's face burned in my mind. Eyes closed, that perfectly square jaw
with its dimple. But there had been no spill of that glorious hair
around his shoulders. That wonderful hair that was brown shot with gold
and copper, so that it almost glowed in the sunlight. He'd cut his hair.
He'd cut his hair.

I remembered the feel of it in my hands, the silken slide of it over my
body, the spill of it around his face when he rose over me. Richard
lying underneath my body, his hair like a rich cloud on the pillow, as
his eyes lost focus and his body thrust into mine.

I was sitting on the bed, crying, when there was a knock at the door. I
had jeans on, but had only gotten to my bra. "Just a minute." My voice
was only a little thick.

I slipped the red T-shirt on over the black jeans. I started to say come
in, then realized it could be Richard. Unlikely since he was unconscious
minutes ago, but I couldn't take the chance. "Who is it?"

'Nathaniel."

'Come in." I scrubbed at my eyes and had my back to the door, while I
looked at my shoulder holster and tried to figure out what I'd done with
my belt. I needed the belt to slide through the shoulder holster. Where
the hell was my belt?

'The police are on the phone," he said, voice quiet.

I just shook my head. "I can't find my belt."

'I'll find it for you," he said. I knew from his voice that he was
farther into the room now. I hadn't heard him move. It was like I wasn't
hearing everything, like I was losing pieces of things.

'What's wrong with me?" I hadn't actually meant to say it out loud.

'Richard's here," Nathaniel said, as if that explained it all.

I kept shaking my head, trying to run my hands through my wet hair. It
was tangled. I hadn't used shampoo, let alone conditioner. It was going
to be a mess when it dried. "Fuck!"

He touched my shoulder, and I jerked away. "No, no, don't be nice to me.
If you're nice I'll cry."

'Do you want me to be cruel, would that make you feel better?"

It was such an odd question that it made me look at him. He was still
wearing the jogging shorts he'd left the room in, but he'd unbraided his
hair and brushed it into a shining auburn curtain. A stray bit of
sunlight gleamed in his hair. I knew what all that hair felt like
rushing over my body. It was so thick, so heavy, that it made a sound
like dry water when it cascaded around me. I'd always denied myself
everything that Nathaniel could offer. I'd always backed off from
enjoying every part of him. Jason's words came back to haunt me. That I
hadn't really given myself completely to anyone. That I held back
something from everyone. I'd held back huge chunks of myself from
Nathaniel. More than any of the other men in my life, he was the one
that I'd held back from the most, because I didn't believe I was keeping
him. Once I had the ardeur under control I wouldn't need a pomme de sang
every day. Once I could feed the ardeur from a distance like Jean-Claude
could, I'd stop using a pomme de sang. Wouldn't I?

He looked worried. "What's wrong, Anita?"

I shook my head.

He took a step towards me, and that small movement sent his hair
swirling over one shoulder. He gave a negligible flip of his head,
sending it sliding back behind him.

I had to close my eyes, and breathe, in and out, concentrate on just
breathing. I would not cry. I would not fucking cry again. Every time I
thought Richard had gotten the last tears he'd ever get from me, I
always seemed to be wrong. Every time I thought there was no other way
he could tear me up, he found a new way. Nothing turns to hate so bitter
as what once was love.

I opened my eyes and found Nathaniel close enough to touch. I stared
into those compassionate lilac eyes, that soft, caring face, and I hated
him. I don't know why. But I hated him just a little. I hated him for
not being someone else. I hated him for the hair that fell to his knees.
I hated him because I didn't love him. Or maybe I hated him because I
did. But it wasn't what I felt for Richard. I hated him, and I hated me.
In that one instant I hated everyone in my life, everyone and
everything, and me most of all.

'We are out of here," I said.

He frowned. "What?"

'You, me, Jason, we're out of here. I need to take Jason back to the
Circus before Jean-Claude wakes up anyway. We'll pack a bag, and we'll
give the house over to Richard."

Nathaniel widened his eyes. "You mean to leave this house until Richard
is gone?"

I nodded, maybe a little too fast, maybe a little too often, but I had a
plan, and I was sticking to it.

'What will Micah say?"

I shook my head. "He can join us at the Circus."

Nathaniel looked at me for a second, then he shrugged. "How long will we
be there?"

'I don't know," I said, and looked away from him. He hadn't protested,
hadn't accused me of cowardice. He just stuck to the facts. We were
going. How long would we be gone?

'I'll pack for a couple of days, if we need other things, I'll come back
for them."

'You do that," I said.

He moved towards the door, leaving me to stare around the room. "Your
belt is at the foot of the bed."

That made me look at him. There was something in his eyes, something
older than he was, something that made me want to squirm and look away,
but I was already running from Richard, I couldn't run away from
anything else. One act of extreme cowardice per day was about all my ego
could handle.

'Thanks," I said, and my voice sounded too soft, too hoarse, too
something.

'Do you want me to pack a bag for you, too?" His face had fallen back
into neutral lines, as if he'd realized the look in his eyes was too raw
for me, right now.

'I can pack," I said.

'I can pack for both of us, Anita, it's not a problem."

I started to argue, then stopped. I'd spent the last twenty minutes
trying to find a belt that I'd probably walked over twice. If I packed
in the state I was in, I'd probably forget to bring underwear. "Fine."

'What do you want me to tell Sergeant Zerbrowski?" he asked.

'I'll talk to him while you pack."

Nathaniel nodded. "Okay."

I took the time to tuck my shirt in, put my belt on, and thread my
shoulder holster. I checked that the clip in my gun was full,
automatically. I started to say something to Nathaniel and those old
eyes in that young face, but I didn't have anything worth saying. We
were fleeing the house until Richard was gone. With that decision, I
didn't know what to say.

I left Nathaniel and went into the kitchen to get the phone, wondering
if Zerbrowski would still be on the other end, or if his patience would
have faded before my confusion had.

27

I entered the kitchen and found the phone on the hook, and Caleb sitting
at the kitchen table. Caleb was my least favorite of the new leopards
who had come in when Micah and I merged our pards. He was cute enough in
a young, boy-hooker, MTV sort of way. Curly brown hair with the lower
part shaved short, and the top a crown of thick curls that flopped over
his eyes artfully. His tanned skin was dark, not quite as dark as his
hair. The tan had faded a little in the few months he'd been in town.
His eyes were a nice solid brown with a silver hoop piercing one
eyebrow. His smooth upper body was naked so I could see his belly button
piercing. I also noted that he'd added two new piercings--both nipples
were pierced with tiny silver dumbbells. He routinely went around with
the top button of his jeans unfastened, his explanation was that the
waistband irritated the belly piercing. I didn't believe him, but since
I had never even pierced my ears, I couldn't really call him a liar.

He kept one hand on the coffee cup, but the other one traced over his
chest and rolled one of the little silver dumbbells between his fingers.
"I had them done a couple weeks ago. Like them?"

'What are you doing here?" I asked, and I didn't care that it sounded
hostile. I was having a hard day and having Caleb in my kitchen wasn't
going to improve it.

'Taking messages for you." He hadn't risen to my grumpy bait. It wasn't
like Caleb to miss an opportunity to bitch.

'What messages?"

He held out a small sheet of paper to me. His face was as neutral as he
could manage, only that faint gleam in his eyes that he never quite
lost. That look that said, I'm thinking wicked thoughts, about you.

I took a breath, let it out slowly, and went over to him to get the
paper. I recognized the notepaper; it was one of the sheets we kept near
the phone. Caleb held on to it for a second too long, making me pull a
little, but he let it go and didn't say anything irritating. That was
almost a first.

I looked at the note. I didn't recognize the writing, which probably
meant it was Caleb's. It was surprisingly neat, all block letters. "NO
ONE'S DEAD. WHEN YOU HAVE TIME, CALL ME. DOLPH IS ON A TWO-WEEK LEAVE OF
ABSENCE. LOVE ZERBROWSKI." I must have raised an eyebrow at the end
part, because Caleb said, "I wrote down exactly what the policeman said.
I didn't add anything."

'I believe you. Zerbrowski thinks he's a wit." I met Caleb's brown eyes.
"Why are you here, Caleb?"

'Micah called me on his cell phone, told me to stay close to you today."
He didn't look particularly happy about it.

'Did he mention why he wanted you to stay close to me today?"

Caleb frowned. "No."

'And you dropped everything you had planned today to come baby-sit me,
out of the goodness of your heart."

He tried to keep frowning, then gradually that smile of his that matched
the wicked light in his eyes emerged. It was an unpleasant smile, as if
he was thinking unkind thoughts, and those thoughts amused him very,
very much.

'Merle told me he'd hurt me if I failed Micah on this."

Merle was Micah's chief bodyguard, six foot of muscle, and attitude that
would make a Hell's Angel think twice. Caleb was about five six and soft
in ways that said he had nothing to do with muscles.

I had to smile. "Merle's threatened you before, and it hasn't impressed
you much."

'That was before Chimera died. He liked me better than he liked Merle or
Micah. I knew he'd protect me, no matter what Merle said."

Chimera had been their old pard leader, in a way he'd been like the
Godfather of lycanthrope groups. But he was dead now, and we'd divided
his people up among ours. Most of them thought it was an improvement
because Chimera had been a sexual sadist, a serial killer, and an
all-round very bad man. But a few, who had enjoyed helping him mete out
his little blood fantasies, seemed to miss Chimera. Since Chimera had
been one of the scarier things I'd ever run into in a list that included
would-be gods, and millennia-old vampires, I didn't trust any of his
people that were nostalgic for the good ol' days. Caleb was one of
those.

'Great, fine, glad you're beginning to take orders like a good soldier.
Tell Micah when he comes back that I'll be at the Circus of the Damned."

'I'll go with you." He was already getting to his feet. He was barefoot.
But of course, because it was Caleb, he was wearing a toe ring.

I shook my head. "No, you are staying here, give my message to Micah."

'Merle was pretty explicit. I am to stay near you today, all day."

I frowned. I had the beginnings of an awful idea. "You're positive that
neither Micah nor Merle told you why they wanted you to be glued to my
side today?"

He shook his head, but he looked worried. I wondered for the first time
if Merle had done more than just "talk" to him.

'What did Merle say would happen if you didn't stay close to me?"

'He said he'd cut all my piercings with a knife, especially the newest
one." His voice didn't sound the least bit like teasing. He sounded
tired.

'Newest one? The nipples?" I said, and made it half question.

'No." He shook his head.

His hands went to the top of his jeans and the already partially
unbuttoned line. He undid a second button.

I held up my hand. "Stop, that's plenty. I get the idea. You've pierced
something… there."

'I thought, why not, I'll heal in a matter of days instead of weeks, or
months for a human."

I wanted to ask, Didn't it really hurt? But since silver burned a
lycanthrope's skin, you had to be masochistic to get anything pierced.
I'd asked one of the other leopards that was pierced, why not use gold?
Answer: their bodies grew over the gold, healing over the wound. But
they didn't heal over silver.

'Thanks for over-sharing there, Caleb."

There was a shadow of his usual smile, but mostly his eyes looked
worried, almost scared. "I'm trying to do what I was told to do, that's
all."

I sighed. One thing I hadn't expected was to feel sorry for Caleb. Damn
it I didn't need another person to take care of right now. I was having
enough trouble taking care of myself. "Fine, but Nathaniel and I are
taking Jason back to the Circus so he'll be there in time for
Jean-Claude to wake up."

'I'll go with you."

I just looked at him.

The worry bloomed to outright fear. "Anita, please, I know I've been a
pain in the ass, but I'll be good. I won't cause any trouble."

Had Micah really sent Caleb here in case the ardeur rose early? I
disliked Caleb, intensely; did Micah really think I'd use him like that?
Of course, the first time I'd met Micah I'd fed off of him. It had also
been the very first time the ardeur rose, and my control had been
nonexistent. I was better now, but what I'd done with Jason proved not
that much better.

I'd complain to Micah about his choice of baby-sitters later, and he'd
probably argue, if not Caleb, then who? For that, I didn't have a good
answer. Hell, I didn't even have a bad answer.

28

When more wolves arrived from Richard's pack, and the screams started, I
left. He had a half dozen baby-sitters. He did not need me. Hell, he
didn't even want me.

I didn't know what to do for Richard anymore. I could help the pack as a
whole, but helping Richard seemed beyond me. He needed healing, and I
didn't know how to do that. If you needed someone killed, or threatened,
or even hurt, I was your girl. I did self-defense, murder wasn't beyond
me in a good cause, but suicide, I did not do that. Richard had let
himself grow cold, his energy sucked away, and he hadn't called for
help. That was suicide, passive suicide maybe, but the intent was the
same.

Jason drove. He pointed out that I'd had weird physical reactions all
day, and it would be bad to have one of the fainting spells behind the
wheel of the car. I replied that I'd fixed the reason for the fainting
spells by putting crosses at the Circus. He'd countered with the fact
that we weren't one hundred percent sure that was the only reason I'd
been fainting. Wouldn't caution be better? With that, I couldn't argue.
My pride was not worth crashing the Jeep with three other people in it.
If it had only been my skin at stake I'd have probably taken my chances.
I was usually more cautious of other people's safety than my own.

The fact that all three were lycanthropes and would probably survive a
wreck better than I would had nothing to do with it. If you throw the
furry through a windshield, do they not still bleed?

We were on Highway 21 turning onto 270, when I smelled roses. "Do you
smell that?" I asked.

Jason glanced at me, his hair still damp from the shower, his white
T-shirt dark in spots from water as if he'd dried in a hurry and missed
places. "What did you say?"

'Roses, I smell roses."

He glanced behind us at Nathaniel and Caleb. Nathaniel I'd invited.
Caleb had nearly cried when I didn't want to bring him. Whatever Merle
had said to him had well and truly scared him.

I could taste the sweet, cloying perfume on the back of my tongue. And
no one could smell it but me. Shit.

Belle Morte's voice whispered through my head, "Did you truly believe
you could escape me?"

'I did escape you."

'What?" Jason asked.

I shook my head, concentrating on the voice in my head, and the
thickening scent of roses.

'You did not escape, you fed me, and you will feed me again, and again,
until I am sated."

'Jean-Claude says you're never sated."

She laughed in my head, and it was like having the inside of my skull
rubbed with fur, as if she could touch things with her voice that no one
should have touched with their hands. That purring, contralto laugh
rolled through my body, raising goosebumps along my skin.

I had an image, a memory in my head. There was a huge bed, and a mass of
bodies on it. It was a jumble of arms, legs, chests, groins, all male.
Then one man raised up, only his upper body, and I glimpsed Belle
underneath him. He lowered his body and she vanished from view. It was
like watching a nest of snakes, so much movement, disconnected in the
candlelit dark, as if each limb were something separate and alive
without the body. Belle's arm rose above the mass of bodies, then she
swam her way to the top, peeled the men from her naked body, until she
stood in the midst of them, their hands reaching up to her, pleading
with her. She had released the ardeur upon them, and fed, and fed, and
fed, until she rose from the mass of flesh glowing with power, her eyes
so bright with dark flames that they cast shadows as she half stepped,
half floated from the bed. One man's body had fallen to the floor,
forgotten. He lay very still as she stalked nude and ripe with curves,
glowing with power. She walked over the body of the man who had given
everything to satisfy her needs, while the other men reached for her,
begged for her not to stop. The men began to rise to their knees, or
fall off the bed in an effort to follow. At least two other bodies lay
on the bed forever still, forever gone. Three of them dead, loved to
death, and still the others begged her for more, still they tried to
stand and follow her.

I knew it was Jean-Claude that she had tied to a chair and made watch. I
knew it was him, and not me, that watched her with fearful, hungry eyes.
But when she walked past him, without so much as a caress, I choked on
his despair. Part of his punishment for daring to leave her.

'Anita, Anita," the voice seemed distant. Someone touched my shoulder, I
gasped, and was brought back blinking, breath harsh in my throat. I was
still seat-belted into the Jeep. We were still on 270, about to turn
onto 44. I wasn't tied to a chair, I wasn't in Belle's lair, I was safe.
But the sweet scent of roses clung to me like some kind of evil perfume.

Jason had been calling my name, but it was Nathaniel's hand on my
shoulder. "Are you alright?" Jason asked.

I nodded, then shook my head. "Belle's messing with me."

Nathaniel squeezed my shoulder. I had opened my mouth to say, maybe you
shouldn't be touching me right now, when the ardeur roared through me.
The heat rushed over my skin in beads of sweat, brought my pulse
pounding, rising like some ripe fruit to fill my throat, stop my breath,
so for a moment I was drowning in the beat and pulse of my own body. I
could hear my blood like a roaring flood. I could feel every pulse,
every drop to the tingling tips of my fingers and toes. I had never been
so aware of how very much blood was coursing through my veins as in that
one heart-stopping moment.

I put my hand over Nathaniel's where it still gripped my shoulder. His
skin was so warm, almost hot. I turned towards him. I looked into those
lavender eyes, and just the intensity of my gaze, drew him closer, close
enough to rest his cheek against my seat. I had enough left of me inside
my head to think, dimly, he must have undone his seat belt, but there
wasn't enough left of me to care for his safety. All I could think was
that it brought him closer to me, and I wanted him closer.

'Anita," Jason's voice, "Anita, what the hell is happening? My skin is
crawling with whatever it is, it feels like the ardeur. But it's not."

I never took my gaze from Nathaniel's face. Jason's voice was like a
buzzing insect, noise, something I heard, but didn't really listen to.

I lifted Nathaniel's hand from my shoulder and pulled it gently against
my lips. His hand cupped the lower part of my face, my breath was warm
against him, and the heat of it brought the scent of him to me. His
hands smelled not only of warmth, and blood, but of everything he'd
touched that day. Faint traces that soap could not erase completely. His
hands smelled of life, and I wanted it.

'Anita, talk to me," Jason said.

'What's happening?" Caleb asked, "why is it hard to breathe in the car?"

'Power," Jason said, "I don't know what kind yet."

I pulled Nathaniel's hand past my face, until my lips glided over his
wrist, and there, there, just under the skin was a new warmth.

I flicked my tongue across the skin of his wrist, and he shuddered.

'Anita!" Jason said.

I could hear him, but it was utterly unimportant. The only thing that
was important was the warmth of skin, and that faint pulse just below. I
opened my mouth wide, lips pulled back to taste that pulse.

The Jeep swerved violently, throwing Nathaniel backwards and to one
side, tearing his hand from me. He landed in Caleb's lap.

I looked at Jason then, really looked at him. In the back of my mind I
knew it was Jason, but in the front of my mind, all I could really see
was the pulse in the side of his neck. It beat against his skin like a
trapped thing. I knew I could free it, make it rush red and hot into my
mouth.

I unbuckled my seat belt. That froze me for a second, because I was
fanatic about seat belt safety. My mother would be alive today if she'd
used hers. I never rode in a moving car without one. Never. So deep
rooted was that fear, it pushed Belle back, pushed back the blood lust
she'd raised in me.

I found my voice, hoarse and strange, but mine, "I thought it was the
ardeur she raised, but it's not."

'Blood lust," Jason said.

I nodded, my hands still frozen on the unbuckled seat belt.

'Blood lust feels like the ardeur, but not. Sometimes you don't know
which lust it is until you find out if he's going for your neck, or your
groin."

I blinked at Jason. "What did you just say?" I never heard the answer,
if there was one, Belle roared back through me, and I was suddenly more
concerned with the beating of his pulse in his neck, than the fact that
his mouth was moving. I heard no sound except that overwhelming thunder
of my own blood, my own heart, my own throbbing, pulsing body.

I was sliding over the front seat towards him, and hadn't remembered
moving, or wanting to. He hit the wheel again, sending me back across
the car against the far door. The moment my back hit the door I could
hear the angry honking of horns, as the Jeep slid through traffic,
sideways. Then it evened out, going straight again. Jason was giving me
wide eyes.

'I can't drive with you feeding on me."

My voice was thick, "I don't think I care." I sat up, my hands on the
seat to keep him from throwing me against the door again.

'Nathaniel, Caleb, keep her away from me until I can find a safe place
to pull over."

I was awkwardly straddling the gearshift when Nathaniel put his arm in
front of my face. He didn't try and touch me, but held his wrist close
enough for me to smell the warmth of his skin, then he slowly drew his
arm back into the backseat, and I followed, sliding between the seats,
following the pull of his flesh, like there was a line tied from him to
me.

I spilled into the backseat. Nathaniel was sitting on his side of the
seat now. I knelt over his body, straddling him. I could feel him
stretched tight inside his shorts even through my jeans, but today that
wasn't nearly as important as the smooth line of his throat. He'd
braided his hair before we left, so that his neck was bare.

The Jeep swerved again, and I fell onto the floorboard, at Caleb's feet.
We'd been lucky so far to avoid an accident or the concrete median on
the road. Our luck would run out, and I wasn't sure I cared.

'If you can't take sex from Nathaniel yet, I don't think you should take
blood. He's still weak." I heard Jason's voice, as though it were coming
from far away.

I stared up at what sat above me, his jean-clad legs brushing my body.
For sex, Caleb wasn't desirable, but for blood… I came to my knees
between his legs, and began to pull myself up Caleb's body, fingers
digging into the jeans, feeling the flesh underneath.

My hands slid under his untucked, button-up shirt with its loud comic
book pictures. His skin was so warm. My fingers slid upward, touching
the ring in his belly button. I hesitated there, tracing the edge of the
metal ring, pulling on it gently, feeling the skin stretch, until he
made a small sound of protest. I stared up into his face, and whatever
he saw there widened his eyes, made his lips part in a small ooh of
surprise.

I traced my fingers up his stomach, his chest, my arms lost under the
oversized shirt, until when my hands slid over his shoulders, the shirt
began to raise exposing his stomach. The sight of that bare skin began
to raise other hungers, for flesh instead of merely blood. But Belle
roared down that metaphysical leash she'd attached to me, and the beast
receded before it had truly risen. She wanted me to want what she
wanted, and in that moment I knew that though she had animals to call,
she did not share their beast, their craving of flesh. The thought was
too rational, and the leash loosened and I could think for myself.

'Why do you care if I take blood or flesh, you can feed off both
energies? You've been feeding on Richard all day." I asked.

'Perhaps I am tired of flesh."

I had a flash, as if I read her thought. "You couldn't make Richard
feed. He fought you all day, let you suck him dry, but you couldn't make
him attack anyone else."

Her anger was like hot metal shoved against my skin. It bowed my back,
brought a gasp from my throat. Caleb grabbed my arms, or I would have
collapsed.

Belle's voice purred through my head, "The loup was surprisingly strong,
but he is not my animal to call, nor is he attracted to the dead, but
you are, ma petite, oh, yes, you are." Her power poured over me, but it
wasn't the heat of blood lust, it was cold, the coldness of the grave.
The moment the energy touched me, my own power flared to life, that part
of me that raised the dead. It flared inside me as if Belle's cold
energy was some sort of fuel for my own cool fire. "You are mine, ma
petite, mine in ways that the loup cannot imagine. His connection to the
dead is accidental, yours was fated from the moment you were born."

Her power was the power of the grave, of death itself, but so was mine.
She meant to prove a point, but she'd wakened my necromancy, and she was
just another kind of dead. I knew how to handle the dead.

I drew a breath, drawing in my own magic, getting ready to cast her out.
I'd done it before. But her chill changed to heat before I could finish
that breath. The blood lust washed my magic away, drowned it in a flood
of need.

Her voice dripped across my skin like warm honey, as if the dark-power
of her eyes had melted across my skin. "The power of the grave is yours
to control, but not the power of desire. Desire, in all its forms, is
mine to control."

If I'd had air to breathe, I would have screamed; but there was no air,
and no sight for a swimming, dizzying moment. But I was drowning in
sounds, blood rushing through my body, my heart wet and thudding, my
pulse like a second heartbeat in a thousand places under my skin. I
could hear, and I could feel.

I could feel Caleb's chest under my hands, feel the roughness of the
hair that traced the edge of his nipples, and finally the nipples
themselves, growing hard and firm under my fingers. The tiny metal
barbells that pierced them were a distraction. I wanted to roll his
nipples between my fingertips, and the metal interfered. Like a
toothpick in your sandwich, they got in the way. I had a moment where
Belle thought about ripping them out, and that was so not my thought
that it helped me crawl back into my own head, at least a little.

When my vision cleared, Caleb's eyes were unfocused, his lips
half-parted. Through me, it was almost as if Belle herself touched him,
and her touch spread lust, lust of every kind.

I was in my own head, my own skin, but Belle's hunger was inside me,
too, and I couldn't push it out. She was right; the blood hunger was not
death.

I tore my arms through Caleb's shirt, popping the buttons loose, baring
his upper body. When I channeled Jean-Claude's blood lust, I was always
attracted to neck, wrist, bend of the arm, sometimes the inside of the
groin, all nice major arteries or veins, but Belle didn't look high, or
low. She gazed at Caleb's chest like it was a prime piece of steak,
cooked just right.

My own logic tried to argue. There were other places where there was
more blood, much closer to the surface. The sheer surprise of not going
for someplace more usual helped me push her back.

Caleb's voice came heavy, "Why did you stop?"

'I don't think it's sex she's wanting," Nathaniel said, voice quiet.

His voice turned my gaze to him. If what was driving me had been the
ardeur, it might have been enough to have me crawl to him. But Nathaniel
was right, this wasn't about sex, this was about food, and Nathaniel
wasn't food. Did that mean that Caleb was food? Not a pretty thought.

'What do you mean?" Caleb asked.

I gazed up at Caleb's bare chest, that young, half-finished face. He
looked so puzzled. I said it out loud, though I wasn't talking to anyone
in the car. "He doesn't understand."

Belle's whisper, "He will soon enough."

'It looks like it's your turn to take one for the team," Jason's voice
from the front.

'What?"

'You're going to get munched on," Jason said.

The combination of my own moral dilemma with the fact that Belle had
picked an odd spot for taking blood, one that just didn't make sense to
me, was helping me swim to the surface. I knelt back in the floorboard,
pulling a little free of Caleb's body.

'No," I said out loud, and none of the men answered me, as if they'd all
caught up to the fact that I wasn't really talking to any of them.

Belle's voice in my head. "I have been gentle until now, ma petite."

'I am not your ma petite, so stop fucking calling me that."

'If you will not take kindness from me, then I will cease to offer it."

'If this is your idea of kindness, then I'd hate to see…" I never
finished the thought, because Belle showed me that indeed she had been
kind.

She didn't roll over me, she crashed into me, in a mind-numbing,
breath-stealing, heart-stopping, swat of power. For an instant, or for
an eternity, I hung suspended. The Jeep was gone, Caleb was gone, I
couldn't see, or feel, or be. It was neither light, nor dark, nor up,
nor down. I'd had near-death experiences, I'd fainted before, passed
out, but that moment when Belle's power fell through me, that was the
closest to true nothingness that I'd ever experienced.

Into that nothingness, that void, Belle's voice fell, "Jean-Claude has
begun the dance, but he has left it unfinished between you, the wolf,
and himself. He has allowed sentiment to cloud his judgment. It makes me
question how well I taught him."

I tried to speak but couldn't remember where my mouth was, or how to
draw a breath. I couldn't remember how to answer her.

'I discovered this with the wolf, but could not mend it, for he is not
my animal to call. I do not understand dogs, and a wolf is very much a
dog." Her voice whispered through me, low and lower, trembling through
my body, but for her voice to dance through my body, I had to have a
body for her to use. I fell back into my body as if falling from a great
height. I was left gasping on the floorboards, eyes staring up at
Caleb's startled face and Nathaniel's worried one.

Belle's voice glided through my body like a knowledgeable hand. I
suddenly knew who had trained Jean-Claude to use his voice as a tool of
seduction. "But you, ma petite, I understand you."

I drew a deep, quaking breath and it hurt all the way to my chest, as if
I'd gone a long time without breathing. My voice came hoarse, "What are
you talking about?"

'The fourth mark, ma petite, without the fourth mark, you are not truly
Jean-Claude's. It is like the difference between engagement and
marriage; one is permanent, the other not necessarily so."

I understood what she meant a second before I saw two dancing
honey-colored flames appear in the air over me. I knew it was the second
mark because I'd had the second mark three times before; twice from
Jean-Claude, and once from a vampire I'd killed. I'd never been able to
protect myself from it before. I knew from experience that nothing
physical would save me. It wasn't something you could hit, or shoot. I
hated things you couldn't hit or shoot. But I had other skills now that
weren't exactly physical.

I reached down that long metaphysical cord to Jean-Claude. Belle's voice
floated over me, she was delaying her moment, drawing out her pleasure
and my fear. "Jean-Claude is hours dead, he cannot help you."

The dark flames of her eyes began to descend, like some evil angel
coming to eat my soul. I did the only thing I could think to do. I
reached down the other half of our metaphysical cord. I reached out to a
place that hadn't helped me for months. I reached out to Richard.

I had an image of Richard in the hot bath water, cradled in Jamil's
arms. Richard looked up as if he could see me. He whispered my name, but
either he was too weak to push me away, or he didn't try. For a moment,
it was as if it was meant to be, then I was yanked back, shoved into my
own head, my own body again. Richard hadn't cast me out this time. Dark
honey flames hovered over my face, and there was a vague outline, a
ghost of long dark hair, the mist of a face.

Caleb was yelling, "What's in the car with us? I can't see anything, but
I can feel it. What the fuck is it?"

Nathaniel's voice came hushed, and strangely loud, "Belle Morte."

I had no time to look up, to see the others, because those phantom lips
were speaking. "I will not allow you to gain strength from your wolf. I
have given you the first mark and you did not even know it. I will give
you the second mark here and now, and tonight with Musette as my proxy I
will give you the third. When Jean-Claude and I are equal within you,
three for three, then you will come to me, ma petite. You will travel
the world if I ask it, do anything, simply to taste my sweet blood."

That phantom mouth lowered towards mine. I knew somehow that if she laid
a ghostly kiss on me that I would be hers. I did what I always did, I
tried to hit at that face, and there was nothing to touch. I screamed
wordlessly, and sent out a metaphysical cry, "Help me!"

Suddenly, I could smell forest, trees, fresh-turned earth, wet leaves
underfoot, and the sweet musk of wolf.

Belle could stop me from reaching out to Richard, but she couldn't keep
him from reaching out to me.

Richard's power rose like a sweet-scented cloud above me, pushing back
those glowing eyes, that phantom mouth.

She laughed, and it slid over my body, made me shudder, my breath catch
in my throat. It felt so good, so good, even while my head screamed that
it was bad.

'Did you hear someone laugh?" Caleb asked it.

Jason said no. Nathaniel said yes.

Belle whispered along my skin, and even Richard's power breathing
against my body couldn't keep her voice out. "With the touch of your
wolf's flesh, you might keep me at bay, but not from a distance. The
closer the flesh, the closer the ties, and the more powerful. You are
already mine, ma petite, you cannot win free of me." Those eyes began to
float lower again. Richard's power rose above me like a soft shield.
Belle's power floated on the surface of that energy like a leaf on a
pond, then she began to push into it, through it.

'Help me!" I screamed it out loud to everyone, anyone, and no one. I
felt Nathaniel's hand on mine, and that phantom kiss did hesitate, did
turn and look at Nathaniel. I felt her call him, like a deep thrumming
down my bones. Leopard had been her first animal to call. If she owned
me, she'd own my pard.

Nathaniel reached out his free hand as if he could see her.

'No!" I jerked free of him and the moment I broke physical contact it
was as if Nathaniel was less real to her. She turned those dark-honey
eyes back to me.

'I will have them all, ma petite, eventually."

'No," I said it, but my voice was soft, because I believed she was
right.

'You will give them to me, all of them."

Fear poured through me as if I'd been plunged into ice water. The
thought of what Belle would do to my pard, my friends. No, I could not
let this happen.

'Fuck you, fuck you, Belle, and the horse you rode in on." My anger, my
fear, seemed to feed Richard's power. The sweet, nose-wrinkling musk of
wolf was so thick it was like being wrapped in invisible fur.

The Jeep slewed to one side. The angry honking of horns and squealing
brakes followed it. Jason had given up on finding a safe place and just
stopped against the concrete median. Nathaniel and Caleb were thrown
across the seat and into the passenger side doors. I didn't have time to
worry about the fact that no one seemed to be wearing their damn seat
belts.

Belle's eyes pushed through Richard's power. It wasn't effortless. He
made her work for every inch, but those burning eyes, that ghostly
outline got closer, closer… until I held my breath as if afraid, if I
breathed in too hard it would bring her against my mouth.

I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Jason was between the
seats. He'd stopped the Jeep, thrown off his seat belt. He shoved his
hand through the ghost thing above me, as if he couldn't see it. He
grabbed my shoulder and the moment he touched me, Richard's beast welled
up inside me. I'd always thought it was my beast that moved through me,
but this, whatever this was, was Richard, not me.

His wolf poured into me like scalding water rushing into a cup, filling
me to the brim, emptying my skin of leopard or death, until my spine
bowed, my hands flailed, my mouth opened in a soundless scream. I could
feel fur rubbing inside my body, strong nails, digging. The wolf was
struggling to find some way out of my body.

Belle hissed at me like some great ghostly cat. The eyes retreated,
hovering in the air near the Jeep roof, as Jason pulled me into the
front seat and cradled me against his body. His closeness seemed to
quiet the wolf, so that I felt it sit, panting, eager-eyed, staring up
at the shape by the ceiling with hungry, arrogant eyes. Jason's eyes
were his wolf's eyes, and today they seemed perfect for his face. But it
was Richard's power, the power of the Thronnos Rokke clan that wrapped
around both of us. I had never felt Richard's beast so thick inside me.
It was as if I was a purse, a bag, holding his beast, feeling it pace
inside me as if my flesh were a cage it could not escape from.

Belle's voice floated down upon us, and this time it stung, hot with her
anger. "You can ride all day in the arms of your wolf, but there is
still the banquet tonight. Musette will be there, and through her, ma
petite, I will be there."

My voice came out with a low edge of growl, "I am not your ma petite."

'You will be," she said, and the eyes slowly faded, until only the
lingering scent of roses remained to remind me that we'd won this round,
but there would be others. Jean-Claude's memories knew Belle too well to
think otherwise. She would never give up, not once she decided to own
something, or someone. Belle Morte had decided that I would be hers.
Jean-Claude had never known her to change her mind about something like
that. That was so unfair, wasn't it a lady's prerogative to change her
mind? Of course, Belle wasn't exactly a lady.

She was a two-thousand-year-old vampire, and they weren't known for
changing their minds, their habits, or their goals. The last time a
Master Vamp had come to town and tried to steal me from Jean-Claude, I'd
ended up in a coma for a week. Richard had gotten his throat torn out,
and Jean-Claude had nearly died for real. Vampires were always either
trying to kill me, or own me. God I hated being popular.

29

Nathaniel had gotten one of the extra crosses out of the glove
compartment. I always carried spare crosses, just like spare ammo; when
you hunt vampires, running out of either one is really bad. It was sheer
stupidity on my part to have put crosses around the Circus of the
Damned, but not on me. Some days I'm just slow.

I was back in the front seat, but I was shaking. No, that didn't quite
cover it. There was a fine tremble in my hands; small muscles in my body
kept twitching at odd moments. I was cold, and it was one of those
glorious end of summer days, sun-warmed, sparkling, bright, and soft at
the same time. We drove through a wash of blue sky, and sunshine, and I
was cold--a cold that no amount of blankets was really going to help.

Nathaniel was curled over my lower body like a living blanket, wedged
between my legs and the floorboard. I'd bitched about how dangerous it
was, but I hadn't complained too much. I didn't have any real blankets
in the car. I was spending so much time in shock lately, I'd have to
remedy that. The trees along 44 had given way to houses and an
occasional old school being rehabbed into apartments, churches,
buildings of no discernible use, but old, tired. OK, maybe that last was
just me.

I stroked my hand over Nathaniel's head, over and over, on the warm silk
of his hair. His head in my lap, his arms wrapped around my waist, his
body wedged between my legs. Sometimes Nathaniel made me think about
sex, but sometimes, like now it was just comfort. Just closeness. You
can't have that with most people, because they're busy thinking about
sex. I think that's why dogs are so damn popular. You can cuddle a dog
as much as you like and the dog never thinks about sex, or pushing your
social boundaries in any way, unless you happen to be eating. Dogs will
invade your social boundaries for table scraps, unless trained to do
otherwise. But hey, it's a dog, not a person in a fur suit. Right now,
what I needed was a pet, not a person. Nathaniel could be both. An
uncomfortable, but truthful fact.

Jason drove. Caleb had the backseat to himself. No one spoke. I don't
think anyone knew what to say. I wanted Jean-Claude awake. I wanted to
tell him what Belle had done. I wanted him to tell me there was a way to
keep her from doing anything else, short of giving me the fourth mark.
The fourth mark would make me ageless and immortal as long as
Jean-Claude didn't die. Theoretically, he could live forever, and with
the fourth mark, so could I. So why had I refused it so far? One, it
scared me. I wasn't sure as a Christian how I felt about living forever.
I mean, what happened to heaven, and God, and the judgment thing?
Theologically, what would it mean? On a more mundane level, how much
closer would it bind me to Jean-Claude? He could already invade my
dreams, what would it mean if I took that last step? Or was refusing the
fourth mark just another way to not give myself completely to anyone?
Maybe. But if the only way to keep Belle from taking me was to let
Jean-Claude have me, I knew which choice I was making. I wondered, if I
called my priest now, could he get back to me on the theological
implications of the fourth mark before full dark tonight? Father Mike
had answered questions equally as weird for me over the years.

'Anita," Jason said, and his voice held a note of anxiety.

I glanced at him and realized he'd probably been trying to get my
attention for a while. "Sorry, thinking too hard."

'I think we're being followed."

That raised my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

'When I nearly caused the four-car pileup so I could touch you, I caught
a glimpse of a car in the rearview. It was close, like tailgating close.
It was one of the cars that nearly hit us when I slammed on the brakes."

'So, we're in heavy traffic, a lot of people tailgate."

'Yeah, but everyone else that was close to us when I stopped got away
from us as fast as they could. This car is still behind us."

I glanced in the side mirror, and saw a dark blue Jeep. "Are you sure
it's the same car?"

'I didn't get a number, but it's the same make, same color, and there
are two men in it, one dark-haired, one blond with glasses."

I studied the Jeep that seemed to be following our Jeep. Two men, one
dark, one light; it could have been a coincidence. Of course, maybe it
wasn't.

'Let's go on the theory that it is following us," I said.

'What?" Jason said, "I lose them?"

'No," I said, "cut across traffic and take the first exit as long as it
doesn't take us to the Circus. I don't want to lead them to
Jean-Claude."

'Almost every monster in St. Louis knows that the Master of the City's
lair is under the Circus of the Damned," Jason said, but he changed
lanes, moving us a little closer to the exit row.

'But the guys behind us don't know that that's where we're headed."

He shrugged and moved over two more lanes, setting up for the exit. The
blue Jeep waited until we were actually exiting with two cars between us
before it crossed over. If we hadn't been watching for it, or there had
been a taller car between our Jeep and theirs, I wouldn't have seen them
exit. But I was, and there wasn't, and I did.

'Shit," I said, but I was feeling warmer. Nothing like action to ground
and center a person.

'Who are these guys?" Jason asked out loud what I was wondering.

Caleb glanced behind. "Why would someone be following us?"

'Reporters?" Jason made the word a question.

'I don't think so," I said. I'd lost sight of everything but the top of
the Jeep floating above the car roofs behind us.

'Which way do I turn?" He'd come to the bottom of the exit ramp.

I shook my head. "I don't know, dealer's choice." Who were they? Why
follow us? Usually when people start following me I know that I'm into
something. Today, I had no clue. Neither of the current cases that I was
helping RPIT with should have had people following me. I wished they
were reporters, but the situation didn't have that feel to it.

Jason turned right. One car turned left, one turned right, and the Jeep
pulled in behind it. There were little flags on the street signs,
Italian flags with the words, "The Hill," on them. People on The Hill
always let you know you were there and they loved their Italian
heritage. Even the fire hydrants were painted green, red, and white like
the flags.

Nathaniel raised his head off my thigh enough to say, "Is it Belle?"

'What?" I asked, vision still glued to the side mirror.

'Are they daytime help for Belle?" he asked in his quiet voice.

I thought about that. I'd never run into a vamp that had more than one
human servant, but I'd run into several that had more than one Renfield.
Renfield is what most American vamps called humans that served them not
through mystical connections, but because they acted as blood donors and
wanted to be vampires themselves. Back when I hunted vampires and didn't
sleep with them, I'd called all humans associated with vamps human
servants, now I knew better.

'They could be Renfields, I guess."

'What's a Renfield?" Caleb asked. He was turned in the seat looking
directly back at the car between us and the blue Jeep.

'Turn around, Caleb. When that car turns off I don't want the Jeep to
know we've noticed them."

He turned around immediately without arguing, which was unusual for
Caleb. I didn't approve of threatening people to gain their obedience,
but there were some that nothing else seemed to work with. Maybe he was
one of them.

I explained what a Renfield was.

'Like the guy in Dracula who ate insects," Caleb said.

'Exactly," I said.

'Cool," he said, and seemed to mean it.

I'd once asked Jean-Claude what they called Renfields before the release
of the book Dracula in 1897. Jean-Claude had said, "Slaves." He'd
probably been kidding, but I'd never had the heart to ask again.

The car behind us pulled into one of the narrow driveways. The blue Jeep
was suddenly revealed. I forced myself to not look directly at it and
only use the side mirror, but it was hard. I wanted to turn around and
stare. Knowing that I shouldn't made it all the more tempting.

There was nothing ominous about the Jeep, or even the two men visible in
it. They both had short hair, clean, well groomed; the Jeep was even
shiny and clean. The only thing ominous was the fact that they were
still behind us. Then… it turned into a narrow driveway. Just like
that, not a threat.

'Shit," I said.

'Ditto," Jason said, but I saw his shoulder sag, as if tension drained
away with that one word.

'Are we becoming too paranoid?" I asked.

'Maybe," Jason said, but he was still spending almost as much time
staring back in the rearview mirror as straight ahead, as if he couldn't
quite believe it. Neither could I, so I didn't tell him to watch the
road. He was watching forward okay, and I, too, was expecting the blue
Jeep to pull out and start after us again. Just a ruse, guys, not really
harmless after all. But it didn't happen. We drove down the long
car-crowded street, until the Jeep's driveway was hidden by trees and
parked cars.

'Looks like it was just driving our way," Jason said.

'Looks like," I said.

Nathaniel rubbed his face against my leg. "You still smell scared, like
you don't believe it."

'I don't believe it," I said.

'Why not?" Caleb asked, leaning in between the seats from the backseat.

I finally turned around in the seat, but I wasn't looking at Caleb, I
was staring past him at the empty street. "Experience," I said.

I smelled roses, and a second later the cross around my neck began to
glow, softly.

'Jesus," Jason whispered.

My heart was thumping painfully in my chest, but my voice came solid.
"She can't roll me while I'm wearing a cross."

'You sure of that?" Caleb asked it, as he moved back away from me into
the far reaches of the seat.

'Yeah," I said, "I'm sure of that."

'Why?" he asked, eyes wide.

I blinked at him as the soft, white luminosity grew brighter in the tree
shadows, almost invisible in full sunlight, over and over again.
"Because I believe," I said, voice soft as the glow around my neck, and
as sure. I'd seen crosses burst into a white-hot light so bright it was
blinding, but that was when I'd been face-to-face with a vamp that meant
me harm. Belle was far away, and the glow showed that.

I kept waiting for the scent of roses to grow stronger again, but it
never did. It stayed faint, definitely there, but didn't grow on the
air.

I waited for Belle's voice in my head, but it didn't come. Every time
she had spoken directly in my mind, the smell of roses had been thick.
The sweet perfume stayed faint, and Belle's voice was gone from me. I
squeezed the cross with my hand, feeling the heat, the power of it, skin
prickling up my arm, thrumming like a continuous heartbeat against my
hand. Caleb asked how could I believe. What I always wanted to ask, is,
how can you not believe?

I felt Belle's anger like warmth on the air. Power filled the Jeep, in a
neck-ruffling, breath-stealing tide, so much effort and all she could
send was an image of herself sitting in front of her dressing table. Her
long, black hair was unbound, like a cloak around a dressing gown of
gold and black. She watched herself in the mirror with eyes full of
honey-fire, like the eyes of the blind, empty except for the color of
her power.

I whispered out loud, "You cannot touch me, not now."

She looked into the mirror as if I were standing behind her, and she
could see me. Rage changed her beauty into something frightening, a mere
mask of pale beauty that looked as false as any Halloween mask. Then she
turned and looked past me, beyond me, and the look of fear on her face
was so real, so unexpected that I turned, too, and I saw… something.

Darkness. Darkness like a wave, rising up, up over me, over us, like a
liquid mountain towering to the impossibly tall sky. The room that Belle
had constructed of dreams and power collapsed, shredded like the dream
it was, and what ate at the corners of that bright candlelit room was
darkness. Darkness absolute, darkness so black that it held shines of
other colors, like an oil slick, or a trick of the eye. As if this
blackness was a darkness made up of every color that had ever existed,
every sight that had ever been seen, every sigh, every scream, since
time began. I had heard the term primordial darkness, but until this
moment I had never understood what it meant. Now I understood, I truly
understood, and I despaired.

I stared up, up at an ocean of darkness that rose above me as if the
earth and sky had never existed. This was darkness before the light,
before the word of God. It was like a breath of an older creation. But
if this was creation, it was nothing I could understand, nothing I
wanted to understand.

Belle screamed first. I think I was too awestruck to scream, or even to
be afraid. I looked into the primordial abyss, the first darkness, and
knew despair, but not fear.

My mind kept trying to find words to describe what it was. It did loom
over me like a mountain, because it had weight and that claustrophobic
feel of a mountain poised to come crashing down, but it was not a
mountain. It was more like an ocean, if an ocean could have risen up
taller than the tallest mountain and stood before you, waiting, defying
gravity and every other known law of physics. Like with an ocean, I
knew--could sense--that I only saw that wide glimpse from shore, that I
could only begin to guess at the depth and width, the unthinkable
fathoms of darkness that lay before me.

Did strange creatures swim inside it? Were there things within the dark
that only nightmares or dreams could reveal? I watched the flickering,
liquid dark and felt the numbness of despair begin to wear away. It was
as if the despair had been a shield to protect me, to numb me, so that
my mind wouldn't break. For a few moments I had been intellect,
thinking, What is it? How can I make sense of it? The numbness began to
recede as if that huge blackness sucked it away, fed on it. I was left
standing before her, her… trembling, shaking, my skin running cold,
and I felt that darkness sucking at me, feeding off my warmth. In that
moment I knew what I faced. It was a vampire. Maybe the very first
vampire, something so ancient, that to think of human bodies or flesh to
contain this darkness was laughable. She was the primordial dark made
real. She was why humans feared the dark, just the darkness, not what
lies in the dark, not what hides there, but why we fear the darkness
itself. There was a time when she walked among us, fed on us, and when
darkness falls, somewhere in the back of our skulls, we remember the
hungry dark.

That shining ocean of blackness reached out towards me, and I knew that
if it touched me, I would die. I couldn't turn away, couldn't run,
because you can't run from the dark, not really. The light does not
last. That last thought wasn't mine. Wasn't Belle's.

I stared up at the darkness as it began to bend over me, and knew it
lied. It's the dark that doesn't last. Dawn comes and slays the
darkness, not the other way around. If I could have found enough air, I
would have screamed, but I was left with only a whisper. The darkness
bent towards me, and I couldn't shoot it, or hit it, and I didn't have
enough personal psychic power to keep her at bay. I did the only thing I
could think of, I prayed.

I whispered, "Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee…" the
darkness hesitated, "Blessed are you among women, and Blessed is the
fruit of thy womb," the faintest of shivers ran through the liquid dark,
"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us…" There was suddenly light in
the darkness. My cross was around my neck in the dreamscape. The metal
shone like a captive star, shining and white, and unlike in real life, I
could see beyond the brilliance of it. I watched that pure, white light
chase back the dark.

I was suddenly aware of the car seat, the seat belt across my chest,
Nathaniel's body wrapped around my legs. The cross around my neck was
glowing hot white even in sunlight, so that I had to look away from it,
and still the white, white light blurred my vision. The cross wouldn't
have still been burning if the danger had past. I waited for the Mother
of all Darkness to make her next move.

The air in the Jeep was suddenly soft, sweet, like the perfect summer
night, when you can smell every blade of grass, every leaf, every
flower, like a scented blanket that wraps you in air softer than
cashmere, lighter than silk, a sweet blanket of air.

My throat suddenly felt cooler, as if I'd taken a sip of cold water. I
could feel it coating my throat, and there was a faint under-taste, like
jasmine.

Nathaniel buried his face in my lap to protect his eyes from the light.
It was like wearing a white sun around my neck.

'Shit," Jason said, "I'm having trouble seeing the road. Can you tone it
down?"

The world was full of white halos, and I didn't dare turn my head to
look at him. The scent of night was all I could smell as if everything
else had vanished. I could almost redrink the cool, perfumed water that
coated my throat. So real, so overwhelmingly real. I managed to whisper,
"No."

I kept waiting for words in my head, but there was nothing but silence,
and the smell of a summer night, the taste of cool water, and the
growing sense that something large was drawing nearer. It was like
standing on the train tracks, when you feel that first vibration down
the metal lines, and you know you should get off, but you can't see
anything. As far as you can look, the tracks are clear, there's only
that metallic vibration, like a pulse beat against your feet, to let you
know that several tons of steel are hurtling towards you. People die
every year on train tracks, and often their dying words are I didn't see
the train. I've always thought that trains must be magical that way, or
otherwise people would see them, and get the fuck off the tracks. I
could feel the vibration of her rushing towards me, and I would gladly
have gotten off the tracks, but the tracks were inside my head, nailed
across my body, and I couldn't figure out how to run from that.

Something rubbed against my skin, like some large animal pressing its
body along the length of mine. I felt Nathaniel draw back, but I
couldn't see him through the white light. His voice came, breathless,
frightened, "What is that?"

I opened my mouth, not even sure what I'd say, when that roll of
invisible animal hit my chest, and the cross. The cross flared so bright
that most of us screamed, cried out. Jason had to hit the brakes and
stop the jeep in the middle of the street, blinded by the light, unable
to see to drive, I think.

The light began to dim. For a second I wondered if the brilliance had
fried my retinas, then my vision began to clear through a veil of spots.
I could still feel it, her, pressing against me, pinning me to the seat,
pressing over the cross, as if she were eating the light.

Nathaniel stared up at me, his lavender eyes gone leopard, a deep, deep
gray, that had a hint of blue in the sunlight. "She's a shifter," he
whispered. And I knew why. Shape-shifters could not be vampires, or vice
versa. The lycanthropy virus seemed to be proof against whatever made
you a vampire. You could not be both. It was a rule. But whatever
pressed against me now was animal not human. I couldn't get a sense of
what kind of animal, but animal it was.

How the Mother of all Darkness happened to be both a vampire and a
shape-shifter at the same time was a problem for another day. Right
then, I didn't care what she was, I just wanted her to leave me the fuck
alone.

The cross was still glowing, but only the metal itself, as if it were
hollow and candles burned inside it. The light was white and flickering
now. I'd never seen a cross look so much like fire before. But it was a
cold fire. The shape pushed and rolled like it was trying to climb
inside me, but the cross kept glowing, acting as a metaphysical shield
to keep her out of me.

'What can we do to help?" Jason asked. The Jeep was still stopped in the
middle of the street. A car trapped behind us was honking its horn.
There were cars parked on both sides of the residential street leaving
the car with no way to get past us. The neighborhood was nothing but
small neat houses, none with driveways. Jason hit the blinkers, and the
car began to back away, trying to turn around.

I was almost afraid to open my links to Richard and Jean-Claude, what if
the primordial dark could spill down the ties and take them, too?
Jean-Claude had no faith to fall back on. Richard did, but whether he
was actually wearing a cross or not was debatable. It had been a long
time since I'd seen Richard wear a cross.

While I was still considering, Jason grabbed my hand. The scent of night
didn't fade, it was added to, like a layer of color painted over
another. The clean musk of wolves filled the night. The cool water that
seemed to have passed down my throat now tasted more of loam and forest
than perfume.

I had an image in my mind of a huge animal head with long teeth, like
the largest fangs I'd ever seen. The fur on the head was gold and tawny,
and reddish, shaded, rather than striped, more lion than tiger. Eyes
like golden fire stared into mine, and that huge mouth opened wide, and
screamed its frustration, in a sound like a panther's scream, but
octaves lower. Pioneers were always mistaking panther screams for a
woman's cries. No one would have mistaken this for a woman--a man,
maybe, a man being tortured and screaming for his soul.

I screamed back, as if that head were truly right in front of me and not
thousands of miles across the world. My scream was echoed by two others.
Nathaniel snarled up at me from the floorboard, his mouth showing teeth
that were fast becoming fangs. Caleb had slid in between the seats, and
his eyes were yellow cat eyes. He started to rub his cheek against my
shoulder as if he was going to scent mark me, then stopped, snarling, as
if he'd touched that other phantom cat.

Jason didn't scream, he growled, that low, fur-standing-on-end sound
that has nothing to do with hunting and everything to do with fighting,
not for food, but for survival. It was a sound for guarding territory,
chasing out interlopers, getting rid of troublemakers. The sound that
says get out or die.

She screamed back, a sound that should have frozen the blood in my
veins, and reminded me that my ancestors had huddled around their small
fires and watched in terror for the shine of eyes outside that flame.
But I wasn't thinking like a person. I wasn't even sure thinking was the
word for what was moving through my mind. It was more like I was in the
moment, completely, utterly. I could feel the leather seat cupping my
body, Nathaniel pressed against my legs, his hands tracing higher, Caleb
at my shoulder, his cheek against my face, his jaw straining as he
snarled, Jason's hand on my arm like it had taken root, become a part of
me.

I could smell Caleb's skin, the soap he'd used that morning, and the
fear like something bitter under that clean skin. Nathaniel moved up on
his knees, higher, so that his face was superimposed behind the
saber-tooth's head for a moment. But I could smell the vanilla scent of
his hair, and there was nothing from the phantom cat.

Jason moved in closer, putting his face close to mine, sniffing the air,
I smelled soap, shampoo, and the smell of Jason, a scent that had begun
to mean home to me, the way the vanilla scent of Nathaniel's hair, or
Jean-Claude's expensive cologne, or, once, the warm bend of Richard's
neck affected me. I didn't mean in a sexual way, but the way fresh baked
bread or your mother's favorite cookies make you feel safe and smell
like home. I turned my head to Caleb, so that my nose touched his skin,
and under the fear, the soap, the soft skin, he smelled of leopard,
faint in his human form, but there, a nose-wrinkling, skin-prickling
smell. I turned to the weight pressing against the still-glowing cross.
I looked into those yellow eyes, gazed upon those fangs that were like
nothing that walked the earth today, and it had no scent.

