ABVH 01 - Guilty Pleasures

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I felt light with relief. She believed. “You’re probably right. Thank you for the advice. I may even take it.” I felt so good, I patted Custard on top of his furry little head.

  I heard Mrs. Pringle say as I walked away, “Now, Custard, do your business and let’s go upstairs.”

  For the second time in the same day I might have an intruder in my apartment. I walked down the hushed corridor and drew my gun. A door opened. A man and two children walked out. I slipped my gun and my hand in the shopping bag, pretending to search for something. I listened to their footsteps echo down the stairs.

  I couldn’t just sit out here with a gun. Someone would call the police. Everybody was home from work, eating dinner, reading the paper, playing with the kids. Suburban America was awake and alert. You could not walk through it with a gun drawn.

  I carried the shopping bag in my left hand in front of me, gun and right hand still inside it. If worse came to worse, I’d shoot through the bag. I walked two doors past my apartment and dug my keys out of my purse. I sat the shopping bag against the wall and transferred the gun to my left hand. I could shoot left-handed, not as well, but it would have to do. I held the gun parallel to my thigh and hoped nobody would come the wrong way down the hall and see it. I knelt by the door, keys cupped in my right hand, quiet, not jingling this time. I learn fast.

  I held the gun in front of my chest and inserted the keys. The lock clicked. I flinched and waited for gunshots or noise, or something. Nothing. I slipped the keys into my pocket and switched the gun back to my right hand. With just my wrist and part of my arm in front of the door, I turned the knob and pushed, hard.

  The door swung back and banged against the far wall, nobody there. No gunshots at the door. Silence.

  I was crouched by the doorjamb, gun straight out, scanning the room. There was no one to see. The chair, still facing the door, was empty this time. I would almost have been relieved to see Edward.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs at the end of the hall. I had to make a decision. I reached my left hand back and got the shopping bag, never taking eyes or gun from the apartment. I scrambled inside, shoving the bag ahead of me. I shoved the door closed, still crouched by the floor.

  The aquarium heater clicked, then whirred, and I jumped. Sweat was oozing down my spine. The brave vampire slayer. If they could only see me now. The apartment felt empty. There was no one here but me, but just in case, I searched in closets, under beds. Playing Dirty Harry as I slammed doors and flattened myself against walls. I felt like a fool, but I would have been a bigger fool to have trusted the apartment was empty and been wrong.

  There was a shotgun on the kitchen table, along with two boxes of ammo. A sheet of white typing paper lay under it. In neat, black letters, it said, “Anita, you have twenty-four hours.”

  I stared at the note, reread it. Edward had been here. I don’t think I breathed for a minute. I was picturing my neighbor chatting with Edward. If Mrs. Pringle had hesitated at his lie, showed fear, would he have killed her?

  I didn’t know. I just didn’t know. Dammit! I was like a plague. Everyone around me was in danger, but what could I do?

  When in doubt, take a deep breath and keep moving. A philosophy I have lived by for years. I’ve heard worse, really.

  The note meant I had twenty-four hours before Edward came for the location of Nikolaos’ daytime retreat. If I didn’t give it to him, I would have to kill him. I might not be able to do that.

  I told Ronnie we were professionals, but if Edward was a professional, then I was an amateur. And so was Ronnie.

  Heavy damn sigh. I had to get dressed for the party. There just wasn’t time to worry about Edward. I had other problems tonight.

  My answering machine was blinking, and I switched it on. Ronnie’s voice first, telling me what she had already told me about HAV. Evidently, she had called here first before contacting me at Dave’s bar. Then, “Anita, this is Phillip. I know the location for the party. Pick me up in front of Guilty Pleasures at six-thirty. Bye.”

  The machine clicked, whirred, and was silent. I had two hours to dress and be there. Plenty of time. My average time for makeup is fifteen minutes. Hair takes less, because all I do is run a brush through it. Presto, I’m presentable.

