The Killing Dance abvh-6

by Laurell Hamilton

  "I look forward to it."

  Neither vampire offered to shake hands. Sabin glided for the door, the robe trailing behind him, empty. I wondered how much of his lower body was left and decided I didn't want to know.

  Dominic shook my hand again. "Thank you, Anita. You have given us hope." He held my hand and stared into my face as if he could read something there. "And do think about my offer to teach you. There are very few of us who are true necromancers."

  I took back my hand. "I'll think about it. Now I really do have to go."

  He smiled, held the door for Sabin, and out they went. Jean-Claude and I stood a moment in silence. I broke it first. "Can you trust them?"

  Jean-Claude sat on the edge of my desk, smiling. "Of course not."

  "Then why did you agree to let them come?"

  "The council has declared that no master vampires in the United States may quarrel until that nasty law that is floating around Washington is dead. One undead war, and the anti-vampire lobby would push through the law and make us illegal again."

  I shook my head. "I don't think Brewster's Law has a snowball's chance. Vampires are legal in the United States. Whether I agree with it or not, I don't think that's going to change."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "It's sort of hard to say a group of beings is alive and has rights, then change your mind and say killing them on sight is okay again. The ACLU would have a field day."

  He smiled. "Perhaps. Regardless, the council has forced a truce on all of us until the law is decided one way or another."

  "So you can let Sabin in your territory, because if he misbehaves, the council will hunt him down and kill him."

  Jean-Claude nodded.

  "But you'd still be dead," I said.

  He spread his hands, graceful, empty. "Nothing's perfect."

  I laughed. "I guess not."

  "Now, aren't you going to be late for your date with Monsieur Zeeman?"

  "You're being awfully civilized about this," I said.

  "Tomorrow night you will be with me, ma petite. I would be a poor . . . sport to begrudge Richard his night."

  "You're usually a poor sport."

  "Now, ma petite,that is hardly fair. Richard is not dead, is he?"

  "Only because you know that if you kill him, I'll kill you." I held a hand up before he could say it. "I'd try to kill you, and you'd try to kill me, etc." This was an old argument.

  "So, Richard lives, you date us both, and I am being patient. More patient than I have ever been with anyone."

  I studied his face. He was one of those men who was beautiful rather than handsome, but the face was masculine; you wouldn't mistake him for female, even with the long hair. In fact, there was something terribly masculine about Jean-Claude, no matter how much lace he wore.

  He could be mine: lock, stock, and fangs. I just wasn't sure I wanted him. "I've got to go," I said.

  He pushed away from my desk. He was suddenly standing close enough to touch. "Then go, ma petite."

  I could feel his body inches from mine like a shimmering energy. I had to swallow before I could speak. "It's my office. You have to leave."

  He touched my arms lightly, a brush of fingertips. "Enjoy your evening, ma petite." His fingers wrapped around my arms, just below the shoulders. He didn't lean over me or draw me that last inch closer. He simply held my arms, and stared down at me.

  I met his dark, dark blue eyes. There had been a time not so long ago that I couldn't have met his gaze without falling into it and being lost. Now I could meet his eyes, but in some ways, I was just as lost. I raised up on tiptoe, putting my face close to his.

  "I should have killed you a long time ago."

  "You have had your chances, ma petite. You keep saving me."

  "My mistake," I said.

  He laughed, and the sound slid down my body like fur against naked skin. I shuddered in his arms.

  "Stop that," I said.

  He kissed me lightly, a brush of lips, so I couldn't feel the fangs. "You would miss me if I were gone, ma petite. Admit it."

  I drew away from him. His hands slid down my arms, over my hands, until I drew my fingertips across his hands. "I've got to go."

  "So you said."

  "Just get out, Jean-Claude, no more games."

  His face sobered instantly as if a hand had wiped it clean. "No more games, ma petite. Go to your other lover." It was his turn to raise a hand and say, "I know you are not truly lovers. I know you are resisting both of us. Brave, ma petite." A flash of something, maybe anger, crossed his face and was gone like a ripple lost in dark water.

