Circus of the Damned

42

The dream began. I was sitting in the middle of a huge canopied bed. The drapes were heavy blue velvet, the color of midnight skies. The velvet bedspread was soft under my hands. I was wearing a long white gown with lace at the collar and sleeves. I'd never owned anything like it. No one had in this century.

The walls were blue and gold wallpaper. A huge fireplace blazed, sending shadows dancing around the room. Jean-Claude stood in the corner of the room, bathed in orange and black shadows. He was wearing the same shirt I'd last seen him in, the one with the peekaboo front.

He walked towards me, fire-shadows shining in his hair, on his face, glittering in his eyes.

"Why don't you ever dress me in anything normal in these dreams?"

He hesitated. "You don't like the gown?"

"Hell, no."

He gave a slight smile. "You always did have a way with words, ma petite .»

"Stop calling me that, dammit."

"As you like, Anita." There was something in the way he said my name that I didn't like at all.

"What are you up to, Jean-Claude?"

He stood beside the bed and unbuttoned the first button of his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

Another button, and another, then he was pulling the shirt out of his pants and letting it slide to the floor. His bare chest was only a little less white than my gown. His nipples were pale and hard. The strand of dark hair that started low on his belly and disappeared into his pants fascinated me.

He crawled up on the bed.

I backed away, clutching the white gown to me like some heroine in a bad Victorian novel. "I don't seduce this easy."

"I can taste your lust on the back of my tongue, Anita. You want to know what my skin feels like next to your naked body."

I scrambled off the bed. "Leave me the fuck alone. I mean it."

"It's just a dream. Can't you even let yourself lust in a dream?"

"It's never just a dream with you."

He was suddenly standing in front of me. I hadn't seen him move. His arms locked behind my back, and we were on the floor in front of the fire. Fire-shadows danced on the naked skin of his shoulders. His skin was fragile, smooth, and unblemished—so soft I wanted to touch it forever. He was on top of me, his weight pressing against me, pushing me into the floor. I could feel the line of his body molded against mine.

"One kiss and I'll let you up."

I stared into his midnight-blue eyes from inches away. I couldn't talk. I turned my face away so I wouldn't have to look into the perfection of his face. "One kiss?"

"My word," he whispered.

I turned back to him. "Your word isn't worth shit."

His face leaned over mine, lips almost touching. "One kiss."

His lips were soft, gentle. He kissed my cheek, lips brushing down the line of my cheek, touching my neck. His hair brushed my face. I thought that all curly hair was coarse, but his was baby fine, silken soft. "One kiss," he whispered against the skin of my throat, tongue tasting the pulse in my neck.

"Stop it."

"You want it."

"Stop it, now!"

He grabbed a handful of hair, forcing my neck backwards. His lips had thi

"NO!"

"I will have you, ma petite , even if it is to save your life." His head came downward, striking like a snake. I woke up staring at a ceiling I didn't recognize.

Black and white drapes were suspended from the ceiling in a soft fan. The bed was black satin with too many pillows thrown all over the place. The pillows were all black or white. I was wearing a black gown with spaghetti straps. It felt like a real silk and fit me perfectly.

The floor was ankle-deep white carpet. A black lacquer vanity and chest of drawers were placed at far corners of the room. I sat up and could see myself in the mirror. My neck was smooth, no bite marks. Just a dream, just a dream, but I knew better. The bedroom had the unmistakable touch of Jean-Claude.

I had been dying of poison. How had I gotten here? Was I underneath the Circus of the Damned, or somewhere else altogether? My right wrist hurt.

There was a white swathe of bandages around my wrist. I didn't remember hurting it in the cave.

I stared at myself in the vanity mirror. In the black negligee my skin was white, my hair long and black as the gown. I laughed. I matched the decor. I matched the damn decor.

