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“I don’t need you to protect me,” he said.

“Listen to her,” Irving said. “She told me to stay away from the Master. I said I could handle myself. I was wrong, real wrong.”

Larry crossed his arms over his chest, a stubborn set to his bloodstained cheeks. “I can take care of myself.”

“Irving, Richard, I want a promise on this. The less he knows, the safer he’ll be.”

They both nodded.

“Doesn’t anyone care what I think?” Larry asked.

“No,” I said.

“Dammit, I’m not a child.”

“You two can fight later,” Irving said. “The Master’s waiting.”

Larry started to say something; I raised my hand. “Lesson number one; never keep a nervous master vampire waiting.”

Larry opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. “Okay, we’ll argue later.”

I wasn’t looking forward to later, but arguing with Larry over whether I was being overprotective beat the hell out of what lay beyond the door. I knew that. Larry didn’t, but he was about to learn, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.

35

THE CEILING STRETCHED UPWARD into the darkness. Huge drapes of silky material fell in white and black, forming cloth walls. Minimalist chairs in black and silver formed a small conversation group. A glass and dark wood coffee table took up the center of the room. A black vase with a bouquet of white lilies was the only decoration. The room looked half-finished, as if it needed paintings hung on the walls. But how do you hang paintings on cloth walls? I was sure Jean-Claude would figure it out eventually.

I knew the rest of the room was a huge cavernous warehouse made of stone, but the only thing left of that was the high ceiling. There was even black carpeting on the floor, soft and cushioned.

Jean-Claude sat in one of the black chairs. He was slumped in the chair, ankles crossed, hands clasped across his stomach. His white shirt was plain, just a simple dress shirt except for the fact that the front sides were sheer. The line of buttons, cuffs, and collar was solid, but the chest was laid bare through a film of gauze. His cross-shaped burn was brown and clear against the pale skin.

Marguerite sat at his feet, head laid on his knee like an obedient dog. Her blond hair and pale pink pants suit seemed out of place in the black-and-white room.

“You’ve redecorated,” I said.

“A few comforts,” Jean-Claude said.

“I’m ready to meet the Master of the City,” I said.

His eyes widened, a question forming on his face.

“I don’t want my new coworker to meet the Master. It seems to be dangerous information right now.”

Jean-Claude never moved. He just stared at me, one hand absently rubbing Marguerite’s hair. Where was Yasmeen? In a coffin somewhere, tucked safely away from the coming dawn.

“I will take you alone to meet . . . the Master,” he said at last. His voice was neutral, but I could detect a hint of laughter underneath the words. It wasn’t the first time Jean-Claude had found me funny, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

He stood in one graceful movement, leaving Marguerite kneeling beside the empty chair. She looked displeased. I smiled at her, and she glared at me. Baiting Marguerite was childish, but it made me feel better. Everyone needs a hobby.

Jean-Claude swept the curtains aside to show darkness. I realized then that there was discreet electric light in the room, indirect lighting set in the walls themselves. There was nothing but the flicker of torches beyond the curtains. It was like that one piece of cloth held back the modern world with all its comforts. Beyond lay stone and fire and secrets best whispered in the dark.

“Anita?” Larry called after me. He looked uncertain, maybe even scared. But I was taking the most dangerous thing in the room with me. He’d be safe with Irving and Richard. I didn’t think Marguerite was a danger without Yasmeen to hold her leash.

“Stay here, Larry, please. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Be careful,” he said.

I smiled. “Always.”

He grinned. “Yeah, sure.”

Jean-Claude motioned me through and I went, following the