Jason was snuffling the air in front of me. His pale wolf eyes met mine,
and I knew that he'd figured it out, too.

As a vampire she smelled of cool evenings and sweet water, vaguely like
jasmine. As a wereanimal she had no scent, because she wasn't here. It
was a sending, a psychic sending. It had power, but it wasn't real, not
really real, not physical. No matter how much power you put into it, a
psychic sending has limits to what it can do physically. It can frighten
you into running into traffic, but it can't push you. It can try to
trick you into doing things, but it cannot hurt you without a physical
agent. When she was a vampire, the cross and my faith kept her at bay.
As a wereanimal, she wasn't real.

Nathaniel had literally crawled up through the image I could still see
hovering over my chest. He was the one who said it out loud, "It has no
scent."

'It's not real," I said.

Caleb's voice came with an edge of growl so deep that it was almost
painful to hear, "I feel it, some great cat, like pard, but not."

'But do you smell anything?" Jason asked.

Caleb sniffed along my body. Any other time, I would have accused him of
getting too close to my breasts, but not now. He was as serious as I'd
ever seen him, as he sniffed along my chest, pushed his face almost into
that evil face. He stopped, staring into those yellow eyes from inches
away. He hissed like any startled cat. "I can't smell it, but I see it."

'Seeing isn't always believing," I said.

'What is it?" he asked.

'A psychic projection, a sending. The vampire couldn't get past the
cross, so it tried another form, but the kitty-cat doesn't travel as
well as the… whatever the hell she is." I looked into those yellow
eyes and watched that massive mouth roar up at me. "You have no scent,
you aren't real, only a bad dream, and dreams have no power unless you
give it to them. I give you nothing. Go back to where you came from, go
back to the dark."

I had a sudden image of a dark, dark room, not pitch black, but as if
the only light were reflected from somewhere else. There was a bed with
a black silk cover and a figure lying under that cover. The room was
oddly shaped, not square, not circular, almost hexagonal. There were
windows, but I knew somehow that they did not look out upon the world.
Windows to gaze down upon the darkness that never lifted, never changed.

I was drawn towards the bed, drawn the way you're drawn in nightmares. I
didn't want to look, but I had to look; didn't want to see, and had to
see.

I reached out towards that shining black silk, I could tell it was silk
because of the way it reflected the light from down below, far down
below outside the windows. The light flickered, and I knew it was
firelight. Nothing electric had ever touched the darkness of this place.

My fingertips brushed the silk, and the body under the sheet moved in
its sleep, moved the way someone will when they dream, but are not yet
awake. I knew in that instant that I was a dream to her, too, and I
couldn't truly be standing in her inner sanctum, that no matter how real
or exact it was, I could not send myself to her, and pull the sheet
away. Dreams could not do that. But I also knew in that same moment that
all she had done to me today had been done in a sleep that had lasted
long and longer, so long that the others sometimes thought she was dead,
hoped she was dead, feared she was dead, prayed she was dead, if they
had the courage of prayer left in them. Who do the soulless dead pray
to?

A sigh moved through that close, airless room, and on that first breath
of air, came a whisper of sound, the first sound that that room had
heard in centuries, "Me."

It took me a moment to realize that it was the answer to my question.
Who do the soulless dead pray to? Me, the whisper said.

The figure under the sheet shifted in its sleep again. Not awake, not
yet, but she was swimming upwards, filling in herself, coming closer to
wakefulness.

I jerked my hand back from that sheet; I stepped back from that bed. I
did not want to touch her. More than anything else, I did not want to
wake her. But since I didn't know how I'd gotten into her room, I
couldn't figure out how to get out of it. I'd never been someone else's
dream before, though people had accused me of being their nightmares.
How do you stop being in someone else's dream?

That whisper echoed through the room again, "By waking them."

She'd answered my question again. Shit. I was beginning to have an awful
idea. Could the darkness become lost in sleep? Could the dark become
lost in the dark? Could the mother of all nightmares be trapped in the
land of dreams?

'Not trapped," the whisper in the dark said.

'Then what?" I asked it out loud, and the body under the sheet rolled
all the way over, feeling the silence with the hissing glide of silk
over skin. My throat closed around the words, and I cursed myself for
not thinking.

'Waiting," still the air breathing around me, not a voice, not really.

I thought really hard, waiting for what'?

There was no answer from the dark room. But there was a new noise.
Someone beside me was breathing, deep, even breathing, as if they slept.
Though I would have sworn that the figure on the bed hadn't been
breathing a second ago.

I did not want to be here when she sat up, I so did not want to be here
for that. What had she been waiting for all this time?

This time the voice came from the bed, the same voice as the wind,
faint, long unused, so hoarse and soft that I couldn't tell if it were
male or female. "Something of interest."

With that last, I finally felt something from that body. I'd been
prepared for malice, evil, anger, but was totally unprepared for
curiosity. As if she wondered what I was, and she hadn't wondered about
anything in a millennia, or two, or three.

I smelled wolf, musky, sweet, pungent, so real I could feel it gliding
over my skin. I suddenly had a cross around my neck, and the white glow
filled the room. I think I could have seen the figure on the bed clearly
by the light of the cross, but either I closed my eyes without
remembering, or some things you shouldn't see, even in dreams.

I woke in the Jeep with Nathaniel and Caleb's worried faces hovering
over me. There was a huge wolf sitting in the driver's seat, its long
snout snuffling against my face. I reached up to touch that soft, thick
fur, then saw the shine of liquid all over the driver's seat, where
Jason had shape-shifted on the leather.

'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you couldn't have shape-shifted in the back in
the cargo area. You had to shape-shift on the leather seats. It'll never
come clean."

Jason growled at me, low and rumbling, and I didn't have to speak wolf
to know what he was saying. I was being an ungrateful wretch. But it was
so much easier to concentrate on my ruined upholstery than to think
about the fact that I'd been in the presence of the Mother of all
Vampires, the Mother of all Darkness, the Primordial Abyss made flesh. I
knew through Jean-Claude's memories that they called her Mother Gentle,
Marm, a dozen different euphemisms to make her seem kind, and, well,
motherly. But I'd felt her power, her darkness, and finally, at the end
an intellect as cold and empty as any evil. She was curious about me the
way some scientists are curious about a new species of insect. Find it,
capture it, put it in a jar, whether it wants to go with you, or not.
It's just an insect, after all.

They could call her Mother Gentle if they wanted to, but Mommy Dearest
was a hell of a lot more accurate.

30

Caleb had climbed into the back of the Jeep to get the plastic I'd
started carrying, for when I transported something messier than
chickens, and spread it on the seat so Nathaniel could drive. I'd tried
to insist on driving but Jason had growled at me. He had a point, I
wasn't feeling my steadiest. Nathaniel, his eyes bled back to their
normal lilac, had told me, "You passed out. You stopped breathing. Jason
shook you, and you did this sort of gasp." Nathaniel shook his head,
face very serious. "We had to keep shaking you, Anita. You kept not
breathing."

If they'd been human I might have argued with them, that they only
thought I'd stopped breathing, but they weren't human. If a bunch of
shape-shifters were unable to hear or see me breathe, I had to believe
them.

Had Mommy Dearest tried to kill me? Or had it been accidental--or
incidental? She wouldn't have meant to kill me, but she might have done
it by accident. And I'd touched enough of her thinking to know it
wouldn't bother her. She wouldn't be sorry, she would feel no guilt. She
didn't think like a person, or rather she didn't think like a nice,
normal, civilized human. She thought like a sociopath--no empathy, no
sympathy, no guilt, no compassion. In a strange way, that must be a very
peaceful existence. Did you need more emotions than she possessed to be
lonely? I'd think so, but I really didn't know. Lonely was not a word I
would have applied to her. If you didn't understand the need for
friendship or love, could you be lonely? I shrugged and shook my head.

'What is it?" Nathaniel asked.

'If you don't feel love or friendship, can you be lonely?"

He raised eyebrows at me. "I don't know. Why do you ask?"

'We've all just brushed up against the Mother of all Vampires, and she's
more like the Mother of All Sociopaths. Human beings are rarely pure
sociopaths. It's more like they're missing a piece here and there. True,
pure sociopathy is really pretty rare, but Mommy Dearest qualifies, I
think."

'It doesn't matter if she's lonely," Caleb said.

I glanced back at him. His brown eyes were very large, and underneath
his fading tan he was pale. I sniffed the air before I could think, and
the car was a playground of scents; the sweet musk of wolf, the clean
vanilla of Nathaniel, and Caleb. Caleb smelled… young. I wasn't sure
how to explain it but it was as if I could smell how tender his meat
would be, how fresh his blood. He smelled clean, the scent of some
lightly perfumed soap coated his skin, but underneath was another scent.
Bitter and sweet all at the same time, the way blood is salty and sweet
at the same time.

I turned as far as the seat belt would allow and said, "You smell good,
Caleb, all tender and scared."

He was the true predator, not me, but the look he flashed me was all
prey--huge eyes, face soft, lips opened just a breath. I watched his
pulse beat against the skin of his neck.

I had an urge to crawl into the backseat and run my tongue over that
frantic pulse, set teeth into that tender flesh, and set that pulse
point free.

I had this image of Caleb's pulse like a piece of hard candy that would
come free all in one piece and be sucked and rolled around in my mouth.
I knew it wasn't like that. I knew that if I bit down the pulse would be
destroyed, that it would die in a spill of red blood, but the candy
imagery stayed with me, and even the thought of blood spraying in my
mouth didn't seem terrible.

I closed my eyes so I couldn't see Caleb's neck beating and concentrated
on my own breathing. But with every breath I drew in more of that bitter
sweetness, the taste of fear. I could almost taste his flesh in my
mouth.

'What's wrong with me?" I asked that out loud. "I want to tear Caleb's
pulse out of his throat. It's too early for Jean-Claude to be awake.
Besides I don't usually want blood. Or not only blood."

'It's close to full moon," Nathaniel said. "It's one of the reasons
Jason lost enough control to change all over your seats."

I opened my eyes, turned my face to look at him, and away from Caleb's
fear. "Belle tried to get me to feed off Caleb, but she couldn't. So why
suddenly does he smell tasty?"

Nathaniel had finally found another exit back onto 44. He eased in
behind a large yellow car that needed a major paint job, or maybe was in
the middle of getting one, because half of it was covered in gray
primer. I caught movement in the rearview mirror. It was the blue Jeep.
It was at the end of the narrow street with cars on either side. It
had.just cleared the corner, and seen us, and now it was hanging back,
hoping, I think, that we hadn't seen it.

'Shit," I said.

'What?" Nathaniel asked.

'That damned Jeep is at the end of the street. Nobody look back."
Everyone stopped themselves in mid-motion except for Jason. He hadn't
even tried to look back, maybe wolf necks didn't work that way, or maybe
he was staring at other things. I realized that he was looking at Caleb.

I looked at that huge shaggy head. "Are you thinking about eating
Caleb?"

He turned and gave me the full force of that pale green gaze. People say
that dogs are descended from wolves, but there are moments when I doubt
that. There was nothing friendly, or sympathetic, or even remotely tame
in those eyes. He was thinking about food. He met my gaze because he
knew I'd caught him thinking about eating someone that was under my
protection, then he turned back to gaze at Caleb, and think of meat.
Dogs never look at people and think food; hell, they don't even look at
other dogs and think that. Wolves do. The fact that there is no recorded
account of a North American wolf attacking a human being for food has
always amazed me. You look into their eyes, and you know that there is
no one home that you can talk to.

I knew that lycanthropes want fresh meat when they first change shape.
New lycanthropes are deadly, but Jason wasn't new anymore, and he could
control himself. I knew that, but I still didn't like the way he was
looking at Caleb, and I liked even less that he was projecting his need
onto me.

'What do you want me to do about the Jeep?" Nathaniel asked.

I jerked my attention back to Nathaniel and away from the hunger. It was
an effort to think past it, but if the Jeep was full of bad guys, then I
needed to be concentrating on them, not some metaphysical craving.

'Hell, I don't know. I don't get followed that much. Usually people just
try and kill me."

'I have to either pull out onto the highway, or turn the other way. Just
sitting here, they're going to know we saw them."

He had a point, a good one. "Highway."

He moved us forward, angling for the ramp. "Once we're on it, where are
we going?"

'The Circus, I think."

'Do we want to lead the bad guys there?" Nathaniel asked.

'Jason said it earlier, most people know where the Master of the City
bunks during the day. Besides, the wererats are still there, and most of
them are ex-mercenaries, or something in that ballpark. I think I'm
going to call ahead and ask Bobby Lee's opinion."

'Opinion about what?" Caleb asked, from the backseat. His eyes were
still too wide, and he still smelled of fear, but he wasn't looking at
the wolf on the seat beside him. Whatever he was afraid of wasn't
something that close.

'About whether we catch them, or turn around and try to follow them."

'Catch them?" Caleb said, "Catch them how?"

'Not sure, but I know that I know a lot more about catching bad guys
than about following people to see where they lead me. I'm not a
detective, Caleb, not really. I can spot a clue if it bites me on the
ass, and give an opinion about monster-related crime, but at heart I'm
in a more direct line of work than detective."

He looked puzzled.

'I'm an executioner, Caleb, I kill things."

'Sometimes you have to track things in order to kill them," Nathaniel
said.

I looked at him, that serious profile, his eyes searching the traffic,
his hands on the wheel at exactly two and ten. He hadn't had his license
a year, yet. If I hadn't insisted, I'm not sure he'd have ever had one.

'True, but I don't want to kill them, I want to question them. I want to
know why they're following us."

'I don't think they are," Nathaniel said.

'What?" I asked.

'The blue Jeep didn't follow us onto the highway."

'Knew we spotted them, maybe."

'Or like everyone else knows where the Master sleeps. So it's not hard
to find his girlfriend," Nathaniel said, voice quiet, eyes on the road.
But he knew I hated being the Master's girlfriend, or at least being
called that. Truthfully, he had a point. If you knew who someone was
dating and where they lived, eventually, you could locate them again. I
hated being predictable.

Jason's great shaggy head came around my seat and rubbed against my
shoulder, the ruff of his face tickling along my cheek. I reached up and
petted that great head without thinking, the way I would have done if
he'd been a dog. The moment I touched him, the hunger thrilled through
me from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. The hair on my body
stood to attention, and it felt like something was trying to crawl up
the back of my skull, because the nape of my neck was prickling so
badly.

The wolf and I turned as one to stare at Caleb. If my eyes could have
bled to wolf, they'd have done it then.

Caleb looked terrified. I think if he'd just stayed still we'd have been
okay, but he didn't. He unfolded his arms from his nearly bare chest and
eased across the seat.

Jason growled, and I was out of my seat, on the floorboards in the back,
before I had a chance to think, unseatbelted in a speeding car, bad
idea. I think that would have put me back in my own head space, but
Caleb ran. He spilled over the backseat, and Jason and I spilled after
him. It was like being water, following the natural course.

We didn't pin Caleb, so much as kneel and sit around him. Caleb was
pressed tight in the corner of the cargo area, his hands tight against
his chest. He tried to take up as little space as possible. I think
Caleb knew that touching either of us would be bad. Jason sat on his
haunches, flashing fangs and letting the trickle of growl slide out. You
didn't need words to know what it meant, don't move, don't fucking move.
Caleb didn't move.

I was on my knees in front of Caleb, and all I could see was the pulse
in his neck, thudding, thudding, against the skin, trying to break free.
I wanted to help it.

I could suddenly smell forest, trees, and the scent of wolf fur that
wasn't Jason. Richard breathed through my mind like a sweet-scented
cloud. I saw him in my bathtub all those miles away. An arm darker than
the tan Richard carried most of the year was across his chest, propping
him up in the water, holding him. Jamil being a good Hati, making sure
his Ulfric didn't drown. It was what Jason had done for me earlier,
minus the sex. Richard was a little homophobic. He didn't like men who
reminded him they liked men, especially if that man was himself. I
couldn't throw stones on that one; I was pretty much the same way around
women. No matter how sophisticated I was supposed to be, I kept
forgetting that another woman could find me attractive. Always caught me
by surprise.

Jamil's face hovered on the edge of Richard's, but it was as if in this
dream vision all that was truly clear was Richard. I caught glimpses of
his body through the water and the faint candlelight. Lycanthropes
sometimes had light sensitivity problems, so there were no bright
overheads, but the candles made the water dark, and hid more of Richard
from view than I wanted. I felt like a metaphysical Peeping Tom. But the
hunger was so easily turned to a different kind of hunger, it always had
been.

Richard looked up at me, and the sight of his face, shorn of hair,
caught at my throat. I wanted to ask, why? but he spoke first. It was
the first time we'd spoken mind-to-mind like this, and it startled me.
I'd known Jean-Claude and I could do it, but not Richard and me.

'The hunger's mine, Anita, I'm sorry. Something that creature did to me
stripped most of my control." For a second I thought he meant the Mother
of All Darkness, then realized he meant Belle.

I gazed down at Caleb's frightened eyes, and my eyes were drawn again to
his neck, then down the line of his chest to his stomach. He was
breathing hard enough, scared enough that there was a pulse low in his
belly, vibrating through that line of hair that led down into his pants.
The stomach was soft and tender, lots of flesh there.

'Anita," Richard said, "Anita, hear me."

I had to blink the image of Caleb's quivering flesh away, and I was
suddenly seeing Richard's image more clearly than what actually lay in
front of me. "What?" I knew that one word wasn't said out loud, only in
my head.

'You can turn the hunger to sex, Anita."

I shook my head. "I think I'd rather eat Caleb than fuck him."

'You've never eaten anyone, or you wouldn't say that," Richard said.

I couldn't really argue with that. "Are you seriously saying you'd be
okay with me fucking Caleb?"

He hesitated, the water flickering in the flame light, as his body moved
restlessly. I caught a glimpse of knee, and thigh. "If it's a choice
between eating him, or screwing him, yes."

'You didn't even like sharing me with Jean-Claude."

'We're not dating, Anita."

Ouch. "Sorry, forgot that for a moment," I said. The momentary flare of
pain like a half-healed wound helped me think a little more clearly.
"Jason is in wolf form Richard. I don't do furry."

'That I can do something about." I saw his beast like some golden shadow
leap out of him and into me. It was like being on the receiving end of a
metaphysical knife, until that power stabbed through me and into Jason,
and I was suddenly in the middle of all that power, all that pain, all
that rage. The beast feeds on pain and rage, sort of the ultimate id. I
was left kneeling, gasping, too breathless to scream.

Jason screamed for me, and I felt his beast slide away from him, no,
into him, like stuffing something impossibly huge into a suitcase that
was already full. But this suitcase was Jason's body, and it hurt. I
felt the bones twist, the muscles pop and reattach. Fuck, it hurt. I
caught a distant thought from Richard that it was hurting so much
because it was forced. When you fight the change it hurts more.

It was as if the fur was absorbed back into the pale flesh that rose
through it, like something caught in ice, melting back to the surface.
Jason's body melted back, and the fur sank into him, the longer bones,
the muscles. It just all sank into him until he lay pale and shivering
on a bed of clear liquid. The fluid had soaked my jeans from the knees
down. Jason had changed, but not fed, now he'd been forced to change
again less than a half-hour later. Maybe if he'd been allowed to feed
he'd have been alright, but now, he lay, shivering, curling into a ball
to hold himself and to keep in what warmth he had left and to take up as
little space as possible. I think Jason, like Caleb, knew touching me
would be bad.

Jason wasn't a danger to Caleb anymore. Until he rested, he wasn't a
danger to anyone. In fact… I stared down at the curve of his butt, so
smooth, so firm, so tender. I gazed on him nude, and didn't think about
sex at all. All Richard had done was give me a choice of meals.

I looked at Richard down that vision that held him crystalline, and
everything else hazy. "All I can think about is sinking teeth into his
flesh. You've made him helpless, and I still need to feed, because you
still need to feed."

'I'll find something here to eat. I will feed, but you don't have
anything safe to hunt, Anita. You don't want to hurt either of them."

I screamed, loud and long, letting the frustration fill the Jeep, pour
out of my mouth, scald up my throat, ball my hands into fists, and lash
out, smashing the side of the Jeep. I heard the metal groan, and that
made me blink, look at what I'd done. I'd dented the metal. A rounded
dimple the size of my fist. Fuck.

Caleb made a small sound, and I looked down at him, and all I could see
was the soft flesh of his stomach, I could almost feel it under my
teeth. I was crouched over Caleb, my face sniffing along his stomach. I
didn't remember getting this close.

Richard called to me, "Anita!"

I looked up, as if he were really in front of me. He pushed Jamil's arm
away and leaned back against the side of the tub. He ran his hands over
his chest, fingers tracing his nipples, one hand trailing lower, as he
pushed himself out of the water. It cascaded down his body in silver
flame shot lines, and that hand traced lower, lower. Over his stomach,
down the line of hair, and finally to cup himself, play with himself. I
watched him grow larger, and the hunger changed like turning a switch.
But the moment the hunger became sex, the ardeur flared to life. It came
from the center of my being like a flame, spreading, spreading, and
Richard's hand, Richard's body fanned the heat, brought it in a roaring
sheet over my skin.

But Jean-Claude wasn't here to help us, this time, and Richard couldn't
shield today. The ardeur ran down that metaphysical cord and hit Richard
like a truck at full speed. It bowed his back, convulsed his hand where
it gripped his body, made him fall back on the edge of the tub, his legs
trailing into the water.

I looked into those big brown eyes, that face so empty without its mane
of hair, and watched terror fight with desire. I don't think he'd ever
felt the full force of the ardeur before. It overwhelmed him, left him
breathless, immobile, but that wouldn't last. I knew it wouldn't last.

I told him what he'd told me, "You can turn the ardeur to hunger, but
we're going to have to feed on something, or someone, Richard. It's too
late for anything else."

Even his voice in my head seemed strangled, "I feel better and worse. I
think I can hunt now. I couldn't have moved that much before."

'Everything has its upside, Richard, and it's down." I was angry with
Richard, a fine hot rage that helped keep me treading the water of the
ardeur that was trying so hard to engulf me, drown me in desire. But I
held my anger to my chest and treaded water for all I was worth.

I felt his hunger change, felt his belly tighten with need for flesh and
blood and tearing, and only distant, very distant was the thrill of sex.
"I'll hunt an animal, and I'll be fine, I think."

'That won't help me much, Richard," and I let the anger trail down the
binding between us.

'I am sorry, Anita, I didn't understand."

I knew in that moment that I could force his hunger back into the
ardeur. That just as he forced Jason to change form, I could force
Richard's hunger to be the form of my choosing. I knew I could run magic
down his skin and force him to feed the way I was going to have to feed.
But I didn't. He'd done what he'd done in innocence; I couldn't return
the favor, not deliberately.

'Go hunt your animal, Richard."

'Anita… I am sorry."

'You're always sorry, Richard. Now get out of my head before I do
something we'll both regret."

He pulled away, but it wasn't a clean break. Normally, his shields were
solid like metal doors clanging down. Today, it was like taffy pulling
apart, clinging to each other, huge tendrils of sticky, melting candy
that even when pulled apart was still two halves of a whole. I wanted to
pull us together, to melt into the heat until we were one big hot sticky
mess, and today Richard couldn't stop me. He didn't have the control to
keep me out of him.

Jean-Claude woke. I felt his eyes flash wide, felt him take that first
gasping breath, felt life fill him. He was awake.

Jason was gazing at me with his sky blue eyes. "He's awake."

I nodded. "I know."

Nathaniel spoke as if he'd understood way more of the unheard
conversation than he should have, "We're almost to the Circus, Anita."

'How long?"

'Five minutes, less."

'Make it less," I said.

The Jeep leapt forward, accelerating. I crawled into the backseat and
fastened the seat belt tight across me. It wasn't to keep me safe in
case we had an accident. It was to remind me not to let myself loose
until we got to the Circus, and Jean-Claude.

31

I fought the ardeur on the drive to the Circus. I fought the ardeur when
I ran through the parking lot and banged on the door. I ran past Bobby
Lee's surprised face and managed to say, "Ask Nathaniel about the Jeep."
Then I was past him and running for the stairs that led down, down to
the underground.

Richard was running, too. He was running through the trees, limbs and
leaves slashing at him, but he was never quite there, dodging, moving,
like water made flesh, flesh made speed. He ran through the trees, and I
heard something large crashing ahead of him. His head came up, and the
chase was on.

I hit Jean-Claude's bedroom door, as Richard was catching glimpses of
the deer that darted just ahead of him, sprinting for its life. There
were other wolves in the forest, most of them in true wolf form, but not
all.

I flung the door open and the guards on the door closed it firmly behind
me. I don't know what they sensed, or what they saw, and that was
probably just as well.

There were still blue silk sheets on the bed, and Asher was still framed
in them, motionless, dead. Only the Master of the City was awake, only
he moved. I sent a questioning thought and felt all the vampires asnooze
in their coffins, tucked in their beds. I touched Angelito for a moment,
and found him restless and pacing, confused, wondering why his mistress
hadn't succeeded in her diabolical plan.

He looked up as if he saw me, or felt something, then I was back at the
bathroom door. Richard had his deer down and struggling. A hoof caught
him across the stomach, tore the skin, but there were other wolves there
now, and the doe had no chance. A black furred wolf tore into her
throat, and I felt Richard riding the deer in human form, holding her as
the struggles grew slower, spasmodic, involuntary. The deer's fear
faded, like champagne opened and left to go flat.

The bathroom door flung open, hitting the wall, and I didn't remember
touching it. I was through the door before it slammed shut behind me,
and again, I didn't remember touching it.

Jean-Claude was in the black marble tub. He was kneeling, his long black
hair clinging to his shoulders. He'd cleaned up. Feeling me coming
towards him like a storm of need, he'd run a bath. Of course, he'd felt
me like a storm of desire before, it didn't always mean the storm would
fall on him.

I could smell the fresh, hot blood, as Richard leaned down towards the
deer's throat. The wolf that had actually made the kill had backed off,
so the Ulfric could feed. The deer's skin smelled acrid, almost bitter,
as if the fear had bled out of the skin. I did not want to be in
Richard's head when he put his mouth to that flesh.

I climbed into the bathtub in my clothes, the hot water soaking my jeans
almost to the tops of my thighs. "Help me," it came out in a whisper
that I'd meant to be a scream.

Jean-Claude stood up, water streaming down the perfect whiteness of his
skin, drawing my eyes down the length of his body, finding him soft and
not ready for me. I screamed, and Richard sank teeth into skin that was
covered in hair.

Jean-Claude caught me, or I would have fallen into the water. I suddenly
couldn't feel Richard anymore. It was as if a door had slammed in my
face and there was a second of blessed silence, a quietness that went
all the way to my soul.

Jean-Claude spoke into that silence. "I can shield you from our Richard,
ma petite, and he from you, but I cannot shield us both from the
ardeur."

I stared up at him, where I'd half-swooned in his arms, his hands at my
back, my body bowed down towards the water, my legs soaked with the hot
liquid.

I opened my mouth to say something, then he was as good as his word, and
the ardeur came roaring back. I convulsed in his arms, and he nearly
dropped me, trailing my hair in the water, pulling me upwards, pressing
our bodies against one another. My hands, my mouth, my body swarmed over
him, traced that slick, perfect skin, caressed the faint tracery of whip
scars on his back, which were just another part of his perfection.

He drew back from my mouth enough to gasp, "Ma petite, I have not fed,
there is no blood to fill my body."

I gazed up at him and found his eyes as normal as they ever got,
midnight blue, lashed with black lace. But there was no power in them.
Usually, by the time we've gotten this much foreplay in, his eyes had
bled to pure pupilless blue.

I had to swim up through the ardeur, through the need to finally
understand what he meant. I pushed my hair to one side, and said, "Feed,
feed, then fuck me."

'I cannot roll your mind, ma petite, it will only be pain."

I shook my head, eyes closed, my hands tracing over the skin of his
shoulders and arms. "Please, Jean-Claude, please, feed, feed on me."

'If you were in your right mind, you would not offer this."

I pulled the red T-shirt out of my pants, but had trouble pushing the
straps of my shoulder holster down, as if I couldn't remember how. I
screamed my frustration, wordless. Maybe because of that, or because
Jean-Claude was trying to fight off too many things at once, I suddenly
felt Richard feeding, hot flesh going in great gulps down his throat.

I choked, stumbled, collapsed against the edge of the tub, letting the
hot water come up to my waist. I was going to be sick.

Jean-Claude touched my back, and I couldn't sense Richard anymore. "I
cannot shield us from our wolf, fight both your ardeur and mine, and
fight my own bloodlust. It is too much."

I sat on the edge of the tub, hands flat, trying to keep myself steady
on the marble. "Then don't fight it all. Pick your battles."

'What battle should I choose?" he asked, voice soft.

The ardeur rose like a gentle wave, chasing back the nausea, cleansing
me of the sensation of meat and flesh going down my throat. I hadn't
realized the ardeur had any gentleness to it.

As if he'd read my thoughts, Jean-Claude said, "If you do not struggle
against the ardeur, it is not so terrible."

'Like the beast, if you accept it, it doesn't beat the hell out of you."

He gave a small smile. "Oui, ma petite."

The ardeur drew me to my feet, and I wasn't shaky anymore. I was steady
in my desire. I moved through the hot, thigh-deep water, my jeans
clinging to me like a second skin, my jogging shoes sliding through the
thickness of the water. I stood touching him only with my gaze. The
strength of his thighs, the loose swelling of his groin, skin there
slightly darker in color than the rest of him, the line of black hair
that traced upward, around his belly button, to the smooth lines of his
chest with the pale circles of his nipples, and the flat whiteness of
the cross-shaped burn scar. I came to the grace of his shoulders, the
line of his neck, and finally the face. I was never sure how to look
upon his face and not be overwhelmed. If it had just been the dark glory
of his hair, I could have borne it, but his eyes, his eyes, the darkest
blue they could be and not be black. They were the richest blue I'd ever
seen. His eyelashes were so thick they were like black lace. The bones
in his face were delicate, small and finely chiseled, as if whoever had
made him had paid attention to every curve of his cheek, every turn of
his chin, every sweep of brow, and finally the mouth. His mouth was
simply beautiful. So red against the whiteness of his skin.

I touched his face, traced the edge of it from temple to chin, and my
fingers clung to the beads of water on his skin, sticking, so that
touching him wasn't smooth, or easy. The ardeur was still inside me like
a great warm weight, but I'd welcomed it this time, welcomed it chasing
back Richard's beast, and I could think, though only about the man in
front of me.

I stared up into that face and said what I was thinking, "Was this the
face that launched a thousand ships?" I slipped my hand behind his neck
and began gently to bring him closer as if for a kiss, "And burnt the
topless towers of Ilium?" I turned my face and swept my hair aside,
exposing my neck, "Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!"

He spoke, "Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it: Thinkest thou that I
who saw the face of God, and tasted the eternal joys of heaven, am not
tormented with ten thousand hells in being deprived of everlasting
bliss!"

The quote made me turn and look at him. "That's from Dr. Faustus, too,
isn't it?"

'Oui."

'I only know the one quote," I said.

'Let me give you another. 'I kissed thee ere I killed thee, no way but
this, killing myself to die upon a kiss.'"

'That's not Marlowe," I said.

'One of his contemporaries," Jean-Claude said.

'Shakespeare," I said.

'You surprise me, ma petite."

'You gave me too big a clue," I said, "Marlowe and Shakespeare are about
the only contemporaries that people still quote." I frowned up at him.
"Why are you fighting me on this?"

'Today with the ardeur riding you, you say feed. When your mind has
cleared, you will call foul, and I will be punished by your regret." A
look of such longing and frustration crossed his face. "I want more than
almost anything to share blood with you, ma petite, but if I take it now
when you are intoxicated, you will refuse me later more adamantly than
ever."

I would have liked to argue with him. I would have liked to find another
quote from someone to help persuade him, but my control over the ardeur
wasn't as good as his, yet. Just staring up at all that beauty was
making me forget. Forget what little poetry I knew. Forget logic,
reason, restraint. Forget everything but his beauty, forget everything
but my own need.

I didn't so much kneel as fall down his body. The hot water soaked
through my shirt, my bra, my body, holding me in the heat of it, as I
gazed up the length of Jean-Claude. He looked down at me, and still his
eyes were human, normal, lovely to look at, but I wanted more.

I leaned my face in towards him, slowly, for a kiss on the mouth.

'Ma petite, there is nothing you can do until I have fed."

I laid a gentle kiss on his groin.

He closed his eyes, and his breath came out in a careful sigh. "I am not
saying it is not pleasurable, but I will be of no use to you."

I took him in my mouth, and he was small and soft, so I didn't have to
fight to get all of him inside. I loved the sensation of him when he was
small, not just because I wasn't fighting the erection to breath and
swallow, but the difference in texture. There was nothing on a woman's
body that had this feel to it. I rolled him gently around in my mouth,
and he shuddered. I sucked gently, pulling with my lips, rolling my eyes
upward to watch him throw back his head, his hands convulse, grabbing at
empty air.

I pulled back enough to whisper so that my breath caressed the wet skin
of his groin, "Feed, so we can both feed."

He shook his head and looked down at me, and there was a look I hadn't
seen much on his face. Stubbornness. "Pleasure I will take from you, ma
petite, but not blood, not while the ardeur rides you. If you still wish
to be embraced after the ardeur is fed, then I will gladly, joyfully,
comply, but not like this."

I slid my hands up the smooth wetness of his hips. "I need to feed now,
Jean-Claude, please, please."

'Non," and he shook his head at me, again.

The ardeur had been ready to be gentle, as gentle as I'd ever felt it,
but being denied didn't make it, or me feel gentle. Angry, stubborn,
cheated. I tried to think past it, and couldn't. I'd been good, so good
for so long. I hadn't fed on Caleb, and no one would have screamed at me
for it. I hadn't fed on Nathaniel, and he was my pomme de sang. I wanted
him to go another day before he got munched on. I didn't like that he'd
passed out at the club.

I hadn't bothered Jason, who had been too weak to argue. Once I felt
Jean-Claude wake, I knew what I wanted. I hadn't even seen the other men
I passed to get to this room. They hadn't existed for me. Now he was
denying me, refusing me, rejecting me. Some small distant part of me
knew that wasn't true, it wasn't even fair, but that was a distant
voice. The voices in the front of my head were screaming, fuck him, feed
on him, take him.

I'd fought until there wasn't enough of me left to fight. There was
nothing but the need, and the need had no mercy.

I covered him with my mouth again, and I did something that I could only
do when he was at his smallest. I drew his balls, gently, into my mouth,
so that I held all of him inside my mouth. It was the most amazing
sensation to be able to hold him, to flick my tongue on the loose skin
between his testes, to roll the delicate eggs of his body against my
teeth and cheeks. He filled my mouth this way, so wide, impossibly wide,
but because there was no length to match it, I wasn't choking or
fighting to breathe. It was as if I could have held him inside me like
this for days. I sucked on him, the shaft, the balls, all at once,
fitting my mouth around the base of him, so that my lips formed a seal
against his body, and I sucked him, licked him, rolled him, explored
him. I looked up and found his eyes had bled to blue at last, but I
didn't care anymore. I closed my eyes, wrapped my hands around the
smooth tightness of his buttocks, and gave myself over to the joy of it.

I heard his cries, felt his body shudder and quiver under my touch, but
it was distant. His flesh filled my mouth, rolled so easily under my
tongue. I'd always enjoyed the sensation of him when he was loose, but
I'd never been able to indulge myself, because after a few touches, like
all men, he didn't stay small.

I wrapped my mouth close and closer to the base of him and grazed my
teeth ever so lightly there. There, the base of all of him, so that to
bite too hard would take it all. I knew what an act of trust this was
for him. I bit just hard enough to make him cry out, then pulled gently
against his body, using mostly lips for pressure.

I let his balls slip out and sucked the rest of him back in my mouth
hard and fast, pulling harder than I should have, sucking him as hard
and fast as I wanted, no control now, no waiting, just the feel of him
rolling in and out of my mouth, as I pulled on him.

He screamed my name, half pleasure, half pain, and the ardeur burst over
both of us. The heat spread upward through me, and I felt it spread,
thrust itself into Jean-Claude. So hot, so hot, so very hot, as if the
water around us should boil. I had enough left of me somewhere in all
that to let go of him with my mouth, so I didn't get too carried away. I
convulsed against his legs, my nails digging into his butt, hips,
thighs, as he rocked above me, and fought to keep his feet.

He finally half-sat, half-collapsed to the edge of the tub and sat
there, propped on his arms, breathing too hard, and that he was
breathing at all meant he'd fed his ardeur, as I'd fed off of him.
Sometimes it was just an exchange of energy, sometimes it was a true
feeding.

I climbed out of the tub enough to sit beside him, but didn't touch him.
Sometimes right after the ardeur had been fed, touching of any kind
could reignite it, especially between people who both held the ardeur.
So it had been between Jean-Claude and Belle, so it was sometimes
between us.

His eyes were still solid blue, like midnight skies when the stars have
drowned. His voice was breathy, when he said, "You are getting better at
feeding the ardeur without true orgasm, ma petite.'"

'I have a good teacher."

He smiled the smile a man gives a woman when they've just finished such
things, and it isn't the first time they've done them, and it won't be
the last. "An apt pupil, as they say."

I looked at him, and he was pale alabaster with that black, black hair,
those blue eyes. The folds and hollows of his body exposed to the
overhead lights were as beautiful and familiar to me as a favorite path
that I could walk forever and never tire of.

I stared at Jean-Claude, and it wasn't the beauty of him that made me
love him, it was just--him. It was a love made up of a thousand touches,
a million conversations, a trillion shared looks. A love made up of
danger shared, enemies conquered, a determination to keep the people
that depended on us safe at almost any cost, and a certain knowledge
that neither of us would change the other, even if we could. I loved
Jean-Claude, all of him, because if I took away the Machiavellian
plottings, the labyrinth of his mind, it would lessen him, make him
someone else.

I sat on the edge of the tub with my jeans and jogging shoes soaking in
the water, looking at him laugh, watching his eyes bleed back to human,
and I wanted him, not for sex, though that was in there, but for
everything.

'You look serious, ma petite, what are you thinking about so
solemn-faced?"

'You," I said, voice soft.

'Why should that make you look so solemn?" The humor began to leak away
from his face, and I knew without being a hundred percent sure that he
was thinking I was about to run away again. He'd probably been worried
about that from the moment I shared a bed with him and Asher. I usually
ran after I'd made some big breakthrough. Or would that be breakdown?

'A surprisingly wise friend told me that I hold back some part of myself
from all the men in my life. He said that I do it to keep myself safe,
to keep myself from being consumed by love."

Jean-Claude's face had gone very careful, as if he were afraid for me to
read his expression.

'I wanted to argue, but I couldn't. He was right."

Jean-Claude looked at me, face still empty, but there was a tightness
around his eyes, a wariness that he couldn't quite hide. He was waiting
for the blow to fall, I'd taught him to expect it.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and finished, "What I hold back
from you is sharing blood. We fed the ardeur off each other now, but I
still won't let you take blood."

Jean-Claude opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it.
He'd sat up straighter, hands clasped in his lap. It wasn't just his
face he was fighting to keep neutral, even his body language was so very
careful.

'I asked you to feed off me a few minutes ago, and you said not while
the ardeur was riding me. Not while I was intoxicated." I had to smile
at the choice of words, because intoxicated was a good description of
the ardeur. Metaphysical liquor.

'I've fed the ardeur, we both have. I'm not intoxicated any more."

He'd gone very still, that utter stillness that the old vampires could
do. It was like if I looked away, he wouldn't be there when I looked
back. "We have both fed the ardeur, that much is true."

'Then I'm still offering blood."

He took a deep breath. "I want this, ma petite, you know that."

'I know."

'But why now?"

'I told you, I had a talk with a friend."

'I cannot give you what Asher gave you, gave us, yesterday. With my
marks upon you, I may not be able to roll your mind at all. It will be
only pain."

'Then do it in the middle of pleasure. We've proven more than once that
my pain,'pleasure sensors get a little confused when I'm excited
enough."

That made him smile. "As do mine."

That made me smile. "Let's fool around."

'And then?" he asked, voice low.

'When it's time, take blood, and then let's fuck."

He gave a surprised burst of laughter. "Ma petite, you are such a
sweet-talker, how can I refuse?"

I leaned into him, pressed a gentle kiss upon his lips, and said, "Her
lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies! Come, Helen, come, give me
my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, and all
is dross that is not Helena."

He gazed into my face with such longing. "I thought you said you could
not remember more of the play."

'I remembered more," I whispered, "do you?"

He shook his head, and we were so close that his hair brushed against
mine so that you couldn't tell where one blackness left and the other
began. "Not with you this close to me, no."

'Good," I smiled, "but promise some night we'll get the whole play and
take turns reading it to each other."

He smiled, and it was the smile I'd come to value more than any other,
it was real and vulnerable, and I think one of the few things left of
the man he might have been if Belle Morte had not found him. "I swear
it, and gladly."

'Then help me peel off these wet jeans and leave the poetry for another
night."

He cupped my face in his hands. "It is always poetry between us, ma
petite."

My mouth was suddenly dry, and it was hard to swallow past my pulse. My
voice came breathy, "Yeah, but sometimes it's dirty limericks."

He laughed as he kissed me, then he helped me out of the wet jeans, and
the wet socks, and the wet shoes, and the wet everything. When my cross
spilled out of my shirt, it didn't glow. It just lay there glinting in
the overhead lights. Jean-Claude averted his eyes, as he always did when
he saw a holy object, but that was the only hint I had that the cross
bothered him. I realized with a start that I'd never worn a cross around
Jean-Claude and had it glow at him. What did that mean?

I'm usually pretty straightforward except in emotional areas, but I was
trying to be different, change that, so I asked. "Does it really hurt
you to look at my cross?"

He looked determinedly at the edge of the bathtub. "No."

'Then why look away?"

'Because it will start to glow, and I do not want that."

'How do you know that it'll start to glow?"

'Because I am a vampire, and you are a true believer." He was still
staring at the water, the marble of the tub, anywhere, and everywhere
except at my chest with the cross still hanging around it.

'I've never had a cross glow when you were the only vampire around."

He glanced up at that, then quickly down. "That cannot be true."

I thought about it some more. "I can't ever remember it happening. You
look away, then I take the cross off, and we go on about our business,
but it doesn't glow."

He shifted in the water enough to send little splashes against my legs.
"Does it matter?" His voice held just how unhappy he was with the line
of conversation.

'I don't know," I said.

'If you do not wish me to feed, then I will go."

'It's not that, Jean-Claude, honest."

He put a hand on the edge of the tub and stepped out.

'Jean-Claude," I said.

'Non, ma petite, you do not want this, or you would not cling to your
holy object." He took a vibrant blue towel that matched the sheets on
the bed and began to dry off.

'My point is… oh, hell, I don't know what my point is, just don't go."
I put my hands back to unfasten the clasp of the chain, and the door
opened. Asher stepped inside, coated in dried blood, all of it mine.
That should have bothered me, but it didn't. His hair still fell around
his shoulders like spun gold, and with Asher, it wasn't a euphemism for
blond. His hair was like gold spun to thick, soft waves. His eyes a blue
so pale it was like winter skies, but warmer, more… alive. He walked
towards us, his long body nude and perfect. The scars didn't make him
less perfect, they were simply a part of Asher, and nothing marred the
godlike grace as he moved into the room. He was so beautiful it stopped
my breath in my throat, made my chest ache to see him. I wanted to say,
come to us, but my voice was gone in the sheer wonder as he glided
towards us on narrow bare feet.

The cross flared to life, not the white-hot glow it had had in the Jeep,
but bright enough. Bright enough to leave me blinking. Bright enough to
help me think. Asher was still beautiful, nothing could change that, but
now I could breathe, move, talk. Though I had no idea what to say. I'd
never had a cross glow around him either, until now.

It was Jean-Claude who said it, "What have you done, mon ami, what have
you done?" He had his back to the glow of the cross and was using the
towel to help shield his eyes.

Asher had thrown up an arm to protect his own pale blue gaze. "I tried
to roll her mind just enough for pleasure, but the ardeur was too much."

'What have you done?" Jean-Claude asked again.

I watched them both in the light of the cross, one hiding behind the
blue towel, the other his own arm, and I answered for him, "He rolled
me. He rolled my mind, completely and utterly." Even as I said it, I
knew he'd done more than that. I'd been rolled before. I'd even been
rolled once upon a time by Jean-Claude when first we met. But vampire
powers to cloud the mind are a dime a dozen, most of them can do it.
Most of the young ones have to capture you with their gaze, but the old
ones can simply think at you. I was immune to most of it, partly natural
ability as a necromancer, and part Jean-Claude's marks. But I wasn't
immune to Asher. The cross kept glowing, the vampires kept shielding
their eyes, and even with them hiding away from the white light, I still
wanted them, both of them, but now I had to wonder how much of it was
me, and how much of it was Asher's mind tricks. Damn it.

32

We ended up in the bedroom but not for anything fun. I'd dried off and
thrown on extra clothes that I kept at the Circus. I had to put the wet
shoes back on though. My cross was safely underneath my shirt again.
Once it went under the shirt, it stopped glowing, but there was still a
pulsing warmth to it.

Jean-Claude had knotted the blue towel around his waist, where it draped
nearly to his ankles. He'd put a smaller towel on his hair and the blue
of the cloth brought out the blue of his eyes. Seeing his face free of
all hair made him look more like a boy to me. It was the bones of his
cheeks that saved his face from being utterly feminine. He was still
beautiful, but an inch closer to handsome without that black veil of
hair.

Asher was still clothed in nothing but the dried blood and the spill of
all his own hair. He was pacing the room like some kind of caged beast.

Jean-Claude had simply sat down on the edge of the bed with the blue
sheets still stained with blood and other fluids. He looked discouraged.

I stood as far from them as I could, arms clasped across my stomach. I'd
left my shoulder holster off, so that I wouldn't stroke my gun while I
argued. I was hoping to tone the hostility down, not ramp it up.

Jean-Claude laid his face in his hands, all pale skin and blue cloth,
towels and sheets surrounding him. "Why did you do it, mon ami! If you
had only behaved yourself we would even now be together as we were meant
to be."

I wasn't sure I liked how sure Jean-Claude was of me, but I couldn't
really argue without lying, so I let it go. Shutting the fuck up is
seldom a bad move on my part.

Asher stopped pacing and said, "Anita has felt me feed. She knew that I
could roll her mind completely. She did not say not to do it. She said
for me to take her, to feed from her, so I did. I did what she told me
to do, and she was aware of how I would do it, because she has fed me
once before."

Jean-Claude raised his face from his hands like a drowning man, coming
up for air. "I know that Anita fed you when you lay dying in Tennessee."

'She saved me," Asher said. He'd come to the end of the big four-poster
bed.

I watched the two of them framed against the blue sheets, where so
recently we'd had a very good time. I stood there wanting them both, and
my arms clung to me, as if by holding on tight I could keep it from
happening.

'Oui, she saved you, but you did not roll her mind completely then,
because I would have felt your touch upon her mind and heart, and it was
not there."

'I tried to roll her mind because it seems to me that every vampire that
takes blood from her is in some way under her sway, her power. It is
almost as if when a vampire feeds from her, it is she who controls them,
not the other way around."

I stayed where I was, but this I couldn't let go. "Trust me, Asher, it
doesn't work that way. I've had vamps bite me and have me under their
sway before."

He looked at me, with those pale, pale eyes. "But how long ago was that?
I think that your powers have grown since then."

My gaze kept sliding down his body, tracing the blood pattern on that
pale, slightly golden tinged skin. I closed my eyes to say the next
because I needed to stop watching them. "Do you feel like you have to do
what I say?"

He hesitated, and I fought the urge to look at him, to watch him think.
"No." His voice was soft.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, opened my eyes, and fought like
hell to stare at Asher's face and nothing else. "See, you're not in my
power or anything."

He did a small frown. "Are you in my power then?"

'I can't stop watching the two of you. I can't stop thinking about what
we did, what we could still do."

He gave a harsh laugh, and it hurt to hear it, as if it had struck a
blow along my skin. "How can you not think about us, while we stand here
in front of you like this?"

'Oh, you're not arrogant," I said, arms clinging to myself like it was
the last safe place for them to be.

'Anita, I am thinking of you, too. The pale spill of your back, the
curve of your hip, the mound of your ass, underneath me. The feel of me
rubbing along the soft warmth of your skin."

'Stop," I said, and had to turn away because I was blushing and it was
suddenly hard to breathe.

'Why stop? It's what we're all thinking."

'Ma petite does not like to be reminded of pleasure."

'Mon Dieu, why not?"

I looked in time to see Jean-Claude give that all-purpose Gallic shrug,
which meant everything and nothing. Usually he made it look graceful,
today it looked tired.

'Anita," Asher said.

I looked at him, and this time I could make eye contact, except that
staring into those amazing eyes wasn't much safer than looking at his
amazing body.

'You told me you wanted me inside you, as I remember. And when I bared
your neck you said, 'Yes, Asher, yes.'"

'I remember what I said."

'Then how can you be angry at me for doing what you asked?" He took
three strides closer to me, and I backed up. The movement stopped him.
"How can you blame me for this?"

'I don't know, but I do. How that's unfair, or maybe not unfair, I don't
know, but I do."

Jean-Claude spoke then, his voice like the sigh of the wind outside a
lonely door. "If you had but restrained yourself, mon ami, we might even
now be together in the bath."

'I don't know about that," I said. My voice sounded angry, and I was
glad.

Jean-Claude gazed at me with those blue black eyes. "Are you saying that
you could refuse such bounty, once having tasted it?"

I didn't blush this time, I paled. "Well, it's moot now isn't it,
because he cheated." I pointed at Asher for dramatic emphasis.

He stared at me openmouthed. "How did I cheat?"

Jean-Claude was back to holding his head in his hands. "Ma petite does
not allow vampire trickery to be played upon her." His voice came
muffled but strangely clear.

Asher looked from one to the other of us. "Ever?"

Jean-Claude answered without moving, head still in his hands. "For the
most, oui."

'Then she has never tasted you as you are meant to be tasted," Asher
said, and his voice held a soft astonishment.

'That is her choice," Jean-Claude said, he raised his face up slowly, so
I could meet that blue gaze, and there was something of anger in his
eyes.

I didn't understand all of this conversation, and I wasn't sure I wanted
to, so I ignored it. I've always been damn good at ignoring what makes
me uncomfortable. "The point is that Asher used vampire wiles on me.
He's done something to cloud the way I think about him. Now I won't
know, won't ever know, if what I'm feeling is real, or a trick." There,
I felt sure of moral high ground on this one, at least.

Jean-Claude did a sort of voil gesture with his hands, as if to say,
see, I told you.

Asher's face began to lose its anger and work towards that blankness
they both did so well. "So it was just a lie."

I looked at both of them. "What was a lie?"

'That you wanted me to be with you and Jean-Claude."

I frowned. "No, it wasn't a lie. I meant it."

'Then this faux pas changes nothing," he said.

'You've messed with my mind, I don't think that's just a faux pas. I
think that's damn serious." My hands were on my hips, better than
clinging to myself to keep from touching anybody. I embraced my anger,
because it made them less beautiful. Of course, it made everything less
beautiful.

'So you did lie," Asher said, his face almost empty of any expression.

I hated watching him shut himself away like this, but I didn't know what
to do to stop it. "Damn it, no, I didn't lie. You're the one who changed
the rules, Asher, not me."

'I changed nothing. You said we would be together. You offered me your
bed. You begged me to be inside you. Jean-Claude said that your sweet
ass was not to be touched, and the deep pleasure of your body was full,
where was I supposed to go?"

I fought not to blush and failed. "It was the ardeur talking, and you
knew it."

He backed up until he came to the edge of the bed, and he half-collapsed
on the blue sheets, grabbing the post to keep from sliding off the silk.
His face was blank, but the rest of him acted as if I'd struck him, and
I knew I'd said the wrong thing.

'I said that once the ardeur was cooled you would find a way to reject
me, to reject this," and he gestured at Jean-Claude at the far end of
the bed, and the bed itself, "and you have done just as I said you would
do." He pushed himself up from the bed, clinging to the wooden post for
a moment, as if he wasn't sure his legs would hold him. He took a
tentative step away from the bed, almost staggered, then another, and
another. Each step was steadier than the last. He was going for the
door.

'Wait a minute, you're not just going to walk out," I said.

He stopped walking, but didn't turn around as he answered, giving a
clear view of the perfection of the back of his body. "I cannot leave
until Musette is gone. I will give her no excuse to take me back to the
courts with her. If I belong to no one, she will do it, and I will have
no grounds to refuse." He rubbed his hands over his arms as if he were
cold. "When Musette is gone, I will petition for another Master of the
City. There are those who would take me in."

I walked towards him. "No, no, you have to give me some time to think
about what you did. It's not fair to walk off like this." I was almost
to him when he whirled around, and the rage on his face stopped me like
I'd hit a wall.

'Fair! What is fair in being offered everything you ever wanted and
thought never to have again, only to have it torn from your grasp? Torn
from your grasp because you did exactly what you were told you could do,
what was asked of you." He didn't yell, but his anger filled his voice,
so every word was like a red-hot poker flung at my face.

I didn't know what to say in the face of that anger.

'I will not, cannot, stay and watch you and Jean-Claude. I would rather
be without the sight of either of you then so very close, but cast from
your bed, your arms, your affections." He covered his face with his
hands and gave a low scream. "To be with us as our lover is to be
seduced by our powers." He tore his hands away from his face and let me
see his eyes drowning blue, his anger making up for the lack of blood.
"I had never dreamed that Jean-Claude had not done so." He looked at the
other man, still sitting on the edge of the bed. "How could you be with
her for so long and resist the temptation?"

'She is most adamantly against such things," Jean-Claude said. "At least
you have had her willing blood, I have never been so blessed."

Asher frowned, and it sat badly on that lovely face, like an angel
frowning. "That astounds me still, though I knew that. But she has
bestowed her charms upon you, and now I will never know them."

This was all happening way too fast for me. "Jean-Claude understands the
rules, and we both live by them." Of course, I'd been just about ready
to change the rules, but I didn't think Asher needed to know right now.

Asher shook his head, sending that foam of gold hair gliding over his
shoulders. "Even if I understood the rules, Anita, I could not abide by
them."

That made me frown. "What do you mean?"

'Anita, we aren't human, no matter how much some of us pretend. But not
all of what we are is bad. You have entered our world, but you deny
yourself the best of us, while only seeing the worst. But most horrible
of all, you deny Jean-Claude the best of his own world."

'What's that supposed to mean?"

'He is celibate save for you, but he does not pleasure himself fully
with you, or anyone else." He made a gesture that I didn't understand.
"I see that look upon your face, Anita, that American look. Sex is not
just intercourse, or even just orgasm, and that is especially true for
us."

'Why, because you're French?"

