by Mhalachai
Harry stood by the Jeep, looking up at the front of the building. "Is this a joke?" he asked.
Anita shook her head. "All one hundred percept on the level."
"And those clowns on the roof have... fangs?"
"Yes." Anita pulled her braid over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go inside."
They walked past a line of gaudy, colourful posters, advertising impossible things. Werewolves. Lamia. Zombies.
"Do you ever raise zombies here?" Harry asked Anita. He was unprepared for the annoyed expression on her face.
"I don't raise zombies for entertainment," she snapped.
"Oh." Harry looked back at the posters. "Sorry."
Anita followed his gaze. "No, I'm just a bit touchy about raising zombies. They shouldn't be brought up from their resting places unless it's for a damned good reason, then returned to their graves afterward. I can't see how scaring the tourists constitutes a good reason."
"So it's like a higher purpose for you?" Harry asked, curious about her. He'd gleaned a bit of information from Jason and Nathaniel the previous night, what she was like around the lycanthropes, but he didn't understand her or her job in the least. If she saw the zombies as a mission in life, that might make a bit more sense. Why else would anyone raise zombies?
"No higher purpose, Harry. I raise zombies because I can't not." Anita shook her head as they passed a long line of people outside the building, waiting to buy tickets. "It's not something I can turn off. Power will out and all that."
"Oh." Harry tried to come up with a parallel in his own world. Maybe like bursts of uncontrolled magic? Like when he blew up Uncle Vernon's sister Marge? No, that didn't sound right. "Where are we going?"
"One of the benefits of dating the owner is not having to wait in line." Anita walked up to the big doors and the young blond man lounging there. "Clay."
"Anita," the man said with a smile. His stance might look lazy, but the tension in his hands told Harry he was very alert. "I talked to Jason. Is this the new guy?"
"Yes, this is him. Harry, this is Clay. Clay, meet Harry."
Harry nodded slightly, trying to remember his manners, and held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
Clay looked at Harry's hand, and raised his eyebrows. His face growing hot, Harry just stood there with his hand out. What the hell am I supposed to do? Harry thought. Is there was a werewolf greeting ritual that no one told me about?
"Clay, play nice," Anita warned.
The young man unfolded his arms and took Harry's hand. "Good to meet you," he said.
Clay's skin felt warm and tingly, not like a normal handshake at all. It felt good. "Don't worry," Clay said with a wink. "We'll be teaching you the secret handshake in no time."
"There's a secret handshake?" Harry asked, sure he was being teased.
"We're going in now," Anita said.
Still grinning, Clay stepped aside and let Harry and Anita pass through the big doors, into a smaller entrance room. Off to the side, in a little booth in the wall, sat a bored-looking girl beside a sign that read, "Holy item check." The girl looked up at Harry and Anita, and waved them on with a red-manicured set of nails.
"Holy item check?" Harry asked.
"Vampires, you know," Anita explained. "Bad for business if the tourists start glowing at the main attractions."
"But you--"
"I'm a special case." Anita touched the chain around her neck that disappeared under her shirt. Harry was sure there was a silver cross on the end of it. He'd seen it earlier that day, when she-- He shook his head. Now was not the time to think about when he'd seen her cross. "Besides, I scare them enough without the cross."
Harry nodded again. He didn't have any holy items on him, but it was good to know that the old superstition actually worked on vampires. He'd have to look into that when he got back to Hogwarts.
They paused by the steadily moving revolving doors at the other end of the entrance room. The doors were sort of creepy, moving slowly of their own accord. Disturbing. "That man, Clay. He was a werewolf, right?"
"Yes, he is. Why do you ask?"
Harry rubbed his hands together. "He felt tingly."
Anita gave him a sharp look. "He did?" She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, Clay's a werewolf. Got a good nose on him, too."
It seemed like a bit of a non sequitur, and Harry had to ask. "What does his nose have to do with being a werewolf?"
Anita, about to go through the revolving doors, paused. "Oh, that's why he's here on door duty. A few months ago, some stupid mundane got the brilliant idea that the Circus would make a good place for a drug drop. Jean-Claude's had a wolf on the door ever since. The last thing this place needs is trouble like that." She looked back at the outer door. "Clay's got some power, but he's still low in the pack. We'll see if he moves up the totem pole."
She turned around and entered the revolving doors. Harry watched as she was swallowed up and felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. He hurried after her.
The doors disgorged him into bright, loud chaos. Flashing lights, loud carnival music, the excited call of carnies exhorting tourists to play their little games. Mixed in with the lights and noise were the smells, of cotton candy and popcorn and corndogs and, faintly, the lingering smell of old blood. It all crowded around him, too close, pressing in. Everything was too much, the colours too bright, the noise too loud, the smells too much.
