Bloody Bones (23 page)

Larry made an exasperated noise. “Someone explain to me why we had to pull a gun on someone who's supposed to be on our side.”

“Jean-Claude keeps telling me Richard isn't any more human than he is. Jason's little display helps emphasize that. Doesn't it, wolf-boy?”

Jason ate the rest of his food like we weren't there.

“Answer me,” I said.

He turned on the bar stool, putting his elbows behind him. “I have too many masters now, Anita. I don't need another one.”

“And I've got too many monsters messing with me right now. Don't add yourself to the list, Jason.”

“Is it a short list?” he asked.

“Gets shorter all the time,” I said.

He smiled and slid off the bar stool. “Is anybody tired but me?”

Larry and I stared at him. The werewolf didn't look tired—more than I could say for us mere humans.

Jason wasn't going to answer my questions, and they weren't important enough to shoot him over. Stalemate.

“Fine; where are you sleeping?” I asked.

“If you trust me not to eat him, in Larry's room.”

“No way,” I said.

“You want me here, with you?”

“I told him he could stay in my room on the ride over,” Larry said.

“That was before he pulled the werewolf crap,” I said.

Larry shrugged. “You've got the Master of the City tucked into your bed. I think I can handle one werewolf.”

I didn't think so. But I didn't want to discuss it in front of the werewolf. “No, Larry.”

He was instantly angry. “What do I have to do to prove myself to you?”

“Stay alive,” I said.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're not a shooter, Larry.”

“I was willing to shoot him.” Larry pointed to the smiling werewolf.

“I know.”

“Because I'm not trigger-happy, you don't trust me to handle myself?”

I sighed. “Larry, please. If Jason turned furry in the middle of the day and killed you, I couldn't live with myself.”

“And if he kills you?” Larry said.

“He won't.”

“Why not?” Larry asked.

“Because Jean-Claude would kill him. If he hurt you, I'd kill him, but I don't know if Jean-Claude would avenge you. Jason's more frightened of Jean-Claude than he is of me. Aren't you, Jason?”

Jason had sat down on the end of the couch on my blanket. “Oh, yes.”

“I don't know why,” Larry said. “You're the one who kills for Jean-Claude. He never seems to kill anyone on his own.”

“Larry, who would you be more afraid of, Jean-Claude or me?”

“You wouldn't hurt me,” he said.

“If you had to face one of us, which would you prefer?”

Larry looked at me for a long time. The anger drained away, replaced by something tired and old in his eyes. “Him.”

“For God's sake, why?” I asked.

“I've seen you kill a lot of people, Anita. A lot more than
Jean-Claude. He might try to frighten me to death, but you'd just kill me.”

My mouth was open, just a little. “If you really believe that I'm more dangerous than Jean-Claude, then you haven't been paying attention.”

“I didn't say you were more dangerous. I said you'd kill me quicker.”

“That's why I'm not as afraid of Anita as I am of Jean-Claude,” Jason said.

Larry looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“All she'll do is kill me, quick, neat. Jean-Claude wouldn't kill me quick, or easy. He'd make sure it hurt.”

The two men stared at each other. Each one's logic was sound as far as it went. I was with Jason. “If you really believe what you're saying, Larry, then you haven't seen enough vampires.”

“How am I ever going to see enough vampires if you keep me at arm's length, Anita?”

Had I really kept him out of it that much? Had I overprotected him? Let him see my ruthlessness but not Jean-Claude's?

“And I'm going to the master's tomorrow night. You are not leaving me behind anymore.”

“You're right,” I said. The answer seemed to surprise both of them.

“If you really believe that I'd kill someone quicker than Jean-Claude would, I have overprotected you. You have to understand how dangerous they are, Larry. How deadly, or someday I won't be around and you'll get killed.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My stomach was tight with fear. Fear that Larry would get killed because I'd kept him out of it. It was something I hadn't anticipated.

“Come on, Jason,” Larry said.

Jason stood up.

“No. Tomorrow you can be ass-deep in vampires with me watching. Until you understand how dangerous the monsters are, I don't want you alone with them.”

His eyes were angry and hurt. I'd undercut his confidence, his self-esteem. But . . . what else could I do?

Larry turned abruptly on his heel and left. He didn't argue. He didn't say good-bye. He slammed the door behind him, and I fought an urge to follow him. What could I say? I leaned my forehead against the door, and whispered, “Damn.”

