Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter #16 - Blood Noir (11 page)

There were cries of “Keith, Keith!”

Jason waited for a little lull in the murmurous noise. He spoke loud and clear, “My name is Jason Schuyler.”

They didn’t believe him. They said so. They also pressed in on the circle of men protecting us. We came to a standstill on the sloping driveway. The guards and valets kept them back but couldn’t move forward.

Jason shouted this time, “My name is Jason Schuyler. Who wants proof?” He got out his wallet.

“Who wants to put my driver’s license on camera?”

There was a lot of jostling for that, and while they argued over who got it, I whispered, “Cover your number and address.”

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He nodded, and changed his hands around so only his picture and state were visible. The lucky winner got to come forward with a camera and a crew, and filmed the license. The guards actually let them through, but the rest were more patient now, waiting their turn or hoping for blood. The talking head who came with the camera shoved a mic in Jason’s face.

“If you really are this Jason Schuyler, then why do you look so much like the Summerland boys?”

“We were always getting confused by people in school. You can see why.”

“You could be triplets,” she said.

He nodded, sort of grimly. “I’m home to visit my family, which has nothing to do with the Summerland wedding. I just need everyone to let me have some room to visit my folks.”

“What brings you home?”

He looked at me. I shrugged. “My father is dying of cancer. He doesn’t have long. I’d ask that everyone give us some space to say good-bye.”

“And who is your father?”

“If I tell you, are you guys going to bug him in the hospital?”

“We’d love your family’s take on having a son who looks so much like the famous Summerland twins.”

“My dad is dying. He has weeks. Please, I’m begging you, don’t torment him. Please.”

Someone yelled from the crowd, “Who’s the brunette?”

Jason stepped back and I was suddenly on mic. “I’m Anita Blake.”

“Who are you to the Summerlands?”

“No one to them; other than knowing of Governor Summerland I’d never heard of his family until today. I’m Jason Schuyler’s…good friend.” There, the first awkward pause. I was betting it wouldn’t be the last one.

Jason put his hands on my shoulders from where he stood beside me. The flashes intensified. Another voice yelled out, “Hey, you’re Jean-Claude’s Anita Blake, aren’t you?”

Jean-Claude’s Anita Blake; not federal marshal Anita Blake, not the vampire executioner Anita Blake; no, I was just Jean-Claude’s girlfriend. Great.

“Yes,” I said. Who was I to quibble?

“Oh, my God, you’re Ripley!” A woman’s voice from the crowd. Ripley was the name Jason stripped under. Yes, he had chosen his stage name because of the movie
Alien
. When I’d asked him why, he’d replied, “Sigourney Weaver is so hot.” His more ardent fans called him Rip for short. He had a fan among the press. That was going to be either good, or really bad. file://L:\Azures L_Disc Shared Dowloads\EBooks\Anita Blake Series 1-17\(Book16] - Bl... 10/18/2009

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Other voices asked the reporter, “Who’s Ripley?”

Jason leaned over my shoulders to say, loud enough for other mics to pick it up, “Ripley is the name I strip under at Jean-Claude’s club in St. Louis, Guilty Pleasures.”

A shiver went through the collected press, almost as if they were one beast with a single skin that had just been touched by a giant hand.

The press let the woman who seemed to know who we were come to the forefront; she had better questions. “Anita, you are Jean-Claude’s girlfriend, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, again, not really happy that all my own accomplishments had been boiled down to being someone’s—anyone’s—girlfriend.

“Then what are you doing here with Ripley, I mean Jason?”

“Jason told you that his father is gravely ill, that’s true. He’s coming home to say good-bye, and I’m with him for moral support.”

“Oh, my God,” she said, “you’ve come home to meet his family. You’ve left Jean-Claude for one of his strippers.”

Holy shit. “No,” I said, “I mean, it’s not what you think, it’s…”

But it was too late. Another kind of feeding frenzy had begun. It was simply out of our control, like some force of nature.

