[Anita Blake 17] - Skin Trade (62 page)

He let the hood drop back to hide his face, and I realized he had his left hand held out to his side, for all the world as if he expected someone to come take his hand. A young girl reached for him. I thought for a moment she was another vampire, but one look into those wide, gray eyes and I knew better. She was dressed in tramp chic, skirt too short, midriff showing, small breasts as mounded as she could get them. Before it became the style I'd have said hooker, but so many of the teenage girls were wearing this kind of shit, it made me wonder what the real hookers were wearing.

He smoothed her straight brown hair back from her face. She smiled dreamily up at him.

“Leave her alone,” I said.

He caressed her cheek, and she cuddled into it like a kitten. He turned her face to me, so I could see how young the face under the makeup was: fourteen, maybe fifteen, no more. It was hard to tell in that much makeup and the clothes. It tended to make you add years that the girls hadn't earned.

“I said, leave her alone.” My voice wasn't shaky anymore; it held the first edge of anger. I embraced that, fed the anger with sweet thoughts of vengeance and what I'd do to him when I had the chance.

“If your beast rises, I will tear her throat out.” He drew her in against his body as he said it.

I had to master my anger then, swallow it down, because he was right; I couldn't guarantee with this much stress that anger wouldn't tip me into some kind of lycanthrope problem. If I could have shifted for real, it would have given me weapons, but it wasn't a weapon for me, it was just one more problem.

He reached his other hand out, and a man came to it. He was tall, taller than the vampire. His gray eyes were almost a match for the girl's; even his short hair was the same shade of brown. He gazed forward, seeing nothing.

Vittorio began to unzip his sweatshirt, exposing his chest. I knew what it would look like, because that was the worst of Asher's scars. But again, it was worse. The holy water hadn't just scarred the skin, it had eaten into the deeper tissue, exposing ligaments and the bones of his ribs. It looked like his body had tried to regrow some tissue over it, but the right side of his chest and stomach looked like a skeleton with a hard covering of scars. His stomach was a little concave, where there'd been no bone to support the healing.

If he had wanted to hurt me in that moment, he could have, because I was mesmerized with the damage and that he'd survived it.

“If I could have died of infection, I would have, for there were no antibiotics when they did this to me.”

“If you want to die, wait here, I'll get a gun and help you out.”

“There was a time when that was what I sought, but no one was powerful enough to slay me. I took it as a message that I was death, because death could not touch me.”

“Everything dies, Vittorio,” I said, and I couldn't keep my gaze from flicking between the daughter and the father.

“So fragile, humans, aren't they?”

“Did you bring them with you to use as hostages?”

“I found them in the crowd. I thought at first”—he hugged the girl—“she was a whore, but she is only pretending.” He kissed the top of her head, and she snuggled against him. “She reeks of innocence and untried things.”

“What—do—you—want?” And I let each word hold the anger that I was really having trouble fighting off. I'd have given almost anything in that moment for a gun.

He stared down at the girl as she cuddled against him, her arms deep inside the sweatshirt, wrapping her arms completely around him. She gazed up at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread.

“She sees what I was before. I was beautiful once.”

“Then you do the big reveal, and that's part of the thrill for you. I get it.”

He spoke looking at me, not her. “I can leave this place with this family or with you. Will you trade your freedom for theirs?”

“Don't do this,” I said, voice softer.

“You will come with me to save them?”

I looked at the man, with his unseeing gaze, and the besotted girl. “You don't kill children or men. Unless the men are strippers. These aren't your victims of choice. Let them go.”

“Should I wake the father up enough to see and know what we do to his daughter?”

“What do you want, Vittorio?” I asked.

“You,” he said.

We stood staring at each other. He had a slight smile on his face; I didn't. “Me, in what way?”

He laughed, and it was a bitter sound. “Oh, your virtue is safe, Anita; the Church took care of that long ago.”