  I don’t wear makeup often, so when I do, I always feel like it’s too dark, too fake. But I always get compliments on it, like, “Why don’t you wear eye shadow more often? It really brings out your eyes,” or my favorite, “You look so much better in makeup.” All the above implies that without makeup, you look like a candidate for the spinster farm.

  One piece of makeup I don’t use is base. I can’t imagine smearing cake over my whole face. I own one bottle of clear nail polish, but it isn’t for my fingers, it’s for my panty hose. If I wear a pair of hose once without snagging them, I have had a very good day.

  I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom. The top slipped over my head with one thin strap. There was no back; it tied across the small of my back in a cute little bow. I could have done without the bow, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad. The top slipped into the black skirt, complete, dresslike without a break. The tan bandages on my hands clashed with the dress. Oh, well. The skirt was full and swirled when I moved. It had pockets.

  Through those pockets were two thigh sheaths complete with silver knives. All I had to do was slip my hands in and come out with a weapon. Neat. Sweat is an interesting thing when you’re wearing a thigh sheath. I had not been able to figure out how to hide a gun on me. I don’t care how many times you’ve seen women carry guns on a thigh holster on television, it is damn awkward. You walk like a duck with a wet diaper on.

  Hose and high-heeled black satin pumps completed the outfit. I had owned the shoes and the weapons; everything else was new.

  One other new item was a cute black purse with a thin strap that would hang across my shoulders, leaving my hands free. I stuffed my smaller gun, the Firestar, into it. I know, I know, by the time I dug the gun from the depths of the purse, the bad guys would be feasting on my flesh, but it was better than not having it at all.

  I slipped my cross on, and the silver looked good against the black top. Unfortunately, I doubted the vampires would let me into the party wearing a blessed crucifix. Oh, well. I’d leave it in the car, along with the shotgun and ammo.

  Edward had kindly left a box near the table. What I assumed he had brought the gun up in. What had he told Mrs. Pringle, that it was a present for me?

  Edward had said twenty-four hours, but twenty-four hours from when? Would he be here at dawn, bright and early, to torture the information out of me? Naw, Edward didn’t strike me as a morning person. I was safe until at least afternoon. Probably.

  24

  I SLID INTO a no-parking zone in front of Guilty Pleasures. Phillip was leaning against the building, arms loose at his sides. He wore black leather pants. The thought of leather in this heat made my knees break out in heat rash. His shirt was black fishnet, which showed off both scars and tan. I don’t know if it was the leather or the fishnet, but the word “sleazy” came to mind. He had passed over some invisible line, from flirt to hustler.

  I tried to picture him at twelve. It didn’t work. Whatever had been done to him, he was what he was, and that was what I had to deal with. I wasn’t a psychiatrist who could afford to feel sorry for the poor unfortunate. Pity is an emotion that can get you killed. The only thing more dangerous is blind hate, and maybe love.

  Phillip pushed away from the wall and walked towards the car. I unlocked his door, and he slid inside. He smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and faintly of sweat.

  I pulled away from the curb. “Aggressive little outfit there, Phillip.”

  He turned to stare at me, face immobile, eyes hidden behind the same sunglasses he had worn earlier. He lounged in the seat, one leg bent and pressed against the door, the other spread wide, knee tucked up on the seat. “Take Seventy West.” His voice was rough, almost hoarse. />
  There is that moment when you are alone with a man and you both realize it. Alone together, there are always possibilities in that. There is a nearly painful awareness of each other. It can lead to awkwardness, to sex, or to fear, depending on the man and the situation.

  Well, we weren’t having sex, you could make book on that. I glanced at Phillip, and he was still turned towards me, lips slightly parted. He’d taken off the sunglasses. His eyes were very brown and very close. What the hell was going on?

  We were on the highway and up to speed. I concentrated on the cars around me, on driving, and tried to ignore him. But I could feel the weight of his gaze along my skin. It was almost a warmth.

