The Lunatic Cafe, Page 3

  His hair was fashionably long, the nearly black curls edging the white collar. I knew what color his eyes were, but I didn't look at them now. They were midnight blue, the color of a really good sapphire. Never look a vampire in the eyes. It's a rule.

  With the master vampire of the city standing there, waiting, I realized how empty the theater was. We'd waited out the crowd, all right. We were alone in the echoing silence. The distant murmur of the departing crowd was like white noise. It meant nothing to us. I stared at the shiny mother-of-pearl buttons on Jean-Claude's vest. It was hard to be tough when you couldn't meet someone's eyes. But I'd manage.

  "God, Jean-Claude, don't you ever wear anything but black and white?"

  "Don't you like it, ma petite?" He gave a little spin so I could get the whole effect. The outfit suited him beautifully. Of course, everything he wore seemed made to order, perfect, lovely, just like him.

  "Somehow I didn't think Guys and Dolls would be your cup of tea, Jean-Claude."

  "Or yours, ma petite." The voice was rich like cream, with a warmth that only two things could give it: anger or lust. I was betting it wasn't lust.

  I had the gun, and silver bullets would slow him down, but it wouldn't kill him. Of course, Jean-Claude wouldn't jump us in public. He was much too civilized for that. He was a business vampire, an entrepreneur. Entrepreneurs, dead or alive, didn't go around tearing people's throats out. Normally.

  "Richard, you're unusually quiet." He stared past me. I didn't glance back to see what Richard was doing. Never take your eyes off the vampire in front of you to glance at the werewolf in back of you. One problem at a time.

  "Anita can speak for herself," Richard said.

  Jean-Claude's attention flicked back to me. "That is certainly true. But I came to see how the two of you enjoyed the play."

  "And pigs fly," I said.

  "You don't believe me?"

  "Not hardly," I said.

  "Come, Richard, how did you enjoy your evening?" There was an edge of laughter to his voice but under that was still the anger. Master vampires are not good to be around when they're angry.

  "It was wonderful until you showed up." There was a note of warmth to Richard's voice, the beginnings of anger. I'd never seen him angry.

  "How could my mere presence spoil your...date?" The last was spit out, scalding hot.

  "Why are you so pissed tonight, Jean-Claude?" I asked.

  "Why, ma petite, I never get...pissed."

  "Bullshit."

  "He's jealous of you and me," Richard said.

  "I am not jealous."

  "You're always telling Anita how you can smell her desire for you. Well, I can smell yours. You want her so bad you can"--Richard gave an almost bitter sound--"taste it."

  "And you, Monsieur Zeeman, you don't lust after her?"

  "Stop talking like I'm not here," I said.

  "Anita asked me out on a date. I said yes."

  "Is this true, ma petite?" His voice had gone very quiet. Scarier than anger, that quietness.

  I wanted to say no, but he'd smell a lie. "It's true. What of it?"

  Silence. He just stood there utterly still. If I hadn't been looking right at him, I wouldn't have known he was there. The dead make no noise.

  My beeper went off. Richard and I jumped as if we'd been shot. Jean-Claude was motionless as if he hadn't heard it.

  I hit the button, and the number that flashed made me groan.

  "What is it?" Richard asked. He laid his hand on my shoulder.

  "The police. I've got to find a phone." I leaned back against Richard's chest. His hand squeezed my shoulder. I stared at the vampire in front of me. Would Jean-Claude hurt him after I'd gone? I wasn't sure.

  "You got a cross on you?" I didn't bother to whisper. Jean-Claude would have heard me anyway.

  "No."

  I half turned. "No! You're out after dark without a cross?"

  He shrugged. "I'm a shapeshifter. I can take care of myself."

  I shook my head. "Getting your throat ripped out once wasn't enough?"

  "I'm still alive," he said.

  "I know you heal from almost anything, but for God's sake, Richard, you don't heal from everything." I started pulling the silver chain of my crucifix out of my blouse. "You can borrow mine."

  "Is that real silver?" Richard asked.

  "Yes."

  "I can't. I'm allergic to silver, remember."

