Danse Macabre ab-14 Read online

  Jean-Claude's face was as careful as I'd ever seen it. "And what do these so-wise statements mean, mon ami?"

  "It means when you meet with Samuel I'll be at your side, where I should have been earlier tonight." He hugged me tight with one arm, and squeezed Jean-Claude's shoulder again. "I wasn't even willing to offer up energy to help Anita. She had Micah and Nathaniel with her; I thought she didn't need another animal to call. But she did, you did. If you and Anita hadn't pulled a metaphysical miracle out of thin air, the Master of Chicago would have de­feated you. Maybe he couldn't take your territory, but if one master defeats you, then it's like blood in the water; the sharks come and feed. If we'd proved weak, then not tonight, but some night soon, someone would come and kill us all."

  "I agree with everything you're saying," I said, slowly, "but it doesn't sound like you."

  "No, I guess it doesn't." He looked at Jean-Claude, and I felt that first warm trickle of his energy. "Are you playing puppet with me again?"

  "I swear to you that I am not, not knowingly, but these are all things I have longed to hear you say. With you at our side, Richard, I fear no one who has come to our territory. With one third of our triumvirate absent, or unwilling ... tonight has made me doubt my decision to invite others to our lands."

  He dropped his hand from Jean-Claude's shoulder. "Then let's go have this meeting. I can't promise that I won't freak again. I can't promise to like any of this, but I promise to try harder not to run away." He started walking toward the door, still holding me. I looked back at Jean-Claude, and the look must have shown what I was thinking, because he shrugged, as if he didn't know what the hell had happened to Richard either. It wasn't that we weren't happy with a more reasonable response from him, but it just didn't seem real. It didn't feel like the quiet rush after the storm has passed; no, this felt more like that false calm you sometimes get where the world is hushed and waiting. It feels quiet, but the air is charged and waiting, waiting for the storm to come. That's what Richard's new attitude felt like, like it was brit­tle and waiting to break. I applauded the effort, and the sentiment, but the pit of my stomach was afraid of what would happen when the new attitude met the old issues.

  13

  SOMEONE HAD CLEANED up the living room. The torn drapes were gone, and the remaining ones had been moved to make long swags of cloth against the stone walls. It didn't make cloth walls now, but it was pretty, and helped give the illusion that the carpeted area was its own space, and not part of the larger rock room. The electric lights seemed odd now that you could see the torches in the hallway.

  We walked up hand in hand, me in the middle of the men. Richard's hand was oh-so-slightly damp. He was nervous, but it didn't show on his face. I wished I could have asked what exactly was making him nervous. But even if there hadn't been company I wouldn't have asked. He was being brave and cooperative, and I wasn't going to poke at it. Honest.

  Asher rose from the chair where he'd sat and entertained our guests. There were half a dozen black-garbed guards scattered throughout the room. Claudia and her crew followed behind us like an honor guard. I think she'd decided no more taking chances tonight. We had enough manpower to fill a room, so she was going to do it. None of us were going to argue.

  Asher glided toward us, and it was almost as if his feet didn't touch the

  ground, as if he were floating. He was always graceful, but not like that. He

  was one of the best at levitating that I'd ever seen, so that he could do what

  the legends say: Asher could fly. Tonight it was as if he could barely force

  { himself to walk when he knew he had wings and longed to use them. He was

  like some earthbound angel waiting to fling himself skyward. His clothes

  * helped the angelic illusion. He was all in white with gold and copper thread

  Worked through the frock coat, and along a pair of silk pants that ended at

  his knees, where white hose took up, and ended in white high heels with

  golden buckles. The shoes reminded me that the original high heel was

  I meant for men.

  His hair was the color of the gold thread in his clothes, as if the seamstress had used his own hair to decorate the cloth. He used that hair like a shield, to hide the scars on the right side of his face. He'd been so worried about

  what the other masters, many of whom knew him before the scarring, would think of him, that he had requested we take down all the paintings that showed him before. The side of the face that showed beside that fall of truly golden hair was the face of some medieval angel, if you liked your angels sensuous, and a little fallen. That full, kissable mouth smiled at us all. His eyes managed to be both pale blue, and a vibrant color, as if a winter sky could burn with pale, clear blue. Only one eye showed clear; the other one seemed to wink and burn when glimpsed through the hair, as if light were glancing off glass.