The reporters started yelling answers to each other’s questions, as if they were questions for us, but the answers they were giving were actually drowning out ours. It was one of the most bizarre experiences. It was a hurricane of rumors, and there was no stopping it. Chuck appeared with the plainclothes guards, and I was happy to see all of them, even Chuck. They got us out of the press, down the driveway, and inside the hotel. I couldn’t even argue. The taxi wasn’t going anywhere.

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14

WE ENDED UP
in a spacious room just off the main lobby that was filled with chairs and had a podium. I think this was the place where the tamer press events happened. There was a woman in one of the chairs. She wasn’t that tall, but she managed to be leggy in spike heels and a killer designer suit. Her auburn hair was in a tight bun that left her perfect makeup and overly dramatic eyes suitably noticeable.

“No more talking to the press unless you clear it through me,” she said.

“I am not one of the Summerlands,” Jason said, and he sounded tired. I didn’t blame him.

“He fell on his sword out there for us, Dubois,” one of the other suits said. This one was older, his gray suit only a little darker than his hair. His face was lined, but it was a good face. If he’d dyed the hair he wouldn’t have looked his age. A different suit would have helped, too. Gray wasn’t his color.

She gave one abrupt nod. “He did give them something else to chew on, I’ll grant that. But the little kiss in the alley was childish.”

“I know that,” Jason said, “but Chuck here had bossed me around, and I’m not Keith. I don’t need the babysitting.”

“After that kiss and the impromptu press conference, the hell you don’t,” she said.

“Are all press agents this pleasant?” I asked.

She gave me an angry look. “And you”—pointing a long painted nail at me—“are not helping.”

“I’m a federal marshal and a vampire executioner. I also raise the dead for a living. But all the press cared about was my boyfriends. But I didn’t argue with the reporters. I let them ask sex questions and didn’t get mad on camera. I think I behaved myself admirably.”

Jason hugged me one-armed. “You really did control your temper. I’m very proud of you.”

I gave him a look that made Ms. Dubois’s look seem tame. He winced, but he didn’t mean it.

“Frankly,” I said, “I was too surprised to know what to do. I’ve done some press with JeanClaude, but nothing like this.”

Dubois seemed to have gotten over her snit, because she offered me her hand. Me, not Jason. It earned her a brownie point or two. “I’m Phyllis Dubois, press secretary on site for the wedding week.”

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I took her hand. She had a good firm shake for a woman, but then so did I. “I’m Anita Blake, and I guess all I am today is Jason’s girlfriend.”

“Jean-Claude is that sexy master vampire of St. Louis, right?” she said. I nodded.

“Did you leave him for Jason?”

I gave her an unfriendly look. “Don’t you start.”

She smiled and it made her face younger, more in tune with the nearly club makeup. “Sorry, but if it were true it might help us deflect some of the heat from our boys.”

“You’d blow the story up even more so they’d feed on us,” I said. She shrugged narrow but elegant shoulders. “My job.”

“How do I get to the hospital to see my dad?” Jason asked.

“We’ll put you in a limo, and if we have to we’ll get you a police escort,” Dubois said.

“Why?” Jason said, unusually suspicious for him.

I answered it, “Because a limo with a police escort will draw off part of the press that is hanging around for the bachelorette party tonight.”

“You really do think I’m going to throw you to the wolves, don’t you?”

“Oh, I like wolves,” I said, “it’s the reporters that scare me.”

Gray Suit said, “I don’t think there’s any way to get you quietly to the hospital. In fact, we should send people ahead to warn the hospital so the reporters don’t get into Mr. Schuyler’s room.”

“Good thinking, Peterson, as always. Call our liaison at the hospital.”

Peterson, aka Gray Suit, took out a cell phone and went toward one side of the room. Apparently for some privacy for the call.

Another phone sounded. Dubois got a slim one out of her pocket and started talking into it. Chuck said, “You’re a federal marshal, for real?”

“For real,” I said.

