Danse Macabre ab-14

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  Jean-Claude started to take her hand, then hesitated in midgesture. He had suffered at Valentina's hands more than once. He never truly forgot she was a monster. He said, "Where is Bartolome? He's supposed to be watch- ing you today, isn't he?"

  "I don't know where he is," she said, gazing up at Jean-Claude.

  He laid the barest touch on her shoulder. She looked past him to me. The look in those eyes had nothing to do with childhood.

  "She's over three hundred years old, Jean-Claude, don't shush her away like she's really five."

  He looked at me. "Valentina prefers to be treated as a child, it is her choice." He gazed down at her. "Don't you, ma duke?" He lied with his voice, but he did not touch her as if she were a child.

  She nodded, but those eyes gazed at me. Those eyes that held centuries of power trapped in a body too delicate to do most of the things in her mind. There were nights when I felt sorry for her; then there were moments, like now, when I wasn't certain that she'd have been sane even if she'd come over as an adult. There was simply something in her that wasn't quite right. It was sort of a chicken/egg question on Valentina's sanity. She'd never hurt me. Never done anything to purposefully frighten me. But she was on my short list of people that I wouldn't have trusted if I'd been helpless and alone with her. It had taken me months to realize that the reason she creeped me out was only partly the whole trapped-in-a-child's-body thing. Months to admit to myself that I was more afraid of Valentina than any other vamp who called Jean-Claude master.

  "I think having a baby around would be fun," she said.

  "Fun, how?" I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  "I wouldn't be the smallest anymore," she said. It should have been an in-

  nocent statement, so why did I suddenly have the urge to tell her that if she tried to change my baby over into a vampire littler than herself, I would fucking kill her? Paranoid, or just cautious? So hard to tell the difference sometimes.

  Richard moved closer to me, and I let him. I wasn't the only one who felt something was terribly wrong with her. He put his arm across my shoulders, and I let him do that, too. Staring into Valentina's eyes I would have let al­most anyone comfort me.

  "No," I said, slowly, "no, not too much time at the Circus."

  Micah moved closer to us, not touching me, because Richard never seemed to like that. He'd tolerate Jean-Claude touching me with him, but almost no one else. But I wasn't the only one weirded out by the "little girl."

  Jean-Claude looked back at us, still touching her shoulder. "I must find Bartolome, and chastise him for not watching her better."

  Valentina pulled away from Jean-Claude, and he let her go. She started walking farther into the room. Richard drew me in tighter against his body. Micah moved so that he was standing almost in front of me, blocking her from coming closer to me. Normally, I might have told him it wasn't neces­sary, but I didn't like how interested she'd been in the whole idea of the baby.

  Valentina walked around us. The tension in my shoulders eased. Richard's breath eased out in something like a sigh. Micah didn't relax. He stayed tense just in front of us, as if he didn't trust she wouldn't circle back. She walked toward Samuel and Sampson.

  "What are you doing, little one?" Jean-Claude said.

  She gave a perfect, and very low, curtsey, holding her little dress out with her hands, ankles crossing as she went down. "Greetings, Samuel, Master of Cape Cod."

  "Greetings, Valentina," he said.

  She offered him her hand. He took the tiny hand in his, and laid the barest touch of his mouth upon her wrist. It was all protocol, perfectly ac­ceptable, but the gesture showed better than any words that he wasn't comfy with her either.

  She turned to Sampson. She gazed up at him, her head tilted back, very childlike, but I would have bet anything I had that the searching look on her face wouldn't be childlike. I'd had her stare at me before, and knew that the face didn't match the intensity and personality in the eyes. "Is this your son?"

  "Yes, his name is Sampson."

  She held her tiny hand out to him, too. He took it, but seemed unsure what to do with it. "I am not a vampire," he said, "nor anyone's servant, or animal to call."

  "But you are his son, his heir. I am just one more vampire. I am not even a true master." She was saying that he outranked her.

