Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [649]
He turned to me, a look on his face that was far too intimate, too teasing for the conversation. He leaned into me, mouth pressed so close to my ear that it must have looked to the others like he had his tongue down it. “No plan, just thought you being you might scare the monsters from talking to us.”
It was my turn to whisper, “No plan, you promise?”
“Would I lie to you?”
I jerked back from him and slugged him in the shoulder, not hard, but he got my point. Would Edward lie to me? Would the sun rise tomorrow? Yes to both.
The actors that had taken our places were finally on stage, in robes. The priest in his feathers was introducing them, getting the applause they deserved. I was glad they ruined the effect and didn’t leave poor Ramona convinced she’d done terrible things. I was actually surprised that they’d spoiled the trick, like a magician revealing his secrets.
“We’ll allow you to eat before the next and last act of our show.”
The lights came up, and we all turned to our meals. I’d thought the meat was beef, but when I put the first bite in my mouth the texture told me I was wrong. The waitress had brought me an extra napkin, and I used that to spit the bite into.
“What’s wrong?” Bernardo asked. He was eating the meat and enjoying himself.
“I don’t eat . . . veal,” I said. I took a forkful of an unrecognizable vegetable, then realized it was sweet potatoes. I didn’t recognize the spices in them. Of course, cooking wasn’t exactly my area of expertise.
Everyone was eating the meat except me, and strangely, Edward. He’d taken a bite, but then he concentrated on the flat bread, and the vegetables, too.
“You don’t eat veal either, Ted?” Olaf asked. He put another bite in his mouth and chewed slowly, as if trying to draw every ounce of flavor.
“No,” Edward said.
“I know it’s not moral indignation about the poor little calves,” I said.
“And you worry about the poor little calves?” Edward said. He gave me a long look as he asked. I couldn’t read his eyes, but they weren’t blank, I just couldn’t read them. What else was new?
“I don’t approve of the treatment of the animals, no, but truthfully I just don’t like the texture.”
Dallas was watching us all as if we were doing something a lot more interesting than discussing meat. “You don’t like the texture of . . . veal?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”
Olaf had turned to the other woman. He took his latest bite of meat and offered it to her on the end of his fork. “You like veal?”
She got a strange little smile on her face. “I eat veal here almost every night.” She didn’t take his bite that he offered but took another bite from her own fork.
I felt like I was missing something, but before I could ask, the lights went down again. The final act was about to begin. If I was still hungry, surely there’d be something open on the way home. There usually was.
24
THE LIGHTS WENT DOWN until the room was left in darkness. A dim spotlight cut the darkness. The light was only a faint white gleam when it finally stopped at the far, far end of the darkened room.
A figure stepped into that pale gleam. A crown of brilliant red and yellow feathers was bent towards the light. A cloak of smaller feathers covered the figure from neck to the edge of the light. The crown raised, revealing a pale face. It was César. He turned his face to one side, giving profile and showing that he had earrings going from lobe to halfway up the edge of his ear. Gold glittered as he moved his head, and the light grew stronger. He lifted something in his hands and a note of music filled the near dark. A thin trilling note like a flute, but not. The song was beautiful, but eerie, as if something lovely were crying. A jaguar man lifted off the feathered cloak and vanished into the darkness. A heavy gold collar lay across his shoulders and chest. If it were real, it was a fortune in precious metal. Hands came from either side of the darkness, appearing in the light,