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“I know, I inherited the ability, but I’ve only used it to save my life and the lives of others, or to free people from masters that were abusing them.”
Fortune kissed my hand and smiled again. “You are like a bright opposite to her darkness, Anita. Thank you for that.”
Again, she made me smile, which was probably one of the things that made her remind me of Jason. He could always make me smile.
“Did you agree to wait for the others to return before you called Jean-Claude?” she asked.
I shook my head, freed an errant strand of hair, then thought about what she’d said. “Shit, I’m holy water free, I can call him and tell him to stop blocking our power exchange.”
“You can.”
“I’m not thinking clearly tonight.”
“Call Jean-Claude, then you’ll think better.” She patted my hand, then stood up, back to her casual wall stance. It was her usual guard stance unless someone forced her to stand straight. She said it was from too many years undercover. It just looked more comfortable to me.
I realized I was nervous about calling Jean-Claude, as if I was afraid he wouldn’t answer. I knew he’d pick up, but the anxiety was still bubbling around inside me like unhappy butterflies in my gut. It reminded me how I used to feel when I dated, or when someone had started to pull back and I didn’t know how to stop it.
I’d almost forgotten how nervous I had been when I dated. It made me wonder if my security in matters of the heart and libido had come through the marks with Jean-Claude. I’d thought I’d matured and gotten better at it, but maybe I had just been borrowinghis suave and debonair skills? I’d ask him later, but right now I just wanted to hear his voice.
His number was at the top of my favorites list, so I just hit his name and listened to it ring through. Someone picked up, but there was nohello, ma petite, no cheerful greeting from any of the people who usually answered if he was indisposed—just silence. My heart fell to my stomach, because my first thought was that someone had his phone and maybe him, which was stupid with all the security we had, but that was my first thought.
“What’s wrong?” Fortune asked; she’d noticed the change in my pulse, probably smelled the fear on my skin.
I shook my head and spoke into the phone. “Whoever is on here, say something.”
“Anita,” said a woman’s voice. I didn’t recognize it, which did nothing to calm me down.
“Who the fuck is this?” I asked, and I was happy that I sounded angry instead of afraid.
“Why must you resort to foul language at the drop of your proverbial hat?” she asked.
I still didn’t recognize the voice, though the accent narrowed the world down to Middle Eastern somewhere. I put the phone on mute and told Fortune, “Call the security at the Circus and get security to Jean-Claude now. Find out why he’s not answering his phone and why I’m talking to a strange woman with a Middle Eastern accent.”
I unmuted my phone, and the woman was in the middle of talking. “Anita, why are you ignoring me?”
“Why won’t you tell me your name?” I asked, and my voice was even, unfriendly. I realized I’d had my gun sitting across my lap, and that all the anxiety was gone. I was utterly calm; I felt nothing, thought nothing, I was just here in this moment trying to get information from this woman. I couldn’t afford to think about anything else but this moment. Fortune was standing across the roomtalking on her phone. She was doing what I’d told her to do; my job was this.
“You are our queen; you should be able to sense who we are without a word.”
At least I knew it was one of the Harlequin; they were supposed to be on our side, right, but the negative voice in my head that was never far away said,Are they, though, all of them?The ones like this that kept reminding me that I wasn’t good enough, or evil enough, to take the place of their dead queen—they kept pushing me, pointing out my weaknesses, trying to get Jean-Claude and me to let them be the bogeymen of the supernatural set again. It was like holding the leash on a pet tiger; it was great until the day the big cat decided it didn’t want to stay on your leash, or anyone’s leash.
“Fine, as your queen I order you to give the fucking phone to Jean-Claude, now!” I didn’t yell; my voice went low, almost a growl, because I knew if I lost control of my voice I would lose control of myself, and control is everything when you’ve got something bigger and scarier than you are on a leash.
“No need to curse,” she said, and then there was a moment of silence, and then, “Ma petite, what has happened now?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, and still sounded angry, as if it wasn’t him on the phone.
“Who was on the phone just now?”
“Queenie, she said there was something wrong.”
“What was wrong is that she let me think you’d been captured or hurt and couldn’t come to the phone.” I still sounded pissed and couldn’t seem to stop, when what I’d wanted to do seconds ago was damn near sob with relief that he was okay. Now I sounded angry when what I really wanted to do was be there to hold and be held. I wouldn’t feel like we’d won tonight until we could hold each other.
“I am sorry,ma petite, Queenie made it sound as if there was something she was attending to on your end of the phone.”
“I’ll deal with her for scaring the shit out of me later.”
“I will deal with her myself,” he said, no sweet French nothings, just a tone to his voice that boded ill for Queenie. I was good with that.
