With the master vampire of the city standing there, waiting, I realized how empty the theater was. We'd waited out the crowd, all right. We were alone in the echoing silence. The distant murmur of the departing crowd was like white noise. It meant nothing to us. I stared at the shiny mother-of-pearl buttons on Jean-Claude's vest. It was hard to be tough when you couldn't meet someone's eyes. But I'd manage.
"God, Jean-Claude, don't you ever wear anything but black and white?"
"Don't you like it, ma petite?" He gave a little spin so I could get the whole effect. The outfit suited him beautifully. Of course, everything he wore seemed made to order, perfect, lovely, just like him.
"Somehow I didn't think Guys and Dollswould be your cup of tea, Jean-Claude."
"Or yours, ma petite." The voice was rich like cream, with a warmth that only two things could give it: anger or lust. I was betting it wasn't lust.
I had the gun, and silver bullets would slow him down, but it wouldn't kill him. Of course, Jean-Claude wouldn't jump us in public. He was much too civilized for that. He was a business vampire, an entrepreneur. Entrepreneurs, dead or alive, didn't go around tearing people's throats out. Normally.
"Richard, you're unusually quiet." He stared past me. I didn't glance back to see what Richard was doing. Never take your eyes off the vampire in front of you to glance at the werewolf in back of you. One problem at a time.
"Anita can speak for herself," Richard said.
Jean-Claude's attention flicked back to me. "That is certainly true. But I came to see how the two of you enjoyed the play."
"And pigs fly," I said.
"You don't believe me?"
"Not hardly," I said.
"Come, Richard, how did you enjoy your evening?" There was an edge of laughter to his voice but under that was still the anger. Master vampires are not good to be around when they're angry.
"It was wonderful until you showed up." There was a note of warmth to Richard's voice, the beginnings of anger. I'd never seen him angry.
"How could my mere presence spoil your... date?" The last was spit out, scalding hot.
"Why are you so pissed tonight, Jean-Claude?" I asked.
"Why, ma petite, I never get... pissed."
"Bullshit."
"He's jealous of you and me," Richard said.
"I am not jealous."
"You're always telling Anita how you can smell her desire for you. Well, I can smell yours. You want her so bad you can"--Richard gave an almost bitter sound--"taste it."
"And you, Monsieur Zeeman, you don't lust after her?"
"Stop talking like I'm not here," I said.
"Anita asked me out on a date. I said yes."
"Is this true, ma petite?" His voice had gone very quiet. Scarier than anger, that quietness.
I wanted to say no, but he'd smell a lie. "It's true. What of it?"
Silence. He just stood there utterly still. If I hadn't been looking right at him, I wouldn't have known he was there. The dead make no noise.
My beeper went off. Richard and I jumped as if we'd been shot. Jean-Claude was motionless as if he hadn't heard it.
I hit the button, and the number that flashed made me groan.
"What is it?" Richard asked. He laid his hand on my shoulder.