Jason drove. Caleb had the backseat to himself. No one spoke. I don't think anyone knew what to say. I wanted Jean-Claude awake. I wanted to tell him what Belle had done. I wanted him to tell me there was a way to keep her from doing anything else, short of giving me the fourth mark. The fourth mark would make me ageless and immortal as long as Jean-Claude didn't die. Theoretically, he could live forever, and with the fourth mark, so could I. So why had I refused it so far? One, it scared me. I wasn't sure as a Christian how I felt about living forever. I mean, what happened to heaven, and God, and the judgment thing? Theologically, what would it mean? On a more mundane level, how much closer would it bind me to Jean-Claude? He could already invade my dreams, what would it mean if I took that last step? Or was refusing the fourth mark just another way to not give myself completely to anyone? Maybe. But if the only way to keep Belle from taking me was to let Jean-Claude have me, I knew which choice I was making. I wondered, if I called my priest now, could he get back to me on the theological implications of the fourth mark before full dark tonight? Father Mike had answered questions equally as weird for me over the years.
"Anita," Jason said, and his voice held a note of anxiety.
I glanced at him and realized he'd probably been trying to get my attention for a while. "Sorry, thinking too hard."
"I think we're being followed."
That raised my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"When I nearly caused the four-car pileup so I could touch you, I caught a glimpse of a car in the rearview. It was close, like tailgating close. It was one of the cars that nearly hit us when I slammed on the brakes."
"So, we're in heavy traffic, a lot of people tailgate."
"Yeah, but everyone else that was close to us when I stopped got away from us as fast as they could. This car is still behind us."
I glanced in the side mirror, and saw a dark blue Jeep. "Are you sure it's the same car?"
"I didn't get a number, but it's the same make, same color, and there are two men in it, one dark-haired, one blond with glasses."
I studied the Jeep that seemed to be following our Jeep. Two men, one dark, one light; it could have been a coincidence. Of course, maybe it wasn't.
"Let's go on the theory that it is following us," I said.
"What?" Jason said, "I lose them?"
"No," I said, "cut across traffic and take the first exit as long as it doesn't take us to the Circus. I don't want to lead them to Jean-Claude."
"Almost every monster in St. Louis knows that the Master of the City's lair is under the Circus of the Damned," Jason said, but he changed lanes, moving us a little closer to the exit row.
"But the guys behind us don't know that that's where we're headed."
He shrugged and moved over two more lanes, setting up for the exit. The blue Jeep waited until we were actually exiting with two cars between us before it crossed over. If we hadn't been watching for it, or there had been a taller car between our Jeep and theirs, I wouldn't have seen them exit. But I was, and there wasn't, and I did.
"Shit," I said, but I was feeling warmer. Nothing like action to ground and center a person.
"Who are these guys?" Jason asked out loud what I was wondering.
Caleb glanced behind. "Why would someone be following us?"
"Reporters?" Jason made the word a question.
"I don't think so," I said. I'd lost sight of everything but the top of the Jeep floating above the car roofs behind us.
"Which way do I turn?" He'd come to the bottom of the exit ramp.
I shook my head. "I don't know, dealer's choice." Who were they? Why follow us? Usually when people start following me I know that I'm into something. Today, I had no clue. Neither of the current cases that I was helping RPIT with should have had people following me. I wished they were reporters, but the situation didn't have that feel to it.
Jason turned right. One car turned left, one turned right, and the Jeep pulled in behind it. There were little flags on the street signs, Italian flags with the words, "The Hill," on them. People on The Hill always let you know you were there and they loved their Italian heritage. Even the fire hydrants were painted green, red, and white like the flags.
Nathaniel raised his head off my thigh enough to say, "Is it Belle?"
"What?" I asked, vision still glued to the side mirror.
"Are they daytime help for Belle?" he asked in his quiet voice.
I thought about that. I'd never run into a vamp that had more than one human servant, but I'd run into several that had more than one Renfield. Renfield is what most American vamps called humans that served them not through mystical connections, but because they acted as blood donors and wanted to be vampires themselves. Back when I hunted vampires and didn't sleep with them, I'd called all humans associated with vamps human servants, now I knew better.