I shook my head. "What could possibly be wrong?" I said. I walked into the clearing, going for our own little group. It looked as if all three groups had the same amount of people. That was pretty typical of a meet between preternatural groups. You always negotiated your entourage.
Richard stood and came to meet me. I took his hand when he offered it, but strangely, right at that moment, I didn't care if he was wearing his shirt or not. I was angry at him. Angry at him for not preparing me for this place. Maybe he thought that nothing shocked me anymore, or maybe ... oh, hell, I didn't know, but he'd screwed up again.
So I let him hold my hand, and the touch of his flesh meant nothing. I was too confused and working too hard on holding my temper to be seduced right then.
"Take the jacket off, child; let's get a look at what you've got," a voice said.
I turned, slowly, to look at the owner of that voice.
The vampire had hair that I would have called golden if I hadn't had Asher's hair to compare it to. The hair was cut short, all over. His eyes could have been blue or grey in the uncertain light. The face had frozen before he'd ever hit twenty. Still young enough that his face was thin and smooth, as if he'd died before he'd been able to grow a decent beard.
He had the face of a child on a tall, gangly frame, as if he'd been awkward in life. He wasn't awkward as he stood. He came to his feet in a movement so smooth it looked like dancing. He stood, and the black-eyed vamp stood with him, coming to his side in a motion of long practice like they were two parts of a whole.
There was one human woman among the eight of them. She looked like pure Native American with waist-length hair that was as true black as my own. Hers was straight and thick. Her skin was a dark brown, face almost square, with large, brown eyes that had lashes so thick that even from a distance they were noticeable.
If she wore any makeup, I couldn't tell. She was one of those women that is striking rather than beautiful, too strong featured for conventional prettiness, but you wouldn't forget the face once you saw it.
"Come on, girl, strip off," that young face said. "We've seen most everything everybody else has. I will be mighty disappointed if I don't get to see your goodies, too."
The woman's face remained marvelously blank, but there was a tightness to those strong shoulders, a slight turn to that long line of neck. She didn't seem to be enjoying the show.
Richard's hand tightened around mine. I thought at first he was trying to warn me not to get mad, but one glance at his face, and it was the other way around. He was getting pissed. The night would go downhill pretty damn fast if I was supposed to be the calm one.
"Are you always this offensive, or am I getting a special treat?" I asked.
He laughed, but it was just a laugh, ordinary, human. He couldn't do the voice tricks that Jean-Claude and even Asher could do. Of course, Colin had other talents. I'd seen those other talents carved in Nathaniel's chest.
Asher stood. He'd started the evening wearing satin a pale icy blue only two shades darker than his white-blue eyes. The jacket had darker blue embroidery at the sleeves and lapels. It fastened with one of those cloth loops over a large, silk-covered button. The pants matched the jacket perfectly. He'd tried the jacket on with no shirt. His chest had been very visible. The scars had seemed harsher against the soft blue cloth. He'd stared at himself in the room's only mirror for a long time. He'd finally put a white silk shirt on under the jacket.
Now that white shirt was in tatters. It looked like gigantic claws had ripped at it. His chest showed very plainly through the ruined cloth. There was no blood. I'd only seen three vampires that could cause harm from a distance. One of them had been a member of their council. But none of them had had the delicacy of control to shred cloth so close to flesh and not draw blood. We were deep into the pissing contest. So far, Colin was winning.
I looked at Shang-Da and Jamil, standing just behind the bench. They looked untouched, unharmed.
"Some bodyguards," I said.
"We're not here to guard vampires," Shang-Da said.
I looked at Jamil. He shrugged.
Great, just great. Zane was standing even farther behind the wolves. He didn't look any worse for wear, either, but he also looked lost, like the lone teetotaler at a wine tasting.
"Was I supposed to stop him?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No, Zane. Not you." I spared a glance at Richard, wondering why he'd just let everyone stand around. Asher I understood. Asking for help was a sign of weakness.
