Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Collection 6-10 Read online

  Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 6-10

  The Killing Dance

  Burnt Offerings

  Blue Moon

  Obsidian Butterfly

  Narcissus in Chains

  Laurell K. Hamilton

  Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter novels by Laurell K. Hamilton

  GUILTY PLEASURES

  THE LAUGHING CORPSE

  CIRCUS OF THE DAMNED

  THE LUNATIC CAFE

  BLOODY BONES

  THE KILLING DANCE

  BURNT OFFERINGS

  BLUE MOON

  OBSIDIAN BUTTERFLY

  NARCISSUS IN CHAINS

  CERULEAN SINS

  INCUBUS DREAMS

  MICAH

  DANSE MACABRE

  THE HARLEQUIN

  BLOOD NOIR

  SKIN TRADE

  FLIRT

  BULLET

  HIT LIST

  STRANGE CANDY

  Table of Contents

  The Killing Dance

  Burnt Offerings

  Blue Moon

  Obsidian Butterfly

  Narcissus in Chains

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE KILLING DANCE

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1997 by Laurell K. Hamilton

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  For information address:

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://us.penguingroup.com

  ISBN: 1-101-14630-3

  A ACE BOOK®

  Ace Books first published by The Ace Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  Ace and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

  First edition (electronic): August 2001

  TO PATY COCKRUM,

  FAN, FRIEND, FINE ARTIST.

  YOU SHOULD SEE THE PICTURES

  SHE SENDS ME OF JEAN-CLAUDE.

  SHE REALLY IS

  THE VOICE OF TEMPTATION.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Ricia Mainhardt, my agent, who came up with the title.

  Marion Stensgard who answered my questions.

  The Wild Canid Survival and Research Center (Wolf Sanctuary) for letting me use their library.

  Bonnee Pierson, who helped with a very different kind of research.

  The Alternate Historians: Rett Macpherson who went above and beyond the call of duty for research, N. L. Drew who heard parts of this book over the phone, Tom Drennan, whose book is finally ready to make the rounds, Mark Sumner who says everything will be all right, even when he doesn’t know, Marella Sands who reminded me we’re supposed to be having fun, and Deborah Millitello who holds my hand.

  My husband, Gary, who always tells me the truth whether I want to hear it or not.

  Sarah Sumner for bitching sessions.

  Joan-Marie Knappenberger who let me use her house.

  The Saint Louis Bread Company for letting me take up a table for hours at a time.

  The newsletter everyone’s been asking about is here. Here’s the address: Laurell K. Hamilton Fan Club, P.O. Box 190306, St. Louis, MO 63119. Find out where I’ll be. Find out what Anita and the gang are doing. Questions answered, mysteries solved.

  Table of Contents

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  46

  1

  * * *

  THE most beautiful corpse I’d ever seen was sitting behind my desk. Jean-Claude’s white shirt gleamed in the light from the desk lamp. A froth of lace spilled down the front, peeking from inside his black velvet jacket. I stood behind him, my back to the wall, arms crossed over my stomach, which put my right hand comfortably close to the Browning Hi-Power in its shoulder holster. I wasn’t about to draw on Jean-Claude. It was the other vampire I was worried about.

  The desk lamp was the only light in the room. The vampire had requested the overheads be turned out. His name was Sabin, and he stood against the far wall, huddling in the dark. He was covered head to foot in a black, hooded cape. He looked like something out of an old Vincent Price movie. I’d never seen a real vampire dress like that.

  The last member of our happy little group was Dominic Dumare. He sat in one of the client chairs. He was tall, thin, but not weak. His hands were large and strong, big enough to palm my face. He was dressed in a three-piece black suit, like a chauffeur except for the diamond stickpin in his tie. A beard and thin mustache lined the strong bones of his face.

  When he’d entered my office, I’d felt him like a psychic wind tripping down my spine. I’d only encountered two other people who had that taste to them. One had been the most powerful voodoo priestess I’d ever met. The second had been the second most powerful voodoo priest I’d ever met. The woman was dead. The man worked for Animators, Inc., just like I did. But Dominic Dumare wasn’t here to apply for a job.

  “Ms. Blake, please be seated,” Dumare said. “Sabin finds it most offensive to sit when a lady is standing.”

  I glanced behind him at Sabin. “I’ll sit down if he sits down,” I said.

  Dumare looked at Jean-Claude. He gave a gentle, condescending smile. “Do you have such poor control over your human servant?”

  I didn’t have to see Jean-Claude’s smile to know it was there. “Oh, you are on your own with ma petite. She is my human servant, so declared before the council, but she answers to no one.”

