Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Collection 6-10

by Laurell Hamilton

  I settled back against the pillows and couldn’t keep the relief off my face, my body.

  “What the hell is going on, Anita?”

  Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t like to lie to Larry face to face. Whatever it was, I told him truth. I told him all of it. I told him about Richard and the marks. He knew about that, but not what I’d discovered recently. I left out a few things, but not much. When I was done, he sat back in the chair looking stunned.

  “Well, say something.”

  He shook his head. “Sweet Mary Mother of God, I don’t know where to start. Jean-Claude had a press conference last night with the Traveler at his side. They talked about vampire and human unity in the face of this awful event.”

  “Whose body did the Traveler use?” I asked.

  Larry shivered. “That is one of the creepiest vamp powers I have ever seen. He used some vamp from Malcolm’s Church. Malcolm was at the press conference, too. The Traveler used his powers to help rescue the other vamps, including Malcolm.”

  “Who acted as intepreter while the sun was up?” I asked.

  “Balthasar, his human servant.”

  “Balthasar as a public servant, that is creepy,” I said.

  Larry frowned. “He told me he had a thing for men with red hair. Was he kidding?”

  I laughed, and it made my head hurt. I was suddenly very aware of a growing headache, as if it had been there all the time, just masked by drugs. Modern chemistry, there is no substitute.

  “Probably not, but don’t worry. You’re not on the menu.”

  “Who is?” Larry asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Has Dolph found out who’s behind the bombings and stuff?”

  “Yes.” He said that one word like it was enough.

  “Tell me or I will get out of this bed and hurt you.”

  “It was Humans First. The police raided their headquarters earlier today, got most of the leaders.”

  “That is wonderful.” I frowned, which hurt, then closed my eyes and said, “How did Humans First know where all the monsters were? They hit private homes, secret daytime lairs. They shouldn’t have known where everyone was.”

  I heard the door open a moment before Dolph’s voice said, “The vampires had a traitor in their midst.”

  “Hey, Dolph.”

  “Hey, yourself. Good to see you awake.”

  “Good to be awake,” I said. “What traitor?”

  “Remember Vicki Pierce—and her little scene at Burnt Offerings?”

  “I remember.”

  “She had a boyfriend that was with Humans First. She gave him up when we questioned her a second time.”

  “Why’d you bring her in?”

  “Seems she got paid for her little acting assignment. We threatened to charge her with assault and attempted murder. She folded like a cheap card table.”

  “What does little Miss Blue Eyes have to do with a vampire traitor?”

  “She’s been dating Harry, the bartender and part owner of Burnt Offerings.”

  I was confused. “Then why stage the scene at his business? Why give himself grief?”

  “Her human boyfriend wanted to pay her to do it. She didn’t want him to know she was seeing Harry. Harry went along with it because he thought it would look funny if his place was the only vamp-owned business not hit by the fanatics.”

  “So Harry knew what she was using the information for?” I said. I was finding it hard to believe that any vamp would do it, let alone one as old as Harry.

  “He knew. He took his cut of the money,” Dolph said.

  “Why?”

  “When we find him, we’ll ask.”

  “Let me guess. He’s vanished.”

  Dolph nodded. “Don’t tell your boyfriend, Anita.”

  “The vampires may be your only hope of catching Harry now.”

  “But will they turn him over to us or kill him?”

  I looked away, not meeting his eyes. “They’re going to be pretty pissed.”

  “I can’t blame them for that, but I want him alive, Anita. I need him alive.”

  “Why?”

  “We didn’t get every member of Humans First. I don’t want them out there with some new nasty surprise waiting.”

  “You have Vicki. Won’t she tell you?”

  “She asked for a lawyer, finally, and now she’s suddenly developed amnesia.”

  “Damn.”

  “We need him to tell us if there’s one last big nasty coming our way.”

  “But you can’t find him,” I said.

  “That’s right.”

  “You don’t want me to tell Jean-Claude.”