"Remove the jacket, or I'll remove it for you," Colin said.
"Colin, you've made your point." The woman's voice was surprisingly deep, a rich, smoky alto.
Colin patted her hand, smiled, but his words weren't gentle. "I will tell you when my point has been made, Nikki." He moved away from her then, dismissed her, and the pain of that dismissal showed.
For a moment, anger flared in those dark eyes, and I felt her power. Her power, not his. She was a witch or a psychic or something I had no word for. Human in the same way I was human: barely.
The anger vanished behind that dark, stoic face, but I knew what I'd seen. She didn't love him, nor he her. But she was his human servant, bound for all eternity, for better or worse.
"You want to see what's under the jacket," I said, "come over here and help me out of it. It'd be the gentlemanly thing to do."
"Anita," Richard said.
I patted his arm. "It's okay, Richard. Chill."
The look on his face was enough. He didn't trust me to behave. Funny, in our own ways, neither of us trusted the other.
I looked at Asher. We shared no marks. We couldn't read each other's thoughts. But we didn't need to. We were getting our butts kicked because the werewolves weren't helping us.
I looked over at the eight werewolves that were local. Verne sat on the bench with his wolves poised around him. Two of them were in full wolf form, except they were the size of ponies, bigger than any normal grey wolf. Verne was still in his T-shirt and jeans. No one had dressed up but us. Even the other vampires were just in suits and dresses.
I'd never seen this many vampires dressed so ... ordinarily. Most of them had a sense of style, or at least theater. They put on a good show. Of course, in the presence of the bone-draped tree who needed a better show? Of course, the lupanar was supposed to be our showplace, not Colin's. Again, I wondered if we could trust Verne as far as Richard thought we could.
I walked a little into the center of the triangle made by the three benches. I waited for Colin to join me.
He just stood there next to the black-eyed vamp, smiling. "Now why would I waste the energy to walk even a few yards when I can undress you from here?"
I smiled and I made it mocking. "Scared to get too close?"
"I admit you are a delicate little thing, but appearances are often deceiving. I have used this youthful face of mine more than once to fool the unwary. I am not the unwary, Anita Blake." He extended a pale hand, and I felt the power thrill over my skin before it slashed through the front of the velvet top. The cross spilled out of the velvet like a captive star set free. The cross flared white and I was careful to look sideways from it. It burned like magnesium, so bright it was almost painful. Crosses glow around vamps, but they don't glow like small supernovas unless you are in serious trouble. I'd never had one glow like this when I wasn't afraid yet. I'd always assumed the cross reacted to my level of fear like a holy mood ring. Tonight, for the first time, I realized that it may have been my faith that enabled it to glow, but once the faith was in place, something else took over. Not my will, but thine.
Colin's vampires reacted just as they were supposed to. They cowered, throwing their arms or their jackets or in one case, a skirt, in front of their eyes. Hiding from the light.
Except for Colin and the black-eyed vamp. Why was I not surprised that those two were old enough and powerful enough to face the cross? They weren't happy about it. They were protecting their eyes, squinting against the l
ight, but they weren't cowering.
"Slash me again, fang-boy, see what else falls out."
He did what I asked. I really hadn't thought he'd try. He slashed at me through the air, but the power fell away like water parting around a rock.
"If you want to hurt me, Colin, you're going to have to get up close and personal."
"I could have Nikki rip it from your throat."
"I thought you were hot shit, Colin. Or is that just when you have young men tied up and helpless? Is that what you need to feel like a big bad vampire? Someone tied up and helpless, or is it young men that does it for you?"
Colin said one word: "Barnaby."
The black-eyed vampire moved in front of Colin, closer to the cross. But he stopped, unable to come closer. Then, over the glow of the cross, I watched Barnaby's face begin to rot. That smooth flesh sloughed away, sliding in wet gobbets of flesh down his face, until tendons glistened wetly and bone showed as his nose collapsed, showing his face like a skull covered by rotted things.