“Do I get the couch?” Jason asked.

I turned and leaned against the door. I still had the Browning in my hand, though I wasn't sure why anymore. I was getting tired, sloppy. “No, I get the couch.”

“Where do you want me, then?”

“I don't care; just not near me.”

He ran his hands down the edge of the blanket, running the cloth between his fingers. “If you're really sleeping out here, I'd just as soon have the bed.”

“It's taken,” I said.

“How big is the bed?”

“King-size, but what difference does it make?”

“Jean-Claude won't mind if I share with him. He'd prefer it was you, but . . . ” He shrugged.

I looked at him, at his tranquil, pleasant face. “Is this the first time you've shared a bed with Jean-Claude?”

“No,” he said.

It must have shown on my face, because he lowered the high neck of the sweater enough for me to see two fang marks. I pushed away from the wall and walked closer. Close enough to see that the bite was almost healed.

“Sometimes he likes a snack when he first wakes up,” Jason said.

“Jesus,” I said.

Jason let go of the collar, and it slid over the bite like it wasn't there. The same way you'd hide a hickey. Jason sat there looking harmless. He was exactly my height, and had the face of a knowledgeable angel.

“Richard didn't let Jean-Claude snack on him,” I said.

“No,” he said.

“No. That's all you have to say.”

“What do you want me to say, Anita?”

I thought about that for a second. “I want you to be outraged. Angry.”

“Why?”

I shook my head. “Go to bed, Jason. You're making me tired.”

He went into the bedroom without another word. I didn't peek to see if he changed into a wolf and curled up on the carpet, or if he crawled into bed beside the corpse. None of my business, or at least nothing I wanted to see.

20

I
PUT THE
Browning under the pillow with the safety on. At home with the gun in the special holster I'd added to the headboard of the bed, the safety would have been off. But I'd look pretty silly if I accidentally shot myself during the night—day—trying to protect myself from werewolves.

The Firestar I put under the couch cushion, safety on. Normally it would have been in my luggage, but I was feeling just a little insecure.

The knives were in the luggage. Things weren't quite dangerous enough to wear the wrist sheaths to bed. Besides, they weren't very comfortable, not to sleep in, anyway.

I had just settled down for a long day's sleep when I realized I hadn't called Special Agent Bradford. Damn. I threw the blanket back and padded to the telephone in nothing but a t-shirt and undies. Yes, the Browning came with me. Doesn't do you a damn bit of good to have a weapon if it isn't with you.

I dialed the number and got no answer. Fancy that. Didn't everyone work twenty-four hours a day? I had his beeper number. Could the news about Xavier wait? Would even having the name help them? Agent Bradford had made it very clear that I was persona non grata. First, Freemont had blackballed me; second, the Quinlans were threatening to sue everybody unless I was kept away from the case. I'd done such a bang-up job protecting their family, they didn't
want a repeat. They seemed to think I'd get their son killed. Fancy that.

I had Bradford's beeper number. He'd given strict orders that if I found out anything I was to tell him, and only him. Made me not want to tell him a bloody thing. But who was I to say the FBI didn't have a vampire file somewhere? Maybe the name would mean something to them. Maybe it would help them find Jeff. Besides, Jean-Claude hadn't told me not to give Xavier's name to the cops. I used the beeper number. I left my phone number. Now I could either go back to bed, and let his return call wake me, or I could sit in the chair for a few minutes and wait. I waited.

The phone rang in under five minutes. I like a man who returns his pages promptly. I said “Hello,” in case it wasn't him. It was.

“Special Agent Bradford. This number was on my beeper.” His voice was rough with sleep.

“This is Anita Blake.”

A moment of silence, then, “Do you know what time it is?”

“I haven't been to bed yet, so yeah, I know what time it is.”

Another silence. “What do you want, Ms. Blake?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slow. Getting mad would not be helpful. “I have a possible name for the vampire that's been slaughtering kids.”

“What's the name?”

“Xavier.”

“Last name?”

“Vampires don't have last names, as a general rule.”

“Thank you for the name, Ms. Blake. How did you get it?”

I thought about that for a few seconds. I couldn't think of a really good answer. “It sort of fell into my lap.”

