Anita Blake 4 - Lunatic Cafe

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  Rafael stood. The gesture stopped the argument. There was something about the way he stood there in his ordinary street clothes that made you stare at him as if he were wearing a crown. His presence was more commanding than that of a ton of black leather. Marcus made the lowest of growls. Too many kings in this room.

  "Does Marcus speak for Anita Blake as he speaks for the wolves?"

  "Yes," Marcus said. "I speak for Ms. Blake."

  I stood up. "I don't know what's going on, but I can speak for myself."

  Marcus turned like a small blond storm. "I am pack leader. I am law."

  Alfred moved to face me, big hands flexing.

  "Chill out, fur face. You're not my leader, and I'm not a pack member."

  Alfred stalked forward. I hopped off the stage. I had the gun, but I might need it more later. If I drew it now, I might not have it later. He leaped off the stage, a high bounding as if he'd had a trampoline to jump from. I dropped to the ground and rolled. I felt the air of his passage. I ended up against the stage. I went for the Firestar, and he was on me. Faster than a speeding bullet, faster than anything I'd ever seen.

  His hand gripped my throat and squeezed. His lips drew back from his teeth, and made a low, rolling growl, like the sound a Rottweiler would make.

  My hand was on the Firestar, but I still had to lift up, point it, and pull the trigger. I'd never make it. He'd rip my throat out long before I could manage it.

  He drew me to my feet using my throat as a handle. His fingers dug in just enough to let me feel the strength in his hands. All he had to do was clench his fist, and the front of my throat would come with it. I kept my hand on the Firestar. I'd be clinging to it when I died.

  "Does Alfred fight your battles for you now?" It was Christine of the blousy tie. "Pack leaders must fight all challenges to their dominance personally or forfeit leadership. It's one of your own laws, Marcus."

  "Do not quote my laws back to me, woman."

  "She challenged your authority over her, not Alfred's. If he kills her, is he the new pack leader?" There was soft derision in her voice.

  "Release her, Alfred."

  Alfred's eyes flicked to Marcus, then back to me. His fingers tensed, digging in and raising me to my tiptoes.

  "I said, let her go!"

  He dropped me. I staggered back against the stage and aimed Firestar in one movement. It wasn't pretty, but the gun was out and pointed at Alfred. If he tried me again, I was going to kill him, and I'd enjoy it.

  "I thought you checked her for weapons," Marcus said.

  "I did." Alfred was backing away, hands held in front of him as if to ward off a blow.

  I scooted along the stage so I could keep an eye on Marcus. I caught sight of Raina, still sitting, looking amused.

  I backed away from everyone, working to put a wall at my back. If Marcus was faster than Alfred, I needed distance, like a hundred miles, but I'd have to settle for the far wall.

  "Have him disarm her," Raina said. She sat there, legs crossed, hands resting on her knee, smiling. "It was Alfred's oversight. Let him correct it."

  Marcus nodded. Alfred turned his eyes back to me.

  I pressed my back more solidly into the wall, as if I could make a door if I pressed hard enough. Alfred stalked towards me, slow, like a movie maniac. I pointed the gun at his chest. "I will kill him," I said.

  "Your little bullets cannot hurt me," Alfred said.

  "Silver-plated Glaser safety rounds," I said. "It'll blow a hole in your chest big enough to put a fist through."

  He hesitated. "I can heal any wound, even silver."

  "Not if it's a killing blow," I said. "I take out your heart and you're dead."

  He glanced back at Marcus. Marcus's face was all squeezed down with anger. "You let her bring a gun among us."

  "If you're afraid of the gun, Marcus, take it away from her yourself." Christine again. This time I wasn't sure she was helping me.

  "We intend you no harm, Ms. Blake. But I promised the others you would bring no weapons among us. I gave my word. If you will give Alfred your gun, this can end."

  "No way."

  "You are defying me, Ms. Blake. I cannot let anyone contest my authority."

  He had come to stand at the end of the stage, closest to me. He was closer to me than Alfred. I wasn't sure it was an improvement.

  "You step off that stage and I'll shoot."

  "Alfred." Just the name again, but it was enough. Alfred moved up beside him, eyes on Marcus's face. "Master?"

