Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  There were no words, just the comfort of the touching. Jean-Claude’s other hand was stroking my shoulder and arm, almost mirroring what he was doing to Richard. I think we’d all been surprised that Richard let Jean-Claude touch so much as a fingertip to him, after the way he’d entered the room. I’d seen plenty of lycanthropes pet each other regardless of sexual orientation—a cuddle was a cuddle to most of them—but Richard had issues with Jean-Claude that he didn’t have with the people I’d seen him be so casual with.

  Richard’s eyes shifted and I knew he was looking past me to the other man. “Your hair is almost as curly as Anita’s.”

  The comment made me turn so I could see his face more clearly, too. Richard was right, Jean-Claude’s hair was a mass of black curls. Not the relaxed, almost wavy curls that he always had, but something closer to mine. But his hair drying naturally was about where mine was with hair care products, not the black foam mine had turned into. “Have I never seen your natural hair texture?” I asked, staring at all those curls.

  He smiled, and if it had been almost anyone else I’d have said he was embarrassed, but it just didn’t quite fly for Jean-Claude. “I suppose not.”

  Richard moved his hand from my hair to Jean-Claude’s. He rubbed the curls between his fingers, then went back to mine, comparing. “Your hair is still softer textured than Anita’s, or mine, for that matter.” He knelt, and took a handful of both of our hair, as if he were testing how much it weighed. “Normally your hair just looks silkier, but now, you have to touch it to feel how much difference in texture there is between you and Anita.”

  Jean-Claude had gone very still against my body. I think he stopped breathing, and the heartbeat that had been chugging along like any human’s heart slowed. I knew he’d gone still because Richard was touching him voluntarily, and he didn’t want to spook him. But I also think that in that moment he didn’t know what to do. A man who had been a great lover for over four hundred years did not know what to do because someone was playing with his hair.

  He didn’t want to be too bold and raise that anger again, or frighten him with a homophobic possibility. If Richard had been a woman, he’d have taken it as foreplay. If Richard hadn’t been a shapeshifter, he might still have taken it as an invitation of sorts. But shapeshifters were tactile junkies; touching didn’t mean sex to them, any more than it did when a dog started licking the sweat off your skin. You tasted good, and they liked you, nothing sexual. But it is personal. If they didn’t like you, they wouldn’t touch you.

  He sat pressed against my body, and I knew by his very stillness how much it meant to him that Richard was touching him. The stillness also told me he had no idea what to do about it. What does it say when a vampire who has been a great lover and seducer for centuries chooses, as his metaphysical sweeties, maybe the only two people in his territory who are going to puzzle him?

  There was a knock at the door. Those of us with a heartbeat jumped. Richard’s hands fell away from both of us as he turned to face the door, still on his knees.

  Movement came back to Jean-Claude’s body the way a human would take a breath. “Yes,” he said, and his voice held just a touch of impatience.

  Claudia’s voice came, “It’s the Master of Cape Cod and his oldest son.”

  Jean-Claude and I exchanged glances. Richard just frowned. “Why is he back?” Richard asked.

  “We can but ask,” Jean-Claude said, his voice back to almost its normal silky emptiness. The voice he used when he was hiding things, but trying not to seem like it. Samuel would know what a totally empty voice meant. Hiding, or fear, weakness. So Jean-Claude compromised with his voice, hiding from Richard and maybe from me, and not seeming to hide from Samuel. We were so not going to make it through this weekend without another disaster. The combination of metaphysics and politics was just too hard.

  “We’ll be right out,” I yelled at the door. We all got up off the floor. Richard reached for his shirt and slipped it over his head. Jean-Claude and I had robes hanging on the back of the door. Jean-Claude’s was one I’d seen and enjoyed before: heavy black brocade with black fur at the collar and lapel so that it framed a triangle of his pale chest. There was more fur at the wide cuffs, and I’d felt that fur rub down my body before. Just seeing him in the robe made me shiver.

  He gave me a smile that said he’d noticed. Richard either didn’t understand or ignored it.

