He held Jean-Claude's gaze for a moment, then looked down, and did his talking to the side of the face. "All right, but if anyone else shows up early like this, I will have to insist that you let two of the guards inside the room. So whatever secret shit you're discussing, discuss fast."
"You really think there's going to be that many more vamps waking up this early?" I asked.
"Yeah, I think there will be."
"We will discuss whether guards come back inside when someone else comes to my door," Jean-Claude said. "Let Requiem pass, Remus."
Remus's face struggled; he didn't like it. "I am caught between masters here. Claudia says don't leave you guys alone. You say I can't stay. We need a chain of command here."
"Too many generals," I said.
He gave me a quick, direct glance. "Yes."
"I am sorry, Remus," Jean-Claude said, "but Elinore's arrival has changed things."
"Fine, but Requiem is the last, or I'm calling Claudia and telling her I can't guard you, because you won't let me."
"As you see fit, Remus."
He gave another angry look around the room, then opened the door. A moment later Requiem glided through the door. He had his black, hooded cloak close around his body, so that the only thing that showed was the spill of his Vandyke beard framing the curve of his lips.
"How badly are you hurt, mon ami}" Jean-Claude asked.
Requiem shrugged back the hood without using his hands, the way you'd flip long hair behind your back. The hood slid down and the right side of his face was a mass of deep-purple bruises. One of his eyes was almost swollen shut, just a glimpse of that startling bright blue that had made Belle Morte try to buy Requiem from his original master. Belle had wanted to have a matching set of blue-eyed men. Asher's were the palest blue; Jean-Claude's the darkest; Requiem's the brightest. His master had refused, and they had fled France.
His long, straight hair, so dark it mingled with the black cloak, made his pale skin all the paler, and helped the bruises stand out like purple ink on his face.
"Wow," I said, "how much blood are you using to heal that?"
He looked at me then, and the look on his face said, clearly, I'd said something smart. "Much."
"How fares the rest?" Jean-Claude asked.
Requiem spread the cloak wide with a gesture of both arms, so that it was like a curtain spilled dramatically around his body. His upper body shone like white flame against the darkness. My eyes adjusted to all that contrast and I realized that some of the whiteness was bandages. His right arm, chest, and stomach were all thick with gauze and white tape.
"Jesus, did Meng Die really do all that?"
"Yes." He said that, and no more. Requiem rarely gave just a one-word answer to anything. He came toward us, the cloak flying out behind him, which said he was moving faster than that gliding walk appeared.
"Ma petite, if you could fetch scissors from the bathroom drawer, we can look at his wounds."
I did it without being asked. I'd noticed the bruises last night, but hadn't seen all the bandages under his shirt. I had had no idea how hurt he was. I hesitated in the bathroom with the scissors in my hand. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked sort of startled. Had he really dumped Meng Die because of me? Dumped another woman on the off chance that I might take him as apomme de sang} I stared at myself in the mirror and just didn't see a woman who could make a man dump someone on the possibility of sex. Eli-nore, maybe, but me ... I just didn't think so.
I went back to the other room, and found Requiem sitting on the bed beside Jean-Claude, who was turning his face to the light, checking his bruises.
Requiem was talking as I entered. "... she said, if she could not have my pretty face on her pillow, then no one would have it."
Someone had brought one of the chairs by the fireplace so Elinore could sit and not be on the bed. "So she tried to ruin your face," she said, softly.
"Yes," he said, in that strangely clipped voice that wasn't at all his usual.
I held the scissors out to Jean-Claude. He took them and laid them on the bedside table. "I think perhaps we can take off the tape, if you will help me, ma petite}"
I had to move Requiem's cloak where he'd draped it on the end of the bed. The bed was tall enough that I had to make certain I was sitting far enough back from the edge so I wouldn't slide off. Silk coverlet, silk robe, makes for slippery. I took Requiem's hand in mine. The bandages wrapped around his hand, and up nearly to the elbow. "You didn't get this from her hitting you," I said.
"She had a blade," he said, and again, his voice was clipped and to the point.
