Cerulean Sins (36 page)

T
HE BANQUET WAS
in one of the inner rooms of the Circus. One I'd never seen before. I knew that the place was huge and I'd seen only a fraction of it, but I hadn't realized I'd missed a room this size. It was literally cavernous, because it had originally been a cave, a huge, towering, space that water had carved out of solid stone over a few million years. There was no water now, only rock and the cool air. It was the way the air tasted, the way it touched your skin that let you know somehow that all this dark splendor was nature's handy work, not man's. I don't know what the difference between natural caves and man-made ones is, but the air feels different, it just does.

I expected torches for the night, but was surprised to find that there was gas. Gas lamps placed around the room, chasing back the dark. I asked Jean-Claude when he'd installed the gas, and he said that some bootleggers had done it during prohibition, that the cavern had been a speakeasy. Nikolaos, the Master of the City before Jean-Claude, had let the bootleggers pay rent for the space. Her vampires had also fed on the drunken revelers. It was a good easy way to feed without getting caught. Since the prey was already breaking the law, it wouldn't go to the police, to say where the vampire attack had happened.

I'd never been in a room that was lit entirely by gas lamps. It had that soft edge of firelight, but it was steadier and burned cleaner. I'd half expected there to be an odor of gas, but there wasn't. Jean-Claude informed me that if I smelled gas it would mean there was a leak, and we should probably run like hell. Okay, what he actually said was we should leave as quickly as possible, but I knew what he meant.

The banquet table was both beautifully—and oddly—arranged. It
gleamed with golden flatware, and the gold picked up the delicate gold pattern in the white fine-boned china. There were gold napkin rings around white linen napkins. The tablecloth was triple layered, one long and white that nearly dragged the floor, a gold edge of leaves and flowers embroidered around its hem. The middle layer was a delicate gold lace. The top was a different layer of gold—white and gold—as if someone had taken gold paint and dabbed it sponge-like on white linen.

The chairs had white and gold cushioned seats and richly carved backs in a dark, dark wood. The table sat like a gleaming island in the midst of the gaslit dark. But two things confused me. First, there were way more golden utensils at each place than I knew what to do with. What the hell do you use a tiny two-tined fork for anyway? It was set at the top of the plate, so it was either for seafood, salad, dessert, or something I hadn't thought of. I was hoping for seafood or dessert, since I thought I knew which fork was for salad. Having never been to a formal vampire banquet, I tried not to speculate on other possible uses for the two-tined fork.

Secondly, there were a number of complete place settings on the floor. Each setting had a white linen napkin spread under it, like miniature picnics. The place settings on the floor were spaced between the chair settings, so there was room to pull the chairs in and out. It was . . . odd.

I stood there in my black and royal blue gown with its faint sparkles of deep blue, tapping the toe of my black high heel, trying to figure out why there were plates on the floor.

Jean-Claude glided through the long black drapes that covered the entrance between this room and the smaller adjacent chamber. Everyone was mingling in the other room. I hated mingling under any circumstances, even at normal dinner parties. But tonight was like small talk, combat style. Everything had double or triple meanings. Everyone was trying to be subtly insulting. All so polite, so back-stabbing, so painful. My small talk skills were pretty limited, and among Musette and her crew, I was unarmed. I'd needed a break, before I started breaking things for real. At least Musette's underage
pomme de sang
was missing from tonight's festivities. We'd been told the girl had been sent back to Europe because her presence seemed to upset me so. My guess was Musette just didn't want to lose her toy, if things went badly.

Asher slipped through all that blackness like a golden vision, but he didn't glide after Jean-Claude, he hurried. Musette wasn't entirely ready to believe that Asher was truly ours. Since I wasn't a hundred percent sure he was either, it was hard for her not to smell a lie on me, even though it wasn't exactly a lie. I should never have left Asher on his own, but I was tired. Tired of vampire politics. Tired of digging out from problems that I didn't start, and didn't truly understand.

“
Ma petite,
our guests are asking after you.”

“I'll just bet they are.”