  Ah. Stupid me. Some preternatural expert offering silver to a lycanthrope. I tucked the chain back in my blouse.

  "He's no more human than I am, ma petite."

  "At least I'm not dead."

  "That can be remedied."

  "Stop it, both of you."

  "Have you seen her bedroom, Richard? Her collection of toy penguins?"

  I took a deep breath and let it out. I was not going to stand here and explain how Jean-Claude had managed to see my bedroom. Did I really have to say, out loud, that I didn't sleep with the walking dead?

  "You're trying to make me jealous, and it won't work," Richard said.

  "But there is that worm of doubt in you, Richard. I know it. You are my creature to call, my wolf, and I know you doubt her."

  "I don't doubt Anita." But there was a defensiveness in his voice that I didn't like at all.

  "I don't belong to you, Jean-Claude," Richard said. "I'm second in line to lead the pack. I come and go where I please. The alpha rescinded his orders about obeying you, after you nearly got me killed."

  "Your pack leader was most upset that you survived," Jean-Claude said sweetly.

  "Why would the pack leader want Richard dead?" I asked.

  Jean-Claude looked past me at Richard. "You haven't told her that you're in a battle of succession?"

  "I will not fight Marcus."

  "Then you will die." Jean-Claude made it sound very simple.

  My beeper sounded again. Same number. "I'm coming, Dolph," I muttered.

  I glanced at Richard. Anger glittered in his eyes. His hands were balled into fists. I was standing close enough to feel the tension coming off him like waves.

  "What's going on, Richard?"

  He gave a quick shake of his head. "My business, not yours."

  "If someone's threatening you, it is my business."

  He stared down at me. "No, you aren't one of us. I won't involve you."

  "I can handle myself, Richard."

  He just shook his head.

  "Marcus wants to involve you, ma petite. Richard refuses. It is a...bone of contention between them. One of many."

  "How do you know so much about it?" I asked.

  "We leaders of the preternatural community must deal with each other. For everyone's safety."

  Richard just stood staring at him. It occurred to me for the first time that he seemed to look Jean-Claude in the eyes, with no ill effects. "Richard, can you meet his eyes?"

  Richard's eyes flicked down to me, then back to Jean-Claude. "Yes. I'm a monster, too. I can look him in the eyes."

  I shook my head. "Irving can't look him in the eyes. It's not just being a werewolf."

  "As I am a master vampire, so our handsome friend here is a master werewolf. Though they do not call them that. Alpha males, is it not? Pack leaders."

  "I prefer pack leader."

  "I'll just bet you do," I said.

  Richard looked hurt, his face crumbling like a child's. "You're angry with me, why?"

  "You've got all this heavy shit going on with your pack leader, and you don't tell me. Jean-Claude keeps hinting your leader wants you dead. That true?"

  "Marcus won't kill me," Richard said.

  Jean-Claude laughed. The sound had a bitter undertaste to it, as if it hadn't been laughter at all. "You are a fool, Richard."

  My beeper went off again. I checked the number, and turned it off. It wasn't like Dolph to call this many times, this close together. Something bad was happening. I needed to go. But...

  "I don't have time to get the full stor
y right this second." I poked a finger into the middle of Richard's chest. I gave Jean-Claude my back. He'd already done the damage he'd intended. "You are going to tell me every last bit of what's going on."

  "I don't..."

  "Save it. You either share this problem, or we don't date anymore."

  He looked shocked. "Why?"

  "Either you kept me out to protect me, which I'm going to hate. Or you have some other reason. It better be a damn good reason and not just some male ego shit."

  Jean-Claude laughed again. This time the sound wrapped me around like flannel, warm and comforting, thick and soft next to naked skin. I shook my head. Just Jean-Claude's laughter was an invasion of privacy.

  I turned to him, and there must have been something in my face because the laughter died as if it had never been. "As for you, you can get the hell out of here. You've had your fun for the night."

  "Whatever do you mean, ma petite?" His beautiful face was as pure and blank as a mask.

  I shook my head and stepped forward. I was leaving. I had work to do. Richard's hand gripped my shoulder.

