Blue Moon

I just lay there, half-floating. Nothing was real yet. I couldn't think, couldn't speak.

He raised my hand and pressed it against his scarred cheek. "I drew back as soon as I realized what I had done. It was just, how do you say, a quickie. It was only a small taste of what it could have been, Anita. Please, believe me." He stood, and I couldn't follow the movement. I lay on the ground and tried to think.

Jason knelt beside me. I was aware enough to wonder where the hell he'd come from. He wasn't staying at Maria

I tried to nod but couldn't.

"Now you know why I stay with them," he said.

"No," I said, but my voice was distant as if it wasn't my voice at all. "No, I don't."

"You felt it. You rode him. How can you not love it?"

I couldn't explain it. It had felt wondrous, but as the glow began to fade, the fear welled up big and black enough to swallow the world. It felt amazing, and that had been a "quickie," as he put it. I never wanted anything more from Asher. Because if it was much better than this, I might chase the rest of my days for another taste. And Jean-Claude could not give it to me. The marks prevented him from rolling my mind. It was one of the things that made the difference between servant and slave. I would never get this with Jean-Claude, never. And I wanted it. I hadn't wanted Asher to die. Now I wasn't so sure.

Asher came back to stand over me. We stared at each other. There were people in the dark now. Someone had a flashlight. They flared it over me. I was left staring in the brightness, nearly blind. The light stood harsh on Asher's face, highlighting the reddish tracks of tears. "Don't hate me, Anita. I could not bear it if you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Asher." My voice still sounded thick and heavy with that golden edge of pleasure. "I fear you."

He just stood there, tears sliding down his face. The tears slid in reddish lines down the smooth skin of his left side. The tears got lost in the scars on the other side, and were begi

42

I kicked everyone out except Jason. He got to stay because they started arguing that I couldn't be left completely alone. Had I forgotten that people were trying to kill me? Had I forgotten that Jean-Claude had said he'd kill them all if I died? That last did not win friends and influence people with me. My comment had been, "If we all died, I guess that'd solve everything." Which sort of put an end to the arguments.

Jason lay on the bed propped in the nest of pillows. He tried to roll onto his side, then stopped in midmotion with a small sound of pain. He moved stiffly, like things hurt, which was what had gotten him a place on the bed instead of the chair.

I was pacing the room. I had a little circuit mapped out. Foot of the bed, windows, far wall, near wall with the door.

"You know that you've walked past the foot of the bed twenty times, and that's just since I started counting," Jason said.

"Shut up," I said. I'd put all my guns back on, not because I thought I needed them, but because they were familiar. The tightness of the shoulder holster, the digging of the Firestar in its i

Jason moved over on his side, slowly, an inch at a time. It took him until I'd made the circuit and was back at the foot of the bed before he made it to his side with a look of relief. He and Jamil had been moved to this house so that all the injured could be in one place. Roxa

Asher was somewhere in the house. I didn't know where and didn't want to know. Too much was happening too damned fast. I needed some time to regroup. And I wasn't going to get it.

There was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"It's Damian."

"Go away."

"There's a vampire down here with one of Sheriff Wilkes's deputies. They say they have to talk to you or Richard. They aren't treating this like police business."

That got my attention. I stopped pacing and went to the door. Damian stood there, still wearing the vest that Barnaby had ripped all the buttons off of. When Colin's human servant died, Barnaby had given up the fight and flown away. Damian's suit was black in bright light and made his skin look unbelievably white.

"What did they say exactly?" I asked.

"Just that they had a message for the two of you from Frank Niley."

"Fuck," I said, softly.

"They're sitting in the kitchen with Dr. Patrick and Asher."

"Tell Roxa

"The man has a gun," Damian said.

"So do I," I said. I walked down the hall, and Damian fell in step behind me.

Jason called from the door. "Wait for me."

"Follow at your own pace, Jason. I'm not waiting for you to trip down the stairs."

"Don't let her get killed, Damian," he said.

I called back over my shoulder, "He'll do what I tell him to do." An hour or so of thinking about everything I had learned had not improved my mood.

I clattered down the stairs. Damian followed like a soundless shadow at my back. Why hadn't Wilkes and his men stormed the place? I'd really expected them to just start shooting if they found out we hadn't left town. What message could they have from Niley? And where did the vampire come in? Dolph hadn't mentioned anything about Niley traveling with a vamp. Dolph hated vamps enough that he would have mentioned it. So many questions, and for once, I was going to get them answered almost as soon as I thought of them. How refreshing.

The kitchen looked normal. They'd scrubbed the blood off the linoleum and placed a fresh lace tablecloth on the table. Deputy Thompson sat in one of the kitchen chairs. He was in civvie clothes, no uniform. A tall, thin vampire that I'd never seen before sat in the chair beside him. Dr. Patrick sat in the chair facing them with his back to the hallway, to us. Nathaniel took up the last chair. He was staring at the vampire.

Zane stood with his back against the sink. Asher leaned against the china cabinet close enough to Thompson that he could have touched him and certainly could prevent him from pulling the gun. The gun in question was a Berretta 10 mil in a shoulder holster. Same gun as on duty, just in a different holster. Letting Asher that close was careless, but Thompson didn't seem to think that.

He smiled at me, and the smile was confident, arrogant, like he had me where he wanted me, and I couldn't do anything about it. What was going on?

"How'd you find me?" I asked.

He stuck a thumb in the vampire's direction. "The local Master of the City told us he could still feel you in town. They helped us hunt you down. Evidently, you're easier to find than your boyfriend. Something about your power attracts them."

I stared at the vampire. His face was unreadable, pale and empty. His eyes were dark grey, his hair straight and black. It was cut short and smoothed back over his forehead in a pompadour. That was what they'd called it in the fifties. The hairdo matched the feel of him in my head. He wasn't fifty years dead yet.