  "Take it from her, Alfred. She cannot defy us."

  "You're going to get him killed, Marcus."

  "I don't think so."

  Alfred took a step forward, in front of Marcus. His face was neutral, eyes unreadable. "This is a stupid thing to die over, Alfie."

  "He gives orders. I obey. It is the way of things."

  "Don't do this," I said.

  Alfred took a step forward.

  I took a slow, steadying breath. I had a peripheral sense of everyone else, but I was looking only at Alfred. At a spot in the center of his chest. "I am not bluffing."

  I felt him tense, knew he was going to do it. He was confident that he could move faster than I could pull the trigger. Nothing was that fast. I hoped.

  He leaped in that wide, arching roll that he'd used earlier. I dropped to one knee, aiming as I moved. The bullet hit him in midair. He jerked and crumbled to the floor.

  The gunshot echoed into silence. I got to my feet, the gun still pointed at him. I eased forward. He never moved. If he was breathing, I couldn't see it. I knelt until the gun was shoved into the back of his spine. No movement. I felt for a pulse in his neck. Nothing. I pulled the Browning out of his waistband left handed. I kept the Firestar pointed at everybody. I wasn't as good left handed, and I didn't want to take the time to switch hands.

  Marcus stepped off the stage. "Don't," I said. He froze, staring at me. He looked shocked, as if he hadn't thought I'd do it.

  Rafael came up through the tables. "May I look at him?"

  "Sure." But I backed away. Theoretically out of reach.

  Rafael turned him over. Blood had pooled on the floor from the hole in his chest. Bright crimson rivulets trailed down his lips to mingle with his beard. Not faster than a speeding bullet, after all.

  Marcus looked at me over the body. I had expected to see anger, but all I saw was pain. He mourned Alfred's passing. I may have pulled the trigger, but he had pushed Alfred into it. He knew it, I knew it. We all knew it.

  "You didn't have to kill him," he said, softly.

  "You gave me no choice," I said.

  He glanced down at Alfred's body, then back to me. "No, I suppose I didn't. We killed him together, you and I."

  "For future reference, so there will never be another misunderstanding between us, Marcus. I never bluff."

  "So you said."

  "But you didn't believe me."

  He watched the blood spread across the floor. "I believe you now."

  Chapter 12

  We had a body on the ground. The age-old question remained. What do you do with a dead body? There was the traditional approach. "I'll call the cops," I said.

  "No," Marcus said. That one word had more force in it than anything he'd said since Alfred hit the ground.

  "He's dead, folks. If I'd hit him with a regular bullet he'd heal, but it was silver. We've got to call the cops."

  "Are you so eager to go to jail?" This from Rafael.

  "I don't want to go to jail, but I killed him."

  "I think you had a little help on that." Christine had moved up beside us. She stood there in her rose-petal suit with her sensible black pumps, staring down at the body. A line of blood trickled towards her shoes. She had to see it, snaking its way towards her. She didn't move out of the way. The blood seeped around the toe of her shoe and kept going.

  Raina came up behind Marcus. She put her arms around his shoulders, leaning her face against his neck, close enough to whisper
in his ear. Those lips did not move, but it had been her one needling comment that had pushed things over the edge. One little remark.

  Marcus rubbed his hand along her arm, lowering his face to kiss her wrist.

  I looked around at them. Rafael was still kneeling by the body. A line of blood was making for the knee of his slacks. He stood up quickly, fingertips brushing the bloody floor. He raised the fingers to his mouth. I wanted to say, don't, but didn't. He stuck the fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean.

  His dark eyes flicked to me. He lowered his hand as if he were embarrassed, as if I'd caught him in an intimate bodily function. Maybe I had.

  The two leather-clad shapeshifters drifted up behind the tables, as if they'd circle me. I backed away. I still had the guns naked in my hands. The one with the spiked glove looked at me, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. His eyes were a strange liquid grey. His curly black hair had fallen in a tangle over his eyes. They bore a startling luminosity peering from behind that black hair. He made no move to push his hair from his eyes. It would have driven me nuts. But then maybe I wasn't accustomed to staring out through fur.

