Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [1039]
“I would not have left your side for any business, my star. If you would but love me as I love you, nothing would be more important to me than you.”
I called, “Graham!” It wasn’t a yell but it was close to one. Was I afraid? A little. Maybe I could use necromancy to knock the Harlequin out of Requiem, but last time I tried I nearly got myself killed. I’d like to heal from one attack before I got hurt again—selfish, but there you go.
The door opened, but it wasn’t Graham. It wasn’t even Edward. It was Dolph, Lieutenant Rudolph Storr, head of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team, and paranoid hater of all things monster. Shit.
35
REQUIEM DIDN’T EVEN turn around. He just said, “Leave us.” But he said it in that “voice,” that power-ridden voice that some vamps have. That voice that was supposed to bespell and bemuse.
I saw the flare of Dolph’s cross around his neck. It made a halo around Requiem’s body. I could see Dolph over Requiem’s head, because he had eight inches on the six-foot-tall vampire. I didn’t like the look on Dolph’s face.
“He’s my friend, Dolph, but the bad guys have him bespelled.” My voice held more fear now than it had when I’d called for Graham. The look on Dolph’s face made me afraid.
“One vampire can’t bespell another,” Dolph said. I saw his arms move, and knew before he moved around the vampire’s body that he’d drawn his gun. He moved so that if he had to shoot, he wouldn’t risk me. His cross stayed at a steady white light, not too bright—after all, the vampire who was being bad wasn’t actually in the room.
“These vampires can, I swear to you, Dolph. Requiem is being controlled by one of the bad guys.”
“Is that what is happening to me?” Requiem asked, and he looked confused.
“He’s a vampire, Anita; he is a bad guy.”
“They’re brainwashing you, Requiem,” I said, and reached out to him.
“Don’t touch him,” Dolph said, his gun up and pointed.
Requiem’s hand closed over mine; his skin was cool to the touch, as if he hadn’t fed. But he had fed; I’d felt his power. “If you shoot him now, like this, it’s murder, Dolph. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” I drew a breath of my own power, my necromancy, and tried to “look” at Requiem, gently. If I had a repeat of being thrown across the room by metaphysics, I was afraid Dolph would blame Requiem and shoot him.
“You’re the one who taught me that if my cross glows, they’re fucking with me.”
“They are fucking with you, and with Requiem. They’re messing with you both.”
“I’m still wearing a cross, Anita; my mind is my own. You taught me that, too. Or did you forget everything about monster hunting when you started fucking them?”
I was too scared to be insulted. “Listen to yourself, Dolph, please. They are messing with your thoughts.” I traced my power over Requiem, as delicate a brush of power as I’d ever attempted. I felt the power, and I knew the taste of it. It was Mercia. If we all survived, I’d ask Edward how he managed to miss her. But it was like chasing a ghost; her power withdrew before me. She just gave him up and left. Maybe she didn’t want to risk another metaphysical knockout.
Requiem swayed, grabbing the rail, and my hand, to keep from falling.
“Get away from her, now,” Dolph said.
“The bad vamp is gone, Dolph,” I said.
Requiem said, “Give me but a moment and I will do as you ask, officer. I am unwell.” He kept his face averted from the cross that was still glowing soft and steady. It wasn’t glowing because of Requiem.
Edward came slowly through the door. Olaf loomed behind him. “Hey, Lieutenant, what’s going on?”
“This vamp is trying to mind-fuck me.” Dolph’s voice was low and even, with a thread of anger to it like a fuse waiting to be lit. He was holding a two-handed shooting stance; the gun looked strangely small in his hands.
“Anita,” Edward called.
“Requiem is fine now. The bad vamps were messing with him, but it’s over.”
“Lieutenant Storr, we don’t have a warrant of execution