for namesakes, there are dozens, but some names have been known for centuries: Harlequin, of course; Punchinello; Scaramouche; Pierrot or Pierrette; Columbine; Hanswurst; Il Dottore. There could be dozens more, or a hundred. No one knows how many are in the Harlequin's raid. Most of the time they will only appear in nearly featureless masks of black and white. They will simply say, 'We are the Harlequin.' The best possible scenario is that we never learn who individually has come to our city."
"How serious a breach of vampy etiquette is it that we get a white mask but they're acting like it's red?" I asked.
Jean-Claude and Requiem exchanged a look that I couldn't read exactly, but it wasn't good.
"Talk to me, damn it," I said.
"It should not be happening, ma petite. Either this is an attack by some other vampire powerful enough to fool us all, or the Harlequin are breaking their own rules. They are deadly within their rules; if the rule of law were to break down..." He closed his eyes and hugged me, hugged me tight.
Nathaniel came to stand beside us, his face uncertain. "What can we do about it?"
Jean-Claude looked at him, and smiled. "Very practical, mon minet, as practical as our Micah." He turned to look at Requiem, whose smile had vanished. "Is this how it began in London?"
"Yes, one of the Harlequin could increase our emotions of desire. But only emotions we already owned. It was very subtle at first, then worsened. Truthfully, what has happened tonight to Anita went unnoticed among us. It simply seemed to be couples finally deciding to consummate their friendships."
"How did it worsen?" Nathaniel asked.
"I don't know if it was the same vampire, but they began to interfere when we used the powers of Belle's line. Making the lust go terribly wrong."
"How terribly?" I asked.
"The ardeur at its worst," he said.
"Shit," I said.
Nathaniel touched my shoulders and Jean-Claude opened his arms to pull the other man into our embrace, so that he hugged us both, and I was firmly in the middle of them. It was as if I could finally catch my breath. "Better and better," I said.
"The more you touch your power base, the more surety you have against them, at first," Requiem said.
"What do you mean, 'at first'?" I asked.
"Eventually, our master was tormented by them no matter who he touched. Whatever he touched turned ill, and whatever touched his skin was poisoned."
"Poisoned with what?" I asked.
"They turned our own powers against us, Anita. We were a kiss made up almost entirely of Belle Morte's line. They turned our gifts against us so that the blade bit deep, and we bled for them."
"They didn't torment Elinore and Roderick," Byron said from the couch.
The three of us looked at him, still clinging to each other.
"Not true. She was bothered at first like all of us. So smitten with Roderick she couldn't do her job."
"But, how did you say it, when the madness overcame us, they were spared," Byron said. There was a tone to his voice that held anger, or something close to it.
Jean-Claude hugged us both, and Nathaniel hugged back until it was hard to breathe, not from some vampire trick, but from the strength in their bodies. Jean-Claude eased away, and Nathaniel did the same. Jean-Claude moved us to the desk edge. He leaned upon it, drawing my back in against his body. He held a hand out to Nathaniel and drew him to the desk. Nathaniel sat on the desk, his feet dangling in the air. But he kept his hand in the vampire's, as if afraid to let go. I guess we all were.
"What do you mean, madness?" I asked.
"We fucked our brains out, dearie."
I tried to think of a polite way to say it.
Byron laughed. "The look on your face, Anita. Yes, sex is our coin, and we did a lot of it, but you want to have a choice, don't you?" He looked past us to Requiem. "You don't like having your choices taken away, do you, lover?"
Requiem gave him a look that should have stopped his heart, let alone his words, but Byron was already dead, and the dead are made of stouter stuff than the living. Or maybe Byron just didn't care anymore. "Requiem found that men were on the menu, didn't you, lover?" There was a purring insolence in his voice, bordering on hatred.
I got the implications; they'd become lovers after the Harlequin messed with them all badly