Liv looked at me from her considerable height as if simply being tall made her intimidating. When I didn't flinch, she smiled. "He is the boss."
I stared up at her. I almost asked why. I could feel her age pressing down on me like a weight. She was six hundred years old. Twice Jean-Claude's age or more. So why wasn't she the boss? I could feel the answer along my skin like a cool wind. Not enough power. She wasn't a master vampire, and no amount of age would change that.
"What are you staring at?" she asked. She looked me right in the eyes and shook her head. "She really is immune to our gaze."
"To your gaze," I said.
She put her hands on her hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you don't have enough juice to do me," I said.
She took a step forward. "How about I just pick you up and squeeze some juice out of you?"
Here was where not having a gun in a holster was going to get me killed. I could get one of the knives out, but unless I was willing for her to come very close, it wouldn't help. I could slip my hand in the purse; most people didn't expect a gun to come out of a purse so small. Of course, if Liv caught me going for the gun, she could get to me before I could draw it. With a holster I'd have tried it. From a purse hanging from a strap, I didn't think so. Vampires are just that fast.
"How many vampire kills do you have now, Anita?" Jean-Claude asked.
The question surprised me, and my answer surprised me more. "Over twenty legal kills."
"How many kills altogether, ma petite?"
"I don't know," I said. It had to be over thirty now, but truthfully, I didn't remember anymore. I didn't know how many lives I'd taken. A bad sign, that.
"Liv is mine, ma petite. You may speak freely in front of her."
I shook my head. "Never admit to murder in front of strangers, Jean-Claude. Just a rule."
Liv looked at me. She didn't seem to like what she saw. "So this is the Executioner." She shook her head. "She's a little on the small side, isn't she?" She stalked around me like I was a horse for sale. When she was at my back, I opened the purse. By the time she came around again, I had the gun out, behind the purse, unobtrusive, though in a pinch I guess I could have shot through the purse. But why, if I didn't have to?
Liv shook her head. "She's pretty, but she's not very impressive." She stood behind Jean-Claude, running her strong hands over his shoulders, his arms. She ended with her hands around his waist, fingers kneading his body.
I was getting very tired of Liv.
"I can do things that no human can do for you, Jean-Claude."
"You are being rude to Anita. I will not remind you of it again." There was a cold, even threat in his voice.
Liv unwrapped herself from him and stood between us, hands on hips. "The great Jean-Claude driven to celibacy by a human. People are laughing behind your back."
"Celibacy?" I asked.
Jean-Claude glanced at me, then sighed. "Until you give up your nunnish ways, ma petite, I am playing monk."
My eyes widened. I couldn't help it. I knew that Richard and I had each had one lover and chosen celibacy afterwards. But I'd never thought about Jean-Claude and what he might be doing to satisfy his needs. Abstinence would not have been one of my choices for him.
"You seem surprised, ma petite."
"I guess anyone who exudes sex the way you do . . . I just never thought about it."
"Yet if you discovered that I had been sleeping with another female, alive or dead, while we were dating, what would you do?"
"Drop you in a hot minute."
"Exactly."
Liv laughed, a loud, unattractive bray of sound. "Even your human doesn't believe you."
Jean-Claude turned to her, his eyes a blaze of sapphire flame. "You say they laugh behind my back."
She nodded, still laughing.
"But only you are laughing to my face."
Her laughter died abruptly like a turned switch. She stared at him.
"A little more submissiveness, Liv, or is this a challenge to my authority?"
She looked startled. "No, I mean . . . I never meant . . ."
He just looked at her. "Then you had best ask my forgiveness, had you not?"
She dropped to one knee. She didn't look afraid, more as if she'd done some huge social gaffe and now had to make amends. "I beg your forgiveness, Master. I forgot myself."
"Yes, you did, Liv. Do not make it a habit."
Liv got to her feet, all smiles, all forgiven. Just like that. The political maneuvering was thick in the air. "It's only that she doesn't look nearly as dangerous as you painted her."