  My robe was black silk, no embroidery, no fur, just plain unrelieved black.

  We had to walk in front of the mirror to get to the door, and Richard stopped us with a hand on either of our shoulders. He turned us toward our reflections, so that he stood between us. We were all black cloth and white skin, sharp contrasts. Then there he stood, in his bright red shirt, blue jeans, his hair all brown and gold. His tan, darker in contrast with how pale we were. “Which of these things does not belong?” he asked in a low voice. There was that shadow in his eyes again.

  I slid my arm around his waist, hugged him, but even to me it looked like something carved of bone and darkness clinging to all that life.

  “Jean-Claude, Anita, you coming?” Claudia asked, voice a little hesitant, which you didn’t hear much from her.

  “We’re coming,” I called.

  “If I could set you free, mon ami, I would.”

  Richard hugged me so tight it almost hurt, then he relaxed against me, and looked at Jean-Claude. “If you had that kind of magic wand I’d let you use it, but you don’t.” He turned, keeping one arm around my shoulders, and reaching the other until he touched Jean-Claude’s shoulder. He did that guy grip on the shoulder that some macho guys do instead of hugging another guy. “Some nights I hate you, Jean-Claude, but if I’d been with Anita tonight, touching her, Augustine wouldn’t have been able to roll her. If I’d been where I should have been, none of the crap that I hated tonight would have happened. I know that. I felt it, while it was happening. I was miles away, and I felt the fight, but I didn’t reach out and help. It was vampire politics, and that’s not my problem.” He shook his head hard enough to send his hair flying around his face. “No more lying to myself. I am your animal to call, and I hate it, and sometimes I hate you, and sometimes I hate Anita, and most of the time I hate myself. No more lies, and no more crippling us.”

  Jean-Claude’s face was as careful as I’d ever seen it. “And what do these so-wise statements mean, mon ami?”

  “It means when you meet with Samuel I’ll be at your side, where I should have been earlier tonight.” He hugged me tight with one arm, and squeezed Jean-Claude’s shoulder again. “I wasn’t even willing to offer up energy to help Anita. She had Micah and Nathaniel with her; I thought she didn’t need another animal to call. But she did, you did. If you and Anita hadn’t pulled a metaphysical miracle out of thin air, the Master of Chicago would have defeated you. Maybe he couldn’t take your territory, but if one master defeats you, then it’s like blood in the water; the sharks come and feed. If we’d proved weak, then not tonight, but some night soon, someone would come and kill us all.”

  “I agree with everything you’re saying,” I said, slowly, “but it doesn’t sound like you.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t.” He looked at Jean-Claude, and I felt that first warm trickle of his energy. “Are you playing puppet with me again?”

  “I swear to you that I am not, not knowingly, but these are all things I have longed to hear you say. With you at our side, Richard, I fear no one who has come to our territory. With one third of our triumvirate absent, or unwilling…tonight has made me doubt my decision to invite others to our lands.”

  He dropped his hand from Jean-Claude’s shoulder. “Then let’s go have this meeting. I can’t promise that I won’t freak again. I can’t promise to like any of this, but I promise to try harder not to run away.” He started walking toward the door, still holding me. I looked back at Jean-Claude, and the look must have shown what I was thinking, because he shrugged, as if he didn’t know what the hell had happ
ened to Richard either. It wasn’t that we weren’t happy with a more reasonable response from him, but it just didn’t seem real. It didn’t feel like the quiet rush after the storm has passed; no, this felt more like that false calm you sometimes get where the world is hushed and waiting. It feels quiet, but the air is charged and waiting, waiting for the storm to come. That’s what Richard’s new attitude felt like, like it was brittle and waiting to break. I applauded the effort, and the sentiment, but the pit of my stomach was afraid of what would happen when the new attitude met the old issues.

  13

  SOMEONE HAD CLEANED up the living room. The torn drapes were gone, and the remaining ones had been moved to make long swags of cloth against the stone walls. It didn’t make cloth walls now, but it was pretty, and helped give the illusion that the carpeted area was its own space, and not part of the larger rock room. The electric lights seemed odd now that you could see the torches in the hallway.

