The Killing Dance - Laurell K. Hamilton [120]
Richard came closer. He didn’t touch either of us. He just stared from one to the other. “Is he hurting you, Anita?”
“No,” I said.
“Then should you be pointing a gun at him?”
“He shouldn’t be touching me,” I said.
Richard’s voice was very mild. “He just finished touching you a lot more than this, Anita.”
“Why are you helping him?”
“He helped me. Besides, if you kill him over something small and stupid, you’ll never forgive yourself.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. Some of the tension eased with the breath. I lowered the Uzi.
Jean-Claude released my arm.
I pointed the Firestar at the floor and looked at Richard. There was something in his eyes, even the wolf’s amber eyes, that was all too human. Pain. He knew how much Jean-Claude meant to me. It was there in his eyes. That one comment said that he understood my relationship with the vampire, maybe better than I did.
I wanted to apologize to him, but I wasn’t sure he’d understand what it was for. I wasn’t even sure I could explain it. If you love someone, truly love them, you should never cause them pain. Never fill their eyes with something so close to grief.
“I’m sorry I got mad at you earlier. You want what’s best for the pack, I know that.”
“You still think I’m a fool to want a bloodless coup,” he said.
I stood on tiptoe and kissed him gently. “Not a fool, just naive, terribly naive.”
“Very touching, ma petite. And I do appreciate your interference on my behalf, Richard, but these are my people. I promised them certain freedoms when they joined me. I ask again. Can you put them back as they were?”
I turned to Jean-Claude, one hand still balancing against Richard’s chest. “I don’t know.”
“Then you had better find out, ma petite.”
It sounded too much like a threat for my taste, but . . . there was a figure behind Liv the bouncer that I couldn’t take my eyes off of. I walked towards the waiting vampires. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My stomach clenched into a hard lump, my chest was tight. I finally said it: “Willie McCoy, come to me.”
Willie walked out from behind the tall blond vampire. He was wearing the same chartreuse suit he’d had on at Danse Macabre. His brown eyes seemed to see me, but they were empty of that spark that was Willie. He wasn’t home. It was like watching a puppet moving, and I was the puppet master. I tasted something bitter at the back of my throat. My eyes were hot and tight. I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up or cry first.
I stopped him about two feet from me. Close enough that I couldn’t pretend or wish it away. I swallowed hard, and tears hot enough to scald ran down my face. “I didn’t want to know this,” I whispered.
Jean-Claude came to stand beside me. “Willie,” he said, his voice vibrated through the room. Willie’s body thrummed to the sound like a tuning fork struck. “Willie, look at me.”
The blank, familiar face turned slowly towards his master. Something flickered through the eyes for a moment; something moved that I had no name for.
“This has possibilities,” Jean-Claude said.
“Willie,” I said, “look at me.” My voice wasn’t nearly as impressive as the vampire’s, but Willie turned to me.
“No,” Jean-Claude said, “look at me, Willie.”
Willie hesitated.
“Willie,” I said, “come to me.” I held out a hand and he took a step towards me.
Jean-Claude said, “Stop, Willie, do not go to her.”
Willie hesitated, almost turning to Jean-Claude.
I concentrated on that curl of power inside of me, that thing that allowed me to raise the dead and let it wash over me, flow out of me. I called Willie’s body to me and nothing Jean-Claude could do would get him to turn away from me.
Richard said, “Stop it, both of you. He isn’t a doll.”
“He isn’t alive, either,” I said.
“He deserves better