Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, Book 14. Danse Macabre(109)

I held the scissors out to Jean-Claude. He took them and laid them on the bedside table. «I think perhaps we can take off the tape, if you will help me, ma petite?»

I had to move Requiem's cloak where he'd draped it on the end of the bed. The bed was tall enough that I had to make certain I was sitting far enough back from the edge so I wouldn't slide off. Silk coverlet, silk robe, makes for slippery. I took Requiem's hand in mine. The bandages wrapped around his hand, and up nearly to the elbow. «You didn't get this from her hitting you,» I said.

«She had a blade,» he said, and again, his voice was clipped and to the point.

I looked up at him, and even the uninjured half of his face showed me nothing. He was lovely and empty like Jean-Claude was sometimes. Like looking at a painting of some handsome prince come back from battle. Even as I cradled his arm in my hands, he was as distant and remote as if he'd been hanging on a museum wall.

Jean-Claude was already peeling tape from around Requiem's chest. I bent over his arm and worked on the tape there, holding his hand in mine while I started unwinding the gauze. His hand was crisscrossed with shallow and not-so-shallow slashes. I raised his hand as gently as I could, so I could keep unwrapping. The bandages fell away and I made a sound; I couldn't help it. I put my hand at his hand and elbow, and lifted, gently. His forearm was a mass of slashing wounds. Two of them needed stitches.

I looked at his face, and he met my eyes, and for an instant there was a flash of anger in those eyes; then it went back to being empty.

«These are defensive wounds. You held your arm up in front of your face, because that's what she was going for.»

«Not entirely, ma petite.» Jean-Claude's voice drew me back to him, and Requiem's now bare chest. I let out a hiss of breath, because he was right. His pale, muscular chest didn't have as many wounds as his arm, but the ones he did have were deeper.

I traced the one under the sternum. It was deep, and I could see the mark of the blade in his flesh. I looked up at him, and it must have shown on my face.

«So shocked, Anita, why?»

«She was trying for your heart. She was really trying to kill you.»

«I told you that last night, ma petite.»

«I know you said she was trying to kill him, but…«I traced my fingers just above another wound that went between his ribs. The stab wounds were well placed. She'd tried to hack his face, and the marks on the arm showed that she just wanted damage, but the wounds on his chest and stomach, they were kills. «She knew just where to place the blade.» My respect for Meng Die went up, and so did my fear. «And she did all this where the customers could see?»

«Not all of it,» Requiem said, «but much of it, yes.»

I looked at Jean-Claude. «And no one called the cops?»

He had the grace to look away, not embarrassed, but… «What did you do?» I asked.

«Mass hypnosis is not illegal, ma petite, only personal hypnotism.»

«You bespelled the crowd,» I said.

«I, and Asher.»

I laid my hand above the wound that looked like it had come closest to his heart. I had a bad thought. «You said she attacked Asher. Is he this hurt?»

«No.»

«I think she knew that you and Jean-Claude would kill her if she slew Asher. I think she believed I was of less value to you.» Again his voice was empty, but the very emptiness of it made me look at him.

«That sounded bitter,» I said.

He looked away from me, a small smile on his face. «I meant it to sound like nothing.»

«I've listened to a lot of empty vampire voices, and there's flavor even to the emptiness.»

«I was a fool to tell her in a public place, but she pressed me, asked me, and I told the truth.» He looked at me then, and I had to fight to meet his gaze, not because of vampire powers, but because the bruises looked painful, and I knew somehow, weirdly, they were my fault.

«Did you really tell Meng Die that you dumped her because you thought I'd turned you down because of her?»

«Not in those words, but yes.»

I sighed, and shook my head. «Oh, Requiem. I mean I didn't think she'd take it this badly» — I motioned at some of his injuries — «but her pride wouldn't let her take it lying down.»

«Pride,» he nodded, then stopped in midmotion as if it had hurt. «She has much pride, and I seem to have none.» He looked at me, and emotion filled his eyes, his face, and the emotion was too strong for me to keep looking into his face.

«Don't,» I whispered.

He slid to the ground, went to his knees. He made a small involuntary sound. It must have hurt. He took my hand, and I let him, because pulling away seemed petty. «What must I do to be in your bed, Anita? Tell me, and I will do it.»