Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (22 page)

The place must have been designed by the same people who did the whole hotel. Murals covered the walls, line drawings done in such detail I thought they were printed wallpaper at first. But they’d been painted in dark lines on beige backgrounds, so that they almost seemed like stone carvings. Processions marched away on either side of me: men and women, life-size, in single file, staring forward, fists clenched. The motifs seemed ancient. The figures had the curling beards and tall hats of Babylonian kings. They weren’t all fully human. They had human faces, but the bodies of lions, bulls, deer, even birds.

Some lycanthropes believed that our disease—whatever made us what we are—had its origin in the very beginnings of civilization, from a time when people were closer to nature, when people and animals talked to each other, like in so many of the old stories. We bridged the space between them, reminded people of that time. It was an optimistic, environmentally friendly attitude toward lycanthropy.

Other people—a little less nice, a little more inclined to believe in a vengeful God—believed we were spawn of the devil.

Maybe that was why I preferred to think of this as a disease. A strange disease, but still quantifiable. Because if lycanthropy was a disease, it meant I was just unlucky. Not part of a giant cosmic scheme I had no control over, not to mention no knowledge of.

The smell of the room washed over me, brilliant as any color or light. They were unfamiliar, undomesticated scents: not just the human-mixed-with-fur smell of lycanthrope, the smell of skin covering something wild. This was even more animal. Like the fur covered skin instead, and nothing tempered the animal side of the equation. It was the smell of instinct, of fighting for food, for space. Communication happened through scent—not just pissing to mark territory. Fear, anger, joy, lust, all had their own scents. A lot of emotion had been spent in this place. A lot of hunger, meaty and ripe.

Balthasar gestured, taking in the decor around us. “What do you think?”

“I like it. Not sure I’d want my own living room to look like this, but it’s. . . exotic.” I’d almost said sexy. “The figures—what are they? Babylonian?”

“Right in one,” he said, nodding in acknowledgment. “Do you know the old stories?”

“Some of them. Daniel and the Lion’s Den—the version where he’s a were-lion. The Epic of Gilgamesh. Mostly through modern interpretations in English lit classes and all.”

“There’s a lot we can learn from the ancients. In some ways, those were better times.”

“I don’t know, I sort of like modern medicine, TV, women being able to own property and vote. All the modern conveniences.”

“I did say in some ways.” He moved closer. I probably wouldn’t be able to just step out of his grasp. Goose bumps traveled up my arms. But I didn’t move away from him.

Behind my shoulder now, he looked at the murals, the procession on the wall, and pointed. A row of smaller, human figures lined up before a throne, where a lion-bodied god crouched and accepted the offerings, the boxes and jars they set before him. “There was a power in those times. We hide ourselves now. Then, the gods and their servants were painted on every wall, for all to see. The statues stood guard at the gates of every city. How do you think it would be, to be celebrated by your society instead of looked on as a curse? To be an avatar of the gods?” His voice was hypnotic.

He painted an attractive picture. A utopia, almost. But these societies also made blood sacrifices to their gods. We could idealize the past all we wanted, at the price of ignoring the drawbacks.

“Is that what you’re doing here? Trying to re-create that kind of society?”

He just smiled. “Come in, see the rest of our home.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. The bare part, not even touching the dress’s narrow strap. His touch was fire. Every muscle in my body clenched. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t even think of it. His words rang over me. I am part of the procession, which stretches back to the dawn of time. That made me powerful.

When I moved, my bones creaked. I heard them, and the noise jarred me. I stepped away, took myself out of the burning, alluring grasp. I took a deep breath, tried to get oxygen back to my brain. There was something in the air here. . .

“Ben’s missing,” I said, wincing mentally, because blurting it out like that wasn’t sly or smart at all. Not if Balthasar had a hand in it. I was supposed to be smart about this. “Ben’s my fiancé, and a crimelord named Faber might have taken him. The police are looking, but they haven’t found anything, and I’m running out of ideas. Dom said you might know something.”

“Dom?” Balthasar said, chuckling. “We don’t hear much from Dom. Let’s sit down and we can talk about this.”

