16
   The table was the largest of a string of small, black lacquer tables. It blended nearly perfectly with the black walls. My dress matched the decor. I was really going to have to look into something in a different color scheme. The table was set away from the wall, near the railing so that the growing crowd couldn't block my view of the dance floor. It also meant that my back was exposed. I had scooted my chair so that the wall was at my back, but I was very aware that the edge of the railing curved around on my right side, so that someone could walk up and shoot me, relatively hidden from anyone else.
   Of course, Liv was with me. She stood at my back, arms crossed over her stomach. All she needed was a sign over her head that flashed bodyguard.
   Admittedly, my purse was open. The gun was within reach, and it was tempting to put it in my lap. I was spooked, but that wasn't the point. We had a plan. The plan did not include the assassin being scared away.
   I touched Liv's arm.
   She bent down.
   "You're supposed to be unobtrusive."
   She looked puzzled. "I'm supposed to keep you safe."
   "Then sit down and pretend to be my friend. The trap won't work if I look like I'm being guarded."
   She knelt by me; too far to bend down, I suppose. "I will not risk being given to Sabin. I don't care if your assassin knows I'm here or not."
   It was hard to blame her, but I was willing to make the effort. I leaned into her. "Look, either work with the program, or get away from me."
   "I obey Jean-Claude, not his strumpet."
   As far as I could remember, I'd never done anything in my life to deserve being called a strumpet. "Jean-Claude said if you failed him, he'd give you to the rotting corpse, right?"
   Liv nodded. Her eyes searched the crowd behind me. She really was trying to do the job, and the effort showed.
   "He didn't say you'd be punished if I got hurt, did he?"
   Liv's eyes flicked to me. "What are you saying?"
   "If you scare away the hitter and spoil the plan, that's failure."
   She shook her head. "No, that's not what he meant."
   "He said never to fail him again."
   I watched her try to work out the logic. I was betting that logic wasn't one of her strong points.
   "Clever, Anita, but if you get killed, Jean-Claude will punish me. You know he will."
   I was wrong. She was a lot smarter than she looked. "But if you spoil our plan, he'll punish you anyway."
   Fear flashed through her eyes. "I'm trapped."
   I felt sorry for her. Pity for two monsters—no three—in one night. I was losing my edge. "If I don't get killed, I'll make sure you don't get punished."
   "You swear it?" She said the phrase like it meant more. Giving your oath was not a casual thing to her. A lot of vampires came from times when a man's or a woman's word was their bond.
   "I give you my word."
   She stayed kneeling for a moment longer, then stood. "Try not to get killed." She moved into the crowd, leaving me on my own, like I'd asked.
   The rest of the tables filled up quickly. The crowd spilled around the edges of the room on the raised area around the dance floor. So many people stood at the fenced edges that if the table had been by the wall, I'd have lost my view of the dance floor. Under other circumstances, I'd have appreciated the thoughtfulness. Another bodyguard could come along at any time. I was ready for some company.
   The crowd filled the two levels above, standing room only. I looked for Sabin's dark cloak, but didn't see him. The main dance floor was untouched. The way to the floor was barred by half a dozen vampires. They had quietly but firmly motioned everybody back to the sides of the room. Both male and female were dressed nearly identically, black lycra pants, boots, and black fishnet shirts. The women wore black bras under their shirts, but that was the only difference. I approved. Short little skirts or hot pants for the women would have pissed me off. The thought occurred that maybe Jean-Claude had dressed them with me in mind. He knew me too well in some ways and didn't have a clue in others.
   I scanned the crowd for Edward and for anything suspicious, but it was hard to pick out any one person in the jostling, laughing crowd. I couldn't spot Edward. I had to just trust that he was there somewhere. And although I did trust him to be there, the tightness in my chest didn't ease.
   Edward had cautioned me to be casual, not to look suspicious. Outwardly, I was trying. Inwardly, I was almost dizzy searching the crowd and that painful empty spot to the right and almost behind me where the railing went. I put my hands in my lap and forced myself to look down. If the assassin came now, I wouldn't be looking, but I had to get hold of myself. If I didn't, I was going to be so busy jumping at shadows, I wouldn't be ready when the real thing came. I was beginning to wish I'd let Liv stay.
   I took deep, even breaths, in and out, concentrating on the rhythm of my own body. When I could hear the blood flowing inside my head, I raised my face slowly.
   I stared calmly out at the crowd and the dance floor. I felt empty, distant, calm. Much better.
   A vampire came up to the railing in front of my table. Willie McCoy was dressed in a suit so horribly green it could only be called chartreuse. Green shirt, and a wide tie with Godzilla crushing Tokyo on it. No one would ever accuse Willie of matching any decor.
   I smiled. I couldn't help it. Willie had been one of the first vampires to ever cross that line from monster to friend. He scooted one of the chairs around so his back was to the open space. He sat down like he hadn't done it on purpose. I didn't have to pretend to be happy to see him.
   He had to lean a bit into me to be heard over the crowd's rising murmur. I could smell the sweet scent of the goop he used to slick back his short hair. Him being this close didn't even make me tense. I trusted Willie more than I trusted Jean-Claude.
   "How ya doing, Anita?" He grinned enough to show fang. Willie hadn't been dead three years yet. He was one of the few vamps I'd known before and after death.
   "I've been better," I said.
   "Jean-Claude said we were to bodyguard you, but to keep it casual. We'll drift in and out. But you looked spooked."
   I shook my head, smiling. "That obvious?"
   "To someone who knows ya, yeah."
   We smiled at each other. Looking into Willie's face from inches away, I realized that he was on my list. The list that Stephen was on. If someone killed Willie, I'd hunt them down. It surprised me to realize that any vamp had made the list. But Willie had, and come to think of it, I guess, so had one other vampire.
   Jean-Claude appeared on the far side of the club. Speak of the devil. A spotlight hit him from somewhere. It had to be coming from a fly loft, but it was hidden away so that it was hard to tell. A perfect place for a high-powered rifle. Stop it, Anita. Stop tormenting yourself.
   I hadn't truly realized how crowded the opening would be. Edward by himself searching for one lone assassin in this mass of people would have been poor odds. Maybe the vamps and werewolves were amateurs, but their extra eyes couldn't hurt.
   The lights began dimming until the only illumination was the spotlight on Jean-Claude. He seemed to glow. I wasn't sure if it was a trick or if he was making his own light from the skin outward. Hard to tell. Whichever, I was in the dark with an assassin, maybe, and I was not a happy camper.
   Hell with it. I put the Seecamp in my lap. Better. Not perfect, but better. The fact that just the touch of a gun in my hand made me feel better was probably a bad sign. The fact that I missed my own guns was a worse one.
   Willie touched my shoulder and made me jump enough that people near us glanced back. Shit.
   He whispered, "I got your back covered. Easy."
   Willie would make great cannon fodder, but he wasn't up to protecting me. He'd been a bit player before he died, and dying hadn't changed that. I realized if the shooting started and the bad guys were using silver bullets, I was worried about Willie. Worrying about your bodyguard is not good.
   Jean-Claude's voice rose through the darkness, filling it with a sound that caressed my skin. A woman standing near the table shivered as if she'd been touched. Her date put his arm around her shoulders, and they huddled in the dark, surrounded by Jean-Claude's voice.
   "Welcome to Danse Macabre. The night will be filled with surprises. Some wondrous." Two smaller spotlights hit the crowd. Cassandra appeared balanced on the railing on the second floor. She swept the coat back, revealing her body, stalking along the inches-wide iron bar like it was the floor, nearly dancing. Wild applause broke out. The second spot hit Damian on the first floor. He glided out of the crowd, swishing the embroidered coat around him like a small cape. If he felt silly in the outfit, it didn't show.
   He moved through the crowd with the spotlight following him. He touched a shoulder here, ran his hands through waist-length hair, put his arm around one woman's waist. Each one, man or woman, didn't seem to mind. They leaned into him or whispered in his ear. He came to a woman with long brown hair parted in the middle. She was dressed rather modestly for the crowd. Navy blue business skirt and jacket. Her white blouse had one of those big bows that are supposed to look like a tie but never do. Of the women around Damian, she looked the most normal. He circled her so closely that his body brushed her. She jerked away from every touch, eyes wide with fear I could see, even from across the room.
   I wanted to say, "Leave her alone," but I didn't want to yell. Jean-Claude wouldn't allow anything illegal, at least not in front of this many witnesses. Bespelling a group of people wasn't illegal. Mass hypnosis wasn't permanent. But one on one, it was permanent. Which meant that Damian could stand under the woman's window and call her out some dark night, no time limitation.
   Willie was leaning forward in his chair, his dark eyes on the woman and Damian. He didn't seem to be looking for assassins right that second.
   I watched the woman's face go blank of all expression, until she was like one asleep. Her empty eyes stared at Damian. He took her hand and leaned against the railing. He rolled both legs over, ending on his feet, still holding her hand. She took two hesitant steps to the railing edge. He put his hands on her waist, under her jacket, and lifted her high in the air, effortlessly, setting her down on the dance floor in her sensible black pumps.
   The spotlights on Jean-Claude and Cassandra died until the only light was that on Damian and the woman. He led her to the center of the dance floor. She walked, looking only at him as if the rest of the world no longer existed.
   Dammit. What Damian was doing was illegal. Most of the crowd wouldn't pick it up. Vampires were allowed to use their powers for entertainment purposes so even the media, if they were inside, would be okay with it. But I knew the difference; I knew the law. Jean-Claude had to know I'd recognize what was happening for what it was. Was she an actress? A plant for the show?
   I leaned into Willie, close enough to brush the shoulder of his suit. "Is she an actress?"
   He turned startled eyes to me, and I could see that the pupils had been swallowed by the brown of his eyes. Down a long dark tunnel there was a hint of fire.
   I swallowed hard and eased back from him, glad of the gun in my lap. "It's real, isn't it?"
   Willie licked his lips nervously. "If I say it is, you're going to do something to mess up the show. Jean-Claude will get mad at me. I don't want him mad at me, Anita."
   I shook my head but didn't argue with him. I'd seen what Jean-Claude did to vamps that angered him. Torture was putting it mildly. I had to find out what was going on but without disrupting things and drawing more attention to myself than I wanted tonight.
   Damian stood the woman in the center of the light. He focused her face on something we could not see. She stood there, empty and waiting for his commands. He stood behind her, folding his arms around her waist, rubbing his cheek against her hair. He undid the bow at her throat, and the first three buttons of her blouse. He rubbed his lips along her exposed neck, and I couldn't take any more. If she was an actress, fine; but if she was an unwilling victim, this had to stop.
   "Willie?"
   He turned to me slowly, reluctantly. His hunger made him want to watch. His fear of what I was about to ask made him slower.
   "What's up?"
   "Go tell Jean-Claude that the show is over."
   Willie shook his head. "If I leave your side and you get wasted, Jean-Claude will kill me. Slow and painful. I'm not leaving your side until I'm supposed to."
   I sighed. Fine. I leaned over the railing and motioned one of the vampire waiters over to me. He glanced off in the dark as if he could see Jean-Claude, even though I couldn't, then he walked over to me.
   "What is it?" he whispered. He leaned in close enough that I could smell the mints on his breath. Nearly ever vampire I knew used breath mints.
   I still had the Seecamp naked in my hand. I figured I could afford to get up close and personal with the new dead, so I leaned in and whispered back, "Is she an actress?"
   He glanced back at the little tableau. "Just a volunteer from the audience."
   "She wasn't a volunteer," I said. There had been a half dozen people that would have volunteered, but the vampire had chosen the one who was afraid. That extra little bit of sadism—they just couldn't resist it.
   "Tell Jean-Claude that if he doesn't stop this, I will."
   He blinked at me.
   "Just do it," I said.
   He walked around the edge of the dance floor, vanishing into the darkness. I could sort of follow him, more an impression of movement than anything else. I couldn't see Jean-Claude at all.
   Damian passed his hand above the woman's face, and when his hand came away, she blinked, awake at last. Her hands flew to her blouse, eyes frantic. "What's happening?" Her voice carried, thin with fear.
   Damian tried to take her in his arms, but she drew away, and all he caught was a wrist. She strained against him, and he held her easily. "Let me go, let me go, please!" She reached out to someone in the crowd. "Help me!"
   The crowd had gone very quiet, quiet enough that I could hear the voice of her supposed friend, "Enjoy it. It's just part of the show."
   Damian jerked her around to face him, hard enough that there would be bruises. As soon as her eyes met his, her face went blank. She sagged to her knees, still held by one wrist.
   He raised her to her feet, gently now. He clasped her against him and drew her hair to one side, exposing a long line of neck. He turned in a slow circle as if they were dancing, showing her bare flesh to all.
   Willie leaned forward, tongue dancing over his lower lip as if he could taste her skin already. Willie was my friend, but it was good to remember that he was also a monster.
   The vampire waiter was coming back. I could see him moving towards me.
   Damian curled his lips, exposing fangs. He thrust his neck back giving everyone a view. I saw his neck muscles tense and we were out of time.
   Willie looked up as if realizing the shit was hitting a different fan, but there was no time.
   I shouted, "Don't do it, Damian." I pointed the gun at his back, about where the heart would be. When a vamp gets around five hundred, one shot to the chest, silver bullets or not, doesn't always guarantee a kill. But we would by God find out if he bit her.
   Willie raised his hand toward me.
   "Don't, Willie." I meant it. Just because nobody else was allowed to kill him, didn't mean I couldn't.
   Willie sank back into his chair.
   Damian relaxed enough to turn his head and look at me. He turned so that the girl was in front of him like a shield. Her hair was still back on one side, her neck still exposed. He stared at me, running one finger down her naked flesh. Daring me.
   A dim spotlight shone on me, and the illumination built as I walked very carefully to the two steps that led down to the dance floor. Vaulting the railing might have looked better, but it made it damn hard to hold a target. I could probably have made the head shot from the railing, but with an unfamiliar gun, it was too risky. I didn't want to accidentally shoot the woman in the head. Killing the hostage is always frowned upon.
   The vampire waiters and waitresses didn't know what to do. If I'd been some schmuck off the street, they might have tried to jump me, but I was their master's beloved, which made things a little sticky. I kept a sort of peripheral eye on them. "You guys back up and give me some room—right now."
   They all glanced at each other.
   "You don't want to crowd me, boys and girls, so move it!" They moved.
   When I was close enough to feel confident that I could make the shot, I stopped. "Let her go, Damian."
   "She will not be harmed, Anita. Just a little fun."
   "She's unwilling. That's against the law, even for entertainment purposes, so let her go, or I'll blow your fucking head off."
   "Would you really shoot me in front of all these witnesses?"
   "You bet," I said. "Besides, you're over five hundred years old. I don't think one shot to the head will kill you, not permanently at least. But it'll hurt like hell and may leave scars. You wouldn't want to spoil that beautiful face, now would you?" I was getting tired of holding one arm out. It wasn't that the gun was heavy, but it was hard to hold a one-handed pose for long without starting to waver. I didn't want to waver.
   He stared at me for a space of heartbeats. He very carefully, very slowly licked the side of the woman's neck, strange green eyes staring at me the whole time. It was a dare. If he thought I was bluffing, he'd picked the wrong girl.
   I let my breath out until my body was quiet, and I could hear my pulse in my ears. I sighted down my arm, down the gun, and . . . he was gone. He'd moved so suddenly it startled me. I moved my finger off the trigger and pointed the gun skyward, waiting for my heart to stop pounding.
   He was standing just at the edge of the light, leaving the woman empty-faced, waiting. Damian stared at me.
   "Are you going to interrupt our entertainment every night?" he asked.
   "I don't like it," I said, "but pick a volunteer, and I have no quarrel with you."
   "A volunteer," he said, turning in a circle to view the audience. They all stared at him. He licked his lips, and hands went up.
   I shook my head and put the gun up. I took the woman's hand. "Release her, Damian," I said.
   He glanced back at her and did it. Her eyes flew open wide, searching frantically like someone awakened from a nightmare to find it real. I patted her hand.
   "It's all right. You're safe now."
   "What's happening? What's happening?" She caught sight of Damian and started sobbing hysterically.
   Jean-Claude appeared on the edge of the light. "You have nothing to fear from us, fair lady." He glided towards us.
   She started screaming.
   "He won't hurt you," I said. "I promise. What's your name?"
   She kept screaming. She was taller than me, but I touched her face, putting a hand on either side, forcing her to look at me. "What's your name?"
   "Karen," she whispered, "my name's Karen."
   "We're going to walk off this dance floor, Karen, and no one will hurt you. You have my word."
   She nodded over and over, breath coming so fast I was afraid she was going to pass out.
   Cassandra walked into the light, but stayed back. "Can I help?"
   Jean-Claude had not moved since Karen started screaming. He just looked at me, and I still couldn't read his expression.
   "Yeah," I said, "I could use some help."
   Karen shied away from her. "She's not a vampire," I said.
   She let Cassandra take her other arm, and we led her off the dance floor away from the light. Jean-Claude stepped onto center stage, and his voice followed us into the darkness. "Did you enjoy our little melodrama?" There was a puzzled silence. His voice was like fur wrapping the crowd in the dark, breathing in their fear, giving them back desire. "We do not tease here at Danse Macabre. Who would like to experience the reality of Damian's kiss?" Someone would take him up on it. Someone always did. If anyone could salvage the show after the woman's hysterics, Jean-Claude could.
   Liv came to help, I think. Karen took one look at the muscle-bound vamp and fainted dead away. She was not a small woman, and it surprised both Cassandra and myself. She sagged to the floor. Liv started to come closer, but I waved her off.
   A woman from the crowd came towards us, hesitantly. "Can I help?" she asked. She was about the same size as Cassandra and me, small, with long reddish hair that swung to her waist, straight and fine. She was dressed in a pair of dark brown dress slacks, the kind that run large and have cuffs and are usually linen. For a shirt she wore only a vest with a silk camisole under it.
   I glanced at Cassandra. She shrugged. "Thanks, if you could take her feet." Cassandra could have flung the woman across her shoulders in a fireman's carry, but most lycanthropes didn't like to show off their strength. I could have carried her, too, even if she was so bloody tall. I could still have carried her for a short distance, but not fast, and not too far.
   The woman shoved her clutch purse under one arm and took the unconscious woman's feet. We got moving a little awkwardly, but we managed to get a rhythm and Cassandra took us to the women's rest room. Or I should say, lounge. The front part had a couch and a lighted vanity. It was white and black, with a mural on the wall that was from a woodcut that I knew, entitled "Demon-Lover." The demon in this version looked suspiciously like Jean-Claude, and I doubted it was accidental.
   We laid Karen on the black couch. The woman who was helping dampened some paper towels without being asked and brought them back. I laid them against Karen's forehead and neck. "Thanks."
   "Is she going to be all right?" the woman asked.
   I didn't answer, because that all depended on Damian. "What's your name?"
   The woman smiled almost shyly. "Anabelle, Anabelle Smith."
   I smiled up at her. "Anita Blake. This is Cassandra." I realized I didn't know her last name. Jean-Claude always called his wolves by only their first names, like a pet. "I'm sorry. I don't know your last name."
   "Cassandra is fine." She shook Anabelle's hand. They smiled at each other.
   "Should we report what happened to the police?" Anabelle asked. "I mean that vampire was going to force himself on her. That's illegal, right?"
   Karen stirred on the couch, moaning.
   "Yeah, it's illegal," I said.
   Anabelle raised an interesting point. I could report it to the cops. If a vampire acquired three complaints against him or her, you could get a death warrant issued, if you got the right judge. I would talk to Jean-Claude and Damian first, but if they didn't give me the answers I wanted, maybe I should go to the cops. I shook my head.
   "What are you thinking?" she asked.
   "Nothing worth sharing," I said.
   The bathroom door opened. Raina walked in wearing a cream-colored dress as short as my own. The dark hose and stiletto high heels made her legs go on forever. She wore a fur jacket in a dusty red, probably fox. She was the only shape-shifter I'd met who wore real fur that wasn't her own.
   She'd pulled her auburn hair on top of her head in a soft bun with loose strands of hair curled artfully around her face and neck.
   Karen chose that minute to regain consciousness. I wasn't sure she was going to like her wake-up call. I knew I didn't.
   I stood. Cassandra moved in front of me and a little to one side, not blocking me, but closer to the danger than I was. I wasn't used to anyone guarding me. It felt odd. I could take care of myself. That was the point, wasn't it?
   "What's happening?" Anabelle asked.
   Karen was looking around, eyes going wide again. "Where am I?"
   "Anabelle, can you sit with Karen, please?" I smiled when I asked, but I didn't take my eyes from Raina. The door had closed behind her, and there wasn't enough room to maneuver, not really. If Cassandra could hold her for a even a few seconds, I could get the gun out, but somehow I didn't think Raina had come to fight. I think she'd have worn different shoes.
   Anabelle sat on the couch and literally held Karen's hand. But she was watching the rest of us. Hell, it might be a better show than what was outside.
   "What do you want, Raina?" I asked.
   She gave a wide smile with her lipsticked mouth, baring small, even white teeth. "It's the ladies' room, isn't it? I came to powder my nose. And to see how our frightened guest is doing." She took two steps into the room, and Cassandra moved in front of her, blocking her way.
   Raina stared down at her. "You forget yourself, wolf." Her voice held a low edge of growl.
   "I forget nothing," Cassandra said.
   "Then stand aside," she said.
   "What did you mean by our guest?" I asked.
   She smiled at me. "I am Jean-Claude's partner in this little enterprise. Didn't he tell you?" From the look on her face, she knew the answer and was enjoying it.
   "I guess it slipped his mind," I said. "Why aren't you part of the show then?"
   "I'm a silent partner," she said. She pushed past Cassandra, body brushing the smaller woman. She knelt by the couch. "How are you feeling, my dear?"
   Karen stammered, "I just want to go home."
   "Of course you do." She glanced up and smiled. "If one of you would help me get her to her feet, there's a cab waiting to take her anywhere she wants to go at the club's expense. Or did you want to ride home with your friends?"
   Karen shook her head. "They aren't my friends."
   "So wise of you to realize that," Raina said. "So many people put their trust in the wrong people." She stared at me while she said the last. "And they get hurt, or worse."
   Anabelle had moved away from Raina. She was staring at all of us, clutching her purse. I don't think she understood everything we were saying, but she obviously was not having a good time. One good deed and she was already being punished.
   "Can you stand? Why don't you help me?" Raina asked Anabelle.
   "No, let Cassandra help you," I said.
   "Afraid I might eat your newfound friend?"
   I smiled. "You'll eat anything that can't get away. We all know that."
   Her face tightened, anger flashing through her amber brown eyes. "In the end, Anita, we will see who eats what." She helped the woman to stand.
   Cassandra whispered, "Jean-Claude told me to guard you."
   "Make sure she gets into a cab that really is going to take her home. Then you can follow me around for the rest of the evening, okay?"
   Cassandra nodded. "Jean-Claude won't like it."
   "I'm not too happy with him right now, either," I said.
   "A little help here," Raina said.
   Cassandra sighed, but she took Karen's other arm, and they helped her through the door. When the door closed behind them, Anabelle let out a long sigh. "What is going on?"
   I turned to the lighted mirror, leaning my hands on the vanity top. I shook my head. "It's too long a story, and the less you know, the safer you'll be."
   "I have to confess I have an ulterior motive." I watched her through the mirror, and she looked embarrassed. "I didn't just help out of the goodness of my heart. I'm a reporter, freelance. A quote from the Executioner would really put me on the map. I mean I could name my price, especially if you explained what just happened here."
   I bowed my head. "A reporter. Not exactly what I needed tonight."
   Anabelle came up behind me. "It was real on the dance floor, wasn't it? That vampire—Damian, right? He was really going to do her, right there, as part of the show."
   I watched her face in the mirror. She was vibrating with eagerness. She wanted to touch me. You could see her hands fluttering, nervous. It was a big story if I corroborated it. It would serve Jean-Claude right if I did.
   Something went through Anabelle's eyes. Some of the brightness leaked away.
   Several things happened almost simultaneously. Anabelle jerked my purse, the strap broke, she took a step back, and drew a gun from an inner-pants holster under her vest. The door opened, and three laughing women entered. The women screamed.
   Anabelle looked at the door for just a heartbeat. I drew a knife and turned. I didn't try and walk those two steps to her. I dropped to one knee and lunged my body like a line with the knife as the point. The knife entered her upper stomach. The gun moved towards me. I used my left hand to sweep the arm away. The shot went wild, cracking the mirror. I shoved the knife upward, under her sternum, shoved it until the hilt met flesh and bone, and jerked the blade up and sideways.
   Her hand convulsed on the gun and another shot hit the carpeted floor. The silencer made each shot seem muffled, almost anticlimactic.
   She sank to her knees, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing. I ran my hand down her arm and took the gun from her. She blinked at me, eyes unbelieving, then she fell abruptly as if her strings had been cut. She twitched twice and died.
   Edward was at the door, gun out, pointed. He stared from me to the fresh corpse. He took in the knife still protruding from her chest, the gun with silencer in my hand. He relaxed, pointing the gun at the floor. "Some bodyguard I turned out to be, letting you get dusted in the ladies' room."
   I stared up at him. I felt numb, distant with shock. "She almost got me," I said.
   "But she didn't," he said.
   I heard men's voices shouting, "Police! Everybody stay where they are. We'll check it out."
   "Shit," I said softly and with feeling. I laid Anabelle's gun by her body and sat back on the carpet. I wasn't sure I could stand right then.
   Edward holstered his gun and moved back from the door to join the crowd that was pushing forward to see the show. Just another part of the anonymous throng. Yeah, right.
   I sat there beside the corpse and tried to think of something to tell the cops. I wasn't sure the truth was an option I could afford right now. I began to wonder if I was going to see the inside of a jail tonight. Watching the blood soak the front of Anabelle's vest, it seemed likely.
   
   
17
   I was sitting in a straight-backed chair in Jean-Claude's office at Danse Macabre. My hands were cuffed behind me. They hadn't let me wash the blood off my right hand, and it had dried to a nice tacky substance. I was used to having dried blood on me, but it was still uncomfortable. The uniformed officers had taken the other knife and found the Seecamp in my purse. They had not found the big knife in the spine sheath. It had been a sloppy search to have missed a knife longer than my forearm, but the uniform that did it had at first assumed that I was another victim. It had shaken him to find out that the pretty little woman was a murderer. Oh, excuse me, alleged murderer.
   The office had white walls, black carpet, a desk that looked like carved ebony. There was a red lacquer screen with a black castle done high on top of a black mountain. There was a framed kimono on the far wall, scarlet with black and royal blue designs. Two smaller frames held fans: one white and black with what looked like a tea ceremony painted on it, the other blue and white with a flock of cranes. I liked the cranes best, and I'd had plenty of time to make a choice.
   One of the uniforms had remained in the room with me the entire time. They'd drunk coffee and not offered me any. The younger uniform would have uncuffed me, but his partner had pretty much threatened to beat the shit out of him if he did it. The partner was grey-haired with eyes as cold and empty as Edward's. His name was Rizzo. Looking at him, I was glad I'd put the gun on the floor before he came into the room.
   Why, you may ask, wasn't I at the police station being questioned? Answer: The media had bayed us. Four uniforms had been enough to control traffic and keep the media from mobbing anyone—until they smelled a breaking story. Suddenly, there were cameras and microphones everywhere, like mushrooms after a rain. The uniforms had called for backup and barricaded the murder scene and the office. Everything else had fallen to the cameras and microphones.
   There was a homicide detective standing over me—looming, actually. Detective Greeley was just under six feet tall, so broad-shouldered he looked like a big square. Most black people aren't truly black, but Greeley was close. His face was so dark it had purple highlights. His close-cropped greying hair looked like wool. But black, white, or brown, his dark eyes were neutral, secret, cop eyes. His gaze said he'd seen it all and hadn't been impressed by any of it. He certainly wasn't impressed by me. If anything, he looked bored, but I knew better. I'd seen Dolph get the same look right before he pounced on someone and tore their alibi apart.
   Since I didn't have an alibi, I wasn't worried about that. I'd told my story before they read me my rights. After Greeley mirandized me, all I'd said was that I wanted a lawyer. I was beginning to sound like a broken record, even to me.
   The detective pulled a chair around so he was sitting facing me. He even hunkered down trying not to be so intimidating. "Once we get a lawyer in here," Greeley said, "we can't help you anymore, Anita."
   He didn't know me well enough to call me by my first name, but I let it go. He was pretending to be my friend. I knew better. Cops are never your friends if they suspect you of murder. Conflict of interest.
   "It sounds like a clear-cut case of self-defense. Tell me what happened, and I'll bet we can do a deal."
   "I want my lawyer," I said.
   "Once we involve a lawyer, the deal goes out the window," he said.
   "You don't have the authority to make a deal," I said. "I want my lawyer."
   The skin around his eyes tightened; otherwise he looked the same, unmoved. But I was pissing him off. Couldn't blame him.
   The door to the office opened. Greeley looked up, ready to be angry at the interruption. Dolph walked inside, flashing his badge. His eyes gave the briefest of flicks to me, then settled solidly on Greeley.
   Greeley stood up. "Excuse me, Anita. I'll be right back." He even managed a friendly smile. He was putting so much effort into the act, it was almost a shame I wasn't buying it. Besides, if he was really being friendly, he'd have taken the cuffs off.
   Greeley tried to get Dolph to step outside, but Dolph shook his head. "The office is secure. The rest of the club isn't."
   "What's that supposed to mean?" Greeley said.
   "It means your murder scene, complete with victim, is being flashed on national television. You ordered that no one was to talk to the press, so they've been speculating. Vampires run amok is the choice rumor."
   "You want me to tell the media that a woman attached to a police squad is being charged with murder?"
   "You have three witnesses that all say Ms. Smith pulled her gun first. That it was self-defense."
   "That's something for the assistant district attorney to decide," Greeley said.
   Funny how when he was talking to me he could make a deal. Now that he was talking to another cop, suddenly the ADA was the only one who could make a deal.
   "Call them," Dolph said.
   "Just like that," Greeley said. "You want to cut her loose?"
   "She'll make a statement after we get her and her lawyer down to the station."
   Greeley made a rude sound in his throat. "Yeah, she's real hot for her lawyer."
   "Go talk to the press, Greeley."
   "And tell them what?"
   "That vampires aren't involved. That it was just bad timing that the murder happened at Danse Macabre."
   Greeley glanced back at me. "I want her here when I get back, Storr. No disappearing act."
   "We'll both be here."
   Greeley glared at me, all his anger and frustration filling his eyes for a second. The friendly mask was gone. "Make sure you are. The brass may want you in on this, but this is a homicide case, mycase." He shoved a finger at Dolph, not quite touching him. "Don't fuck with it."
   Greeley pushed past him and shut the door firmly. Silence thick enough to walk on filled the room.
   Dolph pulled a chair up in front of the desk, next to me, and sat facing me. He clasped his big hands together and stared. I stared back.
   "The three women say Ms. Smith pulled her gun first. She ripped your purse off, so she knew where your gun was," he said.
   "I flashed it a little too much tonight. My fault."
   "I heard about you joining the show out there. What happened?"
   "I had to police the show a little. The woman didn't want to play. It's illegal to use preternatural powers to coerce anyone into doing something they don't want to do."
   "You aren't a policeman, Anita."
   It was the first time he'd ever reminded me of that. Usually, Dolph treated me like one of his people. He'd even encouraged me to simply say I was with his squad so people would assume I was a detective.
   "You kicking me off the squad, Dolph?" My stomach was tight as I asked. I valued working with the police. I valued Dolph and Zerbrowski and the rest of the guys. It would hurt more than I wanted to admit to lose all that.
   "Two bodies in two days, Anita, both of them normal humans. That's a lot of explaining at headquarters."
   "If they'd been vamps or some other creepie-crawlie, everyone would look the other way, is that it?"
   "Picking a fight with me isn't your best bet right now, Anita."
   We stared at each other for a second or two. I looked away first, and nodded. "Why are you here, Dolph?"
   "I handle the media a lot."
   "But you're letting Greeley talk to the press."
   "You've got to tell me what's going on, Anita." His voice was quiet, but I knew by the tightness around his eyes, the way he held his shoulders, that he was angry. I guess I couldn't blame him.
   "What do you want to hear, Dolph?" I asked.
   "The truth would be nice," he said.
   "I think I need a lawyer first." I wasn't going to spill my guts just because Dolph was my friend. He was still a cop, and I had killed someone.
   Dolph's eyes narrowed. He turned to the uniform still leaning against the wall. "Rizzo, go get some coffee, black, for me. What do you want in yours?"
   Coffee was coming. Things were looking up. "Two sugars, one cream."
   "Get some for yourself, Rizzo, and take your time."
   Officer Rizzo pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning. "You sure about this, Sergeant Storr?"
   Dolph looked at him, just looked at him.
   Rizzo held his hands out in a sort of push away gesture. "I don't want Greeley riding my ass about leaving you two alone."
   "Get the coffee, Officer Rizzo. I'll take any heat that comes down."
   Rizzo left, shaking his head, probably at the stupidity of plainclothes detectives. When we were alone, Dolph said, "Turn around."
   I stood up and offered him my hands. He uncuffed me, but didn't pat me down again. He probably assumed Rizzo had done it. I didn't tell him about the knife they missed, which would piss him off if he found it later, but hey, I couldn't let the cops confiscate all my weapons. Besides, I didn't want to be unarmed tonight.
   I sat back down, resisting the urge to rub my wrists. I was heap-big-vampire-slayer. Nothing could hurt me. Yeah, right.
   "Talk to me, Anita."
   "Off the record?" I asked.
   He stared at me, eyes flat and unreadable, good cop eyes. "I should say no."
   "But," I said.
   "Off the record, tell me."
   I told him. I changed only one thing: that an anonymous call had alerted me to the contract on me. Other than that, it was the absolute truth. I thought Dolph would be happy, but he wasn't.
   "And you don't know why someone would put a contract out on you?"
   "For that kind of money, with a time limit on it, no."
   He stared at me, as if trying to decide how much truth I was telling him. "Why didn't you tell us about the anonymous phone call earlier?" He put a lot of stress on the word anonymous.
   I shrugged. "Habit, I guess."
   "No, you wanted to hotdog it. Instead of hiding out, you came here and played bait. If the hitter had used a bomb, you could have gotten a lot of people hurt."
   "But she didn't use a bomb, did she."
   He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If I hadn't known better, I'd have said he was counting to ten.
   "You got lucky," he said.
   "I know."
   Dolph stared at me. "She nearly did you."
   "If those women hadn't come in when they did, I wouldn't be talking to you now."
   "You don't seem worried."
   "She's dead. I'm not. What's to worry about?"
   "For that kind of money, Anita, there'll be someone else tomorrow."
   "It's after midnight, and I'm still alive. Maybe the contract will be canceled."
   "Why the time limit?"
   I shook my head. "If I knew that, I might know who put the hit out on me."
   "And if you find out who put the money up, what will you do?" he asked.
   I stared at him. Off the record or not, Dolph was still the ultimate cop. He took his job very seriously. "I'll turn the name over to you."
   "I wish I believed that, Anita, I really do."
   I gave him my best wide-eyed, innocent look. "What do you mean?"
   "Can the little girl routine, Anita. I know you too well."
   "Fine, but you and I both know that as long as the money is out there, hitters will keep coming. I'm good, Dolph, but no one's that good. Eventually, I'll lose. Unless the money goes away. No contract, no more hitters."
   We stared at each other. "We can put you in protective custody," Dolph said.
   "For how long? Forever?" I shook my head. "Besides, the next hitter might use a bomb. You want to risk your people? I don't."
   "So you'll hunt the money man down and kill him."
   "I didn't say that, Dolph."
   "But that's what you're planning," he said.
   "Don't keep asking the question, Dolph. The answer won't change."
   He stood, hands gripping the back of the chair. "Don't cross the line with me, Anita. We're friends, but I'm a cop first."
   "I value our friendship, Dolph, but I value my life and yours more."
   "You think I can't handle myself?"
   "I think you're a cop, and that means you have to play by the rules. Dealing with professional hitters, that can get you killed."
   There was a knock on the door. "Enter," Dolph said.
   Rizzo came in with a round tray and three slender black china mugs. There were little red coffee stirrers in each one. Rizzo glanced from Dolph to me. He stared at my uncuffed hands but didn't say anything. He sat the tray on the desk far enough from me that I couldn't have grabbed him. Officer Rizzo looked like a twenty-year man, and he was still treating me like a very dangerous person. I doubted that he'd have turned his back on Anabelle. If she hadn't grabbed my purse, she could have shot me in the back. Oh, I'd have seen it in the mirror, but I'd have never gotten my gun out in time. I'd never have let a man, no matter how friendly or how helpful, come up behind me like that. I'd made the same mistake with Anabelle that people made with me. I'd seen a small, pretty woman and underestimated her. I was a female chauvinist piglet. It had nearly been a fatal flaw.
   Dolph handed me the mug that held the lightest-colored coffee. It was too much to hope that the cream would be real, but either way it looked wonderful. I'd never met coffee that wasn't wonderful. It was just a matter of how wonderful it was. I took a hesitant sip of the steaming liquid and made appreciative 'mmm' sounds. It was real coffee and real cream.
   "Glad you like it," Rizzo said.
   I looked up at him. "Thank you, Officer."
   He grunted and moved away from us to lean against the other wall.
   "I talked to Ted Forrester, your pet bounty hunter. The gun in your purse is registered to him." Dolph sat back down, blowing on his coffee.
   Ted Forrester was one of Edward's aliases. It had stood up to police scrutiny once before when we ended up with bodies on the ground. He was, as far as the police knew, a bounty hunter specializing in preternatural creatures. Most bounty hunters stayed in the Western states where there were still substantial bounties on shapeshifters. Not all of them were particularly careful that the shapeshifter they killed was really a danger to anyone. The only criteria some states had was that after death, the body was medically certified as a lycanthrope. A blood test was sufficient in most cases. Wyoming was thinking of changing its laws because of three wrongful death suits that had made it all the way to their state supreme court.
   "I needed a gun small enough to fit in the purse but with stopping power," I said.
   "I don't like bounty hunters, Anita. They abuse the law."
   I sipped coffee and stayed quiet. If he knew just how much Edward abused the law, he'd have locked him up for a very long time.
   "If he's a good enough friend to bail your ass out of this kind of trouble, why haven't you mentioned him before? I didn't know he existed until that last trouble you had with those shapeshifter poachers."
   "Poachers," I said and shook my head.
   "What's wrong?" Dolph asked.
   "Shapeshifters get killed, and its poaching. Normal people get killed, and it's murder."
   "You sympathizing with the monsters now, Anita?" he asked. His voice was even quieter, so still you might have mistaken it for calm, but it wasn't. He was pissed.
   "You're mad about something other than the body count," I said.
   "You're involved with the Master of the City. Is that how you keep getting all that inside info on the monsters?"
   I took a deep breath and let it out. "Sometimes."
   "You should have told me, Anita."
   "Since when is my personal life police business?"
   He just looked at me.
   I looked down into my coffee mug, staring at my hands. I finally looked back up. It was hard meeting his eyes, harder than I wanted it to be. "What do you want me to say, Dolph? That I find it embarrassing that one of the monsters is my boyfriend? I do."
   "Then drop him."
   "If it were that easy, trust me, I'd do it."
   "How can I trust you to do your job, Anita? You're sleeping with the enemy."
   "Why does everyone assume I'm sleeping with him? Doesn't anybody but me date people and not have sex?"
   "I apologize for the assumption, but you got to admit a lot of people are going to assume the same thing."
   "I know."
   The door opened, and Greeley came back inside. His eyes took in the handcuffs being gone, the coffee. "You have a nice chat?"
   "How'd your statement to the press go?" Dolph asked.
   He shrugged. "I told them Ms. Blake was being questioned in connection with a death on the premises. Told 'em that no vamps were involved. Not sure they believed me. They kept wanting to speak to the Executioner. Though most of them were calling her the Master's girlfriend."
   That made me flinch. Even with a career of my own, I was going to end up being Mrs. Jean-Claude in the press. He was more photogenic than I was.
   Dolph stood. "I want to take Anita out of here."
   Greeley stared at him. "I don't think so."
   Dolph set his coffee on the desk and went to stand next to the other detective. He lowered his voice, and there was a lot of harsh whispering. Greeley shook his head. "No."
   More whispering. Greeley glared at me. "All right, but she comes down to the station before the night is over or it's your ass, Sergeant."
   "She'll be there," Dolph said.
   Rizzo was staring at all of us. "You're taking her out of here, but not to the station house?" It sounded accusatory even to me.
   "That's my decision, Rizzo," Greeley said. "You got that?" His voice growled the words. Somehow Dolph had pulled rank, and Greeley didn't like it. If Rizzo wanted to make himself a convenient target for that anger, fine.
   Rizzo faded back against the wall, but he wasn't happy about it. "I got that."
   "Get her out of here," Greeley said. "Try the back. But I don't know how you'll get past the cameras."
   "We'll walk through," Dolph said. "Let's go, Anita."
   I set my mug on the desk. "What's up, Dolph?"
   "I got a body for you to look at."
   "A murder suspect helping with another case. Won't the brass get mad?"
   "I cleared it," Dolph said.
   I looked at him, eyes wide. "How?" I asked.
   "You don't want to know," he said.
   I looked at him. He stared back. I finally looked away first. Most of the time, when people said I didn't want to know, it meant just the opposite. It meant I probably needed to know. But from a handful of people, I'd take their word for it. Dolph was one of those people. "Okay," I said. "Let's go."
   Dolph let me wash the dried blood off my hands, and we went.
   
