Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [157]
Gideon was pretty close to naked. A white thong was all he wore on his body. It barely covered him. A heavy gold collar encrusted with small diamonds and huge emeralds covered almost his entire neck. His carefully combed golden hair fanned over it. A chain led from the collar to Thomas’s hands.
Padma put his hand out, and Thomas gave the chain to him. Neither Thomas nor Gideon exchanged so much as a glance. They’d seen the show before.
The only thing that kept me from making some scathing remark was that I’d pretty much given my word to let Jean-Claude do the talking tonight. He thought I might say something to piss someone off. Who, me?
Jean-Claude walked around the table. Richard and I fell two steps back, mirroring Padma and his pets. The symbolism wasn’t lost on anyone. Thing was, Richard and I were pretending. I didn’t think the others were.
“I suppose you mean to slit his throat into the warmer, then serve his blood to all?” Jean-Claude said.
Padma smiled and gave a gracious nod of his head.
Jean-Claude laughed that wonderfully touchable laugh of his. “If you really meant to do that, Master of Beasts, you’d have hung him by his ankles.”
Richard and I did exchange glances behind his back. I turned and looked at Ernie’s peacefully hanging figure. How had Jean-Claude known you’d have to hang him by his ankles? Ask a silly question.
“Are you saying we are bluffing?” Padma asked.
“No,” Jean-Claude said, “merely grandstanding.”
Padma smiled, and it almost reached his eyes. “You always did play the game well.”
Jean-Claude gave a small bow, never taking his eyes from the other vampire. “I am honored that you think well of me, Master of Beasts.”
Padma gave a sharp laugh. “A honeyed tongue, Master of the City.” The humor died abruptly, gone, poof. His face was suddenly harsh, empty, except for anger. “But the point remains you have been a poor host. I have fed through my servants.” He slid a dark hand caressingly down Gideon’s bare shoulder. The weretiger never reacted. It was as if Padma were not there. Or maybe as if he, Gideon, were not there.
“But there are others who are not so blessed as I. They hunger, Jean-Claude. They stand in your territory as your guests and know hunger.”
“The Traveler was feeding them,” Jean-Claude said. “I thought he was feeding you as well.”
“I do not need his cast-off energy,” Padma said. “He was sustaining the others until that one”—he pointed at me with his free hand—“told him to stop.”
I started to say something, almost asked permission, and thought, screw it. “Asked him to stop,” I said. “No one tells the Traveler what to do.” There, that was so diplomatic, my teeth hurt.
His laughter entered the room ahead of him. The Traveler’s new body was young, male, handsome, and so newly dead he still had a good tan. Balthasar came at his side, hands sliding over the other man’s body possessively. A new toy to explore. I’d been told that Malcolm was loaning the Traveler a church member. I wondered if Malcolm really knew what the Traveler and Balthasar were doing with the body.
I would have said they were both wearing togas, but that wasn’t quite it. The Traveler wore a rich purple cloth pinned at one shoulder with a ruby-and-gold brooch. His left shoulder was bare, showing the smooth tanned skin to good advantage. The garment was gathered at the waist with two woven red cords. It fell nearly to his ankles, giving glimpses of sandals tied around his ankles.
Balthasar wore red with an amethyst-and-silver brooch at one shoulder. His bare shoulder showed just enough chest to prove he was muscular, as if there’d been any doubt. The red garment was bound at the waist with purple cords.
“You guys look like the Bobbsey Twins,” I said.
Jean-Claude cleared his throat.
I stopped talking, but if everyone had such nifty clothes, I wasn’t sure I could stop myself from making remarks. I mean, it was just too easy.
The Traveler threw his head back and laughed. It was a joyous laugh with an edge underneath like the hissing of snakes. He turned brown eyes to