Jean-Claude did that long, slow, graceful blink that usually meant he was trying to figure out what I'd meant with a bit of slang or sarcasm. I used to think the blink was to show off his impossibly long eyelashes, but trust him to make something enticing out of what for anyone else would have been an irritating habit.

“Musette really is asking after you,” Asher said, and he imitated her voice, “Where is your new beloved? Has she abandoned you so soon?” His pale blue eyes flashed white, showing that edge of panic that was just below the surface.

“It is not like you to wander off on such an important and potentially dangerous occasion. What is the matter,
ma petite
?”

“Oh, I don't know, an international terrorist following me around, the vampire council back in town, an evening of some of the most politely vicious small talk I've ever heard, Asher being his usual temperamental self, one of my friends and favorite policemen having a nervous breakdown, a serial killer werewolf on the loose in my town, oh, and the fact that Richard and his wolves haven't arrived yet, and no one's answering their phones. Pick one.” I knew the smile on my face wasn't pleasant when I finished. It was a challenging smile. It said why wouldn't I be uptight?

“I do not believe anything has happened to Richard,
ma petite.
”

“No, you're afraid he's going to take a pass on the whole evening. That would make us look damned weak.”

“Damian flies almost as well as I do,” Asher said, “he'll find them, if they are close.”

“And if they're not? I mean, Richard is shielding so hard that neither Jean-Claude nor I can reach him. He doesn't usually do that without a reason, usually a pissy one.”

Asher sighed. “I do not know what to say about your wolf king, but I know that he is not our only problem.” He looked at me, and there was a stubborn set to that handsome face. “I am not being temperamental.”

I didn't bother to debate him. Asher was temperamental, he just was. “Fine, but the problem is that Musette can smell this lie. She asks me if you're mine, I say, yes, she doesn't believe me. She doesn't believe me because I don't quite believe it. You aren't totally mine. It's too new to feel that real, and that's what she's picking up on. She's practically chased me around the room finding new ways to ask if I'm fucking you, and even that caught me.” I shook my head, and missed the feel of my hair against my skin. I touched the back of my bare neck and it felt vulnerable.

“If it is only for their visit, I understand,” Asher said.

“No, no, damn it, it's that we haven't had intercourse.”

Asher looked at me, then raised his gaze to Jean-Claude. “In this she is
very American. If you have not had intercourse, you have not had sex with
ma petite
. It is a very American mind-set.”

“I covered her back in my seed, and that does not count?”

I blushed so suddenly that I felt dizzy. “Can we please change the subject?”

Jean-Claude touched my shoulder, and I jerked away. I desperately wanted comforting, and thus I couldn't let him do it. I know it made no sense, but it was still true. I'd stopped trying to talk myself out of myself and begun to try and work with what I had. I was a mess of contradictions. Wasn't everybody? Though admittedly, I might be a teensy bit more contradictory than most.

I walked away from him, from both of them, but that also took me away from the lights, closer to the waiting pools of darkness. I stopped. I didn't want to walk into the dark. I spoke half turned around, as if I didn't trust my back to the dark completely. “Why are there plates on the floor?”

Jean-Claude moved towards me, graceful in those amazing boots, the dark coat swirling around him, the embroidery catching the light here and there like faint blue stars. The blue shirt seemed to float from the darkness, bringing his face to my almost painful attention, emphasizing how truly lovely he was. Of course, he'd probably planned for exactly that effect.

His voice seemed to fill the cavern like a warm whisper, “Be at peace,
ma petite
.”

“Stop that,” I said, and realized I turned my back on the greater darkness, turned towards him like a flower turns to the sun, turned because I couldn't not look at him. This wasn't vampire powers, it was the effect he had on me, had almost always had on me.

“Stop what?” he asked, voice still warm and peaceful, like a comforting blanket.

“Trying to use your voice on me. I'm not some tourist to be soothed by pretty words and a good delivery.”

He smiled, then gave a small bow. “
Non
, but you are as nervous as a tourist. It is not like you to be so . . . jumpy.” The smile had vanished, replaced by a small frown.

