Skin Trade(143)

I thought I was going to get a machine, but after seven rings a woman answered. “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded cautious.

“This is U.S. Marshal Anita Blake. I’m investigating the murder of one of your coven members, Randall Sherman.”

“And all the others who died with him,” she said, voice still soft.

“Yes,” I said, “but I thought you might be able to help us with some questions.”

“I know little about vampires and shapeshifters.”

“It’s more a question of magic, and what Randall Sherman would have done in a given situation.”

“That is a different question from the ones the other police have asked me.”

“Let me guess: they thought you might be involved just because you’re Wiccan.”

“Some of them are fine men, but some do not trust a witch.”

“I’m getting a lot of that myself,” I said, “and I’ve got a badge.”

That made her laugh, just a little.

Edward got my attention, and motioned that I needed to know what I was ordering. I held up a finger.

“Do you know how to get here?”

“We’ve got the address.”

“Then come, and we will talk about magic and Randall Sherman.”

“Thank you, Phoebe Billings.”

“You are welcome, Anita Blake.” There was something to the way she said it that had a ring to it, almost of power.

I hung up before I could worry about it. One problem at a time. Edward handed the food around. Bernardo had gotten over his issues enough to get French fries and a fish sandwich, no sauce. I guess he didn’t want the whole dripping thing after the murder scene.

I ate my sandwich, with its drippy sauce, and wasn’t fazed. Once upon a time, I couldn’t have eaten a messy sandwich after a scene like that. But that had been a while ago. Either you get over it, or you don’t. I guess I’d gotten over it.

“You remember the address for the priestess?” I asked.

Edward just glanced at me, and the look was enough. Of course he remembered the address. And he’d been to the city before, and he was Edward, which meant he remembered his way around. He ate his very messy sandwich, one-handed, while he drove. He made it look neat, easy, while I fought not to dribble sauce down my vest with two hands and a bunch of napkins. The Coke was good, though, and it didn’t drip on me.

My cell phone rang. I actually jumped, spilling just a little Coke. So much for being calm. I fumbled the drink into the cup holder, and the phone out of my pocket.

“Yeah.”

“Anita, this is Wicked; we’re on the ground in Vegas. Where are you?”

I tried picturing him on the other end of the phone. He’d be dressed in something designer and well fitted and very modern. His blond hair cut long, but neat. He was one of those utterly masculine men who also managed to be pretty, though handsome would probably have made him happier.

“Other than Truth, who else is with you?” I didn’t ask if Truth was with Wicked. They had been the Wicked Truth for centuries. Two brothers, two mercenaries, two vampires, who were some of the best warriors I’d ever seen; but more impressive, they were some of the best warriors that Jean-Claude knew of in all of vampire land. Now they were our muscle, but they weren’t food. I had crossed that line only once to save Truth’s life, but other than that, I didn’t touch them.

“Requiem, London, Graham, Haven, a few other werelions, and some werehyenas.”

“Are the lions and hyenas muscle or food?” I asked.

“Muscle.”

“Good,” I said.

“Fill me in.”

“Are you point man on this?”

“Jean-Claude put me in charge of the muscle.”

“How did Haven take that?”

“Eventually the lion’s Rex and I are going to have to have a talk, but not tonight.” Translation: Haven had wanted to be in charge, but he’d bowed to Jean-Claude’s authority, reluctantly.

“Wait, you said you’re in charge of the muscle. What else is there to be in charge of?”

“Well,” he said, “technically, I’m chief bodyguard on this operation, but Requiem is third in the power structure in St. Louis, so he’s the boss.”

“That makes sense, I guess.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about Requiem being in charge, or even in Vegas. He was a master vamp, but he was also moody as hell, and he and I weren’t getting along exceptionally well lately. I’d tried to take him off the feeding list, and now here he was in Vegas when I was far from home and my usual men.

“You’re thinking too hard, Anita,” Wicked said. “Why aren’t you happy that Requiem is here?”