The Harlequin

Chapter Thirty-nine

THE DOCTOR TOLD me I could go. That if I exercised and didn't let the scar tissue harden up on me, I'd be fine. He also assumed I was a shapeshifter, a new kind of shapeshifter that could do different animals. He actually used the term panwere. It was the first time I'd heard anyone but a shapeshifter say it. The doctor had never actually seen one, until me. I told him he still hadn't seen one, but nothing I said persuaded him different, so I gave up. If people won't believe the truth, and you don't want to lie, then you're out of options. Chimera had been the real deal, a true panwere, and one of the scariest beings I'd ever met. I wondered what the doctor would have made of him?

I walked down the hall to Peter's room with Edward leading the way. Olaf brought up the rear. I didn't like him behind me, but he wasn't doing anything wrong. For him, he was positively being a good boy. The fact that I could feel the weight of his gaze on my back almost like a hand pressing between my shoulder blades wasn't something I could really bitch about. I mean, what was I supposed to say, Stop looking at me? It was a little too childish for me to say it out loud, no matter how true it felt.

It didn't help that Olaf and I were dressed alike, sort of. Edward was in his white button-down shirt and jeans, and cowboy boots. Ted Forrester dressed to be comfortable; Olaf dressed either to intimidate or because he liked the Goth assassin look. I hadn't picked my clothes, Nathaniel had. Black jeans tight enough that the inner pants holster dug in a little, but they tucked nicely into the lace-up boots. The black T-shirt was scoop-necked and the push-up bra that was under it made sure I had plenty of scoop to show. My cross sat on my breasts, rather than hanging in front of them. How did I know Nathaniel had packed the bag and not Micah? First, the panties and bra matched, and the panties were perfect for the lower waistline of the jeans; second, the shirt and bra showed a lot of cleavage; third, the boots. Maybe my Nikes were covered in blood, they probably were, and the boots were comfy and low heeled, but Nathaniel was twenty and male and often looked at clothes from the perspective of his job. Micah had a tendency to not match everything perfectly; he would have just put on an ambi-sexual T-shirt from the T-shirt drawer we shared. The outfit wouldn't have looked so terribly like an outfit if Micah had done it. I'd have to talk to Nathaniel about picking out things with this much cleavage when I was working with the cops. I had my backup shoulder holster instead of the custom-made leather one, which probably meant hospital efficiency had destroyed it. That would be the second or third one that had gotten cut to pieces in an emergency room.

I felt heat, or air movement, or... something. I turned and must have done it fast enough to catch Olaf in midmotion, pulling his hand back. He had almost touched me.

I glared at him, and he stared at me. Those dark, deep-set eyes stared at my face, and then his gaze slid down the front of my body in that way that men can do. That look that slides over you so that you know they're thinking about you naked, or worse. In Olaf's case it was probably worse.

"Stop looking at me like that," I said.

Edward was watching us both.

"Every man who sees you tonight will be looking at you like that." He made a gesture in the vague direction of my chest. "How can they not?"

I felt the heat run up my face, and spoke through gritted teeth. "Nathaniel picked the clothes to bring to the hospital, not me."

"Did he buy the shirt and the bra?" Olaf asked.

"No," I said. "I did."

He shrugged. "Then do not blame the boy."

"Yeah, but they're date clothes, and I don't think there's going to be time for a date tonight."

"Will we be hunting the vampire that escaped us?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, if we can figure out where she and her human servant have gotten to, yeah."

He smiled.

"What?" I said, because the smile didn't match what we were talking about.

"If things work out as I hope, I may owe your boy a thank-you."

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

Edward touched my arm, and I jumped. "You don't want to understand." He led me down the hallway, his hand on my arm. Olaf stayed where he was, staring at us with that strange half-smile on his face.

"What?" I asked Edward.

He leaned in close, speaking low and quick, "While you were unconscious, Olaf came into the room. You were covered in blood and they'd cut off most of what you were wearing. He touched you, Anita. The doctors and guards chased him back, and I got him out of the room, but..."

I stumbled, because I was trying to stop, and he kept us moving. "Touched me where?" I asked.

"The stomach."

"I don't understand," and then I did. "The wounds, he touched the wounds."

"Yes," Edward said, and stopped us outside a door.

I swallowed hard; both my pulse and a certain nausea were trying to climb up my throat. I looked down the hallway where Olaf was still standing. I knew my face showed fear; I couldn't help it. He drew his lower lip under and bit it. I think it was an unconscious gesture. A gesture you make when you are moved to the point where you don't think about how you look, or who's looking. Then he moved down the hallway toward us like some black movie monster. The kind that looks human, and is human, but in their mind there's nothing human left to talk to.

Edward opened the door and drew me inside. Apparently we weren't waiting on Olaf. Fine with me.

I stumbled over the doorsill. His hand tightened, steadying me. The door closed on the sight of Olaf gliding up the hallway. He moved like all his muscles knew what they were doing, almost like one of the shapeshifters. He so needed killing.

I must have looked pale, because Micah came across the room and took me in his arms. He whispered against my cheek, "What's wrong?" He hugged me tighter. "You're shivering."

I wrapped my arms around him and pressed as much of me against as much of him as I could. It was one of those hugs when it feels almost like you're trying to meld yourself into the other person. Sometimes it's sexual, but sometimes it's because the world has gone too wrong and you need something to cling to. I clung to Micah like he was the last solid thing in the world. I buried my face against the curve of his neck and drew in the scent of his skin. He didn't ask again what was wrong; he just held me close.

Other arms hugged me from behind; another body pressed tight against me. I didn't need to open my eyes and see Nathaniel to know it was him. I didn't even need the faint hint of vanilla. I knew the feel of his body against mine. I knew the feel of them holding me together.

