The Scoundrel

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  "We're in the health club, sipping fruit juice, and I ask you out."

  I stared very hard at the road. I kept flashing on the smooth line of his thigh and lower things. It was embarrassing, but the harder I tried not to think about it, the clearer the picture seemed to get.

  "Movies and dinner?" I said.

  "No," he said. "Something unique. Caving."

  "You mean crawling around in a cave on a first date?"

  "Have you ever been caving?"

  "Once."

  "Did you enjoy it?"

  "We were sneaking up on bad guys at the time. I didn't think much about enjoying it."

  "Then you have to give it another chance. I go caving at least twice a month. You get to wear your oldest clothes and get really dirty, and no one tells you not to play in the mud."

  "Mud?" I said.

  "Too messy for you?"

  "I was a bio-lab assistant in college; nothing's too messy for me."

  "At least you can say you get to use your degree in your work."

  I laughed. "True."

  "I use my degree, too, but I went in for educating the munchkins."

  "Do you like teaching?"

  "Very much." Those two words held a warmth and excitement that you didn't hear much when people talked about their work.

  "I like my job, too."

  "Even when it forces you to play with vampires and zombies?"

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  "We're sitting in the juice bar, and I've just asked you out. What do you say?"

  "I should say no."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know."

  "You sound suspicious."

  "Always," I said.

  "Never taking a chance is the worst failure of all, Anita."

  "Not dating is a choice, not a failure." I was feeling a wee bit defensive.

  "Say you'll go caving this weekend." The leather coat crinkled and moved as he tried to move closer to me than the seat belt would allow. He could have reached out and touched me. Part of me wanted him to, which was sort of embarrassing all on its own.

  I started to say no, then realized I wanted to say yes. Which was silly. But I was enjoying sitting in the dark with the smell of leather and cologne. Call it chemistry, instant lust, whatever. I liked Richard. He flipped my switch. It had been a long time since I had liked anybody.

  Jean-Claude didn't count. I wasn't sure why, but he didn't. Being dead might have something to do with that.

  "Alright, I'll go caving. When and where?"

  "Great. Meet in front of my house at, say, ten o'clock on Saturday."

  "Ten in the morning?" I said.

  "Not a morning person?" he asked.

  "Not particularly."

  "We have to start early, or we won't get to the end of the cave in one day. "

  "What do I wear?"

  "Your oldest clothes. I'll be dressed in coveralls over jeans."

  "I've got coveralls." I didn't mention that I used my coveralls to keep blood off my clothes. Mud sounded a lot more friendly.

  "Great. I'll bring the rest of the equipment you need."

  "How much more equipment do I need?"

  "A hard hat, a light, maybe knee pads."

  "Sounds like a boffo first date," I said.

  "It will be," he said. His voice was soft, low, and somehow more private than just sitting in my car. It wasn't Jean-Claude's magical voice, but then what was?

  "Turn right here," he said, pointing to a side street. "Third house on the right."

  I pulled into a short, blacktopped driveway. The house was half brick and some pale color. It was hard to tell in the dark. There were no streetlights to help you see. You forget how dark the night can be without electricity.

  Richard unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. "Thanks for the ride."

  "Do you need help getting him inside?" My hand was on the key as I asked.

  "No, I got it. Thanks, though."

  "Don't mention it."

  He stared at me. "Did I do something wrong?"

  "Not yet," I said.

  He smiled, a quick flash in the darkness. "Good." He unlocked the back door behind him, and got out of the car. He leaned in and scooped Stephen up, holding the blanket close so it didn't slide off. He lifted with his legs more than his back; weightlifting will teach you that. A human body is a lot harder to lift than even free weights. A body just isn't balanced as well as a barbell.

  Richard shut the car door with his back. The back door clicked shut, and I unbuckled my seat belt so I could lock the doors. Through the still-open passenger side door Richard was watching me . Over the idling of the car's engine his voice carried, "Locking out the boogeymen?"

  "You never know," I said.

