"And you kill them, just like that?"
I nodded. "Exactly," I said.
"I don't think I could kill anyone."
"Then hide."
He did that chin-rubbing nod thing again, like he was scent marking his own knees. "I can hide, I know how to do that."
I touched his face very gently. He flinched, then relaxed a little. All the animals liked to be touched. "I'm not very good at hiding, maybe you can teach me."
"Why would you need to know how to hide?" he asked.
"Because there's always someone, or something, bigger and badder than you are."
"I can teach you how to hide, but I don't know if I can learn how to kill."
Where had I heard that before? Oh, I knew--Richard. But even he had learned how, in the end. "You'd be surprised what you can learn, Gil, if you have to."
He hugged himself again. "I don't think I want to learn how to kill people."
"Now that," I said, "is a different problem altogether."
"I don't want to," he said.
I stared down at him. "Then don't, but don't let your squeamishness get any of my people killed."
"It's more likely to kill me."
"True, but that's your choice--get yourself killed if you want, but don't bring harm to me or mine because of some moral high ground."
"Would you really kill me for it?"
I knelt back in front of him. "You can stay with me and I'll keep you safe, or die trying, but if you f**k up and cause the death of one of my leopards, or my friends, I will kill you. I don't want you to be crying later and saying you didn't understand. Because if you've earned it, I will shoot you while you beg me not to."
"But who decides whether I deserve it?" he asked.
"I do."
He stared up at me as if he weren't sure if he was safer with me or without me. I watched him think it through and felt nothing, no pity. Because Gil the werefox was a liability. In a combat situation he was a f**king casualty waiting to happen. I was civilized enough to give him protection when he asked, but not civilized enough to pay in the blood of those I held dear. In that moment I knew I wasn't a sociopath, because if I had been, I'd have kicked his ass out the door. Oh, hell, I'd have shot him and put him out of everyone's misery. Instead I offered him a hand, and pulled him to his feet.
"Do you understand the rules?" I asked.
"I understand," he whispered.
"You willing to live by them?"
He gave one small nod.
"You willing to die by them?"
He took a shaky breath, then gave another nod.
I smiled and knew it never reached my eyes. "Then welcome to the club, and keep your head down. There's some business we have to take care of tonight. You can come along." Even I wasn't sure if that was an invitation or a threat.
Chapter 47
THERE WAS STILL a thread of light in the sky, like a slender golden ribbon, glowing against the push of dark, dark clouds when we parked in the back of the Circus of the Damned. The back parking lot was for employees. It was dark, bare, not the least bit entertaining, unlike the front, which was like a carnival. I'd driven past the bright lights and dramatic posters without a second glance.
"Did the clowns up front have fangs?" Caleb asked.
It wasn't until he asked that that I realized that none of them had ever been to the Circus. I undid my seat belt and leaned around so I could see him in the middle section of seats. He was sitting pressed against the door with Merle's broad shoulders crowding him. Nathaniel was on the other side of Merle. Cherry and Zane were in the back seats with Gil. Micah was sitting up front with me. Until we knew my house wasn't a free-fire zone we'd keep everybody together. Rafael had sent two new bodyguards over, but they'd arrived just as we were leaving, and I wouldn't make anyone in the Jeep move. They followed us, not happy, but taking orders, which was good.
I answered Caleb's question. "Yeah, the big spinning clowns on top of the sign have fangs."
"I saw a poster for zombie raisings. Do you do that?" Merle asked.
I shook my head. "I don't believe in using God-given gifts for entertainment purposes."
"I didn't mean to insult you," he said.
I shrugged. "Sorry, I'm a little touchy about shit like that. I don't approve of a lot of things some of my fellow animators do for money."
"You raise the dead for money," Caleb said.
I nodded. "Yeah, but I've turned down more money than I've taken."
"Turned down, why?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Local money who wanted to have his Halloween party in a cemetery so I could raise zombies at midnight. Or the guy that had offered a million if I could raise Marilyn Monroe and guarantee that she'd do anything he asked for a night." I shuddered. "I told that one if I even heard a rumor that he'd gotten someone to do the job, I'd see his ass in prison."
Caleb's eyes were a little wide. I think I'd shocked him. Good to know that I could. "You're deeply moral," Merle said, a tone in his voice like he was surprised.
"My own version of it, yeah."
"You hold to your own rules no matter what?" Merle made it a question.
I nodded. "Most of the time."
"What will make you break your own moral code?"
"Harm to my people, survival, the usual."
Merle's eyes flicked to Micah, sitting beside me. It was a small movement. If I hadn't been looking directly at him, I'd have missed it.
"What?" I asked, glancing from one to the other.
Merle answered, "You sound like Micah."
"You make that sound like a bad thing," I said.
He shook his head. "Not a bad thing, Anita, not a bad thing at all, just unexpected."
"You still don't sound entirely happy about it," I said.
"Merle worries too much," Micah said.
I glanced at him, but he was watching the big man. Micah had tied his hair back while it was still wet, so that it lay flat to his head, utterly straight until it spilled out into the long ponytail, where the curls spilled like froth along his spine. His hair lay like brown velvet against the charcoal gray of his shirt.
"What does Merle worry about?" I asked.
"Taking care of me, mostly, and now, I think, you."
I looked at the big man. "Is that what you're worrying about?"
"Something like that," Merle said. He'd put a clean white T-shirt underneath his jean jacket, but other than that, he was wearing an identical outfit to the first one I'd ever seen him in. If he'd been wearing more leather, he'd have looked like an aging biker.
Micah turned towards me. His shirt made that rich, slithery sound that silk makes against leather seats. The dark gray shirt was short-sleeved, button-up, dressy. The color brought out the gold-green of his eyes, made his skin look even darker. He'd matched the shirt with black jeans, black belt, silver buckle, soft black tie-up shoes. It occurred to me for the first time that he looked like he'd dressed for a date. Had he dressed to impress me or Jean-Claude? It was a semiformal occasion for any alpha to meet the Master of the City. But especially one that was f**king the Master's human servant. I just wasn't sure how to handle the whole situation. Jean-Claude had taken Micah in stride in theory, but how would he react to seeing him in the flesh? How would Micah react to seeing Jean-Claude?
Damn it, I had enough to worry about without having to juggle male egos.
"You're frowning again," Micah said.
I shook my head. "It's nothing. Let's get this over with."
"Why do you sound less than thrilled?"
I had my door open and turned back around to say, "We're here to rescue Damian. I don't know what shape he's going to be in. Why would I be thrilled?"
"I know you're worried about your friend, but are you sure that that's really what's bothering you?"
I frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm nervous about meeting the Master of the City, too."
It was almost like he'd read my mind. We didn't know each other well enough for him to really read me, but ... he was either telepathic, which I didn't believe, or he could read me that well. I wasn't sure which thought bothered me more.
I let out a breath and half slumped in the seat. "Yeah, I'm a little nervous about introducing you to Jean-Claude. He was cool about you in the abstract, even knowing that we've been together, but seeing you in the flesh ..." I tried to think how to word it. "I don't know how he'll feel about that."