Another body came in from the side of us. I did turn to see, and found it was Cherry. She put an arm around both men. I realized with a start that she wasn't taller than Nathaniel now. "What's wrong?" she asked, dark eyes worried.

What did I say? That I was afraid of Olaf? That the thought that he'd caressed my wounds creeped me? That I wondered if he'd touched that bulge of intestine the way a man touches a breast? That I wanted to know, and didn't want to know?

The door opened behind us. Edward nodded at me and went to the opening door. He spoke softly, then walked out the door to talk to Olaf in private, or maybe to simply keep him away from me for a while. Whichever, I was grateful. Of course, that left me with Edward's other backup.

I looked past Micah's shoulder and Cherry's arm to the bed in the room. Pain had brought more of the shadow of that boy I'd first met into Peter's face. He looked pale and terribly young lying there hooked up to tubes and monitors. When I woke up, I hadn't been hooked up to anything that monitored my vitals. How much worse off was he than me?

I whispered, "I don't think I can explain what's wrong."

Cherry gave me narrow eyes.

"I'll try to explain later, promise."

She frowned at me, but stepped back as if she knew what I was going to do. Maybe she did. I'd probably made some small movement toward the bed, or turned my body as if prepping to move. Most people wouldn't notice, but a lot of the shapeshifters would.

I hugged Micah again, a little less intensely, and he kissed me. It was a gentle, lingering kiss. If Peter hadn't been watching I might have made it more, but he was, and Edward was taking care of big and scary in the hallway. That left me with not so big, but scary in a very different way. I leaned back to look over my shoulder at Nathaniel. He kissed my cheek, putting his hand against the other side of my face so he could press our faces together. I turned so he could get more of a kiss, but he gave me one of the most delicate, gentlemanly kisses he'd ever given me. I drew back, giving him puzzled eyes. His lavender gaze flicked across the room toward the bed. I got it, and didn't. Something about Peter watching made Nathaniel behave himself, but I didn't know why, or what. I mean it was a kiss, not making out. I pushed the thought away into the crowd of other confusing thoughts. There were so many of them, I felt like I needed a cage to hold them in, so that all the things I didn't understand wouldn't overwhelm me.

I got a better look at Nathaniel's clothes and realized he'd dressed himself almost exactly as he'd dressed me, except his T-shirt was a boy's, and he wasn't wearing any weapons. We looked like we should be going clubbing. Hard to complain about how someone dresses you when they're wearing the same outfit. The clothes were minor problems compared to what was waiting.

I took a deep breath and pushed out of the circle of comforting hands. I moved out of that circle of warmth to face the current confusing thought. This one was staring at me with brown eyes that looked like islands in the pale skin of his face. Peter wasn't naturally pale, not like I was, or Edward was, but he was pale now. Blood loss and pain will do that to you.

I walked toward the bed. In that moment I would rather have faced Peter than Olaf. Was I being a coward, or was Edward the one being the coward? I was betting that he'd rather face a thousand Olafs than one almost-stepson right now. The look on Peter's face changed as I walked toward the bed. He was still hurt, but his gaze seemed to be drawn to something other than my face. By the time I got to the bedside he wasn't as pale; he'd found enough blood somewhere to blush.

Chapter Forty

"HEY, PETER," I said.

He turned his head so he was looking up at the ceiling. Apparently he didn't trust himself not to stare at my chest and wasn't sure how I'd react. I wasn't sure either. "I thought you were hurt," he said.

"I was."

He turned to look at me, frowning. "But you're up. I feel awful."

I nodded. "I'm a little surprised myself, truthfully."

His gaze had drifted down again. Olaf was crazy and mean, but he was right about one thing. Men would stare, some on purpose to be rude, but not all. Some like Peter, well, it was as if my chest were a magnet and their gaze iron; it just attracted it. I was sooo going to have to talk to Nathaniel about what clothes to pack next time. Next time I got so hurt I ended up unconscious in the hospital. I simply assumed there'd be a next time. Unless I changed jobs, there would be. The thought startled me. Was I thinking about giving up the vampire hunting? Was I really, truly considering it? Maybe, maybe I was. I shook my head and pushed the thought into that cage with all the other thoughts. The cage was getting awfully damn full.

"Anita?" Peter made it a question.

"Sorry, thinking too hard."

"What about?" He was managing eye contact. I felt like I should pet his head and give him a cookie, good boy. God, I was in a strange mood tonight.

"Truthfully, wondering if I want to keep hunting vampires."

His eyes went wide. "What are you talking about? This is what you do."

"No, I raise zombies; the vampire hunting is supposed to be a sideline. Sometimes the zombie thing gets me hurt, but the vampire and rogue lycanthrope hunting are more likely to put me in the hospital. Maybe I'm just tired of waking up with new scars."

"Waking up is good, though," he said, and his voice sounded fragile. He wasn't staring at my face or my chest now. He was looking into the distance, with that look on the face that says you're seeing something unpleasant, reliving it, just a little.

"You didn't think you were going to wake up," I said, and kept my voice gentle.

He looked at me, eyes wide, looking lost, frightened. "No, I thought this was it. I thought..." He stopped and he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"You thought you were going to die," I finished for him.

He nodded, then winced as if the movement hurt.

"I knew I wouldn't die, or you. Stomach wounds hurt like hell and they can take a lot of healing, but they're rarely fatal with modern antibiotics and prompt medical attention."

He looked at me, uncomprehending. "Were you really thinking all that as they put you under?"

I thought about it. "Not exactly, but I've been hurt a lot, Peter. I've lost count of the number of times I've lost consciousness and woken up in a hospital, or somewhere worse."

I thought his eyes were on my chest again, but he said, "The scar on your collarbone, what did that?"