  “You seem proud of that,” Sabin said. His voice was British and very upper crust.

  “She is the Executioner and has more vampire kills than any other human. She is a necromancer of such power that you have traveled halfway around the world to consult her. She is my human servant without a mark to hold her to me. She dates me without the aid of vampire glamor. Why should I not be pleased?”

  Listening to him talk you’d have thought it was all his own idea. Fact was, he’d tried his best to mark me, and I’d managed to escape. We were dating because he’d blackmailed me. Date him or he’d kill my other boyfriend. Jean-Claude had managed to make it all work to his advantage. Why was I not surprised?

  “Until her death you cannot mark any other human,” Sabin said. “You
have cut yourself off from a great deal of power.”

  “I am aware of what I have done,” Jean-Claude said.

  Sabin laughed, and it was chokingly bitter. “We all do strange things for love.”

  I would have given a lot to see Jean-Claude’s face at that moment. All I could see was his long black hair spilling over his jacket, black on black. His shoulders stiffened, hands sliding across the blotter on my desk. Then he went very still. That awful waiting stillness that only the old vampires have, as if, if they held still long enough, they would simply disappear.

  “Is that what has brought you here, Sabin? Love?” Jean-Claude’s voice was neutral, empty.

  Sabin’s laughter rode the air like broken glass. It felt like the very sound of it hurt something deep inside me. I didn’t like it.

  “Enough games,” I said, “let’s get it done.”

  “Is she always this impatient?” Dumare asked.

  “Yes,” Jean-Claude said.

  Dumare smiled, bright and empty as a lightbulb. “Did Jean-Claude tell you why we wished to see you?”

  “He said Sabin caught some sort of disease from trying to go cold turkey.”

  The vampire across the room laughed again, flinging it like a weapon across the room. “Cold turkey, very good, Ms. Blake, very good.”

  The laughter ate over me like small cutting blades. I’d never experienced anything like that from just a voice. In a fight, it would have been distracting. Heck, it was distracting now. I felt liquid slide down my forehead. I raised my left hand to it. My fingers came away smeared with blood. I drew the Browning and stepped away from the wall. I aimed it at the black figure across the room. “He does that again, and I’ll shoot him.”

  Jean-Claude rose slowly from the chair. His power flowed over me like a cool wind, raising goose bumps on my arms. He raised one pale hand, gone nearly translucent with power. Blood flowed down that gleaming skin.

  Dumare stayed in his chair, but he, too, was bleeding from a cut nearly identical to mine. Dumare wiped the blood away, still smiling. “The gun will not be necessary,” he said.

  “You have abused my hospitality,” Jean-Claude said. His voice filled the room with hissing echoes.

  “There is nothing I can say to apologize,” Sabin said. “But I did not mean to do it. I am using so much of my power just to maintain myself that I do not have the control I once did.”

  I moved slowly away from the wall, gun still pointed. I wanted to see Jean-Claude’s face. I needed to see how badly he was hurt. I eased around the desk until I could see him from the corner of my eye. His face was untouched, flawless and gleaming like mother of pearl.

  He raised his hand, one thin line of blood still trailing down. “This is no accident.”

  “Come into the light, my friend,” Dumare said. “You must let them see, or they will not understand.”

  “I do not want to be seen.”

  “You are very close to using up all my good will,” Jean-Claude said.

  “Mine, too,” I added. I was hoping I could either shoot Sabin or put the gun down soon. Even a two-handed shooting stance is not meant to be maintained indefinitely. Your hands start to waver just a bit.

  Sabin glided towards the desk. The black cloak spilled around his feet like a pool of darkness. All vampires were graceful, but this was ridiculous. I realized he wasn’t walking at all. He was levitating inside that dark cloak.

  His power flowed over my skin like icy water. My hands were suddenly steady once more. Nothing like having several hundred years worth of vampire coming at you to sharpen your nerves.

  Sabin stopped on the far side of the desk. He was expending power just to move, just to be here, as if like a shark, if he stopped moving he’d die.

  Jean-Claude glided around me. His power danced over my body, raising the hair at the back of my neck, making my skin tight. He stopped almost within reach of the other vampire. “What has happened to you, Sabin?”

  Sabin stood on the edge of the light. The lamp should have cast some light into the hood of his cloak, but it didn’t. The inside of the hood was as smooth and black and empty as a cave. His voice came out of that nothingness. It made me jump.

  “Love, Jean-Claude, love happened to me. My beloved grew a conscience. She said it was wrong to feed upon people. We were once people, after all. For love of her, I tried to drink cold blood. I tried animal blood. But it was not enough to sustain me.”

