I licked my suddenly dry lips, and said, “It doesn’t bother you that you just took a message from God for me?”
“Well, it wasn’t from him directly. He just sent it.” Again, utterly matter-of-fact, no big deal.
“Marianne.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes you creep me out.”
She laughed. “You raise the dead and slay the undead, and I frighten you.”
Put that way, it sounded silly, but it was still true. “Let’s just say that I’m glad you have your have psychic powers, and I have mine. I feel guilty enough without knowing the future.”
“Don’t feel guilty, Anita, follow your heart. No, it was the Queen of Rods, not of Cups. So follow your power, let it take you where you need to go. Trust yourself, and trust those around you.”
“You know I don’t trust anybody.”
“You trust me.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Stop poking at it, Anita. Your heart is not a wound to be poked at to see if the scab is ready to come off. You can be healed of that very old pain, if you’ll just let it happen.”
“So everybody keeps telling me.”
“If all your friends are saying one thing, and your heart is saying the same thing, and only your fear is arguing, then stop fighting.”
“I’m not good at giving up.”
“No, I’d say that is the thing you are worst at. Giving up something that no longer serves a purpose, or protects you, or helps you, isn’t giving up at all, it’s growing up.”
I sighed. “I hate it when you make this much sense.”
“You hate it, and you count on it.”
“Yeah.”
“Go inside, Anita, go inside, and make your choice. I’ve said all I have to say, now it’s up to you.”
“And I hate that most of all,” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“That you don’t try and influence me, not really, you just report, tell me my choices, and let me go.”
“I offer guidance, nothing more.”
“I know.”
“I’m hanging up now, and you’re going inside. Because you can’t sleep out in the car.” The phone went dead before I could whine at her anymore. Marianne was right, like usual. I hated that she just gave me information and helped me think, but wouldn’t tell me what to do. Of course, if she’d tried to boss me around, I wouldn’t have tolerated it. I made my own choices, and when someone pushed me, it just made me more determined to ignore them, so Marianne never pushed. Here’s your information, here are your choices, now go be a grown-up and make them.
I got out of the Jeep and hoped I was grown-up enough for this particuliar choice.
11
THE LIVING ROOM was dark as I entered the house. The only light was from the kitchen. One or both of them had walked through the pitch-dark living room and only hit a light switch when they went to the kitchen to check messages on the machine, which was on the kitchen counter. Leopards’ eyes are better in the dark than a human’s, and Micah’s eyes were permently stuck in kitty-cat mode. He often walked through the entire house with no lights, just drifting from room to room, avoiding every obstacle, gliding through the dark with the same confidence I used in bright light.
There was enough light from the kitchen, so I, too, left the living room dark. The white couch seemed to give off its own glow, though I knew that was illusion, made up of the reflective quality of the white, white cloth. I was pretty sure the men had both gone to change for the night. Most lycanthropes, whatever the flavor, preferred fewer clothes, and Micah didn’t like dressing up. I walked into the empty kitchen not because I needed to, but because I wasn’t ready to go to the bedroom. I still didn’t know what I was going to do.
The kitchen held a large dining room table now. The breakfast nook on its little raised platform with its bay window looking out over the woods still held a smaller four-seater table. Four had been more chairs than I needed when I moved into this house. Now, because we usually had at least some of the other wereleopards bunking over due to emergency, or, often, just the need to be close to more of their group, their pard, we needed a six-seater table. Actually we needed a bigger one than that, but it was all my kitchen would hold.
There was a vase in the middle of the table. Jean-Claude had sent me a dozen white roses a week after we started dating. Once we had sex, he’d added one red rose, so it was actually thirteen. One red rose like a spot of blood in a sea of white roses and white baby’s breath. It certainly made a statement.
I smelled the roses, and the red one had the strongest scent. Hard to find white roses that smelled good. All I had to do was call Jean-Claude. He was fast enough to fly here before dawn. I’d fed off of him before, I could do it again. Of course, that would simply be putting off the decision. No, it would be hiding. I hated cowardice almost more than anything else, and calling on my vampire lover in this instance was cowardice.
The phone rang. I jumped back so hard that the roses rocked in their vase. You’d think I was nervous, or guilty of something. I got the phone on the second ring. The voice on the other end was cultured, a professor’s voice, but it wasn’t a professor. Teddy was over six feet, and a serious weight lifter. That he also had a very fine mind and was articulate had surprised me the first time I’d met him. He looks like dumb muscle and talks like a philosopher. He was also a werewolf. Richard had allowed the wolves that wanted to help to join the coalition. “Anita, this is Teddy.”
“Hey, Teddy, what’s up?”
“I am fine, but Gil is not. He will be, but right this moment we are in the emergency room of Saint Anthony’s.”
Gil was the only werefox in town. So he depended a great deal on the “Furry Coalition,” as the local shapeshifters and even the local police had started calling it. The coalition had orginally been designed to promote better understanding and cooperation among the various animal groups, but we’d branched out to dealing with the human world, to try and promote better understanding with them, too. One great big love fest.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Car accident. A man ran a red light. We’ve got other victims in the emergency room that are still ranting at the man. If Gil had been human, he’d have been killed.”
