Danse Macabre

11

CLAUDIA STOOD BETWEEN him and the tub, and because she was about five inches taller, she blocked our view of him. Of some of him. She was the more serious bodybuilder, but he had broader shoulders. His shoulders and what I could glimpse of his lower body let me know he was wearing blue jeans and a red shirt. There was a herd of black in the door, where the other guards waited to figure out what to do. Some of them were werewolves and he was their Ulfric; you don't stand in the way of your king, not and survive.

His power swirled through the room like invisible fire, as if the water should have boiled with it. Then I realized, it wasn't just Richard's power. Claudia had been my bodyguard off and on for months, maybe a year, but until this moment I hadn't really understood how much power was in that tall, muscular body. It was her power, too, burning down the room. She wasn't just physical muscle. The air was hard to breathe, as if it were too hot to pass over my lips, like coffee that you want to blow on before you drink it. I don't know what Richard had done outside, but it had made Claudia drop all her pretenses and show her power, like a preview, or a warning.

Her voice echoed in the room. "No farther, until you prove you've got your shit under control." Her legs bent, her body going into that partial crouch, legs moving in the space she had between the raised tub and him. It was a fighting stance. Jesus.

"Move!" Richard shouted it, in a voice gone bass with growling. Not good.

Jean-Claude and I exchanged looks. He gave a small shrug. I tried. "Richard." I had to raise my voice, and say his name three times, before he answered.

"Tell her to move, Anita," he growled.

"What will you do if she moves?" I asked.

I felt some of that burning power hesitate, grow weaker. His voice was still growly, but less sure of itself. "I don't know." He said it as if he hadn't thought beyond getting to us. That wasn't like Richard, to have no idea what he planned to do.

"Are you going to try to hurt us?" I asked, sitting up in the water enough to peer around Claudia's body. I caught a glimpse of his face. His hair was a foamy mass of waves, all brown and gold. In sunlight there would be more gold to his brown, and strands of coppery red. His hair was brown, but as if it could never quite decide if it might be blond, or auburn instead. It had finally grown back to brush the tops of his broad shoulders. The bright crimson T-shirt strained around his upper arms, because he was holding his hands in tight, tight fists. It looked as if the seams of the shirt weren't going to hold the muscles' strain. His summer tan was dark against the red of the shirt. He looked at me then, the full force of his eyes, and the shock of it thrilled down my spine. His eyes were wolf eyes: amber, gold, and no longer human. It was the beginning of the change. No wonder Claudia was on alert.

The dimple in his chin usually softened the sharp perfection of his cheekbones, and the utterly masculine beauty of his face. He, more than almost any other man in my life, was handsome, not pretty. Nothing would ever make you mistake Richard for a girl, not even from the back, not even with the hair. The body was too masculine to be anything else. Tonight the dimple didn't soften anything, because the anger in his face was too raw. Had the anger fed his power, or the other way around? Who knew; who cared? Dangerous either way.

"Control yourself, Ulfric," Claudia said.

He turned those golden-amber eyes to her. "If I don't, what then?" For the first time since I'd known him I realized he was spoiling for a fight. It wasn't like him. It was like me.

Jean-Claude and I both started to climb out of the tub at the same moment. He went for one of the huge fluffy white towels, wrapping it around his waist as he cleared the water. Shapeshifters aren't usually bothered by nudity, but tonight he might be, at least by Jean-Claude. Richard was a touch homophobic; what he'd felt us do tonight wouldn't help that.

I left the knife and the gun on the edge of the tub. I wouldn't kill him, and he knew it. One, there was a chance that if one of us died, the vampire marks would kill us all; two, most of the time I loved him too much to want him dead. Right at that moment was not one of those times. That moment was one of those times when I wished he had fewer hang-ups, and had had more therapy. He was in therapy, but not enough therapy for what he'd felt Jean-Claude and me do tonight. He was the last third of our triumvirate. Of all the ones we'd shared power with, Richard would have gotten more sensations, more real physical feedback of what we were doing. He was the one who would hate it the most and he got the most complete ride. Unfair, but true.

