Bloody Bones ab-5

by Laurell Hamilton

  He pulled the sash of my robe, and I didn't protest. I let his hands slide under the robe, around my waist, with nothing but the t-shirt between his flesh and mine. He ran his hands up my sides, his thumbs playing over my rib cage. The gun swung heavily in the loose cloth. It was annoying.

  I raised my face to his. His arms slid behind my back, pressing me against the long wet line of his body. The towel was perilously loose.

  His lips brushed mine; then the kiss became something more. Harder, nearly bruising, with his arms locked behind my shoulders. My hands slid down his waist, rubbed the sliding top of the towel, and found it had already slipped. My hand touched the smooth top of his buttocks. Only the pressure of our bodies kept the towel in place.

  He ate at my mouth and I felt something sharp, painful. I jerked back and tasted blood.

  Jean-Claude let me go. He sat back on his heels, the towel gathered in his lap. "I am sorry, ma petite. I got carried away."

  I touched my mouth and came away with a spot of blood. "You nicked me."

  He nodded. "I am truly sorry."

  "I'll just bet you are," I said.

  "Do not go all self-righteous on me, ma petite. You have finally admitted to yourself, to me, that you feel the pull of my body."

  I sat on the floor by the chair with my robe in disarray. The t-shirt had ridden up to my waist. I guess it was a little too late to protest my innocence.

  "Fine, lust; you happy?"

  "Almost," he said, and now there was something in his eyes. Something dark and drowning, and older than it should have been.

  "I can offer you my mortal body, and more, ma petite. It can be between us much more than any human lover could offer."

  "Would I lose a little blood each time?"

  "That was an accident," he said.

  I stared at him, all pale and damp, kneeling on the floor with the white towel bundled into his lap, leaving nearly every inch of him bare.

  "This is the first time I've cheated on Richard," I said.

  "You have been dating me for weeks," he said.

  I shook my head. "But I haven't been cheating. This is cheating."

  "Then have you been cheating on me, with Richard?"

  I didn't know what to say to that. "Go get dressed."

  "Do you really want me to dress?" he asked.

  I looked away. I was embarrassed now and uncomfortable. "Yes, please."

  He stood up, the towel gripped in his hands. I looked down at the floor and didn't have to see his face to picture the smile on it.

  He walked away from me, and didn't bother moving the towel around behind him. Muscles moved under his skin from calf to waist. He walked naked into the bedroom, and I enjoyed the view.

  I touched my finger to my tongue. It was still bleeding. That's what I got for French kissing a vampire. Even thinking about it made me nervous.

  "Ma petite?" he called from the other room.

  "Yeah."

  "Do you have a blow dryer?"

  "In my suitcase. Help yourself."

  Thankfully, I'd dragged my suitcase into the bedroom beside the bathroom door. One point for laziness. I was spared another glimpse of his naked body. Now that hormones were receding, I was embarrassed.

  I heard the dryer and wondered if he was standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror while he dried his hair. I was very aware that all I had to do was go to the doorway and I could see for myself.

  I stood up, pulled my t-shirt down, tied my robe securely in place, and sat down on the couch. My back was to the bedroom. I wouldn't be seeing anything else. I took the Firestar out of my pocket and laid it on the coffee table in front of me. The gun sat there looking very solid, very black, and somehow accusatory.

  The dryer stopped, and he called to me again. "Ma petite?"

  "What?"

  "Come talk to me as the sun rises."

  I glanced up at the window he had opened. The sky outside was less black, not light yet, but not pure darkness anymore. I closed the drapes and went to the bedroom. I left the gun on the table. The Browning was in the bedroom anyway.

  Jean-Claude had neatly folded the bedspread and blanket at the foot of the bed. Only the wine-dark sheet covered him. He lay with his black hair soft and curling over the dark pillows. The sheet was bunched at his waist. "You can join me if you like."

  I leaned against the wall and shook my head.

  "I'm not offering sex, ma petite; dawn is too close for that. I offer you your half of the bed."

  "I'll take the couch; thanks anyway."

