Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “The same goes for Van Anders.”

  “I always give better advice than I take, Bradley, you should know that by now.”

  He laughed, then said, “Watch your back, okay?”

  “I will, you, too.”

  “Bye, Anita, take care.”

  I was in the middle of saying, “you, too,” when he hung up on me. What was it about working for law enforcement that gave you such bad phone manners?

  Nathaniel came into the bedroom with the copy of Charlotte’s Web. “It was in the kitchen, and it’s got a second bookmark. I think Zane, or somebody has started reading it.”

  I cuddled tighter in against Micah’s body, and he held me, his arms warm and fierce as if he could squeeze the bad feelings out of me. “Let them get their own copy,” I said.

  Nathaniel smiled. Micah kissed the top of my head. “Who’s reading tonight?” Nathaniel asked.

  “I will,” Micah said, “unless Anita wants to.”

  I buried my face in the crook of his arm. “No, being read to sounds just about right tonight.”

  Nathaniel handed him the book and climbed into bed. I wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of both of them under the covers, or the sound of Micah’s deep voice as he read, but slowly, I began to be warm again. I hadn’t read Charlotte’s Web in years. I was overdue. Overdue for so many things that didn’t involve guns or killing people.

  62

  DOLPH IS STILL on leave, but I’m working on arranging a get-together between him, his wife, and their son and daughter-in-law. I don’t know if there’s anything to talk about, but Lucille, Mrs. Dolph, wants me to try. I’ll try.

  Richard seems to have some peace. Not enough peace for us to date. But hey, I’m just thrilled that he’s no longer suicidally depressed. At this point, I want him healthy and happy more than I want him with me.

  Asher, Jean-Claude, and I have an understanding. I guess, you could say we’re dating. You wouldn’t think that dating two men simultaneously would be a first with me, but two men on the exact same date at the exact same time—that’s new.

  Stephen and Gregory’s father is still in town. Valentina and Bartolomé asked Jean-Claude’s permission to kill him. Jean-Claude said okay, as long as Stephen and Gregory agree. Stephen’s therapist thinks it would be healthier if the boys handled it themselves. Gregory’s comment had been, “Oh, we get to kill him ourselves.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Stephen said.

  The two of them are still arguing about how to handle their childhood nightmare come to town. I’m with Valentina and Bartolomé on this one. Kill his ass. But I won’t take the choice away from Stephen and Gregory, not if their therapist says it’ll do more damage. God knows they’ve had enough damage in their lives already.

  But because they haven’t been able to satisfy their debt of honor, the two child vampires are staying in St. Louis. Besides the debt of honor thing, I think Valentina doesn’t want to be anywhere near Belle Morte when she goes up against the Mother of All Darkness. Me either.

  There are nights when I dream about the living dark. As long as I sleep with a cross on I’m okay, but if I forget, she haunts me. I’d get a cross tattoo if I wasn’t afraid it’d burst into flames.

  The Mobile Reserve has me on their list of civilian experts. They’ll call if they need me. Captain Parker was wicked pissed that the feds’ latest update on the preternatural wasn’t so updated. The FBI just doesn’t have enough friends that are monsters. If they did they’d know more.

  Larry is back in town all duly trained to be a federal marshal and vampire hunter. The wedding is set for October. Tammy is threatening to have me in the wedding. Some friends they are.

  We’re still reading Charlotte’s Web. “The Crickets sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer’s ending, a sad, monotonous song. ‘Summer is over and gone,’ they sang. ‘Over and gone, over and gone . . .’ ” Some people think that’s a sad chapter, but it’s always been one of my favorites. Summer is over and gone, but autumn is here, and next month is October with the bluest skies of the year. For the first time in years, no, scratch that, for the first time ever, I had someone to hold my hand and go walking out under those blue skies. Richard and I had always planned to do it, but he had his job, and I had mine, and we never made the time. But now I have Micah. And I’m learning that you have to make time for what’s important. You have to fight to carve little pieces of happiness out of your life, or the everyday emergencies will eat up everything.

  When we finish Charlotte’s Web Nathaniel wants to read Treasure Island. Sounds good to me.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Incubus Dreams

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2004 by Laurell K. Hamilton

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  For information address:

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  ISBN: 1-101-14668-0

  A BERKLEY BOOK®

  Berkley Books first published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

  Electronic edition: November, 2004

  To J,

  companion, best friend, lover,

  stick and carrot, true partner, husband.