Jean-Claude stayed near the back wall with its mirror. It was the largest place to stand. He handed me a towel but I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stood there, framed by the black marble, nude, water dripping down my body, glistening in the light. My hair plastered to my face, leaving my eyes huge and dark in the paleness of my face. I could almost never resist any of my men fresh from the tub or shower. There was something about water streaming down naked skin that was just yummy. Here was hoping that Richard felt the same way.

"I won't ask you again, move!"

"She is doing her job, mon ami."

"Shut up," he screamed, "shut up, I don't want to hear you right now."

Oh, boy. I moved around the narrow edge between tub and wall on the closest side to the door. I stopped on the raised platform so I was totally framed by the cool black marble with its white and silver streaks. My pulse was in my throat, because even a few inches closer made their power hotter, like moving closer to that open flame when your skin is crying out, Hot, hot, don't touch.

"Richard." I whispered it, but he heard me.

He looked at me with that rage-filled face, and the moment he saw me, his eyes filled with such pain, as if the sight of me like that was a knife blow straight through his heart. I was sorry for the pain, but happy about the reaction. Almost any emotion is better for a shapeshifter than anger. Anger feeds their beasts quicker. We needed to slow things down.

"How could you do that? How could you do that with him?" I thought he meant Auggie, until he pointed a finger at Jean-Claude.

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'that,' Richard."

"Don't play me, Anita," and this was a yell. He covered his face with his hands, and staggered back a step. He screamed, wordless, and so full of pain. He dropped to his knees, and screamed again. His power filled the room as if we'd all been plunged into boiling water. It felt as if my skin were being cooked. I'd felt Richard's power before, but nothing like this. How much power had he gained from our feed on Auggie?

Claudia stayed in a fighting stance, and I didn't blame her. Graham was just inside the door, rubbing his bare arms, looking conflicted. He owed Richard his allegiance, but he was paid to keep us safe. He also knew that Richard would never forgive any of the wolves that allowed him to hurt me. Jean-Claude I wasn't so sure about, but me, he'd regret it later, and his regret had a way of raining all over everybody. Lisandro was in the room too, near the sinks. There was no conflict on his dark face. He was tall, dark, and handsome, with the longest hair of any of the male wererats. If Claudia said jump, he'd do it.

Clay was in the doorway, as tormented as Graham. We needed fewer wolves in here, and more wererats, or werehyenas, anything but people who would hesitate.

Richard lowered his hands, and his eyes were pure chocolate brown. He'd swallowed some of that awful, burning power. "You helped him rape the Master of Chicago." He wasn't yelling now, and I almost wished he had. It would have been easier to hear than the anguish in his voice.

But what he said made no sense to me. "It wasn't rape, Richard. You know that. You felt some of what Auggie was feeling. Hell, Richard, Auggie started the ball rolling. He raised my ardeur on purpose, picked a fight with me."

Richard looked at me, and I watched him want to believe me, but be afraid to. "Do you really think I'd rape someone?"

He shook his head. "No, but he would." He pointed toward Jean-Claude, who was standing very still behind me.

His voice came neutral, as empty as he could make it. "I have done many things over the centuries, Richard, but rape has never been to my taste."

I remembered Jean-Claude's memories with Auggie. Belle had wanted him to rape Auggie, and Jean-Claude had changed it to something gentler, or as gentle as he could make it with Belle watching. I opened my mouth to say something, but knew somehow that telling about the other two times that Jean-Claude and Auggie had had sex wouldn't help us.

"See, Anita, you can't defend him either."

"I do defend him. Jean-Claude has a lot of faults; rape isn't one of them."

"That wasn't what you started to say a second ago." He was still kneeling on the floor, but he was calming, swallowing that choking power. He was showing the control that had helped make him Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke Clan.

Claudia moved to one side, so she could see him as she glanced at me. I gave her a small nod, but added, "I think Clay and Graham have something else they need to be doing."

She nodded, and ordered them out, and replaced them with two guards who wouldn't feel conflicted. She'd understood what I'd meant. If Richard understood what I'd done, he didn't show it, not even by a flicker of his eyes.