“Okay, so he called the answering service and got your cell phone number, and . . .”
“A policeman at the accident site noticed that Gil was healing much faster than he should have been.”
“Okay, why do I think this is going somewhere bad?”
“Gil was unconscious, so someone called the number in his wallet marked in case of emergencies. He has no family, so it was the answering service number. By the time I got to the hospital, Gil was handcuffed to a bed rail.”
“Why?”
“The policeman, who is still by his side, says he’s afraid Gil will be dangerous when he wakes up.”
“Shit. That is illegal,” I said.
“Technically, yes, but the officer can, at his discretion, prevent harm from coming to the citizenry.”
“That’s not what the cop said.”
“Actually, he said, ‘until I know what the fuck he is, I’m just playing it safe.’ ”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “That sounds more like it. So you’re there to make sure he doesn’t put Gil in a safe house.” Safe houses were really prisons for lycanthropes. They’d been designed originally for new lycanthropes, so you had someplace safe to go during your first few full moons. It was a good idea, since the first few moons could turn into a killing spree, unless you had other shapeshifters to watch over you. The newly furry spent a few full moons with no memory of what they’d done, and very little human in them while they were in animal form. The safe houses were a good idea in theory, but in practice, once you went in, they never let you out. You never had enough control to pass their tests and get out. You were dangerous and would always be dangerous. The ACLU had begun the legal battles on grounds of illegal im
prisonment without due process, but so far they were still bad places to be sent.
“The hospital seems worried that Gil is dangerous and have mentioned that.”
“Do you need a lawyer down there?”
“I have taken the liberty of calling the law firm that the coalition has on retainer.”
“I’m surprised it’s gone this bad, this soon. Usually, you need an attack to get them handcuffing people and talking safe house. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He hesitated.
“Teddy?” I said his name the way my father used to say mine when he suspected I was doing something I shouldn’t have been.
“The emergency room staff are wearing full hazardous material gear.”
“You’re joking,” I said.
“I wish I were.”
“Is everyone just panicking?”
“I believe so.”
“Is Gil still unconscious?”
“In and out.”
“Well, stay with him, wait for the lawyer. I can’t come down tonight, Teddy. I’m sorry.”
“That is not why I called.”
I had one of those uh-oh moments. “Okay, then why did you call?”
“There is another emergency that needs someone right now.”
“Shit, what?”
“One of the pack called. He is at a bar. He has had far too much to drink, and he is fairly new.”
“Are you saying he’s going to lose control in the bar?”
“I fear so.”
“Shit.”
“You keep saying that,” he said.
“I know, I know, profanity doesn’t solve anything.” Teddy had started commenting on how much cussing I did. Him and my stepmother.
“I can’t come down, Teddy.”
“Someone must. The lawyer is not here, and you know there is that little law on the books that they can sign an unconscious shapeshifter into a safe house if they deem him a danger. I do not understand why everyone is panicking this badly, but if I leave Gil alone, I think we will be trying to get him out of a place that has no bail.”
“I know, I know.” I was really happy that Richard had allowed the wolves to join the coalition. They were the largest shifter population in town, so the wolves came in handy to help man the phones and the emergencies. The downside was that Richard felt that if the pack were going to help, then the pack could take advantage of the emergency service. It sounded fair, but since there were nearly six hundred werewolves in the area, it had quadrupled our emergencies. The wolves gave us enough person power to meet the demands. It was a blessing and a problem all in one.
“Did the wolf call his brother?” Brother was slang for the older more experienced werewolf that all the new wolves got. They carried their number for emergencies.
“He says he did and got no answer. He sounded very fragile, Anita. I fear that if he changes in the bar, they’ll call the police . . .”
“And they’ll shoot him,” I finished it for him.
“Yes.”
I sighed into the phone.
“I take it you can’t make this one, either,” Teddy said.
“I can’t, but Micah can.”
Micah came into the kitchen about that time. He looked a question at me. He’d already changed out of the suit, and knowing him, hung it up. He was wearing a pair of sweat pants and nothing else. Just the sight of him shirtless and padding barefoot across the floor made my heart go pit-a-pat. He’d tied his hair back in a loose ponytail, but I could forgive that, when I could see the fine muscle of his chest and stomach. His arms and shoulders looked like some weight lifting had gone into them, but truthfully, most of it was natural. Not all, but most. He was just shaped nicely.
“Anita, are you still there?” I realized that Teddy had been saying something and I hadn’t heard him.
“Sorry, Teddy, can you repeat that?”
“Do you want me to give you the address of the bar, or wait to talk to Micah?”
“Micah is right here.” I handed him the phone, and he took it with raised eyebrows.
I explained as briefly as I could.
Micah put his hand over the phone. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
I shook my head. “Almost sure it’s not, but I can’t take the run. Not with the ardeur about to surface sometime in the next minute or the next two hours. I’m stuck here until it’s fed.”