  He stepped closer to the body, which was closer to me. I raised the guns. At this range you didn't really have to aim. I did not feel more confident with a gun in each hand. Fact was, I felt silly, but I didn't want to lose the time to holster one of them. To holster the Firestar, I had to scoot my sweater up and shove the gun in the inner-pants holster. I could probably do it without glancing down, but I wasn't sure. Habit might take over. Like driving a car. You don't realize how long you glanced down until that semi truck looms into view. If Gabriel was as fast as Alfred, a fraction of a second would be enough.

  His smile widened, the tip of his tongue traced his full lips. His gaze had heat in it. Nothing magical, just the heat that any man could put into his eyes. That look that said they were wondering what you looked like naked, and if you'd give a good blow job. Crude, but accurate. That look was not wanting to make love to anyone. The look was pure fucking. Even sex was too mild a term.

  I fought the urge to turn away. I didn't dare take my eyes off of him. But I wanted to. My skin crawled under his gaze. I felt heat creeping up my face. I couldn't meet his eyes and not blush. My Daddy'd raised me better than that.

  He took a step forward, a small movement, but it put him almost in arm's reach. With Alfred's body still warm, he was playing with me. I raised the guns a little more firmly, pointed at him. "Let's not do this again," I said.

  "Gabriel, leave her alone," Christine said.

  He glanced back at her. " 'Tyger! Tyger! burning bright/ In the forests of the night/ What immortal hand or eye/ Could frame thy fearful symmetry?' "

  "Stop it, Gabriel," she said. She was blushing. One stanza of Blake and she was embarrassed. Why that poem? A weretiger maybe? But who was the kitty cat? Maybe both.

  He turned back to me. I watched something slide behind his eyes. Some streak of perversity that made him want to take that next step.

  "Try me tonight, and you're going to join your friend on the floor."

  He laughed, mouth wide, exposing pointed canines, top and bottom like a cat. Not fangs, but not human, either.

  "Ms. Blake is under my protection," Marcus said. "You will not harm her."

  "You let Alfred nearly throttle me, then you goad him into attacking me. I don't think much of your protection, Marcus. I think I do just fine on my own."

  "Without those little guns you wouldn't be so tough." This from the brunette biker chick. Brave words, but she was standing on the other side of the little crowd.

  "I'm not going to offer to arm wrestle you. I know I'm outclassed without a gun. That's why I've got them."

  "You refuse my protection?" Marcus asked.

  "Yeah," I said.

  "You are a fool," Raina said.

  "Maybe, but I'm still the one with the guns."

  Gabriel laughed again. "She doesn't believe you can protect her, Marcus, and she's right."

  "You question my dominance?"

  Gabriel turned, giving me his back, staring at Marcus. "Always."

  Marcus moved forward, but Raina tightened her grip on him. "We've aired enough dirty laundry in front of Ms. Blake for one night. Don't you think?"

  He hesitated. Gabriel just stared at him. Finally Marcus nodded.

  Gabriel gave a purring laugh and knelt down by the body. He smeared his fingers through the blood. "It cools so fast." He wiped his hand on Alfred's sweater and touched the open chest wound. He ran his hand around the edge as though he were scooping icing from a bowl. His hand came out crimson. He raised it to his mouth, blood dripping down his arm. His tongue licked along his bloody fingers.

  "Stop it," Marcus said.

  The woman knelt on the other side of the body. She knelt, lowering her torso, butt in the air, like lions drinking at watering holes. She lapped up the blood from the floor with quick, sure movements of her tongue.

  "Jesus," I whispered.

  There was movement in the room like a wind over a field of wheat. They were all out of their seats. They were all moving towards the body.

  I stepped back, put the wall at my back, and began working my way towards the door. If there was going to be a feeding frenzy, I didn't want to be the only non-shapeshifter in the room. Didn't seem healthy.

  "No!" Marcus's voice roared through the room. He stalked to the body, pushing everyone back without a gesture. Even Gabriel rolled back onto his left side, propped up, sitting in the blood. The woman crawled back, out of reach. Gabriel stayed within touching distance of the master werewolf. He gazed up at Marcus, but there was no fear on his face.