  He smiled, a slow knowing curve of lips—his old arrogance peeking back out. It was almost comforting to know nothing had really changed. "It is not me that you do not trust. It is you."

  I shrugged.

  He raised the sheet in front of his chest, an almost protective gesture. "It comes." Fear in his voice.

  "What comes?"

  "The sun."

  I glanced at the closed drapes against the far wall. They were double thick, but a line of greyish light edged them. "You'll be alright like this without your coffin?"

  "As long as no one opens the drapes." He looked at me for a long moment. "I love you, ma petite, as much as I'm able."

  I didn't know what to say. Saying I lusted after him didn't seem appropriate. Saying I loved him would be a lie.

  The light grew stronger, a white edge around the curtains. His body slumped back against the bed. He rolled onto his side, one hand outstretched, the other curling the sheets against his chest. He stared at the growing light, and I could taste his fear.

  I knelt beside the bed. I almost took his hand but didn't. "What happens now?"

  "You want the truth, then watch." I expected his eyes to flutter, his voice to grow sluggish as if he were falling asleep. It didn't happen that way. He closed his eyes all at once. Pain flashed across his face. He whispered, "It hurts." His face went slack. I'd seen people die, watched the light fade from their bodies. Felt their souls slip away. That was what I saw. He died. The light grew against the drapes, and when it was a solid white line, he died. His breath went out of him in a long rattle.

  I knelt beside the bed and stared. I knew dead when I saw it, and this was it. Shit.

  I put my arms on the bed and propped my chin on them. I watched him, waiting for him to breathe, to twitch, something. But there was nothing. I reached out to his one outstretched arm. My fingers hovered above his skin, then I touched him. The skin was still warm, still human, but he did not move. I checked his wrist, and there was no pulse. No blood moved in this body.

  Did he know I was here? Did he feel me touching him? I stared at him for what seemed like a long time. So this answered the question. Vampires were dead. Whatever animated them was like my own power, some sort of necromancy. But I knew death when I saw it. It gave necrophilia a whole new slant.

  Had I only imagined that I felt the brush of his soul leave his body? Surely vampires had no souls—that was part of the point—but I'd felt something leave. If not a soul, what? If a soul, where did it go for the daylight hours? Who watched all the vampires' souls while they lay dead?

  There was a knock at the door, probably the other boys. I stood up, pulling my robe in tight. I was cold, and wasn't sure why. I went to answer the door. The cut on my tongue had almost stopped bleeding.

  31

  I dreamed. In the dream, someone held me in their lap. Smooth dark arms wrapped around me. I looked up into my mother's laughing face. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. I snuggled against her body, and the clean smell of her skin was there. She'd always smelled of Hypnotique bath powder. She bent and kissed me on the lips. I had forgotten the taste of her lipstick, the way she brushed my mouth with her thumb, and laughed because she'd gotten bright red lipstick on my small mouth.

  Her thumb came away with something brighter than lipstick. Blood dripped down her thumb. She'd pricked her skin with a safety pin. It was bleeding. She held her thumb out to me and said, "Kiss it, Anita, make
it all better."

  But there was too much blood. It ran down her hand. I stared up at her laughing face, and blood ran down it like rain. I woke sitting bolt upright on the velvet couch, gasping for breath. I could still taste her lipstick on my mouth, and the smell of Hypnotique bath powder clung to me.

  Larry sat up on the love seat, rubbing at his eyes. "What's wrong? Did we get our wake-up call?"

  "No, I had a bad dream."

  He nodded, stretching, then frowned. "Do you smell perfume?"

  I stared at him. "What do you mean?"

  "Perfume or powder or something; do you smell it?"

  I swallowed and nearly choked on my own pulse. "Yeah. I smell it."

  I flung back the extra blanket and threw the lumpy pillow across the room.

  Larry swung his legs off the love seat. "What is wrong with you?"

  I went to the window and flung the drapes open. The bedroom door was closed, and Jean-Claude was safely inside. Jason was sleeping in there. I stood in the sunlight and let the heat sink into me. I leaned against the warm glass, and only then realized that I was wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and my undies. Oh, well. I stayed in the sunlight for a few minutes, waiting for my pulse to calm down.

