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The look on Richard’s face was so raw I had to look away. “That’s enough, Jean-Claude,” I said, “that’s enough.”

Jean-Claude looked amused. “As you like, ma petite.”

Richard looked down at me again. I met his eyes. Maybe there was something in my face that was too raw to look at, too. He turned abruptly and left the room.

“Go freshen your tasty lipstick, then we must leave.” Jean-Claude’s voice held regret, the way it sometimes held joy, or sex.

I took his hand, raising it gently to my mouth. “Are you still frightened of them, even after all the good publicity? Surely if they were planning to kill us, they wouldn’t have appeared on camera with you.” I touched his leg, running my fingers over the cloth, feeling his thigh underneath. “The Traveler shook hands with the mayor of St. Louis, for heaven’s sake.”

He touched my face, cradling my cheek in his hand. “The council has never before tried to be, what you would call, mainstream. It is their first foray into a very new arena. But they have been the stuff of nightmares for thousands of years, ma petite. One day of human politics does not make them into something else.”

“But…”

He touched fingers to my lips. “It is a good sign, ma petite. That I will agree to, but you do not know them as I do. You have not seen them at their worst.”

My mind flashed on Rafael’s raw, bloody body; Sylvie sagging in the chains, voice small and broken; the sight of Fernando using Vivian. “I’ve seen them do some pretty awful things since they hit town,” I said. “You set up the rules, Jean-Claude. They can’t maim us, or rape us, or kill us. What’s left?”

He kissed me lightly on the lips, and stood, offering me his hand. I took it, let him pull me to my feet. He was wearing his amused mask, the one that once upon a time I’d thought was his normal face. Now I knew it meant he was hiding things. He looked like that a lot when he was scared and didn’t want people to know.

“You’re scaring me,” I said softly.

He smiled. “No, ma petite, they will do that for me, for us all.” With that comforting shot, he went off to round up the others. I went for my purse and the tasty lipstick. The council had laid down some conditions of their own. No weapons tonight. Which was why I was dressed like I was; one glance was enough to know I wasn’t carrying anything. Jean-Claude thought this would keep them from having an excuse to pat me down. When I asked what the big deal was, all he would say was, “You don’t want to give them a reason to touch you, ma petite. Trust me on this.”

I did trust him. I didn’t want any of the council touching me, ever. It was going to be a long night.

49

WHAT HAD ONCE been Jean-Claude’s living room and Nikolaos’s throne room before that, had been turned into a banquet room. They’d found a table that was over ten feet long. What you could see of the table was heavy clawed feet with lions’ mouths carved in bold relief. A tablecloth covered the table, so thick with gold embroidery that it shimmered under the lights. If they had meant for us to actually eat off it, I’d have been worried we’d trash it, but there was no food. There were no chairs. There were no plates. There were white linen napkins with gold rings, crystal wineglasses, and one of those industrial-size warmers with blue gas flames under its gleaming surface. There was a man hanging by his wrists, feet dangling helplessly over the gleaming table. He was hanging directly over the empty warming pan. His name was Ernie. His muscular upper body was bare. A gag cut across his face, trapping part of his long ponytail. His hair was shaved to nothing on either side of his face. The council hadn’t done it as torture. He’d done it to himself. He was one of Jean-Claude’s newest hangers-on, a human who wanted to be a vampire and was serving his apprenticeship acting as a sort of maid and errand boy. Now, apparently, he was the appetizer.

Richard, Jean-Claude, and I stood with Jamil, Damian, Jason, and surprisingly, Rafael, at our backs. The Rat King had insisted