He limped towards me, one hand held out, and it reminded me of Damian's hands earlier in the night. The flesh bursting in a stinking wave of blackness. Except there was no smell. The last vamp I'd seen who could rot at will had also been able to control the smell, like a magical deodorant.
If it had been a fight, I'd have drawn a gun and blown him away before he took the cross, but this was a contest of wills more than anything. If he was vampire enough to touch my cross, then I had to be brave enough to let him do it. I hoped he didn't press it between our bodies. I'd had one vampire do that, and a second degree burn on my breast wasn't my idea of fun.
The cross burned brighter and brighter as he came for me. I had to turn my head away from the light; it was so bright it hurt me to look at it. I knew it hurt the vampire more.
I felt that rotted hand slide across my chest, leaving something wet and semisolid to slide between my breasts. He grabbed the chain and not the cross, smart vampire. He jerked the chain and it broke. The cross swung into his arm, and the silver burned with a flame as white and pure as the light had been.
The vampire screamed and threw the cross, which spun in a glittering arc like a tiny comet until it was swallowed by the dark.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim lantern light once more, I said, "Don't worry about it, Barnaby, I've got extras."
He'd fallen to his knees, cradling his arm. He was still a walking rotted nightmare, but the flesh of his hand had blackened.
"But not everyone has your faith," Colin said. Again, just like in the forest, I didn't feel his vampire powers reach out, but I was suddenly afraid. Now that I knew what it was, it wasn't as bad, but it was different from any other ability I'd ever sensed. Quieter somehow, and more frightening because of it.
"Barnaby, the young blond werewolf is very afraid of you. He's tasted your kind before."
Barnaby got to his feet and tried to move around me. I stepped in front of him. "Jason is under my protection."
"Barnaby won't hurt him, just play with him a little."
I shook my head. "I gave Jason my word that I wouldn't let the vampire that did Nathaniel touch him."
"Your word?" Colin said. "You're a modern American. Your word means nothing."
"My word means something to me," I said. "I don't give it lightly."
"I can taste the truth of your words, but I say that Barnaby shall play with your young friend, and you cannot stop him without breaking truce. Whoever breaks truce first will have the Council to answer to."
I kept moving with Barnaby so that he was slowly backing me up, but I kept getting in his way. "Colin, you can feel fear, so I'm told. You can feel how very afraid he is of your friend here."
"Oh, yes, I will feast tonight."
"You could break his mind," I said. Someone touched my back and I jumped. It was Asher. I'd been backed up all the way to the bench.
Richard and his bodyguards had moved around Jason. They might not protect Asher, but they would protect Jason. Barnaby moved to one side, trying to get around me. I was forced to jump on and over the bench to put myself in his way again.
I put my left hand against that decaying chest. The right was on the butt of the Browning. I made sure he saw it.
Colin spoke. Though Barnaby's body should have blocked his view, it was almost as if he could see through the other vampire's eyes. "If you shoot one of my vampires, then you will have broken truce."
"You sent Nathaniel back to us dying. Asher said it was a compliment of sorts, that you truly thought we could cure him."
"And you did, didn't you?" Colin said.
"Yeah," I said. "Well, let me pay you the same compliment. I think if I shoot Barnaby point-blank, he'll survive it. I've shot rotting vamps before, and their clothes took more damage than they did."
"You can taste the truth in her words," Asher said. "She believes he'll live, which means it is not a breach of truce."
"She believes it, but she hopes for his death," Colin said.
"Breaking the mind of one of our entourage," Asher said, "will break the truce, as well."
"I do not agree," Colin said.
"Then we've got a stalemate," I said.
"I think not," Colin said. He turned to Verne. "Verne, earn your keep. Strip the young one of his protectors."
Verne stood and his wolves flowed around him. They moved into the clearing on a roil of energy that made the nape of my neck dance and my hand go for a gun.
Richard said, "Verne."
But Verne wasn't looking at Richard. He was looking at me. He was carrying a small covered basket in his hands. I didn't wait to find out what he had in the basket. I pointed the gun at his chest.
