Obsidian Butterfly ab-9

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  The audience broke into thunderous applause, the sound rising like thunder through the small backstage area. The actors were pouring away from the white screen. The act was almost over. Everyone had turned at the noise and the movement, even the priest. I put my finger against the tip of the obsidian knife and pressed. The tip was like glass, the pain sharp and immediate. I drew back with a hiss.

  "What have you done?" the priest demanded, and his voice was too loud, it must have carried out into the crowd.

  I spoke lower. "I won't heal, not as fast as he did. It'll prove that I'm not a lycanthrope."

  The priest's anger filled the air like something hot and touchable. "You do not understand."

  "If someone would talk to me, instead of hugging their secrets so damn close, I wouldn't be blundering into things."

  The priest handed the blade back to the kneeling man. He took the knife and bowed his forehead to it. Then he licked the blade, carefully around the sharp edges, until he came to the point and my blood. Then he slid the tip between his lips, into his mouth, sucking it down like a woman taking a man into her mouth. His mouth worked around the blade and I knew it was cutting him, as he swallowed it. I knew it was cutting him up, but he made it look as if it were something wonderful, orgasmic, as if he were having a very good time.

  He watched me as he did it, and his eyes weren't serene anymore. They had filled with heat. It was the same heat you could see in any man's eyes when was thinking about sex. But not when the man was sucking on a glass sharp blade, cutting his mouth, tongue, throat, drinking his own blood, with a taste of my blood as a chaser, Someone grabbed my hand, and I jumped. It was Cesar. "We must be on stage. You must take your seat." He was watching the kneeling man, all the men, carefully. He eased me around the group of them, and all eyes followed like I was some wounded gazelle.

  The other three women were already in place, standing behind the now dim white screen. They'd taken off some clothing. The giggling blonde was down to pale blue bra and panties, still laughing her head off. The Hispanic had taken off her skirt and was down to a pair of crimson panties that matched the red camisole she was still wearing. She'd kept the matching red high heels, She and the blonde were leaning against each other, swaying and laughing. Ramona wasn't laughing. She still stood quietly, unmoved and unmoving.

  The priest's voice came from backstage. "Disrobe for our audience." His voice was soft, but Ramona grabbed the bottom of her shirt and lifted. Her bra was an ordinary bra, white and simple. It wasn't meant to be lingerie, and I doubted she'd planned on anyone seeing it tonight. She let her shirt fall to the floor. Her hands went to the top button of her pants. I pulled away from Cesar and grabbed Ramona's hands. "No, don't."

  Her hands went slack in mine, as if even that small interference had broken the spell, but she didn't look at me. She didn't see what was in front of her, just the internal landscape that I couldn't see.

  I picked her shirt back up and placed her hands over it. She clutched it automatically, covering most of the front of her.

  Cesar took my arm. "The screen is going up. There is no time."

  The screen began to slowly lift.

  "You can't be the only one dressed," he said. He tried to slide the jacket from my shoulders, and bared the shoulder holster.

  "We'll scare the audience," I said.

  The screen was to our knees. He grabbed the front of my shirt, jerking it out of my pants, baring my stomach. He dropped to his knees and was licking my stomach as the screen came up completely. I tried to grab a handful of hair to pull him off me, but there wasn't enough hair to grab. The hair was much softer than it looked, much softer than my hair would have been if you shaved it to stubble. His teeth bit gently into my skin, and I put my hand under his chin, raising his face, so that he either had to take his teeth out of my skin, or bite deeper. He let go, let me raise his face to stare upward at me. There was a look in his eyes that I couldn't read, but it was something large and more complex than you see in a stranger's eyes. Complex I didn't need tonight.

  He was on his feet in a movement so liquid and graceful that I knew that Edward would spot him for what he was, not human. He went to the one with all the hair first, giving her a tonsil-cleaning kiss, as if he'd crawl into her from the mouth down. Then he spun her like a dance move, and jaguar men were there to escort her and her arm full of clothes back to her table. The blonde was next. She kissed him, running pale nails down his back. She gave a little jump and wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing him to hold her weight or fall. The kiss was long, but she was in control of it. Cesar walked her to the edge of the stage, still clinging to his body like a limpet.