"I'm trying to decide what I can say that won't piss you off, Richard. That's all."

He took in a breath so deep it made his shoulders shake. "Fair enough." His voice sounded like his own now, not all growling deep. "Did the other master really pick a fight with you?"

I nodded. We'd leave the whole theory as to why he might have picked it until we were alone. "You felt his power, Richard--if it had come down to a fight, a true fight, vampire on vampire, would we have won?"

He looked down at his hands where they lay still and open on his thighs. "I don't think so."

"He raised the ardeur. If I feed off him, then he loses."

Richard nodded. "Food can't be dominant. I know." He looked past me to Jean-Claude. "Why would he raise the ardeur? Why would he pick the one way that he could lose?"

"I do not believe he wished to win," Jean-Claude said.

"That makes no sense," Richard said.

"He is already master of one territory. It is against our laws to rule a second that does not touch your own. There are lands in between our territories, so defeating me would win him nothing. But losing to the ardeur would give him..."

"Anita."

"A woman of Belle Morte's line who holds the ardeur, oui."

"I thought you said he was your friend," Richard said.

"I believe he is." Jean-Claude sighed and said, "We need privacy for this discussion, Claudia, if you would leave us?"

She looked at me, not at the men. I liked Claudia. "It's okay."

She sighed. "We'll be right outside the door, but if the power level rises again, we are back in here."

"No arguments," I said.

"I'll control myself," Richard said.

"Sure," she said, and went for the door. Lisandro stared back at us as the door closed, and it wasn't a bodyguard look. It was a man's look at a naked woman that he'd never seen naked before. Until that moment I hadn't even thought about any of the other men in the room. Richard had been all I thought of; the rest of them might as well have been eunuchs as far as I'd been concerned. But with that one look Lisandro broke two rules. First, shapeshifters didn't notice nudity; they did it too much. It would be like your cat thinking about not wearing pants. Second, it was against the bodyguard code to let clients see that you thought about them in any way other than as a target to keep safe. You did not let a female client see that you lusted after her, even if she paraded naked. That was her problem, not yours. You do not fuck those you guard, because you can't guard them while you're fucking. I guess there are exceptions to the above rules, but Lisandro hadn't earned those exceptions.

I gave him a look that let him know I'd seen his look. He just smiled, not a smidge of regret. Great, just great.

The door closed behind the guard, and we were alone. None of us moved, as if now that it was just us, we weren't certain what to do.

Richard spoke into the sudden heavy silence. "I need you to put on a towel, at least, Anita, please." He added the please like it hurt him to ask politely. I guess he was still angry. But he had swallowed all that rage the way he'd learned to swallow his beast. Part of me was beginning to wonder if there would come a day when he couldn't swallow all the rage, and what would happen when that day came. Once I'd thought Richard would never hurt me; now I knew better. He wouldn't hurt me on purpose, but purpose wasn't always what drove him.

Jean-Claude handed me a towel. His face was empty as he did it, nothing to help me, or give me a hint, but nothing on his face for Richard to take offense at either. I guess we were both being as careful of him as we could.

It was a big towel. I ended up covered from armpits to nearly my ankles. I tucked the end of the towel securely under and over, and voil¨¤, I was dressed.

"Thank you," Richard said.

"You're welcome," I said, and sat down on the edge of the marble, smoothing the towel under me. Marble can be very cold to sit on bare.

Jean-Claude handed me another slightly smaller towel. I took it, and watched as he began to wrap an identical towel around his wet hair. He was right; if I didn't dry my hair well, it would be a mess tomorrow.

"How can the two of you do that?" he asked.

I looked at him from underneath the towel, while I wrapped it around my head. "What are we doing now?"

"Taking care of your hair like nothing's wrong."

I got the towel fixed in place and turned to meet Jean-Claude's look. He took the hint. "If we let our hair dry badly, it will not change what has happened, Richard. The practicalities of life do not cease needing to be done just because other things are going wrong."