  He began to slide along the seat towards me. I was suddenly very aware of the sound of leather rubbing along the upholstery. A warm, animal sound. His arm slid across my shoulders, his chest leaning into me.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Phillip!”

  “What’s wrong?” He breathed along my neck. “Isn’t this aggressive enough for you?”

  I laughed; I couldn’t help it. He stiffened beside me. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Phillip. I just didn’t picture fishnet and leather for tonight.”

  He stayed too close to me, pressing, warm, his voice still strange and rough. “What do you like then?”

  I glanced at him, but he was too close. I was suddenly staring into his eyes from two inches away. His nearness ran through me like an electric shock. I turned back to the road. “Get on your side of the car, Phillip.”

  “What turns you,” he whispered in my ear, “on?”

  I’d had enough. “How old were you the first time Valentine attacked you?”

  His whole body jerked, and he scooted away from me. “Damn you!” He sounded like he meant it.

  “I’ll make you a deal, Phillip. You don’t have to answer my question, and I won’t answer yours.”

  His voice came out choked and breathy. “When did you see Valentine? Is he going to be here tonight? They promised me he wouldn’t be here tonight.” His voice held a thick edge of panic. I had never heard such instant terror.

  I didn’t want to see Phillip afraid. I might start feeling sorry for him, and I couldn’t afford that. Anita Blake, hard as nails, sure of herself, unaffected by crying men. Riiight. “I did not talk to Valentine about you, Phillip, I swear.”

  “Then how . . .” He stopped, and I glanced at him. He’d slid the sunglasses back in place. His face looked very tight and still behind his dark glasses. Fragile. Sort of ruined the image.

  I couldn’t stand it. “How did I find out what he did to you?”

  He nodded.

  “I paid money to find out about your background. It came up. I needed to know if I could trust you.”

  “Can you?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I said.

  He took several deep breaths. The first two trembled, but each breath was a little more solid, until finally he had it under control, for now. I thought of Rebecca Miles and her small, starved-looking hands.

  “You can trust me, Anita. I won’t betray you. I won’t.” His voice sounded lost, a little boy with all his illusions stripped away.

  I couldn’t stomp all over that lost child voice. But I knew and he knew that he would do anything the vampires wanted, anything, including betraying me. A bridge was rising over the highway, a tall latticework of grey metal. Trees hugged the road on either side. The summer sky was pale watery blue, washed out by the heat and the bright summer sun. The car bumped up on the bridge, and the Missouri River stretched away on either side. The air seemed open and distant over the rolling water. A pigeon fluttered onto the bridge, settling beside maybe a dozen others, all strutting and burring over the bridge.

  I had actually seen seagulls on the river before, but you never saw one near the bridge, just pigeons. Maybe seagulls didn’t like cars.

  “Where are we going, Phillip?”

  “What?”

  I wanted to say, “Question too hard for you?” but I resisted. It would have been like picking on him. “We’re across the river. What is our destination?”

  “Take the Zumbehl exit and turn right.”

  I did what he said. Zumbehl veers to the right and spills you automatically to a turn lane. I sat at the light and turned on red when it was clear. There is a small gathering of stores to the left, then an apartment complex, then trees, almost a woods, houses tucked back in them. A nursing home is next and then a rather large cemetery. I always wondered what the people in the nursing home thought of living next door to a cemetery. Was it a ghoulish reminder, no pun intended? A convenience, just in case?

  The cemetery had been there a lot longer than the nursing home. Some of the stones went back to the early 1800s. I always thought the developer must have been a closet sadist to put the windows staring out over the rolling tombstoned hills. Old age is enough of a reminder of what comes next. No visual aids are needed.

  Zumbehl is lined with other things—video store, kids clothing boutique, a place that sold stained glass, gas stations, and a huge apartment complex proclaiming, “Sun Valley Lake.” There actually was a lake large enough to sail on if you were very careful.

