Bloody Bones (20 page)

He nodded. “Figured that.”

“And you better not be waiting down there with another gun.”

He looked at me for a long minute. At both of us. He shook his head. “I'm going home to my wife.”

“You do that, Beau,” I said.

He walked away, black slicker flapping against his legs. He hesitated, then said, “I'm out of it from now on. Money doesn't spend if you're dead.”

I knew a few vampires that would argue with him, but I said, “Glad to hear it.”

“I just don't want to get shot,” he said. He walked away down the slope, out of sight.

I stood there with the Browning pointed skyward. I turned in a slow circle, surveying the mountaintop. We were alone, the three of us. So why didn't I want to put my gun up?

Magnus took a step up the slope and stopped. He raised slender hands towards the power-charged air. He trailed fingertips down it, like it was water. I felt the ripples of his touch shiver down my skin, tremble through my magic.

No, I wasn't putting my gun up yet.

“What was that?” Larry asked. His gun was still out, pointed at the ground.

Bouvier moved his gleaming eyes to Larry. “He is not a necromancer, Anita, but he is more than he seems.”

“Aren't we all,” I said. “Why didn't you want me to raise the dead, Magnus?”

He stared up at me. His eyes were full of glinting lights like reflections in a pool, but the reflections were of things that were not there.

“Answer me, Magnus.”

“Or what?” he asked. “You'll shoot me?”

“Maybe,” I said.

The slope made him shorter than I was, so I was looking down on him. “I didn't believe anyone could raise dead this old without a human sacrifice. I thought you'd take Stirling's money, try, fail, and go home.” He took a step forward, trailing his hands through the power again, as if he were testing it. As if he weren't sure he could cross into it. The touch made Larry gasp.

“With this power you can raise some of them, maybe enough of them,” Magnus said.

“Enough for what?” I asked.

He stared up at me, as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud. “You mustn't raise the dead on this mountain, Anita, Larry. You must not.”

“Give us a reason not to,” I said.

He smiled up at me. “I don't suppose just because I asked.”

I shook my head. “Not hardly.”

“This would be so much easier if glamor worked on you.” He took another step up the slope. “Of course, if glamor worked on you, we wouldn't be here, would we?”

If he wouldn't answer one question, I'd try another one. “Why'd you run from the police?”

He took another step closer, and I backed up. He'd done nothing overtly threatening, but there was something about him as he stood there, something alien.

There were images in his eyes that made me want to glance behind to see what was reflecting in his eyes. I could almost see trees, water . . . It was like the things you see out of the corner of your eye, except in color.

“You told the police my secret; why?”

“I had to.”

“You really think I did those awful things to those boys?” He took another step, moving into the flow of power, but he didn't slip easily as Larry had. Magnus was like a mountain, huge, forcing the power to go wide around him, as if he filled more space magically than could be seen with the naked eye.

I pointed the Browning two-handed at his chest. “No, I don't.”

“Then why point a gun at me?”

“Why all this fey magic shit?”

He smiled. “I performed a lot of glamor tonight. It's like a high.”

“You feed off your customers,” I said. “You don't just do it for business. You siphon them; that's fucking unseelie court.”

He gave a graceful shrug. “I am what I am.”

“How'd you know the victims were boys?” I asked.

Larry moved to my left, gun pointed carefully at the ground. I'd yelled at him for pointing guns at people too soon.

“The police said so.”

“Liar.”

He smiled gently. “One of them touched me. I saw it all.”

“Convenient,” I said.

He reached out towards me. “Don't even think it.”

Larry pointed his gun at Magnus. “What's going on, Anita?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I can't allow you to raise the dead here. I am sorry.”

“How are you going to stop us?” I asked.

He stared at me, and I felt something push against my magic, like something large swimming just out of sight in the dark. It made me gasp.

“Freeze, right there, or I will pull this trigger.”

“I haven't moved a muscle,” he said softly.

“No games, Magnus; you're too damn close to being dead.”

“What did he just do?” Larry asked. There was a fine tremor in his two-handed grip.

“Later,” I said. “Clasp your hands on top of your head, Magnus, slowly, very slowly.”

“Are you going to take me in, as they say on television?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You've got a better chance of getting to the jail alive with me than with most of the cops.”

“I don't think I'll go with you.” Staring down two guns, and he still sounded sure of himself. He was either stupid or knew something I didn't. I didn't think he was stupid.

“Tell me when to shoot him,” Larry said.