He tried to get his bearings, to push it away, but it didn't help. It felt as if everything would crush him, drown him in sensation. He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out. Distantly, he heard Anita calling his name. He tried to will it all away, casting out for anything to help him. He found himself slipping back into the Occlumency he'd finally gotten a grip on the year before at school, the year after Sirius’s death. He cleared his mind, concentrated on nothing, and sensations pounding against him slowly bled away into quiet.
He opened his eyes, and he found that everything was better. Not all right, but better. The lights were still bright, the sounds everywhere, but it was manageable. I wonder why I reacted that way, Harry thought. Like all my senses went haywire?
"Are you okay?" Anita asked. Her hand was on his arm and he hadn't even felt there put it there. I know better than that, Harry thought.
"I'm fine," Harry said aloud. "Just a bit much, you know?"
Anita opened her mouth to say something, but from across the Circus floor, they heard someone call, "Anita!"
It was Jason, making his way toward them. When he finally got close enough, he put one arm over Anita's shoulders and then, much to Harry's discomfort, put his other arm across Harry's back. "How you guys been?" Jason asked with a huge grin. "You guys been playing with zombies or something?"
Anita twisted out from under Jason's arm. "What's up with you?" she asked. As Jason smiled placidly at her, she touched his chin, moved his head to the side. Harry could see two tiny puncture marks on Jason's neck. "Mmm hmm," she murmured with a slightly disapproving glare in her eyes.
"Hey, you know it could be you," Jason teased.
Anita glared harder.
"Did-- did Jean-Claude just feed on him?" Harry asked Anita, remembering what Jason had told him the day before about his role as pomme de sang.
"Yup," the blonde werewolf said cheerily. Harry couldn't get his head around it, that Jason was totally unconcerned that a vampire had just bit his neck and drank his blood. "Speaking of the devil, Anita, he wants to talk to you downstairs."
"Why?" Anita asked, frowning. "I was going to show Harry around the Circus."
"I can do it," Jason offered. He finally dropped his arm from around Harry's back. Not that it was weird or anything, Harry just wasn't a fan of physical contact in public. "What do you say, Harry? Show you the sights?"
"Sure," Harry said immediately. He would much rather go with Jason and explore this place than listen to Jean-Claude and Anita talk. Besides, the Master vampire gave him the creeps.
"Wait," Anita said. "No offense, Jason, but you're still high on Jean-Claude's bite. You shouldn't even be up here with the tourists yet."
"That's why I'm here," came a new voice, this one with a strangely familiar accent.
Harry turned his head. There stood a young man, who looked a bit younger than Harry, with curly brown hair and soft grey eyes. He was shorter than Anita, even. There was just something about him that made Harry smile in greeting.
"So is this the puppy?" the new guy asked, a slightly sarcastic smile quirking up the edges of his lips.
"Byron, behave," Anita warned, although her voice was light when she said it. "How are you? I haven't seen you in months."
"Life is divine, duckie," Byron said, going over to Anita and kissing the air by her cheek. "Magnificent would be too light a word."
Anita raised her eyebrows.
"He's headlining all week," Jason explained. "And it's going to his head."
"Down, boy," Byron said. Jason mock-growled at him. "I'm simply enjoying life." Byron cocked his head to the side. "Well, maybe not life as you know it."
Jason rolled his eyes. "Does everyone around here speak in cliches these days?" he asked. "Look, Anita, I'm feeling great. And Jean-Claude really wants to see you."
"We'll take right good care of the new pup," Byron added. "Go on."
Anita narrowed her eyes at the men. "I'll see you in a bit, then."
"Take your time," Byron replied. "We'll be fine."
Harry watched her as she turned and made her way purposefully across the Circus floor. Jason and Byron also watched her. "It's good that she's mellowed," Byron said. "And is it me, or is that a rather out-of-character outfit for the lady?"
"I think it's hot," Jason said. "She looks totally different with her hair up off her face like that." He caught the glare Byron shot his way. "What?"
"You weren't looking at her face," Byron scoffed. He turned to Harry. "What do you want to do first?"
Harry, who was a bit uncomfortable listening to Byron and Jason talk about Anita like that, was caught off guard. "What is there to do?" he asked.
Jason flung out his hands, narrowly missing a passing tourist. "Everything!"
Byron shook his head. "Anita's right, you're wasted," he said in disgust. "You've been doing this how long?"
"Hey, I'm not the one doing the rolling," Jason retorted. "Don't blame me for this."
Byron turned back to Harry. "Are you hungry? I hear the food's not bad here."
Something was off about that line, but exactly what, eluded Harry. "No, we ate already."
A flash of humour ran through Byron's eyes, like quicksilver, but his expression never changed. "Oh really?"
"Stop it," Jason said, his voice suddenly hard. "Come on, Harry."