  We walked up hand in hand, me in the middle of the men. Richard’s hand was oh-so-slightly damp. He was nervous, but it didn’t show on his face. I wished I could have asked what exactly was making him nervous. But even if there hadn’t been company I wouldn’t have asked. He was being brave and cooperative, and I wasn’t going to poke at it. Honest.

  Asher rose from the chair where he’d sat and entertained our guests. There were half a dozen black-garbed guards scattered throughout the room. Claudia and her crew followed behind us like an honor guard. I think she’d decided no more taking chances tonight. We had enough manpower to fill a room, so she was going to do it. None of us were going to argue.

  Asher glided toward us, and it was almost as if his feet didn’t touch the ground, as if he were floating. He was always graceful, but not like that. He was one of the best at levitating that I’d ever seen, so that he could do what the legends say: Asher could fly. Tonight it was as if he could barely force himself to walk when he knew he had wings and longed to use them. He was like some earthbound angel waiting to fling himself skyward. His clothes helped the angelic illusion. He was all in white with gold and copper thread worked through the frock coat, and along a pair of silk pants that ended at his knees, where white hose took up, and ended in white high heels with golden buckles. The shoes reminded me that the original high heel was meant for men.

  His hair was the color of the gold thread in his clothes, as if the seamstress had used his own hair to decorate the cloth. He used that hair like a shield, to hide the scars on the right side of his face. He’d been so worried about what the other masters, many of whom knew him before the scarring, would think of him, that he had requested we take down all the paintings that showed him before. The side of the face that showed beside that fall of truly golden hair was the face of some medieval angel, if you liked your angels sensuous, and a little fallen. That full, kissable mouth smiled at us all. His eyes managed to be both pale blue, and a vibrant color, as if a winter sky could burn with pale, clear blue. Only one eye showed clear; the other one seemed to wink and burn when glimpsed through the hair, as if light were glancing off glass.

  He offered his hand first to Jean-Claude, and said what Jean-Claude usually didn’t like to hear. “Master, our friend from Cape Cod begs a word.” His words were utterly polite, but his face glowed with some suppressed excitement. Something had filled our usually solemn Asher with delight, but what?

  Jean-Claude arched an eyebrow, as if he wanted to ask what was up, too.

  Asher’s voice floated through my mind. “The new power level is amazing.”

  I felt Richard jerk, as if he’d been hit.

  I looked at him, and saw from his wide eyes that he’d probably heard it, too. The next mind whisper held a trace of laughter to it. “My apologies. I only meant Jean-Claude to hear, but I confess to having some trouble controlling all the new abilities.”

  Jean-Claude squeezed my hand, and it was his voice that came next. “Calm, we must all be calm for our guests.”

  Richard let his breath out slow, and gave a small nod. His abilities didn’t lie with the dead, so he wasn’t used to vamps, other than Jean-Claude, talking mind-to-mind with him. Even I wasn’t used to them doing it by accident. How much power had he gained from this one feeding, and how much had others of our vampires gained? There were one or two I wasn’t sure I wanted more powerful than they already were. Meng Die, for one.

  Samuel and Sampson stood in front of the love seat. Asher led us to the couch across from them. The white carpet seemed emptier than normal. Oh, the coffee table was missing. Had we broken it after the ardeur rose? I couldn’t remember.

  I had my best professional smile plastered on my face, the one that’s bright and cheery as a lightbulb, and about as warm. But it was the best I could do. I’d had about all the out-of-town visitors I could deal with for one night.

  “Samuel, Sampson, you have not met our Richard.”

  Samuel bowed toward us. “Ulfric, it is good to meet you at last.”

  Sampson bowed a little lower than his father, and let him do the talking. They both looked way too solemn for my tastes, as if something else had gone wrong.

  “Samuel, what brings you back to us tonight?” Jean-Claude asked. If he was tired of visitors it didn’t show in his voice. He sounded pleasant, welcoming, the perfect host.