I looked up at him, and even the uninjured half of his face showed me nothing. He was lovely and empty like Jean-Claude was sometimes. Like looking at a painting of some handsome prince come back from battle. Even as I cradled his arm in my hands, he was as distant and remote as if he'd been hanging on a museum wall.
Jean-Claude was already peeling tape from around Requiem's chest. I bent over his arm and worked on the tape there, holding his hand in mine while I started unwinding the gauze. His hand was crisscrossed with shallow and not-so-shallow slashes. I raised his hand as gently as I could, so I could keep unwrapping. The bandages fell away and I made a sound; I couldn't help it. I put my hand at his hand and elbow, and lifted, gendy. His forearm was a mass of slashing wounds. Two of them needed stitches.
I looked at his face, and he met my eyes, and for an instant there was a flash of anger in those eyes; then it went back to being empty.
"These are defensive wounds. You held your arm up in front of your face, because that's what she was going for."
"Not entirely, ma petite." Jean-Claude's voice drew me back to him, and Requiem's now bare chest. I let out a hiss of breath, because he was right. His pale, muscular chest didn't have as many wounds as his arm, but the ones he did have were deeper.
I traced the one under the sternum. It was deep, and I could see the mark of the blade in his flesh. I looked up at him, and it must have shown on my face.
"So shocked, Anita, why?"
"She was trying for your heart. She was really trying to kill you."
"I told you that last night, ma petite."
"I know you said she was trying to kill him, but..." I traced my fingers just above another wound that went between his ribs. The stab wounds were well placed. She'd tried to hack his face, and the marks on the arm showed that she just wanted damage, but the wounds on his chest and stomach, they were kills. "She knew just where to place the blade." My respect for Meng Die went up, and so did my fear. "And she did all this where the customers could see?"
"Not all of it," Requiem said, "but much of it, yes."
I looked at Jean-Claude. "And no one called the cops?"
He had the grace to look away, not embarrassed, but... "What did you do?" I asked.
"Mass hypnosis is not illegal, ma petite, only personal hypnotism."
"You bespelled the crowd," I said.
"I, and Asher."
I laid my hand above the wound that looked like it had come closest to his heart. I had a bad thought. "You said she attacked Asher. Is he this hurt?"
"No."
"I think she knew that you and Jean-Claude would kill her if she slew Asher. I think she believed I was of less value to you." Again his voice was empty, but the very emptiness of it made me look at him.
"That sounded bitter," I said.
He looked away from me, a small smile on his face. "I meant it to sound like nothing."
"I've listened to a lot of empty vampire voices, and there's flavor even to the emptiness."
"I was a fool to tell her in a public place, but she pressed me, asked me, and I told the truth." He looked at me then, and I had to fight to meet his gaze, not because of vampire powers, but because the bruises looked painful, and I knew somehow, weirdly, they were my fault.
"Did you really tell Meng Die that you dumped her because you thought I'd turned you down because of her?"
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"Not in those words, but yes."
I sighed, and shook my head. "Oh, Requiem. I mean I didn't think she'd take it this badly"—I motioned at some of his injuries—"but her pride wouldn't let her take it lying down."
"Pride," he nodded, then stopped in midmotion as if it had hurt. "She has much pride, and I seem to have none." He looked at me, and emotion filled his eyes, his face, and the emotion was too strong for me to keep looking into his face.
"Don't," I whispered.
He slid to the ground, went to his knees. He made a small involuntary sound. It must have hurt. He took my hand, and I let him, because pulling away seemed petty. "What must I do to be in your bed, Anita? Tell me, and I will do it."
I looked into his face, saw the pain there, and it wasn't the pain of bruises and cuts. I looked at Jean-Claude. "It's the ardeur, isn't it?"
"I fear so," he said.
I turned back to the vampire kneeling in front of me. I had no idea what to say.
"Am I ugly to you?" he asked.
"No," and I traced the line of his uninjured cheek. "You are very handsome, and you know it."