He gave me such a serious look that my attempt at humor died in my chest
like a cold weight. "We are vampires, Anita. More than that, we are
Master Vampires of Belle Morte's line. We can give you pleasure that no
other can give, and we can take pleasure as no other can experience it.
By agreeing to limit himself, Jean-Claude has denied himself a great
deal of what makes this existence bearable, even enjoyable."

I looked at Jean-Claude. "How much have you been holding back?"

He wouldn't meet my gaze.

'How much, Jean-Claude?"

'I cannot make my bite true pleasure as Asher can. I cannot roll your
mind completely as he can." He still wouldn't look at me.

'That's not what I asked."

He sighed. "There are things that I can do that you have not seen. I
have tried to abide by your wishes in all things."

'Well, I will not," Asher said.

We both looked at him.

'Anita will always find some reason to keep her from openly taking both
of us. She cannot even allow her one vampire lover to truly be vampire.
How could she possibly endure the full touch of two of them?"

'Asher," I said, but didn't know what else to say, all I knew was that
my chest hurt, and it was hard to breathe.

'No, you will always find something in your men that is not good enough,
not pure enough. You come to us out of need, even out of love, but it is
never enough. You will not allow us to be enough even for ourselves." He
shook his head again, in a flurry of brightness that shattered the
lights like golden mirrors. "My heart is too fragile to play these
games, Anita. I love you, but I cannot live, let alone love, like this."

'I don't even get an hour to digest that you used vampire wiles on me."

He put a hand on either of my shoulders, and the weight of his hands
made my skin run warm. "If it's not this, it will be something else. I
have watched you with Richard, Jean-Claude, and now Micah. Micah wins
his way through your maze by simply agreeing to everything you ask.
Jean-Claude wins his place on the edges of your labyrinth by cutting
himself off from unbelievable pleasure. Richard will not walk your maze,
because he has his own, and only one person can be this confusing in a
relationship at one time. Someone has to be willing to compromise, and
neither you nor Richard will compromise enough."

He let me go, and the absence of his hands almost staggered me, as if
he'd taken away a shelter, and I was lost in the storm.

He began to walk backwards towards the door. "I thought I would do
anything to be with Jean-Claude and his new servant. I thought I would
do anything to be back in the safety of the arms of two people who loved
me. But I understand now that your love will always come with conditions
and that no matter how good your intentions, something holds you back,
Anita. Something will not allow you to give yourself completely to the
moment, to that shining thing called love. You hold yourself back, and
you hold back those who love you. I cannot live being offered your love
one moment and denied it the next. I cannot live being punished for what
I cannot change."

'It's not punishment," I said, and my voice sounded strange, strangled.

He gave a sad smile and flung his hair over the scarred side of his
face, so he stared at me with nothing but that perfect profile showing.
"To quote you, ma cherie, the hell it is not." He turned and strode for
the door.

I called after him. "Asher, please…" But he didn't stop. The door
closed behind him, and the room filled with a profound silence.

Jean-Claude spoke into that silence, and his soft voice made me jump.
"Gather your things, Anita, and go."

I looked at him, then, and my pulse was in my throat, and I was afraid,
really afraid. "Are you kicking me out?" My voice didn't even sound like
me.

'Non, but at this moment I need to be alone."

'You haven't fed, yet."

'Are you saying you would willingly feed me, now?" He didn't look at me
as he asked it. He was staring at the floor.

'Actually, I'm sort of not in the mood anymore," I said, and my voice
was fighting to get back to normal. Jean-Claude wasn't kicking me out of
his life, but I didn't like that he wouldn't look at me.

'I will feed, but it will be only for food, and you are not food. So,
please, go."

'Jean-Claude…"

'Just go, Anita, go. I need you not to be here right now. I need to not
have to look at you, right now." The first stirrings of anger had
trickled into his voice, like a fuse freshly lit and running with fire,
but not truly burning up, not yet.

'Would saying I'm sorry help?" My voice was small when I asked.

'That you understand that you have something to apologize for is a
beginning, but it is not enough, not today." He looked at me then, and
his eyes glistened in the lights, not with power, but with unshed tears.
"Besides, it is not me that you owe the apology to. Now go, before I say
something that we will both regret."

I opened my mouth, drew a breath to reply, but he held up a hand and
said, simply, "No."

I gathered my gun and shoulder holster from the bathroom. The wet
clothes I left on the floor of the bathroom. I didn't look back, and I
didn't try to kiss him good-bye. I think if I'd tried to touch him, he'd
have hurt me. I don't mean struck me, but there are a thousand ways to
hurt someone you love that have nothing to do with physical violence.
There were words trapped in his eyes, a world of pain shining there. I
didn't want to hear those words. I didn't want to feel that pain. I
didn't want to see it, or touch it, or have it rubbed in the wounds in
my own heart right that moment. I believed I was right, and a girl's got
to have some standards. I don't let the vamps fuck with my mind, they
just get my body. It had seemed a good rule an hour ago.

I shut the door behind me, leaned into it, and fought to take a breath
that didn't shake. My world had been more solid an hour ago.

33

I was still leaning against the door, shaking, when Nathaniel came up to
me. I didn't see him at first, even though he was standing right in
front of me. I was staring at the floor, and I saw his jogging shoes,
his legs, his shorts, before I looked slowly up and found his face. It
felt like it took a long time to look up his body, and find that
familiar face with those lilac eyes.

'Anita…" his voice was soft.

I held out a hand, because if anyone was nice to me, I was going to fall
apart. I couldn't afford that right now. If Asher was up, then probably
so was Musette. Normally, the thought would have been enough to let me
check on a nearby vampire. Today, it was empty. I was empty. I was what
Marianne, my psychic teacher, called head blind. It happens sometimes if
you've had a shock; physical, emotional, whatever. I wouldn't be worth
shit for metaphysical stuff until this wore off--if it wore off. Right
that second it felt like the world should open up at my feet and swallow
me down the great black hole that was eating through my heart.

'What is it, Nathaniel?" My voice was a bare whisper. I cleared my
throat, sharply, to repeat it, but he'd heard.

'The two men that were following us in the blue Jeep are outside
watching the back parking lot. They've got a different car, but it's
still them."

I nodded, and the black hole at my feet began to close. I still hurt,
and I was still head blind, but for this it didn't matter. Guns don't
care if you're psychically gifted. Guns don't care about anything. They
don't bitch at you about the rules in your personal life, either. Of
course, neither does a dog, but I don't have to use a pooper-scooper
after I'm through shooting my gun. Sometimes a body bag is needed, but
that's not usually my job.

I was feeling better. Steadier. This I could do. "Find Bobby Lee, I want
the best people he's got for car work."

'Car work?" Nathaniel made it a question.

'We're going to box them in and find out why they're following us."

'What if they don't want to tell us?" he asked.

I looked at him as I slipped into the shoulder holster and unthreaded my
belt, so I could rethread the holster. I didn't say anything as I
readied the gun, got it exactly where I wanted it. I had to carry the
butt of the gun a little lower than I might have wanted for speed, but
hitting your breast with the edge of the gun slows your fast draw even
more. So a little lower angle, to avoid the chest. Legends say that the
Amazons chopped off a breast to make them better at archery. I don't
believe that. I think it's just another example of men thinking a woman
can't be a great warrior without cutting away her womanhood,
symbolically, or otherwise. We can be great warriors; we just got to
pack the equipment a little differently.

Nathaniel was looking very solemn. "I didn't bring a gun."

'That's great, because you're not coming."

'Anita…"

'No, Nathaniel. I taught you about guns so you wouldn't hurt yourself,
and so in an emergency you could defend yourself. This isn't an
emergency. I want you to stay inside out of the line of fire."

Something flitted over his face, something that might have been
stubbornness. It faded, but stubborn wasn't something that I'd ever seen
on Nathaniel. I wanted him more independent, but not stubborn. He was
about the only person in my life that did what I asked, when I asked.
Right that second, I valued that.

I hugged him, and I think it caught us both by surprise. I whispered in
his ear, against the sweet vanilla scent of his cheek, "Please, just do
what I say."

He was quiet for a heartbeat, then his arms wrapped around me, and he
whispered, "Yes."

I drew back from him, slowly, searching his face, wanting to ask him if
he found my "rules" a burden, if I'd taken half the pleasure out of his
life, too? I didn't ask, because I didn't really want to know. It wasn't
that my courage failed me, it was more that my cowardice overwhelmed me.
I'd had about all the truth I could stand for one day.

I kissed him on the cheek and left to find Bobby Lee. Him, I trusted to
be in the line of fire. But it was more than that; I wasn't sleeping
with Bobby Lee. I didn't love him. Sometimes love makes you selfish.
Sometimes it makes you stupid. Sometimes it reminds you why you love
your gun.

34

I was looking through a pair of binoculars at a car parked at the far
corner of the Circus of the Damned employee parking lot. Nathaniel was
right, it was the same two men, but now they were in a large gold Impala
dating to the 1960s, or some such. It was big, old, but in good shape.
It was also very different from the shiny new blue Jeep that they'd been
in before. They'd switched so the blond was driving. With the binocs I
could see that he looked youngish, under forty, over twenty-five. He was
clean shaven, wearing a black mock turtleneck and silver frame glasses.
His eyes were pale, gray, or grayish blue.

The dark-haired man had put a billed cap on and changed to a larger pair
of sunglasses. His face was thin, clean shaven, with a good-sized mole
at one corner of his mouth. What they used to call a beauty mark.

I watched them sitting there and wondered why they weren't at least
reading a newspaper, or drinking coffee, something, anything.

They'd done everything they were supposed to do, according to Kasey
Krime Stoppers 101. They'd changed vehicles. They'd made small changes
to their appearances. All this might have worked, if they weren't
sitting outside Circus of the Damned, doing nothing. No matter how
clever you disguise yourself, very few people sit in a car in the middle
of the morning and do nothing. Also the employee parking lot was almost
empty before noon. Once darkness fell, they could probably have parked
and not been noticed so quickly, but this time of morning there was no
hiding.

Bobby Lee was explaining all the Kasey Krime Stoppers tips and more to
me. "If they hadn't changed cars, and they hadn't done anything to
change their appearance, it might mean they didn't care if you spotted
them. Or even that they wanted you to spot them. But they've changed
enough I think they really are trying to follow you."

I handed him back the binoculars. "Why are they following me?"

'Usually, when people start following you around, you know why."

'I thought they might be Renfields working for Musette and company, but
I don't think Renfields would have taken the trouble to change their
appearance like this. Most Renfields aren't the brightest of people."

Bobby Lee grinned at me. "How can you be friends with so many
bloodsuckers, and still be so damn disdainful of them?"

I shrugged, and my shrug wasn't graceful. It never had been. "Just
lucky, I guess."

The smile stayed, but the eyes began to go serious. "What do you want to
do about these two?"

For a second, I thought he meant Asher and Jean-Claude, then I realized
he meant the two yahoos in the Impala. The fact that even for a second I
thought he meant something else said just how bad my concentration was.
Concentration like that will get you killed in a fire fight.

I took a deep breath, another, let them out slowly, trying to clear my
head. I needed to be here, now, not worrying about my increasingly
complex personal life. Here and now with men and women with guns, about
to risk their lives because I asked them to do it. Maybe the two men in
the car weren't dangerous at all, but we couldn't count on that. We had
to treat them like they were. If we were wrong, no harm done. If we were
right, well, we'd be as prepared as we could be.

I couldn't shake the feeling of impending disaster. I looked up at Bobby
Lee's tall frame. "I don't want to get any of you guys killed."

'We'd kind of like to avoid that ourselves."

I shook my head. "No, that's not what I mean."

He looked at me, face suddenly very serious. "What's wrong, Anita?"

I sighed. "I think I'm losing my nerve for this shit. Not for my own
safety, but for everyone else's. The last time the wererats helped me I
got one of you killed, and another one cut up pretty badly."

'I healed up pretty good." Claudia walked towards us all six feet six
and serious muscle. Her long black hair was pulled back in a tight
ponytail leaving her face clean and unadorned. I'd never seen her wear
makeup, and maybe because I'd never seen her in any, she didn't need it.

She wore a navy blue sports bra and a pair of dark blue jeans. She
usually wore sports bras, I think because she had trouble finding shirts
that fit over the spectacular spread of her shoulders and chest. She was
a serious weight lifter, but not to that point where you'd ever mistake
her for masculine. No, Claudia was definitely all girl.

The last time I'd seen her she'd had her arm damn near shot off. There
was a faint tracery of scars on her right shoulder, pale pink and white.
Silver shot will scar even a shape-shifter. There'd even been a faint
possibility that the silver could have lost her the use of her arm. But
the right arm looked as whole and muscular as the left.

'You look great, how's the arm?" I asked, smiling. One of my favorite
things about hanging with the monsters is the healing. Straight humans
seemed to get killed on me a lot, monsters survived. Let's hear it for
the monsters.

Claudia flexed the arm, and muscles rippled under her skin. It was
downright impressive. I lift weights, but not like that. "Not all the
way back to full strength. I still can't curl more than one hundred and
forty pounds with it."

I could bench-press my own body weight, plus a few pounds, and until now
I'd been pretty impressed with doing reps with forty pounds for curls.
Suddenly I felt inadequate.

I wanted to ask her if she was okay with putting her life, and that
impressive body, on the line for me again, but I didn't. Some questions
you just don't ask. Not out loud.

I stood there pressed against the black-mirrored glass that, from the
outside, looked like part of the wall. I'd always wondered how someone
was usually there to meet me at the back door. Now I knew--they had a
lookout. We could have watched the bad guys all day, and they'd never
have seen us.

It was part of a narrow loft area up above the main part of the Circus
of the Damned, but this one small nook was equipped with binocs,
comfortable chairs, and a little table. The rest of the loft area was
mostly cables, wires, stored equipment, like the backstage areas at a
theater. Most of the ceiling of the Circus was open to girders and beams
like the warehouse it originally was, but now that I knew the loft was
here, I realized that there was a narrow band of enclosed space that
went around the entire top of the building. I'd asked if there were
other hidden lookouts, and gotten the answer of course. Ask an obvious
question, and you get the obvious answer.

'Claudia's going to drive one of the cars for our little plan," Bobby
Lee said.

'I thought the plan was for someone who looked harmless and normal to
drive both cars."

Claudia gave me a flat unfriendly look.

'No offense, but you look anything but ordinary."

'She'll throw a shirt on over the muscles, take out the ponytail, and
look like a girl," Bobby Lee said.

I looked at him and her. She was taller than he was, hell she was as
broad through the shoulders as he was, and she had more bulk. "You know
Bobby-boy if I had to choose between arm-wrestling you, or Claudia, I'd
pick you."

He blinked at me, totally not getting it.

Claudia got it. "You're wasting your breath, Anita. No matter how much I
work out, I'm still a girl to even the best of them."

Bobby Lee was looking from one to the other of us. "What are you two
talking about?"

I tried being very clear, using small words, "Claudia is more muscled
and taller than most of the other wererats you have here today. Why are
you putting her out in the first car to look normal and harmless? She
looks anything but harmless."

He blinked at me, frowning. "You won't see the muscles under the shirt."

'She's six-freaking-feet and six-fucking-inches tall, with a pair of
shoulders as broad as yours. You're not going to hide that under a
shirt."

'I'm aware of that, Anita."

'Then why put her out in front to look harmless?"

Bobby Lee tried to wrap his mind around it, but in the end he was a man
that had spent most of his life being muscle--smart muscle, but still
muscle. "She's the only girl we have here today, except you, and they'd
recognize you."

'Are you really telling me that the bad guys would feel less threatened
by Claudia than by a short, less-powerfully built man?"

That was clear enough that Bobby Lee finally got it. He opened his
mouth, closed it, opened it again, smiled, and gave a small laugh. "I
see your point, but truthfully, yeah, they'll be less intimidated. Men
just don't see women as a threat, no matter how big they are, and all
men are suspect no matter how small."

I shook my head. "Why, because we have breasts and you don't?"

'Give it up, Anita," Claudia said, "just give it up. They're men, they
can't help it."

Since I wasn't a man, I took Bobby Lee's word that the bad guys would
panic less if one of the people involved in our mock accident was a
woman. I had to admit that even I was less physically afraid of another
woman, but it seemed wrong somehow. Claudia threw a man's pale blue
shirt over her jeans and buttoned it up, even the sleeves. She left
enough buttons undone in front to flash some cleavage, then she took the
tie out of her hair. She shook her hair out, and it fell around her
face, over her shoulders, in a slick, brunette flood. The hair softened
the strong lines of her face, and I suddenly had a glimpse of what she
might look like if she put any effort into being a traditional girl.
Spectacular was the word that came to mind.

Bobby Lee watched the hair cascade with nearly openmouthed attention. I
think I could have shot him twice before he reacted. Shit. I'd thought
better of him than that.

Claudia met my eyes and crooked one shapely eyebrow. It said it all. We
had one of those moments of perfect understanding between girls, and I
think that for her, like for me, there weren't that many of them. We
both spent far too much time hanging out with the men. But no matter how
many times you saved their lives, and they saved yours, no matter how
much you could bench-press, no matter how tall, or strong, or
competent--you were still a girl. And the fact that you were a girl
overshadowed everything else for most men. It wasn't good or bad, it
just was. A woman will forget that a man is male, if they are good
enough friends, but men rarely forget that a woman is feminine. Most of
the time it bugged the crap out of me, but today we'd use it against the
bad guys, because they'd see all that hair, those breasts, and they'd
underestimate her, because she was a girl.

35

They'd only been following me for one day, as far as I knew, so why such
determination to find out why? One: It's usually better to know than not
to know when people are following you, and two: I was in a truly foul
mood.

I had no idea what to do about Asher. I didn't want to lose him, and now
I didn't trust the feeling. In fact I was pretty certain it was really
vampire mind tricks. Maybe I'd never really loved him. Maybe that had
always been a lie. The logical part of me knew I was kidding myself on
that one, but the scared part was happy with the theory. The thing that
bothered me the most was I was no longer certain which was the brave
thing to do. Was it brave and right to dump Asher for his treachery? Or
was he right, and he'd just done what I asked him to do? Was I wrong?
And, if I was wrong about this, how many other things had I been wrong
about, unfair about? I was losing my sense of rightness about so many
things. Without my sense of holier-than-thou anger, I felt shaky and
unreal. I didn't feel like me anymore.

What if I got Claudia killed, the way I'd gotten her friend Igor killed
a few months back? Hell, what if I got Bobby Lee killed like his friend,
Cris? I'd killed nearly fifty percent of any wererats that Rafael, their
king, had loaned me. No one complained about it, but today, the thought
of more losses seemed completely unacceptable.

If I wasn't willing to let people risk their lives, then this plan
wouldn't work. We needed four vehicles to block four roads, and make
sure there was no place for the bad guys to go. We'd cut off all escape
routes and reason with them. That meant a minimum of four people in
danger. More, since Bobby Lee wanted shooters hidden among the few cars
in the parking lot. The shooters would move out of the Circus when the
bad guys were busy driving around trying to figure a way out of the
parking lot. Or, that was the plan.

It was a good plan, unless the bad guys pulled out guns and started
shooting. Then we'd have to shoot back, and they might get killed, and
I'd be no better off. I still wouldn't know shit, and I might have
gotten some more of Rafael's people dead.

'You alright, Anita?" Bobby Lee asked.

I was rubbing fingertips against my temples and shaking my head. "No,
I'm not. I'm really not okay with this."

'With what?"

'This, all of it." Even as I said it, I saw Claudia driving down the
back road, and Fredo coming up the other road. I'd made sure I knew his
name. You shouldn't ask people to die for you if you don't at least know
their name. He was a few inches under six feet, a slender dark man, with
large graceful hands, wearing more knives than anyone I'd met in a long
time. Bobby Lee said that both Fredo and Claudia could make the accident
look real, they were both drivers. He said drivers like it should have
been in capital letters. I'd asked to be one of the drivers, and I'd
been informed that I didn't know how to DRIVE, and I couldn't argue with
that. But right that moment, waiting and watching other people take the
risks for me was harder than risking myself.

I trusted Bobby Lee's judgment. I really did. What I didn't trust was
the bad guys. They were bad guys, so you couldn't trust them to be
anything but unpredictable and dangerous.

I watched the two cars get closer, and I almost yelled, don't, don't do
it! But I wanted to know who was following me, and more than that, if I
said stop, if my nerve failed here on something so mundane, what good
would I be? The trouble was, my nerve had failed. I kept my mouth shut,
but I felt like the only thing keeping my pulse in my mouth was the
tight line of my lips.

I prayed, Dear God, don't let anyone get hurt. Then a thought occurred
to me, seconds before the fender bender. If Bobby Lee and company could
stage this, they could probably have followed the men, trailed them back
to wherever. Following just hadn't occurred to me, only confrontation.
Shit.

The cars collided; it did look real, accidental. Claudia got out, all
tall and feminine even from a distance. Fredo got out, yelling, waving
his arms around.

The bad guys started their car and went for the far entrance of the
parking lot, farther down the street that had just been blocked off.
They must have smelled a… rat.

The Impala stopped before they'd turned completely onto the road, which
meant they'd spotted the third car tucked in beside the Circus, blocking
the alley between the Circus and the building next door.

Bobby Lee led the way to the stairs, and we clattered down, trusting
that the fourth vehicle, a truck, had blocked the far alley where the
loading dock was located. We'd both sacrificed being one of the first
shooters into the parking lot so we could watch the plan unfold.

By the time we hit the lot, gunmen had sprung up among the few parked
cars, like mushrooms after a rainstorm. I felt almost silly drawing my
gun and joining the half circle. Claudia, Fredo, and the two other
drivers were the other half of the circle, coming in from the other
side.

It wasn't a perfect circle, a perfect circle would have meant we were
firing at each other, so the circle was sort of metaphoric, but the
effect was perfect.

The Impala sat there in our circle of guns, engine on, and no weapons in
sight, yet. The blond had his hands very firmly on the top of the
steering wheel. It was the dark-haired one in his billed cap who had his
hands out of sight.

There was a lot of shouting on our side, about hands up, and don't you
fucking move. They hadn't moved, but the engine was still running, and
the one guy's hands were still out of sight. I kept my gun pointed
one-handed, but raised a hand. I don't know if anyone else saw it, or
understood what I wanted, but Bobby Lee did. He held up his hand in
almost the same gesture, and the yelling quieted. It was suddenly
silent, except for the thrum of the car engine.

I spoke into that silence, making sure my voice carried, "Turn off the
car."

The one in the billed cap said something that I couldn't hear through
the windows. The blond very slowly lowered one hand, and the engine
died. The ticking of the engine was very loud in the stillness.

Billed-cap man was obviously unhappy. Even with sunglasses covering his
face, it showed in the line of his mouth. His hands were still hidden.
The blond had put his hand back on the steering wheel.

'Hands where we can see them," I said. "Now."

The blond's hands seemed to vibrate on the steering wheel, as if he
would have put his hands where I could see them if they weren't already
there. He said something to his companion, and bill-cap shook his head.

I lowered my gun, took a deep breath, held it, aimed, let the breath out
slow and careful as I squeezed the trigger. The gunshot was loud in the
stillness, and it took a moment for me to be able to hear the air
hissing out of the tire. I aimed my gun back up at the blond's window.

His eyes flashed wide. He was speaking fast and frantically to his
friend.

'Bobby Lee," I said, "have someone on that side of the car press the
barrel of their gun against the passenger side window."

'You want them to shoot?"

'Not yet, and if they do have to shoot I don't want to chance hitting
the blond with the same bullet." I looked up at him. "Aim accordingly."

It was Claudia who stepped forward and put her gun against the window,
she angled it slightly down so she'd miss the man on the other side.
Bullets have a nasty tendency to travel farther than you want them to.

She asked, without looking at me, never taking her eyes from the man she
was aiming at. "Do I get to kill him?"

'We only need one of them to question," I said.

She smiled, a flash of white teeth, and it was fierce and frightening
framed by all that dark hair, that lovely face. "Great."

'I won't ask again, put your hands where we can see them, or else," I
said.

He didn't put his hands up. He was either stupid or… "Bobby Lee, does
anyone have our backs?"

'You mean backup?" he asked.

'Yeah, he's awful stubborn, unless he thinks help is coming."

He said something quick and harsh, it sounded German, but it wasn't, and
his Southern accent vanished when he said it. Some of the wererats
turned outward, watching the perimeter. We were in the open, no one was
going to sneak up on us. The only real danger would have been if someone
had a rifle and scope. There was really nothing we could do about
snipers, and because there was nothing we could do about it, we had to
let it go, pretend it couldn't happen, and take care of what was
happening. But a spot from between my shoulder blades to the top of my
head ran with goose bumps, as if I could feel the scope on me. I was
pretty sure it was imagination, but my imagination's always been a
problem when I got overly excited. I tried to think of something else,
like why the man wouldn't put his fucking hands up.

I aimed one-handed so I could free up my left hand. I held a finger up,
one, then another finger, two.

The blond was speaking frantically. I could hear snatches of his voice,
do it, God, do it.

I actually started to put up that third finger, when the bill-cap man
put his hands up, slowly. Empty hands, but I was betting any amount of
money that he had some nasty piece of hardware in his lap. Oh, yeah.

Claudia kept her gun against his window. I think because she hadn't been
told to move away. Frankly, I liked her there, close enough to fire if
he went for whatever was in his lap.

I made the universal sign for roll the window down, rolling my hand in
the air. They were in an old enough car that they actually had to crank
it down. The blond unwound the window, slowly, carefully, and kept his
other hand glued to the steering wheel. He was a cautious man. I liked
that.

He rolled the window down, put his hands back on the steering wheel, and
said nothing. He didn't try to plead innocence, or confess guilt. He
just sat there. Fine.

I was short enough that with a little stooping I could see into the
other man's lap. It was empty, which meant whatever he'd been cradling
was on the floorboard. He'd dropped it so we wouldn't see it. What the
hell was it?

I raised my voice a little. "You in the cap, put your hands slowly on
the dashboard, flat, and if they move from there, you will be shot. Is
that clear?"

He wouldn't look at me.

'Is that clear?"

He began to move his hands towards the dashboard. "It's clear."

'Why were you following me?" I asked, mostly to the blond, because I was
beginning to realize the other man wasn't going to volunteer much.

'I do not know what you are talking about." He had a faint German
accent, and I had too many relatives with the same accent not to
recognize it. Of course, they were all over sixty, and hadn't seen the
old country for a few decades. I was betting blondie was a more recent
import.

'Where'd the pretty blue Jeep go?" I asked.

His face went very still.

'I told you," the bill-cap said.

'Yeah, we spotted you," I said. "It wasn't all that hard."

'You would not have seen us if you had not been swerving all over the
road," Blondie said.

'Sorry about that, but we had some technical difficulties."

'Yeah, like one of you turned furry," the guy in the cap said. He
definitely was middle American, middle of nowhere, no accent.

'So you wondered what was wrong, and got close enough to see," I said.

Neither of them said anything to that.

'You are both going to get, very slowly, out of this car. If either of
you goes for a weapon, you may both die. I only need one of you for
questioning, the other is just gravy. I'll do my best to see that one of
you lives, but I won't break a sweat to save you both, because I don't
need you both. Is that clear?"

The blond said, "yes," the other one said, "Crystal fucking clear." Oh,
yeah, he was American, only we have that poetic turn of phrase.

Then I heard the sirens. They were close, very close, like in front of
the building close. I'd have liked to think they were just passing
through, but when you're holding this many guns out in the open, you
can't count on that.

'Never a cop when you need one," Bobby Lee said, "try to do anything
illegal, and they're all over ya."

The billed-cap man said, "If you put all your guns away before the cops
get in sight, we'll just pretend this didn't happen." He was smiling as
he leaned across, so I'd be sure and see the smug expression.

I smiled back, and his smile wilted because I looked too damned pleased.
I wasn't smooth at digging my badge out of my pocket yet, not one-handed
anyway, but I managed. I flashed the metallic star in its little case.
"Federal marshal, asshole. Keep your hands where we can see them until
the nice policemen arrive."

'What are you arresting us for?" the blond asked in his German accent.
"We have done nothing."

'Oh, I don't know. We'll start with carrying concealed weapons without a
permit, then suspicion of grand theft auto." I patted the side of the
Impala. "This ain't your car, and whatever your friend over there
dropped on the floorboard is going to be illegal. Just call it a hunch."

'Bobby Lee, we don't need this big a crowd."

He grasped my meaning and barked another order in that odd guttural
almost-German.

The wererats melted away in that too-quick-to-follow-with-the-eye blur
of speed I'd seen them use once or twice.

Claudia stayed at her post, and Bobby Lee refused to leave, but it was
just the three of us when the first policeman saw us. Well, five if you
count the bad guys.

Two uniformed officers came up the alley, walking, because the truck
that was blocking the road hadn't moved, but the wererat that had been
driving it was walking just ahead of them with his hands laced on the
top of his head. With his hands up, it flashed that his shoulder holster
was empty. They'd taken his gun.

I made sure my badge was held up as high as I could manage. I was
yelling "federal marshall" as they came around the corner.

The cops used the few cars on that side of the lot for cover, and
yelled, "Guns down!"

I yelled, "Federal Marshal Anita Blake, the rest of these people are
federal deputies."

Bobby Lee whispered, "Deputies?"

I spoke out of the corner of my mouth, "Just agree with me."

'Yes, ma'am."

I stepped back from the car enough to flash my badge better and yell,
"Federal Marshall Blake, glad to see you officers."

The officers stayed behind the engine blocks of the cars, but had
stopped yelling at us. They were trying to figure out how much trouble
they'd be in if we really were federal and they messed up what we were
doing, but they weren't worrying about politics so hard as to risk
getting themselves shot. I approved.

I lowered my voice and spoke to the men in the car, before I walked
towards the policemen. "Carrying concealed without a permit, weapons on
you that are illegal no matter what, a stolen car, and I'm betting when
your prints hit the system it lights up like a Christmas tree." I was
smiling and nodding at the two policemen hiding behind the cars. The
badge had calmed them, but they still had their guns out, and I heard
other sirens in the distance. They'd called for backup, I couldn't blame
them. They had no way of knowing any of us qualified as a cop.

I glanced at the blond. "Besides, the police around here take a dim view
of criminals following federal marshals around."

'We did not know you were police," the blond said.

'Your intel sucks," I said.

He nodded, his hands still on the steering wheel. "Yes."

I put my gun up and held my badge up very high, put both hands up to
show I was currently unarmed, and walked carefully towards the two
uniforms, and the others that were creeping, cautiously, guns drawn, out
of the alley. There were days when I truly loved having a badge. This
was sooo one of those days.

36

Three hours later I was sitting in the outer office of the police
station, sipping really bitter coffee, and waiting for someone to let me
talk to my prisoners. I had a badge, and I had the right to deputize
anyone I saw fit in an emergency. The police had taken Bobby Lee,
Claudia, and the one driver in for questioning. They'd been sent home an
hour ago. Bobby Lee had tried to insist he stay with me, but his lawyer
had told him going home after only two hours was a gift and he should
take it. He took it after I insisted. It helped that there had been an
MP5 Heckler and Koch submachine gun on the floorboard, not to mention
about half a dozen more smaller weapons, four knives, one of those
collapsible clubs, an ASP. Oh, and that the car they were driving wasn't
theirs.

The dark-haired guy who'd been so sullen turned out to be ex-army, so
his prints came up. Strangely, he had no criminal record. I would have
bet almost anything that he was a bad guy. But if he was a bad guy, he
was good enough at it to have never been caught.

The blond didn't exist, his prints weren't in our system. Because of the
German accent and my insistence, they'd forwarded both sets of prints to
Interpol to see if our boys were wanted outside the country, but that
would take time.

So I had been left to cool my heels in a very uncomfortable desk chair
beside the desk of a detective that never seemed to be there. The
nameplate read, "P. O'Brien," but as far as I'd seen in over three
hours, he was a myth. There was no Detective O'Brien, they just sat
people by his desk and assured them that he'd be coming to talk to them
soon.

I wasn't under arrest, in fact, I wasn't in trouble at all. I was free
to go, but I was not free to speak with the prisoners without someone
present. Fine by me, I talked to them with the nice policemen present.
None of us learned anything, but that they both knew that they wanted
their lawyers. Once they got read their rights that was all either of
them would say.

There was enough to hold them for at least seventy-two hours, but after
that we were up shit creek, unless their prints came back with an active
criminal warrant.

I took another sip of the coffee, made a face, and set it carefully on
the desk of the invisible detective. I thought I'd never meet coffee I
couldn't drink. I was wrong. It tasted like old gym socks and was nearly
as solid. I sat up straight and wondered about simply leaving. My badge
kept me and the wererats out of jail, and made sure the two bad guys
didn't get to go free, but that was about all. The local police weren't
happy with anyone with 'federal' as part of their title messing in local
crime.

A woman came to stand in front of me. She was about five eight, wearing
a black skirt that was longer than was stylish, but then, her
comfortable black shoes weren't exactly cutting edge either. Her blouse
was a dark gold that looked like silk but was probably something easier
to clean. Her hair had been dark brunette, but was so streaked with gray
and silver and white that it looked like she'd streaked it on purpose.
Natural punk.

Deep smile lines showcased a truly nice smile. She held her hand out to
me. I stood up to shake hands, and her handshake was firm, strong. I
glanced at the black suit jacket on the back of Detective O'Brien's
chair and knew who I was talking to even before she introduced herself.

'Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. We've had a busy day."
She motioned me to sit back down.

I sat. "Understandable."

She smiled, but her eyes didn't match the smile now, as if she didn't
believe me. "I'm going to be in charge of this case, so I just want to
get a few things clear." She laid the folder she'd been carrying on her
desk, opened it, and seemed to be reading some notes.

'Sure," I said.

'You don't know why these two men were following you, correct?"

'No, I don't."

She gave me a very direct look out of her dark gray eyes. "Yet, you felt
the matter was so urgent that you deputized," she checked her notes,
"ten civilians to help you capture these two men."

I shrugged and gave her pleasant, empty eyes. "I don't like being
followed by people I don't know."

'You told the officers on sight that you suspected the men of carrying
illegal weapons. That was before anyone had searched them, or the car.
How did you know they were carrying illegal weapons," there was the
slightest hesitation before she said, "Marshal Blake?"

'Gut instinct, I guess."

Those warm gray eyes suddenly went as cold as a winter sky. "Cut the
bullshit, and just tell me what you know."

I widened eyes at that. "I've told your fellow officers everything I
know, Detective O'Brien, honest."

She gave me a look of such withering scorn that I should have wilted in
my seat and confessed all. The trouble was, I had nothing to confess. I
didn't know shit.

I tried for honesty. "Detective O'Brien, I swear to you that I just
noticed that I had a tail today on the highway. Then I saw that the same
two men were outside where I was in a different car. Until I saw them
the second time, I was willing to believe I was being paranoid. But once
I knew they were following me, I wanted them to stop doing that, and I
wanted to know why they were following me in the first place." I
shrugged. "That is the absolute truth. I wish I knew something to
conceal from you, but I am as much in the dark on this one as you are."

She closed the file with a snap and hit it sharply on the desk as if to
settle the papers inside it, but it looked like an automatic gesture, or
an angry one. "Don't try batting those big brown eyes at me, Ms. Blake,
I'm not buying."

Batting my big brown eyes? Me? "Are you accusing me of trying to use
feminine wiles on you, Detective?"

That made her almost smile, but she fought off the urge. "Not exactly,
but I've seen women like you before, so cute, so petite, you give that
innocent face and the men just fall all over themselves to believe you."

I looked at her for a second, to see if she was kidding, but she seemed
serious. "Whatever axe you're grinding, find someone else's forehead to
sink it into. I have come in here and told nothing but the truth. I
helped get two men off the streets that were carrying firepower with
armor-piercing, cop-killing ammo. You don't seem very damned grateful."

She gave me very cold eyes. "You're free to leave anytime, Ms. Blake."

I stood, then smiled down at her, and knew my eyes were as cold and
unfriendly as hers. "Thanks so much, Ms. O'Brien." I emphasized the Ms.

'That's Detective O'Brien," she said, as I'd almost been sure she would.

'Then it's Marshal Blake to you, Detective O'Brien."

'I earned the right to be called detective, Blake; I didn't get
grandfathered in on some technicality. You may have a badge, but it
doesn't make you a cop."

Jesus, she was jealous. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I
would get nowhere rising to the bait and fighting with her. So I didn't.
Bully for me.

'I may not be your kind of cop, but I am a duly appointed federal
marshal."

'You can interfere on any case involving the preternatural. Well, this
one doesn't involve the preternatural." She gazed up at me, face calm,
but still showing signs of anger. "So have a nice day."

I blinked at her, and counted, slowly, to ten.

Another detective came striding up. He had short curly blond hair,
freckles, and a big grin. If he'd been any newer to plainclothes, he'd
have squeaked when he walked. "James said we caught some sort of
international super spy, is that true?"

A look passed over O'Brien's face, a look of near pain. You could almost
hear her thinking, shit.

I grinned at the other detective. "Interpol came back with a hit, huh?"

He nodded eagerly. "The German guy is wanted all over the place,
industrial espionage, suspected terrorism…"

O'Brien cut him off, "Go away Detective Webster, go the fuck away from
me."

His smile faltered. "Did I say something wrong? I mean the marshal here
brought them in, I thought she…"

'Get away from me, now," O'Brien said, and the growl of warning in her
voice would have done a werewolf proud.

Detective Webster walked away, without saying another word. He looked
worried, and he should have. I was betting O'Brien carried grudges to
the grave, and made sure everyone paid up.

She looked at me, and the anger in her eyes wasn't just for me. Maybe it
was for the years of being the only woman on a detail, maybe the job had
made her bitter, or maybe she'd always been a grumpy-grumpy girl. I
didn't know, and I didn't really care.

'Catching an international terrorist in these days and times could make
a person's career," I said, sort of conversationally, not really looking
at her.

The look of hatred in her eyes made me want to flinch. "You know it
will."

I shook my head. "O'Brien, I don't have a career in the police
department. I don't even have a career with the Feds. I am a vampire
executioner, and I help out on cases where the monsters are involved. Me
having a badge is so new and so unprecedented that they're still arguing
on whether we'll have rank as federal marshals, or be able to move up in
rank at all. I'm not a threat to your promotion. Me taking credit won't
help my career a damn bit. So help yourself."

Her eyes toned down from hatred to distrust. "What's in it for you?"

I shook my head. "Don't you get it yet, O'Brien? What did Webster say,
international spy, industrial espionage, suspected terrorism, and that's
just the top of the list."

'What of it?" she said, hands clasped over the file folder on her desk
like she was shielding it from me, as if I'd snatch it and run with it.

'He was following me, O'Brien, why? I've never been out of the country.
What does an international bad ass like this want with me?"

She gave a small frown. "You really don't know why they were following
you, do you?"

I shook my head. "No, and would you want someone like that following you
around?"

'No," she said, and her voice had softened, was uncertain. "No, I
wouldn't." She looked up at me, eyes hard, but not as hard as they had
been. She didn't apologize, but she did hand me the file folder. "If you
really don't know why they're after you, then you need to know just how
bad a man you've dug up… Marshal Blake."

I smiled. "Thank you, Detective O'Brien."

She didn't smile back, but she did send Detective Webster for fresh
coffee for both of us. She also told him to make a fresh pot, before he
poured our cups. I was liking Detective O'Brien more and more.

37

His name was Leopold Walther Heinrick. He was a German national. He was
suspected of almost every large crime you could think of. And by large I
mean not petty. He wasn't a purse-snatcher, or a con artist. He was
suspected of working for terrorist groups worldwide, mostly those with a
decided Aryan bias. It wasn't that he'd never taken money from people
that weren't out to make the world safe for bigots, but he seemed to
prefer to work with them. He'd been linked to espionage that specialized
in helping paler people either stay in power or get power over people
that were less pale.

The file contained a list of known associates, with pictures of some of
them. A few of the pictures were the equivalent of mug shots, but most
were grainy faxes of surveillance photos. Faces in profile, faces caught
dashing to cars, into and out of buildings in distant countries. It was
almost as if the men knew they were being photographed, or feared they
would be. There were two faces that I kept coming back to--two men--one
in profile wearing a hat, and the other a blur of face staring out at
the camera.

O'Brien came over to stand beside me, looking down at the two pictures
that I'd laid side by side on the edge of her desk. "Do you recognize
them?"

'I'm not sure." I touched the edge of the pictures, as if that would
make them more real, make them give up their secrets.

'You keep coming back to them," she said.

'I know, but it's not like I know them-know them. More like I've seen
them somewhere. Somewhere recent. I can't place them, but I know I've
seen them, or two people very similar." I peered down at the grainy
images, gray and white and black, made up of little dots, as if the fax
was a copy of a copy of a copy. Who knew where the original had come
from?

O'Brien seemed to pick up what I was thinking, because she said, "You're
working from faxes of bad surveillance photos. You'd be lucky to
recognize your own mother in these."

I nodded, then picked up the one with the big dark-haired man in it. He
was about to get into a car. There was a generic older building behind
him, but I wasn't a student of architecture, it told me nothing. The man
was looking down as if watching his step off a curb, so I didn't have a
full front view even. "Maybe if I could see a front shot. Or did they
send us all they had?"

'They sent me all they had, or that's what they said." The look on her
face said she wasn't sure she believed that, but she had to act as if
she did. "They're pretty worried that more of Heinrick's friends might
be in the states. We're going to be giving a stack of these photos to
the patrol cops, with orders to follow and report, but not to
apprehend."

'You think they're that dangerous?" I asked.

She gave me a look. "You've read Heinrick's rsum, what do you think?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, he sounds dangerous." I went over the list of known
associates again. "None of these rings a bell." I closed the folder and
laid it behind the two pictures. I picked up the second photo this time,
the one of the pale-haired man. His hair looked white in the photo.
White or a very, very pale blond. There wasn't much background to help
me judge his size. It was a full-face shot, up close, only his upper
body showing. He was leaning over a table, talking. This was a better
photo, more detailed, but I still couldn't place him.

'Was this taken with one of those concealed spy cameras?"

'Why do you ask?"

I moved the photo so she could look straight down on it. "It's an odd
angle for one thing, up, like the camera is low, about hip level. You
don't usually take photos from the hip. Second, he's talking but not
looking at the camera, and it's too natural. I'd bet good money he
doesn't know he's being photographed."

'You could be right." She took the photo from me and looked at it,
turning it a little to get a better angle on it. "Why does it matter how
the photo was taken?" Her eyes had gone nice and cold, good cop eyes,
suspicious, wanting to know what I knew.

'Look, I've watched you guys try to question Heinrick and his friend.
They sound like a fucking broken record. You can hold them for
seventy-two hours, but they can spend every hour of that time saying
nothing."

'Yeah," she said.

'We could go fishing. Tell Heinrick that his friends really need to
watch themselves better. You can't tell where these photos were taken.
The blond is just in a room."

O'Brien shook her head. "No, we don't know enough to go fishing, not
yet."

'If I remember where I've seen these guys, we might," I said.

She looked at me, as if I'd finally done something interesting. "We
might," her voice was cautious.

'Even if I don't remember where I saw them, if it gets close to the
seventy-two hours, can we try bluffing?"

'Why?" she asked.

I crossed my arms over my ribs, and fought the urge to hug myself.
"Because I want to know why this bugger is following me. Frankly, if he
wasn't following me specifically I'd be more worried about St. Louis in
general."

She frowned. "Why?"

'If Heinrick and crew were in town in general, then I'd say we have
terrorism to worry about. Probably something with a racial bent." I
touched the folder without opening it. "Though he's worked a few times
for people of color, as the saying goes. Wonder how he justified that to
his white supremacist friends?"

'Maybe he's just a mercenary," O'Brien said. "Maybe the fact that he's
worked for the white supremacist is coincidental. They were the people
who had the money at the time he needed it."

I looked up at her. "You believe that?"

'No," she said, and smiled. "You think more like a cop than I thought
you would, Blake, I'll give you that."

'Thanks." I took it as high praise, which it was.

'No, if it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's a duck, and
his dossier reads like he's a white supremacist that isn't above taking
money from the very people he wants to destroy. He's a racist, not a
zealot."

I nodded. "I think you're right."

She looked down at me for a second or two, then nodded, as if she'd made
up her mind. "If the seventy-two hours gets close, you can come and
we'll play go fish, but I think we're going to need better bait than a
couple of grainy photos."

I nodded. "I agree. I'll do my best to come up with more before we have
to beard the lion in its den."

'Beard the lion in its den?" she shook her head. "What have you been
reading?"

I shook my head. "I have friends that read to me, if there aren't
pictures, I'm pretty much lost."

She gave me another of those looks, half disgust, half trying not to
smile. "I doubt that, Blake, I doubt that very much."

Actually, Micah, Nathaniel, and I were taking turns reading aloud to
each other at night. Micah had been shocked that neither Nathaniel nor I
had ever read the original Peter Pan, so we'd started with that. I'd
then discovered that Micah had never read Charlotte's Web. Nathaniel had
read the book to himself as a child, but no one had ever read it to him.
In fact, he didn't ever remember being read to as a child. That was all
he said, just that he'd never had anyone ever read aloud to him when he
was small, but that one bit of knowledge seemed to speak volumes. So we
were taking turns reading aloud to each other, a bedtime ritual that was
more homey, and strangely more intimate than sex, or feeding the ardeur.
You didn't read your favorite childhood stories aloud to people you
fucked, you read them to people you loved. There was that word again,
love. I was beginning to think I didn't know what it meant.

'Blake, Blake, you in there?"

I blinked up at O'Brien and realized she'd been talking to me, and I
hadn't heard her. "Sorry, really, I guess I'm thinking too hard."

'Whatever you were thinking about didn't look too happy."

What was I supposed to say, some of it was, some of it wasn't, like most
of my personal life. What I said out loud was, "Sorry, it's unnerved me
a little to have someone like Heinrick after my ass."

'You didn't look scared, Blake, you looked like you were thinking too
damned hard."

'I've had hit men after me before, but not terrorists who specialize in
politics. There is nothing political about what I do." The moment I
heard it leave my mouth, I realized I was wrong. There were two types of
politics that I was deeply involved in, furry, and vampire. Shit, had
Belle hired him? No, it didn't feel right. I'd touched her mind too
intimately; she still thought she could own me. She wouldn't destroy
what she believed she could control, or use.

Richard was still digging out of the political mess he'd made of his
pack when he tried to make them a true democracy. You know--one vote per
person. It so hadn't worked, because he'd forgotten to keep that
presidential veto power. He was Ulfric, wolf king, but he'd gutted the
office of Ulfric and still hadn't built back up the respect and power
base he needed. I was helping him rebuild, but some of the pack saw my
involvement as another sign of weakness. Hell, so did Richard.

But to my knowledge no one was trying to move in on Richard's pack.
Neighboring packs were giving us a wide berth until the dust settled.
There wasn't anyone worthy of challenging him for pack leader except
Sylvie, and she had held off, because she liked Richard, and didn't want
to have to kill him. If Richard hadn't been afraid of what Sylvie would
do as Ulfric he might have just stepped down for her, but he knew, and
Sylvie had admitted, that her first order of business would be to kill
anyone she suspected of disloyalty. That could be a dozen, or two.
Richard wasn't willing for that to happen. But Sylvie would have come
directly to my face if she had a problem. So…

I looked up at O'Brien. She was watching me, trying to read me. I had no
idea what she'd seen as the different thoughts played over my face. I
was definitely not on top of my game today.

'Talk to me, Blake," she said.

I decided for half-truth, better than nothing. "I was thinking that
there's one type of politics I do participate in."

'And that is?"

'Vampires. I've got close ties to the Master of the City of St. Louis. I
don't think Heinrick would knowingly work for a vampire, but he might
not know. Most people like this work through intermediaries, so no one
ever sees faces."

'Why would some vampire want to kill you just because you're dating the
Master of the City?"

I shrugged. "The last time someone tried to kill me, it was for pretty
much that reason. They thought it would weaken… the Master, make his
concentration bad."

She leaned on the edge of her desk, arms crossed on her stomach. "You
really think that's it?"

I frowned and shook my head. "I don't know. I don't think so, but it's
the only politics I could think of."

'I'll put a note in the file, pass it up the line," she said. "We could
offer you some police protection."

'You got the extra budget for that?"

She smiled, but not like she was happy. "Heinrick has terrorist in his
dossier. Trust me, right now, with the T-word in the picture, I could
swing the man power."

'Wouldn't that be person power?" I said, straight faced, looking her
dead in the eye.

She snorted. "Oh, please, I'm not that P.C., and I don't think you are
either."

'Sorry, couldn't resist."

'Besides you've worked with the police long enough to know that it
usually is man power."

'Too true," I said.

'How about the police escort, or some surveillance?"

'Let me think about it," I said.

She pushed away from her desk. She didn't exactly tower over me, but she
was tall. "Why won't you let us help protect you, Ms. Blake?"

'Could I have a copy of the report?"

She smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. "Apply through channels, I'm
sure you'll have one in a day or two."

'Can't I just use the Xerox machine?"

'No," she said.

'Why not?"

'Because you wouldn't take police protection, which means you are hiding
something."

'Maybe, but if you give me copies of the photos I might be able to I.D.
them."

'How?"

I shrugged. "I've got a few connections."

'You think your connections give better intelligence than the
government?"

'Let's just say that I know the motives and priorities of my
connections. I can't say the same for every branch of my government."

We looked at each other for a few heartbeats. "I won't try and debate
this with you."

'Good, now can I have a copy of at least the photos?"

'No." And it had that ring to it of finality.

'You're being childish," I said.

She smiled, but it was more a baring of teeth, a friendly snarl. "And
you're hiding something. If it comes back and bites this investigation
on the ass, I'll have your badge for it."

I thought about saying try and see how far you get, but I didn't. I was
new enough to the badge that I wasn't really sure what I could lose it
over, and what I couldn't. I probably should look into those kinds of
details.

'I don't know enough about why Heinrick was trailing me to hide
anything, O'Brien."

'So you say."

I sighed and stood up. "Fine."

'Have a nice day, Blake. Go talk to your connections and see where it
gets you. I'll stick with the government and Interpol." She gave an
exaggerated shrug. "Call me old-fashioned."

'Suit yourself," I said.

'Just go," she said.

I went.

38

I opened the Jeep and heard my cell phone ringing. I kept leaving it in
the car, forgetting I had it. I slid onto the warm leather of the seats,
fumbling for the phone from under the seat, even as I closed the door
behind me. Yeah, it would have been cooler with the door open, but I
didn't want my legs hanging out the open door while I lay across the
seat. Not because bad guys were after me, just normal girl paranoia.

I finally dug the phone out on the fourth and last ring before it went
over to message mode. "Yeah, it's me, what?" I sounded rude and out of
breath, but at least I picked up.

'Ma petite?" Jean-Claude made the word almost a question as if he wasn't
a hundred percent sure he'd gotten me.

With the gearshift digging into my side, and the overheated leather
against my arm, I still felt better. Better to hear his voice, better to
know he'd called me first. He couldn't be all that mad at me if he
called first.

'It's me, Jean-Claude, I forgot the phone in the Jeep again, sorry." I
wanted to say other things, but I couldn't figure out how to get the
right words out of my mouth. Part of the problem was I wasn't sure what
the right words were.

'The police have taken Jason," he said.

'What did you say?"

'The police have come and taken Jason away." His voice was matter of
fact, empty even. Which usually meant he was hiding a lot of emotions,
none of which he wanted to share.

I moved over an inch so the gearshift wasn't stabbing me, and lay on the
seats for a moment. The first hint of panic was fluttering around in my
gut. "Why did they take him?" My voice sounded almost as normal and
matter of fact as Jean-Claude's.

'For questioning about a murder." His empty, cultured voice said it, as
if the M-word hadn't been there.

'What murder?" I asked, and my voice was getting emptier.

'Sergeant Zerbrowski said you'd figure it out. That bringing Jason to a
crime scene was a bad idea. I was not aware you took anyone on your
crime scene visits."

'You make it sound like I'm visiting friends."

'I meant no insult, but why was Jason with you?"

'I wasn't feeling well enough to drive, and the police didn't want to
wait for me to feel better."

'Why were you unwell enough not to drive?"

'Well, it seemed to be because Asher took a hell of a lot of blood. And
I was having a bad reaction to having my mind rolled. It left me feeling
a bit sick."

'How sick?" he asked, and there was a note of something in his empty
voice now, something I couldn't quite place.

'I fainted a couple of times, and threw up, okay? Now let's concentrate
on the current crisis. Did they actually arrest Jason?"

'I could not get a good sense of that, but I think not. They did take
him away in restraints, though."

'That's standard with any known, or suspected, lycanthropes," I said. I
pushed myself up, so I could sit on the seat instead of lying across it.
The front of a Jeep just wasn't made for lying across. "You do know that
if they didn't arrest him then he's free to walk out of questioning at
any time?"

'It is a pretty theory, ma petite," now he sounded tired.

'It's the law," I said.

'Perhaps for humans," he said, voice mild.

I couldn't keep the indignation out of my voice. "The law applies to
everyone, Jean-Claude, that's the way the system works."

He gave a soft laugh, and for once it was just a laugh with nothing
otherworldly about it. "You are not usually so naive, ma petite."

'If the law doesn't apply evenly to everybody, then it doesn't work at
all."

'I will not argue this with you, ma petite."

'If Zerbrowski picked him up, I know where they took Jason. I'm not that
far from RPIT headquarters."

'What are you going to do?" he asked, voice still holding the soft edge
of his laughter.

'Get Jason out," I said, buckling on my seat belt, and trying to pin the
phone against my shoulder enough to start the Jeep.

'Do you think that is possible?" he asked.

'Sure," I said, and nearly dropped the phone, but I got the Jeep
started. I seemed to be having a little trouble coordinating everything
today.

'You sound so confident, ma petite."

'I am confident." I was, the fluttering feeling in my stomach wasn't.
"I've got to go."

'Good fortune, ma petite, I hope you rescue our wolf."

'I'll do my best."

'Of that, there is little doubt. Je t'aime, ma petite."

'I love you, too." We hung up, at least we'd ended with I love you. It
was better than screaming at each other. I dropped the phone on the seat
beside me and put the Jeep in gear.

One emergency at a time. Save Jason, contact some people I knew to see
if they knew anything about Heinrick, then prepare for the big banquet
with Musette and company. Oh, and figure out how to keep the mess with
Asher from driving a permanent wedge between Jean-Claude and me. Just
another day in my life. This was one of those days when I thought that
maybe a new life, a different life, wouldn't be so bad. But where the
hell had I put the receipt, and could you return something that was over
twenty years old? Where do you go to get a new life when your old one
has you so puzzled you don't know how to fix it? Wish I knew.

39

No one stopped me at the door. No one stopped me at the stairs. In fact,
people kept saying, "Hi, Anita, how you doing?" I wasn't an official
member of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team, but I'd worked
with them all for so long that I was like the office furniture,
something that was there, accepted, even expected.

It was Detective Jessica Arnet that finally said something to me that
wasn't just, hi. "Where's that cutie you always have in tow?"