   

18
   I'm not a big one for idle chatter, but Dolph makes me seem loquacious. We drove down 270 in silence, the hiss of the wheels on the road and the thrum of the engine the only sounds. Either he'd turned off his radio or nobody was committing crimes in Saint Louis tonight. I was betting the radio was off. One of the good things about being a detective on a task force is you don't have to listen to the radio all the time, because most of the calls aren't your problem. If Dolph was needed somewhere, they could always beep him.
   I tried to hold out. I tried to make Dolph talk first, but after nearly fifteen minutes, I broke. "Where are we going?"
   "Creve Coeur."
   My eyebrows raised. "That's a little upscale for a monster kill."
   "Yeah," he said.
   I waited for more; there wasn't any more. "Well, thanks for enlightening me, Dolph."
   He glanced at me, then back to the road. "We'll be there in a few minutes, Anita."
   "Patience has never been my strong suit, Dolph."
   His lips twitched, then he smiled. Finally, he laughed, a short, abrupt sound. "I guess not."
   "Glad I could lighten the mood," I said.
   "You're always good for a laugh when you're not killing people, Anita."
   I didn't know what to say to that. Too close to the truth, maybe. Silence settled over the car, and I left it alone. It was an easy, friendly quiet this time, tinged with laughter. Dolph wasn't mad at me anymore. I could stand a little silence.
   Creve Coeur was an older neighborhood , but it didn't look it. The age showed in the large houses set in long, sloping yards. Some of the houses had circular drives and servants' quarters. The few housing developments that had crept in here and there didn't always have big yards, but the houses had variety, pools, rock gardens. No cookie cutter houses, nothing declasse.
   Olive is one of my favorite streets. I like the mix of gas stations, Dunkin' Donuts, custom order jewelry stores, Mercedes-Benz dealerships, and Blockbuster Music and Video. Creve Coeur isn't like most ritzy areas, at war with the peons. This part of the city has embraced both its money and its commerce, as comfortable buying fine antiques as taking the kiddies through the drive-up line at Mickey-D's.
   Dolph turned on a road sandwiched between two gas stations. It sloped sharply, making me want to use the brake. Dolph didn't share this desire, and the car coasted down the hill at a nice clip. Well, he was the police. No speeding ticket, I guess. We sped past housing developments that branched off the road like true suburbia. The houses were still more distinct, but the yards had shrunk, and you knew that most of what you were driving past had never had servants' quarters. The road climbed just a touch, then evened out. Dolph hit his turn signal while we were still in the shallow valley. A tasteful sign said Countryside Hills.
   Police cars clogged the narrow streets of the subdivision, lights strobing the darkness. There was a huddle of people being held back by uniformed police, people clutching light coats over their jammies or standing with robes tied tight. The crowd was small. As we got out of the car, I saw a drape twitch in a house across the street. Why come outside when you can peek from the comfort of your own home?
   Dolph led me through the uniforms and the twist of yellow Do-Not-Cross tape. The house that was the center of attention was one story with a brick wall as tall as the walls of the house forming an enclosed courtyard. There was even a wrought iron gate to the curved entrance, very Mediterranean. Except for the courtyard, the house looked like a typical suburban ranch. There was a stone path and square, rock-edged beds full of rosebushes. Floodlights filled the walled garden, lending every petal and leaf its own shadow. Someone had gone way overboard on the in-ground lighting.
   "You don't even need a flashlight in here," I said.
   Dolph glanced at me. "You've never been here then?"
   I met his eyes and couldn't read them. He was giving me cop eyes. "No, I've never been here. Should I have been?"
   Dolph opened the screened door without answering. He led the way in, and I followed. Dolph prides himself on not influencing his people, letting them come in cold and make their own conclusions. But even for him, he was being mysterious. I didn't like it.
   The living room was narrow but long with a TV and video center at the end of it. The room was so thick with cops there was barely room to stand. Every murder scene gets more attention than it needs. Frankly, I wonder if more evidence is lost with all the traffic than is found with all the busy hands. A murder can make a cop's career, especially that jump from uniform to plainclothes. Find theclue or theevidence, shine at the critical time, and people notice. But it's more than that. Murder is the ultimate insult, the last worst thing you can do to another human being. Cops feel that, maybe more than the rest of us.
   The cops parted before Dolph, eyes shifting to me. Most of the eyes were male, and after the first glance, almost all of them did the full body look. You know the look. The one that if the face and top match, they just have to see if the legs are as good as the rest. It works in reverse, too. But any man that starts at my feet and ends with my face has lost every brownie point he ever had.
   Two short hallways led straight off the living room at right angles, a dining room directly off of the first room. An open door revealed carpeted stairs leading to a finished basement. Cops were traveling up and down the stairs like ants, with bits of evidence in plastic baggies.
   Dolph led me down one of the hallways, and there was a second living room with a fireplace. It was smaller and more boxlike, but the far wall was entirely brick, which made it seem warmer, cozier. The kitchen showed to the left through an open doorway. The top half of the wall was a pass-through, open like a window so you could work in the kitchen and still talk to people in the living room. My father's house had a pass-through.
   The next room was obviously new. The walls still had that raw paint look of fresh construction. Sliding glass doors made up the left-hand wall. A hot tub took up most of the floor space. Water still clung in beads to its slick surface. They'd finished the hot tub before they'd painted the room. Priorities.
   A hallway so roughed out it still had that heavy plastic they put down for workers to walk on led away from the tub. There was another larger bathroom, not quite finished, and a closed door at the end of the hall. The door was carved, new wood, light-colored oak. It was the first closed door I'd seen inside the house. That was kind of ominous.
   Except for the cops, I hadn't seen a damn thing out of place. It looked like a nice upper-middle-class house. A family kind of house. If I'd walked straight into carnage, I'd have been all right, but this long buildup had tightened my stomach, filled me with dread. What had happened in this nice house with its new hot tub and brick fireplace? What had happened that needed my kind of expertise? I didn't want to know. I wanted to leave before I saw some new horror. I'd seen enough bodies already this year to last a lifetime.
   Dolph put his hand on the doorknob. I touched his arm. "It's not kids, is it?" I asked.
   He glanced over his shoulder at me. Normally, he wouldn't have answered. He'd have said something cryptic like, "You'll see in a minute." Tonight, he said, "No, it's not kids."
   I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly through my lips. "Good." I smelled damp plaster, fresh cement, and underneath that, blood. The scent of freshly spilled blood, faint, just behind the door. What does blood smell like? Metallic, almost artificial. It isn't really much of a smell all by itself. The smell won't make you sick, it's what goes with it. We all know in some ancient part of ourselves that blood is the thing. Without it, we die. If we can steal enough of it from our enemies, we steal their lives. There's a reason that blood has been associated with almost every religion on the planet. It's primal stuff, and no matter how sanitized we make our world, part of us still recognizes that.
   Dolph hesitated, hand still on the doorknob. He didn't look at me while he spoke. "Tell me what you think of the scene, then I have to take you back for a statement. You understand that."
   "I understand," I said.
   "If you're lying to me, Anita, about any of this, tell me tonight. Two bodies in two days takes a lot of explaining."
   "I haven't lied to you, Dolph." At least not much, I added in my head.
   He nodded without turning around and opened the door. He went in first and turned so he could watch my face as I entered the room.
   "What's wrong, Dolph?" I asked.
   "See for yourself," he said.
   All I could see at first was pale grey carpet and a bureau with a large mirror against the right-hand wall. A cluster of cops blocked my view of the rest of the room. The cops stepped aside at a nod from Dolph. Dolph never took his eyes from me, my face. I'd never seen him so intent on my reaction before. It made me nervous.
   There was a body on the floor. A man, spread-eagled, pinned at wrists and ankles with knives. The knives had black hilts. He lay in the middle of a large red circle. The circle had had to be large so the blood didn't leak out and spoil it. Blood had soaked into the pale carpet, spread across it like a red ruin. The man's face was turned away from me. All I could see was short blond hair. His chest was bare, so slick with blood it looked like a red shirt. The knives held him in place. They hadn't been what killed him. No, what had killed him was a gaping hole in his lower chest just below the ribs. It was like a red-lined cave big enough to plunge both hands into.
   "They took his heart," I said.
   Dolph looked at me. "You know that from the doorway?"
   "I'm right, aren't I?"
   "If you were going to take his heart out, why not go straight down?"
   "If you wanted him to survive, like heart surgery, you'd have to break the ribs and go down the hard way. But they wanted him dead. If all you want is the heart, going under the ribs is easier."
   I walked towards the body.
   Dolph moved ahead of me, watching my face. "What?" I said.
   He shook his head. "Just tell me about the body, Anita."
   I stared at him. "What is your problem tonight?"
   "No problem."
   It was a lie. Something was up, but I didn't press it. It wouldn't have done me any good. When Dolph decides not to share information, he doesn't share, period.
   There was a king-size bed with purple satin sheets and more pillows than you knew what to do with. The bed was rumpled as if it had been used for something other than sleeping. There were dark stains on the sheets, nearly black.
   "Is that blood?"
   "We think so," Dolph said.
   I glanced at the body. "From the murder?"
   "When you're finished looking at the body, we'll bag the sheets and get them down to the lab."
   A subtle hint to get on with the job. I walked towards the body and tried to ignore Dolph. That was easier than it sounded. The body sort of stole the show. The closer I got, the more details I could see, and the more I didn't want to see. Under all that blood was a nice chest, muscular but not too much of a good thing. The hair was cut very short, curly and blond. There was something naggingly familiar about that head. The black daggers had silver wire curled around them. They'd been shoved to their hilts in the flesh, bones had broken when they'd been driven in. The red circle was definitely blood. Cabalistic symbols ran round the inside of the circle, traced in blood. I recognized some of them, enough to know that we were dealing with some form of necromancy. I knew the symbols that stood for death and the symbols that watched against it.
   For some reason, I didn't want to enter the circle. I walked carefully around the edge of it until I could see the face. With my back leaning against the wall I stared into the wide eyes of Robert the vampire. Monica's husband. The soon-to-be daddy.
   "Shit," I said softly.
   "You know him?" Dolph asked.
   I nodded. "Robert. His name's Robert." The death symbols made sense if you were going to sacrifice a vampire. But why? Why like this?
   I took a step forward and hit the circle. I stopped dead. It was like a million insects crawled and swarmed over my body. I couldn't breathe. I stepped back off the blood line. The sensation stopped. I could still feel it like a memory on my skin, in my head, but I was okay now. I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and stepped forward again. It wasn't like hitting a wall. It was more like hitting a blanket, a drowning, suffocating, maggot-crawling blanket. I tried to walk forward, tried to move past the circle, and couldn't. I staggered back from it. If the wall hadn't been there, I'd have fallen.
   I let myself slide down until I was sitting with my knees tucked up. My toes were inches from the circle. I did not want to touch it again.
   Dolph walked through the circle like it wasn't there and knelt beside me, part of him still in the circle. "Anita, what's wrong?"
   I shook my head. "I'm not sure." I stared up at him. "It's a circle of power, and I can't cross it."
   He glanced back at his own body partially inside the circle. "I can."
   "You're not an animator. I'm not a witch, and I don't know a lot of official magic, but some of the symbols are either death symbols or maybe symbols of protection from the dead." I stared up at him, my skin still shivering from trying to cross the line. A new horror spread through my mind. "It's a spell to both contain and keep out the dead, and I can't cross it."
   He stared down at me. "What exactly does that mean, Anita?"
   "It means," said a female voice, "that she didn't create the circle."
   
   
19
   A woman stood just inside the door. She was tall, slender, dressed in a purple skirt suit with a white man-tailored shirt. She walked into the room with an eagerness that made me knock about ten years off her age. She looked thirty, but she wasn't. Twenty-something and full of herself. Probably around my own age, but there was a shiny newness to her that I'd lost years ago.
   Dolph stood, offering me a hand up. I shook my head. "Unless you want to carry me, I can't stand yet."
   "Anita, this is Detective Reynolds," he said. He didn't sound entirely happy about it.
   Reynolds walked around the edge of the circle as I had, but she was coming for a better view of me. She ended up on the opposite side from Dolph. She stared down at me, smiling, eager. I stared up at her, skin still jumping from trying to force my way past the circle.
   She leaned down and whispered, "You're flashing the room, dear."
   "That's why the underwear matches," I said.
   She looked surprised.
   There was no way for me to stretch my legs out without touching the circle again, so if I wanted to quit flashing the room, I had to stand up. I held my hand up to Dolph. "Help me up, but whatever you do, don't let me fall into that thing."
   Detective Reynolds took my other arm without being invited, but frankly, I needed the help. My legs felt like spaghetti. The moment she touched me, the hair on my body stood at attention. I jerked away from her and would have fallen into the circle if Dolph hadn't caught me.
   "What's wrong, Anita?" Dolph asked.
   I leaned into him and tried to breathe slowly and evenly. "I can't take anymore magic right this moment."
   "Get her a chair from the dining room," Dolph said. He didn't speak to anyone in particular, but a uniform left the room, probably to get the chair.
   Dolph picked me up while we waited. Since I couldn't stand, it was hard to protest, but I felt like a damn fool.
   "What's on your back, Anita?" Dolph asked.
   I'd forgotten about the knife in the spine sheath. I was saved from having to answer by the uniform bringing one of the straight-backed chairs into the room.
   Dolph eased me into the chair. "Did Detective Reynolds try a spell on you?"
   I shook my head.
   "Someone explain what just happened."
   An unhealthy flush crept up Reynold's pale neck. "I tried to read her aura, sort of."
   "Why?" Dolph asked.
   "Just curious. I've read about necromancers but never met one before."
   I looked up at her. "If you want to do any more experiments, Detective, ask first."
   She nodded, looking younger, more unsure of herself. "I am sorry."
   "Reynolds," Dolph said.
   She looked at him. "Yes, sir."
   "Go stand over there."
   She glanced at both of us and nodded. "Yes, sir." She walked over to stand by the other cops. She tried to be nonchalant about it, but she kept looking over at us.
   "Since when do you have a witch on the payroll?" I asked.
   "Reynolds is the first detective ever with preternatural abilities. She got her pick of assignments. She wanted to join our squad."
   I was happy to hear him call it "our" squad. "She said I didn't draw the circle. Did you really think I'd done that?" I pointed at the body.
   He stared down at me. "You didn't like Robert."
   "If I killed everyone I didn't like, Saint Louis would be littered with bodies," I said. "Why else did you drag me down here? She's a witch. She probably knows more about the spell than I do."
   Dolph stared down at me. "Explain."
   "I raise the dead, but I'm not a trained witch. Most of what I do is just," I shrugged, "sort of natural ability. I studied basic magic theory in college, but for only a couple of classes, so if you want feedback on a detailed spell like this one, I can't help you."
   "If Reynolds hadn't been here, what would you have suggested we do?"
   "Find a witch to undo the spell for you."
   He nodded. "Any thoughts on who or why?" He jabbed his thumb behind his back at the body.
   "Jean-Claude made Robert a vampire. That's a strong bond. I think the spell was to prevent him from knowing what was happening."
   "Could Robert have alerted his master from this far away?"
   I thought about that. I wasn't sure. "I don't know. Maybe. Some master vampires are better at telepathy than others. I'm not sure how good Jean-Claude is with other vampires."
   "This setup took a while," Dolph said. "Why kill him like this?"
   "Good question," I said. I had a nasty idea. "It's a weird way to do it, but this might be a challenge to Jean-Claude's control over his territory."
   "How so?" Dolph had his little notebook out now, pen poised. It was almost like old times.
   "Robert belonged to him, and now somebody's killed him. Could be a message."
   He glanced back at the body. "But who is the message meant for? Maybe Robert pissed someone off, and it was personal. If it was a message for your boyfriend, why not kill him at Jean-Claude's club? That's where he worked, right?"
   I nodded. "Whoever did this couldn't have pulled off something so elaborate at the club, with other vampires around. No way. They needed privacy. They might have needed the spell just to keep Jean-Claude or some other vamp from riding to the rescue." I thought about it. What did I really know about Robert? Not much. I knew him as Jean-Claude's flunkie. Monica's boyfriend, now husband. A soon-to-be daddy. Everything I knew about him was through other people's perceptions of him. He'd been killed in his own bedroom, and all I could think of was that it was a message for Jean-Claude. I was thinking of him like a flunkie because Jean-Claude treated him that way. Because he wasn't a master vampire, no one would want to kill him for his own sake. Geez, I was actually thinking of Robert like a disposable commodity. We could always make more.
   "You've thought of something," Dolph said.
   "Not really. Maybe I've been hanging around vampires too long. I'm beginning to think like one of them."
   "Explain," Dolph said.
   "I assumed that Robert's death was connected to his master. My first thought was that no one would kill Robert for his own sake, because he wasn't important enough to kill. I mean, killing Robert won't make you Master of the City, so why do it?"
   Dolph looked at me. "You're beginning to worry me, Anita."
   "Worry, hell," I said, "I'm beginning to scare me." I tried to look at the murder scene fresh, not like a vampire. Who would go to this much trouble to kill Robert? I didn't have the faintest idea. "Except for this being a challenge to Jean-Claude's authority, I have no idea why anyone would kill Robert. I guess I don't really know that much about him. It could be one of the hate groups, Humans First or Humans Against Vampires. But they'd have to have some heavy magical know-how, and either group would stone a witch as fast as stake a vampire. They consider them both devil spawn."
   "Why would the hate groups single out this vampire?"
   "His wife's pregnant," I said.
   "Another vampire?" Dolph asked.
   I shook my head. "Human."
   Dolph's eyes widened just a fraction. It was the most surprise I'd ever seen from him. Dolph, like most cops, doesn't ruffle easily.
   "Pregnant? And the vampire is the father?"
   "Yes," I said.
   He shook his head. "Yeah, that might earn him a starring roll on the hate group hit parade. Tell me about vampire reproduction, Anita."
   "First, I need to call Jean-Claude."
   "Why?"
   "Warn him," I said. "I agree this probably is something personal to Robert. You're right. Humans First especially would kill him in a heartbeat, but just in case, I want to warn Jean-Claude." I had another thought. "Maybe that's why someone wanted me dead."
   "What do you mean?"
   "If they want to harm Jean-Claude, killing me would be a good way to do it."
   "I think half a million dollars is a little steep for bumping off someone's girlfriend." He shook his head. "That kind of money is personal, Anita. Someone's afraid of you, not your toothy boyfriend."
   "Two hired killers in two days, Dolph, and I still don't know why." I stared up at him. "If I don't figure this thing out, I'll be dead."
   He touched my shoulder. "We'll help you. Cops are good for some things, even if the monsters won't talk to us."
   "Thanks, Dolph." I patted his hand. "Did you really believe Reynolds when she said I could have done this?"
   He straightened, then met my eyes. "For a second, yes. After that, it was a matter of listening to my detective. We hired her so she could help out on the preternatural stuff. It would be stupid to ignore her on her first case."
   Not to mention demoralizing, I thought. "Okay, but did you really think I was capable of doing that?" I motioned towards the body.
   "I've seen you stake vamps, Anita. I've seen you decapitate them. Why not this?"
   "Because Robert was alive while they carved open his chest. Until they removed his heart, he was alive. Hell, when they took his heart, I'm not sure how long he might have lived. Vampires are strange when it comes to death wounds. Sometimes they linger."
   "Is that why they didn't take his head? So he'd suffer more?"
   "Maybe," I said. "Jean-Claude needs to be told, in case it is a threat," I repeated.
   "I'll have someone call."
   "You don't trust me to tell him?"
   "Leave it alone, Anita."
   For once I did what he asked. Even a year ago I wouldn't have trusted anyone dating a vampire. I'd have assumed they were corrupt. Sometimes, I still assumed that. "Fine, just call him now. Be bad if Jean-Claude got wasted while we were debating who should warn him."
   Dolph motioned one of the uniforms over. He scribbled something in his notebook, tore the page out, folded it, and handed it to the uniform. "Take this to Detective Perry."
   The uniform left, note in hand.
   Dolph glanced back at his notes. "Now, tell me about vampire reproduction." He stared at what he'd written in his notebook. "Even saying that sounds wrong."
   "Newly dead males often have leftover sperm from before death. That's the most common. Doctors recommend you wait six weeks before sex after you've become a vampire, sort of like after a vasectomy. Those babies are usually healthy. Being fertile is a lot rarer in older vamps. Frankly, until I saw Robert and his wife at a party, I didn't know vamps as old as he is could make babies."
   "How old was Robert?"
   "A century and some change."
   "Can female vamps get pregnant?" he asked.
   "Sometimes with the newly dead it happens, but the body spontaneously aborts or reabsorbs the baby. A dead body can't give life." I hesitated.
   "What?" Dolph asked.
   "There have been two reported cases of an older female vampire giving birth." I shook my head. "It wasn't pretty, and it certainly wasn't human."
   "Did the babies survive?"
   "For a while," I said. "The case that's the best documented was from the early 1900s. Back when Dr. Henry Mulligan was trying to find a cure for vampirism in the basement of Old Saint Louis City Hospital. One of his patients had given birth. Mulligan thought it was a sign that life was returning to her body. The baby had been born with a full set of pointed teeth and been more cannibal than vampire. Doctor Mulligan carried a scar on his wrist from the delivery until the day he died, which was about three years later when one of his patients crushed his face."
   Dolph stared down at his notebook. "I write it all down. But frankly, this is one bit of information I hope I never have to use. They killed the baby, didn't they?"
   "Yes," I said. "Before you ask, the father was not mentioned. The implication is that the father was human and may even have been Dr. Mulligan himself. Vampires can't make babies without a human partner, as far as we know."
   "Nice to know humans are good for something besides blood," he said.
   I shrugged. "I guess." Truthfully the thought of giving birth to a child with severe Vlad syndrome scared the hell out of me. I never planned on having sex with Jean-Claude, but if it ever came up, we were definitely taking precautions. No spontaneous sex, unless it included a condom.
   Something must have shown on my face, because he asked, "Penny for your thoughts."
   "Just glad I have high moral standards, I guess. Like I said, until I saw Robert and his wife, I thought a vampire over a century was sterile. And considering the length of time you'd have to keep the vamp's body temperature up"—I shook my head—"I don't see how it could be accidental. But they both claimed it was. She hasn't even gotten their amnio results back yet."
   "Amnio test for what?" he asked.
   "Vlad syndrome," I said.
   "Is she healthy enough to stand up under this kind of news?" he asked.
   I shrugged. "She looked fine, but I'm no expert. I'd say she shouldn't be told over the phone, and she probably shouldn't be alone. I just don't know."
   "Are you friends with the wife?"
   I shook my head. "No, and don't even ask. I am not going to hold Monica's hand while she cries over her dead husband."
   "All right, all right, it's outside your job description. Maybe I'll let Reynolds do it."
   I glanced at the young woman. She and Monica probably deserved each other, but . . . "Jean-Claude might know who Monica's friends are. If he doesn't, I know of one. Catherine Maison-Gillete and Monica work together."
   "Monica is a lawyer?" Dolph said.
   I nodded.
   "Great," he said.
   "How much are you telling Jean-Claude about this?" I asked.
   "Why?" Dolph asked.
   "Because I want to know how much I can tell him."
   "You don't discuss ongoing homicide cases with the monsters," he said.
   "The victim was his companion for over a century. He's going to want to talk about it. I need to know what you're telling him so I won't let something slip by accident."
   "You don't have a problem withholding information from your boyfriend?"
   "Not on a homicide. Whoever did this is at the very least a witch, and maybe something scarier. It's probably one of the monsters, one way or another. So we can't tell the monsters all the details."
   Dolph looked at me long and steady, then nodded. "Keep back the heart and the symbols used in the spell."
   "He'll have to know about the heart, Dolph, or he'll guess. Head or heart, there isn't a lot else that'll kill a century-old vamp."
   "You said you'd withhold information, Anita."
   "I'm telling you what will wash and what won't, Dolph. Keeping back the heart from the vamps won't work because they'll guess. The symbols, fine, but even there, Jean-Claude's going to have to have to wonder why he didn't feel Robert die."
   "So what can we withhold from your boyfriend?"
   "The exact symbols used in the spell. The knives." I thought about it for a moment. "How they got the heart out. Most people will still go through the ribs to tear out a heart. They see all the hospital shows on TV and they don't think about doing it differently."
   "So if we get a suspect, we ask how'd you get the heart out?"
   I nodded. "The crazies will start talking about stakes. Or be vague."
   "Okay," he said. Dolph looked at me. "If anyone hated the monsters, I thought it was you. How can you date one of them?"
   I met his eyes this time, not flinching. "I don't know."
   He closed his notebook. "Greeley's probably wondering where I took you."
   "What did you whisper to him? I would have bet money that he'd have held on to me."
   "Told him you were a suspect in another murder. Said I wanted to watch your reaction."
   "And he bought that?"
   Dolph glanced back at the body. "Close to the truth, Anita."
   He had me there. "Greeley didn't seem to like me very much," I said.
   "You'd just killed a woman, Anita. Tends to give a bad first impression."
   He had a point. "Do I need to have Catherine meet us down at the station?" I asked.
   "You're not under arrest," Dolph said.
   "I'd still like Catherine to meet us at the station."
   "Call her."
   I stood.
   Dolph touched my arm. "Wait." He turned to the other cops. "Everybody wait outside for a minute." There were some glances, but no one argued, they just went. They'd all worked with Dolph before, and no one present outranked him.
   When we were alone behind closed doors, he said, "Give it up."
   "What?"
   "You've got some kind of freaking blade down your back. Let's see it."
   I sighed and reached under my hair to the hilt. I drew the knife out. It took a while. It was a long knife.
   Dolph held out his hand. I handed it to him.
   He balanced it on his open hands and gave a low whistle. "Jesus, what were you planning to do with this?"
   I just looked at him.
   "Who frisked you at the club?"
   "Rizzo's partner," I said.
   "Have to have a talk with him." Dolph looked up at me. "Be a bad thing to miss on someone who might use it. Is it the only weapon he missed?"
   "Yep."
   He stared at me. "Lean on the bureau, Anita."
   My eyebrows raised. "You're going to pat me down?"
   "Yeah."
   I thought about arguing but decided not to. There were no more weapons to find. I leaned on the bureau. Dolph laid the knife on the chair and searched me. If there'd been anything to find, he'd have found it. Dolph was thorough in everything he did, methodical. It was one of the things that made him a great cop.
   I looked at him in the mirror without turning around. "Satisfied?"
   "Yeah." He handed the knife back to me, hilt first.
   I must have looked as surprised as I felt. "You're giving it back to me?"
   "If you'd lied to me about it being your last weapon, I'd have kept it and everything I found." He took a deep breath and let it out. "But I won't take your last weapon, not with a contract out on you."
   I took the knife and resheathed it. It was a lot harder putting it back than getting it out. I finally had to use the mirror to sort of direct me.
   "I take it it's a new weapon?" Dolph asked.
   "Yeah." I flipped my hair out over the sheath and presto, you couldn't see it. I was really going to have practice with it more. It was too good a hiding place not to use more often.
   "Any other impressions of the scene before I take you back?"
   "Was there forced entry?"
   "No."
   "Someone he knew then," I said.
   "Maybe."
   I glanced at Robert's still form. "Could we finish this discussion in another room?"
   "This one bother you?"
   "I knew him, Dolph. I might not have liked him, but I knew him."
   Dolph nodded. "You can finish telling me all about it in the nursery."
   I looked at him. I could feel myself going pale. I was not up to seeing what Monica would have done with a nursery. "You're developing a mean streak, Dolph."
   "Can't seem to get past the fact you're dating the Master of the City, Anita. Just can't shake it."
   "You want to punish me because I'm dating a vampire?"
   He looked at me, a long searching look. I didn't look away. "I want you to not date him."
   "You're not my dad."
   "Does your family know?"
   I did look away then. "No."
   "They're Catholic, aren't they?"
   "I am not going to have this discussion with you, Dolph."
   "You need to have it with someone," he said.
   "Maybe, but not with you."
   "Look at him, Anita. Look at him, and tell me you could sleep with that."
   "Drop it," I said.
   "I can't."
   We stared at each other. I was not going to stand here and explain my relationship with Jean-Claude to Dolph. It wasn't any of his business. "Then we have a problem."
   There was a knock on the door. "Not now," Dolph said.
   "Come in," I said.
   The door opened. Goody. Zerbrowski walked in. Even better. I knew I was grinning like an idiot, but I couldn't seem to stop. The last time I'd seen him had been the day he got out of the hospital. He'd been nearly gutted by a shapeshifter, a wereleopard the size of a pony. His attacker had been not a lycanthrope but a shapeshifting witch. That was why Zerbrowski wasn't turning furry once a month. The witch had clawed him up horribly. I'd killed it. I'd held my hands over his stomach and pressed his intestines back into his body. I still had the scars from the same monster.
   Zerbrowski's hair is normally curly and a mess, black going grey. He'd cut it short enough that it stayed in place. Made him look more serious, more grown-up, less like Zerbrowski. His suit was brown and looked like he'd slept in it. His tie was medium blue and matched nothing that he was wearing.
   "Blake, long time no see."
   I couldn't help myself; I walked over and hugged him. There are benefits to being a girl. Though, before Richard came into my life, I might have resisted the urge. Richard was bringing out my feminine side.
   Zerbrowski hugged me awkwardly, laughing. "I always knew you wanted my body, Blake."
   I pushed away from him. "You wish."
   He eyed me up and down, eyes glittering with laughter. "If you dress up like that every night, I might leave Katie for you. If that skirt was any shorter, it'd be a lamp shade.''
   Even with the teasing, I was glad to see him. "How long have you been back on full duty?"
   "Not long. I saw you on the news with your boyfriend."
   "News?" I said. I'd forgotten about the media blitz Jean-Claude and I had walked through.
   "He sure was pretty for a dead guy."
   "Shit."
   "What?" Dolph asked.
   "It was national media, not just local."
   "So?"
   "My father doesn't know."
   Zerbrowski laughed. "He does now."
   "Shit."
   "I guess you'll have that talk with your father after all," Dolph said.
   There must have been something in Dolph's voice or my face, because the humor faded from Zerbrowski's face. "What's up, you two? You look like someone stepped on your puppy."
   Dolph looked at me. I looked at him. "Philosophical differences," I said finally. Dolph didn't add anything. I hadn't really expected him to.
   "Okay," Zerbrowski said. He knew Dolph well enough not to pry. Me alone, he'd have bugged the hell out of me, but not Dolph.
   "One of the nearest neighbors is a serious right-wing vampire hater," he said. That got our attention.
   "Explain," Dolph said.
   "Delbert Spalding and his wife Dora sat on the couch, holding hands. She offered me iced tea. He objected to me saying that Robert had been murdered. Said you couldn't kill the dead." Zerbrowski dug a wrinkled notebook out of his suit pocket. He flipped some pages, tried to smooth the page down, gave up, and quoted. "Now that someone has destroyed that thing, the woman should abort that monster she's carrying. I don't believe in abortion normally, but this is abomination, pure abomination."
   "Humans Against Vampires, at the very least," I said, "Maybe even Humans First."
   "Maybe he just doesn't like living next door to a vampire," Dolph said.
   Zerbrowski and I looked at him.
   "Did you ask Mr. Spalding if he belonged to either of the hate groups?" Dolph asked.
   "He had HAV's newsletters scattered on his coffee table, gave me one."
   "Great," I said, "evangelizing hatemongers."
   "HAV doesn't advocate this kind of violence," Dolph said.
   The way he said it made me wonder what mailing list Dolph was on. I shook my head. I wouldn't believe the worst of him just because he didn't like me dating the walking dead. A few months back, I'd have felt the same way. "Humans First does," I said.
   "We'll find out if Mr. Spalding is a member of Humans First," Dolph said.
   "You also need to find out if the Spaldings have any magical talent," I said.
   "How?" Dolph said.
   "I could meet them, be in the same room with them. To be sure, I might have to touch them, shake hands."
   "I shook Mr. Spalding's hand," Zerbrowski said. "It was like shaking anybody else's hand."
   "You're a great cop, Zerbrowski, but you're almost a null. You could shake the grand high pooh-bah's hand and not get more than a twinge. Dolph's a complete null."
   "What's a null?" Dolph asked.
   "A magical null. Someone who has no magical or psychic ability. It's what let you cross the blood circle and kept me out."
   "So you're saying Ihave some magical ability?" Zerbrowski asked.
   I shook my head. "You're a tiny bit sensitive. Probably one of those people who get hunches that turn out to be right."
   "I get hunches," Dolph said.
   "I'll bet your hunches are based on experience, years of police work. Zerbrowski will make a leap of logic that makes no sense, but proves to be true. Am I wrong?"
   They looked at each other, then at me, then both nodded. "Zerbrowski has his moments," Dolph said.
   "You want to come shake the Spaldings' hands?" Zerbrowski asked.
   "Detective Reynolds can do it. It's one of the reasons you brought her on board, right?"
   They looked at each other again. Zerbrowski grinned. "I'll get Reynolds and go back over." He stopped at the door. "Katie's been after me to invite you over for dinner, meet the kids, a real domestic affair." He stared at me with his brown eyes guileless behind dark-rimmed glasses. "I was going to tell you to bring Richard, but if you're dating Count Dracula now, guess that'd be awkward." He stared at me, asking without asking.
   "I'm still seeing Richard, you pushy son of a bitch."
   He smiled. "Good. Bring him over a week from Saturday. Katie'll fix her famous mushroom chicken."
   "If I was only dating Jean-Claude, would the invitation still include my boyfriend?"
   "No," he said. "Katie's a little nervous. I don't think she'd be up to meeting Count Dracula."
   "His name's Jean-Claude."
   "I know." He shut the door behind him, and Dolph and I were alone with the body once more. The night was not looking up.
   "What are we hunting for, Anita?" I was actually relieved that Dolph was talking business. I'd had enough personal chitchat to last the night.
   "More than one murderer."
   "Why?"
   I looked up at him. "I don't know if there's enough humans in the world to pin a vampire to the floor like that. Even if it was other vampires or shapeshifters, it'd take more than one. I'd say two beings with abnormal strength to hold, and a third to put in the knives. Maybe more to hold, maybe more to do the spell. I don't know, but at least three."
   "Even if they were vampires?" Dolph asked.
   I nodded. "Unless one vamp was strong enough to have mind control over Robert." I looked down at the body, careful not to touch the circle. I forced myself to stare at what had been done to him. "No, once they started putting knives in him, I don't think any mind control would work. A human, yeah, they could have done this to a human and made him smile while they did it, but not another vamp. Did any of the neighbors see or hear anything? I mean the Spaldings may be involved, so they'd lie, but someone had to see or hear something. He didn't go quietly."
   "They say no," Dolph said. He said it like he knew some or all of them had lied. One of the things cops learn first is that everyone lies. Some people to hide things, some people just for the hell of it, but everyone lies. Assume that everyone is hiding something, it saves time.
   I stared at Robert's face, his mouth half-open, slack. There were rubbed marks at each corner of his mouth, a slight reddening. "Did you notice the marks by his mouth?"
   "Yes," Dolph said.
   "And you weren't going to mention them to me?"
   "You were a suspect."
   I shook my head. "You didn't really believe that. You're just playing all the details close to your chest, like always. I get tired of putting the pieces together when you've already done it."
   "So, what do you make of the marks?" he asked, his voice neutral.
   "You know damn well what I make of them. He may have been gagged while they did this to him. The neighbors really might not have heard anything. But that still doesn't say how the killers got into the house. If vampires were involved, they couldn't cross the threshold without an invitation. Robert wouldn't have invited strange vamps into his house, so someone with them had to be known, or human, or at least not vampire."
   "Could a human cross the threshold and invite vampires inside?"
   "Yes," I said.
   Dolph was making notes, not looking at me. "So we're looking for a mixed group, at least one vamp, at least one not vamp, at least one witch or necromancer."
   "You got that last from Reynolds," I said.
   "You disagree?"
   "No, but since I'm the only necromancer in town, it has to be outside talent." The moment I said it, I realized that outside talent was in town now. Dominic Dumare.
   "John Burke couldn't do it?"
   I thought about that. "John's a vaudun priest, but this isn't voodoo. I don't know if his knowledge of the arcane stretches this far. I also don't know if he's powerful enough to have done this, even with the knowledge."
   "Are you powerful enough?"
   I sighed. "I don't know, Dolph. I'm sort of new at necromancy. I mean, I've raised the dead for years, but not this formally." I motioned at the body. "I've never seen a spell like this."
   He nodded. "Anything else?"
   I hated dragging Dominic into it, but it was too bloody big a coincidence that a powerful necromancer hits town and a vamp gets taken out with necromancy. If he was innocent, I'd apologize. If he wasn't innocent, it was a death penalty case.
   "Dominic Dumare is a necromancer. He just got into town."
   "Could he have done this?" Dolph asked.
   "I only met the man once, Dolph."
   "Give me an opinion, Anita."
   I thought about the feel of Dominic in my head. His offer to teach me necromancy. The big thing was that killing Robert and leaving the body for us to find was stupid. Dominic Dumare didn't strike me as a stupid man.
   "He could have. He's a vampire's human servant, so it gives you two of your mixed group."
   "Did the vampire know Robert?"
   I shook my head. "Not to my knowledge."
   "You got a number where we can reach Mr. Dumare?"
   "I can call our night secretary and get it for you."
   "Great." Dolph stared down at his notes. "Is Dumare your best suspect?"
   I thought about that. "Yeah, I guess he is."
   "You got any proof?"
   "He's a necromancer, and this was done by someone with knowledge of necromancy." I shrugged.
   "The same reason we suspected you," Dolph said. He almost smiled when he said it.
   "Point taken," I said. "Prejudiced little me."
   Dolph closed his notebook. "I'll take you down for your statement then."
   "Fine. Now can I call Catherine?"
   "There's a phone in the kitchen."
   Zerbrowski opened the door. "The wife's here, and she's pretty hysterical."
   "Who's with her?" Dolph asked.
   "Reynolds."
   Through the open door, I heard a woman talking, just below the level of screaming. "Robert, my husband, dead? He can't be dead. He can't be dead. I have to see him. You don't understand what he is. He isn't dead." The voice was coming closer.
   "She's doesn't need to see this, Anita."
   I nodded. I walked out the door and closed it tightly behind me. I couldn't see Monica yet, but I could hear her. Her voice rising, growing thinner with panic. "You don't understand. He isn't really dead."
   I was betting that Monica wouldn't take my word for Robert being well and truly dead. I guess if it was Jean-Claude lying in there, I wouldn't, either. I'd have to see for myself. I took a deep breath and walked forward to meet the grieving widow. Damn. This night just kept getting better and better.
   

