Skin Trade

by Hamilton, Laurell K.

  “I need to get some food.”

  “You can eat after seeing that?” He didn’t motion at the body; it was just implied really loudly.

  “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “Then I . . .”

  “If I don’t eat solid food often enough, it makes it harder to control all the other hungers,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said, then frowned. “I’m thinking something really inappropriate, even for me.”

  “Do I want to know?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “You’d be pissed.”

  If it was bad enough that Bernardo wouldn’t say it out loud, then it was bad. That he’d thought of it, then thought better of it, was a sign that something was wrong. I was betting that I was what was wrong. Was the ardeur calling to Bernardo? I didn’t even know how to tell.

  “Okay, let’s get back to . . . Ted, and see if we can get the files we need from the locals.”

  “If you want to eat tonight, it has to be before we see more crime photos.”

  “Agreed,” I said.

  We turned and started walking back toward the knot of men and the remains of Vittorio’s latest victim.

  54

  MORGAN WAS SAYING, “You’ll have everything you need in a couple of hours, but we have to finish up here.”

  “Call someone,” Edward said.

  Shaw was a little bit down the alley talking to some of the crime scene techs. It was just Thurgood and Morgan to watch us come closer and frown. Morgan just seemed generally cranky, but Thurgood had passed to hostile.

  “We’ll get you the information, but you’ll have to wait until one of us gets back to the station.”

  “Why?” Edward asked.

  “Because you’re going to have to borrow one of our computers, and someone’s going to have to babysit you.”

  “You don’t trust us with paper copies?” I asked.

  “We don’t trust you,” Thurgood said.

  “So much for my sisterhood.”

  “I am not your sister,” she said. “Women like you make it harder for the rest of us to do our jobs. Women like you make it harder for us to be taken seriously by the other cops.”

  “Women like me,” I said. “What does that mean?” I knew, but I wanted to see if she’d say it out loud.

  “Anita,” Edward said.

  I said, “What?”

  “You know what you are,” she said.

  Morgan said, “Thurgood.”

  “I know what you think I am,” I said.

  “That’s enough,” Edward said. “Both of you.”

  “You aren’t my superior,” Thurgood said.

  “We’ll see how our superiors like knowing that the Vegas PD is preventing us from doing our jobs,” Edward said. His voice was low and cold, with an edge of warmth to it. He didn’t lose control that much normally. Apparently, Edward hadn’t been able to soothe things.

  “We just don’t want her and her lovers going through our files.”

  “Geez,” Bernardo said, “because you’re a slut, we’re sluts, too.”

  “Shut up, Bernardo,” Edward said. He started walking down the alley away from them and toward the reporters. It was where our car was parked, unfortunately. The rest of us trailed after him. We all pulled our gloves off at the entry to the alley and put them in the trash bin someone had set up for it. There was a uniform guarding the can to make sure no one tried to take a souvenir. You think I’m kidding, but people go nuts on serial cases. The glove would be on eBay that night, if they listed it right and it didn’t get pulled before purchase; eBay tried to police itself, but people put weird shit up.

  Another uniform held the tape up, and we were suddenly blinded by camera flashes and the lights from handheld shoulder cams. They’d moved all the bigger equipment back, but the mobile stuff had crept forward.

  We ignored all questions. It wasn’t our town, and one of the fastest ways to piss off the locals was to talk to reporters. Some of the uniforms had to actually wade into the crowd and make a hole.

  The questions were about the murders at first, and then someone in the crowd recognized me. You’d think that a serial killer vampire would be more interesting than my love life with a different vampire, or maybe they just thought I might actually answer those questions.

  “Anita, Anita, what does Jean-Claude think about you hunting and killing other vampires?”

  I ignored it, like I had all the rest. Because I’d learned that no matter what I said, it would go worse than if I said nothing. No matter what questions I answered, the locals would see it and think I was talking about the case. They were already pissed at me; I didn’t need to help them hate me.

