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Chapter Eighteen
I WAS DRESSED by the time Jean-Claude knocked on the bathroom door. His "Ma petite, may I come in?" was uncertain of its welcome. I guess he thought I'd blame him for the ardeur having addicted Graham. There'd been a time, not too long ago, that I might have. But it was too late for blame. Blame wouldn't fix it, and I wanted it fixed. I wanted Graham free of the ardeur, if we could manage it. I'd freed others of the ardeur, but they'd been completely rolled by it. I'd never had anyone this addicted from such a small piece of it. Or maybe I had, and they were hiding it, too? God, I wish I hadn't thought of that.
"Ma petite?"
"Yes, I mean, come in. God, please come in."
The door opened. He stood framed for a moment before I flung myself onto him, burying my face against the furred lapels of his robe. I clutched at the heavy black brocade, pressing myself tight against him. His arms enfolded me, lifted me off the ground and moved us both inside the room. One arm held me close, the other hand reached back and closed the door behind us. The move was so fast I didn't have time to protest or think about it.
He let my feet touch the floor. "Ma petite, ma petite, what is so very wrong?"
"Me," I said. "I'm wrong." I spoke calmly, I didn't yell, I just happened to be talking with my face against his robe.
He drew me away from him enough for him to see my face. "Ma petite, I felt your distress, but I do not know what has caused it."
"Graham is addicted to the ardeur."
"When did this happen?" he asked, his face gone to careful blankness. He was probably unsure what expression wouldn't upset me.
"I don't know."
He studied my face, and even that careful blankness could not hide his concern. "When did you give Graham a stronger taste of the ardeur?"
"I didn't. I swear, I haven't touched him again. I've worked really hard not to touch him." The words came faster and faster, until even to me it sounded hysterical, but I couldn't stop.
Jean-Claude put a finger on my lips and stopped all the protest. "If you have not touched him again, ma petite, then he cannot be addicted to the ardeur?"
I tried to say something, but he kept his finger touching my mouth. "The fact that Graham wants you is not proof of addiction, ma petite. You underestimate the pull of your sweet self."
I shook my head and moved my face back so I could speak. "He's addicted, damn it. I know the difference between lust and addiction. Ask Clay if you don't trust me." I pulled away from him; it didn't feel comforting to touch him anymore.
"I trust you, ma petite." He was frowning now.
"Then take my word for it. Graham is addicted, and I don't know when it happened. Do you understand? I've avoided him. I've done everything I can to keep him away from the ardeur and still let him be a bodyguard. Today I tried to fire him from my guard detail."
"What did he say to that?"
"He was panic stricken. He was nearly in tears. I've never seen him like that. He only calmed down when I told him I wouldn't replace him on my detail."
"The ardeur is not so easily caught, ma petite. The few touches that Graham has had are not enough to addict him."
"I saw it!" I was pacing the room now.
"I think you need a cross, ma petite."
"What?" I asked.
He went to the door, opened it. "Could you please get one of the extra crosses out of the bedside table?"
I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. The red shirt seemed to blaze against my pale skin and dark hair. The scarlet seemed to be some sort of accusation like a scarlet woman, the scarlet letter. The last thought stopped me, as if the hysteria had hit a stumbling block. I could think for a second. Scarlet woman, the Scarlet Letter; this wasn't me thinking. Shit. I was being messed with.
My gun and holster were still beside the sink; I hadn't had time to put it on before Jean-Claude came. I put my hand on the butt of the gun and squeezed. That was me; I was me. The gun wasn't a magical talisman, but sometimes all you need to get someone out of your head is to remind yourself who you are - who you really are, not who they think you are, or who they think you think you are, but you, the real you. The gun in my hand was me.
"Ma petite, I would prefer you step away from the gun until you are wearing a cross."
I nodded. "I'm being messed with, aren't I?"
"I believe so."
"It's daylight, early daylight. If the vampires that are messing with us are in town, they shouldn't be able to do this."