21
   The hospital room was soft mauve with paintings of flowers on the wall. The bed had a mauve bedspread and pink sheets. Monica lay in the bed hooked up to an IV and two different kinds of monitors. A strap across her belly monitored the contractions. Gratefully, the lines had gone flat. The other monitor was the baby's heartbeat. The sound had scared me at first; too fast, like the heart of a small bird. When the nurses assured me the heartbeat was normal, I relaxed. After nearly two hours, the frantic beat had become a comforting sound like white noise.
   Monica's auburn hair was plastered in wet tendrils to her forehead. Her careful makeup was smeared across her face. They had been forced to give her a sedative, though it wasn't great for the baby. She had fallen into a light, almost feverish sleep. Her head turned, eyes flicking behind her lids, mouth working, caught in some dream, a very bad dream probably, after the night she'd had. It was almost two o'clock, and I still had to go to the station and make my statement to Detective Greeley. Catherine was on her way to take my place at Monica's bedside. I'd be glad to see her.
   I had little crescent nail marks on my right hand. Monica had clung to it like it was all that was holding her together. At the worst of the contractions, when it looked like Monica would lose her baby as well as her husband, her long, painted nails had bitten into me, and only when blood trickled down my hand in fine crimson lines did a nurse say something. When Monica calmed down, they had insisted on messing with the wounds. They'd used the cartoon bandages they kept for the babies, so that my hand was covered in Mickey Mouse and Goofy.
   There was a television on a shelf on the wall, but I hadn't turned it on. The only sounds were the whirr of air circulating through the vents and the baby's heartbeat.
   A uniformed cop stood outside the door. If Robert had been killed by a hate group, then Monica and the baby were possible targets. If he'd been killed for personal reasons, Monica might know something. Either way, she was in danger. So they'd put a guard on her. Fine with me, since all I had left was a knife. I was really missing my guns.
   The phone on the bedside table rang, and I flung myself out of the chair, scrambling for it, terrified that it would wake Monica. I cupped the receiver against my mouth and spoke quietly while my pulse pounded. "Yes?"
   "Anita?" It was Edward.
   "How did you know where I was?"
   "All that matters is that if I can find you, so can someone else."
   "Is the contract still on?"
   "Yes."
   "Damn. What about the time deadline?"
   "Expanded to forty-eight hours."
   "Well, shit. Aren't theydetermined."
   "I think you should go underground for a while, Anita."
   "You mean hide?"
   "Yeah."
   "I thought you wanted me to be bait."
   "If you stay out as bait, we need more bodyguards. The werewolves and vamps are monsters, but they're still amateurs. We're professionals, it's what gives us our edge. I'm good, but I can't be everywhere."
   "Like following me into the women's john," I said.
   I heard him sigh. "I let you down."
   "I was careless, too, Edward."
   "So you agree?"
   "To hiding? Yeah. You got some place in mind?"
   "As a matter of fact, I do."
   "I don't like the tone in your voice, Edward."
   "It's the most secure place in town and has built-in bodyguards."
   "Where?" That one word sounded suspicious even to me.
   "Circus of the Damned," he said.
   "You have got to be out of your freaking mind."
   "It's the Master's daytime retreat, Anita. It's a fortress. Jean-Claude's sealed up the tunnel we came through to get Nikolaos. It's secure."
   "You want me to spend the day bedded down with vampires. I don't think so."
   "You going back to Richard's house?" Edward asked. "How safe are you going to be there? How safe will you be anywhere above ground?"
   "Dammit, Edward."
   "I'm right, and you know it."
   I wanted to argue, but he was right. The Circus was the most secure place I knew. Hell, the place had dungeons. But the idea of voluntarily sleeping there made my skin crawl. "How can I rest surrounded by vampires, even friendly ones?"
   "Jean-Claude's offered you his bed. Before you get mad, he'll sleep in his coffin."
   "That's what he says now," I said.
   "I'm not worried about your virtue, Anita. I'm worried about keeping you alive. And I'm admitting that I can't keep you safe. I'm good. I'm the best money can buy, but I'm only one person. One person, no matter how good, isn't enough."
   That was scary. Edward admitting that he was in over his head. I never thought I'd live to see it. Come to think of it, I almost hadn't.
   "Okay, I'll do it, but for how long?"
   "You hide out, and I'll check some things. If I don't have to guard you, I can do more."
   "How long?"
   "A day, maybe two."
   "What if whoever it is finds out I'm at the Circus?"
   "They might try for you," Edward said. His voice was very matter-of-fact when he said it.
   "And if they do?"
   "If you, a half dozen vampires, and almost that many werewolves can't handle the action, then I don't think it matters."
   "You're just comforting as hell."
   "I know you, Anita. If I was any more comforting, you might refuse to hide."
   "Twenty-four hours, Edward, then I want another plan. I am not going to hide at the bottom of a hole and wait for people to kill me."
   "Agreed. I'll pick you up after you make your statement to the cops."
   "Where do you get your information?"
   He laughed, but it was harsh. "If I know where you'll be, so does someone else. Might ask your cop friends if they have a spare vest."
   "You mean a bulletproof vest?"
   "Couldn't hurt."
   "Are you trying to scare me?"
   "Yes."
   "You're doing a good job."
   "Thanks. Don't come out of the police station until I come in and get you. Avoid being in the open if you can."
   "You really think someone else will try to hit me tonight?"
   "We're planning for worst-case scenarios from now on, Anita. No more chances. I'll see you then." He hung up before I could say anything else.
   I stood there holding the phone, scared. In all the panic with Monica and her baby, I'd almost forgotten that someone was trying to kill me. Probably not a good thing to forget.
   I started to hang the phone up, but dialed Richard's number instead. He answered on the second ring, which meant he'd been waiting up. Damn.
   "Richard, it's me."
   "Anita, where are you?" His voice sounded relieved, then cautious. "I mean, are you coming back here tonight?"
   The answer was no, but not for the reasons he feared. I told him what had happened, the shortest possible version.
   "Whose idea was it that you stay with Jean-Claude?" There was a hint of anger in his voice.
   "I am not staying with Jean-Claude. I am staying at the Circus."
   "And the difference is what?"
   "Look, Richard, I am too tired to argue with you about this. Edward suggested it, and you know he likes Jean-Claude even less than you do."
   "I doubt that," he said.
   "Richard, I did not call you to fight. I called to tell you what's happening."
   "I appreciate the call." I'd never heard him sound so sarcastic. "Do you want your clothes?"
   "Damn, I hadn't even thought about that."
   "I'll bring them to the Circus."
   "You don't have to do that, Richard."
   "You don't want me to?"
   "No, I'd love to have my stuff, and not just the clothes if you get my drift?"
   "I'll bring it all."
   "Thanks."
   "I'll pack a bag for myself."
   "Do you think that's a good idea?"
   "I've stayed at the Circus before. Remember, I used to be one of Jean-Claude's wolves."
   "I remember. Should you ask Jean-Claude's permission before you invite yourself over?"
   "I'll phone first. Unless you don't want me there tonight." His voice was very quiet.
   "If it's okay with Jean-Claude, it's fine with me. I could use the moral support."
   He let out a breath like he'd been holding it. "Great. Great, I'll see you there."
   "I have to give a statement to the cops about the incident at Danse Macabre. It could take a couple of hours, so don't rush."
   "Afraid Jean-Claude will hurt me?" He was quiet for a moment. "Or are you afraid I'll hurt him?"
   I thought about that. "Worried about you."
   "Glad to hear it," he said, and I could hear him smile.
   The reason I was worried about Richard is he wasn't a killer. Jean-Claude was. Richard might start a fight, but Jean-Claude would finish it. I didn't say any of this out loud. Richard wouldn't have appreciated it.
   "I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight," he said.
   "Even at the Circus?"
   "Anywhere. Love you."
   "Love you, too."
   We hung up. Neither of us had said good-bye, a Freudian slip, perhaps.
   I was betting that Richard and Jean-Claude would find something to fight about, and I was really too tired to mess with it. But if I'd told Richard to stay away, he would have assumed I wanted to be alone with Jean-Claude, which was certainly not true. So they'd have their little fight. Frankly, I had my own fight all picked out, one involving me, Jean-Claude, and Damian. They'd broken the law at Danse Macabre, broken it enough that with the right judge, I might have gotten a warrant of execution on Damian. We could have one great big glorious knock-down, drag-out fight.
   I wondered where everybody would sleep, and with who.
   
   
21
   Circus of the Damned is a combination of traveling carnival, circus, and one of the lower rungs of hell. Out front, fanged clowns dance above the lights that spell the name. Posters stretch the sides of the building, proclaiming, "Watch zombies rise from the grave. See the Lamia—half-snake, half-woman." There is no trickery at the Circus, everything advertised is absolutely real. It is one of the few vampire tourist attractions that welcome children. If I'd had a kid, I wouldn't have brought the little tyke near the place. Even I didn't feel safe.
   Edward had picked me up outside the police station, just like he said he would. My statement had taken three hours, not two. The only reason I got out that soon was Bob, Catherine's husband and fellow lawyer, had finally told them to charge me or let me go. Truthfully, I thought they might charge me. But I had three witnesses saying the killing was self-defense, witnesses that I'd never met before tonight. That helped. The DA usually didn't charge on self-defense cases. Usually.
   Edward took me into the Circus through a side door. There were no lights to mark it as special, but there was also no doorknob on the outside of the steel reinforced door. Edward knocked. The door opened, and in we went.
   Jason closed the door behind us. I had missed him earlier at Danse Macabre. I certainly would have remembered the outfit. He was wearing a sleeveless plastic shirt, molded to his body. The pants were half crinkly blue cloth that looked like colored foil, with oval plastic windows, exposing his thigh, calf, and as he turned, one buttock.
   I shook my head, smiling. "Please tell me Jean-Claude didn't make you wear that out where people could see you."
   Jason grinned at me and turned so he flashed his butt at me. "Don't you like it?"
   "I'm not sure," I said.
   "Discuss fashion later, in a more secure place," Edward said. He glanced at the door to our right that led into the main part of the Circus. It was never locked, though it had a sign above the door about authorized personnel only. We were standing in a stone room with an electric light dangling from the ceiling. It was a storage area. A third door was set in the far wall. Behind it was a stairway and the nether regions where the vampires stayed during the day.
   "I'll be underground, literally, soon enough, Edward."
   Edward looked at me for a long moment. "You promised to hide out for twenty-four hours. No going outside for any reason. Don't even go into the main part of the Circus when it's open to the public. Just stay downstairs."
   "Aye, aye, Captain."
   "This isn't a joke, Anita."
   I tugged at the bulletproof vest I'd put over my dress. It was too large for me, hot, and uncomfortable. "If I thought it was funny, I wouldn't have worn this."
   "I'll bring you some armor that fits when I come back."
   I met his pale blue eyes and saw something I'd never seen before. He was worried.
   "You think they're going to kill me, don't you?"
   He didn't look away. He didn't flinch. But what I saw in his face made me wish he had. "When I come back tomorrow, I'll have help with me."
   "What kind of help?"
   "My kind."
   "What does that mean?"
   He shook his head. "Twenty-four hours means that you hide until dawn tomorrow, Anita. With luck, I'll have a name for us, and we can kill him. Don't be careless while I'm gone."
   I wanted to say something casual, joking, like "I didn't know you cared," but I couldn't. I couldn't joke staring into his serious eyes.
   "I'll be careful."
   He nodded. "Lock the door behind me." He went outside and Jason locked the door.
   Jason leaned against the door for a second. "Why does he scare me?"
   "Because you're not stupid," I said.
   He smiled. "Thanks."
   "Let's get downstairs," I said.
   "Nervous?"
   "It's been a long night, Jason. No games."
   He pushed away from the door and said, "Lead the way."
   I opened the door to the stone stairway, which led downward. It was wide enough for us to walk abreast. In fact, there was almost room for a third, as if the stairway had been built for wider things than human bodies.
   Jason closed the door with a resounding thank. It made me jump. He started to say something, but the look on my face stopped him. Edward's parting comments had unnerved me. If I didn't know better, I'd have said I was scared. Naw.
   Jason walked down the steps ahead of me, exaggerating his walk just a touch to show off his derriere.
   "You can cut the peep show," I said.
   "You don't like the view?" He leaned against the wall, hands pressed behind him, showing off his chest.
   I laughed and walked past him, clicking my nails down his shirt. It was solid and hard as a beetle's carapace. "Is that as uncomfortable as it looks?"
   He fell into step beside me. "It's not uncomfortable. The ladies at Danse Macabre liked it a lot."
   I glanced at him. "I bet they did."
   "I like flirting."
   "No joke."
   He laughed. "For someone who doesn't flirt, you have a lot of guys after you."
   "Maybe because I don't flirt," I said.
   Jason was quiet as we walked to the bend in the stairs. "You mean because you're a challenge, they keep coming around?"
   "Something like that."
   I couldn't see around the bend of the stairs. I hated not being able to see around corners. But this time I was invited; I hadn't come to kill anybody. The vamps tended to be a lot friendlier when you weren't trying to kill them.
   "Is Richard here yet?"
   "Not yet." He glanced back at me. "Do you think it's a good idea to have them both here at the same time?"
   "No," I said, "absolutely not."
   "Well, at least we all agree it's a bad idea," he said.
   The door at the bottom of the stairs was iron bound, made of a heavy, dark wood. It looked like a portal to another time—a time when dungeons were in vogue, and knights rescued ladies fair or slaughtered a few peasants and no one minded, except maybe the peasants.
   Jason drew a key out of his pants pocket. He unlocked the door and pushed. It opened on well-oiled hinges.
   "Since when did you get a key?" I asked.
   "I live here now."
   "What about college?"
   He shrugged. "It doesn't seem very important anymore."
   "You plan on being Jean-Claude's lap-wolf forever?"
   "I'm having a good time," he said.
   I shook my head. "I fight like hell to stay free of him, and you just give in. I don't understand that at all."
   "You have a college degree, right?" he asked.
   "Yeah."
   "I don't. But here we both are, ending up in the same place."
   He had me there.
   Jason motioned me through the door with a low flourish that had imitation Jean-Claude written all over it. Jean-Claude made it seem courtly and real. Jason meant it for a joke.
   The door led into Jean-Claude's living room. The ceiling stretched up into darkness, but silken drapes hung in black and white folds that formed cloth walls on three sides. The fourth side was bare stone, painted white. A white stone fireplace looked original, which I knew it wasn't. The mantlepiece was black-veined white marble. A silver fireplace screen hid the hearth. There were four chairs in black and silver grouped around a wood and glass coffee table. A black vase sat on the table filled with white tulips. My high heels sank into the thick, black carpet.
   There was one other addition to the room that stopped me in my tracks. A painting hung above the fireplace. Three people dressed in the style of the 1600s. The woman wore white and silver with a square bodice showing quite a bit of decolletage, her brown hair styled in careful ringlets. She held a red rose loosely in one hand. A man stood behind her, tall and slender, with dark gold hair in ringlets over his shoulders. He had a mustache and a Vandyke beard, so dark gold they were almost brown. He wore one of those floppy hats with feathers and was dressed in white and gold. But it was the other man who made me walk towards the painting.
   He was seated just behind the woman. He was dressed in black with silver embroidery and a wide lace collar and lace cuffs. He held a floppy black hat with a single white feather and a silver buckle across his lap. Black hair fell in ringlets over his shoulders. He was clean shaven, and the artist had managed to capture the sinking blue of his eyes. I stared at Jean-Claude's face painted hundreds of years before I was born. The other two were smiling. Only he was solemn and perfect, dark to their lightness. He was like the shadow of death come to the ball.
   I knew Jean-Claude was centuries old, but I'd never had such obvious proof, never had it shoved in my face. The portrait bothered me for another reason. It made me wonder if Jean-Claude had lied about his age.
   A sound made me turn. Jason had slumped into one of the chairs. Jean-Claude stood behind me. He'd taken off his jacket and his curling black hair spilled across the shoulders of his crimson shirt. The shirt cuffs were long and tight at the wrist, held by three antique jet beads just like the high neck of the shirt. Without the jacket to distract the eye, the pale oval of skin framed by the red cloth gleamed. The cloth covered his nipples but left his belly button bare and drew the eye to the top of his black pants. Or maybe it just drew me. It was a bad idea to be here. He was just as dangerous as the assassin, maybe more. Dangerous in ways I had no words for.
   He glided towards me in his black boots. I watched him walk closer like a deer caught in headlights. I expected him to flirt or ask how I liked the painting. Instead, he said, "Tell me of Robert. The police said he was dead, but they know nothing. You have seen the body. Is he truly dead?"
   His voice was thick with concern, worry. It caught me completely off guard. "They took his heart."
   "If it is only a stake through the heart, he might survive if it was removed."
   I shook my head. "The heart was taken out completely. We couldn't find it in the house or the yard."
   Jean-Claude stopped. He slumped suddenly into one of the chairs, staring at nothing, or nothing I could see. "Then he is truly gone." His voice held sorrow the way it sometimes held laughter, so that I felt his words like a cold, grey rain.
   "You treated Robert like dirt. Why all this weeping and wailing?"
   He looked at me. "I am not weeping."
   "But you treated him badly."
   "I was his master. If I had treated him kindly, he would have seen it as a sign of weakness. He would have challenged me and I would have killed him. Do not criticize things that you do not understand." There was anger in that last sentence, enough to brush heat along my skin.
   Normally, it would have pissed me off, but tonight . . . "I apologize. You're right. I don't understand. I didn't think you gave a damn about Robert unless he could further your power."
   "Then you do not understand me at all, ma petite. He was my companion for over a century. After a century, I would mourn even an enemy's passing. Robert was not my friend, but he was mine. Mine to punish, mine to reward, mine to protect. I have failed him."
   He stared up at me, eyes gone blue and alien. "I am grateful to you for seeing to Monica. The last thing I can do for Robert is to tend his wife and child. They will want for nothing."
   He stood suddenly in one smooth motion. "Come, ma petite. I will show you to our room." I didn't like the our, but I didn't argue. This new, improved, emotional Jean-Claude had me confused.
   "Who are the other two in the painting?"
   He glanced at it. "Julianna and Asher. She was his human servant. The three of us traveled together for nearly twenty years."
   Good. He couldn't give me some bullshit about the clothing being costumes now. "You're too young to have been a Musketeer."
   He stared at me, face carefully blank, giving nothing away. "Whatever do you mean, ma petite?"
   "Don't even try. The clothing is from the 1600s, around the time of Dumas's The Three Musketeers. When we first met, you told me you were two hundred and ten. Eventually, I figured out you were lying, that you were closer to three hundred."
   "If Nikolaos had known my true age, she might have killed me, ma petite."
   "Yeah, the old Master of the City was a real bitch. But she's dead. Why still lie?"
   "You mean why am I lying to you?" he said.
   I nodded. "Yeah, that's what I mean."
   He smiled. "You are a necromancer, ma petite. I would have thought you could judge my age without my help."
   I tried to read his face and couldn't. "You've always been hard to read; you know that."
   "So glad I can be a challenge in some area."
   I let that go. He knew exactly how much of a challenge he was, but for the first time in a long time, I was bothered. Telling a vamp's age was one of my talents, not an exact science to be sure, but one I was good at. I'd never been off by this much. "A century older, my, my."
   "Are you so sure that it is only a century?"
   I stared at him. I let his power beat across my skin, rolled the feel of it around in my head. "Pretty sure."
   He smiled. "Do not frown so, ma petite. Being able to hide my age is one of my talents. I pretended to be a hundred years older when Asher was my companion. It allowed us freedom to wander through the lands of other masters."
   "What made you stop trying to pass for older?"
   "Asher needed help, and I was not master enough to help him." He looked up at the portrait. "I . . . humbled myself to gain him aid."
   "Why?"
   "The Church had a theory that vampires could be cured by holy items. They bound Asher with holy items and silver chains. They used holy water on him, drop by drop, trying to save his soul."
   I stared up at that handsome, smiling face. I'd been bitten by a master vampire once upon a time and had the wound cleansed with holy water. It had felt like a red-hot brand was being shoved into my skin, like all the blood in my body had turned to boiling oil. I had vomited and screamed and thought myself very brave for not passing out altogether. That had been one bite mark, one day. Having what amounted to acid dripped on you until you died was in the top five ways not to go out.
   "What happened to the girl, Julianna?"
   "She was burned as a witch."
   "Where were you?"
   "I had taken a ship to see my mother. She was dying. I was on my way back when I heard Asher's call. I could not get there in time. I swear by all that is holy or unholy that I tried. I rescued Asher, but he never forgave me."
   "He's not dead?" I asked.
   "No."
   "How hurt was he?"
   "Until I met Sabin I thought Asher's scars the worst injury I'd ever known a vampire to survive."
   "Why did you hang the painting if it bothers you this much?"
   He sighed and looked at me. "Asher sent it as a present, to congratulate me for becoming Master of the City. The three of us were companions, almost family. Asher and I were true friends, both masters, both of near equal power, both in love with Julianna. She was devoted to him, but I had her favor as well."
   "You mean a menage a trois?"
   He nodded.
   "Asher doesn't hold a grudge?"
   "Oh, no, he holds a grudge. If the council would allow it, he would have come with the picture and had his revenge."
   "To kill you?"
   Jean-Claude smiled. "Asher always had a strong sense of irony, ma petite. He petitioned the council for your life, not mine."
   My eyes widened. "What did I ever do to him?"
   "I killed his human servant; he kills mine. Justice."
   I stared back up at the handsome face. "The council said no?"
   "Indeed."
   "You have any other old enemies running around?"
   Jean-Claude gave a weak smile. "Many, ma petite, but none in town at the moment."
   I looked up at those smiling faces. I didn't know quite how to phrase it, but said it anyway. "You all look so young."
   "I am physically the same, ma petite."
   I shook my head. "Maybe young isn't the word I want. Maybe naive."
   He smiled. "By the time this painting was made, ma petite, naive was not a word that described me, either."
   "Fine, have it your way." I looked at him, studying his face. He was beautiful, but there was something in his eyes that wasn't in the painting, some level of sorrow or terror. Something I had no word for, but it was there just the same. A vampire may not wrinkle up, but living a couple of centuries leaves its mark. Even if it's only a shadow in the eyes, a tightness around the mouth.
   I turned to Jason, who was still slumped in the chair. "Does he give these little history lessons often?"
   "Only to you," Jason said.
   "You never ask questions?" I asked.
   "I'm just his pet. You don't answer questions for your pet."
   "And that doesn't bother you?"
   Jason smiled. "Why should I care about the painting? The woman's dead, so I can't have sex with her. Why should I care?"
   I felt Jean-Claude move past me, but couldn't follow with my eyes. His hand was a blur. The chair clattered to the floor, spilling Jason with it. Blood showed at his mouth.
   "Never speak of her again in such a manner."
   Jason touched the back of his hand to his mouth and came away with blood. "Whatever you say." He licked the blood off his hand with long slow movements of his tongue.
   I stared from one to the other of them. "You are both crazy."
   "Not crazy, ma petite, merely not human."
   "Being a vampire doesn't give you the right to treat people like that. Richard doesn't beat people up."
   "Which is why he will never hold the pack."
   "What's that supposed to mean?"
   "Even if he swallows his high morals and kills Marcus, he will not be cruel enough to frighten the rest. He will be challenged again and again. Unless he begins slaughtering people, he will eventually die."
   "Slapping people around won't keep him alive," I said.
   "It would help. Torture works well, but I doubt that Richard would have the stomach for it."
   "I couldn't stomach it."
   "But you litter the ground with bodies, ma petite. Killing is the best deterrent of all."
   I was too tired to be having this conversation. "It's 4:30 in the morning. I want to go to bed."
   Jean-Claude smiled. "Why, ma petite, you are not usually so eager."
   "You know what I mean," I said.
   Jean-Claude took a gliding step towards me. He didn't touch me, but he stood very close and looked at me. "I know exactly what you mean, ma petite."
   That brought heat in a rush up my neck. The words were innocent. He made them sound intimate, obscene.
   Jason righted the chair and stood, licking the blood off the corner of his mouth. He said nothing, merely watched us like a well-trained dog, seen and not heard.
   Jean-Claude took a step back. I felt him move, but couldn't follow it with my eyes. There had been a time only months ago that it would have looked like magic, like he'd just appeared a few feet away.
   He held his hand out towards me. "Come, ma petite. Let us retire for the day."
   I'd held his hand before, so why was I left standing, staring, like he was offering me the forbidden fruit that once tasted would change everything? He was nearly four hundred years old. Jean-Claude's face from all those long years ago was smiling down at me, and there he stood with almost the same smile. If I'd ever needed proof, I had it. He'd struck Jason down like a dog he didn't much like. And still he was so beautiful, it made my chest ache.
   I wanted to take his hand. I wanted to run my hands over the red shirt, explore that open oval of flesh. I folded my hands over my stomach and shook my head.
   His smile widened until a hint of fang showed. "You have held my hand before, ma petite. Why is tonight any different?" His voice held an edge of mockery.
   "Just show me the room, Jean-Claude."
   He let his hand drop to his side, but he didn't seem offended. If anything, he seemed pleased, which irritated me.
   "Bring Richard through when he arrives, Jason, but announce him before he comes. I don't want to be interrupted."
   "Anything you say," Jason said. He smirked at us, at me, a knowing look on his face. Did everyone and their wolf believe I was sleeping with Jean-Claude? Of course, maybe it was a case of the lady protesting too much. Maybe.
   "Just bring Richard to the room when he comes," I said. "You won't be interrupting anything." I glanced at Jean-Claude while I said the last.
   He laughed, that warm touchable sound of his that wove over my skin like silk. "Even your resistance to temptation grows thin, ma petite."
   I shrugged. I would have liked to argue, but he'd smell a lie. Even a run-of-the-mill werewolf can smell desire. Jason wasn't run-of-the-mill. So everyone in the room knew I was hot for Jean-Claude. So what?
   "No is one of my favorite words, Jean-Claude. You should know that by now."
   The laughter faded from his face, leaving his blue, blue eyes gleaming, but not with humor. Something darker and more sure of itself looked out his eyes. "I survive on hope alone, ma petite."
   Jean-Claude parted the black and white drapes to reveal the bare, grey stones that the room was made of. A large hallway stretched deeper into the labyrinth. Torchlight gleamed beyond the electricity of the living room. He stood there, backlit against the flame and the soft modern lights. Some trick of light and shadow plunged half his face into darkness and brought a pinprick glow to his eyes. Or maybe it wasn't a trick of the light. Maybe it was just him.
   "Shall we go, ma petite?"
   I walked into that outer darkness. He didn't try to touch me as I moved past him. I'd have given him a brownie point for resisting the urge, except I knew him too well. He was just biding his time. Touching me now might piss me off. Later, it might not. Even I couldn't guarantee when the mood would be right.
   Jean-Claude moved ahead of me. He glanced back over his shoulder. "After all, ma petite, you do not know the way to my bedroom."
   "I've been there once," I said.
   "Carried unconscious and dying. It hardly counts." He glided down the hall. He put a little extra sway to his walk, somewhat like Jason had done on the stairs, but where it had been funny with the werewolf, Jean-Claude made it utterly seductive.
   "You just wanted to walk in front so I'd have to stare at your butt."
   He spoke without turning around. "No one makes you stare at me, ma petite, not even me."
   And that was the truth. The horrible truth. If in some dark part of my heart I hadn't been attracted to him from the beginning, I'd have killed him long ago. Or tried to. I had more legal vampire kills than any other vampire hunter in the country. They didn't call me the Executioner for nothing. So how did I end up being safer in the depths of the Circus of the Damned with the monsters than above ground with the humans? Because somewhere along the line, I didn't kill the monster I should have.
   That particular monster was gliding up the hallway ahead of me. And he still had the cutest butt I'd ever seen on a dead man.
   