He looked me up and down, not like a man will, but like he was sizing me up for other things. Things that had nothing to do with sex.

“You’ve got a gun at the small of your back. It’s lying sideways, not up and down, so it’s almost invisible.”

I nodded. “And you missed it completely when we first met.”

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“My bad,” he said.

“Sloppy,” I said.

“It won’t happen again.”

“What won’t happen again?”

“Me thinking you’re just a…girlfriend.”

“You always hesitate before you say
girlfriend
, Chuck; what do you actually start to say?”

“You won’t like it.”

“I’m betting I already know the phrase that’s on the tip of your tongue, Chuck.”

Jason was watching us, the way he did sometimes when people were doing something that interested him or puzzled him. He’d watch, file it away, and talk to me about it later. Sometimes much later.

Chuck glanced around, and when he realized that both Dubois and Peterson weren’t in earshot, he said low, “Piece of ass, I won’t make the mistake of thinking you’re just a piece of ass.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you were thinking.”

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15

WE ARRIVED AT
the hospital in a style that even Jean-Claude couldn’t have managed. The city wouldn’t have given him a police escort unless he was being arrested. But we got one to St. Joseph’s Hospital, with its nearly brand-new trauma unit. The trauma unit was in the Summerland wing of the hospital. I smelled an amazingly large donation.

It took us awhile to get past the upper brass of the hospital, who had spilled out to the sound of sirens and the limo. Hell, we had some of the suits with us. Peterson was in charge instead of Chuck, which was a step up, but it was still an understandable mistake on the hospital administration’s part. If someone had given me enough money to put a wing on my hospital I’d be nice to them, too. In the lobby, while we were trying to explain that Jason was neither of the Summerland twins, I saw a portrait. It was an old-fashioned painting of a man in a black cloth suit, white shirt, stiff collar, and dark yellow mustache. But underneath the strange clothes and facial hair, it was Jason’s face. I actually walked toward the portrait without meaning to. Jason’s blue eyes stared down at me from this stern-faced stranger.

Jason came to stand beside me. I looked from him to the painting. “Creepy, isn’t it?” he said.

“It could be you in a few years, if you did the mustache.”

“Meet Jedediah Summerland. He was the head of the religious community that came here to get away from the worldly temptations. He was a very self-righteous guy, but strangely a lot of families that trace their ancestors back to when he was alive have a lot of kids that look eerily like him.”

“A lot of cult leaders seem to have a weakness for women,” I said. He nodded, then smiled, though it left his eyes empty. “Jedediah was actually killed by vampires. Apparently he tried to convert them to the Lord, and they didn’t like it. Frankly, I think he tried to seduce the wrong undead lady and paid the price.”

He turned to me, not with a smile, but with something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite read.

“What?” I asked.

“I guess getting hooked up with vampires runs in the family.” He turned away, keeping his face to himself so that whatever he was thinking, I couldn’t see it. I looked at the face on the wall. It was Jason’s face, but if the artist had captured Jedediah correctly, then there was no humor in the eyes, no smile always tugging at the corner of that mouth. Same face, but a very different person.

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Peterson came up beside us. He gazed up at the portrait, too. “The family resemblance is almost disturbing, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I don’t mind,” Jason said.

“I’ve cleared the way for you to see your father, Mr. Schuyler. I’ll accompany you up with a second man. The hospital staff have already caught two reporters trying to sneak upstairs. I’ve asked them to treat your father’s privacy as they would the governor’s. I think that should keep the press away.”

“Thank you,” Jason said. He was still looking at the painting when he said it. He turned and gave Peterson a grin. It filled his eyes with laughter, and changed the face to…Jason’s face. Peterson looked almost startled, then smiled back. Jason had that effect on people. Jason reached for my hand, and I helped him find it. The smile faded around the edges, and his eyes looked almost as stern as the ones in the portrait. “Let’s get this over with.”