  He offered his hand first to Jean-Claude, and said what Jean-Claude usu­ally didn't like to hear. "Master, our friend from Cape Cod begs a word." His words were utterly polite, but his face glowed with some suppressed excite­ment. Something had filled our usually solemn Asher with delight, but what?

  Jean-Claude arched an eyebrow, as if he wanted to ask what was up, too.

  Asher's voice floated through my mind. "The new power level is amazing."

  I felt Richard jerk, as if he'd been hit.

  I looked at him, and saw from his wide eyes that he'd probably heard it, too. The next mind whisper held a trace of laughter to it. "My apologies. I only meant Jean-Claude to hear, but I confess to having some trouble con­trolling all the new abilities."

  Jean-Claude squeezed my hand, and it was his voice that came next. "Calm, we must all be calm for our guests."

  Richard let his breath out slow, and gave a small nod. His abilities didn't lie with the dead, so he wasn't used to vamps, other than Jean-Claude, talk­ing mind-to-mind with him. Even I wasn't used to them doing it by accident. How much power had he gained from this one feeding, and how much had others of our vampires gained? There were one or two I wasn't sure I wanted more powerful than they already were. Meng Die, for one.

  Samuel and Sampson stood in front of the love seat. Asher led us to the couch across from them. The white carpet seemed emptier than normal. Oh, the coffee table was missing. Had we broken it after the ardeur rose? I couldn't remember.

  I had my best professional smile plastered on my face, the one that's bright and cheery as a lightbulb, and about as warm. But it was the best I could do. I'd had about all the out-of-town visitors I could deal with for one night.

  "Samuel, Sampson, you have not met our Richard."

  Samuel bowed toward us. "Ulfric, it is good to meet you at last."

  Sampson bowed a little lower than his father, and let him do the talking. They both looked way too solemn for my tastes, as if something else had gone wrong.

  "Samuel, what brings you back to us tonight?" Jean-Claude asked. If he was tired of visitors it didn't show in his voice. He sounded pleasant, wel­coming, the perfect host.

  "First, the apology I owe you on behalf of my wife. I worry that some­thing about her nature affected your servant, and may have helped cause what happened tonight."

  I blinked at him, felt my smile slip a notch. Was this all someone else's fault? Was I going to have someone else to blame? Goody.

  Jean-Claude sat down on the white couch, not so much pulling me down with him as leading, as you do in a dance. He sat, and I followed his lead, and Richard followed mine. Jean-Claude kept my hand in his, but Richard let go, and put his arm along the back of the couch. He was touching mostly me, but his hand moved along Jean-Claude's back, and ended lost in the thick curls of his hair.

  "Where is your lovely wife, and your other sons?" Jean-Claude asked.

  Asher sat in the overstuffed chair closest to us. He matched the chair and pillows perfectly, all white and gold. He still looked entirely too pleased with himself, like the proverbi
al cat with cream.

  Samuel sat down on the love seat, and Sampson followed his father's lead. "They are at a hotel along with our two guards. I did not feel it wise to bring Thea and Anita together again tonight."

  "What did she think of the show?" I asked.

  Jean-Claude's hand tightened on my hand, where he held it in his lap. The squeeze was enough: Be nice, he was saying. I'd be nice. My version of it.

  Richard had gone very quiet beside me, his arm tensed against my back. But it wasn't a warning to be careful, because his body temperature went up, as if he was thinking what I was thinking: was there someone else to get angry with, someone besides ourselves? Richard and I both preferred to be angry at other people.

  "Thea was much impressed," he said, and his voice was mild, empty. His tone told nothing.

  "If she was so impressed," I said, "then why isn't she here?"

  Sampson smiled, and had to turn away to hide it.

  "What's so funny?" I asked.

