Aubrey moved up behind her. “Look at me, Catherine.”
She stiffened. Her fingers dug into my hand; incredible tension vibrated down her muscles. She was fighting it. God, help her. But she didn't have any magic, or crucifixes. Strength of will was not enough, not against something like Aubrey.
Her hand fell away from my arm, fingers going limp all at once. Breath went out of her in a long, shuddering sigh. She stared at something just a little over my head, something I couldn't see.
I whispered, “Catherine, I'm sorry.”
“Aubrey can wipe her memory of this night. She will think she drank too much, but that will not undo the damage.”
“I know. The only thing that can break Aubrey's hold on her is his death.”
“She will be dust in her grave before that happens.”
I stared at him, at the blood stain on his shirt. I smiled a very careful smile.
“This little wound was luck and nothing more. Do not let it make you overconfident,” Aubrey said.
Overconfident; now that was funny. I barely managed not to laugh. “I understand the threat, Jean-Claude. Either I do what you want or Aubrey finishes what he started with Catherine.”
“You have grasped the situation, ma petite.”
“Stop calling me that. What is it exactly that you want from me?”
“I believe Willie McCoy told you what we wanted.”
“You want to hire me to check into the vampire murders?”
“Exactly.”
“This,” I motioned to Catherine's blank face, “was hardly necessary. You could have beaten me up, threatened my life, offered me more money. You could have done a lot of things before you did this.”
He smiled, lips tight. “All that would have taken time. And let us be truthful. In the end you would still have refused us.”
“Maybe.”
“This way, you have no choice.”
He had a point. “Okay, I'm on the case. Satisfied?”
“Very,” Jean-Claude said, his voice very soft. “What of your friend?”
“I want her to go home in a cab. And I want some guarantees that old long-fang isn't going to kill her anyway.”
Aubrey laughed, a rich sound that ended in a hysterical hissing. He was bent over, shaking with laughter. “Long-fang, I like that.”
Jean-Claude glanced at the laughing vampire and said, “I will give you my word that she will not be harmed if you help us.”
“No offense, but that's not enough.”
“You doubt my word.” His voice growled low and warm, angry.
“No, but you don't hold Aubrey's leash. Unless he answers to you you can't guarantee his behavior.”
Aubrey's laughter had softened to a few faint giggles. I had never heard a vampire giggle before. It wasn't a pleasant sound. The laughter died completely, and he straightened. “No one holds my leash, girl. I am my own master.”
“Oh, get real. If you were over five hundred years old, and a master vampire, you'd have cleaned up the stage with me. As it was”-I flattened my hands palms up-“you didn't, which means you're very old but not your own master.”
He growled low in his throat, face darkening with anger. “How dare you?”
“Think, Aubrey, she judged your age within fifty years. You are not a master vampire, and she knew that. We need her.”
“She needs to learn some humility.” He stalked towards me, body rigid with anger, hands clenching and unclenching in the air.
Jean-Claude stepped between us. “Nikolaos is expecting us to bring her, unharmed.”
Aubrey hesitated. He snarled; his jaws snapped on empty air. The smack of his teeth biting together was a dull, angry sound.
They stared at each other. I could feel their wills straining through the air, like a distant wind. It made the skin at the back of my neck crawl. It was Aubrey who looked away, with an angry graceful blink. “I will not anger, my master.” He emphasized “my,” making it clear that Jean-Claude was not “his” master.
I swallowed hard twice, and it sounded loud. If they wanted me scared, they were doing a hell of a job. “Who is Nikolaos?”
Jean-Claude turned to look at me, his face calm and beautiful. “That question is not ours to answer.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He smiled, lips curling carefully so no fang showed. “Let us put your friend in a cab, out of harm's way.”
“What of Monica”
He grinned then, fangs showing; he looked genuinely amused. “Are you worried for her safety?”
It hit me then-the impromptu bachelorette party, there only being the three of us. “She was the lure to get Catherine and me down here.”
He nodded, once down, once up.
I wanted to go back out and smash Monica's face in. The more I thought about the idea, the better it sounded. As if by magic, she parted the curtains and came back. I smiled at her, and it felt good.
She hesitated, glancing from me to Jean-Claude and back. “Is everything going according to plan?”
I walked towards her. Jean-Claude grabbed my arm. “Do not harm her, Anita. She is under our protection.”
“I swear to you that I will not lay a finger on her tonight. I just want to tell her something.”
He released my arm, slowly, like he wasn't sure it was a good idea. I stepped next to Monica, until our bodies almost touched. I whispered into her face, “If anything happens to Catherine, I will see you dead.”
She smirked at me, confident in her protectors. “They will bring me back as one of them.”
I felt my head shake, a little to the right, a little to the left, a slow precise movement. “I will cut out your heart.” I was still smiling, I couldn't seem to stop. “Then I will burn it and scatter the ashes in the river. Do you understand me?”
She swallowed audibly. Her health-club tan looked a little green. She nodded, staring at me like I was the bogey man.
I think she believed I'd do it. Peachy keen. I hate to waste a really good threat.
8
I watched Catherine's cab vanish around the corner. She never turned, or waved, or spoke. She would wake tomorrow with vague memories. Just a night out with the girls.
I would like to have thought she was out of it, safe, but I knew better. The air smelled thickly of rain. The street lights glistened off the sidewalk. The air was almost too thick to breathe. St. Louis in the summer. Peachy.
“Shall we go?” Jean-Claude asked.
He stood, white shirt gleaming in the dark. If the humidity bothered him, it didn't show. Aubrey stood in the shadows near the door. The only light on him was the crimson neon of the club sign. He grinned at me, face painted red, body lost in shadows.
“It's a little too contrived, Aubrey,” I said.
His grin wavered. “What do you mean?”
“You look like a B-movie Dracula.”
He flowed down the steps, with that easy perfection that only the really old ones have. The street light showed his face tight, hands balled into fists.
Jean-Claude stepped in front of him and spoke low, voice a soothing whisper. Aubrey turned away with a jerky shrug and began to glide up the street.