Another interesting sideline of wearing this much of my chest in full view was that some of my scars were on display. I'd been more worried about my modesty than about the scars. "Vampire."

"I thought it was a shapeshifter bite."

"Nope, vampire." I showed him my arms with all their scars. "Most of these are from vampires." I touched one on my left arm: claw marks. "This one was a shapeshifted witch, which means her shapeshifting was a spell and not a disease."

"I didn't know there was a difference."

"Well, the spell isn't contagious, and it's not tied to the full moon at all. In fact, strong emotions don't cause you to shift, or any of that. You don't shift until you put on the item, usually a fur belt or something."

"Do you have any scars from shapeshifters?"

"Yes."

"Can I see?"

Truthfully, the most permanent scars were claw marks on my ass. They were almost delicate marks. Gabriel, the wereleopard who had done it, had considered it foreplay before he tried to rape me on film. He'd been the first person I'd ever killed with the big knife in its spine sheath. I was going to have to figure out a different way to wear the knife until I could get the shoulder rig remade. But I had new scars now, ones I was willing to show Peter.

It took a little work to get the T-shirt out of the pants, but somehow I didn't want to unbuckle or unzip anything. I got the shirt up and raised it over my belly, exposing the new wounds.

Peter made a surprised sound. "That can't be real." He whispered it. He reached out as if he'd try to touch, then drew his hand back, as if he wasn't sure what I'd say.

I stepped closer to the bed. He took it as the invitation it was, and ran his fingertips across the new pink scars. "The scars may disappear altogether, or they may stay. I won't know for a few days, or weeks," I said.

He drew his fingers back, then put his whole hand across the biggest wound. The one where it looked as if she had tried to take a chunk of flesh. His hand was big enough to cover the mark and leave his fingers splayed out beyond the scars. "You can't have healed this in less than, what... twelve hours. Are you one of them?"

"You mean a shapeshifter?" I asked.

"Yes." He whispered it as if it were a secret. He slid his hand along my stomach, tracing the ragged marks of claws.

"No."

He ran his hand over my skin until he came to the edge of the scars where they dribbled away just past my belly button. "They just changed my dressing. I look like shit. You're healed." He curved his hand around to the side of my waist that wasn't scarred. His hand cupped my waist, and his hand was big enough to do it. That one gesture caught me off guard. The only man I was dating whose hand was big enough to do that was Richard. It seemed wrong that Peter's hand was that big. It made me move back from him and let my shirt drop over my stomach. Which embarrassed him, which wasn't my intent. I just suddenly realized I probably shouldn't let him touch me that much. It hadn't moved me or made me uncomfortable until that moment.

He took his hand back, and again wasted blood that he didn't have in blushing. "Sorry," he mumbled, and wouldn't look at me as he said it.

"It's okay, Peter. No harm, no foul."

He gave me a quick upward glance of his brown eyes. "If you're not a shapeshifter, how could you have healed like that?"

Truthfully, it was probably because I was Jean-Claude's human servant, but since Dolph was wanting to know that, I just didn't want to share it with people who didn't know. "I'm carrying four different kinds of lycanthropy. So far I don't turn furry, but I'm carrying."

"The doctors told me you can't get more than one kind of lycanthropy. That's the point of the shot. The two different kinds of lycanthropy cancel each other out." He stopped at the end of the speech and took a deeper-than-normal breath, as if talking too much hurt.

I patted his shoulder. "Don't talk if it hurts, Peter."

"Everything hurts." He seemed to try to settle into the bed, then stopped as if that had hurt, too. He looked up at me, and the angry, defiant face was like an echo of almost two years ago. The kid I'd met was still in there, he'd just grown up. It made my heart hurt. Would I ever get to see Peter when he wasn't getting hurt? I guess I could just go visit Edward sometime, but that was just weird. We did not just visit each other. We weren't that kind of friends.

"I know it hurts, Peter. I didn't always heal this fast."

"Micah and Nathaniel have been talking to me about weretigers and being a lycanthrope."

I nodded, because I didn't know what else to say. "They'd know."

"Do they all heal as fast as you do?"

"Some, no. Some faster."

"Faster," he said. "Really?"

I nodded.

His eyes filled with something I couldn't decipher. "Cisco didn't heal."

Ah. "No, he didn't."

"If he hadn't thrown himself between me and the... weretiger, I'd be dead now."

"You couldn't have taken the damage that Cisco took, that's true."

"You're not going to argue about it. Tell me it wasn't my fault."

"It wasn't your fault," I said.

"But he did it to save me."

"He did it to keep both my guards alive longer. He did it to give us time for other guards to come and help us. He did his job."

"But..."

"I was there, Peter. Cisco did his job. He didn't sacrifice himself to save you." I wasn't entirely sure that was true, but I kept talking. "I don't think he meant to sacrifice himself at all. Shapeshifters don't usually die that easily."

"Easily? He had his throat ripped out."

"I've seen both vampires and wereanimals heal from wounds like that."

He gave me a disbelieving face.

I crossed my heart and gave the Boy Scout salute.

That made him smile. "You were never a Boy Scout."

"I wasn't even a Girl Scout, but I'm still telling the truth." I smiled, hoping to encourage him to keep doing it.

"Healing like that would be cool."

I nodded. "It is cool, but it's not all cool. There are some serious downsides to being a wereanimal."

"Micah told me some of it. He and Nathaniel have answered a lot of questions."

"They're good at that."

He glanced past me at the door. I glanced where he looked. Micah and Nathaniel had given us as much privacy as they could without leaving the room. They were talking softly together. Cherry had actually left the room. I hadn't heard her go.

"The doctors want me to get the shot," Peter said.

I looked at him. "They would."

"What would you do?" he asked.

I shook my head. "If you're old enough to have saved my life, then you're old enough to decide this on your own."

