The Harlequin ab-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  "What's in there?" Nathaniel asked.

  "A mask," I whispered.

  "Can I see it?"

  I nodded.

  He moved the lid and tissue paper, while I kept searching the happy moviegoers for evil intent. There was a couple staring a little too hard at us, but that could be other things.

  "It looks like someone started to make a mask and stopped before they finished," he said.

  "Yeah, it looks too blank."

  "Why would someone give you this?"

  "Did you see someone carry this in?"

  "It's a big box, Anita. I'd have noticed."

  "Did anyone carry in a bigger-than-average purse?"

  "Not one big enough to hide this."

  "You were standing right there, Nathaniel. You had to see."

  We exchanged a look. "I didn't see this."

  "Shit," I said low and with feeling.

  "Someone was messing with you earlier, and they messed with me to get inside the bathroom," he said.

  "Did you sense anything?" I asked.

  He thought about it, and finally shook his head. "No."

  "Double shit."

  "Call Jean-Claude, now," he said.

  I nodded and handed him the box so I could use my cell phone. Nathaniel wrapped the mask back up while I waited for Jean-Claude to pick up. This time he actually answered his office phone himself. "I got a present," I said.

  "What did our pussycat buy you?" he asked, not offended that I hadn't said hello first.

  "Nathaniel didn't buy it."

  "It is not like you to speak in riddles, ma petite."

  "Ask me what it is," I said.

  "What is it?" and his voice was sliding into that blankness he did so well.

  "A mask."

  "What color is it?"

  "You don't sound surprised," I said.

  "What color is it, ma petite?"

  "What does that matter?"

  "It matters."

  "White, why?"

  He let out a breath I hadn't known he was holding, and spoke softly and heatedly in French for several minutes, until I could get him calmed down enough to speak English to me.

  "It is good news, and bad, ma petite. White means they have come to observe us, not to harm us."

  I moved so that my hand covered my mouth as I talked. I wanted to keep an eye on the drifting crowd, but I didn't want some human to overhear what promised to be a tricky conversation. But I didn't want to go outside until I found out how much danger we were in. The crowd was both a danger and a help. Most bad guys are reluctant to start cutting people up in a crowd. "What color would mean harm?" I asked.

  "Red."

  "Okay, who is they, because I assume this means we've been contacted by the mystery whoever."

  "It does."

  "So who are they, what are they? And why the hell this cloak-and-dagger shit with the mask? Why not a letter or a phone call?"

  "I am not certain. They would normally have sent the mask to me, as Master of the City."

  "Why send it to me, then?"

  "I do not know, ma petite" He sounded angry, and he didn't usually get angry this easily.

  "You're scared."

  "Very."

  "I guess we come to the Circus tonight, after all."

  "Apologize to Nathaniel for this ruining his date with you, but oui, you must come here. We have much to discuss."

  "Who are these guys, Jean-Claude?"

  "The name will mean nothing to you."

  "Just tell me."

  "The Harlequin, they are the Harlequin."

  "Harlequin, you mean like the French clown?"

  "Nothing half so pleasant, ma petite. Come home and I will explain."

  "How much more danger are we in?" The couple was still staring at us. The woman nudged the man, and he shook his head.

  "White means they will observe only. This could be the only contact we have with them, if we are very, very lucky. They will watch us, then leave."

  "Why tell us at all, if that's all they plan to do?"

  "Because it is our law. They may pass through a territory, or hunt someone across a territory, much as you hunt wicked vampires across state lines, but if they are planning to be within an area for more than a few nights, then they are bound by law to contact the Master of the City."

  "So this could be all about Malcolm and his church."

  "It could."

  "You don't believe that."

  "It would be too easy, ma petite, and nothing about the Harlequin is ever easy."

  "What are they?"

  "They are the closest thing to police that we vampires have. But they are also spies, assassins. It was they who slew the Master of London when he went mad."

  "Elinore and the other vamps didn't say that."