  Sampson glanced at his father, who must have given him some look, be­cause he raised the tiny hand to his mouth. He, like his father, did the min­imum touch he could get away with. He, like his father, kept eye contact with her while he did it. It reminded me of how you bow on the mat in judo. You keep your eyes up as you do it, never looking away from your opponent, just in case. But there was a difference between the two men. One was a very master vampire. The other was not. He was part human and part mermaid, and maybe someday he would be more, but tonight, he wasn't.

  "Pick me up," she said, in that high little-girl voice.

  He picked her up and sat her in his lap. She cuddled against him. He was blinking out at the room, frowning. His face looked almost like he was in pain.

  "Shit," I said softly. She had rolled him, rolled him with her eyes.

  Jean-Claude said, "Valentina, he is our guest."

  Samuel raised a hand up. "I run my kiss in the old way. He is my son, my eldest; if he cannot win free of a vampire who is not even a master ..." He left the sentence unfinished.

  "You make him earn his place constantly," Jean-Claude said.

  Samuel nodded.

  I'd never even heard of the rule he was talking about. I said so. "I don't even know this rule."

  "It is a version of survival of the fittest, ma petite. If Sampson is not strong enough to break free, or avoid Valentina's trickery, then he is a little less wor­thy in his master's eyes. It is a way that some Masters of the City separate the weak from the strong. Those who fail these tests often are demoted, traded to other lands, or killed." His voice was matter-of-fact, but I knew him well enough to taste the faint disapproval. "Very few American masters run their lands with this rule."

  "I am older than most of the American masters," Samuel said.

  I looked at Jean-Claude and he met my look. "But she's our vampire, and we don't live by this rule."

  Richard hugged me, one-armed, as if he were afraid of what I'd do, or say.

  "If his father decrees that Sampson must break free of her gaze by him­self, then it is so, but we will make it very clear to all our vampires that this gaze is illegal in our country. It is seen as coercion." He stared at Valentina as he said it.

  She pouted her lower lip out at him, and snuggled in tighter to Sampson. He put his arms around her, as if in response to the cuddling, or maybe she'd

  used mind tricks. If she'd rolled him enough not to need words to boss him around, we were in deeper trouble than I'd thought. Because once vampires roll you that much, they own you. They can reclaim their victims at any time. They can stand under their windows and call them out into the night. Hell, some of them can call their victims across town like sleepwalkers. If Valentina had rolled him that badly, he'd give her blood anytime she asked. He'd have no choice.

  I don't know what I would have done, but suddenly there was new energy in the room. The air smelled fresher, faindy of salt and sea. Sampson's eyes cleared, that confused, bemused look fading. His eyes changed from the hazel of his father's to the flat black of his mother's. He stared down at the vampire in his lap, and his face had a look that I'd seen before. It was a look diat said his seemingly youthful face held wisdom decades beyond the out­side packaging. He gazed down at Valentina with a face that showed he had lived every day of seventy years. That he was no more his twenty-something, nice-guy-next-door package than Valentina was a child.

  He tried to lift her out of his lap, but she clung to him, playing the child for all she was worth. "Don't you like me, Sampson?"

  He shook his head. "No," he said, "I do not like you."

  She pouted at him, even managing to fe
ign tears, as if he'd hurt her feel­ings. Maybe he had. Valentina was hard to figure.

  He drew her away from his body, and set her firmly on the ground. "You will not be able to trick me again, for I felt your mind. You are not a child, Valentina. You do not think as a child." He shivered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as if to cleanse them from the feel of holding her. "I saw what you wanted to do to me. What you tried to persuade me I wanted to do." He shivered again. "Your mind has begun to want things beyond your body's years. Pain is your substitute for sex."

  She put her hands on her hips, and stomped her little foot. "I don't know what you are talking about. Perhaps it is you that desires such things." Then she turned to Jean-Claude. "Master, can you not find one among all the vis­itors who would let me hurt him? I miss it." She said it as if there were no contradiction in telling Sampson he was the pervert, and then asking to do what he'd accused her of wanting to do.

  Jean-Claude sighed. "Asher, if you would take her back to Bartolome."