Richard moved so he was sitting on the floor, rather than kneeling. He hugged his knees to him, and it was something that Nathaniel might have done, not my dominant Richard. Whatever he had experienced with us tonight, it had shaken him.

Jean-Claude came to sit beside me on the edge of the marble tub. He was careful not to touch me, only the faintest edge of our hips touching through the towels. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me, but he was probably right. Richard didn't always like to see us cuddle.

"You wanted privacy for this talk, so talk," he said. One of the side effects of the vampire marks was that we seemed to be sharing bits of our personalities. He seemed to have inherited some of my impatience and lack of anger management. A bad combination for a werewolf. But we didn't get to pick and choose what we got.

"Ma petite, if you will tell him, and me, what happened before I arrived."

I told the shortest complete version I could of all that had happened before Jean-Claude showed up. Somewhere during the talk, I leaned in against Jean-Claude's body. It just seemed wrong to be this close and not touch. He put his arm along my shoulder.

Richard didn't seem to notice. "I thought this Samuel and Augustine were your friends?" he said.

"They are."

Then Richard said what I'd thought earlier. "If these are your friends, Jean-Claude, what are the other masters going to be like?"

"I'd thought of that, too," I said. "I mean, if these are your friends, your enemies are going to kill us."

"One of the reasons for tonight's little meeting was to see how ma petite reacted to other Masters of the City."

"Badly," Richard said.

"Not necessarily," Jean-Claude said. He leaned forward, curving me more into his arm to keep from knocking me off the edge. Jean-Claude started to tell his part in tonight's little drama, but Richard stopped him.

"I felt most of what happened after you touched Anita. I don't need a reminder."

"As you like," Jean-Claude said, "but the point is we may have rolled Augustine as thoroughly as Belle Morte could have done."

"I wouldn't brag about that," Richard said. He'd moved to lean his shoulder against the marble around the tub, so that he was close enough to have reached out and touched us, but he didn't try to close the distance. And because he didn't, we didn't.

"If Augustine is truly ours in the way that Belle made allies, than none of the other masters will try us. They will fear us, Richard. Fear even the touch of our hands."

Richard frowned at us. I wanted to touch the thick waves of his hair, but kept my hand around Jean-Claude's waist, and the other hand in my lap. "But you told us, before we agreed to this gathering of masters, that everyone would behave. Especially if they thought one of their people would be Anita's new pomme de sang. Now, the first two masters who touch her are breaking all the rules."

"I believe there is a reason for that."

He gave us a skeptical look that was like a mirror of my own. "What reason?"

Jean-Claude told him about his theory that the ardeur was hunting powerful prey.

"But that means that any Master of the City who comes into contact with her will be, what, compelled to try to mind-roll her?"

"Not just Masters of the City," he said, and he told about Meng Die and Requiem. "It may have been only that these two are of our bloodline, and both had tasted the ardeur more than once."

"So has Asher, and he's not crazed."

"Asher was drawn to ma petite from the moment he came to us."

"He saw her as a way of duplicating what you and he and Julianna had," Richard said. He had moved almost as close as he could without actually touching us. I wondered if he was even aware of it.

"That, and the only way back into my bed was through Anita. But what if it was more than that, Richard?"

I had to add now, "Requiem isn't the only one of the new London vamps that had tasted the ardeur, and they're all of Belle's line. They don't seem particularly drawn to me."

"Perhaps they must get at least a small taste of the ardeur from you before it is triggered?"

"Or maybe you're wrong," Richard said, "maybe you just don't have any friends. How long has it been since you saw these guys?"

Jean-Claude gave that graceful shrug. "Almost a century for Augustine, and not since I entered this country for Samuel."

I looked at him. "Jean-Claude, just because someone was your friend a century ago doesn't mean he hasn't changed."

He nodded, as if I'd made a point. "Perhaps, but I felt something when we were with Augustine. It was such power. I believe that the ardeur is reaching some new power, evolving into something new, or at the very least new to us."

"What if Auggie isn't rolled completely?" I asked.

"Then what we did tonight will not be as large a deterrent."

