The Harlequin ab-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I got the implications; they'd become lovers after the Harlequin messed with them all badly enough. Requiem didn't do men, period. Belle had punished him over the centuries for refusing to bed men. To refuse Belle Morte anything was never a good idea, so he'd been serious about saying no. Someone on the Harlequin's team was very good at manipulating emotions. Scary good.

  I hugged Jean-Claude's arm tight to me and reached out to Nathaniel. I ended up touching his hip, just running my hand lightly along it. Shapeshifters were always touching each other, and I'd begun to pick up the habit. Tonight I didn't fight it.

  "You are never to speak of it," Requiem said, his voice low and very serious.

  "How much does it bother you to know that I've had sex with Anita, too?"

  Requiem stood in one swift motion, the black cloak swinging out, revealing that he wasn't wearing much under the cloak.

  "Stop," Jean-Claude said.

  Requiem froze, his eyes blazing with blue-green light. His shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, as if he'd been running.

  "I believe that lust is not the only emotion the Harlequin can incite," Jean-Claude said.

  It took Requiem a moment, and then he frowned and turned those sparkling eyes to us. "Our anger."

  Jean-Claude nodded.

  The light began to fade, like light moving away through water. "What are we to do, Jean-Claude? If they do not even observe their own rules, we are doomed."

  "I will ask for a meeting with them," he said.

  "You'll what?" Byron said, his voice squeaking just a little.

  "I will ask for a meeting between them and us."

  "You do not seek the Harlequin out, Jean-Claude," Requiem said. "You hide, cowering in the grass, praying that they pass you by. You do not invite them closer."

  "The Harlequin are honorable. What is happening is not honorable behavior."

  "You are mad," Byron said.

  "You think one of them is disobeying the rules," I said, quietly.

  "I hope so," Jean-Claude said.

  "Why hope so?" I asked.

  "Because if what is happening is being done with the full weight and approval of the Harlequin behind it, then Requiem is correct, we are doomed. They will play with us, then destroy us."

  "I don't do doomed," I said.

  He kissed the top of my head. "I know, ma petite, but you do not understand what force is against us."

  "Explain it to me."

  "I have told you, they are the bogeymen of vampirekind. They are what we fear in the dark."

  "Not true," I said.

  "They're bloody frightening, lover," Byron said. "We do fear them."

  "The bogeyman of all vampires is Marmee Noir, Mommie Dearest, your queen. That's who scares the shit out of all of you."

  They were quiet for a heartbeat or two. "Yes, the Harlequin fear the Queen of Darkness, our creator," Jean-Claude said.

  "Everyone fears the dark," Requiem said, "but if the Mother of All Darkness is our nightmare, then the Harlequin are the swift sword of the dark."

  Byron nodded. "No arguments from me on that one, duckie. Everyone fears her."

  "What are you suggesting, ma petite?"

  "I'm not suggesting anything. I'm saying, I've stood in the dark and seen her rise above me like a black ocean. She's invaded my dreams. I've seen the room where her body lies, heard her voice whisper through my head. Tasted rain and jasmine choking on my tongue." I shivered and could almost feel her moving restless in the dark. She lay in a room with windows, and they kept a fire below her, a continuous watch. She'd fallen into a "sleep" longer ago than most of them remembered. Once I'd thought they watched to celebrate her awakening, but I'd begun to realize most of them were as afraid of her as I was, which meant they were scared shitless. Marmee Noir liked me for some reason. I interested her. And from thousands of miles away, she messed with me. She'd made a cross melt into my hand. I'd have the scar until I died.

  "Speak of the devil and you bring him closer," Requiem said.

  I nodded and tried to think of something else. Oh, yeah, I knew what to think about. "The Harlequin are just vampires, right, which means they're subject to your laws, right?"

  "Oui."

  "Then let's use the law against them."

  "What do you propose, ma petite?"

  "This is a direct challenge to our authority. The council has forbidden any Master of the City to fight in the United States until the law decides whether you guys are staying legal or not."

