Curcus of the Damned

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  It hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to die from it. I plunged the knife into its throat, screaming, not knowing what else to do. It gagged. Blood ran down my hand. I hit it again, and it reared back, blood on its fangs. It gave a frantic hiss and pushed itself off me. But I understood now. The weak spot was where the snake part met human flesh.

  I groped for the Browning left-handed; my right shoulder was torn up. I squeezed and watched blood spurt from the thing's neck. It turned and ran, and I let it go.

  I lay on the steps holding my right arm against my body. I didn't think anything was broken, but it hurt like hell. It wasn't even bleeding as badly as it should have been. I glanced up at Jean-Claude. He was standing motionless, but something moved, like a shimmer of heat. Oliver was just as motionless on his dais. That was the real battle; the dying down here didn't mean much except to the people who were going to die.

  I cradled my arm against my stomach and walked down the steps towards Edward and Richard. By the time I was at the bottom of the steps, the arm felt better. Good enough to change the gun to my right hand. I stared at the bite wound, and damned if it wasn't healing. The third mark. I was healing like a shapeshifter.

  "Are you all right?" Richard asked.

  "I seem to be."

  Edward was staring at me. "You should be dying."

  "Explanations later," I said.

  The cobra thing lay at the foot of the dais, its head bisected by machinegun fire. Edward caught on quick.

  There was a scream, high and piercing. Alejandro had Yasmeen twisted around in his arms, one arm behind her back, his other arm pinning her shoulders to his chest. It was Marguerite who had screamed. She was struggling in Karl Inger's arms. She was outmatched. Apparently, so was Yasmeen.

  Alejandro tore into her throat. She screamed. He snapped her spine with his teeth, blood splattering his face. She sagged in his arms. Movement, and his hand came out through the other side of her chest, the heart crushed to a bloody pulp.

  Marguerite shrieked over and over again. Karl let her go, but she didn't seem to notice. She scratched fingernails down her cheeks until blood ran. She collapsed to her knees, still clawing at her face.

  "Jesus," I said, "stop her."

  Karl stared across at me. I raised the Browning, but he ducked behind Oliver's dais. I went towards Marguerite. Alejandro stepped between us.

  "Do you want to help her?"

  "Yes."

  "Let me lay the last two marks upon you, and I will get out of your way."

  I shook my head. "The city for one crazy human servant? I don't think so."

  "Anita, down!" I dropped flat to the floor, and Edward shot a jet of flame over my head. I could feel the wash of heat bubbling overhead.

  Alejandro shrieked. I raised my eyes only enough to see him burning. He motioned outward with one burning hand, and I felt something wash over me back towards . . . Edward.

  I rolled over, and Edward was on his back, struggling to his feet. The nozzle of the flamethrower was pointed this way again. I dropped without being told.

  Alejandro motioned, and the flame peeled backwards, flowing towards Edward.

  He rolled frantically to put out the flames on his cloak. He threw the burning death's-head mask onto the ground. The flamethrower's tank was on fire. Richard helped him struggle out of it, and they ran. I hugged the ground, hands over my head. The explosion shook the ground. When I looked up, tiny burning pieces were raining down, but that was all. Richard and Edward were peering around the other side of the dais.

  Alejandro stood there with his clothes charred, his skin blistered. He began walking towards me.

  I scrambled to my feet, pointing my gun at him. Of course, the gun hadn't done a whole lot of good before. I backed up until I bumped the steps.

  I started shooting. The bullets went in. He even bled, but he didn't stop. The gun clicked on empty. I turned and ran.

  Something hit me in the back, slamming me to the ground. Alejandro was suddenly on my back, one hand in my hair, bending my neck backwards.

  "Put down the machine gun or I'll break her neck."

  "Shoot him!" I screamed.

  But Edward threw the machine gun on the floor. Dammit. He got out a pistol and took careful aim. Alejandro's body jerked, then he laughed. "You can't kill me with silver bullets."

  He put a knee in my back to hold me down; then a knife flashed in his hand.

  "No," Richard said, "he won't kill her."