"Tell Richard the other part, that if we really did roll another Master of the City, you're wondering if the council in Europe will use this as an excuse to kill us. Or maybe our American neighbors will decide to kill us before we try to take them all over."

Richard looked at us with that flat I-don't-believe-it look. "Well, this is a lose-lose situation. Why did you bring them all here, Jean-Claude?"

"Because their presence makes an important event of my evening of dance. It is unfair that just because an artist becomes a vampire he is no longer allowed on the stage. I want my kind to be able to pursue passions that have nothing to do with blood and power. I hope, as you for your wolves, that we can be more than just monsters."

I'd been thinking about what he said about the taste of the ardeur too much to be sidetracked into talking about ballet. "You know I fed the ardeur off Byron, too. He's not besotted with me."

"But he is not a master vampire, ma petite, nor will he ever be a master. He accepts that."

"If Anita has this effect only on your bloodline, we're safe for tomorrow, because there are no other Masters of the City from that line."

"But there are master vampires of Belle's line scattered throughout this country. Some will be there tomorrow. Some are part of the ballet troupe itself."

"So I stay home," I said.

"Cinderella must come to the ball, ma petite."

"Nathaniel says I'm not Cinderella, I'm Prince Charming."

He smiled, and gave me a little hug. "Of course, ma petite, whatever you say." Yeah, he was humoring me, but I let him. "But the point remains, you must go to the party tomorrow night."

Richard's knee touched my leg, his hands still clasped around his legs. His hands were mottled with the tightness of his own hold. "She can't go, not if she's going to get jumped by all of them." His hand started to reach for my leg, then he stopped himself, and went back to holding his own hand. He was fighting so hard not to touch me, to touch us. The vampire marks, at least for Belle's line, made you want to touch each other. It didn't have to be about sex, just about feeling more complete when you touched. I know Richard felt almost compelled to touch me, but I'd never had the courage to ask if he felt the same way around Jean-Claude. If he did, it might explain some of why he was so enraged about Augustine.

"We have in our camp other masters of similar power to Requiem, who have tasted the ardeur. One is even of Belle's line."

I shook my head. "If you're talking about London, forget it. He seriously creeps me."

Richard was shaking his head, too. "No."

"Frankly, Jean-Claude, I don't know why you agreed to take him. I mean, his own kiss nicknamed him 'the Dark Knight.' I think that says something."

He sighed and leaned his back against the wall. "You know that Belle Morte tried to demand all her bloodline back, when their master was executed. How could I refuse to save them from her?"

"Yeah, but I'd think Belle's court would be right up London's alley. A nice dark alley."

"He did not wish to go back to her. He spoke to me over the phone, he begged me not to let him go back to her court. You see, ma petite, Richard, London was traded to Belle for several years, then she exiled him. She tried to recall him, but he got his new master to intercede."

"Why?" Richard asked. "Auggie would give anything to go back. I felt how much he misses her." Richard shuddered. "It's like some sort of addiction."

"Oui, mon ami, exactement, that is precisely why London does not wish to go back. He is like an alcoholic that has become a teetotaler. He knows he has another drunken binge in him, but he does not know whether he has the strength to stop again. How could I leave him to her?"

"That's awfully sentimental for you, isn't it?" Richard said.

Jean-Claude gave him an unfriendly look. "I try for kindness when I can, Richard."

Richard sighed, and leaned his forehead on his knees. "God, this is a mess."

"You said we had other master vamps who had tasted the ardeur but who weren't of Belle's line--who are they?" Our list of non-Belle masters was pretty damn slim.

"Wicked and Truth," he said.

It was Richard who raised his face and said, "No, absolutely no." Then he seemed to think about it. "Not Wicked."

"Truth would be acceptable?" Jean-Claude asked.

Richard's shoulders hunched, and I thought he might break his own hands holding on so tight. "You're asking me to share her with another man. How can you ask me to help pick who it's going to be?"

"How many women have you lain with in the last month, Richard?"

Richard's power flared like a burst of fire through an innocent-looking wall. We were suddenly bathed in the biting heat of his power.