  He nodded. "Yeah." There was something in that one word that was sad, wistful, innocence lost. It was nice to talk with another person who understood. Dolph and Zerbrowski understood the violence and the nearness of death, but they didn't understand the monsters.

  I closed the door and scooted back behind the steering wheel. I buckled my seat belt and put the car in gear. The headlights sparkled over Richard, Stephen's hair like a yellow splash in his arms. Richard was still staring at me. I left him in the dark in front of his house with the singing of autumn crickets the only sound.

  10

  I pulled up in front of my apartment building at a little after 2:00 A.M. I'd planned to be in bed a long time before this. The new cross-shaped burn was a burning, acid-eating ache. It made my whole chest hurt. My ribs and stomach were sore, stiff. I turned on the dome light in the car and unzipped the leather jacket. In the yellow light bruises were blossoming across my skin. For a minute I couldn't think how I'd gotten hurt; then I remembered the crushing weight of the snake crawling over me. Jesus. I was lucky it was bruises and not broken ribs.

  I clicked off the light and zipped the jacket back up. The shoulder straps were chafing on my bare skin, but the burn hurt so much more that the bruises and the chafing seemed pretty darn minor. A good burn will take your mind off everything else.

  The light that usually burned over the stairs was out. Not the first time. I'd have to call the office once it opened for the day and report it, though. If you didn't report it, it didn't get fixed.

  I was three steps up before I saw the man. He was sitting at the head of the stairs waiting for me. Short blond hair, pale in the darkness. His hands sat on the top of his knees, palms up to show that he didn't have a weapon. Well, that he didn't have a weapon in his hands. Edward always had a weapon unless someone had taken it away from him.

  Come to think of it, so did I.

  "Long time no see, Edward."

  "Three months," he said. "Long enough for my broken arm to heal completely."

  I nodded. "I got my stitches out about two months ago."

  He just sat on the steps looking down at me.

  "What do you want, Edward?"

  "Couldn't it be a social call?" He was laughing at me, quietly.

  "It's two o'clock in the freaking morning; it better not be a social call."

  "Would you rather it was business?" His voice was soft, but it carried.

  I shook my head. "No, no." I never wanted to be business for Edward. He specialized in killing lycanthropes, vampires, anything that used to be human and wasn't anymore. He'd gotten bored with killing people. Too easy.

  "Is it business?" My voice was steady, no tremble. Good for me. I could draw the Browning, but if we ever drew down on each other for real, he'd kill me. Being friends with Edward was like being friends with a tame leopard. You could pet it and it seemed to like you, but you knew deep down that if it ever got hungry enough, or angry enough, it would kill you. Kill you and eat the flesh from your bones.

  "Just information tonight, Anita, no problems."

  "What sort of information?" I asked.

  He smiled again. Friendly ol' Edward. Ri-ight.

  "Can we go inside and talk about it? It's freezing out here," he sai
d.

  "The last time you were in town you didn't seem to need an invitation to break into my apartment."

  "You've got a new lock."

  I grinned. "You couldn't pick it, could you?" I was genuinely pleased.

  He shrugged; maybe it was the darkness, but if it hadn't been Edward, I'd have said he was embarrassed.

  "The locksmith told me it was burglarproof," I said.

  "I didn't bring my battering ram with me," he said.

  "Come on up. I'll fix coffee." I stepped around him. He stood and followed me. I turned my back on him without worrying. Edward might shoot me someday, but he wouldn't do it in the back after telling me he was just here to talk. Edward wasn't honorable, but he had rules. If he planned to kill me, he'd have announced it. Told me how much people were paying him to off me. Watched the fear slide through my eyes.

  Yeah, Edward had rules. He just had fewer of them than most people did. But he never broke a rule, never betrayed his own skewed sense of honor. If he said I was safe for tonight, he meant it. It would have been nice if Jean-Claude had had rules.

  The hallway was middle-of-the-night, middle-of-the-week, had-to-get-up-in-the-morning quiet. My day living neighbors were all asnooze in their beds without care. I unlocked the new locks on my door and ushered Edward inside.

