Лорел Гамильтон - Guilty Pleasures

“To get the rest of our guns.” To find Jean-Claude. I didn't say that part out loud. I didn't think Edward would understand.

Two of the ratmen went with me. That was fine. They could come as long as they didn't interfere. Phillip was still huddled in, the corner. I left him there.

I did get the guns. I strung the machine gun over my shoulders and kept the shotgun in my hands. Loaded for bear. I had killed a one-thousand-year-old vampire. Naw, not me. Surely not.

The ratmen and I found the punishment room. There were six coffins in it. Each had a blessed cross on its lid and silver chains to hold the lid down. The third coffin held Willie, so deeply asleep that he seemed like he would never wake. I left him like that, to wake with the night. To go on about his business. Willie wasn't a bad person. And for a vampire he was excellent.

All the other coffins were empty, only the last one still unopened … I undid the chains and laid the cross on the ground. Jean-Claude stared up at me. His eyes were midnight fire, his smile gentle. I flashed on the first dream and the coffin filled with blood, him reaching for me. I stepped back, and he rose from the coffin.

The ratmen stepped back, hissing.

“It's all right,” I said. “He's sort of on our side.”

He stepped from the coffin like he'd had a good nap. He smiled and extended a hand. “I knew you would do it, ma petite.”

“You arrogant son of a bitch.” I smashed the shotgun butt into his stomach. He doubled over just enough. I hit him in the jaw. He rocked back. “Get out of my mind!”

He rubbed his face and came away with blood. “The marks are permanent, Anita. I cannot take them back.”

I gripped the shotgun until my hands ached. Blood began to trickle down my arm from the wound. I thought about it. For one moment, I considered blowing his perfect face away. I didn't do it. I would probably regret it later.

“Can you stay out of my dreams, at least?” I asked.

“That, I can do. I am sorry, ma petite.”

“Stop calling me that.”

He shrugged. His black hair had nearly crimson highlights in the torchlight. Breathtaking. “Stop playing with my mind, Jean-Claude.”

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked.

“I know that the otherworldly beauty is a trick. So stop it.”

“I am not doing it,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“When you have the answer, Anita, come back to me, and we will talk.”

I was too tired for riddles. “Who do you think you are? Using people like this.”

“I am the new master of the city,” he said. He was suddenly next to me, fingers touching my cheek. “And you put me upon the throne.”

I jerked away from him. “You stay away from me for a while, Jean-Claude, or I swear …”

“You'll kill me?” he said. He was smiling, laughing at me.

I didn't shoot him. And some people say I have no sense of humor.

I found a room with a dirt floor and several shallow graves. Phillip let me lead him to the room. It was only when we stood staring down at the fresh-turned earth that he turned to me. “Anita?”

“Hush,” I said.

“Anita, what's happening?”

He was beginning to remember. He would become more alive in a few hours, up to a point. It would almost be the real Phillip for a day, or two.

“Anita?” His voice was high and uncertain. A little boy afraid of the dark. He grabbed my arm, and his hand felt very real. His eyes were still that perfect brown. “What's going on?”

I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. His skin was warm. “You need to rest, Phillip. You're tired.”

He nodded. “Tired,” he said.

I led him to the soft dirt. He lay down on it, then sat up, eyes wild, grabbing for me. “Aubrey! He …”

“Aubrey's dead. He can't hurt you anymore.”

“Dead?” He stared down the length of his body as if just seeing it. “Aubrey killed me.”

I nodded. “Yes, Phillip.”

“I'm scared.”

I held him, rubbing his back in smooth, useless circles. His arms hugged me like he would never let go.

“Anita!”

“Hush, hush. It's all right. It's all right.”

“You're going to put me back, aren't you?” He drew back so he could see my face.

“Yes,” I said.

“I don't want to die.”

“You're already dead.”

He stared down at his hands, flexing them. “Dead?” he whispered. “Dead?” He lay down on the fresh-turned earth. “Put me back,” he said.

And I did.

At the end his eyes closed and his face went slack, dead. He sank into the grave and was gone.

I dropped to my knees beside Phillip's grave, and wept.

Edward had a dislocated shoulder and two broken bones in his arm, plus one vampire bite. I had fourteen stitches. We both healed. Phillip's body was moved to a local cemetery. Every time I work in it, I have to go by and say hello. Even though I know Phillip is dead and doesn't care. Graves are for the living, not the dead. It gives us something to concentrate on instead of the fact that our loved one is rotting under the ground. The dead don't care about pretty flowers and carved marble statues.

Jean-Claude sent me a dozen pure white, long-stemmed roses. The card read, “If you have answered the question truthfully, come dancing with me.”

I wrote “No” on the back of the card and slipped it under the door at Guilty Pleasures, during daylight hours. I had been attracted to Jean-Claude. Maybe I still was. So what? He thought it changed things. It didn't. All I had to do was visit Phillip's grave to know that. Oh, hell, I didn't even have to go that far. I know who and what I am. I am The Executioner, and I don't date vampires. I kill them.