'Which one?" I asked.

She laughed at that, and blushed a little. It was the blush that got my
attention. She always flirted with Nathaniel, but I'd never thought much
about it, until I saw her blush.

'You do seem to have more than your share of cuties, but I meant the one
with violet eyes."

I'd have bet money that she knew exactly what Nathaniel's name was. "He
stayed home today," I said.

She laid the stack of folders down on a desk, not her own, and pushed
back her hair from her face. There wasn't enough of her dark hair to
push back. It looked like an old gesture from when she'd had longer
hair. The short, barely below-ear-level cut really didn't flatter her
face. But the face was still good, triangular, with delicate bones that
framed her smile nicely. I'd never really noticed, but she was pretty.

Did Nathaniel ever want to date, just date? Not the dominance and
submission stuff, but like dinner and a movie. Someday I'd have the
ardeur under control and wouldn't need a pomme de sang, right? That had
been the plan. So Nathaniel should like--date. Shouldn't he? If I wasn't
going to keep him, he should date.

I had a headache starting right between my eyes.

Detective Arnet almost touched my arm, but stopped in mid-gesture. "Are
you alright?"

I forced a smile. "Looking for Zerbrowski."

She told me what room he was in, because she didn't know she wasn't
supposed to. Hell, I wasn't even sure she wasn't supposed to.
Technically, this was part of the investigation that Dolph had wanted my
input on, so I had a right to be there when they questioned suspects. In
my head it all sounded logical, but a little desperate, as if I were
trying way too hard to convince myself.

I went up on tiptoe outside the door, so I could look in the little
window. Television will make you think that all police interrogation
rooms have huge one-way mirrors that take up almost an entire wall. Very
few departments have either the budget or the space for that kind of
thing. Television uses it because it's more dramatic and makes camera
work easier. It seemed to me that real life is dramatic enough without
big windows, and there are no good camera angles, only pain. Or maybe I
was just in a rotten mood.

I wanted a quick peek into the room to make a hundred percent sure I had
the right place. Jason was at the little table, Zerbrowski was sitting
across from him, but what got me flat-footed, was that Dolph was leaning
against the far wall. Zerbrowski had said he was on leave for a couple
of weeks. Had Zerbrowski lied to me? That didn't feel right. But what
was Dolph doing here?

I gave one sharp knock on the door. I waited, steeling myself to be
calm, or at least to look calm. Zerbrowski opened the door a crack. His
eyes looked surprised behind his glasses.

'This isn't a good time," he said. He tried to tell me with his eyes
that Dolph was in the room.

'I know Dolph's here, Zerbrowski. I thought he was supposed to be on
leave for a few weeks."

Zerbrowski sighed, but his eyes were angry. Angry at me, I think, for
not slinking off and making things worse. Making things worse was one of
my specialties; Zerbrowski should have known that by now.

'Lieutenant Storr is here because he is still head of the Regional
Preternatural Investigation Team, and he brought this suspect to our
attention."

'Suspect? Why is Jason a suspect?"

'You don't want to do this in the hallway, Anita."

'No, I don't, I want to come in the room, so we can all talk like
civilized human beings. You're the one keeping me out in the hallway."

He licked his lips, and almost turned and looked at Dolph, but fought
the urge. "Come in," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "but stay on
this side of the room."

I followed Zerbrowski inside and went where he motioned so that I ended
up with the table between me and Dolph. It was almost as if Zerbrowski
didn't trust what Dolph would do.

'You are not letting her sit in," Dolph said.

Zerbrowski squared his shoulders and faced Dolph. "We asked her to help
us on this crime scene, Dolph."

'I didn't," he said.

'Actually, yeah, you did," I said.

Dolph opened his mouth, then closed it in a tight thin line. He hugged
his arms so tight, it looked like it hurt, as if he didn't trust what
his hands would do if they weren't wrapped around something. There was a
look of such rage in his eyes. He usually had some of the best cop eyes
I'd ever seen, empty, gave nothing away. Today his eyes gave everything
away, but I didn't understand where the anger was coming from.

Jason was sitting at the end of the table, trying to seem as small and
inoffensive as possible. Since he's not much taller than I am, he was
doing a good job of it.

Zerbrowski shut the door and sat on the side of the table close to
Dolph, leaving me the chair farther away.

I didn't sit. "Why did you pull Jason in?"

'He has defensive wounds on his body consistent with the crime."

'You don't actually believe that Jason was involved in that," I searched
for a word, "slaughter, do you?"

'He's a werewolf and he's got defensive wounds," Dolph said, "if he
didn't rape our vic, then he raped somebody."

'You're here to observe, Lieutenant," Zerbrowski said, but his face said
plainly that he would have rather been anywhere than sitting here,
telling Dolph to mind his own business.

Dolph started to say something, then stopped himself by force of will
alone. "Fine, fine, Sergeant, carry on." Those last two words held more
heat than a forest fire.

'Wait," I said, "did you say rape?"

'We found semen at the first murder site," Zerbrowski said.

'The crucifixion?" I asked.

'No," Dolph said harshly, "the woman who was ripped apart."

'Semen doesn't mean rape at a scene like that, just that he enjoyed
himself. It's sick, but it doesn't necessarily mean true sexual contact.
I saw the body, there wasn't enough left of her to know whether he
touched her like that, or not." I had a thought, an awful thought.
"Please tell me you don't mean the head."

Zerbrowski shook his head, "No. Scattered over the scene."

It was almost a relief. Almost. "So why did Dolph say rape?"

'There was a little more left of the second female vic," Zerbrowski
said.

I looked at him. "I don't remember being notified about a second
attack."

'You didn't need to know," Dolph said. "You were right, I called you in
on the first one, but I didn't make the same mistake twice."

I ignored Dolph as best I could and looked at Zerbrowski. He mouthed,
"Later."

Fine, Zerbrowski would fill me in when we had some non-Dolph time. Fine,
great. I couldn't do anything about the psycho shape-shifter we had
running around town, not right that second, but I might be able to do
something about the current disaster.

'What did Jason say when you asked where he got scratched up?"

'Said a man doesn't kiss and tell," Zerbrowski said, "even I thought
that one was lame."

I looked at Jason. He shrugged, as if to say, what was I supposed to
say. He knew me well enough to know I wouldn't want him talking out of
school. He was right on that. I so didn't want Zerbrowski and Dolph to
know. Hell, I didn't want anyone to know. But my embarrassment wasn't
worth Jason getting locked up.

I sighed, and spoke the truth. "The scratches aren't defensive wounds."

'He's cut up, Anita, and we got the Polaroids to prove it," Zerbrowski
said. "Dolph noticed some scratches at the first scene. They're gone,
but now he's got fresh wounds."

'I cut him up." My voice sounded bland, because I was fighting to sound
bland.

Dolph gave a sound that was more snort than laugh. No words were needed
to say he didn't believe me.

Zerbrowski said his out loud, "Shop it somewhere else, Anita, we're not
buying."

I raised the sleeves on my shirt and showed my own healing scratches.
"When I was afraid I'd hurt him more, I scratched myself."

Zerbrowski's eyes went wide. "Jesus, Blake, you always this rough?"

'You'll never find out Zerbrowski."

'If that was a yes, then I'm okay with that." He almost touched some of
the deeper scratches on my arm, then stopped and almost touched the
scratches on Jason's arms. "I hope the sex was good."

Jason looked down at the tabletop, and did his best impression of an
aw'shucks look. He managed to look coy and pleased with himself all at
the same time.

'That's answer enough," I said.

Jason flashed me a grin that made his baby blues sparkle. "Whatever you
say, mistress."

I gave him a very mean look, that didn't dim his enjoyment one bit.

Dolph pushed away from the wall to peer over the table at my arm. "I
don't buy this, Anita. Maybe you scratched your own arms up on the way
here to give him an alibi."

'The scratches aren't that fresh, Dolph."

He started to grab my arm, but I stepped out of reach. "I don't want to
be manhandled again, thanks anyway."

He leaned across the table at me, and Jason began to ease his chair
back, as if he didn't want to be in the middle.

'You're lying," Dolph said. "A shape-shifter heals anything but silver
and wounds from another monster, real quick. You taught me that, Anita.
He should be healed by now, if you really were the one who hurt him."

'Wouldn't that same logic dictate that if the scratches were from the
female victim then they'd already have healed?"

'Not if they come from the second victim." Dolph slapped that bit of
information down as if it were a blow, and in a way it was.

I looked at Zerbrowski. "I can't debate the healed scratches thing if I
don't know the time line. I need a time."

He opened his mouth, but Dolph answered, "Why, so you can give the
perfect alibi?"

'Gee, Zerbrowski, I don't see your hand up Dolph's ass, but it must be,
because every time I ask you a question, the answer comes out his
mouth." I was leaning across the table now, too.

'His scratches are older than yours, Anita," Dolph said, voice almost a
growl of its own, "more healed. You'll never prove in court that they
happened at the same time."

'He's a shape-shifter. He heals faster. I taught you that. Remember?"

'Are you really admitting that you fucked him?" Dolph said.

I was too angry to flinch at his choice of words. "I prefer the term
made love to fucked, but yeah, we did the nasty."

'If that was true, the marks would have healed completely by now. If
you're only human, like you keep telling me."

The headache between my eyes felt like something was trying to stab its
way out of my skull. I really wasn't in any mood for this. "What I am,
or what I am not, is none of your damn business. But I'm telling you
that I marked him up in the heat of passion. More than that, chances are
good he was with me when the second murder took place. We can give you
times, if you want."

'Times would be good," Zerbrowski had scooted his chair a little farther
down the table, but he hadn't deserted his post. He'd stayed closer to
all that quivering rage than most people would have.

I had to think about it, but I managed to give him approximate times for
the last two days. Truthfully, I wasn't much good on alibng Jason for
the first murder, but on the second, I was pretty sure I had him
covered.

Zerbrowski was doing his best to give blank cop face while he wrote down
what I said. The entire interview was being recorded, but Zerbrowski,
like Dolph, liked to write things down. I hadn't really thought about it
before, but Zerbrowski might have learned that habit from Dolph.

Dolph stayed standing near the table, looming over all of us, as I
spoke. Zerbrowski asked small questions to nail the times as clearly as
possible.

Jason stayed as quiet and still as he could through all of it. His hands
clasped together on the table, head down, eyes taking small quick
glances at all of us, without moving his head or body. He reminded me of
a rabbit hiding in the long grass, hoping that if he just stayed quiet
enough, still enough, that the dogs wouldn't find him. The analogy
should have been laughable. I mean, he was a werewolf. But it wasn't
funny, because it was accurate. Being a werewolf didn't protect you from
the human laws, most of the time it hurt you. Sometimes it even got you
killed. We weren't in that kind of danger, yet, but that could change.

A shape-shifter accused of murdering a human got a speedy trial and an
execution. If a shape-shifter was declared rogue, one that was actively
hunting humans, and the police couldn't capture it, then you could get a
court order of execution, just like for a vampire. It worked almost the
same way. A vampire that was suspected of murder but was still eluding
capture and deemed a danger to the public could have an order of
execution issued by a judge. Once you had the order of execution in hand
you could kill it when you found it. Just insert shape-shifter for
vampire into the formula and it worked the same way. There was no trial,
no anything--just hunt it down and kill it. I'd done a few jobs like
that. Not many, but a few.

There'd been a movement a few years ago to make a magic-using human
subject to orders of execution, but too many human right's organizations
had kicked a fit. As a magic-using human, I was happy. As someone who
had executed people on orders of the court, I wasn't sure how I would
have felt about hunting a human being down and killing them. I'd killed
humans before when they threatened my life, or the lives of those I held
dear. But self-defense, even proactive self-defense wasn't quite the
same thing. A human witch or wizard got a trial, but if they were
convicted of using magic for murder, it was an automatic death sentence.
Ninety-nine percent of the time the witch or wizard was convicted.
Jurors just didn't like the idea of people who could kill by magic
walking around free. One of my goals in life was to stay the hell out of
a courtroom.

I knew Jason hadn't done anything wrong, but I also knew enough about
the way the system worked to know that for those of us who weren't
exactly human, sometimes innocence didn't matter much.

'Can anyone else verify these times?" Zerbrowski asked.

'A few people, yeah," I said.

'A few people," Dolph said. He looked disgusted, and I didn't understand
this emotion either. "You don't even know who the father is, do you?"

That made me give him a deer in headlights blink. "I don't know what you
mean."

He gave me a look, as if I'd already lied to him. "Detective Reynolds
told us her little secret."

I looked at him across the table. He was still leaning over, and I was
still standing, so we were almost eye-to-eye. "So?"

He gave a sound between a snort and a cough. "She wasn't the only one
who passed out at the murder scene, and she wasn't the only one who
threw up." He looked as if he'd made a great point, driven it home with
a surgeon's precision.

I frowned and blinked at him. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?" I
let myself look as confused as I felt.

'Don't be coy, Anita, you're not good at it."

'I'm not being coy, Dolph, you're making no fucking sense." Then an idea
popped into my head, but that couldn't be it. Dolph wouldn't think…

I looked at him, and thought, maybe he would think that. "Are you
implying that I'm pregnant?"

'Implying, no."

I relaxed a little. I shouldn't have.

'I'm asking, do you know who the father is, or have there been too many
to guess?"

Zerbrowski stood, and he was close enough to Dolph that it forced him to
move a little way from the table. "I think you should go now, Anita,"
Zerbrowski said.

Dolph was glaring at me. I should have been angry, but I was too
surprised. "I've thrown up at murder scenes before."

Zerbrowski moved a little back from the table. He had a resigned look on
his face, like someone who saw the train coming down the track and knew
nobody was going to get off in time. I still didn't think things were
that bad.

'You've never passed out before," Dolph said.

'I was sick, Dolph, too sick to drive myself."

'You seem fine now," he said, voice low and rumbling, filled with that
anger that seemed always just below the surface lately.

I shrugged. "I guess it was just one of those viruses."

'It wouldn't have anything to do with the fang mark on your neck would
it?"

My hand went up to it, then I forced myself not to touch it. Truthfully,
I'd forgotten about it. "I was sick, Dolph, even I get sick."

'Have you been tested for Vlad's syndrome, yet?"

I took in a deep breath, let it out, then said, fuck it. Dolph wasn't
going to let this one go. He wanted to fight. I could do that. Hell, a
nice uncomplicated screaming match sounded almost appealing.

'I'll say this once, I'm not pregnant. I don't care if you believe me,
because you're not my father, you're not my uncle, brother, or anything.
You were my friend, but even that's up for grabs right now."

'You're either one of us, or you're one of them, Anita."

'One of what?" I asked. I was pretty sure of the answer, but I needed to
hear it out loud.

'Monster," he said, and it was almost a whisper.

'Are you calling me a monster?" I wasn't whispering, but my voice was
low and careful.

'I'm saying you're going to have to choose whether you're one of them,
or one of us." He pointed to Jason when he said them.

'You join Humans against Vampires, or some other right wing group,
Dolph?"

'No, but I'm beginning to agree with them."

'The only good vampire is a dead one, is that it?"

'They are dead, Anita." He took that step closer, that Zerbrowski's
moving had given him. "They are fucking corpses that don't have enough
sense to stay in their godforsaken graves."

'According to the law, they're living beings with rights and protection
under the law."

'Maybe the law was wrong on this one."

Part of me wanted to say, you know that this is being recorded? part of
me was glad he'd said it. If he came off sounding like a bigoted crazy
then it would help keep Jason safe. The fact that it wouldn't help
Dolph's career did bother me, but not enough to sacrifice Jason. I'd
like to save all my friends, but if someone is bent on self-destruction,
there is only so much you can do. You can't shovel other people's shit
for them, not unless they're willing to pick up a shovel and help.

Dolph wasn't helping. He got down low, hands flat to the table and
pushed his face into Jason's. Jason moved back as far as he could in the
chair. Zerbrowski looked at me, and I gave wild eyes. We both knew that
if Dolph touched a suspect the way he'd touched me earlier his career
was well and truly over.

'It looks so human, but it's not," Dolph said.

I didn't like the use of the it for one of my friends.

'Did you really let him touch you?"

Him. See, even if you hate the monsters, it's hard to keep straight in
your own head what's an it, and what's a him. "Yes," I said.

Zerbrowski was moving around Dolph, trying to get to Jason, to get
between them, I think.

Dolph turned to look at me, still bent over low, way too close to Jason
for anyone's comfort. "And the bite on your neck, was that the
bloodsucker you're fucking?"

'No," I said, "that was a new one. I'm fucking two of them now."

He staggered almost as if he'd taken a blow. He leaned heavily on the
table, and for just a second I thought he'd fall into Jason's lap, but
he recovered himself with a visible effort. Zerbrowski touched the big
man's arm. "Easy there, Lieutenant."

Dolph let Zerbrowski sit him down. He made no reaction when the sergeant
eased Jason out of the chair and farther away from Dolph. Dolph wasn't
looking at them. His pain-filled eyes were all for me. "I knew you were
coffin bait, I didn't know you were a whore."

I felt my own face go hard and cold. Maybe if I hadn't been so tired, so
stressed--but there was no real excuse for what I said next, except that
Dolph had hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him. "How's that grandchildren
problem coming Dolph? You still got a vampire for a soon-to-be
daughter-in-law?"

I felt Zerbrowski react to the news, and knew in that moment that only I
had known. "You really shouldn't piss off people you've confided in,
Dolph." The moment I said it, I wished I hadn't, but it was too late.
Too fucking late.

He came up out of the chair, hands under the table, and upended it with
a tremendous crash onto the floor. We all scattered. Zerbrowski stood in
front of Jason against the far wall. I took a corner near the door.

Dolph trashed the room. There was no other word for it. The chairs hit
the walls, and the table followed. He finally picked one chair up and
seemed to take a special grievance against it. He smashed the metal
chair against the floor, over and over.

The door to the interrogation room opened. Police filled the door, guns
drawn. I think they expected to see a rampaging werewolf. The sight of a
rampaging Dolph stopped them dead in the doorway. They'd have probably
cheerfully shot the werewolf, but I don't think they wanted to shoot
Dolph. Of course, no one volunteered to arm wrestle him either.

The metal chair folded in upon itself, and Dolph collapsed to his knees.
His harsh breathing filled the room, as if the walls themselves were
breathing in and out.

I went to the door and chased everyone back. I said things like, "It's
okay. He'll be fine. Just go." I wasn't sure he'd be okay, or fine, but
I really did want them to go. No one needs to see their Lieutenant lose
it. It shakes their faith in him. Hell, my faith wasn't doing all that
well.

I closed the door behind them and looked across the room at Zerbrowski.
We just stared at each other. I don't think either of us knew what to
say, or even what to do.

Dolph's voice came as if from deep inside him, as if he had to pull it
up hand-over-hand like the bucket in a well. "My son's going to be a
vampire." He looked at me with a mixture of such pain and anger, that I
didn't know what to do with it.

'You happy now?" he said. I realized that there were tears drying on his
face. He'd cried as he'd destroyed everything. But he wasn't crying as
he said, "My daughter-in-law wanted to bring him over, so he'd be
twenty-five forever." He made a sound that was halfway between a moan
and a scream.

Saying I was sorry didn't seem to be enough. I couldn't think of
anything that would be enough. But sorry was all I had to offer. "I'm
sorry, Dolph."

'Why, why sorry, vampires are people, too." The tears started again,
silent. You'd never have known he was crying if you hadn't been looking
directly at him.

'Yeah, I'm dating a bloodsucker and some of my friends don't have a
pulse, but I still don't approve of bringing humans over."

He looked up at me and the pain was flooding over the anger. It made his
eyes harder and easier to meet all at the same time. "Why? Why?"

I didn't think he was really asking me why. I believed what I believed
about vampires. I think it was the universal cry of why me? Why my son,
my daughter, my mother, my country, my home? Why me? Why isn't the
universe fair? Why doesn't everyone get a happy ending? I had no answer
for that why. I wished to God I did.

I answered the implied why, because I couldn't answer the other more
painful questions. "I don't know anymore, but I do know that it creeps
me out every time I meet someone I knew first as a live human, then as a
dead vampire." I shrugged. "It just seems, I don't know, unnerving."

He gave a big hiccupping sob. "Unnerving…" He half laughed and half
cried, then he covered his face with his hands and he gave himself over
to crying.

Zerbrowski and I just stood there. I don't know which of us felt more
helpless. He walked carefully around the room, bringing Jason with him.

Dolph sensed the movement and said, "He goes nowhere."

'He had nothing to do with this," I said.

Dolph wiped at his face angrily. "You haven't alibied him for the first
murder."

'You're looking for a serial killer. If a suspect is cleared of one of
the crimes then he's usually innocent of all of them."

He shook his head stubbornly. "We can keep him seventy-two hours, and
we're going to."

I looked around the destroyed room, met Zerbrowski's eyes, and wasn't
sure Dolph had enough clout to make those kinds of pronouncements
anymore.

'The full moon is in a few days," I said.

'We'll put him in a secured facility," Dolph said.

Secured facilities were run by the government. They were places where
new lycanthropes could go and be sure of not accidentally hurting
anyone. The idea was you'd stay until you got control of your beast,
then they'd let you out to resume your life. That was the theory. The
reality was that once you were signed in, voluntarily or otherwise, you
almost never got out. The ACLU had started the years of court battles it
would take to get them outlawed, or made unconstitutional.

I looked at Zerbrowski. He stared at me with a sort of growing horror
and weariness. I wasn't sure he had the juice to keep Jason out of
permanent lockup if Dolph pushed. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't
let it happen.

I looked back at Dolph. "Jason has been a werewolf for years. He has
perfect control over his beast. Why send him to a secured facility?"

'He belongs in one," Dolph said, and the hatred had chased back the
pain.

'He doesn't belong in a lockup, and you know it."

Dolph just glared at me. "He's dangerous," Dolph said.

'Why?"

'He's a werewolf, Anita."

'So he needs to be locked up because he's a werewolf."

'Yes."

Zerbrowski looked ill.

'Locked up just because he's a werewolf," I said it. I wanted him to
hear what he was saying, to disagree, to come to his senses, but he
didn't.

'Yeah," he said. And he said it, on tape, evidenced, un-take-backable.
It could and probably would be used against him. There was nothing I
could do to help Dolph, but I knew in that moment that Jason wouldn't be
going to a secured facility. Half of me was relieved, half of me was so
scared for Dolph that I could taste metal on my tongue.

Zerbrowski went for the door, pushing Jason ahead of him. "We'll give
you a few minutes alone, Lieutenant." He motioned at me with his head.

Dolph didn't try and stop us. He just knelt there, face shocked, as if
he'd finally heard his words, finally realized what he might have done.

We all went out the door, and Zerbrowski closed it firmly behind us.
Everyone in the squad room was looking at us. They tried not to be, but
everyone had found something to do to keep them close at hand. I'd never
seen so many detectives so eager to do paperwork at their desks, or even
somebody else's, as long as the desk was close to the hallway.

Zerbrowski looked at the near wall of people and said, "Break it up
people, we don't need a crowd."

They all looked at each other, as if asking should we move, should we
listen to him? They would have moved without question for Dolph. But
finally, they did move, drifting off in ones and twos to other parts of
the big room. The ones who were at their own desks close to the action
seemed to remember phone calls they needed to make.

Zerbrowski bent close to me, and spoke low, "Take Mr. Schuyler with you
and go."

'What'll Dolph say?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know, but I know that Schuyler here doesn't
deserve to go to one of those facilities."

'Thanks, Sarge," Jason said, and he smiled.

Zerbrowski didn't smile back, but he did say, "You're a pain in the ass
sometimes Schuyler, and you're a furball, but you aren't a monster."

They had one of those guy moments. Women would have hugged, but they
were men, which meant that they didn't even share a handshake. "Thanks,
Zerbrowski."

Zerbrowski gave a weak smile. "Good to know I'm making somebody happy
today." He turned back to me. We looked at each other.

'What's going to happen to Dolph?" I asked.

He looked even more solemn, which considering he'd looked downright
depressed before, said a lot. "I don't know."

Dolph had said enough on tape to lose him his job, if it got out. Hell,
if the head of RPIT was this prejudiced it might bring all their cases
under review, going back to the beginning.

'Make sure he takes the two weeks of personal time, Zerbrowski, keep him
out of here."

'I know that," he said, "now."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, of course you do."

'Just go for now, Anita, please, go."

I touched Zerbrowski's arm. "Don't go back in there without some backup,
okay."

'Perry told me what Dolph did to you the other day. Don't worry, I'll be
careful." He glanced back at the closed door. "Please, Anita, go before
he comes out."

I wanted to say something. Something comforting, or helpful, but there
wasn't anything. The only helpful thing I could do was leave. So we did.

Leaving felt cowardly. Staying would have been stupid. When it's a
choice between being cowardly or stupid, I choose stupid every single
time. Today I opted for the better part of valor. Besides, I wasn't sure
that Dolph might come out of the room like some rampaging bull and try
to attack Jason, or me. We might be able to hush it up in an
interrogation room, but if he trashed the entire squad room, it would
mean the end of his career. Right now, he maybe had shot his career in
the foot. Even probably. But maybe and probably were better than
certainly. I left Zerbrowski to pick up the pieces, because I didn't
know how.

I was so much better at destroying things than fixing them.

40

Jason leaned his head back against the passenger seat of the Jeep. His
eyes were closed, and he looked weary. There were hollows under his eyes
even with them closed. Jason was fair-skinned, not pale. He didn't tan
dark, but nicely golden. Today he looked vampire pale, and his skin gave
the illusion that it was too thin, as if some great hand had been
rubbing around his eyes and across his face, rubbing him down like you'd
worry a pebble in your hand.

'You look like shit," I said.

He smiled, without opening his eyes. "You sweet-talker."

'No, I mean it, you look terrible. Are you going to be okay about
tonight, the banquet, and everything?"

He opened his eyes enough to slide his gaze towards me. "Do I have a
choice? Do any of us really have a choice?"

Put that way… "No, I guess not." My voice suddenly sounded tired, too.

He smiled again, his head still back against the seat, eyes almost
closed. "If the Lieutenant hadn't popped a major gasket, would I be on
my way to a secured facility, right now?"

I buckled myself into the driver's seat and started the Jeep.

'You didn't answer me," he said, voice low but insistent.

I put the Jeep in gear. "Maybe, I don't know. If Dolph hadn't been
popping a major gasket, as you put it, then he'd never have even thought
of putting you in a facility." I eased out of the parking area. "But he
might have called you in for questioning. You are pretty scratched up,
and you are a werewolf." I shrugged.

He stretched his arms up over his head, arching his body against the
seat, stretching all the way to his toes. It was an oddly graceful
gesture. The movement flashed the cuts on his arms, making his T-shirt
sleeves ride up, and he added a writhing movement, like a shudder, or a
wave that flowed from the tip of his fingers, down his arms, his chest,
the arch of his neck, his waist, the ripeness of his hips, down the
muscles of his thighs, to his calves, to his toes.

A loud honking and the screech of brakes brought me back to the road,
and the fact that I was driving. I managed not to hit anyone, but it was
close. I threaded my way through a forest of rude gestures and Jason's
laughter.

'I feel better now," he said, laughter still thick in his voice.

I glanced at him, frowning. His blue eyes were sparkling, his face
suddenly glowing with glee. I struggled, but finally had to smile back.
Jason had always been able to do that to me, make me smile when I didn't
want to.

'What is so damned funny?" I said, but there was an edge of laughter in
my voice that I couldn't quite swallow.

'I was trying to flirt, and it worked. You've never reacted to my body
before, not even when I was naked."

I concentrated on the road, really hard, while the blush burned my face.

He chortled. "You're blushing for me. Oh, God, yes!"

'Keep it up and you are going to piss me off." I turned onto Clark, and
headed for the Circus.

'You don't get it, do you?" He looked at me, and I couldn't read the
look on his face. Puzzlement, delight, and something else.

'Get what?" I asked.

'I'm not invisible on your guy-radar anymore."

'What?"

'You notice men, Anita, but you'd never noticed me. I was beginning to
feel like the court eunuch."

I gave him a quick frown before turning back to the road. I did not want
to risk another near miss. I'd had my adrenaline rush for the day.

'Come on, you know what I mean."

I sighed. "Maybe."

'Maybe it's because you don't do casual sex, but it means more to you
than just fucking, even with the ardeur on."

If I'd been standing I would have shuffled my feet. I had to settle for
concentrating really hard on my driving. "If you've got a point to make,
Jason, make it."

'Don't get all grumpy, Anita. My point is that even if we never touch
each other again, I'm on your radar screen now. You see me. You really
see me." He looked deeply content.

I was confused. When I'm confused I usually try and concentrate on work.
"Do you think the lycanthrope that's raping and killing these women is
local?"

'I know he's not," Jason said.

I looked at him, because he sounded so positive. "How can you be that
sure?"

'It was a werewolf, it wasn't one of our pack. There are no werewolves
in the St. Louis area that are not part of the Thronnos Rokke Clan."

'How do you know it was a werewolf? It could have been any of a dozen
types of half-men predators."

'It smelled like wolf." He frowned at me. "Didn't you smell it in the
house?"

'Mostly all I smelled was blood, Jason."

'Sometimes I forget you're not one of us, yet."

'Is that a compliment or a complaint?"

He grinned. "Neither."

'How can you be so sure it wasn't one of our werewolves?"

'It didn't smell like pack."

'Forget that I am human, and my nose isn't four hundred times more
sensitive and scent discriminating, and explain it to me simply."

'My nose in human form isn't as good as my nose in wolf form. The world
is so alive. Scenting is almost like sight. If you've never experienced
it, it's hard to explain, but in human form touch is probably secondary
to sight. In wolf form scent is secondary to sight, or in some cases,
ahead of it."

'Okay, say that's so, what does that mean for this investigation?"

'It means that I know the killer is a werewolf, and I know he's not one
of ours."

'Your opinion won't fly in court," I said.

'I didn't think it would. Honest, I would have mentioned what I'd
smelled in the house sooner if I hadn't assumed you smelled it, too." He
looked worried now, and suddenly younger because of it, all schoolboy
charm.

What he'd said got me thinking.

'Most breeds of scent hounds won't track a werewolf, or any wereanimal
for that matter. They go all shit-face, howling and whining and freaking
out. They basically tell the hunters, you're on your own," I said.

'I knew dogs didn't like us, but I didn't know they didn't like us that
much."

'Depends on the breed of dog, but most dogs don't want to mess with you
guys. I can't say I blame them."

'So I guess going down to the pound and picking out a dog is out then."

'You'd set the place on its ear."

'Okay, did you have a point?" he asked, and grinned again.

'Yes, could a werewolf in wolf form track this killer?"

Jason thought about that, face all serious again. "Probably, but I don't
think the police will go for it. They don't like us much, either."

'Probably they won't, but I'll float it by Zerbrowski when he calls."

'You're sure he's going to call?"

'Yes."

'Why?"

'Because we've got two dead women, and it's probably all over the
media."

'If you watched television, read a newspaper occasionally, or even
listened to the radio, you might know these things," Jason said.

'Probably true, but there's heat to solve this case, and more innocent
lives at risk. Zerbrowski will call, because they're grasping at straws
or they wouldn't have brought you in. If Dolph had a more promising
lead, even out of his head like he is, he wouldn't have been busting
your chops, or mine."

'You're sure of that?"

'He's a cop, above all else. If he had anything else to chase, he'd have
been out chasing it, not wasting time with you."

'I don't know, Anita, I didn't see much of the cop left today. He seems
like a man who's let his personal problems eat everything else."

I would have argued if I could have, but I couldn't. "I'll mention the
idea to Zerbrowski, if they get desperate enough they may go for it."

'How desperate would they have to be?"

I turned the Jeep into the parking lot of the Circus. "Maybe two more
bodies, maybe three. Using a werewolf to track a werewolf might appeal
to Zerbrowski's sense of humor, but getting the upper brass to agree
would be the problem."

'Two more women, maybe three, Jesus, Anita, why not try the desperate
measures before things get so damned bad?"

'The police are like most people, Jason, they don't like thinking
outside the box. Using a werewolf in animal form as a sort of
preternatural scent hound is way outside the freaking box."

'Maybe," he said, "but I smelled what was upstairs, Anita. So much
blood, so much meat. A human being shouldn't be reduced to meat and
blood."

'Aren't we all just food on the hoof?" I tried to make a joke of it, but
Jason looked offended.

'You of all people should know better than that."

'Maybe," I said, feeling my own smile slide away from my face. "Okay,
I'm sorry, no offense meant, but I've had too many shape-shifters
threaten me to have any illusions about where I am on the food chain.
And there are an awful lot of shapeshifters that still believe they are
at the top."

'I don't buy that radical crap about us being the top of the
evolutionary ladder," Jason said, "if we were really the perfection of
evolution, why have we been around for thousands of years, but yet, you
poor humans outnumber us, and usually outkill us?"

I parked near the back door and turned off the engine. Jason opened his
door, but said, over his shoulder as he was getting out, "Don't fool
yourself, Anita, plain old humans kill more of us than we ever will of
them." He smiled, but not like it was funny, "They even kill more of
each other than we kill of them." Then he was striding across the
parking lot. He never looked back.

I had offended Jason. Until that moment I hadn't been sure it was
possible to offend him. Either he was growing up, or I was getting less
diplomatic. Since I couldn't possibly get less diplomatic than usual,
Jason must have been growing up. For the first time in a while, I
wondered if he would always be content to be Jean-Claude's lap wolf and
appetizer. And stripper, too. But you can't strip and feed the vampires
forever, can you?

41

Bobby Lee met me at the door. Tall, light-haired, and almost shiny
compared to the dim storeroom behind him. But his mood was not shiny.
"The police should have let me stay with you."

'I don't think they believed my story about making you all deputies."

'You should have just said that we were your bodyguards."

'I'll do that next time, Bobby Lee." I filled him in on what I'd learned
at the police department while we walked down the nearly endless steps
that led from the storeroom to the lower parts of the Circus of the
Damned. The stairs were wide enough for four people to walk abreast, but
the steps themselves were oddly spaced, as if whatever they were
originally carved for wasn't very human. They definitely had not been
made for bipeds.

'I don't know the name Heinrick," he said.

I looked at him, so suddenly, that I stumbled, and he caught my arm. I
realized in that moment that I didn't know that much about Bobby Lee,
not really. "You work for Rafael, you can't be a white supremacist."

He let go of my arm when he was sure I was solidly on one of the odd
wide steps. "Honey-child, I know white supremacists that specialize in
hating people a little darker than Rafael."

'Real Southerners don't say honey-child."

He grinned at me. "They do if you Northern bastards expect it."

'We're in Missouri, that ain't exactly north."

'It is from where I came from."

'And that was?"

His smiled widened. "When we're not in the middle of an emergency we can
sit down and share personal time over a beer, or coffee. Right now,
concentrate, honey-child, cause we are neck-deep and sinkin'."

'If you don't know Heinrick, how do you know we're sinking?"

'I was a mercenary before Rafael's people recruited me. I know people
like Heinrick."

'What would somebody like that want with me?"

'They were watching you for a reason, Anita, you probably know what that
reason is, ya' just got to think of it."

I shook my head. "You sound like a friend of mine. He's always telling
me that when the shit hits the fan that I should know why the bad guys
are after me."

'He's right."

'Not always, Bobby Lee, not always." But the conversation did make me
think of Edward. He'd started his professional life as a hit man, then
killing humans became too easy, so he switched to monsters. Monsters
covered a lot of ground for Edward. No, among the vampires and
shape-shifters, he'd include serial killers, snuff film actors, anyone
and anything that caught his fancy. Though the price had to be right.
Edward didn't work for free. Well, not often. Sometimes he'd work simply
for the thrill of chasing something that scared the rest of us mere
mortals to death.

'Does anyone in Rafael's operation have contacts in nongovernmental
channels? I don't want anyone owing anyone a favor for this. I don't
want anyone getting in trouble. I just want to know what the regular
government channels either don't know, or aren't sharing with the St.
Louis police department."

'We have some ex-military, special forces, things like that. I'll ask
around."

I nodded. "Good." And I'd call Edward, see if he knew Heinrick. I
started walking down the steps again. Bobby Lee fell in beside me,
though since he was six feet and I so wasn't, it was probably an awkward
stride for him. He didn't complain, and I didn't offer to speed up. I
wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing Jean-Claude or Asher again. I
still didn't know what to say.

We were within sight of the big heavy door that led into the underground
areas. It was partially ajar, waiting for us. "By the way, Jean-Claude
and Asher request your presence in Jean-Claude's room."

I sighed, and my unhappiness must have shown on my face, because he
touched my arm. "Don't look so glum, honey, they said something about
owing you an apology."

My eyebrows went up at that. An apology, them owing me. I liked the
sound of that. I liked the sound of that a lot.

42

It wasn't the apology I was expecting, but under the circumstances, any
apology was better than none. Especially if I wasn't having to give it.
Of course, it took them nearly five minutes to get me to hear the
apology, because once I got a good look at the two of them in their
banquet finery, I was rendered speechless, deaf, and damn near blind to
anything else.

I don't think it was magic or vampire trickery. They just looked fine.
Asher wore a jacket of pale gold with darker gold embroidery, and an
edge of true metallic gold thread shot through the embroidery itself.
There was a touch more gold at collar, lapels, wide cuffs. Just enough
extra sparkle to mingle with the gold of his hair as it cascaded over
his shoulders and add emphasis to the gestures of his hands. His shirt
was a foam of white frills at chest and wrist, like a tamed cloud. I
knew from rifling through Jean-Claude's closet that the shirt wasn't
nearly as soft as it appeared. The pants were the same pale gold as the
jacket with a line of embroidery down either side of his leg. Boots the
color of oyster shells graced his legs, their tops folded down just
above the knees, tied with pale brown leather belts and small gold
buckles, which could be glimpsed as he moved.

I noticed Asher first, maybe because of his powers, or maybe because he
was all shiny and gold and eye-catching. It was like noticing the sun.
You couldn't help but see it, to turn to face the heat of it, to bask in
the glory of it. But often when the sun is high in the sky, the moon is
up there, too. A dim memory of what she will be in the night, but there,
nonetheless, dim and misty, hard and white. At night, there is only the
moon, the sun is nowhere to be seen. There are no distractions when the
moon rules the night sky.

Jean-Claude's coat was a black velvet so soft and fine that it shown
like fur. It was opera length, flowing down to his ankles. There was
embroidery on the lapels and wide cuffs, a deep royal blue. The
embroidery on the coat matched that on the black vest, but the shirt
that showed in all that black and royal was the same shade of blue of
the silk sheets on the bed. Cerulean blue, a color caught between the
skies of day and night. It brought out the blue of his eyes so that they
were like living jewels set amid the black of his hair, the near pure
whiteness of his skin.

The silk was mounded into soft ruffles at his chest, and tucked into the
vest. A gold and sapphire stickpin pierced the ruffles at his chest. The
stone was almost as large as one of his blue eyes. Cuff links winked as
he gestured, gold, with sapphires almost as large as the one on his
chest. The sapphires were that cornflower blue, like a drop of Caribbean
Sea water made solid.

His hair was a mass of black curls. It was almost as if he'd done less
to it than normal, letting it tousle around his face and shoulders. The
black of his hair blended into the black of his coat, so that the hair
was like a living accessory.

For a moment I thought he was wearing leather pants, until I realized
the black boots ran up the entire length of his leg. He was wearing
black pants but they were barely visible. I got just a flash of the back
of the boots when he moved. The entire length of the boot from ankle to
ass was tied with a blue cord that matched the startling blue of his
shirt.

I was caught between going yippy-skippy I get to play with them both,
and running like hell. I managed to simply stand there in the middle of
the room and not run, or fall at their feet like a groupie. Though that
last part took more determination than I'd ever admit out loud.

'Ma petite, have you heard a word that we have said?"

I remembered that their mouths had been moving while I gazed at all that
masculine splendor, but for the life of me I couldn't repeat a word of
it. I blushed as I admitted, "Not really."

He looked exasperated, hands on hips, spreading the coat backwards,
flashing more of the blue cord as he paced towards me. "It is as I
feared, Asher. She is besotted with you. If we cannot," he made a
waffling motion with his hands and I saw the sapphire ring for the first
time, winking at me in the candlelight, "tone this effect down, she will
be useless tonight."

'If I had dreamt that she could be so totally affected I would have held
back."

Jean-Claude turned and faced Asher. I could see that there was blue
embroidery on the back of the coat. It made a pattern or picture, but I
couldn't figure it out through the spill of hair. "Would you, mon ami,
would you truly have withheld such pleasure? Could you have resisted?"

'If I had known this, oui. I would not have weakened us with Musette and
her people here, not for any pleasure."

I frowned and shook my head. "Hold it guys." They turned and looked at
me. They both looked surprised, I think because I sounded so normal.
"This can't be Asher's powers, not unless his fascination extends to
Jean-Claude, because you both seem equally nifty. I feel like jumping up
and down and saying yippee, I get to play with them both." I blinked and
fought not to blush. "I'm sorry, did I just say that out loud?"

The two men exchanged glances, then Jean-Claude turned back to me, and
Asher directed that pale blue gaze on me. "What are you saying, ma
petite? I have never seen you stand so speechless and insensible before
me."

I looked at the two of them and shook my head. "Fine, you need a
reminder, I can do that." I walked past them to the full-length mirror
that sat on the opposite side of the room. I motioned them both over.
"Come on, come on, we don't have all night."

They finally drifted over to me, looking puzzled. I got a little
distracted watching them glide towards me in all that silk and leather
and sparkly stuff. But finally, I had them standing in front of the
mirror, though they weren't looking at the mirror, they were looking at
me, still puzzled.

I finally had to touch each of them lightly on the arm and maneuver them
so that the golden cream of Asher's coat spilled against the black
velvet of Jean-Claude's. So that black curls intermingled with golden
waves. I pushed them together until the startling blue of Jean-Claude's
shirt and the sapphire pin brought out the blue of both of their eyes.

'Look at yourselves, and tell me that any mere mortal isn't going to
stand there and say wow, for a few minutes."

They looked into the mirror, they looked at each other, and finally
Jean-Claude smiled. Asher didn't.

'If it were merely Asher's powers then, you are correct, ma petite, it
would not extend to me." He turned to face me, still smiling. "But I
have never seen you this besotted."

'You just haven't noticed."

He shook his head. "Non, ma petite, I would have noticed such a
phenomenon before."

I shrugged. "Maybe I've never seen you both dressed to kill before. The
double impact is a little overwhelming."

He moved away enough to turn in a graceful circle, arms out, showing off
the outfit. "You think it is too much?"

I smiled, almost laughed. "No, not even close, but I'm allowed to stand
dumbfounded in the presence of such beauty."

'Trs poetic, ma petite."

'Looking at the two of you, I only wish I was a poet, because I can't do
you justice. You look amazing, wondrous, specfuckingtacular."

Asher walked to stand at the far end of the room beside the false
fireplace. It was hard to see in the dimness, but tonight someone had
put two tapered candles on the mantel piece, each encased in crystal, so
they glimmered like jewels. Asher's hair sparkled in the uncertain
light. He put one hand on the mantel, his head down to stare at the cold
hearth, as if the new fire screen Jean-Claude had added was trs
fascinating. The fire screen was a huge antique fan encased in glass.
The colors were vibrant reds, greens, a brilliant spray of flowers and
delicate lace. It was pretty, but not that pretty.

I looked at Jean-Claude for some clue, and he merely motioned me to
follow Asher across the room. When I just stood there, Jean-Claude took
my hand and led me over to the other man.

Asher must have heard us coming, because he said, "I was very angry with
you, Anita, very angry. So angry I did not think you might have just
cause to be angry with me."

Jean-Claude squeezed my hand as if to tell me not to interrupt, but I
seemed to be ahead on the discussion, so I hadn't planned to say a word.
Never interrupt when you're winning.

'Jason told us how ill you were after I took blood from you. If you were
as ill as he has reported then you would naturally fear my embrace." He
looked up, suddenly, eyes wide and almost wild, lost in the glow of his
hair and the flickering candlelight. "I would not have hurt you. It has
never been so…" he seemed to be searching for a word, "terrible for
any of my other," again he hesitated, "victims."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, because I agreed with part of what
he'd said. I felt that he'd made me a victim of his powers, by not
asking first. But whether I'd been aware of it, or not, somewhere in the
back of my mind I must have been thinking about the problem all damn
day, because I knew one thing for certain. I wasn't completely in the
right, either. Damn it.

I let go of Jean-Claude's hand, because the feel of his skin against
mine made it harder to concentrate right now.

'I can see where you might have gotten the idea that I understood what
sharing blood with you would mean. I did ask you to bite me, I did offer
to feed you, and you were right, I did know that your bite could
overwhelm my natural defenses." It was my turn to look down at the
pretty fire screen that would never know the touch of flame. "I just was
so out of my head with," I almost couldn't say it, "desire that I wasn't
thinking clearly. But that wasn't your fault. You could only go with
what I said out loud."

I looked up, met those eyes. "Oh, hell, Asher, even if you could have
read my mind at that moment I wanted you to take me, whatever that
meant. There were no rules or stop signs in my head." I let out a long
breath, and it shivered, because I was afraid of this, afraid of
admitting it out loud, afraid of it all. I was afraid of being consumed
by desire or love or whatever the hell you want to call it. "I wanted
you to take me while Jean-Claude made love to me. I wanted us all to be
together as of old."

'It is not of old for you, Anita," Asher said. He looked past me at
Jean-Claude. "See, it is as we feared, she is besotted with me through
your memories. It is not real what she feels for me. With my powers of
fascination or without them, it is not real."

'That sounds like what I've been saying, Asher," I said. "That because
you mind-fucked me I'll never know if what I feel for you is real. But I
can tell you this, what I felt for you before, that was real. It isn't
you before the holy water that I think of, it's you now, just as you
are."

He shook his head and looked away, making his hair a barrier between us,
so I couldn't see his face. "But I did use my powers to fascinate you,
as a snake fascinates a bird. I captured your mind, and I meant to do
it."

I touched his hair, and he jerked away from me, moved down the mantel
out of reach. I didn't try and follow. I took in a lot of air and blew
it slowly out. I'd have rather faced a dozen bad guys than this next bit
of conversation.

'In your defense, I think we were naked and doing the nasty before you
rolled my mind."

He looked up, face barely clear enough through the shadows and uncertain
light for me to see he was puzzled. "Nasty?"

'Having sex," Jean-Claude said. "It is a quaint American slang term for
it, to do the nasty."

'Ah," Asher said, though he didn't look any less puzzled.

I plowed on. I'm nothing if not determined once I've made up my mind.
"My point is this, we were already having sex. You hadn't rolled my mind
when I agreed to everybody taking their clothes off. You hadn't rolled
my mind when we had foreplay. You hadn't rolled my mind when I was
licking the back of your knees, and other things." I forced myself to
meet his slowly calming eyes. "I volunteered for all that. If I could
have figured out a way for you to be inside me that didn't include fangs
I would have, but I wanted you both inside me."

I had to close my eyes, because I suddenly had a visual so strong that
it nearly made my knees buckle. With the visual came the wave of
sensation. It didn't make me claw the air this time. But I was left with
a death grip on the mantelpiece, and my breath coming in gasps.

'Ma petite, are you well?"

I shook my head. "Compared to the first time I flashed back on the
orgasm, yeah, I'm peachy."

'Quelle?" Asher asked.

'She has experienced the pleasure of us earlier today."

Asher looked even less happy. "She has every symptom. I did not believe
she would. I thought her necromancy would protect her."

'I should also tell you that I think Belle Morte had something to do
with how sick I was. She was feeding on me and Richard through you two."

Jean-Claude leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Jason had told us
that ma petite. But I still believe that your power has struggled with
Asher's power all day. It is the old question of what would happen if an
irresistible force met an immovable object."

'Asher being the irresistible force and me the immovable object," I
said.

'Oui."

I'd have liked to argue with the division of labor, but it was too
damned appropriate. "So what does that mean for us being together as a
mnage  trois again?"

Jean-Claude had a moment of something showing on his face, then he went
to his blankest of blank faces. It was Asher who spoke, "You would be
willing to do this again?"

I started to let go of the mantelpiece, decided not to, just in case,
and said, "Maybe." I looked at Jean-Claude, his careful beautiful face.
"I think Jean-Claude has finally found something that he won't
compromise on."

'Whatever do you mean, ma petite?"

'I mean if I cost you Asher, it will drive a wedge between us."

'So I am something that you will take to your bed to be with
Jean-Claude!" He was suddenly enraged, eyes full of liquid blue fire.
His humanity folded away before my eyes to leave him pale and still
beautiful, but it was the beauty of carved rock and jewels, a hard,
bright beauty with no life to it, no softness, nothing human. He stood
before me with his golden hair moving around his face like a halo, blown
by the wind of his own power. He was wondrous and horrible, a terrible
beauty, like the angel of death come to find you.

I wasn't afraid of him. I knew Asher wouldn't hurt me, on purpose. I
knew more that Jean-Claude wouldn't allow it. But I'd had enough. Enough
of Asher and of me. In some perverse way Asher and I were well matched
in a bad need-therapy sort of way. We both had so many issues about
personal intimacy and so many hoops that people had to jump through,
that even I was tired of it.

I unbuckled my belt and started sliding it through the loops, when it
was far enough back; I slid the belt out of the loop on my shoulder
holster.

Asher asked in a voice that echoed through the room, crawled down my
spine, "What are you doing?"

I finished taking my belt off, then shrugged out of my shoulder holster.
"I'm getting undressed. I assume that Jean-Claude's got some clothes
around here somewhere for me, too. Though I am so not wearing an outfit
that matches yours if it has like petticoats and stays and stuff. You
can't move in that shit."

'Have no fear, ma petite, I have held your preferences in the forefront
of my thoughts, as I chose the clothing." He held his hands out to the
side and struck a lovely, if overly dramatic poise. "Even our clothing
is comfortable and easy to move about in."

We were both ignoring the vampire that was glowering at us. Nothing
takes the wind out of your sails when you're trying to be scary like
being ignored.

I started to take my shirt off, but stopped. I did not want to have to
go through the glowing cross routine again. I did not want to mess with
it. So I went for the bed, where I could take off my shoes in comfort.

'So Jason told you what else Belle did?"

'She has given you the first mark, oui."

'She knows, Jean-Claude, she knows that Richard and I don't have the
fourth mark." I hopped up on the bed, laying my belt and shoulder
holster beside me. I concentrated on untying my shoes, because I did not
want to go where I feared the discussion would go.

'You will not look at me now, ma petite. Why, is it that you fear what I
will say?"

'I know that if you gave me the fourth mark that she couldn't mark me
again. I'd be safe from her."

'Non, ma petite, no lies between us. She could not mark you as hers, but
you would not be safe. I could use this as an excuse to claim that last
bit of you, but I will not, because I fear what Belle would do."

I looked up at him, one shoe in my hand. "What do you mean?"

'For now, she thinks she may be able to claim you as her human servant.
She may be able to use you to increase her own power. If she finds you
are beyond her reach in that way, she may decide that you are better off
dead."

'If she can't have me, then nobody else gets me either, is that it?"

He gave a small nod, and an almost apologetic shrug. "She is a very
practical woman."

'No, she's a very practical vampire. Trust me, Jean-Claude that is a
whole new level of practicality."

He nodded. "Oui, oui, I would argue if I could, but it would be lies."

Asher was walking towards us now. His eyes were still glowing that
drowning blue as if a winter's sky had filled his skull, but for the
rest, he looked as ordinary as he ever did. Which was extraordinary. But
at least he wasn't raising a small wind of his own otherworldly power or
levitating a few inches off the floor.

'You are both weakened by not sharing the fourth mark. Neither of you is
as powerful without it. You know that, Jean-Claude."

'I do, but I also know Belle. She destroys that which she cannot use."

'Or casts it aside," Asher said, voice soft, holding sorrow enough to
make my throat tight.

I had my shoes off, my jogging socks tucked into them on the floor.
"Casting you aside did destroy you," I said. I meant it to be soft, but
it came out pretty much like I usually sound.

He glared at me, his pupils swimming up through the blue fire like an
island reborn from the sea.

'What I mean, Asher, is that she chose what would hurt you worse than
death. To be cast out from her affections, from Jean-Claude's bed, since
his bed was hers."

'She would not kill me because she promised Jean-Claude she would not."

I glanced at Jean-Claude.

'I came back to her for a hundred years, if she could save Asher's life.
If he died, I was free of her."

'So she worked to keep me alive," Asher said, and his voice was bitter
enough to choke on. "There were nights when I cursed you for my life,
Jean-Claude."

'I know, mon ami. Belle Morte often pointed out that if only I would
allow you to die, you could be spared such humiliation."

'I did not know that she gave you that choice."

Jean-Claude looked away, not meeting the other man's eyes. "It was
selfish on my part. I would rather you alive and hating me, than dead
and past all hope." He looked up then, and his face was raw with
emotion, so unlike his usual polite blankness. "Was I wrong, Asher?
Would you rather have died all those years ago?"

I sat on the bed, watching them, waiting for the answer. In a way I was
an audience, in a way I wasn't there at all.

'There were moments when I longed for death."

Jean-Claude turned away. Asher touched his arm, fingertips on the
velvet. That small touch seemed to freeze Jean-Claude. If he was
breathing, I couldn't see it. "Last night was not one of those moments."

They stared at each other. Asher's fingertips barely touching
Jean-Claude's arm. There was so much between them, centuries of pain and
love and hate. It was as if all of it boiled in the air, almost visible
in the flickering light. I wanted to say kiss and make up, but I knew
they wouldn't. I don't know what issues they had about each other, but
they seemed unable to do things like that without their Julianna. She'd
been the bridge between them. The thing that allowed them to love each
other. Without her, they stood on the brink of the abyss and gazed at
each other, separated by a chasm that neither knew how to cross.

I could never be Julianna. I had too many memories of her. For God's
sake she'd done embroidery. She'd been gentle and kind and everything I
didn't think I was. But there was one thing I might be able to do.

I slid off the bed, and went first to Asher, because I didn't want to
set him off again. I went on tiptoe, and he had to bend down a little
for me to kiss him, but he didn't fight me. I held his face in my hands
like it was a cup carved of some delicate stone, something that would
shatter if you abused it. I kissed him softly, drinking from that cup as
the sacred gift it was. I went to Jean-Claude with the taste of Asher
still on my lips. I cupped his face as I had held Asher's, and I kissed
him. He barely moved under my mouth.

I stood back from the two of them. "Now, we've kissed and made up. We
need to get me dressed, and we need to talk before the banquet."

Jean-Claude's voice came out low and hoarse, as if he wasn't breathing
well. "Talk of what, ma petite?"

'The Mother of All Darkness."

'Jason spoke of her, too, but I hoped he was misunderstanding."

'It cannot be the Sweet Mother," Asher said, "she has not woken in a
millennium."

'She's not awake, Asher, but she's moving around like a restless
sleeper."

The two men looked at each other. It was Asher who said, "I would put
aside petty differences until we are at the bottom of this most grave
mystery."