I didn’t know what to call the room he took me to. It was much like the foyer, the great hall, rich in its decorations, exotic for the lack of anything I’d call chairs and sofas, anything that might identify it as a living room. I might have called it a dormitory, or a barracks: futons, made up with sheets and pillows, lined one wall. But there was also a fountain, water dribbling over round gray stones, in the middle of the room, and chaise lounges, and draped over these in a most decorative manner—dangling their fingers in the water, stretched out on cushions—were a group of young men. They were all glowingly gorgeous, smooth-skinned, bronzed, muscular. At the sound of Balthasar’s voice, they looked up at me with alluringly hooded gazes. They had wicked smiles. Balthasar was the pirate captain, and here was his crew.

Part of me really wanted to run now. But they were all so
attractive.

“So you all live here together?” I said, working to keep my voice steady. “All the performers?” I was hoping Nick would be around. He’d been the first one I’d met, and for some reason he seemed like the one most likely to tell me the truth. I assumed there was another truth under all this.

“We’re a pack, of sorts,” Balthasar said, with Avi nodding in agreement. He gestured forward with a sweep of his arm, worthy of his best showmanship. “Meet the cast.”

They were a pack of lycanthropes, unmistakable, and this was their territory, but I sensed more to it than that. The smell of the place had another layer to it, threatening but even more alien. My skin tingled with it. I wasn’t an invader here. I was. . . something else.

The place smelled thickly of sex. As if—what else were a bunch of hunky men supposed to do when they weren’t onstage?

They perked up, straightening, peeling themselves off their perches. They moved like water, graceful, without a sound. They wore jeans and pants, riding low on their hips. No shirts. Their chests were long expanses of enticing skin. They stalked forward on bare feet, never taking their gazes from me, like I was some interesting new toy they had to examine—a mouse stuffed with catnip, maybe.

I should have run from there. But the warmth of Balthasar’s body kept me in place. Drew me closer. This was a place of great mystery, his gaze seemed to tell me. Didn’t I want to learn their secrets? Avi’s smile and relaxed stance made me think that nothing was wrong.

They were all in their twenties, young and fit. They definitely worked out. Their muscles shifted and flexed under their perfect skin. They were model-perfect, watching me with expressive eyes. Fanning around me, they cocked their heads, taking breaths, smelling me, studying me from every angle. My breath caught. I could feel my heart pounding.

Lycanthropes had to shape-shift only on nights of the full moon; the power to shift was voluntary at other times. We could choose to shift, or we did so instinctively, in dangerous situations. Balthasar’s whole show was based on that, that they could shape-shift at will and retain some of their humanity through the transformation. As a result, this place was more animal than human, and these men had their beasts looking out of their eyes, right at the surface, because they changed into their lycanthropic forms almost every day in order to perform. We weren’t meant to spend so much time in our animal forms. Not if we had any hope of remaining human, of living as humans. But they didn’t seem too put out by it all. Living together like this, isolated, they probably didn’t have to deal with their humanity any more than they wanted to.

But what about territory? Instinct? A group of male cats would never live together in a pack like this. And that was where the human side came in. Their looks were far too calculating to be driven purely by instinct.

They stayed just out of reach. I kept thinking one of them, or all of them, would reach out and touch me. If they did, I might retreat in a panic. Or I might reach back. I was blushing, all the way to my gut.

“Is she for us?” one of them said. He was closest, and he kept his gaze on my chest, like he could see through my dress.

My shoulders bunched up, the hair on my neck stiffening. Some of them—they were looking at me like they wanted to start batting me around with their paws.

“She’s a guest,” Balthasar said, and the other made a disappointed click in answer. He turned his shoulder, brushing against one of his packmates as he did. The latter snapped at him, a quick bite at air, but he also leaned into the touch.

They stood close to each other, touching, leaning against each other’s backs and shoulders even as they stripped me with their gazes. The exchange disturbed me. Did Balthasar often bring women here as cat toys?

I looked at the ceiling, the faux-stone pillars, the carpet, my feet, anything. But I could smell them, their hormones, the sweat on their skin. I might have sounded a little panicked when I said, “The women in the show. . . they’re not here? They’re not lycanthropes?”