“I know, but maybe Nathaniel could go?”
“What? Go down to a bar in maybe a bad section of town and arm wrestle a werewolf so new he can’t drink safely?” I shook my head. “Nathaniel has many fine skills, but this isn’t one of them.”
“You’re not really good at it either,” he said, with a smile to soften the harsh truth.
I smiled back, because he was sooo right. “No, I could have done the hosptial run and kept Gil out of a safe house, but I couldn’t talk down the werewolf. I could shoot him, but not talk him down. Not if I don’t know him.”
Micah got on the phone long enough to take the address and name of the bar down, then hung up. He looked at me, face careful, neutral with an edge of concern. “I’m okay with you and Nathaniel being here alone for the ardeur. The question is, are you okay with it?”
I shrugged.
He shook his head. “No, Anita, I need an answer before I leave.”
I sighed. “You need to get there before the wolf loses it. Go, we’ll be alright.”
He looked like he didn’t believe me.
“Go,” I said.
“It’s not just you I’m worried about, Anita.”
“I will do my best for Nathaniel, Micah.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means what it says.”
He didn’t look happy with the answer.
“If you wait around for me to say, Oh, yes, it’s fine that I’m going to feed the ardeur and fuck Nathaniel, the wolf in question will have shapeshifted, been shot by the cops, and maybe taken some civilians with him before you even leave the house.”
“You’re both important to me, Anita. Our pard is important to me. What happens here tonight could change . . . everything.”
I swallowed hard, because I suddenly didn’t want to meet his eyes.
He touched my chin, raised my face up to meet his gaze. “Anita.”
“I’ll be good,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll do my best, and that is the best I can offer. I won’t really know what I’m going to do until the ardeur rises. Sorry, but that’s the truth. To say anything else would be a lie.”
He took a deep breath that made his chest rise and fall nicely. “I guess I’ll have to settle for that.”
“What exactly do you want me to say?” I asked.
He leaned in and laid a gentle kiss against my lips. We rarely kissed so chaste, but this close to the ardeur, he was being careful. “I want you to say you’ll take care of this.”
“Define take care of it?”
He sighed again, shook his head, and stepped back. “I’ve got to get dressed.”
“Are you taking your car or the Jeep?”
“I’ll take my car. You might get a call from the police for another body, and your gear is all in the back of the Jeep.” He smiled at me, almost sadly, and left to go get dressed. He made a soft exclamation as he went around the corner. He spoke in low voices with another man. The cadence was wrong for Nathaniel.
Damian glided around the corner. “You must be very distracted not to have sensed me sooner.” He was right, I was good at sensing the undead. No vamp should have been able to get this close without me knowing, especially not Damian.
Damian was my vampire servant, as I was Jean-Claude’s human servant. The ardeur was Jean-Claude and Belle Morte’s fault, something about their line had contaminated me. But Damian as my servant, that was my fault. I was a necromancer, and apparently mixing necromancy with being a human servant had some unforseen side e
ffects. One of them was standing across the kitchen staring at me with eyes the color of green grass. Humans didn’t have eyes like that, but apparently Damian had, because becoming a vamp doesn’t change your orignial physical description. It may pale you out, lengthen some of the teeth, but your hair and eye and skin color remain the same. The only thing that was probably more vibrant was his hair. Red hair that hadn’t seen the sun for hundreds of years, so that it was almost the color of fresh blood, a bright, fresh scarlet. All vamps are pale, but Damian started life with that milk and honey complexion that some redheads have, so he was even paler than the norm. Or maybe it was the quality of his paleness, like his skin had been formed of white marble, and some demon or god had breathed life into that paleness. Oh, wait, I was that demon.
Technically, my power, my necromancy made Damian’s heart beat. He was over a thousand years old, and he would never be a master vampire. If you aren’t a master, then you need a master to give you enough power to rise from the grave, not just the first night, but every night. Sometimes people rise by accident with no master near, and that is how you get revenants. Walking corpses little better than zombies, but they take blood instead of meat, and they don’t rot. Little problems like that is why there are vampire laws about how you attack humans and how you don’t. Break the laws, and the vamps will kill you for it. And that’s in countries where vampires are still illegal. In the United States where they have rights, the vamps are more civilized, if the police find out about the crime. If they can keep it secret they take care of their own. Even if it means killing their own.
Damian must have come straight from work, because though he, like most of the vamps fresh over from Europe, almost never wore jeans and tennis shoes, he also didn’t like dressing up as much as Jean-Claude insisted on.
He was wearing a coat I’d seen before. It was a deep pine green, a frock coat like something out of the 1700s, but it was new, designed to gape open to expose the pale gleam of his chest and stomach. Embroidery nearly covered the sleeves and lapels of the coat, putting a little glitter of color near all that white skin. The pants were black satin, poofy, like there was way more cloth there than was needed for Damian’s slender legs. He wore a wide green sash for a belt and a pair of black leather boots that folded over just above the knee, so that the outfit was very pirate-y.
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