  "Let me go, Richard. I'm mad at you right now." I didn't look at him. I didn't want to see his face. I was afraid if he looked hurt, I'd forgive him anything.

  "You heard her, Richard. She doesn't want you touching her." Jean-Claude had taken a gliding step closer.

  "Leave it alone, Jean-Claude."

  Richard's hand squeezed gently. "She doesn't want you, Jean-Claude." There was anger in his voice, more anger than should have been there. As if he were trying to convince himself more than Jean-Claude.

  I stepped forward, shaking his hand off. I wanted to reach for it, but didn't. He'd been keeping major shit from me. Dangerous shit. It wasn't allowed. Worse yet, he thought in some dark corner of his soul that I might have given in to Jean-Claude. What a mess.

  "Fuck you both," I said.

  "So you have not had that pleasure?" Jean-Claude said.

  "That's Anita's question to answer, not mine," Richard said.

  "I would know it if you had."

  "Liar," I said.

  "No, ma petite. I would smell him on your skin."

  I wanted to slug him. The desire to smash that beautiful face was physical. It tightened my shoulders, made my arms ache. But I knew better. You don't volunteer for slugfests with vampires. It shortens your life expectancy.

  I walked up very close to Jean-Claude, bodies nearly touching. I stared him in the nose, which ruined some of the effect, but his eyes were drowning pools and I knew better.

  "I hate you." My voice was flat with the effort not to scream. In that moment I meant it. And I knew Jean-Claude would sense it. I wanted him to know.

  "Ma petite..."

  "No, you've done enough talking. It's my turn. If you harm Richard Zeeman, I'll kill you."

  "He means that much to you?" There was surprise in his voice. Great.

  "No, you mean that little." I stepped away from him, around him. Gave him my back and walked away. Let him sink his fangs into that bit of truth. Tonight, I meant every word.

  5

  THE NUMBER ON my beeper was the car phone of Detective Sergeant Rudolf Storr. A Christmas present from his wife last year. I'd sent her a thank-you note. Police radio made everything sound like a foreign language. Dolph picked up on the fifth ring. I knew he'd get to it eventually.

  "Anita."

  "What if I'd been your wife?" I asked.

  "She'd know I was working."

  I let it go. Not every wife would appreciate her husband answering the phone with another woman's name. Maybe Lucille was different.

  "What's up, Dolph? This was supposed to be my night off."

  "Sorry, the murderer didn't know that. If you're too busy, we'll muddle through without you."

  "What's got your panties in a twist?"

  I was rewarded with a small sound that might have been a laugh. "Not your fault. We're out towards Six Flags on Forty-four."

  "Where exactly on Forty-four?"

  "Out near the Audubon Nature Center. How soon can you get here?"

  "Problem, I don't know where the hell you are. How do I get to the nature center?"

  "It's across the road from the St. Ambrose Monastery."

  "Don't know it," I said.

  He sighed. "Hell, we're out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Those are the only landmarks."

  "Just give me directions. I'll find it."

  He gave me directions. There were too many of them, and I didn't have pen and paper. "Hold on, I've got to get something to write with." I laid the phone down and snatched a napkin from the concession area. I begged a pen from an older couple. The man was wearing a cashmere overcoat. The woman wore real diamonds. The pen was engraved, and might have been real gold. He did not make me promise to bring it back. Trusting, or above such petty concerns. I was going to have to start stocking my own writing materials. It was getting embarrassing.

  "I'm back, Dolph, go ahead."

  He didn't ask what took so long. Dolph isn't big on extraneous questions. He gave the directions again. I read them back to him to be sure I had them right. I did.

  "Dolph, this is at least a forty-five minute drive." I'm usually the last expert to be called in. After the victim has been photographed, videotaped, poked, prodded, etc.... After I come, everyone gets to go home, or at least leave the murder scene. People were not going to like cooling their heels for two hours.

  "I called you as soon as I figured out nothing human did it. It'll take us at least forty-five minutes to finish up and be ready for you."

  I should have known Dolph would have planned ahead. "Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."

  He hung up. I hung up. Dolph never said good-bye.

  I gave the man back his pen. He accepted it graciously as if he'd never doubted its return. Good breeding.

