“You bled them to death so you guys could have some marathon sex session,” I said it, and my voice wasn’t horrified, in fact, it sounded empty. Because I could still see the memory, not in livid detail like it had been, but now it was in my head, too. God, I did not need someone else’s nightmares.
“There are many things I have done, ma petite, that I would not have you know. Things I am ashamed of. Things that burn inside of me like bile.”
“It was your memory, remember. I felt what you were feeling. There was no regret.”
“Then I pushed you out too soon.” He didn’t pull me in, he simply stopped pushing me out, and I was back in that room. Back in that bed. I was inside Jean-Claude’s head when he noticed the man on the bed that wasn’t moving. He crawled across the bed and touched the cooling flesh. I felt his sorrow, felt his shame. Had his knowledge that these were humans that trusted us. Humans that we had promised to protect. Give us your blood and your bodies, and we will keep you safe. I looked back at Belle Morte stretched nude and luscious, under Asher’s body. Asher’s body before the human church had scarred him. I watched Asher’s face lift up, meet our eyes, and in the middle of what Belle thought was the most sensuous of nights, the seed was sown that we must escape. That there were things that you did not do, and lines you did not cross, and she was not a god.
And I was back in his office, with my blood drying on my body, and my breast beginning to ache, and I was crying.
He stared at me, dry eyed, and he expected me to run. To turn away, and run. Like I had so many times in the past. Nothing was pretty enough for me, nice enough, clean enough. I didn’t like messy people in my life, and once that had been true, until I woke up one day and realized that I was one of the messy people.
My voice was steady, and didn’t sound like I could have tears drying on my face. “I used to think I knew what was right and what was wrong, and who the good guys are, and who the bad guys are. Then the world got very gray, and I didn’t know anything for a long time.”
He just looked at me, his face closing down, hiding from me, because he was certain where I was going, what I would say.
“There are days, hell weeks, when I still don’t know anything. I’ve been pushed so far outside what I thought was right and wrong, that some days I don’t know my way back. I’ve done things in the name of justice, in the name of my version of justice, that I wouldn’t want anyone to know. I can look a man in the eyes and kill him, and I feel nothing. Nothing, Jean-Claude, nothing. You didn’t mean to kill, and you felt bad about it.”
“You take life to protect life, ma petite. I have taken lives for pleasure, for the pleasure of she whom I served.” He shook his head and slowly drew his knees into his chest, hugging himself tight. “Did you ever wonder why I did not replace the vampires that you and Edward, and even I later, killed, when we destroyed Nikolaos?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I said. “I know we’re suddenly lousy with vamps when we seemed a little empty before.”
“I called vampires home to me, because I had taken them long ago. But I have not made a new vampire since I became Master of the City. It had kept us dangerously low. If we had truly had another territory’s master declare full war, we would have lost. We simply lacked the manpower.”
“So why not make more?” I asked, because he seemed to want me to ask.
He looked at me, and there was something in his eyes that reminded me of someone else. It was a look of pain and confusion, and centuries of hurt. I’d never seen his eyes so raw, so human. “Because, to make them vampire, I must first take away their mortality, their humanity. Who am I to do that, ma petite? Who am I to decide who will live on, and who will die in their appointed time?”
“Who are you to play God?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “yes, who am I to know what it will change. Belle used to use our power to change countries, wars, who ruled, who was assassinated. There was a time when she ruled more of Europe secretly than anyone knew, even among the vampire council itself. She killed millions through war, and famine. Not by her hand, but by her choices.”
“What stopped her?”
“The French Revolution, and two world wars. Even death itself must bow before such wanton destruction. Now the council rides tighter rein on its members. The time when any in Europe could build such a secret power structure is finished.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said.
“What if I take someone and make them as I am, and that person would have cured cancer, or invented some great thing. Vampires invent nothing, ma petite, we are consumed by death and pleasure, and senseless power struggles. We seek money, comfort, safety.”
“So do most people.”
He shook his head. “But not all, and my kind are attracted to those who hold power, or wealth, or are unusual in some way. A beautiful voice, a gift of artistry, of mind, or charm. We do not take the weak, as most predators do, we take the best. The brightest, the loveliest, the strongest. How many lives have we destroyed over the centuries that could have made some wonderful, or terrible, difference to humanity, to the world at large.”
I looked at him, and not that long ago I would have distrusted this sharing. But I could feel him in my head. I worried about whether I was a monster. Jean-Claude knew for certain. He did not regret what he was, for he could not imagine another life, but he worried about others. He worried about making the choice for others. He worried about playing some dark god. He worried that one day he would become that which he ran from. One day, he would become a version of Belle Morte.
What do you do when you are suddenly able to see that far into someone’s darkest fears? What do you say to that much truth about someone else? I said the only thing I could think of, the only thing that would give him any comfort. “You’ll never become like Belle Morte. You’ll never become as evil as that.”
“How can you be certain of that?” he asked.
“Because I’ll kill you before I let that happen,” and my voice was soft when I said it, because it wasn’t a lie.
“Kill me to save me from myself,” he said, and he tried to make light of it, and failed.
