Nathaniel cradled Sin against him, and the younger man still looked out of focus, as if he wasn't quite sure what happened. "Your Master of the City told you to go do something; go do it," Nathaniel said. He sounded as coldly angry as I'd ever heard him.
"Go," I said.
"Now," Jean-Claude said.
Asher started to say something, and then stopped himself. He nodded, and then turned and walked back into the underground toward his room, his clothes, his suitcases, and to do what he'd been told to do - it was about damn time.
Chapter Thirty
I SAT ON the edge of one of the examining tables in the infirmary area deeper in the underground. Doc Lillian's rubber gloves tasted like stale balloons as she fished around in my mouth. Her short gray hair was long enough to cover her ears now, but she was still the same smallish, thin, and terribly competent woman she'd been when I first met her. She'd thrown a white coat over her dress and hose. It was easier to trade the coats than to keep changing clothes. Lillian had a thriving medical practice in the human world, but that was because they didn't know she was a wererat. Humans didn't want to be treated by someone they were afraid would give them lycanthropy of any flavor, but rats had a double problem of not being "romantic" like werewolves, or wereleopards, et cetera... If you were going to be a shapeshifter, everyone wanted to be a big, sexy predator, not a scavenger.
"If you were human you'd need stitches," she said, as she took her fingers out of my mouth. She took the gloves off and tossed them into a large trash can that had biological hazard stickers all over it. Blood from almost anyone here was usually either shapeshifter, or vampire, and though you couldn't "catch" vampirism from being exposed to blood on gloves or bandages, it was still considered a contagious disease. You couldn't become a vampire from touching dirty hospital waste, and come to think of it...
"Dr. Lillian, has there ever been a case of someone catching lycanthropy from hospital waste?"
She looked startled, then thoughtful, and finally smiled. "Not that I'm aware of, but we do hospital protocol anyway."
The curtains parted, and Jean-Claude stepped through. He still looked perfect in his black leather pants and matching jacket, only the white shirt in the middle of all that leather was his typical lacy shirt. It was like an echo of his original century, though I had enough memories of that time through him to know that the shirt was modern material and sewn tight to the body, rather than loose and billowy. It looked antique in style, but it wasn't. It was like a lot of his clothes, touches of olden days, but they were all actually sexy club wear, or at least sexy everyday wear. I'd never seen Jean-Claude in anything that wasn't theatrical and/or sexy.
"Anita," Dr. Lillian said, voice sharp.
I startled and turned away from Jean-Claude and looked at her.
She made a little unhappy mew of her lips, then turned to Jean-Claude. "She's a little shocky. I think it's a combination of the police work earlier, then the fight, being injured, and worried about Cynric, and..." She paused, looked down, and then said softly, "I'm sorry about Asher. I know he means a great deal to both of you."
"Thank you, Lillian; I know that you do not care for him."
"I try never to question who my friends fall in love with, Jean-Claude."
"I'm happy that you think of me as a friend," he said. His voice was lovely to listen to, but unemotional, as if he could have used the same tone to say almost anything. It wasn't necessarily that he wasn't happy about Lillian thinking of him as a friend, but more that it was the voice he used when he was being very careful not to show any emotion. It was his version of a cop voice and face, except that where my cop affect was hard to read, a little brittle and cynical, his "cop face" was beautiful, almost seductive. You had to know him like I did to realize that it was as empty and meaningless as the smile I could pull out of the air for customers at Animators Inc., when I had time to raise zombies. Lately, police work was taking all my time.
Lillian smiled, but studied his face, as if trying to see behind the pleasant mask. She was harder to fool than most people. "Take Anita to that big bathtub of yours and help her clean up. Enjoy the fact that she's bleeding, before the wounds heal."
"How many stitches would she have needed if she had been more human?"
Lillian looked down, then up, and met his eyes. No, I was wrong on that, she was staring steadily at the corner of his jaw, and not meeting his gaze. It was standard practice with vampires not to meet their eyes, unless you had natural resistance to vamp gaze like I did. Being a wererat didn't keep you from being bespelled by a vampire, it just made you a little harder to "magic" than a standard human. Even though she considered Jean-Claude a friend, she still wouldn't meet his eyes full on; interesting. But it was interesting in an almost disinteresting way; Lillian had said I was shocky, and she was right. Everything felt a little distant and unimportant.
"Ten, maybe fifteen stitches," she said, as if she hadn't wanted to answer the question. "Don't let that make you angrier with Asher, please."
"Why do you care how angry I become with him?"
"Because you've been fair, and just, and haven't overreacted. I like that about you. It's part of what makes you such a very good leader."
"You flatter me, to try and get me to do what you want."
She smiled, and all the lines in her face suddenly showed themselves as smile lines. It was a glimpse of a younger Lillian before sixty got so close. She was suddenly pretty. I hadn't thought about her one way or the other, until that moment. I realized she was blushing, just a little. Jean-Claude did have that effect on most women.
"My feminine wiles aren't up to your standards, but yes, I want you to keep being patient and fair, and the leader we need."
"As you say, ma petite will heal. There is no permanent harm done." But his voice was still that pleasant, empty charm. I couldn't blame Lillian for wondering what he was really feeling.
"Exactly," she said.
Jean-Claude came to me and took my hand in his. I didn't really need help down from the table, but I'd learned to be gracious about the men in my life wanting to be gentlemen. It was rare enough these days that it needed encouragement, not discouragement. I hopped off the table with his hand in mine.
"How's Sin?"
"He is fine. Nathaniel and Micah will take turns staying with him to make certain he doesn't have a concussion."
"Good," I said, but my voice sounded distant. I squeezed his fingers, as if touching him helped the world be more solid.
He swept the curtains aside and led me out. I let him lead. I was ready to follow someone, and Jean-Claude wasn't a bad choice for it.
Nicky and Claudia fell in behind us. Nicky had a small butterfly bandage near his eye, and a bruise starting around it. "How's Ares?" I asked.
"Concussion, broken arm and leg," Nicky said.
I stopped walking, which made Jean-Claude have to stop, too. I looked at Nicky. "Ares is a special forces sniper, and you did all that in just a few minutes?"
"Like you said, he's special forces, I'm not. I had to end the fight hard and fast, or I'd be the one in the hospital."
"I'm not arguing that part, Nicky. I just..." What was I supposed to say? "It's just that Ares does better than you in sparring practice, that's all."
"That's practice, Anita. We're not allowed to hurt each other for real in the ring here, and the army doesn't like you disabling each other in practice either."
"I guess not. What's your point?"
"I'm a werelion, Anita. Ares is a werehyena. Hyenas are a rough bunch, but they don't fight each other the way lions do. It's expected that males in a pride will challenge the leaders, and they have to be put in their place, or killed."
I realized something and felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner. "I thought Payne and Jesse were away on assignment like the wererats send their mercenaries away to earn money for the group, but that's not it, is it?"
"What answer do you want?" he asked.
"The truth," I said.
He shook his head. "No, you don't. Because you'll get all self-righteous about it, and then you'll feel guilty because you made me the Rex of the St. Louis lions, and so you'll blame yourself, and me, but you'll take it out on me, and I don't want that."