  I went for the doors. Neither Jean-Claude nor Richard had made it to the lobby. They were in public so I didn't really think they'd have a fistfight, angry words but not violence. So the vampire and the werewolf could take care of themselves. Besides, if Richard wasn't allowed to worry about me when I was off on my own, the least I could do was return the favor. I didn't think Jean-Claude really wanted to push me that far. Not really. One of us would die, and I was beginning to think, just maybe, it wouldn't be me.

  6

  THE COLD WRAPPED around me outside the doors. I hunched my shoulders, tucking my chin inside my collar. A laughing foursome walked a few yards ahead of me. They hung on each other, huddling against the cold. The women's high heels made a sharp theatrical clatter. Their laughter was too high, too shrill. A first double date that had gone well, so far. Or maybe they were all deeply in love and I was feeling bitchy. Maybe.

  The foursome parted like water around a stone, revealing a woman. The couples came back together on the other side of her, laughing as if they hadn't seen her. Which they probably hadn't.

  I felt it now, a faint stirring in the cold air. A sensation that had nothing to do with the wind. She was pretending to be unseen. Until the couples had noticed her, by not noticing her, I hadn't noticed her, either. Which meant she was good. Very, very good.

  She stood under the last streetlight. Her hair was butter yellow and thick with waves. Longer than mine, nearly to her waist. The coat she wore, buttoned all the way up, was black. The color was too harsh for her. It bleached the color from her skin even with makeup.

  She stood in the center of the sidewalk, arrogant. She was about my size, not physically imposing. So why did she stand there as if nothing in the world could hurt her? Only three things give you that kind of confidence: a machine gun, stupidity, or being a vampire. I didn't see a machine gun, and she didn't look stupid. She did look like a vampire now that I realized what I was looking at. The makeup was good. It made her look almost alive. Almost.

  She caught me staring at her. She stared back, trying to catch my eyes with her own, but I was an old hand at this little dance. Staring at someon
e's face while not staring at their eyes is a trick that gets easier with practice. She frowned at me. Didn't like the eyes not working.

  I stood about two yards from her. Feet apart, as balanced as I was going to get in high heels. My hands were already out in the cold, ready to go for my gun if I had to.

  Her power crept over my skin like fingers touching here and there, trying to find a weakness. She was very good, but she was also only a little over a hundred. A hundred years wasn't old enough to cloud my mind. All animators had a partial natural immunity to vampires. Mine seemed to be higher than most.

  Her pretty face was blank with concentration like a china doll's. She flung a hand outward as if throwing something at me. I flinched, and her power caught me like an invisible wave, slamming into my body. It staggered me.

  I pulled my gun. She didn't try and jump me. She tried to concentrate me out of it. She was at least two hundred years old. I'd underestimated her age by a century. I didn't make mistakes like that often. Her power beat along my skin like tiny clubs, but it never came close to touching my mind. I was almost as surprised as she looked when I pointed the gun at her. It had been too easy.

  "Hey," came a voice from behind us. "Put the gun down, now!" A policeman, just when I needed one. I pointed the gun at the sidewalk.

  "Put the gun on the sidewalk, right now," his voice growled out, and without turning around I knew his own gun was out. Cops take guns very seriously. I held the Browning out to my right, one-handed, left hand in the air, and squatted to lay the gun gently on the sidewalk.

  "I do not need this interruption," the vampire said. I glanced up at her as I stood, slowly, putting my hands atop my head, fingers laced. Maybe I'd get points for knowing the drill. She was staring past me at the approaching cop. It wasn't a friendly look.

  "Don't hurt him," I said.

  Her eyes flicked back to me. "We are not allowed to attack the police." Her voice was thick with scorn. "I know the rules."

  I wanted to say, "What rules?" but didn't. It was a good rule. The policeman could live with a rule like that. Of course, I wasn't a cop, and I was betting the rules didn't apply to me.

  The cop came into view out of the corner of my eye. His gun was pointing at me. He kicked my gun out of reach. I saw it hit the building. A hand shoved into my back, getting my attention. "You don't need to know where the gun went."