“No, kill you to save everybody else you’d destroy.” My voice wasn’t soft anymore.
“Even if it destroys you at the same time?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it drags our tortured Richard down with us?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Even if it cost Damian his life?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Even if Nathaniel died with us?”
I stopped breathing for a second, and time seemed to do one of those stretches where you have all the time in the world, and none of it. My breath came out shaky, and I had to lick my lips, before I said, “Yes, on one condition.”
“And that would be?” he asked.
“That I could guarantee that I wouldn’t survive it either.”
He looked at me, and it was a long, long look. A look that weighed me down to my soul, and I realized that in a way, that’s exactly what he’d done years ago.
“You told me once that I’m your conscience, but that’s not all I am, is it?”
“What do you mean, ma petite?”
“I’m your fail-safe. I’m your judge, your jury, and your executioner if things go wrong.”
“Not things, ma petite, me. If I go wrong.” There was a peacefulness in his eyes, as if some weight had gone from his shoulders. I knew exactly where that weight had gone.
“You bastard. I’d have been happy to kill you once, but not now. Not now.”
“If it is too much to ask, then consider it unasked, unsaid.”
“No, you bastard, don’t you understand? If you do go mad and start slaughtering the innocent, I am exactly who they will send. I am the Executioner.” I stared at him.
“But, ma petite, you were always the one they would send. You have always been the Executioner.”
I got to my feet. My knees were
n’t weak anymore. “But I’ve never been in love with someone I had to kill before.”
“But you have told me that your love for me would not stop you from doing your duty.”
My eyes burned. “No, it won’t. If you go bad, I’ll do my duty.” I closed my eyes, and shook my head. “You Machiavellian bastard, I would have killed your ass without being in love with you.”
“I did not want you to love me because you would be my fail-safe, as you put it. I wanted you to love me, because I was in love with you.” His voice was close, and when I opened my eyes he was standing in front of me. “It is only lately that I have worried that you were so besotted with me that you might forgive me crimes in this lifetime, now.”
I shook my head. “No, no.”
“I had to know, ma petite.”
“Don’t call me that, not right now.”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “Anita, I am sorry. I would not cause you pain, not deliberately.”
“Then couldn’t this conversation have waited until the afterglow faded?”
“No,” he said, “I had to know if you loved me more than your sense of justice.”
I swallowed hard. I would not cry, I would not fucking cry. “I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.”
He took my hands, and I almost jerked away, but I made myself stand there and let him touch me. I was so angry, so pissed, so…
“Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,” he said, “That from the nunnery, Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind.”
I looked up at him, and said the next line, “To war and arms I fly.”
“True, a new mistress now I chase,” he said.
“The first foe in the field,” I said, and let him draw me closer.
“And with a stronger faith embrace,” he said.
“A sword, a horse, a shield.” And the last word was whispered against his chest, still looking up into those eyes, searching his face.
“Yet this inconstancy is such, As thou too shalt adore,” he whispered against my hair.
I finished the poem with my face pressed against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, that truly beat with my blood. “I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.”
“To Lucasta, on going to the Wars,” Jean-Claude said. His arms were around me, holding me close.
I eased my arms around him, slowly. “Richard Lovelace,” I said, “always liked his stuff in college.” I kept moving my arms until they were around his waist, and we just stood there holding each other. “I don’t think I would have remembered the whole poem if you hadn’t helped.”
“Together we are more than we are apart, Anita, that is what love is.”
I held him, and the tears started down my face, hard and hot, and choking. “Not Anita.”
I didn’t have to see his face, to know the smile was there, I could hear in his voice, “ma petite, ma petite, ma petite.”
There comes a point where you just love someone. Not because they’re good, or bad, or anything really. You just love them. It doesn’t mean you’ll be together forever. It doesn’t mean you won’t hurt each other. It just means you love them. Sometimes in spite of who they are, and sometimes because of who they are. And you know that they love you, sometimes because of who you are, and sometimes in spite of it.
46
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The Sapphire Club is a low, wide building and doesn’t look that nice from the outside. It doesn’t look that different from many of the rest of the bars and clubs in the area, so why is it a gentlemen’s club and the others are just titty bars? Security, decor, and a dress code for the dancers, for starters. Tonight the VIP parking area was so full of official and semiofficial vehicles that you could barely see the front of the club through the flashing lights and milling people. There was even a big fire truck and a rescue truck alongside the regular ambulance. I had no idea why we needed the big truck, but murder scenes always attract more people than you really need, more cops, and more civvies, more everything.
There was a crowd pressed against the police tape and sawhorse barriers. Some of the women looked barely dressed for the October cold, so it had to be people from the nearby clubs. Most of the dancers arrived at work in street clothes then changed there. So at least some of the women shivering in the cold had left work elsewhere to join the gawkers.
I actually had to park in the lot of the nearest club, the Jazz Baby, live music, and live entertainment. What could be better? Sleep, maybe. It was nearly four in the morning. My shower had beaten the record for speed, but it was still quite a drive from the Riverfront. We’d managed to get blood on the front of my shirt, so I was wearing a T-shirt that Jean-Claude had found for me somewhere. It was white, so the black bra showed through, or would have if I hadn’t been wearing Byron’s leather jacket again. Maybe I could just keep the jacket on. No, it’d be warm inside. Oh, well. If the worst thing that happened tonight was that someone noticed I was wearing a black bra under a white shirt, we’d count ourselves lucky.
