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I buried the top of my head in the crook of his neck, so he couldn’t tear my throat out as easily. I slid my hand down his back like I was being romantic, but I was searching for weapons. The cloth seemed smooth and my legs around his waist told me that he wasn’t carrying anything there, so unless he had an ankle holster on he was unarmed. Of course, he was floating far enough up in the air that I guess weapons were superfluous, but how did he plan to kill Jean-Claude or Damian if they did show up? I resented that he was treating Damian like an afterthought. They’d kill him if he showed up, but he was collateral damage. They wanted Jean-Claude.
“I was told you had no gift for deceit, Anita, but you are quite subtle searching me just now.”
I went back to a two-armed grip around his shoulders just in case he got tired of waiting for Jean-Claude. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You are calm now, why?”
I shook my head, a snuggling motion under better circumstances. Now I just didn’t want him to bite me. “What were you going to do if Nicky hadn’t found the motorcycle?”
“You did make it easier for us, thank you, but our plan is still intact. My improvisation only put me ahead of schedule.”
I fought not to tense up, but he felt it.
“You’ve thought of something, please share.”
Since I didn’t have a plan to get away, keeping in as much of my captor’s goodwill as possible seemed like a good idea, so I told the truth. “The rest of your people aren’t in place yet, that’s why we’re just hovering and not going anywhere.”
“There are no other people,” he said.
“If Jean-Claude comes up here to rescue me now, you’ll try and take him out, but you’re waiting for your reinforcements.”
“I have no reinforcements; it is just I.”
“Liar,” I said.
“You are no lycanthrope to smell a lie upon my skin. You are guessing.”
He was right, but I settled more comfortably into his arms, because I was right, too. We floated in the night sky, caught between the stars and the more brilliant lights from the ground. The setting was romantic if you weren’t bothered by heights.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I do not need to tell you that.”
“I know, but tell me anyway,” I said.
“Trappolino, now why did I tell you that?” It was one of the names from Italian comedy, the commedia dell’arte. It was where all the names for the Harlequin came from; most of them who had survived their dark queen’s death worked for us now, but not all of them.
“You’re one of the Harlequin who didn’t come in from the cold,” I said, and my heart was beating fast again, my breath tight in my throat.
“That I am one of the Harlequin that you and your master could not tame, that frightens you. Good, it is good that you are afraid of us. You should be afraid of us.”
“How many of you are there?” I asked.
He shook his head, but his cheek rubbed against my hair like a cat marking someone as his. “I feel the draw of you, Anita, and it is not sexual. All the others who have come in contact with you thought with their loins, and it blinded them to the true attraction. You are the first true necromancer in a thousand years to be allowed to come into their full power. You should have been killed as soon as we heard that an American vampire master had a human servant that could raise zombies.”
“You spied on us that early?”
“Yes, but it was the traitors among us that reported that you wereno danger to us. They said your powers were nothing to worry about.” He ran his hand over my hair until his fingers played at the back of my neck. He kissed my forehead, then my temple, and stopped pulling his face away so he could look into my eyes. I didn’t remind him that he was asexual so what was with all the kissing, because honestly asexuality was so far away from how I viewed my sexuality that I just didn’t understand the parameters.
He studied my face. “I hate you for slaying our queen, but somehow you hold an echo of her, a taste of her. How can that be?”
“Maybe all necromancers taste alike?” I said, staring into his eyes from inches away.
“There is something in your eyes that reminds me of when I was human and she came to me in the dark.”
“The Mother of All Darkness brought you over as a vampire personally?” I asked.
He nodded. “I was one of the last she made before she was betrayed the first time.” His voice sounded thick and slow, like he was having trouble thinking clearly. I wanted him to be ours, mine. I wanted him to tell me everything he knew about the rogue Harlequin and the plot to kill Jean-Claude. I needed him to share everything with me.