"Anita," Jean-Claude said, "show her what you have in your hand."
I moved the purse to one side, flashing the gun.
"I could have your throat in my hands before you could point that toy," Liv said.
"No," I said, "you couldn't."
"Is that a challenge?" she asked.
"Six hundred years of life, plus or minus a decade," I said. "Don't throw it away for a little grandstanding."
"How did you know my age?"
I smiled. "I am really not in the mood to bluff tonight, Liv. Don't try me."
She stared at me, her extraordinary eyes narrowing. "You are a necromancer, not just a corpse-raiser. I can feel you inside my head, almost like another vampire." She looked at Jean-Claude. "Why couldn't I feel her before?"
"Her power flares when she feels threatened," he said.
This was news to me. To my knowledge, I wasn't using any power right now. But I didn't say it out loud. Now was not the time to ask stupid questions or even smart ones.
Liv stepped to one side, almost as if she was afraid. "We're opening in an hour. I've got work to do." She moved towards the door, never taking her eyes from me.
I watched her move, happy with her reaction but not understanding it.
"Come, Anita," Jean-Claude said, "I want to show you my club."
I let him lead me into the main area of the club. They had gutted the warehouse until it rose three stories straight up with railings around each floor. The main dance floor was huge, shining and slick, gleaming in the subdued light. Track lighting was hidden away so it was hard to tell where the light was coming from.
Things hung from the ceiling. At first glance I thought they were bodies, but they were mannequins, life-size rubber dolls, crash-test dummies. Some were naked, one wrapped in cellophane, some in black leather or vinyl. One rubber doll wore a metal bikini. They were hung from chains at different levels. It was a mobile.
"That's different," I said.
"A promising new artist did it especially for the club."
I shook my head. "It does make a statement." I slipped the gun back into my purse but kept the purse open. That way I was able to get to the gun surprisingly quickly. Besides, I couldn't walk around all night with a loaded gun in my hand. Eventually, your hand starts cramping, no matter how small the gun is.
Jean-Claude glided across the dance floor, and I followed. "Liv was afraid of me. Why?"
He turned gracefully, smiling. "You are the Executioner."
I shook my head. "She said she could feel me in her head like another vamp. What did she mean?"
He sighed. "You are a necromancer, ma petite, and your power grows with use."
"Why would that scare a six-hundred-year-old vampire?"
"You are relentless, ma petite."
"It's one of my best things."
"If I answer your question, will you enjoy my club with me, be my date until the assassin shows up?"
"Thanks for reminding me."
"You had not forgotten."
"No, I hadn't. So, yeah, answer my question and I'll play date."
"Play?"
"Stop stalling and answer the question." I thought of one other question I wanted answered. "Two questions."
He raised his eyebrows, but nodded. "Vampires are given powers in folklore and popular myth that we do not possess: controlling weather, shape
shifting into animals. Necromancers are supposedly able to control all types of undead."
"Control? You don't mean just zombies, do you?"
"No, ma petite."
"So Liv's afraid I'll take her over?"
"Something like that."
"But that's crazy. I can't order vampires around." The moment I said it, I wished I hadn't. It wasn't true. I had raised a vampire once. Once. Once had been enough.
Something must have shown on my face, because Jean-Claude touched my cheek.
"What is it, ma petite? What fills your eyes with such . . . horror?"
I opened my mouth and lied. "If I could order vampires around, Serephina wouldn't have cleaned my clock two months ago."
His face softened. "She is dead, ma petite. Well and truly dead. You saw to that." He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. His lips were silken soft. He brushed his lips across my forehead, moving his body in closer, comforting me.
It made me feel guilty as hell. I did still have nightmares about Serephina, that much was true. Just saying her name out loud made my stomach clench. Of all the vampires I'd faced, she'd come the closest to getting me. Not killing me, that would happen sooner or later. No, she had nearly made me one of them. Nearly made me want to be one of them. She had offered me something more precious than sex or power. She'd offered me peace. It had been a lie, but as lies go, it had been a good one.