“Is it about your vampires in St. Louis? Is that why you wanted me here?”

“Revenge is for the small-minded, Anita. You will learn that I think larger thoughts, grander ones.”

The girl began to kiss the ruined side of his chest. She began to make small eager sounds in her throat.

He'd done something else to her, mind to mind, and I hadn't felt it. I was standing feet away from him, and I hadn't felt a damn thing. I hadn't met a vampire in years that could do that to me.

“I have spies in Maximillian's camp. He knows, and I know now, that Jean-Claude has not given you the fourth mark.”

I fought to keep my face blank and knew I failed by a widening of the eyes, a catch of the breath, a speed of pulse.

“Your master has left the door open for others, Anita. Bibiana wants Max to walk through that door. She believes that if you loved Jean-Claude you would have allowed it and married him by now. She sees your indecision as proof that you haven't found your true love.”

“She's old-fashioned that way,” I said, because what else could I say? He'd know if I was lying. Vampires and wereanimals are like walking lie detectors if they're powerful enough, and he was.

“But do not worry about Max and his bride, for I have decided it is my door to open, not his.”

I blinked up at him, the anger dying under the confusion. I'd thought of a lot of things this nut-bunny could have wanted from me; that hadn't been one of them. “You want to make me your human servant?”

“I do.”

“Why?” I asked, “Everyone knows what a pain in Jean-Claude's ass I am. Why do you want to deal with that?” I couldn't call for help in any way, or someone else died. I couldn't go all lycanthrope, because it wouldn't help me. What could I do? What the fuck could I do without a gun?

He laughed again, but this time it was lower, more attractive, more seductive. “The power, Anita. You are the first necromancer in centuries, and with so many other powers.” He moved a little closer, drawing the girl with him. The man followed a step behind like some kind of robot.

Vittorio reached out with the hand not wrapped around the girl. I stepped back. All vampire powers increase by proximity, and especially touch. He'd done things that were almost impossible; I did not want to find out what his touch could do.

“Anita, you will make me the most powerful Master of the City in all of the new world.”

“So you take me, and then we take Vegas from Max?” I was thinking furiously, going over my options. There didn't seem to be a lot of them. I only knew I wasn't leaving the area with him. One rule with serial killers: make them kill you in public, because whatever they'll do to you in private will be worse. I also couldn't let him leave with the girl and her father. But he couldn't fly with two people; he'd have to simply walk away. I could stop that, couldn't I?
Shit. Think, Anita, think.

“Tiger is my animal to call, Anita. We slay Max and his wife, and it is over.”

“Victor, you'd have to kill their son, too,” I said.

He smiled, and he moved toward me again. I moved out of reach again.

“Yes, of course. What a queen you will make for our empire of blood and pain.” His voice was cheerful, as if we weren't talking about murder.

“Allow me but a touch, just to lay these fingers alongside your cheek.” He held the hand up, like a magician; nothing up my sleeve. Riiight.

“Don't move.” It was Edward's voice. It took almost everything I had not to turn and search for where he was, but I kept my eyes on the vampire in front of me. Help was here, if I didn't fuck up.

The father moved up beside Vittorio, and I'd have bet everything I had that he was blocking Edward's shot.

“The man's bespelled, Edward,” I said, and again had to fight not to look for him, but Vittorio was too powerful to look away, for even a second. I wasn't sure what his touch would do to me. Maybe nothing, or maybe something bad. I was faster than human-normal, thanks to Jean-Claude, so if I just kept looking at him, I could stay out of reach, or that was the plan.

“My friends, come to me,” he said, and this time I felt the smallest tug of power. The crowd at the barrier turned toward us and spilled out toward him.

“He's bespelled the crowd!” I started to turn to run, but the girl was still in his arms. It made me hesitate. The crowd spilled around us. They shielded him from any gunfire, but they also tried to grab me. It was as if they were zombies, sightless eyes, reaching hands, no thought. How had he mind-rolled this many people? How the fuck had he done it?

