Charlaine Harris

by Night's Edge

  “You have me.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I care for you.”

  “But,” she said, disgusted, “I’m so weak. Look at me, falling apart—like I couldn’t have predicted this would happen. Why did I even get a cat? I should have known.”

  “Should have known you shouldn’t love something because it might be taken away from you?”

  “No, should have known he’d kill anything I loved.”

  “Come on,” Sean said, his voice hard. “You’re going to put on the pretty dress here, and I’m going to make some phone calls.”

  The dress was the palest of pinks. It was strapless, with a full skirt. In the trash bag she found some matching panties to wear under it, and a paler pink frothy half slip. There were panty hose in the costume room, and Rue pulled on a pair. Her shoe bag was there, thank God, since she’d walked out in such a huff the night before, and it contained the neutral T-strap character shoes that would suit the program.

  Sean, who’d finished his phone calls, pulled on some black dancer’s pants and a white shirt with full sleeves. He buttoned a black vest over that and added his dancing shoes to Rue’s bag. While he was buttoning the vest, he felt a brush running through his hair.

  “Shall I braid it?” she asked, her voice so small it was barely audible.

  “Please.”

  With the efficiency born of years of changing hairstyles quickly, Rue had his hair looking smooth and sleek in a minute.

  “Will you leave yours loose?” Sean asked. “It looks beautiful as it is.” Rue seldom left her long hair unbound for a performance, but he thought its color was brought out beautifully by the pale pink of the dress. “You look like a flower,” he said, his voice low with admiration. “You would be wonderful no matter what you looked like, but your beauty is a bonus.”

  She tried to smile, but it faltered on her lips. She was too sad to appreciate his compliment, “It’s nice to hear you say so,” she said. “We need to go. We don’t want to be late.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEY TOOK A CAB, WHICH Sylvia would pay for; after all, they had to keep their clothes clean and fresh for the dancing. The Museum of Ancient Life had just opened a new wing, and the party was being held in the museum itself. All the attendees were patrons who’d donated very large sums toward the construction of the new wing. All of them were very well dressed, most of them were middle-aged or older, and they were all basking in the glow of being publicly acknowledged for having done a good thing.

  The vampire and the dancer stood for a minute or two, watching limousines and town cars dropping off the well-heeled crowd. Then they made their way back to the entrance Sylvia had instructed them to use. The museum staffer at the door checked their names off a list. “Wait a minute,” the heavy man said. “You’re already here.”

  “Impossible,” Sean said imperiously. “Here is my driver’s license. Here is my partner’s.”

  “Hmm,” the man said nervously, his fingers drumming on the doorjamb. “I don’t know how this happened. I shouldn’t let you in.”

  “Then the Jaslows and the Richtenbergs will have to go without their dancing,” Sean said. “Come, Rue.”

  Rue didn’t have a clue what was happening, but she could tell Sean was quite indifferent that someone else had used his name, almost seemed to have been expecting it. If he was relaxed about it, so was she. “I’ll call our employer on my cell,” she said to the man. “You can explain to Sylvia Dayton that we’re not being allowed entrance, so she won’t blame us, okay?”

  The man flushed even more, his eyes running up and down the printed list over and over, as if something different would pop up. When he glanced up at Sean and the vampire’s eyes caught the guard’s gaze, the man’s face lost its belligerence instantly.

  “I guess your names were checked off by mistake earlier. Come on in,” he said.

  Rue looked at Sean in awe. Vampire talents could come in handy.

  It was lucky they’d dressed at the studio, because there wasn’t a corner for them here. The back recesses of the museum weren’t designed with parties in mind, as the Jaslows’ home had been. The small rooms and narrow corridors were full of scurrying figures, and Rue realized that things were being handled by Extreme(ly Elegant) Events, Jeri’s company, which had catered the Jaslows’ party. The servers wore the traditional white jacket distinguished with the E(E)E logo on the shoulder. The halls were crowded with trays and trays of hors d’oeuvres, and cases and cases of champagne. Jeri was directing the staff, wearing the same serene smile.

