Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [89]
“Do they? Do they really, ma petite?” There was an edge of humor, but it held darker things.
“You aren’t dead, Jean-Claude. I’ve seen dead, and whatever you guys are when you’re up and running, dead isn’t it.”
“There was a time when you did not believe that. I believe you once called me a handsome corpse.”
“Look, I was young, and I didn’t know any better.”
“Are you certain at last, ma petite, that I am not just a ‘cute dead guy’?” Again he was quoting me.
“Yeah, I’m certain.”
He laughed then, that touchable, raise-goosebumps-all-over-your-body sound. “I am glad of that. Do you speak Italian, ma petite?”
“No, why?”
“Nothing,” he said, “I will see you tonight then, ma petite, you and your new friends.”
I started to say they weren’t new friends, but he’d already hung up. I realized as I hung up, I should have lied about speaking Italian, but hell, as good as I’d gotten at lying, my first reaction was still to tell the truth. I guess you can’t undo all your upbringing, no matter how hard you try.
24
WE SENT GREGORY in his kitty-cat fur down to watch Damian. Gregory was about the only one in the house not tied to me metaphysically. Well, okay, Fredo and Dr. Lillian, but Fredo wouldn’t leave her alone, and Dr. Lillian said she wasn’t finished with Richard’s arm. So process of elimination made it Gregory’s job.
He informed me as he glided toward the basement, with his spotted tail swishing behind a very human-looking backside, “I’m supposed to be on stage tonight at Guilty Pleasures. I can’t go on like this. Jean-Claude will need to find a sub.” He gave that kitty-cat grin of bared teeth and vanished around the corner.
“What does he mean, he’s supposed to be on stage?” Clair asked.
“He’s a stripper at Guilty Pleasures,” I said.
She made a little O with her mouth. I wasn’t sure why, unless her world was so protected that just being in the car with a stripper was a big deal. For her sanity’s sake, I hoped her world was bigger than that.
“But, I don’t understand, why can’t he”—she made a waffling motion with her hands—“perform tonight?”
Richard saved me the lecture. “Remember that once in animal form you have to stay that way for six to eight hours.”
“I thought that was just because I was new.”
Richard shook his head, winced as if it hurt, and said, “No, most shapeshifters spend their lives tied to a cycle of six to eight hours in animal form, then two to four hours of being passed out once they shift back to human form.”
“Sit down,” Dr. Lillian said, and her voice indicated she expected to be obeyed.
He eased himself into the same chair he’d vacated. There were lines at his eyes and mouth, those tight pain lines you get sometimes, if something really hurts. How much damage had Damian done to him?
Clair tried to help him into the chair but seemed unsure where to grab him, since he used his good arm on the table to brace himself. She sort of hovered uncertainly by him, as if she wanted to help but wasn’t quite sure how. “But you don’t have to stay in animal form for eight hours, and you don’t pass out when you shift back.”
“He is your Ulfric,” Fredo said, “no one’s king is that weak.” His voice was deeper than his chest was wide.
Clair gave him quick eye flicks, as if he made her nervous. Maybe it was the knives. “Do you pass out when you come back into human form?” she asked in a voice that matched the nervous eyes.
“No,” he said.
“I do,” Nathaniel said. He smiled at her. “Don’t ask the rest of them, they’ll all make you feel bad, because they don’t pass out either.”
“How long have you been . . .” Her voice trailed off.