“When I shoot him, you can shoot him, too.”

“Okay,” Larry said.

Magnus looked from one to the other of us. “You would take my life for such a small thing?”

“In a heartbeat,” I said. “Now clasp your hands slowly on top of your head.”

“If I don't?'

“I don't bluff, Magnus.”

“Do you have silver bullets in those guns?”

I just stared at him. I could feel Larry shift slightly beside me. You can only point a gun so long without getting tired, or antsy.

“I'll bet they're silver. Silver isn't very effective against fairies.”

“Cold iron works best,” I said. “I remember.”

“Even normal lead bullets would be better than silver. The metal of the moon is a friend to the fey.”

“Hands, now, or we find out how fairie flesh holds up to silver bullets.”

He raised his hands slowly, gracefully upward. His hands were above shoulder level when he threw himself backwards, falling down the slope. I fired, but he kept on rolling down the earth, and somehow I couldn't quite see him. It was like the air blurred around him.

Larry and I stood at the top of the slope and fired down on him, and I don't think either of us hit him.

He scrambled down the raw earth faster than he looked because he got harder to see even in the moonlight until he vanished into the underbrush left near the midpoint on that side.

“Please tell me he didn't just go poof,” Larry said.

“He didn't just go poof,” I said.

“What did he do, then?”

“How the hell do I know. This wasn't covered in Fairies 301.” I shook my head. “Let's get out of here. I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is, I think we lost our client.”

“You think we lost our hotel rooms?”

“I don't know, Larry. Let's go find out.” I clicked the safety on the Browning but left it out in my hand. I'd have left the safety off, but that didn't seem wise while stumbling down a rocky mountainside even in the moonlight.

“I think you can put the gun up now, Larry.” He hadn't put his safety on.

“You aren't.”

“But I've got the safety on.”

“Oh.” He looked a little sheepish, but he clicked the safety on and holstered it. “You think they would have really killed him?”

“I don't know. Maybe. Beau would have shot at him, but see how much good it did us.”

“Why does Stirling want Magnus dead?”

“I don't know.”

“Why did Magnus run from the police?”

“I don't know.”

“It makes me nervous when you keep answering all my questions with ‘I don't know.' ”

“Me, too,” I said.

I glanced back once just before we lost sight of the mountaintop. The ghosts twisted and flared like candle flames, cool white flames. I knew something else I hadn't known before tonight. Some of the bodies were nearly three hundred years old. A hundred years older than Stirling had told us they were. A hundred years makes a lot of difference in a zombie raising. Why had he lied? Afraid I'd refuse, maybe. Maybe. Some of the bodies were Indian remains. Bits and pieces of jewelry, animal bone, stuff that wasn't European. The Indians in this area didn't bury their dead, at least not in simple graves. And this wasn't a mound.

Something was going on, and I didn't have the faintest idea what it was. But I'd find out. Maybe tomorrow after we got new hotel rooms, gave back the nifty jeep, rented a new car, and told Bert we no longer had a client. Maybe I'd let Larry break the news to him. What are apprentices for if they can't do some of the grunt work?

Okay, okay, I'd tell Bert myself, but I wasn't looking forward to it.

18

S
TIRLING AND
C
O
.
were gone when we trudged down off the mountain. We drove the Jeep back to the hotel. I was frankly surprised they hadn't taken the Jeep with them and left us to walk. Stirling didn't strike me as a man who liked having guns pointed at him. But then, who does?

Larry's room was first down the hall. He hesitated with
his room card in the lock. “You think the rooms are paid for tonight, or do we pack?”

“We pack,” I said.

He nodded, and shoved the card in its little slot. The door handle turned, and in he went. I went to the next door and put in my own card. There was a connecting door between the rooms. We hadn't unlocked it, but it was there. Personally I liked my privacy, even from my friends. And especially from my coworkers.

The room's silence flowed around me. It was wonderful. A few minutes of quiet before I faced Bert and told him all that money had just flown the coop.

The room was a suite with an outer room and a separate bedroom. My apartment wasn't much bigger. There was a bar set into the left-hand wall. Being a teetotaler, that was a real plus for me. The walls were a soft pink with a delicate pattern of gilt-edged leaves, the carpet a deep burgundy. The full-sized couch was a purple so dark it looked nearly black. A love seat matched it. Two armchairs were done in a purple, burgundy, and white floral pattern. All exposed wood was very dark and highly polished. I had suspected I had some kind of honeymoon suite until I saw Larry's room. It was nearly a mirror of mine, but done in shades of green.