  Olaf moved to one side of me, blocking the microphones and the reaching hands. Edward moved in front of me, and Bernardo took the back. They were protecting me from the press, the crowd. That wasn’t right. I was either a real U.S. Marshal and an equal of the team, or I was just some stupid girl who needed protecting. Fuck.

  The uniforms had to escort us to the cars. The press trailed us. Jean-Claude had recently appeared in some of the major celebrity magazines. Not on the cover or anything, but inside in the little tidbits. Pictures of what you’re doing, profiled in one of the hottest vampire clubs in the country. I’d been caught twice by his side in pictures. Worse yet, he’d admitted that I was his girlfriend in an interview. The press seemed fascinated that a vampire hunter was dating a vampire. I’d turned down more interviews for that little factoid than most murders.

  Why hadn’t I warned Edward? Honestly, I thought a serial killer case would make the press ignore the stupid shit. Some were still yelling questions about the murder, but in among it, like raisins in a piece of toast, were questions about dating and vampires. That would really make the Vegas PD take me seriously. Oh, yeah.

  We got in the car and started easing out through the snarl of official cars. Beyond that were news vans with huge science-fiction antennas. The cops had made a corridor between it all, for anyone who was trying to leave the scene. I think we were the first.

  “If Randy Sherman’s high priestess is home, let’s go see her,” Edward said.

  “Yeah, but first food,” I said.

  “Food would be good,” Olaf said.

  “Fast or sit-down?” Edward asked.

  “Fast will do,” I said, “as long as there’s meat involved.” I’d learned that protein helped keep the beast at bay, more than veggies.

  “Am I the only one who doesn’t want to eat after what we just saw?” Bernardo asked from the backseat.

  “Yes,” Olaf said.

  “I told you, Bernardo, I have to eat.”

  “When did you eat last?” Edward asked, as he moved into the bright and shiny of the Strip.

  “About eight, for breakfast and the ardeur.”

  “More than thirteen hours,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I need some protein,” I said.

  He handed me his cell phone with the screen already lit up. “Call the number, see if she’ll see us, while I find someplace.”

  I hit the button and waited for the dialing to go through.

  Edward didn’t ask preference, just pulled into the first fast-food place he found. Burger King was fine with me; I like Whoppers.

  I thought I was going to get a machine, but after seven rings a woman answered. “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded cautious.

  “This is U.S. Marshal Anita Blake. I’m investigating the murder of one of your coven members, Randall Sherman.”

  “And all the others who died with him,” she said, voice still soft.

  “Yes,” I said, “but I thought you might be able to help us with some questions.”

  “I know little about vampires and shapeshifters.”

  “It’s more a question of magic, and what Randall Sherman would have done in a given situation.”

  “That is a different question from the ones the other police have asked me.”

  “Let me guess
: they thought you might be involved just because you’re Wiccan.”

  “Some of them are fine men, but some do not trust a witch.”

  “I’m getting a lot of that myself,” I said, “and I’ve got a badge.”

  That made her laugh, just a little.

  Edward got my attention, and motioned that I needed to know what I was ordering. I held up a finger.

  “Do you know how to get here?”

  “We’ve got the address.”

  “Then come, and we will talk about magic and Randall Sherman.”

  “Thank you, Phoebe Billings.”

  “You are welcome, Anita Blake.” There was something to the way she said it that had a ring to it, almost of power.

  I hung up before I could worry about it. One problem at a time. Edward handed the food around. Bernardo had gotten over his issues enough to get French fries and a fish sandwich, no sauce. I guess he didn’t want the whole dripping thing after the murder scene.

  I ate my sandwich, with its drippy sauce, and wasn’t fazed. Once upon a time, I couldn’t have eaten a messy sandwich after a scene like that. But that had been a while ago. Either you get over it, or you don’t. I guess I’d gotten over it.

  “You remember the address for the priestess?” I asked.

