He smiled, his eyes sparkling warmly at me. "Whatever do you mean, Ms. Blake?"
His voice was soft, low, rich, like cream in coffee. You could almost taste it. A comforting warmth to your ears. I only knew one other voice that could do similar things.
I stared at the thin band of sunlight only inches from Oliver's arm. It was broad daylight. He couldn't be. Could he?
I stared at his very alive face. There was no trace of that otherness that vampires gave off. And yet, his voice, this warm cosy feeling, none of it was natural. I'd never liked and trusted anyone instantly. I wasn't about to start now.
"You're good," I said. "Very good."
"Whatever do you mean, Ms. Blake?" You could have cuddled into the warm fuzziness of his voice like a favorite blanket.
"Stop it."
He looked quizzically at me, as if confused. The act was perfect, and I realized why; it wasn't an act. I'd been around ancient vampires, but never one that had been able to pass for human, not like this. You could have taken him anywhere and no one would have known. Well, almost no one.
"Believe me, Ms. Blake, I'm not trying to do anything."
I swallowed hard. Was that true? Was he so damn powerful that the mind tricks and the voice were automatic? No; if Jean-Claude could control it, this thing could, too.
"Cut the mind tricks, and curb the voice, okay? If you want to talk business, talk, but cut the games."
His smile widened, still not enough to show fangs. After a few hundred years, you must get really good at smiling like that.
He laughed then; it was wonderful, like warm water falling from a great height. You could have jumped into it and bathed, and felt good.
"Stop it, stop it!"
Fangs flashed as he finished chuckling at me. "It isn't the vampire marks that allowed you to see through my, as you call them, games. It is natural talent, isn't it?"
I nodded. "Most animators have it."
"But not to the degree you do, Ms. Blake. You have power, too. It crawls along my skin. You are a necromancer."
I started to deny it, but stopped. Lying to something like this was useless. He was older than anything I'd ever dreamed of, older than any nightmare I'd ever had. But he didn't make my bones ache; he felt good, better than Jean-Claude, better than anything.
"I could be a necromancer. I choose not to be."
"No, Ms. Blake, the dead respond to you, all the dead. Even I feel the pull."
"You mean I have a sort of power over vampires, too?"
"If you could learn to harness your talents, Ms. Blake, yes, you have a certain power over all the dead, in their many guises."
I wanted to ask how to do that, but stopped myself. A master vampire wasn't likely to help me gain power over his followers. "You're taunting me."
"I assure you, Ms. Blake, that I am very serious. It is your potential power that has drawn the Master of the City to you. He wants to control that emerging power, for fear it will be turned against him."
"How do you know that?"
"I can taste him through the marks he has laid upon you."
I just stared at him. He could taste Jean-Claude. Shit.
"What do you want from me?"
"Very direct; I like that. Human lives are too short to waste in trivialities."
Was that a threat? Staring into his smiling face, I couldn't tell. His eyes were still sparkling, and I was still feeling very warm and fuzzy towards him. Eye contact. I knew better than that. I stared at the top of his desk and felt better, or worse. I could be scared now.