  "I'll slit her throat if you interfere, but if you leave us alone, I won't harm her."

  "Edward, kill him!"

  A vampire jumped Edward, riding him to the ground. Richard tried to pull her off him, but a tiny vampire leaped on his back. It was the woman and the little boy from that first night.

  "Now that your friends are busy, we will finish our business."

  "NO!"

  The knife just nicked the surface, sharp, painful, but such a little cut. He leaned over me. "It won't hurt, I promise."

  I screamed.

  His lips touched the cut, locked on it, sucking. He was wrong. It did hurt. Then the smell of flowers surrounded me. I was drowning in perfume. I couldn't see. The world was warm and sweet-scented.

  When I could see again, think again, I was lying on my back, staring up at the tent roof. Arms drew me upward, cradled me. Alejandro held me close. He'd cut a line of blood on his chest, just above the nipple. "Drink."

  I put my hands flat against him, fighting him. His hand squeezed the back of my neck, forcing me closer to the wound.

  "NO!"

  I drew the other knife and plunged it into his chest, searching for the heart. He grunted and grabbed my hand, squeezed until I dropped the knife. "Silver is not the way. I am past silver."

  He pushed my face towards the wound, and I couldn't fight him. I just wasn't strong enough. He could have crushed my skull in one hand, but all he did was press my face to the cut on his chest.

  I struggled, but he kept my mouth pressed to the wound. The blood was Salty sweet, vaguely metallic. It was only blood.

  "Anita!" Jean-Claude screamed my name. I wasn't sure if it was aloud or in my head.

  "Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, the two shall be as one. One flesh, one blood, one soul." Somewhere deep inside me, something broke. I could feel it. A wave of liquid warmth rushed up and over me. My skin danced with it. My fingertips tingled. My spine spasmed, and I jerked upright. Strong arms caught me, held me, rocked me.

  A hand smoothed my hair from my face. I opened my eyes to see Alejandro. I wasn't afraid of him anymore. I was calm and floating.

  "Anita?" It was Edward. I turned towards the sound, slowly.

  "Edward."

  "What did he do to you?"

  I tried to think how to explain it, but my mind wouldn't bring up the words. I sat up, pushing gently away from Alejandro.

  There was a pile of dead vampires around Edward's feet. Maybe silver didn't hurt Alejandro, but it had hurt his people.

  "We will make more," Alejandro said. "Can you not read this in my mind?"

  And I could, now that I thought about it, but it wasn't like telepathy. Not words. I—knew he was thinking about the power I'd just given him. He felt no regret about the vampires that had died.

  The crowd screamed.

  Alejandro looked up. I followed his gaze. Jean-Claude was on his knees, blood pouring down his side. Alejandro envied Oliver the ability to draw blood from a distance. When I became Alejandro's servant, Jean-Claude had been weakened. Oliver had him.

  That had been the plan all along.

  Alejandro held me close, and I didn't try to stop him. He whispered against my cheek, "You are a necromancer, Anita. You have power over the dead. That is why Jean­Claude wanted you as his servant. Oliver thinks to control you through controlling me, but I know that you are a necromancer. Even as a servant, you have free will. You do not have to obey as the others do. As a human servant, you are yourself a weapon. You can strike one of us and
draw blood."

  "What are you saying?"

  "They have arranged that the loser be stretched over the altar and staked by you."

  "What . . ."

  "Jean-Claude, as affirmation of his power. Oliver, as a gesture to show how well he controlled what once belonged to Jean-Claude."

  There was a gasp from the crowd. Oliver was levitating ever so slowly. He floated to the ground. Then he raised his arms, and Jean-Claude floated upward.

  "Shit," I said.

  Jean-Claude hung nearly unconscious in empty, shining air. Oliver laid him gently on the ground, and fresh blood splattered the white floor.

  Karl Inger came into sight. He picked Jean-Claude up under the arms.

  Where was everybody? I looked around for some help. The black werewolf was torn apart, parts still twitching. I didn't think even a lycanthrope could heal the mess. The blond werewolf wasn't much better, but Stephen was dragging himself towards the altar. With one leg completely ripped away, he was trying.

