Curcus of the Damned

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I thought about it for a minute. I thought about telling him the truth. Humans First might not be up to tangling with the Master, but Edward was. We could kill him together, a team. My life would be a lot simpler. I shook my head and sighed. Shit.

  "I can't, Edward."

  "Won't," he said.

  I nodded. "Won't."

  "If I believe you, Anita, it means I need the name of the Master. It means you are the only human who knows that name." The friendly banter seeped out of his face like melting ice. His eyes were as empty and pitiless as a winter sky. There was no one home that I could talk to.

  "You don't want to be the only human who knows the name, Anita."

  He was right. I didn't, but what could I say? "Take it or leave it, Edward."

  "Save yourself a lot of pain, Anita; tell me the name."

  He believed. Hot damn. I lowered my eyes to look down into my coffee so he wouldn't see the flash of triumph in my eyes. When I looked back up, I had my face under control. Me and Meryl Streep.

  "I don't give in to threats, you know that."

  He nodded. He finished his coffee and sat the mug in the middle of the table. "I will do whatever is necessary to finish this job."

  "I never doubted that," I said. He was talking about torturing me for information. He sounded almost regretful, but that wouldn't stop him. One of Edward's primary rules was "Always finish a job."

  He wouldn't let a little thing like friendship ruin his perfect record.

  "You saved my life, and I saved yours," he said. "It doesn't buy you anything now. You understand that?"

  I nodded. "I understand."

  "Good." He stood up. I stood up. We looked at each other. He shook his head. "I'll find you tonight, and I'll ask again."

  "I won't be bullied, Edward." I was finally getting a little mad. He had come in here asking for information; now he was threatening me. I let the anger show. No acting needed.

  "You're tough, Anita, but not that tough." His eyes were neutral, but wary, like those of a wolf I'd seen once in California. I'd just walked around a tree and there it had been, standing. I froze. I had never really understood what neutral meant until then. The wolf didn't give a damn if it hurt me or not. My choice. Threaten it, and the shit hit the fan. Give it room to run, and it would run. But the wolf didn't care; it was prepared either way. I was the one with my pulse in my throat, so startled that I'd stopped breathing. I held my breath and wondered what the wolf would decide. It finally loped off through the trees.

  I'd relearned how to breathe and gone back down to the campsite. I had been scared, but I could still close my eyes and see the wolf's pale grey eyes. The wonder of staring at a large predator without any cage bars between us. It had been wonderful.

  I stared up at Edward now and knew that this, too, was wonderful in its way. Whether I had known the information or not, I wouldn't have told him. No one bullied me. No one. That was one of my rules.

  "I don't want to have to kill you, Edward."

  He smiled then. "You kill me?" He was laughing at me.

  "You bet," I said.

  The laughter seeped out of his eyes, his lips, his face, until he stared at me with his neutral, predator eyes.

  I swallowed and remembered to take slow, even breaths. He would kill me. Maybe. Maybe not.

  "Is the Master worth one of us dying?" I asked.

  "It's a matter of principle," he said.

  I nodded. "Me, too."

  "We know where we stand, then," he said.

  "Yeah."

  He walked towards the door. I followed, and unlocked the door for him. He paused in the doorway. "You've got until full dark tonight."

  "The answer will be the same."

  "I know," he said. He walked out without even glancing back. I watched him until he disappeared down the stairs. Then I shut the door and locked it. I stood leaning my back against the door and tried to think of a way out.

  If I told Jean-Claude, he might be able to kill Edward, but I didn't give humans to the monsters. Not for any reason. I could tell Edward about Jean-Claude. He might even be able to kill the Master. I could even help him.

  I tried picturing Jean-Claude's perfect body riddled with bullets, covered in blood. His face blown away by a shotgun. I shook my head. I couldn't do it. I didn't know why exactly, but I couldn't hand Jean-Claude over to Edward.

  I couldn't betray either of them. Which left me ass-deep in alligators. So what else was new?