A door opened behind a white curtain. I got a glimpse of stone walls behind the drapes. He was wearing nothing but the silky bottoms of men's pajamas. He padded towards me on bare feet. His bare chest looked like it had in my dream, except for the cross-shaped scar; it hadn't been there in the dream. It marred the marble perfection of him, made him seem more real somehow.

"Hell," I said. "Definitely Hell."

'What, ma petite ?"

"I was wondering where I was. If you're here, it has to be Hell."

He smiled. He looked entirely too satisfied, like a snake that had been well-fed.

"How did I get here?"

"Richard brought you."

"So I really was poisoned. That wasn't part of the dream?"

He sat on the far edge of the bed, as far away from me as he could get and still sit down. There were no other places to sit. "I'm afraid the poison was very real."

"Not that I'm complaining, but why aren't I dead?"

He hugged his knees to his chest, a strangely vulnerable gesture. "I saved you."

"Explain that."

"You know."

I shook my head. "Say it."

"The third mark."

"I don't have any bite marks."

"But your wrist is cut and bandaged."

"You bastard."

"I saved your life."

"You drank my blood while I was unconscious."

He gave the slightest nod.

"You son of a bitch."

The door opened again, and it was Richard. "You bastard, how could you give me to him?"

"She doesn't seem very grateful to us, Richard."

"You said you'd rather die than be a lycanthrope."

"I'd rather die than be a vampire."

"He didn't bite you. You're not going to be a vampire."

"I'll be his slave for eternity; great choice."

"It's only the third mark, Anita. You aren't his servant yet."

"That's not the point." I stared at him. "Don't you understand? I'd rather you let me die than have done this."

"It is hardly a fate worse than death," Jean-Claude said.

"You were bleeding from your nose and eyes. You were bleeding to death in my arms." Richard took a few steps towards the bed, then stopped. "I couldn't just let you die." His hands reached outward in a helpless gesture.

I stood up in the silky gown and stared at them both. "Maybe Richard didn't know any better, but you knew how I felt, Jean-Claude. You don't have any excuses."

"Perhaps I could not stand to watch you die, either. Have you thought of that?"

I shook my head. "What does the third mark mean? What extra powers does it give you over me?"

"I can whisper in your mind outside of dreams now. And you have gained power as well, ma petite . You are very hard to kill now. Poison won't work at all."

I kept shaking my head. "I don't want to hear it. I won't forgive you for this, Jean-Claude."

"I did not think you would," he said. He seemed wistful.

"I need clothes and a ride home. I've got to work tonight."

"Anita, you've almost died twice today. How can you. ."

"Can it, Richard. I need to go to work tonight. I need something that's mine and not his. You invasive bastard."

"Find her some clothes and take her home, Richard. She needs time to adjust to this new change."

I stared at Jean-Claude still huddled on the corner of the bed. He looked adorable, and if I'd had a gun, I'd have shot him on the spot. Fear was a hard, cold lump in my gut. He meant to make me his servant, whether I liked it or not. I could scream and protest, and he'd ignore it.

"Come near me again, Jean-Claude, for any reason, and I'll kill you."

"Three marks bind us now. It would harm you, too."

I laughed, and it was bitter. "Do you really think I give a damn?"

He stared at me, face calm, unreadable, lovely. "No." He turned his back on us both and said, "Take her home, Richard. Though I do not envy you the ride there." He glanced back with a smile. "She can be quite vocal when she's angry."

I wanted to spit at him, but that wouldn't have been enough. I couldn't kill him, not right then and there, so I let it go. Grace under pressure. I followed Richard out the door and didn't look back. I didn't want to see his perfect profile in the vanity mirror.

Vampires weren't supposed to have reflections, or souls. He had one. Did he have the other? Did it matter? No, I decided, it didn't matter at all. I was going to give Jean-Claude to Oliver. I was going to give the city to Mr. Oliver. I was going to set the Master of the City up for assassination. One more mark and I'd be his forever. No way. I'd see him dead first, even if it meant I died with him. No one forced me into anything, not even eternity.