  Karl laid Jean-Claude on the marble altar. Blood began to seep down the side. He held him lightly at the shoulder. Jean-Claude could bench press a car. How could Karl hold him down?

  "He shares Oliver's strength."

  "Quit doing that," I said.

  "What?"

  "Answering questions I haven't asked yet."

  He smiled. "It saves so much time."

  Oliver picked up a white, polished stake and a padded hammer. He held them out towards me. "It's time."

  Alejandro tried to help me stand, but I pushed him away. Fourth mark or no fourth mark, I could stand on my own.

  Richard screamed, "No!" He ran past us towards the altar. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. He jumped at Oliver, and the little man grabbed him by the throat and tore his windpipe out.

  "Richard!" I was running, but it was too late. He lay bleeding on the ground, still trying to breathe when he didn't have anything to breathe with.

  I knelt by him, tried to stop the flow of blood. His eyes were wide and panic-filled. Edward was with me. "There's nothing you can do. Nothing any of us can do."

  "No."

  "Anita." He pulled me away from Richard. "It's too late."

  I was crying and hadn't known it.

  "Come, Anita; destroy your old master, as you wanted me to." Oliver was holding the hammer and stake out towards me.

  I shook my head.

  Alejandro helped me stand. I reached for Edward, but it was too late. Edward couldn't help. No one could help me. There was no way to take back the fourth mark, or heal Richard, or save Jean-Claude. But at least I wouldn't put the stake through Jean­Claude. That I could stop. That I would not do.

  Alejandro was leading me towards the altar.

  Marguerite had crawled to one side of the dais. She was kneeling, rocking gently back and fourth. Her face was a bloody mask. She'd clawed her eyes out.

  Oliver held the stake and mallet out to me with his white-gloved hands, still wet with Richard's blood. I shook my head.

  "You will take it. You will do as I say." His little clown face was frowning at me.

  "Fuck you," I said.

  "Alejandro, you control her now."

  "She is my servant, master, yes."

  Oliver held the stake out towards me. "Then have her finish him."

  "I cannot force her, master." Alejandro smiled as he said it.

  "Why not?"

  "She is a necromancer. I told you she would have free will."

  "I will not have my grand gesture spoiled by one stubborn woman."

  He tried to roll my mind. I felt him rush over me like a wind inside my head, but it rolled off and away. I was a full human servant; vampire tricks didn't work on me, not even Oliver's.

  I laughed, and he slapped me. I tasted fresh blood in my mouth. He stood beside me, and I could feel him tremble. He was so angry. I was ruining his moment.

  Alejandro was pleased. I could feel his pleasure like a warm hand in my stomach.

  "Finish him, or I promise you I'll beat you to a bloody pulp. You don't die easily now. I can hurt you worse than you can imagine, and you'll heal. But it will still hurt just as badly. Do you understand me?"

  I stared down at Jean-Claude. He was staring at me. His dark blue eyes were as lovely as ever.

  "I won't do it," I said.

  "You still care about him? After all he has done to you?"

  I nodded.

  "Do him, now, or I will kill him slowly. I will pick pieces of flesh from his bones but never kill him. As long as his heart and head are intact, he won't die, no matter what I do to him."

  I looked at Jean-Claude. I couldn't stand by and let Oliver torture him, not if I could help it. Wasn't a clean death better? Wasn't it?

  I took the stake from Oliver. "I'll do it."

  Oliver smiled. "You've made a wise decision. Jean-Claude would thank you if he could."

  I stared down at Jean-Claude, stake in one hand. I touched his chest just over the burn scar. My hand came away smeared with blood.

  "Do it, now!" Oliver said.

  I turned to Oliver, reaching my left hand out for the hammer. As he handed it to me, I shoved the ash stake through his chest.

  Karl screamed. Blood poured out of Oliver's mouth. He seemed frozen, as if he couldn't move with the stake in his heart, but he wasn't dead, not yet. My fingers tore into the meat of his throat and pulled, pulled great gobbets of flesh, until I saw spine, glistening and wet. I wrapped my hand around his spine and jerked it free. His head lolled to one side, held by a few strips of meat. I jerked his head clear and tossed it across the ring.