  "Because they could not."

  "You mean, if they had told anyone who killed their master, they'd have been killed?"

  "Yes."

  "That's crazy, they all knew it."

  "Among themselves, oui, but not to outsiders, and once the Harlequin leave town the secrecy takes effect once more."

  "So we can talk about them now, but later, when they leave, it's forbidden to mention them?"

  "Oui."

  "That's insane."

  "It is law."

  "Have I told you recently that some of the vampire laws are stupid?"

  "You have never put it quite that way."

  "Well, I'm putting it that way now."

  "Come home, ma petite, or better yet, come to Guilty Pleasures. I will tell you more of the history of the Harlequin when I have you safe with me. We should be safe. It is a white mask. We are expected to act as if there is nothing wrong. So I will finish my work night."

  "You've fed the ardeur. You're done for the night."

  "There are still acts to manage and my voice to lend to a microphone."

  "Fine. Well be there."

  Nathaniel whispered, "They're coming over."

  I glanced up to find the couple that had been staring so hard walking toward us. They didn't look dangerous, and they were definitely human. I whispered into the telephone, "Are all the Harlequin vamps?"

  "To my knowledge, why?"

  "We've got a pair of humans walking toward us."

  "Come to me, ma petite, and bring Nathaniel."

  "Love ya," I said.

  "And I you."

  We hung up so I could give my attention to the couple. The woman was petite and blond, and embarrassed and eager at the same time. The man was grumpy, or embarrassed.

  "You're Brandon," she said to Nathaniel.

  He admitted it, and I watched his stage smile come on line. He was happy to see her, and all the worry was just gone. He was on.

  I didn't really have an "on" face. I wasn't really sure what I was supposed to do while strange women came up and said things to my boyfriend.

  "But you were on stage, too," she said, turning to me. I'd been recognized as Anita Blake, vampire hunter, zombie raiser, but never from that one night I'd gone on stage at Guilty Pleasures. Nathaniel had picked me out of the crowd instead of some stranger. I'd agreed to it, but I hadn't wanted to do it again.

  I nodded. "Once." I felt Nathaniel tense beside me. I should have just said yes. Nathaniel worried that I was embarrassed by him, and I wasn't. It was fine that he was a stripper, but it wasn't my gig. I was not nearly exhibitionist enough for it.

  "I'd finally persuaded Greg to go with me to the club, and he was glad he came, weren't you?" She turned to the grumpy boyfriend.

  He finally nodded, and he wouldn't look at me. Definitely embarrassed. That made two of us. None of my clothes had come off on stage, but I still didn't like being reminded of it.

  "It was so erotic, what you did on stage together," she said, "so sensual."

  Nathaniel said, "So glad you enjoyed the show. I'll be on stage tomorrow night."

  Her face glowed with happiness. "I know. I check the website. But it doesn't mention your frien
d." She nodded at me. "Greg wants to know when you'll be back, don't you, Greg?" She was looking at me when she said it.

  What I thought in my head was, When hell freezes over, I don't know what I would have said out loud, because Nathaniel saved us. "You know how you had to persuade Greg to come to the club?"

  She nodded.

  "I had to persuade her to get on stage."

  "Really?" she said.

  "Really," Nathaniel said.

  Greg finally spoke. "Was it your first time on stage?"

  "Yes," I said, wondering how to get out of this conversation without being rude. I'd have been rude, but Nathaniel wouldn't be. Bad for business, and rude just wasn't one of the things that he did much.

  "It didn't seem like your first time," and he looked at me then. The look was the kind you never want a strange man to give you. Too much heat, too much sex.

  I looked at Nathaniel. The look said clearly, End this conversation, or I will.

  Nathaniel understood the look; he'd seen it enough. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show, and I hope to see you both again tomorrow. Have a wonderful night." He started to move away, and I followed.

  Greg moved closer to us. "Will you be there tomorrow night?"

  Nathaniel smiled, and said, "Of course."