   

22
   Jean-Claude leaned one shoulder against the wall. He'd already opened the door. He motioned me inside with a graceful sweep of his hand.
   My high heels sank into the deep, white carpet. White wallpaper with tiny silver designs graced the walls. There was a white door in the left-hand wall near the bed. The bed had white satin sheets. A dozen black and white pillows were grouped at the head of the bed. A fan of black and white drapes fell from the ceiling, forming a partial canopy over the bed. The black lacquer vanity and chest of drawers still sat in opposite corners. The wallpaper and the door were new. Guess which bothered me more.
   "Where does the door go?"
   "The bathroom." He closed the outer door and walked past me to sit on the edge of the bed. There were no chairs.
   "A bathroom. That wasn't here last time," I said.
   "Not in its present form, but it was here just the same."
   He leaned back on his elbows. The movement strained the cloth of his shirt, exposing as much skin as the shirt would allow. The line of dark hair that started low on his belly peeked just above the cloth.
   The room was getting warmer. I undid the velcro fastenings on the bulletproof vest and slid it over my head. "Where do you want me to put this?"
   "Anywhere you like," he said. His voice was soft and more intimate than the words themselves.
   I walked around to the far side of the bed, away from him, and laid the vest across the satin sheets.
   He lay back against the sheets, his black hair framing his pale face to perfection. Warmer, it was definitely getting warmer in here.
   "Mind if I freshen up?"
   "Whatever I have is yours, ma petite. You should know that by now."
   I backed into the door and opened it with a feeling of relief. I closed the door without really looking at the bathroom. When I looked up, I let out a silent wow.
   The room was long and narrow. It had a double sink and mirrors with round white lightbulbs edging it. The sinks were black marble with white veins running through. Every faucet, every metal edge, gleamed silver. The floor was black carpeting. A half wall of silver and mirrored panels hid the black stool against a black wall. Another half wall graced the other side. Then there was the bathtub. Three marble steps led up to a black bathtub, big enough for four people. The faucet was a silver swan with outspread wings. There was no way to take a shower, which was my preferred method, and the swan was a bit much, but other than that, it was lovely.
   I sat down on the cool marble edging. It was nearly five in the morning. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. The adrenaline rush of nearly getting killed had long since faded. What I wanted was to be comforted, held, yes, sex was in there somewhere, but that wasn't my highest priority tonight. I think both Richard and Jean-Claude would say it was never my highest priority, but that was their problem. Okay, it was our problem.
   If it had been Richard stretched out on the bed in the next room, I would have jumped him tonight. But it wasn't Richard, and once Richard got here, we'd be sleeping in Jean-Claude's bed. Seemed pretty tacky to have sex for the first time in your other boyfriend's bed. But it wasn't just the boys suffering from sexual tension, I was drowning, too.
   Was Richard right? Was the fact that Jean-Claude wasn't human the only thing keeping me out of his bed? No. Or at least I didn't think so. Out of Richard's bed? The answer, sadly, was yes, maybe.
   I freshened up and couldn't help checking myself in the mirror. The makeup had faded a little, but the liner still made my large, dark eyes stand out in dramatic contrast. The blush was almost gone, and the lipstick had long ago vanished. I had lipstick in my purse. I could freshen that at least. But freshening my lipstick was like admitting I cared what Jean-Claude thought of me. I did care. That was the truly scary part. I did not put on more lipstick. I walked back into the bedroom as is, let him make of it what he would.
   He was leaning on one elbow, watching me as I came through the door. "Ma petite, you are beautiful."
   I shook my head. "Pretty, I'll give you, but not beautiful."
   He cocked his head to one side, sending a wave of hair over one shoulder. "Who told you you were not beautiful?"
   I leaned against the door. "When I was a little girl, my father would come up behind my mother. He would wrap his arms around her waist, bury his face in her hair, and say, 'How is the most beautiful woman in the world today?' He said it at least once a day. She would laugh and tell him not to be silly, but I agreed with him. To me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world."
   "She was your mother. All little girls think that of their mother."
   "Maybe, but two years after she died, Dad remarried. He married Judith, who was tall and blond and blue-eyed, and nothing like my mother. If he had really believed my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, why did he marry some Nordic ice princess? Why didn't he marry someone small and dark like my mother?"
   "I don't know, ma petite," he said quietly.
   "Judith had a daughter only a couple of years younger than me. Then they had Josh together and he was as blond and blue-eyed as the rest of them. I looked like a small dark mistake in the family photos."
   "Your skin is almost as pale as mine, ma petite."
   "But I have my mother's eyes and hair. My hair isn't brunette, it's black. A woman asked Judith once in front of me if I was adopted. Judith said, no, I was from her husband's first marriage."
   Jean-Claude slid off the bed. He moved towards me, and I had to look at the floor. I wanted badly to be held, to be comforted. If it had been Richard, I'd have gone to him. But it wasn't Richard.
   Jean-Claude touched my cheek and raised my face until I had to look at him. "I have lived for over three hundred years. In that time, the ideal of beauty has changed many times. Large breasts, small, thin, curved, tall, short, they have all been the height of beauty at one time or another. But in all that time, ma petite, I have never desired anyone the way I desire you." He leaned towards me, and I didn't move away. His lips brushed mine in a gentle kiss.
   He took that one last step to press our bodies together, and I stopped him, one hand on his chest, but all I met was bare skin. The slickness of his cross-shaped burn scar met my fingertips. I moved my hand and found his heart beating against my palm. Not an improvement.
   He drew back, a breath, and whispered into my mouth, "Tell me no, ma petite, and I will stop."
   I had to swallow twice before I could speak. "No."
   Jean-Claude stepped away from me. He lay back on the bed as he had earlier, propped on his elbows, his legs from the knees hung off the bed. He stared at me, daring me to come join him, I think.
   I wasn't that stupid. There was some dark part of me that was tempted. Lust has less logic than love, sometimes, but it's easier to fight.
   "I have played the mortal for you these many months. I thought in March when you held my naked body, when you shared blood with me, that it would be a changing point for us. That you would give in to your desire and admit your feelings for me."
   A burning wash of color crept up my face. I had no good excuse for the foreplay that got out of hand. I was weak, so sue me. "I gave you blood because you were dying. I'd have never done it otherwise. You know that."
   He stared at me. It wasn't vampire tricks that made me want to look away. It was a raw honesty that I'd never seen in his face before. "I know that now, ma petite. When we returned from Branson, you threw yourself into Richard's arms as though he were a lifeline. We continued to date, but you drew away. I felt it and did not know how to stop it."
   He sat up on the bed, hands clasped in his lap. A look of frustration and confusion passed over his face. "I have never had another woman deny me, ma petite."
   I laughed. "Oh, your ego isn't big."
   "It is not ego, ma petite, it is the truth."
   I leaned against the bathroom door and thought about that one. "No one in almost three hundred years has ever said no to you?"
   "You find that so hard to believe?"
   "If I can do it, so can they."
   He shook his head. "You do not appreciate how very harsh your strength of will is, ma petite. It is impressive. You have no idea how impressive."
   "If I'd fallen into your arms the first time we met, or even the dozenth time we met, you'd have bedded me, bled me, and dumped me."
   I watched the truth of my words fill his face. I hadn't realized until this moment how much control he kept over his facial expressions, how it was the lack of reaction that made him seem more otherworldly than he was.
   "You are right," he said. "If you had giggled and fawned over me, I would not have given you a second glance. Your partial immunity to my powers was the first attraction. But it was your stubbornness that intrigued me. Your flat refusal of me."
   "I was a challenge."
   "Yes."
   I stared into his suddenly open face. For the first time, I thought I might see the truth in his eyes. "Good thing I resisted. I don't like being used and tossed aside."
   "Once you were only a challenge, something to be conquered. Then I became intrigued by your growing powers. I saw possibilities that I could use you to strengthen my position if only you would join with me."
   Something like pain passed over his face, and I wanted to ask if it was real. If any of this was real, or if it was only another act. I trusted Jean-Claude to do whatever it took to stay alive. I didn't trust him to tell the truth sitting on a stack of Bibles.
   "I saved your ass enough times. I'm your declared human servant. What more do you want?"
   "You, ma petite." He stood, but didn't come closer. "It is no longer challenge or the promise of power that makes me look to you."
   My pulse was suddenly thudding in my throat, and he hadn't done a damn thing.
   "I love you, Anita."
   I stared at him, my eyes growing wide. I opened my mouth, closed it. I didn't believe him. He lied so easily, so well. He was the master of manipulation. How could I believe him now? "What do you want me to say?"
   He shook his head, and his face fell back into its normal lines. That beautiful perfection that was what passed for ordinary. But I knew now that even this was a mask, hiding his deeper emotions.
   "How did you do that?"
   "After several centuries of being forced to school your face into pleasant, unreadable lines, you lose the knack of anything else. My survival has depended on my expression more than once. I wish you understood the effort that little display of humanity cost me."
   "What do you want me to say, Jean-Claude?"
   "You love me a little, that I am sure of."
   I shrugged. "Maybe, but a little isn't enough."
   "You love Richard a lot, don't you?"
   I met his eyes and wanted to lie, to save his feelings, but those kinds of lies hurt more than the truth. "Yeah."
   "Yet, you have not made your choice. You have not told me to leave the two of you to matrimonial bliss. Why is that?"
   "Last time we had this talk, you said you'd kill Richard."
   "If that is all that is stopping you, ma petite, have no fear. I will not kill Richard merely because you go to his bed and not mine."
   "Since when?" I asked.
   "When I threw my support to Richard, Marcus became my enemy. That cannot be changed." He leaned his shoulder against the dark wooden bedpost closest to me. "I had thought to petition another pack. There is always an ambitious alpha male out there somewhere. Someone who would like his own pack but either through sentimentality or lack of strength is doomed to play second forever. I could kill Richard and bring someone else in to kill Marcus."
   I listened to his plan told so matter-of-factly. "What changed your mind?"
   "You."
   "Come again?"
   "You love him, ma petite. You truly love him. His death would destroy something inside of you. When Julianna died, I thought I would never feel for anyone again. And I didn't, until I met you."
   "You won't kill Richard because it would hurt me?"
   "Oui."
   "So I could tell Richard when he gets here that I've chosen him, and you would let us go off, get married, whatever?"
   "Isn't there one hurdle to your marriage besides myself?" he asked.
   "What?"
   "You must see him change into wolf form." Jean-Claude smiled and shook his head. "If Richard was human, you would meet at the door with a smile and a yes. But you fear what he is. He is not human enough for you, ma petite."
   "He isn't human enough for himself," I said.
   Jean-Claude raised his eyebrows. "Yes, Richard runs from his beast, as you have run from me. But Richard shares a body with his beast. He cannot outrun it."
   "I know that."
   "Richard is still running, ma petite. And you run with him. If you were secure that you could accept him, all of him, you would have done it by now."
   "He keeps finding excuses not to change for me."
   "He fears your reaction," Jean-Claude said.
   "It's more than that," I said. "If I can embrace his beast, I'm not sure he'll be able to accept me."
   Jean-Claude cocked his head to one side. "I do not understand."
   "He hates what he is so badly. I think if I can accept his beast, he won't . . . he won't love me anymore."
   "Being able to embrace his beast would make you what . . . perverse?"
   I nodded. "I think so."
   "You are trapped on the horns of a nasty dilemma, ma petite. He will not make love to you or marry you until you have seen and accepted his beast. Yet if you accept it, you fear he will turn from you."
   "Yeah."
   He shook his head. "Only you could choose two men in one human lifetime that are this confusing."
   "I didn't do it on purpose."
   He pushed away from the bed. He stopped two small steps from me, staring down. "I tried to play the mortal for you, ma petite. But Richard is much better at being human than I am. I have not been truly human for so very long. If I cannot be the better man, let me be the better monster."
   My eyes narrowed. "What's that suppose to mean?"
   "It means, ma petite, that Jason told me of what happened this afternoon. I know how close you and Richard came."
   How much had the lycanthropes been able to hear? More than I was comfortable with, that was for sure. "I just love being spied on."
   "Do not be flippant, ma petite, please."
   It was the please that got me. "I'm listening."
   "I told you once that if Richard could touch you and I could not, it would not be fair. That is still true."
   I pushed away from the door. He'd stepped over the line. "Are you asking me to let you touch me where Richard touched me?"
   He smiled. "Such righteous indignation, ma petite. But have no fear. Forcing myself upon you in such a way would smack of rape. I have never been interested in such things."
   I took a step back, putting a little space between us. Unless I was really angry, it was never good to get that close. "So, what are you saying?"
   "You have always forbidden me to use vampire tricks, as you call them, with you." He held a hand up before I could say it. "I do not mean bespelling you with my eyes. I am not even sure that is possible anymore. I cannot be human, ma petite. I am a vampire. Let me show you that has pleasures beyond humanity."
   I shook my head. "No way."
   "A kiss, ma petite, that is all I ask. A chaste kiss."
   "And the catch is?" I asked.
   His eyes were solid, sparkling blue. His skin glowed like alabaster under lights.
   "I don't think so," I said.
   "If you were truly sure of Richard, I would leave you to him. But does the fact that I love you not earn me so much as a kiss?" He glided towards me. I backed up, but the door was right there, and there was nowhere to go.
   He was like a living sculpture, all ivory and sapphire, too beautiful for words. Too beautiful to touch. His hands smoothed over my forearms, along my hands. I gasped. Power rushed along my skin in a smooth wash, like air dancing over my body.
   I must have tensed up because Jean-Claude said, "It will not hurt, that I promise."
   "Just a kiss," I whispered.
   "Just a kiss," he whispered. His face lowered towards mine. His lips brushed mine, gently, slowly. The power flowed across his lips into my mouth. I think I stopped breathing for a second. My skin felt like it was melting away and I would sink into his body, into that shining power.
   "Looks like I got here just in time." It was Richard in the doorway.
   I shoved my hand into Jean-Claude's chest and pushed him away hard enough for him to stumble. I was gasping for air like I'd been drowning. My skin pulsed and beat with the power that still crawled over me, into me.
   "Richard," I whispered. I wanted to say that it wasn't what it looked like, but I couldn't get enough air.
   Jean-Claude turned, smiling. He knew exactly what to say. "Richard, how good of you to join us. How did you get past my wolf?"
   "It wasn't that hard."
   I stared at both of them. I was still having trouble breathing. It felt like every nerve in my body had been touched all at once. The line between pleasure and pain was damn narrow, and I wasn't sure which side this went on.
   The light was seeping away from Jean-Claude, leaving him pale, lovely, almost human.
   Richard stood directly inside the door. His eyes glowed not with inner light but with anger, an anger that made his eyes dance, tightened the muscles across his shoulders and down his arms so that the effort showed from across the room. I'd never been so aware of how physically large he was. He seemed to fill more space than he should have. The first skin-prickling rush of his power swirled over me.
   I took a deep, shaking breath and started walking towards him. The closer I got, the thicker the power, until about six feet from him, it was like stepping into a nearly solid mass of pulsing, vibrating energy.
   I stood there, trying to swallow my heart back into my throat. He was dressed in jeans and a green flannel work shirt with sleeves rolled over his forearms. His hair fell loose round his shoulders in a wavy mass. I'd seen him like this a hundred times, but suddenly it was all different. I had never been afraid of Richard, not really. Now, for the first time, I saw that there was something to fear. Something swam behind his eyes, his beast, he called it. It was there now just behind those true, brown eyes. A monster waiting to be set loose.
   "Richard," I said and had to cough to clear my throat, "what's wrong with you?"
   "Tomorrow is the full moon, Anita. Strong emotions aren't good right now." Rage thinned his face, made those lovely cheekbones high and tight. "If I hadn't interrupted, would you have broken your promise to me?"
   "He still doesn't know what kind of hose I'm wearing," I said.
   Richard smiled, some of the tension easing away.
   "Too smooth for garters," Jean-Claude said. "Panty hose, though they could be crotchless, of that I am not sure."
   Richard snarled.
   I glanced back at Jean-Claude. "Don't help me."
   He smiled and nodded. He'd leaned his back on one of the bedposts, fingers playing over the bare skin of his chest. It was suggestive, and he meant it to be. Damn him.
   A low, bass growl brought my attention back to Richard. He stalked towards the bed as if each movement hurt. The tension sang through the building power. Was I going to get to see him change here and now? If he changed, there'd be a fight, and for the very first time, I was worried for Jean-Claude's safety, as well as Richard's.
   "Don't do this, Richard, please."
   He was staring past me at Jean-Claude. I didn't dare look behind to see what mischief the vampire was doing; I had my hands full with the werewolf in front of me.
   Something flickered across his face. I was sure Jean-Claude had done something behind my back. Richard made a sound more animal than human and rushed for the bed. I didn't move out of the way. I stood my ground, and when he was even with me, moving past me, I threw my body into him and threw him in a nearly perfect shoulder roll. His momentum did the rest. Maybe if I'd let go of his arm, we could have avoided the rest, but I made the classic mistake. I didn't think Richard would really hurt me.
   He grabbed the arm that was holding him and flung me across the room. He was flat on his back and didn't have much leverage, and that was all that saved me. I was airborne for just a second and rolled along the carpet when I hit. The world was still spinning when my hand went for the knife. I couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in my own head, but I knew, I knew he was coming.
   He touched my arm, rolled me over, and I laid the silver blade against his neck. He froze, bent over, trying, I think, to help me stand. Richard and I stared at each other from inches away. The anger was gone from his face. His eyes were normal, as lovely as ever, but I kept the knife against the smooth skin of his neck, dimpling it so he knew I meant business.
   He swallowed carefully. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Anita. I am so sorry."
   "Back off," I said.
   "Are you hurt?"
   "Back off, Richard. Now!"
   "Let me help you." He bent closer, and I pressed the blade in hard enough to draw a trickle of blood.
   "Let go of me, Richard."
   He let go and moved slowly away. He looked puzzled and hurt. He touched the blood at his neck as if he didn't know what it was.
   When he was out of reach, I let myself sag against the carpet. Nothing was broken, of that I was sure, and I wasn't bleeding. If he'd thrown me into a wall with that much force, it would have been a different story. I'd been dating him for seven months, nearly slept with him more than once, and in all that time, I hadn't fully appreciated what I was playing with.
   "Ma petite, are you all right?" Jean-Claude was standing at the foot of the bed. He was watching Richard closely as he moved towards me.
   "I'm all right, I'm all right." I glared up at him. "What did you do behind my back to piss him off?"
   Jean-Claude looked embarrassed. "I did tease Monsieur Zeeman. Perhaps I even wanted a fight. Jealousy is a foolish emotion. How was I to know you would not move out of the way of a charging werewolf?"
   "I don't back up, not for anyone." I almost laughed. "Though next time, maybe I'll make an exception."
   "I didn't mean to hurt you," Richard said. "But seeing you together like that . . . Knowing you're with him isn't the same thing as having it rubbed in my face." His anger had vanished the moment he'd hurt me. Horror at what he'd done, fear for my safety, sanity returning in a rush.
   "We were only kissing, Richard, nothing else, no matter what he wants you to believe."
   "I was suddenly so jealous. I'm sorry."
   "I know it was an accident, Richard. I'm just glad there wasn't a wall closer."
   "I could have hurt you badly." He took a step towards me, hands reaching, and stopped himself. "And you want me to let the beast loose enough to kill. Don't you understand how hard I fight to control it?"
   "I understand better than I did a few minutes ago," I said.
   "Your bags are in the hallway. I'll bring them in, then I'll go." This was the look I'd been dreading. This crushed, puppy dog look. The anger had been easier to deal with, if more dangerous.
   "Don't go."
   They both looked at me.
   "Jean-Claude staged this." I held a hand up before he could protest. "Oh, I know you enjoyed yourself, but you still wanted Richard to see us together. You wanted to pick a fight. You wanted to show me he was as much a monster as you are. You succeeded on all counts beautifully. Now, get out."
   "You are throwing me out of my own bedroom?" He looked amused.
   "Yeah." I stood up and was only a little wobbly on the high heels.
   Jean-Claude sighed. "I am to be relegated forever to my coffin then, to never know the joy of your company for my slumber."
   "You don't go to sleep, Jean-Claude. You die. Maybe I lust after your warm, breathing body, but I'm not up to the full package yet."
   He smiled. "Very well, ma petite. I will leave you and Monsieur Zeeman to discuss the last few minutes. I would ask one thing."
   "And that is?" I asked.
   "That you not make love in my bed when I cannot join you."
   I sighed. "It would be pretty tacky to make love with Richard in your bed. I think you're safe on that one."
   Jean-Claude glanced at Richard. His eyes seemed to take in every inch of him, lingering on the open wound at his neck, though maybe that was just my imagination. "If anyone could withstand the temptation, it is you, ma petite." Jean-Claude looked at me, his face unreadable. "I am sorry you were nearly hurt. I did not mean for that to happen."
   "You always have good intentions," I said.
   He sighed, then smiled. He glanced at Richard. "Perhaps I am not the better monster, after all."
   "Get out," I said.
   He left, still smiling. He closed the door behind him, and I was left with his power dancing over my skin, the feel of his lips and hands on my body. It was only a kiss. Foreplay. But even the rush of adrenaline, of nearly being thrown into a wall, couldn't chase away the aftereffects.
   Richard stood staring at me, as if he could sense the power somehow. "I'll go get the bags," he said. He could have said so many things, but that was safest.
   He went to get the bags, and I sat down on the bed. Richard could have killed me. Jean-Claude would never have lost control like that. I wanted Richard to embrace his beast, but maybe, just maybe, I didn't understand what that meant.
   
   
23
   I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Richard to come back into the room. My skin was jumping from Jean-Claude's parting gift. Only a kiss, and Richard had nearly torn into Jean-Claude and me. What would Richard have done if he'd caught us doing something truly lascivious? It was better not to find out.
   Richard set my suitcase and both bags inside the door. He went out and came back with his small overnight bag.
   He stood there, just inside the door, staring at me. I stared back. Blood still trickled down his throat from where I'd cut him. Neither of us seemed to know what to say. The silence grew until it was so thick it began to have weight.
   "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said. "I've never lost control like that before." He took a step into the room. "But seeing you with him . . ." He held out his hands, then let them fall to his sides, helplessly.
   "It was only a kiss, Richard. That's all."
   "It's never only a kiss with Jean-Claude."
   I couldn't argue that.
   "I wanted to kill him," Richard said.
   "I noticed."
   "You're sure you're all right?"
   "How's your neck?" I asked.
   He touched the wound and came away with fresh blood. "Silver blade, it won't heal immediately." He came to stand in front of me, looking down, so close that the legs of his jeans nearly brushed my knees. It was almost too close. The lingering brush of Jean-Claude's power made my skin ache. Richard's nearness made it worse.
   If I stood up, our bodies would touch, he was that close. I stayed sitting, trying to swallow the last bits of Jean-Claude's kiss. I wasn't sure what would happen if I touched Richard now. It felt almost like whatever Jean-Claude had done reacted to Richard's body. Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was becoming that needy. Maybe my body was tired of saying no.
   "Would you really have killed me?" Richard asked. "Could you have plunged that blade home?"
   I stared up at him and wanted to lie to the sincerity in his eyes, but I didn't. Whatever we were doing with each other, whatever we meant to each other, it couldn't be based on lies. "Yes."
   "Just like that," he said.
   I nodded. "Just like that."
   "I saw it in your eyes. Cold, dispassionate, like someone else was looking out. If I was sure I could kill coldly, it wouldn't scare me so much."
   "I wish I could promise you that you wouldn't enjoy it, but I can't."
   "I know that." He stared at me. "I couldn't kill you. Not for any reason."
   "It would destroy something in me to lose you, Richard, but my first reaction is to protect myself at all costs. So, if we ever have another misunderstanding like we did tonight, don't help me up, don't come close to me, until I'm sure you're not going to eat me. Okay?"
   He nodded. "Okay."
   The energy rush that Jean-Claude had given me was fading, calming. I stood up, and Richard's body touched mine. I felt an instant rush of warm energy that had nothing to do with the vampire. Richard's aura enveloped me like a breath of warm air. His arms slid behind my back. I slid my hands around his waist and laid my cheek against his chest. I listened to the deep throbbing of his heart, running my hands over the softness of the flannel shirt. There was a measure of comfort in Richard's arms that simply wasn't there when Jean-Claude held me.
   He ran his hands through my hair, putting one on either side of my face. He pulled me back until he could see my face. He bent towards me, lips parted. I stretched on tiptoe to meet him.
   A voice said, "Master."
   Richard turned with me still in his arms, so we could see the door. Jason crawled across the white carpet, dripping crimson drops as he moved.
   "My God, what happened to you?" I asked.
   "I happened to him," Richard said. He walked over to the crawling man.
   "What do you mean, you happened to him?"
   Jason abased himself at Richard's feet, face pressed to the carpet. "I'm sorry."
   Richard knelt and raised Jason to a sitting position. Blood ran down his face from a cut above his eyes. It was deep and would need stitches.
   "You threw him into a wall?" I asked.
   "He tried to stop me from reaching you."
   "I can't believe you did this."
   Richard looked up at me. "You want me to be pack leader. You want me to be alpha. Well, this is what it takes." He shook his head. "You should see your face. You look so damned outraged. How can you want me to kill another human being and be upset by a little rough and tumble?"
   I didn't know what to say. "Jean-Claude said that killing Marcus wouldn't be enough. That you'd have to be willing to terrorize the pack to rule it."
   "He's right." Richard wiped the blood off Jason's face. The cut was already beginning to close. He put his bloody fingers into his mouth and licked them clean.
   I stood there, frozen, staring, like an unwilling witness to a car crash.
   Richard bent close to Jason's face. I thought I knew what he was going to do, but I had to see it to believe it. He licked the wound. He ran his tongue over the open wound like a dog will do.
   I turned away. This couldn't be my Richard, my safe, comforting Richard.
   "You can't stand to watch, can you?" he asked. "Did you think that killing was the only thing I had refused to do?"
   His voice made me turn back.
   There was a smudge of blood on his chin. "Watch it all, Anita. I want you to see what it takes to be alphic. Then you tell me if it's all worth it. If you can't stomach it, don't ever ask me to do it again." The look in his eyes made it a challenge.
   I understood challenges. I sat on the edge of the bed. "Go to it. I'm all yours."
   Richard brushed the hair on one side, exposing the wound on his neck. "I am alpha and I feed the pack. I spilled your blood, and now I give it back to you." The warm rush of his power spilled through the room.
   Jason stared up at him, his eyes rolled almost to white. "Marcus doesn't do this."
   "Because he can't," Richard said. "I can. Feed on my blood, on my apology, my power, and never stand against me again." The air was so thick with power it was hard to breathe.
   Jason rose on his knees and put his mouth over the wound, tentatively at first, as if afraid he'd be turned away or hurt. When Richard didn't say anything, Jason pressed his mouth to the open wound and drank. His jaw muscles worked, his throat swallowed. One hand slipped behind Richard's back, one hand on his shoulder.
   I walked around them until I could see Richard's face. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful. He must have felt me watching him, because he opened his eyes. There was anger there, anger at me, partly. It wasn't only about killing Marcus, it was about giving up pieces of his humanity. I hadn't understood that, not until now.
   He touched Jason's shoulders. "Enough." Jason pressed himself harder against the wound, like a nursing puppy. Richard pulled him forcibly off of his neck. A hicky had already spread around the wound.
   Jason lay back, half-cradled in Richard's arms. He licked the edges of his mouth, getting the last drops of blood. He giggled and rolled away from Richard, to kneel on the floor. He rubbed his face along Richard's leg. "I've never felt anything like that. Marcus can't share power like that. Does anybody else in the pack know you can share blood?"
   "Tell them," Richard said. "Tell them all."
   "You really are going to kill Marcus, aren't you?" Jason asked.
   "If he gives me no other choice, yes. Now, go, Jason, your other master is waiting."
   Jason stood, and almost fell. He righted himself, rubbing his hands down his legs and arms as if he was bathing in something I couldn't see. Maybe it was the warm, ruffling power that he tried to tie around himself. He laughed again. "If you'll feed me, you can hit me into a wall anytime."
   "Get out," Richard said.
   Jason got out.
   Richard was still kneeling on the floor. He looked up at me. "Do you understand now why I didn't want to do this?"
   "Yes," I said.
   "Maybe if Marcus knows I can share blood, my power, he'll back down."
   "You're still hoping not to kill him," I said.
   "It's not only the killing, Anita. It's everything that goes with it. It's what I just did with Jason. A hundred things, none of them very human." He looked at me, and there was a sorrow in his brown eyes that I had never seen before.
   I understood suddenly. "It isn't the killing exactly, is it? Once you take over the pack by blood and brute force, you have to keep the pack with blood and brute force."
   "Exactly. If I could force Marcus out somehow, if I could make him back down, then I'd have room to do things differently." He came to stand in front of me, his face eager. "I've brought nearly half the pack either to my side or at least to be neutral. They aren't backing Marcus anymore. No one's ever divided a pack like this without deaths."
   "Why can't you split into two packs?"
   He shook his head. "Marcus would never allow it. The pack leader gets a tithe from every member. It would cut not just his power but his money."
   "You getting money now?" I asked.
   "Everyone's still tithing to Marcus. I don't want the money, and it's just one more fight. I think tithing should be abolished."
   I watched the light in his face, the plans, the dreams. He was building a power base of fairness and boy scout virtues with creatures that could rip out your throat and eat you afterwards. He believed he could do it. Watching his handsome, eager face, I almost believed it, too.
   "I thought you could kill Marcus and that would be it. But it won't be, will it?"
   "Raina will see to it that I'm challenged. Unless I put the fear of me into them."
   "As long as Raina is alive, she'll be trouble."
   "I don't know what to do about Raina."
   "I could kill her," I said.
   The look on his face was enough.
   "Just kidding," I said. Sort of. Richard wouldn't agree with the ultimate practicality, but if he was going to be safe, Raina had to die. Cold-blooded, but true.
   "What are you thinking, Anita?"
   "That maybe you're right and the rest of us are wrong."
   "About what?"
   "Maybe you shouldn't kill Marcus."
   Richard's eyes widened. "I thought you were angry with me for not killing Marcus."
   "It's not killing Marcus. It's endangering everybody by not killing Marcus."
   He shook his head. "I don't see the difference."
   "The difference is that killing is a means to an end, not an end in itself. I want you alive. Marcus gone. The pack members that follow you safe. I don't want you to have to torture the pack to keep your place. If we can accomplish all that without you having to kill anyone, I'm okay with that. I don't think there's an option that doesn't involve killing. But if you can come up with one, I'll support you."
   He studied my face. "Are you telling me that you think I shouldn't kill now?"
   "Yeah."
   He laughed, but it was with more irony than humor. "I don't know whether to yell at you or hug you."
   "I affect a lot of people that way," I said. "Look, when we went to rescue Stephen, you should have called a few people. Gone into the situation from a position of strength, with three or four lieutenants at your back. There is a compromise between playing Sir Lancelot and being Vlad the Impaler."
   He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Being able to feed power through my blood is a rare talent. It's impressive, but it won't be enough. I'd have to have some major scary stuff to get Marcus and Raina to back down. I'm powerful, Anita, really powerful." He said it like it was simply the truth, no ego, no pride. "But it's not that kind of powerful."
   I sat down beside him. "I'll do anything I can, Richard. Just promise me you won't be careless."
   He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I won't be careless if you'll kiss me."
   We kissed. The taste of him was warm and sure, but underneath it was the sweet salt of blood, and Jason's aftershave. I drew away from him.
   "What's wrong?"
   I shook my head. Telling him I could taste other people's blood in his mouth was not going to be helpful. We were going to work so he didn't have to do things like that. It wasn't his beast that would steal his humanity, it was a thousand smaller things.
   "Change for me," I said.
   "What?"
   "Change for me, here, now."
   He stared at me, as if trying to read something in my face. "Why now?"
   "Let me see all of you, Richard, the whole package."
   "If you don't want Jean-Claude sharing the bed, you don't want a wolf in bed with you, either."
   "You wouldn't you be trapped in wolf form until morning, you said so earlier."
   "No, I wouldn't," he said softly.
   "If you change tonight, and I can accept it, we can make love. We can start planning the wedding."
   He laughed. "Can I kill Marcus before I have to kill Jean-Claude?"
   "Jean-Claude promised not to hurt you," I said.
   Richard went very still. "You've already talked to him about this?"
   I nodded.
   "Why wasn't he angry with me?"
   "He said he'd step aside if he couldn't win me, so he's stepping aside." I didn't add the part about Jean-Claude loving me. Save it for later.
   "Call your beast, Richard."
   He shook his head. "It isn't just my beast, Anita. It's the lukoi, the pack. You have to see them, too."
   "I've seen them."
   He shook his head. "You haven't seen us at the lupanar. Our place of power. We're real there, no pretense, not even to ourselves."
   "I've just told you that I want to marry you. Did you pick up on that?" I asked.
   Richard stood. "I want to marry you, Anita, more than almost anything in the world. I want you so badly my body aches with it. I don't trust myself to be here tonight."
   "We've managed to stay chaste so far," I said.
   "By the skin of our teeth." He picked up his overnight case. "The lukoi call sex the killing dance."
   "So?"
   "We use the same phrase for battles of succession."
   "I still don't understand the problem."
   He stared at me. "You will. God help us both. You will."
   There was something so sad, so wistful about him suddenly, that I didn't want to let him go. Tomorrow he'd face Marcus, and just because he'd agreed to kill didn't mean he could. When the moment came, I didn't trust him not to flinch. I didn't want to lose him.
   "Stay with me, Richard. Please."
   "It wouldn't be fair to you."
   "Don't be such a frigging boy scout."
   He smiled and gave a very bad Popeye imitation, "I am what I am." He closed the door behind him. I didn't even get to kiss him good-bye.
   
