Danse Macabre

45

WE GOT DRESSED in record time. I just gave myself over to the makeup and the primping. There wasn't time for me to argue. The outfit looked totally impractical, but the corset top was a dancer's corset. It meant it couldn't be laced as tight as Jean-Claude might like it, never tight enough to impede breathing, or movement. Jean-Claude told me I'd see similar corsets on the dancers tonight. The shoes had been dyed to match the shiny black of the dress, but they, too, were dancers' high heels. Made for ballroom dancing, actually, not ballet. When I'd seen the open-toed sandals I'd protested, hell no. There was no way to dance in them, I'd said, but damn me, Jean-Claude had been right. The shoes were actually comfortable.

The corset's piping was made of tiny diamonds, honest-to-God diamonds. The necklace he put around my neck was platinum and more diamonds. I'd almost asked how much money I was wearing, but decided that I really didn't want to know. It would have just made me more nervous, and that I did not need.

Jean-Claude's opera coat flowed like an elegant black cloak, but much more modern, with a short raised collar to frame his face, and the gleaming white of his shirt collar. The cravat at his neck was pierced by a platinum and diamond stickpin to match my necklace. His vest fit him like a glove because it was laced up the back; a corset vest. When he first suggested a corset top for me, I'd made the mistake of saying, «I'll wear a corset when you do.» You'd think I'd know better by now. He'd just smiled and said yes. In fact he'd commissioned vests of various styles for all the men who would wear one. Impeccably tailored black slacks and gleaming black dress shoes completed his outfit. Oh, and a scattering of diamonds across the vest like stars tossed across a night sky. When I'd asked him why not make his vest have the same diamond pattern as my corset, he'd replied, «It is not a prom, ma petite.»

All the other men were in black tuxes, some with tails, some just tailored.

The only difference was the color of the vests or jewelry accessories. It was damned subdued for one of Jean-Claude's parties.

The stretch limo had dropped us at the door, all eight of us. Which was why we needed the stretch. We'd done the gauntlet of flashing lights, cameras, microphones. They could call it a red carpet. It always felt like a gauntlet to me. Something to be endured, except instead of running as fast as you could, you had to smile and answer questions.

Jean-Claude always fielded the yelled questions and photo opportunities like a pro. I'd gotten better at clinging to his arm, and not glaring at the cameras. Occasionally you'd even catch me smiling. Everyone else was treated like entourage. You didn't yell questions at the entourage.

Normally, I enjoyed the Fox Theatre. It had been built in the 1920s as a movie theatre, but no movie theatre I knew had Chinese Foo dogs with glowing eyes at the bottom of a sweep of marble staircase. The interior was lush and gilt, full of carved Hindu gods, and animals from anywhere that qualified as exotic. Normally, I loved gazing at it all. Tonight, it was shelter from the storm.

We entered at the side entrance, the Fox club entrance. It was private, with valet parking, and a nice restaurant if you made reservations. People and corporations paid thousands of dollars a year to have a reserved box at the theatre. To my knowledge Jean-Claude didn't have a permanent box, but for tonight he had two reserved. The Fox club box seats actually ran out of room before they ran out of VIPs to seat. Jean-Claude had said that some of the visiting masters were actually on the floor with the peons, but in a special reserved front row section, along with many local celebrities.

The media frenzy might have been less if one of the Masters of the City coming hadn't been the Master of Hollywood, and his entourage. Hollywood likes Hollywood, and they had followed him out here. Someone had said that his newest girlfriend was some hot young star, in a new hit series I'd never heard of. When you work an average of sixty to a hundred hours a week, you don't watch much television. Funny, that. Apparently, the media was here as much for her as for anyone else. She must have been a very hot property indeed.

There were too many vampires in the VIP section to have dinner beforehand. It raised too many questions about what everyone would eat. Jean-Claude had avoided the problem by simply saying the restaurant was closed for that night. The management of the Fox was happy with that. Yeah, vamps were legal, but St. Louis is still part of the Bible Belt. No one was sure how people would take it if someone got pictures of vampires feasting on humans in the Fox club theatre. Just better to avoid the problem. Once we got to Danse Macabre, all bets would be off, but then people expected decadence at a vampire-run dance club. Not only expected it — were disappointed if they didn't see at least some salacious activities. I knew for a fact that some of the «naughty» impromptu scenes at Danse Macabre were very planned. The trick was to give the customers a thrill, not scare them to death, or make them run for a cop.