"You all right in there?" Claudia called through the door.

I looked at Richard. He gave the tiniest nod.

"We're fine," I said.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yes."

Silence from the other side of the door.

Richard said, "Thank you," then got back to the fight. I didn't have to see his face to know he was angry. "We all agreed that I'd keep dating. Anita will be my lupa and my Bolverk, but she doesn't want to marry, or have kids, or any of that. I do. We all agreed to this, don't throw it up in my face now."

"You're going to hurt yourself, Richard," I said, softly, staring at his hands, and all the not-so-pretty colors they were turning.

He let go of his hands with a breath that held pain in it. He finally let himself wrap his hand around my calf. His power ran over my skin like a thousand tiny insects biting.

"Ow," I said.

He leaned his face on my towel-covered knee, and said, "Sorry, I'm sorry." The energy calmed, still warm, raising sweat along my spine, but it stopped hurting. He spoke with his face still on my knee. "Your feeding on Auggie raised my power level--oh God, it did. The power rush felt so good, so incredibly good, even after I knew what you'd done to get it. It still felt wonderful." His shoulders started to shake, and I realized he was crying.

I touched his hair, letting my fingers comb through those thick waves. "Richard, oh, Richard."

He wrapped his arms around my legs, holding on, putting his face in my lap, letting me touch him. Jean-Claude laid a tentative hand on his back, and when Richard didn't say no, he stroked his back. That useless stroking that you'll do for good friends and loved ones. Those endless, useless circles, where you try to say with your hands that it will be all right. I stroked his hair and brushed the tears from his face. We comforted him as his friends, his very good friends. Whatever else we were to each other, we were at least that.

12

WE ENDED UP on the floor with Richard cradled in my lap, while I sat against Jean-Claude's bare upper body as if he were a warm, silken chair. Richard's shirt was gone, so the warm muscled smoothness of his chest and shoulders lay across the pooled towel in my lap. My upper body was as bare as his; the towel just couldn't hold on during that much cuddling. Richard lay on his back, eyes peaceful, his hair like a brown and gold halo around his face.

My hands stroked his bare chest, not for sex, but for comfort. All the lycanthropes were like that; touch was good, touch was even necessary to stay sane. It was as if they had the normal human skin hunger except more, orders of magnitude more. His arm was raised along the line of my body, his hand playing with my hair, which had begun to dry in tight, frizzy curls. Jean-Claude's hand played along Richard's raised arm, stroking up and down the muscled length of it.

There were no words, just the comfort of the touching. Jean-Claude's other hand was stroking my shoulder and arm, almost mirroring what he was doing to Richard. I think we'd all been surprised that Richard let Jean-Claude touch so much as a fingertip to him, after the way he'd entered the room. I'd seen plenty of lycanthropes pet each other regardless of sexual orientation--a cuddle was a cuddle to most of them--but Richard had issues with Jean-Claude that he didn't have with the people I'd seen him be so casual with.

Richard's eyes shifted and I knew he was looking past me to the other man. "Your hair is almost as curly as Anita's."

The comment made me turn so I could see his face more clearly, too. Richard was right, Jean-Claude's hair was a mass of black curls. Not the relaxed, almost wavy curls that he always had, but something closer to mine. But his hair drying naturally was about where mine was with hair care products, not the black foam mine had turned into. "Have I never seen your natural hair texture?" I asked, staring at all those curls.

He smiled, and if it had been almost anyone else I'd have said he was embarrassed, but it just didn't quite fly for Jean-Claude. "I suppose not."

Richard moved his hand from my hair to Jean-Claude's. He rubbed the curls between his fingers, then went back to mine, comparing. "Your hair is still softer textured than Anita's, or mine, for that matter." He knelt, and took a handful of both of our hair, as if he were testing how much it weighed. "Normally your hair just looks silkier, but now, you have to touch it to feel how much difference in texture there is between you and Anita."