  "You're not suggesting that we fight them?" Byron said.

  "I'm saying that we act in accordance with the law," I said.

  "Don't you understand, Anita," Byron said, "the Harlequin are who we turn to when the bad things happen, sort of. They are the police for us."

  "When the police go bad, they aren't police anymore," I said.

  "What are they?" he asked.

  "Criminals."

  "You cannot seriously suggest that we are to fight the Harlequin?" Requiem said.

  "Not exactly," I said.

  "What exactly then?"

  I looked up at Jean-Claude. "What would you do if someone powerful moved in on us like this?"

  "I would contact the council in hopes of avoiding open war."

  "Then contact them," I said.

  "I thought not everyone on the council liked us," Nathaniel said.

  "They do not, but if the Harlequin are breaking the law, then that would take precedence over more petty concerns," Jean-Claude said.

  "Have you forgotten how petty the council can be?" Requiem said.

  "Non, but not all on the council have forgotten what it means to live in the real world."

  "Which council member will you contact first?" Byron asked.

  There was a knock on the door. All of us with heartbeats jumped. Nathaniel gave that nervous laugh, and I said, "Shit."

  Lisandro's voice: "There's a delivery for you, Jean-Claude."

  "It can wait," he said, his voice showing some of the strain.

  "The letter with it says you're expecting it."

  "Enter," Jean-Claude said.

  Lisandro opened the door, but it was Clay who walked in with a white box in his hands. A box just like the one I'd found in the rest-room. I think I stopped breathing, because when I remembered to breathe, it came in a gasp.

  Clay looked at me. "What's wrong?"

  "Who delivered this?" Jean-Claude asked.

  "It was just sitting by the holy-item check desk."

  "And you just brought it in here," I said, my voice rising.

  "No, give me some credit. We checked it out. The note says Jean-Claude is expecting it."

  "What is it?" I asked, but was afraid I knew.

  "A mask," Clay said. He was looking at all of us now, trying to see why we were so upset.

  "What color is it?" Jean-Claude's voice was as empty as I'd ever heard it.

  "White."

  The tension level dropped a point or two.

  "With little gold musical notes all over it. Didn't you order it?"

  "In a way, I suppose I did," Jean-Claude said.

  I stared up at him and moved away enough so I could see his face clearly. "What do you mean, you suppose you did?"

  "I said I wanted to meet with them, did I not?"

  "Yeah, but so what?"

  "That's what this mask means, ma petite. It means they wish to meet, not to kill us, or torment, but to talk."

  "But how did they know what you'd said?" Nathaniel asked.

  Jean-Claude looked at me, and there was something in that look that made me say, "They're listening to us."

  "I fear so."

  "When was the mask delivered?" Requiem asked.

  Clay was still looking at us, as if waiting for us to throw him a clue. "We're not sure. I went on break about thirty minutes ago. It must have come while I was off the door."

  "How long have you been back on the door?" Jean-Claude asked.

  "Maybe five minutes."
/>   "They were listening," Requiem said.

  "They knew what Jean-Claude was going to say," Byron said, and his voice held more panic than most vampires would have shown. He just couldn't quite keep all the emotion out of his face and voice.

  "What is going on?" Clay asked.

  "Something big and bad has come to town," Lisandro said. "They won't tell us about it, but they'll expect us to fight it, and die because of it." His voice sounded bitter.

  "What are the rules about telling our soldiers about… them?" I asked.

  Jean-Claude took in a deep, deep breath, and shook, almost like a bird settling its feathers. "Mutable."

  "Mutable—oh, it depends."

  He nodded.

  Then I had a smart idea. "I believe we'd know if someone was listening in on us metaphysically, especially another vampire."

  "They are very powerful, ma petite."

  "Lisandro," I said.

  He came to his version of attention; he gave me all his concentration. There was a demand to his dark eyes. If I widowed his wife, he wanted to know why. I thought he deserved to know why, but first things first. "I need this room swept for bugs."

  "What kind of bugs?"