His face crumbled around the edges, not like he was going to cry, but as if the child was peeking out. Did all teenagers do that? One minute grown-up, the next so fragile like a dream of their younger selves? "I'm just asking your opinion."

I shook my head. "I'd say call your mom, but Edward doesn't want to. He says Donna will vote for the shot."

"She would." He sounded resentful, face sullen. He'd been pretty moody at fourteen; apparently that hadn't changed completely. I wondered how Donna was coping with this new, more grown-up son.

"I'll tell you what I told Edward; I won't give an opinion on this one."

"Micah says that I might not get the tiger lycanthropy even if I don't get the shot."

"He's right."

"He said fifty-five percent of the people who get the shot don't get lycanthropy, but that forty-five percent get lycanthropy. They get what's in the shot, Anita. If I get the shot and catch what's in there, it means if I'd just left it alone I wouldn't have gotten anything."

"I didn't know the stats broke down that nicely, but Micah would know."

"He says it's his job to know."

I nodded. "He takes his job at the coalition as seriously as Edward and I take ours."

"Nathaniel said he's an exotic dancer, is that true?"

"It's true," I said.

He actually lowered his voice to say, "So he's a stripper?"

"Yes," I said and fought not to smile. With everything that was going wrong in his life, he was weirded out that my boyfriend was a stripper. Then I realized that he might not know that Nathaniel was my boyfriend. No, we'd kissed when I came through the door. But then, Cherry had joined the hug. Oh, hell, now was not the time to try to explain my love life to him.

"Micah told me some of the jobs that other lycanthropes have. Nurses, doctors, but only if they don't find out. I might not be able to join the armed forces, any branch."

"They consider lycanthropy a contagious disease, so probably not." In my head I remembered a talk Micah and I had had about a rumor. A rumor about the armed forces looking into deliberate recruiting of shapeshifters. But it was a rumor. He couldn't trace anyone who had actually been approached. It was always a friend of a friend's cousin.

"Did you get the shot?"

"They didn't offer. It's too late for me, Peter. I'm carrying already."

"But you're not a shapeshifter?" He made it a question.

"I don't turn furry once a month, or at all, so no."

"But you're carrying four different kinds at once. The whole shot thing is based on the idea that that's impossible."

I nodded and shrugged. "I'm a medical miracle, what can I say?"

"If I could heal like that and not turn furry, that would be amazing."

"You still wouldn't pass blood screenings for some jobs. You'd still hit the radar as a lycanthrope."

He frowned. "I guess so." Then he gave me that young face again, that echo of before, and it was a frightened face. "Why won't you help me decide?"

I leaned closer. "This is what it means to be grown-up, Peter. This is the bitch of it. If you're playing eighteen, then you have to decide. If you want to fess up to your real age, then everyone will treat you like a kid. They'll make decisions for you."

"I'm not a kid," he said, and he frowned, going sullen on me.

"I know that."

His frown slipped to puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"You stood your ground today. You didn't panic, or lose it. I've seen grown men lose it around lycanthropes when the situation wasn't as desperate. Most people are afraid of them."

"I was afraid," he said softly. "I've been afraid since I was a kid."

I had one of those moments of, shit and aha. "The attack on your father," I said. How could I have forgotten that this wasn't the first lycanthropy attack he'd survived?

He gave a small nod.

"You were what, eight?"

"Yes." His voice was soft, his eyes staring into the distance again.

I didn't know what to say. I cursed Edward for not being here. In that moment I might have traded a talk with Olaf for this talk with Peter. I could always shoot Olaf, but no weapon would help me deal with Peter's pain.

"Anita," he said.

I looked at him, met his eyes. His eyes reminded me of Nathaniel's eyes when I first met him. Eyes that were older than they should have been. Eyes that had seen things that older men would never see.

"I'm here, Peter," I said, because I couldn't think what else to say. I met his gaze and fought my face not to show how much it hurt me to see his eyes like that. Maybe they'd been that way years ago, but it took dating Nathaniel to teach me what eyes like that meant in a face that hadn't seen twenty yet.

"I thought if I trained with Edward that I wouldn't be so scared, but I was. I was scared just like last time. It was like I was little and watching my dad die again."

I wanted to touch his shoulder, take his hand, but wasn't sure it was what he needed me to do, so I kept my hands still. "I lost my mom when I was eight to a car wreck."

His eyes changed, lost a little of that awful look. "Were you there? Did you see?"

I shook my head. "No. She drove away and just never came back."

"I saw my dad die. I used to dream about it."

"Me, too."

"But you weren't there; what did you dream about?"

"Some well-meaning relative took me to see the car she died in. I used to dream about touching the bloodstains." I realized I'd never told anyone that.

"What?" he said. "What's wrong?"

I could have said so many things, many of them sarcastic, like I'm talking about my mothers death, why wouldn't something be wrong? I settled for the truth, which crosses the lips like jagged glass, as if you should bleed when you say it. "Just realizing I've never told anyone about that dream."

"Not even Micah and Nathaniel?"

Apparently, he did know they were my boyfriends. "No, not even them."

"Mom made me go to therapy afterward. I talked about it a lot."

"Good for Donna," I said.

"Why didn't your dad send you?"

I shrugged. "I don't think it occurred to him."

"I thought I could face my fears, and I wouldn't be so afraid, but I was afraid." He looked away from me again. "I was so scared." He whispered the last.

"So was I," I said.

He gave me a startled look. "You didn't look it."

"Neither did you."

It took him a moment, but he finally smiled and looked down in that pleased way that young men do. They seem to grow out of it, but it was strangely charming. "You really think so?"

"Peter, you saved me today when you jumped on us in the hallway. She was going to kill me as soon as she was out of sight of you guys."

