Skin Trade

“Shaw said you knew more than you were saying, but I was willing to believe that he was letting personal issues cloud his judgment.” Hooper shook his head. “But now your little friend over there has outed you, Blake. When did you meet him?”

The air seemed less heavy suddenly, as if I’d been struggling to breathe but hadn’t realized it until the moment there was more air. I looked over at the door and found Victor inside the room and Sanchez giving me a thumbs-up. I returned the gesture. It was actually kind of nice not to be the only one bothered by the psychic shit. Freakiness likes company.

“I met Gregory Mi

“You are lying,” Hooper said.

“She’s not lying,” Edward said.

“I don’t need to hear from her boyfriend.”

“Would it do any good to say that he’s not my boyfriend?” I said.

“No,” Hooper said, “the minute that weretiger called you sweet nicknames, you lost credibility with me, Blake.”

“I am sorry that my attempt to calm Gregory spread to you and Officer Sanchez, Marshal Blake,” Victor said as he walked toward us. His power was tight like a drum. I could feel the vibration of it, but that was all. He’d locked it down tight.

“As long as it wasn’t on purpose, we’re cool.”

“You’ve felt what my mother can do; trust me, on purpose would be worse.”

I nodded. I believed him.

“When did you first meet Marshal Blake, Mr. Belleci?” Hooper asked.

“This afternoon,” he said.

“When did Gregory Mi

Victor frowned at him. “I don’t believe they have met.”

“He called her his little queen. That’s pretty personal for strangers.”

Victor smiled, then fought not to. “Little queen is our nickname for Marshal Blake.”

“You met her this afternoon, and she already has a nickname; right. And Mi

“I swear to you that we just met Marshal Blake. Her rather unusual psychic abilities hit the radar for the tigers as a little queen. It’s not a personal nickname but more a title.”

“And she earned this title how?”

“By the feel of her psychic energy.”

“Sanchez,” Hooper said.

“She is a powerful psychic, Sarge.”

“I know what Ca

“She shields good. I’d have to read her on purpose to answer that question, and that’s against psychic protocol without permission of the other psychic, or except in an emergency situation where lives are in danger.”

“You sound like you’re quoting regs,” I said.

He nodded. “I am.”

“Ca

I shook my head. “I won’t give permission for him to be in my head again.”

“Then I want Sanchez to read you. I want to know if you are powerful enough to set off the weretigers like this.”

“It may not be as powerful for him, since he’s human,” Victor said.

“He’s my practitioner, and I want him to read her, and you, stay the fuck away from my team.”

I sighed and turned to Sanchez. “What do you need from me to make this work?”

“Drop your shields,” Sanchez said.

I shook my head. “I can’t drop them all.”

“Ease down, then,” he said.

“Can Victor be farther away?”

“Why?” Hooper asked.

“I seem to have trouble shielding against his clan. I don’t know why, but their power seems to fuck with me.”

Hooper said, “Georgie, escort Mr. Belleci outside the building.”

Georgie came and did it, without a question. It was one of the things that most of the cops were better at than those of us in the preternatural marshal program: following orders without debate.

Victor let himself be led out. Then the others moved back a little, as if we’d asked, though we hadn’t. Sanchez and I stood in the middle of Mi

Sanchez slipped off more of his headgear, his black hair wet with sweat. “Ready?”

I took a deep breath and eased down my shields. This far from Jean-Claude and all my people, I wasn’t dropping all of it. No way. It was more like cracking a window on a car to let the breeze inside.

Sanchez took his glove off one hand and held it near me, as if he could feel heat. “God, your aura crackles with energy. It’s like if you let all your shields down, you’d burn.” Then his eyes rolled back into his head, behind fluttering eyelids. “But it would burn black, as if the night could catch fire and eat the world.”

He stumbled, and I reached for him automatically. His hand convulsed on mine, and suddenly my shields came down. We were both on our knees, as if we’d been hit. The psychic hammer had hit us both, and there was nothing we could do but ride the power. I hadn’t thought that they might have another practitioner that would scare me. I was so used to being the biggest bugbear in the room psychically that it had never occurred to me that Sanchez might be one, too. Now, it was too late, and the bear was going to eat us both.

40

SANCHEZ HAD TRIED to peek behind my partially raised shields, and he was too powerful, or it was like when we shook hands and he alone of all of the practitioners spiked me. I had a pure human mind-fuck me for the second time in one day. It was a record.

I felt his power, but it was like looking at calm water; you don’t always see the rocks just below that will tear the bottom out of your boat and sink you.

One minute we were calm; the next he’d ripped my shields open like a wound. His power poured into that wound, but other things had been waiting, and they followed on the tail of his energy like a mugger coming in behind your key.

I felt vampire first, powerful, but just vampire. It breathed in on Sanchez’s coattails. I didn’t fight it, because I hoped it was Vittorio. I drew the taste of his power into me like wine that you hold in your mouth, warming it until the bouquet of it fills your mouth, your nose, your senses. If this was him, I wanted the scent of him to stay with me, because there was a chance that I might be able to track him through his own power, if he would just give me a little more of it.

Sanchez said, “What is that?”

“Bad guy,” I whispered.

I felt him try to push at the power, too. “Don’t help me,” I said.

“I’m pretty good.”

“Don’t…,” but I didn’t have time to finish the sentence because something else found us. Marmee Noir was the Queen of All Vampires. But that didn’t quite prepare you for the wave of living darkness that poured over us both. It drowned out the subtle energy of Vittorio’s daytime power, if it had even been him. She drowned everything else.

I was left kneeling on cold stone, in a cavern lit by torches. Sanchez knelt with me, his hand still in mine. He looked up. “What is this?” I knew our bodies were still in the house in Vegas, but our minds, not so much.

Something moved in the shadows between the torches. She was cloaked in blackness, and I couldn’t tell if it was a black cloak or if she had formed herself from the darkness and it only looked like clothes. Her delicate foot stepped into the light, and tiny seed pearls caught the light, with bits of shiny black jet embroidered between them. I’d seen those shoes once before when she almost manifested physically in St. Louis.

Her body should have been upstairs in a room where she’d been hidden away for over a thousand years, but there she stood. Was it a dream? Was she really awake?