   

24
   I woke to darkness and someone bending over me. I couldn't really see, but I felt something in the air above me like a weight. My hand slid under the pillow and came out with the Firestar. I shoved the gun into whoever it was, and they were gone like a dream. I slid off the bed, pressing my back against the wall, making myself as small a target as possible.
   A voice came out of the darkness. I aimed for it, straining my ears for sounds of more intruders.
   "It's Cassandra. The light switch is above you. I'll stay right here while you turn on the lights." Her voice was low, even, the sort of voice you used for crazy people, or people who had guns pointed at you.
   I swallowed past my pulse and scooted my back up the wall. I swiped my left hand up the wall until it hit the switch plate, then I knelt back down, fingers touching the switch. When I was as far down as I could get and still turn on the light, I hit it. Light flared. There was a moment of dazzling blindness while I hunkered on the floor, gun pointed blindly. When I could see, Cassandra stood near the foot of the bed, hands out to either side, staring at me. Her eyes were a little too wide. The lace on her Victorian nightgown fluttered with her breath.
   Yes, Victorian nightgown. She looked delicate, doll-like. I'd asked her last night if Jean-Claude picked out the gown. No, she'd picked it out. Each to their own.
   She stood on the carpet, frozen, staring. "Anita, are you all right?" Her tone said she didn't think so.
   I took a deep breath and pointed the gun at the ceiling. "Yeah, I'm all right."
   "Can I move?"
   I stood, holding the gun at my side. "Don't try to touch me when I'm in a sound sleep. Say something first."
   "I'll remember that," she said. "May I move?"
   "Sure. What's up?" I asked.
   "Richard and Jean-Claude are outside."
   I checked my watch. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. I'd had nearly six hours of sleep. Or would have had if Cassandra and I hadn't talked for an hour. I hadn't had a sleep-over in years, and frankly, girl or no, she was still a lycanthrope that I'd met only that night. It felt strange to trust her at my back as my bodyguard. I've never been too fond of sleeping with strangers. It's not sexual. It's plain suspicion. Being deeply asleep is as helpless as most of us get.
   "What do they want?"
   "Richard said he has a plan."
   I didn't need to ask what plan. There was only one thing on his mind the day of the full moon: Marcus.
   "Tell them I'm getting dressed first." I went for my suitcase. Cassandra padded to the door. She opened it only a crack, speaking softly. She closed it firmly behind her and came back to me. She looked puzzled. In the nightgown with a puzzled frown on her face, she looked about twelve.
   I knelt by the suitcase, clothes in my hands, looking up at her. "What now?"
   "Jean-Claude said not to bother getting dressed."
   I stared at her for a heartbeat. "Yeah, right. I'm getting dressed. They can just bloody well wait that long."
   She nodded and went back to the door.
   I went for the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked as tired as I felt. I brushed teeth, took care of necessities, and wished for a shower. It would have helped wake me up. I could have run a bath, but I wasn't sure the boys would last that long. Besides, a bath was something I did to get ready for bed, not for waking up. I needed something stimulating, not something soothing.
   Richard had a plan, but Jean-Claude was with him. That meant that the vampire had helped come up with the plan. It was a scary thought.
   Tonight Richard would fight Marcus. He could be dead by tomorrow. The thought made my chest tight. There was a pressure behind my eyes that had more to do with tears than anything else. I could live with Richard off somewhere. It would hurt if he wasn't with me, but I'd survive. I might not survive his death. I loved Richard. I really loved him. I didn't want to give him up. Not for anything.
   Jean-Claude was being a perfect gentleman, but I didn't trust it. How could I? He always had a dozen different reasons for everything he did. What was the plan? The quicker I dressed, the quicker I'd find out.
   I'd pretty much just grabbed stuff out of the suitcase. You can mix and match almost all the clothing I own. Dark blue jeans, navy blue polo shirt, white jogging socks. I hadn't dressed to impress anyone. Now that I was a little more awake, I wished I'd chosen something a little less practical. Love makes you worry about stuff like that.
   I opened the door. Richard stood by the bed. The sight of him stopped me in my tracks. His hair was brushed until it fell like a frothy mass around his shoulders. He was wearing nothing but a pair of silky undershorts, royal purple. They were slit high on each side, giving glimpses of his thighs as he turned towards me.
   When I could close my mouth and talk, I said, "Why are you dressed like that?"
   Jean-Claude leaned one shoulder against the wall. He was wearing a black ankle-length robe edged with black fur. His hair mingled with the fur collar until it was hard to tell where one blackness ended and the other began. His pale neck and a triangle of his chest showed almost perfectly white against the fur.
   "You look like you've just stepped out of two different porno movies. Cassandra said something about a plan. What's the plan?"
   Richard glanced at Jean-Claude. They exchanged a look between them that said better than words that they'd been plotting behind my back.
   Richard sat on the edge of the bed. The shorts clung a little too close for comfort and I had to look away, so I looked at Jean-Claude. Not comforting, but at least most of him was covered.
   "Do you remember some months ago, before Christmas, when we accidently set off some sort of magical energy in your apartment?" Jean-Claude asked.
   "I remember," I said.
   "Monsieur Zeeman and I believe that the three of us could share power, become a triumvirate."
   I looked from one to the other. "Explain."
   "There is a link between myself and wolves. There is a link between you, my little necromancer, and the dead. Lust and love have always held a magical energy. I can show you individual spells that can use the link between vampire and their animal, between necromancer and vampire. We should not be surprised that there is power between us."
   "Make your point," I said.
   Jean-Claude smiled. "I believe we could call up enough power to back down a certain Ulfric. I know Marcus. He will not fight if he believes he has no hope of winning."
   "Jean-Claude's right," Richard said. "If I can shine with enough power, Marcus will back down."
   "How do you know we can even call this whatever-it-is up again?" I asked.
   "I have done some research," Jean-Claude said. "There are two cases of master vampires who could call animals, who then made one of those animals in were-form a sort of human servant."
   "So?"
   "It means that there is a chance of my being able to bind you both."
   I shook my head. "No way, no vampire marks. Been there, done that, didn't like it."
   "There were no marks on either of you in December," Jean-Claude said. "I think it will work without any now."
   "Why are the two of you dressed like that?"
   Richard looked embarrassed. "It was all I brought. I thought we were going to be sharing the bed last night."
   I motioned at the shorts. "Those would not have helped us stay chaste, Richard."
   Heat crept up his face. "I know; sorry."
   "Tell me there is no lingerie in your suitcase, ma petite."
   "I never said there wasn't." Ronnie had talked me into an outfit just in case I gave in to Richard. She was willing for me to bed him before the wedding if it would knock Jean-Claude out of the running.
   "Who'd you buy it for?" Richard asked quietly.
   "You, but don't distract me. Why the nice jammies?"
   "Richard and I have made an attempt or two on our own to call the power. It does not work with only the two of us. His dislike of me has rendered it useless."
   "Is this true, Richard?"
   He nodded. "Jean-Claude says we need our third; we need you."
   "What's with the clothes?"
   "Lust and anger were what drew the power the first time, ma petite. We have our anger. We are missing our lust."
   "Wait just a damn minute." I stared from one to the other of them. "Are you saying we become a menage a trois?"
   "No," Richard said. He stood up. He walked towards me in his little shorts, flashing the room. "No sex, I promise you that. Even for this, I wouldn't have agreed to sharing you with him."
   I ran my fingertips down the silk of his shorts, lightly, almost like I was afraid. "Then why the costumes?"
   "We're running out of time, Anita. If this is going to work, it's got to work fast." He gripped my arms, his hands warm on my skin. "You said you'd help me with a plan. This is the plan."
   I drew away from him slowly and turned to Jean-Claude. "And what do you get out of it?"
   "Your happiness. No wolf will challenge Richard if we are a true triumvirate."
   "My happiness, right." I studied his calm, lovely face, and had an idea. "You tasted Jason, didn't you? You tasted the power that he sucked off of Richard, didn't you? Didn't you, you son of a bitch?" I walked towards him as I talked, fighting an urge to hit him when I got there.
   "What of it, ma petite?"
   I stood right in front of him, throwing the words into his face. "What do you gain from all this? And don't give me crap about my happiness. I've known you too long."
   His face was at its mildest, its most disarming. "I would gain enough power that no master vampire, short of the council itself, would dare challenge me."
   "I knew it. I knew it. You don't do anything without a dozen ulterior motives."
   "I benefit in exactly the same way Monsier Zeeman benefits. We would both secure our power bases."
   "Fine, what do I get out of it?"
   "Why, Monsieur Zeeman's safety."
   "Anita," Richard said softly. He touched my shoulder.
   I whirled to face him. My angry words died at the look on his face. So serious, so solemn.
   He gripped my shoulders, one hand cupping the side of my face. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
   "Do you understand what he's suggesting, Richard? We would never be free of him." I touched his hand where he held my face. "Don't tie us to him like this, Richard. Once he gets a piece of you, he never lets go."
   "If you really believed he was evil, you would have killed him a long time ago and been free of him."
   If I didn't do this, and Richard died tonight, would I be able to live with it? I leaned into him, pressing my face against his chest, breathing in his scent. No. If he died and I could have saved him, I'd never be rid of the guilt.
   Jean-Claude came to stand near us. "It may have been one of those freakish accidents that cannot be duplicated under controlled conditions, ma petite. Magic is often like that."
   I turned my face and looked at him, cheek still pressed to Richard's bare chest, his arms wrapped around my back. "No vampire marks on either of us, right?"
   "I promise. The only thing I would ask is that none of us back away. We need a true idea of how much power we can call. If it is not much, then it is moot, but if it is as I believe, then it will solve a great many problems."
   "You manipulative bastard."
   "Is that a yes?" he asked.
   "Yes," I said.
   Richard hugged me. I let his arms hold me, comfort me, but it was Jean-Claude's eyes I met. There was a look on his face that was hard to describe. The devil must look like that after you've signed on the dotted line and given away your soul. Pleased, eager, and a little hungry.
   
   
25
   "You and Monsieur Zeeman have a nice visit. I will take my turn in the bathroom, then join you."
   Just hearing him say it out loud made me want to refuse. But I didn't. "Are you sure this isn't just your elaborate way of forming us into a menage a trois?"
   "Would I be so devious?"
   "Yeah."
   He laughed, and the sound shivered over my skin like an ice cube dropped down my spine.
   "I will leave you two alone." He brushed past us into the bathroom.
   I stalked after him and caught the door before it could close. He looked at me through the opening. "Yes, ma petite?"
   "There better be something under that robe besides skin."
   He smiled wide enough to show just a hint of fang. "Would I be so crude, ma petite?"
   "I don't know."
   He nodded and closed the door.
   I took a deep breath and turned to face the other man in my life. Richard's clothes lay folded on my suitcase. He moved towards me. The shorts were slit high enough that I could see almost a clear line from foot to waist.
   If we were truly alone, I would have gone to him. What should have been romantic was suddenly chokingly awkward. I was very aware of the sounds of running water from the bathroom. Jean-Claude planned to join us. Sweet Jesus.
   Richard still looked scrumptious with his hair falling across one eye. He had stopped moving closer. He finally shook his head. "Why is this suddenly so awkward?"
   "I think the biggest reason is in the bathroom getting ready to join us."
   He laughed and shook his head again. "It doesn't usually take us this long to be in each other's arms."
   "No," I said. At this rate, we were going to be staring at each other like high school kids at a dance when Jean-Claude came back out.
   "Meet me halfway," I said.
   Richard smiled. "Always." He walked to meet me. The muscles in his stomach rippled as he moved.
   I was suddenly sorry that I was wearing jeans and a polo shirt. I wanted him to see me in the lingerie I'd bought. I wanted his hands to run over the silk and my body underneath.
   Richard and I stopped inches away from each other, neither one touching. I could smell his aftershave faintly. I was close enough to feel the warmth of his body. I wanted to run my hands over his bare chest. I wanted to run my hands down the front of those silk shorts. The thought was so real I crossed my arms to keep my hands busy.
   Richard leaned over me. He ran his lips over my eyebrows, kissed my eyelids ever so gently. He reached my mouth, and I rose on tiptoe to meet him. He slid his arms around me.
   I fell against him, my hands searching his body, my mouth pressing against his. He bent and slid his arms under my butt, lifting me until our faces were even. I broke the kiss and started to say, "Put me down," but staring at his face from an inch away, I couldn't say it. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He braced his legs to catch his balance. I kissed him, and the first brush of power broke over me in a line of skin-prickling, belly-tickling warmth.
   Richard made a small sound in his throat that was more growl than moan. He knelt on the floor with me still riding him, and when he took me to the floor, I didn't stop him. He raised his upper body over me, bracing with his arms, his lower body pressed against me. When he stared down at me, his eyes had gone wolfish. Something must have shown on my face because he turned his head so I wouldn't see.
   I raised up underneath him, grabbed a handful of his thick hair, and turned his head back to me none too gently. Whether it was the pain or something else, he turned back with a snarl. I didn't flinch. I didn't look away.
   Richard lowered his face towards mine, and I lay back on the floor. His mouth hovered over mine. There was a brush of warmth as our mouths met, as if I was tasting his energy, his essence.
   The bathroom door opened. The sound froze me, making my eyes slide towards the open door. Richard hesitated for a second, mouth uncertain above mine, then he kissed the edge of my chin, running his lips down my neck.
   Jean-Claude stood in the doorway, dressed in black silk pajamas. The long-sleeved top was unbuttoned so that it fanned around his naked upper body as he moved. The look on his face, in his eyes, panicked me.
   I patted Richard's shoulder. He'd worked his way to the base of my neck and was nuzzling the collar of my polo shirt, as if he'd put his face inside the shirt. He raised those startling amber wolf eyes to me, and the only thing I could read on his face was desire, almost a hunger. His power breathed along my skin like a line of hot wind.
   My pulse thudded against the skin of my throat until I thought it would burst the skin. "What's wrong with you, Richard?"
   "Tonight is the full moon, ma petite. His beast calls to him." Jean-Claude padded across the carpet towards us.
   "Let me up, Richard."
   Richard went to his hands and knees, leaving me to squirm out from under him. I stood, and he knelt in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Don't be afraid."
   "I'm not afraid of you, Richard." I stared at Jean-Claude.
   Richard ran his hands down my ribs, fingers digging into the flesh as if he were massaging my back. It brought my attention back to him. "I would never hurt you willingly. You know that."
   I did know that. I nodded.
   "Trust me now." His voice was soft and deep, with a roll of bass to it that wasn't normal. He started pulling my shirt out of my pants. "I want to touch you, smell you, taste you."
   Jean-Claude padded around us, not coming any closer. He circled us like a shark. His midnight blue eyes were still human, more human looking than Richard's.
   Richard raised my shirt free of my pants, pushing it back until he exposed my stomach. He ran his hands over my bare skin and I shuddered, but it wasn't sex, or not only sex. That warm, electric power of his flowed from his hands across my skin. It was like having a low-level current tracing over me. It didn't quite hurt, but it might if it didn't stop. Or it might feel very good, better than anything else. I wasn't sure which thought scared me more.
   Jean-Claude stood just out of reach, watching. That thought scared me, too.
   Richard put his hands on either side of my exposed waist, holding the shirt up, draped over his wrists.
   Jean-Claude took that last step, pale hand outstretched. I tightened up, fear overriding the remains of desire. He let his hand fall back without touching us.
   Richard licked my stomach, a quick, wet motion. I stared down at him, and he stared back with brown eyes. Human eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you, Anita."
   I didn't know what it had cost him to swallow his beast back down inside, but I knew it hadn't been easy. There were many lesser lycanthropes who could not go back once they started to change. It would have been more reassuring if his true brown eyes hadn't held a darkness all their own. But it wasn't his beast, it was something more basic, more human: sex. Even lust doesn't cover that look in a man's eyes.
   Jean-Claude was standing behind me. I could feel him. Without touching me at all, I could feel his power, like a cool, seeking wind. He brushed his face against my hair. My heart was beating so loudly I couldn't hear anything but the thundering of my own blood in my head.
   Jean-Claude brushed my hair to one side. His lips touched my cheek and his power burst over me in a quiet rush, cool as a wind from the grave. It flowed through me, seeking Richard's warmth. The two energies hit, mingled inside me. I couldn't breathe. I felt that thing inside me that could call the dead from the grave—magic, for lack of a better word—I felt it coil and flare against them both.
   I tried to pull away from Richard, but his fingers dug into my ribs. Jean-Claude's arms tightened around my shoulders. "Build the power, do not fight it, ma petite."
   I fought the panic, my breath coming in quick gasps. I was going to hyperventilate and pass out if I couldn't get a handle on it. I rode the power and my own fear, and I was losing.
   Richard's mouth bit gently at my stomach. His mouth sucking my skin. Jean-Claude's lips touched my neck, nibbling gently. His arms cradled me against his chest. Richard was a growing warmth at my waist. Jean-Claude like some cool fire at my back. I was being eaten from both ends like a piece of wood going up in flames. The power was too much. It had to go somewhere. I had to do something with it or it was going to burn me alive.
   My legs buckled, and only Richard's and Jean-Claude's hands on me kept me from falling. They lowered me to the floor, still cradled in their arms. My shoulder touched the ground, then my hand, and I knew what I could do with the power. I felt it surge through the ground, seeking, seeking the dead. I rolled onto my stomach. Jean-Claude's hands were on my shoulders, his face brushing mine. Richard's hands were under my shirt touching my back, roaming higher, but it was all secondary. I had to do something with the power.
   I found the dead I needed, and it didn't work. The power continued to build until I would have screamed if I could have gotten enough air. A step, an ingredient, something was missing.
   I rolled onto my back, staring up at both of them. They stared down at me. Jean-Claude's eyes had gone solid, midnight blue. They both leaned towards me at once. Richard went for my mouth, Jean-Claude went for my neck. Richard's kiss was almost a burning. I could feel the brush of fangs as Jean-Claude fought not to bite me. Temptation was everywhere. Someone's hand was under my shirt, and I wasn't sure whose it was anymore. Then I realized it was both of them.
   What was one thing I needed for raising the dead? Blood. I must have said it out loud: "Blood."
   Jean-Claude raised up, staring at me from inches away. His hand was just below my breast. I'd grabbed his wrist without thinking about it. "What, ma petite?"
   "Blood to finish it. We need blood."
   Richard raised his face up like a drowning man. "What?"
   "I can give you blood, ma petite." Jean-Claude leaned into me. I stopped him with a hand on his chest, at the same time that Richard put a hand on his shoulder. The power poured over us in a searing wash, and I was seeing white spots.
   "You won't use me to sink fangs into her for the first time," Richard growled it at him. His anger fed the magic and I screamed.
   "Give me blood, or get off me." I held up my own wrist between them. "I don't have a knife, someone do it."
   Richard leaned over me. He swept his hair back from one side of his neck. "Here's your blood."
   Jean-Claude didn't argue. He leaned into him, lips drawn back. I watched in a sort of slow motion as he bit the side of Richard's neck. Richard tensed, a hiss of breath as the fangs sank home. Jean-Claude's mouth sealed over his skin, sucking, throat working.
   The power roared through me, raising every hair on my body, creeping through my skin until I thought I'd come apart. I sent it all outward to the dead that I'd found. I filled them up and still there was too much power. I reached outward, outward, and found what I was looking for. The power left us in a cool, burning, rush.
   I lay gasping on the floor. Jean-Claude lay on my left, propped on one elbow. Blood stained his lips, trickling down his chin. Richard lay on his stomach to my right, pinning my arm underneath his cheek. His chest rose and fell in great gasps, sweat glistening along his spine.
   The world was gold-edged, almost floating. Sound returned slowly, and it was like I was listening down a long tube.
   Jean-Claude licked the blood from his lips, wiping a shaking hand across his chin, licking the hand clean. He lay down beside me, one hand across my stomach, his head cradled on my shoulder. His bare chest and stomach lay across my arm. His skin was almost hot, feverish. He'd never felt like that before. His heart pounded against my skin like a captive bird.
   His hair fell against my face. It smelled of some exotic shampoo and of him. He gave a shaky laugh and said, "It was glorious for me, was it good for you, ma petite?"
   I swallowed, and was too tired to even laugh. "Trust you to know just what to say."
   Richard raised himself up on his elbows. Blood trickled down his neck where two neat fang marks showed. I touched the bite mark, and my fingers came away stained crimson.
   "Does it hurt?" I asked.
   "Not really." He grabbed my wrist, gently, licking the blood off my fingers, sucking them clean.
   Jean-Claude's strangely warm hand caressed my stomach under my shirt. He undid the button of my pants.
   "Don't even think it," I said.
   "Too late, ma petite." He bent and kissed me. I could taste the metallic sweetness of Richard's blood on his tongue. I rose up to meet him, pushing at his mouth. I'd asked for the blood, not either of them. The truth was, we weren't done with the bloodletting today. Whatever I'd called from the grave had to be put back. That would take blood, fresh blood. The only question was who would donate it and how would it be gathered. Oh, one more question, how much blood would we need?

26
   Jean-Claude's fingertips slid along the edge of my pants. Richard grabbed his wrist. Anger flared from both of them, and that shared power flickered to life.
   "You won't use this as an excuse to get into her pants, either," Richard said. His voice was thick and dark with more than anger. His hand tightened on Jean-Claude's wrist.
   Jean-Claude balled his hand into a fist and bent his arm at the elbow. Concentration and anger touched both their faces. I could feel the trembling effort through their chests. Their anger prickled along my skin. It was too soon to do all this shit over again. "You can arm-wrestle later, boys, we've got to go see what I raised from the dead."
   There was a fraction of hesitation, then they both looked down at me. Their arms were still straining against each other. Richard's face showed the effort. Jean-Claude's face had gone blank and curious, as if it was no effort to hold off a werewolf. But I could feel the fine trembling through his body. Illusion was all with Jean-Claude. With Richard it was all nerve endings and reality.
   "What did you say, ma petite?"
   "She said she raised the dead," Richard said.
   "Yep, so get off me. You can fight later, but right now, we need to check on what I did."
   "We did," Jean-Claude said. He eased away from Richard, and after a second, Richard released his hand.
   "What we did," I said.
   Richard stood, the muscles in his bare legs moving under the skin, and it was hard not to touch them, feel the movement of him. He offered me a hand up.
   "Give me a minute," I said.
   Jean-Claude stood as if drawn to his feet by strings. He offered me a hand, too.
   They stood glaring at each other. Their anger played through the air like invisible sparks. I shook my head. I seemed to be more worse for wear than either of them, poor human that I was. I'd have actually taken a hand up, which was rare for me. I sighed, got my feet under me, and stood without help from either of them.
   "Behave yourselves," I said. "Can't you feel what's in the air? Anger works just fine to call whatever it is, so stop it. We may have to do it again to lay to rest what we've already called from the grave."
   Jean-Claude looked instantly relaxed, at ease. He gave a low bow. "As you like, ma petite."
   Richard rotated his neck, trying to loosen his shoulders. His hands were still balled into fists, but he nodded. "I don't understand how what we did called zombies."
   "I can act as a focus for other animators. It's a way to combine powers and raise an older zombie or more than one or two zombies. I don't know how to do anything else but raise the dead, so when you shoved that much power in my face . . ." I shrugged. "I did what I know how to do."
   "Did you raise all of Nikoloas's old cemetery?" Jean-Claude asked.
   "If we're lucky," I said.
   He put his head to one side, puzzled.
   Richard looked down at himself. "Can I get some pants on?"
   I smiled. "Seems a shame," I said, "but yeah."
   "I will fetch my robe from the bathroom," Jean-Claude said.
   "Help yourself," I said.
   "No comment about how it is a shame that I am getting dressed?"
   I shook my head.
   "Cruel, ma petite, very cruel."
   I smiled and gave him a little bow.
   He returned the smile, but there was a challenge to his eyes as he walked towards the bathroom.
   Richard was sliding into his jeans. I watched him zip them up and button them into place. It was fun just to watch him dress. Love makes the smallest movements fascinating.
   I walked past him, towards the door, leaving him to put a shirt on if he was going to. The only way to ignore him was to just not look. The same theory worked with Jean-Claude most of the time.
   I walked to the door. My hand was reaching for the knob when Richard grabbed me from behind, lifting me off my feet, carrying me back from the door.
   My feet were literally dangling off the ground. "What the hell are you doing? Put me down."
   "My wolves are coming," he said, as if that explained everything.
   "Put me down."
   He lowered me enough for my feet to touch the floor, but his arms stayed wrapped around me, as if he was afraid I'd go for the door. His face was distant, listening. I heard nothing.
   A howl echoed up the corridor and raised the hairs on my arms. "What's going on, Richard?"
   "Danger," he almost whispered it.
   "Is it Raina and Marcus?"
   He was still listening to things I could not hear. He pushed me behind him and went to the door, still shirtless, wearing nothing but his jeans.
   I ran for the bed and the weapons. I got the Firestar out from under the pillow. "Don't go out there empty-handed, dammit." I dragged the Uzi out from under the bed.
   A chorus of howls went up. Richard flung the door open and raced down the hallway. I called his name, but he was gone.
   Jean-Claude came out of the bathroom in his black, fur-lined robe. "What is it, ma petite?"
   "Company." I slipped the Uzi's strap across my chest.
   The sounds of snarling wolves came distant. Jean-Claude ran past me, the long robe flying out behind him. He ran like a dark wind. When I got out to the corridor, he was nowhere in sight.
   I was going to be the last one there. Dammit.
   
   
27
   Running full tilt towards a fight was not the best way to stay alive. Caution was better. I knew that, and it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but getting there in time. In time to save them. Them.I didn't dwell on that; I ran, the Firestar gripped tightly in my right hand, the Uzi in my left. I was running like an idiot, but at least I was armed.
   A roaring shout thundered off the walls ahead. Don't ask me how, but I knew it was Richard. I didn't think I could run any faster. I was wrong. I spilled into the open, breath coming in throat-closing gasps, not looking left or right. If someone had had a gun, they could have blown me away.
   Richard stood in the middle of the room, a zombie held at arm's length above his head. A wolf the size of a pony had pinned another zombie to the floor, savaging it. Stephen stood at Richard's back in human form, but crouched and ready to fight. Cassandra stood back from them. She turned to me as I skidded into the room. There was a look on her face that I couldn't quite read, and didn't have time to puzzle over.
   Jean-Claude was at the far left, away from the werewolves. He was staring at me, too. I couldn't read his face, but he was in no danger. He hadn't waded into the zombies. He knew better. Richard didn't.
   The room had been a narrow rectangle, but the far wall had blasted outward, scattering rubble across the floor. It looked like the zombies had crawled out from behind the wall. A graveyard that I, at least, hadn't known was there.
   The dead stood in front of the ruins. Their eyes shifted to me as I saw them, and I felt the weight of their gaze like a blow to my heart.
   The fear for everyone's safety was gone, washed away in a rush of anger. "Richard, put it down, please, it won't hurt you. Call Jason off the other one." It had to be Jason unless there was another werewolf down here. And if it was someone else, where was Jason?
   Richard turned his head to look at me, the zombie, once a human male, still held effortlessly above his head. "They attacked Jason."
   "They wouldn't have done anything without orders. Jason jumped the gun."
   "They didn't attack us," Cassandra said. "They started pouring out of the wall. Jason changed and attacked them."
   The giant wolf had opened the zombie's stomach and was tearing at intestines. I'd had enough. "Grab the wolf," I said. The zombie under him locked its arms around the wolf's forequarters. The wolf sank teeth into the corpse's throat and tore it out in a spurt of dark fluid and flesh.
   The rest of the zombies, somewhere between sixty and eighty, surged toward the wolf. "Let him up, Jason, or I'll show you what it's like to be attacked by zombies."
   Richard bent his elbow and tossed the zombie away from him. The body tumbled through the air and landed in the mass of waiting zombies. They fell like bowling pins, except that these bowling pins got to their feet, though one lost an arm in the process.
   Richard crouched by his wolves. "You're attacking us?" He sounded outraged.
   "Pull your wolf off my zombie and it stops here."
   "You think you can take us?" Cassandra said.
   "With this many dead, I know I can," I said.
   Stephen's face crumpled, almost like he'd cry. "You'd hurt us."
   Shit, I'd forgotten. I was their lupa now. I'd threatened to kill Raina if she hurt Stephen again, and here I was about to feed him to zombies. There was a logic gap somewhere.
   "If I'm supposed to protect you all, then you have to obey me, right? So Jason gets the fuck off my zombie or I beat the hell out of him. Isn't that pack protocol?"
   Richard turned to me. There was a look on his face I'd never seen before: anger and arrogance, or something close to it. "I don't think Jason really expected you to demand his obedience. I don't think any of us did."
   "Then you don't know me very well," I said.
   "Mes amies, if we kill each other, won't Marcus be pleased."
   We all turned to Jean-Claude. I said, "Stop." All the zombies stopped at once like a freeze frame. One tumbled to the floor, caught in midshuffle, rather than take that last partial step. Zombies were terribly literal.
   The giant wolf tore another piece out of the zombie. The dead man made a small involuntary cry. "Drag Jason off of it now, or we are going to do this dance. Fuck Marcus. I'll worry about it later."
   "Off of him, Jason, now," Richard said.
   The wolf reared back, tearing at the zombie's arm. Bone cracked. The wolf worried the arm like a terrier with a bone. Blood and thicker fluids flew in a spray.
   Richard grabbed the wolf by the scruff of the neck, jerking it off its feet. He grabbed the front of its furry throat and turned it to face him. The muscles in his arms corded with the effort. The wolf's claws scrambled in the air while it strangled. The massive claws raked Richard's bare skin. Blood flowed in thin crimson lines.
   He threw the wolf across the room into the waiting dead. "Never disobey me again, Jason, never!" His voice was lost in a growling that turned into a howl. He threw back his head and bayed. The sound rose from his human throat. Cassandra and Stephen echoed him. Their howls filled the room with a strange, ringing song.
   I realized then that Richard might avoid killing Marcus, but he'd never control the lukoi without brutality. He was already casual about it. Almost as casual as Jean-Claude. Bad sign or good sign? I wasn't sure.
   Jason scrambled out of the dead. He turned pale green wolf eyes to me, as if waiting for something. "Don't look at me," I said, "I'm pissed with you, too."
   Jason stalked towards me on paws bigger across than my hands. The fur at his neck rose in a prickling brush. His lips curled back from his teeth in a silent growl.
   I pointed the Firestar at him. "Don't do it, Jason."
   He kept coming, each step so stiff and full of tension that it looked robotic. He gathered his body, legs squirming into position for a leap. I wasn't going to let him finish the movement. If he'd been in human form, I'd have aimed to wound, but in wolf form, I wasn't taking any chances. One scratch and I'd be alpha female for real.
   I sighted down the barrel and felt that quietness fill me. I felt nothing while I stared down the gun at him. Nothing but a cool, white emptiness.
   "Stop it, both of you!" Richard growled. He walked towards us. I kept my eyes on the wolf but had a peripheral sense of Richard moving closer.
   He kept coming, easing himself between Jason and me. I had to aim the gun skyward to keep from pointing it at his chest. He stared at me, his face thoughtful. "You won't need the gun." He knocked the great wolf to the floor with his fist. The wolf lay stunned. Only the rise and fall of its chest showed it was still alive.
   When he turned back to me, his eyes were amber, and no longer human. "You are my lupa, Anita, but I am still Ulfric. I won't let you do to me what Raina has done to Marcus. I lead this pack." There was a hardness to his voice that was new. I'd discovered his male ego at last.
   Jean-Claude laughed, a high, delighted sound that made me shiver. Richard hugged his bare arms as if he felt it, too.
   "Don't you realize by now, Richard, that ma petiteis either your equal or your master? She knows no other way to be." He came to stand by us. He looked amused as hell.
   "I want her to be my equal," Richard said.
   "But not within the pack," Jean-Claude said.
   Richard shook his head. "No, I mean . . . No, Anita is my equal."
   "Then what are you bitching about?" I said.
   He glared at me with his alien eyes. "I am Ulfric, not you."
   "Lead, and I'll follow, Richard." I stepped close to him, almost touching. "But lead, Richard, really lead, or get out of the way."
   