Jason took Harry's elbow and pulled him along. With a shrug, Byron trailed along after them.
The crowd of tourists holding ice cream cones and cotton candy gradually gave way to lines of people waiting for rides. The tinkling music of the carousel was overwhelmed with the excited screams of children, going round and round, faster. There was something strange about the animals on the carousel, Harry noticed as Jason pulled him past. All predators.
Slightly uneasy now, Harry looked around. The man taking tickets at the glass house stared at the children passing into his domain, a feral gleam in his eyes. He caught Harry watching, and snarled.
They were beside the Ferris wheel when Harry jerked his arm out of Jason's grasp. "What is this place?" he demanded. "What's going on here?"
Jason looked a bit confused. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Byron sauntered around them, his hands in his pockets, perfectly poised. "Puppy's seen it, what most tourists in this little pocket of Hell will never see." He walked up to Harry, a bit too close. His grey eyes were so big in his boyish face, but those eyes were far too old, gave lie to the illusion of youth. "This is the Circus of the Damned, luv. It's not just a name to bring in the tourists." Byron smiled, and his lips drew back to reveal sharp vampire fangs. "There are things under the chaos and brightness that would darken your nightmares, Harry, would drive you screaming, begging for the sun."
Harry's right hand twitched, aching to go for his wand, to do something about this vampire. How did I miss he was a vampire? Harry cursed himself. Byron hadn't done anything overtly hostile, but Harry knew he was being baited. So what do I do? React? Isn't Hermione always telling me to use my head and not my wand?
Knowing this was potentially a stupid idea, Harry took a step forward to close the distance between him and Byron, making the vampire have to tilt his head back to keep Harry in view. "You have no idea what is in my nightmares," Harry said, fighting to keep his voice level.
Byron was silent for a moment, then stepped back. "Knowing what I do about Voldemort, I doubt that." Byron's voice was lighter, and Harry knew that whatever just happened, was over for now.
"You know about Voldemort?" Harry asked. Now that he thought about it, that other vampire the previous night, Requiem, had known about Voldemort too.
Byron nodded. "Back before he vanished, those years ago, he indicated that he wanted the support of our kiss. Sent an emissary to us."
Jason crept over to the pair. "What did your master do? Kill the emissary?"
Byron's expression slowly bled way, until he looked just like a lovely corpse with bright eyes. "We are of Belle Morte's line," he said. "After the first night, the emissary had no desire to leave us." He held Harry's attention with the slow movement of his lips, his whispered words in the shadow of the Ferris wheel. "We do not interfere with the magical ones. They are not of our dark existence and that is how it is to remain."
The Ferris wheel ground to a halt next to them. Jason shook himself all over, a bit like a dog shaking off water. "You two are creeping me out," he said. "Let's go through the sideshow."
Byron rolled his eyes expressively, acting human once again. "You're the Master's pomme de sang, were here when Belle Morte's entourage was received, and you think this conversation is creepy?"
"Not the conversation," Jason said. "The two of you. Talking about nightmares like that."
"Really, Jason? And what terrifies you in the night?" Byron asked, brushing past the werewolf.
Jason's eyes unfocused for a moment. Harry wondered what horrors he was remembering. I wonder if he sees the people he's failed when he closes his eyes? Harry thought.
Sirius, falling through the veil.
Harry turned and trailed after Byron. No matter how much the boy-- no, vampire scared him, he didn't want to stay behind, lost in the memories of his nightmares.
Harry watched as the so-called skinless man flexed his exposed muscles, drawing a scream from the watching crowd. It was gross, sure, but not worth the show the crowd was putting on.
Harry looked at Byron out of the corner of his eye. The vampire appeared bored, leaning back against a pillar. He caught Harry's eye and jerked his head in the direction of the next performer, further on down the hall. With a nod, Harry slowly made his way out from his place in the crowd.
Jason caught up with them halfway down the hall. "What is it with you two?" Jason demanded. "Shared disdain of the colonists makes for a bonding experience?"
"It's boring," Byron said flatly. "A skinless man with no blood?"
"What about you, Harry?"
Harry twitched his shoulder. "I don't know," he confessed. "It's a bit disturbing, but it doesn't feel real."
Jason looked back and forth between Harry and Byron for a moment before relenting. "Maybe you're right. But then what are we going to do?"
Harry pushed his hair back from his face with one hand. "I'm not sure. How long do you think Jean-Claude and Anita will be talking?"
Byron trailed his fingers along the thick fabric that made up the walls of the sideshow tent. "Oh, they won't be long talking, luv."
Jason shook his head. "You're incorrigible. Knock it off."
"Big word," Byron said with mock approval. "I suppose all that college learning is good for something after all."
"What do you mean, they won't be long talking?" Harry asked. Yet again, he was sure there was something going over his head. "So Anita will be ready to leave soon?"