We finally got to our seats, Jean-Claude and I on one side of the little table in the middle, and Damian and Micah on the other side. Asher, Nathaniel, Jason, and Requiem took the box next to ours. Claudia and Lisandro, both in the bodyguards' black-on-black tuxes, stood near the boxes. Wicked and Truth were in the hallway leading into the box area. We had other bodyguards scattered throughout, because we'd refused to let the visiting masters bring more than two guards per, which meant we had to make certain they were safe. There were uniformed cops everywhere outside, as there usually were when you had a big event at the Fox. But it was more tonight; no one in St. Louis wanted some right-wing crazy to kill one of the master vamps in front of a television crew. No one wanted anyone to die period, but let's be honest, no one wanted that much bad publicity. Us, either, so there were wererats, werehyenas, werewolves, scattered throughout the building. The main difference was that the police were watching for hatemongers trying to kill the monsters, and our guards knew that the other job was to make sure none of the visiting monsters got out of hand. Jean-Claude was pretty sure they'd behave, but none of us was betting someone's life on it. Nor was he willing to risk ruining all this amazingly good publicity for vampires by some incident now at the last performance. Best behavior tonight, or else.

I was shielding as hard as I could. I did not want my abilities, not as Jean-Claude's servant, necromancer, or whatever the hell I was turning into, getting in the way. But some things are too powerful to hide from. Some things are too much a part of who you are, not to feel them. The lights dimmed, and I felt… vampires. Felt them through the shields. Felt them through Damian's sudden reach across the table, so that he could help me shield, help me control myself, help me not be overwhelmed. Jean-Claude had my other hand, but the tension in him wasn't helpful. He was excited.

I took my hand out of his with a smile, and clung to Damian. I needed something cold and calm, not nervous and excited. Damian wasn't excited, he was scared. I'd been nervous about all the masters coming to town, but not the ballet, itself. It was just a ballet, just a performance. The reactions of the two vampires let me know that maybe I should have worried about it more.

I glanced at Asher sitting so close in the next box. His froth of hair hid most of him, but there was a tension to him, too. What was about to happen?

I heard something, though that wasn't exactly it. It was as if I heard it with something deeper inside my head than my ears, or maybe felt it, and my mind could only translate what was happening into sound. I don't think they actually made any noise, but I heard a soft rustling, almost like birds.

I dropped the tiniest edge of my shields, like peeking over it in the midst of battle. I was holding hands with a vampire, surrounded by them, and sometimes when I was that wrapped up in vamps it was hard to sense other vampires. But not this one; this one was someone I didn't know. It was vampire, but unlike anything that had ever touched me before.

I glanced at Micah on the other side of Damian. Micah was shaking his head like a fly was buzzing him. He looked at me. «What's happening?»

I shook my head. «Vampire shit.» Beyond that I truly didn't know. I looked over and found Nathaniel's face peaceful, waiting, as the lights dimmed. Jason's face lost its fight, too. I glanced at Damian, and his eyes were wide, a little panicked almost, then his face went peaceful, as well. I looked at Jean-Claude. He whispered, «He will try to make humans of us all.»

I actually understood what he meant by that. The vampires at Guilty Pleasures and Danse Macabre would sometimes use group mind tricks to make performers appear in the midst of the human audience. Magic. Whatever vampire was doing this was trying not just to roll the human audience, but everyone. He was trying to cloud the minds of the other master vamps, so that his «performers» could appear like magic.

The theatre had gone eerily silent. There was no rustling, no movement below us. The humans had all had their minds rolled. Next would come the wereanimals, and then the vampires would fall. At least most of them would. I had never felt anything like this.

I drew my hand out of Damian's; he didn't seem to notice. He just kept staring straight ahead. I glanced behind at our bodyguards, and found Claudia staggering. Lisandro was just standing there, all peaceful. Shit, so much for the guards.

I looked back at Micah. His eyes were starting to unfocus. I grabbed his hand, and thought, No. No way. I pulsed a little power down his hand. My leopard flowed down my hand like warm water, spilling over his skin. He looked at me, eyes wide.

«Power up our cats,» I whispered.

He nodded, closed his eyes, and I felt my leopard slip away, and follow his down the metaphysical lines to the other leopards. We had two leopards among the bodyguards.

«Ma petite, what are you doing?»

«Fighting back,» I said.

My leopard began to swell upward, and I reached out to Richard. He was there in the crowd below with his date, a prof from a local college. He couldn't afford to be outed, but we couldn't afford not to have him here. He'd impressed the hell out of the prof by having tickets to tonight's gala event. I brushed his energy, and he whispered through my mind, «What's happening?»