  The jaguar men pried her away from his body, one pale limb at a time, until they had to carry her above their heads while she struggled, and then finally went limp, laughing as they carried her back to her table.

  Ramona seemed to wake up. She blinked around her as if she'd woken and wasn't sure where she thought she should be. She stared down at her blouse clutched to the front of her and screamed. Cesar tried to help her on with her blouse, and she slapped at him. I went to her, trying to help her, but she seemed afraid of me, too, now, as if her panic had spread to include all of us.

  The jaguar men tried to help her off stage, and she fell trying to keep them from touching her. It was finally a man from her table who came and escorted her out of the lights, out of the ring of strangers.

  She was crying and speaking softly in Spanish as he led her back to the table. I would have to talk to someone about her. I couldn't leave town without knowing that the mind tricks weren't permanent. If it had been a vampire with a one on one call like that, he could have called her any time, any night, and she would answer his call. She would have no choice.

  Cesar stood in front of me. He raised my hand, I think to kiss it, but it was the hand that I'd cut to prove I wouldn't heal. Not that anyone had cared, Cesar raised my hand and stared at the small wound in the tip of my finger. It was a small cut and didn't bleed much, but it wasn't healing either. If I'd been a lycanthrope, the small prick would have closed up and healed by now.

  He looked at me over the still bleeding finger. "What are you?" he whispered.

  "Long story," I whispered back.

  He kissed the wound like a mother with a child's scrape, then his mouth slid over my finger, down to my hand. He drew it slowly back out. Fresh blood welled to the tip of my finger, bright and sparkling under the lights. His tongue flicked out, rolling the drop of blood into his mouth. He leaned close as if to kiss me, but I shook my head and moved towards the steps that would lead me off the stage and away from him.

  The jaguar men were there to help me off the stage, but I looked at them, and they backed off, letting me walk down the steps by myself. Edward held my chair for me, and I let him. Food had been served while I was on stage. Edward handed me a linen napkin. I wrapped it around my finger, holding pressure to it.

  Dallas actually got up from her chair and came to talk to me, hanging over the back of my chair. "What happened back there? I've been a volunteer before, and I've never seen anyone hurt."

  I looked up at her, her face close in the dimness, all serious and concern. "If you think no one gets hurt, then you haven't been paying attention."

  She frowned, looking puzzled.

  I shook my head. It was too late, and I was suddenly too tired to try and explain. "I cut myself shaving."

  She frowned harder, but also got the point that I didn't want to talk.

  I sat back down, leaving me to Edward. He leaned into me, laying his mouth against my ear and whispering so low it was like he was breathing into my ear. He knew how good a shapeshifter's hearing was, not to mention vamps. Do they know who you are?"

  I turned, putting my mouth against his ear, having to raise on one knee in my seat, putting my body in a line against his. It looked intimate, but it allowed me to whisper to him in a voice so low I wasn't sure he would hear. "No, but they know I'm not human, not a
tourist." I put my arm across his shoulders, one hand on his shoulder, holding him because I didn't want him to move away. I wanted the next question answered. "What are you planning?"

  He turned to me, a look on his face that was far too intimate, too teasing for the conversation. He leaned into me, mouth pressed so close to my ear that it must have looked to the others like he had his tongue down it. "No plan, just thought you being you might scare the monsters from talking to us."

  It was my turn to whisper, "No plan, you promise?"

  "Would I lie to you?"

  I jerked back from him and slugged him in the shoulder, not hard, but he got my point. Would Edward lie to me? Would the sun rise tomorrow? Yes to both.

  The actors that had taken our places were finally on stage, in robes. The priest in his feathers was introducing them, getting the applause they deserved. was glad they ruined the effect and didn't leave poor Ramona convinced she'd done terrible things. I was actually surprised that they'd spoiled the trick, like a magician revealing his secrets.