'What petty differences?" I asked.

'Whether we are to be a mnage  trois, or no."

I shook my head. "I adore you, Asher, but I don't have enough energy
left to shovel this much emotional shit. Do you realize that you have
more hang-ups about personal intimacy than I do?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, then gave that Gallic shrug.

'We're actually well-matched in a I-haven't-beaten-you-to-death-yet,
sort of way. But for now, let's both try to put our personal mess aside.
Okay, please."

He gave a graceful bow. "As my lady commands, so shall I obey."

'For as long as it suits you," I said.

He laughed then, and it was a good laugh, a sound that glided down my
skin and jerked at things low in my body. It brought a sigh from my
lips. "Now, where are my clothes for this little disaster tonight?"

43

I had, of course, complained about my clothes. The black velvet and blue
silk seemed to be offering my breasts up like pale ripe fruits. The
colors emphasized the near translucence of my skin with the undertone of
blue highlights. But I knew what the blue highlights really were--blood.
Blue blood inside my veins that would burst red when oxygen hit it.

Stephen had done my hair and makeup. He'd done them before, for these
little get-togethers. He regularly did it for the other strippers at
Guilty Pleasures. I had let him put my hair in a pile of loose curls on
top of my head, so that my neck looked white and bare. Asher's bite
marks stood out starkly against all that flesh.

'My neck and breasts look like they should be on a plate with a sign
saying 'come and get it.'"

Stephen stepped back from applying the last bit of eyeliner. "You look
lovely, Anita." He probably meant it, but his blue eyes were all for the
makeup, for his work. He saw me as a canvas. He frowned slightly, did
some minute adjustment near my eyes that left me blinking. He dabbed
with a Kleenex then stepped back again.

He looked me over from the top of my head to the end of my chin, then
nodded. "It's good."

'It's positively appetizing," Micah's voice came from the doorway. He
stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The moment I saw
him, I knew I'd lost all rights to bitch about what I was wearing.

The color was turquoise blue, with enough green to make his eyes blaze
green. The shirt had holes at the top of his shoulder, in the middle of
his upper arm, and two in the middle of his forearm. Black cord was
threaded through the cloth and tied around his elbow, above and below
the holes to keep the cloth from sliding around. The cuffs were wide and
stiff, with shiny black buttons, with cutouts on the underside so the
skin of his wrists was bare, just as the holes at his elbows left those
spots bare. His skin looked very tanned, very smooth, very warm against
the turquoise.

The pants matched the shirt--and not just in color. There were holes on
the sides that flashed the perfect smoothness of his hip, down to
glimpses of thigh. The holes probably went farther down, but black boots
cut off the view just above his knee.

The pants were so tight that he really didn't need a belt, but there was
a black cord threaded through the unnecessary belt loops that swung as
Micah walked. He was actually almost to me when I realized there were
holes on the inside of the pants legs, too.

I shook my head. "There's more holes than cloth."

He smiled at me. "I'm food, so you've got to be able to reach the blood.
Jean-Claude didn't want anyone to have an excuse to undress anyone."

I glanced at Jean-Claude. "He's not feeding any of these people."

'Non, ma petite, he is ours, and ours alone, but we do not want to have
to undress him either. If all of us keep our clothes firmly in place,
then so will they. It would be a faux pax of gigantic proportions if
they undress their food and we do not. It is our house, and our rules."

Put that way it was hard to argue, but I still wanted to. Then I looked
at Micah's face more closely. "He's wearing eye makeup." I got off the
chair that I'd sat in while Stephen fixed me and walked closer to Micah.
He was wearing more than just eye makeup, but it was all so artfully
done that you didn't see it at first.

'I could not resist those eyes," Jean-Claude said, "they deserved to be
decorated."

Micah's hair was tied completely back from his face in a bun that was a
graceful mix of French braid and sheer art. "Where did all the curl go?"
I asked.

'It has been blow dried straight," Jean-Claude said. He came and almost
touched Micah's hair, to show how lovely it was. "He did not protest
anything that we did to make him so pretty." Jean-Claude gave me a look,
out of his own black-lined eyes. "It was a refreshing change."

Micah blinked those amazing eyes that someone's art had made even more
amazing. "You don't like it?"

I shook my head. "No, I like it. I mean, you're beautiful." I shrugged.
"I don't know, it's just a very different look for you." I turned to
Jean-Claude. "I've never seen you in this much makeup."

'Belle Morte broke me of wishing to see myself this way." He was
shielding as he said it, as if whatever memory went with those words was
nothing he wanted to share.

'So why pretty Micah up like this?"

'You don't like it," Micah repeated.

I frowned. "That's not it. Why do it now? What do we gain by having you
look like this, because don't try and tell me there's no purpose to it."
I turned to include Asher in his chair across the room in the look I
gave Jean-Claude. "Neither of you would go to this much trouble tonight
without a reason. I've heard nothing but both of you complaining that we
don't have enough time to get everyone presentable for the banquet." I
gestured at Micah. "This took a lot of time that could have been used
elsewhere. So I'm asking, both of you, what gives?"

They exchanged a look, then Asher looked studiously at the floor. He
pretended to be studying his perfectly manicured fingernails, but I
wasn't fooled.

I turned back to Jean-Claude. "Out with it," I said.

He shrugged. It wasn't so much graceful as almost embarrassed. "Musette
was finally forced to give us the complete guest list. She has withheld
only three names, because they are part of the gift from Belle."

'So three mystery guests, what does that have to do with why you dolled
Micah up?"

'One of the vampires coming tonight has an eye for a beautiful man. Both
Asher and I fell afoul of him, more than once."

'And," I said.

'To flaunt such delectable meat in front of his table, yet not allow him
a taste or a touch, pleases us."

'So you're being petty," I said.

Jean-Claude was suddenly angry, it showed in his face, filled his eyes
with blue fire. "You do not understand, ma petite. Belle has sent Paolo
to torment us. He is to remind us what we were, and how helpless we
were. We went to anyone that Belle gave us to, anyone. She did not do it
casually, but if our bodies in another's bed would gain her something
she wished, then she used us, and let others do the same."

He stalked in a tight circle, the black coat floating out around him
like dark wings. "The thought of sitting at the same table with Paolo
again sickens me, and Belle knew that it would. I loathe him in a way
that I do not wish to describe. But we cannot harm him, ma petite. Belle
has sent him to torment both of us by his mere presence. He will smirk
and leer and remind us with every look, every touch of his hands on
someone else, what he once was allowed to do to us."

Jean-Claude came to stand in front of me, his anger beating in the air
like invisible flames. "But this we can do, ma petite, we can flaunt the
bounty at hand. We can show Paolo what I am able to touch, and Asher is
able to touch, but Paolo cannot have. Paolo is one of those men who
always wants what others have. It eats at his soul if he cannot have, in
every way, whomever he desires." He touched fingertips down my neck and
left a trail of heat on my skin that made me gasp, almost pain, almost
pleasure. "I want Paolo to suffer, if only a little, because I do not
have it within my power to make him suffer a great deal."

I looked up into Jean-Claude's angry, angry face, and sighed. "It's
going to be like this all night, isn't it? Belle's only sent people that
make you uncomfortable, or that you hate, or hate you."

'Now, ma petite. We fear Musette, and Valentina. I believe Bartolom
came because he is bored. Paolo is the first name that truly incenses
me."

I touched Jean-Claude's face, holding that anger against the palm of my
hand. His eyes bled back to normal, or as normal as they ever get. I
looked past him to Micah. "You okay with fang-teasing some male
vampire?"

'As long as I don't have to come across, I'll play."

That made me smile. "If Micah's okay with it, so am I." I cradled
Jean-Claude's face between my hands, but was trying for eye contact not
a kiss. "But let's keep our eye on the ball, revenge is not why we're
here tonight."

He put his hands over mine and held them both against his face. "We are
here tonight because Belle Morte is le sourdre de sang of our line, and
we cannot refuse her right to send visitors our way. But make no
mistake, ma petite, Musette and her company are here to have revenge
upon us."

'Revenge for what?" I asked.

Asher answered from across the room, "Revenge for us leaving her, of
course."

I looked at him. "Why of course?"

They exchanged another look, one that I couldn't read. It was
Jean-Claude who said, "Because Belle Morte believes herself to be the
most desirable woman in the world."

I gave him raised eyebrows. "She's beautiful, I'll grant you. But the
most beautiful woman in the world, come on! I mean it depends on what
you consider beautiful. Some people like brunettes, some people like
blonds."

'I said the most desirable, ma petite, not beautiful."

'I don't get the difference."

He frowned at me. "Men have killed themselves when she exiled them from
her bed. Wars have been fought between rulers who were driven mad at the
thought of any other man sharing Belle Morte's favors."

It was my turn to frown. "Are you saying that once you've had Belle
Morte that no one else will do?"

'That is her belief."

I looked at him. "You and Asher left, twice apiece."

'Exactement ma petite, do you not see?"

'Not really."

'If we left her bed, if there is any touch that we prefer to hers, then
perhaps she is not the most desirable woman in the world."

I thought about that for a second. "So, this entire expedition is to
punish you two?"

'Not entirely. I believe Belle does want to test the ground, as it were,
before she visits herself."

'Why does she want to visit at all?"

'It will be something political, of that you can be sure," Jean-Claude
said.

'So punishing the two of you this time is what, an extra treat?"

They started to do another of those looks, but I touched Jean-Claude's
face, forced him to look at me. "No, no more mysterious looks, just say
it."

'Belle is the most desirable woman in the world, her entire power base,
her entire self-image is built on that. She must find a way to
understand why we left, and why we prefer to stay away, even now."

'So," I said.

'You are being too subtle," Asher said, pushing himself to his feet and
striding over to us.

'Fine, you tell me," I said.

'Just as Belle saw Julianna as a threat, so she will see you. But we
hope to convince her that it is not another woman alone that keeps us
entertained, but a man. Belle never did see men as competition, not as
she did a woman."

'So that's why you've prettied Micah up."

'And others," Asher said.

I looked at Jean-Claude. "Others?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed, but it didn't work completely, his
eyes looked pleased. "If Musette can report to Belle that I have a harem
of men, then Belle will cease to be worried about you."

I shook my head. "I don't think so, Jean-Claude. I think she's got a
taste of me now. She's either going to be afraid of me, or attracted to
the power."

'I believe she marked you once to torment me, ma petite. She does not
truly want you as her human servant, but she is angry with me, angry
with you for having me." He shook his head. "She thinks like a woman, ma
petite, and not a modern one. You think more like a man, so it is hard
to explain to you."

'No, I think I've got an inkling. You're going to try and convince
Belle's people that you didn't dump her for any woman, but for a lot of
men."

'Oui."

'And if the sight of a lot of gorgeous men torments Paolo, too, so much
the better."

He smiled, but it left his eyes hard and unpleasant. "Oui, ma petite."

I didn't say it out loud, but Belle Morte wasn't the only one who rarely
did anything without having more than one motive.

44

The banquet was in one of the inner rooms of the Circus. One I'd never
seen before. I knew that the place was huge and I'd seen only a fraction
of it, but I hadn't realized I'd missed a room this size. It was
literally cavernous, because it had originally been a cave, a huge,
towering, space that water had carved out of solid stone over a few
million years. There was no water now, only rock and the cool air. It
was the way the air tasted, the way it touched your skin that let you
know somehow that all this dark splendor was nature's handy work, not
man's. I don't know what the difference between natural caves and
man-made ones is, but the air feels different, it just does.

I expected torches for the night, but was surprised to find that there
was gas. Gas lamps placed around the room, chasing back the dark. I
asked Jean-Claude when he'd installed the gas, and he said that some
bootleggers had done it during prohibition, that the cavern had been a
speakeasy. Nikolaos, the Master of the City before Jean-Claude, had let
the bootleggers pay rent for the space. Her vampires had also fed on the
drunken revelers. It was a good easy way to feed without getting caught.
Since the prey was already breaking the law, it wouldn't go to the
police, to say where the vampire attack had happened.

I'd never been in a room that was lit entirely by gas lamps. It had that
soft edge of firelight, but it was steadier and burned cleaner. I'd half
expected there to be an odor of gas, but there wasn't. Jean-Claude
informed me that if I smelled gas it would mean there was a leak, and we
should probably run like hell. Okay, what he actually said was we should
leave as quickly as possible, but I knew what he meant.

The banquet table was both beautifully--and oddly--arranged. It gleamed
with golden flatware, and the gold picked up the delicate gold pattern
in the white fine-boned china. There were gold napkin rings around white
linen napkins. The tablecloth was triple layered, one long and white
that nearly dragged the floor, a gold edge of leaves and flowers
embroidered around its hem. The middle layer was a delicate gold lace.
The top was a different layer of gold--white and gold--as if someone had
taken gold paint and dabbed it sponge-like on white linen.

The chairs had white and gold cushioned seats and richly carved backs in
a dark, dark wood. The table sat like a gleaming island in the midst of
the gaslit dark. But two things confused me. First, there were way more
golden utensils at each place than I knew what to do with. What the hell
do you use a tiny two-tined fork for anyway? It was set at the top of
the plate, so it was either for seafood, salad, dessert, or something I
hadn't thought of. I was hoping for seafood or dessert, since I thought
I knew which fork was for salad. Having never been to a formal vampire
banquet, I tried not to speculate on other possible uses for the
two-tined fork.

Secondly, there were a number of complete place settings on the floor.
Each setting had a white linen napkin spread under it, like miniature
picnics. The place settings on the floor were spaced between the chair
settings, so there was room to pull the chairs in and out. It was…
odd.

I stood there in my black and royal blue gown with its faint sparkles of
deep blue, tapping the toe of my black high heel, trying to figure out
why there were plates on the floor.

Jean-Claude glided through the long black drapes that covered the
entrance between this room and the smaller adjacent chamber. Everyone
was mingling in the other room. I hated mingling under any
circumstances, even at normal dinner parties. But tonight was like small
talk, combat style. Everything had double or triple meanings. Everyone
was trying to be subtly insulting. All so polite, so back-stabbing, so
painful. My small talk skills were pretty limited, and among Musette and
her crew, I was unarmed. I'd needed a break, before I started breaking
things for real. At least Musette's underage pomme de sang was missing
from tonight's festivities. We'd been told the girl had been sent back
to Europe because her presence seemed to upset me so. My guess was
Musette just didn't want to lose her toy, if things went badly.

Asher slipped through all that blackness like a golden vision, but he
didn't glide after Jean-Claude, he hurried. Musette wasn't entirely
ready to believe that Asher was truly ours. Since I wasn't a hundred
percent sure he was either, it was hard for her not to smell a lie on
me, even though it wasn't exactly a lie. I should never have left Asher
on his own, but I was tired. Tired of vampire politics. Tired of digging
out from problems that I didn't start, and didn't truly understand.

'Ma petite, our guests are asking after you."

'I'll just bet they are."

Jean-Claude did that long, slow, graceful blink that usually meant he
was trying to figure out what I'd meant with a bit of slang or sarcasm.
I used to think the blink was to show off his impossibly long eyelashes,
but trust him to make something enticing out of what for anyone else
would have been an irritating habit.

'Musette really is asking after you," Asher said, and he imitated her
voice, "Where is your new beloved? Has she abandoned you so soon?" His
pale blue eyes flashed white, showing that edge of panic that was just
below the surface.

'It is not like you to wander off on such an important and potentially
dangerous occasion. What is the matter, ma petite?"

'Oh, I don't know, an international terrorist following me around, the
vampire council back in town, an evening of some of the most politely
vicious small talk I've ever heard, Asher being his usual temperamental
self, one of my friends and favorite policemen having a nervous
breakdown, a serial killer werewolf on the loose in my town, oh, and the
fact that Richard and his wolves haven't arrived yet, and no one's
answering their phones. Pick one." I knew the smile on my face wasn't
pleasant when I finished. It was a challenging smile. It said why
wouldn't I be uptight?

'I do not believe anything has happened to Richard, ma petite.'"

'No, you're afraid he's going to take a pass on the whole evening. That
would make us look damned weak."

'Damian flies almost as well as I do," Asher said, "he'll find them, if
they are close."

'And if they're not? I mean, Richard is shielding so hard that neither
Jean-Claude nor I can reach him. He doesn't usually do that without a
reason, usually a pissy one."

Asher sighed. "I do not know what to say about your wolf king, but I
know that he is not our only problem." He looked at me, and there was a
stubborn set to that handsome face. "I am not being temperamental."

I didn't bother to debate him. Asher was temperamental, he just was.
"Fine, but the problem is that Musette can smell this lie. She asks me
if you're mine, I say, yes, she doesn't believe me. She doesn't believe
me because I don't quite believe it. You aren't totally mine. It's too
new to feel that real, and that's what she's picking up on. She's
practically chased me around the room finding new ways to ask if I'm
fucking you, and even that caught me." I shook my head, and missed the
feel of my hair against my skin. I touched the back of my bare neck and
it felt vulnerable.

'If it is only for their visit, I understand," Asher said.

'No, no, damn it, it's that we haven't had intercourse."

Asher looked at me, then raised his gaze to Jean-Claude. "In this she is
very American. If you have not had intercourse, you have not had sex
with ma petite. It is a very American mind-set."

'I covered her back in my seed, and that does not count?"

I blushed so suddenly that I felt dizzy. "Can we please change the
subject?"

Jean-Claude touched my shoulder, and I jerked away. I desperately wanted
comforting, and thus I couldn't let him do it. I know it made no sense,
but it was still true. I'd stopped trying to talk myself out of myself
and begun to try and work with what I had. I was a mess of
contradictions. Wasn't everybody? Though admittedly, I might be a teensy
bit more contradictory than most.

I walked away from him, from both of them, but that also took me away
from the lights, closer to the waiting pools of darkness. I stopped. I
didn't want to walk into the dark. I spoke half turned around, as if I
didn't trust my back to the dark completely. "Why are there plates on
the floor?"

Jean-Claude moved towards me, graceful in those amazing boots, the dark
coat swirling around him, the embroidery catching the light here and
there like faint blue stars. The blue shirt seemed to float from the
darkness, bringing his face to my almost painful attention, emphasizing
how truly lovely he was. Of course, he'd probably planned for exactly
that effect.

His voice seemed to fill the cavern like a warm whisper, "Be at peace,
ma petite."

'Stop that," I said, and realized I turned my back on the greater
darkness, turned towards him like a flower turns to the sun, turned
because I couldn't not look at him. This wasn't vampire powers, it was
the effect he had on me, had almost always had on me.

'Stop what?" he asked, voice still warm and peaceful, like a comforting
blanket.

'Trying to use your voice on me. I'm not some tourist to be soothed by
pretty words and a good delivery."

He smiled, then gave a small bow. "Non, but you are as nervous as a
tourist. It is not like you to be so… jumpy." The smile had vanished,
replaced by a small frown.

I rubbed my hands up and down on my arms, wishing the silk and velvet
wasn't there. I needed to touch my own skin, with my own hands. The cave
was around fifty degrees, I needed the long sleeves, but I needed the
skin contact more. I looked up to the towering ceiling above us, and the
darkness that seemed to press down from it, hovering over the gaslight,
pressing at the edges of the glow like a dark hand.

I sighed. "It's the dark," I said, at last.

Jean-Claude came to stand next to me; he made no immediate move to touch
me, because I'd drawn away once. I'd taught him caution. He looked up
briefly at the ceiling, then back to study my face. "What of it, ma
petite?"

I shook my head and tried to put it into words, while I huddled into
myself, as if I could hold in the warmth. I was wearing a cross. The
silver chain traced down my neck into the generous cleavage revealed by
the low-necked dress. There was a piece of black masking tape over the
silver cross itself, so that it wouldn't spill out at the wrong moment.
After the earlier visits from Belle and Mommy Dearest, I was not going
anywhere without a holy item on me. I wasn't sure what that might mean
to having sex with Jean-Claude, or any vampire, but for the short term,
I wasn't sure that any sex was worth the risk.

Jean-Claude touched my hand gently. I jumped, but didn't move away. He
took that as an invitation. He'd always taken anything that wasn't an
outright rebuke as an invitation. He moved to stand behind me, putting
his hands over mine where I still gripped myself. "Your hands are
chilled." He pressed me in the circle of his body, arms sliding around
me, pinning me gently against him.

He rested his cheek against the top of my head. "I ask again, ma petite,
what is the matter?"

I settled into the circle of his arms, relaxing by inches against him,
as if my very muscles couldn't stand the thought of giving in to
anything soft, or comforting. I ignored the question and asked again,
"Why are there plates on the floor?"

He sighed and held me close. "Do not be angry, because there is nothing
I can do to change this. I knew you would not like it, but Belle is
old-fashioned."

Asher came to join us. "Her original request was to put humans on large
trays, like suckling pigs, bound and helpless. Then everyone could have
picked a vein and enjoyed."

I turned my head against the velvet of Jean-Claude's coat, so I could
stare at Asher's face. "You're joking, right?"

The look on his face was enough. "Shit, you aren't." I rolled my head up
so I could look at Jean-Claude. He obligingly looked down at me. His
face was more unreadable, but I was pretty sure Asher hadn't lied.

'Oui, ma petite, she suggested three humans would be enough for all of
us."

'You can't feed this many vampires off of three people."

'Not true, ma petite," he said, softly.

I kept looking at him, until he looked away. "You mean drain them dry
from multiple bites."

'Yes, yes, that is what I mean." He sounded tired.

I forced myself to settle back into his suddenly tense arms, and sighed.
"Just tell me, Jean-Claude, I believe you that Belle insisted on it,
whatever it is. I believe you that she wanted worse things done, just
tell me."

He bent his head so that he whispered against my hair, his warm breath
touching my ear. "When you have steak, do you invite the cow to sit at
table with you?"

'No," I said, then turned my head to the side so I could see his face.
The look in his eyes was enough. "You don't mean…" He did mean. "So
who's sitting on the floor?"

'Anyone who is food," he said.

I gave him a look.

He spoke quickly to the look in my eyes. "You will be seated at table,
ma petite, just as Angelito will sit at table."

'What about Jason?"

'Pomme de sangs will eat from the floor."

'So Nathaniel, too." I said.

He gave a small nod and let me see how worried he was about how I'd take
all this.

'If you were this worried about how I'd react, why didn't you warn me
ahead of time?"

'In truth, there has been so much happening that I forgot. This was once
very normal for me, ma petite, and Belle holds with the old ways. There
are older still than she, who would not even allow the food to sit on
the floor." He shook his head, hard enough that his hair touched my
face, smelling of his cologne and that indefinable something that was
simply his scent. "There are banquets, ma petite, that you would not
wish to see, or even know of. They are indeed horrible."

'Did you think they were horrible while you were participating in them?"

'Some, oui." His eyes filled with that wistful look, that lost
innocence, centuries of pain. It didn't happen often, but sometimes in
his eyes I could glimpse what he'd lost.

'I won't argue if you tell me there's worse out there than this
arrangement. I'll just believe you."

He gave me a look of disbelief. "No arguing?"

I shook my head and leaned back into his chest, held his arms around me
like a coat. "Not tonight."

'I should leave this miracle alone, but I cannot. You have taught me bad
habits, ma petite. I think I must ask, once more, what is wrong?"

'I told you, it's the dark."

'You have never been afraid of the dark before."

'I'd never met the Mother of All Darkness before." I said it softly, but
her name seemed to echo into the darkness, as if the darkness itself
were waiting for the words, as if the words could conjure her to us. I
knew it wasn't true. All right, I was pretty sure it wasn't true, but it
made me shiver just the same.

Jean-Claude tightened his grip around me, pulling me tight in against
his body. "Ma petite, I do not understand."

'How could you?" came a voice behind us.

Jean-Claude turned me in his arms as he moved to face the voice, making
it a dance-like movement, ending with my left hand in his right. His
coat and my skirt swirled out and settled in a cloth whisper around us.
Our outfits were designed to move and flow like some goth version of
Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

Asher walked quickly to us, and even the way he moved was wrong. His
posture was still perfect, but there was a hunching to it, like a dog
that expects to be hit. He hurried in those white boots, hurried, and
though still beautiful, there was little grace to his movement. There
was too much fear in him to allow for grace.

Jean-Claude held out his hand, and Asher took it. We stood there, the
three of us holding hands like children. It should have been absurd,
considering the vampire we faced, but it wasn't Valentina that we wanted
to huddle together against. I think for all three of us, it was the
night in general. It was everything in the next room, and what it
represented.

Valentina stood in front of the drapes. She looked like a tiny doll
dressed all in white and gold so that she, like Asher, would match the
table settings. Everyone in Musette's party matched the table, which
meant that that, too, had been something they negotiated. Somehow
clothes wouldn't have been high on my list, but then that was me.

Valentina's outfit was a miniature seventeenth-century dress with the
skirt flared out to either side so that she was shaped like an oval. The
skirt was very full and gave glimpses as she walked of tiny gold
slippers and numerous petticoats. She even had a white wig that hid her
brunette curls from view. The wig looked too heavy for that slender
white throat, but she walked as if the jewels and feathers and powdered
hair weighed nothing. She had absolutely perfect posture, but I knew
that was from the corset that was under the dress. Those dresses don't
fit right without the proper undergarments.

There had been no need for powder to make her skin white, rouge and red
lipstick had been enough. Oh, and a black beauty mark in the shape of a
tiny heart near that rosebud mouth. She should have looked ridiculous,
but she didn't. She was like a sinister doll. When she flipped open her
gold and lace fan with a sharp snap, I jumped.

She laughed, and only the laughter was childlike, a hint of how she
might have sounded long ago.

'She has stood on the brink of the abyss and stared into it, and the
abyss has looked back, has it not?"

I had to swallow hard to be able to answer, because my pulse was
pounding, and I was suddenly shivering. "You talk like you know."

'I do." She walked towards us, gliding and graceful. She wore the body
of a child, but she didn't move like one. I guess centuries of practice
can teach anyone to glide.

She stopped farther back than an adult-sized person would, so she didn't
have to strain to look up at me. I'd noticed she did that while everyone
was mingling. "Once I was truly the child this body pretends to be. I
wandered away from everyone, exploring as children do." She looked up at
me with enormous brown eyes. "I found a door that was not locked. A room
with many windows…"

'And none of them looked outside," I finished for her.

She blinked up at me. "Exactement. What did the windows look out upon?"

'A room," I said, "a huge room." I looked up at the cavernous roof.
"Like this one, but bigger, and the windowed room sits above it all."

'You have not been in our inner sanctum, of that I am sure, but you
speak as if you stood where I stood."

'Not physically, but I have stood there," I said.

We looked at each other, and it was a look of shared knowledge, shared
terror, shared fear.

'How close did you get to the bed?" she asked.

'Closer than I wanted to," I whispered.

'I touched the black sheets, because I thought she was only sleeping."

'She is sleeping," I said.

Valentina shook her head, solemnly. "Non, to say she sleeps is to say
any vampire sleeps. It is not sleep."

'She's not dead, not dead the way the rest of you are when you sleep."

'True, but she is not asleep either."

I shrugged. "Whatever you call it, she's not awake."

'And for that we are truly grateful, are we not?" She spoke softly
enough that I leaned in towards her to hear the words.

'Yes," I whispered back, "we are."

She reached up and touched my neck, and I flinched, not from the touch,
but from the tension of our words. She didn't laugh this time. "Only you
and I have been touched by that dark."

'Belle Morte, too," I said.

Valentina looked a question at me.

'Belle has called me into some kind of dream when the Darkness rose
around us."

'Our mistress has not informed us of this," Valentina said.

'It only happened today, early today," I said.

'Hmm," Valentina said, folding her fan tight, running it through her
tiny hands, each tiny nail done in gold. "Musette should know of this."
She gazed up at me, and there was so much more of her than there should
have been. She would always appear to be eight, a petite eight, but her
eyes held an adult's awareness, and more.

'There are some unexpected guests that are about to make their
appearance. I cannot spoil the surprise, for that would anger Musette,
and through her, Belle, but I think that you and I will be equally
unhappy with them. I think that you and I more than any will see it for
the disaster it is."

'I don't understand," I said.

'Jean-Claude will explain their presence to you, when they appear, but
only you and I will truly grasp why the mere fact that they are here is
bad, very bad."

I frowned. "I'm sorry, but you've lost me."

She sighed and unfurled her fan with a practiced movement. "We will
speak again after the surprise." She turned to walk back towards the
curtain.

I called after her. "What saved you from the dark?"

She turned, the fan folding away again, as if playing with it had become
habitual. "What saved you?"

'A cross, and friends."

She gave a small smile that left her eyes as empty and gray as a winter
storm. "My human nurse."

'Did she see what was on the bed?"

'No, but it saw her. She began to shriek. She shrieked, and shrieked,
and stood there, staring at nothing, until she fell down dead. Her body
lay there for a very long time because no one wished to enter the room."

Valentina opened her fan with a snap. I managed not to jump this time.
"The smell got to be quite atrocious." She smiled, and made a joke of
it, a vicious joke, but she couldn't make her expression match the
humor. Her eyes were haunted, no matter how cruel the smile. She left
through a flick of black drapes.

All three of us visibly relaxed when the drapes swung shut, and we
shared a glance. "Why do I think I'm not the only one too tense to pull
this off tonight?" I said.

Asher kept Jean-Claude's hand, but moved around so he was facing both of
us. "Musette smells a lie, and she will not let it rest."

'Valentina and I just finished talking about the mother of all bad
vampires, and you're already back to harping on Musette."

Jean-Claude squeezed my hand, and sighed.

'The Sweet Dark will not take me tonight, Anita. It will not pin me to a
table and unfasten my clothes and force itself upon me. Musette will."

'You're in our bed now, rules say she can't have you."

'But she smells that it is a lie."

'I can't help that the fact that we haven't had intercourse comes up on
vampire radar as lying about fucking you."

'Musette wishes it to be untrue, ma petite. She is searching for
anything that will allow her more room to play. Your doubts, Asher's
doubts, give her that room."

I closed my eyes and counted slowly to ten. When I opened them, they
were both giving me their best blank faces. It was like looking at two
superb paintings, suddenly made three-dimensional, very lifelike, but
not alive.

I squeezed Jean-Claude's hand, and he squeezed back. "Don't go all
strange on me, guys. I'm having enough trouble tonight."

They both blinked, one long graceful blink, and they were "alive" again.
I shivered and took my hand back from Jean-Claude. "That is so
disturbing," I said.

'Pourquoi, ma petite?"

'Why. He has to ask, why." I shook my head, and crossed my arms. I had
to cradle my breasts, because, thanks to the bra and the neckline, there
was no way to cross my arms over my chest.

Damian came through the black drapes. His scarlet hair glowed against
the cream and gold of his old-fashioned clothes. He could have stepped
out of a seventeenth-century painting, complete with white hose below
knee-length pants and those odd high-heeled buckle shoes the noblemen
wore. Only his hair, loose and blazing, was untamed, and recognizably
him. He had not volunteered to be one of Jean-Claude's pretty men.
Damian was a touch homophobic. Boy, had he fallen in with the wrong
bunch of vampires.

He strode across the carpet and went to one knee in front of me. For
tonight we were being formal, so I didn't argue, and offered him my left
hand. He took it, laying a kiss on my fingers. "The Ulfric and his party
are almost here."

'Where have they been?" Jean-Claude asked.

Damian looked up, giving us the full force of his grass green eyes. He
almost looked underdressed without eye makeup. I think almost every
other person at this little party was wearing makeup. The corner of his
mouth gave the smallest twitch, and I realized he was trying not to
laugh. "They had to find someone to repair the Ulfric's hair. No one in
their pack was a hairdresser."

'What does this mean,'repair his hair'?" Jean-Claude asked.

I sighed. "You know how you forgot to tell me about the plates on the
floor?"

'Oui."

'I forgot to mention that Richard cut his hair off. I don't mean like
go-to-the-beauty-parlor-and-get-it-styled. I mean hacked it off with
scissors, himself."

Jean-Claude looked almost as horrified as I had. "His beautiful hair."

'Yeah," I said, "I know." I'd done my best not to think about it. I
mean, Richard had said it, we weren't dating. It wasn't any of my
business what length his hair was. My major concern was that sane happy
people don't hack their hair off at home with scissors. Cutting your
hair like that is usually a substitute for hurting yourself in other
more permanent ways. Any counselor will tell you that.

Damian spoke, still on one knee, still holding my hand lightly. "They
found someone to salvage what they could, but he is all but shorn."

Jean-Claude looked ill, which for a vampire is a neat trick. "Is he well
enough for all this tonight?" I wasn't sure who he'd asked it of, maybe
everyone, maybe no one. But Jean-Claude had grasped how bad a sign it
was that Richard was "mutilating" himself.

'I'm not sure any of us are," I said.

He gave me an unfriendly look. "We are stronger than this, ma petite."

'Strong, yes, but tired. I guess, I can only speak for myself, but if
Musette comes up to me one more time and asks me about Asher, I'm going
to smack her."

'That is against the rules, ma petite."

'What would make her stop nagging us about Asher? Does she have to see
us fucking in front of her to back off?"

Damian was stroking my hand in his. I jerked back from him. "I don't
want to calm down. I'm pissed, and I have a right to be pissed."

'A right, oui, but not the luxury, ma petite."

'What the hell does that mean?"

'Anger without purpose is luxury tonight, ma petite, and we cannot
afford it. We do not wish to give Musette any reason to cross the
boundaries that we have so carefully negotiated."

He was right, and I hated it. "Fine, fine, you're right, you're always
fucking right about the political shit. But then what are we going to do
to make Musette stop asking about Asher?"

'I have one possible solution," Jean-Claude said.

The solution had to wait, because Micah came through the curtain with
Nathaniel and Merle in tow.

Nathaniel's outfit was mostly cream colored strips of leather that
covered almost nothing. A white thong covered his front, but left his
buttocks bare. He had cream colored boots that were over the knee but
open in back, so you got glimpses of his legs to mid-calf when he walked
away from you. There was a three-inch heel on the boots, and Nathaniel
knew how to make the heel work for him. I knew he wore less than this
almost every night at Guilty Pleasures, but it bugged me, until
Nathaniel assured me he was fine with it. Stephen had styled Nathaniel's
auburn hair, looping it back and over itself, to form the largest French
braid I'd ever seen. French braids just aren't meant to hit the knees.
The delicate eye makeup was almost overwhelming to his violet eyes,
making them almost painfully, shockingly beautiful. Lipstick had shaped
his mouth and made it kissable, even from a distance. He would have
looked like a girl, except that the outfit left no doubt that the body
it was almost covering was very male.

Merle was wearing a variation of what all the bodyguards would be
wearing: black leather. Black leather pants over black boots with silver
points, a black T-shirt under a black leather jacket. Merle had had his
own outfit. He was six feet plus with gray-streaked hair that fell to
his shoulders and a mustache and partial beard that were both a darker
gray than his hair. He looked like what he was--a longtime biker and
hard case. At the moment he was livid, so angry that his beast was
rolling in the air around him like an almost visible presence.

'What happened?" I asked.

Merle growled, "If that bastard touches my Nimir-Raj one more time, I'm
going to tear off his arm and shove it up his ass."

Jean-Claude and Asher said in unison, "Paolo."

'Yes," Merle growled.

Micah looked amused. I don't think it bothered him, but not much
bothered Micah. He was one of the most easygoing people I'd ever met. I
guess he had to be to survive as my boyfriend.

'It isn't bothering me, Merle."

'That's not the point," the big man said. "It's insulting. It shows he
has no respect for us."

'It's Paolo," Asher said, "he has no respect for anyone, except Belie."

'Let me guess," I said, "Paolo's pawing Nathaniel, too."

Merle gave a low, skin-crawling growl.

The curtains opened, and Bobby Lee stuck his head and shoulders in.
"Unless we can just start tearing people up, you better get back in
here."

We exchanged a look, sighed almost as a group, and we got back in there.

45

There was a wall of our black leather-clad bodyguards--wererats,
werehyenas, wereleopards--so that we couldn't see who was making a high
piteous noise.

'Make a hole," I said. I was ignored.

Merle yelled, "Make a hole, people," and the bodyguards parted like a
black leather ocean.

It was Stephen making the noise. He had pressed himself up against the
far wall, as if he were trying to shove himself into it and out the
other side. Valentina was in front of him. She wasn't doing anything to
him that I could see, or even feel. But she was standing very close, one
tiny hand hovering in front of him.

Gregory was pressed into a different space. Bartolom stood just in
front of him, a look of near rapture on his young face. I concentrated
on the vampire and I felt him feeding, feeding on Gregory's terror. I'd
known a vampire or two that could cause fear in others, then feed. I
hadn't known it was a power that Belle's line carried.

Stephen screamed, and the sound whipped me around to see that Valentina
had laid a tiny hand on his bare stomach. She wasn't feeding on his
fear. She wasn't hurting him in any way that I could see. Stephen hid
his face, his long blond curls tangling across his made-up face, his
naked upper body pressed into the stone, as if he thought he could make
himself disappear.

Valentina slid her tiny hand down his waist, to the hips of his white
leather pants, and that tore another scream from Stephen's throat. I
suddenly had a clue why the twins were terrified of the children.

Bobby Lee pushed his way beside me. "Bodyguards are supposed to go
first, Anita, not second."

I ignored the anger, because I knew it was frustration. We'd told the
guards that we could not start violence under any circumstances, that
Musette and her crew had to break truce first. As far as I was concerned
this did break truce.

I started towards Stephen, and a strange vampire barred my way. I knew
suddenly why our guards were simply standing there with their hands in
their proverbial pockets. The vampire wasn't that tall, but he was
bulky, and it wasn't just muscle. There was something to the hunch of
his shoulders. The shape of his head was wrong, somehow. There was
nothing specific I could put a finger on, except that he hit the radar
as not human. Not human in ways different from other vampires.

He was also one of the few Black vampires I'd ever seen. Some people
theorized that the same genetics that made many people of African
descent immune to malaria also made them less likely to become vampires.
He stood there looking at me, with his dark skin still somehow strangely
pale, like chocolate ivory. His eyes were golden yellow, and the moment
I looked into them, the words not human came to mind.

Another scream tore the air. It didn't matter what the thing in front of
me was, or wasn't. I didn't care.

I tried sidestepping, and the vampire moved with me, not threatening,
but not letting me through either. The room was suddenly quiet, so
quiet. Gregory's voice came first, unnaturally loud in the tense
silence. "Don't make me do this, oh, God, don't make me do this!"

Jean-Claude was murmuring to Musette, and I heard her voice, just a word
or two in French. She was basically saying they hadn't broken truce,
this was only entertainment.

I felt my shoulders relax, felt the decision settle into the center of
my body. I stared up at the vampire. "You are a coward, an ugly,
child-abusing coward."

The vampire didn't react, he ignored me, and I didn't think it was
simply bodyguard cool. I tried a few more choice insults, concerning
everything from his parentage to his physical appearance, and got glazed
blinks. He didn't speak English. Good.

'Bobby Lee," I said.

He leaned in close to me, trying even now to insinuate his body between
me and the big bad vampire. "Yes, ma'am."

'Overwhelm him with numbers."

'Can we cut him up?"

'No."

'Then we can't overwhelm him for long."

'I only need a minute."

He gave a small nod. "I might just squeeze a minute out of this mess."

I met his eyes. "Do it."

'Yes, ma'am."

He made a signal with his hand, and all the wererats moved at once. I
sidestepped the mass of black leather, and went quickly to Valentina and
Stephen.

I was talking before I'd really gotten to them. I wouldn't have much
time. Micah appeared beside me. Merle and Noah, Micah's second
bodyguard, were practically pressed to his back. I'd made sure all my
bodyguards were busy with the vampire. If things went wrong, I wasn't
sure either Merle or Noah would protect me if it meant endangering
Micah. Oh, well.

'Stephen had been abused as a child. He was used for sex by his own
father, and sold to other men," I said as I moved forward. I remembered
what Jean-Claude had said, that Valentina hated child molesters because
of her own past.

She turned that tiny heart-shaped face to me, her hand still caressing
Stephen's shoulder. He had collapsed to the floor, huddled in an almost
fetal position.

I was beside them now, and the noises behind me were escalating. There
was going to be a fight soon, a bad one. "I swear to you that what I say
is true. Look at him, look at the terror your touch inspires in him."

Stephen wasn't looking at either of us. His eyes were squeezed closed,
and his tears had smeared the eye makeup to black tracks down his face.
He hugged his body tight. He'd given himself up and over to what was
happening, as if he were still a child.

Valentina looked down at him, and something like horror began to grow on
her face. She stared at her tiny hand, as if it were something awful
that had just appeared at the end of her arm.

She shook her head. "Non, non," and more French that I couldn't follow.

'He's coming," Merle said, and I felt him and Noah brace themselves in
front of Micah and me.

I touched Valentina's arm, and she raised eyes glassy with shock and
turned towards me. "Call off Bartolom, tell him why Gregory's afraid of
him."

I felt the impact of the vampire slamming into Merle and Noah, and they
pressed forward, taking the fight away from us by a few feet. Micah
stood over me, ready. He could shape-shift and use claws, but he just
didn't have enough body mass to stop the vampire.

Valentina's voice cut through the fighting, echoed through the room, and
I realized she was using vampire powers to make herself heard, "We broke
truce first, first blood is on our hands."

Musette screamed, "Valentina!"

Valentina repeated herself in French this time. The fighting slowed at
Valentina's words, slowed, and began to die.

Valentina turned to face Musette, who was in a dress of all white, so
that she looked like a bride. "It is truth, Musette. These two men have
been abused enough by us. I will not let it continue."

'He was so afraid of me Valentina, such fear to feed on," Bartolom
said, "now you've spoiled it." The slender boyish figure was dressed in
nearly solid gold, old-fashioned, very seventeenth century, cloth, so
that he sparkled as he moved.

Valentina spoke low and soft, in rapid French. Bartolom's face didn't
pale, but he looked back at Gregory. He turned to look at me. "Is this
true? Their own father?"

I nodded.

Gregory's sobs were loud in the sudden stillness.

'To force yourself on children is an evil thing," Bartolom said, "to
use your own sons," he spat on the floor and said something in what I
recognized was Spanish but couldn't follow.

'I brought them here tonight so they'd be under my protection, safe.
Their father has returned recently, and is trying to meet with them
again. They are here so he couldn't find them. I didn't think about the
two of you."

'We would not have done this if we had been told," Bartolom said.

'Musette was told," Jean-Claude's voice seemed to fill the tension like
water in a cup.

We all turned to Jean-Claude, who was standing not too far off, near the
mass of bodyguards that had taken on a second vampire like the one that
had kept me from Stephen. "I told her of Gregory and Stephen's past,
because the moment Stephen saw Valentina and Bartolom, he said he could
not feed them. That the memories it would waken would be too much for
him to bear. I did tell Musette this. If I had not warned her, I would
never have left Stephen and Gregory out here without Anita or myself to
guard them."

All of us now turned to look at Musette. She was not wearing a wig, but
had curled her hair into long banana curls so she looked like a
porcelain doll, with her red lips, her carefully made up eyes, her pale
skin, and the white seventeenth-century dress with its attached cape.
Nothing would ever take her beauty from her, but physical beauty isn't
enough to make up for sadism.

'Is this true?" Valentina asked.

'Now, ma poulet, would I do such a thing?"

'Yes," Valentina said, "yes, you would."

The two child vampires stared at Musette, stared at her wordlessly,
until it was she who looked away, she who blinked big blue eyes. For a
moment I saw what I thought I'd never see. Musette was embarrassed.

'Bobby Lee, capture her ass."

'Ma petite, what are you doing?"

'I know the rules, Jean-Claude, they've forfeited their safe conduct in
our territory. That means that we are within our rights to put her under
house arrest until her little company leaves."

'But we cannot harm her, she is too important to Belle," he said.

'Sure," I said. I glanced at Bobby Lee. "Escort her back to her room and
put the cross back on the door."

He looked at me, then at Jean-Claude. "You mean, just like that, we can
hurt them, jail them?"

I nodded.

He sighed. "Wished it worked that way with the shape-shifters."

'Occasionally, the vampires being so civilized comes in handy."

Bobby Lee grinned at me, and he and Claudia and about half a dozen
others moved towards Musette. Angelito moved in front of her, blocking
her from view. Her voice rang clear, though hidden, "Do not fear,
Angelito, the wererats will not touch me."

Bobby Lee and Claudia were facing off with Angelito. He made them both
look small. "We can do this easy, or hard." Bobby Lee said, "Move, and
we all go quiet to the rooms. Stay put, and we'll hurt you, then drag
your ass back to the rooms." There was an eagerness to his voice that
said he was hoping for a fight. I think they all were. None of them had
liked having to stand by and watch Gregory and Stephen be tormented.

'Move aside, Angelito," Musette said. "Now."

Angelito moved, his face showing how reluctant he was to do so. I was
surprised that Musette was being so cooperative. She'd struck me as
someone who'd have to be carried off kicking and screaming.

Bobby Lee reached out for Musette. She said, "Do not touch me." He
stopped in mid-motion as if his hand had frozen in place.

'Take her, Bobby Lee," I said.

'I can't," he said, and there was something in his voice that I'd never
heard before. Fear.

'What do you mean, you can't?" I asked.

He took his hand back, slowly, and cradled it against his chest, as if
it had been hurt. "She told me not to touch her, and I can't."

'Claudia," I said.

The big woman shook her head. "I can't."

The first hint I had about how wrong things had gone was the real rat
that waddled up to sniff at Musette's white skirts. It looked up at her
with shiny black button eyes.

I looked at Musette, and her blue eyes had bled solid, so that she
looked like a blind blond doll. Her face was exultant with triumph.

'Rats are your animal to call," I said.

'Didn't Jean-Claude tell you?" and the laughter in her voice said
clearly, she knew he had not.

'He forgot to mention it."

'I did not know," Jean-Claude said. "Her only animal to call two
centuries ago was the bat." His voice sounded empty, hiding whatever he
was feeling.

'She gained the rat as her second animal about fifty years ago," Asher
said.

I gave him a look. "It would have been nice to know that."

He shrugged. "It never occurred to me that anyone would actually try to
put Musette under guard."

I turned back to the vampire in question. "Why didn't you use your new
power to get rid of the wererat guards earlier?"

'I wanted it to be a surprise," she said, and smiled, smiled wide enough
to flash fangs. She was so terribly pleased with herself.

'Fine," I said, "all shape-shifter bodyguards that don't happen to be
rats, get her ass."

'Kill them," and I knew she was talking to Bobby Lee. That I hadn't
foreseen. Shit.

But Bobby Lee and Claudia were both shaking their heads, and backing off
from her. "You can order us not to harm you, but you can't make us hurt
others. You ain't got that kind of power, girl."

The wererats were all backing away, looking confused and worried. More
real rats had begun to scamper in from the far cavern. One of the
problems with using a place that is naturally created is that you get
nature. Nature isn't always pretty, or friendly.

It was mostly werehyenas that moved forward. Only two of the
wereleopards qualified as bodyguards, and those two stayed close to
Micah. The rest of our leopards had been brought along as food. Food
doesn't fight, food just bleeds.

I realized something I hadn't before--there were no werewolves in the
cave except for Stephen. Where had the werewolf guards gone?

Musette said something, and it wasn't in French. In fact it wasn't a
language I could even guess at. The two vampires with their ivory gray
skin and golden eyes moved in front of her.

Jean-Claude said, "Call them back, ma petite, I would not lose them over
this."

'There's only two of them, Jean-Claude."

'But they are not what they seem."

I called everybody off and turned to Jean-Claude. "What?"

It was Valentina who came forward and answered my question. "There is a
room where the servants of the Sweet Dark wait, asleep. The council
members will go into that room from time to time and try to call them to
their service."

I glanced at the two vampires, then back to Valentina. "These two woke,"
I said.

'More than these two," she said, "our mistress has called six of them
awake. She believes it is a mark of her growing power."

Valentina and I looked at each other. "The Mother of All Darkness is
waking, and her servants wake before her." I whispered it, but even
whispered, it shivered and filled the room with dancing echoes.

'I believe so," Valentina said.

'Our mistress is more powerful than any other. The servants of our Sweet
Mother wake to Belle Morte's command. It is a sign of our mistress's
greatness," Musette declared it as truth, a ringing pride in her voice.

'You're a fool, Musette, the dark is waking. The fact that they are
standing here is proof of that. They'll obey Belle Morte until their
true mistress rises, then God help you all."

Musette literally stamped her foot at me. "You will not spoil our fun.
You cannot touch me, they will not let you."

I looked at them, and frowned. "They're not just vampires, are they?"

'What do you mean, ma petite?"

I could feel them, feel a presence that shouldn't have been there. "They
feel like shape-shifters. Vampires can't be shape-shifters." I realized
even as I said it that that wasn't entirely true. The Mother of All
Darkness was a shape-shifter and a vampire. I'd felt that.

'I thought Mommy Dearest was the first vampire, the one who made you
all."

'Oui, ma petite."

'Are there any vampires on the council that descend directly from her?"

Jean-Claude thought about that for a moment. "We all descend from her."

'That's not what I asked."

Asher answered, "There is no one that can claim direct descent from her
line, but she founded the council of vampires. She began our
civilization, gave us rules, so that we were no longer solitary beasts,
killing each other on sight."

'So she's your cultural mother, not your line's originator."

'Who can tell for certain, ma petite? She is the beginning of what we
are today. She is our Mother in all ways that are important."

I shook my head. "Not all ways." I stood out of reach and said, "Someone
who speaks whatever they speak translate this for me."

Valentina stepped up. "They understand French now."

'Fine. Jean-Claude."

'I am here, ma petite."

'Tell them that Musette has forfeited safe conduct, and we need to place
her under arrest. She won't be harmed, but she won't be allowed to harm
anyone else."

Jean-Claude spoke slow French, so I could understand a lot of it. I had
picked up more and more over the years, but rapid speech still gave me
problems. "I have told them."

'Then tell them this, too. If they don't move out of the way so we can
arrest her, then we are within the rules that the Mother of Darkness
laid down--to kill them for disobeying the rules."

Jean-Claude looked doubtful.

'Just repeat it," I said. I walked away a little to find Bobby Lee. He
was sweating and looked unwell.

'I am sorry, Anita. We failed you."

I shook my head. "Not yet you haven't."

He looked puzzled.

'Open your leather jacket, wide."

He did what I asked.

I took his gun out of its shoulder holster and got a glimpse of a second
gun in his belt. Rules said only guards could be armed. I pointed the
gun at the ground, and clicked off the safety.

His eyes were very wide. I wasn't actually sure if he could let me have
the gun. But he did, and I threaded my way carefully back through the
crowd to the front lines.

The gun was invisible, held in the folds of my full black skirt. "What
did they say, Jean-Claude?"

'They don't believe anyone here can hurt them. They say that they are
invincible."

'How long have they been asleep?"

Jean-Claude asked them. "They don't know for certain."

'How do they know they're invincible?" I asked.

He asked, and they drew swords from under their white coats. Short
swords, forged of something darker and heavier than steel. Was it
bronze? I wasn't sure. I just knew it wasn't steel.

We all stepped back from the drawn blades, whatever they were made of.
"They say that no weapon born of man can harm them," Jean Claude said.

Musette laughed. "They are the finest warriors ever created. You will
not touch me with them as my protectors."

I stepped back, put myself in as balanced a stance as I could get with
the high heels, and raised the gun. I aimed for a headshot, and got it.
The vampire's head exploded in a wash of blood and brains. The sound of
the shot seemed to echo forever, and I couldn't hear the yell I saw on
the lips of the second warrior as he charged me. His head exploded like
the first one had. All the hand-to-hand combat training in the world is
useless if your enemy doesn't let you get close enough to use it.

Musette stood blinking, too shocked to move, I think. She was covered in
blood and gore. Her blond hair and pale face were a red mask, out of
which her blue eyes blinked. Her white dress was half crimson.

I aimed the gun at her startled face. I thought about it, God knows, I
thought about it. But I didn't need Jean-Claude's frightened, "Ma
petite, please, for all our sakes, do not do this," to make me hesitate.
I couldn't kill Musette, because of what Belle Morte might do in
retaliation. But I let Musette see in my eyes, my face, my body, that I
would kill her, that I wanted to kill her, and that, given the right
excuse, I might forget Belle's vengeance for the second it would take me
to pull a trigger.

Musette's eyes filled with glistening tears. She was a fool, but not so
big a fool as all that. But I had to be certain, so we didn't have these
misunderstandings again. "What do you see in my face, Musette?" My voice
was low, almost a whisper, because I was afraid of what my hand would do
if I yelled.

She swallowed and, it was loud to my ringing ears. "I see my death upon
your face."

'Yes," I said, "yes, you do. Never forget this moment, Musette, because
if it happens again, it will be your last moment."

She let out a shaking breath. "I understand."

'I hope so, Musette, I really, truly, hope so." I lowered the gun,
slowly. "Now, Merle can you oversee Musette and Angelito going to their
rooms, right now."

Merle stepped forward, and a small army of werehyenas moved with him.
"My Nimir-Ra speaks, and I obey." I'd heard him say things like that to
Micah before, but never to me, or at least not like he meant it.

Merle stepped over the bodies of the dead vampires to take Musette's
arm. The werehyenas looked pale, but happier. I'd just made all the
muscle in the room happy, because things were simple now. We could kill
them if they messed up again.

I caught Jean-Claude's expression. He was not happy. I'd made the
soldiers' job easier, but not the politicians'. No, I think I'd just
complicated the hell out of the political side of things.

Merle led Musette, none too gently over the bodies. She stumbled, and
only a mass of werehyenas kept Angelito from grabbing her. Musette
regained her balance, and the room suddenly smelled like roses.

I thought I'd choke on my own pulse as Musette raised her head and
showed eyes the color of dark honey.

46

Belle-Morte looked at me, out of Musette's face, and I think I stopped
breathing. All I could hear for a moment was the hammering of my own
heart in my head. Sound returned with a rush, and Belle Morte's voice
slid out of Musette's mouth.

'I am vexed with you, Jean-Claude."

Merle kept trying to drag her across the room. Either he didn't know the
shit had hit the fan, or one vampire was all the same to him. He was
about to learn otherwise.

'Release me," she said in a calm voice.

Merle dropped her arm as if she'd burned him. He backed away from her
the way that Bobby Lee had backed away from Musette, with a look of
pain, holding his arm as if it hurt.

'The leopard is her animal to call," Jean-Claude said, and his voice
carried into yet another heavy silence. But I didn't have time to think
about silence, because Belle was talking, saying awful things.

'I have been gentle up'til now." She turned and looked back at the two
dead vampires. "Do you know how long the council has been trying to wake
up the Mother's first children?"

I think we all thought it was a rhetorical question, one we were afraid
to answer.

She turned back to face us, and something swam underneath Musette's
face, like a fish pushing against water. "But I awakened them. I, Belle
Morte, awakened the Mother's children."

'Not all of them," I said, and immediately wished I'd kept my mouth
shut.