  "Tomorrow night you will be with me and it will be Richard's turn to sit at home and wonder." He shook his head. "Even for you I would not have done what Sabin has done. Even for your love, there are things I would not do." He stared at me suddenly fierce, anger flaring through his eyes, his face. "But what I do is enough."

  "Don't go all self-righteous on me," I said. "If you hadn't interfered, Richard and I would be engaged, maybe more, by now."

  "And what? You would be living behind a white picket fence with two point whatever children. I think you lie to yourself more than to me, Anita."

  It was always a bad sign when he used my real name. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means, ma petite, that you are as likely to thrive in domestic bliss as I am." With that, he glided to the door and left. He closed the door quietly but firmly behind him.

  Domestic bliss? Who me? My life was a cross between a preternatural soap opera and an action adventure movie. Sort of As the Casket Turnsmeets Rambo.White picket fences didn't fit. Jean-Claude was right about that.

  I had the entire weekend off. It was the first time in months. I'd been looking forward to this evening all week. But truthfully, it wasn't Jean-Claude's nearly perfect face that was haunting me. I kept flashing on Sabin's face. Eternal life, eternal pain, eternal ugliness. Nice afterlife.

  2

  There were three kinds of people at Catherine's dinner party: the living, the dead, and the occasionally furry. Out of the eight of us, six were human, and I wasn't sure about two of those, myself included.

  I wore black pants, a black velvet jacket with white satin lapels, and an oversized white vest that doubled for a shirt. The Browning 9mm actually matched the outfit, but I kept it hidden. This was the first party Catherine had thrown since her wedding. Flashing a gun might put a damper on things.

  I'd had to take off the silver cross that I always wore and put it in my pocket because there was a vampire standing in front of me and the cross had started glowing when he entered the room. If I'd known there were going to be vamps at the party, I'd have worn a collar high enough to hide the cross. They only glow when they're out in the open, generally speaking.

  Robert, the vampire in question, was tall, muscular, and handsome in a model-perfect sort of way. He had been a stripper at Guilty Pleasures. Now he managed the club. From worker to management: the American dream. His hair was blond, curly, and cut quite short. He was wearing a brown silk shirt that fit him perfectly and matched the dress that his date was wearing.

  Monica Vespucci's health club tan had faded around the edges, but her makeup was still perfect, her short auburn hair styled into place. She was pregnant enough for me to have noticed and happy enough about it to be irritating.

  She smiled brilliantly at me. "Anita, it has been too long."

  What I wanted to say was, "Not long enough." The last time I'd seen her, she had betrayed me to the local master vampire. But Catherine thought she was her friend, and it was hard to disillusion her without telling the whole story. The whole story included some unsanctioned killing, some of it done by me. Catherine's a lawyer and a stickler for law and order. I didn't want to put her in a position where she had to compromise her morals to save my ass. So Monica was her friend, which meant I had been polite all through dinner, from appetizer all the way to dessert. I'd been polite mainly because Monica had been at the oth
er end of the table. Now, unfortunately, we were mingling in the living room and I couldn't seem to shake her.

  "It doesn't seem that long," I said.

  "It's been almost a year." She smiled up at Robert. They were holding hands. "We got married." She touched her glass to the top of her belly. "We got knocked up." She giggled.

  I stared at them both. "You can't get knocked up by a hundred-year-old corpse." Okay, I'd been polite long enough.

  Monica grinned at me. "You can if the body temperature is raised for long enough and you have sex often enough. My obstetrician thinks the hot tub did us in."

  This was more than I wanted to know. "Have you had the amnio yet?"

  The smile faded from her face, leaving her eyes haunted. I was sorry I'd asked. "We've got another week to wait."

  "I'm sorry, Monica, Robert. I hope the test comes back clean." I did not mention Vlad syndrome, but the words hung on the air. It was rare but not as rare as it used to be. Three years of legalized vampirism and Vlad syndrome was the highest rising birth defect in the country. It could result in some really horrible disabilities, not to mention death for the baby. With that much at stake, you'd think people would be more cautious.

