[Anita Blake 17] - Skin Trade (6 page)

“He's a vampire, not a shapeshifter, Jason. Vampire flesh doesn't heal quite the same.”

“You can heal fresh wounds on all sorts of dead flesh, including vampires.”

“That's fresh wounds, Jason, and never a burn.”

“Maybe if the doctor cuts away the scars, it'll count as a fresh wound, then you could heal him.”

“And what if it doesn't work? What if Doc Lillian cuts away part of Asher and I can't heal it, and it doesn't heal on its own? He just goes around with a big hole in his side, or wherever?”

“You know, we have to try.”

I shook my head. “All I know for sure is I've got a plane to catch, and I need to call some guards down to help me carry up the weapons.”

“You know, the guards are scared of you now.”

“Yeah, they think I'm a succubus and I'll eat their souls.”

“You feed off sex, Anita, and if you don't feed often enough, you die. That's pretty much the definition of
succubus
, isn't it?”

I frowned at him. “Thanks, Jason, that makes me feel
so
much better.”

He grinned and shrugged. “Who are you going to feed on in Vegas?”

“There's Crispin,” I said.

“You can't feed on one little weretiger for long.”

“I can feed on anger now, remember?” I'd discovered that ability only recently. Jean-Claude couldn't do it, and neither could anyone in his bloodline, which meant if I were only gaining powers through him, I shouldn't have been able to do it either, but I could.

“You know, you haven't got that down to a science yet,” he said.

“No, but it works.”

“And whose anger are you going to feed on in Vegas?”

“I'll be hanging around with cops and suspects; please, we're an angry bunch.”

“If you feed off them without their permission, it's illegal. I think it's even a felony.”

“If I fed blood, yes, but the law hasn't caught up to the vamps who can feed through other things. If I fed on sex involuntarily, then it would be covered under the date-rape psychic and magic ability law, but if I feed on anger, it's a gray area.”

“What if they find out? The cops already think you're one of us.”

I thought about it, then shrugged. “Honestly, the way most warrants are worded, I'm sort of encouraged to use any metaphysical abilities in pursuit of the bad guys.”

“I don't think feeding off them is what the warrant means,” he said.

“No”—I smiled—“but it's the way it's written. The law is all about how it's written and how you can interpret it.”

“What happened to the girl I met a few years back who believed in truth, justice, and the American way?”

“She grew up,” I said.

His face softened. “Why do I feel like I should apologize on behalf of all the men in your life for that?”

“Don't flatter yourselves; the police helped toughen me up, too.”

“You've only fed on anger a few times, and it's not usually as good a feeding as the
ardeur
.”

“Jean-Claude can divide my
ardeur
up among all of you while I'm gone. He's done it before when I've worked with the police.”

“Yeah, but that's only a temporary measure, and it works better if you've had a really good feeding before he tries it.”

“You offering?” I asked.

He gave me a wide grin. “And if I say yes, what then?”

“This is a trick to delay me until Jean-Claude wakes up, because you think with him awake I won't be able to just fly away.”

“I think you have a hard enough time saying no to just little old me; if our master wakes and says, ‘Don't go,' could you defy him?”

I was suddenly afraid. Because Jason was right; whatever was happening with me and the men, Jean-Claude was the hardest to resist. It was almost as if it hadn't been my necromancy that kept me safe from him controlling me but my lack of proximity. It was almost as if simply being too close to him too much of the time was wearing my resistance and my independence away.

“Thanks, Jason,” I said.

He frowned. “For what?”

“Now I am going, because I don't know if I could go if he woke up and told me to stay. That's not cool. I'm a U.S. Marshal and a vampire executioner. I have to be able to do my job, or what am I?”

“You're Anita Blake, Jean-Claude's human servant, and the first true necromancer in a thousand years.”

“Yeah, his pet necromancer.” I went for the door to tell the guards to send more guards to help tote and fetch.