Byron let out a sharp bark of laughter. "With the stamina that woman's got? Doubtful."
At Byron's words, Harry froze. He heard Jason say wearily, "Byron, please shut up."
"What?" Byron said. "All I'm saying is that Harry might want to make plans to bunk in for the night, if his ride depends on Anita getting--"
"Stop it," Harry said, his heart pounding in his chest. Facing down a vampire and telling him to shut up is another stupid idea, Harry thought, But I can't let him talk that way about Anita.
Byron looked faintly surprised. "Why?"
Harry open and closed his mouth twice before he could think of the words. "You shouldn't talk about her like that, it's not right."
Byron quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "Righteous and as bold as a lion, defending your Lupa's honour?"
"You ought to show more respect than that," Harry insisted.
Byron's expression changed again. Gone was the teasing leer. "I know she's a good woman, Harry," Byron said, no longer joking. "I know what she's done to and for the vampires in this city, how the Master is stronger because of her." Harry wondered which was the real Byron, the one who made off-colour insinuations about Anita, or the one looking up at him with somber eyes. "Watch where you're stepping, luv, I may let it slide while you're protected by the Master's wolf, but there are other vampires in this city that would attack you for it, under Anita's protection or not."
Harry let out a slow breath, trying to calm himself. "I'm not going to stand by while you insult her like that."
"Insult?" Byron repeated. "Trust me, Harry, that wasn't an insult."
"Guys," Jason interrupted, "Maybe we can just stop talking about--"
Harry stepped back, shaking his head. The Gryffindor in him couldn't let this go, but Harry had no idea what to do now. Stay and keep arguing with Byron? What if he didn't stop? Cutting insults at twenty yards?
He turned and headed off deeper into the sideshow tent, away from the crowd and Byron. He heard Jason's voice behind him, urgently talking to Byron, but that soon faded in the folds of the thick cloth.
A few more steps, and Harry stopped walking. He was so out of his depth here. He'd never have to deal with something like this, not at Hogwarts, not anywhere. He felt so homesick.
She offered to let you go home, he recalled. Letting his hip brush against the thick black curtain, Harry reached up and touched his shoulder where Richard had clawed him. A simple touch no longer hurt, and Harry had to press his fingers against the bandage to feel any pain. If he had still been entirely human, the wound would not have healed so fast.
"This is why I can't go home," he whispered into the darkness. The horror stories he'd heard Remus tell, the fear Harry had felt when Remus almost attacked him and Hermione and Ron in third year. I can't do that to my friends.
Feeling miserable, Harry turned around to go find Jason and ask if maybe they could just go somewhere to watch people, but a soft hissing caught his attention.
All self-pity vanished as he strained to hear. There it was again, a soft sibilant hissing, too deliberate to be a mistake.
Carefully, Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket. His hand shook slightly as he moved as quietly as he could toward the sound. It was with trepidation that he reached a fold in the curtain and peeked through the break in the fabric.
There was a young woman padding around the open space on bare feet, her long straight black hair swinging around her face. She caught the movement of the curtain and whirled. When she saw Harry, she smiled.
"Are you lost?" she asked Harry in a light voice. She swayed over toward him, her smile growing. "Are you all alone?"
Then, her voice turned to a hiss, almost an afterthought, "A delicious treat..."
She spoke in Parseltounge! Harry realized with a shock. He didn't know of anyone besides him or Voldemort who could speak the snakes' language. That surprise turned quickly to apprehension, as the woman came closer.
"Am I supposed to be the snack?" he blurted out.
The woman jerked back at his words. "You speak my tongue?" she exclaimed in a loud hiss. "What are you?"
Harry had no idea what to say. Admitting to her that he was a wizard might take away his last defence. And everyone knows not to trust someone who speaks Parseltounge, he thought, painfully aware of the irony.
The woman opened her mouth again, wide enough that Harry could see the tips of long, snake-like fangs. He gripped his wand tighter. "I advise against attacking," he said, not knowing any other way to warn her off.
She opened her mouth wider, showing Harry her fangs. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught movement, and the woman whirled and ran.
Harry turned so fast he almost fell over, wondering what other danger had crept up on him. When he saw that it was Jason, he let out a huge sigh of relief.
"Where have you been?" Harry asked. His voice trailed off when he registered the look of utter shock on Jason's face. "What?"
I still wasn't sure about leaving Harry with Byron and Jason, even as I walked across the Circus floor. I told myself I was being silly, that no one would attack him while he was with the vampire and the werewolf. He didn't need me to protect him like this.
I made it to the wall of the building and walked carefully along the shadows. Here in the dark, there were no tourists looking around, no one to see what I was doing. I'd asked Jean-Claude once if any couples took advantage of the dark. He'd given me a look that basically told me I was stating the obvious.