He shook his head, stopped in midmotion, again as if it hurt. "If I were handsome enough, you would have taken me to your bed and not turned to
these strangers." He lowered his head, both hands gripping mine. He finally raised his face, and he was crying. "Please, Anita, please, do not cast me aside so easily. I know that you did not enjoy the attentions I gave you as much as I enjoyed die touch of your body. But I will be better, I swear it, if only you will give me another chance to show you pleasure. I was trying to be too careful of you. I did not understand. I can do better, be better." He buried his face against my legs, and wept.
"I believe we have our answer, ma petite."
I stroked Requiem's hair, and didn't know what he was talking about. I was too stunned to think. "Answer to what?" I asked.
"The effect you have on vampires that have tasted the ardeur before. I think you are addictive, as Belle was addictive." He motioned toward Requiem, who was clutching at me, still weeping into my legs. "He is powerful enough to be a Master of a City, ma petite, not powerful in the way of Augustine, or myself, but powerful. He lacks not power, but ambition. He does not wish to rule."
"There is no shame to that," Elinore said.
"Non," Jean-Claude said, "but I want ma petite to understand that her effect on Requiem is not a small thing."
Elinore had sat back in the chair, curling her legs under her, because her feet wouldn't have reached the ground. "I had no idea she had bespelled him like this."
"I didn't bespell him," I said.
She gave me a look and motioned at the vampire at my feet. "Pick a different word if you like, Anita, but the effect is the same. We can argue semantics, but Requiem is besotted with you in a way most unnatural."
I stroked his hair, so straight and thick, but not warm. He was cool to the touch. "He needs to feed," I said. "Healing is going to take a lot of blood and energy."
"I don't think blood will cure this," Elinore said, and her voice sounded almost accusatory.
"What do you want from me, Elinore? What do you want me to do?"
"Make him your lover," she said.
"I have four men that I'm the only sex they're getting, and two more that are in my bed some of the time. Hell, Jason makes it into my bed about once a month."
"Exactly," Elinore said, "one more will hardly make a difference."
"If it were just sex, maybe, but it's not just sex. It's the emotional stuff. I don't even know if there's enough of me to go around for five men, plus extras. Call me crazy, but I don't think Requiem is a low-needs item." I stroked
his hair, felt him shake against my legs. "No, I think he definitely goes in the high-maintenance category. I don't think I have enough emotion left to do another high-needs man, okay? That's the truth. I'm sure he'd be a wonderful lover, but I couldn't meet his other needs."
"What other needs?" she asked.
"Talk, emotion, sharing, love."
Elinore shifted in her chair, turning her head to one side, her long hair spilling around her like a cornsilk dream. "You turned him down as your lover because you don't think you can love him?"
I thought about it for a heartbeat, then shrugged, and nodded. "Yeah, sort of."
Elinore looked at Jean-Claude. "She turned him down because she does not think she could love him."
Jean-Claude gave that graceful shrug. "She is very young."
"Don't talk about me like I'm not sitting here," I said.
Requiem's crying had slowed, so that he was mostly just kneeling with his head in my lap. I kept petting his hair, the way you'd soothe a dog, or a sick child.
"We all understand, Anita, that you are Jean-Claude's consort. We all un derstand that you and he and Asher are a threesome. We all understand that your triumvirate witJi the Ulfric and Jean-Claude must be maintained for reasons of power and safety. That maintenance includes sex, because he is of Belle Morte's line. I admit that I thought him a fool, and weak, to have allowed you such closeness with the wereleopards, but I was wrong. Out of that closeness came your own triumvirate, which has strengthed Jean-Claude's powers immensely. Your tie to Damian and Nathaniel is a wondrous thing. Your tie to Micah is a puzzlement, but I understand now that your powers are much like Belle's. She collected men, too."
"I am not like Belle Morte," I said.
"Your power is." She pointed at Requiem. "This is proof of that."
"I don't want to collect men," I said. I stared down at the man in my lap. "I certainly don't want them this... besotted. This a level of wanting that's just wrong."
"Why is it wrong?" Elinore asked.