  “First, the apology I owe you on behalf of my wife. I worry that something about her nature affected your servant, and may have helped cause what happened tonight.”

  I blinked at him, felt my smile slip a notch. Was this all someone else’s fault? Was I going to have someone else to blame? Goody.

  Jean-Claude sat down on the white couch, not so much pulling me down with him as leading, as you do in a dance. He sat, and I followed his lead, and Richard followed mine. Jean-Claude kept my hand in his, but Richard let go, and put his arm along the back of the couch. He was touching mostly me, but his hand moved along Jean-Claude’s back, and ended lost in the thick curls of his hair.

  “Where is your lovely wife, and your other sons?” Jean-Claude asked.

  Asher sat in the overstuffed chair closest to us. He matched the chair and pillows perfectly, all white and gold. He still looked entirely too pleased with himself, like the proverbial cat with cream.

  Samuel sat down on the love seat, and Sampson followed his father’s lead. “They are at a hotel along with our two guards. I did not feel it wise to bring Thea and Anita together again tonight.”

  “What did she think of the show?” I asked.

  Jean-Claude’s hand tightened on my hand, where he held it in his lap. The squeeze was enough: Be nice, he was saying. I’d be nice. My version of it.

  Richard had gone very quiet beside me, his arm tensed against my back. But it wasn’t a warning to be careful, because his body temperature went up, as if he was thinking what I was thinking: was there someone else to get angry with, someone besides ourselves? Richard and I both preferred to be angry at other people.

  “Thea was much impressed,” he said, and his voice was mild, empty. His tone told nothing.

  “If she was so impressed,” I said, “then why isn’t she here?”

  Sampson smiled, and had to turn away to hide it.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  His father gave him an unfriendly look. Sampson fought to control his face, but finally burst out laughing. Samuel gave him his best ancient vampire disdain. “I’m sorry, Father,” Sampson said in a voice still choked with laughter, “but you must admit it is funny. ‘Impressed’ does not begin to cover Mother’s reaction to what Anita and Jean-Claude did tonight.”

  His father gave him a stony face, until the laughter faded round the edges. Then Samuel said in a voice that held an edge of injured dignity, “My son has been indiscreet, but he is accurate. You ask why Thea and my other sons are not here; simply put, I did not trust her near the two of you.”

  “She liked the show,” I said.

  Samuel shook his head, gave his son another disapproving look. “
More than liked, Anita. She is all ablaze with speculative plans. Would it be possible for her and I to do what the two of you did? I find that unlikely, for though Thea carries something similar to the ardeur, I do not. I believe what you did to Augustine required similar gifts between the two of you.”

  Jean-Claude gave a small nod, face still empty. “I believe so.”

  “She is now convinced that Anita could bring our sons into the full strength of their siren’s powers.” Something crossed his face, too faint to read, but with such an empty face, it was strangely noticeable. “I do not share her certainty. What I felt from you tonight, Anita, is a different element of passion. It is like the difference between fire and water. They will both consume you, but in very different manners.”

  I looked at Sampson’s face, still softly amused. “What did your mother actually say?” I asked.

  He glanced at his father before he answered. Samuel sighed, then nodded. Sampson grinned at me, and said, “I don’t think you really want to know what she said, but what she meant was that if she had her way, Tom and Cris would both be here. She’d be here, too. She’d be offering us all to you any way you wanted us.” His face sobered around the edges. “She can get carried away sometimes, our mother. She means well, but she doesn’t think entirely like a human being, do you understand?”

  “I hang around with vampires, so yeah.”

  He shook his head, his hands clasped on his knees. “No, Anita, vampires start out human, as do shapeshifters, and necromancers”—he said that with a smile—“but Mother was never human. She thinks like…” He seemed unsure what to say.

  Samuel finished for him. “Thea is other, and she reasons in ways that do not always make much sense to those of us who began life as human beings.” He didn’t sound entirely happy about it, but he stated it as truth.

  “That must make life interesting,” Richard said.

  Samuel gave him cool eyes, but Sampson nodded, smiling. “You have no idea.”