  “Give us twenty-four hours to locate Harry. If we fail, then you can put out a vampire all-points. Before they kill him, try to get information from him.”

  “You say that like I’ll be there when he dies,” I said.

  Dolph just looked at me.

  I met his eyes this time. “I don’t kill for Jean-Claude, Dolph, no matter what the street says.”

  “I wish I believed that, Anita. You don’t know how much I wished I believed that.”

  I lay back against the pillows. “Believe what you like, Dolph. You will anyway.”

  He walked out then without another word, as if what he wanted to say was too painful, too final. Dolph kept pushing against us, against me. I was beginning to worry that he was going to keep pushing until he pushed us apart. We’d be working together but we wouldn’t be friends. The headache was getting worse, and it wasn’t just the drugs wearing off.

  48

  I WAS GIVEN a clean bill of health. The doctors were amazed at my recuperative powers. If only they knew. Pete McKinnon called late in the day. He’d found that there were fires similar to those set by our firebug in New Orleans and San Francisco. It took a moment for me to remember why those particular cities were important. When I remembered, I asked, “How about Boston?”

  “No, no fires in Boston. Why?”

  I don’t think he believed me when I said, “nothing,” but unlike Dolph, he let it go. I wasn’t ready to point the finger at the Vampire Council. Just because the mysterious fires happened in cities they’d been visiting didn’t mean it had to be them. There’d been no fires in Boston. Just because there were now mysterious fires in St. Louis, and the council was here, didn’t prove anything. Yeah, and the Easter Bunny brings me goodies every year.

  I told Jean-Claude about my suspicions. “But why would the council wish to burn empty buildings, ma petite? If one of them could call fire to their hands, they would not waste it on empty real estate. Not unless the real estate being burned gained them something.”

  “You mean a financial motive?” I said.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps, though a personal motive would suit them better.”

  “I can’t find out much more information without giving the council up to the authorities as suspects,” I said.

  He seemed to think about that for a second or two. “Perhaps you could wait upon committing absolute suicide for us until after we have survived this evening.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  True darkness found me in a short form-fitting black velvet dress with a V-neck and no sleeves. The waist of the dress was open lace. My skin showed pale and enticing through it. Black thigh-high hose that actually came up a bit higher than mid-thigh, like all the way up until the black lace stretch top brushed against the black satin panties with their lace edgings. The hose were a size too large. Jean-Claude had purchased them, and done it deliberately. I’d tried thigh-highs before and had to agree that the longer length was more flattering for my shorter legs. It sort of framed the right area. If we’d been planning extracurricular activities, I’d have loved to see his face when I was standing in nothing but the stockings. As it was, it was just frustrating, and a little scary.

  I’d vetoed the high velvet heels he’d picked out. Instead I used my own black pumps. Not as spiffy. Maybe not even more comfortable
, but the heels were low enough that I could run in them, or carry fainting wereleopards if the need arose.

  “You are perfection, ma petite, except for the shoes.”

  “Forget it,” I said. “You’re lucky to have gotten me in the hose. The thought that I’m dressing just in case the rest of the party sees my underwear is just creepy.”

  “You talked to the Traveler of price and responsibility. Well, tonight we pay the price for your wereleopards. Are you regretting it now?”

  Gregory was still trussed up in my bedroom, pale and fragile-looking. Vivian was tucked in a guest room speaking in monosyllables.

  “No, no I don’t regret it.”

  “Then let us gather the rest of our party and be on our way.” But he didn’t move. He stayed lying on his stomach on the white couch, head resting on his folded hands. If it had been anyone else, I’d have said they were sprawled on the couch, but Jean-Claude did not sprawl. He posed, he lounged, but he did not sprawl. He lay full length, his long body stretched out, only the tips of his black boots over the edge of the couch.

  He was wearing an outfit I’d seen before, but repetition didn’t make it less lovely. I loved his clothes; loved watching him dress, and undress.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “I wish we were staying home tonight. I want to undress you one piece of clothing at a time, enjoying your body between every unveiling.”