  And the man whose white jacket was straining across his shoulders was surely Mustafa, aka Moose, who worked for Black Moon. As soon as she’d identified him, Rue realized that the short-haired woman opening a champagne bottle was Hallie, and her partner, David, was busy filling a tray of empty glasses. David looked quite different with his thick, wavy black hair pulled back and clubbed.

  “Sean,” she said, tugging on his hand to make him stop, “did you see Moose?”

  He nodded, without looking around at her. They continued to make their way through the narrow maze of corridors to the door indicated on the little map Sylvia had left for them.

  “Okay, this is it,” he said, and they paused.

  There was no place special to leave their bags, so they dropped them right inside the door, then changed into their dancing shoes on the spot.

  “They’re all here,” he told her, when she was ready. “I called them. All of them who aren’t working tonight, that is. Thompson and Julie have an early gig in Basing, and Rick and Phil have a very private engagement right after this for a few select museum patrons. But all the rest are here, even Haskell.”

  “Sylvia knows about this?”

  “No. But that’s so she can deny it.”

  “It’s wonderful that they’d do this for you.”

  “They’re doing it for you. Moose and Abilene gave our names to get in. The others came with the triple E people. When I heard the board had asked for us, specifically, I figured Hutton was behind it. We’ll stop him tonight,” Sean said, and then looked sorry he’d sounded so grim. “Don’t worry, Rue.” He kissed her on the check lightly, mindful of her lipstick.

  Rue was too numb to grasp what Sean meant. Automatically, they checked each other over, Sean looked at his watch, and they swung open the door.

  Since they were “on” the minute they stepped out of the door, they walked hand in hand with a light, almost prancing walk, until they’d reached the center of a huge open area. The dome stretched upward for three stories, Rue estimated. She’d been to the museum before—when the new wing had been under construction, in fact—and she loved the wide expanse of marble floor. Wouldn’t their music get lost in the huge space?

  Sean and Rue reached the center of the floor, Rue trying not to stare at the glass cases of masks that lined the wall. The dancers stood there, smiling, arms extended, waiting for all the milling patrons to become aware of their presence and to clear the area for their performance.

  “Aren’t they lovely!” exclaimed a white-haired woman with sapphire earrings who wasn’t standing quite far enough away. A scowling face seemed to disagree. Rue dimly recognized the obnoxious man from the Jaslows’ party, Charles Brody.

  Their music began over the public address system, and Rue had to fight to keep her face pleasant. Sean had another surprise for her. He’d switched routines. The music was “Bolero.” This was their sexy number, the one they’d only performed once or twice at anniversary parties. Why had he picked that music for this night?

  But as they began to twine together in the opening moves, Rue seemed to be able to feel the sensuousness in her bones. She felt the passion, the yearning, conveyed by the music.

  Suddenly Sean lifted her straight up, his hands gripping her thighs, until they formed a column. She looked down at him with longing, and he looked up at her with desire. She extended her arms gracefully upward as he
turned in a smooth circle. As he continued to hold her, changing his grip so she was soaring above him like a bird, her full skirt falling over his shoulders, the crowd began to applaud at their display of strength and grace. Sean let her down so gradually that her feet didn’t jolt when they touched the floor. She was able to pick up her steps again smoothly. Then Sean leaned her back, back, over his arm, and put his lips to her neck. She felt her whole body come alive when she felt his touch, and she waited for the bite with the faintest of smiles on her face.

  But in that second, she was aware of a difference. Her partner was far tenser than he’d ever been at the finale; in fact, he was like an animal expecting attack. His body covered hers more completely than it should, as if he were protecting her. The crowd was closer than it should be, and she distinctly saw Haskell’s face turn sharply to the right, his mouth opening to shout, allowing a glimpse of his shining fangs. A woman screamed.