  11

  I stood on the shore under a black fringe of trees. The black lake lapped and rolled away into the dark. The moon hung huge and silver in the sky. The moonlight made glittering patterns on the water. Jean-Claude rose from the water. Water was streaming in silver lines from his hair and shirt. His short black hair was in tight curls from being wet. The white shirt clung to his body, making his nipples clear and hard against the cloth. He held out his hand to me.

  I was wearing a long, dark dress. It was heavy and hung around me like a weight. Something inside the skirt made it stick out to either side like a tiny malformed hoop. A heavy cloak was pushed back over my shoulders. It was autumn, and the moon was harvest-full.

  Jean-Claude said, "Come to me."

  I stepped off the shore and sank into the water. It filled the skirt, soaking into the cloak. I tore the cloak off, letting it sink out of sight. The water was warm as bath water, warm as blood. I raised my hand to the moonlight, and the liquid that streamed down it was thick and dark and had never been water.

  I stood in the shallows in a dress that I had never imagined, by a shore I did not know, and stared at the beautiful monster as he moved towards me, graceful and covered in blood.

  I woke gasping for air, hands clutching at the sheets like a lifeline. "You promised to stay out of my dreams, you son of a bitch," I whispered.

  The radio clock beside the bed read 2:00 P.M. I'd been asleep for ten hours. I should have felt better, but I didn't. It was as if I'd been running from nightmare to nightmare, and hadn't really gotten to rest. The only dream I remembered was the last one. If they had all been that bad, I didn't want to remember the rest.

  Why was Jean-Claude haunting my dreams again? He'd given his word, but maybe his word wasn't worth anything. Maybe.

  I stripped in front of the bathroom mirror. My ribs and stomach were covered in deep, nearly purple bruises. My chest was tight when I breathed, but nothing was broken. The burn on my chest was raw, the skin blackened where it wasn't covered in blisters. A burn hurts all the way down, as if the pain burrows from the skin down to the bone. A burn is the only injury where I am convinced I have nerve endings below skin level. How could it hurt so damn bad, otherwise?

  I was meeting Ronnie at the health club at three. Ronnie was short for Veronica. She said it helped her get more work as a private detective if people assumed she was male. Sad but true. We would lift weights and jog. I slipped a black sports bra very carefully over the burn. The elastic pressed in on the bruises, but everything else was okay. I rubbed the burn with antiseptic cream and taped a piece of gauze over it. A man's red t-shirt with the sleeves and neck cut out went over everything else. Black biker pants, jogging socks with a thin red stripe, and black Nike Airs completed the outfit.

  The t-shirt showed the gauze, but it hid the bruises. Most of the regulars at the health club were accustomed to my coming in bruised or worse. They didn't ask a lot of questions anymore. Ronnie says I was grumpy at them. Fine with me. I like to be left alone.

  I had my coat on, gym bag in hand, when the phone rang. I debated but finally picked it up. "Talk to me," I said.

  "It's Dolph."

  My stomach tightened. Was it another murder? "What's up, Dolph?"

  "We got an ID on the John Doe you looked at."

  "The vampire victim?"

  "Yeah."

  I let out the breath I'd been holding. No more murders, and we were making progress; what could be better?

  "Calvin Barnabas Rupert, friends called hi
m Cal. Twenty-six years old, married to Denise Smythe Rupert for four years. No children. He was an insurance broker. We haven't been able to turn up any ties with the vampire community."

  "Maybe Mr. Rupert was just in the right place at the wrong time."

  "Random violence?" He made it a question.

  "Maybe."

  "If it was random, we got no pattern, nothing to look at."

  "So you're wondering if I can find out if Cal Rupert had any ties to the monsters?"

  "Yes," he said.

  I sighed. "I'll try. Is that it? I'm late for an appointment."

  "That's it. Call me if you find out anything." His voice sounded positively grim.

  "You'd tell me if you found another body, wouldn't you?"

  He gave a snort of laughter. "Make you come down and measure the damn bites, yeah. Why?"

  "Your voice sounds grim."

  The laughter dribbled out of his voice. "You're the one who said there'd be more bodies. You changed your mind on that?"

