Burnt Offerings ab-7

by Laurell Hamilton

  He moved his chair dutifully back to his place setting. "I have what I want, ma petite."

  I had to look down and not meet his eyes. Heat crept up my neck into my face, and I couldn't stop it.

  "If you mean what do I want for dinner, that is a different question," he said.

  "You are a pain in the ass," I said.

  "And so many other places," he said.

  I didn't think I could blush more. I was wrong. "Stop it."

  "I love the fact that I can make you blush. It is charming."

  The tone in his voice made me smile in spite of myself. "This is not a dress to be charming in. I was trying for sexy and sophisticated."

  "Can you not be charming as well as sexy and sophisticated? Is there some rule about being all three?"

  "Slick, very slick," I said.

  He widened his eyes, trying for innocent and failing. He was many things, but innocent wasn't one of them.

  "Now, let's start negotiating on dinner," I said.

  "You make it sound like a chore."

  I sighed. "Before you came along, I thought food was something you ate so you wouldn't die. I will never be as enamored of food as you are. It's almost a fetish with you."

  "Hardly a fetish, ma petite."

  "A hobby, then."

  He nodded. "Perhaps."

  "So just tell me what you like on the menu, and we'll negotiate."

  "All that is required is that you taste what is ordered. You do not have to eat it."

  "No, no more of this tasting shit. I've gained weight. I never gain weight."

  "You have gained four pounds, so I am told. Though I have searched diligently for this phantom four pounds and cannot find them. It brings your weight up to a grand total of one hundred and ten pounds, correct?"

  "That's right."

  "Oh, ma petite, you are growing gargantuan."

  I looked at him, and it was not a friendly look. "Never tease a woman about her weight, Jean-Claude. At least not an American twentieth-century one."

  He spread his hands wide. "My deepest apologies."

  "When you apologize, try not to smile at the same time. It ruins the effect," I said.

  His smile widened until a hint of fang peeked out. "I will try to remember that for the future."

  The waiter returned with my drinks. "Would you like to order, or do you need a few minutes?"

  Jean-Claude looked at me.

  "A few minutes."

  The negotiation began.

  Twenty minutes later I needed a refill on my Coke, and we knew what we wanted. The waiter returned, pen poised, hopeful.

  I'd won on the appetizer, so we weren't having one. I'd given up the salad, and let him have the soup. Potato-leek soup, hey, it wasn't a hardship. We both wanted the steak.

  "The petite cut," I told the waiter.

  "How would you like that prepared?"

  "Half well-done, half rare."

  The waiter blinked at me. "Excuse me, madam?"

  "It's an eight-ounce cut, right?"

  He nodded.

  "Cut it in half, and cook four ounces of it well-done, and four ounces of it rare."

  He frowned at me. "I don't think we can do that."

  "At these prices you should bring the cow out and have a ritual sacrifice at the table. Just do it." I handed him the menu. He took it.

  Still frowning, he turned to Jean-Claude. "And you, sir?"

  Jean-Claude gave a small smile. "I will not be ordering food tonight."

  "Would you like wine with dinner, then, sir?"

  He never missed a beat. "I do not drink -- wine."

  I coughed Coke all over the tablecloth. The waiter did everything but give me the Heimlich. Jean-Claude laughed until tears trailed from the corners of his eyes. You couldn't really tell it in this light, but I knew that the tears were tinged red. Knew that there would be pinkish stains on the linen napkin when he was done dabbing his eyes. The waiter fled without having gotten the joke. Staring across the table at the smiling vampire, I wondered if I got the joke or was the butt of the joke. There were nights when I wasn't sure which way the grave dirt crumbled.

  But when he put his hand out to me across the table, I took it. Definitely, the butt of the joke.

  8

  Dessert was raspberry-chocolate cheesecake. A triple threat to any diet plan. Truthfully, I preferred my cheesecake straight. Fruit, except for strawberries, and chocolate just muddied the pure cream cheese taste. But Jean-Claude liked it, and dessert took the place of the wine I'd refused to order with dinner. I hated the taste of alcohol. So Jean-Claude's choice of dessert. Besides, the restaurant did not serve plain cheesecake. Not artistic enough, I guess.