He shook his head. “They’re just assistants. They’re not really part of the act.” Or part of the pack, the pride of felines.

“Even the one at the end? Because she looked pretty integral. Is she one of you?”

A couple of them chuckled, others ducked to hide smiles. There was a joke here I was missing.

“I suppose in a sense she’s one of us,” Balthasar said finally.

“Can I meet her?”

“She’s shy,” he said.

But she strutted around onstage half naked, I wanted to say. “So there aren’t any other women here at all? Where’s Nick?”

“I’m here.” And there he was, striding through a doorway on the far side of the room. There was a hallway there, and I couldn’t see where it led. Rooms, maybe. Nick looked just as cocky as he had the first time I saw him, striding toward me like he knew he looked good and planned on showing it off. “Welcome to our humble abode. I hope the boys are showing you a good time.”

“They’re trying, I’m sure.”

Balthasar wore a dark look. The sly smile hadn’t changed, but he gazed at Nick warningly.

Trouble in paradise? Competition? Hmm.

“I need to find Ben,” I said, the focus of my life pulling me back from them. “As much as I’d love to stay here and socialize with you all, if you don’t know anything, I need to get going and track down the next lead.” Even if it meant wandering the streets and calling his name. I would, if I had to.

In the meantime, the pack moved closer to me, slinking, noses flaring as they worked overtime to smell me. Any moment now, they’d reach out and start touching me. I backed up a step, surveying the crowd of handsome, earnest faces surrounding me. I was betting they didn’t get out much. They were all smiling, vacuous. Cult, anyone?

“Hey, guys, back off a little,” Avi said, stepping between me and the Calvin Klein ad auditions. “You don’t want to scare her off when she just got here.”

Balthasar, who hadn’t made a move to intervene, gave an indulgent smile. “He’s right. Sanjay, why don’t you bring over some drinks? Maybe some water. Shall the rest of us sit? We can talk about Kitty’s problem.” He gestured to another artfully arranged pile of cushions. Just what I needed: all of us lying around on the floor together. What was my problem again?

Nevertheless, I found myself lounging back against a cushion, legs primly tucked under me, surrounded by men who looked like they might start purring. Balthasar was on one side, Nick on the other, and Avi was at my feet.

I needed a distraction. “So tell me about the murals. The old stories. Is that where you get your inspiration?” I glanced around at the group, directing the question to all of them. Their rapt attention was making me nervous, and I didn’t want to act nervous around them. I didn’t want to seem weak.

“It’s more than inspiration,” he said. “I suppose you could almost say it’s a belief system.”

“Yeah? Like a religion?”

“Those stories have to do with the creation of the world. People have forgotten about it in our modern world. I think part of why we’re here is to remind people how wild things once were. How chaotic.”

“Okay,” I said, but my stare was blank, not really getting it. Sanjay arrived with drinks, a tray, a few glasses, and a pitcher. It looked like water, but when I brought the glass up to take a drink, I wrinkled my nose. It didn’t smell right. Drugged, maybe? Maybe it was just a weird brand of bottled water.

Balthasar took a long swig from his glass, which somehow didn’t make me feel any better. No one else had anything to drink. It made them seem even more like pets instead of people gathered around us, gazing adoringly while they waited for a touch or a word.

Nick said, “I’ve been arguing with him. I think we should go public. Then we could make the show really wild, add shape-shifting onstage—”

“Ew!” I said, appalled. Shifting was such a personal, traumatic thing. Doing it in public, in front of spectators—which I had actually done, filmed in captivity, completely against my will—seemed so wrong, so invasive.

But I had to admit, it would make for great box-office draw.

“We’re not that sensationalist,” Balthasar said, frowning at Nick.

“Hence all the whips and chains,” I said wryly.

“You liked it?” Balthasar said.

“I have to admit, lurid sex is an easy way to shock people. And it gets the blood going.”

Nick narrowed his gaze and smiled. “In more ways than you know.”

Balthasar and Nick both loomed over me, where I slouched against the cushion. Once again, I lay there belly up, looking up at them, a picture of submission, and I didn’t want to be there.