   
28
   "As amusing asthis is," Jean-Claude said, "and believe me, ma petite,Richard, it is amusing. We do not have time for this particular argument, not if Richard stands any hope of not being forced to kill tonight."
   We both glared at him, and he gave that graceful shrug that meant everything and nothing. "We must call the magic again, but this time, Richard needs to try and pull some of it into himself. He needs to do something that would impress his pack. This," he motioned to the zombies, "though impressive, looks too much like Anita's work."
   "You've got a suggestion, I take it."
   "Perhaps," he said. His eyes turned very serious then, the humor dying away until his face was lovely and blank. "But first, I think I have a question or two for you, myself, ma petite. I think it is not only Richard that you are emasculating today."
   "What are you talking about?" I asked.
   He cocked his head to one side. "Perhaps you honestly do not know?" He sounded surprised. "There is a small hallway to the right. Look inside it."
   I could see the archway at the top of the hall, but the zombies filled the space, hiding the rest from view. "Move forward," I said. The zombies moved like a single organism, their dead eyes watching my face as if I were all that mattered. To them, I was.
   The zombies moved like a shambling curtain. I could see the smaller hallway now, and the figures waiting inside. "Stop," I said. The zombies stopped as if I'd hit a switch.
   Liv, the blond bouncer from Danse Macabre, stood just inside the smaller hallway. She was still dressed in her violet body suit. Her extraordinary violet eyes stared at me, empty, waiting. My pulse thudded in my throat. There were other figures behind her.
   Richard said softly, "This isn't possible."
   I didn't argue with him. It would have been too hard.
   "Bring them out, ma petite, let us see who you have called from their coffins." His voice was warm with the beginnings of anger.
   "What's eating you?"
   He laughed, but it was bitter. "I threatened my people with this, but you said nothing. You did not tell me you could truly raise vampires like any other zombie."
   "I've only done it once before."
   "Indeed," he said.
   "Don't get all pissy on me."
   "I shall get pissy if I want to," he said. "These are my people, my companions, and you have them walking around like puppets. I find that most disquieting."
   "So do I," I said. I looked back at the vampires. Liv, who had been so animated last night, stood there like a well-preserved zombie. No. No, I'd never have mistaken her for a zombie. I could feel a difference. But there she stood, that muscular body waiting for my next order. There were others behind her. I couldn't see how many. Too many.
   "Can you put my vampires back, ma petite?"
   I continued to look at Liv, avoiding Jean-Claude's eyes. "I don't know."
   He touched my chin, turning me to face him. He studied my face, eyes searching, as if some hint of truth might show through. I let anger fill my face, anger was always a great thing to hide behind.
   "What did you do with the last vampire you raised, ma petite?"
   I pulled away from him. He grabbed my arm unbelievably fast. Too fast to see. What happened next was simply automatic. He held my right upper arm, but I could still bend at the elbow and point the Firestar at him. The Uzi in my left hand pointed at him, too. He could have crushed my arm before I fired one gun, but not both. But for the first time, staring down the barrel of a gun at him was problematic. The sash of his robe had come loose and I could see a triangle of pale flesh. I could see where his heart would be. I could blow his heart out his back and sever his spine. And I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to splatter that beautiful body all over the wall. Damn.
   Richard came closer. He didn't touch either of us. He just stared from one to the other. "Is he hurting you, Anita?"
   "No," I said.
   "Then should you be pointing a gun at him?"
   "He shouldn't be touching me," I said.
   Richard's voice was very mild. "He just finished touching you a lot more than this, Anita."
   "Why are you helping him?"
   "He helped me. Besides, if you kill him over something small and stupid, you'll never forgive yourself."
   I took a deep breath and let it out. Some of the tension eased with the breath. I lowered the Uzi.
   Jean-Claude released my arm.
   I pointed the Firestar at the floor and looked at Richard. There was something in his eyes, even the wolf's amber eyes, that was all too human. Pain. He knew how much Jean-Claude meant to me. It was there in his eyes. That one comment said that he understood my relationship with the vampire, maybe better than I did.
   I wanted to apologize to him, but I wasn't sure he'd understand what it was for. I wasn't even sure I could explain it. If you love someone, truly love them, you should never cause them pain. Never fill their eyes with something so close to grief.
   "I'm sorry I got mad at you earlier. You want what's best for the pack, I know that."
   "You still think I'm a fool to want a bloodless coup," he said.
   I stood on tiptoe and kissed him gently. "Not a fool, just naive, terribly naive."
   "Very touching, ma petite. And I do appreciate your interference on my behalf, Richard, but these are my people. I promised them certain freedoms when they joined me. I ask again. Can you put them back as they were?"
   I turned to Jean-Claude, one hand still balancing against Richard's chest. "I don't know."
   "Then you had better find out, ma petite."
   It sounded too much like a threat for my taste, but . . . there was a figure behind Liv the bouncer that I couldn't take my eyes off of. I walked towards the waiting vampires. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My stomach clenched into a hard lump, my chest was tight. I finally said it: "Willie McCoy, come to me."
   Willie walked out from behind the tall blond vampire. He was wearing the same chartreuse suit he'd had on at Danse Macabre. His brown eyes seemed to see me, but they were empty of that spark that was Willie. He wasn't home. It was like watching a puppet moving, and I was the puppet master. I tasted something bitter at the back of my throat. My eyes were hot and tight. I wasn't sure if I was going to throw up or cry first.
   I stopped him about two feet from me. Close enough that I couldn't pretend or wish it away. I swallowed hard, and tears hot enough to scald ran down my face. "I didn't want to know this," I whispered.
   Jean-Claude came to stand beside me. "Willie," he said, his voice vibrated through the room. Willie's body thrummed to the sound like a tuning fork struck. "Willie, look at me."
   The blank, familiar face turned slowly towards his master. Something flickered through the eyes for a moment; something moved that I had no name for.
   "This has possibilities," Jean-Claude said.
   "Willie," I said, "look at me." My voice wasn't nearly as impressive as the vampire's, but Willie turned to me.
   "No," Jean-Claude said, "look at me, Willie."
   Willie hesitated.
   "Willie," I said, "come to me." I held out a hand and he took a step towards me.
   Jean-Claude said, "Stop, Willie, do not go to her."
   Willie hesitated, almost turning to Jean-Claude.
   I concentrated on that curl of power inside of me, that thing that allowed me to raise the dead and let it wash over me, flow out of me. I called Willie's body to me and nothing Jean-Claude could do would get him to turn away from me.
   Richard said, "Stop it, both of you. He isn't a doll."
   "He isn't alive, either," I said.
   "He deserves better than this," Richard said.
   I agreed. I turned to Jean-Claude. "He's mine, Jean-Claude. They're all mine. When night falls, they will be yours again, but their empty shells are mine." I stepped close to him, and that swirl of power lashed out.
   He took a hissing breath and backed up. Holding his hand as if I'd struck him.
   "Never forget what I am and what I can do. No more threats between us, ever, or it will be the last threat."
   He stared at me, and for just a second, there was a flash of something I hadn't seen before: fear. Fear of me for the first time. Good.
   Willie stared at me with empty, waiting eyes. He was dead, well and truly dead. Tears flowed down my face, tight and hard. Poor Willie, poor me. He wasn't human. All these months of being his friend and he was dead. Just dead. Damn.
   "What happened to the first vampire you raised, ma petite? Why didn't you put it back into its coffin?" A thought slid behind his eyes. I watched the idea form, and fall from his lips. "How did Monsieur Bouvier get the lower half of his body melted away?"
   Magnus Bouvier had been Serephina's mortal servant. It had been his job to keep me near Serephina's coffin until she rose to finish me off. I scrubbed at my face, trying to get rid of the tears. Always ruins the effect when you cry. "You know the answer," I said. My voice sounded strained and small.
   "Say it aloud, ma petite, let me hear it from your own lips."
   "I feel like I'm missing part of this conversation," Richard said, "What are you two talking about?"
   "Tell him, ma petite."
   "The vampire grabbed Magnus around the waist and held on. I'd planned on it slowing him down, nothing else. I got to the door and ran outside. The sunlight hit the vampire and it burst into flames. I expected Magnus to go back inside, but he didn't. He kept coming, dragging her into the light." Saying it fast didn't make it any better.
   I stood in the middle of the dead I had called, hugging myself. I still had dreams about Serephina. Still saw Magnus reaching out to me, begging me to save him. I could have shot him and never lost a moment's sleep, but burning him alive was torture. I didn't do torture. Not to mention that Ellie Quinlan had already risen as a vampire, which made her legally alive. I'd killed them both, and it hadn't been pretty.
   Richard was looking at me, a look of something close to horror on his face. "You burned the man and the vampire alive?" I watched the brown in his eyes swim back to the surface. The entire shape of the eye changed while I watched. It looked almost like it should hurt. If it did hurt, he never showed it.
   "I didn't plan it, Richard. I didn't want it to happen, but I would have done anything to escape Serephina. Anything."
   "I don't understand that."
   "I know," I said.
   "There is no shame in surviving, ma petite." I turned to Jean-Claude. There was no shock on his face. It was lovely and unreadable as a doll's.
   "Then why can't I read your face right now?"
   Life flowed back into his face, filled his eyes, moved behind his skin until he was there, staring at me. The look in his eyes wasn't what I expected. Fear was still there and surprise, but underneath was worry.
   "Better?" he asked.
   "Yes." I frowned. "What's worrying you?"
   He sighed. "All honesty is eventually punished, but not usually this quickly."
   "Answer me, Jean-Claude."
   His eyes went past me to the werewolves waiting at Richard's back. "No one must speak of what has happened here, not to anyone."
   "Why not?" Richard asked.
   "It would embarrass ma petite."
   "That's true," I said, "but that's not what you mean. You don't mind embarrassing me. Hell, this story would make a great threat for all your vampires. It'd scare the hell out of them."
   "That, ma petite, is the point."
   I sighed. "Stop being obtuse and just tell us."
   "I do not want this," he waved at the vampires, "coming to the attention of the vampire council."
   "Why not?" Richard and I asked together.
   "Put simply, ma petite, they will kill you."
   "I'm your registered human servant," I said, "you said you did that to keep me safe."
   "For this they will come and see for themselves, ma petite. Whoever they send will know instantly that you do not bear my marks. You are my servant in name only. That will not be enough for them. Without any binding between us, they will not trust you."
   "So they'll kill her, just like that?" Richard asked. He moved closer to me as if he'd touch me, but his hands hesitated above my shoulders.
   Without looking at him, I said, "One story about burning people alive and you don't want to touch me. You prejudiced little werewolf, you." I tried to keep my voice light but a harsh edge crept in.
   His hands gripped my shoulders tightly. "It really bothers you, what you did, doesn't it?"
   I turned to see his face, his hands still on my shoulders. "Of course it bothers me. I didn't just kill Magnus, I tortured him to death. Ellie Quinlan didn't deserve to be burned alive." I shook my head and tried to step away from him. He slid his arms across my back, holding me gently against him.
   "I'm sorry you had to do it." He touched my hair with one hand, the other still against my back. "Your eyes are haunted by it, by what you did. Don't take this wrong, but it makes me feel better to see that pain in your eyes."
   I pushed away from him. "Did you think I could kill someone by torture and feel nothing?"
   He met my eyes but it seemed like it was an effort. "I wasn't sure."
   I shook my head.
   Jean-Claude took my left hand; the other was still holding the Firestar. He turned me to face him. He raised my hand towards his lips as he bowed slowly towards me. He spoke as he moved, "There is nothing that you could ever do that would make me not desire the touch of your body." He kissed my hand. His lips lingered a little longer than was polite. His tongue licked across my skin, and I pulled away.
   "It scares you that I can raise vampires like this."
   "Perhaps, ma petite, but I have frightened you for years and yet you are still here."
   He had a point. I stared at Willie. "Let's see if we can put everyone back where they belong." I hoped I could do it. I wanted Willie back, even if it was only a lie. He walked, he talked, it was still Willie. Or maybe, I just wanted it to be Willie. Maybe I needed it to be Willie.
   
   

29
   "Take me to the coffin room," I said.
   "Why?" Jean-Claude asked. There was something in the way he said that one word that made me stare at him.
   "Because I asked."
   "How would my flock feel if I allowed the Executioner to enter their private chamber while they slept helpless?"
   "I'm not going to kill anybody today, not on purpose."
   "I do not like the way you said that, ma petite."
   "Uncontrolled power is unpredictable, Jean-Claude. All sorts of unpleasant things can happen. I need to see where the vampires will be resting. I want to try and put them back in a controlled manner."
   "What sorts of unpleasant things?" Richard asked.
   It was a good question. Since I was pretty much flying blind, I didn't have a good answer. "It takes less power to put back than it does to raise. If we just call it up wild and try to will them back . . ." I shook my head.
   "You could extinguish their life force," Cassandra said.
   I looked at her. "What did you say?"
   "You're going to put them back in their coffins as you would a zombie, but with a zombie you will it to be dead again, correct?"
   I hadn't really thought of it that way, but she was right.
   "If you will the vampires back in their coffins, you're in effect willing them dead again like a zombie, right?"
   "Yeah."
   "But you don't want them permanently dead."
   My head was beginning to hurt. "No, I don't want them permanently dead."
   "How do you know so very much about necromancy, Cassandra?" Jean-Claude asked.
   "I have a master's degree in magical theory."
   "That must be useful on a resume," I said.
   "Not in the least," she said, "but it might be useful now."
   "Did you know your newest pack member was so well-educated, Richard?" Jean-Claude asked.
   "Yes," he said, "it's one of the reasons I gave her permission to move here."
   "Permission to move here?" I said. "Why did she need your permission?"
   "A werewolf has to get the permission of the local pack leader before they can enter a new territory. If they don't, it's considered a challenge to his authority."
   "Did she have to ask your permission or Marcus's?"
   "Both," Cassandra said. "Most werewolves won't come near Saint Louis while this power struggle is going on."
   "Why did you come, then, my wolf?" Jean-Claude asked.
   "I liked what I heard about Richard. He's trying to bring the pack into the twentieth century."
   "Did you come planning to be his lupa?" I asked. Yes, a little twinge of jealousy had reared its ugly head.
   Cassandra smiled. "Maybe, but the job's filled. I came here to avoid fighting, not to start it."
   "You have come to the wrong place, I fear," Jean-Claude said.
   She shrugged. "If I waited until the battle was over and it was safe, I wouldn't be worth much, would I?"
   "You came to fight at Monsieur Zeeman's side?"
   "I came because I agree with what he's trying to do."
   "You don't approve of killing?" I asked.
   "Not really."
   "Why, Richard, you have found a kindred spirit," Jean-Claude said, smiling, and far too pleased.
   "Cassandra believes in the sanctity of life; a lot of people do," Richard said. He wouldn't look at me.
   "If she's a better match for you than I am, I won't stand in your way."
   He turned to me, a look of astonishment on his face. "Anita . . ." He shook his head. "I'm in love with you."
   "You'd get over it," I said. My chest was tight with the offer, but I meant it. Richard and I had a basic fundamental difference of opinion. It wasn't going away. One of us was going to have to compromise, and it wasn't going to be me. I couldn't quite meet Richard's eyes, but I didn't take it back.
   He stepped in front of me, and all I could see was his bare chest. There was a scratch just below his left nipple, blood drying on his skin in darkening strings. He touched my chin, raising my face until I met his eyes. He studied my face like he'd never seen it before.
   "I would never get over losing you, Anita. Never."
   "Never's a long time to tie yourself to a killer."
   "You don't have to be a killer," he said.
   I stepped away from him. "If you're hanging around me waiting for me to soften up and become this good little girl, you might as well leave now."
   He grabbed my arms, pulling me against his body. "I want you, Anita, all of you." He kissed me, arms locked behind my back, raising me up against him.
   I slid my hands behind his back, Firestar still in one hand. I pressed my body against his hard enough to know he was happy to see me.
   We came up for air, and I pulled back, but not out of his arms, half-laughing. I caught a glimpse of Jean-Claude standing to one side. The look on his face wiped the smile from my lips. It wasn't jealousy. It was hunger. Desire. Watching us together had excited him.
   I drew back from Richard and found blood on my hands. It was hard to tell on the navy blue shirt but there were wet spots where I'd pressed myself against the bloody scratches. Some of the wounds were deep enough that they were still seeping blood.
   Richard was looking at Jean-Claude, too, now. I stepped away from Richard, holding up the bloody hand. I walked towards the vampire, and his eyes stayed on the fresh blood, not on me. I stopped less than a foot from him, my hand held out in front of his face.
   "Which would you rather have right now, sex or blood?"
   His eyes flicked to my face, back to my hand, then to my face. I watched the effort it took for him to keep eye contact. "Ask Richard which he would rather have just after he changes into a wolf, sex or fresh meat?"
   I glanced back at Richard. "What's your choice?"
   "Just after the change, meat." He said it like I should have known the answer.
   I turned back to the vampire. I slid the Firestar into the front of my pants, and moved the bloody hand towards his lips.
   Jean-Claude grabbed my wrist. "Do not tease me, ma petite. My control is not boundless." A tremor ran through his arm and down his hand. He looked away, eyes closed.
   I touched his face with my right hand, turning him back to face me. "Who says I'm teasing?" I said softly. "Take us to the coffin room."
   Jean-Claude searched my face. "What do you offer me, ma petite?"
   "Blood," I said.
   "And sex?" he asked.
   "Which would you rather have, right this minute?" I stared at him, willing the truth in his face.
   He gave a shaky laugh. "Blood."
   I smiled, and pulled my wrist away. "Remember, it was your choice."
   A look passed over his face that was a mixture of surprise and irony. "Touche, ma petite, but I am beginning to have hopes that this will not be the last time I am given the choice." There was a heat to his voice, his eyes, just standing this close to his body, that made me shiver.
   I glanced back at Richard. He was watching us. I expected to see jealousy or anger, but all I could read in his eyes was need. Lust. I was pretty sure that Richard's choice right this minute would be sex, but the thought of a little blood thrown in didn't seem to worry him. In fact, it seemed to excite him. I was beginning to wonder if the werewolf and vampire shared similar tastes in foreplay. The thought should have scared me, but it didn't. That was a very, very bad sign.
   
   
30
   The last time I'd been in the coffin room under Circus of the Damned, I'd come to slay the current Master of the City. I'd come to slay every vampire in the place. My, how things had changed.
   Track lighting in solid white fixtures clung to the walls, casting soft halos of light on each of seven coffins. Three of the coffins were empty, their lids propped open. All of the coffins were modern, new, roomy. They were all a rich varnished oak, stained nearly black. Silver handles graced the wood. The satin linings of the open coffins were different colors; white, blue, red. The coffin with the red interior held a sword in a specially made side sheath: a freaking two-handed sword as long as I was tall. A pair of the ugliest fuzzy dice I'd ever seen were suspended from the white satin coffin. It had to be Willie's. The blue satin held a small extra pillow. Standing over the coffin, the smell of herbs rose musty, vaguely sweet. I touched the small pillow and found it filled with dried herbs. "Herbs for sweet dreams," I said to no one in particular.
   "Is there some purpose to you handling their personal belongings, ma petite?"
   I looked at him. "What keepsakes do you have in your coffin?"
   He just smiled.
   "Why all the same coffins?"
   "If you came in here to kill us, where would you start?"
   I looked around at the identical coffins. "I don't know. If someone comes in, they can't tell who's the oldest or who's the Master of the City. It covers your ass but endangers the rest."
   "If someone comes to kill us, ma petite, it is to everyone's benefit if the oldest are not killed first. There is always a chance that one of the older ones could awaken in time to save the rest."
   I nodded. "Why the extra-wide, extra-high interiors?"
   "Would you want to spend eternity on your back, ma petite?" He smiled and came to stand beside me, leaning his butt against the open coffin, arms crossed over his chest. "There are so many other more comfortable positions."
   I felt heat rise up my face.
   Richard joined us. "Are you two going to exchange witty repartee or are we going to do this?" He leaned on the closed end of the coffin, forearms resting on it. There was a bloody scratch on his right upper arm. He seemed at home. Jason, still furry and big enough to ride, padded over the stone floor, nails clicking. The wolf's head was high enough that it licked Richard's bloody arm while still on all fours. There were moments when I felt Richard was too normal to fit into my life. This wasn't one of them.
   "Yeah, we're going to do it," I said.
   Richard stood, running his fingers through his thick hair, getting it out of his face, and showing his chest off to good advantage. For the first time, I wondered if he'd done it on purpose. I searched his face for that edge of teasing that Jean-Claude had, that knowledge that even that simple movement touched me. There was nothing. Richard's face was guileless, handsome, empty of ulterior motives.
   I exchanged glances with Jean-Claude. He shrugged. "If you do not understand him, do not look to me. I am not in love with him."
   Richard looked puzzled. "Did I miss something?" He stroked under the wolf's throat, pressing the head against his chest. The wolf made a high whimpering sound of pleasure. Glad to be back in the pack leader's good graces, I guess.
   I shook my head. "Not really."
   "Why are we here?" Stephen asked. He was as close to the door as he could get and not be outside the room. His shoulders were hunched. He was scared, but of what?
   Cassandra stood near Stephen, inside the room, closer to us. Her face was bland, unreadable except for a certain wariness around the eyes. They both wore jeans with oversized shirts. Stephen's was a man's pale blue dress shirt. Cassandra had an oversized T-shirt a dull pine green with a wolf's head done large with huge, yellow eyes.
   "What's wrong, Stephen?" Richard asked.
   Stephen blinked and shook his head.
   "We all heard Anita tell Jean-Claude she'd need more blood, fresh blood," Cassandra said. She looked at me while she finished the thought. "I think Stephen's worried where the fresh blood's coming from."
   "I'm not into human sacrifice," I said.
   "Some people don't consider a lycanthrope human," Cassandra said.
   "I do," I said.
   She looked at me, judging my words. Some lycanthropes could tell if you were lying. I was betting she was one of them. "Then where are you going to get the blood?"
   It was a good question. I wasn't sure I had a good answer. "I don't know, but it won't take a death."
   "Are you sure?" she asked.
   I shrugged. "If it takes a death to put them back, they're dead. I'm not going to kill anybody else to bring them back." I looked at the three waiting vampires after I said it. Liv, Willie, and surprisingly, Damian. Raising the vampires was impressive enough, raising one as powerful as Damian was downright scary. He wasn't a master vampire, never would be, but he'd have frightened me in a fair fight. Now he stood dressed only in the green lycra pants and the pirate sash. His upper body gleamed like muscled marble under the glow of the lights. His green eyes stared at me with a patient waiting that only the truly dead can manage.
   "You are shivering, ma petite."
   "We raise the power again, then we need blood." I looked at Jean-Claude and Richard. "If Richard has to fight Marcus tonight, I'm not sure he should be the one who supplies this round of blood."
   Jean-Claude cocked his head to one side. I expected him to say something irritating, but he didn't. Maybe even a very old dog could learn new tricks.
   "He is not sinking fangs into you," Richard said. Anger made his brown eyes dark and sparkling, he was lovely when he was angry. That aura of energy flared around him, close enough to creep down my bare skin.
   "You can't donate twice this close together, with Marcus waiting for you," I said.
   Richard grabbed me by the upper arms. "You don't understand, Anita. Feeding is like sex to him."
   Again, I half-expected Jean-Claude to chime in, but he didn't. I had to say it. Damn. "It won't be the first time he's done it, Richard."
   Richard's fingers dug into my arms. "I know that. I saw the fang marks on your wrist. But remember, you weren't under any mind control that time."
   "I remember," I said. "It hurt like hell."
   Richard drew me to him with his hands still holding only my upper arms, drew me to tiptoe as if he'd drag me to his face. "Without mind control, it's like rape, not the real thing. It'll be real this time."
   "You're hurting me, Richard." My voice was calm, steady, but the look on his face scared me. The intensity in his hands, his face, his body, was unnerving.
   He eased down, but didn't take his hands away. "Take blood from Jason or Cassandra."
   I shook my head. "That might work or it might not. If the blood comes from one of us, I know it'll work. Besides, should you be offering up other people's blood without asking them first?"
   Doubt slid behind his eyes, and he let me go. His long hair fell forward, hiding his face. "You say you've chosen me. That you're in love with me. That you don't want to have sex with him. Now, you tell me you want him to feed off of you. That's as bad as sex." He stalked the room, pacing around the waiting vampires, swinging back in an agitated stride that filled the room with a warm, creeping power.
   "I didn't say I wanted to feed him," I said.
   He stopped in the middle of the room, staring at me. "But you do, don't you?"
   "No," I said, and it was true. "I've never been interested in that."
   "She speaks the truth," Jean-Claude said at last.
   "You stay out of this," Richard said, pointing a finger at him.
   Jean-Claude gave a small bow and fell silent. He was behaving himself far too well. Made me nervous. Of course, Richard was having enough of a fit for both of them.
   "Then let me feed him again."
   "Isn't it sexual for you, too?" I asked.
   Richard shook his head. "It was you I was looking at, Anita, not him. A little pain is fine."
   It was my turn to shake my head. "Are you truly saying that letting him sink fangs into my body would bother you as much as sinking . . ." I let the thought die unspoken. "I see donating blood as the lesser evil, Richard. Don't you?"
   "Yes," he hissed. His power was filling the room like warm, electric water. I could almost reach out and grab it.
   "Then what are you bitching about?" I said. "We wouldn't have done it the first time, but you wanted me to do it. You wanted us to do it." I stalked towards him, finally angry myself. "You don't want to kill Marcus, fine, but this is the price. You want enough power to cow the rest of the pack without losing your humanity, great, but that kind of power isn't free." I stood in front of him, so close that his power danced over my skin like fine needles, like sex that rode that edge between pleasure and pain.
   "It's too late to back out now. We are not going to strand Willie and the others because you're getting cold feet." I took that last step, putting our bodies so close together that a deep breath would have made them touch. I lowered my voice to a whisper, though I knew everything in the room would still hear me. "It isn't the blood that bothers you. What bothers you is that you enjoyed it." I lowered my voice until it was almost a movement of lips with only a breath of sound. "Jean-Claude isn't just seducing me, he's seducing us."
   Richard stared down at me, and the look in his true brown eyes was lost, hopeless. A little boy who's discovered the monster under the bed is actually real, and it's screwing Mommy.
   Jean-Claude's power eased through the room, mingling with Richard's electric warmth like a cool wind from the grave. We both turned and looked at the vampire. He was smiling ever so slightly. He undid his robe and let it fall to the floor. He glided towards us, wearing nothing but his silk pajamas and a knowing smile. His own power making his long hair flare round his face like a small wind.
   Richard touched my shoulders and even that chaste touch sent a line of warm, shivering energy along my skin. The power was there for the calling, just below the surface. We didn't need all the sexual charades.
   Jean-Claude reached a pale hand out towards me. I met his hand with mine, and that one touch was enough. That cool, burning power flowed over me, through me, into Richard. I heard Richard gasp. Jean-Claude started to move forward, like he'd press his body against mine. I held him away from me with the hand that was entwined in his, straight-arming him. "It's here, Jean-Claude, can't you feel it?"
   He nodded. "Your power calls to me, ma petite."
   Richard's hands slid over my shoulders, his face brushing my hair. "Now what?"
   "We ride the power this time, it doesn't ride us."
   "How?" Richard whispered.
   Jean-Claude looked at me with eyes that were deep as any ocean and as full of secrets. "I believe ma petitehas a plan."
   "Yeah," I said, "I have a plan." I looked from one to the other of them. "I'm going to call Dominic Dumare and see if he knows how to put vampires back in their coffins." Dominic had been cleared of Robert's murder. He had an airtight alibi. He'd been with a woman. Even if he hadn't been, I might have asked for his help. I wanted to save Willie more than I wanted to revenge Robert.
   A strange expression crossed Jean-Claude's face. "You, asking for help, ma petite? That is unusual."
   I drew away from both of them. We could get the power back, I was pretty certain of that. I looked at Willie's empty face and the fuzzy dice hanging from his coffin. "If I make a mistake, Willie's gone. I want him back."
   There were times when I thought that it wasn't Jean-Claude who had convinced me that vampires weren't always monsters. It was Willie and Dead Dave, ex-cop and bar owner. It was a host of lesser vampires that seemed, occasionally, like nice guys. Jean-Claude was a lot of things; nice was not one of them.
   
   
31
   Dominic Dumare showed up wearing a pair of black dress slacks and a black leather jacket unzipped over a grey silk T-shirt. He looked more relaxed without Sabin looking on, like an employee on his day off. Even the neatly trimmed Vandyke beard and mustache seemed less formal.
   Dominic walked around the three vampires I'd raised. We'd moved back out into the rubble-strewn main area, so he could see the zombies and the vampires all at once. He paced around the vampires, touching them here and there. He grinned at me, teeth flashing in his dark beard. "This is marvelous, truly marvelous."
   I fought the urge to frown at him. "Forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm. Can you help me put them back the way they were?"
   "Theoretically, yes."
   "When people start using the word theoretically, it means they don't know how to do something. You can't help me, can you?"
   "Now, now," Dominic said. He knelt by Willie, staring up at him, studying him like a bug under a bioscope. "I didn't say I couldn't help. It's true that I've never seen this done. And you say you've done this before." He stood up, brushing off the knees of his pants.
   "Once."
   "That time was without the triumvirate?" Dominic asked.
   I'd had to tell him. I understood enough about ritual magic to know that if we withheld how we'd gotten this much power, anything Dominic helped us come up with wouldn't work. It would be like telling the police it was a burglary when it was really a murder. They'd be trying to solve the wrong crime.
   "Yeah, the first time was just me."
   "But both times in daylight hours?" he asked.
   I nodded.
   "That makes sense. We can only raise zombies after the souls have flown. It would make sense that vampires can only be raised during the day. When darkness falls, their souls return."
   I wasn't even going to try and argue about whether or not vampires had souls. I wasn't as sure of the answer as I used to be.
   "I can't raise zombies during daylight hours. Let alone vampires," I said.
   Dominic motioned at all the waiting dead of both kinds. "But you did it."
   I shook my head. "That's not the point. I'm not supposed to be able to do it."
   "Have you ever tried to raise normal zombies during daylight hours?"
   "Well, no. The man who trained me said it wasn't possible."
   "So you never tried," Dominic said.
   I hesitated before answering.
   "You have tried," he said.
   "I can't do it. I can't even call the power under the light of the sun."
   "Only because you believe you can't," Dominic said.
   "Run that by me again."
   "Belief is one of the most important aspects of magic."
   "You mean, if I don't believe I can raise zombies during the day, I can't."
   "Exactly."
   "That doesn't make sense," Richard said. He leaned against one of the intact walls. He'd been very quiet while I talked magic with Dominic. Jason, still in wolf form, lay at his feet. Stephen had cleared some of the broken stones and sat beside the wolf.
   "Actually," I said, "it does. I've seen people with a lot of raw talent that couldn't raise anything. One guy was convinced it was a mortal sin so he just blocked it out. But he shone with power whether he wanted to accept it or not."
   "A shapeshifter can deny his power all he wants, but that doesn't keep him from changing," Richard said.
   "I believe that is why lycanthropy is referred to as a curse," Dominic said.
   Richard looked at me. The expression on his face was eloquent. "A curse."
   "You'll have to forgive Dominic," Jean-Claude said. "A hundred years ago, it never occurred to anyone that lycanthropy could be a disease."
   "Concern for Richard's feelings?" I asked.
   "His happiness is your happiness, ma petite."
   Jean-Claude's new gentlemanly behavior was beginning to bug me. I didn't trust his change of heart.
   Cassandra said, "If Anita didn't believe she could raise the dead during daylight hours, then how did she do it?" She had joined in the metaphysical discussion like it was a graduate class in magical theory. I'd met people like her in college. Theorists who had no real magic of their own. But they could sit around for hours debating whether a theoretical spell would work. They treated magic like higher physics, a pure science without any true way of testing. Heaven forbid the ivory tower magicians should actually try out their theories in a real spell. Dominic would have fit in well with them, except he had his own magic.
   "Both occasions were extreme situations," Dominic said. "It works on the same principle that allows a grandmother to lift a truck off her grandchild. In times of great need, we often touch abilities beyond the everyday."
   "But the grandmother can't lift a car at will, just because she did it once," I said.
   "Hmm," Dominic said, "perhaps the analogy is not perfect, but you understand what I am saying. If you say you do not, you are merely being difficult."
   That almost made me smile. "So you're saying that I could raise the dead in daylight if I believed I could."
   "I believe so."
   I shook my head. "I've never heard of any animator being able to do that."
   "But you are not merely an animator, Anita," Dominic said. "You are a necromancer."
   "I have never heard of a necromancer that could raise the dead in broad daylight," Jean-Claude said.
   Dominic shrugged gracefully. It reminded me of Jean-Claude. It takes a couple hundred years to make a shrug pretty. "I don't know about broad daylight, but just as some vampires can walk around during the day, as long as they are sufficiently sheltered, I believe the same principle would apply to necromancers."
   "So you don't believe Anita could raise the dead at high noon out of doors, either?" Cassandra said.
   Dominic shrugged again. Then he laughed. "You have caught me, my studious beauty. It may well be possible for Anita to do exactly that, but even I have never heard of such a thing."
   I shook my head. "Look, we can explore the magical implications later. Right now, can you help me figure a way to put the vampires back without screwing them up?"
   "Define screwing them up," Dominic said.
   "Do not joke, Dominic," Jean-Claude said. "You know precisely what she means."
   "I want to hear it from her lips."
   Jean-Claude looked at me and gave a barely perceptible shrug.
   "When darkness falls, I want them to rise as vampires. I'm afraid if I do this wrong, they'll just be dead, permanently."
   "You surprise me, Anita. Perhaps your reputation as the scourge of the local vampire populace is exaggerated."
   I stared at him. Before I could say something that sounded like bragging, Jean-Claude spoke. "I would think what she has done today is proof enough of how very much she deserves her reputation."
   Dominic and the vampire stared at each other. Something seemed to pass between them. A challenge, a knowledge, something. "She would make an amazing human servant if only some vampire could tame her," Dominic said.
   Jean-Claude laughed. The sound filled the room with echoes that shivered and danced across the skin. The laughter swept through my body, and for the briefest moment, I could feel something touch me deep inside where no hand belonged. In another context Jean-Claude might have made it sexual; now it was simply disturbing.
   "Don't ever do that again," Richard said. He rubbed his bare arms as if he were cold or trying to erase the memory of that invasive laughter.
   Jason trotted over to Jean-Claude, to butt his head against the vampire's hand. He'd liked it.
   Dominic gave a little bow. "My apologies, Jean-Claude, you have made your point. If you wished to, you could cause the damage that my master caused by accident at your office."
   "My office," I said. Personally, I didn't think that Jean-Claude could cause damage with just his voice. I'd been in situations where if he could have done it, he would have. No sense telling Dominic that, though.
   Dominic gave an even lower bow in my direction. "Your office, of course."
   "Can we cut the grandstanding?" I said. "Can you help us?"
   "I am more than willing to try."
   I walked up to him, picking my way over the broken stones. When I was standing as close as was polite and maybe an inch or so more, I said, "These three vampires are not an experiment. This is not some graduate study in magical metaphysics. You offered to teach me necromancy, Dominic. I think you're not up to the job. How can you teach me when I can do things you can't? Unless, of course, you can raise vampires from their coffins?"
   I stared into his dark eyes the entire time I spoke, watching the anger narrow his eyes, tighten his lips. His ego was as big as I'd hoped. I knew he wouldn't disappoint me. Dominic would do his best for us now. His pride was at stake.
   "Tell me exactly how you called the power, Anita, and I will build you a spell that should work—if you have the control to make it work."
   I smiled at him, and I made sure it was just this side of condescending. "You come up with it, I can pull it off."
   He smiled. "Arrogance is not a becoming trait in a woman."
   "I find it a very becoming trait," Jean-Claude said. "If it's deserved. If you had just raised three vampires from their daytime rest, wouldn't you be arrogant, Dominic?"
   His smile widened. "Yes, I would be."
   Truth was, I didn't feel arrogant. I was scared. Scared that I'd screwed Willie up and he would never rise again. I felt bad too, about Liv and Damian. It wasn't a matter of liking them or not; I didn't mean to do it. You shouldn't extinguish someone's life force by accident. If I felt half as secure as my words to Dominic, why did my stomach hurt?
   