  "Anything that would let someone listen to us."

  "You think they are relying on technology, ma petite?"

  "I don't believe that any vampire could spy on us like this without our sensing it."

  "They are very powerful, ma petite."

  "They are fucking ghosts, lover," Byron said.

  "Fine, they're ghosts, but it doesn't do any harm to look for technology. If the room is clean, then we can blame it on spooky stuff, but let's look for tech first."

  Jean-Claude looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "It would be interesting if they used listening devices."

  "Did you look for bugs in London?" Nathaniel asked.

  Byron and Requiem exchanged a look, then both shook their heads. "It never occurred to us, duckies. I mean this is the bloody…" Byron licked his lips and stopped himself before saying their name, just in case. "They are ghosts, bogeys, walking nightmares. You don't expect the bogeyman to need technology."

  "Exactly," I said.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

  "It means that most vampires don't use technology much. If these guys use it a lot, then it would seem like magic, if you didn't know what it was."

  "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," Requiem said.

  I nodded.

  He stared at me. "My evening star, you are full of surprises."

  "I just don't think like a vampire."

  "Does Rafael have someone he trusts to clean a room of such things?" Jean-Claude asked.

  "Yes," Lisandro said.

  "Then do it."

  "How soon do you need it?"

  "We said we wanted to meet with them a minute or two ago, and the mask arrives with the invitation," I said.

  "So, like yesterday," Lisandro said.

  "Or sooner," I said.

  He nodded. "I'll make the call." He hesitated at the door. "I'll put someone on the door, and I'll use a phone outside the club."

  "Good thinking," I said.

  "It's what I do." Then he was gone.

  "Where do you want this?" Clay asked, motioning with the box.

  "Put it on the desk with the other one, I guess."

  He put it beside the first one. Jean-Claude didn't seem to want to touch it. I was the one who opened it and found the white mask staring sightless up at me. But this one looked more finished, with gilt musical notes decorating the face. I touched a note and found it was raised above the rest of the mask. The note with it said only, "As you requested."

  "Is there writing inside the mask?" Jean-Claude asked.

  I lifted it out of the tissue paper. Inside the smooth bow of the mask was writing. "Do not read it out loud, ma petite."

  I didn't, I just handed it to him. Inside the mask was written "Circus of the Damned," and a date that was two days away. The date was written backward with the day first, then the month, then the year like they wrote it in Europe. They'd chosen one of Jean-Claude's own businesses for the meeting. Was that good, bad, or neither? Did it mean we had home-court advantage, or that they were planning to torch the place? I wanted to ask, but didn't want our enemies to hear the question. If we did find bugs in this office, we'd have to look everywhere. All the offices, all the businesses, my house, all of it.

  I was praying we found bugs, because the alternative was that these vamps were so good that they could plant psychic bugs inside our brains. You could find and destroy mechanical shit in the rooms; if they were good enough to use magic inside our heads, then we were fucked. We'd die when they wanted us to die, or we'd live, and either way it would be their idea, and not ours. I never thought I'd pray to have our offices turn out to be bugged. Funny, what turns out to be the lesser evil some nights.

  Chapter Nine

  DAWN HAD COME and all the vampires were asnooze in their coffins when I finally got a few minutes to try Edward again. I'd called twice while Lisandro's experts searched everything. They had found bugs, but not where they were listening to us, like listening posts. Hours of work later and we were clean. We actually got lucky. The bugs weren't the smallest and latest cutting-edge technology. Which meant they needed to be close to the clubs to hear. Probably something mobile like a van, the experts said. The tech was good, but not the latest and greatest. Which probably meant the Harlequin didn't know how to hack phone lines and computer systems. Probably. But even the listening devices we found were pretty high tech for a bunch of ancient vampires. Made me wonder what other wonders of modern technology they might be willing to use. Most vamps relied on vampire powers. I wasn't sure the Harlequin did. In fact, I was betting they didn't. Ancient vampires and armed with modern shit; it just wasn't fair.