  I ate all the cheesecake, chased the last chocolate curl across the plate, and pushed it away. I was full. Jean-Claude had laid his arm across the tablecloth, rested his cheek on his arm, and closed his eyes, swooning, trying to savor every last taste. He blinked at me, as if coming out of a trance. He spoke, head still resting on his arm, "You have left some whipped cream, ma petite."

  "I'm full," I said.

  "It is real whipped cream. It melts on the tongue and glides across the palate."

  I shook my head. "I am done. If I eat any more, I'll be sick."

  He gave a long-suffering sigh and sat back up. "There are nights when I despair of you, ma petite."

  I smiled. "Funny, I think the same thing about you sometimes."

  He nodded his head, making a small bow. "Touché, ma petite, touché." He stared off past my shoulder and stiffened. The smile didn't fade from his face. It was wiped clean. His face was its blank unreadable mask. And I knew without turning around that someone was behind me, someone he feared.

  I managed to drop my napkin, and picked it up with my left hand. With my right hand I drew the Firestar. When I sat back up, the gun was in my hand in my lap. Though shooting up Demiche's seemed like a bad idea. But hey, it wouldn't be the first bad idea I'd had.

  I turned to see a couple walking towards us through the tables and crystal. The woman looked tall until you got a glimpse of the heels she was wearing. Stiletto, four inches. I'd have broken my ankle trying to walk in them. The dress was white, square necked, form-fitting, and more expensive than my entire outfit, even if you threw in the gun. Her hair was a white-blond so pale it matched the dress and the simple white mink stole curled around her shoulders. The hair was piled in a mound atop her head with a sparkle of silver and the crystal fire of diamonds to frame the hair like a crown. She was chalk-white, and despite the expert makeup I knew she hadn't fed yet tonight.

  The man was human, though there was a thrumming energy to him that made me want to take back the human part. He was tanned that wonderful rich brown that olive skin can manage. His hair was a luxuriant curling brown, shaved short on the sides, but done so it fell in curls near his eyes. The eyes were pure brown and watched Jean-Claude steadily, joyously, but it was a dark joy. He was dressed in a white linen suit, complete with silk tie.

  They stopped at our table like I knew they would. The man's handsome face was all for Jean-Claude. I might as well have not been there. He had very strong features, from high cheekbones to an almost-hooked nose. An inch either direction and his face would have been homely. Instead, it was striking, compelling, handsome in an utterly masculine way.

  Jean-Claude stood, hands loose at his side, face beautiful and empty. "Yvette, it has been a long time."

  She smiled wonderfully. "A very long time, Jean-Claude. You remember Balthasar?" She touched the man's arm, and he obligingly slid it around her waist. He planted a chaste kiss on her pale cheek. He looked at me then for the first time. It wasn't a look I'd ever gotten from a man. If it had been a woman, I'd have said she was jealous. The vampire's English was perfect. Her accent was pure French.

  "Of course, I remember him," Jean-Claude said. "Time spent with Balthasar was always memorable."

  The man turned back to Jean-Claude then. "But not memorable enough to keep you with
us." He, too, sounded French, but there was an undercurrent of some other language. It was like mixing blue and red and getting purple.

  "I am master of my own territory. It is what everyone dreams of, is it not?"

  "Some dream of a seat on the council," Yvette said. Her voice was still mildly amused, but there was an undercurrent now, like swimming in dark water when you know there are sharks.

  "I do not aspire to such lofty heights," Jean-Claude said.

  "Really?" Yvette said.

  "Truly," Jean-Claude said.

  She smiled, but her eyes stayed distant and empty. "We shall see."

  "There is nothing to see, Yvette. I am content where I am."

  "If that is so, you have nothing to fear from us."

  "We have nothing to fear regardless," I said. I smiled when I said it.

  Both of them looked at me as if I was a dog that had done an interesting trick. I was really beginning not to like either of them.

