"It's all so convenient," Edward said, with a happy lilt to his voice.
"What do you mean?" Richard asked.
"He means you are supposed to kill him tonight, Richard, so we don't have to," I said.
"I just can't believe that Marcus would do something so. ."
"Evil," I suggested.
He nodded.
"It would seem more Raina's sort of idea than Marcus's," Jean-Claude said.
"It's twisted enough for her," I said.
"Marcus could have said no," Richard said. He ran his hands through his hair, combing it back from his face. His handsome face was set in very stubborn lines. "This has got to stop. He'll do anything she asks, anything, and she's crazy."
My eyes flicked to Harley. I couldn't help it. He caught my look and smiled. I didn't know exactly what he was thinking, but it wasn't pleasant and it wasn't pretty. Having Harley as backup made me wonder if I was on the right side.
"Edward, can I talk to you a minute in private?" I didn't want to be this obvious, but Harley was bothering me that much.
I walked away from the others and Edward trailed behind. It was kind of nice to walk across the room, lower my voice, and know the person I was whispering about wouldn't hear me. Both Jean-Claude and Richard would.
Edward looked at me, and there was that same touch of amusement to him, as if he knew what I was going to say and thought it was a hoot.
"Why does he keep looking at me?"
"You mean Harley?"
"You know damn well who I mean," I said.
"He's only looking, Anita. No harm."
"But why me?"
"You're a girl maybe?"
"Stop it, Edward. Whatever he's thinking, it isn't sex, and if it is, I don't want to know the details."
Edward stared at me. "Ask him."
"What?"
"Ask him why he's staring at you."
"Just like that?"
He nodded. "Harley will probably get a kick out of it."
"Do I want to know?" I asked.
"I don't know. Do you?"
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're stringing me along here, Edward. What's the deal?"
"If something happens to me during the fighting, Harley needs at least one other person that he'll mind."
"Mind?"
"He's absolutely reliable, Anita. He'll stay at my back, never flinch, and kill anyone I tell him to, but he's not good without specific orders. And he doesn't take orders from just everybody."
"So you designated me?"
Edward shook his head. "I told him to pick someone in the room."
"Why me?"
"Ask him."
"Fine." I walked back towards the others, and Edward followed me. Harley watched us like he was seeing other things. It was too damned unnerving.
"Why are you staring at me?" I asked.
His voice was quiet, as if he never yelled. "You're the scariest motherfucker in the room."
"Now I know you can't see."
"I see what's there," he said.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
I tried to think of a better question and finally asked, "What do you see when you look at everybody in the room?"
"The same thing you see: monsters."
"Why do I think the monsters I see in the room aren't the same ones you see?"
He smiled, a bare upturning of lips. "They may look different, but they're still monsters. They're all monsters."
He was a card-carrying, rubber-room-renting psychotic. By the time most people got to the point where they weren't seeing reality, they were so far gone that there was no going back. Sometimes drug therapy helped, but without it, the world was a frightening, overwhelming place. Harley didn't look frightened or overwhelmed. He looked calm.
"When you look at Edward, he always looks the same to you. I mean you recognize him?"
Harley nodded.
"You'd recognize me," I said.
"If I make an effort to memorize you, yes."
"That's why you were staring."
"Yes," he said.
"What happens if Edward and I both go down?"
Harley smiled, but his eyes shifted to one side as if something low to the ground and rather small had run across the room. The movement was so natural that I looked. Nothing.
"Harley," I said.
He looked back at me, but his eyes were just a little higher up than my face should have been. "Yes," he said, his voice so quiet.
"What happens if Edward and I are both killed?"
Harley stared at me. His eyes shifted to my face for just a second, as if the fog had cleared. "That would be bad."
35
There would be no backing down for Marcus tonight. He had to die, one way or another. Richard wasn't arguing anymore. But there was still the chance that Raina would lead a revolt of the other lukoi. Their loyalty was divided enough for a war, even with Marcus dead. Jean-Claude came up with a solution. We'd put on a better show. A better show than Raina and Marcus? He had to be kidding. Richard agreed to let Jean-Claude costume him up for the night. As his lupa, that meant I had to get dressed up, too.
Jean-Claude took Richard off to dress him. He sent Cassandra with a white cardboard clothes box to me. She was supposed to help me change, she said.
I opened the box and all that was in it was a pile of black leather straps. I kid you not. I drew it out of the box and it didn't improve. "I don't know how to get into this, even if I was willing to."
"I'll get Stephen," Cassandra said.
"I don't want to undress in front of Stephen."
"He's a stripper," she said. "He dressed me last night at Danse Macabre, remember." She patted my hand. "He'll be a perfect gentleman."
I sat down on the bed and scowled at the door. I was not wearing this crap.
An hour later, Stephen and Cassandra were turning me in front of the bathroom mirrors so I could see myself. It had been embarrassing at first having a man help squeeze me into the thing, but Cassandra was right. Stephen was not only a perfect gentleman, he simply didn't seem to be moved at all by the fact that I was mostly naked. It was like having two girlfriends help me. One just happened not to be a girl.
The top was mostly a leather bra with lining for comfort. It was one of those that lifted and showed your cleavage to absolute best advantage. But it was tight and held in place. Nothing was falling out. My cross was visible, though. I taped it. I'd peel the tape when I left the Circus. Werewolves on the menu tonight, not vamps.
The bottom was sort of leather shorts, except that where the shorts stopped, straps took over. I wouldn't be caught dead or alive in something like this, not even to make a good show of things for Richard, except that there were extras.
Two leather sheaths covered my upper arms, complete with a knife apiece. The knives were high quality, high silver content. If the hilts were a little elaborate for my taste, the balance was good, and that's what counted. Two more sheaths covered my lower arms with two more knives, smaller, balanced more for throwing, though they both had hilts and weren't true throwing knives. The bulge under Harley's T-shirt had been throwing knives, the real McCoy, slender and innocent looking until you saw them used.
There was a leather belt around the top of the shorts that my Browning's shoulder holster fit on nicely. Edward had bought me a new Browning. It wasn't my very own gun, but it was still nice to have. Harley had fished a clip-on holster for the Firestar out of his duffel. The small clip-on rode to one side of my waist for a cross draw.