She gave me a look that was so angry it burned, and so cold, it made me
shiver. It was as if all that had ever been of rage and hatred were in
that one look. "No, not all of them, and now you have taken two away
from me. What ever shall I do to punish you?"

I tried to speak around the pulse in my throat, but Jean-Claude
answered, "Musette broke the truce, and would not concede it. We have
obeyed the law to the letter."

'It is true," Valentina said. The crowd of black leather-clad grown-ups
moved so the child vampire could come and stand near Musette,'Belle.
Valentina kept out of reach, though. I noticed that.

'Speak, little one."

Valentina told the story of how Musette had withheld information about
the child molestation and what had happened because of it. Musette's
body turned to look at Stephen and Gregory. Gregory was holding his
brother, rocking him. Stephen wasn't looking at anyone, or anything.
Whatever his staring eyes saw, it was nothing in this room.

Belle turned back to us, and again there was that sense of another face
swimming underneath, but this time I saw it like a ghost superimposed
over Musette's face. Ghostly black hair bled over the blond, a face with
more cheekbones, more strength to it, showed for a moment, before it
sank back into the softer beauty of Musette.

'Musette did break truce first. I concede that."

Why was it that my heart rate didn't slow a single beat when she said
that?

Her next words came out in a purring contralto, a voice like fur to
caress the skin and ease across the mind. "You have acted within the
law, and now so shall I. When Musette and the rest come back to me,
Asher will come with them."

'Temporarily," Jean-Claude said, but his voice held doubt.

'Non, Jean-Claude, he will be mine as of old."

Jean-Claude took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "According to your
own laws, you cannot take someone permanently away from those to whom
he, or she, belongs."

'If he belonged to anyone, that would be true. But he is no one's pomme
de sang, no one's servant, no one's lover."

'That is not true," Jean-Claude said, "he is our lover."

'Musette communicated with me, told me that she smelled your lies, your
weak effort to keep Asher from her bed."

Belle was able to smell lies, too, if the lie was something she
understood. No vampire could tell truth from falsehood if it was about
something they didn't understand. If a vampire had no loyalty, they
couldn't discern it in others--that sort of thing. I was going to try
and give her something she could understand.

'I didn't think it was a weak effort," I said.

Jean-Claude gave me a look, and I shook my head at him. He stepped
gracefully aside, because he knew I had a plan, but his voice whispered
through my head, "Be careful, ma petite."

Yeah, I'd be careful.

Belle turned her borrowed body to look at me. "So you admit it was an
attempt to lie to Musette."

'No, I said it wasn't weak. I found the whole thing embarrassing,
exciting, wonderful, and terrifying. Being in bed with Asher wasn't
exactly what I thought it would be."

'You haven't lied, yet," she said, and her voice was so rich, it was as
if I should have been able to get down on the ground and roll myself up
in it like some soft, warm, suffocating carpet. Her voice was enticing
like Jean-Claude's and Asher's could be, but also frightening.

'We took Asher to our bed, and by European standards we are lovers."

'By European standards," she looked confused, and her face pushed out
against Musette's. This time it was like a mask. The sense of something
larger, more dangerous pushing against Musette's face. I knew through
Jean-Claude's memories that Belle wasn't physically much bigger than
Musette, but physical size wasn't all there was to Belle Morte. "I do
not understand what that means, 'European standards'."

Jean-Claude answered, "Americans have a most peculiar idea that only
intercourse between a man and a woman constitutes true sex. Anything
else does not truly count."

'I taste truth, but I find it most odd."

'As do I, but it is still true." He gave that Gallic shrug.

I added, "What Musette kept smelling wasn't a lie, it was my hang-up
that Asher and I hadn't had true intercourse. Trust me, we were all
naked and sweaty in the bed."

She turned that strange half-face to me. It would have looked more
frightening if her face hadn't been surrounded by Musette's long blond
banana curls. The Shirley Temple look was not meant for Belle. "I
believe you, but by your own admission you are not lovers, not truly by
your own standards. Thus, Asher is mine."

'You don't care about the truth, I forgot that," I said.

She narrowed those honey-gold eyes at me. "You have forgotten nothing,
little one. You do not know me."

'I have Jean-Claude's memories, here and there. That's enough. They
should have taught me better than to use truth."

She walked towards me, and as she did, her body seemed to fold over
Musette's, so that she wasn't just a face, but a dress of dark gold, a
longer arm, a pale hand with copper-colored nails. She moved like a
ghost draped over Musette, so that you got glimpses of the other woman
underneath. It wasn't perfect, Belle Morte wasn't really physically
there, but it was close, and it was unnerving.

Jean-Claude had moved so that he touched me from behind by the time
Belle came to stand in front of me. I leaned back against him, because
she had marked me once, and that was without any physical touch. I
leaned against Jean-Claude and fought the urge to draw his arms around
me like a shield.

Belle stood so close that the edge of Musette's full skirt brushed my
feet. Belle's ghostly dress seemed to bleed over my shoes, creep up my
ankles. I couldn't breathe.

Jean-Claude moved us backwards, out of reach of that creeping power. I
pulled his arms around me tight. Screw it, I was scared.

'If truth will not work with me, what will, ma petite?" Belle asked.

I found my voice, it was breathy, scared, but there was nothing I could
do about it. "I am Jean-Claude's 'ma petite,' no one else's."

'But whatever he has is mine, so you are my ma petite."

I decided to let that argument go, for now. There were other more
important ones I needed to win. "You asked if truth doesn't work with
you, then what does?"

'Oui, ma petite, I did ask."

'Sex or power," I said, "that's what works for you. You prefer both
together, if you can get it."

'Are you offering me sex?" She purred at me, and the sound made me
shudder and push myself harder against Jean-Claude. I didn't want to
play with Belle, not in any way.

'No," I said, in almost a whisper.

She reached out towards me, that slender white hand with its dark copper
nails, and that afterimage of Musette's hand underneath, as if Belle's
graceful hand were a strange metaphysical glove.

Jean-Claude moved us back again, a fraction of a fraction of an inch, so
that those long-nailed fingers missed my cheek by a breath.

Belle looked at him, her long black hair beginning to move around her
body like there was a wind blowing around her. There was no wind, only
Belle's power.

'Are you afraid that one touch and I will take her from you?"

'No," Jean-Claude said, "but I know more of what your touch can do,
Belle Morte, and I am not sure that Anita would care for it."

He'd used my real name, he almost never did that. Perhaps because Belle
was using my nickname, he didn't want to.

Her anger burned the air in front of us, like a real fire, stealing the
oxygen from the lungs, making it impossible to breathe, unless you took
that heat into your lungs. Then they would sear, and you would die.

The heat filled her words, so that I half expected them to be burned
into the very air. "Did I ask if she would care to be touched?"

'No," Jean-Claude said, his voice was very still, and I felt him sinking
away, even with his arms wrapped around me, he was sinking away, folding
into that quietness that he went to when he hid from everything. I had a
glimpse of that quiet place, and it was quieter than the place I went
when I killed. There wasn't even static there, only complete silence.

The emptiness filled with the smell of roses, sweet, so sweet, cloying,
choking. I gasped, and all I could taste was roses. Jean-Claude caught
me, or I would have fallen. The perfume of roses filled my nose, my
mouth, my throat. I couldn't swallow past it, couldn't breathe anything
but perfume. I would have screamed, but I had no air.

I heard Jean-Claude yelling, "Stop this!"

Belle laughed, and even choking to death, the sound rode through my body
like a knowledgeable hand.

A hand grabbed mine, and a breath of air clawed its way down my throat,
fighting its way through Belle's power. Again if I'd had enough air, I'd
have screamed. Micah's face hovered over mine. Micah's hand in mine.

'Non, mon chat, you are mine, as is she." Belle knelt beside us,
reaching out to touch Micah's face.

Jean-Claude moved us all backwards, so that we collapsed on the floor at
her knees, but we were out of reach again, barely. But barely was good
right then.

Belle's eyes burned with honey fire, and the nails of her hand bled
copper flames on the air, as she reached for Micah. Jean-Claude tried to
help us crawl away, but we'd fallen in a heap of long skirts, long
coats. Death by fashion.

Belle touched Micah's face, trailed those glowing claws down his cheek.
The smell of roses closed over my head like sweet poisoned water, and I
was drowning again.

Another hand on me, and this touch had nothing warm in it, it didn't
call the ardeur, it didn't call my beast, it called something colder and
more certain of itself. My necromancy came welling up and it burst over
my skin, my body, and I stared up into Belle's burning eyes, and I could
breathe. My throat was sore as hell, but I could breathe.

I moved my eyes enough to see Damian holding my other hand. His eyes
were wide, and I could feel his fear, but he was there, kneeling beside
me, facing the power that was Belle Morte.

Belle drew Micah's face towards hers. Her skin seemed to be made up of
white light, black flame hair, the glittering molten metal of fingertips
and eyes. Her lips glowed like a slash of fresh blood.

Micah's hand convulsed in mine, so strong it hurt, and the pain helped,
made my thoughts clearer, harder-edged. He made a small sound in his
throat as Belle pressed her mouth to his. I knew he didn't want to touch
her, and I also knew he couldn't refuse her.

But he was mine. Micah was mine, not hers. Mine. I sat up with Micah on
one hand and Damian on the other, the warm and the cold, the live and
the dead, the passion and the logic. Jean-Claude's hands were still on
my nearly bare shoulders. He strengthened me, as I strengthened him, but
this power was mine, not his. The leopards weren't his to call. They
were mine.

I called that part of me that the leopards touched and realized for the
first time that it wasn't tied to Richard, or even really Jean-Claude.
The leopards were mine, and Belle's.

I sat up with my face so close to hers that the glow of her fire
caressed my face, and the pleasure of that light touch sent a wave of
shivers over my skin. It wasn't that I was immune to Belle's touch. It
was that I had my own.

I usually fought my beast, whatever flavor it was, but not tonight.
Tonight I welcomed it, embraced it, and maybe that was why it poured
through me like a scalding flood of power. If I'd been a lycanthrope in
truth, my beast would have burst from my skin in a flood of warm fluids,
but I wasn't a lycanthrope. But the beast rode under my skin, screamed
out my mouth, and hit Micah's body like a train, a huge, liquid muscled
train. It tore his mouth from Belle Morte's, and brought a scream to
echo mine. My beast roared through his body, and his beast answered it.
His beast rushed up from the depths to meet mine, like two leviathans
racing for the surface.

We hit that metaphorical surface together, and our beasts wound in and
out of our bodies, rolling like huge cats, luxuriating in the feel of
fur and muscle. There was nothing to see with the eyes, but there were
things to feel.

Belle brushed her glowing hands just above us, caressing that energy.
"Trs de bon gout," She touched Micah's skin, and that energy leaped to
her, bringing a gasp from her throat. Micah turned, and I think would
have gone to her again, but I caught his face in my hands. We kissed.

The kiss began as a brush of lips, an exploration of tongues, a nibbling
of teeth, a pressing of mouths. Then our beasts rolled through our
mouths, like two souls changing places. The rush of energy slammed our
bodies together, sliced my nails through Damian's hand, convulsed
Jean-Claude's hands on my shoulders. I felt both his body and Damian's
bow backwards, a second before the power tore through them, and ripped
sounds from both their throats that had more to do with pleasure than
pain.

Micah and I rode each other, mouths locked in an endless kiss, as if our
beasts had merged into one. Then slowly, the entwined energies began to
roll apart and slide into their separate houses of flesh.

I came completely to myself on the floor with Micah collapsed on top of
me, Damian lying on the floor with only my hand holding him. Jean-Claude
was still sitting upright, but he was swaying softly in place, almost
like he was dancing to music I couldn't hear. I think he was simply
fighting not to fall down, but even that he made seem graceful.

Belle was staring down at us with a look close to rapture on her face.
"Oh, Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude, what toys you have wrought for yourself."

Jean-Claude found his voice while I was still fighting to breathe over
my pulse, and Micah's heart was thudding so hard against my chest it
felt like it would burst. The pulse in Damian's palm beat like a second
heartbeat against my skin. None of the rest of us had found a voice that
could override the pulse of our bodies.

'Not toys, Belle, never toys."

'They are all toys, Jean-Claude, some are merely harder to use than
others. But they are all toys." She stroked her glowing hand down the
back of Micah's carefully styled hair.

Her energy played along his body, brought a sigh from all of us, but it
was faint, almost a knee-jerk reaction, that you couldn't quite prevent.
We lay quiet under her touch.

Belle looked down at us, and it was hard to see through the glowing
mask, but I think she frowned. She ran her fingertips down the side of
Micah's face, and there was no reaction. She called to his beast, but
his beast was well fed, sleepy, and content.

My voice came, hollow, as if I hadn't quite filled back up. "The
leopards are mine, Belle."

'The leopard was my first animal to call Anita, and call them I shall."

I lay on the floor, feeling languorous, content. Micah rolled his face
so his cheek rested on the soft pillow of my breasts. We watched her
with lazy eyes, the way that only cats can. I should have been afraid,
but I wasn't. The rush of power seemed to have taken all my fear along
with it. I felt clearheaded and safe.

Belle poured that misty power on us, but though she raised gooseflesh
and brought sighs to our lips, there was no more. She could not call
Micah as her beast, because he was mine. She could not call my beast,
because I was Micah's. We truly were Nimir-Ra and Nimir-Raj, and
together we were enough to keep her out of us.

She turned those gold-flame eyes to someone behind us, and I felt her
reach out to one of the leopards. I'd known somehow it would be
Nathaniel. If she'd tried it before Micah and I had merged, he would
have come to her, but now it was too late. We'd shut that gate and
barred it. Belle Morte could not touch our leopards, not tonight.

'This is not possible," she said, and her voice had lost some of its
purring caress.

Jean-Claude answered her doubt. "You can call almost all the big cats,
but you cannot call the cats that answer to the Master of Beasts."

'Padma sits upon the council, you are one of my children. That I cannot
take what belongs to another council member is merely truth. That any of
my children could keep me from possessing what is theirs is impossible."

'Perhaps," Jean-Claude said, and he got to his feet. He offered a hand
to both Micah and me. Normally, I don't let people help me up, but
tonight I was wearing a long skirt, high heels, and had just had what
amounted to metaphysical sex in public. We took his hands together, and
he pulled us to our feet. Damian still had a death grip on my other
hand, but he stayed on his knees, eyes still only half-focused, as if
the power rush had thrown him more than it had the rest of us. He was
the only one of us who wasn't either a master or an alpha something. I
drew him in to sit against my legs, but didn't try and make him stand;
it didn't look like he was ready to yet.

'By American standards," Jean-Claude said, "this did not count as sex."

Belle laughed, and the sound still shivered across the skin, but it was
distant. Either we were too numb, or too shielded for her to touch. "The
Americans do not count this as sex, that is absurd!"

'Perhaps, but true nonetheless. You and I would consider it sex, would
we not?"

'Oh, oui, sex enough for one of my entertainments."

I almost felt Jean-Claude smile. I didn't have to see it. "Do you truly
believe we have not done this and more with Asher?"

She looked at him, and her anger lashed through the room again like a
wind off the lakes of hell. "I will not be turned aside so easily." She
gestured back at the two dead vampires. "You have no idea what your
human servant has taken from me. They were not merely vampires."

'They were lycanthropes," I said.

She looked at me, and there was more interest than anger in her now.
Belle had always been more interested in power than being petty, though
if she could be both, well, that would be the best of all worlds.

'How do you know this?"

'I felt their beasts, and I felt the beast from Mommy Dearest earlier
today."

'Mommy Dearest?" She managed to look puzzled underneath all that
glittering power.

'The Sweet Dark," Jean-Claude said.

'I felt her stir in her sleep, Belle. The Mother of All Darkness is
waking up, that's why her children, as you put it, finally came to
someone's call."

'I called them," she said.

'You can call all of the great cats, and among other things, they are
cats. I'll bet the Master of Beasts could call them, too, if he tried,"
I said.

I thought for a moment she was actually going to stamp her foot--or
rather Musette's--at me. "They came to my call, no one else's."

'Doesn't it worry you that the children of the dark are rising? Doesn't
that scare you?"

'I have worked long and hard to amass enough power to wake the children
of the dark."

I shook my head. "You felt her today, Belle, how can you stand there and
not understand that this isn't your power going to a new level, it's
hers waking up."

Belle Morte shook her head. "Non, ma petite, you are seeking to deter me
from my revenge. I never forget an insult, and I always make sure
someone pays the price for it." She walked up to us, and that glowing
edge of power swirled at my full skirts, but it didn't catch my breath
this time. It was power, and it crawled across my skin like lines of
insects marching, but it wasn't seductive, it wasn't special. We'd all
had so much power poured through us that we just didn't have anything
left for more fun and games tonight.

She ran her hand down Micah's chest, and I felt his body tighten, but it
wasn't the effect she was used to. She touched Jean-Claude's face, and
he let her.

'Marvelous, as always, Belle."

'No, not as always," she said. She turned to me, then.

I didn't want her to touch me, but I knew that I could let her do it
now. She wasn't here in the flesh, not really, and it limited her power.
Intellectually I knew that, the cold hard feeling in my stomach wasn't
so certain. I made myself stand still while she put that glowing hand
against my face. Her hand didn't exactly burn where it touched, but it
was hot, and the power spread from it, marching down my body like hot
water poured from my face down my skin. It made me shiver and want to
pull way, but I could tolerate it. I didn't have to pull away. I didn't
have to run.

She drew her hand back, and there was a lingering sense of power between
her hand and my skin. She brushed it against her skirt, Musette's skirt.
I wondered, was Musette still in there? Did she know what was happening?
Or did she go away, only to come back when Belle was finished?

She turned last to Damian. He tucked himself in tight against me, like a
dog that was afraid of being hurt, but he didn't run. Belle touched his
face. He flinched, not wanting to meet her eyes, but as he knelt at my
legs, and nothing worse happened to him than the feel of power over his
skin, he looked up, slowly. There was something like wonderment in his
eyes, and behind that, triumph.

Belle jerked her hand back as if it had been she who was burned. "Damian
is of my line, but not of yours, Jean-Claude. It is not your power that
he tastes of." She looked at me, and there was something on that
beautiful, alien face that I couldn't understand. "Why does he taste of
your power, Anita? Not you of his, but he of yours."

I wasn't sure truth would help here, but I knew a lie wouldn't. "Would
you believe me if I said I'm not quite sure."

'Oui, and non. You speak truth, but there is some evasion to it."

I swallowed and took a deep breath. I really didn't want Belle to know
this part. I really didn't want it getting back to the council at large.

She looked at me, and her eyes went wide, and some of that glowing power
began to seep away, sliding back into Musette's body, so that it was
Musette with honey-brown eyes that met my gaze. "Somehow he is your
servant. Our legends speak of this possibility. It is one of the reasons
we once slew all necromancers on sight."

'Glad we've moved on from the good ol' days," I said.

'We have not, but when we thought you were Jean-Claude's human servant,
then there was no harm, because your power was his." She shook her head
and there was an afterimage of black hair over the blond, a dark ghost
over all that bloodstained white. "Now I am not so certain. You taste of
Jean-Claude's power, oui, but Damian tastes only of yours. And the
leopards taste only of your power, also. No necromancer has ever had an
animal to call."

She shook her head. "Jean-Claude with his new human servant and her
servants, has been able to keep me at bay. If I were here in flesh
instead of spirit, this would not save you, I think."

'Of course, it would not," Jean-Claude said, "your beauty would
overwhelm us."

'No false flattery, Jean-Claude, you know how much I hate it."

'I did not know it was false."

'I am not so certain that my beauty would overwhelm any of you. Somehow
this one," and she motioned at me, "has cut me off from the leopards,
and somehow, you have cut me off from the vampires that descend directly
from you."

My pulse sped up a bit at that, because I hadn't even felt her trying to
take over Meng Dei or Faust. They were standing as far from the show as
they could, dressed in the bodyguard black leather. Though both were so
small compared to the rest that they looked out of place. Meng Die
looked scared, Faust didn't. Which could have meant anything and
nothing.

'But not every vampire in this room is a direct descendant of yours,
Jean-Claude. Because I am not here in flesh you may keep me from the
flock that is yours, but not what was first mine."

I was afraid I knew what she meant, and hoped I didn't.

Belle Morte brushed past us, with a flare of power lost like a breeze
against our skin. She was walking towards Asher. Because she had made
him herself, and he was older than Jean-Claude, Asher owed nothing to
Jean-Claude except the vows any vampire makes to his Master of the City,
and love, perhaps love. I wasn't sure love was enough to save him from
Belle Morte. I believed in love, but I believed in evil, too. Neither
love nor evil conquers all, but evil cheats more.

47

The wolves chose that moment to come in through the far curtain. Their
entrance stopped everything briefly because they doubled our bodyguards.
I didn't need to see Belle's--or Musette's--face to know she didn't like
it. It showed in the sudden stiffening of her shoulders, the slight
clenching of her fists. I realized suddenly that I was seeing Musette
begin to rise up through Belle like a fly caught in melting ice.

It was when I saw Jason in an outfit that was mostly dark blue straps,
which covered about as much of his body as Nathaniel's outfit covered of
his, that I realized that there had been no wolves present until now,
except Stephen who had ridden with Micah from my house. I'd known that
Richard was delayed, but I hadn't noticed that none of the wolves had
been here. Usually, there were always some wolves here for Jean-Claude.
Jason walked in smiling in his black over-the-knee boots, but there was
something in his eyes, some small warning that I couldn't decipher. I'd
expected to see him wearing makeup like Micah and Nathaniel, but he
wasn't. None of the male wolves were.

Richard came into sight, easy to spot above the sea of black leather
that was his pack. I knew that he had butchered his hair, but I hadn't
really grasped how much until I saw him. I'm sure the hairstylist had
done his or her best, but there was only so much they could do. They'd
had to buzz his hair back to less than an inch of medium brown. It
seemed darker this short, missing the gold and red highlights. He also
looked remarkably like his older brother Aaron, and his father. The
resemblance had always been strong, but now it was like they were
clones.

He was wearing a black tux with a shirt of deep, rich blue and a
matching bow tie. With the new haircut, and the more conservative
clothes, he looked--out of place.

His eyes met mine, and the shock of how handsome he was still sent a
thrill through me from head to toes. Without the hair to distract, you
couldn't pretend that the cheekbones weren't knife-edge perfect, the
dimple in his chin didn't soften the strong masculinity of his face. His
shoulders were broad, his waist not slender, but small. Nothing about
Richard was slender. He was built more like a football player than a
dancer.

Jamil and Shang-Da, his Hati and Skoll, the Ulfric's personal
bodyguards, flanked him. Jamil was wearing black leather straps for a
shirt to complement almost ordinary leather pants and short boots. The
bright red beads, worked into his cornrow braids, looked like drops of
crimson blood against the darkness of his skin and the black of the
leather. He met my eyes, and there was again that sense of warning that
I'd gotten from Jason. Something was wrong, something beyond what was
already happening, but what?

Shang-Da looked uncomfortable out of his usual suit, but black leather
suited his tall frame the same way any kind of armor would have.
Shang-Da was the tallest Chinese person I'd ever met. He was physically
imposing by any standards. He was also a warrior, and protecting his
Ulfric was all he did. He pretty much hated me, because so much of the
pain I caused Richard was something he couldn't protect him against.
Bodyguards can't do shit about emotional stress. He avoided my gaze.

Jason strutted towards me, making sure his body swayed seductively. He
was by profession a stripper so he was pretty good at the seductive
sway. His body language said sex, his eyes held a shadow of something
else, and when he got to me, he slid an arm across my shoulders,
pressing his body up against mine, but what he whispered in my ear
wasn't sweet nothings, it was a warning.

'Richard has found his backbone, but he's decided to use it against
Jean-Claude first." He smiled as he said it, his face full of the
seductive promise that his walk had held. He ran his hands across the
back of my neck, playing his fingertips in the hollow of my collarbone.

I whispered against the shell of his ear. "What does that mean?"

He turned my head towards his, so that my face was hidden from Richard
and the pack. It looked like flirting. "Richard's going to try and take
all his wolves away from Jean-Claude."

I was glad my face was facing only Jason, because I couldn't hide the
shock. I fought to control my face, and Jason laughed at nothing that
I'd said. He put a hand on either side of my face, giving me time to
regain control of myself.

I whispered against his skin, "You too?"

He was still smiling, but he managed to let me see his eyes, his unhappy
eyes. "Even me," he said, barely moving his lips and still smiling.

Shang-Da was suddenly beside us. He tried to grab Jason's arm, and Jason
moved just out of reach. If you had been watching, you might not have
realized what had happened at all.

A low growl trickled out of Shang-Da's human mouth, a sound that raised
the hair on the back of my neck.

Jason growled back, and he was standing close enough that the growl
whispered over my skin. It made me shudder, a shudder visible from a
distance.

Richard said, "Shang-Da." One word, just his name, but the big man
didn't try and grab Jason again. He lowered his head and spoke in a
voice gone mostly to growl, "A man cannot serve two masters."

He was trying to be discreet, so he'd lowered his head over me, not
Jason. I don't think he was worried that I'd take a chunk out of his
face. I looked up into that face that was almost kissably close, and
asked, "Your orders are to remind Jason who his pack leader is?"

His gaze slid from Jason, to me, and the look was equally unfriendly.
"My Ulfric's orders are none of your business." He whispered it, because
he was trying not to clue the bad guys into the division in the ranks. I
realized in that moment that no matter how much Shang-Da hated me, he
didn't entirely approve of what Richard was doing, not with enemies in
town.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Jean-Claude had gone to
Richard, and they were speaking, low and earnest. Jean-Claude tried to
get close enough to whisper as we were doing, but Richard moved back. He
didn't want to be that close.

I glanced farther away to see Musette still standing close to Asher. But
they were not alone; the wereleopards were ranged around him, not
protecting him exactly, but making sure you had to touch them before you
touched Asher. Micah met my gaze, gave the tiniest nod. It said,
clearly, I'll take care of it,'til you're free. Micah didn't get
distracted. Merle hovered over everything like an angry black leather
mountain staring down at that petite figure in white. Musette stood
there, looking very much herself, just herself.

Shang-Da was looking at Musette, too. It was almost as if he could smell
where the danger lay. We turned back to meet each other's gaze at the
same time. We were physically close enough to kiss, it should have been
intimate, but it wasn't, it was almost frightening. Because we both
understood each other, and that had never happened before.

I didn't argue that I was Bolverk for their clan, thus the Ulfric's
orders were my business. Shang-Da disapproved that I was anything to
them. I tried for logic. I leaned in close and whispered, "Whatever
Richard is doing, tonight is not the night for it. We're in trouble
here."

Something flicked through his eyes, and he dropped my gaze, but leaned
in a fraction closer, so that his short black hair brushed the top of my
curls. "I have spoken with him. He hears no one tonight." His eyes came
up to meet mine, and there was something there I could read now. Pain.
"Sylvie has already argued for this to wait until our enemies leave."

'I don't see her," I whispered, again leaning in closer, not thinking
about it.

'She is not with us." He breathed it against my cheek.

I must have reacted, because he added, "She is not dead."

I moved back just enough to see his eyes, "He fought Sylvie."

'She fought him."

I widened eyes. "He won."

Shang-Da nodded.

'Is she hurt?"

He nodded again.

'Badly?"

'Bad enough," he said, and for the very first time I saw something that
wasn't approval in his face. Tomorrow he would go back to hating me, but
tonight was a dangerous night, and Shang-Da was too much the warrior not
to see that, even if Richard couldn't.

'Jason must come with me," there was no outright pleading in his voice,
Shang-Da did not beg, but there was a softness there, room to
compromise.

'For now," I said.

Jason had worked his way behind me, using me as shield against the
bigger man. And being Jason, using the excuse to lean his nearly nude
body against the back of my velvet and silk-clad one. He laid a gentle
kiss on the back of my neck, and it made me shiver. "I can't go back to
being just another pack member, I can't."

I knew what he meant, or thought I did. I answered without trying to
make eye contact, as he kissed softly across the bare skin where neck
met shoulders. Him playing with my neck was making it hard to
concentrate. "Only for tonight."

'What is it with you, Anita? Does everyone want to fuck you?" It was
Richard. When he was really angry he could be more hateful than anyone
I'd ever dated. The fact that he said the word fuck told me exactly how
nasty he was going to be tonight. God, I didn't want to do this, shovel
emotional shit while the big bad vampires munched on us.

I was close enough to see the look in Shang-Da's eyes; he didn't like
what his Ulfric had said. I touched his face, which made him jump. I
leaned in close enough that from Richard's point of view it probably
looked like a kiss, but I whispered against Shang-Da's mouth, "Jason's
yours tonight, but this can't be permanent."

Shang-Da stayed close, so that he breathed his answer on my lips, "We
will discuss it."

He began to lean back and I caught the back of his head with my hand.
"There will be no discussion."

His face went hard with his usual anger. He moved back forcefully enough
that I either had to let him go, or take a handful of hair to keep him
close to me. I let him go.

He held his hand out and said, "Your Ulfric wants you to stand with the
wolves." His voice held only one emotion, and that dimly--anger.

Jason slid out from behind me, trailing his fingers across every piece
of bare skin he could find, until he left me shuddering. Shang-Da led
him away one hand on the smaller man's arm. Jason kept his gaze on me,
like a child being carried away by scary strangers. But he wasn't really
in immediate danger, and I couldn't say that about everybody in the
room. Unfortunately.

'Maybe I should have made you Erato instead of Bolverk." Erato had been
the muse of erotic poetry, among other duties. Now she was the title
among most werewolves for the female that helps new little werewolves
control their beast during sex. Eros, god of love and lust, was the male
title. More first time shape-shifters lost control and killed people
during sex than during any other single event. The point of orgasm is to
lose control, after all.

I looked across the room at Richard, met his angry brown eyes, and felt
nothing. I wasn't angry. It was too ridiculous that he was fighting like
this in front of Musette and her people. It was beyond ridiculous, it
was foolish.

'We'll discuss this when our company goes back home, Richard," I said,
and there was no anger in my voice. I sounded reasonable, ordinary.

Something crossed Richard's face, something that leaked through his
tight shields. Rage. He was so angry. He'd turned that anger inward, and
the depression had eaten him, to the point where he cut his hair. He'd
pulled himself out of the depression, but he was still angry. If the
anger couldn't go inward, then it had to go outward. Outward seemed to
be directed at me. Great, just great.

'If you're Bolverk, then come and stand with your pack," his voice
vibrated with the rage that he was having trouble containing.

I blinked at him for a second. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

'If you are truly Bolverk for our clan, then you need to stand with us."
He met my gaze, and there was no flinching in him now, no softness. I'd
waited for him to stop flinching. I'd never dreamed it could mean this.

Jamil walked back across the room with Stephen held in his arms. Gregory
was still clinging to Stephen's hand, so they moved as a unit. When
Jamil was back with the wolves, Richard said, "Gregory is not one of us.
He cannot stand with us."

I couldn't hear what Jamil said, but I think he was trying to persuade
Richard that that wasn't necessary. Richard shook his head, then Jamil
made a mistake. He looked back at me, and with his eyes alone asked for
help. He'd done it before, many times, most of them had. Tonight,
Richard saw it, understood it, and didn't tolerate it.

He grabbed Gregory's wrist and tried to jerk him away from Stephen.
Stephen screamed and reared up in Jamil's arms, clinging with both hands
to his brother's arm.

I'd had enough. I didn't care if Belle heard it all. I moved across the
floor toward the pack. "Richard, you're being cruel."

He didn't stop trying to pull them apart. "I thought you wanted me
cruel."

'I wanted you strong, not cruel." I was almost to them, and not sure
what I was going to do when I got there.

'You're strong and you're cruel."

'Actually, I'm strong and pragmatic, not cruel." I was beside them now,
and I knew I didn't dare touch anyone. If I touched Richard, or the
twins, it would lead to more violence. I could feel it.

Stephen was making a high piteous noise like a baby rabbit being eaten
alive. He was scrambling with his hands, trying to hold on to Gregory.
Gregory was crying and trying to hold on to his brother.

'Pragmatic is saying that you're making us look weak in front of a
council member. Cruel is saying that I'm Bolverk because you don't have
the balls to be."

He stopped pulling on the twins, and Jamil took that one moment of
hesitation to slide away. Of course, that left me facing Richard alone.
And it was one of those moments when I realized how physically imposing
he was. Richard was one of those big men who don't seem big, until
suddenly, they do, and you go, oh, God, and it's usually too late.

We stood, glaring at each other. I hadn't been angry until he'd tried to
hurt Stephen and Gregory. But once you get me angry I usually stay
there. I enjoy my anger, it's the only hobby I have.

A dozen cruel remarks danced through my head, and I kept my mouth
closed. I was afraid of what would fall out if I opened it. I walked
forward, closing the remaining distance between us. I got to see
something else in his eyes besides anger--panic. He didn't want me this
close. Great.

I kept moving forward, and Richard actually moved back a step, then he
seemed to realize what he'd done. When I took another step towards him,
he stood his ground. I walked until the full skirt of my dress brushed
his legs; the skirt swirled out and covered the toes of his polished
shoes. I was close enough that it would have been more natural to touch
each other than to simply stand there, as we did.

I looked up the length of his body and met his eyes with the knowledge
in my eyes that I knew what was under that conservative suit, every inch
of it.

Richard wasn't looking at my face when I looked up; he was staring at my
dcolletage. I took a deep breath, making the mounds of my breasts rise
and fall as if a hand were pushing them from underneath.

He looked up from my chest, and met my eyes. The rage in his face was a
nearly pure thing. An anger without purpose, without form. It was like
one of those huge wildfires, that begins by eating the trees. Then
somewhere along the way the fire takes on a life of its own, almost as
if it doesn't need fuel anymore, it doesn't need anything to exist. It
burns and grows and destroys, not because it needs fuel but because
that's what it does, what it is.

I faced Richard's rage with my own. His was new and fresh, it hadn't had
time to burn its way down to his soul, to hollow out a space that held
nothing but the anger. Mine was old, almost as old as I could remember.
If Richard wanted to fight, we could fight. If he wanted to fuck, we
could fuck. At that moment either one would have been almost equally
damaging. To both of us.

His beast rose to his anger like a dog to its owner's voice. Any strong
emotion could bring on the change, and this was about as strong as
emotions got for Richard.

The energy of his beast flared like heat off a road on a summer's day, a
visible wave of power. It danced along the bare skin of my body. Once
upon a time he'd brought me using nothing but his beast thrusting
through my body. But tonight, we'd do other things. I doubted they'd be
as fun.

Musette glided close to us in her blood-spattered white dress. Her eyes
were blue again. She wove her hands through the energy of Richard's
beast, playing between the two of us, not touching, literally playing
with the energy. "Oh, you would be very good to eat, trs bon, trs trs
bon." She laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that would make you look
twice in a bar, a laugh made to get attention. The sound didn't go with
the blood drying like a mask on her face.

Richard let the rage fill his eyes and directed it at her. It was a look
that I think would have backed up anyone else in the room. Musette
laughed again.

Richard turned to face her. His anger really didn't care who the target
was, anyone would do. "This is none of your concern. When we're done
with pack business, then, and only then, we'll talk to the vampires."

Musette threw her head back and chortled, there was no other word for
it. She laughed until tears leaked down her face, carving runnels in the
drying blood. The laughter died slowly, and when she opened her eyes
again, they were honey-brown.

Richard's breath caught in his throat. I was close enough to him to know
that he stopped breathing, just for a moment.

The smell of roses was everywhere. "You remember me, wolf, I can feel it
in your fear." That purring contralto shivered down my skin, and I saw
Richard shudder, too. "I will play with you later, wolf, but for now,"
and she turned and looked at Asher, "for now I will play with him."

Asher was still pressed to the wall, doing that utter stillness that the
old ones can do. He had sunk into the silence of eternity, trying to
make this not happen, trying to hide in plain sight. It wasn't going to
work.

As Musette's body glided towards him, Belle began to spill out of her.
The dark gold gown overlaying the white like a ghost. The black hair
spreading like phantom flames around her, moved by a wind that trickled
through the room, the wind of Belle's power.

'What's happening?" Richard whispered, and I don't even know if he meant
to have an answer, but I replied anyway.

'Musette is Belle Morte's surrogate."

His eyes were all for Belle's ghostly form overriding the other body,
when he said, "What does that mean, exactly?"

'It means we are in a shit load of trouble."

He looked at me then. "I am Ulfric, Anita, that doesn't change just
because some high-ranking vampire comes to town."

'Be Ulfric, Richard, great, knock yourself out, but don't destroy us all
while you do it."

Some of the anger had leaked away on the tide of fear. It was impossible
to be up close and personal with Belle's power and not fear it.

'I am either Ulfric, or I'm not, Anita. I am either master or slave, I
can't be both."

I raised eyebrows at him. "Yeah, actually, you can." I held up a hand.
"I don't have time for this tonight, Richard. Tomorrow if we're all
still alive, then we can discuss it, okay?"

He frowned. "She's not here in flesh, Anita, it's only metaphysical
games. How bad could it be?"

I realized in that moment that Richard was still living in that other
world. The world where people played fair and horrible things never
really happened. It must have been a peaceful place to live, the planet
that people like Richard called home. I'd always admired the view, but
I'd never lived there. The trouble was that Richard didn't live there
either.

The first scream cut through the silence. The wereleopards had all
backed away, crouching at Belle Morte's feet. Only Micah stayed
standing. He'd put himself in front of Asher, but he was small like me,
and he couldn't hide Asher completely.

I looked at Richard, and he had a look of such hurt in his eyes. He was
never going to wake up and smell the blood. He wasn't going to truly
change.

I turned away from him and started walking towards Asher and Micah.
Jean-Claude moved up beside me, offered me his hand, and I took it. No
one else moved with us. The wererats couldn't attack Musette. The
wereleopards were doing their best, but it wasn't going to be enough.
Only the wolves could have helped us, and Richard wouldn't let them.

In that moment I wondered how long it would be before I started hating
Richard.

48

I couldn't figure out why Asher was screaming. There was no blood, no
rending of flesh, but he screamed all the same. Then as we got closer I
watched the flesh of his face begin to seep away. It was as if his skin
collapsed around the bones of his skull, as if Belle's touch were
draining him dry, not of blood, but of everything.

I risked a glance at Jean-Claude, and he looked stricken, a second
before his face showed nothing. I felt him pull away into that emptiness
where he hid. "She could drain him to death this way." His voice was
remarkably empty.

'But you're immune to it, right? She didn't make you."

'She is our sourdre de sang, none of us are immune to her touch."

I stopped and pushed him back. "Then you stay. I don't need two of you
to worry about."

He didn't argue, but his gaze went past me to Asher. I wasn't sure he'd
even heard me, and there wasn't time to check. I was half-running, when
Micah pushed Belle back, pushed her back, using his whole body, broke
her touch on Asher's face.

Asher collapsed slowly down the wall, and Belle's glowing face kissed
Micah. The moment their lips touched, I felt the ardeur fill the room
like hot water, spilled in stinging drops across my skin. It froze me in
mid-step, made me stumble. I stood there, caught between Asher against
the wall and Micah lost in that glowing embrace. I knew that I could
have drained Micah to death with the ardeur over a matter of days, but
part of me knew that Belle could do it faster.

Asher's hand reached out to me, skeletal thin, like sticks in paper.
Micah was trying to push himself back from Musette,'Belle's body, but
she rode him, arms at his back, glowing crimson lips like a red fog
across his face. I had a moment of feeling Asher dying, fading, for lack
of a better word. Jean-Claude went to him, but I knew that Jean-Claude
had no life to share. Then the cross taped to my chest blazed to life.

It burned against my flesh as if the black tape held all the heat in. I
half-screamed as I ripped the tape away and the cross spilled out into
the light, white, hot, like a captive star on a chain.

Micah stumbled back from Belle Morte. Jean-Claude spilled the black
velvet coat over himself and Asher. The other vampires hid their faces
and hissed at the light. I saw movement from the corner of my eye, a
second before Angelito slammed into me. There was no one to stop him
now. The cross was a two-edged sword.

He grabbed me in one arm, completely off the ground, the other hand
wrapping around the cross. I poked him in the throat with three fingers,
stiffened to a spear point. He gagged and dropped me, but he held on to
the cross, and as I fell, the chain broke, cutting into my neck as it
came away. The moment the cross was his, the glow began to fade.

Musette's body turned to me, but her eyes were pools of dark gold fire,
and it wasn't a ghostly image superimposed over her body this time, it
was as if I were seeing double. My eyes saw Musette with the wrong color
of eyes. But inside my head it was Belle. Belle in the flesh, a little
taller than Musette, long black hair falling to her knees in waves, the
dark gold of her dressing gown showing a triangle of white flesh, her
face like something sculpted from a pearl, her lips a perfect red pout.
She wrapped white hands around my arms, long dark nails, playing along
the velvet of the sleeves. She pressed me against her body and leaned in
to lay a kiss with that mouth upon mine.

A small voice in my head screamed, "Don't let her touch you." But I
couldn't move, couldn't get away, wasn't sure I wanted to get away.

That red, red mouth hovered over mine. Her breath pushed against my
lips. The world smelled of roses. Then, suddenly, I could taste Asher's
kiss upon my lips. Tasted it as if I had kissed him but a second before.
That one taste opened my eyes, helped me draw back from Belle's mouth.
Helped me want to draw back.

Her eyes stared down at me, pools of golden fire like brown water in
sunlight. I realized that I had swooned, and she held me as if she'd
dipped me in a dance. Her hand was behind my head, raising me up to meet
her kiss.

I felt movement and rolled my eyes back to see Richard. Belle saw him,
too, "Interfere, and I will raise the ardeur in you again, wolf. You
brought no women with you. Did you think that would save you? It won't.
The ardeur only wants to be fed, wolf, it doesn't care how."

Richard hesitated. I could taste his fear in my mouth, but underneath
that was still the taste of Asher's kiss.

Jean-Claude was suddenly beside Belle. "It is me you want." He spread
his arms in a wide dramatic gesture that spread the darkness of his
coat, spilled his hair around him. "I am here."

I don't know what would have happened, or what she would have said,
because the next thing that overwhelmed me was the memory of Asher's
love making. It came on me like it had once with Jason, but this was
more, worse, better. It bowed my back, convulsed me in Belle's arms,
surprised a scream from me, made my hands scratch at the air, and at
Belle's face. She dropped me then, and I saw, dimly, as if through a
white window, her hands grab Jean-Claude.

Richard caught me before I hit the ground, cradled me in his arms. He
looked so worried. His hand touched my face. "Anita, are you hurt?"

I managed to shake my head, but even with Richard this close, his face
soft and worried about me, I turned my head to look towards Asher. I
couldn't help myself. Asher's hair was like golden Christmas tree
tinsel, lifeless, hanging around a face that was more skull than flesh.
His lips were a thin hard line around teeth that were mostly fangs. Only
his eyes were still Asher, pools of pale blue fire, as if a winter sky
could burn.

The moment I saw his eyes, I tried to crawl out of Richard's arms, tried
to crawl to Asher.

'Anita, Anita, what's wrong?" He held me, turned me to look at him.

I found my voice, but all I could say was, "Asher."

He glanced at the fallen vampire, and the disgust was plain on his face.
"I know, Anita, I'm sorry."

I wasn't sure what he was apologizing about, and I didn't care. There
was something else I should have been more worried about, something I'd
forgotten. But I couldn't think of anything except Asher's eyes and that
I had to go to him. Had to.

Richard stood up, suddenly, with me still in his arms. I heard
scrabbling as if of a thousand tiny claws. Rats, thousands of rats,
flowed in a furry, squeaking wave across the floor of the cave.

Asher's power receded, and I knew it had cost him dear to let me go.
Knew in that instant that I was the only one who could feed him enough
energy to keep him alive.

Richard made a small sound of dismay and turned so that I could see what
had paled him. The two vampires that had had the tops of their heads
blown off were slowly rising to their feet. They were healed. Those
strange cat-eyed faces were whole. There wasn't even a scar to mark
where the bullets had struck.

'Fuck," I said.

One of the werehyena's nerve broke, and he fired into the squirming mass
of rats. The next sound was a second gunshot, and he fell with a hole in
his back, fell into the mob of rats. They boiled over him, and his body
vanished from sight. The sounds, though, nothing masked the sounds. I
hadn't been close enough to the gunshots to be deafened, and for the
first time I was sorry about that. The sound of tiny teeth tearing
flesh, squeaking voices squabbling over what used to be a man, seemed to
drown us all.

One of the wererats was staring at the gun in his hand as if it had
suddenly appeared. He turned a white face back towards us. I think he
mouthed, "I'm sorry," before Bobby Lee's scream, "Guns down, guns
fucking down, now. No one fire." He threw his own gun spinning across
the room, and the other wererats followed suit.

Some of the werehyenas lowered their guns, but only one threw his away.
Bobby Lee went to his knees and clasped his hands on top of his head.
Claudia did it next, then one by one all the wererats followed. I knew
why, they were afraid Musette,'Belle would use them against us. But I
wouldn't have wanted to be kneeling on the floor when the rats found me.

I finally could think enough to remember that Jean-Claude might be
fighting for his life. But he wasn't. Belle held his beautiful face in
her hands, but he was still standing. His own hands cupped hers,
pressing her hands against his face. His face was still perfect,
untouched. A soft smile played along his lips. It was Belle's eyes that
were wide, her face that was unhappy. He couldn't eat her as she had
Asher, but strangely, she seemed to be having trouble eating him.

I knew that Belle,'Musette had called the rats. I didn't think she'd had
a thing to do with the recuperative powers of the two children of the
night. They were half crouched, one helping the other to stand, but they
weren't looking at Belle, or anyone else. I had a moment to wonder if
they were going to hold a grudge, when the wave of rats jumped on the
first werehyena, tiny teeth trying to tear through the black leather.
People were screaming, and the werehyenas began to fire into the small
rats, blasting their bodies into red ruin. But there were so many of
them.

The rats parted around the kneeling wererats like they were big rocks in
a stream.

'Can you stand?" Richard asked.

'I think so."

He lowered me gently to the floor, then he glanced at the werewolves who
were still standing in an unhappy group. Apparently Richard's point to
Sylvie had been violent enough that none of them had disobeyed. Well,
Jason was struggling in a joint lock that Shang-Da had on his arm, but
no one else had tried to help. What the hell had Richard done to Sylvie?

The world suddenly smelled like the musk of wolf fur, the damp richness
of leaf mold, the Christmas tree scent of evergreen, as if my furred
shoulder had just brushed it with dew still on it, on a calm, still
morning. I felt that piece of me that was Richard's beast pour up
through my body and ease across my skin like wind.

Richard looked at me with amber wolf eyes. He'd opened the marks between
us, opened them wide. He threw back his head and howled, and a dozen
throats answered him, then the werewolves moved forward like a black
wave of destruction.

Shang-Da and Jamil stayed at Richard's back, and they showed claws where
fingernails should have been, the half-change of the very alpha. For the
rest, I felt them slip their skin, felt the rush of energy like small
tugging explosions in my gut.

I could feel now that Jean-Claude had shut his end of our triumvirate
down as tight as he could. I could look at him, but for once I couldn't
feel him at all. He'd expected to die, and he hadn't wanted to take us
with him.

I found one of the guns that the wererats had discarded and felt
instantly better. The weight of it in my hand was a very good thing.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only human servant that had found a gun.
Angelito fired at a werehyena, sending him spinning round, falling into
the mass of biting rats. He screamed and writhed, trying to beat them
off him.

I shot into the rats close to him, but there were too many. It was like
trying to shoot water, you moved it, but didn't hurt it.

I knew one way to stop the rats. I sighted down the barrel at
Musette,'Belle's head. If I killed her, the rats would go back to
wherever they came from.

I let out my breath, stilled myself for a shot that was far too close to
Jean-Claude for my comfort. A rat jumped on my hand, dug its teeth into
me. The wave of them began to jump on my dress, their claws catching in
the heavy fabric. I screamed, and suddenly Micah was there,
half-crouched, hissing at the rats. Those on the floor scattered,
squealing in terror. The ones already on my body seemed immune to the
fear. He helped me pick them off and threw them into the scurrying mass.
The rats poured over their injured comrades and ate them, too.

The rats seemed more afraid of the wereleopards than of the wolves, and
the wereleopards began to spread out from the wall, hissing, sending the
small rodents back, gaining an ever-widening space.

The two vampires that I thought I'd killed had grown claws and fangs
that no vampire ever had. They were wading through the werewolves in a
spray of blood and white bone.

One great hand was raised at Shang-Da's back, and without thinking I
fired, able to aim because I stood in the circle the leopards had made.
The vampire's head exploded again. I knew now that if we wanted him to
stay dead, we needed to take his heart and burn it all. Scattering the
ashes over different bodies of running water wouldn't have hurt either.

Shang-Da had time for the barest of glances my way, then the other
vampire launched himself and sent all three of them to the floor for the
rats to engulf.

Belle's voice rose over the noise like a storm, a thunderclap that froze
all of us in mid-action. Even the furred sea of rats froze. "Enough!"

She stepped back from Jean-Claude, and he began to laugh. It wasn't his
magical laugh that slithered across the skin and made you think of sex,
it was just laughter, pure unadulterated joy.

'We will fight no more," Belle said, and though her voice was still
deep, it had lost its sexy purr. She sounded not angry, but put out, as
if she'd gotten badly surprised.

The rats pulled back like a furry ocean draining away. They squeaked and
squealed, but they left. Most of the werewolves were covered in tiny
crimson bite marks. The remains of the fallen werehyena looked like it
had been mauled by something much bigger.

Jean-Claude found his voice, and it was as joyous as his laughter had
been. "You cannot feed from me. You cannot take back what you gave me,
because I am no longer of your line. I am sourdre de sang of my own line
now."

Belle stared at him, her face that blank emptiness that I knew so well.
She was hiding how she really felt. "I know what it means, Jean-Claude."

'You can no longer treat me as a lesser member of your line, Belle.
There are different niceties to be observed between two sourdres de
sang."

She smoothed her hands down her full skirt, and I knew that gesture, it
was one of Jean-Claude's. Nervous, Belle Morte was nervous. "I was
within my rights to do as I have done, for I did not know, nor did you."

'True enough, but now that we do know, you must take all your people and
go. Leave our lands tonight, for if you are found in our territory come
tomorrow night, your lives will be forfeit."

'You would not truly kill my Musette?" But her voice held the lightest
thread of uncertainty.

'To be able to kill Musette, legally, with no political repercussions."
He made a small tut-tut sound. "That has been the fondest wish of many a
Master Vampire, and I will do it, Belle. You can taste the truth of my
words."

She stiffened, just a little. "I will retain control of Musette until we
are out of your lands. She has an unfortunate temper at times."

'It would be a bad thing if she lost her temper here in St. Louis,"
Jean-Claude said, and his voice was empty, the joy seeping away.

Cherry appeared at my elbow. "Sorry to interrupt, I'm not an expert on
vampires, but I think Asher's dying."

49

Asher lay against the far wall. He was a skeleton with dried parchment
skin. He lay on a bed of golden Christmas tree tinsel, the glorious
remnant of his hair. His clothes had collapsed around his sunken body,
like a deflated balloon. His eyes were closed, and only the roundness of
his eyes underneath that thin skin was flesh and solid. Everything else
seemed to have withered away.

I fell to my knees beside him, because suddenly I couldn't stand.

'He's not dead," Valentina's child voice came, but she stayed out of
reach. She offered comfort, but she wasn't stupid.

I looked down at what was left of all that beauty and didn't believe
her.

'See with something other than your eyes, ma petite," Jean-Claude said.
He didn't kneel, but stayed standing, facing Belle Morte, almost as if
he didn't dare turn his back on her.

I did what Jean-Claude told me to do; I looked with power instead of my
physical eyes. I could feel a spark inside Asher, some small part of him
still burned. He wasn't dead, but he might as well have been. I looked
up at Jean-Claude. "He's too weak to take blood."

'And he has no human servant," Belle Morte said, "no animal to call. He
is without," and she paused, seemed to think upon her next word.
Finally, she said, "resources."

Resources, that was a nice word for it. But whatever word you used, she
was right. Asher had nothing to feed on but blood, and if he was too
weak to feed on that… I couldn't finish the thought even in my head.

'Belle Morte could save him," Jean-Claude's voice was neutral, empty.

I looked up at him, then past him to her. "What do you mean?"

'She made him, and she is a sourdre de sang. She could simply give him
back some of the energy that she stole from him."

'I stole nothing," Belle said, and her own neutral voice held a hint of
anger. "You cannot steal what is yours by right, and Asher is mine, all
of him, Jean-Claude, every piece of his skin, every drop of his blood.
He lives only through my sufferance, and without that he dies."

Jean-Claude made a small gesture. "Perhaps stole is not the correct
term, but you can restore some of his life energy. You could bring him
back enough to be able to feed on blood."

'I could, but I will not." Her anger was like a scalding wind, biting
along my skin where it touched.

'Why not?" I asked it, because no one else seemed willing to, and I had
to know.

'I do not have to explain myself to you, Anita."

I still had the gun in my hand. Suddenly it was heavy, as if it had
reminded me it was there, or maybe the shock of lifting it was enough
for me to feel again. I stood up and aimed the gun at Musette's chest.
"If Asher dies, so does Musette."

'You have not had much luck killing vampires with your little gun,"
Belle said, and she sounded confident. Of course it wasn't her body that
I was about to riddle with bullets.

'I think the Mother's children are special cases. They probably can
survive pretty much everything but fire. I don't think that's true of
Musette." I had let out the breath in my body, so that I was as still as
I could get. My free hand was resting at my lower back, half cradled on
my buttocks. It was my favorite position for target shooting.

'Angelito will stop you," she said simply.

I looked back to find Angelito held on his knees by three werewolves,
but hey… "If he makes a nuisance of himself he can die, too. He
probably won't survive me killing Musette anyway."

Belle Morte's brown eyes widened just a bit. "You would not dare."

'Sure I would," and I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes, because I had
them on Musette's body. I was ignoring Belle's shape over Musette,
concentrating on seeing that white dress with its dried blood. The more
I concentrated, the more of Musette I could see, like a double image,
Musette's chest in my physical eyes, and Belle's ghostly overlay in my
head. It made me wonder how much of Belle everyone else had been seeing,
or if I'd had a better show because of my necromancy. I'd ask someone
later. Much later.

'Jean-Claude, you cannot allow this."

'Ma petite has her moments of rashness, but in this moment she has
reminded me that the rules are not the same now. I am within my rights
as sourdre de sang to punish one of your people for harming my second in
command. It is perfectly within our laws."

'I did not know that Asher was the second in command to a sourdre de
sang when I drank from him."

My arm was still steady, but it wouldn't last. You can't hold a
one-armed shooting stance forever. Hell, you can't hold any shooting
stance forever. "You know now," I said, "and he's not dead yet, so
you're killing the second in command of another sourdre de sang with
foreknowledge."

'We are within our rights to take Musette's life in payment for
Asher's," Jean-Claude said. "You should be more careful, Belle. Sending
people you value far away from you makes it so much harder to keep them
safe."

