Anita Blake 15 - The Harlequin (29 page)

"Thanks, Jake," I said.

"Just doing my job, ma'am." His voice hesitated at the end as Cisco and another guard started picking glass out of him.

"Did anyone check his scalp for glass?" Claudia asked.

No one said yes. She called out, "Juanito, check him for glass."

Juanito was another newer guard. I'd been introduced to some of them when the word went out that we needed more men, but the tall, dark, handsome man was a stranger to me. I'd nodded at him, that was about it. At least Jake had been here a few weeks. Juanito meant "little Juan," but he didn't match his name. He was six feet at least, slender but muscular. He was not a little anything, as far as I could tell.

"I'm not a medic," he said.

"I didn't ask," Claudia said.

He just stood there staring at her, clearly not happy.

"I gave you an order. Follow it," she said. I hadn't heard that tone in Claudia's voice often. If I'd been him I'd have done what she said.

He moved to the kneeling werewolf and started picking through the wet curls. He didn't do it like his heart was in it, though. Cisco and the other guard seemed to be taking their job seriously.

Graham brought a large towel from the bathroom and started picking up the bloody pieces of glass that were already on the floor. Cisco and the others started dropping the glass onto the towel. It looked like red rain and sharp little pieces of hail.

"How bad is Jake hurt?" I asked Claudia.

"Not bad, but we don't want the skin healing over the glass."

"That happen often?" I asked.

"Often enough," she said.

I looked back at the men and found that Jake's back was smoothing even as I watched. "Is it just me or is he healing fast even for a shapeshifter?"

"It's not just you," Claudia said. "He heals faster than almost anyone I've ever met."

The three guards were searching frantically along his body, trying to stay ahead of his skin as it flowed over the wounds. Juanito had gotten over his reluctance and was now searching Jake's hair with fumbling fingers, desperately searching through the curls. "I'm not going to get them all! He's healing too fast!"

"The glass you miss, you get to cut out," Claudia said.

"Shit," he said, and worked faster.

Jake made almost no sound while everyone picked at his wounds. He stayed silent and motionless under their hands. I'd have been cursing and at least flinching.

Graham had apparently picked up all the stray glass he could find, because he wiped his fingers on the towel and stood up.

"Graham, you wearing a holy item?" I hoped he'd say no.

"No," he said.

Relief flooded through me, and I shivered. I was cold from the wet clothes and the reaction to the accident. No, not accident. The Harlequin had tried to kill me. Fuck. I hadn't understood; even with everyone's warnings, I hadn't understood. I was like a kid who'd poked a kitten with a stick and found a tiger staring at me.

"Talk to us, Anita," Claudia said.

There were so many people in the room that they couldn't all know about the Harlequin. How to explain without overexplaining? "The bad guys messed with Graham, a lot, and he doesn't remember it."

"What are you talking about?" Graham asked. "No one's messed with me."

"Ask Clay," I said. "He saw it, too."

Claudia hit the radio in her hand and called for Clay to join us when he could. Then she turned to me. "From the top, Anita, all of it."

"I can't give you all of it until I talk to Jean-Claude."

"This cloak-and-dagger shit is getting old." This from Fredo: slender, not too tall, and dangerous. He was the only wererat who carried a gun sometimes but preferred knives, lots of them.

"For me, too," I said, "but you guys have to know about Graham now, not later."

"We're listening," Claudia said. She was very serious, almost threatening. She didn't like the cloak-and-dagger stuff either. I didn't blame her.

I told them, though I toned it down for Graham's embarrassment's sake.

Claudia said, "A vampire, in daylight, from a distance, messed with Graham?"

"Yes," I said.

"That shouldn't be possible," she said.

"Not in daylight, from a distance, no, it shouldn't be."

"You're telling me as a vampire executioner that you've never seen anything like this?"

I started to say no, then stopped. "I've had a few Masters of the City mess with me from a distance when I was sleeping, and in their territory."

"But that was at night," she said.

"True," I said.

We stared at each other. "Are you saying these guys…" She stopped herself.

I waited for her to finish; when she didn't, I said, "Holy objects need to be mandatory for everyone."

"It didn't help you much just now," she said.

"It kept them from messing with my head as bad as they messed with Graham's. He doesn't even remember."

"I know you wouldn't lie," Graham said, "but because I don't remember, I don't believe it."

"That's what makes vampire mind tricks so dangerous," I said. "That very thing. The victim doesn't remember so it didn't happen."

Jake's voice came with only a slight edge of strain to it. "What did you do to get the cross to do that?"

"It wasn't the cross," I said.

There was a flash of blade as Juanito searched Jake's dark curls for the right spot. Apparently they were going to have to cut some of the glass out. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't let myself do that. Jake had gotten hurt because of me. The least I could do was watch the cleanup.

"What was it, then?" he asked, the last word hissed as the blade cut into his scalp.