Why not tell Jean-Claude the truth? Well, it was none of his damn business. Frankly, what I'd done frightened me. I didn't want to deal with it. Didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to know what the philosophical ramifications of raising a vampire during daylight hours might be. I was very good at ignoring things I didn't want to deal with.
"Ma petite, you are trembling." He pushed me back from him to search my face.
I shook my head. "There's an assassin out to kill me, and you ask why I'm trembling."
"I know you too well, ma petite. That is not why you tremble."
"I don't like you using me like some kind of bogeyman for vampires. I'm not that scary."
"No, but I have encouraged the illusion."
I pushed away from him. "You mean, you've been telling other vamps that I could control vampires?"
"A hint or two." He smiled, and in that one simple expression, you just knew he was thinking wicked thoughts.
"Why, for heaven's sake?"
"I have taken a lesson from our diplomatic Richard. He has won over many wolves by simply promising to treat them well, not to force them to do things they do not want to do."
"So?" I said.
"I have invited vampires to join my flock with the promise not of fear and intimidation but of safety."
"Like Liv?" He nodded.
"How do you make sure they don't stage a palace revolt?" I asked.
"There are ways."
"Like threatening them with a necromancer," I said.
He smiled. "Indeed."
"Not everyone will believe it."
"I know I don't," a voice said.
15
I turned to find another new vampire. He was tall and slender with skin the color of clean white sheets, but sheets didn't have muscle moving underneath, sheets didn't glide down the steps and pad godlike across a room. His hair fell past his shoulders, a red so pure it was nearly the color of blood. The color screamed against his paleness. He was wearing a black frock coat like something out of the 1700s, but his chest gleamed lean and naked inside it. The heavy cloth was nearly covered in thick embroidery, a green so vivid it gleamed. The embroidery matched his eyes. Green as a cat's eyes, green as an emerald. From the waist down, he was wearing green lycra exercise pants that left little to the imagination. A sash was tied at his waist like a pirate belt, black with green fringe. Knee-high black boots completed the outfit.
I thought I knew all the bloodsuckers in town, but here were two new ones in less than two minutes. "How many new vampires are in the city?" I asked.
"A few," Jean-Claude said. "This is Damian. Damian, this is Anita."
"I feel silly in this outfit," he said.
"But you look splendid, doesn't he, ma petite?"
I nodded. "Splendid is one way of putting it."
Jean-Claude walked around the new vampire, flicking imaginary specks of lint from the coat. "Don't you approve, Anita?"
I sighed. "It's just . . ." I shrugged. "Why do you make everyone around you dress like they stepped out of a sexual fantasy with a high costume budget?"
He laughed, and the sound wrapped around me, tugged at things lower than he'd ever gotten to touch. "Stop that," I said.
"You enjoy it, ma petite."
"Maybe, but stop it anyway."
"Jean-Claude has always had a killer fashion sense," Damian said, "and sex was always one of his favorite pastimes, wasn't it?" There was something about the way he said that last that made it not a compliment.
Jean-Claude faced him. "And yet, for all my foppish ways, here you are, in my lands, seeking my protection."
The pupils in Damian's eyes were swallowed by a rush of green fire. "Thank you so much for reminding me."
"Remember who is master here, Damian, or you will be banished. The council themselves interceded with your old master, rescued you from her. She did not want to give you up. I spoke for you. I ransomed you because I remember what it was like to be trapped. To be forced to do things you didn't want to do. To be used and tormented."
Damian stood a little straighter but didn't look away. "You've made your point. I am . . . grateful to be here." He looked away, then to the floor, and a shudder ran through him. "I am glad to be free of her." When he looked back up, his eyes had returned to normal. He managed a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Wearing a few costumes is not the worst thing I've ever done."