I was fighting for my arm not to tremble. Eventually, I'd lose. "Let me
make this easy for you, Belle, help Asher now, or I kill Musette."

The one thing that was the same in both the vision of my eyes and the
vision of my head, was those honey-brown eyes. Those eyes looked at me,
and I felt the draw in them. She wanted me to lower my gun, and my arm
hurt, so why didn't I? My arm started to lower, and I caught myself a
moment before Jean-Claude touched my shoulder.

I put the arm back where I'd had it. But just lowering and raising it
had helped the lactic acid build up. I could hold the stance for much
longer now.

'If you wish to play games with Musette's life, that is up to you,"
Jean-Claude said, and his voice danced over my skin, made my body
shiver, made my hand convulse, and only practice kept my finger from
squeezing the trigger. But I didn't tell him to stop, because Belle had
used her mark on me to cloud my mind. It had been a long time since a
vampire had gotten to me so casually.

Jean-Claude's sex ran over my skin while the fear ran like ice through
the rest of me. Belle wasn't defeated, not even close. Arrogance would
get more of us killed. So, no arrogance, just truth. "What you have to
ask yourself, Belle," I said, in a voice that was very quiet because I
was concentrating on my breathing, trying to be still, for when I fired,
"is, is your love for Musette stronger than your hatred for Asher?"

'You do not hate lesser beings, Anita, you merely punish them." Her
voice sounded so sure of itself.

Jean-Claude said one word, "Liar."

Those dark honey eyes flicked to him, and there was no love lost in that
look. She hated Jean-Claude, too. She hated them both. They had told me
why. They were the only two men who had ever left her bed voluntarily,
as far as she saw it. They had deserted her, and no one leaves Belle
Morte, because no one would want to. Strangely, their leaving had
damaged her sense of self. But I didn't share this knowledge because
hurting Belle Morte's pride wouldn't help us. To salvage her pride she'd
let Asher and Musette die. I was almost sure of it. I swallowed the
words, and fought to control my face, but I'd forgotten that she was a
sourdre de sang, and she'd marked me once. It wasn't my face I had to
worry about.

Her voice came in my head like a dream, riding on the scent of roses,
"My pride is not so fragile a thing, Anita."

Jean-Claude's kiss on my cheek chased back the scent of roses, and that
purring voice. "Ma petite, ma petite, are you well?"

I nodded. "Prove it," I said, "heal Asher."

Jean-Claude didn't ask to whom I was speaking. He'd heard through me, or
he guessed, or he didn't bother to question, because we were running out
of time.

'You will talk him to death," Valentina said.

Everyone but me looked at the child vampire. I was still fighting to
keep a target on Musette's white-clad chest.

'If you do not give him the kiss of life soon, he will be beyond even
your powers, Belle Morte," Valentina said.

Belle fought to keep her face calm, but the anger leaked through the
room. Or maybe I was just more sensitive to it. "Have you changed sides,
petite morte?"

'Non, but I do not wish to lose Musette by accident. If you choose
Asher's death, that is one thing. To simply miss the chance to save him,
another."

I wanted badly to turn and look at Valentina, but I kept my gaze on
Musette, on Belle. Besides, Valentina's face would have been like all
the old ones when they were hiding themselves, or risking themselves,
blank, empty, a lovely mask.

Something passed between them. Something I could not read. Belle took a
deep, impatient breath, smoothed her skirts, and began to walk forward.
It wasn't quite the graceful glide that Musette's body normally had. I
wondered if vampires had trouble gliding when they were nervous, because
Belle was nervous. I could feel it.

I lowered the gun, as she moved, because if she was going to save Asher,
Musette lived. That was the deal. Besides, my shoulder and hand were
beginning to ache. If I'd known I was going to have to keep the stance
so long, I'd have gone for a two-handed stance.

Belle Morte seemed to collect herself as she moved across the room, so
that by the time she reached Asher she was gliding, and Musette's white
dress was completely lost to Belle's dark gold, at least to my eyes.

She knelt by Asher's body. I couldn't think of it as anything else but a
body. I was already distancing myself from him. I realized with
something like shock that I didn't believe she'd save him. He felt so
dead, so very dead.

Jean-Claude's hands squeezed my shoulders, and I realized that he was
shielding from me, hard. He didn't want to share his feelings right now,
and I didn't blame him. They were too personal for sharing, too
frightening.

Richard was gone, too. I actually had to glance at him to make sure he
was still in the room, that's how tight he was shielding. I wasn't sure
when he went away behind his shields, which seemed strange. I should
have noticed. He caught my look, and he couldn't keep the compassion, or
the pain, off his face. I don't think it was pain for Asher.

Jean-Claude's hands tensed and the movement brought my attention back to
Belle. Her hair fell out around her like a black cloak, so that the gold
dress showed only in hints through all that blackness.

I felt Jean-Claude gather himself, like it was a physical effort to
gather his will, then he sighed, and he shook himself like a bird
settling its feathers. He stepped out from behind me and offered me his
arm, very formally. I hesitated for a heartbeat, then slid my arm
through his. He was still shielding from me, still hiding his emotions,
but I didn't need to be anything but his friend to know what he was
thinking. It hurt his heart to see Asher reduced to this. It hurt me,
and I didn't have centuries of history with the man.

He walked us forward, toward the kneeling vampire and what was left of
the person that we both loved. I would never know if my love for Asher
was because of Jean-Claude's feelings for him. It probably was, but I
couldn't separate my feelings from Jean-Claude's. That should have
panicked me, but it didn't. I was tired of being scared all the time. I
was ready to try and be as brave with my heart as I usually was with the
rest of me. Besides, I'd been careful with Richard, and in the end we'd
broken each other's hearts. I glanced at him as I walked forward on
Jean-Claude's arm. My heart still tugged at the sight of him. Earlier
today I'd been ready for a reconciliation. I was always ready for a
reconciliation with Richard, any time he gave an inch. The trouble was,
he kept taking back that inch.

He caught me looking at him, and there was something in his eyes, a
pain, a loss, as deep as the ocean, as wide as the sea. I loved him. I
really loved him. Maybe I always would. I had this horrible urge to run
to him, to let him sweep me up in his arms, to chase that hurt from his
eyes. But he probably wouldn't sweep me up in his arms. He'd probably
just look at me, uncomprehending. And that would make me hate him. I
didn't want to hate Richard.

I turned away from him. I didn't want him to see the longing, the loss,
or the first stirrings of hate on my face.

I felt Richard beside me, before he touched me. I had a moment of
surprise while I gazed up into his face. His face was as close to
unreadable as he could get. He didn't sweep me up into his arms, but he
did offer me his arm. I hesitated, as I had with Jean-Claude, then
slowly, I slid my arm through his. He pressed his hand over mine, so
warm, so solid, pressing me against the solid weight of his muscular
forearm.

I lowered my eyes so he wouldn't see how it affected me. We were all
shielding like a son of a bitch, trying to stay safe in our own
thoughts.

Richard and Jean-Claude exchanged a look over my head. I don't know what
the look was supposed to mean. It should have seemed silly to be
exchanging any looks when all we had to do was open the marks that made
us a triumvirate. Then we could have nearly read each other's minds. But
this was the first time in months that Richard was at our side. I think
all three of us were being as careful as we knew how to be.

50

Belle knelt over Asher, her head lowered as if she were kissing him. But
she held herself off his body, one hand on the floor, the other against
the wall. The kiss looked so intimate, but she went to great pains to
not touch him more than she had to. An intimate act ruined.

I should have been able to feel the power she was pushing into him, but
I was shielding too tight. I wasn't good enough at shielding to filter
out, and in, what I chose. When I shielded this hard, I shielded
everything out. I wanted to feel what she was doing. I wanted to sense
whether that faint spark inside Asher was growing.

I opened just a touch, like widening the shutter on a camera, only a
little opening, only enough to reach out and touch that spark.

I tasted Asher's kiss upon my mouth, as if I had drunk a wine that
tasted of him. The spark had become a flame, a cold flame that filled
his body, and still Belle poured energy into him. Asher screamed through
my mind, and that silent scream staggered me, would have knocked me to
my knees if Richard and Jean-Claude hadn't caught me.

'Anita, what's wrong?" Richard asked.

'Ma petite, are you well?"

There was no time to explain. I pulled free of both of them, and they
didn't fight me. I grabbed Belle by the shoulder and the hair, and it
was almost shocking to feel Musette's careful curls crush under my hand
as I jerked her back. I was expecting to feel Belle's waves under my
hand, but Belle wasn't here, not really. She'd never been here. She was
not illusion, but not exactly real either.

I flung her away from Asher, sending her sliding across the floor on the
slick white cloth of Musette's dress. But it was Belle's voice that
thundered through the room, "How dare you lay hands on me."

'You're trying to bind him to you again, as of old. He doesn't want to
be bound."

'He will fade and die without the power that I can breathe into him."
She looked around as if she expected someone to help her to her feet.
The only people who would have been willing to help were under guard,
and no one else made a move. She finally stood on her own, but with
nothing near to grab onto, and an old-fashioned corset on, graceful it
was not. Good to know that some fashions even a vampire can't make work.

Belle turned eyes that glittered with brown fire to me. "Asher will die
without me. Look at him, see what is left of him, it is not enough to
survive."

Her power had poured some flesh in under that dry skin, but not much. It
was as if I could see the individual muscles and ligaments under the
skin, like a physiology diagram, to show where all the attachment points
are. But it was not like a person. The hair was still a dry nest of
golden tinsel, and the skin like faded parchment stretched over an
obscenely thin frame. But the eyes, the eyes looked human, except for
that extraordinary ice blue color. Even when he'd been human, his eyes
could never have looked anything but extraordinary.

Asher was there in those eyes. He was trapped in that fragile, half-dead
shell. He gazed up at me, and I felt the weight of everything he was in
his eyes.

'Blood may save his life," Belle said, "but it will not give him back
what he has lost. Only his maker, or the one who has taken his essence,
can give it back." She stood there with her shining darkness coming out
of the eyes in Musette's face. She didn't add that since she was both
Asher's maker and the one who had stolen his essence, only she could
return him to his former glory. Belle Morte had a little too much class
to point out the obvious. But it hung unsaid in the air.

'He just needs power," I said, "it doesn't have to be yours."

'If he had a human servant, or an animal to call, but he has nothing,"
Belle said, and there was a tone of satisfaction in her voice that she
couldn't, or didn't try to, hide. "He is alone, and binding himself to
me again is the only choice he has, unless you wish him to spend the
rest of eternity as he is now." The note of satisfaction slid into
cruelty without blinking an eye.

'You can't leave him like this," Richard said, and there was pity on his
face, yes, but more, there was horror. "Being tied to Belle Morte isn't
worse than this."

'If you had ever known her embrace," Jean-Claude said, "you might not be
so quick to decide."

Richard looked at him, then back at Asher, then at Belle Morte. "I don't
understand."

'No," I said, "you don't." Then I looked up at him, touched his arm,
very lightly. "Think of yourself trapped forever with Raina."

A look of disgust and personal revulsion skipped across his face, before
he could hide it. I still carried a piece of Raina's munin, her spirit
memory, in me. She was a sexual sadist, but she'd also fiercely
protected the very people she tortured. The woman had needed some
serious therapy. In the end, the only therapy she'd gotten had been
silver bullets. I never felt bad about killing Raina. Funny that.

Richard nodded. "I understand that, but…" he made a helpless gesture
towards Asher, "this is not…" He seemed at a loss for words.

I couldn't blame him. I had no words at the thought of this being
Asher's fate for the next few centuries. It wasn't bearable. It simply
wasn't. But I couldn't make Belle give him the energy without strings
attached. It was the nature of vampire energy that there were always
strings attached. It was designed to bind a vampire to its maker, and
through its maker, to the council, to the entire power structure of
their world. Everything would fall apart if you didn't belong to
somebody. There are masterless shape-shifters, but no masterless
vampires. There are vampires who have lost their masters, but they are
compelled to find a new master, to swear new blood oaths, to hunt
someone else to rule them. A truly lesser vampire can even die without a
master vampire to rule them. They go to sleep at dawn and never wake up
again.

I knew all this. Knew all of it, and didn't care. I could feel
Asher's--not thoughts--but will. He preferred a clean death to this. Or
to being Belle's slave again.

I dropped to my knees beside him. I could give him a clean death. I knew
all about death. I started to touch him, my hand hesitated. I didn't
want to touch him. Didn't want to feel that once-living skin turned to
this. Didn't want my last memory of him to be this. But I hate
cowardice, almost worse than anything else, and if Asher could be
trapped inside this body, then I could touch him one last time.

I laid my hand against his face, gently, oh, so gently. The skin felt
thin as paper, dried, and brittle. I was afraid if I pushed, my fingers
would go through his skin like the pages of an ancient book handled too
roughly.

I'd forgotten that all vampire powers are stronger with touch. One
second I was holding his face as delicately as I could, the next moment
I had collapsed across his body, and was writhing with the memory of
Asher's body on mine.

Hands grabbed me back, ripped me away from Asher, and I fought those
hands, drove my elbow back into a groin. The hands didn't let go, but
dimly I heard someone yelling my name, "Anita, Anita, Anita," over and
over.

I blinked, and it was like waking, but I knew my eyes hadn't been
closed. Richard's hands were still on me, but he was standing like
something hurt.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but what came out wasn't an apology.
"Why did you stop us?"

'I thought you were going to crush him."

Staring up into his so sincere face, I knew he meant it. Hadn't I just
moments before been afraid I'd shove a ringer through Asher's brittle
skin? But somehow I knew that wasn't going to happen. Somehow I knew he
was a lot more durable than he appeared.

Jean-Claude came to stand beside me, and the look on his face said that
he'd figured out what Richard hadn't. But Richard wasn't good with the
dead. It wasn't his area of specialty. Jean-Claude touched my face,
gently, as if afraid I'd break. "He fed from you. From your memory of
him."

I nodded. "Yes."

'How many vampires can you serve?" Belle asked. Apparently, Jean-Claude
hadn't been the only one to notice.

I realized that she thought Asher had marked me, but that wasn't exactly
it. "He hasn't marked me, Belle, if that's what you think."

'Then how can he feed from your strength?"

'Surprise," I said, "I don't think that Jean-Claude is the only vampire
who's gained new power."

'This is not possible."

'But it's true," I said, and I didn't try and keep the triumph out of my
voice. We didn't need her now. We didn't fucking need her now.

Richard was still holding my arms. I looked up at him. "Let me go,
Richard."

He frowned down at me. He either didn't understand, or didn't want to.

I repeated myself, more gently. "Let go, Richard, please."

His eyes flicked to Asher lying against the wall, still looking mostly
dead. "The last time we talked about this, you had the same rule I had.
No one feeds off of you."

I searched his face, while he gazed at what was left of Asher's beauty.
I tried to see something in that gaze that I could talk to, explain
things to, but I wasn't sure there was anyone there that would
understand.

'If I don't let him feed, Richard, he'll be trapped like he is right
now. He won't die. He won't decay. He'll just exist, like that."

He tore his gaze away from Asher and looked at me. "He didn't take
blood."

'It's more like an energy feed, like the ardeur." It suddenly occurred
to me that Richard might not know that Asher really, truly was in my
bed. I'd pretended in the past with more than one man that he was a
boyfriend or lover to fool the bad guys. Richard might believe that it
was just a game again. Now wasn't the time to explain all the gory
details. There would be time later to find out if Richard had meant what
he said in my mind in the Jeep, that he didn't care who I had sex with,
because we weren't dating. If he meant it, it would upset me. If he
hadn't meant it, then knowing about Asher would upset him. Either way,
it could wait.

He still hadn't let go of my arms. "Have you let Asher feed on you
before?"

I don't know what I would have answered because he let go of one of my
arms. He reached up a slow hand to touch my chin. I knew what he was
going to do, and I couldn't stop it. He turned my head to one side, and
exposed the vampire bites on the side of my neck.

'When did you start sharing blood?"

'Last night."

He lowered his hand, and I turned to meet his eyes. One look was enough.
He, like me, thought sex was the lesser evil. The problem with something
being a lesser evil is that something else has to be the greater evil.

'Is it just Jean-Claude, or…" His gaze flicked to Asher.

'We'll talk about this tomorrow, Richard, I promise, but right now, I
need to help Asher."

He shook his head. "Are those Jean-Claude's marks on your neck?"

I sighed and looked down at the floor. I made myself meet his eyes, but
damn it, I didn't have time or energy for this, not right now. "No," I
said.

Again his gaze flicked to Asher. "His?"

'Yes."

'How can you let them feed off of you?"

'If I hadn't let Asher feed last night, then tonight he'd be dead, or
enthralled to Belle Morte for the rest of eternity. It's one of the
reasons we did it."

'You knew he'd be able to feed?" He frowned at me.

I shook my head. "No, but Musette had claimed him for Belle, because he
didn't belong to anyone. We made sure he belonged to us."

'Us?" he actually looked at Micah first.

Micah's face was as neutral as he could manage.

'Not Micah, Jean-Claude."

He looked at the vampire, then back to Micah. "How can you let her do
this?"

'I'd feed him myself if it would help," Micah said.

Richard's eyes widened, and the look on his face was uncomprehending. "I
don't understand that."

Micah just looked at him for a moment, then he looked at me, and there
was something in his eyes that said he understood some of what all this
cost me, cost us both, cost us all.

Richard had let go of my arm now. In fact he'd taken a step back from
me, as if he didn't want to be that close. He acted as if I'd done
something unclean. If he only knew. Or maybe the sex wouldn't bother him
at all, maybe it was all about the feeding for him. My moral standards
just weren't that finely cut anymore.

I sighed and turned to Jean-Claude. "Since you went along for the ride
with Asher's feeding, he may be able to feed off of you through me."

Jean-Claude nodded. "Perhaps."

'If you touch me, while I touch Asher, and drop shields, we can try it.
Between the two of us I think we can get him back to a place where one
blood feeding should get him back to his normal glorious self."

'I am willing to try," he said.

I fought the urge to glance at Richard. "I know you are." I walked away
from them both towards Asher. I wanted to feed Asher back to health, but
truthfully, I'd had about enough of all the men in my life for one
night.

51

Jean-Claude and I knelt by Asher. He had gained enough from that first
small taste to manage a smile. The smile was the barest phantom of what
he had been, but I was so relieved to see it that it made me smile, too.

I gripped Jean-Claude's hand in my left hand, and laid my right on
Asher's cheek. The moment I touched him, he was the most beautiful thing
I'd ever seen. Nothing mattered but to touch him. Nothing mattered but
to be with him. Nothing mattered but Asher. It was as if the world had
narrowed down to his eyes, his body. The sun revolved around him, I just
knew it.

In a dim part of my brain I realized that Asher hadn't been using
vampire powers on me. That whatever I'd felt before this had been real.
Because this was unreal. I'd never felt for anyone like this, because it
wasn't love, or even lust, it was obsession. It was the sure knowledge
that if I did not touch him I would die. Even as I thought it, I knew it
wasn't true, but it felt true. God help me, it felt true.

I fought to free my left hand, something was holding it so I couldn't
touch Asher with both hands. I needed to touch him with both my hands. I
laid my body on top of Asher and caressed my hands down him.

His hands trapped my face between them, and in some part of me I knew
they felt like old leather and sticks with things underneath them, but
for the first time when dealing with vampire trickery, I didn't fight
it. I let Asher's power turn what might have been horror into something
erotic and beautiful.

I opened myself wide and let Asher roll through me like a stream, long
dammed, flowing, flooding, filling up a land that has been too long
without water. I did not ride his power, his power engulfed me, rolled
me under with a weight of a thousand waves, pressed me to the bottom of
the sand and held me at the bottom of the ocean. It wasn't that I didn't
drown, it was that I didn't care that I drowned.

I woke, if waking was the term, with his body pressing me to the hard
stone floor. I was staring up at a waving cloud of his hair, the lights
sparkled through it like a golden veil. I ran my fingers through it, and
it was soft, and alive again. The edge of his cheek was full and rough
with scars again. I touched those familiar marks, and he turned to face
me fully, and the sight of him caught my breath in my throat.

From the curve of his forehead, to the line of his cheek, the fullness
of his lips, he was perfect once more. His eyes sat in that face like
icy sapphires set among pearls and gold.

I laughed when I saw him, a joyous burst of sound. He cupped my face in
his hand, and I turned to lay a kiss against his palm. The weight of his
body against mine was one of the best feelings I'd ever had, because it
was proof that he was back, that he was well, and that he was whole.

He half-rolled, and half-raised me to a sitting position in his lap,
with his back to the wall. He turned with me held in his arms, to look
across the room at Belle Morte. I didn't have to see the look on his
face to know that it was not an entirely friendly one.

'Impressive, wouldn't you say?" Jean-Claude said.

'No, I would not. He can only feed on the energy of those whom he has
taken blood from, and rolled their poor minds. You know as well as I do,
Jean-Claude, that you can't allow Asher to roll the mind of every
victim. It would be a parade of love-besotted fools following him
everywhere."

I resented the love-besotted fool part, but I let it go. We were winning
tonight. Never argue when you're winning.

'Be that as it may, Belle, Asher is restored to his glorious self. We
have no more need of you tonight, so you, and yours, must be gone from
our territory before tomorrow night."

'You would truly slay all of us?" She made it a question.

'Oui."

'My vengeance would be terrible."

'Non, Belle, by council law you cannot chastise another sourdre de sang
as you would a vampire of your line. Your hatred would be terrible, but
your vengeance would have to wait."

'Not if the head of the council agrees with my vengeance," she said.
"I've touched her, Belle, she doesn't care about your vengeance. She
doesn't even care about you, or me, or much of anybody," I said.

'The Mother has been asleep a very long time, Anita, when that sleep
ends she may retire from the council."

I laughed, and it wasn't joyous now. "Retire! Vampires don't retire.
They die, but they never retire."

It wasn't something that showed on her face, it was more a stillness to
her shoulders, a movement in an arm. I don't know what made me see it.
Asher's power, or something else. But I did see it, and I had a
wonderful, terrible idea.

'You plan to kill her. You plan to kill the First Darkness and make
yourself head of the council."

Her face was perfectly blank as she said, "Do not be absurd. No one
attacks the Gentle Mother."

'Yeah, I know, and there's a very good reason for that. She'll fucking
kill you, Belle. She will roll over you and destroy everything you are."

She fought, but she couldn't keep the arrogance off her face. I guess if
you've been alive longer than Christ has been dead, you can't help but
be arrogant.

'If you declare war on anyone now, Belle, as a sourdre de sang in my own
right, neither I nor any of my people have to come when you call. You
will find no aid here," Jean-Claude said.

'Aid from you, my two petite catamites? I have found other men to serve
your purposes." She turned with a swish of Musette's skirts. "Come, my
poppets, we will leave and shake the dirt of this provincial town from
our shoes."

'A moment, my mistress." It was Valentina. She gave a very low curtsy in
her stiff white and gold dress. "Bartolom and I have had our honor
besmirched by Musette's trick."

'What of it, poppet?"

Valentina stayed down in the low curtsy, as if she could have held the
position forever. "We beg your indulgence to remain behind and make
amends to the shape-shifters."

'Non," Belle said.

Valentina raised her gaze to the woman. "They were abused as I was
abused, and we have made it worse. I beg permission to remain behind and
make it better."

'Bartolom," Belle said.

Bartolom came forward and dropped to one knee, head bowed. "Yes,
mistress."

'Is this what you wish?"

'Non, mistress, but honor demands that we remedy this error." He looked
up then, and there was something on his face of the boy he might once
have been. "They have grown into men, but the scars laid on the boys
that they were are deep. Valentina and I have made them deeper. This I
do regret, and you know, above all others, that I do not regret much."

I expected Belle to tell them, no, to gather her people up and leave,
but she didn't. She said, "Stay until honor is satisfied, then return to
me." She glanced at Jean-Claude. "If you will allow them to remain that
is?"

Jean-Claude nodded. "Until honor is satisfied, oui."

I didn't agree with this, but something in Belle's face, something in
Jean-Claude's face, something in the tightness of Asher's body, let me
know that things were happening that I probably didn't understand.

'If the wolves would be so kind as to escort our guests to their rooms
to pack, then to the airport."

Richard seemed to startle awake, almost as if he, too, had been under
some spell. I didn't think that was it. He was staring at me in Asher's
lap, with Micah leaning against the wall beside us. Nathaniel had
crawled towards us, and I raised a hand, let him lay his head and
shoulders in my lap.

'We'll escort them out," he said, but his voice sounded empty. He opened
his mouth as if to say more, then he turned, and his wolves moved with
him. They gathered up Belle's people and began to escort them back
towards the front and the main rooms.

Belle glanced back once at Valentina and Bartolom as they stood in
their shining white and gold clothes. That one glance back said worlds.
I'd never be certain, but I think that Belle Morte felt guilty not just
about Valentina, but about Bartolom. Valentina I understood because a
vampire of Belle's making had done the unspeakable. But bringing
Bartolom over as a child had been simply good business. I hadn't
thought Belle Morte lost any sleep over good business. But she'd still
condemned him to an eternity in a child's body. A child's body with a
man's appetite forever. Belle let them stay, though the excuse was weak.
Belle let them stay because guilt is a wonderful motivator even among
the dead.

52

I woke in the dark with the comforting weight of bodies around me. I
knew by the quality of darkness and the faint light from the nearby
bathroom that I was in Jean-Claude's bed. I remembered Jean-Claude
giving us the bed, because it was near dawn, and I don't think that
either of us wanted a repeat of yesterday morning. Strangely, what had
happened with Asher seemed to have sated my own ardeur. Or maybe I was
just too tired. Once I would have assumed it meant I was gaining more
control, but I'd stopped trying to second-guess the ardeur. I was wrong
too often.

There really wasn't enough light to see clearly, but the tickle of curls
along my cheek let me know it was Micah's face pressed into the hollow
of my neck. His arm lay heavy and warm across my upper stomach, his leg
entwined with my thigh. There was another arm across my hips, a second
face pressed into my side, a second body curled into a tight ball
against me. I didn't really need to touch the top of Nathaniel's head to
know it was him.

The sliver of light from the bathroom showed a pale slender arm flung
carelessly across Micah's one outstretched leg. The arm was all that was
visible out of the covers. I knew the arm, and I knew somewhere under
all the covers they'd stolen was Zane, and the rest of Cherry. I didn't
mind sleeping in big warm piles, but I did mind sharing a large bed with
such outrageous cover hogs. Cherry wasn't bad on her own, but put her
with Zane, and you either fought for every inch of covers, which was not
restful, or you gave up. I'd found that the silk sheets at Jean-Claude's
were especially hard to keep track of in my sleep.

I wasn't sure what had awakened me, but I knew that the wereleopards had
better hearing and better sense of smell than I did. If it hadn't
alerted them, it was probably a dream.

Then I heard it, very, very faint. It was my phone, sounding like it was
ringing from the bottom of a deep well. I tried to sit up, and couldn't.
I was pinned by the two men.

There was a groan, and the slender arm across Micah's leg vanished under
the dark bulk of sheet. The next moment there was a slithering sound, a
thump, a curse, and the sound of clothes being pawed through. Cherry's
voice was groggy as she said, "Yes."

Silence, then, "No, this isn't Anita, just a minute." Her other hand
poked the dark bulk of the sheet at the foot of the bed. Zane's voice,
"What!"

'Phone," she groaned.

His hand grabbed the phone, and before I could say anything, he said,
"Hello."

Zane was quiet for a second, then, "Just a minute, she's here, hang on."
A pale more masculine hand appeared out of the welter of sheets and
handed the phone vaguely in my direction, but I was still pinned. The
phone dangled just out of reach.

I finally had to push Micah's arm off me, and try and sit up. "Micah,
move, I have to reach the phone."

He made a small inarticulate noise and rolled off me, to give me the
long line of his back. Nathaniel took the phone from Zane's hand, before
I could take it.

His voice was the most awake, "Whom may I say is calling?"

I was finally sitting up. "Give me the phone," I said.

Nathaniel handed me the phone with a, "It's Zerbrowski."

I hung my head for a second, sighed, and put the phone to my ear. "Yeah,
Zerbrowski, what's up?"

'How many people you got in bed with you, Blake?"

'None of your business."

'One of them sounded like a girl. Didn't know you swung that way."

I pressed the button on my watch, so I could see the time on the
light-up dial. "Zerbrowski, we've had about two hours of sleep. If you
just called to check up on my sex life, I'm going back to sleep."

'No, no, sorry. It just," he laughed softly, "just caught me off guard.
I'll try to keep the teasing to a minimum, but, damn, you don't usually
give me this much ammunition. Can't blame me for getting distracted."

'Did I mention the two hours of sleep?"

'You did," he said, sounding depressingly wide awake. I was betting he'd
had coffee.

'I'm counting to three, if you haven't said something interesting by the
time I'm finished, I'm hanging up, and I'm turning off my cell phone."

'We've got a fresh murder scene."

I scooted up so my back was against the headboard. "I'm listening."
Micah stayed curled on his side, back to me, but Nathaniel cuddled up
close so he was still pressed around me. Cherry and Zane were motionless
under the pile of sheets. I think they'd gone back to sleep.

'It's the shape-shifter rapist again." The humor was leaking away from
his voice, and he sounded tired. I wondered how much sleep he'd gotten
last night.

I was wide awake now, my pulse fast in my throat. "When?"

'She was found just after dawn. We haven't been here long."

'I'll be there regardless, but is Dolph going to be there?"

'No," Zerbrowski said, "he's on leave." He lowered his voice, "Top brass
told him he either takes voluntary leave with pay, or enforced leave
without."

'Okay, where are you?"

It was Chesterfield again. "He's staying in a pretty small geographic
area," I said.

'Yeah," Zerbrowski said, and that one word had so much tiredness.

I almost asked how he was holding up, but it's against the guy code.
You're supposed to pretend you don't notice anything's wrong. Pretend,
and it will go away. Sometimes, because I am a girl, I'll break the guy
code, but today I let it stand. Zerbrowski had a long day ahead of him,
and he was the man in charge. He couldn't afford to look at his feelings
right now. It was more important that he held together than that he
understood what he was feeling.

Zerbrowski started to give directions, and I had to tell him to wait
until I had a pen and paper. There was no pen and paper anywhere in the
room. I was finally reduced to writing directions in lipstick on the
bathroom mirror. Zerbrowski was laughing his ass off by the time I found
the lipstick and started drawing on the mirror.

He gasped a little, and finally managed to say, "Thanks, Blake, I so
needed that."

'Glad I could brighten your day." I crawled back on the bed.

I thought about what Jason had said about a werewolf being able to
follow the scent trail. I bounced the idea off of Zerbrowski.

He was dead silent for a minute. "There is no way I could get anyone to
agree to letting another shape-shifter near this scene."

'You're the man in charge," I said.

'No, Anita, you bring another shifter around, and they're going to end
up being questioned just like Schuyler did. Don't do it. This whole
thing is going to turn into a witch hunt soon."

'What do you mean?"

'I mean they're starting to bring in all known shape-shifters for
questioning."

'The ACLU is going to be up in arms," I said.

'Yeah, but not until they've held a few people over, and questioned
them."

'It isn't one of the local lycanthropes, Zerbrowski."

'I can't tell the upper brass that our perp doesn't smell like the local
werewolf pack, Anita. They'll say that of course the local wolves would
say that, they don't want to be blamed for this shit."

'I believe Jason."

'Maybe I believe him, too, maybe I don't, but it doesn't matter, Anita.
It really doesn't matter. People are fucking terrified. There's a rush
bill in the state senate right now to declare varmint laws legal again
in Missouri."

'Varmint laws, Jesus, Zerbrowski, you don't mean like some of the
Western states still have on the books?"

'Yeah, kill it first, then if a blood test proves it's a lycanthrope,
it's self-defense, not murder, and there's no trial."

'It'll never get into law," I said, and I was almost certain when I said
it.

'Probably not right now, but Anita, we get a few more women torn up like
this, and I don't know."

'I'd like to say people aren't that stupid," I said.

'But you know better," he said.

'Yeah."

He sighed. "There's something else." He sounded really unhappy.

I sat up a little straighter against the headboard, forcing Nathaniel to
recuddle.

'You sound like you're about to give me really bad news, Zerbrowski."

'I just don't want to have to fight with you and Dolph and the top brass
all at the same time."

'What's wrong, Zerbrowski? Why am I going to be mad at you?"

'Remember, Anita, Dolph was still in charge until now."

'Just tell me." My stomach was strangely tight like I was dreading
whatever he'd say."

'There was a message at the first rape scene."

'I didn't see a message."

'It was by the back door, Dolph never gave you a chance to see it. I
didn't know about it until later."

'What was the message, Zerbrowski?" A lot of thoughts went through my
head. Was it a message for me, about me?

'First message read, 'We nailed this one, too.'"

It took me a few seconds to get it, or think I got it. The first murder,
the man nailed to his living room wall. There had been nothing to
connect that death with the shape-shifter killings. Except maybe for an
odd message.

'You're thinking of the first man in Wildwood," I said. "The message
could mean anything, Zerbrowski."

'That's what we thought until the second rape, the one Dolph wouldn't
let us call you in on."

'There was another message," I said, voice soft.

''Nailed another one,'" he said.

'It could still be a coincidence, nailed is a euphemism for sex."

'Today's message was, 'There wasn't enough left to crucify.'"

'The maniac that's slaughtering these women is not methodical enough, or
neat enough, for that first murder."

'I know," he said. "But we didn't release the nails and the fact that
our first vic was crucified. Nobody but the killer would know."

'One of the killers," I said. "The man's death was a group effort." I
thought of something. "Is there more than one type of sperm at the
scenes?"

'Nope."

'So what, the rapist wants us to know the crimes are connected, why?"

'Why do any of these crazy buggers want us to know anything? It amuses
him, Anita."

'What background did you dig up on the first vic?"

'He's ex-military."

'You don't get that house and the indoor pool on retired military
benefits."

'He was an importer. Traveled around the world and brought back stuff."

'Drugs?"

'Not that we can find."

I had another thought, a record after only two hours sleep. "Name me the
countries he frequented."

'Why?" he asked.

I filled him in on what he hadn't heard through the grapevine about
Heinrick.

'If the dead man frequented the same countries, it might mean
something."

'A clue," Zerbrowski said. "A real live clue, I don't think I'd know
what to do with one."

'You've got lots of clues, they just aren't helping."

'You noticed that, too," he said.

'If Heinrick knew the dead man, I still don't know what it means."

'Me either. Just get here as soon as you can. And don't bring any
shape-shifters with you."

'I understand," I said.

'I hope so." He spoke away from the phone for a second, "I'll be right
there." Then he spoke directly to me. "Hurry," he said, and he hung up.
I think Dolph had taught all of us not to say good-bye.

53

I'd expected the scene to be bad, because the last scene had been bad.
But I hadn't expected this. Either our rapist murderer had moved to the
bathroom for his second kill, or we had a whole new killer. I'd smelled
the same hamburger smell as I walked through the house. Zerbrowski had
given me little plastic booties to put over my Nikes, and handed me the
box of gloves. He'd said something about the floor being messy. I'd
never thought of Zerbrowski as a master of understatement.

The room was red. Red, as if someone had painted all the walls crimson,
but it wasn't an even job of painting. It wasn't just red, or crimson,
but scarlet, ruby, brick red where it had begun to dry, a color so dark
it was almost black, but it sparked red like a dark garnet. I tried to
stay cold and intellectual and look at all the shades of red, until I
saw a piece of something long and thin and meaty that had been glued to
the wall with the blood, like a piece of offal tossed aside by a
careless butcher.

The room was suddenly hot, and I had to look away from the walls, but
the floor was worse. The floor was tile, and that didn't absorb liquid.
It was covered in blood, blood deep enough that it sat liquid and
shining on almost the entire floor. The floor space was small,
admittedly, but it was still a lot of blood for one room.

I was hugging the doorframe that led into the room. My feet in the
little booties were still on the relatively clean tile of the area where
the stool sat, a tiny room, with a vanity area, complete with double
sink beyond. The master bedroom was beyond even that, but the bed was
carefully made, untouched.

There was a small lip of marble that held the shallow lake of blood
inside the final room. A tiny ledge of stone to keep the rest of the
rooms clean. I was grateful for that tiny edge.

I looked at the walls again. There was a three-person, deep shower in
the far corner. The glass doors were splattered with blood, and it had
dried to a nice candy red shell. The shower stall wasn't covered as
completely as the other walls. I wasn't sure why yet.

Most of the rest of the space in the room was taken up by a bathtub. It
wasn't as large as Jean-Claude's, but it was almost as large as the one
I had at my house. I liked my bathtub, but I knew it would be days
before I'd be able to use it again. This scene would ruin that
particular pleasure for a while.

The tub was full of pale blood. Blood the color of dark red roses left
too long in the sun, faded to a shade of pink that never looked quite
pink, but always as if it had meant to be a darker color. Pink bloody
water filled the tub almost to the brim, like it was a cup filled up
with punch. Bad thought. Bad thought.

Thinking about food or drink of any kind was a bad thing right now, a
truly bad thing. I had to look away, stare back into the smaller rooms,
catch a glimpse of the bed and the police still milling around the far
room. None of them had volunteered to accompany me on the tour. Couldn't
blame them, but I suddenly felt isolated. They were only three small
rooms away, but it felt as if it were a thousand miles. As if, if I
screamed now, no one would hear me.

I used the farthest doorframe to get to the vanity sink area. I leaned
on the cool tile sink and ran cold water over my hand. When it was cold
enough I splashed it on my face. There was no hand towel, probably it
had been bagged and sent to the lab, where it would be checked for hair
and fiber and stuff. I untucked my T-shirt from my jeans and wiped my
face dry. I came away with a few dark stains. The remnants of last
night's makeup. I looked into the wide shining mirror, glaring bright in
the overhead lights. I had dark smudges of mascara and eyeliner under my
eyes. Waterproof really isn't. It's more like water tough, but not
proof. I used the hem of my T-shirt to dab at the black marks, and got
most of it. I also ended up with black stuff on my shirt, but it didn't
seem to matter.

Zerbrowski looked in at me from the doorway. "How's it going?"

I nodded, because I didn't trust myself to speak.

He grinned suddenly, and if I'd felt better I would have dreaded his
next comment, but today I was too numb. It didn't matter. Nothing
mattered. Because for anything to matter I could not have gone back into
that room, and I had to go into that room. So nothing mattered. I was
empty, and quiet, and there was nothing.

'Who was the girl this morning? We've got a pool going. Some people
think it's your best bud Ronnie Sims. Personally, I don't think so;
she's still hot for that professor guy at Wash U. I'm betting on the
blond wereleopard that's always at your house. Which is it?"

I think I just blinked at him.

He frowned then and stepped into the little room. "Anita, are you okay?"

I shook my head. "No, I am not okay."

His face was all concern, and he came close enough, almost took my arm,
then stopped himself. "What's wrong?"

I stayed leaning on the sink, but pointed backwards with one hand, not
looking where I was pointing, not wanting to look.

He glanced back where I was pointing, then his eyes flicked, very
quickly, back to me. "What about it?"

I just looked at him.

He shrugged. "Yeah, it's bad. You've seen bad before."

I lowered my head so I was staring at the golden faucet. "I took a month
off, Zerbrowski. Thought I needed a vacation, and I did, but maybe a
month wasn't enough."

'What are you saying?"

I looked up into the mirror, and my face was almost ghost pale, my eyes
standing out like black holes in my face, the remaining eyeliner making
my eyes larger, more compelling, more lost than they should have been.
What I wanted to say was I don't know if I want to do this anymore, but
what I said out loud, was, "I thought the bedroom scene was bad, but
this is worse."

He nodded.

I started to take a deep breath, but remembered in time about the smell,
and took a shallow breath, which wasn't nearly as soothing to my psyche
but better for my stomach. "I'll be okay."

He didn't argue with me, because Zerbrowski treated me by guy rules most
of the time. If a guy says he'll be okay, you just take him at his word,
even if you don't believe it. The only exception is when lives are at
stake, then the guy code can be broken, but the man that you broke it
with will probably never forgive you.

I straightened up, hands still death-gripping the sink. I blinked into
the mirror a couple of times, then went back for the far room. I could
do this. I had to do this. I had to be able to see what was there, and
think about it logically. It was an awful thing to ask of myself. I'd
finally acknowledged that. Acknowledged that seeing things like what lay
in the next room were soul-destroying. Acknowledged and moved on.

I was back in the bathroom door. Zerbrowski had come with me, though,
standing just behind me. There really wasn't room to stand in the
doorway together, not comfortably.

I looked at the room, at the walls with their coating of blood and gore.
"How many people were killed in here?"

'Why?" he asked.

'Don't be coy, Zerbrowski, I don't have the patience for it today."

'Why?" he asked again, and this time there was a note of defensiveness
in his voice.

I glanced back at him. "What is your problem?"

He didn't point at the carnage. In fact for a second, or two, I thought
he was going to tell me to mind my own business, but he didn't. "If
Dolph said why, you'd just answer him, not argue with him."

I sighed. "Dolph's shoes hard to fill?" I asked.

'No, but I'm damned tired of repeating myself when I know that nobody
makes Dolph fucking repeat himself."

I looked up at him and felt a smile creep across my face. "Well,
actually, I make Dolph repeat himself, too."

He smiled. "Alright, alright, maybe you do, but you are such a fucking
pain in the ass, Anita."

'It's a talent," I said.

We stood in the doorway and smiled at each other. Nothing had changed in
that small horror chamber. There wasn't a drop less of blood, or an inch
less of gory bits plastered to the walls, but we both felt better.

'Now," I said, still smiling, "how many people were killed in the
bathroom."

His smile slid into a full grin. "Why do you ask?"

'You bastard," I said.

He wiggled his eyebrows above the rims of his glasses. "Not what my mom
says, though you're not the first to speculate."

I half laughed and knew that I'd lost. "Because, Zerbrowski, there are
only two full walls in that room, both of them are so thick with blood
and heavier bits that it's like two kills, one at one wall, one at the
other."

'What about the bathtub?" he asked.

'The water's pale. I've never seen anyone bled out in a bathtub, so I
don't know if the water would be this pale, or if it would be darker.
But my gut tells me that no one was bled out in the tub. They may have
been killed in the tub, but most of the blood is on the floor and
walls."

'You sure about that?"

'No, like I said, I've never seen anyone bled out in a bathtub before,
but I'm also wondering why the tub is so full, almost to the brim. You
can't fill most tubs that full; they've got that little hole that stops
it from overflowing. This one is so full that you couldn't even step
into it without sloshing water all over the floor."

He watched my face while I talked, then his gaze slid away to look into
the room beyond, then to the clean section of floor we were standing on.

'I'm right about at least two people being killed, aren't I?"

He had control of his expression now, and met my gaze. "Maybe."

I sighed, but it was more frustration now. "Look, I've worked with Dolph
for years, and I like him. I respect his work methods, but damn it,
Zerbrowski, you don't have to play it as close to the chest as he does.
I've always hated playing twenty fucking questions. Let's try something
new and different. I ask questions, you answer them."

He almost smiled. "Maybe."

I fought an urge to yell. I spoke very calmly, very quietly. "At least
two people were killed, slaughtered against the walls." I forced myself
to turn back and look at the two walls in question again. Now that I had
another human being to talk to, and he'd made me a little angry, I could
think again. The walls weren't literally painted with blood. There were
spots where the tile showed through, but the tile was a medium brown
color, so that at first it looked worse than it was, and God knew, it
was bad enough.

I turned back to Zerbrowski. "Okay, two kills one against each wall. Or
at least they were sliced open, up, whatever, against each wall." I
looked at the tub again. "Are there bits of bodies in the tub?"

'Dolph would make you go fish."

I stared up at him. "Maybe, probably. But you're not Dolph, and I'm not
in the mood."

'We left the bits in there special for you, Anita. No joke." He held up
his hands. "You're our monster expert, and if this isn't a monster, I
don't know what is."

He had me there. "It's a monster, Zerbrowski, but is it a human monster,
or something else? That's the sixty-four-billion-dollar question."

'I thought it was sixty-four-thousand-dollar question," he said.

'Inflation," I said. "Do you at least have any long gloves, or
something?"

'No long gloves on me," he said.

'I fucking hate you," I said.

'Not the first to say it today," he said, and he seemed tired again.

'I am going to track blood all over hell and back."

He fished under the sink and retrieved a garbage bag. "Put the booties
in here before you step out of the room."

'What can I possibly learn by fishing around in that mess?"

'Probably not a goddamned thing," he said.

I shook my head. "Then why should I do it?"

'Because we held the scene for you. We didn't drag that damn tub, just
in case we spoiled some arcane piece of monster shit, that you would
have noticed, and we would have thrown away."

'Arcane," I said, "what, Katie been reading the big grown-up books to
you again?"

He smiled. "The faster you do this, the sooner we can all get the hell
out of here."

'I'm not stalling," I said, even as I knew I was.

'Yeah, you are, and I don't blame you."

I looked into the next room, then back at Zerbrowski. "If I don't find
some really nifty clue, I am so going to kick your ass."

He grinned. "Only if you can catch me."

I shook my head, took a shallow breath, and stepped over that last bit
of doorway.

54

The blood closed up around the plastic bootie, not quite to the top of
it, not quite rolling over onto my shoe, but close. Even through the
plastic, through my shoe, I could feel that the blood was cool. Not
cold, but cool. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination or not. I didn't
think I should have been able to feel the blood through the bootie and
my shoe. But it felt like I could. Sometimes my imagination is not an
asset at a crime scene.

I slid my foot forward, one hand still on the door frame. I wasn't sure
that the plastic booties would be slippery in this much liquid on a tile
floor, but I so didn't want to find out the hard way. There were two
things I didn't want to do in this room. One, was fall on my ass in the
pool of blood, two, was put my hand in the bathtub. I had to do the
second, but I would be damned if I did the first.

I eased my feet forward, slowly, cautiously, and kept my fingers on the
doorjamb as long as possible. Actually the room wasn't that large, and
it wasn't that big a reach between the door and the tub. I got a death
grip on the edge of the tub with my glove-covered hands, and when I had
both my feet planted as steady as I could get them, I looked down at the
water.

It was like some kind of red soup. I knew it was mostly water, but the
color… I kept thinking of the cups you use to dye Easter eggs. It
looked like a great big cup for dyeing Easter eggs, and just like
sometimes happened if you didn't get the mix right, it wasn't exactly
red, or pink, but both. I concentrated on the thought of Easter eggs,
the smell of vinegar, and better times than this.

The water seemed to swirl, heavier than it was. Probably illusion, but I
suddenly had this image of something floating right below the surface.
Something that would pop up and try to grab me. I knew it wasn't true. I
knew it was just too many horror movies, but my pulse was in my throat,
my heart thudding.

I glanced back at Zerbrowski. "You guys don't have any rookies to do
this?"

'How do you think we got the first piece out?" he asked.

'That would explain the uniform that was throwing his guts up in the
bushes as I came through."

'It's his first week on the job."

'You bastard."

'Maybe, but no one else wanted to put their hand in there. When you're
finished looking, the techies are going to pump the water out and filter
it for evidence. But you get to see it first. Tell me this wasn't a
lycanthrope kill, Anita, tell me, and I'll tell the media. It'll quiet
down the witch hunt."

'But not the hysteria, Zerbrowski. If this is a second killer, then
we've got two of the worst psychos I've seen in St. Louis. I'd love to
prove it's not a shape-shifter, but if it's not, then we've got other
problems."

He blinked at me. "You'd really be happier if it's the same
shape-shifter?"

'Traditionally two separate killers slaughter more people than just
one."

'You still think more like a cop than a monster expert, Anita."

'Thanks." I turned back to the tub, and suddenly I knew I was going to
do it. I wasn't fishing deeper than the gloves. Too fucking unhealthy,
but if I could find a piece with the shorter gloves, I was going to do
it.

The water was cold, even through the gloves. I reached down, the line of
cold, bloody water creeping up my skin, and with my hand less than
halfway in, I hit something solid.

I froze for a moment, took a shallow breath and ran my hand down along
what I'd touched. It was soft and solid at the same time, meaty flesh. I
came to bone, and it was enough to grip, and raise it free of the water.
It was what was left of a woman's arm. The bone showed pinkish white as
the water streamed away from it. The end that had attached to the
shoulder was crushed. There were man-made tools that would do that kind
of damage, but I doubted anyone would have gone to the trouble.

I set the arm aside and went back to where I'd found it. My hand sunk in
a little farther this time, and I pulled out a nearly meatless bone. It
didn't look like a piece of person, so I didn't think of it that way. I
just looked at it as if I'd found an animal in the woods and was trying
to figure out what had eaten it. Big teeth, lots of crushing strength.
Very few real predators had this kind of bone-cracking strength, but
most lycanthropes did. I doubted that some hyena had escaped from the
zoo to rampage in a suburban bathroom.

I let the bone drift back into the water, slowly, easing it down,
because for some reason I really didn't want it to splash on me.

I turned away from the bathtub, walked carefully to the doorway,
stripped off the gloves, threw them in the sack that Zerbrowski held
open for me, leaned against the doorjamb, removed the booties, threw
them into the garbage sack, stepped out of that awful room, and kept
walking until I hit the bedroom.

The air seemed cleaner, more breathable here.

Zerbrowski followed me out, and it was Merlioni who said, "She did it,
didn't she?"

'Yep."

Merlioni made a sort of crowing sound. "I knew it, I won."

I looked at him, then at Zerbrowski. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Zerbrowski didn't even look embarrassed when he said, "We had a bet
going on whether you'd actually fish around in the tub."

I sighed and shook my head. "You are all such unmitigated bastards."

'Unmitigated, ooh," said Merlioni, "if you use big words to insult us,
Blake, we'll never figure it out."

I looked back at Zerbrowski. "It's a shape-shifter. I don't know if it's
the same one. The first vic was done in her bed. Was the second?" He
nodded. "This was in the bath, and there's at least two bodies cut up in
the bathtub."

'Why two?" Zerbrowski asked.

'Because the pile is too damn high to be only one woman's body,
especially since he ate parts of it."

'You say 'he,' like you know."

I shook my head. "I don't know, but I'm assuming male, because you don't
find many women willing to do this kind of shit. It happens, but it's
rare."

'We actually got a witness that the woman who owns the house and another
girlfriend were seen entering the residence at about 2 A.M." Zerbrowski
had his eyes closed, as if he were quoting. "They appeared drunk, and
there was a man with him."

'You have a witness?" I asked.

'If the man who brought them home is the shape-shifter, and not part of
what is in the bathtub, yeah."

I hadn't thought about that. "He could be in the tub. By the way, why is
the water so deep, why isn't the overflow valve working?"

'Our rookie says a piece of body has been stuffed into the valve."

I shivered. "No wonder he freaking threw up."

'I lost on that one," Merlioni said.

'Lost on what?" I asked.

'Most of us bet you'd be sick."

'Who bet I wouldn't be?"

Zerbrowski cleared his throat. "Me."

'What did you win?"

'Dinner for two at Tony's."

'What did you win for me fishing in the tub?" I asked Merlioni.

'Money," he said.

I shook my head. "I hate you all." I started for the door.

'Wait, we got one more bet," Merlioni said, "who was the chickie on the
phone when Zerbrowski woke you?"

I was about to let loose a scathing comment, when a voice from the door
stopped me. "Haven't seen anything this bad since New Mexico?"

I turned to find my favorite FBI agent in the doorway. Special Agent
Bradley Bradford smiled and offered me his hand.

55

Bradley was with the Special Research Section; it was a new division set
up to handle preternatural crime. We'd last worked together on some very
gruesome murders in New Mexico.

I took his firm handshake and gave one of my own. He smiled, and I think
we were both actually glad to see each other. But his gaze swept the
room until he found Zerbrowski. "Sergeant Zerbrowski, you must be living
right."

Zerbrowski moved towards us. "What do you mean, Agent Bradford?"

He held up a slender manila folder. "There's a store across the street
from the club where the two women went to last night. The store got
robbed last year and put in a very nice surveillance system."

All the joking was gone; Zerbrowski was very serious all of a sudden.
"And?"

'They caught a picture of a man matching the neighbor's description with
the two women last night. They walked right past the store window." He
opened the folder. "I took the liberty of getting a still made."

'And passed it to all of your men," Merlioni said.

'No, detective, this is the only copy, and I brought it here first."

Merlioni looked like he would have argued, but Zerbrowski cut him off.
"I don't care who solves this, as long as we get this guy."

'I feel the same way," Bradley said.

I didn't exactly believe Bradley. Last time we'd talked, his little
division had been in jeopardy of being disbanded, and their cases given
back to the Investigative Support--read Serial Killer--Unit. Bradley was
one of the good guys, he really did care more about solving crimes than
career advancement, but he also cared about his new unit. He felt
strongly that the feds needed one. I agreed with him. So why was he
handing over the only copy of the picture? Sharing made sense, simply
giving it to us didn't.

'What do you think, Anita?" he asked me.

I glanced down at the photo. It was black and white, pretty good quality
actually. Two women were laughing up at the tall man in between them.
The brunette on the left matched some of the pictures downstairs. I
hadn't asked the name of the woman who owned the house. I hadn't wanted
to know. Not knowing had made it easier to go into that bathroom and paw
through the remains.

The other woman looked vaguely familiar. "Wasn't the woman in a group
picture downstairs? It looked like it was taken at a party."

'We'll check," Zerbrowski said.

'What about the man?" Bradley asked.

I looked at the man in the picture. The man that might be our killer or
might be at the bottom of the pile of bones in the bathtub was tall,
broad-shouldered. Straight brown hair was pulled back into a long
ponytail that one of the women was tugging on, playing with. The face
was high cheek-boned, handsome. He wasn't like Richard handsome, but
they reminded me oddly of each other, both tall, both broad-shouldered,
both classically handsome. But there was something in this man's face
even through the film that creeped me out.

It was probably knowing that the two women were only hours away from
being butchered. It was probably my imagination, but I didn't like the
look on the man's face when he glanced up and spotted the camera. I
realized that that was what the look was, why it looked strange.

'He spotted the camera," I said.

'What do you mean?" Zerbrowski asked.

'Look at his face, he didn't like being on film."

'He probably knew what he was going to do to them," Merlioni said,
"don't want to be seen with the vies before the murder."

'Maybe, probably." I kept looking at his face, and I thought it was
familiar.

'Do you recognize him?" Bradley asked.

I stared up at him. His face was empty, guileless, but I didn't believe
the innocent look. "Why would I?"

'Well, he is a shape-shifter, if he's our man, I thought you might have
seen him around."

Bradley was lying, I could feel it. Even I wasn't tactless enough to
accuse him of it to his face, but I was saved from having to come up
with something to say by my cell phone ringing. I'd kept it with me
today, hooked on the back of my belt, just in case Musette and company
didn't go quietly out of town. Call me silly, but I just didn't trust
them.

'Hello."

'Is this Anita Blake?" It was a woman. I didn't recognize the voice.

