49
What had once been Jean-Claude's living room and Nikolaos's throne room before that, had been turned into a banquet room. They'd found a table that was over ten feet long. What you could see of the table was heavy clawed feet with lions' mouths carved in bold relief. A tablecloth so thick with gold embroidery that it shimmered under the lights covered the table. If they had meant for us to actually eat off it, I'd have been worried we'd trash it, but there was no food. There were no chairs. There were no plates. There were white linen napkins with gold rings, crystal wineglasses, and one of those industrial-size warmers with blue gas flames under its gleaming surface. There was a man hanging by his wrists, feet dangling helplessly over the gleaming table. He was hanging directly over the empty warming pan. His name was Ernie. His muscular upper body was bare. A gag cut across his face, trapping part of his long ponytail. His hair was shaved to nothing on either side of his face. The council hadn't done it as torture. He'd done it to himself. He was one of Jean-Claude's newest hangers-on, a human who wanted to be a vampire and was serving his apprenticeship acting as a sort of maid and errand boy. Now, apparently, he was the appetizer.
Richard, Jean-Claude, and I stood with Jamil, Damian, Jason, and surprisingly, Rafael, at our backs. The Rat King had insisted on accompanying us. I hadn't argued too hard. We were allowed one person apiece plus Jason. Yvette had requested him especially. By taking him, we gained a werewolf, but his blue eyes were wide and his breathing a little too quick. Yvette was Jason's idea of hell, and hell had sent out an invitation.
Ernie stared at us all, kicking his feet and struggling, trying to talk through the gag. I think he was trying to say, "Get me down," but I couldn't swear to it.
"What is the meaning of this?" Jean-Claude said. His voice filled the huge room, hissing and tumbling until the shadows gave his words back in harsh, sibilant echoes.
Padma stepped out of the far hallway. He was dressed in a suit that glittered as gold as the tablecloth. He was even wearing a golden turban with peacock feathers and a sapphire bigger than my thumb. He looked like someone had called down to central casting for a maharaja.
"You have offered us no hospitality at all, Jean-Claude. Malcolm and his people have offered us refreshment. But you, the Master of the City, have offered us nothing." He motioned upward at Ernie. "This one walked in without our permission. He said he was yours."
Jean-Claude walked until he stood by the table and could look up into Ernie's face. "You came home two days early from your family visit. The next time, if there is a next time, call first."
Ernie stared at him, eyes wide, making small hmmm sounds through the gag. He kicked his legs enough that he started to swing.
"Struggling will just make your shoulders hurt more," Jean-Claude said. "Be at peace." As he said it, Ernie slowly grew limp. Jean-Claude had captured him with his eyes and was lulling him to, if not sleep, peace. The tension drained from him, and he stared at Jean-Claude, brown eyes empty, waiting. At least he wasn't scared anymore.
Gideon and Thomas came up to stand on either side of Padma. Thomas was in full uniform, boots polished like a black mirror. The helmet was white with a long tassel on top that was probably horsehair. The coat was red, the buttons brass, white gloves, even a sword.
Gideon was pretty close to naked. A white thong was all he wore on his body. It barely covered him. A heavy gold collar encrusted with small diamonds and huge emeralds covered almost his entire neck. His carefully combed golden hair fanned over it. A chain led from the collar to Thomas's hands.
Padma put his hand out, and Thomas gave the chain to him. Neither Thomas nor Gideon exchanged so much as a glance. They'd seen the show before.
The only thing that kept me from making some scathing remark was that I'd pretty much given my word to let Jean-Claude do the talking tonight. He thought I might say something to piss someone off. Who me?
Jean-Claude walked around the table. Richard and I fell two steps back, mirroring Padma and his pets. The symbolism wasn't lost on anyone. Thing was, Richard and I were pretending. I didn't think the others were.
"I suppose you mean to slit his throat into the warmer, then serve his blood to all?" Jean-Claude said.
Padma smiled and gave a gracious nod of his head.
Jean-Claude laughed that wonderfully touchable laugh of his. "If you really meant to do that, Master of Beasts, you'd have hung him by his ankles."
Richard and I did exchange glances behind his back. I turned and looked at Ernie's peacefully hanging figure. How had Jean-Claude known you'd have to hang him by his ankles? Ask a silly question.
"Are you saying we are bluffing?" Padma asked.
"No," Jean-Claude said, "merely grandstanding."
Padma smiled, and it almost reached his eyes. "You always did play the game well."
Jean-Claude gave a small bow, never taking his eyes from the other vampire. "I am honored that you think well of me, Master of Beasts."
Padma gave a sharp laugh. "A honeyed tongue, Master of the City." The humor died abruptly, gone, poof. His face was suddenly harsh, empty, except for anger. "But the point remains you have been a poor host. I have fed through my servants." He slid a dark hand caressingly down Gideon's bare shoulder. The weretiger never reacted. It was as if Padma were not there. Or maybe as if he, Gideon, were not there.
"But there are others who are not so blessed as I. They hunger, Jean-Claude. They stand in your territory as your guests and know hunger."
"The Traveler was feeding them," Jean-Claude said. "I thought he was feeding you as well."
"I do not need his cast-off energy," Padma said. "He was sustaining the others until that one" — he pointed at me with his free hand—"told him to stop."
I started to say something, almost asked permission, and thought, screw it. "Asked him to stop," I said. "No one tells the Traveler what to do." There, that was so diplomatic, my teeth hurt.
His laughter entered the room ahead of him. The Traveler's new body was young, male, handsome, and so newly dead he still had a good tan. Balthasar came at his side, hands sliding over the other man's body possessively. A new toy to explore. I'd been told that Malcolm was loaning the Traveler a church member. I wondered if Malcolm really knew what the Traveler and Balthasar were doing with the body.
I would have said they were both wearing togas, but that wasn't quite it. The Traveler wore a rich purple cloth pinned at one shoulder with a ruby-and-gold brooch. His left shoulder was bare, showing the smooth tanned skin to good advantage. The garment was gathered at the waist with two woven red cords. It fell nearly to his ankles, giving glimpses of sandals tied around his ankles.
Balthasar wore red with an amethyst-and-silver brooch at one shoulder. His bare shoulder showed just enough chest to prove he was muscular, as if there'd been any doubt. The red garment was bound at the waist with purple cords.
"You guys look like the Bobbsey Twins," I said.
Jean-Claude cleared his throat.
I stopped talking, but if everyone had such nifty clothes, I wasn't sure I could stop myself from making remarks. I mean, it was just too easy.
The Traveler threw his head back and laughed. It was a joyous laugh with an edge underneath like the hissing of snakes. He turned brown eyes to me, but down in the depths it was him. I'd have known him no matter whose eyes he was looking out of.
Balthasar was actually shorter than the new body by an inch or two. He stood close enough for the Traveler to take him under his arm, like a tall man will walk with a woman, cradled against his body, protected.