I wondered what he wanted to talk to me about tonight. Maybe more on Harry? Vampire business? Pack business? It might have been so many things.
I reached the plain steel door and let myself through it. The sound of the Circus were shut out when I pulled the door closed behind me. It was a relief, the sudden silence, and I think I sighed.
The breath hadn't even passed my lips when some subconscious part of my brain realized that there was something else in the small storage room with me. I whirled, my gun in my hand and pointed as I finished my turn.
Jean-Claude was standing in the middle of the room in the spotlight of the room's only light bulb, staring down the barrel of my gun. The son of a bitch hadn't been there a few seconds before. "A bit jumpy tonight, ma petite?"
I pointed the gun at the floor, my heart pounding in my chest, from the shock at his popping up and something deeper. The what if I hadn't waited to see who it was before I fired? "What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. "Sneaking up on someone like that? You could have gotten hurt!"
Jean-Claude came toward me, and I could tell he was worried. "Ma petite, what is wrong?" he asked, his voice flowing over me, warm and safe. I shook my head to push that away. I couldn't let him make me feel that way, not now.
I'd broken a rule tonight. Never pull your gun unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences of firing it. I had an image, of Jean-Claude lying bleeding on the floor, the back of his head blown off, and I didn't know what to do.
My hands were shaking as I went to put my gun back in its holster. It took two tries, but I managed it. Jean-Claude, wise vampire, stayed out of touching distance until the gun was up.
"What has set you on edge, Anita?" he asked quietly. He used my real name. This was never good.
"I'm not sure," I said. I couldn't look at him. "I don't know-- I mean, maybe I'm hungry, or something, even though we just ate dinner and stuff, maybe it's the ardeur, I fed the ardeur this morning, but then we thought it was okay after last night--"
"Shh, ma petite, it is all right," Jean-Claude said as he took me in his arms, holding me in a loose embrace. I could have gotten away if I wanted to, but I didn't really want to. "Nothing happened."
After a moment's hesitation, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him tight. "But it could have."
Jean-Claude touched my cheek, and it made me look up at him. His eyes were calm. I didn't understand how he could be so calm when I'd pointed a gun at him. If I had been on the other end of that gun, I'd have been screaming still. "You did not hurt me, ma petite," he said. "Your reactions are so fast, but still you stopped yourself when you saw that it was me."
I pressed my ear to his chest, heard his heart pumping Jason's blood through his veins.
"Your reactions, your speed, they become more those of the cat you hold within you," he continued quietly. "Ever since we re-bound our triumvirate almost a year ago, my powers and those of our Richard have strengthened predictably, but you are still the wild card."
He fell silent. Damn it. I needed him to tell me what he meant, but that was what he wanted me to do. I gave in. "How am I the wild card?" I asked, my voice muffled against his shirt.
Don't ask me how, but I could tell he smiled. "Let us take the ardeur, for starters." He turned me around and guided me toward the stairs down the underground lair.
"Take this ardeur, please?" I said, trying for a joke.
He dropped a kiss on the top of my head. "That wasn't funny."
"I know."
"What I meant was that after your triumvirate with Nathaniel and Damian, you needed to feed the ardeur every six hours. When we re-bound our triumvirate, that remained the same for a while. Do you remember?"
I was glad it was dark. "Do I remember having to have sex at least four times a day for months? Yes, I faintly recall that," I said, a bit uncomfortable.
"And then you will recall how in March, that suddenly changed?"
"Again, yes. But we never figured out why."
I heard Jean-Claude sigh. "But it happened, and I have told you I believe it has a lot to do with your growing strength, as your body adjusts to its new powers and needs."
I felt like grumbling, but what good would it do? Besides, I was focusing on the steps, which were not designed for human legs. "What does this have to do with me and my gun?"
"You move faster than you used to, Anita. Even Richard has remarked on it. In the early days of the infection, a new wolf can injure or even kill with his speed and strength. It takes skill to use that strength, but it takes more skill to stop yourself from using it."
I tightened my hand on Jean-Claude's hip, feeling the play of muscles and bone under his skin. "Are you saying this to make me feel better?" I asked in a tiny voice.
"No, ma petite, I am not saying this to make you feel better. I know how you hate that. I say it because it is true." We were at the giant door at the bottom of the steps. Jean-Claude stopped us and made me face him. It took me a moment to look up at him, but when I did, the look in his eyes took my breath away.
Pride. He was proud of me?
"You grow stronger, with powers most vampires can only dream of, and yet you are still the woman I fell in love with," he said. Cradling my face in his hands, he bent over and kissed me delicately. "Your powers have changed and your life has changed, but you, ma petite, the essence of what you are has not changed," he whispered against my lips.