"They are the Harlequin, ma petite; now you begin to see what that means."
I nodded again, clutching at the gun as I'd clutched at Jean-Claude earlier.
"Ma petite, if you would step away from the gun?"
"The gun is helping, Jean-Claude. It's reminding me that all the hysterics isn't me."
"Humor me, ma petite."
I looked at him. His face was still that beautiful blankness, but there was a tension to his shoulders, the way he held his body. Clay was behind him in the doorway, and he wasn't even trying to hide that he was worried. "I've got the cross," he said.
I nodded again. "Give it to me."
He glanced at Jean-Claude, who nodded. Clay walked forward with his hand in a fist. "You may want to step outside, Jean-Claude," he said.
"I cannot leave you alone with her."
"Won't the cross react to you?"
"Non, for I am doing nothing to her."
I held my left hand out toward Clay. "Just give me the cross."
"By the chain," Jean-Claude said.
"Good thinking," I said. "I don't need another cross-shaped burn scar."
Clay held his fist out to me, then opened it so that the cross dangled from a thin gold chain. If a vampire had been in the room causing trouble, that would have been enough to make the cross glow. Hell, even in Clay's hand, it might have glowed. The cross just hung there. Were we wrong? Was I wrong?
"Touch only the chain, ma petite. Caution is better."
If he hadn't repeated that, I might have just grabbed the cross, but at the last second I touched the chain. Clay let it go, and it swung, delicate and golden, in my hand. For a heartbeat, I thought we'd been wrong. Then the cross burst into a brilliant yellow glow. I had to turn my eyes away from it. I had a thought of what it might be doing to Jean-Claude, but I could see nothing past the golden light. I called to him. "Jean-Claude!"
A male voice that I wasn't sure of said, "He's out of the room. He's safe."
I yelled, "Clay, Claudia!" I wanted a voice I knew out of the brilliant yellow light.
Claudia's voice, a little farther away. "Clay got Jean-Claude out."
With that worry out of the way, I could concentrate on the other problem. If the vampire that had been messing with me was in the room, then the cross would have driven him away. Hell, when Marmee Noir messed with me, a cross like this had driven her away. So why wasn't this working on the Harlequin?
The chain grew warm in my hand. If this kept up it would get hot. Shit. If I threw the cross down, it would stop glowing, but would the vampire attack again? Would he enter my mind again, without my knowing it? God, these guys were good. Scary good.
"Anita, what can I do to help?" The man's voice again. I recognized the voice now: Jake, one of our newer bodyguards.
"I don't know," I said. I yelled it, as if the light were sound and I was having trouble hearing over it. I prayed, Help me, help me figure this out. I don't know if it was the prayer, or if the prayer helped me think; chicken/egg, I think, but I knew what to do. With the cross blazing in my hand I could feel the vampire, now that I thought to look for it. I was a necromancer, and that meant I had an affinity with the dead. I could feel the other's power like a seed in my back. As if he'd marked me somehow. That seed had let him inside me over and over since the movies last night. I wanted that seed gone.
I thrust my power into that spot, but I should have known better. With Jean-Claude's power I might have just ripped it out of me, cast it aside, but my power was different. My power liked the dead.
I touched the mark the vampire had made in my body. I didn't understand how he'd done it, and I didn't care. I wanted it gone. But the moment my necromancy touched it, it was as if a door blew open inside my head. I caught a glimpse of stone walls and a male figure. I smelled wolf. I tried to see clearly, but it was as if darkness ate at the edges of the picture. I concentrated on that image, willed it to be clear. Willed the man to turn and show me... He turned, but there was no face. I was looking at a black mask with a huge false nose. I thought for a moment I could see his eyes, then the eyes filled with silver light, almost a soft light. Then that soft, silver light shot out of the mask and slammed into me. I came back to myself airborne, falling. I didn't even have time to be afraid.