  "Serephina sent me a dream. The smell is my mother's perfume."

  Larry came to stand beside me. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts and a green t-shirt. His curly red hair stuck up in all directions. His blue eyes squinted when he stepped into the light. "I thought only a vampire that had a connection with you, a hold on you, could invade your dreams."

  "That's what I thought," I said.

  "How could I smell perfume from your dream?"

  I shook my head, forehead against the glass. "I don't know."

  "Has she marked you?"

  "I don't know."

  He touched my shoulder, squeezing. "It'll be alright."

  I stepped away from him to pace the room. "It won't be alright, Larry. Serephina invaded my dreams. No one but Jean-Claude has ever done that." I stopped, because that wasn't true. Nikolaos had done it. But that was after she'd bitten me. I shook my head. Either way, it was a very bad sign.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Kill her."

  "Murder her, you mean."

  If Larry's earnest eyes hadn't been staring at me, I'd have said, "You bet." But it's hard to contemplate murder with someone staring at you like you've kicked their favorite puppy.

  "I'll try to get a warrant," I said.

  "If you can't?"

  "If it's her or me, Larry, then it's her. Okay?"

  Larry looked at me sadly. "What I did last night was murder. I know that, but I didn't go in planning to kill someone."

  "You stay in this business long enough and you will."

  He shook his head. "I don't believe that."

  "Believe what you want, but it's still the truth. These things are too dangerous to play fair."

  "If you really believe that, then how can you date Jean-Claude? How can you let him touch you?"

  I shook my head. "I never said I was consistent."

  "You can't defend yourself, can you?"

  "Defend which one? Killing Serephina or dating Jean-Claude?"

  "Either, both. Hell, Anita, if you're one of the bad guys you can't be one of the good guys."

  I opened my mouth and closed it. What could I say? "I am one of the good guys, Larry. But I'm not going to be a martyr. If that means breaking the law, so be it."

  "Are you going to get a warrant?" His face was very neutral as he asked. He looked older suddenly. Even with his orangey curls sticking up, he looked solemn.

  I was watching Larry grow older before my eyes. Not in age, but in experience. The expression in his eyes was older than it had been a few months ago. Seen too much, done too much. He was still trying to be Sir Galahad, but Galahad had had God on his side. All Larry had was me. It wasn't enough.

  "The only way I could get a death warrant is to lie," I said.

  "I know," he said.

  I stared at him. "Serephina hasn't broken any laws, yet. I won't lie about that."

  He smiled. "Good. When do we meet Dorcas Bouvier?"

  "Three."

  "Have you figured out what you can sacrifice to raise the zombies Stirling wants done?" he asked.

  "Nope."

  He stared at me. "What are you going to tell Stirling?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know yet. I wish I knew why he's so hot and heavy to kill Bouvier."

  "He wants the land," Larry said.

  "Stirling and Company have been saying the Bouvier family, not Magnus Bouvier. That means he's not the only one suing them. So killing Magnus won't solve their problems."

  "So why do it?" Larry asked.

  "Exactly," I said.

  Larry nodded. "We need to talk to Magnus again."

  "Preferably without Serephina around," I said.

  "Amen to that," Larry said.

  "I'd love to talk to Magnus, but before we tackle Mr. Bouvier again, I'd like to find some fairie ointment."

  "Some what?"

  "Didn't you take any classes on fairies?"

  "It was an elective," he said.

  "Fairie ointment makes you proof against glamor. Just in case whatever else Magnus is hiding is nastier than Serephina."

  "Nothing's nastier than that," he said.

  "True, but just in case, he won't be able to work magic on us. In fact, it's not a bad precaution before we meet Dorrie. She may not be as scary as Magnus, but she shines, and I'd just as soon she didn't shine all over us."

  "You think Serephina will find Jeff Quinlan?"