  He shook his head. "Not you, her. What's her name?"

  I didn't want to give him my name. Don't ask me why, but I didn't. Nathaniel came to the rescue again. "Nicky."

  I gave him a look, but my back was to them, so they couldn't see it. Greg said, "Nicky?"

  Nathaniel took my arm and kept us moving, balancing the box in his other hand. "When she's on stage," he said.

  "When will Nicky be at the club?"

  "Never," I said, and walked faster. Nathaniel kept up with me. When we were clear of his, our, fans, his face showed dread. Dreading the fight that was coming.

  Chapter Five

  I WASN'T SO angry that I forgot to check out the crowd as we moved, but I had to force the anger down to be able to see straight. I was actually more embarrassed than angry, which meant the fight could be all the worse for it. I hated being embarrassed, and usually masked it with anger. Even knowing that's what I did didn't change the fact that I did it. It just let me know why I was angry.

  I actually waited until we were in the parking lot to say, "Nicky? What the fuck kind of name is that?"

  "One I'd remember," he said.

  I jerked away from him hard enough that he almost dropped the box. "I'm never going to be on stage again; I don't need a stage name."

  "You don't want them to figure out your real name, do you?"

  I frowned at him. "I'm in the news enough. They'll figure it out eventually."

  "Maybe, but if you give them a stage name to remember, they'll think of you as a stripper, not as a federal marshal. You're embarrassed enough that Detective Arnet saw us on stage that night."

  "Yes, and I'm still waiting for her to tell the rest of the police that she and I work with."

  "But she hasn't," he said.

  I shook my head.

  "She can't admit she saw you without admitting she was there, and why," he said.

  "Cops go to strip clubs all the time," I said.

  "But she didn't go to see strippers, she went to see me."

  That stopped me. Made me turn and stare at him. "What do you mean?"

  "She came to the club on a night you weren't there. Since you've avoided the club as much as possible, that's a lot of the time. Can we have this conversation in the car?"

  He had a point. I unlocked the car, and we climbed in. "Where's the other car?"

  "I had Micah drop me off, so he'll have the car if he needs it. I knew you'd drive me home."

  It made sense. I turned on the car so the heater would start working. I finally realized it was a little chilly. My anger had kept me warm even with my coat flapping open. "What do you mean, Arnet came to the club?"

  "She paid to have a private dance."

  I stared at him. "She did what?"

  Detective Jessica Arnet worked on the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team, RPIT for short. It was the branch of local police that I worked with the most. I'd known she had a crush on Nathaniel, but I'd been so busy trying not to admit that I was living with a stripper that I'd kept him too much a secret. Until I brought him as a date to a wedding that Arnet was at. Then the secret was out, and she was mad at me for not telling her we were an item sooner. She seemed to feel like I'd let her make a fool of herself. She hadn't made a fool of herself, but she had come to Guilty Pleasures for the first time that one night that Nathaniel got me on stage. She was now convinced that I was abusing Nathaniel. Chain someone up on stage and hit them with a flogger a few times, and people think you're abusing them. Of course, the flogger had been Nathaniel and Jean-Claude's idea. A part of Nathaniel's regular show, apparently. What I'd done next had been all me, and Nathaniel. I had marked him, bitten him hard enough to bleed him, on stage. It had been the first time I'd voluntarily marked him like that, not just because the ardeur got out of control, but because he liked it, and I liked it, and I'd promised.

  Arnet was convinced that I was Madame de Sade and Nathaniel was my victim. I'd tried explaining that Nathaniel was only a victim when he wanted to be, but she hadn't bought it. I'd been convinced she would tell the other cops and out me, badly. Living with a twenty-year-old stripper with juvenile arrests for prostitution was bad enough, but getting on stage myself, well, that would have been… oh, hell, bad.

  "How private a dance did she get?"

  He grinned. "Are you jealous?"

  I thought about it for a second, then had to say, "Yeah, I guess so."

  "That's so sweet," he said.

