"Mr. Stirling, even if I can raise the graveyard in one night, and that's a big if, what if the dead are all Bouviers? What if it is their family plot? My understanding is that construction will stop until you rebuy the land."
"They don't want to sell," Beau said.
Stirling glared at him. The foreman just smiled softly.
"Are you saying that the entire project is off if this is the Bouvier family plot?" I asked Bayard. "Why, Lionel, you didn't tell me that."
"There was no need for you to know," Bayard said.
"Why wouldn't they want to sell the land for a million dollars?" Larry asked. It was a good question.
Stirling looked at him like he'd just appeared out of thin air. Evidently, the flunkies weren't supposed to talk. "Magnus and Dorcas Bouvier have only a restaurant, called Bloody Bones. It is nothing. I have no idea why they wouldn't want to be millionaires."
"Bloody Bones? What kind of name is that for a restaurant?" Larry asked.
I shrugged. "It doesn't exactly say bon appetit." I looked at Stirling. He looked angry but that was all. I would have bet a million dollars that he knew exactly why the Bouviers didn't want to sell. But it didn't show on his face. His cards were close to his chest and unreadable.
I turned to Bayard. There was an unhealthy flush to his cheeks, and he avoided my gaze. I'd play poker with Bayard any day. But not in front of his boss.
"Fine. I'll change into something more bulky and we'll go take a look." The pilot handed out my suitcase. The coverall and shoes were on top.
Larry came up to me. "Gee, I wished I'd thought of the coverall. This suit's not going to survive the trip."
I pulled out two pairs of coveralls. "Be prepared," I said.
He grinned. "Thanks."
I shrugged. "One good thing about being nearly the same size." I slipped off the black jacket, which left the gun in plain sight.
"Ms. Blake," Stirling said. "Why are you armed?"
I sighed. I was tired of Raymond. I hadn't even gone up the hill and I didn't want to go. The last thing I wanted to do was stand here and debate whether I needed a gun. The red blouse was short-sleeved. Visual aids are always better than lectures.
I walked over to him with my arms bent outward, exposing the inside of both forearms. There's a rather neat knife scar on my right arm, nothing too dramatic. My left arm is a mess. It had only been a little over a month since a shapeshifting leopard had opened my arm. A nice doctor had stitched it back together, but there is only so much you can do with claw marks. The cross-shaped burn scar that some inventive vampire servants had put on me was now a little crooked because of the claws. The mound of scar tissue at the bend of my arm where a vampire had bitten through the flesh and gnawed the bone dribbled white scars like water.
"Jesus," Beau said.
Stirling looked a touch pale but he held up well, like he'd seen worse. Bayard looked green. Ms. Harrison paled so that the makeup floated on her suddenly pale skin like impressionist water lilies.
"I don't go anywhere unarmed, Mr. Stirling. Live with it, because I have to."
He nodded, eyes very serious. "Fine, Ms. Blake. Is your assistant armed as well?"
"No," I said.
He nodded again. "Fine. Change, and when you're ready we'll go up."
Larry was zipping up his coverall when I walked back. "I could have been armed, you know," he said.
"You brought your gun?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Unloaded in your suitcase?"
"Just like you told me."
"Good." I let it go. Larry wanted to be a vampire executioner as well as an animator, which meant he needed to know how to use a gun. A gun with silver-plated bullets that could slow a vampire down. We'd work up to shotguns, which could take out a head and heart from a relatively safe distance. Beat the hell out of staking.