  I stared into that darkness. I kept pointing the gun, but I was beginning to feel silly. Sabin didn’t seem at all afraid of it, which was unnerving. Maybe he didn’t care. That was also unnerving. “She talked you into going vegetarian. Great,” I said. “You seem powerful enough.”

  He laughed, and with the laughter, the shadows in his hood faded slowly, like a curtain lifting. He threw it back in one quick flourish.

  I didn’t scream, but I gasped and took a step back. I couldn’t help myself. When I realized I’d done it, I stopped and made myself take back that step, meet his eyes. No flinching.

  His hair was thick and straight and golden, falling like a shining curtain to his shoulders. But his skin . . . his skin had rotted away on half his face. It was like late-stage leprosy, but worse. The flesh was puss-filled, gangrenous, and should have stunk to high heaven. The other half of his face was still beautiful. The kind of face that medieval painters had borrowed for cherubim, a golden perfection. One crystalline blue eye rolled in its rotting socket as if in danger of spilling out onto his cheek. The other eye was secure and watched my face.

  “You can put up the gun, ma petite. It was an accident, after all,” Jean-Claude said.

  I lowered the Browning, but didn’t put it up. It took more effort than was pretty to say calmly, “This happened because you stopped feeding off of humans?”

  “We believe so,” Dumare said.

  I tore my gaze away from Sabin’s ravaged face and looked back at Dominic. “You think I can help cure him of this?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice.

  “I heard of your reputation in Europe.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “No modesty, Ms. Blake. Among those of us who notice such things, you are gaining a certain notoriety.”

  Notoriety, not fame. Hmmm.

  “Put the gun away, ma petite. Sabin has done all the—what is your word—grandstanding he will do tonight. Haven’t you Sabin?”

  “I fear so, it all seems to go so badly now.”

  I holstered the gun and shook my head. “I honestly don’t have the faintest idea how to help you.”

  “If you knew how, would you help me?” Sabin asked.

  I looked at him and nodded. “Yes.”

  “Even though I am a vampire and you are a vampire executioner.”

  “Have you done anything in this country that you need killing for?”

  Sabin laughed. The rotting skin stretched, and a ligament popped with a wet snap. I had to look away. “Not yet, Ms. Blake, not yet.” His face sobered quickly; the humor abruptly faded. “You school your face to show nothing, Jean-Claude, but I read the horror in your eyes.”

  Jean-Claude’s skin had gone back to its usual milky perfection. His face was still lovely, perfect, but at least he’d stopped glowing. His midnight blue eyes were just eyes now. He was still beautiful, but it was a nearly human beauty. “Is it not worth a little horror?” he asked.

  Sabin smiled, and I wished he hadn’t. The muscles on the rotted side didn’t work, and his mouth hung crooked. I glanced away, then made myself look back. If he could be trapped inside that face, I could look at it.

  “Then you will help me?”

  “I would aid you if I could, but it is Anita you have come to ask. She must give her own answer.”

  “Well, Ms. Blake?”

  “I don’t know how to help you,” I repeated.

  “Do you understand how dire my circumstances are, Ms. Blake? The true horror of it, do you grasp it?”

  “The rot probably won
’t kill you, but it’s progressive, I take it?”

  “Oh, yes, it’s progressive, virulently so.”

  “I would help you if I could, Sabin, but what can I do that Dumare can’t? He’s a necromancer, maybe as powerful as I am, maybe more. Why do you need me?”

  “I realize, Ms. Blake, that you don’t have something specifically for Sabin’s problem,” Dumare said. “As far as I can discover, he is the only vampire to ever suffer such a fate, but I thought if we came to another necromancer as powerful as myself—” he smiled modestly “—or nearly as powerful as myself, perhaps together we could work up a spell to help him.”

  “A spell?” I glanced at Jean-Claude.

  He gave that wonderful Gallic shrug that meant everything and nothing. “I know little of necromancy, ma petite. You would know if such a spell were possible more than I.”

  “It is not only your ability as a necromancer that has brought us to you,” Dumare said. “You have also acted as a focus for at least two different animators, I believe that is the American word for what you do.”

  I nodded. “The word’s right, but where did you hear I could act as a focus?”

  “Come, Ms. Blake, the ability to combine another animator’s powers with your own and thus magnify both powers is a rare talent.”

  “Can you act as a focus?” I asked.

  He tried to look humble but actually looked pleased with himself. “I must confess, yes, I can act as a focus. Think of what the two of us could accomplish together.”

  “We could raise a hell of a lot of zombies, but that won’t cure Sabin.”

  “True enough.” Dumare leaned forward in his chair. His lean, handsome face flushed, eager, a true convert looking for disciples.