  Just the suggestion made my body tight. “Me, too,” I said, and knelt on the floor in front of him. I folded the short skirt under so it wouldn’t wrinkle or ride up. He didn’t teach me that, my Grandma Blake did, over a lifetime of Sunday church services where what I looked like seemed more important than the sermon.

  I laid my chin on the couch near his face. My hair spilling around me, brushing the sides of his folded hands, curling against his face.

  “Do your undies look as nice as mine?” I asked.

  “Brushed silk,” he said softly.

  I had a sensory memory so strong it made me shiver. The feel of him through the thick silk, the almost living texture that the brushed fabric had over the hardness of his body. I had to close my eyes to keep from letting him see it in my face. The image was so vivid it made me clench my hands.

  I felt him move a second before he kissed my forehead. He spoke with his lips still touching my skin. “Your thoughts betray you, ma petite.”

  I raised my face upward, sliding his lips down my face. He was utterly passive as I moved against him, until our lips met. Then his mouth pressed against mine, lips and tongue working. Neither of us used our hands, only our mouths touching. Our faces pressed together.

  “Can I cut in?” The familiar voice was so heavy with anger that it made me draw back from Jean-Claude.

  Richard stood at the end of the couch staring down at us. I hadn’t heard him come up. Had Jean-Claude? I was betting he had. Somehow I never thought that even in the throes of passion Jean-Claude would ever let anyone sneak up on him. Or maybe I just didn’t think I was that distracting. Poor self-esteem, who me?

  I sat back on my heels and looked up at Richard. He was dressed in a black tux, complete with tails. His long hair slicked back into a ponytail so tight it gave the illusion of short hair. You always knew Richard was handsome but it was only when you got rid of the hair that you realized how perfect his face was. The high-scuplted cheekbones, the full mouth, the dimple. He stared down at me with that handsome, familiar face, and he looked arrogant. He knew the effect he had on me, and wanted to turn the knife a little more.

  Jean-Claude sat up on the couch, his mouth smeared with my lipstick. The red so vivid against his pale skin it looked like the surprised scarlet of blood. He ran his tongue around the outside of his mouth, then ran his finger across his upper lip, slowly, until it came away red. He put the finger in his mouth and sucked the lipstick off of it, very slowly, very deliberately. His eyes were on me, but the show was for Richard.

  I was both grateful for it, and angry about it. He knew Richard was trying to hurt me, so he was hurting Richard. But he was also baiting him, rubbing the proverbial salt in the wound.

  The look on Richard’s face was so raw I had to look away. “That’s enough, Jean-Claude,” I said, “that’s enough.”

  Jean-Claude looked amused. “As you like, ma petite.”

  Richard looked down at me again. I met his eyes. Maybe there was something in my face that was too raw to look at, too. He turned abruptly and left the room.

  “Go freshen your tasty lipstick, then we must leave.” Jean-Claude’s voice held regret, the way it sometimes held joy, or sex.

  I took his hand, raising it gently to my mouth. “Are you still frightened of them, even after all the good publicity? Surely if they were planning to kill us, they wouldn’t have appeared on camera with you.” I touched his leg, running my fingers over the cloth, feeling his thigh underneath. “The Traveler shook hands with the mayor of St. Louis, for heaven’s sake.”

  He touched my face, cradling my cheek in his hand. “The council has never before tried to be, what you would call, mainstream. It is their first foray into a very new arena. But they have been the stuff of nightmares for thousands of years, ma petite. One day of human politics does not make them into something else.”

  “But…”

  He touched fingers to my lips. “It is a good sign, ma petite. That I will agree to, but you do not know them as I do. You have not seen them at their worst.”

  My mind flashed on Rafael’s raw, bloody body; Sylvie sagging in the chains, voice small and broken; the sight of Fernando using Vivian. “I’ve seen them do some pretty awful things since they hit town,” I said. “You set up the rules, Jean-Claude. They can’t maim us, or rape us, or kill us. What’s left?”