  "That's a new look for you, isn't it?" he asked.

  "What?"

  "What happened to your shirt?"

  "Oh." Suave comebacks, that's me. I didn't know what to say, or rather, how much to say.

  "You've been playing with vampires again," he said.

  "What makes you think so?" I asked.

  "The cross-shaped burn on your, ah, chest."

  Oh, that. Fine. I unzipped the jacket and folded it over the back of the couch. I stood there in my bra and shoulder holster and met his eyes without blushing. Brownie point for me. I undid the belt and slipped out of the shoulder holster, then took it into the kitchen with me. I laid the gun still in its holster on the countertop and got coffee beans out of the freezer, wearing just my bra and jeans. In front of any other male, alive or dead, I would have been embarrassed, but not Edward. There had never been sexual tension between us. We might shoot each other one fine day, but we'd never sleep together. He was more interested in the fresh burn than my breasts.

  "How'd it happen?" he asked.

  I ground the beans in the little electric spice mill I'd bought for the occasion. Just the smell of freshly ground coffee made me feel better. I put a filter in my Mr. Coffee, poured the coffee in, poured the water in, and pushed the button. This was about as fancy as my cooking skills got.

  "I'm going to get a shirt to throw on," I said.

  "The burn won't like anything touching it," Edward said.

  "I won't button it, then."

  "Are you going to tell me how you got burned?"

  "Yes." I took my gun and walked into the bedroom. In the back of my closet I had a long-sleeved shirt that had once been purple but had faded to a soft lilac. It was a man's dress shirt and hung down nearly to my knees, but it was comfortable. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and buttoned it halfway up. I left it gapping over the burn. I glanced in the mirror and found that most of my cleavage was covered. Perfect.

  I hesitated but finally put the Browning Hi-Power in its holster behind the headboard. Edward and I weren't fighting tonight, and anything that came through the door, with its new locks, would have to go through Edward first. I felt pretty safe.

  He was sitting on my couch, legs out in front of him crossed at the ankle. He'd sunk down until the top of his shoulders rested on the couch's arm.

  "Make yourself at home," I said.

  He just smiled. "Are you going to tell me about the vampires?"

  "Yes, but I'm having trouble deciding exactly how much to tell you."

  The smile widened. "Naturally."

  I set out two mugs, sugar, and real cream from the refrigerator. The coffee dripped into the little glass pot. The smell was rich, warm, and thick enough to wrap your arms around.

  "How do you like your coffee?"

  "Fix it the way you'd fix it for yourself."

  I glanced back at him. "No preference?"

  He shook his head, still resting against the couch arm.

  "Okay." I poured the coffee into the mugs, added three sugars and a lot of cream to each, stirred, and sat them on the two-seater breakfast table.

  "You're not going to bring it to me?"

  "You don't drink coffee on a white couch," I said.

  "Ah." He got up in one smooth motion, all grace and energy. He'd have been very impressive if I hadn't spent most of the night with vampires.

  We sat across from each other. His eyes were the color of spring skies, that warm pale blue that still manages to look cold. His face was pleasant, his eyes neutral and watching everything I did.

  I told him about Yasmeen and Marguerite. I left out Jean-Claude, the vampire murder, the giant cobra, Stephen the Werewolf, and Rick Zeeman. Which meant it was a very short story.

  When I finished Edward sat there, sipping his coffee and staring at me.

  I sipped coffee and stared back.

  "That does explain the burn," he said.

  "Great," I said.

  "But you left out a lot."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I was following you."

  I stared at him, choking on my coffee. When I could talk without coughing, I said, "You were what?"

  "Following you," he said. His eyes were still neutral, smile still pleasant.

  "Why?"

  "I've been hired to kill the Master of the City."

  "You were hired for that three months ago."

  "Nikolaos is dead; the new master isn't."

  "You didn't kill Nikolaos," I said. "I did."

  "True; you want half the money?"

  I shook my head.