"Edward told me that if a bad guy wants to remove you from the scene, and is already threatening or has a weapon, that most of the time they mean to kill you, but if you go with them, you die slower and more painfully."

I nodded. "I thought that's what you meant when you repeated the rule in the hallway."

"You understood," he said.

"I encouraged you, remember?"

He searched my face, as if trying to read something there. "You did, didn't you?"

"Edward and I know a lot of the same rules."

"He said you think like him."

"Sometimes," I said.

"Not always," Peter said.

"Not always," I said.

"I won't get the shot," he said, and his voice sounded firm.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Do you think I should get it?"

"I didn't say that, I just want your reasoning."

"If I don't get it, and I turn into a weretiger, well, then I did it saving you. If I don't get the shot, and I don't turn into a weretiger, then it's good. If I get the shot and I wasn't going to be a weretiger, I'll get whatever's in the shot, and I'll have turned into a shapeshifter because I was scared to be a shapeshifter. That sounds stupid."

"But if you are going to be a weretiger, then the shot would stop it from happening."

"You think I should take it," he said.

I sighed. "Honest?"

"Honest would be good," he said.

"I didn't like the way you said that if you turn into a weretiger, it's good because you did it saving me. I don't want you to think about me in this equation. I want you be a selfish son of a bitch, Peter. I want you to think about yourself and yourself alone. What do you want to do? What feels right to you?"

"Honest?" he said.

"Yeah, honest," I said.

"I think I've made up my mind, then I go back and change it. I think if I decided, and they had the shot here and ready, I'd just take it, but they won't bring it until I say so." He closed his eyes. "Part of me wants to call my mom and let her decide for me. Part of me wants someone to blame if it goes wrong, but a man doesn't do that. A man makes his own decisions."

"In this situation, yes. But don't imprint that whole lone gunman mentality too deep on your psyche."

"Why?" he asked.

I smiled. "I know from experience that it's hard to be part of a couple when you're so damned independent. I've had to learn how to share my decisions. Balance is what you're looking for."

"I don't know how to balance anything anymore," and his eyes were shiny.

"Peter, I..."

"Go, okay?" he said, in a voice that was too thick. "Just go, please."

I almost reached out and touched his shoulder. I wanted to comfort him. Hell, I wanted to go back in time and put his ass back on a plane home as soon as he showed up in St. Louis. I wished I had humiliated him and sent him packing. Wasn't a bruised ego better than this?

Hands came and touched me, drew me back from the bed. Micah and Nathaniel drew me away so Peter could cry without me watching. My throat was so tight it hurt to breathe. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

They got me outside in the hallway before the first tear slid hot and almost painful down my own face. "Damn it," I said.

Micah tried to hug me, but I pushed him away. "I'll cry if you hug me."

"Anita, just let it out."

I shook my head. "No, don't you understand. We have to kill her first. I'll cry when Mercia's dead."

"You blame her for Peter being hurt," he said.

"No, I blame me, and Edward, but I can't kill us, so I'll kill who I can."

"If you're going to talk about killing people, Anita, you might not want to do it in front of a policeman." Zerbrowski walked down the hallway with his usual smile. He looked as he always did, like he'd slept in his suit, though I knew he hadn't. His dark curly hair had more gray in it, but it was still the careless curls. Katie, his wife, hadn't made him cut it recently. He was cheerfully messy, and Katie was one of the neatest people I'd ever met. Opposites attract.

I had a horrible urge to hug him. He just looked so nicely normal coming down the hallway. Which made me turn to Micah and Nathaniel. If I was thinking about falling into Zerbrowski's arms, I was badly in need of a hug. All three of them had seen me cry before, including Zerbrowski.

I threw an arm around Micah, then held the other one out to Nathaniel. I let them hold me, but I didn't cry. My face felt hot, but no more tears came. I clung to them, let them hold me. I had this horrible urge to simply collapse, to just fall apart in their arms, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't let myself do it.

"I'll give you some privacy," Zerbrowski said.

I shook my head and drew back from the men. "No, we have to catch this bitch."

"No one's seen her, Anita. Her or the man who we assume is her human servant."

"He has to be her human servant to share her mind powers, Zerbrowski." I tried to move farther away, but Nathaniel's arm slipped around my shoulders, drawing me back. I patted his arm and said, "I'm okay now."

He whispered, "Liar, but maybe it's me who needs to touch you." He squeezed me tight, his other arm sliding around my waist. "You've got to stop almost dying, Anita; it's hard on the heart."

Somehow I didn't think he meant hard as in a heart attack. There were so many more ways for a heart to break. I let him press me back against his body. I stroked my hands down his arms.

Zerbrowski shook his head, smiled. "You know, Katie feels the same way after I get hurt, but she's too cool to do it in public."

I looked at him, and it wasn't an entirely friendly look.

He held up his hands. "It wasn't a criticism, Anita, Nathaniel. It's just, well, hell, I mean it's interesting watching people be as open as you guys are. Is it a shapeshifter culture thing?"

I thought about it. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"If we don't have to play human," Micah said, "we're very touchy-feely, and we tend to wear our emotions out."

Zerbrowski grinned. "Damn, that must have been an adjustment for you, Anita."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're like most cops I know - you stuff your emotions. Does this mean if the boyfriends aren't around at a crime scene some night, I can look forward to you hanging all over me?"

"You wish," I said, and smiled at him. I patted Nathaniel's arm and took a step forward. He let me draw a little farther away from him, but kept my hand. I understood the need to touch and be touched. It wasn't just the normal lycanthropy stuff. I wanted to hug Peter as if he were a little boy, and tell him it would all be all right, but it was a lie. Even if he'd been a little boy, it would still have been a lie. I couldn't promise him anything.

"That's an awful serious face for a woman who just got a hug from her sweetie."

"I'm thinking about Peter."

