Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “He’s out there in the hallway, armed. He’s carrying more than one gun, and at least one knife. He’s carrying them like he’s done it before. What the hell have you been teaching him, Edward?”

  “What any father teaches his son.”

  “Which is?”

  “What he knows.”

  I just stared at him, knowing my face held a soft, growing horror. “Edward, you can’t make him into a little you.”

  “He was scared all the time, Anita, after the attack. His therapist thought that martial arts training, training him to take care of himself, would help. It did. He stopped having the nightmares after a while.”

  “Training him to take care of himself is different from what’s standing out in that hallway. There’s a loss of innocence in his eyes. A…oh, hell, I don’t know what is missing, or what’s there that shouldn’t be, but I know it when I see it.”

  “It’s the look that you have in your eyes, Anita. It’s the look that I have in mine.”

  “He is not like us,” I said.

  “He’s killed twice.”

  “He killed the wereanimal that killed his father and would have slaughtered them all. He killed the woman who raped him.”

  “It’s pretty to think that it matters why you take a life. I guess it does, but what the taking of a life does to you inside doesn’t care why you did it. You either can kill and sleep nights, or you can’t. Peter isn’t bothered by the killing, Anita. He’s bothered by what the bitch did to him. He’s bothered by the fact that he couldn’t protect his sister.”

  “No one sexually abused Becca,” I said.

  “No, thank God, but her hand is still stiff sometimes. She has to do hand-strengthening exercises. The hand works, but it’s not a hundred percent.”

  “And the man who tortured her is dead,” I said.

  Edward gave me those cold blue eyes. “You killed him for me.”

  “You were a little busy,” I said.

  “Yeah, dying.”

  “You didn’t die,” I said.

  “I came as close as I’ve ever come. But I knew you’d save the kids. I knew that you would see it right.”

  “Edward, don’t do this to me.”

  “Don’t do what?” he asked.

  “Don’t make me part of taking Peter’s childhood away from him.”

  “He’s not a child, Anita.”

  “He’s not a grown-up either,” I said.

  “And how do you grow up if no one shows you how?”

  “Edward, we’re going up against some of the most dangerous vampires that you and I have ever faced. Peter can’t be that good yet. He can’t be up to that skill level, no matter how much you’ve taught him. If you want to get him killed, fine, he’s your kid, but I will not be a part of it. I will not help you get him killed in some macho bullshit initiation thing. I won’t do it. Do you understand me? I won’t allow it. Maybe you can’t send him home, but I can.”

  “How?” he asked.

  “What do you mean, how? I tell him to go the fuck home before he gets himself killed.”

  “He won’t go.”

  “I can demonstrate that he’s out of his depth, Edward.”

  “Don’t humiliate him, Anita, please.”

  It was the please that got me. “You’d rather he die than get humiliated?”

  Edward swallowed hard enough that I heard it. He turned away so I couldn’t see his face. Not a good sign. “When I was sixteen, I’d rather have died than have a woman I loved humiliate me. He’s sixteen and male, don’t do that to him.”

  “Wait, what did you say?”

  “I said, he’s sixteen and male, don’t humiliate him.”

  I went to him, walked around so that he had to meet my eyes. “Not that part.”

  Edward looked at me, and there was real anguish in his eyes. “Jesus, Edward, what is it?”

  “His therapist says that an event like what happened to him just as his sexuality was awakening can be a defining event.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means that his view of sex and violence is all mixed up together.”

  “Okay, what does that mean, exactly?”

  “It means he’s had two girlfriends in the last year. The first one was perfect. She was quiet, respectful, pretty. They were sweet together.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Her parents called one night and asked what kind of monster our son was, that he’d hurt their daughter.”

  “Hurt her how?”

  “The usual. She was a virgin and they didn’t do enough foreplay.”

  “It happens,” I said.

  “But the girl claimed that when she told him it hurt, he didn’t stop.”

  “Sounds like buyer’s remorse to me, Edward.”

  “I thought so, too, until the second girl. She was rough trade, Anita. As bad as the first girl had been good. She slept around, and everyone knew it. She broke up with Peter, said he was a freak. This girl was a freak, Anita. She was all leather and spikes and piercings, and it wasn’t just for show. She said he hurt her.”

  “What did Peter say?”

  “He said he didn’t do anything she didn’t ask him to do.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “He won’t tell you?” I asked.

  “No,” Edward said.

  “Why not?”

  “I think it’s rough sex. I think he’s embarrassed to talk about it, or what they did was bad enough that he thinks I will think he’s a freak, too. He doesn’t want me to think that.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Sometimes silence is the best you can do. Then I thought of something worth saying. “Liking rough sex doesn’t make you a freak.”

  He looked at me.

  “It doesn’t,” I said, and I felt myself begin to blush.

  “It’s not my thing, Anita. It just doesn’t move me.”

  “Everyone has things that do it for them, Edward.”

  “Rough does it for you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “When a kid is abused, they can react a lot of different ways; two of the choices are that they identify with the abuser and become abusers, or they embrace the role of victim. He didn’t embrace the role of victim, Anita.”

  “What are you saying, Edward?”