  "We'll allow you to eat before the next and last act of our show."

  The lights came up, and we all turned to our meals. I'd thought the meat was beef, but when I put the first bite in my mouth the texture told me I was wrong. The waitress had brought me an extra napkin, and I used that to spit the bite into.

  "What's wrong?" Bernardo asked. He was eating the meat and enjoying himself

  "I don't eat ... veal," I said. I took a forkful of an unrecognizable vegetable, then realized it was sweet potatoes. I didn't recognize the spices in them. Of course, cooking wasn't exactly my area of expertise.

  Everyone was eating the meat except me, and strangely, Edward. He'd taken a bite, but then he concentrated on the flat bread, and the vegetables, too.

  "You don't eat veal either, Ted?" Olaf asked. He put another bite in his mouth and chewed slowly, as if trying to draw every ounce of flavor.

  "No," Edward said.

  "I know it's not moral indignation about the poor little calves," I said.

  "And you worry about the poor little calves?" Edward said. He gave me a long look as he asked. I couldn't read his eyes, but they weren't blank, I just couldn't read them. What else was new?

  "I don't approve of the treatment of the animals, no, but truthfully I just don't like the texture."

  Dallas was watching us all as if we were doing something a lot more interesting than discussing meat. "You don't like the texture of ... veal?"

  I shook my head. "No, I don't."

  Olaf had turned to the other woman. He took his latest bite of meat and offered it to her on the end of his fork. "You like veal?"

  She got a strange little smile on her face. "I eat veal here almost every night." She didn't take his bite that he offered but took another bite from her own fork.

  I felt like I was missing something, but before I could ask, the lights went down again. The final act was about to begin. If I was still hungry, surely there'd be something open on the way home. There usually was.

  24

  THE LIGHTS WENT DOWN until the room was left in darkness. A dim spot light cut the darkness. The light was only a faint white gleam when it finally stopped at the far, far end of the darkened room.

  A figure stepped into that pale gleam. A crown of brilliant red and yellow feathers was bent towards the light. A cloak of smaller feathers covered the figure from neck to the edge of the light. The crown raised, revealing a pale face. It was Cesar. He turned his face to one side, giving profile and showing that he had earrings going from lobe to halfway up the edge of his ear. Gold glittered as he moved his head, and the light grew stronger. He lifted something in his hands and a note of music filled the near dark. A thin trilling note like a flute, but not. The song was beautiful, but eerie, as if something lovely were crying. A jaguar man lifted off the feathered cloak and vanished into the darkness. A heavy gold collar lay across his shoulders and chest. If it were real it was a fortune in precious metal. Hands came from either side of the dark ness, appearing in the light, taking the feathered crown without ever showing themselves.

  Cesar walked slowly, and halfway up the room I could see what he was playing. It looked like a panpipe, but not exactly. The song cut through the darkness, crawled through it, one moment uplifting, the next mournful. It looked like he was truly playing it, and if so it was impressive. Jaguar men stripped him of everything he was carrying: a small shield; a strange stick that looked sort of like a bow, but not, a bag of short arrows or something like them. He was close enough now that I could see the jade decoration that he wore in front of his kilt, though I knew it wasn't a kilt, but skirt wasn't right either. The front was covered in feathers; the rest, some rich cloth. More hands came into the light to undo the garment and take it and the jade away. They were close enough now that the darkness and light couldn't hide that the hands belonged to the jaguars. They stripped him down to the flesh-colored G-string he'd worn before, or one like it.

  The song rose into the dimness as he neared the last few rows of tables. You could almost see the notes rising upward like birds. I don't usually wax poetic about music, but this was different. Somehow you knew it wasn't just a song, just something to listen to and forget, or hum in odd moments. When you think of ritual music, you think of drums, something with a beat to remind us of our hearts, and the ebb and flow of our bodies. But not all ritual is made to remind us of our bodies. Some of it's made to remind us of why the ritual is happening. All ritual at its heart is for the sake of divinity. All right, not all, but most. Most of it is us yelling, hey God, look at me, look at us, hope you like it. We are all just children at heart, hoping Dad or Mom likes the present picked out.