  "Just tell me about Arnet."

  "She didn't want the dance. She wanted to talk." He seemed to think about it for a second, then added, "Okay, she wanted the dance, a lot, but she was too uncomfortable with me to ask for what she wanted. We just talked."

  "About?" I said.

  "She tried to get me to admit that you were abusing me. She wanted me to leave you and save myself."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "You were already worried about Arnet telling Zerbrowski and the other cops what she'd seen. You were in the middle of some messy murder investigation. I didn't figure you needed the hassle, and I handled it."

  "Has she been back?"

  He shook his head.

  "Tell me next time, okay?"

  "If you want."

  "I want."

  "She can't tell on you, because she'd be afraid you'd tell them that she has a thing for your stripper boyfriend. She doesn't want to admit that what bothered her the most about the show you and I did is that she liked it."

  "I didn't think Arnet swung that way," I said.

  "Neither did she."

  I looked at him, studied that face. There was a look on it now. "Just say it, the look in your eyes, just say it."

  "You hate most in others what you don't like in yourself."

  "Huh."

  "What?"

  "I thought something almost identical to that earlier tonight."

  "What about?"

  I shook my head. "Do you really think giving Greg and his girlfriend a stage name for me will keep them from making the connection to Anita Blake?"

  "Yeah, I do. They'll think of you as a stripper named Nicky and that's it. You won't be anything or any more to them than that."

  "Strangely disturbing, but why Nicky, why that name?"

  "Because I knew I'd remember it."

  "Remember it, why?"

  "Because it was my name when I did porn."

  I blinked at him. "What?"

  "Nicky Brandon is the name I used when I did movies."

  I did the long blink, the one that meant I was thinking hard, or too surprised to think. "You gave me your pornography name?"

  "Half of it," he said.

  I didn't know what to say. Was I supposed to be flattered, or
insulted? "I declare this fight over until I figure out if we're actually fighting."

  "Trust me, Anita, this isn't a fight."

  "Then how come I'm angry?"

  "Let's see: there's some bad vamps in town messing with us, you always hate it when fans recognize Brandon the stripper, but tonight, for the first time, you got recognized from the one time you went on stage. If you're embarrassed by my job, you're even more embarrassed that anyone would think you could be a stripper."

  "I'm not embarrassed about your job."

  "Yeah, you are," he said.

  I started the car. "I am not."

  "Then next time you introduce me to your friends, don't call me a dancer, call me an exotic dancer."

  I opened my mouth, closed it, and started backing up. I wouldn't do it. He was right. I'd keep introducing him as simply a dancer. "Do you want me to introduce you like that?"

  "No, but I want you not to be ashamed of what I do."

  "I'm not ashamed of you, or your job."

  "Fine, have it your way." But his tone said clearly that he was letting me win, but that I was wrong, and hadn't won anything. I hated when he did that. He just stopped fighting in the middle of the fight, not because he'd lost, but just because he didn't want to fight anymore. How do you fight with someone who won't fight? Answer: you don't.

  The real trouble was, he was right. I was embarrassed about his job. I shouldn't have been, but I was. When he was a teenager, he'd been a runaway, and a prostitute, and on drugs. He'd been off drugs for nearly four years. He'd been out of "the life" since he was sixteen. He'd done porn, and I knew that. But I didn't dwell on it. I assumed he'd stopped doing the movies about the same time he stopped hooking, but I wasn't sure of that. I hadn't really asked, had I? He was a wereleopard, which meant he couldn't catch any sexually transmitted disease. That helped me ignore his past. The lycanthropy killed everything that could injure the host body; it kept him healthy. It made it so that I could pretend he hadn't had more sexual partners than I wanted to know about.

  I was trapped at the light across from St. Louis Bread Company when I said, "Want to hear what Jean-Claude told me about the mask?"

  "If you want to tell me." He sounded mad.

  "I'm sorry that I'm not completely comfortable with your job, okay?"