  Karl Inger was lying beside the altar. I knelt by him and tried to find a pulse, but there wasn't one. Oliver's death had killed him too.

  Alejandro came to stand by me. "You've done it, Anita. I knew you could kill him. I knew you could."

  I stared up at him. "Now you kill Jean-Claude, and we rule the city together."

  "Yes."

  I shoved upward before I could think about it, before he could read my mind. I shoved my hands into his chest. Ribs cracked and scraped my skin. I grabbed his beating heart and crushed it.

  I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight, and it hurt. I pulled his heart out of the hole. He fell, eyes wide and surprised. I fell with him.

  I was gasping for air. Couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe. I lay on top of my master and felt my heart beating for both of us. He wouldn't die. I laid my fingers against his throat and started to dig. I put my hands around his throat and squeezed. I felt my hands dig into flesh, but the pain was overwhelming. I was choking on blood, our blood.

  My hands went numb. I couldn't tell if I was still squeezing or not. I couldn't feel anything except the pain. Then even that slipped away, and I was falling, falling into a darkness that had never known light, and never would.

  48

  I woke up staring into an off-white ceiling. I blinked at the ceiling for a minute. Sunlight lay in warm squares across the blanket. There were metal rails on the bed. An IV dripped to my arm.

  A hospital—then I wasn't dead. Surprise, surprise.

  There were flowers and a bunch of shiny balloons on a small bedside table. I lay there a moment, enjoying the fact that I wasn't dead.

  The door opened, and all I could see was a huge bunch of flowers. Then the flowers lowered, and it was Richard.

  I think I stopped breathing. I could feel all the blood rushing through my skin. There was a soft roaring in my head. No. I wasn't going to faint. I never fainted. I finally managed to say, "You're dead."

  His smile faded. "I'm not dead."

  "I saw Oliver tear out your throat." I could see it in front of me like an overlay in my mind. I saw him gasping, dying. I found I could sit up. I braced myself, and the IV needle moved under my skin, the tape pulling. It was real. Nothing else seemed real.

  He raised a hand towards his throat, then stopped himself. He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it. "You saw Oliver tear out my throat,
but it didn't kill me."

  I stared at him. There was no bandage on his cheek. The circle cut had healed. "No human being could survive that," I said softly.

  "I know." He looked incredibly sad as he said it.

  Panic filled my throat until I could barely breathe. "What are you?"

  "I'm a lycanthrope."

  I shook my head. "I know what a lycanthrope feels like, moves like. You aren't one."

  "Yes, I am."

  I kept shaking my head. "No."

  He came to stand beside the bed. He held the flowers awkwardly, as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I'm next in line to be pack leader. I can pass for human, Anita. I'm good at it."

  "You lied to me."

  He shook his head. "I didn't want to."

  "Then why did you?"

  "Jean-Claude ordered me not to tell you."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "I think because he knew you'd hate it. You don't forgive deceit. He knows that."

  Would Jean-Claude deliberately try to ruin a potential relationship between Richard and me? Yep.

  "You asked what hold Jean-Claude had on me. That was it. My pack leader loaned me to Jean-Claude on the condition that no one find out what I was."

  "Why are you a special case?"

  "They won't let lycanthropes teach kids, or anybody else for that matter."

  "You're a werewolf."

  "Isn't that better than being dead?"

  I stared up at him. His eyes were still the same perfect brown. His hair fell forward around his face. I wanted to ask him to sit down, to let me run my fingers through his hair, to keep it from that wonderful face.

  "Yeah, it's better than being dead."

  He let out a breath, as if he'd been holding it. He smiled and held the flowers out to me.

  I took them because I didn't know what else to do. They were red carnations with enough baby's breath to form a white mist over the red. The carnations smelled like sweet cloves. Richard was a werewolf. Next in line for pack leader. He could pass for human. I stared up at him. I held out my hand to him. He took it, and his hand was warm and solid, and alive.

  "Now that we've established why you're not dead, why aren't I dead?"