  Edward just glanced at me, and the look was enough. Of course he remembered the address. And he’d been to the city before, and he was Edward, which meant he remembered his way around. He ate his very messy sandwich, one-handed, while he drove. He made it look neat, easy, while I fought not to dribble sauce down my vest with two hands and a bunch of napkins. The Coke was good, though, and it didn’t drip on me.

  My cell phone rang. I actually jumped, spilling just a little Coke. So much for being calm. I fumbled the drink into the cup holder, and the phone out of my pocket.

  “Yeah.”

  “Anita, this is Wicked; we’re on the ground in Vegas. Where are you?”

  I tried picturing him on the other end of the phone. He’d be dressed in something designer and well fitted and very modern. His blond hair cut long, but neat. He was one of those utterly masculine men who also managed to be pretty, though handsome would probably have made him happier.

  “Other than Truth, who else is with you?” I didn’t ask if Truth was with Wicked. They had been the Wicked Truth for centuries. Two brothers, two mercenaries, two vampires, who were some of the best warriors I’d ever seen; but more impressive, they were some of the best warriors that Jean-Claude knew of in all of vampire land. Now they were our muscle, but they weren’t food. I had crossed that line only once to save Truth’s life, but other than that, I didn’t touch them.

  “Requiem, London, Graham, Haven, a few other werelions, and some werehyenas.”

  “Are the lions and hyenas muscle or food?” I asked.

  “Muscle.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “Fill me in.”

  “Are you point man on this?”

  “Jean-Claude put me in charge of the muscle.”

  “How did Haven take that?”

  “Eventually the lion’s Rex and I are going to have to have a talk, but not tonight.” Translation: Haven had wanted to be in charge, but he’d bowed to Jean-Claude’s authority, reluctantly.

  “Wait, you said you’re in charge of the muscle. What else is there to be in charge of?”

  “Well,” he said, “technically, I’m chief bodyguard on this operation, but Requiem is third in the power structure in St. Louis, so he’s the boss.”

  “That makes sense, I guess.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about Requiem being in charge, or even in Vegas. He was a master vamp, but he was also moody as hell, and he and I weren’t getting along exceptionally well lately. I’d tried to take him off the feeding list, and now here he was in Vegas when I was far from home and my usual men.

  “You’re thinking too hard, Anita,” Wicked said. “Why aren’t you happy that Requiem is here?”

  I didn’t owe Wicked the explanation about Requiem and me, so I said, “I told Jean-Claude not to send anyone who couldn’t handle themselves in a fight. I’ve never seen Requiem fight.”

  “He does okay, but honestly, Jean-Claude didn’t want to send us into another vamp’s territory without someone who could be more diplomatic than the rest of us. Requiem’s here just in case we need to negotiate with Max and his people.”

  “Like I said, Wicked, it makes sense.”

  “Now, ask me how Requiem likes his cover for this assignment.”

  “Cover, he’s here to represent Jean-Claude’s interests, right?”

  “He is, but that’s only if things go wrong with Max. He saw it as an insult to send this many people for him, but Jean-Claude explained we were worried about your safety with the serial killer.”

  “Makes sense,” I said, not like I was happy.

  “Max wanted to put his guards around you, Anita.”

  “No,” I said.

  “This is the compromise.”

  “What is?” I asked, and couldn’t keep the impatience out of my voice.

  “Requiem is being loaned out as a dancer to Max’s revue.”

  “He hates stripping.”

  “Yeah, and I hate torturing people, but I’m really, really good at it.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I ignored it. “Couldn’t we just tell Max that everyone’s food for me?”

  “We can explain bodyguards for you. We can explain a pomme de sang for you, that’s London. But we can’t tell Max that you need this much food, Anita. It would be too close to admitting you don’t have control of the ardeur. Requiem is going to look over Max’s club for a possible guest role, and if it works out for him, then Jean-Claude has agreed to the possibility of loaning other dancers occasionally.”