  Robert cradled her against him, and all the light had faded from her face. She looked pale. I felt like a heel.

  "The latest news was that a vampire over a hundred was sterile," I said. "They should update their information, I guess." I meant for it to be comforting, like they hadn't been careless.

  Monica looked at me, and there was no gentleness in her eyes when she said, "Worried?"

  I stared at her all pale and pregnant and wanted to slap her anyway. I was not sleeping with Jean-Claude. But I was not going to stand there and justify myself to Monica Vespucci—or anyone else, for that matter.

  Richard Zeeman entered the room. I didn't actually see him enter. I felt it. I turned and watched him walk towards us. He was six foot one, nearly a foot taller than me. Another inch and we couldn't have kissed without a chair. But it would have been worth the effort. He wove between the other guests, saying a word here and there. His smile flashed white and perfect in his permanently tanned skin as he talked to these new friends that he'd managed to charm at dinner. Not with sex appeal or power but with sheer good will. He was the world's biggest boy scout, the original hail fellow, well met. He liked people and was a wonderful listener, two qualities that are highly underrated.

  His suit was dark brown, his shirt a deep orangey gold. The tie was a brighter orange with a line of small figures down the middle of it. You had to be standing right next to him to realize the figures were Warner Brothers cartoons.

  He'd tied his shoulder-length hair back from his face in a version of a french braid, so the illusion was that his brown hair was very short. It left his face clean and very visible. His cheekbones were perfect, sculpted high and graceful. His face was masculine, handsome, with a dimple to soften it. It was the kind of face that would have made me shy in high school.

  He noticed me watching him and smiled. His brown eyes sparkled with the smile, filling with heat that had nothing to do with room temperature. I watched him walk the last few feet, and felt heat rise up my neck into my face. I wanted to undress him, to touch his bare skin, to see what was under that suit. I wanted that very badly. I wouldn't, because I wasn't sleeping with Richard, either. I wasn't sleeping with the vampire or the werewolf. Richard was the werewolf. It was his only fault. Okay, maybe one other: he'd never killed anybody. That last fault might get him killed someday.

  I slid my left arm around his waist, under the unbuttoned jacket. The solid warmth of him beat like a pulse against my body. If we didn't have sex soon, I was simply going to explode. What price morals?

  Monica stared at me very steadily, studying my face. "That's a lovely necklace. Who got it for you?"

  I smiled and shook my head. I was wearing a black velvet choker with a cameo, edged by silver filigree. Hey, it matched the outfit. Monica was pretty sure Richard hadn't given it to me, which meant, to Monica, that Jean-Claude had. Good old Monica. She never changed.

  "I bought it to match the outfit," I said.

  She widened her eyes in surprise. "Oh, really?" like she didn't believe me.

  "Really. I'm not much into gifts, especially jewelry."

  Richard hugged me. "That's the truth. She's a very hard woman to spoil."

  Catherine joined us. Her copper-colored hair flowed around her face in a wavy mass. She was the only one I knew with curlier hair than mine, but its color was more spectacular. If asked, most people described her from the hair outward. Delicate makeup hid the freckles and drew attention to her pale, grey green eyes. Her dress was the color of new leaves. I'd never seen her look better.

  "Marriage seems to agree with you," I said, smiling.

  She smiled back. "You should try it sometime."

  I shook my head. "Thanks a lot."

  "I have to steal Anita away for just a moment." At least she didn't say she needed help in the kitchen. Richard would have known that was a lie. He was a much better cook than I was.

  Catherine led me back to the spare bedroom where the coats were piled in a heap. There was one real fur coat draped over the pile. I was betting I knew who owned it. Monica liked being close to dead things.

  As soon as the door was shut, Catherine grabbed my hands and giggled, I swear. "Richard is wonderful. My junior high science teachers never looked like that."

  I smiled, and it was one of those big, dopey smiles. The silly kind that say you're in horrible lust if not love, maybe both, and it feels good even if it is stupid.

