A Taint in the Blood (22 page)

Wearing a Sailor Moon costume?
Ellen thought.

Certainly a manga-version of a Japanese schoolgirl outfit—white sailor blouse, blue skirt and red bow. Her raven hair was up in a complex design held by long golden hairsticks and a comb; Ellen recognized it from an Edo-period print by Koryusai. The face below was classic as well, doll-like and pretty; she was a bit shorter than Adrienne, which put her three inches below Ellen’s five foot six.

“Adrienne!” she said happily, rising.

“Michiko!”

She extended a hand and they touched fingertips, a greeting Ellen had never seen before. There was a sense of
something
passing between them, of words spoken too quickly and softly for her to hear.

They also exchanged several sentences aloud in Japanese before Adrienne switched to English:

“Not blond anymore, I see.”

The Asian girl smiled and indicated her hairdo. “Grandfather! He wanted something more traditional, I gave him
traditional
.”

The two Shadowspawn women laughed and sat. Michiko went on:

“How
do
you get that sweaty authentic look with the leathers? On me, it’s always like a twelve-year-old trying to butch up.”

“The authenticity is simple. Put them on and then drive a motorcycle for three hundred miles.”

“That’s going a bit far.”

“Ichirō?”

“He’s in Japan with the kids, supervising them while they learn to contemplate raked sand and rocks and the other profound Buddha-Shinto-ninja-clan shit. As if human nations and traditions meant anything to
us
anymore!”

“The Wreaking training and the physical side are useful,” Adrienne said. “But I sympathize. On the other hand, Tōkairin Hajime’s father thought he
was
a human being for most of his life. It’s only natural your grandfather still thinks in those terms.”

“Your Brézé-clan Old Ones are miracles of flexibility by comparison.”

“We were . . . in at the beginning. We’ve had more time to adjust.”

Ellen hovered uncertainly for an instant, then sat as waiters brought a tray of drinks and platters of Kumamoto oysters on beds of shaved ice and rock-salt and seaweed, with thin-sliced buttered brown bread on the side.

“Ah, I can always rely on you, Jason,” Michiko said in a friendly tone to the man overseeing them.

To Adrienne: “When I come here, I just put myself in Jason’s hands. I’m like putty and he’s never gone wrong.”

Then to the man once more: “What’s with? Not the Staglin Chardonnay this time?”

“I’m recommending this cocktail instead for the oysters. Skyy 90 vodka infused with Antiguan black peppercorn, Manzanilla dry sherry, shaken, served up with cucumber.”

“
Definitely
linked to the pleasure principle,” she replied, sipping one. “Jason, if only you were straight, or at least flexible, what a lover you’d be!”

“Not even for you, Ms. Tōkairin,” the slim handsome man said with a smile of his own. “Enjoy!”

“Ah . . .” Ellen said, when the staff had withdrawn. “I’ve never actually eaten a raw oyster before.”

The slanted eyes considered her. At first Ellen thought they were the normal brown so dark it was almost black, but then she could see tiny golden flecks here and there.

“A new lucy?” she asked, glancing at Adrienne. “You always did favor those Marilyn Monroe types on the distaff side.”

Wait a minute,
Ellen thought suddenly.
I
do
look a
little
like Monroe.

She’d studied Warhol’s prints closely at NYU and half a dozen people in the class had pointed it out, some far more often than she liked. The resemblance had been even stronger before she took up running and tennis intensively.

And come to think of it, Monica back at the ranch looks a fair bit like Norma Jean Mortenson before she went blond and got discovered. Is that a
thing
with the Brézés? Oh, that’s a bit of an ick . . . Well, some guys just have a subconscious preference for a
type
, I suppose . . . Adrian may have liked my looks, but he stayed for
me
. I was the one who broke it off.

“Though I should be charging you corkage!” Michiko continued with assumed umbrage. “You’re perfectly free to hunt in San Francisco while you’re my guest—we put that in the peace agreement—and it’s not as if we didn’t have a wide assortment. Bringing your own fresh bitch to bleed is almost a slur on our hospitality!”

Ellen fought to control the spike of resentment. From the smiles, that was absolutely futile, and Adrienne chuckled.