"Yeah, you got cut up trying to save him."

I fought to keep my face neutral. If we were going to change the story for the police, then Edward should have told me. That he didn't tell me the "official" version, and I hadn't asked, said just how distracted the two of us were. Not good.

"You saved his life, Anita. That's the best you could do," Zerbrowski said.

I nodded, and went for a hug from Micah, partially to hide my face, because I still couldn't quite figure out how to look. My guilt was because Peter had gotten cut up saving me. He wouldn't even get credit for it from the cops. That seemed like insult to injury.

Micah kissed the side of my face and whispered, "Edward didn't tell you the official version?"

"No," I whispered back.

Micah spoke with me still in his arms. "I think Anita also blames herself because she was already hunting the vampires. She thinks they might not have reacted so violently if they hadn't known she was on their trail."

I turned, still half in Micah's arms. "When a person knows that they're being tracked by someone who can kill them on sight, Zerbrowski, what options does that leave them?"

"Are you saying you disagree with the execution order?" he asked.

"No, not in this case, but there are nights when I wish I had an option that was less than lethal force. I'd love someone to do a study and see if the vampires get more violent in trying to stay alive than in the crimes they were originally condemned for."

"Have you had that happen?" Zerbrowski asked.

"No, no, I guess I haven't. Most of them would have kept killing if we hadn't stopped them. But, still, the vamp we're hunting framed a vampire from the Church of Eternal Life. She helped frame two of them. If I had just followed the trail they mapped out for us, I'd have killed two innocent people."

"Isn't this the second time you've had the bad vampires frame the good vampires and try to use you as a murder weapon?"

"Yes," I said, "it is, and if it's happening to me, then it may be happening to other vampire executioners. But they may not be looking beyond the obvious."

"You mean because they aren't up close and personal with the vampires, they just accept that a good vampire is a dead vampire."

"Yeah."

Zerbrowski frowned at me. "Dolph isn't the only one who thinks you living with the..." - he made a vague gesture at Nathaniel and Micah - "compromises your ability to do your job. But I don't think it does; I think it makes you look at the vampires and shapeshifters the way the law says we're supposed to now. They're supposed to be legal citizens, people, and you see them that way. It's what makes it harder and harder for you to kill them, but it makes you a better cop. You look for the truth, catch the real bad guy, punish the guilty. The other executioners kill who they're told to kill. It makes them good killers, but I'm not sure what good cops they are."

It was a long speech for Zerbrowski. "You've put some thought into this."

He actually looked embarrassed. "I guess I have. I spend a lot of time defending your honor with the other cops."

"I can defend my own honor," I said.

He grinned again. "No, you can't. You can't explain that you see the monsters as people without implying that the bigoted bastard that just said the stupid thing doesn't see them as people. I can get away with it. I'm Zerbrowski, I can say a lot of shit and not make people mad. I go for the funny bone, you go for the jugular. It makes people pissy."

"He really does know you well," Micah said.

I drew away enough to look back at him. "What the hell does that mean?"

He grinned at me. I found Nathaniel fighting not to grin. They were all grinning at me. "What?"

My cell phone rang, and then I realized I didn't have it on me. It rang again, and it was the ring tone that Nathaniel had picked for my phone when I said I didn't care. It was "Wild Boys" by Duran Duran. I'd remember to care next time he asked. Micah fished the phone out of his pocket and handed it to me.

I didn't have time to ask when he'd picked up my phone. I just answered it. "Hello."

A male voice said, "I do not have much time." The voice was familiar, but it was a strange monotone that made it sound like someone I should recognize and a stranger all at the same time. "The Harlequin are at my church."

I started walking down the hallway away from everyone else. It was Zerbrowski I didn't want to overhear, not until I knew that I wanted the police to know. "Malcolm, is this you?"

The voice continued as if I hadn't spoken, "Columbine says she will blood-oath my congregation or she will battle me with vampire powers, for it is not illegal for a vampire to use vampire wiles on another vampire. She claims to have done nothing illegal in our country. She blames all crime on her dead partner. I cannot win against her, Anita, but I can give my congregation to Jean-Claude. Blood-oath them any way you like, but save them from the madness I sense in these two, Columbine and Giovanni. Give me permission to tell them they must duel Jean-Claude for these vampires, and not me."

"Malcolm, is this you?"

The voice changed, holding fear. "What's happening? Who is this?"

"Avery, Avery Seabrook?" I made it a question, though I was almost a hundred percent certain it was him. I could see his gentle brown eyes, the short hair, that young, unfinished face. He was in his twenties, but tasted too innocent for comfort.

"Anita, is that you?"

"It's me. What happened? What's happening right now?"

"Malcolm touched me and I don't remember what happened next. I just sort of woke up on my cell phone in the back of the church." His voice dropped to a whisper. "There are masked vampires here. I don't know them. Malcolm seems afraid of them."

"You're blood-oathed to Jean-Claude, they can't hold you."

"What is going on, Anita?"

What was I supposed to say, You're such a weak vamp that Malcolm mind-fucked you like you were a human? He sounded scared enough without me making him feel weaker. "Malcolm sent me a message."

"What?" Then there was noise on the other end. I heard Avery's voice, a little distant, as if he'd taken the phone from his mouth to talk to someone there.

"Avery?"

The voice that came on wasn't Avery, or Malcolm. "Who is speaking, please?" It was male, and I didn't know the voice.

"I don't answer your questions, you answer mine."

"Are you police?" he asked.

"Yes." It was the truth.

"We are breaking none of your laws."

"You're trying to take over the Church of Eternal Life here in my town. I'd say that's illegal."

"We have offered no violence to anyone. This will be a contest of wills and magical power. It is not illegal to use vampire powers on other vampires in your country. We will not use our powers on the humans here. I give you my word."