  We sat down on the bed, pushing the coats to one side. "He is handsome," I said, my voice as neutral as I could make it.

  "Anita, don't give me that. I've never seen you glow around anyone."

  "I don't glow."

  She grinned at me and nodded. "Yes, you do."

  "Do not," I said, but it was hard to be sullen when I wanted to smile. "All right, I like him, a lot. Happy?"

  "You've been dating him for nearly seven months. Where's the engagement ring?"

  I did frown at her then. "Catherine, just because you're deliriously happily married doesn't mean everyone else has to be married, too."

  She shrugged and laughed.

  I stared into her shining face and shook my head. There had to be more to Bob than met the eye. He was about thirty pounds heavier than he should have been, balding, with small round glasses on a rather nondescript face. He did not have a sparkling personality, either. I'd been ready to give her the thumbs down until I saw the way he looked at Catherine. He looked at her like she was the whole world, and it was a nice, safe, wonderful world. A lot of people are pretty, and clever repartee is on every television set, but dependability, that's rare.

  "I didn't bring Richard here to get your stamp of approval; I knew you'd like him."

  "Then why did you keep him such a secret? I've tried to meet him a dozen times."

  I shrugged. The truth was because I knew she'd get that light in her eyes. That maniacal gleam that your married friends get when you're not married and you're dating anyone. Or worse yet, not dating, and they're trying to fix you up. Catherine had the look now.

  "Don't tell me you planned this entire party just so you could meet Richard?"

  "Partly. How else was I ever going to?"

  There was a knock on the door.

  "Come in," Catherine said.

  Bob opened the door. He still looked ordinary to me, but from the light in Catherine's face, she saw something else. He smiled at her. The smile made his whole face glow and I could see something shining and fine. Love makes us all beautiful. "Sorry to interrupt the girl talk, but there's a phone call for Anita."

  "Did they say who it is?"

  "Ted Forrester; says it's business."

  My eyes widened. Ted Forrester was an alias for a man I knew as Edward. He was a hit man who specialized in vampires, lycanthropes, or anything else that wasn'
t quite human. I was a licensed vampire hunter. Occasionally, our paths crossed. We might even on some level be friends, maybe.

  "Who's Ted Forrester?" Catherine asked.

  "Bounty hunter," I said. Ted, Edward's alias, was a bounty hunter with papers to prove it, all nice and legal. I stood and went for the door.

  "Is something wrong?" Catherine asked. Not much got past her, which was one of the reasons I avoided her when I was ass deep in alligators. She was smart enough to figure out when things were off-center but she didn't carry a gun. If you can't defend yourself, you are cannon fodder. The only thing that kept Richard from being cannon fodder was that he was a werewolf. Although refusing to kill people made him almost cannon fodder, shapeshifter or not.

  "I was just hoping not to have to do any work tonight," I said.

  "I thought you had the entire weekend off," she said.

  "So did I."

  I took the phone in the home office they'd set up. They'd divided the room down the middle. One half was decorated in country with teddy bears and miniature gingham rockers, the other half was masculine with hunting prints and a ship in a bottle on the desk. Compromise at its best.

  I picked up the phone and said. "Hello?"

  "It's Edward."

  "How did you get this number?"

  He was quiet for a second. "Child's play."

  "Why did you hunt me down, Edward? What's up?"

  "Interesting choice of words," he said.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I was just offered a contract on your life, for enough money to make it worth my while."

  It was my turn to be quiet. "Did you take it?"

  "Would I be calling you if I had?"

  "Maybe," I said.

  He laughed. "True, but I'm not going to take it."

  "Why not?"

  "Friendship."

  "Try again," I said.

  "I figure I'll get to kill more people guarding you. If I take the contract, I only get to kill you."

  "Comforting. Did you say guard?"

  "I'll be in town tomorrow."

  "You're that sure someone else will take the contract?"

  "I don't even open my door for less than a hundred grand, Anita. Someone will take the hit, and it'll be someone good. Not as good as me, but good."