He drew back slowly, watching me for a reaction. I didn't know what to think. Micah had helped me through my last break-down, the one in December, when everything came to a head, Damian and Nathaniel needing me, the wereleopards needing me, the werewolves needing me, the cops needing me. I'd gone down into the basement and didn't come out. Micah needed to come down to try to coax me back upstairs. I'd railed at him for hours, but all my yelling amounted to one thing: how do you live your life when you don't recognize it any more?
Micah didn't give me any trite answers, only told me that he needed me too, but he also needed me to need him. That it was okay to need other people. That need, that give and take, made things work.
But he never talked about how I'd changed. I'd gone from little Catholic schoolgirl to hard-nosed vampire killer, to vampire's girlfriend and leopard queen. I wanted to believe Jean-Claude, that I was still me, but I wasn't sure I could.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Jean-Claude smiled again and kissed the tip of my nose. "Apology accepted."
He offered to take us to his bedroom to talk in privacy, but I knew how that would end. We stayed in big living room, with walls made up of folds of cloth against the cold stone. Jean-Claude actually deigned to sprawl on the couch while I cuddled up against him and told him all about my horrible day.
"It sounds as if Harry handled himself well," Jean-Claude said after I finished telling him about the murder scene.
"I'd say so too, if he wasn't lying to me."
Jean-Claude silently began to undo my braid as I gathered my thoughts, tried to figure out what was bugging me.
"He told us that there's this guy after him, Voldemort," I finally said. "But then today, he said that this guy has a bunch of followers. So is it just the main bad guy after Harry, or is it more of them?"
"I do not know," Jean-Claude said, running his fingers through my hair. "Perhaps you should ask him."
"Maybe." I lifted my head and gave Jean-Claude a small smile. No matter what else was on my mind, lying cuddled up against him usually turned my mind onto a one-track route.
He returned my smile and lifted me to him. As always, his kiss was amazing. I used to think it wasn't fair that he had four hundred years of kissing experience to use on me, but those reservations usually melted away quickly.
His hand was just starting to slide up my thigh under my skirt when I thought I heard the door open. Jean-Claude didn't make any move to stop what he was doing, so I figured it was Asher.
It was a most unwelcome surprise to hear Richard say, "Is there a reason the two of you can't keep your clothes on in public?"
I pulled away from Jean-Claude and almost fell off the couch. Jean-Claude had to grab me around the waist to stop my tumble to the floor, and I ended up straddling Jean-Claude's thighs. Damn it. Richard had the worst timing ever.
"And how are you?" Jean-Claude asked Richard, while I tried to crawl off his body while not flashing the room.
Richard's arms were crossed over his chest, and he in no way looked happy. "Do you really care?"
Jean-Claude swung his legs off the couch and let me sit down next to him. "Seeing how our common interests coincide these days, I would have to say, yes."
Richard switched his glare to me. "What?" I asked.
"Nothing," Richard replied.
He is jealous, ma petite, Jean-Claude thought at me.
It was so ridiculous I almost responded out loud. What the hell is he jealous about? I mentally replied. He and I had sex a week ago, before that stupid fight. He's got nothing to be jealous about.
I am beginning to think that you will never understand the male mind. "Come, Richard, join us on the couch."
The stubborn expression on Richard's face didn't suit him.
"Fine, stay there," Jean-Claude allowed. "How are Suzanne and her pet?"
The annoyance left Richard's face, and I saw how tired he was. "She doesn't understand what she did wrong," he admitted, raking his hands through his hair. "Sylvie's with her now, trying to get her to see reason. I don't know if it will work."
As he spoke, he came over to the couch and sat on the other side of me, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. I wondered if he'd gotten any sleep since I'd last seen him.
"What does she not understand?" Jean-Claude asked quietly.
Richard sighed. "Why she should have brought Paul to the Lupanar after she knew he was infected. She won't see that I'm right."
I frowned. "How high up in the pack is she?" I asked.
"Too high for this crap." Richard leaned back onto the couch and focused on me. "I called a pack meeting for the day after tomorrow at the Lupanar, to deal with her. Can you come?"
"Sure," I said immediately.
Richard started to speak, then hesitated. "Do you think you can bring Harry?"
He was very carefully shielding whatever he was feeling from me. "He'd probably like that."
"Has your young charge made any indication that he might become one of the wolves next full moon?" Jean-Claude asked. I pressed myself back into the couch so that Richard could see Jean-Claude past me.
"He was okay for most of today," I said, thinking. "But at the murder scene he had this moment of a real furry vibe. Not big or anything, but I felt it. If it had been any later in the month, I'd have said he was about to change. Tammy felt it, too."
"Wait, murder scene?" Richard interrupted. "What are you talking about? Did something happen?"
I shook my head. "No, Harry was just with me at work when the cops called. I had to take him with me."