  A few more blocks and we were in suburbia. Houses with tiny yards stuffed with huge trees lined the road. There was a hill that sloped downward. The speed limit was thirty. It was impossible to keep the car to thirty going down the hill without using brakes. Would there be a policeman at the bottom of the hill?

  If he stopped us with Phillip in his little fishnet shirt, all nicely scarred, would he be suspicious? Where are you going, miss? I’m sorry, officer, we have this illegal party to go to, and we’re running late. I used my brakes going down the hill. Of course, there was no policeman. If I had been speeding, he’d have been there. Murphy’s law is the only true dependable in my life most of the time.

  “It’s the big house on the left. Just pull into the driveway,” Phillip said.

  The house was dark red brick, two, maybe three stories, lots of windows, at least two porches. Victorian American does still exist. The yard was large with a private forest of tall, ancient trees. The grass was too high, giving the place a deserted look. The drive was gravel and wound through the trees to a modern garage that had been designed to match the house and almost succeeded.

  There were only two other cars here. I couldn’t see into the garage; maybe there were more inside.

  “Don’t leave the main room with anyone but me. If you do, I can’t help you,” he said.

  “Help me how?” I asked.

  “This is our cover story. You are the reason I have missed so many meetings. I left hints that not only are we lovers, but I’ve been . . .” He spread his hands wide as if searching for a word. “ . . . cultivating you, until I felt you were ready for a party.”

  “Cultivating me?” I turned off the car, and the silence settled between us. He was staring at me. Even behind the glasses I felt the weight of his gaze. The skin between my shoulders crawled.

  “You are a reluctant survivor of a real attack, not a freak, or a junkie, but I’ve talked you into a party. That’s the story.”

  “Have you ever done this for real?” I asked.

  “You mean given them someone?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He gave a rough snort. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

  What was I supposed to say, no? “If we’re lovers, that means we have to play lovers all evening.”

  He smiled. This smile was different, anticipatory.

  “You bastard.”

  He shrugged and rotated his neck as if his shoulders were tight. “I’m not going to throw you down on the floor and ravish you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t be doing that tonight.” I was glad he didn’t know I had weapons. Maybe I could surprise him tonight.

  He frowned at me. “Follow my lead. If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, we’ll discuss it.” He smiled, d
azzling, teeth white and even against his tan.

  “No discussion. You’ll just stop.”

  He shrugged. “You might blow our cover and get us killed.”

  The car was filling with heat. A bead of sweat dripped down his face. I opened my door and got out. The heat was like a second skin. Cicadas droned, a high, buzzing song far up in the trees. Cicadas and heat, ah, summer.

  Phillip walked around the car, his boots crunching on the gravel. “You might want to leave the cross in the car,” he said.

  I had expected it, but I didn’t have to like it. I put the crucifix into the glove compartment, crawling over the seat to do so. When I closed the door, my hand went to my neck. I wore the chain so much it only felt odd when I wasn’t wearing it.

  Phillip held out his hand, and after a moment I took it. The palm of his hand was cupped heat, slightly moist in the center.

  The back door was shaded by a white lattice arch. A clematis vine grew thick on one side. Flowers as big as my hand spread purple to the tree-filtered sun. A woman was standing in the shadow of the door, hidden from neighbors and passing cars. She wore sheer black stockings held up by garter belts. A bra and matching panties, both royal purple, left most of her body pale and naked. She was wearing five-inch spikes that forced her legs to look long and slender.

  “I’m overdressed,” I whispered to Phillip.

  “Maybe not for long,” he breathed into my hair.

  “Don’t bet your life on it.” I stared up at him as I said it and watched his face crumble into confusion. It didn’t last long. The smile came, a soft curl of lips. The serpent must have smiled at Eve like that. I have this nice, shiny apple for you. Want some candy, little girl?

  Whatever Phillip thought he was selling, I wasn’t buying. He hugged me around the waist, one hand playing along the scars on my arm, fingers digging into the scar tissue just a little. His breath went out in a quick sigh. Jesus, what had I gotten myself into?