Anita Blake 24 - Dead Ice (50 page)

“Call it what you like, but I’m requesting that you don’t leave Larry and me alone with the videos, because it will not go well.”

“If you were one of our agents, admitting that you couldn’t work professionally with another agent would be a tick against you in my report.”

“Well, isn’t it just peachy that I’m not one of your agents, Special Agent Manning,” I said, and I knew the smile that went with the words was my unpleasant one, the one that was more snarl than happy smile. I didn’t care, and she couldn’t see it anyway.

“And this is exactly why the bureau doesn’t want you to come play with us, Blake.”

“I’m never going to be team player enough for the FBI; you know it, I know it, we all know it. Now, can we move on, and will you give Larry and me a supervising agent or someone so we don’t kill each other, metaphorically speaking?”

“Yes, Blake, I’ll make sure you have a supervising agent to babysit the two of you while you look for clues.”

“Great, thanks, let me know when Larry is free to watch the horror show. Wait, I thought you said he had seen the videos and told you to show them to me, that I’d see more than he had?”

“He’s seen some of the videos,” she said, and her voice had that I’m-hiding-something tone again.

“He stopped near the beginning of them, didn’t he?”

“He said that he didn’t have your level of expertise and that you would be able to help us more.”

“Son of a bitch,” I said.

“Blake, there’s no call for profanity.”

“The hell there isn’t; he didn’t want to watch the videos all the way through, because he didn’t want to see the nightmares on them, but he’s fine with me seeing the whole fucking mess.”

“You are better with the dead than Kirkland, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then he was right.”

“He was right, but not for the reason he said.”

“I don’t understand, Blake.”

“Nothing, just fuck it. I’m going home to clean up and eat; let me know when Kirkland’s schedule opens up.”

“I will, and Blake, I don’t know what personal beef you have with Kirkland, but don’t let it hurt the investigation.”

“I won’t if Larry won’t,” I said, and it sounded childish even to me.

“I really expected better of you, Blake. We need to stop these men before they pick a new victim.”

“We need to free the victims they have already, Manning, I know that. Trust me, I’m motivated to stop this shit.”

“Okay, that’s what I needed to hear, Blake. I’ll text you later with times.”

“Thanks, Manning. See you later.”

“Not if I can help it; I do not need to sit through those images again, but you’ll have your agent to babysit and take notes.” And she hung up. You’d almost think she didn’t enjoy talking to me, or something.

M
ANNY THANKED ME
for trying to include him in the investigation. “
De nada
, Manny, you’d be a lot more help than Larry will.”

“You know that I did things when I was with Dominga that I would undo if I could.”

“I know.”

“I’m just glad that Rosita found me and made me leave all that behind before the Señora talked me into having a child with her.”

“What?” I asked, and glanced away from the road long enough to stare at him.

“Red light, Anita,” Nicky said.

I had to brake hard not to run the light. “Okay, explain that last comment, Manny.”

“The Señora wanted us to have a child together; she hoped it would be even more powerful than we were, or than she was; she made no bones about the fact that I was strong, but not as strong as she. One of the reasons you intrigued her was that she sensed a power that could rival hers.”

“Yeah, she made it clear that her interest in me was strictly magical, in that ‘join me in my evil plot to take over the world’ kind of way.”

“She didn’t want to take over the world, Anita. She just wanted your help to find ways to make a profit from raising zombies. She enjoyed that people were afraid of her, but she was a very practical woman, the Señora, and she thought you could help her find new ways to expand the business.”

“Like sex slave zombies; I remember, Manny.” I shuddered, which made passing cars in traffic a little challenging, but I managed.

“She saw you as a way to forge a dynasty of undead.”

“What does that even mean?” I asked.

“She wanted you to have a baby with her nephew.”

“The one you described as not right?”

“No, not Artie, his brother, Max. He was always a polite boy, good student, a gentleman to his brother’s bad boy.”

“Artie and Max; Arturo and what?”

“Maximiliano.”

“That’s a new one to me.”

“You have the Latino genetics, but not the culture. It’s actually a fairly popular name right now.”

“How about Arturo?”

