Skin Trade

“Most of the wereanimals.”

I made an exasperated sound.

“Anita, you said not to send anyone that you’d care about too much, and only to send peole that could fight. That cuts out most of your regulars. Either they mean too much to you, or they can’t fight worth a farthing.” For a moment there was an echo of an accent, mostly lost long ago. “Fight off the ardeur, and you don’t have to touch us.”

“It’s not that, damn it. It’s just that I’m trying to trim down the list of men, not add to it.”

“I understand that, too, but that you not only can resist my charms, but are actively disturbed by the thought of sex with me, now that does hurt an old vampire’s heart.”

“Damn it, Wicked, don’t make this about hurt feelings.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Wicked…”

“I will wait by the car, outside the house, so I don’t compromise your investigation.” He hung up.

“I didn’t know Wicked was on the menu for you,” Edward said.

“He’s not.”

Edward gave me a look, one pale eyebrow raised.

“Don’t you start, too.” I curled into the corner of my seat, crossed my arms, and let myself pout. Yes, it was childish, but every time I thought I was getting control of my powers, I was wrong. I did not want to add to the men I was sleeping with, honest. Why didn’t I want to sleep with gorgeous men who were usually pretty good in bed? Because though I’d found I could have sex with this many men, I couldn’t “date” them. I couldn’t be their emotional rock. I was trying, and failing, but I seemed incapable of just fucking and feeding. Jean-Claude was right; I had to either stop needing so much, or stop trying for emotion with my sex. I just didn’t have a clue how to do that. If it didn’t matter emotionally, why have sex at all? Oh, because you are a succubus, and would die and drain the life out of people you loved, so they died first. Yeah, that was reason enough. I guess Wicked was right; I was still trying to pretend that it wasn’t my reality.

“So a vampire is going to meet us at the witness’s house?” Bernardo asked.

“Yes. He’ll be waiting by the car when we get out.”

“Won’t his car be there, too?” Bernardo asked.

“He’s going to fly,” I said.

“Fly… oh, you mean fly.” Bernardo actually flapped his arms a little.

“Yeah, but they don’t actually flap their arms. It’s more levitation than actually flying.”

“Like Superman,” Olaf said.

I glanced back at him in the darkened car. “Yeah, I guess so, like Superman.”

“Are you feeling shaky enough to need them to meet us out here?” Edward asked.

“No, but he’s right, it’s going on fourteen hours. Let’s just say I love you like a brother; I’d rather not have to explain that whole incest taboo to Do

“So, if you lose control…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“It could go badly,” I said. I made myself sit up straighter. I would not pout in the corner, damn it.

“You mean, you could just lose control of this ardeur?” Bernardo asked.

“Yes,” I said, and let the first hint of anger into that word.

“How much loss of control?” Olaf asked.

“Let’s hope none of you find out.”

“We’re at the house,” Edward said.

“Let’s put on our cop faces,” I said brightly, “and pretend that one of us isn’t a living vampire that feeds on sex.”

“Don’t let the other cops make you feel bad about it, Anita.”

“Edward, it is bad.”

“Everything that has happened to you happened because you were trying to save someone else. The vampire powers are the same as a gunshot wound, Anita. You got both in the line of duty.”

I looked into his face, studied it. “Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Anita.”

“You lie like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, Edward.”

He smiled. “I don’t lie to you.”

“Really,” I said.

The smile became a grin. “Okay, not most of the time, anymore.” His face sobered. “I’m not lying now.”

I nodded. “I’ll take that.”

“I feel like a voyeur,” Bernardo said.

We both frowned at him, together. He raised his hands. “Sorry to ruin the touching moment, but honestly, if you want to have the heart-to-heart talks, let us get out of the car first. I’m not kidding on the voyeur part.”

“Get out,” Edward said.

He opened the door and did, without asking another thing. Olaf’s face showed clearly in the sudden overhead light. He was studying us both, as if he’d never seen us before.

“What?” I asked.

He just shook his head and got out, too. We were left alone in the car. Edward patted my leg. “I meant what I said, Anita. It’s like an injury, or a disease that you got on duty. Don’t let the rest of them get to you.”

“Edward, I’ve never touched Wicked intimately, and now he’s speeding his way through the night to offer himself up for sex and maybe more.”

He frowned at me. “What do you mean, maybe more than sex?”

“It’s like when I feed off the preternatural men, they’re under my power, or something. It’s why his brother, Truth, doesn’t want to sleep with me. He’s afraid I’ll possess him.”

“Would you?”

“Not on purpose.”

“How much of this can you control?”

“Not enough,” I said.

We looked at each other as the overhead light dimned and went out. “I’m sorry, Anita.”

“Me, too. You know, Edward, if I can’t travel without needing to feed, then I can’t travel.”

“We’ll work it out.”

“It’s getting in the way of my doing the marshal stuff.”

“We’ll work it out, Anita.”

“What if we can’t?”

“We will,” and he sounded very firm when he said it. I knew that tone; arguing wouldn’t help me. It was the tone he used when he simply expected you to listen and do what he said.

I’d listen, but even the great Edward couldn’t solve everything. I’d like to think he’d be able to help me keep working as a marshal while I had to feed the ardeur, but some things aren’t fixable.

“Let’s go question the witch.”

“Most of them don’t like to be called that.”

He flashed me a smile as he opened the door, and the light went on again. “I’ll let you take the lead. You’re our magic expert.”

I realized he would let me take the lead not just because I was the magic expert but because he wanted me to feel in control of something. For a control freak like me, I didn’t feel in control of very much lately. But I got out; we closed the doors, locked it, and walked through the Nevada dark to the house of Phoebe Billings, high priestess and witch.

55

WE STOOD IN front of a modest suburban house in a street full of other modest suburban houses. There were enough streetlights that we had a good view even in the dark. People forget that Las Vegas’s famous Strip with its casinos, shows, and bright lights is only a small part of the city. Other than the fact that the house was set in a yard that ran high to rocks, sand, and native desert plants, it could have been one of a million housing developments anywhere in the country.

Most of the other houses had grass and flowers, as if they were trying to pretend they didn’t live in the desert. The day’s heat was browning the grass and flowers nicely. They must have a limit on how much they can water, because I’ve seen yards in deserts as green as a golf course. These yards looked sad and tired in the cooling dark. It was still hot, but had the promise that as the night wore on it would get cooler.

“A high priestess lives here?” Bernardo said.

“According to the phone book,” I said.

He came around the car to stand on the sidewalk beside us. “It looks so… ordinary.”

“What did you expect, Halloween decorations in August?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I guess I did.”

Edward walked to the back of the car and opened it. He reached into his own bag of tricks and got out one of the U.S. Marshal windbreakers.