  I wanted to even those odds, so I was in Jean-Claude's bathroom with my cell phone, trying one last time to reach Edward.

  I dialed the number, and had almost given up when I heard the phone click over. The voice that answered the phone was thick with sleep. For a second I thought it was Edward, so I said, "Edward?"

  The voice cleared a little and said, "Anita, that you?" The voice was male, but definitely not Edward. Shit.

  Edward was engaged to a widow with two kids. Lately when I wanted to be sure I'd get him the first time, I called Donna's house, not his. They weren't officially living together, but he spent more time at her place than at his own. "Hey, Peter, sorry, forgot the time difference."

  I heard some movement, as if he'd rolled over and taken the phone under the covers with him. "It's all right. What's up?" His voice had spent the last year breaking and finally settled into a deeper bass that still startled me sometimes.

  "I just need to talk to Ted," I said, hoping he hadn't heard the Edward earlier.

  "It's okay, Anita," and he gave a laugh that still held a lazy edge of sleep. "I know who Edward is, but you're lucky I answered the phone. Mom or Becca would have asked questions."

  This was the first I knew that any of Edward's new family knew his secret identity. I wasn't sure how I felt about Peter knowing, or about any of them knowing. They knew what he did, sort of, the legalish parts, but they didn't really know who Edward was, or at least that's what I had believed until now.

  I checked my wristwatch, which had gone on along with a robe. I did quick math in my head and said, "Shouldn't you be getting ready for karate class?"

  "They're painting the dojo." he said.

  I would also have asked why he had a phone in his room, but he wasn't my kid. I mean, sixteen was a little young for your own phone, wasn't it?

  "I placed first in the karate tournament last Saturday," he said.

  "Congratulations," I said.

  "It's not like real fighting, not like you and Edward do, but it's still cool."

  "I've never won first place in a martial arts tournament of any kind, Pet
er. You're doing good."

  "But you have a black belt in judo, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "And you're training in other martial arts, right?"

  "Yeah, but…"

  "A tournament is just kid stuff, I know, but Edward says I have to wait until I'm at least old enough to sign up for military service before he'll take me on anything real."

  I did not like the sound of that at all. "Eighteen, right."

  "Yeah"—he sighed so heavily—"two years." He made two years sound like forever. I guess at sixteen it is.

  I wanted to tell him that there were other lives to live that had nothing to do with fighting, guns, or violence. I wanted to tell him that he couldn't follow in his almost-stepfather's footsteps, but I couldn't. It wasn't my place to say it, and Peter wouldn't have listened anyway. I was in the same business as his "dad," so I was cool, too. "Is Ted there?"

  "Anita," and he sounded chiding, "I know his real name."

  "Yes, but you're right, I should never have said Edward when calling this number. It should be Ted until I'm sure who I'm talking to. I'm practicing."

  He laughed again. I didn't think I was that funny. "Ted's here." I heard that slide of cloth again. "Though at eight on a day we don't have school, Mom and Ted are probably still in bed." He must have rolled over to look at a clock.

  "I didn't mean to call this early," I said, "I'll call back later." His voice sobered. "What's wrong, Anita? You sound all stressed." Great, I couldn't even control my voice enough to fool a teenage boy. Truth was, I'd finally realized that I wasn't just asking Edward to come hunt monsters, I was asking him to leave his family to come hunt monsters. Edward used to live to find bad things that could test his skills. He lived to be better, faster, meaner, quicker, more deadly than the monsters he hunted. Then he'd met Donna, and suddenly he had other things to live for. I wasn't sure he'd ever walk down the aisle with her, but he was the only father the kids had, and the only husband Donna had. Her first husband had been killed by a werewolf. An eight-year-old Peter had picked up his father's dropped gun and finished off the wounded shapeshifter. He'd saved his family while his father's body was still twitching on the floor. In some ways Edward fit in just fine. Edward picked Becca up from ballet class, for God's sake. But… but what if I got him killed? What if I got him killed and Peter and Becca lost another parent because I was too chickenshit to handle my own mess?