  His father gave him an unfriendly look. Sampson fought to control his face, but finally burst out laughing. Samuel gave him his best ancient vam-

  pire disdain. "I'm sorry, Father," Sampson said in a voice still choked with laughter, "but you must admit it is funny. 'Impressed' does not begin to cover Mother's reaction to what Anita and Jean-Claude did tonight."

  His father gave him a stony face, until the laughter faded round the edges. Then Samuel said in a voice that held an edge of injured dignity, "My son has been indiscreet, but he is accurate. You ask why Thea and my other sons are not here; simply put, I did not trust her near the two of you."

  "She liked the show," I said.

  Samuel shook his head, gave his son another disapproving look. "More than liked, Anita. She is all ablaze with speculative plans. Would it be possi­ble for her and I to do what the two of you did? I find that unlikely, for though Thea carries something similar to the ardeur, I do not. I believe what you did to Augustine required similar gifts between the two of you."

  Jean-Claude gave a small nod, face still empty. "I believe so."

  "She is now convinced that Anita could bring our sons into the full strength of their siren's powers." Something crossed his face, too faint to read, but with such an empty face, it was strangely noticeable. "I do not share her certainty. What I felt from you tonight, Anita, is a different ele­ment of passion. It is like the difference between fire and water. They will both consume you, but in very different manners."

  I looked at Sampson's face, still softly amused. "What did your mother ac­tually say?" I asked.

  He glanced at his father before he answered. Samuel sighed, then nodded. Sampson grinned at me, and said, "I don't think you really want to know what she said, but what she meant was that if she had her way, Tom and Cris would both be here. She'd be here, too. She'd be offering us all to you any way you wanted us." His face sobered around the edges. "She can get car­ried away sometimes, our mother. She means well, but she doesn't think en­tirely like a human being, do you understand?"

  "I hang around with vampires, so yeah."

  He shook his head, his hands clasped on his knees. "No, Anita, vampires start out human, as do shapeshifters, and necromancers"—he said that with a smile—"but Mother was never human. She thinks like ..." He seemed un­sure what to say.

  Samuel finished for him. "Thea is other, and she reasons in ways that do not always make much sense to those of us who began life as human beings." He didn't sound entirely happy about it, but he stated it as truth.

  "That must make life interesting," Richard said.

  Samuel gave him cool eyes, but Sampson nodded, smiling. "You have no idea."

  "What did you think of the show, Samuel?" Jean-Claude asked.

  The other vampire thought about it, face careful, and his voice was just as careful when he answered, "I thought it was one of the most powerful things I have ever seen. I think it is the kind of power that made me flee the great courts, and it is exactly the sort of power that made me avoid Belle Morte's court. It is the kind of display that made me flee Europe for fear of becom­ing nothing but a vassal of some great vampiric lord."

  "Do you fear us now?" Jean-Claude asked.

  Samuel nodded. "I do."

  "I would not harm you deliberately," Jean-Claude said.

  "No, but your power is growing, and growing power is a wild and capri­cious thing. I do not want my people, or my sons, near you while your power finds its way. I think you will be incredibly dangerous, by accident, for years to come."

  "Yet, you come before me with your son. Why? Why not leave my lands, if we are so dangerous?"

  "Because Thea is right in one way. If she and I could by some chance du­plicate what the two of you did, it would be"—he licked his lips—"worth the risk. I also agree that there is a chance that your Anita could bring my sons into their powers, if they have them."

  "Do you believe your sons are so human?" Jean-Claude asked.

  "Sampson is well over seventy in human years, so no, not so very human."

  I looked at Sampson. He looked somewhere in his early twenties, maybe thirty at most. By no stretch of the imagination did he look seventy. "My," I said, "you're holding up well."

  He grinned at me, and I liked the grin. He seemed to find the whole power game a little embarrassing, a little funny. "Clean living," he said, still grinning.

  Richard moved beside me, a small, uncomfortable movement. I glanced at him, and his face was beginning to darken. One of Richard's biggest prob­lems with our new lifestyle was jealousy. Of all the men trying to be in my life, he was the only one who found jealousy a real problem. Until I saw that look on his face, I'd been able to ignore that they were still talking about Sampson and me being lovers. I'd gotten better at pushing away the un­comfortable bits until I had to deal with them. Richard was still working on that.