Jason called after me, “You're one of my best friends, and I'm afraid for you in Vegas.”

I nodded, but didn't turn around just in case seeing one of my best friends nude made me change my mind. “I'm afraid, too, Jason—of Vegas, and Vittorio, but I'm beginning to be afraid to stay here.” I wrapped my hand around the door handle and said, “When he's awake, when he looks at me, I'm having more and more trouble saying no. I'm losing myself, Jason.”

“I'm your animal to call, Anita; touch me and you gain strength to resist other vampires.”

“Problem is, Jason, that you're one of the people I'm losing myself to. It's not just Jean-Claude, it's all of you. I can fight one or two of you, but I can't fight six of you. I'm outnumbered.”

I opened the door and told the black-shirted guards that I needed bellmen. I didn't go back into the bedroom. I didn't want to talk to Jason anymore, and I didn't want to gaze down at the bed with the two beautiful vampires in it. If I hadn't been convinced that Vittorio wanted to kill me and mail my head somewhere, I'd have looked forward to the trip to Vegas. I needed some distance between me and the men in my life.

 

 

THE PLANE LANDED in Vegas without me having hysterics. Brownie point for me. The really sad thing was that I flew better now if I had someone next to me, so while I was happy for some privacy, I also missed a boyfriend's hand to hold. I couldn't want to run away from them all
and
miss them, could I? I mean, that made no sense even to me.

St. Louis is hot, but Vegas is hotter. They can say it's a dry heat, but so is an oven. It was so hot that it took my breath away for a second. It was like my body just went,
You're joking, right?
No, unfortunately, we were not only serious, but we'd be hunting vampires in this heat. Great.

I slipped on sunglasses, as if that would make any difference to the heat, but it did help with the brightness.

The pilot was helping me unload my luggage when I spotted a big man in uniform coming our way. He had a few other uniforms at his back. They kept a respectful distance, and I didn't need to see the nameplate that said
Undersheriff
to make me guess it was Sheriff Shaw.

Shaw was a big guy, with a hand that swallowed mine when we shook. His eyes were lost to me behind mirrored sunglasses, but then my eyes were lost to him, too. Sunglasses may look cool, but they hide one of the best ways to decipher another person. People can lie with a lot of themselves, but eyes can give a lot away—sometimes not by what they show you but when they go their most hidden. You can judge a lot by what a person wants to hide. Of course, we were all standing in the middle of a desert, so maybe the glasses weren't for hiding anything, just for comfort.

“Fry and Reddick will get your bags,” Shaw said. “You can drive ahead with me.”

“Sorry, Sheriff, but once a warrant of execution is in effect and the hunt begins, I'm legally bound to keep my kit in sight, or secured by me, or with me watching, in an area out of sight of the general public.”

“When did that change?” he asked.

It was Grimes who answered, “About a month ago.”

I nodded at the lieutenant. “I'm impressed you know that.”

He actually smiled. “We've been going in with our local executioner for a year. It's our job to know if the law has changed.”

I nodded again. I didn't say out loud that a lot of police still treated the preternatural branch of the marshal service as a lesser unit, or maybe an embarrassment. I couldn't really blame the attitude; some of us were little better than assassins with badges, but the rest of us did our best.

“What caused the change?” Shaw asked.

I liked that he asked. Most wouldn't. I answered this time. “A vampire hunter in Colorado left his bag of tricks on the backseat of his car, where some teenage joyriders stole it. They probably had no idea what was in it, but they did sell the guns, and one of them was used in a holdup where there was a death.”

Shaw looked at the heavy equipment bags. “You can't carry all that on a hunt. Some of those bags must weigh more than you do.”

“I'll store them, then take what I need for the hunt. I'll get it down to a backpack and some weapons.”