  "We are not animals to feed on our dead."

  "We are animals," Gabriel said. He raised his bloody hand towards Marcus. "Smell the blood, and tell me you don't want it."

  Marcus jerked his head away, swallowing hard enough for me to hear it. Gabriel rose to his knees, pressing the blood close to Marcus's face.

  He slapped the hand away, but stepped away from the body, too. "I smell the blood." His voice was very harsh when he said it, every word squeezed out through a low growl. "But I am a human being. That means I do not have to give in to my urges." He turned his back on the body, pushed his way through the crowd, having to step up on the stage to find a clear place to stand. His breathing was hard and fast, as if he'd been running as fast as he could.

  I was about halfway behind the podium. I could see his face. Beads of sweat touched his skin. I had to get out of here.

  The white-haired man who had spoken first, wondering what good a vampire executioner would be to them, was standing apart from the others. He was leaning against a table, arms crossed. He was watching me. From across the room, he could watch all he wanted to. I had the guns out and pointed at everybody. There wasn't anyone in this room that I wanted to be around unarmed.

  I was almost at the door. I needed a free hand for the door. I was nearly the length of the room away from them. It was as far away as I could get without opening the door. I holstered the Firestar. Transferred the Browning to my right hand. I slid my left hand behind me along the wall, until I touched the doorknob. I turned the knob and opened the door a crack. I was far enough away from all of them, that I gave the room my back and opened the door wide. And stopped.

  The hallway was four deep with lycanthropes. They were all staring at me with wide, haunted eyes. I pressed the Browning into the chest of the nearest one. "Back up."

  He just stared at me as if he didn't understand what I'd said. His eyes were brown and perfectly human, but it reminded me of the look a dog gets when it's trying to understand English. It wants to understand, but just doesn't quite get it.

  There was movement behind me. I slammed my back against the door, pressing it flat to the wall, gun scanning the room. If the shapeshifters in the hallway surged forward, I was gone. I could shoot some of them, but not all of them.

  It was the man who'd been leaning against the table. He
put his hands up to show himself unarmed, but that didn't really help. What helped was there was no sweat on his face. He didn't look glassy eyed, like the ones in the hall. He looked very . . . human.

  "My name is Kaspar Gunderson. Do you need a little help?"

  I glanced at the waiting horde and back to him. "Sure."

  Kaspar smiled. "You'll take my help, but not Marcus's?" He seemed amused.

  "Marcus doesn't offer help. He gives orders."

  "Too true."

  Rafael moved up beside him. "None of us takes orders from Marcus. Though he would like us to."

  A sound somewhere between a moan and a howl broke from the crowd in the hall. I scooted a little farther down the wall, pointing the gun at the crowd. There were too many possible dangers, I had to pick someone to trust. Rafael and the other man seemed a better choice than the crowd.

  A high ragged scream broke from inside the room. I shoved my back into the wall, and turned back to the room. What now?

  I caught a glimpse of thrashing limbs through the huddled lycanthropes. The dark-haired woman threw back her head and shrieked.

  "She's fighting it," the pale man said.

  "Yes, but she will not win unless a dominant steps in to help her," Rafael said.

  "Gabriel won't help."

  "No," Rafael said, "he enjoys the show."

  "It's not full moon yet, what the hell's happening?" I said.

  "The scent of blood started it. Gabriel fed it. He and Elizabeth. Now, unless Marcus can control them, they may all turn and feed," Rafael said.

  "And this is a bad thing?" I asked.

  Rafael just looked at me. His hands gripped his forearms so tightly the skin paled. His short-clipped fingernails bit into the skin, and tiny little half circles of blood formed under his hands. He took a deep, cleansing breath and nodded. He removed his fingers from his arms. The cuts filled with blood but only a few trickled. Minor cuts, minor pain. Pain sometimes helped keep a vamp from controlling your mind.

  His voice came out strained, but clear, each word pronounced with great care, as if it took great effort just to speak. "One of the old wives' tales that is true is that a lycanthrope has to feed after shapeshifting." His eyes stared at me, drowning deep. The black had eaten all the white. His eyes sparkled like jet buttons.