   

32
   Dominic, Cassandra, and I came up with a spell. The part of the plan that was my idea was very simple. I had put zombies back in their graves for years. I was good at it. As far as I was able, I was going to treat this like just another job: laying the dead to rest, nothing special. Lay the zombies first, worry about the vamps later.
   I had Cassandra fetch one of my knives and a wrist sheath from the bedroom. If I'd been acting as a focus for another animator, I wouldn't have let him sink teeth into me, so why did the blood have to come from Jean-Claude drinking it? It didn't, or I didn't think it did. Dominic agreed with me, but he wasn't a hundred percent sure. So zombies first. They'd be the practice. If the knife didn't work, we'd go to fangs, but what little normalcy was left to me, I was going to cling to.
   I'd sent Stephen for a bowl to hold the blood. He'd returned with a small, golden bowl. I wondered if the size was deliberate, to encourage me not to spill too much blood. For a werewolf, Stephen didn't seem to like blood very much. The bowl was polished to a shine so bright it almost glowed. The inside showed the dimpled blows of hammer work. Beaten gold, and I knew as soon as I touched it, it was old. Why does everyone think you have to have something special to hold the blood? Tupperware would have worked.
   We stood in the rubble-strewn room where the zombies waited, patient as only the dead can be. Some of the eyes that watched me were sunken like the blind eyes of dead fish, a few skulls were empty, and even without eyes, they all seemed to be looking at me.
   I stood, knife strapped to my left wrist, facing them. Richard stood to my left, Jean-Claude to my right. They weren't touching me, by my request.
   Dominic had asked for enough details of the first triumvirate that I'd been embarrassed. He agreed with me that the power was probably there without us having to crawl all over each other. Agreeing to that alone earned him brownie points. After all, the plan was to raise the magic tonight in front of the whole pack. I didn't really want to be having sex in front of that many strangers. All right, it wasn't exactly sex, but it was close enough that I didn't want an audience.
   The glow was fading. Staring at the partially rotting zombies, it was hard to regain the mood. "My zombies usually hold together better than this," I said.
   "If you had pulled this much power from two other necromancers, the zombies would be better," Dominic said.
   "Perhaps it was the lack of control," Jean-Claude said.
   I turned and looked at him. "I think Dominic means that some of the power that raised them was taken from a dead man."
   "Do you believe I am a dead man, ma petite?"
   I stared into that lovely face and nodded. "The vampires I raised are just corpses. Whatever you are, it's a form of necromancy. Necromancy only works when you start with a dead body."
   He cocked his head to one side. "I hear your words, ma petite, but I do not think you believe them, not completely."
   I shook my head. "I don't know what I believe anymore."
   "Actually," Dominic said, "I don't believe it matters that Jean-Claude is a vampire. I think it is more that neither he nor Richard know anything of raising the dead. That is your talent alone. I think with practice, you could channel the power into perfect zombies, but in a way, Jean-Claude is right. The wildness of it, the lack of control, made the zombies less perfect."
   Something must have shown on my face, because he said, "You had too many things to control to pay attention to all the details. I think you instinctively let the zombies go, because it was the part you were most sure of. You have excellent instincts."
   "Thanks, I guess," I said.
   He smiled. "I know time is growing short. As we can see from Jean-Claude's presence, not all vampires sleep until full dark. I fear that if one of the vampires passes its waking hour, that he or she will be lost. But I would ask Anita to do one thing for me that has nothing to do with her problem, but everything to do with mine."
   "What problem?" I asked.
   "Sabin," Jean-Claude said.
   Dominic nodded. "Sabin's time is running short."
   "Sabin, the vampire at the club?" Cassandra asked.
   "Yeah," I said. "What do you need, Dominic? Make it quick, and I'm your girl."
   Dominic smiled. "Thank you, Anita. Concentrate on one of your zombies. Try to bring it closer to perfection."
   I frowned at him.
   "Heal one of your zombies, ma petite."
   "You can't heal the dead," I said, "but I can make them more lifelike."
   Dominic nodded. "That would do very nicely."
   "I usually do that during the initial rush of power. I've never tried to fiddle with my dead once they were raised."
   "Please try," Dominic said.
   "We could raise the power between the three of us, then try it," I said.
   Dominic shook his head. "I am not sure what that would do to the spell. I think it would be taking a great risk with your companions."
   I stared at him for a heartbeat or two. "You'd risk leaving Sabin to rot to save our friends?"
   "You asked for my help, Anita. I think you are not a woman who asks for help often. It would be poor payment of such a compliment if I let you risk your friends for mine. If you can heal your dead cold, as it were, so be it. If you cannot, we will proceed to save these three vampires."
   "A very honorable sentiment," Jean-Claude said.
   "There are moments when honor is all that is left," Dominic said.
   The vampire and the man seemed to have a moment of near perfect understanding. A wealth of history, if not shared, then similar, passed between them. I was odd woman out.
   I looked to Richard and we had our own moment of perfect understanding. We valued our mortal life span. The fatalism in Dominic's voice had been frightening. How old was he? I could usually tell with a vampire, but never with a human servant. I didn't ask. There was a weight of years in Dominic's brown eyes that made me afraid to ask.
   I looked at Jean-Claude's lovely face and wondered if I would be as honorable, or would I have risked anyone, everyone, to heal him? To see Jean-Claude dead would be one thing, but rotted away like Sabin . . . It would be worse than death in many ways. Of course, Sabin was dying. Powerful as he was, he couldn't hold himself together forever. Or maybe he could. Maybe Dominic could sew him up in a big sack, like the gloves the vampire wore on his hands. Maybe Sabin could go on living even after he'd been reduced to so much liquid. Now that was a hideous thought.
   I stared at the standing dead. They looked back. One of the zombies was almost intact. Grey skin clung to the bones, more like clay than flesh. One blue eye stared at me. The other eye had shriveled like a raisin. It reminded me of what had happened to Sabin's eye.
   It would make more sense to say I touched the eye and healed it. Or that I thought at it and smoothed the flesh like clay. It wasn't like that. I stared at the zombie. I touched that spark inside me that allowed me to raise the dead. I drew that part of me outward, coaxed it like feeding a small flame, and threw it outward into that one zombie. I whispered, "Live, live."
   I'd watched it before, but it never ceased to amaze me. The flesh filled out, plumping, smoothing. A warm flesh tone spread like heat across the grey skin. The dry, strawlike hair grew and curled, brown and soft. The dead eye blew up like a small balloon, filling the socket. Two good eyes looked back at me. Even the tattered clothing mended itself. He wore a vest with a gold watch chain. His clothes were a hundred years or more out of date.
   "I am most impressed," Dominic said. "If you changed his clothes, he could pass for human."
   I nodded. "I make great zombies, but that won't help your master."
   "Call one of the vampires from the coffin room."
   "Why?" I asked.
   Dominic drew a small silver knife from a sheath at his back. I hadn't known he had a weapon. Careless of me.
   "What are you going to do with that?" Jean-Claude asked.
   "With your permission, I will cut one of the vampires and ask Anita to heal the wound."
   Jean-Claude considered the request, then nodded. "A small cut."
   Dominic bowed. "Of course."
   The vamps could heal a small cut on their own eventually. If I couldn't heal it, no harm done. Though I wasn't sure the vampires would agree with me.
   "Anita," Dominic said.
   I called, "Damian, come to me."
   Jean-Claude raised his eyebrows at my choice, I think. If he expected me to call Willie, he didn't understand. Willie was my friend. Even dead, I didn't want to see him cut up.
   Damian had tried to mind-rape a woman tonight at the club. Let him get cut up just a little.
   Damian walked in, staring until he found me. His face was still blank and empty. Emptier than sleep, empty as only death can make it.
   "Damian, stop."
   The vampire stopped. His eyes were the greenest I'd ever seen. Greener than Catherine's, more cat than human.
   Dominic stepped in front of Damian. He stared at the vampire. He laid the silver blade against the pale cheek and pulled the point downward, sharply.
   Blood flowed down that perfect paleness in a thin crimson wash. The vampire never reacted, not even to blink.
   "Anita," Dominic said.
   I stared at Damian, no, Damian's shell. I flung power at him, into him. I willed him to live. That was the word I whispered to him.
   The blood slowed, then stopped. The cut knit together seamlessly. It was . . . easy.
   Dominic wiped the blood away with a handkerchief he'd drawn from his jacket pocket. Damian's pale cheek was flawless once more.
   It was Cassandra who said it first, "She could heal Sabin."
   Dominic nodded. "She just might." He turned to me with a look of triumph, elation. "You would need the power of your triumvirate to raise Sabin during his daylight slumber, but once raised, I think you could heal him."
   "A shallow cut is one thing," I said. "Sabin is a . . . mess."
   "Will you try?"
   "If we can put these three vamps back unharmed, yeah, I'll try."
   "Tomorrow."
   I nodded. "Why not?"
   "I cannot wait to tell Sabin what I have seen here today. He has been without hope for so long. But first, we must put your friends back. I will help you all I can."
   I smiled. "I know enough of magic, Dominic, to know that all you can do is advise from the sidelines."
   "But it will be very good advice," he said with a smile.
   I believed him. For Sabin's sake, he wanted us to succeed. "Okay, let's do it." I held my hands out to Richard and Jean-Claude. They took my hands dutifully enough, and it was pleasant holding their hands. Both of them were warm and lovely, but there was no instant magic. No spark. I realized that in some strange way, the sexual interplay took the place of the ritual. Rituals aren't absolutely necessary to most magic, but they serve as a way to focus, to prepare yourself for the act of casting a spell. I had no blood circle to walk. I had no sacrifice to kill. I had no paraphernalia to use. All I had was the two men standing in front of me, my own body, and the knife at my wrist. I turned away from both of them.
   "Nothing's happening," I said.
   "What do you expect to happen?" Dominic asked.
   I shrugged. "Something. I don't know."
   "You are trying too hard, Anita. Relax, let the power come to you."
   I rotated my shoulders, trying to ease the tension. It didn't work. "I really wish you hadn't reminded me that some of the vamps could rise before dark. It's late afternoon, and we're underground. It could already be too late."
   "Thinking like that is not helpful," Dominic said.
   Jean-Claude walked up to me, and even before he touched me, there was a rush of power like a spill of warmth over my skin. "Don't touch me," I said.
   I felt him hesitate behind me. "What is wrong, ma petite?"
   "Nothing." I turned to face him. I held my hand just above his bare chest and that line of warmth traveled from his skin to mine. It was as if his body breathed against me. "Do you feel that?"
   He cocked his head to one side. "Magic."
   "Aura," I said. I had to fight an urge to glance at Dominic, like looking to a coach to see if this was the play he wanted. I was afraid to look away, to lose that thread. I held my hand out to Richard. "Walk towards me, but don't touch me."
   He looked puzzled but did what I asked. When my hand was just above his skin, that same line of warmth came up, like a small, captive wind. I could feel their energy breathing against my skin, one to each hand. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sensation. There. I could feel a difference, slight, almost indiscernible, but there. There was a prickling, almost electric tremble to Richard. Jean-Claude was cool and smooth. All right, we could touch auras, so what? Where did that get us?
   I pressed my hands suddenly forward, through the energy, against their bodies. I forced that energy back into them, and got a gasp from both of them. The shock of it ran up my arms and I bowed my head, breathing through the rush of power. I raised my face up to meet their eyes. I don't know what showed on my face, but whatever it was, Richard didn't like it. He started to take a step back. I dug fingernails into his stomach just enough to get his attention.
   "Don't break the connection."
   He swallowed. His eyes were wide and there was something close to fear in them, but he stayed put. I turned to Jean-Claude. He didn't look scared. He looked as calm and controlled as I felt.
   "Very good, Anita." Dominic's voice came soft, low. "Combine their power as if they were simply two other animators. You are acting as focus. You've done that before. You've laid the dead to rest a thousand times. This is only one more time."
   "Okay, coach," I whispered.
   "What?" Richard said.
   I shook my head. "Nothing."
   I stepped back from them slowly, hands extended towards them. The power trailed between us like two ropes. There was nothing to see, but from the look on Richard's face, we all felt it. I unsheathed the knife and picked up the golden bowl without looking down, my gaze on the two of them. There was a difference between this and combining with other animators, there was lust. Love. Something. Whatever it was, it acted like fuel, or glue. I had no words for what it was, but it was there when I looked at them.
   I held the gold bowl in my left hand, knife in the right. I walked back to them. "Hold the bowl for me, one hand apiece."
   "Why?" Richard asked.
   "Because I said so."
   He looked like he wanted to argue. I laid the flat of the blade against his lips. "If you question everything I say, it spoils my concentration." I took the knife away from his mouth.
   "Don't do that again," he said, voice soft, almost harsh.
   I nodded. "Fine." I held my wrist over the empty bowl and drew the knife down the skin in one sharp movement. Blood welled out of the cut, falling in thick drops, splashing down the sides and bottom of the gleaming gold bowl. Yes, it did hurt.
   "Your turn, Richard." I kept my wrist over the bowl; no need to waste the blood.
   "What do I do?"
   "Put your wrist over the bowl."
   He hesitated, then did what I asked. He put his arm over the bowl, hand balled into a fist. I turned his hand over to expose the underside of his arm. I steadied his hand with my still bleeding hand. The bowl wavered where his free hand was still holding it with Jean-Claude.
   I looked up at his face. "Why does this bother you more than Jean-Claude tasting you?"
   He swallowed. "A lot of things don't bother me when I'm thinking about sex."
   "Spoken like someone with only one X chromosome," I said. I drew the knife down his skin in one firm bite, while he was still looking at my face. The only thing that kept him from pulling away was my hold on him.
   He didn't struggle after that initial surprise. He watched his blood splash into the bowl, mingling with mine. The bottom of the bowl was hidden from sight, covered in warm blood. I released his hand and he held his bleeding wrist over the bowl.
   "Jean-Claude?" I said.
   He held his own slender wrist out to me without being asked. I steadied his wrist as I had Richard's. I met his dark blue eyes but there was no fear there, nothing but perhaps a mild curiosity. I cut his wrist and the blood welled crimson against his white skin.
   His blood splashed into the bowl. It was all red. Human, lycanthrope, and vampire. You couldn't tell who was who by just looking. We all bleed red.
   There still wasn't enough blood to walk a circle of power around the sixty or so zombies. There was no way short of a true sacrifice to get that much blood. But what I had in my hands was a very potent magic cocktail. Dominic thought it would be enough. I hoped so.
   A sound brought my attention away from the blood, and the growing warmth of power.
   Stephen and Jason were crouched near us, one in human form, one wolf, with nearly identical looks in their eyes: hunger.
   I looked past them to Cassandra. She was standing her ground, but her hands were balled into fists, and a sheen of sweat gleamed on her upper lip. The look on her face was near panic.
   Dominic stood smiling and unaffected. He was the only other human in the room.
   Jason growled at us, but it wasn't a real growl. There was a rhythm to the noise. He was trying to talk.
   Stephen moistened his lips. "Jason wants to know if we can lick the bowl?"
   I looked at Jean-Claude and Richard. The looks on their faces were enough. "Am I the only one in this room not lusting after the blood?"
   "Except for Dominic, I fear so, ma petite."
   "Do what you have to do, Anita, but do it quick. It's full moon, and fresh blood is fresh blood," Richard said.
   The two other vamps I'd raised shuffled towards me. Their eyes still empty of personality, like well-made dolls.
   "Did you call them?" Richard asked.
   "No," I said.
   "The blood called them," Dominic said.
   The vampires came into the room. They didn't look at me this time. They looked at the blood, and the moment they saw it, something flared in them. I felt it. Hunger. No one was home, but the need was still there.
   Damian's green eyes stared at the bowl with the same hunger. His handsome face thinned down to something beastial and primitive.
   I licked my lips and said, "Stop." They did, but they stared at the freshly spilled blood, never raising their eyes to me. If I hadn't been here to stop them, they might have fed. Fed like revenants, animalistic vampires that know nothing but the hunger and never regain their humanity or their minds.
   My heart thudded into my throat at the thought of what I'd almost loosed upon some unsuspecting person. The hunger wouldn't have differentiated between human and lycanthrope. Wouldn't that have been a fine fight?
   I took the bloody bowl, cradling it against my stomach, the knife still in my right hand.
   "Do not be afraid," Dominic said. "Lay the zombies to rest as you have a thousand times over the years. Do that and that alone."
   "One step at a time, right?" I said.
   "Indeed," he said.
   I nodded. "Okay."
   Everyone but the three vampires looked at me as if they believed I knew what I was doing. I wished I did. Even Dominic looked confident. But he didn't have to put sixty zombies back in the ground without a circle of power. I did.
   I had to watch my step on the rubble-strewn floor. It wouldn't do to fall and spill all this blood, all this power. Because that's what it was. I could feel Jean-Claude and Richard at my back like two braids of a rope twisting inside me as I moved. Dominic had said that I would be able to feel both of the men. When I'd asked for specifics about how I would be able to feel them, he had gone vague. Magic was too individualistic for exactness. If he told me one way and it felt another, it would have made me doubt. He'd been right.
   I stirred the knife through the blood and flung blood on the waiting zombies with the blade. Only a few drops fell on them, but every time the blood touched one, I could feel it, a shock of power, a jolt. I ended in the center of the once walled room, surrounded by the zombies. When the blood touched the last one, a shock ran through me that tore a gasp from my throat. I felt the blood close round the dead. It was similar to closing a circle of power, but it was like the closure was inside me, rather than outside.
   "Back," I said, "back into your graves, all of you. Back into the ground."
   The dead shuffled around me, positioning themselves like sleepwalkers in a game of musical chairs. As each one reached its place, it lay down, and the raw earth poured over them all like water. The earth swallowed them back and smoothed over them as if a giant hand had come to neaten everything up.
   I was alone in the room with the earth still twitching like a horse thick with flies. When the last ripple had died away, I looked out of the blasted wall at the others.
   Jean-Claude and Richard stood at the opening of the wall. The three werewolves clustered around them. Even Cassandra had knelt on the ground beside the wolf that was Jason. Dominic stood behind them, watching. He was grinning at me like a proud papa.
   I walked towards them, my legs a touch rubbery, and I stumbled, splashing blood down the side of the bowl. Crimson drops fell onto the swept earth.
   The wolf was suddenly there, licking the ground clean. I ignored it and kept walking. Vampires next. Everyone moved to let me pass as if they were afraid to touch me. Except for Dominic. He crowded almost too close.
   I felt his own power crackle between us, shivering over my skin, down the ropes of power that bound me to Richard and Jean-Claude.
   I swallowed and said, "Back up."
   "My apologies." He moved back until I couldn't feel him quite so tightly. "Good enough?"
   I nodded.
   The three vampires waited with hungry eyes. I sprinkled them with the cooling blood. They twitched when the blood touched them, but there was no rush of power. Nothing. Shit.
   Dominic frowned. "The blood is still warm. It should work."
   Jean-Claude moved closer. I could feel it without turning around. I could feel him coming down the line of power between us like a fish being reeled in. "But it is not working," he said.
   "No," I said.
   "They are lost then."
   I shook my head. Willie was staring at the bowl of blood. The look was feral, pure hunger. I'd thought that the worst thing that could happen would be for Willie to simply lie down in his coffin and be truly dead. I was wrong. Having Willie crawl out of his coffin craving nothing but blood, knowing nothing but hunger, would be worse. I would not loose him, not yet.
   "Any bright ideas?" I asked.
   "Feed them the blood in the bowl," Dominic said, "but hurry before it grows colder."
   I didn't argue; there was no time. I wiped the knife on my jeans and sheathed it. I'd have to clean it and the sheath later, but I needed my hands free. I dipped my fingertips into the blood. It was still warm, but barely. The eyes were still brown as they followed my hand, but it wasn't Willie looking out of them. It just wasn't.
   I lifted the gold bowl to Willie's mouth and said, "Willie, drink." His throat moved, swallowing furiously, and I felt that click. He was mine again. "Stop, Willie."
   He stopped, and I took the bowl away from him. He didn't grab for it. He didn't move at all. His eyes were blank and empty above his bloody mouth. "Go back to your coffin, Willie. Rest until nightfall. Back to your coffin to rest."
   He turned and walked back down the hallway. I'd have to trust he was going back to the coffin. I'd check later. One down, two to go. Liv left like a good little puppet. The blood was getting pretty low by the time I raised it to Damian's lips.
   He drank at it, his pale throat swallowing. The blood passed down his throat and something brushed me. Something that wasn't my magic. Something else. Damian's chest rose in a great breath like a man struggling back from drowning. And that something thrust me backwards, cast out my power, turned it back on me. It was like a door slammed, but it was more than that. A force thrust at me, hit me, and the world swirled around. My vision was eaten away in greyness and white spots. I heard my own heartbeat impossibly loud. The thudding chased me down into the darkness, then even that was lost.
   
   
33
   I woke, staring up at the white drapes above Jean-Claude's bed. There was a damp washcloth folded over my forehead and voices arguing. I lay there for a few seconds, just blinking. I couldn't remember how I'd gotten here. I remembered the sensation of being cast out of Damian. I'd been cast out like an intruder, something to be protected against. The force that touched me hadn't been evil. I'd felt evil before, and that wasn't it. But it certainly hadn't been a beneficent force, either. More neutral, maybe.
   The voices were Jean-Claude and Richard. The argument was about me. Big surprise.
   "How can you let her die when you could save her?" Richard asked.
   "I do not believe she is dying, but even if she was, without her permission, I will never again invade her mind."
   "Even if she was dying?"
   "Yes," Jean-Claude said.
   "I don't understand that."
   "You don't have to understand it, Richard. Anita would agree with me."
   I brushed the rag from my head. I wanted to sit up, but it seemed too much effort.
   Richard sat down on the bed, taking my hand. I wasn't sure I wanted him to, but I was still too weak to stop him.
   Jean-Claude stood behind him, watching me. His face was blank and perfect, a mask.
   "How do you feel?" Richard asked.
   I had to swallow before I could speak. "Not sure."
   Dominic walked into view. He had, wisely, stayed out of the argument. Besides, he was already a vampire's human servant. What was he going to say? That the mark was evil, or that it was no big deal. Lies either way.
   "I am very glad to see you awake."
   "It thrust me out," I said.
   He nodded. "Indeed."
   "What thrust her out?" Richard asked.
   Dominic looked at me.
   I shrugged.
   "When the power that animates the vampire returned and found Anita still inside the body, the power cast her out."
   Richard frowned. "Why?"
   "I shouldn't have been there."
   "Did the soul return as you touched it?" Jean-Claude asked.
   "I've felt the brush of a soul before, that wasn't it."
   Jean-Claude looked at me.
   I looked back.
   He was the one who looked away first.
   Richard touched my hair where it had gotten wet from the rag. "I don't care if it was a soul or the bogeyman. I thought I'd lost you."
   "I always seem to survive, Richard, no matter who else dies."
   He frowned at that.
   I let him. "Is Damian all right?" I asked.
   "He seems to be," Jean-Claude said.
   "What were you two arguing about?"
   "Dominic, could you leave us now?" Jean-Claude asked.
   Dominic smiled. "Gladly. I am eager to speak with Sabin. Tomorrow, you and Richard can raise him, and you, Anita"—he touched my face lightly—"can heal him."
   I didn't like him touching me, but there was almost a reverence in his face. It made it hard to yell at him.
   "I'll do my best," I said.
   "In all things, I think." With that, he bid us a good day and left.
   When the door closed behind him, I repeated my question. "What were you two arguing about?"
   Richard glanced behind at Jean-Claude, then back to me. "You stopped breathing for a few seconds. No heartbeat, either. I thought you were dying."
   I looked at Jean-Claude. "Tell me."
   "Richard wanted me to give you the first mark again. I refused."
   "Smart vampire," I said.
   He shrugged. "You have made yourself very clear, ma petite. I will not be accused of forcing myself upon you again. Not in any sense."
   "Did someone do CPR?"
   "You started breathing on your own," Richard said. He squeezed my hand. "You scared me."
   I drew my hand out of his. "So you offered me to him as his human servant."
   "I thought we'd agreed to be a triad of power. Maybe I don't understand what that means."
   I wanted to sit up but still wasn't sure I could do it, so I had to be content with frowning up at him. "I'll share power with you both, but I won't let Jean-Claude mark me. If he ever forces himself on me again, I'll kill him."
   Jean-Claude nodded. "You will try, ma petite. It is a dance I do not wish to begin."
   "I'm going to let him mark me before I leave for the pack tonight," Richard said.
   I stared up at him. "What are you talking about?"
   "Jean-Claude can't come tonight. He isn't a member of the pack. If we're joined, I can still call the power."
   I struggled to sit up, and if Richard hadn't caught me, I'd have fallen. I lay cradled in his arms, digging fingers into his arms, trying to make him listen to me. "You don't want to be his servant for all eternity, Richard."
   "The joining of master and animal is not the same as between master and servant, ma petite. It is not quite as intimate."
   I couldn't see the vampire over Richard's broad shoulders. I tried to push myself up, and Richard had to help me. "Explain," I said.
   "I will not be able to taste food through Richard, as I could through you. It is a minor side effect, but in truth one I miss. I enjoyed tasting solid food again."
   "What else?"
   "Richard is an alpha werewolf. He is an equivalent power to mine in some ways. He will have more control over my entering his dreams, his thoughts. He would be able to keep me out, as it were."
   "And I couldn't," I said.
   He looked down at me. "Even then, before you had explored your powers of necromancy, you were harder to control than you should have been. Now," he shrugged, "now I am not sure who would be master and who would be servant."
   I sat up on my own. I was feeling just a tad better. "That's why you didn't mark me while you had the chance and Richard to take the blame. After what I did today, you're afraid that I'd be the master and you'd be my servant. That's it, isn't it?"
   He smiled softly. "Perhaps." He sat on the bed on the other side of Richard. "I have not worked for over two hundred years to be Master of my own lands to give up my freedom to anyone, even you, ma petite. You would not be a cruel master, but you would be an exacting one."
   "It's not pure master and servant. I know that from Alejandro. He couldn't control me, but I couldn't control him, either."
   "Did you try?" Jean-Claude asked.
   That stopped me. I had to think about it. "No."
   "You simply killed him," Jean-Claude said.
   He had a point. "Would I really be able to order you around?"
   "I have never heard of another vampire choosing a necromancer of your power as human servant."
   "What about Dominic and Sabin?" I asked.
   "Dominic is no match for you, ma petite."
   "If I agreed to the first mark, would you do it or not?" I asked.
   Richard tried to hug me to his chest, but I moved away. I had to put both arms down to prop myself up, but I was sitting on my own.
   Jean-Claude sighed, looking down at the floor. "If we truly joined, no one could stand against us. That much power is very tempting." He looked up suddenly, letting me see his eyes. Emotions rolled across his face. Excitement, fear, lust, and finally, just weariness. "We could be bound together for all eternity. Bound together in a three-way struggle for power. It is not a pleasant thought."
   "Jean-Claude told me that he would not be my master," Richard said. "We would be partners."
   "And you believed him?" I said.
   Richard nodded, looking terribly earnest.
   I sighed. "Jesus, Richard, I can't leave you alone for a minute."
   "It is not a lie, ma petite."
   "Yeah, right."
   "If it's a lie," Richard said, "I'll kill him."
   I stared at him. "You don't mean that."
   "Yes, I do." Something moved through his brown eyes, something low and dark and inhuman.
   "Once you decide to kill someone, it becomes easier to kill others, doesn't it?" I said.
   Richard didn't flinch or look away. "Yes, it does, but that's not it. I won't be anyone's servant. Not Jean-Claude's, not yours, not Marcus's, not Raina's."
   "Do you understand that once you're bound to him, that hurting him can hurt you? Killing him can kill you?"
   "I' d rather be dead than trapped."
   I watched the absolute certainty in his eyes. He meant it. "You'll kill Marcus tonight," I said.
   Richard looked at me, and an expression passed over his face that I'd never seen before, a fierceness that filled his eyes and sent his power shivering through the room. "If he doesn't back down, I'll kill him."
   For the first time, I believed him.
   
   
   

34
   There was a knock on the door. Richard and Jean-Claude spoke at the same time. "Enter." "Come in." They stared at each other as the door opened.
   Edward walked in. His cool blue eyes took in the three of us at a glance. "What happened to you?"
   "Long story," I said. "It wasn't the assassin if that's what you're worried about."
   "I wasn't. Your wolves are guarding my backup. They wouldn't let me bring him in without somebody's approval." He looked at Jean-Claude and Richard. "They weren't absolutely clear on whose permission I was supposed to get." He didn't smile while he said it, but I knew him well enough to see the shadow of humor on his face.
   "This is my home," Jean-Claude said. "It is my permission that is needed."
   I slid to the edge of the bed and found I could sit up. The movement put me between the two men. Richard hovered close to help me if I fell onto my face. Jean-Claude just sat there, not touching me, not offering to. In many ways, he understood me better than Richard did, but then he'd known me longer. I was sort of an acquired taste.
   Jean-Claude stood up. "I will go escort your guest in."
   "I better go with you," Edward said. "Harley doesn't know you, but he'll know what you are."
   "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
   "If a strange vampire walked up to you in this place and said follow me, would you do it?"
   I thought about that. "Probably not."
   Edward smiled. "Neither would Harley."
   Edward and Jean-Claude left to fetch Edward's friend. I tried standing while they were gone, just to see if I could do it. I always like to meet new people, especially new hired muscle, on my feet.
   Richard tried to help me, and I pulled away. I had to grab for the wall to keep from falling.
   "I was trying to help," he said.
   "Don't try so hard."
   "What is the matter with you?"
   "I don't like being helpless, Richard."
   "You aren't superwoman."
   I glared at him. "I fainted, for God's sake. I never faint."
   "You didn't faint," he said. "Whatever it was threw you out of Damian. I was still tied to you when it happened, Anita. I felt it brush me." He shook his head, hugging his arms to his chest. "You didn't faint."
   I leaned my back against the wall. "It scared me, too."
   "Did it?" He came to stand in front of me. "You don't seem scared."
   "Are you scared about joining with Jean-Claude?"
   "That bothers you more than me killing for the first time tonight, doesn't it?"
   "Yeah."
   The door opened before we could continue the conversation. It was just as well. We'd found something else we disagreed on. Letting someone tie themselves to my mind, my soul, frightened me a lot more than killing someone.
   The man that followed Edward didn't look that impressive. He was slender, only a couple of inches taller than Edward. He had curly brownish red hair receding in a soft circle to nearly the middle of his head. He slouched even when he walked, and I couldn't tell if it was habit or some sort of spinal problem. Brown T-shirt over black corduroy pants, and sneakers. Everything looked like it had come from the Salvation Army. He wore a patched leather aviator's jacket that might have been original World War II issue. Under the jacket, I got a glimpse of guns.
   He was wearing a double shoulder holster so that he had a 9 millimeter under both arms. I'd seen holsters like it, but never knew anyone who actually wore one. I thought they were mostly for show. Very few people are equally good with both hands. There was a crisscross of straps beneath the T-shirt that I didn't understand, but I knew it was for carrying something lethal. He had a duffel bag in one hand, crammed full and big enough to carry a body in. He wasn't even straining. Stronger than he looked.
   I met his eyes last. They were pale and greyish green with lashes so gingery red they were almost invisible. The look in the eyes was the emptiest I'd ever seen in another human being. It was as if when he looked at me, he wasn't seeing me at all. It wasn't like he was blind. He saw something, but I wasn't sure what he saw. Not me. Not a woman. Something else. That one look was enough. I knew that this man walked in a circle of his own creation. Saw a version of reality that would send the rest of us screaming. But he functioned, and he didn't scream.
   "This is Harley," Edward said. He introduced us all, as if it was an ordinary meeting.
   I stared at Harley's pale eyes and realized that he scared me. It had been a long time since another human being frightened me just by entering a room.
   Richard offered his hand, and Harley simply looked at it. I wanted to explain to Richard why he shouldn't have made the gesture, but I wasn't sure I could.
   I did not offer to shake hands.
   "I found out the name of the money man behind the attempts on your life," Edward said. He said it without preamble.
   Three of us stared at him. Harley, disquietly, kept staring at me. "What did you say?" I asked.
   "I know who we have to kill."
   "Who?" I asked.
   "Marcus Fletcher. The head of our local werewolf pack." He smiled, pleased with himself, on the effect the news was having on Richard.
   "You're sure?" Richard said. "Absolutely sure?"
   Edward nodded, studying Richard's face. "Does he hate you enough to kill Anita?"
   "I didn't think so." Richard turned to me, the look on his face stricken, horrified. "My God, I never dreamt he'd do something like this. Why?"
   "How well would you have fought tonight with ma petitedead?" Jean-Claude asked.
   Richard stared at him so obviously overwhelmed by the dastardliness of what Marcus had done that I wanted to pat his head and tell him it was all right. I nearly get killed twice and I wanted to comfort him. Love is just plain stupid sometimes.
   "It's all so convenient," Edward said, with a happy lilt to his voice.
   "What do you mean?" Richard asked.
   "He means you are supposed to kill him tonight, Richard, so we don't have to," I said.
   "I just can't believe that Marcus would do something so . . ."
   "Evil," I suggested.
   He nodded.
   "It would seem more Raina's sort of idea than Marcus's," Jean-Claude said.
   "It's twisted enough for her," I said.
   "Marcus could have said no," Richard said. He ran his hands through his hair, combing it back from his face. His handsome face was set in very stubborn lines. "This has got to stop. He'll do anything she asks, anything, and she's crazy."
   My eyes flicked to Harley. I couldn't help it. He caught my look and smiled. I didn't know exactly what he was thinking, but it wasn't pleasant and it wasn't pretty. Having Harley as backup made me wonder if I was on the right side.
   "Edward, can I talk to you a minute in private?" I didn't want to be this obvious, but Harley was bothering me that much.
   I walked away from the others and Edward trailed behind. It was kind of nice to walk across the room, lower my voice, and know the person I was whispering about wouldn't hear me. Both Jean-Claude and Richard would.
   Edward looked at me, and there was that same touch of amusement to him, as if he knew what I was going to say and thought it was a hoot.
   "Why does he keep looking at me?"
   "You mean Harley?"
   "You know damn well who I mean," I said.
   "He's only looking, Anita. No harm."
   "But why me?"
   "You're a girl maybe?"
   "Stop it, Edward. Whatever he's thinking, it isn't sex, and if it is, I don't want to know the details."
   Edward stared at me. "Ask him."
   "What?"
   "Ask him why he's staring at you."
   "Just like that?"
   He nodded. "Harley will probably get a kick out of it."
   "Do I want to know?" I asked.
   "I don't know. Do you?"
   I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're stringing me along here, Edward. What's the deal?"
   "If something happens to me during the fighting, Harley needs at least one other person that he'll mind."
   "Mind?"
   "He's absolutely reliable, Anita. He'll stay at my back, never flinch, and kill anyone I tell him to, but he's not good without specific orders. And he doesn't take orders from just everybody."
   "So you designated me?"
   Edward shook his head. "I told him to pick someone in the room."
   "Why me?"
   "Ask him."
   "Fine." I walked back towards the others, and Edward followed me. Harley watched us like he was seeing other things. It was too damned unnerving.
   "Why are you staring at me?" I asked.
   His voice was quiet, as if he never yelled. "You're the scariest motherfucker in the room."
   "Now I know you can't see."
   "I see what's there," he said.
   "What the hell is wrong with you?"
   "Nothing."
   I tried to think of a better question and finally asked, "What do you see when you look at everybody in the room?"
   "The same thing you see: monsters."
   "Why do I think the monsters I see in the room aren't the same ones you see?"
   He smiled, a bare upturning of lips. "They may look different, but they're still monsters. They're all monsters."
   He was a card-carrying, rubber-room-renting psychotic. By the time most people got to the point where they weren't seeing reality, they were so far gone that there was no going back. Sometimes drug therapy helped, but without it, the world was a frightening, overwhelming place. Harley didn't look frightened or overwhelmed. He looked calm.
   "When you look at Edward, he always looks the same to you. I mean you recognize him?"
   Harley nodded.
   "You'd recognize me," I said.
   "If I make an effort to memorize you, yes."
   "That's why you were staring."
   "Yes," he said.
   "What happens if Edward and I both go down?"
   Harley smiled, but his eyes shifted to one side as if something low to the ground and rather small had run across the room. The movement was so natural that I looked. Nothing.
   "Harley," I said.
   He looked back at me, but his eyes were just a little higher up than my face should have been. "Yes," he said, his voice so quiet.
   "What happens if Edward and I are both killed?"
   Harley stared at me. His eyes shifted to my face for just a second, as if the fog had cleared. "That would be bad."
   