There was a sorrow to his voice that made me want to ask Jean-Claude to let him change into a pair of pants, but I didn't. Jean-Claude was walking a very fine line here. Damian was over five hundred years old. He wasn't a master, but that was still a hell of a lot of power. Jean-Claude might be able to handle Liv and Damian, but if there were more, Master of the City or not, he wasn't up to the job. Which meant these little dominance games were necessary. The others couldn't be allowed to forget who was Master, because once they did, he was done for. If he'd asked for my vote before he put out the invitations, I'd have said no.
A door at the far side of the room opened. It was a black door in the black walls, and it seemed almost magical as a woman stepped out. She was about my own height, with wavy, waist-length brown hair that foamed over the shoulders of her ankle-length black coat. She was wearing a pair of hot turquoise exercise pants with a matching sports bra. Crisscrossing straps went from pants to the bra, emphasizing her small waist. Black vinyl boots reached to her knees, with a small projection that covered the knees. She walked down the steps and strode across the floor with a free-swinging walk that was almost a run. She entered the room like it was her room, or maybe she was her own room, comfortable wherever she went.
She stopped by us, smiling, pleasant, hazel eyes greener because of the strip of turquoise around her neck. "What do you think?"
"You look lovely, Cassandra," Jean-Claude said.
"You look better in yours than I do in mine," Damian said.
"That's a matter of opinion," I said.
The woman looked at me. Her eyes flicked down the length of Damian's body. She met my eyes, and we both laughed.
Damian looked puzzled. Jean-Claude looked at me. "Share your humor with us, ma petite, please."
I met Cassandra's eyes again, swallowed another laugh, and shook my head. I took a few deep breaths. When I was pretty sure I could speak without laughing, I said, "Girl humor, you wouldn't understand."
"Very diplomatic," Cassandra said. "I'm impressed."
"If you knew how hard diplomacy comes to ma petite, you would be even more impressed," Jean-Claude said. He had gotten the joke, as if there'd been any doubt.
D
amian was frowning at us, still puzzled. It was just as well.
Jean-Claude looked from Cassandra to me and back again. "Do you two know each other?"
We shook our heads in unison.
"Cassandra, Anita. My newest wolf, meet the light of my life. Cassandra is one of your guards for the night."
"You're very good. I wouldn't have picked up on it."
Her smile widened. "Richard said you didn't know he was a werewolf at first, either."
Instantly, a little spark of jealousy flared. Of course, if she were a werewolf and with Jean-Claude, then she was one of Richard's followers. "You weren't at the meeting."
"Jean-Claude needed me here. He couldn't do without both Jason and me."
I looked at Jean-Claude. I knew what Jason did for him. He bled Jason when he woke, and sucking blood was damn close to sex for a vampire. "Really," I said.
"Don't worry, ma petite. Cassandra won't share blood with me, either. She and Richard have many similarities. I believe that Richard chose her for me because she bears a certain resemblance to you, not just physically, but a certain je ne sais quoi."
"Je ne sais quoiis French for nothing," I said.
"It means an indefinable something that is difficult to put into words, ma petite. A quality that transcends vocabulary."
"He does talk pretty, doesn't he?" Cassandra said.
"He has his moments," I said. "You can't be draining Jason every morning. Even a werewolf needs a little recoup time."
"Stephen is a willing donor."
"Why wasn't Stephen with you last night?" I asked.
"Is that an accusation?" Jean-Claude asked.
"Just answer the question."
"He had requested an evening off to spend time with his brother. Who am I to stand in the way of familial obligations?" He stared at me while he answered like he wasn't completely happy with the conversation. Tough. Neither was I.
Stephen's own brother had betrayed him, acted as bait for the trap. Damn. "Where is Stephen?"
"He's in the back room," Cassandra said. "He helped me get into this thing. I couldn't reach all the straps." She dropped the coat off her shoulders and turned so I could see her back. The straps formed a tight web, most of them in places you couldn't have fastened without help. She slipped the coat back on and turned, looking at me. "You're taking this alpha female thing seriously, aren't you?"
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