Guilty Pleasures

I was starting to shake with reaction, shock. My teeth chattered like I was freezing to death, and maybe I was. My voice squeezed out between my teeth and the tight jerk of my jaw. “A thousand,” I said. “Maybe more.”

“You were right, Jean-Claude. She is good.” She pressed her face nearly into mine. I wanted to push her away, but more than anything, I didn’t want her to touch me.

She laughed again, high and wild, heartrendingly pure. If I hadn’t been hurting so badly, I might have cried, or spit in her face.

“Good, animator, we understand each other. You do what we want, or I will peel your mind away like the layers of an onion.” She breathed against my face, voice dropping to a whisper. A child’s whisper with an edge of giggling to it. “You do believe I can do that, don’t you?”

I believed.

Chapter 12

I wanted to spit in that smooth, pale face, but I was afraid of what she would do to me. A drop of sweat ran slowly down my face. I wanted to promise her anything, anything, if she would never touch me again. Nikolaos didn’t have to bespell me; all she had had to do was terrify me. The fear would control me. It was what she was counting on. I could not let that happen.

“Get…out…of…my…face,” I said.

She laughed. Her breath was warm and smelled like peppermint. Breath mints. But underneath the clean, modern smell, very faint, was the scent of fresh blood. Old death. Recent murder.

I wasn’t shivering anymore. I said, “Your breath smells like blood.”

She jerked back, a hand going to her lips. It was such a human gesture that I laughed. Her dress brushed my face as she stood. One small, slippered foot kicked me in the chest.

The force tumbled me backwards, sharp pain, no air. For the second time that night, I couldn’t breathe. I lay flat on my stomach, gasping, swallowing past the pain. I hadn’t heard anything break. Something should have broken.

The voice thudded over me, hot enough to scald. “Get her out of here before I kill her myself.”

The pain faded to a sharp ache. Air burned going down. My chest was tight, like I’d swallowed lead.

“Stay where you are, Jean.”

Jean-Claude was standing away from the wall, halfway to me. Nikolaos commanded him to stillness with one small, pale hand.

“Can you hear me, animator?”

“Yes.” My voice was strangled. I couldn’t get enough air to talk.

“Did I break something?” Her voice rose upward like a small bird.

I coughed, trying to clear my throat, but it hurt. I huddled around my chest while the ache faded. “No.”

“Pity. But I suppose that would have slowed things down, or made you useless to us.” She seemed to think about the last as if that had had possibilities. What would they have done to me if something had been broken? I didn’t want to know.

“The police are aware of only four vampire murders. There have been six more.”

I breathed in carefully. “Why not tell the police?”

“My dear animator, there are many among us who do not trust the human laws. We know how equal human justice is for the undead.” She smiled, and again there should have been a dimple. “Jean-Claude was the fifth most powerful vampire in this city. Now he is the third.”

I stared up at her, waiting for her to laugh, to say it was a joke. She continued to smile, the same exact smile, like a piece of wax. Were they playing me for a fool? “Something has killed two master vampires? Stronger than”—I had to swallow before continuing—”Jean-Claude?”

Her smile widened, flashing a distinct glimpse of fang. “You do grasp the situation quickly. I will give you that. And perhaps that will make Jean-Claude’s punishment less—severe. He recommended you to us, did you know that?”

I shook my head and glanced at him. He had not moved, not even to breathe. Only his eyes looked at me. Dark blue like midnight skies, almost fever-bright. He hadn’t fed yet. Why wouldn’t she let him feed?

“Why is he being punished?”

“Are you worried about him?” Her voice held a mockery of surprise. “My, my, my, aren’t you angry that he brought you into this?”

I stared at him for a moment. I knew then what I saw in his eyes. It was fear. He was afraid of Nikolaos. And I knew if I had any ally in this room, it was him. Fear will bind you closer than love, or hate, and it works a hell of a lot quicker. “No,” I said.

“No, no.” She minced the word, crying it up and down, a child’s imitation. “Fine.” Her voice was suddenly lower, grownup, shimmering with heat, angry. “We will give you a gift, animator. We have a witness to the second murder. He saw Lucas die. He will tell you everything he saw, won’t he, Zachary?” She smiled at the sandy-haired man.

Zachary nodded. He stepped from around the chair and swept a low bow towards me. His lips were too thin for his face, his smile crooked. Yet, the ice-green eyes stayed with me. I had seen that face before, but where?

He strode to a small door. I hadn’t seen it before. It was hidden in the flickering shadows of the torches, but still I should have noticed. I glanced at Nikolaos, and she nodded at me, a smile curving her lips.

She had hidden the door from me without me knowing it. I tried to stand, pushing myself up with my hands. Mistake. I gasped and stood as quickly as I dared. The hands were already stiff with bruises and scrapes. If I lived until morning, I was going to be one sore puppy.

Zachary opened the door with a flourish, like a magician drawing a curtain. A man stood in the door. He was dressed in the remains of a business suit. A slender figure, a little thick around the middle, too many beers, too little exercise. He was maybe thirty.

“Come,” Zachary said.

The man moved out into the room. His eyes were round with fear. A pinkie ring winked in the firelight. He stank of fear and death.

He was still ta

“Do you remember Nikolaos?” Zachary asked.

The zombie’s human eyes grew large, and the color drained from his face. Damn, he looked human. “Yes.”

“You will answer Nikolaos’s questions, do you understand that?”

“I understand.” His forehead wrinkled as if he were concentrating on something, something he couldn’t quite remember.

“He would not answer our questions before. Would you?” Nikolaos said.

The zombie shook its head, eyes staring at her with a sort of fearful fascination. Birds must look at snakes that way.

“We tortured him, but he was most stubborn. Then before we could continue our work, he hung himself. We really should have taken his belt away.” She sounded wistful, pouty. The zombie was staring at her. “I…hung myself. I don’t understand. I…”

“He doesn’t know?” I asked.

Zachary smiled. “No, he doesn’t. Isn’t it fabulous? You know how hard it is to make one so human, that he forgets he has died.”

I knew. It meant somebody had a lot of power. Zachary was staring at the confused undead like he was a work of art. Precious. “You raised him?” I asked.

Nikolaos said, “Did you not recognize a fellow animator?” She laughed, lightly, a breeze of far-off bells.

I glanced at Zachary’s face. He was staring at me, eyes memorizing me. Face blank, with a thread of something making the skin under one eye jump. Anger, fear? Then he smiled at me, brilliant, echoing. Again there was that shock of recognition.

“Ask your question, Nikolaos. He has to answer now.”

“Is that true?” she asked me.

I hesitated, surprised that she had turned to me. “Yes.”

“Who killed the vampire, Lucas?”

He stared at her, face crumbling. His breathing was shallow and too fast.