   
35
   There would be no backing down for Marcus tonight. He had to die, one way or another. Richard wasn't arguing anymore. But there was still the chance that Raina would lead a revolt of the other lukoi. Their loyalty was divided enough for a war, even with Marcus dead. Jean-Claude came up with a solution. We'd put on a better show. A better show than Raina and Marcus? He had to be kidding. Richard agreed to let Jean-Claude costume him up for the night. As his lupa, that meant I had to get dressed up, too.
   Jean-Claude took Richard off to dress him. He sent Cassandra with a white cardboard clothes box to me. She was supposed to help me change, she said.
   I opened the box and all that was in it was a pile of black leather straps. I kid you not. I drew it out of the box and it didn't improve. "I don't know how to get into this, even if I was willing to."
   "I'll get Stephen," Cassandra said.
   "I don't want to undress in front of Stephen."
   "He's a stripper," she said. "He dressed me last night at Danse Macabre, remember." She patted my hand. "He'll be a perfect gentleman."
   I sat down on the bed and scowled at the door. I was not wearing this crap.
   An hour later, Stephen and Cassandra were turning me in front of the bathroom mirrors so I could see myself. It had been embarrassing at first having a man help squeeze me into the thing, but Cassandra was right. Stephen was not only a perfect gentleman, he simply didn't seem to be moved at all by the fact that I was mostly naked. It was like having two girlfriends help me. One just happened not to be a girl.
   The top was mostly a leather bra with lining for comfort. It was one of those that lifted and showed your cleavage to absolute best advantage. But it was tight and held in place. Nothing was falling out. My cross was visible, though. I taped it. I'd peel the tape when I left the Circus. Werewolves on the menu tonight, not vamps.
   The bottom was sort of leather shorts, except that where the shorts stopped, straps took over. I wouldn't be caught dead or alive in something like this, not even to make a good show of things for Richard, except that there were extras.
   Two leather sheaths covered my upper arms, complete with a knife apiece. The knives were high quality, high silver content. If the hilts were a little elaborate for my taste, the balance was good, and that's what counted. Two more sheaths covered my lower arms with two more knives, smaller, balanced more for throwing, though they both had hilts and weren't true throwing knives. The bulge under Harley's T-shirt had been throwing knives, the real McCoy, slender and innocent looking until you saw them used.
   There was a leather belt around the top of the shorts that my Browning's shoulder holster fit on nicely. Edward had bought me a new Browning. It wasn't my very own gun, but it was still nice to have. Harley had fished a clip-on holster for the Firestar out of his duffel. The small clip-on rode to one side of my waist for a cross draw.
   The straps down my legs had small silver loops, sheaths, two more knives, one on each thigh. No knife sheaths below the knees because boots came with the outfit. Jean-Claude had finally gotten me out of my Nikes. The boots were soft black suede with heels only a touch higher than I would have liked. A tiny stoppered vial fit in small loops just below the top of each boot. I held one up to the light, and knew what it was. Holy water. A nice gift from my vampire boyfriend, heh?
   I stared at myself in the mirror. "How long has Jean-Claude been planning this outfit?"
   "A little while," Stephen said. He was kneeling by me, tugging the straps into place. "We all had a running bet that he'd never get you to wear it."
   "Who's we?"
   "His flunkies." Stephen stood up, stepped back, and nodded. "You look amazing."
   "I look like a biker slut from hell meets soldier of fortune pinup."
   "That, too," Stephen said.
   I turned to Cassandra. "Be honest."
   "You look dangerous, Anita. Like somebody's weapon."
   I stared in the mirror, shaking my head. "Somebody's sex toy, you mean."
   "A dominatrix maybe, but nobody's toy," Cassandra said.
   Why didn't that make me feel better?
   Cassandra had insisted on helping me with my makeup. She was a great deal more skilled at it than I. Years of practice, she'd said. My hair was tight and curling, falling just below my shoulders now. It needed a cut. But for tonight, the hair was perfect. The face was still pretty. Makeup is a wonderful thing. But the outfit stripped away the pretense. I looked like what I was: something that would kill you before it would kiss you.
   We walked out of the bathroom and found Edward and Harley waiting for us. They had brought two straight-backed chairs to sit on the white carpet, facing the bathroom door. I froze as Edward stared at me. He didn't say a word, just sat there with a sort of half-smile on his face.
   "Well, say something, dammit."
   "I would say it isn't you, but in a way, it is."
   I took a deep breath. "Yeah."
   Harley stared at me with vacant eyes. He was smiling, but not at the outfit. Smiling at some internal music or vision that only he could perceive.
   There was a long leather coat on the bed. "One of the vampires dropped it off," Edward said. "Thought you might want something to cover up with until the big unveiling."
   "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
   "I'd feel better if I could guard your back."
   "You're going to do that with a rifle from the closest hill, remember."
   "Night vision and scope, fine, but I can't kill them all from a distance."
   "You couldn't kill them all if you were johnny on the spot, either," I said.
   "No, but I'd feel better."
   "Worried about me?"
   He shrugged. "I'm your bodyguard. If you die under my protection, the other bodyguards will make fun of me."
   It took me a second to realize he was making a joke. Harley looked back at him with an almost surprised look. I don't think either of us heard humor from Edward much.
   I walked towards Edward. The leather made that little creaking sound it makes. I stopped in front of him, legs a little apart, staring down at him.
   He widened his eyes a little. "Yes."
   "I can't imagine anyone making fun of you, Edward."
   He touched one of the leather straps. "If I went around dressed like this, they might."
   I had to smile. "You probably would be dressed like this if you were going to be down in the clearing with us tonight."
   He turned pale blue eyes to me. "I've worn worse than this, Anita. I'm a fine actor when I have to be." The humor drained away from his face, leaving something feral and determined behind. Edward would still do things that I wouldn't, still had fewer rules than I did, but in some ways, Edward was a mirror for me. A warning of what I was becoming, or maybe a preview.
   Richard would have said it was a warning. I hadn't made up my mind yet.
   There was a knock on the door. Richard came in without waiting for an invitation. He was scowling, but the grumpy look faded when he got a good look at me. His eyes widened. "I was going to come in and complain about my outfit." He shook his head. "If I complain, will you just shoot me?" A smile spread across his face.
   "No laughing," I said.
   The smile got wider. His voice was a little choked, but he managed, "Wonderful. You look wonderful."
   There are only two things you can do when you're dressed like Barbie Does Bondage; you can be embarrassed or you can be aggressive. Guess what my choice was.
   I stalked towards him, putting a little extra sway into my walk. The boots made it easier, somehow, giving just the right roll. I put into my eyes, my face, what the outfit promised: sex, violence, heat.
   The humor faded from Richard's face, replaced by an answering heat and a hesitation, like he wasn't exactly sure we should be doing this in public.
   He was wearing black leather pants with soft suede boots that were almost a match to my own. His hair had been slicked back, tied off with a black ribbon. His shirt was silk and a vibrant blue, somewhere between turquoise and royal. It looked splendid against his tanned skin.
   I stopped just in front of him, legs apart. I stared up at him, defying him to think it was funny. I put a finger to his lips, trailing my fingertip down his cheek, his neck, caressing the edge of his collarbone, tracing the skin until it vanished down the buttoned front of his shirt.
   I stalked to the bed, fetching the leather coat. I threw it over one shoulder so that it trailed down like a limp body, not hiding much of the outfit. I opened the door and stood for just a moment framed in it. "Coming?" I said. I walked away without waiting for an answer. The look on his face was enough. He looked like I'd hit him between the eyes with a sledgehammer.
   Great. Now all I had to do was try the outfit out on Jean-Claude, and we could go.
   
   
36
   The May woods were a warm, close darkness. Richard and I stood outside the barn where Raina shot dirty pictures. The pack meeting place was among the trees around the farmhouse. There were so many cars that they were parked on every bit of spare ground, some so close to the woods that they touched the trees.
   There may have been a full moon up there somewhere, but the clouds were so thick, the darkness so complete, that it was like standing inside a cave. Except this cave had movement. A small oozing wind trailed through the thick, night-darkened leaves. It was like some invisible giant trailed fingertips through the trees, bending them, rattling the leaves, giving movement to the night that made my shoulders tight. It was like the night itself was alive in a way that I'd never seen before.
   Richard's hand was warm and slightly moist. He'd dampened that creeping energy so that it wasn't uncomfortable to touch him. I appreciated the effort. His leather cloak whispered as he moved closer. It was tied across his chest, covering only one shoulder. The cloak, combined with the full sleeves of the brilliant blue shirt, made the whole outfit seem antique.
   Richard pulled on my hand, bringing me against his body, into the circle of his arms, the brush of the leather cloak. The clouds slid apart and suddenly we were bathed in a thick, silver glow. Richard was staring outward. He seemed to be listening to something that I couldn't hear. His hands convulsed around my hands, an almost painful squeeze. He stared down at me as if just remembering I was there.
   He smiled. "Can you feel it?"
   "What?"
   "The night?"
   I started to answer, no, then stopped. I looked around at the hurrying woods, the feeling of movement. "The woods seem more alive tonight."
   His smile widened, a brief flash of teeth, almost a snarl. "Yes."
   I tried to pull away, but his hands tightened. "You're doing it," I said. My heart was suddenly thudding in my throat. I'd thought to be afraid of a lot of things tonight, but not of Richard.
   "We're supposed to share power. That's what I'm doing. But it has to be my power, Anita. The pack won't be impressed with zombies."
   I swallowed past my beating heart and forced myself to stand very still. Made myself return the grip of his hands. I hadn't thought what it would mean. I wasn't going to be in charge. Not my power but his. I was going to be fuel for his fire, not the other way around.
   "It's Jean-Claude's mark," I said. "That's what's doing it."
   "We hoped it would work this way," Richard said.
   And I knew that the we he was referring to didn't include me. "How does it work?"
   "Like this." That trembling energy broke over his skin like a rush of warmth. It plunged through his hands into my hand. It rode like a wave over my body, and everywhere it touched, the hair and skin of my body raised and shivered.
   "Are you all right?"
   "Sure," but my voice was a breathless whisper.
   He took me at my word. Some barrier went down, and Richard's energy crashed into me like a fist. I remembered falling, and the feel of Richard's arms around my waist, catching me, then it was like I was elsewhere. I was everywhere. I was over there in the trees, staring at us with eyes that tried to turn and see me, but I wasn't there. It was like the wind that opened inside me when I walked a cemetery, except it wasn't power that was spreading outward. It was me. I flashed through a dozen eyes, brushed bodies, some furred, some still skinned. I hurried outward, outward, and touched Raina. I knew it was her. Her power lashed out like a shield, casting me away from her, but not before I felt her fear.
   Richard called me back, though call implies a voice. I slipped back inside myself in a rush of curling golden energy. I could see the color behind my eyes, though there was actually nothing to see. I opened my eyes, though I wasn't a hundred percent sure that they'd been closed. That golden energy was still there, swirling inside, along my skin. I curled my hands over Richard's shoulders and felt an answering energy in him.
   I didn't have to ask what I had just experienced. I knew. It was what it meant, at least for someone as powerful as Richard, to be alpha. He could fling his essence outward and touch his pack. It was how he kept the werewolf from changing form two days ago. It was how he could share blood. Marcus couldn't do it, but Raina could.
   Jean-Claude's power, even my own power, never felt so alive. It was like I was drawing energy from the trees, the wind, like being plugged into a vast battery, as if there was enough magic to go on forever. I had never felt anything like it.
   "Can you run?" Richard asked.
   The question meant more than just the words, and I knew that. "Oh, yeah."
   He smiled, and it was joyous. He took my hand and flung us into the trees. Even if he'd been human, I couldn't have kept up with Richard in a dead run. Tonight, he didn't run so much as flowed into the woods. It was like he had sonar telling him where every branch, every tree root, every fallen trunk would be. It was like the trees moved away from him like water, or maybe moved into him like something else that I had no words for. He pulled me with him. Not just with his hand, but with his energy. It was like he'd entered me and tied us together somehow. It should have been intrusive and frightening, but it wasn't.
   We spilled into the great clearing and Richard's power filled it, flowed over the lycanthropes like a fire springing from one dry branch to another. It filled them and made them turn to him. Only Marcus, Raina, Jamil, Sebastian, and Cassandra were untouched. Only they kept him out by force of will. He swept everyone else before him, and I knew that part of what let him do that was me. Distant as a dream or a half-remembered nightmare, was Jean-Claude, down that twisting power that was almost buried under Richard's shining light.
   I felt every movement. It was like the world was suddenly crystalline, almost like the effect from an adrenaline rush, or shock, where everything seems carved and hard-edged and terribly, frightfully clear. It was like being dipped in reality, as if anything else would forever be a dream. It was almost painful.
   Marcus sat in a chair that had been carved from rock so long ago the edges were rounded with weather and hands and bodies. I knew that this clearing had been the meeting place for the lukoi for a very long time.
   Marcus wore a brown satin-lapeled tux. The shirt was of gold cloth, not gold lame, but the real deal, as if they'd melted down jewelry and beaten him out a shirt. Raina curled on the edge of the stone chair. Her long auburn hair was done in an elaborate swirl of soft curls on top of her head, down along her face. A gold chain cut across her forehead with a diamond the size of my thumb in it. More diamonds burned like white fire at her throat. She was absolutely naked except for a sprinkling of gold body glitter, done thick enough on her nipples to make them seem metallic. A diamond anklet glittered on her right ankle. Three gold chains rode low on her hips, and that was it.
   And I'd complained about my outfit.
   "Welcome, Richard, Anita," Marcus said. "Welcome to our happy family." His voice was deep and thick. It flowed with its own edge of power, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Richard could have worn his jeans and T-shirt, and still he would have won them over. There are things beyond clothing that make a king.
   "Marcus, Raina." Richard released my hand slowly, and as he pulled away, the tie remained. It was a shadow of the way I'd bound Richard and Jean-Claude's auras to me, but more. He took a few steps away to stand a little in front of me. I could feel him like a large, shimmering thing.His energy was amazing. The closest thing I'd ever felt was the power of a Daoine Sidhe, a fairie of the highest court.
   "You naughty boy," Raina said. "You've made her one of us."
   "No," Richard said, "she is what she always has been: herself."
   "Then how can you ride her power? How can she ride yours?" Raina pushed away from the chair, stalking along the ground in front of it, pacing like a caged animal.
   "What have you done, Richard?" Marcus asked.
   "She is my mate."
   "Raina, test it," Marcus said.
   Raina smiled, most unpleasant, and stalked over the open ground. She swayed, transforming walking into a seductive dance. I felt her power tonight. Her sex rode the air like the threat of lightning, prickling along the skin, drying out the mouth. I felt every male watch her, even Richard. I didn't resent it. Hell, I watched her. She was magnificent in her sheer, naked lust. It was like sex for Raina was power, literally.
   I slipped off the long, black coat and let it fall to the ground. There was a collective gasp from the human throats. I traced my hands over the bare skin of my waist, trailing down my leather-clad thighs. I laughed. A loud, joyous bark of noise. It was Raina. I was riding her power, dancing along the edge of her energy.
   I stalked towards her, not waiting, but meeting her in the middle of the circle. We moved around each other, and I could match her dance. I pulled her aura of sex and violence into me, pulled it like a hand reaching inward and stealing bits of her. Fear widened her eyes, brought her breath faster.
   She knew how to protect herself against another werewolf, but my brand of power was just different enough that she didn't know what to do with me. I'd never done anything like this before, didn't understand exactly what I was doing, until Raina backed off. She didn't run back to Marcus, but the shine was gone. She slunk back with her tail between her legs, and I could taste her inside my mind like I'd licked her skin.
   I turned back to Richard and stalked towards him in the high-heeled boots. I felt every man watching. I knew it. I wrapped it around me and threw it all back into Richard. He stood almost frozen, his dark eyes filled with a heat that was part sex, part energy, part something else. And for the first time, I understood that something else. I heard that music, felt it dance inside my body.
   I grabbed the leather cloak and pulled him down to me. We kissed and it burned, as if more than flesh was mingling. I released him abruptly, and my eyes didn't go to his face but fell lower. Without touching him, I knew he was hard and ready. I could still feel the pack, distant, but touchable. Jason's great wolf head brushed my thigh. I dug my fingers into that thick fur and knew that if Richard and I made love, the pack would know it. Here tonight, they'd be along for the ride. It wouldn't just be sex. It would be magic. And it didn't seem shameful or pagan or wrong.
   "You can't let them do this," Raina said.
   Marcus pushed himself to his feet. He seemed tired. "No, I don't suppose I can." He looked at Raina, naked, beautiful, fearful. "But it is not your blood that will be spilled tonight, is it, my love?" The irony was thick enough to walk on, and for the first time, I realized that Marcus knew what Raina was, maybe had always known.
   Raina went to her knees in front of him, hands clutching at his legs. She rubbed her cheek along his thigh, one hand smoothing perilously close to his groin. Even now, it was what she knew best. Sex and pain.
   He touched her hair gently. He stared down at her, and the naked tenderness on his face made me want to look away. It was a terribly intimate look, more intimate than sex, more powerful. The fool loved her.
   If he hadn't been paying to kill me, I'd have felt sorry for him.
   Marcus stepped away from Raina. He began walking across the clearing. His power opened like a door, flowing like electric water across the wolves, across me. He undid his tie, opened the first few buttons of his shirt. "No more preliminaries, Richard. Let us do this."
   "I know you tried to have Anita killed," Richard said.
   Marcus stopped in midmotion. His small, sure fingers hesitated. Surprise chased across his face, then changed into a smile. "You have surprised me twice tonight, Richard. Let's see if you can make it three."
   "I will kill you tonight, Marcus; you know that."
   Marcus shrugged out of his jacket. "You can try."
   Richard nodded. "I'd planned on giving you the chance to just leave."
   "I tried to have your mate killed. You can't leave me alive now." He undid the cuffs of his shirt.
   "No, I can't." Richard undid the cloak's tie, letting it fall to the floor. He pulled his shirt out of his pants and slid it over his head in one quick movement. The moonlight made shadows on the muscles of his arms and chest. I suddenly didn't want him to do it. I could shoot Marcus, and it would all be done. Richard would never forgive me, but he'd be alive. They wouldn't kill each other with power. They'd use claws and teeth for the killing. All Richard's trembling, eager power wouldn't keep him from getting his throat ripped out.
   

37
   Richard turned to me, wearing only the leather pants and the boots. Marcus had asked that they not strip down, said something about saving an old man's dignity. Bullshit. There was something in the air that I didn't like, as if Marcus had known what was coming and he was ready.
   "As acknowledged Ulfric, Marcus gets to choose the form we fight in," Richard said.
   "What form did he choose?"
   Richard raised his hand in front of my face. "Touch my hand."
   He made it sound so serious for such a small request. I touched the back of his hand lightly.
   "Grip my palm, Anita."
   I wrapped my fingers around the lower part of his hand. Before I could look to his face or ask a question, I felt it. Energy welled up his hand like oil up the wick of a lamp. His skin flowed under my hand. I felt the bones lengthening. I felt his body give as if the boundaries that confined him to skin and bone and flesh had dissolved. It felt almost like he would scatter himself outward like I'd done earlier, but it wasn't his essence that was reaching outward. It was his body.
   He held up his other hand, and I took it. I locked my fingers in his and felt his bones grow across my skin, watched claws form as his flesh flowed like clay. Distant as a scream, I knew I should have been scared or sickened. The power flowed down his shifting hands to my hands, flowing between us like cool fire.
   He stopped when his hands were human claws with talons that could have ripped me apart. The power didn't stop abruptly; it wasn't like turning off a switch. It was like turning off a faucet, slowing the flow down to a trickle, a drop, then nothing.
   I was on my knees and hadn't remembered getting there. Richard knelt in front of me, hands still clasped in mine. It took me two tries to be able to talk. "How can you stop like that?"
   He drew his newly formed hands carefully out of my hands. I shivered as the tips of his claws trailed over my skin.
   "Controlling the change is what separates the sheep from the wolves," he said.
   It took me a second to realize he'd made a joke. He leaned into me and whispered, "If I lose control in the fight, or if I'm losing, I'll shift completely. I want you to come touch me, if I ask you."
   "Why?"
   His breath was warm against my cheek. He wrapped his arms around me, held me in the circle of his body, claws playing along the leather straps of the outfit. "I want you to feel the rush of power. I want you to know what it can be like between us." His arms tightened. "If I'm losing, you can ride the power and use it to get my wolves out of here. The others will kill anyone they think is disloyal."
   I pushed away enough to see his face. "How can I use the power to do that?"
   "You'll know." He kissed my forehead ever so gently. "Save them, Anita. Promise me."
   "I promise."
   He stood, my hands slipping over his body as he got to his feet. I caught one of his hands. My hand slid down the long, curved claw. It was as hard and solid and unreal as it looked. I'd felt his body shift, and yet, staring up at Richard's handsome face and those monstrous hands, it was jarring. Still, I held on. I didn't want to let him go.
   "Careful of the claws, Anita. I'm not in human form anymore."
   He meant that a scratch might make me furry, might not. Hard to tell. But it was enough to make me let go. No matter how good Richard felt, I wasn't ready to throw humanity completely behind me.
   Richard stared down at me, and there was a world in his eyes of things unsaid, things undone. I opened my mouth, closed it. "Do you have this much control over every body part?"
   He smiled. "Yes."
   I was so scared I couldn't speak. I'd made my last joke. The only thing left was truth. I raised up, putting my hands on his legs for support and kissed the back of his hand. The skin was still as soft, still smelled and tasted like Richard, the bones underneath felt like someone else.
   "Don't get killed."
   He smiled. There was a sadness in his eyes that was bottomless. Even if he won this fight, it would cost him dearly. Murder, that's how he would see it. No matter how justified. Moral high ground is dandy, but it'll get you killed.
   Raina kissed Marcus good-bye, pressing her body so tightly against him, it was like she was trying to walk through him, part him like a curtain and slip inside.
   She pushed him away with a rich, throaty laugh. It was the kind of laughter that made you turn your head in bars. A joyous, slightly wicked sound. Raina stared across the clearing at me, the laughter still sparkling in her eyes, on her face. One look was enough. She was going to kill me if she could.
   Since I was pretty much thinking the same thing about her, I gave her a little nod and a salute. We'd see who was dead come morning. It might be me, but somewhere on the lists of the dead would be Raina. That I could almost promise.
   Marcus raised his clawed hands over his head. He turned in a slow circle.
   "Two alphas fight for you here tonight. One of us will leave this circle alive. One of us will feed you tonight. Drink of our blood, eat of our flesh. We are pack. We are lukoi. We are one."
   Jason threw his head back and howled, so close to me that I jumped. Furred throats echoed him, human throats joining the chorus. I stood alone among the pack and did not join in. When the last echo faded off in the rolling, wooded hills, Marcus said, "Death between us then, Richard."
   "I offered you life, Marcus. You chose death."
   Marcus smiled. "I suppose I did."
   Marcus jumped straight at him, no feinting, no practice, just a blur of speed. Richard rolled to the ground, up and away, coming to his feet. Three thin lines bled across his belly. Marcus didn't give him a chance to recover. He covered the distance between them like a bad dream. I couldn't even keep track of it with my eyes. I'd seen lycanthropes move before, and I'd thought they were fast, but Marcus was breathtaking.
   He slashed Richard, forcing him back towards the edge of the clearing where Raina stood. Richard wasn't being hurt, but the flurry of attacks forced him backwards, kept him from attacking. I needed to ask a question. I looked down at Jason. He turned pale wolf eyes to me.
   "If anyone else helps Marcus, it's cheating, right?" It felt vaguely stupid talking to something that looked like an animal, but the look in those eyes wasn't animal. I wasn't sure it was human, but it wasn't animal.
   The wolf nodded its head. Awkwardly.
   Richard's back was almost within Raina's reach. Jamil, the black werewolf from two nights ago, had joined her. Sebastian was already at her side. Shit.
   "If they cheat, can I shoot them?"
   "Yes," Cassandra joined us, walking up through the pack like a warm, prickling wind. I got the first real brush of her power and knew she could have been lupa if she wanted to be.
   I pulled the Browning out, and it felt odd in my hands, as if I didn't need it. I was channeling more of the pack than I knew if I didn't want my gun. A dangerous amount more. I wrapped my fingers around the butt of the Browning, digging my hand around it, remembering the feel of it. The sensory memory brought it back to me, pushed some of the glow of power away.
   I didn't see a weapon, but Richard's back was to Raina and Sebastian. I raised the Browning, not aiming, not yet. I yelled, "Behind you."
   I saw Richard's back spasm. He collapsed to his knees. Everything slowed down, carved in crystal. Sebastian's hand moved with a flash of silver blade. I was already aiming at him. Marcus's claw drew back for a downward swipe at Richard's unprotected throat. I pulled the trigger and turned the gun towards Marcus, but it would be too slow, too late.
   The top of Sebastian's head exploded. I had a fraction of a second to wonder what ammunition Edward had put in the gun. The body started to fall backwards. Marcus's claw came sweeping down, and Richard drove his hand under the arm, into Marcus's upper stomach. Marcus stopped, froze for a second, as the claws dug into his stomach, up under his ribs. Richard's hand went into Marcus's body past the wrist.
   I kept the Browning pointed at Raina in case she got any ideas about picking up the knife.
   Marcus drove his claws into Richard's back. Richard tucked his face and neck against the other man's body, protecting himself from the claws. Marcus shuddered. Richard broke away from him, bringing his bloody hand out of Marcus's chest. He tore the still-beating heart out of his chest and flung it to the wolves. They fell on the morsel with small yips and growling.
   Richard collapsed to his knees beside Marcus's body. Blood poured down his lower back where the knife had gone in. I walked to him, the gun still pointed at Raina. I knelt, still keeping a bead on her. "Richard, are you all right?" It was a stupid thing to ask, but what else was I supposed to say?
   "Put up the gun, Anita. It's over."
   "She tried to kill you," I said.
   "It's over." He turned his face to me, and his eyes were already gone. His voice fell towards a growl. "Put it away."
   I stared up at Raina and knew if I didn't kill her now, I'd have to kill her later. "She'll see us dead, Richard."
   Richard's hand was suddenly there, faster than I could see. He hit my hand, and the gun went spinning. My hand was numb. I tried to back away, but he grabbed me, wrapping his clawed hands around my upper arms. "No more killing . . . tonight." He threw back his head and howled. His mouth was full of fangs.
   I screamed.
   "Ride the power, Anita. Ride it or run." His hands convulsed around my arms. I backpedaled, dug my heels in, and tried to get loose. He collapsed on top of me, too hurt for the struggle, too far gone to fight the change. His power roared over me, into me. I couldn't see anything but the glow of power behind my eyes. If I could have breathed, I'd have screamed again, but there was nothing but the force of his power, and it spread outward from him like a rock in water. The waves touched the pack, and where it touched, fur flowed. Richard shifted and took everyone with him. Everyone. I felt Raina struggle next to us. I felt her fight it. Heard her shriek, but in the end she fell to the ground and changed.
   I held onto Richard's arms, and fur flowed under my hands like water. Muscle formed and shifted, bones broke and reknit. My lower body was trapped underneath him. Clear liquid gushed from his body, pouring over me in a near scalding wave. I screamed and struggled to get out from underneath him. And the power rode me down, filled me up, until I thought my skin wouldn't hold, couldn't hold it.
   Finally, he rose off me, not a wolf, but man-wolf, covered in fur the color of cinnamon and gold. His genitalia hung large and full underneath him. He stared at me with amber eyes and offered me a clawed hand as he rose on two slightly bent legs.
   I ignored the hand and scooted backwards. I got to my feet, a little unsteady, and stared. The wolf form was actually taller than his human shape, about seven feet, muscled, and monstrous. There was nothing left of Richard. But I knew how good it had felt to let loose the beast. I had felt it rise out of him like a second mind, soul, rising upward, outward, filling him, spilling out of his skin.
   My body was still tingling with the brush of his beast. I could feel the thick softness of his fur under my fingertips like a sensory memory that would haunt me.
   Marcus's very human-looking body lay on the ground at Richard's feet. The scent of fresh blood ran through him, ran through them all. I felt it thrill through my body. I stared down at the dead man and wanted to go down to my knees and feed. I had a strong visual image of tearing flesh, warm viscera. It was a memory. It jerked me back a step.
   I stared at the man-wolf. I stared at Richard and shook my head. "I can't feed. I won't."
   He spoke, but it was twisted and guttural. "You're not invited. We will feast, then hunt. You can watch. You can join the hunt, or you can go."
   I backed away slowly. "I'm going."
   The pack was creeping closer, gigantic wolves mostly, but here and there were man-wolves, watching me with alien eyes. I couldn't see the Browning that Richard had knocked from my hand. I drew the Firestar and started to back away.
   "No one will hurt you, Anita. You are lupa. Mate."
   I stared into the cool eyes of the nearest wolf. "Right now, I'm just food, Richard."
   "You refused the power," he said.
   He was right. In the end, I'd panicked and hadn't gotten the full dose. "Whatever." I eased through the wolves, but they didn't move. I walked out, brushing through fur like wading through a fur coat factory. Every brush of breathing, living animal scared me. Panic climbed at my throat, and I still had enough glow left to know that my fear excited them. The more scared I got, the more I smelled like food.
   I kept the gun ready, but I knew if they went for me, I was dead. There were too many of them. They watched me walk. They stubbornly refused to move, forcing me to brush their furred bodies. I realized they were using me for a sort of appetizer, my fear to spice their food, the brush of my human body to flavor their chase.
   When I passed the last furred body, the sound of tearing flesh brought my head around. I couldn't stop myself in time. Richard's muzzle was raised skyward, slick with blood, throwing down a piece of meat that I tried not to recognize.
   I ran. The woods that I'd glided through with Richard's help suddenly became an obstacle course. I ran, and tripped, and fell, and ran some more. I finally got back to the parking lot. I had driven because nobody but me was going home tonight. They'd stay here and have a moonlight jamboree.
   Edward and Harley had watched all of it from a nearby hill with night scopes. I wondered what they thought of the show.
   
   
38
   Edward made me promise to go back to the Circus for one more night. Marcus was dead, so there was no more money, but if someone else had taken the contract, they might not know that yet. It would be a shame to get killed after all the effort we'd put in to save me. I walked all the way down the damn stairs to the ironbound door before I realized I didn't have a key, and nobody was expecting me.
   The clear liquid that had gushed out of Richard's body had dried to a sticky, viscous substance somewhere between blood and glue. I needed a bath. I needed clean clothes. I needed to stop seeing Richard's mouth while he ate pieces of Marcus. The harder I tried not to flash on it, the clearer the image got.
   I banged on the door until my hands stung, then I kicked it. No one came. "Shit!" I screamed at no one and everyone. "Shit!"
   The feel of his body on top of mine. His bones and muscle sliding on top of me like a bag of snakes. The warm rush of power, and that moment when I had wanted to drop to my knees and feed. What if I had swallowed the power whole? What if I hadn't backed off? Would I have fed on Marcus? Would I have done that and enjoyed it?
   I screamed wordlessly, smacking my hands into the door, kicking it, beating on it. I collapsed to my knees, stinging palms pressed against the wood. I leaned my head against the door and cried.
   "Ma petite, what has happened?" Jean-Claude stood behind me on the stairs. "Richard is not dead. I would feel it."
   I turned and pressed my back against the door. I wiped at the tears on my face. "He's not dead, not even close."
   "Then what is wrong?" He came down the steps like he was dancing, too graceful for words, even after an evening spent with shapeshifters. His shirt was a deep, rich blue, not quite dark enough to be navy, the sleeves were full, with wide cuffs, the collar high but soft, almost as if it were a scarf. I'd never seen him in blue of any shade. It made his midnight blue eyes seem bluer, darker. His jeans were black and tight enough to be skin, the boots were knee-high, with a trailing edge of black leather that flopped as he moved.
   He knelt beside me, not touching me, almost like he was afraid to. "Ma petite, your cross."
   I stared down at it. It wasn't glowing, not yet. I wrapped my hand around the cross and jerked, snapping the chain. I flung it away. It fell against the wall, glinting silver in the faint light. "Happy?"
   Jean-Claude looked at me. "Richard lives. Marcus is dead. Correct?"
   I nodded.
   "Then why the tears, ma petite? I do not think I have ever seen you cry."
   "I am not crying."
   He touched my cheek with one fingertip and came away with a single tear trembling on the end of his finger. He raised it to his lips, the tip of his tongue licked it off his skin. "You taste like your heart has broken, ma petite."
   My throat choked tight. I couldn't breathe past the tears. The harder I tried not to cry, the faster the tears flowed. I hugged myself, and my hands touched the sticky gunk that covered me. I held my hands away from my body like I'd touched something unclean. I stared at Jean-Claude with my hands held out in front of me.
   "Mon Dieu, what has happened?" He tried to hug me, but I pushed him away.
   "You'll get it all over you."
   He stared at the thick, clear gunk on his hand. "How did you get this close to a shapeshifting werewolf?" An idea flowed across his face. "It's Richard. You saw him change."
   I nodded. "He changed on top of me. It was . . . Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God."
   Jean-Claude pulled me into his arms. I pushed at him. "You'll ruin your clothes."
   "Ma petite, ma petite, it's all right. It is all right."
   "No, it's not." I sagged against him. I let him wrap me in his arms. I clutched at him, hands digging into the silk of his shirt. I buried my face against his chest and whispered, "He ate Marcus. He ate him."
   "He's a werewolf, ma petite. That's what they do."
   It was such an odd thing to say, and so terribly true, that I laughed—an abrupt, almost angry sound. The laughter died in choking, and the choking became sobs.
   I held onto Jean-Claude like he was the last sane thing in the world. I buried myself against him and wept. It was like something deep inside me had broken, and I was crying out bits of myself onto his body.
   His voice came to me dimly, as if he had been speaking for a long time, but I hadn't heard. He was speaking French, softly, whispering it into my hair, stroking my back, rocking me gently.
   I lay in his arms, quiet. I had no more tears left. I felt empty and light, numb.
   Jean-Claude smoothed my hair back from my forehead. He brushed his lips across my skin, like Richard had done earlier tonight. Even that thought couldn't make me cry again. It was too soon.
   "Can you stand, ma petite?"
   "I think so." My voice sounded distant, strange. I stood, still in the circle of his arms, leaning against him. I pushed away from him gently. I stood on my own, a little shaky, but better than nothing.
   His dark blue shirt was plastered to his chest, covered with werewolf goop and tears. "Now we both need a bath," I said.
   "That can be arranged."
   "Please, Jean-Claude, no sexual innuendo until after I'm clean."
   "Of course, ma petite. It was crude of me tonight. My apologies."
   I stared at him. He was being far too nice. Jean-Claude was a lot of things, but nice wasn't one of them.
   "If you're up to something, I don't want to know about it. I can't handle any deep, dark plots tonight, okay?"
   He smiled and gave a low, sweeping bow, never taking his eyes off me. The way you bow on the judo mat when you're afraid the person may pound you if you look away.
   I shook my head. He was up to something. Nice to know that not everyone had suddenly become something else. One thing I could always depend on was Jean-Claude. Pain in the ass that he was, he always seemed to be there. Dependable in his own twisted way. Jean-Claude dependable? I must have been more tired than I thought.