  Asher pushed himself up from the chair where he'd gone nearly motion­less during all the hoopla. But Nathaniel said, "I'll take her."

  We all looked at him.

  He smiled. "You need to talk vampire business with Samuel. Asher will be more useful for that than I will." He walked toward us to say good night, and

  Micah moved out of the way, so he could lean in toward me. Richard's arm was still holding me close to his body. He tensed, and moved as if he'd take me out of Nathaniel's reach.

  Nathaniel touched his arm, and Richard froze. His power lashed out like lightning scoring along my skin.

  "Ouch, Richard, that fucking hurt."

  Nathaniel shivered. "That really did hurt." But his voice didn't sound like a complaint.

  "Back up," Richard said, his voice holding an edge of growl. He was con­trolling his power enough so it didn't actively hurt me, but it was like cud­dling next to a stove that you just knew was going to get too hot to touch soon.

  Nathaniel smiled and pushed in against us both, pressing his chest against Richard's arm. Richard moved away, but he tried to take me with him, and frankly, I just didn't want to be in the middle of it. So I stopped moving, but Nathaniel was so close I couldn't step forward either. Richard had choices: pick me up, or hurt me to move me, or let me go, or move away without me, or stay where he was, with Nathaniel touching him.

  Richard tried to move back, while I tried not to move, and Nathaniel just watched us, from an inch away. Richard wasn't willing to move without me, or leave me alone with Nathaniel. The symbolism was too raw for words.

  Nathaniel spoke low and soft, his lavender eyes raised to the taller man's face, his chest almost pinning Richard's arm between us. "You're like a dog marking your territory. Maybe you should piss on her, so we'll all know she's yours."

  I froze between them, because this was going to be bad.

  Richard growled low and deep, the sound of it vibrating over my skin, and into Nathaniel's body. We both shivered, but I don't think it was for the same reasons.

  "Stop it, both of you," I said.

  "She's not a bone, that only one of us can have," Nathaniel said.

  Richard growled again and this time Richard's power rippled along my skin like little slaps of electricity. Nathaniel and I spoke at the same time. I said, "That hurts"; Nathaniel said, "Yummy."

  "You are such a freak," Richard said, almost a yell.

  "Maybe, but this freak is willing to do for the woman he loves and his baby what you won't do."

  Richard jerked away so suddenly, it made me stumble. Nathaniel caught me. But Richard backed up. Nathaniel backed him down not with power, but with truth.

  Nathaniel held me, and I let him, because if I'd pulled away now, the whole show would have been wasted. I'd hung around the lycanthropes long enough to understand what was happening. Nathaniel, my submissive Nathaniel, was stepping up to bat. He was showing the most dominant per­son in my bed that he was a force to be reckoned with. Why tonight? Why did Nathaniel have to draw his line in the sand tonight? The baby, of course, the baby. Something about the whole baby question had made Nathaniel feel like he had to be more dominant. Or maybe he, like me, was just tired of watching Richard say he was the dominant sweetie in my life, but acting like he was my fuck buddy. Nothing wrong with a fuck buddy, but you can't be the love of someone's life and a fuck buddy. They are mutually exclusive.

  Nathaniel held me, and I wrapped my arms around him, hidng my face against his chest, because I wasn't sure what expression was on my face. Nathaniel had stood up to Richard and won. What else was going to change just because of the possibility of a baby?

  "I'll take Valentina. You guys stay and talk business."

  "You're part of the business," Micah said from behind us.

  "But you can fill me in later, and I'm not really going to have an opinion on the vampire stuff." He grinned. "I'm also the least likely to object to any­one Anita is willing to take as zpomme, or a lover." He kissed me on the fore­head, and whispered, "Besides, Valentina doesn't bother me."

  I looked up at him. "And that bothers me a little, that you're not creeped."

  The grin softened to a smile. "I know." He kissed me on the mouth, soft, gentle. He pulled away, and I let him go, still not sure what had changed in him.

  Valentina came to him, and he took her hand. He began to lead her to­ward the far hallway. She looked back and stuck her tongue out at us.