"How about the vampires? They're legal citizens of this country, too."

"We will offer them no weapon, no hand of violence. Your laws protect only humans from vampire powers. In fact, the law could be interpreted to exclude all supernatural citizens from the protection the law gives against vampire manipulation."

"Lycanthropes are still considered human under the letter of the law."

"If you say so."

"I say so. Give me your name," I said.

"I am known as Giovanni. I would like to know who I am speaking with."

Frankly, I wasn't sure that he'd treat me like a cop, or like Jean-Claude's human servant. I wasn't even sure which role would work best here. "I'm Federal Marshal Anita Blake."

"Ah, the Master of the City's human servant."

"Yeah, that, too."

"We have done nothing, my mistress and I, to anger you in either of your roles."

That was a little too close for comfort to what I'd just been thinking. Had he read my mind, and me not know it? Shit.

"If Columbine is your mistress, then yeah, she did piss me off."

"We read your laws, Marshal. Columbine used her powers on you, your master, and his wolf. She did not use her powers on humans."

"She and her friend Nivia framed two legal citizen vampires for murder, and two humans died to do that."

"Nivia did that on her own. My mistress was most upset when she found that Nivia had done these horrible things." He didn't even try to keep his voice from sounding fake.

He knew I couldn't prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it hadn't been just Nivia, who was conveniently dead. It was her weretiger that had tried to kill Peter, a human. Again, conveniently dead.

"Son of a bitch," I said, softly.

"Excuse me, Marshal."

"I have a warrant of execution and it works just fine for you and your mistress."

"But if you use it knowing that we did not do these crimes, then you are a murderer. Perhaps you will never be tried as such, but you will know that you have abused your powers and simply killed to protect your master like a good human servant, but not a very good federal marshal."

"You've done your homework," I said.

Micah was beside me now. I held up a hand so he wouldn't try to talk to me. I glanced back and found Nathaniel still talking to Zerbrowski. Whatever he was saying had the sergeant's full attention.

"We know you are honorable, and your master is honorable. We will not harm Malcolm or his people. We will simply challenge him for them, and use only legal means to win the challenge."

"Avery Seabrook is already blood-oathed to Jean-Claude. He's off limits."

"Very well, but the others are no one's flock."

"Malcolm gave them to Jean-Claude. We haven't blood-oathed them yet, but they are ours."

"Lies do not become you, Marshal Blake."

"Can you taste a lie in my voice?"

"I have that ability."

"Fine, then listen carefully, Giovanni. Malcolm gave his entire congregation to Jean-Claude and me. They belong to the Master of the City of St. Louis now. You can defeat Malcolm with your vampire wiles, but it won't win you shit. By vampire law you have to defeat the master that owns them before you can oath them to you."

He was quiet for a second. I heard him breathing, which isn't a vampire thing. He was human, somehow; he was her human servant. He had more powers than most human servants, but then so did I.

"I hear truth in your words. But I heard truth in Malcolm's speech to my mistress only moments ago. She forced him to tell truthfully if Jean-Claude had a claim to his congregation. He said Jean-Claude did not."

"You underestimated Malcolm's powers, Giovanni. He got a message to us, and you have a church full of legal American citizens with rights. You have a church full of vampires who belong to the Master of the City of St. Louis, and they have rights under vampire law, too. You've been very careful that my status as a police officer isn't invoked here. I'll hold you to vampire law just as tight as human law. You break either of them, and I will rain all over your parade."

"But as the laws constrain us, they also constrain you, Anita Blake."

"Yeah, yeah, you and the horse you rode in on."

"I don't understand. We have no horses."

"Sorry, it's slang. I mean that I understand what you said, and I'm not impressed."

"Malcolm used your young vampire here to somehow give you this message, didn't he?"

"I don't have to give you information, not by either set of laws."

"True," he said, "but if my mistress blood-oaths enough of these vampires, then she will have enough power to defeat Jean-Claude."

"You're Harlequin. You can't kill anyone without giving them a black mask first."

"We are not attacking as Harlequin. My mistress has grown weary of being a tool for the council. She wishes to have her own lands in this new country of yours. Jean-Claude was harder to destroy with vampire powers than she anticipated."

"You're supposed to give a formal challenge before you start battling to take over."

"Did Jean-Claude give a formal challenge to Nikolaos, the old Master of the City, before you slew her for him?"

I took a breath, then didn't try to say anything. Truthfully, I hadn't realized that killing Nikolaos would make him master. I'd just been trying to stay alive and keep her from killing other people. But it had opened the way for Jean-Claude to own the city. Saying it had been an accident would make us sound weak. So I shut my mouth and tried to think.

Micah was on his own cell phone. I heard him say, "Jean-Claude." Had Micah heard enough to tell Jean-Claude what he needed to know?

"I'll take that as a no," Giovanni said.

"I thought the Harlequin couldn't have a territory of their own. They're supposed to be neutral."

"We grow weary of this wandering life. We wish for a home."

"You could petition Jean-Claude to join his kiss."

"My mistress wishes to rule, not to serve."

I started walking toward the exit. Whatever we were going to do, we needed to be at that church. We needed to stop whatever they had planned. Somehow I didn't think they were done with their bid for power in St. Louis.

"The council has forbidden war between master vamps in America right now."

"Only if the fight cannot be kept secret. My master is confident this will be settled tonight, quietly."

"Overconfidence, Giovanni, it'll get you killed."

Nathaniel was alone at the end of the hallway. I didn't know where Zerbrowski had run off to, but it was just as well. I wasn't sure what my face looked like, but I knew I didn't look happy. I didn't want to lie to him, and so far this was a party for monsters, not cops.

"We will try our powers against each vampire here in turn. Those that cannot withstand us will be blood-oathed to Columbine."