I rubbed my hands up and down on my arms, wishing the silk and velvet wasn't there. I needed to touch my own skin, with my own hands. The cave was around fifty degrees, I needed the long sleeves, but I needed the skin contact more. I looked up to the towering ceiling above us, and the darkness that seemed to press down from it, hovering over the gaslight, pressing at the edges of the glow like a dark hand.

I sighed. “It's the dark,” I said, at last.

Jean-Claude came to stand next to me; he made no immediate move to
touch me, because I'd drawn away once. I'd taught him caution. He looked up briefly at the ceiling, then back to study my face. “What of it,
ma petite?
”

I shook my head and tried to put it into words, while I huddled into myself, as if I could hold in the warmth. I was wearing a cross. The silver chain traced down my neck into the generous cleavage revealed by the low-necked dress. There was a piece of black masking tape over the silver cross itself, so that it wouldn't spill out at the wrong moment. After the earlier visits from Belle and Mommy Dearest, I was not going anywhere without a holy item on me. I wasn't sure what that might mean to having sex with Jean-Claude, or any vampire, but for the short term, I wasn't sure that any sex was worth the risk.

Jean-Claude touched my hand gently. I jumped, but didn't move away. He took that as an invitation. He'd always taken anything that wasn't an outright rebuke as an invitation. He moved to stand behind me, putting his hands over mine where I still gripped myself. “Your hands are chilled.” He pressed me in the circle of his body, arms sliding around me, pinning me gently against him.

He rested his cheek against the top of my head. “I ask again,
ma petite
, what is the matter?”

I settled into the circle of his arms, relaxing by inches against him, as if my very muscles couldn't stand the thought of giving in to anything soft, or comforting. I ignored the question and asked again, “Why are there plates on the floor?”

He sighed and held me close. “Do not be angry, because there is nothing I can do to change this. I knew you would not like it, but Belle is old-fashioned.”

Asher came to join us. “Her original request was to put humans on large trays, like suckling pigs, bound and helpless. Then everyone could have picked a vein and enjoyed.”

I turned my head against the velvet of Jean-Claude's coat, so I could stare at Asher's face. “You're joking, right?”

The look on his face was enough. “Shit, you aren't.” I rolled my head up so I could look at Jean-Claude. He obligingly looked down at me. His face was more unreadable, but I was pretty sure Asher hadn't lied.

“
Oui, ma petite,
she suggested three humans would be enough for all of us.”

“You can't feed this many vampires off of three people.”

“Not true,
ma petite,
” he said, softly.

I kept looking at him, until he looked away. “You mean drain them dry from multiple bites.”

“Yes, yes, that is what I mean.” He sounded tired.

I forced myself to settle back into his suddenly tense arms, and sighed. “Just tell me, Jean-Claude, I believe you that Belle insisted on it, whatever it is. I believe you that she wanted worse things done, just tell me.”

He bent his head so that he whispered against my hair, his warm breath touching my ear. “When you have steak, do you invite the cow to sit at table with you?”

“No,” I said, then turned my head to the side so I could see his face. The look in his eyes was enough. “You don't mean . . .” He did mean. “So who's sitting on the floor?”

“Anyone who is food,” he said.

I gave him a look.

He spoke quickly to the look in my eyes. “You will be seated at table,
ma petite,
just as Angelito will sit at table.”

“What about Jason?”

“
Pomme de sangs
will eat from the floor.”

“So Nathaniel, too.” I said.

He gave a small nod and let me see how worried he was about how I'd take all this.

“If you were this worried about how I'd react, why didn't you warn me ahead of time?”

“In truth, there has been so much happening that I forgot. This was once very normal for me,
ma petite,
and Belle holds with the old ways. There are older still than she, who would not even allow the food to sit on the floor.” He shook his head, hard enough that his hair touched my face, smelling of his cologne and that indefinable something that was simply his scent. “There are banquets,
ma petite,
that you would not wish to see, or even know of. They are indeed horrible.”