  "Thomas and Cristos seem to be aging at a more normal rate."

  "They are only seventeen," Jean-Claude said, "too young to be certain, surely."

  Samuel shrugged, a normal shrug, not that graceful Gallic movement.

  "But for this, I think they are too young, too human, whatever Thea may wish."

  "He's afraid you'd break them," Sampson said.

  I couldn't help smiling. Richard's frown got deeper. "And your dad isn't worried about you?" I asked.

  "He is my oldest," Samuel said, as if that meant more to him than it did to me.

  "If you break me, he has two sons left," Sampson said, smiling to take the bite out of it.

  Samuel touched his son's arm. "I hold all my children precious, you know that."

  He smiled at his father, patted his hand where it lay on his arm. "I know that, Father, but for this kind of power you'd risk one of us, and I'm the most likely to survive without becoming her slave."

  "My slave?" I made it a question. "I don't do slaves."

  Sampson looked at me as if he were studying me, a shadow of his father's penetrating stare. "If Augustine is not your slave it will only be because he is powerful enough to recover. Not for lack of trying on your part, and I am not nearly as powerful as a Master of the City."

  I opened my mouth, closed it, not sure what to say. I finally said, "I don't want anyone to be my slave."

  "Then what did you want?" He kept his suddenly serious eyes on me.

  I just blinked at him, trying to think. What had I wanted? What had I in­tended to do to Auggie? "Win," I said.

  "What?" Sampson asked.

  "Win. I wanted to win. Auggie and your father are supposed to be Jean-Claude's friends. But your mother had almost rolled me. She'd tried to raise the ardeur and make me fuck your brother, your little brother. Then Auggie raised the ardeur, and used his bloodline's special ability on me. If this is what Jean-Claude's friends do to us, then what are the other Masters of the City going to do?" I shook my head, leaning forward on the couch, still holding Jean-Claude's hand, but having to put my hand on Richard's thigh to keep touching him, too. "We h
ad to win this fight. Had to."

  "You had to win in such a way that the rest of us would not try your strength," Samuel said.

  I nodded. "Yes."

  He looked past us to the hallway beyond, so searching a look that it made Richard and me look behind us. Neither Jean-Claude, nor the silent Asher, bothered, as if they knew there was no one there.

  "I believe you have succeeded, Anita. If Augustine follows you and Jean-

  Claude about like a lovesick puppy, then the rest will fear you. Some may even take back their offers oi pomme de sang for fear of having you feed off them the way you fed off Augustine's people."

  "We fed from Augustine's people because he is their master," Jean-Claude said. "No others offer themselves to ma petite's bed."

  "Perhaps," Samuel said, "but I think if they did know what has happened with Augustine, they might be tempted. There is something about her that draws one. Even I feel it, and I am not of Belle's line."

  "How strongly drawn?" Jean-Claude asked in that careful voice.

  The two vampires looked at each other. There was suddenly something between them, not magic, but almost as if willpower could be something touchable.

  "That is an odd question," Samuel said.

  "Is it?" Jean-Claude asked, and his voice held a lilt at the end that sounded strangely chiding.

  Samuel settled back against the love seat, as if he was going to be there for a while. Somehow they both knew they were negotiating. "It was sur­prisingly bad manners for Augustine to have started a fight with your human servant."

  "Yes," Jean-Claude said, "it seemed out of character for him, don't you think?"

  Samuel nodded. "I do."

  Richard's free hand found mine where it rested on his leg. He began to run his thumb over my knuckles, as if he'd picked up the tension, too. Some­thing was up, but what? What was Jean-Claude up to? I wasn't used to being shut out by both of the men, especially when we were touching, but what­ever was happening tonight, Jean-Claude was holding us tight shut against each other. He usually only did that when he was afraid of what would hap­pen if the marks opened. After our little show-down with Auggie I wasn't going to argue, but it made me head-blind around them, and I wasn't used to that. I hadn't realized that I'd started counting on getting hints from both their minds.