"I… I'm not sure how to explain it."

"Try," he said, through gritted teeth.

"I tried to fight back with my necromancy and they, he, didn't like it."

Juanito shook the piece of glass onto the bloody towel, then turned back to search through the now-bloody curls.

"He?" Claudia asked.

"Yeah, definitely he."

"Did you see him?" Jake asked, and his breath went out sharp as another piece of glass went on the towel.

"Not exactly see, but I felt him. The energy was definitely male."

"How was it male?" Jake asked, his voice thin with pain.

I thought about it. "I thought I saw a male figure for an instant, and the…" I almost said
mask
and stopped myself. "But that could have been illusion. Except that the power felt male."

"What else did you get?" His body shuddered as Cisco worked on his back, apparently finding more glass he'd missed. Crap.

I answered, though I probably shouldn't have, but he'd taken my hit. I felt like I owed him. "Wolf, I smelled wolf."

He cried out under the knives. "That hurt!"

"I'm sorry," Cisco muttered. "I'm really sorry."

Juanito said, "Got it." He raised bloody fingers from Jake's hair. Something glittered in his hands that wasn't the knife. "That's the last of it, all I can find."

"Hope I can return the favor sometime," Jake said.

"If I apologized like Cisco, would you be less pissed?"

"Yes," Jake said.

"Fine, I apologize."

"I accept it."

Cisco moved back from him and laid something that looked like solid blood on the towel. "That's it for your back, too."

"Thanks," Jake said. He tried to get to his feet, but fell against the armoire so hard it shuddered. Hands reached to help him, covering his arms in bloody prints of his own blood.

He pushed them away. "I'm all right." Then he fell to his knees.

"Help him," Claudia said.

Cisco and Juanito reached for him again. Jake waved them away.

I walked the few feet to them. I knelt in front of Jake, so that I could meet his eyes without him straining. He rolled brown eyes up to me. His normally handsome face seemed strained and tired. He was a little too masculine handsome for my tastes. I liked men a little softer looking, but I could still appreciate the view. Except now the view was hurting too badly to be admired.

"I'd be in the hospital or worse now, Jake. Thank you."

"Like I said, it's my job," but his voice was strained.

"Let them help you, please."

He looked at me for a long moment. "What do you think the wolf smell meant?"

"I think it was the vamp's animal to call. Some vamps smell like their animal."

"Most vampires smell like vampires to me," he said.

"I've met a couple that smelled like their animals to call." I didn't add out loud that those had been Auggie, Master of Chicago, and Marmee Noir. Auggie was about two thousand years old, and Mommie Dearest was older than dirt. Which put this vampire in very powerful company.

"You're thinking something, what is it?" he asked.

I might not have answered him, except he'd gotten himself hurt protecting me. It made me feel guilty. "That the only two vamps I've ever known who smelled that much like their animals were Auggie, Master of Chicago, and the Mother of All Darkness."

"I've heard of Augustine, but the Mother of All Darkness, I'm not sure who that is."

"She's the Mother of All Vampires," I said.

His eyes widened, then flinched. "Powerful shit."

"Yeah," I said, "powerful shit. Let them take you to the doc, okay?"

He gave a small nod. "Okay."

Cisco and Juanito picked him up under the arms. They did it like he wasn't tall and muscled, and weighed at least two hundred pounds. Super-strength did come in handy. He got his feet sort of under him as the guards parted and let them through. By the time they had the door, Jake was almost walking upright. Almost.

THIS TIME I chose a black shirt, because my last clean bra was hanging up to dry in the bathroom. I was never entirely comfortable without a bra. I wasn't sure whether the fact that the black baby-doll shirt was tight enough that it helped support my breasts was a good thing or not. I think I would have preferred the shirt to be looser. Tight felt better, but it looked like I'd done it on purpose, rather than just running out of clothes. Also, braless the shoulder holster fit, but if I had to draw the gun I'd brush the edge of my breast. It was a small irritation, but it could make you hesitate for a second. Sometimes a second was enough to get you killed. I stood in the bathroom, grumpy and uncomfortable. It was like my skin was too small. Itchy with embarrassment and swallowed anger. I searched myself, with the same "eyes" that let you see images in your head, for that spot where the Harlequin had marked me. It was gone, but I could still see the spot like a bruise. A metaphysical bruise, as if their touch had hurt me in a way that would last.

I dried my hair a little more with a towel and actually scrunched some hair-care product in the curls. I was half embarrassed that I used stuff on my hair, but Jean-Claude had convinced me there was no shame to a little pampering. It still felt girlie to do it. Should you be worried about your hair frizzing when you wear a gun at least twelve of any given twenty-four hours? Seemed like you shouldn't.

There was a soft knock on the door. "What?" I asked, and even to me it sounded angry. Shit.

"I'm sorry, Anita, but Jean-Claude sent me to check on you."