  He kissed me lightly on the lips, and stood, offering me his hand. I took it, let him pull me to my feet. He was wearing his amused mask, the one that once upon a time I’d thought was his normal face. Now I knew it meant he was hiding things. He looked like that a lot when he was scared and didn’t want people to know.

  “You’re scaring me,” I said softly.

  He smiled. “No, ma petite, they will do that for me, for us all.” With that comforting shot, he went off to round up the others. I went for my purse and the tasty lipstick. The council had laid down some conditions of their own. No weapons tonight. Which was why I was dressed like I was; one glance was enough to know I wasn’t carrying anything. Jean-Claude thought this would keep them from having an excuse to pat me down. When I asked what the big deal was, all he would say was, “You don’t want to give them a reason to touch you, ma petite. Trust me on this.”

  I did trust him. I didn’t want any of the council touching me, ever. It was going to be a long night.

  49

  WHAT HAD ONCE been Jean-Claude’s living room and Nikolaos’s throne room before that, had been turned into a banquet room. They’d found a table that was over ten feet long. What you could see of the table was heavy clawed feet with lions’ mouths carved in bold relief. A tablecloth covered the table, so thick with gold embroidery that it shimmered under the lights. If they had meant for us to actually eat off it, I’d have been worried we’d trash it, but there was no food. There were no chairs. There were no plates. There were white linen napkins with gold rings, crystal wineglasses, and one of those industrial-size warmers with blue gas flames under its gleaming surface. There was a man hanging by his wrists, feet dangling helplessly over the gleaming table. He was hanging directly over the empty warming pan. His name was Ernie. His muscular upper body was bare. A gag cut across his face, trapping part of his long ponytail. His hair was shaved to nothing on either side of his face. The council hadn’t done it as torture. He’d done it to himself. He was one of Jean-Claude’s newest hangers-on, a human who wanted to be a vampire and was serving his apprenticeship acting as a sort of maid and errand boy. Now, apparently, he was the appetizer.

  Richard, Jean-Claude, and I stood with Jamil, Damian,
Jason, and surprisingly, Rafael, at our backs. The Rat King had insisted on accompanying us. I hadn’t argued too hard. We were allowed one person apiece plus Jason. Yvette had requested him especially. By taking him, we gained a werewolf, but his blue eyes were wide and his breathing a little too quick. Yvette was Jason’s idea of hell, and hell had sent out an invitation.

  Ernie stared at us all, kicking his feet and struggling, trying to talk through the gag. I think he was trying to say, “Get me down,” but I couldn’t swear to it.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Jean-Claude said. His voice filled the huge room, hissing and tumbling until the shadows gave his words back in harsh, sibilant echoes.

  Padma stepped out of the far hallway. He was dressed in a suit that glittered as gold as the tablecloth. He was even wearing a golden turban with peacock feathers and a sapphire bigger than my thumb. He looked like someone had called down to central casting for a maharaja.

  “You have offered us no hospitality at all, Jean-Claude. Malcolm and his people have offered us refreshment. But you, the Master of the City, have offered us nothing.” He motioned upward at Ernie. “This one walked in without our permission. He said he was yours.”

  Jean-Claude walked until he stood by the table and could look up into Ernie’s face. “You came home two days early from your family visit. The next time, if there is a next time, call first.”

  Ernie stared at him, eyes wide, making small hmmm sounds through the gag. He kicked his legs enough that he started to swing.

  “Struggling will just make your shoulders hurt more,” Jean-Claude said. “Be at peace.” As he said it, Ernie slowly grew limp. Jean-Claude had captured him with his eyes and was lulling him to, if not sleep, peace. The tension drained from him, and he stared at Jean-Claude, brown eyes empty, waiting. At least he wasn’t scared anymore.

  Gideon and Thomas came up to stand on either side of Padma. Thomas was in full uniform, boots polished like a black mirror. The helmet was white with a long tassel on top that was probably horsehair. The coat was red, the buttons brass, white gloves, even a sword.