  Claudia sent Lisandro to accompany them. Aloud, she said, "Make sure Bartolome isn't doing anything he shouldn't." But I was pretty sure after Valentina's show with Sampson, she just didn't trust any of the non-vamps alone with her. Me, either.

  17

  "HOW CAN YOU love him?" Richard asked.

  I turned to look at him. He stood, shoulders hunched, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, as if he were cold. But I knew he wasn't cold, or at least not the kind of cold that blankets and skin warmth could fix. It was a coldness of the heart, or the soul, or the mind. That cold that eats a hole through the middle of who you are, and leaves something dark and awful behind.

  I looked at him, and wondered how to answer his question. How to an­swer without making the pain in his body worse. I sighed, and finally real­ized that the only thing I could give him was the truth. Whatever we were to each other, whatever else we might someday be to each other, truth, at least truth, was between us.

  "I asked you a question," he said, and his power warmed the room like opening an oven to peek inside. The heat dissipated almost as soon as I'd felt it He was trying to control himself.

  "Why do I love Nathaniel?" I asked.

  "That's what I asked," he said, in that angry voice.

  "Because he never makes me feel like a freak."

  "Because he is a freak," Richard snarled. "Anyone looks sane beside him."

  I felt my face shutting down. Felt that flatness that I used when I was really pissed and trying to control it.

  "Perhaps this is not the time for this conversation," Jean-Claude said in a careful voice.

  We both ignored him.

  "First," I said in a very tight, careful voice, "Nathaniel is not a freak. Sec­ond, he's willing to disrupt his entire life if he got me pregnant, and you're not. So I'd be careful before you throw stones at his character."

  "If you're pregnant, I'll marry you."

  The room was suddenly full of one of those silences so thick you should have been able to walk across it. I stared at him for a second, or two, then

  MU , jous, iviary, ana Joseph, Richard, is that all you think it takes to fix this? Marry me so the baby won't be a bastard, and it's all better?"

  "I don't see anyone else offering marriage," he said.

  "It's because they know I'll say no. Every other man in my life under­stands that this isn't about marriage. It's about the fact that we may have cre­ated a little person. And we need to do whatever is best for that person. How will marrying anyone make this work better?"

&nb
sp; He looked at me, and there was such pain in his face, such struggle, as if I'd said something incomprehensible. "If you get a woman pregnant, you marry her, Anita. It's called taking responsibility for your actions."

  "And if it's not your baby? Could you really raise someone else's baby? Could you really stay married to me, and play Daddy, as you watched the baby grow to look like someone else?"

  He covered his face with his hands, and he screamed, "No!" He showed me a face ravaged by rage. The room was suddenly hot again, as if his power were raising the actual temperature. "No, I'd go crazy. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is it?"

  "No," I said, "but you needed to hear it."

  He frowned at me. "What?"

  "I appreciate the offer, Richard. Really, I do, but if I was going to marry anyone, it would have to be someone who would be okay no matter who turned out to be the father."

  "So, you'll marry Nathaniel, or Micah?" The heat bit along my skin.

  "I am not going to marry anyone, don't you get that?"

  "You just said—"

  I cut him off. "No, that isn't what I said, or what I meant. It's what you heard."

  "You're pregnant, Anita."

  "Maybe I'm pregnant," I said.

  "Don't you want a father for your baby?"

  I stared at him, wondering what could I say that he'd actually hear and understand.

  Jean-Claude stepped close to us, not between us, but as if the three of us were a shallow triangle. "I believe what ma petite is saying, Richard, is that marriage is not part of her plans, and that having a baby will not change that." His voice was his pleasantly neutral one, the one that he used when he was trying to persuade, or calm, and not make things worse.

  "And if it's my baby, then I'm just supposed to be okay with Nathaniel and Micah raising it?"

  I hung my head. What could I say to that?

  "Ulfric," Claudia said, yelling that one word, the way a drill sergeant yells at a bad recruit.

  He looked at her. "What?" His power bit along my skin again.

  "First, control your power, it's biting along everyone's skin. You're the wolf king, you need to set a better example."