"You can't blood-oath someone else's vamps, it's against the rules."

"Think of it as the beginning of the duel between your master and mine." The phone went dead.

"Shit," I said.

Micah handed me his phone. "It's Jean-Claude. I've told him it's the Harlequin, and it's the church."

I took the phone and started talking. Jean-Claude listened and asked a few questions here and there. Maybe he felt my urgency over the phone, or maybe he'd spent too many centuries dealing with exactly this kind of shit.

"Will you bring human police?"

"I'll bring Edward and Olaf, but I don't know about the rest. I can't prove they've broken any human laws."

"I will leave it to your discretion whether a he would be useful here."

"You mean use the warrant even if I'm not certain she did it?"

"It is your honor that is at stake, not my own. I will call the wereanimals and my vampires. Be careful, ma petite."

"You, too." He hung up.

I stopped walking. My pulse was suddenly in my throat. Panic screamed through me. I was sure, certain, I would get everyone killed. If I took the cops, they'd die. If I didn't invite the cops, my other friends would die. I couldn't do this.

I looked at Micah. "This could turn into a hostage situation, and I'm not trained for that. They've got a few hundred people in there; what if I get them killed? What if I make the wrong choice?"

Micah searched my face with his gaze. "First, you need to shield better, because this kind of self-doubt isn't like you. Second, she doesn't want them dead. She wants to blood-oath them, and that means she wants them healthy."

I nodded. "You're right, you're right." The tremble of panic in my gut was still there. He was so right. I'd had vampires mess with my mind before in all sorts of ways, but Mercia's power was almost the most awful. Because it made you have to feel your own emotions intensified until you almost couldn't stand it. I think I'd have rather dealt with a good old-fashioned attempt to control me with her thoughts than this emotional rape.

"Why isn't it affecting you?" I asked.

"I don't think she's targeted me yet."

"She targeted Graham. How did she know to target him?"

"Soledad scouted for her, maybe," he said.

I nodded. "Right, right."

Nathaniel came up to us, alone. I asked, "Where did Zerbrowski go?"

"I got him talking about the party at his house. I asked what food his wife wanted us to bring. I think he's more worried about you bringing us both to the party than he admits, because it distracted him from your super-secret phone call. What's really happening?"

I told him. "I'm afraid no matter what cops I send in, she'll mind-fuck them. It's so subtle, she just emphasizes what you're already feeling. It seems not to activate the holy items."

"Because she's not adding anything," Nathaniel said.

"What?" I asked; we all looked at him.

"She's not putting power into you, she's giving more power to what's already inside you. Maybe that's why the holy objects don't go off?"

I smiled at him. "When did you get so smart?"

He shrugged, but looked pleased.

"What if we call out Mobile Reserve and she fucks their minds? I can't guarantee that she won't turn them against each other, or more likely the congregation, and once I call them, they sort of take over. I'll lose control of the situation."

"I'm not sure you have control of the situation now," Micah said.

"Thanks," I said.

He touched my shoulder, gently. "Anita, what you're really trying to decide is, is it the police you need to be backup, or is it Jean-Claude's vampires and our shapeshifters?"

I nodded. "You're right, you are exactly right. That is what I'm trying to decide."

"Won't Zerbrowski and the rest of the uniforms suspect something when you run out of here?" Nathaniel asked.

"I have nearly total discretion on how any warrant of execution is served. I don't have to include any other police. But the Harlequin have fixed it so that the warrant really isn't in effect here."

"It's a shame you can't deputize civilians, like in the old movies," Nathaniel said.

I had the grace to look embarrassed. "I was sort of disappointed I couldn't do that, too. It would have been so damn convenient."

"Whatever you are going to do, it has to be done now," Micah said.

I felt paralyzed. I couldn't decide. It wasn't like me in an emergency. I stepped away from both of them so they weren't touching me. I took a deep calming breath, and another. All I could think about was how I'd almost gotten Peter killed. He might be a lycanthrope, at sixteen. Would I get Malcolm killed? I didn't want to risk anyone else. I couldn't bear the thought of Zerbrowski dead and having to face his family. I couldn't...

Hands grabbed me, and I was suddenly staring up into Nathaniel's face. "I can feel it," he said. "She's shoving doubt into you." His hands gripped my arms tight, his face was so intense. I was suddenly filled with certainty. A certainty built of unshakable faith. He believed in me. He believed in me utterly and completely. I tried to be frightened that anyone would believe so perfectly in me, but the fear could not last on the tide of his belief. He simply knew that I would do what was right. He knew that I would save Malcolm. He knew that I would punish the bad and save the good. He simply believed. It was one of the most comforting things I'd ever felt. There was a small part of me that screamed in the background, His faith isn't in God, it's in you. Again, I tried to be afraid, or struggle against it, but I couldn't. I felt his certainty, and there was no room for doubt in it.

I stared up at him and smiled. "Thank you," I said.

He gave me that smile, the one that he might have had if his life had been gentler. It was a smile that he'd only found in the last few months. I'd helped him find that smile. Me, and Micah.

Micah came to stand close to us but made no move to touch. "The power is coming off you in waves. It feels similar to what happens when you touch Damian, sometimes."

I nodded and looked back at Nathaniel. I'd never wondered what I'd gained from Nathaniel being my animal to call. Damian, as my vampire servant, gave me his control, honed over centuries of being at the mercy of one of the most sadistic vampire masters I'd ever heard of, which was saying something pretty terrible. I'd never thought to ask what Jean-Claude gained from Richard. From me, a certain ruthlessness; we sort of doubled our natural practicality. When we'd all survived tonight, I'd ask what he gained from Richard. But in that moment, I simply kissed the man in my arms. Kissed him not for lust, though that was always there, but because no one else could have made me believe in myself.