“Why don't I believe that, Ms. Blake? I thought I'd made myself clear this evening. You are not to involve yourself in this case, in any way.”

“Look, I didn't have to call, but I want Jeff Quinlan back
alive. I thought the FBI might be able to use the name of the vampire who took him.”

“I want to know how you got the name,” he said.

“An informant.”

“I'd like to talk to this informant,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“Are you withholding information from a federal investigation, Ms. Blake?”

“No, Agent Bradford, I am going out of my way to share information.”

He was quiet again. “Alright, Ms. Blake, you're right. Thank you for the name. We'll run it in the computers.”

“This vampire has a history of harming preadolescent boys. He's a pedophile.”

“Good lord, a vampire pedophile.” He finally sounded genuinely interested in what I was saying. “And he has the Quinlan boy.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I would really like to talk to this source of yours,” he said.

“He's a little shy around the police.”

“I could insist, Ms. Blake. We've got reports that a private jet flew in last night, and a coffin got unloaded. It's registered to a J. C. Corporation. They seem to own a lot of vampire-related, St. Louis-based businesses. Do you know anything about that, Ms. Blake?”

Lying to the FBI seemed like a bad idea, but I wasn't sure what they'd do with the truth. The Feds were investigating vampire crime, and suddenly a new vamp shows up in town. The least they would do was question him. The worst . . . well, there was the vampire in Mississippi that had been accidentally transferred to a cell with a window. The sun rose, and . . . French fried vampire. An ACLU lawyer had sued the cops' asses, and won, but that didn't bring the vamp back. Admittedly the dead vamp was one of the newly dead. Jean-Claude would have escaped fairly easily, but just escaping from the law by using vampire powers would get a warrant for his arrest. Sort of like what was happening to Magnus.

Besides, a vampire had killed a cop last night. The police might not be terribly careful with any vampire right now. The police are only human, after all.

“You still there, Blake?”

“I'm here.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“Where was the coffin delivered?” I asked.

“It wasn't. It just disappeared.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“There was some luggage that went with it. The luggage was picked up a little while ago by two young men. The description of one of them sounds a lot like Larry Kirkland.”

“Is that so?”

“That's so.”

We both sat on our ends of the phone waiting for someone to say something. “I could send some agents down to your hotel room.”

“There are no coffins in my hotel room, Agent Bradford.”

“You sure of that, Blake?”

“My hand to God.”

“Do you know who runs this J. C. Corporation?”

“No.” It was the truth. Until Bradford told me about it, I'd never heard of the J. C. Corporation. It would only have been an educated guess if I'd said Jean-Claude owned it. Okay, I was fooling myself, but so what?

“Do you know where the coffin was delivered?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Would you tell me if you knew?”

“If it would help find Jeff Quinlan, you bet.”

“Alright, Blake, but no more helping. Stay the fuck out of this case. When we find the vampires we'll call you in, and you can do your job. You're a vampire hunter, not a cop. Try to remember that.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Good. Now I'm going back to sleep. I suggest you do the same. We'll find the vampires today, Blake. And let's just say I don't believe everything Freemont said. We'll call you in for the kill.”

“Thanks.”

“Good night, Blake.”

“Good night, Bradford.”

We hung up. I sat there for a minute, just letting it all sink in. If they found Jean-Claude in my room, what would they do? I'd seen the cops pop a comatose vampire in a body bag, transport it to the station house, and wait for nightfall to question it. I'd thought it was a bad idea because the vamp would wake up pissed. It did. I ended up killing it. I've always felt bad about that particular kill. It was an out-of-state job. The local cops invited me in to advise them. Once we found the vamp, they stopped listening to my advice. Reminded me of now. That vampire had also just been brought in for questioning.

I was suddenly tired. It was like the entire night just hit me in one grinding wave. Sleep dragged at me. I had to go to sleep. I couldn't help Jeff Quinlan, or anybody else, until I'd had a few hours of sleep. Besides, maybe the Feds would find him. Stranger things had happened.

I left a wake-up call with the desk for noon, and cuddled under the blanket. The Browning was lumpy under the pillow. At least I couldn't feel the Firestar under the couch cushion. I half wished I'd packed Sigmund, my stuffed toy penguin, but somehow having Jean-Claude or Jason find me sleeping with a stuffed toy bothered me almost as much as them trying to eat me. What price machismo?