  I wanted to say, yes, I've changed my mind, but I didn't. "If there is a pack of rogue vampires, we'll be seeing more bodies."

  "Can you think of anything else it could be besides vampires?" he asked.

  I thought about it for a minute, and shook my head. "Not a damn thing."

  "Fine, talk to you later." The phone buzzed dead in my hand before I could say anything. Dolph wasn't much on hello and good-bye.

  I had my back-up gun, a Firestar 9mm, in the pocket of my jacket. There was just no way to wear a holster in exercise clothes. The Firestar only held eight bullets to the Browning's thirteen, but the Browning tended to stick out of my pocket and make people stare. Besides, if I couldn't get the bad guys with eight bullets, another five probably wouldn't help. Of course, there was an extra clip in the zipper pocket of my gym bag. A girl couldn't be too cautious in these crime-ridden times.

  12

  Ronnie and I were doing power circuits at Vic Tanny's. There were two full sets of machines and no waiting at 3:14 on a Thursday afternoon. I was doing the Hip Abduction/Hip Adduction machine. You pulled a lever on the side and the machine went to different positions. The Hip Adduction position looked vaguely obscene, like a gynecological torture device. It was one of the reasons I never wore shorts when we lifted weights. Ronnie either.

  I was concentrating on pressing my thighs together without making the weights clink. Weights clinking means you're not controlling the exercise, or it means you're working with too much weight. I was using sixty pounds. It wasn't too heavy.

  Ronnie lay on her stomach using the Leg Curl, flexing her calves over her back, heels nearly touching her butt. The muscles under her calves bunched and coiled under her skin. Neither of us is bulky, but we're solid. Think Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2.

  Ronnie finished before I did and paced around the machines waiting for me. I let the weights ease back with only the slightest clink. It's okay to clink the weights when you're finished.

  We eased out from the machines and started running on the oval track. The track was bordered by a glass wall that showed the blue pool. A tone man was doing laps in goggles and a black bathing cap. The other side was bordered by the free weight room and the aerobics studio. The ends of the track were mirrored so you could always see yourself running face on. On bad days I could have done without watching myself; on good days it was kind of fun. A way to make sure your stride was even, arms pumping.

  I told Ronnie about the vampire victim as we ran. Which meant we weren't running fast enough. I increased my pace and could still talk. When you routinely do four miles outside in the St. Louis heat, the padded track at Vic Tanny is just not that big a challenge. We did two laps and went back to the machines.

  "What did you say the victim's name was again?" She sounded normal, no strain. I increased our pace to a flat-out run. All talking ceased.

  Arm machines this time. Regular Pull-over for me, Overhead Press for Ronnie, then two laps of the track, then trade machines.

  When I could talk, I answered her question. "Calvin Rupert," I said. I did twelve pull­overs with 100 pounds. Of all the machines, this one is easiest for me. Weird, huh?

  "Cal Rupert?" she asked.

  "That's what his friends called him," I said, "Why?"

  She shook her head. "I know a Cal Rupert."

  I watched her and let my body do the exercise without me. I was holding my breath, which is bad. I remembered to breathe and said, "Tell me."

  "When I was asking questions around Humans Against Vampires during that rash of vampire deaths. Cal Rupert belonged to HAV."

  "Describe him for me."

  "Blond, blue or grey eyes, not too tall, well built, attractive."

  There might be more than one Cal Rupert in St. Louis, but what were the odds that they'd look that much alike? "I'll have Dolph check it out, but if he was a member of HAV, it might mean the vampire kill was an execution."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Some of HAV thinks the only good vampire is a dead vampire." I was thinking of Humans First, Mr. Jeremy Ruebens's little group. Had they killed a vampire already? Was this retaliation?

  "I need to know if Cal was still a member of HAV or if he'd joined a new, more radical group called Humans First."

  "Catchy," Ronnie said.

  "Can you find out for me? If I go down there asking questions, they'll burn me at the stake."

  "Always glad to help my best friend and the police at the same time. A private detective never knows when having the police owe you one may come in handy."