  Carver, in a tux, stepped out of the polite circle that had formed around the temporary dance floor, then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a knife. He pressed a button in the hilt and a wicked blade leaped out. In the space of a second, he’d slashed Haskell, who faltered and fell. Megan grabbed for Carver’s arm next, and she might have slowed him down if Charles Brody hadn’t shoved her as hard as he could, just as he’d done that night at the party. Again Megan landed on the floor, and then Carver was in the center of the circle with them.

  She knew what he would do. She was sure that Sean thought Carver would try to kill her, and he might—if there wasn’t anything else he could do to her—but first, she knew, he would try to kill Sean. Their just-finished dance had shown clearly that she loved the vampire, and Carver would relish killing something else she loved. Because Sean wasn’t expecting it, she was able to shove him off her just as the knife descended.

  Black-haired Abilene tackled Carver from the rear. Carver couldn’t make a killing blow that way, but he managed to sink the knife into Rue’s abdomen and pull it directly back out to strike again. Then a wounded Haskell, bloody and enraged, piled on top of Carver. With a bellow of enthusiasm, as if he were on the football field, Moose threw himself on top of them all.

  The pain wasn’t immediate. Unfortunately, Rue remembered all too clearly when he’d done the same thing years before, and she knew in a very short time she would hurt like hell. She made a bewildered sound as she felt the sudden wetness. Amid the screams and shouts of the crowd, Sean was trying to get Rue to her feet so he could drag her out of the melee. “He may have hired someone to help him. You have to get out of here,” Sean said urgently.

  But Rue watched Karl take a second to deck Charles Brody before he joined the other vampires in pinning Carver to the marble floor. The trapped man was fighting like a—well, like a madman, Rue thought, in a little detached portion of her brain. Not all the museum patrons had seen the knife, and they were bewildered and shouting. There could have been twenty assassins in the confusion of staff, patrons and servers.

  “Come on, darling,” Sean urged her, holding her as he helped her clear the outskirts of the gathering crowd. “Let’s get out of here.” He could feel her desperation and assumed he knew the cause. His eyes were busy checking the people moving around them, trying to be sure they were unarmed. “I thought if we did ‘Bolero’ we might provoke him to attack when we were ready for him, but this wasn’t what I had planned.” He laughed, a short bark with little humor.

  Rue reached her free hand under her skirt and felt the wetness soaking her petticoats. It had begun trickling down her legs. She staggered after Sean for a few feet. She put her hand against a pillar to brace herself. When she lowered it to try to walk, she saw her perfect handprint, in blood, on the marble of the pillar. “Sean,” she said, because he was still turned away from her, still looking for any other assault that might be coming their way.

  He turned back impatiently, and his eye was caught at once by the handprint. He stared at it, his brow puckered as if he were trying to figure it out. He finally understood the tang of blood that he’d barely registered in his zeal to get Rue to safety.

  “No,” he said, and looked down at her skirt. If his face could become any whiter, it did.

  His eyes looked like the lady’s sapphire earrings, Rue thought, aware that she wasn’t thinking like a rational person. But she figured that was probably a good thing. Because in just a minute the pain would start up.

  “You’re losing too much blood,” he said.

  “She’s going to die,” Karl said sadly. He’d materialized suddenly, pulling off his white jacket as he evaluated Rue’s condition. “Even if you call an ambulance this minute, they will be too late.”

  “What…” For once, Sean seemed to be at a loss as to what to do.

  “You have to hide her,” Haskell said without hesitation, coming up to join them. The ordinarily tidy blond vampire, now disheveled and smeared with blood, was still cool-headed enough to be decisive. “If you want to save her, this is the last chance,” he said.

  “Find a place,” Sean said. He sounded…afraid, Rue thought. She’d never heard Sean sound afraid.

  Karl said, “The Egyptian room.”

  Sean picked Rue up like a child. Haskell and Karl followed, ready to ward off any attack from behind. But only a museum guard ran up to them, making some incoherent comment on Rue’s wound. Haskell, clearly not in any mood for questions and maybe a little maddened by the scent of blood, pinched the man’s neck until he slumped to the floor.