Richard glared at me. "You took a seventeen-year-old boy to a murder scene?" He stood up and took a few long steps across the room before facing me again, hands on his hips. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"Hey!" I exclaimed, standing up and walking across the room to stand next to him. "You left him at my place and so I've been taking care of him, okay? He was fine, I had my eye on him all the time."
"That's no excuse! He's just a kid, Anita, I thought you knew better than that!"
Richard was the only person I knew who could make me so incredibly angry so quickly. "Don't start this high and mighty--"
"Richard, have you spoken with Stephen today?" Jean-Claude interrupted, suddenly at my side.
The question was jarring, and it stopped the argument. "No, I haven't," Richard said. "Why?"
I looked up at Jean-Claude. "What are you talking about?" I asked.
Jean-Claude sighed wearily. "Have you talked to any of the wolves about Harry since yesterday afternoon?"
Richard shook his head.
"Why?" I asked. "What happened since yester-- Oh." The Damian thing. Richard didn't know Harry was Damian's grandson. Wasn't that just perfect?
Jean-Claude's expression at my lack of focus was eloquent. "Perhaps you should tell him, ma petite." He went and sat back on the couch, effectively withdrawing himself from the conversation.
I turned back to Richard. "Richard..."
"Is Harry okay?" he asked, the beginnings of a frown on his face.
"Yes, but--"
"There aren't any complications from his shoulder wound?"
"No, but--"
"Then what aren't you telling me?" he demanded.
I pushed my hair back from my face, trying to have patience. "We found something out about Harry last night."
"What?"
I looked at him, his brown eyes confused, and tried to imagine what he would think. "I can't do this," I said, turning back to Jean-Claude. "I just can't."
"Why not?" Jean-Claude asked.
I made random gestures with my hands, trying to carve out my frustration in the air. "He's not going to believe me."
"Would one of you just tell me what the hell is going on?" Richard demanded.
"Harry is Damian's grandson."
The silence following my comment was almost a tangible thing. I waited for Richard to explode, something. Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched. The twitch spread to a smile, then he started laughing.
"Good one," he said around his laughter. "You almost had me for a moment."
Damn it. "I told you he wasn't going to believe me," I said to Jean-Claude as I went back to the couch and slumped beside him on the cushions.
Gradually, Richard stopped laughing. "You-- but-- there's no way!" he protested as the possibility that I wasn't lying to him began to sink in.
"That was what I said at first," I said. Jean-Claude slid his hand around my shoulders and drew me back down to rest against him.
Richard began to pace again, all the while shaking his head. "But Harry's from England," he tried.
"Damian's old master ruled on the north-eastern shores of Scotland," Jean-Claude said in a very blank tone. He ran his hand over my hair, almost absently.
Richard opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "But Damian's almost a thousand years old," he said. "He can't have kids."
Jean-Claude's hand stilled, then dropped to my shoulder. "Do you recall that the Master of Beasts, the Council member Padma, had his son Fernando?"
A wave of hot animal anger rolled through the room. I wondered if Richard would ever forgive himself for leaving town then, for letting Sylvie be the one the Council took and tried to break.
Sylvie had her revenge on them. I know she kept the bones of her enemies, Fernando included, and looked at them occasionally. But revenge couldn't take away the hurt.
"I remember them," Richard said after a moment. "What's your point?"
"My point is that Padma was almost as old as Damian is now when Fernando was born. While rare in the extreme, it is not as impossible as you imagine."
Richard paced across the room a few more times. I wondered if he was getting used to the idea, or if he was still thinking about Sylvie. I also wondered if he and I were still 'fighting', because he looked like he needed a hug. Or maybe being in the same room with Richard just made me think that.
"Does he know?" Richard finally asked.
Which he? "We all sort of found out together," I said, sitting up. Jean-Claude let me go.
"Is he in danger because of it?" Richard stopped behind an armchair and rested his hands on the back. "Is there going to be a problem?"
"Ma petite has taken care of that," Jean-Claude said.
"How?"
I stood up, smoothing my skirt down over my thighs. Richard's eyes followed the movement of my hands. "As Damian's master, Harry's my responsibility," I said. "So I guess I need to take care of him."
Richard frowned. "But if he's going to be one of my wolves, then I should be the one taking care of him," he protested.
I made my way across the room, around the chair, to stand beside Richard. He turned to face me. His body temperature was still hot from the just-past moon, and even standing a foot away from him, I felt his heat. "If he's going to be a werewolf, then he's mine to take care of too," I said softly. "Lupa, remember?"
Richard touched my cheek with the tips of his finger. "I remember." His chocolate brown eyes were so serious as he stared at me. "Why were we fighting again?"
I had to think about that for a moment. "You told me that I was blood-thirsty and cold-hearted, and I said that you didn't seem to have a problem with it until you--"
I stopped talking when Richard put his finger on my lips. "I know what we were fighting about," he said. "I was trying to make up with you."
