Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [454]
“Have you been trying to learn to control the munin?” Jamil asked.
“Just to get rid of it, them, whatever.”
Jamil moved closer to me, studying my face as if looking for something. “If you were lukoi, I’d tell you, you can’t just turn the munin off. If you have the power to call them, then you must learn to control them, not just shut them out. Because you can’t shut them out. They’ll seek a way into you, through you.”
“How do you know so much?” I asked.
“I knew a werewolf who could call the munin. She hated it. She tried to shut them out. It didn’t work.”
“Just because it didn’t work for your friend doesn’t mean I can’t do it.” I could feel his breath warm against my face. “Back off, Jamil.”
He scooted back, but he was still closer than I wanted him to be. He sat back in the leaves. “She went crazy, Anita. The pack had to execute her.” His eyes went past me into the darkness. I turned to see what he was looking at. Two figures stood in the darkness. One was a woman with long, pale hair and a long, white dress like something out of a 1950s horror movie. If you were playing the victim. But she stood very straight, very certain, as if she were anchored to the ground like a tree. There was something almost frightfully confident about her.
The man with her was tall, slender, and tanned dark enough that he looked brown in the dark. His hair was short and a paler brown than his skin. If the woman seemed calm, he seemed nervous. He gave off energy in a roiling bath that breathed along my skin and made the night seem hotter.
“Are you well?” the woman asked.
“She shared the munin with two of us,” Jamil said.
“By accident, I take it,” the woman said. She sounded faintly amused.
I was not amused. I got to my feet, a little unsteady, but standing. “Who are you?”
“My name is Marianne. I am the vargamor for this clan.”
I remembered Verne and Colin talking about a varga-something last night. “Verne mentioned you last night. Colin said he’d left you at home to keep you safe.”
“A good witch is hard to find,” she said, smiling.
I looked at her. “You don’t feel Wiccan.”
Again, I knew she smiled at me. Her peaceful condescension grated on my nerves. “A psychic then, if you prefer the term.”
“I’d never heard the term vargamor before last night,” I said.
“It’s rare,” she said. “Most packs don’t have one anymore. Considered too old-fashioned.”
“You aren’t lukoi,” I said.
Her head cocked to one side, and the smile was gone, as if I’d finally done something worthwhile. “Are you so sure?”
I tried to get a sense of what had made me so sure she was human, or at least not lukoi. She had her own energy. She was psychic enough for me to notice. We’d have recognized each other without any introductions. We might not have known the exact flavor of each other’s abilities, but we’d have recognized a kindred or rival spirit. Whatever power moved her, it wasn’t lycanthropy.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re not lukoi,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“You don’t taste like a shapeshifter.”
She laughed then, and it was a rich, musical sound that managed to be wholesome and earthy all at the same time. “I like your choice of senses. Most humans would have said I didn’t feel right. Feel is such an imprecise word, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“This is Roland. He is my bodyguard for this night. We poor humans must be watched over for fear that some overzealous shapeshifter might lose control and harm us.”
“Somehow I don’t think you are that easy a prey, Marianne.”
She laughed again. “Why, thank you, child.”
Her calling me child made me add about ten years to her age. She didn’t look it. It was dark, but she still didn’t look it.
“Come, Anita. We will escort you to the lupanar.” She held out her hand to me like I was supposed to take it and be led like a child.
I looked to Jamil. I hoped somebody knew what was going on, because I was lost.
“It’s all right, Anita. The vargamor is