  “I don’t know yet. But his therapist says that he’s also identified with his savior, you. He has another option besides just victim or abuser; he has you.”

  “What does that mean, he has me?”

  “You saved him, Anita. You took off the ropes, the blindfold. He’d just had the first sex of his life, and he looks up and sees you.”

  “He was raped,” I said.

  “It’s still sex. Everyone likes to pretend that it’s not, but it is. It may be about dominance, and pain, but it’s still sex. I’d take it away, make it so it never happened, but I can’t. Donna can’t. His therapist can’t. Peter can’t.”

  My eyes were burning. Damn it, I would not cry. But I remembered a fourteen-year-old boy who I’d had to watch be abused on camera. They’d done it so I’d do what they wanted. Done it to prove that if I failed them, I wouldn’t be the one who suffered. I had failed Peter. I had saved him, but not in time. I had got him out, but not before.

  “I can’t save him, Anita.”

  “We already saved him, as much as we can, Edward.”

  “No, you saved him.”

  I realized in that one statement that Edward blamed himself, too. We’d both failed him, then. “You were saving Becca at the time.”

  “Yes, but what that bitch did to Peter is still happening. It’s still inside him, in his eyes. I can’t fix it.” His hands clenched into fists. “I can’t fix it.”

  I touched his arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away. “You don’t fix shit like this, Edward, not outside television sitcoms. In real life you don’t fix this. You can make it better, you can heal, bu
t it doesn’t just go away. Real life doesn’t fix that easy.”

  “I’m his father, or all the father he has. If I don’t fix it, who can?”

  “No one,” I said. I shook my head. “Sometimes you just accept your losses and move on. Peter’s scarred, but he’s not broken beyond repair. I’ve talked to him on the phone, I’ve looked in his eyes. I see the person he’s becoming, and it’s a strong person, a good person.”

  “Good.” He laughed and it was a harsh sound. “I can only teach him what I am, and I’m not good.”

  “Honorable then,” I said.

  He thought about that, then nodded. “Honorable. I’ll take that, I guess.”

  “Strong and honorable is not a bad legacy, Edward.”

  He looked at me. “Legacy, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I shouldn’t have brought Peter.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  “His skills aren’t a good match for this job,” he said.

  “No,” I said, “they aren’t.”

  “You can’t send him home, Anita.”

  “You’d really rather see him dead than humiliated?”

  “If you humiliate him, it will destroy him, Anita. It will destroy that part of him that wants to save people and not hurt them. If he gives up that part of himself, I’m afraid that all that will be left is a predator in training.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re leaving out stuff?”

  “Because this is the short version, remember?”

  I nodded, then shook my head. “Jesus, Edward, if this is the short version, I’m not sure my nerves can take the long one.”

  “We’ll keep Peter in the background, as much as we can. I’ve got more backup on the way, but I’m not sure they’ll get here in time.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re running out of time.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  “With Peter and Olaf?” He made it a question.

  “He’s your kid, and Olaf is good in a fight. If Olaf gets out of hand, we kill him.”

  Edward nodded. “My thought, exactly.”

  I wanted to let it go, God knew I did, but I couldn’t. I was a girl and I couldn’t let it go. “Did you say that Peter was in love with me?”

  “I wondered if you’d heard that.”

  “I understand why he has a crush on me, I guess. I saved him. You hero-worship someone who saves you.”

  “It may be a crush, or hero worship, but remember, Anita, that it’s the strongest emotion he’s ever had for a woman. It may not be love, but if you’ve never felt anything stronger, how do you tell the difference?”

  The answer was, you don’t. I just didn’t like that answer, not one little bit.

  29

  I HADN’T RECOGNIZED Peter at first, because he’d done that growth spurt thing that teenage boys do sometimes. He’d been a little taller than me when I last saw him. Now he was damn close to six feet. His hair had been chestnut brown last time I saw him; now it was darker, a brown that was almost black. It wasn’t a dye job, just a child’s hair darkening to the color it would be as an adult. His shoulders had broadened, and he looked older than sixteen if you looked only at muscle development, but the face, the face hadn’t caught up to the body. The face still looked young, unfinished, until you hit the eyes. The eyes were young one minute and cynical and old as hell the next. It would have been unnerving enough to see Peter under these circumstances, but Edward’s little talk hadn’t helped my nerves at all. It made me look for signs that Peter was what Edward feared, a junior predator. If I hadn’t had Edward’s warning in my head, would I have noticed that look, that gesture? Would I have scrutinized him, trying to see the damage? Maybe. But I cursed Edward for oversharing, cursed him loud and long in my head.

  Peter wasn’t Peter Parnell, he was Peter Black. He even had ID to prove it. The ID said he was eighteen, too. The ID looked damned good. Edward and I were sooo going to talk about Peter’s educational experiences if we could just avoid getting him killed here and now. And that was the real danger to Peter being here. Edward and I needed to concentrate on the bad guys, but we’d both be worried about Peter, we just would. It was going to fuck with our concentration. Maybe I could persuade Peter to stay out of the action by telling him he might get us both killed. It might be the truth.

