“Because she was a fountain of blood, her own bloodline,” I said.
“Exactement, Ma Reine.” He pronounced the last word like the bird, wren, though I knew it didn’t sound exactly—oh I mean exactement—the same. I didn’t even have to borrow Jean-Claude’s memories to know that Pierrot had said, Exactly, my queen.
“Do you really think the Wicked Bitch of Ireland has been weakened by Marmee Noir’s death?”
“I can think of no other explanation,” he said, though it was still Pierette’s body doing the talking.
“There are always other explanations,” I said.
“But this is the most likely.”
“Pierette thought that Fey magic finally fading in Ireland might do it.”
He shook her head. “Non, my queen. It is the death of our creator that has spread chaos over Ireland.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“If you are going to Ireland, you will need us.”
“We’ll see.”
“No one knows the country and the vampires in it better than we do.”
“I can think of someone who knows the vampires better than either of you.”
Pierette’s delicate face made an expression I’d only seen on Pierrot’s face before; he was disgusted at the thought. “You cannot compare the aid you would gain from Damian to what we could do for you.”
“He is my vampire servant and the third of my triumvirate of power; that makes him pretty helpful.”
“Pierette has already made our views clear on the uselessness of your triumvirate. Our weapons skills alone would be of more help than either Damian or Nathaniel.”
“I don’t know about that,” Nathaniel said, but his voice didn’t sound right, and when I turned to look at him his eyes weren’t lavender anymore. They were green.
21
NATHANIEL’S EYES HAD changed back to lavender by the time we got to our bedroom and the freshly showered, though very pissed-off vampire. He was pacing the room, but it was a little hard for Nathaniel and me to take the anger seriously since he was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He’d forget and try to gesture angrily with both hands, the towel would start to slip and he’d have to grab it to save his modesty, and whatever outrage he’d managed to work up was lost on both of us.
I finally said out loud, “If you really want to make your point, you need more clothes.”
He stopped pacing and turned to face us, one hand clutching the side of the towel. “Are you saying you haven’t been paying attention to anything I said, because I’m wearing a towel?”
“No, I’m saying I can’t concentrate on what you’re saying, because you’re mostly naked and wearing a towel that keeps slipping every few sentences.”
“That’s great, just great. I finally speak up for myself and you ignore me.” He was almost yelling.
“We’re not ignoring you, Damian. If anything, we’re paying too much attention to you.”
“To my body, but not what I’m saying!”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Nathaniel asked.
“What, to have two more people ignore what I want and what I need so they can get what they need instead?” He stalked to the foot of the bed, where Nathaniel was sitting and I was standing.
“You said that what you wanted was to be desired, wanted, the way that Anita and I desire each other and Micah.”
Damian frowned as if he were trying to think and couldn’t. “I don’t remember that. I don’t remember much.” He pointed at me, very dramatically. “You rolled me! You mind-fucked me!”
“Uh-uh, this isn’t my doing. When I first woke up and couldn’t remember anything I thought you’d rolled me.”
That stopped him. He looked at me, frowning, trying to remember through the haze of his damaged memory. I hadn’t tried yet, because I’d been mind-fucked before. I knew that if the memories came back they’d come back slowly on their own, or not at all. Usually something would remind you of what had happened and you’d get a brief glimpse of what had happened, but it would come in its own time. You could do things to force it, but they all came with a price.
“I thought Jean-Claude couldn’t mind-roll you, because you were his human servant and a necromancer.”
“I didn’t say it was Jean-Claude. I said, I thought it was you when I first woke up and couldn’t remember anything.”
“But I can’t remember anything either, so it wasn’t me.”
“No, it wasn’t you.”
“And it wasn’t you,” he said.
“Nope.”
“And it wasn’t Jean-Claude,” he said.
“Nope.”
He frowned harder, rubbing one hand against his temple while the other kept clutching at his misbehaving towel. “Then what happened to us?”
“I’m sitting right here and you’ve totally ignored me,” Nathaniel said.
Damian shook his head. “I’m not ignoring you.”
“You haven’t even asked me if I remember anything.”
“If Anita and I don’t remember anything, then you won’t remember either.”
“Really?” Nathaniel was finally getting angry, and I guess I couldn’t blame him. In a way I’d done the same thing, assumed that it couldn’t be him. That he couldn’t have taken control of the power we raised and used it against us. I realized, watching Damian make the same mistake, that we both discounted Nathaniel. I was in love with him, but I didn’t see him as a threat. He was five-nine, a man, in really good shape, and a wereleopard. He could have been a physical threat if he’d wanted to be, but none of us saw him that way. He was the only man in my life who had picked up a dropped gun and used it to kill someone to save me. Until Nicky had started going monster hunting with me, Nathaniel had been the only man in my life who had killed to save me. Yet I still hadn’t thought he’d been the one who took charge between the three of us. Shame on me.