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“I’ve got two clients stuck in cemeteries,” I said.

He gave me the look that was half-pout and half-he-knew-he’d-already-won-the-argument. “You promised.”

“Can’t we just fuck at home later?” I asked.

He gave me a frown. “I’ll be furry, you don’t do furry.”

I had an idea, an awful idea. “I promised to mark your neck tonight. Oh, no, you so are not planning on me doing it in front of an audience?”

He smiled, and there was something in that smile that I hadn’t seen before. Some hint of confidence, of security that hadn’t been there before. He’d watched me have sex with two near strangers, and suddenly he felt more secure. Go figure.

“You little exhibitionist, you,” I said, “you like the idea of me marking you for the first time in front of all these people.”

He gave an aw-gee-shucks shrug, which was all act, because his eyes were bright with the answer. “I like a lot of things, Anita.”

I tried to frown at him, but couldn’t keep it up. “You got me to promise I’d mark you, and now you’re taking advantage of it.”

“You’re running late,” he said, “clients waiting in the cemetery.” He looked solemn except for the glint of humor in his eyes, which spoiled the effect.

I shook my head, smiling. “I’ve got to go.”

“I know,” he said.

“Would it ruin the illusion if I kissed you good-bye?”

“I’ll risk it,” he said.

I kissed him. It was chaste, a touch of lips, a little pressure, barely any body language. I drew back with a suspcious look on my face. It made him laugh and push me toward the door. “You’re late, remember.”

I went, but I went out into the October dark even more certain that I knew absolutely nothing about men. Alright, to be fair, that I knew absolutely nothing about the men in my life. I glanced back to see Jean-Claude on stage with another woman, kissing her as if he were trying to find her tonsils without his hands. Most people looked disturbing or awkward when they kissed that deep. He didn’t. He made it all seem sauve, erotic, and perfect. I realized I’d kissed Nathaniel good-bye, but not Jean-Claude. Didn’t want to interrupt, but didn’t want him to feel left out, either. I blew him a kiss as his arms emptied of the woman. He returned the gesture with one pale hand. The lower half of his face was smeared bright crimson with lipstick. It didn’t really look like blood, not if you’d seen enough of the real deal, but it was still a less than comforting image to take away into the night. One of the other men in my life was smiling at the door, looking forward to having me do foreplay on him in front of an audience. Sometimes the parts of my life that are weirdest to me aren’t the parts dealing with vampires and werewolves and zombies. Even vampire politics didn’t confuse me as much as my own love life.

39

WE WERE ON Gravois, trapped between an endless line of storefronts that had seen better days. The entire area was doing that slow slide into not being a good area to be in after dark. It wasn’t quite a danger zone, but if nothing saved it, in a couple of years it would be. The Bevo Mill restaurant, an honest-to-God windmill, loomed like a ship in a sea of lesser buildings and harder times. The Bevo Mill still served great German food. The slowly turning windmill was just ahead, and suddenly we were driving under the stone overpass blocks past the mill. I didn’t remember passing any of it. That wasn’t good. I was missing things, like my attention was going in and out. Not good at all, since I was driving. Graham squeaked a second time, you know, that sharp intake of breath that comes out when you’re trying to swallow the sound.

I glanced at him. “What? What is your problem?”

“You’ve almost hit two cars,” he said in a strangled voice.

“No I haven’t.”

“Yes,” Requiem said from the back, “yes you have.”

There was a white car in front of me, like magic, it just appeared. I slammed on the brakes, and Graham squeaked again. My pulse was thudding in my throat. I hadn’t seen that car. I signaled that I was turning