“What color was it?” Requiem said in a voice that had fallen away to emptiness, the way some of the old vampires could do.
“White,” Jean-Claude said.
Byron relaxed so suddenly he almost fell. Nathaniel offered him a hand that he took. “I’m all weak-kneed, duckies. Don’t scare me like that. White, we’re safe with white.”
Nathaniel helped him back to the couch, but didn’t stay by him. He moved back toward us.
“What color did your master in England get?” I asked.
“Red first, then black,” Requiem said.
“What does red mean?” I asked.
“Pain,” Jean-Claude said. “It is typically a bid to punish a master, to bring him to heel. The council does not use the Harlequin lightly.”
The name fell into the room like a stone dropped down a well. You strained to hear the splash. I leaned my face in against Jean-Claude’s chest. There was no heartbeat to hear. He would breathe only when he needed to speak. I raised my head away from his chest. Sometimes it still disturbed me to lay my ear against a silent chest.
Byron broke the silence. “Red means they fuck with you.”
“Like someone has been doing tonight?” I asked.
“Yes,” Requiem said.
“And black?” I asked.
“Death,” Requiem said.
“But doesn’t white mean they just observe us?” Nathaniel said.
“It should,” he said. I’d begun to dread when Requiem answered in short, clipped sentences. The poetry might occasionally get on my nerves, but the short, choppy words meant something had gone wrong, or he was pissed, or both.
“You said you’d explain more about them when I got to Guilty Pleasures. Well, I’m here. Explain.”
“Harlequin is now merely a figure for jest. Once he was, or they were, the Mesnee d’Hellequin. Do you know what the wild hunt is, ma petite?”
“The wild hunt is a common motif all over Europe. A supernatural leader leads a band of devils, or the dead, with spectral hounds and horses. They chase and kill either anyone who crosses their path, or only the evil, and take them to hell. It depends on who you read whether it’s a punishment to join the hunt, or a reward. It’s usually considered really bad to be outside when the hunt goes by.”
“As always you surprise me, ma petite.”
“Well, it’s such a widespread story that there has to be some basis for it, but it hasn’t been seen for real since the time of one of the Henrys in England. I think Henry the Second, but I’m not a hundred percent on that one. Usually the leader of the hunt is some local dead bad guy, or the devil. But before Christianity got hold of it, a lot of the Norse gods were said to lead it. Odin’s mentioned a lot, but sometimes goddesses like Hel, or Holda—though Holda’s version gave gifts as well as punishment. Some of the other hunts did, too, but generally it was really bad to get caught, or even see them ride by.”
“Harlequin is one of those leaders,” Jean-Claude said.
“That’s a new one on me, but then I haven’t read up on it since college. I think the only reason it stuck with me is that it’s such a widespread story, and it stops abruptly a few hundred years ago. Almost every other legend that has that many witness stories is true. Or at least that’s what I’ve found. So why did it stop? Why did the wild hunt just stop riding, if it was real?”
“It is real, ma petite.”
I looked at him. “Are you saying it was vampires?”
“I am saying that the legend existed and we took advantage of it. The Harlequin adopted the persona of the wild hunt. For it was something that people already feared.”
“Vampires scare people already, Jean-Claude. You guys didn’t need to pretend to be Norse gods to be frightening.”
“The Harlequin and his family were not trying to frighten people, ma petite. They were trying to frighten other vampires.”
“You guys already scare each other; Mommie Dearest proves that.”
“Early in our history, Marmee Noir decided we were too dangerous. That we needed something to keep us in check. She created the idea of the Harlequin. As you say, ma petite, there were so many wild hunts over the face of Europe, what was one more? Vampires begin life as people, and the idea of the wild hunt was something many already feared.”
“Okay, so what does this fake wild hunt have to do with us?”
“They are not fake, ma petite. They are a supernatural troop that can fly, that can punish the wicked and kill mysteriously and quickly.”
“They aren’t the original wild hunt, Jean-Claude; that makes them fake in my book.”
“As you will, but they are the closest thing that vampires have to police. They are taken from all the major bloodlines. They owe allegiance to no one line. They are called upon when the council is divided. They are divided about us, about me.”
“What do they do, exactly?” Nathaniel asked.
“Disguise and subterfuge are their meat and drink. They are assassins, spies of the highest order. No one knows who they are. No one has ever seen their faces and lived. They come to us masked if they mean us no harm. Masked in the manner of Venice when the rich and powerful wore masks, caps, and hats, so all looked alike, and none could be distinguished from the other. If they appear before us in those costumes, then they are merely here to observe. If they appear in the masks of their namesakes, then it could go either way. They could be merely observing, or they could mean to kill us. They would wear their namesakes, both to hide their faces and to let us know that if we do not cooperate they could turn deadly.”
“What do you mean, namesakes?” I asked.
“There is only one Harlequin at a time, but there are other Harlequin as a group name. Whatever names they had once, they have adopted the names and masks of the commedia dell’arte.”
“I don’t know the term,” I said.