Jean-Claude had gone very still against my body. I think he stopped breathing, and the heartbeat that had been chugging along like any human's heart slowed. I knew he'd gone still because Richard was touching him voluntarily, and he didn't want to spook him. But I also think that in that moment he didn't know what to do. A man who had been a great lover for over four hundred years did not know what to do because someone was playing with his hair.

He didn't want to be too bold and raise that anger again, or frighten him with a homophobic possibility. If Richard had been a woman, he'd have taken it as foreplay. If Richard hadn't been a shapeshifter, he might still have taken it as an invitation of sorts. But shapeshifters were tactile junkies; touching didn't mean sex to them, any more than it did when a dog started licking the sweat off your skin. You tasted good, and they liked you, nothing sexual. But it is personal. If they didn't like you, they wouldn't touch you.

He sat pressed against my body, and I knew by his very stillness how much it meant to him that Richard was touching him. The stillness also told me he had no idea what to do about it. What does it say when a vampire who has been a great lover and seducer for centuries chooses, as his metaphysical sweeties, maybe the only two people in his territory who are going to puzzle him?

There was a knock at the door. Those of us with a heartbeat jumped. Richard's hands fell away from both of us as he turned to face the door, still on his knees.

Movement came back to Jean-Claude's body the way a human would take a breath. "Yes," he said, and his voice held just a touch of impatience.

Claudia's voice came, "It's the Master of Cape Cod and his oldest son."

Jean-Claude and I exchanged glances. Richard just frowned. "Why is he back?" Richard asked.

"We can but ask," Jean-Claude said, his voice back to almost its normal silky emptiness. The voice he used when he was hiding things, but trying not to seem like it. Samuel would know what a totally empty voice meant. Hiding, or fear, weakness. So Jean-Claude compromised with his voice, hiding from Richard and maybe from me, and not seeming to hide from Samuel. We were so not going to make it through this weekend without another disaster. The combination of metaphysics and politics was just too hard.

"We'll be right out," I yelled at the door. We all got up off the floor. Richard reached for his shirt and slipped it over his head. Jean-Claude and I had robes hanging on the back of the door. Jean-Claude's was one I'd seen and enjoyed before: heavy black brocade with black fur at the collar and lapel so that it framed a triangle of his pale chest. There was more fur at the wide cuffs, and I'd felt that fur rub down my body before. Just seeing him in the robe made me shiver.

He gave me a smile that said he'd noticed. Richard either didn't understand or ignored it.

My robe was black silk, no embroidery, no fur, just plain unrelieved black.

We had to walk in front of the mirror to get to the door, and Richard stopped us with a hand on either of our shoulders. He turned us toward our reflections, so that he stood between us. We were all black cloth and white skin, sharp contrasts. Then there he stood, in his bright red shirt, blue jeans, his hair all brown and gold. His tan, darker in contrast with how pale we were. "Which of these things does not belong?" he asked in a low voice. There was that shadow in his eyes again.

I slid my arm around his waist, hugged him, but even to me it looked like something carved of bone and darkness clinging to all that life.

"Jean-Claude, Anita, you coming?" Claudia asked, voice a little hesitant, which you didn't hear much from her.

"We're coming," I called.

"If I could set you free, mon ami, I would."

Richard hugged me so tight it almost hurt, then he relaxed against me, and looked at Jean-Claude. "If you had that kind of magic wand I'd let you use it, but you don't." He turned, keeping one arm around my shoulders, and reaching the other until he touched Jean-Claude's shoulder. He did that guy grip on the shoulder that some macho guys do instead of hugging another guy. "Some nights I hate you, Jean-Claude, but if I'd been with Anita tonight, touching her, Augustine wouldn't have been able to roll her. If I'd been where I should have been, none of the crap that I hated tonight would have happened. I know that. I felt it, while it was happening. I was miles away, and I felt the fight, but I didn't reach out and help. It was vampire politics, and that's not my problem." He shook his head hard enough to send his hair flying around his face. "No more lying to myself. I am your animal to call, and I hate it, and sometimes I hate you, and sometimes I hate Anita, and most of the time I hate myself. No more lies, and no more crippling us."

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.