  "Then what's your complaint? I got my arm broken helping you kill her."

  "And I got fourteen stitches, and we both got vampire bit," I said.

  "And cleansed ourselves with holy water," Edward said.

  "Which burns likes acid," I said.

  Edward nodded, sipped his coffee. Something moved behind his eyes, something liquid and dangerous. His expression hadn't changed, I'd swear to it, but it was suddenly all I could do to meet his eyes.

  "Why were you following me, Edward?"

  "I was told you would be meeting with the new Master tonight."

  "Who told you that?"

  He shook his head, that inscrutable smile curling his lips. "I was inside the Circus tonight, Anita. I saw who you were with. You played with the vampires, then you went home, so one of them has to be the Master."

  I fought to keep my face blank, too blank, so the effort showed, but the panic didn't show. Edward had been following me, and I hadn't known it. He knew all the vampires I had seen tonight. It wasn't that big a list. He'd figure it out.

  "Wait a minute," I said. "You let me go up against that snake without helping me?"

  "I came in after the crowd ran out. It was almost over by the time I peeked into the tent."

  I drank coffee and tried to think of a way to make this better. He had a contract to kill the Master, and I had led him right to him. I had betrayed Jean-Claude. Why did that bother me?

  Edward was watching my face as if he would memorize it. He was waiting for my face to betray me. I worked hard at being blank and inscrutable. He smiled that close, canary-eating grin of his. He was enjoying himself. I was not.

  "You only saw four vampires tonight: Jean-Claude, the dark exotic one who must be Yasmeen, and the two blonds. You got names for the blonds?"

  I shook my head.

  His smile widened. "Would you tell me if you had?"

  "Maybe."

  "The blonds aren't important," he said. "Neither of them were master vamps."

  I stared at him, forcing my face to be neutral, pleasant, attentive, blank. Blank is not one of my better e
xpressions, but maybe if I practiced enough . . .

  "That leaves Jean-Claude and Yasmeen. Yasmeen's new in town; that just leaves Jean-Claude."

  "Do you really think that the Master of the freaking City would show himself like that?" I put all the scorn I could find into my voice. I wasn't the best actor in the world, but maybe I could learn.

  Edward stared at me. "It's Jean-Claude, isn't it?"

  "Jean-Claude isn't powerful enough to hold the city. You know that. He's, what, a little over two hundred? Not old enough."

  He frowned at me. Good. "It's not Yasmeen."

  "True."

  "You didn't talk to any other vampires tonight?"

  "You may have followed me into the Circus, Edward, but you didn't listen at the door when I met the Master. You couldn't have. The vamps or the shapeshifters would have heard you."

  He acknowledged it with a nod.

  "I saw the Master tonight, but it wasn't anyone who came down to fight the snake."

  "The Master let his people risk their lives and didn't help?" His smile was back.

  "The Master of the City doesn't have to be physically present to lend his power, you know that."

  "No," he said, "I don't."

  I shrugged. "Believe it or not." I prayed, please let him believe.

  He was frowning. "You're not usually this good a liar."

  "I'm not lying." My voice sounded calm, normal, truthful. Honesty-R-Us.

  "If Jean-Claude really isn't the Master, then you know who is?"

  The question was a trap. I couldn't answer yes to both questions, but hell, I'd been lying; why stop now? "Yes, I know who it is."

  "Tell me," he said.

  I shook my head. "The Master would kill me if he knew I talked to you."

  "We can kill him together like we did the last one." His voice was terribly reasonable.

  I thought about it for a minute. I thought about telling him the truth. Humans First might not be up to tangling with the Master, but Edward was. We could kill him together, a team. My life would be a lot simpler. I shook my head and sighed. Shit.

  "I can't, Edward."

  "Won't," he said.

  I nodded. "Won't."

  "If I believe you, Anita, it means I need the name of the Master. It means you are the only human who knows that name." The friendly banter seeped out of his face like melting ice. His eyes were as empty and pitiless as a winter sky. There was no one home that I could talk to.