  Olaf stood against the far wall in a ring of bodyguards. They hadn’t disarmed him, yet, but my reaction to him coming through the door had made them not like him at all. Or maybe it was the fact that he was taller than Claudia, which put him perilously close to seven feet tall. He wasn’t thin, but I’d seen him shirtless and knew that there was nothing but muscle under that pale skin, a lot of muscle. But it was lean muscle, muscle that could move fast. Even standing still, there was a potential in Olaf that just about raised the hairs on your neck. He was still perfectly bald, with a dark shadow of almost-beard on chin and jaws and upper lip. He was one of those men who needed to shave twice a day to stay perfectly shaved. His eyes were so deep set it was like staring into twin caves. Dark eyes, set deep in a pale face. His eyebrows were black above them. He was dressed in the same black I’d seen him in almost two years ago. Black T-shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans, over black boots. I wanted to ask him if he owned anything with color to it, but I didn’t want to tease him. One, he didn’t like to be teased; two, I wasn’t sure if he’d think I was flirting. I just didn’t understand Olaf enough to mess with him.

  He was trying to be neutral in the circle of bodyguards, but there was something in him that was never truly neutral. Most serial killers make the neighbors say, He was such a quiet man, a nice boy, so surprised. Olaf had never been a nice boy. I’d seen him vanish into a nighttime field in plain sight, like magic. Not supernatural powers, but military training. Edward had called him a special-ops spook, and I’d seen it work. I knew that all that tall muscled violence could melt into the night. What I didn’t believe was that it could pretend to be harmless and do undercover work. Edward did that kind of work, and was fabulous at it. But Edward was sane, and Olaf wasn’t. Crazy people have trouble stopping the crazy long enough to blend in with the normals.

  He put that cave-dweller gaze on me. I shivered, because I couldn’t help it. He actually smiled. He liked that I was afraid of him. He liked that a lot. A part of me screamed, Kill him now. The rest of me really didn’t disagree with that little voice.

  “We need the muscle,” Edward said at my side.

  “You’re reading my mind,” I said.

  “I know you.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, you know me.” I glared at him. “And yet this is who you bring to my party.”

  “He had no choice,” Olaf said in that deep, rumbling voice that seemed to come from the very center of that big chest.

  “I heard that,” I said.

  Claudia said, “Anita, what is he?” She jerked a thumb at him.

  “Backup,” I said.

  She gave me a look.

  “He’s given his word of honor that he’ll behave himself while he’s in our city.”

  “Behave himself how?” Remus asked.

  I looked at Edward. “You explain it. I need to get some paperwork from Jean-Claude’s room.”

  “Paperwork,” he said.

  I nodded. “I think I’ve got warrants of execution for the two vamps that fucked us earlier.”

  “I thought no one knew they were in town,” he said.

  “They’ve been setting up some of the vamps from the Church of Eternal Life.”

  “Busy girls,” Edward said.

  “They were women, these vampires?” Olaf asked. His voice was neutral, I’d give him that.

  I hated to answer his question, because if the driver’s license photos looked as much like the vampires Mercia and Nivia as I remembered, then I knew why two of Malcolm’s people had been naughty. The Harlequin were spies and covert ops; a little play-acting was right up their alley. Was I certain that Mercia and Nivia had pretended to be Sally Hunter and Jenni
fer Hummel? No. Was I almost sure? Yes. Was I sure enough to use the warrants to kill them? Oh, yes.

  “Yes, they were both female,” I said, and I didn’t look at him as I said it.

  “Are we going to kill them?”

  “Probably.”

  “What do they look like?” he asked, and his voice was losing its neutral edge.

  “Why does that matter to you?” Claudia asked.

  I forced myself to look up and meet Olaf’s gaze. I fought to watch his face while I said, “They fit your vic profile, if that’s what you want to know. One of them maybe a little tall, but the other one is juuust right.”

  The look on his face…such joy, such anticipation. It made me want to cry, or scream, or shoot him.

  “Vic profile,” Claudia said. “What are you saying?”

  “Olaf is special ops. He’s an assassin, and a soldier, and a spook, and he’s good at all of it.”

  “Not just good,” he said, “I am the best.”

  “I’ll let you and Edward discuss that someday, but he’s good, Claudia. He’s backed my play before, and he was…useful.” I licked my lips. “But no woman of any description is to be alone with him at any time.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I gave my word,” Olaf said.

  “I’m going to treat you like a recovering alcoholic, Olaf. Let’s just keep temptation out of reach, okay?”

  “We are going to slaughter these two women together, correct?” he asked.

  I licked my suddenly dry lips again, then nodded. “I think so.”

  “Then I will not be tempted elsewhere.”

  Normally, I’d have just used silver shot and blown holes through the vampires until I saw daylight. Or maybe a good old-fashioned staking. But they were Harlequin. I would have to treat them as if they were master vamps, heavy hitters. Which meant shoot them with silver shot, then decapitate them, take the heart out, and burn them both. You burn the body in a separate fire. Then you scatter the ashes in running water, different bodies of running water if you want to be truly paranoid. Was I paranoid, or just cautious? These two vampires had almost killed Jean-Claude, Richard, and me from a distance, using powers I’d never seen before. Paranoid it wasn’t.