A cherrywood desk that looked like a genuine antique sat against the far wall. The connecting door was beside it but opened opposite so you wouldn't accidentally bump the desk. Monogrammed stationery graced the desk, along with a second telephone line for your modem I guess.

I don't know if I'd ever stayed in a room this expensive. I doubted seriously if Beadle, Beadle, Stirling, and Lowenstein would want to pick up the tab now.

A sound jerked me around. The Browning sort of materialized in my hand. I was staring down the barrel at Jean-Claude. He stood in the doorway leading to the bedroom. The shirt had long, full sleeves that had been gathered in three puffs down the length of the arm to end in a spill of cloth that framed his long, pale fingers. The collar was high and tied with a white cravat that spilled lace down the front of him tucked into a vest. It was black and velvety with
pinpricks of silver on it. Thigh-high black boots fit his legs like a second skin.

His hair was nearly as black as the vest, making it hard to tell where the curls ended and the velvety cloth began. A silver and onyx stickpin that I'd seen before pierced the white lace at his chest.

“Well,
ma petite
, are you going to shoot me?”

I was still standing there with the gun pointed at him. He had not moved. He had been very careful to do nothing that could be taken as threatening. His blue, blue eyes stared at me. Serious, waiting.

I pointed the gun at the ceiling and let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “How the hell did you get in here?”

He smiled then, and pushed away from the doorjamb. He walked into the room with that wonderful gliding motion of his. Part cat, part dancer, part something else. Whatever the “else” was, it wasn't human.

I put the gun away, though I wasn't sure I wanted to. It made me feel better having it in my hand. Trouble was, a gun wouldn't help me against Jean-Claude. Oh, if I was going to kill him it would, but that's not what we were doing lately. Lately we were—dating. Can you stand it? I wasn't sure I could.

“The desk clerk let me in.” His voice was very mild, amused, whether with himself or with me it was hard to tell.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I asked him to.” He walked around me like a shark circling its prey.

I didn't turn with him. I stared straight ahead and let him circle me. It would only amuse him if I kept him in sight. The hairs at the back of my neck stood up. I took a step forward and felt his hand fall back. He'd been about to touch my shoulder. I didn't want him to touch me.

“You used mind tricks on the desk clerk?”

“Yes,” he said. That one word was full of so much more. I turned towards him so I could see his face.

He was staring at my legs. He raised his face to mine, and somehow that one quick gaze took in my entire body. His
midnight blue eyes looked even darker than usual. We weren't sure how I was able to meet his gaze. I was beginning to suspect that being a necromancer had more fringe benefits than just being good with zombies.

“Red becomes you,
ma petite
.” His voice had grown softer, deeper. He moved closer to me, not touching. He knew better than that, but somehow his eyes showed where his hands wanted to be. “I like this very much.”

His voice was soft and warm, and far more intimate than his words. “Your legs are wonderful.” His words were growing softer. A whisper in the dark that hovered around my body like a line of warmth. His voice was always like that, touchable. He still had the best voice I'd ever heard.

“Stop it, Jean-Claude. I'm too short to have wonderful legs.”

“I do not understant this modern obsession with height.” He ran his hands just above my hose, so close I could almost feel it like a breath of warmth against my skin.

“Stop it,” I said.

“Stop what?” His voice was utterly mild, harmless. Ri—ight.

I shook my head. Asking Jean-Claude not to be a pain in the ass was like asking rain not to be wet. Why try?

“Fine, flirt all you want, but keep in mind that you're here to save the life of a young boy. A young boy who may be being raped while we sit here and waste time.”

He sighed deeply and walked towards me. Something must have shown on my face because he sat down in the other chair, not trying to come closer. “You have a habit,
ma petite
, of taking all the fun out of seducing you.”

“Yippee,” I said. “Now, can we get down to business?”

He smiled his lovely, perfect smile. “I had arranged to meet with the Master of Branson tonight.”

“Just like that,” I said.

“Isn't that what you wanted me to do?” he asked. His voice held that amused edge again.

“Yeah. I'm just not used to you giving me exactly what I ask for.”

“I would give you anything you wanted,
ma petite
, if you would only let me.”

“I wanted you out of my life. You don't seem to want to do that.”

He sighed. “No,
ma petite
, I do not want to do that.” He let it go at that. No accusations about me wanting to be with Richard instead of him. No vague threats on Richard's life. It was sort of odd.