19
"Ease down, girl," Verne said. "It's a present."
I kept the gun nice and steady on the center of his body. "Yeah, right."
"When you see what it is, you'll know that we aren't on his side."
"Don't pick the wrong side, puppy dog," Colin said. "Or I will make you very, very sorry."
Verne looked at the vampire. I watched his eyes bleed from human to wolf while he held that basket out to me. But he kept those angry, frightening eyes on Colin.
"You have no animal to call," Verne said, in a voice gone rough and growling low. "You dare to stand in our place of power and threaten us. You are less than the wind outside our cave. You are nothing here."
"She is not one of you, either," Colin said.
"She is lupa of the Thronnus Roke Clan."
"She is human."
"She stands between you and a werewolf. That's lupa enough for me."
Barnaby had backed off. I don't know if he thought I'd jump the gun and shoot him or if Colin had whispered a new plan in his rotting skull. I wasn't sure I even cared. There was a glob of something heavy and wet sliding down into the bra. It was like feeling a tear slide down your cheek but worse, so much worse. I'd resisted the urge to wipe it away with Barnaby staring me down. As soon as he crept back to Colin, I used my left hand to scoop the leftover part out and fling it on the ground.
"What's the matter, Anita? Too up close and personal for you?"
I wiped my hand on the leather skirt and smiled. "Fuck you, Colin."
Verne stepped into the center of the triangle alone. His wolves stayed huddled in front of the far bench. He came to stand a couple of yards in front of our bench with that basket in his hands.
I glanced at Asher. He shrugged. Richard nodded like I was supposed to go meet him. A present, Verne had called it.
I went to meet him. He knelt, setting the basket on the ground between us. He stayed kneeling. I knelt, too, because he seemed to expect it. He just kept looking at me with those wolfish eyes. He still looked like an aging Hell's Angel, but those eyes ... I wondered if I would ever get used to seeing wolf eyes in a human face. Probably not.
I raised the hinged lid of the small basket. A face, a head, looked up at me. I scrambled to my feet. The Browning just appeared in my hand. I pointed it a
t Verne, then the ground, then pressed the flat of the barrel to my forehead.
I found my voice, finally. "What is that?"
"You said you wanted Mira's head in a basket. That if we gave you that, it would make it right between our two clans."
I took a sharp breath and blew it out. I looked down into the basket, still standing, still holding the gun like the comfort object it was. The mouth was open in a soundless scream, the eyes half closed as if they'd caught her napping, but I knew they hadn't. Someone had simply closed the eyes after they took her head. Even dead, like this, the bones of the face were delicate, and you knew at least the face had been pretty.
I forced myself to put up the gun. It couldn't help me now. I dropped back to my knees, staring at it. I finally looked up at Verne. I was shaking my head over and over. I looked into his face and tried to read something in it that I could yell at or talk to. But the expression was alien, and it wasn't just the eyes.
You'd think after all this time, I would stop forgetting that they weren't human. But I had. I'd been pissed, and I'd spoken as if I was talking to another human being, but I hadn't been. I'd been speaking to werewolves, and I'd forgotten that.
I heard someone whispering, and it was me. I was whispering, "This is my fault. This is my fault." I started to put my left hand in front of my face, and I caught a whiff of Barnaby's rotted flesh. It was enough.
I crawled to one side and vomited. I knelt on all fours, waiting for it to pass. When I could speak, I said, "Don't any of you people understand the term? It's just a fucking expression!"
Richard was there, kneeling by me. He touched my back gently. "You told him what you wanted, Anita. She had betrayed the pack's honor. It can carry a death penalty. All you helped them choose was the method of execution."
I glanced sideways at him. I had a horrible urge to cry. "I didn't mean it," I whispered.
He nodded. "I know." There was a look in his eyes of such sorrow, of a shared knowledge of how many times you never really meant what you said, but the monsters were listening, and they always took you at your word.
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