Jean-Claude had also found underwear, again it was thong, but it was actually comfortable, because it was made of soft T-shirt material, even the bit that went between your cheeks. Most of the girl thongs I’d looked at had had elastic or lace running up your ass, and that just didn’t look comfy at all.
I had to flash the badge just to get through the crowd. When I got up to the line, the officer closest to me didn’t really look at me. He saw a woman in boots and a short skirt and a leather jacket and said, “Club’s closed for the night, you won’t be working.”
I shoved my badge into his face, and he had to back up to focus on it. “Actually, Officer,” and I read his name tag in the bright lights, “Douglas, I think I will be working tonight.”
He looked down at me, because he was taller than me. I watched his face try to wrap around the look of me and the badge in one package. He wasn’t the first police officer to have a problem putting it all together, and he wouldn’t be the last. I might think like a cop, but I don’t really look like one. Especially not tonight.
“I’m Marshal Anita Blake, Sergeant Zerbrowski called me.” Always good to remind people that I hadn’t invited myself into their party. I had the authority to do it, but I tried to do as little uninvited butting in as I could. No cop, no matter what the flavor, likes someone horning in on their case. Especially not a big one.
Officer Douglas stared at my badge like he didn’t believe it was real. “No one told me that the feds were coming.”
“Ya know, it’s four in the morning. I asked your permission to cross this line as a courtesy, but this badge is a federal badge and it gives me the right to cross this line, enter this crime scene, and do my fucking job. If you stop me, Officer Douglas, I will charge you with obstructing a federal officer in the performance of her duty.”
He looked like he’d swallowed something sour, but he waved another officer over. He had him take his place at the barrier and held the tape for me. “I’ll walk you through, ma’am.”
I guess I couldn’t blame him. I mean what if the badge wasn’t real, or wasn’t mine? Of course, if I’d been a big, strapping guy, he wouldn’t have had a problem with it. You can always tell a new cop from a veteran. New ones still judge a lot on appearance, once you’ve been on the cop for a few years, you stop doing that. Because by then you’ve learned that what’s on the outside doesn’t tell you that much about what’s on the inside. A cute little old lady can pull a trigger just as well as a big scary looking guy. Rookies don’t know that yet. They haven’t learned the lesson that you can’t tell by looking.
Officer Douglas didn’t shorten his stride for me, and he didn’t need to. I was used to walking scenes with Dolph, who made Douglas look petite. I kept up with him even in the high-heeled boots. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Probably just as well.
Some of the police on this side of the river don’t know me on sight. They thought what Douglas had though
t, that I worked here, because they catcalled after us, “Hey, Dougie, going to get a piece. No lap dances on company time, Douglas.” And worse. I ignored it all. It was four in the morning, and I hadn’t been to bed yet, I didn’t care. Besides, I’d learned the hard way that the more attention you pay to shit like that, the more you have to shovel. Ignore it, and it usually goes away, because it just isn’t any fun if they don’t get a rise out of you. Besides, they were teasing Douglas more than me. I was just the nameless girl who gave them an excuse.
He ignored it, but his face was blazing by the time we got to the main doors. He actually held the door for me, and I let him. There’d been a point in my life when I would not have let him hold the door. But with his face already burning with embarrassment, I wasn’t going to arm wrestle him for the door. I might have to work with him again, so screw it, he could hold the door. Besides, if I put him on the spot about the door, it would have given his coworkers more to tease him about, and I didn’t want that.
We went through the glass doors into a little entry area that reminded me of the front of a nice restaurant, complete with a little desk and a maître d’. Though that probably wasn’t the tall guy’s official title. But hey, he was wearing a white suit jacket with a tie, he did look like a maître d’. When I’d seen him last, he was tall and self-assured and had taken my name and Asher’s and called on a phone to have a “hostess” escort us in. Now he leaned on his counter, head in his hands, looking ill.
There were bathrooms off to the left, and a short hallway that led into the club. From the door you really couldn’t see into the club. It gave them a last chance to keep out the undesirables, or the underagers, before someone saw breasts. The color scheme was muted blues and purples, and if they hadn’t had silhouettes of naked women on the walls, it would have looked like a restaurant, oh, and the poster advertising that Wednesday was amateur night.
I couldn’t remember the big guy’s name, just couldn’t remember it. But it didn’t matter, because Douglas took me past him without a word. Up the little ramp, and the club spilled out around us. There was a good solid bar area to the left that would have done any club proud, but the rest of the room was all strip club. I mean, what else do you use little round stages for? The room was mostly blues and purples, and maybe other colors. I couldn’t tell for sure, because most of the big room was lit by black light, or other odd lighting, so that the room was lit, but it was still terribly dark. I’d been surprised the first time I was here, it was as if light could be dark, so that though there was no actual shadowed area, the whole room seemed like it was in a shadow.
Anita Blake 12 - Incubus Dreams Page 49