Grimes said, “We can store them at our place. We'll be with you when you serve the warrant, so you can come back and load up with us.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

Grimes gave me that smile again; I still wasn't sure if it was a real smile or his version of cop face. Some give a blank face, some give smiles, but all police have a face you cannot read. I might not even learn which it was on this visit, because the lieutenant would not be going in to help serve the warrant. He'd be back at the command center, commanding.

“Sonny will drive us back, then you can stow your gear.” I wasn't sure who Sonny was, but I'd figure it out when someone got behind the wheel.

“I'll need to be taking Marshal Blake for debriefing,” Shaw said.

“You want to ride with us, Sheriff?” Grimes asked.

Shaw seemed to think about it for a second or two. He took his hat off and wiped some of the sweat, showing that his haircut was shorter than the SWAT. He had what the marines call a high and tight, nearly shaved on the sides, and not much longer on top, as if he'd never left the service, or at least not its barbers.

“I'll follow you; let's just get out of the heat.”

They all nodded, and I just waited for someone to move toward the car we'd be taking. I'd expected more speed when I hit the ground. Everyone was being way too calm, but then, so was I. Whatever we were feeling inside, outside it was all business. There'd be time for emotion later, maybe. Sometimes you keep putting off an emotional reaction until it just becomes moot. It becomes just one more thing that you couldn't afford to let yourself feel.

I picked up one of the big equipment bags and started to reach for another, but Rocco got there first. I let him get it. Hooper reached for the last bag, and I was okay with that, too. It was when Grimes started to reach for the bag I was carrying that we had problems.

“I've got it, Lieutenant, thanks.”

We had a moment where he hesitated, and we looked at each other. I finally said, “You can get the luggage if you want.”

He gave a little nod and went for the luggage. I learned that Hooper was Sonny, because he was the one who opened the back of an SUV. The back was full of his own equipment. His assault vest was visible, as well as two different helmets. There was a lot of stuff, but no guns were visible.

He answered as if I'd asked, “Gun safe.” He moved the pile enough for me to see it.

“Aftermarket add-on?” I asked.

He nodded.

“I'll have to look into that. It would satisfy the new law, as written, and be a heck of a lot more convienient.”

“We have to be ready to roll at any time.”

“Me, too.”

There was enough of his equipment already in there that adding my bags stuffed it full. Grimes joined us with my single suitcase in tow. “The pilot said this is all the luggage.”

“It is,” I said.

“Three bags, longer than you are tall, full of weapons, but only one suitcase for clothes,” Rocco said.

“Yep,” I said.

They all sort of nodded as they worked to find room for the suitcase in the back. I'd learned a long time ago that if you packed like a girl, you lost brownie points with the police. The idea was to try to be one of the guys; that meant you did not bring your entire wardrobe on a job. Besides, it was the continental United States; there'd be a mall somewhere if I ran out of clean clothes.

Hooper aka Sonny got in the driver's seat. Grimes rode shotgun. Highest rank usually rode in front, or in back. Depended on the officer. Sergeant Rocco got in beside me. The mound of weapons and bags seemed to sort of press in from behind, as if the potential for destruction could leak out of the bags, or maybe it was nerves? I knew I had grenades in the bags. Yes, Mr. Grenade is your friend until you press, pull, or otherwise activate it, but still, boomy and fiery things were fairly new for me to carry. Part of me didn't exactly trust it; no logic, just nervous. I didn't like explosives.

We pulled out, and Shaw was still standing there in his ring of uniformed officers. He'd been the one to suggest we get out of the heat, but he was still standing in it, watching me from behind his mirrored shades. I realized I'd never seen his eyes, not once. I guess, to be fair, he'd never seen mine.

“He does know we can still see him, right?” I said as we drove past.

“Yes,” Grimes said, “why?”

“Because suddenly he looks unhappy.”

“We lost men,” Grimes said.

I looked at him and found that the pleasant face had slipped a little. Some of the pain that had to be in there showed around the edges. Pain, and that thin edge of anger that we all carry around with us.