“Not so much,” he said, smiling.

“So if I had agreed to work with her she’d have tried to set me up with her nephew?”

“Almost certainly.”

I shook my head. “It’s just weird to think that she wanted me to breed with her family.”

“Why is it weird?” Nicky asked.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. “It just is.”

“It’s how we breed a good working horse, or hunting dog.”

“I’m not a horse, or a dog,” I said.

“Yeah, but it’s still the same principle, Anita. Most of the horses that have won the Triple Crown are from bloodlines that have other champions in their pedigree. We don’t like to admit that people are just smart animals, but you see the star athlete marry the athletic cheerleader or gymnast, and most of their kids are great at sports, because it’s in their genes. Why can’t necromancy be the same?”

“I didn’t say it couldn’t work, Nicky, I said it was creepy.”

“You said it was weird that she wanted you to breed with her family, but it’s actually really logical if you want to get some uber-necromancer out of it.”

I glanced back at the next light and found his face calm, peaceful, because it was all about logic. I’m not saying all sociopaths are logical, but not having to deal with many emotions seemed to help Nicky be very clear about things that bothered me more.

“I wonder if having a vampire father would help your child be a more powerful necromancer?” Manny asked.

“Don’t you start,” I said.

“I think it’ll be about Jean-Claude’s original human genetics, so it shouldn’t matter to Anita’s magic,” Nicky said.

“I’m not planning to have a baby with Jean-Claude, we’re just getting married.”

“You don’t want children, ever?” Nicky asked.

“No,” I said.

“I know you think it wouldn’t work with your job.”

“It wouldn’t,” I said.

“But you’re actually not having sex with anyone who’s psychically gifted. We’re all just vamps, or shapeshifters, but the preternatural stuff isn’t native gifts; it’s add-on parts.”

“Why are we having this discussion again?” I asked.

“Because I said Dominga wanted you to breed with her nephew.”

I glared at Manny. “All right, I know what started it, but I’m just saying, I’m done with this conversation.”

“Tell me to stop talking about it, and I have to do what you say,” Nicky said.

I glared at him in the rearview mirror. He knew that I didn’t like telling him not to talk about things, because once I did he actually couldn’t bring the topic back up unless I told him it was okay, and I kept forgetting what I’d told him to drop as a topic. Nathaniel and Cynric had actually come to me with a list of things that Nicky couldn’t discuss with me, because of offhand comments during everyday conversations. Do you know how many times a person tells someone to drop something, or don’t talk about it anymore? A lot, right? Now imagine that the person you said that to could never, ever bring the topic up again. I’d started being very careful about using certain phrases around Nicky.

“Damn you, you know I won’t.”

He smiled at me, so pleased with himself that I could see his eyes crinkle even around the sunglasses and the long triangular fall of his hair. “Your dad is blue-eyed and blond, right?”

“Yeah.” I said it all suspicious-like.

“Then you carry the gene for both, so if you pick someone who’s blond and blue-eyed on both sides of their family you might end up with a baby that is, too.”

“You volunteering?”

He shook his head. “My mother is a diagnosed psychopath, and I’m a diagnosed sociopath; I don’t think my genetics is what you want to mix with yours. I’m just saying, you could pick and choose some of it, because of how many men you have in your life; that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Why, because you agree that babies would be a bad idea with me, or that my family tree is such shit?”

“That your mother was an evil bitch, I think.”

He smiled. “It’s a shame that Jean-Claude doesn’t have parents to be your in-laws.”

The change of topics was too fast for me. “What? Why?”

“You’d be a blunt hell on wheels as a daughter-in-law.”

Manny gave a loud, surprised laugh. “Oh my God, she would be! She so would be!”

“Micah’s parents like me,” I said.

Nicky and Manny were laughing so hard I don’t think they heard me. Nicky finally managed to say, “Yeah, but you did save his father’s life, and the whole damn city, maybe the country, from being overrun by killer zombies.”