'Yeah."

'This is Detective O'Brien."

Strangely, with all the vampire politics and the new murder I hadn't
given much thought to the internationally wanted terrorist Leopold
Heinrick. "Detective O'Brien, good to hear from you, what's up?"

'We identified the two pictures you pulled."

'Really, I'm impressed, the photos weren't that good."

'Lieutenant Nicols, you met him once, he picked them out."

It took me a second to place the name. "The lieutenant that was in
charge at Lindel Cemetery."

'Yeah, that's the one. He picked out the same two pictures that you did,
and since the two of you have only met once…"

Before she could finish, I said, "The bodyguards, the freaking
bodyguards. Canducci and…"

She said, "Balfour."

'Yeah, that's right. I can't believe I didn't remember them."

'You saw them once at night, Blake, and from what Nicols says, the widow
was putting on quite a show."

'Yeah, but still. Did you bring them in for questioning?"

'No one knows where they are. They quit their job at the security agency
the day after you saw them. They'd only worked there for about two
weeks. All the references they gave are leading to dead ends."

'Shit," I said. I glanced down at the picture that Bradley was still
holding down where I could see it. I suddenly knew why that picture
looked vaguely familiar. He was another of Heinrick's known associates.
Or he looked amazingly like one of them. But I just didn't believe that
coincidence would stretch that far.

I looked up at Bradley. He was still patiently holding the picture down
where I could see it, lower than either of the other two men needed it.
Maybe he was being polite, or maybe not. He met my gaze, and he gave me
blank face. Cop face.

'What if I told you that I'm looking at a picture of one of the other
known associates of Heinrick, and he's in town, too?"

Bradley's face never changed. Zerbrowski's and Merlioni's did. They
looked surprised. Bradley didn't.

'How did you get the picture?"

'Long story, but he's wanted in connection with some murders here in
town."

'Which man?"

'I think he was the only one with longer hair. I don't think it was back
in a ponytail like it is here, but it was definitely shoulder length."

I heard papers rustling. "I've got it." I heard more papers rustling,
then a soft whistle. "Roy Van Anders. He is a very bad man, Blake."

'How bad?"

'Strangely, we got files just today about Mr. Van Anders. Crime scene
photos that would turn your stomach."

'A lot of blood, not a lot of body left?" I asked.

I could feel Zerbrowski tense beside me.

'Yeah, how did you know?"

'I think I'm at a crime scene right now that's Van Anders's work."

'You're on that lycanthrope murder, right?"

'Yeah."

'There's nothing in his record that says he's anything but human. He's
just a sick son of a bitch, who likes to rape and kill women."

'Did anybody question how he dismembered the bodies, or where the rest
of them went?"

'I haven't read through everything yet, but no. Most of his crimes were
in countries where we're lucky to have gotten any pictures at all. Very
low tech, very little money to do sophisticated crime work."

'How sophisticated do you have to be to figure out the difference
between tools and teeth?"

'A lot of serial killers use teeth, Blake." She sounded like she felt
she had to defend the honor of some far away police.

'I know that, O'Brien, but, oh, hell, it doesn't matter. What does
matter is that he's here in our town, right now, and we aren't low tech,
and we do have at least a little money to track down the bad guys."

'You're right, Blake. Concentrate on the here and now."

'Do we have enough to question Heinrick and his pal now?"

'I think we might. We can make a case that Heinrick knows about his
pal's hobbies. That would make him an accessory before the fact, if not
more."

'I'll be down there as soon as I can get out of here."

'Blake, this is not your case. You're one of the potential victims. I
think that makes you too close to everything to be objective."

'Don't do this, O'Brien, I've played fair with you."

'This isn't a game, Blake, this is a job. Or do you want credit for
everything?"

'I don't give a fuck about credit. I just want to be there when you
question Heinrick."

'If you get here in time, but we ain't holding the party up for just
you."

'Fine, O'Brien, fine, you're the detective in charge."

'Nice of you to remember that." She hung up on me.

I said a very heartfelt, "Bitch!"

Zerbrowski and Merlioni had eager expectant faces, but Bradley didn't.
He could do cop face, but he wasn't an actor. I filled them in, and
Zerbrowski was pissed at O'Brien, not for excluding me, but for not even
bothering to consider contacting a member of RPIT.

'She's got them in lockup for what, following you around? We've got four
murders, maybe more." He looked at me. "You want a ride in a car with
sirens and lights, so that we can fucking get there before she does
something to wreck our case?"

I liked the 'our case,' and I liked that he asked me along. Dolph
probably wouldn't have, even if he hadn't been mad at me.

I nodded. "I'd love to go riding in and wave jurisdictional flags in her
face."

He grinned. "Give me ten minutes to give everybody their marching
orders, then meet me downstairs. We'll borrow a marked car. People
always get out of the way faster for a marked car." He was out the door
and down the stairs humming to himself.

Merlioni went after him, saying, "Who has to stay here with the tub o'
death cleanup?" I don't think Merlioni wanted to be included in the
cleanup, not even to supervise.

Bradley and I found ourselves alone. It was unheard of for a fed, two
feds I guess, to be left alone at a murder scene like this. Most locals
hated the feds, and the feds hated them right back.

I looked up at Bradley. "Now that I've made all the connections you
wanted me to make, tell me why you really came down here."

He closed the manila envelope and handed it to me. "To solve a crime."

'Solving these crimes would add to your unit's clout. Last time we spoke
you needed that clout."

He was looking at me carefully.

'Are you here officially, Bradley?"

'Yes."

I stared into his bland face. "Are you here officially just as an FBI
agent?"

'Don't know what you mean."

'You told me once that I'd come to the attention of some of the less
savory branches of our government, the spooks, I think you called them.
Is Van Anders a spook?"

'No government in their right mind would want an animal like this in
their country."

'Talk to me, Bradley, talk to me, or the next time we meet I'm not going
to trust you like I do right this minute."

He sighed and suddenly looked tired. He rubbed at his eyes with his
thumb and forefinger. "These murders were brought to our attention. But
I'd seen crimes like this before. In a different country, in a place
where the government was more worried about staying in power than
protecting helpless women." There was a look in his eyes, something
faraway, and pain-filled.

'You said you got out of that line of work."

'I did." He looked very steadily at me, no cop eyes now. "Men like Van
Anders were one of the reasons I couldn't keep doing it. But when
certain people found out that Van Anders might actually have been let
loose within the confines of the United States, they weren't happy. I
have a one time permission to help things along here."

'What's the price tag on this help?"

'Heinrick will be escorted out of the country. They'll never put a name
to the second man he was taken in with. It will all disappear."

'Heinrick is a suspected terrorist. You think that they'll just let him
walk?"

'He's wanted in five different countries that we have strong treaties
with. Who do we give him to, Anita? Better to just let him go."

'Don't you want to know why he was in town? I know I want to know why he
was following me."

'I told you why these kind of people would want you."

'So I can raise the dead for them. A political leader here, a few zombie
bodyguards there," I tried to make a joke of it, but Bradley wasn't
laughing.

'You know the man you found nailed to his living room wall?"

'Yeah."

'He knew Heinrick and Van Anders, and he felt that they were too
extreme. He left and he hid, but not well enough."

'If it was an execution, why make it look like some sort of ritual
murder?"

'So it wouldn't look like an execution."

'Why did they care?" I asked.

He shook his head. "It was a message, Anita. They wanted him dead, and
they wanted him dead in such a way that it would be sensational enough
to make headlines. They wanted his death out there for all the others
like him, like me, that left."

'You don't know this for sure, Bradley."

'Not all of it, but I know that everyone involved wants Van Anders
caught, and Heinrick gone."

'What about the others?"

'I don't know."

'Are they gone for good, or should I still be worried?"

'Be worried, Anita, I would be."

'Great." Something occurred to me. "I know this is all off the record
for you. Well, I've got one thing off the record to ask you."

'I can't promise, but what is it?"

I gave him Leo Harlan's name, and a general description, because it's
not that hard to change your name. "He says he's an assassin, and I
believe him. He says he's here on a sort of vacation, and I believe
that, too. But St. Louis is suddenly lousy with internationally wanted
bad guys, and I'd be curious to know if my client is tied to them
somehow."

'I'll check around."

'If he comes up on any of your hit parades, I'll avoid him, and refuse
to raise his ancestor. If he doesn't, I'll do the job."

'Even though he's an assassin?"

I shrugged. "Who am I to throw stones, Bradley? I try not to judge
people more than I have to."

'Or maybe you're getting more comfortable with murderers."

'Yeah, all my friends are either criminals, monsters, or cops."

That made him smile.

Zerbrowski yelled from downstairs. "Anita, yo, we're out of here."

I gave Bradley my cell phone number. He copied it down. I ran for the
stairs.

56

O'Brien had started the interrogation before we got there. People in St.
Louis didn't seem to understand that sirens and lights on a police car
meant get the fuck out of the way. It was almost as if the police car
with all flags flying made a gawkers' block around us. The drivers were
so busy trying to figure out why we were in such a rush that they forgot
to get out of the way.

I had never seen Zerbrowski so angry. Hell, I wasn't sure I'd ever seen
him angry. Not for real. He'd raised enough of a fuss to drag O'Brien
out of the interrogation, but she kept saying, "You can have him when
we're through with him, Sergeant."

Zerbrowski's voice had crawled down so low it was almost painful to
listen to it. That dragging, careful voice held enough heat to make me
nervous. O'Brien didn't seem impressed.

'Don't you think, detective, that questioning him about a serial killer
that's already butchered three, maybe four people, takes precedent over
questioning him about following a federal marshal?"

'I am questioning him about the serial killer." A small frown formed
between her eyes. "What do you mean three, maybe four?"

'We haven't finished counting the pieces at the last crime scene. There
may be two victims."

'You can't tell?" she asked.

He let out his breath in a loud humph of air. "You don't know anything
about these crimes. You don't know enough to be questioning him without
us," His voice shook with the effort not to start screaming at her.

'Maybe you can sit in, sergeant, but not her." She jerked a thumb in my
direction.

'Actually, detective, technically, you can't exclude me from the
interrogation now that Heinrick is a suspect in preternatural crimes."

O'Brien looked at me, a blank, unfriendly stare. "I excluded you just
fine before, Blake."

'Ah," I said, and felt myself smiling, I couldn't help it. "But that was
when Heinrick was a suspected terrorist, and guilty of nothing more than
illegal weapons violations, very mundane stuff. And nothing that my
federal marshal status puts under my jurisdiction. As you pointed out
earlier I'm not a regular federal marshal. My jurisdiction is very
narrow. I have no legal status on nonpreternatural crimes, but on
preternatural crimes I have jurisdiction all across this country. I
don't have to wait to be invited in." I know I looked smug when I
finished, but I just couldn't seem to help myself. O'Brien was being
pissy, and pissiness should be punished.

O'Brien looked like she'd bitten into something bitter. "This is my
case."

'Actually, O'Brien, it's everybody's case now. Mine, because federal law
gives me the jurisdiction. Zerbrowski, because it's a preternatural
case, and that means it belongs to the Regional Preternatural
Investigation Team. Truthfully, you have no jurisdiction on the murders.
They didn't happen on your turf, and you wouldn't even have known that
Heinrick was involved if we hadn't shared information so freely with
you."

'We played fair with you," Zerbrowski said, "play fair with us, and we
all win." His voice was almost normal. He'd lost that frightening bass.

She pointed a finger at me, rather dramatically, I thought. "But it'll
be her name in the paper."

I shook my head. "Jesus, O'Brien, is that all this is about? You want
your name in the headlines?"

'I know that cracking a serial murder could make me a sergeant."

'If you want your name on this case, fine," I said, "but let's worry
more about solving the case than who's going to get credit for it."

'Easy enough for you to say, Blake. Like you said, you don't have a
career in law enforcement. Getting credit for this won't help you, but
you'll still get the credit."

Zerbrowski pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning. He touched
the files on the edge of the table. He opened one just enough to pull
out a photo. He half-slid, half-threw the picture across the table at
O'Brien.

It was a splash of shape and color. Most of the color was red. I didn't
look too hard at it. I'd seen the real deal, I didn't need a reminder.

O'Brien glanced down at the picture, then looked again. She frowned, and
almost reached out for the photo, then stared harder. She concentrated
on the image. I watched her try to make sense of what she was seeing,
watched her mind rebel at making sense of it. I saw the moment she saw
it, on her face, in the sudden paleness of her skin. She sat down slowly
in the chair on her side of the table.

She seemed to have trouble looking away from the picture. "Are they all
like this?" she asked in a voice gone thin.

'Yes," Zerbrowski said. His voice was soft, too, as if he had made his
point and wouldn't rub it in.

She looked up at me, and it looked like a physical effort to pull her
gaze away from that photo. "You'll be the darling of the media again,"
but her voice was soft, like it didn't matter.

'Probably," I said, "but it's not because I want to be."

'You're just so damned photogenic," her voice had held a hint of her
earlier scorn, then she frowned and glanced down at the photo again. She
seemed to hear what she'd just said, and with that awful, hideous photo
sitting in front of her, it seemed the wrong thing to say.

'I didn't mean…" She rallied, and put back on her angry face, but it
seemed more like a mask to hide behind now.

'Don't worry, O'Brien," Zerbrowski said, and he had his teasing voice
back. I knew enough to dread what would come out of his mouth next, but
she didn't. "We know what you meant. Anita is just so damned cute."

She gave a weak smile. "Something like that, yes," she said. The smile
vanished as if it had never existed. She was all business again. O'Brien
never seemed to get very far from business. "Seeing that this doesn't
happen to another woman is more important than who gets credit."

'Glad to hear we all agree," Zerbrowski said.

O'Brien stood up. She pushed the picture back towards Zerbrowski, doing
her best not to look at it this time. "You can question Heinrick, and
the other one, though he doesn't say much."

'Let's have a plan before we go in there," I said.

They both looked at me.

'We know that Van Anders is our guy, but we don't know for sure that
he's our only guy."

'You think one of the men we have here helped Van Anders do this?"
O'Brien motioned towards the picture that Zerbrowski was tucking away.

'I don't know." I glanced at Zerbrowski and wondered if he was thinking
the same thing I was. The first message had read "we nailed this one,
too." We. I wanted to make sure that Heinrick wasn't part of that 'we'.
If he was, then he wasn't going anywhere, not if I could help it. I
really didn't care who got credit for solving the case. I just wanted it
solved. I just wanted to never, ever have to see anything else as bad as
that bathroom, that bathtub, and its… contents. I use to think I
helped the police out of a sense of justice, a desire to protect the
innocent, maybe even a hero complex, but, lately, I'm beginning to
understand that sometimes I want to solve the case for a much more
selfish reason. So I don't ever have to walk through another crime scene
as bad as the one I just saw.

57

Heinrick was sitting behind the small table, slumped back in the chair,
which is actually harder than it looks in a straight-backed chair. His
carefully cut blond hair was still neat, but he'd laid his glasses on
the table, and his face looked younger without them. His file said he
was closer to forty than thirty, but he didn't look it. He had an
innocent face, and I knew that was a lie. Anyone who looks that innocent
after thirty is either lying, or touched by the hand of God. Somehow I
didn't think Leopold Heinrick was ever going to be a saint. Which left
only one conclusion--he was lying. Lying about what? Now there was the
question.

There was a Styrofoam cup with coffee in front of him. It had been
sitting long enough that the cream had started to separate from the
darker liquid, so that swirls of paleness decorated the top of the
coffee.

He looked up when Zerbrowski and I entered. Something flickered through
his pale eyes: interest, curiosity, worry? The look was gone before I
could decipher it. He picked up his glasses, giving me a blank, innocent
face. With his glasses back on, he came closer to looking his age. They
broke up the line of his face, so that the frames were what you saw
first.

'You want a fresh cup of coffee?" I asked him as I sat down. Zerbrowski
leaned against the wall, near the door. We'd start out with me
questioning Heinrick to see if I got anywhere. Zerbrowski made it clear
that I was up to bat, but no one, including me, wanted me alone with
Heinrick. He had been following me, and we still didn't know why. Agent
Bradford had guessed that it was part of some plot to get me to raise
the dead for some nefarious purpose. Bradford didn't know, not for sure.
Until we knew for sure, caution was better. Hell, caution was probably
always better.

'No," Heinrick said, "no more coffee."

I had a fresh cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of file folders in
the other. I placed the coffee on the table and made a show of arranging
the pile of folders neatly beside it. His gaze flicked to the folders,
then settled serenely back on me.

'Had too much coffee?" I asked.

'No." His face was attentive, blank, with a touch of wariness. Something
had him worried. Was it the files? Too large a stack. We'd intended it
to be too large. There were files at the bottom that had nothing to do
with Leopold Heinrick, Van Anders, or the nameless man that was sitting
in another room just down the hall. It was impossible to have a military
record with no name attached, but somehow the dark-haired American had
managed it. His file was so full of blacked-out spaces that it was
almost illegible. The fact that no one would give our John Doe a name,
but they would acknowledge he was once a member of the armed forces was
disturbing. It made me wonder what my government was up to.

'Would you like something else to drink?" I asked.

He shook his head.

'We may be in here a while."

'Talking is thirsty work," Zerbrowski said from the back.

Heinrick's eyes flicked to him, then back to me. "Silence is not thirsty
work." His lips quirked, and it was almost a smile.

'If sometime during this interview you want to tell us exactly why you
were following me, I'd love to hear it, but that's really secondary to
why we're here."

He looked puzzled then. "When you first stopped us that seemed to be
very important to you."

'It was, and I'd still like to know, but the priorities have changed."

He frowned at me. "You are playing games, Ms. Blake. I am tired of
games."

There was no fear in him. He seemed tired, wary, and not happy, but he
wasn't afraid. He wasn't afraid of the police, or me, or going to jail.
There was none of that anxiety that most people have in a police
interrogation. It was odd. Bradley had said that our government was
going to just let Heinrick go. Did he suspect that--know that? If so,
how? How did he know? Why wasn't he the least bit afraid of spending
time in the St. Louis jail system?

I opened the first file. It held grainy copies of old crimes. Women Van
Anders had slaughtered in foreign countries, far from here.

I laid the photos out in front of him, in a neat row of black and white
carnage. In some of the photos the quality was so bad that if you hadn't
known you were looking at human remains, you'd have never guessed. Van
Anders had reduced his victims to Rorschach tests.

Heinrick looked bored now, almost disgusted. "Your Detective O'Brien has
already shown me these. Already marched out her lies."

'What lies would those be?" I asked. I sipped my coffee, and it wasn't
bad. It was fresh, at least. As I sipped, I watched his face.

He folded his arms across his chest. "That there are fresh murders here
in your city like these old ones."

'What makes you think she's lying?"

He started to say something, then closed his mouth tight, his lips a
thin angry line. He just glared at me, pale eyes bright with anger.

I opened the second folder and began laying out colored photos just
above the old black and whites. I laid them out in a line of bright
death, and watched all the color drain away from Heinrick's skin. He
looked almost gray by the time I sat back down. I'd had to stand to
reach the ends of the table, to lay out the photos.

'This woman was killed three days ago." I got another file out of the
stack. I opened it, and fanned the photos on top of it, but didn't put
them with the stack. I wasn't a hundred percent sure I'd be able to
match the photos back to the right crime. They were supposed to be
marked on the back, but I hadn't marked them personally, so I didn't
want to risk it. Once you get into court the lawyers get damned picky
about evidence and stuff.

I pointed to the file pictures. "This woman was killed two days ago."

Zerbrowski stepped forward and handed me a plastic baggie with a handful
of polaroids in it. I tossed the baggie across the table so that it slid
by him, and he caught it automatically before it hit the floor. His eyes
were very big when he saw the top print.

'Those women died last night. We think there were two victims, but
truthfully we haven't finished putting together the pieces, so we're not
a hundred percent certain. It could be more, or it could be just one
woman, but that's an awful lot of blood for only one woman, don't you
think?"

He laid the baggie of polaroids carefully on the table, so that they
didn't touch any of the other photos. He stared at all the pictures, his
face gone death white, his eyes huge. His voice squeezed out like it was
an effort to breathe, let alone talk. "What do you wish to know?"

'We want to stop this from happening again," I said.

He was staring down at the pictures, as if he couldn't look away. "He
promised he would not do it here. He swore that he could control
himself."

'Who?" I asked, softly. Yeah, the government had given him a name, but
that was the same government that wouldn't give our John Doe one.

'Van Anders," he whispered the name. He looked up, and there was
surprise underneath the shock. "The other detective said you knew it was
Van Anders."

Great. Nothing like giving your suspect more information than he's
giving you.

I shrugged. "Without eyewitnesses it's hard to be certain."

Something like hope sparked in his eyes and he started regaining some of
his color. "You think this might be someone else? Not Van Anders?"

I riffled through the files again, and Heinrick flinched. I found the
thin folder with the picture of Van Anders and the two women. I flashed
him the picture. "Van Anders with the victims from last night's
slaughter."

He winced at the last word, and the color that had been seeping back
into his face drained away again. His lips looked bloodless. For a
second I thought he might faint. I'd never had a suspect faint on me
before.

His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Then it is him." He laid his forehead
on the table.

'Do you need some water, something stronger?" I asked. Though
truthfully, black coffee was as strong as I could give him. There were
rules about giving liquor to suspects.

He raised his head, slowly, but he looked awful. "I told them that he
was crazy. I told them not to include him."

'Told who?" I asked.

He sat up a little straighter. "I agreed to come here against my better
judgment. I knew the team was assembled too quickly. When you rush such
a task, it ends badly."

'What task?" I asked.

'To recruit you for a mission."

'What mission?" I asked.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. Some of our people got you on
tape raising a man in a local cemetery. He did not look alive enough for
what my employers wished. He looked like a zombie, and that is not good
enough."

'Good enough for what?" I asked.

'To fool people in the country that their leader is still alive."

'What country?" I asked.

He shook his head, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "I will not
be here long, Ms. Blake. Those that employ me will see to it. They will
either work to free me soon, with no charges, or they will have me
killed."

'You seem calm about that," I said.

'I believe I will go free."

'But you're not sure," I said.

'Few things in life are certain."

'I know one thing that's certain," I said.

He just looked at me. I think he'd said more than he'd planned to say.
So he was going to try not to say anything.

'Van Anders will kill someone else tonight."

His eyes were bleak when he said, "I had worked with him years ago,
before I knew what he was. I should not have believed him that he was in
control of his rage. I should have known."

'Are your employers just going to leave Van Anders here to butcher more
women?"

He looked at me then. Again, I couldn't quite read his expression.
Determination, guilt, something.

'I know where Van Anders is staying. I will give you that address. I
know that my employers would wish him dead now. He has become a
liability."

We got the address from him. I didn't hurry out after it, because unlike
the movies, I knew I wouldn't be allowed in at the capture. Mobile
Reserve, St. Louis's answer to SWAT, would be the ones running the show.
When you have people that can go in with body armor and fully automatic
weapons, the rest of us are just outclassed.

I opened one last file and showed him the man they'd crucified against
the wall. "Why did you need Van Anders to do this? Not his kind of
kill."

'I don't know what you are talking about."

He was going to deny it, fine. Even if we could have pinned it on him, I
doubt we could have kept him long enough for a trial. "We know you and
your team did this. We even know why." If Bradley was telling the truth,
I did know.

'You know nothing." He sounded very sure of that.

'You were ordered to kill him because he ran. Ran away from people like
you, and people like Van Anders."

He looked at me then, and he was worried. He was wondering how much I
knew. Not much. But maybe it was enough. "Whose idea was it to crucify
him?"

'Van Anders's." He looked like he'd swallowed something sour. Then he
gave a small smile. "It won't matter, Ms. Blake, I'll never see trial."

'Maybe not, but I always like to know where the blame goes."

He nodded, then said, "Van Anders was so angry when we shot him first.
He said what good is a crucifixion if the person isn't struggling." He
looked at me with haunted eyes. "I should have known then what he meant
to do."

'Whose idea were the runes?" I asked.

He shook his head. "You've gotten the last startled confession you shall
get from me."

'There's still one thing I don't understand." Actually, there were lots
of things I didn't understand, but it's never good to appear confused in
front of the bad guys.

'I will not incriminate myself, Ms. Blake."

'If you knew what Van Anders was capable of, then why bring him along?
Why make him part of the team, at all?"

'He is a werewolf, as you have learned from what he does to his victims.
There were those who believed you were a shape-shifter, as well. We
wanted someone that could manage you without risk of infection, if you
fought us."

'You were planning on kidnapping me?"

'As a last resort," he said.

'But because Balfour and Canducci didn't like my zombie, the plan is
off?"

'Those names will do for them, but yes. We had reports that you could
raise zombies that thought they were still alive and could pass as
human. My employers were very disappointed when they saw the tape."

I owed Marianne and her coven a thank-you note. If they hadn't gotten
all witchier-than-thou on me, I'd have raised a fine, alive-looking
zombie, and I might even now be kidnapped, and at the mercy of Van
Anders. Maybe I should send Marianne flowers, a card just didn't seem to
be enough.

I tried some more questions, but Leopold Heinrick had given out all the
information he was going to give. He finally asked for a lawyer, and the
interview was over.

I stepped out into the main area, and it was in chaos. People yelling,
running. I caught the phrase, "officers down." I grabbed Detective
Webster of the blond hair and bad coffee. "What's happened?"

O'Brien answered for him. "The Mobile Reserve Squad that went out to
pick up Van Anders--he cut them up. At least one dead, maybe more."

'Shit," I said.

She had her jacket on and was digging her purse out of a drawer.

'Where's Zerbrowski?"

'He's gone already."

'Can I catch a ride?"

She looked at me. "Where to? I'm going to the hospital."

'I think I need to be at the crime scene."

'I'll take you," Webster said.

O'Brien gave him a look.

'I'll be at the hospital later. I promise."

O'Brien shook her head and ran for the door. Everyone was leaving. Some
would go to the hospital. Some would go to the crime scene and see if
they could help there. Some would go sit with the families of the downed
officers. But everyone would go. If you really wanted to commit a crime
in any city, wait until there's an officer-down call, everyone drops
everything.

I'd go to the scene of the crime. I'd try to help figure out what went
wrong. Because something had gone very wrong if Van Anders had taken out
an entire squad from the Mobile Reserve. They're trained to handle
terrorists, hostage situations, drugs, gangs, biochemical hazards; pick
your nastiness, and Mobile Reserve can handle it. Yes, something had
gone terribly wrong. The question was, what?

58

I'd seen enough of Van Anders's handy work to be prepared for the worst.
What I saw in the hallway wasn't even close to his worst. Compared to
the other crime scenes, it was almost clean. There was a uniformed
officer standing next to the window at the end of the hallway. The
window was almost completely free of glass, as if something large had
been thrown through it. I turned away from the thought of one of the
city's finest plunging to his death. Other than the window, there wasn't
much else.

A sprinkling of blood on the pale brown carpet in the hallway. Two blood
smears on the wall looked almost artificial, overly dramatic on the
off-white walls. That was all. Van Anders hadn't had time to enjoy
himself. One officer was dead, maybe two, but he'd just had time to kill
them. He hadn't had time to cut them up. I wondered if that made him
angry? Did he feel cheated?

There was a trickle of police in the hallway, but the sound of voices
from the open door of the apartment was as murmurous as the sea. A
sorrowful, angry, urgent, confused sea.

The apartment was pristine, untouched. There had been no fight inside.
All the trouble had started and ended in the hallway.

Detective Webster had come up with me. He was still in the doorway,
because there wasn't room to walk into the room. Every homicide has more
cops than you think it needs, but I'd never seen a crowd like this. It
was nearly wall-to-wall people like at a party, except that every face
was grim, or shocked, or angry. No one was having a good time.

Zerbrowski had called my cell phone in the car on the way there.
Everybody was wanting answers, answers about the monsters, answers that
he couldn't give, because he didn't fucking know. His quote, not mine.

I debated on whether to yell for Zerbrowski or call him back on his cell
phone. I don't usually mind being short, but this time I couldn't see
through the crowd, and I sure as hell couldn't see over it.

I glanced at Webster. He was damn near six feet. "Can you spot Sergeant
Zerbrowski?"

Webster suddenly looked even taller. I realized that he'd been slumping,
artfully, the way some tall people do, especially if they got tall early
and didn't like it. Standing with his shoulders back, and trying to gaze
across the crowd, he was at least six one, maybe an inch more. I'm
usually a pretty good judge of height.

'He's on the far side of the room." He suddenly seemed to shrink,
shoulders rounding, almost like his spine compressed before my eyes.

I shook my head, and said, "Can you get his attention?"

He got a mischievous grin on his face, a look that Zerbrowski and Jason
had made me dread. "I could put you on my shoulders, then he'd spot
you."

I gave him a look that wilted the grin into a smile. He shrugged.
"Sorry." But it was the kind of sorry I'm used to, the one Jason always
gives when he's not sorry at all.

Either Zerbrowski is more psychic than I thought, or he was trying to
get away from the man who was dogging him. It was one of the Mobile
Reserve officers in full combat black, body armor still in place, but
he'd lost his helmet, his mask, and his eyes were wild. The whites kept
flashing like a horse's when it's about to bolt.

Zerbrowski saw me, and the look of relief on his face was so pure, so
happy, that it almost scared me. "Officer Elsworthy, this is Anita
Blake, Marshal Anita Blake. She's our preternatural expert."

Elsworthy frowned, blinking a little too rapidly. It was as if it took
longer than it should have for the words to filter through and have
meaning. I'd seen enough shock to know the symptoms. Why wasn't he at
the hospital with the rest of his squad?

Zerbrowski mouthed, "Sorry," to me.

Elsworthy blinked at me, his brown eyes didn't even look like they were
focusing, as if what he was seeing was somewhere inside his head. Shit.
A moment ago he'd been yelling at Zerbrowski, now he was staring at
things that we couldn't see. Probably reliving the disaster. He was
pale, and there was a light dew of sweat on his face. I was betting he
would be clammy to the touch.

I put my face close to Zerbrowski, and spoke low, "Why isn't he at the
hospital with the others?"

'He wouldn't go. Said he wanted to ask RPIT how the hell a werewolf can
grow claws when it's still in human form."

I must have reacted to the question, because Zerbrowski suddenly gave me
a look through the rims of his glasses. "I told him it wasn't possible
for a shifter to gain claws while still in full human form. Was I
wrong?"

I nodded. "A shifter has to be really powerful to be able to do it. I've
only known a handful that could do partial change while they pretty much
looked human."

Zerbrowski lowered his voice even more, "It might have been good to know
that before they busted in on Van Anders."

'I thought a minimum of one person from each squad went down to Quantico
for the big preternatural class and lecture."

'They did."

I gave him a disgusted look. "I don't go around assuming that I know
more about the monsters than the freaking FBI."

'Maybe you should," Zerbrowski said softly.

The way he said it took the heat out of my words. I couldn't really get
angry with Elsworthy standing there blinking like an innocent come to
slaughter.

'Is it hot in here?" Elsworthy asked.

Actually, it was, too many people in too small a space. "Detective
Webster, take Elsworthy out into the hall for a breath of air, would
you?"'

Webster did what I asked, and Elsworthy went without a single complaint.
It was as if he'd used up all his anger before I got there, and now all
that was left was the shock and the horror of it all.

Zerbrowski and I stayed in our little corner. "What went wrong?" I
asked.

'I've been yelled at by Elsworthy, but even better, Captain Parker. He's
waiting at the hospital for me to get my ass down there and explain to
him how the hell Van Anders was able to do what he did."

'What exactly did he do?"

Zerbrowski dug his ever-present notebook out of his jacket pocket. The
notebook looked like it'd been rolled in the dirt, then stepped on. He
ruffled through it until he got to the pages he wanted. "Van Anders
cooperated completely when they came in. He seemed surprised and didn't
know why anyone would want to arrest him. He was handcuffed, patted
down, and the two tactical officers, Bates and Meyer, led him out into
the hallway, while the rest of the squad reformed and made sure the rest
of the apartment was clear." He glanced up at me. "Standard procedure."

'So when did it stop being standard?"

'Then it gets a little confused. Meyer never came back on the radio, at
all. Bates started yelling, officer down, and something about, he's got
claws. Elsworthy and another officer got out the door in time to see Van
Anders clear enough that they both swear he had claws but was in full
human form." Zerbrowski gave me a look. "Truthfully, I was ready to
think Elsworthy, and…" He turned a page of his notebook, "Tucker, were
seeing things."

I shook my head. "No, it's possible." I shook my head again and fought
the urge to rub my temples. I had a headache starting. "The lycanthropes
that I've seen do this, the claws just whip out. It's like having five
switchblades suddenly appear. There wouldn't have been anything for the
officer, Bates, was it? to see."

'Meyer, Bates is still alive."

I nodded. Names were important. It was important to remember who was
dead and who was alive. "Van Anders stabbed Meyer. When the claws shot
out of his fingertips, he used them like knives."

'Apparently Kevlar doesn't stop lycanthrope claws," Zerbrowski said.

'Kevlar isn't made to stop a stabbing attack," I said, "the claws acted
like blades."

He nodded. "Van Anders used the officer as a shield, held him on his
claws like a… puppet, is what Elsworthy finally said."

'He should have gone to the hospital with the others," I said.

'He looked fine when I got here, Anita, honest. I don't blame them for
not forcing him to go."

'Well, he doesn't look fine now."

'We can give him a ride to the hospital when we go."

I looked at him. "Why do I think that we are going to the hospital for
more than just a show of moral support?"

'You're just perceptive as hell tonight."

'Zerbrowski," I said.

'I told Captain Parker that I'd be right along once Marshal Blake showed
up."

'You bastard."

'He's asking questions about the monsters that I don't have the answers
to. Maybe Dolph would, but there is no way I want him to be here. We
managed to quiet down the worst of what happened in the interrogation
with your furry friend, but if Dolph loses it in a public setting…" He
just shook his head.

I agreed with him. "Fine, I'll go with you to the hospital and see if I
can answer the captain's questions."

'Ah, but first ya gotta see this." He was actually smiling, and it
wasn't a place for smiles.

'See what?" I asked suspiciously.

He turned without a word and led the way down the hallway towards the
empty window. Webster had taken Elsworthy in the opposite direction so
that they stood as far from the window as the hallway allowed. Good for
Webster.

When we were close enough, my eyes started looking at something besides
the window. There were two neat bullet holes in the wall near the window
at the end of the hallway. Mobile Reserve's weapons can go fully
automatic at the flick of a switch, but they're trained to do it one
bullet at a time. With two officers down, and a monster on the loose,
they'd remembered their training.

Zerbrowski motioned the uniform back, so we had some privacy. There was
almost no glass on the carpet, because it had all gone outside.

'Did Van Anders throw someone through the window?"

'He threw himself," Zerbrowski said.

I stared at him. "We're twenty stories up, even a werewolf isn't going
to walk away from that kind of fall. It may not kill him, but he'll be
hurting."

'He didn't go down, he went up." He motioned me closer to the window.

I didn't like the window. It had a very low sill, almost low enough to
step through. That gives a better view, but without glass in the metal
frame, there was nothing but empty air between me and a very big fall.

'Careful of the glass, and don't look down. But trust me, Anita, it's
worth leaning out just a little, and looking up. Look at the right side
of the window."

I placed a hand against the wall and found a place in the metal that was
glass free so I could get a grip. The air was beating against me, like
eager hands ready to snatch me away. I'm not afraid of heights, but the
idea of falling from them, well, that I'm afraid of. I fought the almost
irresistible urge to look down, because I knew if I looked down I might
not be able to look out the window at all.

I leaned out, very carefully, and at first I didn't understand what I
was seeing. There were holes in the side of the building, all the way
up, as far as my eyes could follow. Small holes at regular intervals.

I eased myself back in, carefully, watching for glass as much as a fall.
I frowned at Zerbrowski. "I saw the holes, but what are they?"

'Van Anders did a Spiderman on them. The sniper and observer were set up
on the opposite side of the building. There was nothing they could do."

I felt my eyes go wide. "You mean the holes are where he shoved his
hands into the building, and climbed up?"

Zerbrowski nodded, and he was smiling. "Captain Parker was screaming
that he didn't know werewolves could do that either."

I glanced back at the window. "Captain Parker isn't the only one that
didn't know. I mean they have the strength, but they get cut and scraped
and break bones even. They may heal quickly, but it hurts them." I
looked up at the ceiling as if I could still see the upward march of
holes. "Being shot would have hurt like hell."

Zerbrowski nodded. "Will he need to see an emergency room, a doctor,
something?"

I shook my head. "I doubt it. If he's strong enough to do a partial
change, then I'll have to assume that his healing abilities are on the
high end. If they are, he'll be healed within a couple hours, maybe
less. If he changes form, when he's human again, he'll be good as new."

'They've put the word out to all the emergency and urgent care places,
just in case."

I nodded. "Can't hurt, I guess, but I don't think you're going to catch
him that way."

'How are we going to catch him, Anita? How do you catch something like
this?"

I looked at him. "Did you ask the upper brass what they thought of using
werewolves to track him?"

'They vetoed it."

'I think you might find them in a more receptive mood now."

'You think your friends will be nice on a leash for me?"

'I was really thinking I'd been holding the leash." My phone rang, and
the sound made me jump. I flipped it open, and it was a voice I didn't
recognize. I don't talk to the chief of police all that often.

I did a lot of yes, sir, and no, sir. Then the phone was buzzing, and I
was left with Zerbrowski staring at me. "Were you talking to who I think
you were talking to?"

'They've issued a court order of execution for Van Anders."

Zerbrowski's eyes were wide. "You are not going after him alone."

I shook my head. "I hadn't planned on it."

He looked like he didn't believe me. I actually had to give him my word
I wouldn't try to pop Van Anders without backup. I'd have backup. The
police chief had told me over the phone that they'd go along with the
werewolf tracking idea. I'd have backup--if I could persuade Richard to
give them to me.

I asked for some plastic evidence bags and raided Van Anders's dirty
clothes drawer. I used gloves, not to keep my scent off them, but
because I didn't want to touch anything that had touched Van Anders's
body. I sealed the clothes in the bag, and hoped it would be enough to
help the werewolves track him. We'd come back and start around the foot
of this building. Van Anders might have climbed up, but he had to come
down somewhere.

Zerbrowski drove me, Officer Elsworthy, and himself off to the hospital,
so Captain Parker could yell at us both. Bates had died on the operating
table.

Zerbrowski had to take the tongue lashing, because a sergeant doesn't
outrank a captain. I took it, because I smelled the fear on Parker. I
didn't blame him for being afraid. I think we were all afraid, every
single person in the hallway. Every person in the apartment. Every
policeman, and woman, in town should have been afraid. Because when
something like this happens it's still the police that have to clean up
the mess. Well, the police, and your friendly neighborhood executioner.
We were all afraid, and we should have been.

59

I met Richard at his house. We sat at the kitchen table where we'd sat
so many weekend mornings. He drank tea. I sipped coffee. He wouldn't
meet my eyes, and I didn't know what to say.

He caught me off guard by starting. "If you'd stuck to my morals, Asher
would be dead right now, or worse, trapped in Europe with that monstrous
bitch."

I was pretty sure that "monstrous bitch" was Belle Morte. "That's true,"
I said, and I tried to keep my voice neutral. I wanted to get down to
business and ask Richard to loan me some werewolves, but it didn't
usually work well to approach Richard head on. It didn't take much to
offend him. I needed his cooperation, not another fight.

'I don't understand how you could let them feed off of you, Anita." He
finally looked up and his perfectly brown eyes were filled with a pain
and confusion, so raw, that it hurt me to look at them.

'It's hard for me to cast stones anymore, Richard."

'The ardeur," he said.

I nodded.

'I can't let you feed off of me either."

'I understand that," I said.

He searched my face. "Then why are you here?"

Had he really thought this was going to be some tearful reunion, some
plea on my part to get him back in my bed? Part of me was pissed, part
of me was sad, none of me had time for it.

'The werewolf that's been raping and killing women here got away from
the police today."

'I haven't seen anything on the news."

'We're trying to keep it quiet."

'You're here for business," his voice was soft.

'I'm here to keep other women from dying."

He got up from the table, and I was afraid for a moment that he'd leave,
but he took the tea cozy off the teapot and refreshed his mug. "It's not
one of my wolves, Anita."

'I know that."

He turned, and there was the first hint of anger. "Then what do you want
from me?"

I sighed. "Richard, I love you, I may always love you, but I don't have
time for this fight, not right now."

'Why not now?" he asked, and he was angry.

I opened the file folder and took out the first photo. I held it up so
he could see it. He frowned, narrowing his eyes, then finally his mind
made sense of it, and total disgust filled his face. He turned away.

'Why are you showing me that?"

'He's killed three women here and over a half dozen in other countries.
Those are only the ones we know about. He's out there right now picking
a new victim."

'I can't do anything about that."

'But I can, if you'll give me some werewolves to help track him."

He looked at me then, then away, because I still had the photo showing.
"Track him, you mean like a dog?"

'No, most dogs won't track a shape-shifter, they're too scared of them."

'We're not animals, Anita."

'No, you're not, but in animal form you have the nose of one, but you
still have the brain of a person. You can track and think."

'Me, you expect me to do this?"

I shook my head, and laid the photo down on the pile. I stood and spread
the pile out across his table. "No, but Jason would, and Jamil would if
you asked him to. I'd say Sylvie, but she's not well enough to do much
of anything."

'She challenged me, and she lost," Richard said. His eyes kept flicking
to the photos on the table. "Get those off of my table."

'He's out there right now, about to turn another woman into so much
meat."

'Fine, fine, take Jason, take Jamil, take whoever the hell you want."

'Thank you." I started gathering the photos up.

'You didn't have to do it this way, Anita."

'What way?" I asked, shutting the file over the gruesome photos.

'Harsh. You could have just asked me."

'Would you have said yes?"

'I don't know, but those photos are going to haunt me."

'I saw the real deal, Richard, your nightmares can't be worse than
mine."

He moved in one of those blurs of speed and grabbed my arm. "Part of me
thinks they're horrifying, just like I'm supposed to, but part of me
likes the pictures." His fingers dug into my arm, bruising. "Part of me
just sees fresh meat." He let a growl trickle out from between his even
white teeth.

'I'm sorry you hate what you are, Richard."

He let go of me so fast, I almost fell. "Take the wolves you need, and
get out."

'If I could wave a magic wand over you and make you human, purely human,
I'd do it, Richard."

He looked at me; his eyes had bled to wolf amber. "I believe you, but
there isn't a magic wand. I am what I am, and nothing will ever change
that."

'I'm sorry, Richard."

'I've decided to live, Anita."

I looked at him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

'I've been trying to die. I'm not going to die anymore. I'm going to
live, whatever that means."

'I'm glad, but I wish you sounded happier about the choice."

'Go, Anita, you've got a murderer to catch."

I did, and time was not on our side. But I still hated leaving him like
this. "I'll do what I can to help you, Richard, you know that."

'Like you help all your friends."

I shook my head, gathered up the folder, and went for the door. "When
you want to talk, and not to fight, give me a call, Richard."

'And when you want to talk, and not catch murderers, you give me a
call."

We left it at that. But I didn't have time to hold his hand, even if he
would have let me. Van Anders was out there, and there were so many
people he could hurt. What was a little emotional desolation between
friends compared to getting Van Anders off the streets?

60

Jason and Jamil stayed in human form, while Norman and Patricia stayed
in wolf form. I'd seen Norman in human form before, but I couldn't put a
face on Patricia. She was just a big shaggy wolf, pale, almost white. We
had to put the two pony-sized wolves on leashes. Today of all days I did
not want the police seeing a giant wolf running loose on the streets. I
was thinking they'd be in a shoot-first-ask-questions-later sort of
mood.

I'd unzipped the two bags that I'd collected from Van Anders's rented
apartment. The wolves sniffed it, growled, and on the end of leashes,
they tracked him from the sidewalk around his apartment building, and
all through the city, and finally to a mall.

The police had been watching the airports, the bus stations, the
highways. Van Anders was sitting in the freaking food court of Eastfield
mall. He'd piled his hair up under a billed cap and added a cheap pair
of sunglasses. As disguises went it was okay. Besides, I couldn't
complain, much. I was wearing a billed cap with my hair up under it, and
sunglasses. I hate it when the bad guys copy. I was also wearing a baggy
T-shirt, and baggy jeans with my Nikes. Short as I was, I looked like a
thousand teenagers wandering any mall in America.

I'd deputized Jamil and Jason. They stayed out of sight, but warned me
that he'd smell them sooner or later. I'd already flashed my badge at
mall security. I'd made the decision that we wouldn't call the police,
and we wouldn't try to evacuate. I had a court order of execution. I
didn't have to give him a warning. I didn't have to do anything but kill
him.

It was mid-afternoon, so the food court wasn't too busy. That was good.
There was a group of teenagers at the table nearest Van Anders. Why
weren't they in school? At the table next-closest to him was a mother
with a baby in a stroller and two toddlers. Two toddlers, neither of
them in baby seats, but running free, while she tried to help the baby
eat soft-serve yogurt.

Van Anders was still more than fifteen feet from the rampaging toddlers.
The teenagers were frightfully close, but I couldn't figure out how to
get them to move. I was working up my nerve to wind my way through the
daytime moms and kids, when the teenagers got up, left their trash on
the table, and walked away.

Van Anders was as isolated as I was going to get him here in the mall. I
wasn't willing to let him escape again. He was too dangerous. I made the
decision in that moment that I would endanger all these nice people.
That the mother with her yogurt-smeared baby, and the two screaming
toddlers were going to have to take their chances. I was fairly certain
I could control the situation well enough to keep them out of it, but I
wasn't completely certain. All I knew for sure was that I was going to
take him, now. I wasn't going to wait.

I had my gun at my side, safety off, round-chambered long before I got
to the table with the mother and her children. I had my federal marshal
badge hanging out over the pocket of the large T-shirt, just in case
some brave civilian decided to try and save Van Anders.

I had the gun up and pointed as I passed the woman's table. I think it
was her soft gasp that made him turn. He saw the badge, and he smiled,
taking another bite of his sandwich. He talked with his mouth full. "Are
you going to warn me not to move, tell me to freeze?" He sounded Dutch.

'No," I said, and I shot him.

The bullet spun him out of his chair, and I fired again before he'd hit
the ground. The first one had been rushed; not lethal, but the second
one was a solid body shot.

I fired into his body twice more before I got close enough to watch his
mouth open and shut. Blood blossomed from his lips, and turned his blue
shirt purple.

I circled wide, so I could get a clear head shot. He lay on his back and
bled, and managed to cough blood, and clear his throat enough to say,
"Police have to give warning. Can't just shoot."

I let out all the breath in my body, and sighted on his forehead just
above the eyes. "I'm not the police, Van Anders, I'm the executioner."

His eyes widened, and he said, "No."

I pulled the trigger and watched most of his face explode into an
unrecognizable mess. His eyes had been bluer than in the photos.

61

Bradley called me at home that night. Strangely, after blowing a man's
brains out in front of a lot of suburban moms and kids I just wasn't in
the mood to go into work. I was already tucked into bed with my favorite
toy penguin, Sigmund, and Micah curled beside me. Usually Micah's warmth
was more comforting than a truckload of stuffed toys, but tonight I
needed that choking grip on my favorite toy. Micah's arms were
wonderful, but Sigmund never told me I was being silly, or bloodthirsty.
Neither had Micah, but I kept waiting for it.

'You made national news, and the Post-Dispatch is running a front-page
picture of you executing Van Anders," Bradley said.

'Yeah, turns out I was across from a camera store. Lucky me." Even to
me, I sounded tired, or something more. What's more than tired? Dead?

'You going to be alright?" he asked.

I pulled Micah's arms closer around me, snuggled my head against his
bare chest. I was still cold. How could I be cold under all these
blankets? "I've got a few friends staying with me, they'll keep me from
getting too morose."

'He needed killing, Anita."

'I know that."

'Then what's that tone in your voice?"

'You haven't gotten to the part of the article where the three-year-old
boy is having screaming fits about me killing him, like he saw me do to
the bad man in the mall, have you?"

'If he'd gotten away…"

'Just stop, Bradley, just stop. I made the decision before I moved on
him that the witnesses' psyches weren't as important as their physical
safety. I don't regret that decision. Much."

'Okay, I'll just talk business then. We think Leo Harlan is best known
as Harlan Knox. He's worked with some of the same people that employed
Heinrick and Van Anders."

'Why am I not surprised?" I said.

'We tried the number he gave you. The answering service says he's
canceled his contract with them, except for one message."

I waited for it.

'You're not going to ask?"

'Just tell me, Bradley."

'Okay, Here goes. 'Ms. Blake, sorry we didn't get to raise my ancestor.
In case you were wondering, he is real. But under the circumstances, I
thought discretion the better part of valor. And the assignment has been
canceled, for the time being.' Do you understand what he means about the
assignment being canceled?"

'I think so, I think he means the deal was called off. It got too messy.
Thanks for checking, Bradley."

'Don't thank me, Anita, if I hadn't tried to get you onto our payroll as
a federal agent, you might never have come to the attention of whoever
hired Heinrick."

'You can't keep blaming yourself for that, Bradley. It's like spilled
milk, clean up the mess, and move on."

'The same goes for Van Anders."

'I always give better advice than I take, Bradley, you should know that
by now."

He laughed, then said, "Watch your back, okay?"

'I will, you, too."

'Bye, Anita, take care."

I was in the middle of saying, "you, too," when he hung up on me. What
was it about working for law enforcement that gave you such bad phone
manners?

Nathaniel came into the bedroom with the copy of Charlotte's Web. "It
was in the kitchen, and it's got a second bookmark. I think Zane, or
somebody has started reading it."

I cuddled tighter in against Micah's body, and he held me, his arms warm
and fierce as if he could squeeze the bad feelings out of me. "Let them
get their own copy," I said.

Nathaniel smiled. Micah kissed the top of my head. "Who's reading
tonight?" Nathaniel asked.

'I will," Micah said, "unless Anita wants to."

I buried my face in the crook of his arm. "No, being read to sounds just
about right tonight."

Nathaniel handed him the book and climbed into bed. I wasn't sure if it
was the warmth of both of them under the covers, or the sound of Micah's
deep voice as he read, but slowly, I began to be warm again. I hadn't
read Charlotte's Web in years. I was overdue. Overdue for so many things
that didn't involve guns or killing people.

62

Dolph is still on leave, but I'm working on arranging a get-together
between him, his wife, and their son and daughter-in-law. I don't know
if there's anything to talk about, but Lucille, Mrs. Dolph, wants me to
try. I'll try.

Richard seems to have some peace. Not enough peace for us to date. But
hey, I'm just thrilled that he's no longer suicidally depressed. At this
point, I want him healthy and happy more than I want him with me.

Asher, Jean-Claude, and I have an understanding. I guess, you could say
we're dating. You wouldn't think that dating two men simultaneously
would be a first with me, but two men on the exact same date at the
exact same time--that's new.

Stephen and Gregory's father is still in town. Valentina and Bartolom
asked Jean-Claude's permission to kill him. Jean-Claude said okay, as
long as Stephen and Gregory agree. Stephen's therapist thinks it would
be healthier if the boys handled it themselves. Gregory's comment had
been, "Oh, we get to kill him ourselves."

'That's not what I meant," Stephen said.

The two of them are still arguing about how to handle their childhood
nightmare come to town. I'm with Valentina and Bartolom on this one.
Kill his ass. But I won't take the choice away from Stephen and Gregory,
not if their therapist says it'll do more damage. God knows they've had
enough damage in their lives already.

But because they haven't been able to satisfy their debt of honor, the
two child vampires are staying in St. Louis. Besides the debt of honor
thing, I think Valentina doesn't want to be anywhere near Belle Morte
when she goes up against the Mother of All Darkness. Me either.

There are nights when I dream about the living dark. As long as I sleep
with a cross on I'm okay, but if I forget, she haunts me. I'd get a
cross tattoo if I wasn't afraid it'd burst into flames.

The Mobile Reserve has me on their list of civilian experts. They'll
call if they need me. Captain Parker was wicked pissed that the feds'
latest update on the preternatural wasn't so updated. The FBI just
doesn't have enough friends that are monsters. If they did they'd know
more.

Larry is back in town all duly trained to be a federal marshal and
vampire hunter. The wedding is set for October. Tammy is threatening to
have me in the wedding. Some friends they are.

We're still reading Charlotte's Web. "The Crickets sang in the grasses.
They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad, monotonous song. 'Summer
is over and gone,' they sang. 'Over and gone, over and gone…'" Some
people think that's a sad chapter, but it's always been one of my
favorites. Summer is over and gone, but autumn is here, and next month
is October with the bluest skies of the year. For the first time in
years, no, scratch that, for the first time ever, I had someone to hold
my hand and go walking out under those blue skies. Richard and I had
always planned to do it, but he had his job, and I had mine, and we
never made the time. But now I have Micah. And I'm learning that you
have to make time for what's important. You have to fight to carve
little pieces of happiness out of your life, or the everyday emergencies
will eat up everything.

When we finish Charlotte's Web Nathaniel wants to read Treasure Island.
Sounds good to me.

[book-jacket summary]

With her New York Times bestselling Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter novels,
Laurell K. Hamilton wraps readers up in stories of suspense and
sensuality. Cerulean Sins is no exception. Now, Anita learns what it's
like to be at the new end of a centuries-old bloodline--and just how far
she'll let herself get pushed around…

How the mighty have fallen! Once a sworn enemy of all vampires, Anita is
now the human consort of both Jean-Claude, the Master Vampire, and
Micah, the leopard shapeshifter. But her love life doesn't stop there.
It can't. For Anita--not quite as human as she once was--is consumed by
both the lusts of the vampire and the primal hungers of the
wereleopards. Desires that must be sated--time and time again…

But it is Jean-Claude who needs her now. His oldest ancestor has sent
one of her vicious and powerful underlings to St. Louis, putting
Jean-Claude and his clan on the defensive. Unsure of where she stands
with the interloper, Anita finds herself tested as never before--needing
all the dark forces her passion can muster to save the ones she loves
the most…

[Version History]

Version 1.0--Street release date was April 1, 2003. Scanned, OCR'd,
spellchecked, and formatted. While nearly every book I've ever seen has
had minor typographical and grammatical errors in it, this was probably
the worst I've ever seen by a bestselling author with a major publisher.
I'm not talking about Hamilton's tendency to join two complete sentences
with a comma, or mutilate tenses in dialogue,'first-person observations
(which I didn't touch--I think they're essential to her informal
first-person narrative style). I'm talking spelling 'carnage' like
'cranage,' and Hamilton's made-up words like ardeur, which was spelled
three different ways in the original; there were major typos like this
in basically every chapter, very nearly every page. Don't take this as a
criticism of the book, because it's a great read, better than any of her
recent Anita Blake stuff (since Blue Moon), but it was obviously rushed
to press.

Version 2.0 - April 7, 2003--proofread and corrected by The_Ghiti. If
you find errors, please fix, increment version number by 0.1 and
re-post.