“It was a type of theatre that flourished before I was born, but it gave rise to many characters. The women were not originally masked on stage, but there are those among Harlequin’s band that have taken female personas; whether they are actually women or only seek to confuse the matter is open for debate, but does not truly matter. As for namesakes, there are dozens, but some names have been known for centuries: Harlequin, of course; Punchinello; Scaramouche; Pierrot or Pierrette; Columbine; Hanswurst; Il Dottore. There could be dozens more, or a hundred. No one knows how many are in the Harlequin’s raid. Most of the time they will only appear in nearly featureless masks of black and white. They will simply say, ‘We are the Harlequin.’ The best possible scenario is that we never learn who individually has come to our city.”
“How serious a breach of vampy etiquette is it that we get a white mask but they’re acting like it’s red?” I asked.
Jean-Claude and Requiem exchanged a look that I couldn’t read exactly, but it wasn’t good.
“Talk to me, damn it,” I said.
“It should not be happening, ma petite. Either this is an attack by some other vampire powerful enough to fool us all, or the Harlequin are breaking their own rules. They are deadly within their rules; if the rule of law were to break down…” He closed his eyes and hugged me, hugged me tight.
Nathaniel came to stand beside us, his face uncertain. “What can we do about it?”
Jean-Claude looked at him, and smiled. “Very practical, mon minet, as practical as our Micah.” He turned to look at Requiem, whose smile had vanished. “Is this how it began in London?”
“Yes, one of the Harlequin could increase our emotions of desire. But only emotions we already owned. It was very subtle at first, then worsened. Truthfully, what has happened tonight to Anita went unnoticed among us. It simply seemed to be couples finally deciding to consummate their friendships.”
“How did it worsen?” Nathaniel asked.
“I don’t know if it was the same vampire, but they began to interfere when we used the powers of Belle’s line. Making the lust go terribly wrong.”
“How terribly?�
�� I asked.
“The ardeur at its worst,” he said.
“Shit,” I said.
Nathaniel touched my shoulders and Jean-Claude opened his arms to pull the other man into our embrace, so that he hugged us both, and I was firmly in the middle of them. It was as if I could finally catch my breath. “Better and better,” I said.
“The more you touch your power base, the more surety you have against them, at first,” Requiem said.
“What do you mean, ‘at first’?” I asked.
“Eventually, our master was tormented by them no matter who he touched. Whatever he touched turned ill, and whatever touched his skin was poisoned.”
“Poisoned with what?” I asked.
“They turned our own powers against us, Anita. We were a kiss made up almost entirely of Belle Morte’s line. They turned our gifts against us so that the blade bit deep, and we bled for them.”
“They didn’t torment Elinore and Roderick,” Byron said from the couch.
The three of us looked at him, still clinging to each other.
“Not true. She was bothered at first like all of us. So smitten with Roderick she couldn’t do her job.”
“But, how did you say it, when the madness overcame us, they were spared,” Byron said. There was a tone to his voice that held anger, or something close to it.
Jean-Claude hugged us both, and Nathaniel hugged back until it was hard to breathe, not from some vampire trick, but from the strength in their bodies. Jean-Claude eased away, and Nathaniel did the same. Jean-Claude moved us to the desk edge. He leaned upon it, drawing my back in against his body. He held a hand out to Nathaniel and drew him to the desk. Nathaniel sat on the desk, his feet dangling in the air. But he kept his hand in the vampire’s, as if afraid to let go. I guess we all were.
“What do you mean, madness?” I asked.
“We fucked our brains out, dearie.”
I tried to think of a polite way to say it.
Byron laughed. “The look on your face, Anita. Yes, sex is our coin, and we did a lot of it, but you want to have a choice, don’t you?” He looked past us to Requiem. “You don’t like having your choices taken away, do you, lover?”
Requiem gave him a look that should have stopped his heart, let alone his words, but Byron was already dead, and the dead are made of stouter stuff than the living. Or maybe Byron just didn’t care anymore. “Requiem found that men were on the menu, didn’t you, lover?” There was a purring insolence in his voice, bordering on hatred.
I got the implications; they’d become lovers after the Harlequin messed with them all badly enough. Requiem didn’t do men, period. Belle had punished him over the centuries for refusing to bed men. To refuse Belle Morte anything was never a good idea, so he’d been serious about saying no. Someone on the Harlequin’s team was very good at manipulating emotions. Scary good.
I hugged Jean-Claude’s arm tight to me and reached out to Nathaniel. I ended up touching his hip, just running my hand lightly along it. Shapeshifters were always touching each other, and I’d begun to pick up the habit. Tonight I didn’t fight it.
“You are never to speak of it,” Requiem said, his voice low and very serious.
“How much does it bother you to know that I’ve had sex with Anita, too?”
Requiem stood in one swift motion, the black cloak swinging out, revealing that he wasn’t wearing much under the cloak.
“Stop,” Jean-Claude said.
Requiem froze, his eyes blazing with blue-green light. His shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, as if he’d been running.
“I believe that lust is not the only emotion the Harlequin can incite,” Jean-Claude said.
It took Requiem a moment, and then he frowned and turned those sparkling eyes to us. “Our anger.”
Jean-Claude nodded.
The light began to fade, like light moving away through water. “What are we to do, Jean-Claude? If they do not even observe their own rules, we are doomed.”