I called my wolf, and the leopard quieted, but I could feel Micah reaching out further, finding the leopards. My wolf rose, and I saw through Richard's eyes. His human date stared at the stage, waiting, unseeing. My wolf touched his, and I thought what I wanted him to do, and I felt his energy, our wolves circle out from him, seeking. Where our energy touched, the wolves woke.

Having the vamp roll the Masters of the City was impressive, but rolling the guards was dangerous. I didn't like that at all. I looked behind, and found Claudia still struggling. She fell to her knees, struggling hard not to lose herself to the power. I had no tie to the rats, but it couldn't hurt to try. Besides, my wolf was starting to rise. I didn't need that.

I got out of my chair and knelt beside Claudia. Her eyes were terrified. She reached out. I grabbed her hand. I thought, Power. Her eyes cleared, and she gripped my hand so hard it almost hurt. Suddenly I felt Raphael. Not like I could feel Richard, or Micah, but I felt his power, like a scent on the air. Through Claudia's hand, his rat's hand, I offered power. Power enough to free his rats, who were most of our guards.

He took it, used it, and I felt it like a rock thrown into a pool. Out and out, leopards, wolves, rats, awake, alert. Pissed.

If there'd been a werehyena close enough, I'd have tried with them, too. Helping the rats had quieted my beasts. The power was awake, but they weren't trying to tear me apart. We were all waiting for the big, bad vampire to appear. We knew he was out there. We could feel him.

Jean-Claude's power flexed, suddenly and so strongly that it bent me over, nearly sent me to the floor. Claudia caught me. «You okay?»

I nodded.

Jean-Claude was waking up his vampires, but he needed my necromancy to do it. He'd borrowed without asking, but I was okay with that. There wasn't going to be time to ask nicely about a lot of things tonight.

I glanced at the box on the other side, away from Asher's box. It was Samuel and his family. Samuel looked at me. Thea glanced in our direction. His sons were lost to the magic, as were his two merpeople at his back. Whoever this was, was going to succeed at rolling everybody but the masters themselves and maybe one or two powerful servants. Impressive power, that. Impressive and scary.

Claudia helped me stand, and the curtains opened behind us. It wasn't Truth or Wicked, but a vamp I didn't know. He was tall, and meaty in an athletic sort of way, not fat, just physically bigger than I liked my men. Tall and broad the way Richard was, but unlike Richard, this one knew he was big and liked it. He moved in a glide that was already a kind of dance. Most of his body was nude, just enough covered by his leotard to not get him arrested. His upper body was beautiful even by my standards. Careless blond curls covered to just below his ears, framing a face that was more handsome than beautiful. He put all that beauty into his face so that the gaze of it was like a blow, or that's what he tried for. Claudia made a small, helpless sound. He'd rolled her, that quick.

I dug my fingers into her arm, and that didn't free her. I looked into his pale eyes, and felt the weight of his power. It said, See me, I am beautiful, I am desirable, you want me.

I shook my head, and had to flex power like unsheathing a blade not to fall into that gaze. Auggie hadn't been able to roll me, but this one could. I actually dropped my gaze, rather than fight it. The moment my eyes weren't being bored into by that pale gaze, I could think. Jesus, he was good.

I saw his hand coming. Claudia tried to stop him. I think he just looked at her, and she stopped moving. Lisandro tried, too, but again, a glance, and they seemed confused. The hesitation was enough. He had the time he needed to touch me. Touch makes it all worse, or better. He wanted me to look up, and I did.

I met his gaze, and again, his face was like a beautiful weapon. He leaned over me, his face painted with the stage makeup. He leaned in, as if he'd kiss me, and some part of me that was still sane knew that if he kissed me, it would be bad.

I smelled Jean-Claude's cologne, and the scent of Richard's neck. Jean-Claude had opened the marks wider. It made me startle, and take a step back, away from the blond.

I reached backward, and Jean-Claude took my hand. The touch of my master, and I was proof against the pale-eyed blond.

He smiled, an arrogant curl of lips. The smile said it all: I almost had you. He was right. He had almost had me. And still there was a breathing presence of power out there in the theatre, flowing over the crowd, and that power wasn't the blond in front of us. There was still something even more powerful waiting in the wings. Something even more powerful that we'd invited to our town. Sweet Mary, Mother of God, what had we done?