“Oh,” Manny said, “no other daughter-in-law, or son-in-law for that matter, can ever compete with that. ‘What does your wife do? Oh, she saved the world from murderous zombies; what does your spouse do?’” They started laughing again, and I just gave up and let them have it. Ending the night with laughter was better than the alternatives. Domino was still passed out in the very back of the SUV. The doctor on call would meet us at the Circus of the Damned. I let the men laugh at my expense, because laughter was so much better than tears.

W
E GOT TO
the Circus of the Damned with the light still soft and yellow, letting you know from the color and feel of it just how early it was. We’d caught the beginnings of rush hour traffic after we dropped Manny at his car in front of Animators Inc. and headed north on 270, but you could make it from Olive/270 to the Circus in record time this early. The air was still soft, and the white yellow that lets you know that kids aren’t in class yet, and people are still rushing for coffee and breakfast but not quite at their desks. I used to hate this time of day, because it meant I’d worked far too many hours the night before and it made me grumpy, but when death had come so close the light was a victory. We’d survived the night. After a night when I wasn’t sure everyone would survive, morning did not suck, and dawn was a blessing.

I carried my equipment bag. We divided up the long guns on their tactical slings, and Nicky carried Domino in his arms as if the man weighed nothing. I could have carried him over my shoulder in some kind of fireman’s carry, but division of labor meant it made more sense for the biggest guy to carry the second-biggest guy.

I had a key to the back door of the Circus, but I didn’t have to use it today. The door opened and a medical team dressed in street clothes came to swarm around Nicky. They checked Domino, but they didn’t immediately take the unconscious man from his arms. I’d learned that doctors are very hesitant to move people until they know that moving them won’t make things worse. They were dressed in street clothes because we just assumed we were under surveillance from somebody; whether it was a rival group, cops, or government, it was just better to be cautious. Having a full medical team come swarming out might start to look even more suspicious than carrying an unconscious nude man inside. We could at least explain that part as a lycanthrope doing the typical pass-out when they first hit human form after hours of being furry. Most of the people in my inner circle didn’t pass out like that, but strangely, Domino did, which meant he was less powerful than most of my inner circle; maybe that was why he’d almost died from the beating.

Guards I knew took my bags, and I let them. Once I wouldn’t have let anyone carry my bags, but I’d learned they weren’t doing it because they thought I was weak, but as a sign of respect. The boss doesn’t carry shit.

Lisandro and another guard I didn’t recognize came out the door in the distance, as we all moved across the parking lot. The new guard was taller than Lisandro by inches, which made him at least six-three or six-four. Lisandro’s hair was black, but the new guy’s hair was that deep black that had blue highlights in it as the morning sun hit them. The hair had fallen forward, hiding his face, and then I couldn’t see either of them past the herd of taller people around me; when the view cleared I saw the black-and-silver T-shirt that I’d picked out for him, the black jeans that fit his hips nicely and clung to his thighs and all that long leg, until the slight flare at the bottom that gave room to go over the black-and-silver tooled cowboy boots that he’d just gotten. I felt silly not realizing it was Cynric from the moment I saw him. I just almost never saw him from a distance except on the football field, or the track, and this was different. Seeing him all rock-star casual for school made me wonder who he was dressing to impress. Technically he could date other people, in fact I was encouraging it, but wondering who he was dressing up for caused a slight flare of jealousy, which was totally ridiculous. He was only nineteen, twelve years younger than me, and I was always trying to get him to meet a nice girl his own age, or to admit he felt neglected being just another man in my life, but seeing him like this, noticing just how tall, how filled out he was from lifting weights and team practice . . . he looked older than nineteen. Maybe it was the height?

He looked up, and the moment he saw me his face lit up in that way you only look at someone that you love. He didn’t look much like the kid I’d met in Vegas. The issue was still there, big and ugly and therapy-worthy, but the issue wasn’t Cynric. The issue was what had been done to both of us against our will. We were both survivors—no, we’d done more than just survive what Marmee Noir had done to us; we had thrived. Some tightness in my chest eased, and I smiled at him. Maybe it wasn’t as good a smile as he gave me, but I would work on that. However we got together, the thought of him dressing up to catch the eye of another woman bothered me, in a way that Domino having full-blown sex with someone else didn’t.