  Words fail.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

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  Acknowledgments

  To Darla, who is always instrumental in making sure the deadlines get met and the business, all of it, gets attention. Karen, for taking me around to the strip clubs and teaching me never, ever, to sit near the stage. To Sherry, as always, for doing so muc
h to keep everything clean, neat, and as tidy as we’ll let her. I do realize that we are the stumbling block. Bear, also for going around to the strip clubs with us, and just being a large and wonderful presence. Robin, for answering my questions and, as always, for being a wise voice. To Marshal Michael Moriaty, for sending me all the nifty stuff on the federal marshal program, and answering some of my questions. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. To Sergeant Robert Cooney of St. Louis’s Mobile Reserve, for answering questions, for the tour and letting us see all the wonderful toys. His input was invaluable to this book. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. The more I learn about our own Mobile Reserve and all the tactical units across the country, the more impressed I am and the more I despair of ever getting it just right on paper. My writing group, the Alternate Historians: Tom Drennen, Rhett MacPherson, Deborah Millitello, Marella Sands, Sharon Shinn, and Mark Sumner. Fine writers, good friends, and champions of esoteric trivia. To Mary, my mother-in-law, who did grandma day camp with Trinity so that Jon and I could get this rewrite done. If Jon hadn’t sat with me and made me do it, you might never have seen this book. To Trinity, who gets more amazing every year, and who I hope someday understands what the heck I was doing all those days and nights up in that room at the top of the house.

  1

  IT WAS AN October wedding. The bride was a witch who solved preternatural crimes. The groom raised the dead and slew vampires for a living. It sounded like a Halloween joke, but it wasn’t.

  The groom’s side wore traditional black tuxedos with orange bow ties and white shirts. The bride’s side wore orange formals. You don’t see Halloween orange prom dresses all that often. I’d been terrified that I was going have to shell out three hundred dollars for one of the monstrosities. But since I was on the groom’s side I got to wear a tux. Larry Kirkland, groom, coworker, and friend, had stuck to his guns. He refused to make me wear a dress, unless I wanted to wear one. Hmm, let me see. Three hundred dollars, or more, for a very orange formal that I’d burn before I’d wear again, or less than a hundred dollars to rent a tux that I could return. Wait, let me think.

  I got the tux. I did have to buy a pair of black tie-up shoes. The tux shop didn’t have any size seven in women’s. Oh, well. Even with the seventy-dollar shoes that I would probably never wear again, I still counted myself very lucky.

  As I watched the four bridesmaids in their poofy orange dresses walk down the isle of the packed church, their hair done up on their heads in ringlets, and more makeup than I’d ever seen any of them wear, I was feeling very, very lucky. They had little round bouquets of orange and white flowers with black lace and orange and black ribbons trailing down from the flowers. I just had to stand up at the front of the church with my one hand holding the wrist of the other arm. The wedding coordinator had seemed to believe that all the groomsmen would pick their noses, or something equally embarrassing, if they didn’t keep their hands busy. So she’d informed them that they were to stand with their hands clasped on opposite wrists. No hands in pockets, no crossed arms, no hands clasped in front of their groins. I’d arrived late to the rehearsal—big surprise—and the wedding coordinator had seemed to believe that I would be a civilizing influence on the men, just because I happened to be a girl. It didn’t take her long to figure out that I was as uncouth as the men. Frankly, I thought we all behaved ourselves really well. She just didn’t seem very comfortable around men, or around me. Maybe it was the gun I was wearing.

  But none of the groomsmen, myself included, had done anything for her to complain about. This was Larry’s day, and none of us wanted to screw it up. Oh, and Tammy’s day.

  The bride entered the church on her father’s arm. Her mother was already in the front pew dressed in a pale melon orange that actually looked good on her. She was beaming and crying, and seemed to be both miserable and deliriously happy all at the same time. Mrs. Reynolds was the reason for the big church wedding. Both Larry and Tammy would have been happy with something smaller, but Tammy didn’t seem to be able to say no to her mother, and Larry was just trying to get along with his future in-law.

  Detective Tammy Reynolds was a vision in white, complete with a veil that covered her face like a misty dream. She, too, was wearing more makeup than I’d ever seen her in, but the drama of it suited the beaded neckline, and full, bell-like skirt. The dress looked like it could have walked down the isle on its own, or at least stood on its own. They’d done something with her hair so that it was smooth and completely back from her face, so that you could see just how striking she was. I’d never really noticed that Detective Tammy was beautiful.

  I was standing at the end of the groomsmen, me and Larry’s three brothers, so I had to crane a little to see his face. It was worth the look. He was pale enough that his freckles stood out on his skin like ink spots. His blue eyes were wide. They’d done something to his short red curls so they lay almost smooth. He looked good, if he didn’t faint. He gazed at Tammy as if he’d been hit with a hammer right between the eyes. Of course, if they’d done two hours’ worth of makeup on Larry, he might have been a vision, too. But men don’t have to worry about it. The double standard is alive and well. The woman is supposed to be beautiful on her wedding day, the groom is just supposed to stand there and not embarrass himself, or her.