“
Chérie
, you’re my lucy. That means you
are
my bitch, in several senses of the word. Here. Take a sip of the cocktail—”

Cool, sweet-pungent, a tiny peppery bite, then white ice-fire down the throat.

“—then put a tiny bit of these marinated scallions on the oyster, a squeeze of lemon, and use the oyster fork to help the whole thing
sliiiide
in. Then take a bite of the brown bread.”

Ellen let the morsel and shell-full of liquid drop into her mouth. It
was
good, if a little strange—salty and meaty and fishy at the same time. The earthy texture and half-sweet taste of the brown bread and butter cleared her mouth.

“Like kissing the Pacific Ocean on the lips,” Adrienne said.

To Michiko: “But this is the one I took from dear Adrian. And quite unusual in herself. Less pillowy than Monroe, too, judging from the films.”

“Oooh, she was
Adrian’s
? Mind if I take a look?”

“Be my guest.”

This time the gaze took her seriously. Ellen decided she preferred dismissal. The eyes locked on hers, and she found she couldn’t look away. The sensation that followed was purely mental, but the exact equivalent of having someone put a fingernail on the base of her spine and run it slowly up to her neck. She shivered involuntarily. Michiko reached out without breaking the eye-lock and took her hand, put her thumb on the web between the little finger and the next and pressed sharply.

“Ouch!” Ellen said; she barely suppressed the impulse to snatch the hand back.

Michiko’s teeth came together with a
click.
She began to turn the hand to expose the wrist, her mouth opening again as she bent forward, lips curling back in a way that made her suddenly look far less human. Ellen’s breath caught as she shivered, and she looked over at Adrienne with her eyes wide in involuntary appeal.

OK, aren’t I supposed to be
your
bitch?

The other Shadowspawn chuckled and rapped her friend’s wrist with an oyster fork.

“Ta-ta-ta, Michi, I said
look
, not
taste.
You know how I hate people touching my things.”

“Oh,” she said with a start, and released Ellen’s hand. “Sorry. Still, I see what you mean. There are depths there. I wonder how her blood would taste as her heart skipped and quivered and stopped?”

“Absolutely marvelous, I’m sure. That
is
always a treat. But then she’d be
dead
, and no fun at all. I have plans for this one.”

Michiko shrugged as she squeezed lemon on an oyster.

“There’s always more, even of the special ones. The planet’s overpopulated, after all. And Adrian will come after you whether she’s alive or dead.”

“Be careful, or you’ll start to sound like Dmitri.”

Michiko made a gesture of theatrical horror, throwing up her hands; one of them held an empty oyster shell.

“Oh, no, not
that
. I don’t kill what I can’t eat. Well, usually.”

“Dmitri is definitely a gourmand. Still, he’s earned release. And he has the supreme virtue of being useful.”

“Ah,” Michiko said, and ate another oyster. “Well, that’s about the only good news I’ve got for you tonight. Grandfather
will
extend Tōkairin patronage so that he can attend the meeting . . . and leave Seversk in time to prepare.”

“Seversk, that oozing chancre upon Siberia’s lower intestine,” Adrienne said with a grin. “Still, it’s a good place to reminisce about Srebrenica.”

Ellen kept eating through the Shadowspawn laughter. Four oysters were just enough to remind her that it had been a long day since lunch.

And that I lost half a pint of blood
, she reminded herself grimly.
This cocktail is going straight to my head.
Then:
So what?

The longer the time that passed, the less . . .

Peaceful
, she thought.
Dreamy, peaceful, pleasant, right-and-proper.
. . . the memory of Adrienne’s ecstatic face, turned to the sky, mouth open with Ellen’s blood trickling from the corners.

I can remember thinking at the time that I’d be grossed out later, and I remember now how good it felt then. And I
really
don’t like the way Michiko keeps glancing at me, as if I were one of these oysters. Eating with people who think of
you
as food is nerve-racking.

“The bad news is that he’s pretty much decided to support option Trimback One,” the woman in the elaborate hairdo went on.

Adrienne sighed and took the last oyster. She replied . . . and it was in Japanese, as the head-waiter came in again.