We went for the elevator, but there was already a suit holding the door, and the admin for the hospital. Apparently, she was going to ride up with us. The rich and powerful really are different, or at least they’re treated better.

Jason’s hand was a little warm to the touch, not sweat, just nerves. He was a lycanthrope, which meant that nerves could bring on the change. He had control, really good control, but his body temperature was rising with his anxiety. That wasn’t good.

For the first time I wondered what would happen if Jason shifted in front of his family. Surely they knew he was a werewolf. Didn’t they?

The media would know once they checked the website for Guilty Pleasures. It listed not just the usual stats for strippers but if they were vampires, or wereanimals, and what animal you could watch them shift into. If the media stayed interested enough in the story, they’d out him. The nice admin was talking to Jason, who was making small noises at her and not hearing a thing. I actually looked across him to her and said, “It’s very nice of you to help his father like this.”

“Any friend of the governor’s is a very special guest of ours,” she said, smiling. Jason said in a voice bitter enough to hurt, “My father isn’t a friend of the governor’s.”

The woman looked at me, then at Peterson. “I thought…”

“The governor felt that since Mr. Schuyler’s resemblance to his own sons was the problem with the media, the least we could do was make certain his father’s last days weren’t hounded by the press.”

“The resemblance is uncanny,” she said. “Even standing this close to you I’d swear you were one of the governor’s sons.”

“Jedediah was a busy boy,” Jason said, softly.

“Excuse me?” she said.

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Jason shook his head. “Nothing.”

I tried small talk, never my best thing. How long could the elevator ride be? “Jason didn’t know the twins would be in town, so the press caught us off guard. With the wedding and everything, it got wild. I don’t envy the real Summerlands if this is typical for the way they’re treated by the press.”

“It’s gotten worse since the presidential bid,” the other, younger suit said. Peterson gave him a look. The look said clearly,
Don’t talk
. The younger suit stopped talking and did his best to both stand very straight and ready and vanish into the corner. Not easy to do at the same time, but he tried.

“Of course, of course,” the admin said.

The doors opened, and we got to step out into a hospital corridor. No matter how nice the hospital, it is still a hospital. They’d chosen nice paint, a color that was actually cheerful, but the smells hit you—that antiseptic smell they use to try to hide the smell of sickness, the smell of death. The only corridors that don’t smell like this are maternity wards. It’s almost as if death truly has a smell, and so does life. You can’t fool the difference with cleaning solution. The nose knows, and so does the part of the brain that doesn’t understand elevators and presidential bids. That part of the brain that’s been hopping around with us humans since we weren’t sure walking upright wasn’t just another fad.

Jason stopped dead in the hallway. His hand clenched around mine. I realized if I could smell that, it would be a hundred times stronger to his nose. Even in human form the wereanimals could smell things humans couldn’t.

The admin stopped and turned. “Your father’s room is just down this way.” She actually motioned as if she were directing us to anywhere. I guess she worked here every day. Maybe you don’t smell it after awhile, or feel it.

Jason squeezed my hand again, gave me a watered-down version of his smile, and nodded. We moved, we followed, we went where she pointed. Jason’s hand was hot against my skin. file://L:\Azures L_Disc Shared Dowloads\EBooks\Anita Blake Series 1-17\(Book16] - Bl... 10/18/2009

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16

A WOMAN APPEARED
in the corridor just ahead of the admin. The woman wore a soft pink suit and had short blond hair. She was about our height. She turned toward us, and the moment I saw her face I knew she had to be Jason’s mom. The same eyes and hair; the face was different, thinner; a little more pointed chin, but the eyes were like looking into Jason’s eyes. But just like the painting downstairs had filled those eyes with disapproval, her eyes were filled with worry. She saw Jason, and her face lightened for a moment. Her eyes flicked to me, there was a moment of doubt in her face, and then she came toward us smiling, arms out, but her eyes never quite lost the thought, the clear thought,
Is this a good idea?
I hoped his mother never played poker, because she would have sucked at it.