  "True," I said.

  I got to wait for Ronnie this time. On leg machines she was faster. Upper body was my area. "I'll call Dolph as soon as we're finished here. Maybe it's a pattern? A hell of a coincidence if it's not."

  We started around the track and Ronnie said, "So, have you decided what you're wearing to Catherine's Halloween party?"

  I glanced at her, nearly stumbling. "Shit," I said.

  "I take that to mean you forgot about the party. You were bitching about it only two days ago."

  "I've been a little busy, okay?" I said. But it wasn't all right. Catherine Maison-Gillett was one of my best friends. I'd worn a pink prom dress with puff sleeves in her wedding. It had been humiliating. We'd all told the great lie of all bridesmaids. We could cut the dress short and wear it in normal life. No way. Or I could wear it at the next formal occasion I was invited to. How many formals are you invited to once you graduate college? None. At least none where I'd willingly wear a pink, puff-sleeved, hoop-skirted, reject from Gone With the Wind.

  Catherine was throwing her very first party since the wedding. The Halloween festivities started long before dark so that I could make an appearance. When someone goes to that much trouble, you have to show up. Dammit.

  "I made a date for Saturday," I said.

  Ronnie stopped running and stared at me in the mirror. I kept running; if she wanted to ask questions she'd have to catch me first. She caught me.

  "Did you say date?"

  I nodded, saving my breath for running.

  "Talk, Anita." Her voice was vaguely threatening.

  I grinned at her and told her an edited version of my meeting with Richard Zeeman. I didn't leave out much, though.

  "He was naked in a bed the first time you saw him?" She was cheerfully outraged.

  I nodded.

  "You do meet men in the most interesting places," she said.

  We were jogging on the track again. "When's the last time I met a man?"

  "What about John Burke?"

  "Other than him," Jerks did not count.

  She thought about that for a minute. She shook her head. "Too long."

  "Yep," I said.

  We were on our last machine, the last two laps, then stretching, showers, and done. I didn't really enjoy exercising. Neither did Ronnie. But we both needed to be in good shape so we could run away from the bad guys, or run them down. Though I hadn't chased after many villains lately.
I seemed to do a lot more running away.

  We moved over to the open area near the racquetball courts and the tanning rooms. It was the only place with enough room to stretch out. I always stretched before and after exercising. I'd had too many injuries not to be careful.

  I started rotating the neck slowly; Ronnie followed me. "I guess I'll have to cancel the date."

  "Don't you dare," Ronnie said. "Invite him to the party."

  I looked at her. "You've got to be kidding. A first date surrounded by people he doesn't know."

  "Who do you know besides Catherine?" she asked.

  She had a point there. "I've met her new husband."

  "You were in the wedding," Ronnie said.

  "Oh, yeah."

  Ronnie frowned at me. "Be serious, ask him to the party, make plans for the caving next week."

  "Two dates with the same man?" I shook my head. "What if we don't like each other?"

  "No excuses," Ronnie said. "This is the closest you've been to a date in months. Don't blow it."

  "I don't date because I don't have time to date."

  "You don't have time to sleep, either, but you manage it," she said.

  "I'll do it, but he may say no to the party. I would rather not go myself."

  "Why not?"

  I gave her a long look. She looked innocent enough. "I'm an animator, a zombie-queen. Having me at a Halloween party is redundant."

  "You don't have to tell people what you do for a living."

  "I'm not ashamed of it."

  "I didn't say you were," Ronnie said.

  I shook my head. "Just forget it. I'll make the counteroffer to Richard, then we'll go from there."

  "You'll want a sexy outfit for the party now," she said.

  "Do not," I said.

  She laughed. "Do too."

  "All right, all right, a sexy outfit if I can find one in my size three days before Halloween."

  "I'll help you. We'll find something."

  She'd help me. We'd find something. It sounded sort of ominous. Predate jitters. Who, me?

  13

  At 5:15 that afternoon I was on the phone to Richard Zeeman. "Hi, Richard, this is Anita Blake."