“You're up to something,” I said.

He turned, eyes wide, long fingers pressed to his heart. “
Moi?
”

“Yeah, you,” I said. I shook my head and let it go. He was up to something. I knew him well enough to know the signs, but I also knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't tell me until he was good and ready. Nobody kept a secret like Jean-Claude, and nobody else had as many of them. There was no deceit in Richard. Jean-Claude lived and breathed it.

“I've got to change and pack before we can leave.”

“Change your lovely red skirt, why? Because I like it?”

“Not just that,” I said, “though admittedly it's a plus. I can't wear my inner pants holster with the skirt.”

“I will not argue that having a second gun will help our show of force tomorrow night.”

I stopped and turned. “What do you mean, tomorrow night?”

He spread his hands wide. “It is too close to dawn,
ma petite
. We cannot even drive to the master's lair before the sun rises.”

“Dammit,” I said softly and with feeling.

“I did my part,
ma petite
. But even I cannot stop the sun from rising.”

I leaned against the back of the love seat, hands gripping the edge hard enough to hurt. I shook my head. “We're going to be too late to save him.”

“
Ma petite
,
ma petite
.” He knelt in front of me, staring up at me. “Why does this boy bother you so very much? Why is his life so precious to you?”

I stared down into Jean-Claude's perfect face, and had no answer. “I don't know.”

He laid his hands on top of my hands. “You're hurting yourself,
ma petite
.”

I moved my hands out from under his, crossing my arms over my stomach. Jean-Claude remained kneeling, a hand on either side of me. He was entirely too close to me, and I was suddenly very aware of how short the skirt was.

“I have to go pack,” I said.

“Why? Don't you like your room?” Without moving, he seemed closer somehow. I could feel the line of his body against my legs like heat.

“Move,” I said.

He leaned backwards, sitting on his heels, forcing me to move past him. The hem of my skirt brushed his cheek as I walked past. “You are such a pain in the ass.”

“So nice of you to notice,
ma petite
. Now, why are you leaving this lovely room?”

“A client's paying for the room, and he's not a client anymore.”

“Why ever not,
ma petite
?”

“I pulled a gun on him.”

His eyes widened, his face a perfect mask of surprise. The mask slipped and he stared at me with ancient eyes. Eyes that had seen much but still didn't know what to make of me. “Why would you do that?”

“They were going to shoot a man for trespassing.”

“Was he trespassing?”

“Technically, yeah.”

Jean-Claude just looked at me. “Does he not have the right to protect his own land?”

“No, not if it means killing people. A piece of land isn't worth killing over.”

“Protecting our lands has been a valid excuse for slaughter since the beginning of time,
ma petite
. Did you suddenly change the rules?”

“I wasn't going to stand there and watch them kill a man for walking on a piece of ground. Besides, I think it was a setup.”

“A setup? You mean a plot to kill the man.”

“Yeah.”

“Were you part of this plot?”

“I may have been bait. He could feel my power over the dead. It called to him.”

“Now that is interesting. What is this man's name?”

“You give me the name of the mystery vampire first.”

“Xavier,” he said.

“Just like that. Why wouldn't you give me the name earlier?”

“I do not want the police to have it.”

“Why not?”

“I explained all that. Now, the name of the man you saved tonight.”

I stared at him, and didn't want to give it to him. I didn't like how interested he was in the name. But a deal was a deal. “Bouvier, Magnus Bouvier.”

“I do not know the name.”

“Should you?”

He just smiled at me. It meant nothing and everything.

“You are an irritating son of a bitch.”

“Ah,
ma petite
, how can I resist you when you whisper such sweet endearments to me?”

I glared at him, which made him smile wider. There was just the faintest hint of fang peeking into view.

Someone knocked on the door. Probably the manager telling me to get out. I walked to the door. I didn't bother looking through the peephole, so I was caught off guard by who was outside. It was Lionel Bayard.

Had he come to throw us out in person?

I stood there for a second, looking at him. He spoke first, clearing his throat nervously. “Ms. Blake, may I speak with you for a moment?”

He was being awfully polite for someone who had come to kick us out. “I'm listening, Mr. Bayard.”

“I really don't think the hallway is the place to discuss this.”

I stepped to one side, ushering him into the room. He stepped past me, hands smoothing his tie. His gaze flicked to Jean-Claude, who was standing now. Jean-Claude smiled at Bayard. Pleasant, charming.