  Of course, sometimes Mom and Dad can have quite a temper.

  Cesar let the flute or pipes hang from a thong around his neck. He knelt and removed his own sandals, then handed them to a woman at the nearest table. There was a shifting in the dimness as if she wasn't sure she wanted them. Maybe after the earlier show she was afraid to take them. Couldn't really blame her on that one.

  He stopped at the table just behind that one and spoke quietly to another woman. She stood and removed one of the gold earrings from his ear. Then he went from table to table, and let sometimes men, but mostly women take the last of his decoration from his body. Which probably explained why the earrings were the least expensive, least authentic pieces he'd been wearing. Except for the last earrings. A medium sized jade ball set in each earlobe, but it was the figurines that dangled beneath, moving as his head moved, swaying as he walked, that made the earrings special. Each figure was nearly three inches high, brushing his shoulders like the hair he did not have. As he got closer, you could see the green stone was intricately carved into one of those squat deities the Aztecs were so fond of.

  He stopped at our table, and I was surprised because he'd carefully ignored the other "brides" on this walk. He raised me to my feet with one hand in mine, then turned his head so I could reach the earring. I didn't want to stop the show, but they were too expensive a gift to accept unless they were fake. The moment I touched the cool stone, I knew it was real jade. It was too heavy, too smooth to be anything else.

  I don't wear earrings, and I've never had pierced ears, so I was left feeling the back of his ear in the near dark, trying to figure out how to undo the earring. He finally reached up and helped me, hands doing quickly and almost gracefully what I'd been fumbling at. By watching him I realized that they unscrewed, and when he turned his head I was able to get the second one out myself. I knew enough about jewelry to know that the screws were modern. It was real jade, real gold, but it wasn't an antique, or at least the clasps were modern.

  The stones rested heavy and very solid in my hands. He leaned over and whispered, breath warm against my cheek. "I will get them back from you after the performance. Don't interfere." He laid a gentle kiss on my cheek and walked to the bottom step. He took the flute from around his neck and broke off one of the many reeds, scatt
ering it on the step.

  I sat back down, the jade gripped in my hands. I leaned into Edward. "What's about to happen?"

  He shook his head. "I've never seen this particular show."

  I looked across the table at Professor Dallas. I wanted to ask her what was going on, but she had all her attention on the stage. Cesar had broken part of the flute on every step as he walked up them. Four jaguar men were waiting at the top, grouped around a small, roundish stone. The priest was there, too, but without the cape. He was even broader through the shoulders than he'd seemed, and though not tall you got the impression of sheer strength, sheer physicality. He seemed more warrior than priest.

  Cesar had made it to the top of the temple. The four jaguar men grabbed him, by wrist and ankle, lifting him over their heads, steadying his body with their hands. They paced the stage with him held above their heads, showing him to the four corners of the stage, even the one that faced away from the audience. Then they brought him to the small round stone and laid his body across it, so that his head and shoulders leaned back, and the lowest part of his chest and upper stomach were curved over the stone.

  I was on my feet before I saw the obsidian blade in the priest's hand Edward grabbed my arm. "Look to your left," he said.

  I glanced and found two of the jaguar men waiting. If I made a run for the stage, I bet they'd try and stop me. Cesar had said that he'd come for the earrings after the performance. Which implied he'd be alive to do it. He'd warned me not to interfere. But dammit, they were going to cut him up. I knew that now. What I didn't know, was how badly they were going to cut him up.

  Dallas had gotten up from her seat and was at my other arm, whispering, "It's part of the show. Cesar plays sacrifice twice a month. Not always this exact sacrifice, but it's part of his job." She spoke low and soothingly like you talked to a crazy person on a ledge. I let her and Edward ease me back into my seat I was gripping the jade earrings so hard the edges dug into my hands.