"What do you want to guarantee Irving's safety?" I asked.
Marcus looked at me, face careful, neutral. "You promise to aid us, and let Alfred frisk you. He is my bodyguard. You must let him do his job."
"I can't promise to help you without knowing what it is."
"Then we have no bargain."
"Anita, I can take it, whatever they dish out. I can take it. I've done it before."
"You asked for my protection from Richard, just call it a package deal," I said.
"You asked her for her protection?" Raina stepped away from him, surprise plain on her pretty face.
"Just against Richard," Irving said.
"It's clever," Raina said, "but it does have certain implications."
"She's not a pack member. It only works on Richard because they're dating," Irving said. He looked a little worried.
"What implications?" I asked.
Marcus answered, "To ask pack members for their protection is to acknowledge they are of higher rank without having to fight them. If they give their protection, then you have agreed to help them fight their battles. If they are challenged you are honor bound to aid them."
I glanced at Irving. He looked ill. "She's not one of us. You can't hold her to the law."
"What law?" I asked.
"Pack law," Marcus said.
"I forfeit her protection," Irving said.
"Too late," Raina said.
"You place us in a quandary, Ms. Blake. A pack member has acknowledged you as higher rank than he is. Acknowledged you as dominant. By our laws we must accept that as binding."
"I can't be a pack member," I said.
"No, but you can be dominant."
I knew what the word meant in the real world. Marcus was using it as if it meant more. "What does it mean to be dominant?"
"It means you can stand as Irving's protector against all comers."
"No," Irving said. He brushed past Raina and stood in front of Marcus. He stood tall and stared him in the eye. It was not a submissive display.
"I won't let you use me like this. It's what you intended all along. You knew I'd ask her protection from Richard. You counted on it, didn't you, you smug bastard."
A low growl trickled out from between Marcus's perfect white teeth. "I would watch my tongue if I were you, youngling."
"If it offends you, I will cut it out." Alfred's first words were not comforting.
This was getting out of hand. "Irving is under my protection, Alfred. If I understand the law. You have to go through me to hurt Irving, is that right?"
Alfred turned cold, dark eyes to me. He nodded.
"If you kill me, then I can't help Marcus."
This seemed to puzzle the big fella. Great, confusion to my enemies.
Marcus smiled. "You have found a flaw in my logic, Ms. Blake. If you truly intend to protect Irving, to the letter of the law, then you would indeed die. No mere human could withstand one of us. Even the lowliest would kill you."
I let that comment go. Why argue when I was winning anyway?
"Since you cannot accept challenges, and you won't let us harm Irving, he is safe."
"Great, now what?"
"Irving can go, and he will not be harmed. You stay and hear our plea. You may decide to aid us or not, Irving will not suffer for your choice."
"That's mighty generous of you."
"Yes, Ms. Blake, it is." There was a look in his eyes that was very serious.
Raina might play sadistic games. Alfred might hurt you in an eager rush. But Marcus, it was just business. He was a mob boss with fur.
"Leave us, Irving."
"I won't leave her."
Marcus turned on him with a snarl. "My patience is not endless!"
Irving dropped to his knees, head bowed, spine bent low. It was a submissive display. I grabbed Irving's arm, and lifted him to his feet. "Get up, Irving. The nice werewolf isn't going to hurt you."
"And why is that, Ms. Blake?"
"Because Irving's under my protection. If Alfred can't fight me, then you sure as hell can't."
Marcus threw back his head, and gave a sharp, barking laugh. "You are clever, and brave. Traits we admire." The laughter died from his face, lingering in his eyes like a pleasant dream. "Do not challenge me too openly, Ms. Blake. It wouldn't be healthy."
The last of the laughter died out of his eyes. I was left staring into human eyes, but there was no one home to talk to. It looked like a human being, talked like a human being, but it wasn't one.
I dug my fingers into Irving's parka-clad shoulder. "Go on, Irving. Get out of here."
He touched my arm. "I would never leave you in a tough spot."
"I'm safe tonight, you're not. Now go, please, Irving."
I watched the struggle on his face. But finally after another dirty look from Marcus, he left. The door closed and I was alone with three werewolves. Down from four. The night was looking up.
"Alfred must search you now."
So much for the night looking up. "Then do it," I said. I just stood there. I didn't put my arms out. I didn't lean against the wall. I wasn't going to help him, not unless he asked.
He took the Browning, then patted down my arms, legs, even the small of my back. He didn't pat down the front center of my body. Maybe he was being a gentleman, or maybe he was just careless. Whatever, he missed the Firestar. I had eight silver bullets and they didn't know it. The night was looking up.
11
Marcus took a seat on the platform. Alfred stood just behind him like a good bodyguard. "Join us, Ms. Blake. It may be a long meeting to stand through."
I didn't want to sit with Alfred at my back, so I moved to the last chair. The empty chair between us looked unsociable, but I was out of Alfred's reach. Safety before good manners.
Raina sat on Marcus's right, hand on his knee. Marcus sat in the same manner he did everything--rigid. Posture that would have made my Aunt Mattie proud. But he didn't move Raina's hand. In fact, he laid his hand over hers. Love? Solidarity? They didn't strike me as a really compatible couple.
A woman came through the door. Short blond hair styled and held in place with gel. Her business skirt suit was red with pinkish undertones, like a rose petal. Her white blouse had one of those blousy ties that made the suit seem feminine, and a little silly.
"Christine, it's good of you to come," Marcus said.
The woman nodded, and took the seat at the end of the horseshoe of tables, nearest the stage. "What choice did I have? What choice did you give any of us?" she asked.
"We must have a united front on this, Christine."
"As long as you're in charge, right?"
Marcus started to say more but the crowd was growing. People drifted through the door in ones, twos, threes. He let the argument go. They could argue later, and I was betting they would. The woman's complaint sounded like an old one.
I recognized one person. Rafael the Rat King. He was tall, dark, and handsome with short-cut black hair, strong Mexican features, and an arrogant expression. He would have looked as stern as Marcus except for his lips. They were soft and sensuous, and ruined some of the effect.
Rafael nodded at me. I nodded back. He had two wererats with him, in human form. I didn't recognize either of them.
There were about a dozen people sitting along the tables when Marcus stood and walked to the podium. "My friends, I have asked you here tonight to meet Anita Blake. The vampires call her the Executioner. I believe she can help us."
"What can a vampire hunter do for us?" This from a tall man who sat alone, chairs on either side acting as walls. He had short white hair, cut in a strange Mia Farrow sixties cut, but gentler. He wore a white dress shirt, pale pink tie, white sport jacket, and cream-colored pants. He looked like the Good Humor man with money. But he had a point.
"We don't need a human to help us." This from a man who sat with one other. He had hair cut just above his collar, so curly it looked like fur, or maybe... Naw. He had thick eyebrows over dark eyes, with heavy, sensual features. The Rat King's lips may have seemed kissable, but this man seemed made for nefarious deeds done in dark places.
His clothing matched his face. The boots that he had propped on the table were of soft, velvety leather. His pants were of shiny black leather. The shirt he was almost wearing was a muscle tank top that left most of his upper body bare. His right arm was covered from elbow to fingers in leather straps. The knuckles had spikes coming out of them. The hair on his chest was as curly and dark as the hair on his head. A black duster coat was thrown across the table beside him.