  “Max has been wanting that for a while,” I said.

  “Which is how we explained Requiem.”

  “Why are you telling me all this and not Requiem?”

  “He’s soothing hurt feelings among our little group.”

  “How pissy is everyone being?” I asked.

  “You told Jean-Claude to pick people who could handle themselves in a fight, Anita. That means you’ve got a lot of big dogs in one room, fighting for the same bone. Requiem and I can handle it, but I thought you should know before you walk into it.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Now, where are you?”

  “On the way to the outskirts of town. We’re going to interview a witness.”

  “Have you fed?”

  “Solid food just a few minutes ago.”

  “But no wet food?” Wet food was slang among the vamps for blood, and lately I’d noticed some of them referring to my feeding on sex, or emotion, the same way. I couldn’t argue with it, I guess, though part of me wanted to.

  “No,” I said.

  “You’re approaching fourteen hours between feeds, Anita. You got anyone with you, in case?”

  I licked my lips. “I’ve got absolute-emergency volunteers, but no, not really.”

  “How far out are you, and what road?” he asked.

  I asked Edward, who told me. I repeated it to Wicked. “This time of night, it will be quicker if one of us flies to you.”

  “Which of you can fly that well? And if it’s Requiem, he can’t come by himself. He may be okay in a fight, but okay isn’t enough. I don’t want any of our people alone until we get this bastard.”

  “You really think Vittorio will make a grab for your people?”

  “Humor me. Who can fly well enough to come to me?”

  “I can; Truth can. I’ll ask the others.” He put the phone on mute while I waited. Knowing Wicked, he’d simply ask London and Requiem which of them flew the best. I had no idea.

  “We can’t have Jean-Claude’s men meet us at a witness’s house, Anita. That’ll just confirm what the PD thinks,” Edward said.

  “I know that, Edward. I’m hoping he’ll catch up to us afterward.”

  “Are
you planning on feeding before we drive back?” Olaf asked.

  “No, but it’s been fourteen hours, and I had to heal a lot of damage. That takes energy. He’ll meet us, but it’s just a precaution.”

  “I said I would feed you,” Olaf said.

  “Thanks, Olaf, I mean that, but . . .” I thought about what to say next. “I don’t think we want our first time together to be in the back of a truck.”

  He seemed to think about it for a minute or two, then said, “More time and room would be welcome.”

  I had not agreed to have sex with Olaf, but I had managed not to crush his good intentions of sex that didn’t involve killing his partner. Edward had asked me to try, and I was trying.

  The phone came back to life in my hand. “I’ll meet you.”

  “Wicked, I just finished saying, nobody travels alone.”

  “If they can take me on my own, then they’re going to kill us all, so if I don’t make it, you get out of town, and take our people with you.”

  “Are you setting yourself up as bait?”

  “No; are you sure you’re worried about my safety, or about the fact that you might have to have sex with me?”

  “That’s not fair, Wicked. You know why I’m trying to cut down.”

  “I know, I’m not on the meal plan. Turns out neither of the other two vamps are really that good at flying. And you scare my brother.”

  “I don’t scare him; he just doesn’t want to be food.”

  “You’re right, he doesn’t, but I’m right, too. You scare him, and Truth isn’t scared by much.”

  “And you’re not afraid I’ll possess you, or something?”

  “I’ll take my chances. Besides, you said it yourself, you’re in control right now. I’m just in case.” He sounded bitter.

  “Wicked.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t need attitude from you, too.”

  “You can order me around, and I have to take it, but you can’t dictate how I feel.”

  He had a point, but . . . What I wanted to say was that I didn’t understand why all the men wanted to be on the feeding list. I had a mirror; I knew what I was seeing, and though I was pretty, and maybe even beautiful given the right outfit, it wasn’t the same level of gorgeous of the men that were chasing me. But every time I tired to say it out loud, they accused me of being humble, or lying. I didn’t think it was humility, just honesty.