  "Yvette and Balthasar are envoys of the council, ma petite."

  "Bully for them," I said.

  "She doesn't seem very impressed with us," Yvette said. She turned full-face to me. Her eyes were greyish-green, with tiny flecks of amber dancing round the pupils. I felt her try to suck me under with those eyes, and it didn't work. Her power raised goose bumps on my skin, but she couldn't capture me with her eyes. She was powerful, but she wasn't a master vampire. I could feel her age like an ache in my skull. A thousand years, at least. The last vamp I'd met who was that old had cleaned my clock. But Nikolaos had been Master of the City, and Yvette would never be that. If a vamp hadn't attained master status in a thousand years, she, or he, was never going to. A vamp gained power and abilities with age, but there was a limit. Yvette had reached hers. I stared into her eyes, let her power tickle across my skin, and wasn't impressed.

  She frowned. "Impressive."

  "Thanks," I said.

  Balthasar stepped around her and went to one knee in front of me. He put one hand on the back of my chair and leaned into me. If Yvette wasn't a master, then he wasn't her human servant. Only a master vampire could make a human servant. Which meant he belonged to someone else. Someone I hadn't met yet. Why did I get the feeling I'd be meeting that someone soon?

  "My master is a council member," Balthasar said. "You have no idea what kind of power he wields."

  "Ask me if I care."

  Anger flared across his face, darkening his eyes, making his grip on my chair tight. He laid his hand on my leg just above my knee and started to squeeze. I'd played with the monsters long enough to know what supernatural strength feels like. His fingers dug into my flesh, and I knew he could keep squeezing until muscle popped and he bared my bones to the air.

  I grabbed his silk tie and pulled him close, and shoved the barrel of the Firestar into his chest. I watched the surprise chase across his face from inches away.

  "Bet I can blow a hole in your chest before you can crush my leg."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "Why not?" I asked.

  A touch of fear flowed through his eyes. "I am the human servant of a council member."

  "Not impressed," I said. "Try door number two."

  He frowned at me. "I don't understand."

  "Give her a better reason not to kill you," Jean-Claude said.

  "If you shoot me here in front of witnesses, you will go to jail."

  I sighed. "There is that." I jerked him close enough that our faces almost touched. "Take your hand off my knee, slowly, and I won't pull this trigger. Keep hurting me, and I'll take my chances with the police."

  He stared at me. "You would do it, you really would do it."

  "I don't bluff, Balthasar. Remember that for future reference, and maybe I won't have to kill you."

  His hand eased, then moved slowly away from me. I let him move back, his tie sliding through my hand like a fishing line. I eased back in my chair. The gun had never made it out from under the tablecloth. We'd been the soul of discretion.

  The waiter came over anyway. "Is there a problem?"

  "No problem," I said.

  "Please bring our check," Jean-Claude said.

  "Right away," the waiter said. He watched a little nervously while Balthasar got to his feet. Balthasar smoothed down the wrinkles in his linen pants, but there's only so much you can do with linen. It really isn't meant to be knelt in.

  "You have won the first round, Jean-Claude. Be careful that it does not become a Pyrrhic victory." Yvette said. She and Balthasar left without ever taking a table. Guess they weren't hungry.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  Jean-Claude sat back down. "Yvette is a council toady. Balthasar is the human servant of one of the most powerful council members."

  "Why are they here?"

  "I believe it is because of Mr. Oliver."

  Mr. Oliver had been the oldest vampire I'd ever met. The oldest one I'd ever heard hinted at. He'd been a million years old, no joke, a million years, give or take. For all those with a head for prehistory, yes, that does mean he wasn't Homo sapiens. Homo erectus, and able to walk around during the day, though I never saw him cross direct sunlight. He'd been the only vamp to ever fool me for even a few moments into thinking he was human, which is nicely ironic, since he wasn't human at all. He'd had a plan to take out Jean-Claude, take over the vamps in the area, and force them to slaughter humans. Oliver had thought a slaughter like that would force the authorities to make vamps illegal again. He thought vampires would spread too quickly with legal rights and take over the human race. I'd sort of agreed with him.

