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“Lisandro raised a point before you came in, that if we’re going to endanger them, they have a right to know why.”

Jean-Claude looked at Lisandro. It was not a completely friendly look. “Did he?”

Lisandro gave him a flat look back. “I was talking about when Anita picks another animal to call, nothing about your orders, Jean-Claude.”

“All that concerns ma petite concerns me.” There was a dangerous purr to his voice.

Lisandro shifted a little and visibly let out a breath. “No offense, but don’t you want her to pick a stronger beast next time? Someone who will help your power base?”

Jean-Claude stared at him, and Lisandro fought to both look at the vampire and not look—a trick that I’d mastered over the years, but was glad I’d become powerful enough to give up. So hard to be tough when you can’t look someone in the eyes.

“Is my strength the concern of the rats?” Jean-Claude asked.

“Yes,” Lisandro said.

“How?” One word, flat and unfriendly.

“Your strength keeps us all safe. The wererats remember what St. Louis was like when Nikolaos was Master of the City.” Lisandro shook his head, face darkening. “She didn’t protect anyone or anything but the vampires. You think about the entire preternatural community, Jean-Claude.”

“I think you will find it is ma petite who thinks of such things.”

“She’s your human servant,” Lisandro said. “Her actions are your actions. Isn’t that what the vampires believe, that their human servants are just extensions of their masters?”

Jean-Claude blinked and moved farther into the room, collecting me by the hand as he moved. “A pretty conceit, but you know that ma petite is her own person.” His hand in mine felt solid, real, and the world was suddenly safer. Just the touch of his hand and I felt more myself.

“Whatever or whoever is messing with me is still here,” I said, “around the edges somehow, but still here.”

“What do you mean, ma petite?”

“When you touched me, I felt more solid. Your touch chased back a fuzziness I didn’t even know was there.”

He drew me in against his body, so that it was almost a hug. I caressed the butter softness of his leather lapels. “Is that more solid still?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Try touching skin to skin,” Requiem said.

He had stayed in the chair by the desk. We’d moved until we were close to him, not intentionally, at least not on my part.

I kept one hand in Jean-Claude’s, but the other I put against his bare chest. The moment I touched that much of his skin, it was good. “Even better,” I said. I traced my hand over the smooth, firm muscles of his chest. I traced the cross-shaped burn scar. Better still.

“Why did you want to speak to Byron and me, Jean-Claude?” Requiem looked up at us, his face fighting for blankness but failing around the edges. He reclined in the chair, body at ease, but his eyes gave him away: tight, careful.

“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?” I asked.

“Once,” he said, his voice more neutral than his eyes.

“When?” I asked.

He looked at Jean-Claude. “The wererat should leave.”

Jean-Claude nodded. “Go, for now, Lisandro. If we can tell you more, we will.”

Lisandro looked at me as he left, as if he thought I was the one most likely to tell him the truth later. He was right.

8

BYRON LOOKED AT all of us. His usual joking face was utterly serious. “Someone talk to us poor little peons, please.”

“Did you receive a gift?” Requiem asked.

“Oui.”

“What kind of gift?” Byron asked.

“A mask,” Jean-Claude said.

Byron paled; he’d fed tonight so he had enough color to do it. “No, no, fuck me, not here, not again.”

“What color was it?” Requiem said in a voice that had fallen away to emptiness, the way some of the old vampires could do.

“White,” Jean-Claude said.

Byron relaxed so suddenly he almost fell. Nathaniel offered him a hand that he took. “I’m all weak-kneed, duckies. Don’t scare me like that. White, we’re safe with white.”

Nathaniel helped him back to the couch, but didn’t stay by him. He moved back toward us.

“What color did your master in England get?” I asked.

“Red