  The Egyptian room had always been Rue’s favorite. She loved the sarcophagi and the mummiform cases, even the mummies themselves. She’d often wondered about the ethics of exposing bodies—surely once people were buried, they deserved to stay that way—but she enjoyed looking on the long-dead features and imagining what the individual had been like in life—what she’d worn, eaten…who she’d loved.

  Now Sean carried her to the huge sarcophagus in the middle of the floor. Made to contain the inner coffin of a pharaoh, the highly carved and decorated limestone sarcophagus was penned in by hard sheets of clear plastic, preventing people from touching the sides. Fortunately, this pen was open at the top. A vampire could clear the barrier easily.

  Sean leaped over lightly, followed by Karl, while Haskell held Rue. Though the lid must have weighed hundreds of pounds, Karl and Sean easily shifted it to one side, leaving a narrow opening. Then Haskell carefully handed Rue to Karl, while Sean climbed in the deep stone box, which came to his lower chest. Karl handed Rue in, and Sean laid her on the bottom. She was able to lie flat on her back, with her legs fully extended. She felt as if she was looking up at Sean floating hundreds of feet above her. He lay down beside her, and she felt the numbness wearing away.

  Oh, God, no. Please. She knew the onset of the pain. As she began to scream, Karl moved the lid back in place, and then there was almost perfect darkness.

  “RUE,” SAID SEAN URGENTLY.

  She heard his voice, but the pain rendered it meaningless.

  “Rue, do you want me to end the pain?”

  She could only make a small sound, a kind of whine. Her fingers dug into him. There was hardly enough room side by side for them, and she had the feeling Sean couldn’t straighten out, but that was the least of her concerns at the moment.

  “You can be like me,” he said, and she finally understood.

  “Dying?” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes. I wasn’t quick enough. I didn’t plan enough. And then you made sure he got you instead of me. Why, Rue? Why?”

  Rue could not explain that she operated on instinct. She could not have borne to see the knife enter him, even though a moment’s thought would have told her that he could survive what she could not. She hadn’t had that moment. Her understanding was a tiny flicker in the bottom of a well that was full of agony.

  “If I make you like me, you will live,” he said.

  This was hardly the best time to be making a huge decision, but she remembered the st
ory Sean had told her about his master’s sudden attack on him, the callous way the man had left Sean to cope with the sudden change. If Sean could survive such a metamorphosis, she could, because Sean was here to help her.

  “Won’t leave?” she asked. Her voice trembled and was almost inaudible, but he understood.

  “Never.” His voice was very firm. “If you love me as I love you, we’ll weather the change.”

  “Okay.” Love , she thought. He loved her .

  “Now?”

  “Now. Love you,” she said, with great effort.

  With no more hesitation, Sean bit her. She was already hurting so badly that it was just one more pain, and then she felt his mouth drawing on her, sucking her dry. She was frightened, but she didn’t have the strength to struggle. Then, after a minute, the heavy grayness in her head rose up and took her with it.

  “Here,” said a voice, a commanding voice. “You have to drink, Rue. Layla. You have to drink, now.” A hand was pressing her face to bare skin, and she felt something run over her lips. Water? She was very thirsty. She licked her lips, and found it wasn’t water, wasn’t cold. It was tepid, and salty. But she was very dry, so she put her mouth to the skin and began to swallow.

  SHE WOKE AGAIN SOMETIME LATER.

  She felt…funny. She felt weak, yes, but she wasn’t sore. She remembered vividly waking up in the hospital after the last time she’d been attacked, feeling the IV lines, the smell of the sheets, the little sounds of the hospital wing. But it was much darker here.

  She tried to move her hand and found that she could. She patted herself, and realized she was a terrible mess. And there was someone in this dark place with her. Someone else who wasn’t breathing.

  Someone else …who wasn’t breathing.