  I leaned back in line and tried not to embarrass anyone. I’d tied my hair back while it was still wet so that it lay flat and smooth to my head. I wasn’t cutting my hair so it was the best I could do to look like a boy. There were other parts of my anatomy that didn’t help the boy look either. I am curvy, and even in a tux built for a man, I was still curvy. No one complained, but the wedding coordinator had rolled her eyes when she saw me. What she said out loud was, “You need more makeup.”

  “None of the other groomsmen are wearing makeup,” I said.

  “Don’t you want to look pretty?”

  Since I’d thought I already looked pretty good, there was only one reply, “Not particularly.”

  That had been the last conversation the wedding lady and I had had. She positively avoided me after that. I think she’d been mean on purpose, because I wasn’t helping her keep the other groomsmen in line. She seemed to believe that just because we both had ovaries instead of balls that we should have joined forces. Besides, why should I worry about being pretty? It was Tammy and Larry’s day, not mine. If, and that was a very big if, I ever got married, then I’d worry about it. Until then, screw it. Besides, I was already wearing more makeup than I normally did. Which for me meant any. My stepmother, Judith, keeps telling me that when I hit thirty I’ll feel differently about all this girl stuff. I’ve only got three years to go until the big 3-0; so far panic has not set in.

  Tammy’s father placed her hand in Larry’s. Tammy was three inches taller than Larry, in heels, she was more. I was standing close enough to the groom to see the look that Tammy’s father gave Larry. It was not a friendly look. Tammy was three months, almost four months pregnant, and it was Larry’s fault. Or rather it was Tammy and Larry’s fault, but I don’t think that’s how her father viewed it. No, Mr. Nathan Reynolds definitely seemed to blame Larry, as if Tammy had been snatched virgin from her bed and brought back deflowered, and pregnant.

  Mr. Reynolds raised Tammy’s blusher on her veil to reveal all that carefully made-up beauty. He kissed her solemnly on the cheek, threw one last dark look at Larry, and turned smiling and pleasant to join his wife in the front pew. The fact that he’d gone from a look that dark, to pleasant and smiling when he knew the church would see his face, bothered me. I didn’t like that Larry’s new father-in-law was capable of lying that well. Made me wonder what he did for a living. But I was naturally suspicious, comes from working too closely with the police for too long. Cynicism is so contagious.

  We all turned toward the altar, and the familiar ceremony began. I’d been to dozens of weddings over the years, almost all Christian, almost all standard denominations, so the words were strangely familiar. Funny, how
you don’t think you’ve memorized something until you hear it, and realize you have. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony.”

  It wasn’t a Catholic or Episcopalian wedding, so we didn’t have to kneel, or do much of anything. We wouldn’t even be getting communion during the ceremony. I have to admit my mind began to wander a bit. I’ve never been a big fan of weddings. I understand they’re necessary, but I was never one of those girls who fantasized about what my wedding would be like someday. I don’t remember ever thinking about it until I got engaged in college, and when that fell through, I went back to not thinking about it. I’d been engaged very briefly to Richard Zeeman, junior high science teacher, and local Ulfric, Wolf-King, but he’d dumped me because I was more at home with the monsters than he was. Now, I’d pretty much settled into the idea that I would never marry. Never have those words spoken over me and my honeybun. A tiny part of me that I’d never admit to out loud was sad about that. Not the wedding part, I think I would hate my own wedding just as much as anyone else’s, but not having one single person to call my own. I’d been raised middle-class, middle America, small town, and that meant the fact that I was currently dating a minimum of three men, maybe four, depending on how you looked at it, still made me squirm with something painfully close to embarassment. I was working on not being uncomfortable about it, but there were issues that needed to be worked out. For instance, who do you bring as your date to a wedding? The wedding was in a church complete with holy items, so two of the men were out. Vampires didn’t do well around holy items. Watching Jean-Claude and Asher burst into flames as they came through the door would probably have put a damper on the festivities. That left me with one official boyfriend, Micah Callahan, and one friend, who happened to be a boy, Nathaniel Graison.

  They’d come to the part where the rings were exchanged, which meant the maid of honor and the best man had something to do. The woman got to hold Tammy’s huge spill of white flowers, and the man got to hand over the jewelry. It all seemed so terribly sexist. Just once I’d like to see the men have to hold flowers and the women fork over the jewelry. I’d been told once by a friend that I was too liberated for my own good. Maybe. All I knew was that if I ever did get engaged again I’d decided either both of us got an engagement ring, or neither of us did. Of course, again, that not getting married part meant that the engagement was probably off the board, too. Oh, well.