  "If anyone can, she can. She seemed pretty confident she could take Xavier, but then Jean-Claude had been pretty confident he could take her last night. He was wrong."

  He frowned. "So we're rooting for Serephina?"

  It sounded wrong, put that way, but I nodded. "If it's a choice between a vampire that obeys most of the laws, and one that slaughters kids, yeah, we're on her side."

  "You were talking about killing her just a little bit ago."

  "I can stay out of her way until she saves Jeff, and kills Xavier."

  "Why would she kill him?" Larry asked.

  "He's killing people in her territory. She can say anything she wants, but that's a direct challenge to her authority. Besides, I don't think Xavier will give up Jeff without a fight."

  "What do you think happened to him last night?" Larry asked.

  I shook my head. "It doesn't do any good to dwell on it, Larry. We're doing all we can."

  "We could tell the FBI about Serephina."

  "One thing I've learned is that master vamps don't talk to the cops. Too many years of the cops killing them on sight, or trying to."

  "Okay," he said, "but we've still got to come up with something big enough to kill for raising the cemetery tonight," he said.

  "I'll think on it."

  "You really have no idea what to do?" He sounded surprised.

  "Short of a human sacrifice, Larry, I don't think I can raise several three-hundred-year-old corpses. Even I've got my limits."

  He grinned. "Nice to hear you admit it."

  I had to smile. "It'll be our little secret."

  He put his hand out, and I slapped it. He slapped mine back, and I felt better. Larry had a way of making me smile. Friends will do that to you.

  32

  Dorcas Bouvier was leaning on a car in the parking lot. Her hair gleamed in the sunlight, swirling as she moved, like heavy water. In jeans and a green tank top, she was flawless.

  Larry tried not to stare at her, but it was hard work. Larry was wearing a blue T-shirt, jeans, white Nikes, and an oversized checked flannel shirt to hide his shoulder holster.

  I was in jeans and a navy blue polo shirt, black Nikes, and an oversized blue dress shirt. I'd had to borrow it from Larry after my black jacket had gotten covered in vampire goop. Had to have something to hide the Browning. Makes people nervous if you
go around with a naked gun. Larry and I looked like we'd dressed from the same closet.

  Dorrie pushed away from the car. "Shall we go?"

  "We'd like to talk to Magnus."

  "So you can turn him in to the cops?"

  I shook my head. "So we can find out why Stirling is so hot to kill him."

  "I don't know where he is," Dorcas said.

  Maybe it showed on my face, because she said, "I don't know where he is, but if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Using magic on the police is a death penalty case. I won't turn him in."

  "I'm not the police."

  She looked at me, eyes narrowing. "Did you come to look at Bloody Bones, or to question me about my brother?"

  "How did you know to be waiting here for us?" I asked.

  "I knew you'd be on time." Her pupils swirled downward to pinpoints, like the eyes of an excited parrot.

  "Let's go," I said.

  She led us to the back of the restaurant where it nearly touched the woods. A path began at the edge of the clearing. It was barely wide enough for a man. Even though we walked single file, the branches whipped at my shoulders. The new green leaves rubbed like velvet along my cheek. The path was deep and rutted down to naked tree roots in places, but weeds were beginning to encroach on the path, as if it wasn't used as much as it once had been.

  Dorrie moved down the uneven path with an easy, swinging stride. She was obviously familiar with the path, but it was more than that. The tree limbs that caught on my shirt didn't get caught in her hair. The roots that threatened to trip me didn't slow her down.

  We'd found ointment at a health food store. So the bushes moving for her and not for us was real, not illusion. Maybe glamor wasn't the only thing to worry about. Which was why the Browning was loaded with nonsilver bullets. I'd had to go out and buy some special for the occasion. Larry was loaded up too, and for the first time I wished he had two guns. I still had the Firestar with silver ammo, but Larry was out of luck if a vamp jumped us. Of course, it was broad daylight. I was more worried about fairies than vamps right this minute. There was salt in our shirt pockets, not a lot, but you didn't need much, just enough to throw on the fey or the thing being magicked. Salt disrupted fey magic. Temporarily.