"Because I don't think he has a choice about it. I didn't mean to collect Requiem."
He looked up then, as if my saying his name had called him. The tears had dried to faint reddish lines on his face. The red didn't help the bruises look any better.
I touched the unhurt side of his face, and he laid his cheek in my hand, as if that one touch were something wonderful. "How do I fix this?" I asked.
"You mean how do you set him free?" Elinore asked.
"Yes."
"You don't."
I stared at her. "What do you mean, I don't?"
"There is no cure, Anita. There is only going far away from you. He will still crave your touch, but he will not be able to act upon it."
"Like an alcoholic," I said.
She nodded. "Yes."
"There is a cure for it," Jean-Claude said.
I looked at him. "What?"
"Love," he said, "true love."
We both stared at him. "True love," Elinore said.
He nodded. "We loved Julianna, and she freed us of the addiction of Belle Morte. Belle Morte had Requiem in her bed before Ligeia ever touched him, but she sent Requiem on a long seduction far away from her. It was necessary to seduce both halves of a noble couple, so she sent Ligeia with him."
"I thought that Requiem's master fled France so Belle wouldn't keep him."
"His master met with an accident, and Belle was able to collect all the vampires of her line that the old master had made."
"The way you say accident makes it sound like you don't mean accident at all," I said.
"It was an accident," Requiem said, softly. He spoke with his face in my lap. "The carriage we were in overturned in a storm. We were on a cliff edge, and somewhere during the fall, a piece of wood went through his heart. It was such an ordinary death." His voice sounded relaxed, distant. "We tried removing the wood, but he did not revive. We learned later that the carriage maker was Wellsley."
"Who's Wellsley?" I asked.
Elinore answered, "He manufactured carriages in London for many years. He was a devout man, and hated the idea of his carriages being used for evil purposes, so he had them blessed. He would make a batch of them and have one of the local clergy bless them. When the blessing is fresh, so
me of them glow around us."
"The blessing wears off?" I made it a question.
"If enough 'evil' "—and she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers—"happens in the carriage."
"Like a cemetery that's been out of use for a while, or had black magic used in it too much," I said. "You have to reconsecrate the ground."
"The analogy will do," she said.
I looked down at Requiem. "And when your master was dead, Belle could call you to her?"
"Yes," he said, "and if Jean-Claude had not given me a home here, she would have done so again."
"How did you get away from her the second time?"
"Jean-Claude has the right of it. Ligeia and I were sent far away to seduce some nobles Belle wished to control. We did her bidding, and they did what Belle wished, but Ligeia and I fell in love with each other. When we returned to Belle's court, I was no longer drawn to her."
"Love," Jean-Claude said, "love is the only cure."
"You and Asher aren't besotted with me, not like this."
"Jean-Claude is your master, and he holds the ardeur as well. As for Asher"—she looked at Jean-Claude—"I think love protects him."
I looked at Jean-Claude, too, and he would not meet our gaze. I sort of assumed now that Jean-Claude and Asher were doing it like bunnies when I wasn't around, but I'd never asked. Don't ask, don't tell worked just fine for me. Last night, seeing him with Auggie, made me wonder if I needed to ask, or if it was confirmed. Too complicated for me.
I literally waved the thought away, and said, "I can't count on Requiem falling in love any time soon."
"Non, ma petite."
"What do I do?"
"Take him as your lover," Elinore said.
"Easy for you to say; no one's making you share yourself with anyone but your knight."
"And one of the reasons I came to Jean-Claude was that he would let me be with the man I love, and not force me into the beds of others. I am more grateful for that than I can ever say." She turned those cold blue eyes on me. "But I do not carry the ardeur. I am not an addiction."
"Mapetite, you must meet this obligation."
I stared at him. "Obligation?"
"You have addicted him to you. Would you be as cruel as Belle Morte herself and cast him away, with this desire riding him?" He shuddered. "I have been as one addicted, and cast out for some minor infraction. I have felt my body ache for want of her, and no amount of sex with anyone else satisfied :hat need." He moved so he could lay his hand over mine where I stroked
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