  His plan might have worked if I hadn't killed him. How I managed to kill him is a long story, but I'd ended up in a coma. A week unconscious, gone, so close to death that the doctors didn't know how I survived. Of course, they hadn't been too clear on why I was in a coma to begin with, and no one felt like explaining vampire marks and Homo erectus vampires.

  I stared at Jean-Claude. "The crazy son of bitch that tried to take you out last Halloween?"

  "Oui."

  "What about him?"

  "He was a council member."

  I almost laughed. "No way. He was old, older than sin, but he wasn't that powerful."

  "I told you he agreed to limit his powers, ma petite. I did not know who and what he was at first, but he was the council member known as the Earthmover."

  "Excuse me?"

  "He could cause the earth to shake by his power alone."

  "No way," I said.

  "Yes way, ma petite. He agreed not to cause the earth to swallow the city because it would be blamed on an earthquake. He wanted the bloodletting to be blamed on vampires. You remember his plan was to drive vampires back to being illegal. An earthquake would not do that. A bloodbath would. No one, not even you, believes that a mere vampire can cause an earthquake."

  "Damn straight, I don't." I stared at his careful face. "You're serious."

  "Deadly serious, ma petite."

  It was too much to take in all at once. When in doubt ignore and be terribly unimpressed. "So we took out a council member, so what?"

  He shook his head. "There is no fear in you, ma petite. Do you understand what danger we are all in?"

  "No, and what do you mean the 'danger we are all in'? Who else is in danger besides us?"

  "All our people," he said.

  "Define 'all,' " I said.

  "All my vampires, anyone that the council considers ours."

  "Larry?" I asked.

  He sighed. "Perhaps."

  "Should I call him? Warn him? How much danger?"

  "I am not sure. No one has ever slain a council member and not taken their place."

  "I killed him, not you."

  "You are my human servant. The council sees all that you do as an extension of my actions."

  I stared at him. "You mean anyone I kill is your kill?"

  He nodded.

  "I wasn't your servant when I killed Oliver."

  "I would keep that bit of
knowledge to ourselves."

  "Why?"

  "They may not kill me, ma petite, but a vampire hunter who killed a council member would be executed. There would be no trial, no hesitation."

  "Even though I'm your human servant now?"

  "That might save you. It is one of our most stringent laws not to destroy another's servant."

  "So they can't kill me because I'm your servant."

  "But they can harm you, ma petite. They can harm you so very much that you may wish for death."

  "You mean torture?"

  "Not in a traditional sense. But they are masters at finding that which terrifies you most and using it against you. They will use your desires against you and twist everything you are into a shape of their choosing."

  "I've met master vampires that could sense your heart's desire and use it against you."

  "Everything you have seen of us before, ma petite, is like a distant dream. The council is the reality. They are the nightmare on which we are all based. The thing that even we fear."

  "Yvette and Balthasar didn't seem that scary to me."

  He looked at me. There was no expression on his face. It was a mask, smooth, pleasant, hidden. "If they did not frighten you, ma petite, it is only because you do not know them. Yvette is a toady of the council because they are powerful enough to give her a ready supply of victims."

  "Victims? You aren't talking about human prey, are you?"

  "It can be human. But Yvette is considered perverted even by other vampires."

  I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but ... "Perverted in what ways"

  He sighed and looked down at his hands. They lay very still on the tablecloth. It was like he was pulling away from me. I could see the walls clicking back into place. He was rebuilding himself into Jean-Claude, Master of the City. It was a shock to realize that there had been a change. It had been so gradual that I hadn't realized that with me, on our dates, he was different. I don't know if he was more himself or more what he thought I wanted him to be, but he was more "relaxed," less guarded. Watching him put on his public face while I sat across from him was almost depressing.

  "Yvette loves the dead."

  I frowned at him. "But she's a vampire. That's redundant."

  He stared at me, and it wasn't a friendly look. "I will not sit here and debate with you, ma petite. You share my bed. If I were a zombie, you would not touch me."