I tried not to hurt them, at first, but when I realized they were trying to hold me down by sheer numbers, I stopped being nice. I kicked a knee and felt it give. A man screamed and then said, “What's happening? Where am I?”

I hit the nearest face, seeing my target as the opposite side of that face, the way you're taught in martial arts. He simply went down and vanished in the crowd. I brought down two more with joint hits and one bloody nose. The pain brought them out of it, and they crawled away, no longer a threat, but I'd waited too late, and there were just too many.

I yelled, “Pain, they snap out of it when they hurt!” I wasn't sure anyone heard me, until I heard cries of pain from the outside of the mob. Someone was coming, someone on my side. But the hands held me down, the sheer weight of all the people, and I couldn't move.

Vittorio knelt by my head. He laid his hand on my face. I tried to keep moving, but there was nothing I could do. His eyes filled with brown fire. I knew what he was going to do.

I screamed, “Edward!”

One moment I heard bodies hitting the ground, the next there was nothing but the touch of the vampire and his eyes, like brown glass flame, hovering in front of my face. They pressed against my face. I closed my eyes and screamed.

 

 

I WAITED FOR that flame to sink into me, to take me over, but nothing happened. The hands were still holding me down, I could still feel the press of power, of that brown flame, but that was it. I opened my eyes a slit, and the brown-gold of the flame was dazzling, but it wasn't coming closer.

A gunshot sounded so close that I was deaf for a second. Then the flame was gone, and Vittorio's face was above mine. I thought he meant to kiss me, but realized from the way he held himself that he was ducking. Another shot sounded, and then the people who'd been pinning me let me up and moved to form a human shield by the kneeling vampire.

“Another night,” he said, and he was suddenly standing and running in a movement that I couldn't follow with my eyes. I sat up, watching him go, my heart in my throat. I'd seen only one other vampire that could move like that without mind tricks: Truth.

Men were yelling, “Fuck, where'd he go! There! Did you see that!”

Edward was suddenly standing above me, his hand held out. I took it, and he lifted me to my feet. I swayed a little, and he steadied me.

“You all right?” he asked.

I nodded.

He gave me a look.

“He tried to mark me, but he couldn't get past my shields in the time you gave him.”

Olaf loomed over us. “Is she hurt?”

“I'm fine,” I said, and forced myself to let go of Edward's hand, when what I really wanted to do was collapse into his arms and hold on.

Green uniformed SWAT guys were there now, moving the crowd around as the people began to wander around, asking what happened.

Hooper was there, his face the only pale thing in the outfit. “What the hell happened, Blake?”

“The hostages, the club, it was a trap.”

“A trap for what?” Hooper asked.

“Me.”

Georgie came up beside his sergeant. “Nothing personal, Blake, but then why didn't he kill you?”

“He doesn't want me dead.”

“What does he want?” Hooper asked.

“Me, as his human servant.”

“You already belong to the master in St. Louis, right?” It was Cannibal, coming up from the other side of the dispersing crowd.

What was I supposed to say? “Something like that.”

“Then he's too late,” Cannibal said.

“He thinks he's powerful enough to take me away.”

Hooper was standing there, not moving but watching my face. “Is he?”

“Not tonight, he wasn't.”

Hooper's mouth made a small movement; maybe it was a smile, maybe not. “Let's not give him another night.”

“Amen to that,” I said.

I turned to Cannibal, alias Sergeant Rocco. “Some heap-big psychic you are. Didn't you sense Vittorio working the crowd?”

“Sorry, Anita, but I only do memories.”

“Shit, can't any of you sense this kind of thing? Where's Sanchez?” I asked.

“Why?” Olaf asked.

“I thought he might have sensed the metaphysics.”

“He's with the second team. They're going to scout Bering's house,” Edward said. “Grimes wanted his practitioners to see if they could sense the demon.”