“Champagne-cured Monterey sardines for you, Ms. Tōkairin,” he said triumphantly, laying out the appetizer. “With French fingerling potato salad, micro beet greens, and sauce verte.”

Another flourish. “And for you, Ms. Brézé, artichoke-stuffed local calamari, with Iacopi Farms white bean puree, mizuna, and preserved Meyer lemon
bagna cauda
.”

Another plate was deftly twitched from a server and set in front of Ellen:

“And for the pretty blond lady who looks so hungry, seared hand-line-caught Ahi tuna, accompanied by yellow foot chanterelles, braised salsify, and wild mushroom consommé. Now with
these
, I recommend the Paul Hobbs Russian River Valley Chardonnay.”

Ellen took a forkful; the tuna was almost as much like rare steak as fish.

Oh, my, this is good! But why are these Shadowspawn all such
foodies?
Adrian was too. I had to add an extra mile to my run to keep from inflating like a blimp, and he never gained an ounce.

“Because we have much sharper senses of taste and smell than you do,
ma douce,
” Adrienne said. “And very active metabolisms. When we’re not in trance, it cranks right up. Our bodies are treating it as a brief hunting season, but we don’t have to wait out glacial winters anymore.”

“You’ve got her verbalized thoughts already?” Michiko asked, raising a thin black brow. “It takes me a couple of days at least.”

“Our acquaintance has been brief, but intense,” Adrienne said. “And even though he didn’t feed on her, there was a ground-link between her and Adrian. I could taste it the first time her blood hit my tongue.”

“Kinky,” Michiko laughed.

“Delightfully so. I’m disappointed to hear about your grandfather. I had hopes he’d be reasonable.”

“He wavered, but the al-Lanarkis talked him around. Convinced him we could handle things like the reactors melting down after the EMP.”

“Oh, now we’re going to rely on our
administrative abilities
to pull things through? Name of a black dog!”

Adrian used that same odd curse
, Ellen thought. For a moment her throat squeezed shut; then she took a deep breath and doggedly kept eating.

“Adrienne, you’re preaching to the converted here. The Lanarkis don’t have to worry so much; it’s mostly camels and goats out in their bailiwick anyway.”

“And then there would be the burning cities, and the refineries . . . Oh, what’s the use? You’re right, Michi; I don’t have to convince
you
. We’ll just have to hope we can convince a quorum at the Council meeting, or at least block hasty action.”

“I’m getting ready for Tiflis,” Michiko agreed, sipping at her wine. “My, this
does
go well with the cured sardines.”

“I hope you’ll have all the East Asian data so we can circulate it—and nothing too technical. PowerPoint, with lots of
pictures
. You’ve got better access there than I do. My cousins will have Europe more or less sewn up—the downside to Trimback One is fairly obvious there, enough so that even a lot of the postcorporeals are
en courant
.”

“My people are working on it,” Michiko said. “We’ll have it in good time. And I’ve got just the expert for calculating the spread on the initial exposures.”

I suspect that
my people
here means something like
my horses
,
Ellen thought.

“And I’m learning Georgian,” she went on. “
Me minda ts’avide tbilisshi
. It’s so much better when you can understand them, and I expect to do a little hunting there.”

“Who are you learning it from?” Adrienne inquired.

“An adjunct professor down at Stanford named Vakhtang Choloqashvili. Darkly handsome and—”

She giggled and put a hand to her mouth; when she went on it was with a fake-guttural accent:

“In Georgia, are
real men
! Are like wild”—with a crook-fingered grabbing gesture—“
bull
of ze mountains!”

She went on in her normal mid-Californian voice: “He’s just beginning to suspect that the nightmares aren’t really nightmares. He gave me this
look
the last time I drove down for a tutorial, and his hands were shaking.”

“I could teach you a few words,” Adrienne said, and they snapped at each other with a sideways flick of the head and a mutual
click
of pearly teeth.

Literally snapped
, Ellen thought, and turned her eyes down to her plate.

The gesture had looked absolutely natural, and playfully flirtatious.

“I should be fully fluent by the time things are concluded,” Michiko said. “Then I could console his grieving widow. She’d need someone who really
understood
her, all alone in a strange country.”