Oh. Richard and I fought so often, and more recently, made up so often, I had a hard time keeping track of things. There was so much we needed to talk about, pack business and Harry and stuff, but with Richard this close to me, I had a hard time thinking, as usual.
I parted my lips and licked the tip of his finger, then drew it into my mouth to nip gently at it with my teeth. Richard's mouth opened slightly as he watched me. A moment later, he gently put his hands on my shoulders and bent down to kiss me.
I didn't have to be as careful when kissing him as I did with Jean-Claude. There were no fangs in Richard's mouth to avoid, no worries about hurting myself, at least physically. Richard's kisses only cut at my heart.
I made a soft, involuntary noise of protest when Richard pulled back. The dark desire in his eyes made me swallow hard.
"You taste like Jean-Claude's kisses," he growled under his breath.
I went up on tiptoes in the circle of his arms. "And you like it," I whispered.
Richard's arms tightened around me, holding me against him. "No, I don't."
I pressed myself against the front of his body. "Yes, you do."
Richard shoved me back, and I would have fallen if Jean-Claude hadn't caught me. I hadn't even realized that he had gotten off the couch. "Hurting Anita will not change what you do and do not want, Richard," Jean-Claude said, his hands cold on my arms.
"He didn't hurt me," I protested, at the same time as Richard said, "I didn't mean to hurt her."
"Good," Jean-Claude said, his voice distant. He let me go and moved back to the centre of the room. "Then perhaps we can get on with business?"
"What business?" Richard asked. He wouldn't look at either of us.
"Again, it concerns young Harry," Jean-Claude said. "It seems as if his explanation of the wizard after him might not have been completely accurate."
"There's no sorcerer after him?"
"No, I suspect that there might be more than one after him," I said.
Whatever Richard was going to say was interrupted as the door banged open and Jason came in, Harry right behind him.
"What's wrong?" I asked quickly. My mind raced with a million things, all bad.
Jason came to a halt. "Harry talked to Melanie."
Okay, not what I was expecting. "And? Did she try to kill him?"
Jason shook his head. "No, but he talked to her."
An ache began to form behind my left temple. Perfect. This day wouldn't be complete without a huge headache. "Jason, you have five seconds to explain in a way that I won't hurt you," I snapped.
There was nothing in Jason's behaviour to make me thing he was kidding. "It wasn't in English," he insisted. "It was some sort of weird..."
"It was Parseltounge," Harry said heavily. "I can talk to snakes."
"Snakes?" Maybe it was because I was tired, but I couldn't get too worked up over it. "Cool."
The weary, slightly apprehensive expression on Harry's face vanished into surprise. "You're not mad?"
"Harry, I raise zombies for a living. Think about that. I raise the dead. You think a little thing like talking to snakes is going to squick me?"
Harry stared at me for a moment, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "It's just everything is so different here!" he exclaimed. "Back home, no one wants to know I can talk to snakes. It's usually the mark of very dark wizards."
I smiled wryly. "Hey, folks said the same thing about raising the dead. But neither one of us is particularly evil, I'd say."
"Can you talk to real snakes, too?" Jason asked into the ensuing silence.
Harry shoved his glasses back on. "Yes, I can."
"What about weresnakes?"
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his lips as the door opened again, and someone new came in. Or, rather, slithered in.
I moved behind Jean-Claude so his body would shield me as I drew my gun, just in case. Melanie was not my favourite person, in any way, and I didn't trust her as far as I could spit. Maybe it was some caveman part of me, but I liked her even less when she was in her full-blown lamia form.
"Melanie, what can I do for you?" Jean-Claude asked, stepping out in front of us all to meet her.
The lamia smiled creepily and flicked her forked tongue in the air. "I came to taste the little boy," she said, her voice more hissy than usual.
"That will not happen." Jean-Claude's voice blew around us, cold and powerful. Jason ducked his head, and even Harry began to shiver. "He is under Anita's protection, and she is mine."
Melanie made an expression that I think might have been a pout. It was hard to tell with the fangs. She hissed something, and Harry perked up, as if he understood her. He shook his head, and hissed right back.
Okay, now that I heard it, it sounded downright creepy. From the look on Richard's face, he thought the same thing.
Harry stopped talking and paled, so quickly that Jason had to put a hand on his elbow to stop him from falling over. "Harry, what's wrong?" Richard asked.
Harry pulled himself out of Jason's grasp. "She said that I'm not the only Parseltounge she's heard in the past week," he said shakily. He looked at me, his green eyes hollow and skirting on the edge of terror. "She's heard another."
"Would that have anything to do with Nigel Spencer, our dead guy?" I asked.
"Maybe." Harry licked his lips and swallowed. "The only other Parselmouth I know is Voldemort."