“I will ask for a meeting with them,” he said.
“You’ll what?” Byron said, his voice squeaking just a little.
“I will ask for a meeting between them and us.”
“You do not seek the Harlequin out, Jean-Claude,” Requiem said. “You hide, cowering in the grass, praying that they pass you by. You do not invite them closer.”
“The Harlequin are honorable. What is happening is not honorable behavior.”
“You are mad,” Byron said.
“You think one of them is disobeying the rules,” I said, quietly.
“I hope so,” Jean-Claude said.
“Why hope so?” I asked.
“Because if what is happening is being done with the full weight and approval of the Harlequin behind it, then Requiem is correct, we are doomed. They will play with us, then destroy us.”
“I don’t do doomed,” I said.
He kissed the top of my head. “I know, ma petite, but you do not understand what force is against us.”
“Explain it to me.”
“I have told you, they are the bogeymen of vampirekind. They are what we fear in the dark.”
“Not true,” I said.
“They’re bloody frightening, lover,” Byron said. “We do fear them.”
“The bogeyman of all vampires is Marmee Noir, Mommie Dearest, your queen. That’s who scares the shit out of all of you.”
They were quiet for a heartbeat or two. “Yes, the Harlequin fear the Queen of Darkness, our creator,” Jean-Claude said.
“Everyone fears the dark,” Requiem said, “but if the Mother of All Darkness is our nightmare, then the Harlequin are the swift sword of the dark.”
Byron nodded. “No arguments from me on that one, duckie. Everyone fears her.”
“What are you suggesting, ma petite?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying, I’ve stood in the dark and seen her rise above me like a black ocean. She’s invaded my dreams. I’ve seen the room where her body lies, heard her voice whisper through my head. Tasted rain and jasmine choking on my tongue.” I shivered and could almost feel her moving restless in the dark. She lay in a room with windows, and they kept a fire below her, a continuous watch. She’d fallen into a “sleep” longer ago than most of them remembered. Once I’d thought they watched to celebrate her awakening, but I’d begun to realize most of them were as afraid of her as I was, which meant they were scared shitless. Marmee Noir liked me for some reason. I interested her. And from thousands of miles away, she messed with me. She’d made a cross melt into my hand. I’d have the scar until I died.
“Speak of the devil and you bring him closer,” Requiem said.
I nodded and tried to think of something else. Oh, yeah, I knew what to think about. “The Harlequin are just vampires, right, which means they’re subject to your laws, right?”
“Oui.”
“Then let’s use the law against them.”
“What do you propose, ma petite?”
“This is a direct challenge to our authority. The council has forbidden any Master of the City to fight in the United States until the law decides whether you guys are staying legal or not.”
“You’re not suggesting that we fight them?” Byron said.
“I’m saying that we act in accordance with the law,” I said.
“Don’t you understand, Anita,” Byron said, “the Harlequin are who we turn to when the bad things happen, sort of. They are the police for us.”
“When the police go bad, they aren’t police anymore,” I said.
“What are they?” he asked.
“Criminals.”
“You cannot seriously suggest that we are to fight the Harlequin?” Requiem said.
“Not exactly,” I said.
“What exactly then?”
I looked up at Jean-Claude. “What would you do if someone powerful moved in on us like this?”
“I would contact the council in hopes of avoiding open war.”
“I thought not everyone on the council liked us,” Nathaniel said.
“They do not, but if the Harlequin are breaking the law, then that would take precedence over more petty concerns,” Jean-Claude said.
“Have you forgotten how petty the council can be?” Requiem said.
“Non, but not all on the council have forgotten what it means to live in the real world.”
“Which council member will you contact first?” Byron asked.
There was a knock on the door. All of us with heartbeats jumped. Nathaniel gave that nervous laugh, and I said, “Shit.”
Lisandro’s voice: “There’s a delivery for you, Jean-Claude.”
“It can wait,” he said, his voice showing some of the strain.
“The letter with it says you’re expecting it.”
“Enter,” Jean-Claude said.
Lisandro opened the door, but it was Clay who walked in with a white box in his hands. A box just like the one I’d found in the restroom. I think I stopped breathing, because when I remembered to breathe, it came in a gasp.
Clay looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Who delivered this?” Jean-Claude asked.
“It was just sitting by the holy-item check desk.”
“And you just brought it in here,” I said, my voice rising.
“No, give me some credit. We checked it out. The note says Jean-Claude is expecting it.”
“What is it?” I asked, but was afraid I knew.
“A mask,” Clay said. He was looking at all of us now, trying to see why we were so upset.
“What color is it?” Jean-Claude’s voice was as empty as I’d ever heard it.
“White.”
The tension level dropped a point or two.
“With little gold musical notes all over it. Didn’t you order it?”
“In a way, I suppose I did,” Jean-Claude said.
I stared up at him and moved away enough so I could see his face clearly. “What do you mean, you suppose you did?”
“I said I wanted to meet with them, did I not?”
“Yeah, but so what?”
“That’s what this mask means, ma petite. It means they wish to meet, not to kill us, or torment, but to talk.”
[Anita Blake 15] - The Harlequin Page 9
