"Jean-Claude fed the ardeur well and truly last night, and it is sustaining me. That is very impressive," Elinore said.

"Yeah, I get that, but..." I tried to think how to form the question. "Why are you both so pleased?"

"If we wished to travel as a group in countries where we are illegal, only one of us would need to feed. It would mean Jean-Claude could take quite a large group of his own vampires into another territory without leaving much evidence behind. Certainly we could hide from the human authorities."

"But we're not going to invade anyone's territory."

"No," Jean-Claude said, "but it is always good to have options, ma petite.'"

"Where's your sweetie? Your knight?"

"He did not wake with me," and there was just a hint of sadness to that.

"So are you the only one who gained—" There was a knock on the door.

"Yes, Remus," Jean-Claude called.

Remus opened the door and closed it behind him. "Requiem is out here."

"Requiem," Elinore said, "interesting."

"Send him in, Remus," Jean-Claude said.

He held Jean-Claude's gaze for a moment, then looked down, and did his talking to the side of the face. "All right, but if anyone else shows up early like this, I will have to insist that you let two of the guards inside the room. So whatever secret shit you're discussing, discuss fast."

"You really think there's going to be that many more vamps waking up this early?" I asked.

"Yeah, I think there will be."

"We will discuss whether guards come back inside when someone else comes to my door," Jean-Claude said. "Let Requiem pass, Remus."

Remus's face struggled; he didn't like it. "I am caught between masters here. Claudia says don't leave you guys alone. You say I can't stay. We need a chain of command here."

"Too many generals," I said.

He gave me a quick, direct glance. "Yes."

"I am sorry, Remus," Jean-Claude said, "but Elinore's arrival has changed things."

"Fine, but Requiem is the last, or I'm calling Claudia and telling her I can't guard you, because you won't let me."

"As you see fit, Remus."

He gave another angry look around the room, then opened the door. A moment later Requiem glided through the door. He had his black, hooded cloak close around his body, so that the only thing that showed was the spill of his Vandyke beard framing the curve of his lips.

"How badly are you hurt, mon ami}" Jean-Claude asked.

Requiem shrugged back the hood without using his hands, the way you'd flip long hair behind your back. The hood slid down and the right side of his face was a mass of deep-purple bruises. One of his eyes was almost swollen shut, just a glimpse of that startling bright blue that had made Belle Morte try to buy Requiem from his original master. Belle had wanted to have a matching set of blue-eyed men. Asher's were the palest blue; Jean-Claude's the darkest; Requiem's the brightest. His master had refused, and they had fled France.

His long, straight hair, so dark it mingled with the black cloak, made his pale skin all the paler, and helped the bruises stand out like purple ink on his face.

"Wow," I said, "how much blood are you using to heal that?"

He looked at me then, and the look on his face said, clearly, I'd said some­thing smart. "Much."

"How fares the rest?" Jean-Claude asked.

Requiem spread the cloak wide with a gesture of both arms, so that it was like a curtain spilled dramatically around his body. His upper body shone like white flame against the darkness. My eyes adjusted to all that contrast and I realized that some of the whiteness was bandages. His right arm, chest, and stomach were all thick with gauze and white tape.

"Jesus, did Meng Die really do all that?"

"Yes." He said that, and no more. Requiem rarely gave just a one-word answer to anything. He came toward us, the cloak flying out behind him, which said he was moving faster than that gliding walk appeared.

"Ma petite, if you could fetch scissors from the bathroom drawer, we can look at his wounds."

I did it without being asked. I'd noticed the bruises last night, but hadn't seen all the bandages under his shirt. I had had no idea how hurt he was. I hesitated in the bathroom with the scissors in my hand. I caught sight of my­self in the mirror. I looked sort of startled. Had he really dumped Meng Die because of me? Dumped another woman on the off chance that I might take him as apomme de sang} I stared at myself in the mirror and just didn't see a woman who could make a man dump someone on the possibility of sex. Eli-nore, maybe, but me ... I just didn't think so.

I went back to the other room, and found Requiem sitting on the bed be­side Jean-Claude, who was turning his face to the light, checking his bruises.

Requiem was talking as I entered. "... she said, if she could not have my pretty face on her pillow, then no one would have it."

Someone had brought one of the chairs by the fireplace so Elinore could sit and not be on the bed. "So she tried to ruin your face," she said, softly.

"Yes," he said, in that strangely clipped voice that wasn't at all his usual.

I held the scissors out to Jean-Claude. He took them and laid them on the bedside table. "I think perhaps we can take off the tape, if you will help me, ma petite}"

I had to move Requiem's cloak where he'd draped it on the end of the bed. The bed was tall enough that I had to make certain I was sitting far enough back from the edge so I wouldn't slide off. Silk coverlet, silk robe, makes for slippery. I took Requiem's hand in mine. The bandages wrapped around his hand, and up nearly to the elbow. "You didn't get this from her hitting you," I said.

"She had a blade," he said, and again, his voice was clipped and to the point.

I looked up at him, and even the uninjured half of his face showed me nothing. He was lovely and empty like Jean-Claude was sometimes. Like looking at a painting of some handsome prince come back from battle. Even as I cradled his arm in my hands, he was as distant and remote as if he'd been hanging on a museum wall.

Jean-Claude was already peeling tape from around Requiem's chest. I bent over his arm and worked on the tape there, holding his hand in mine while I started unwinding the gauze. His hand was crisscrossed with shallow and not-so-shallow slashes. I raised his hand as gently as I could, so I could keep unwrapping. The bandages fell away and I made a sound; I couldn't help it. I put my hand at his hand and elbow, and lifted, gendy. His forearm was a mass of slashing wounds. Two of them needed stitches.

I looked at his face, and he met my eyes, and for an instant there was a flash of anger in those eyes; then it went back to being empty.

"These are defensive wounds. You held your arm up in front of your face, because that's what she was going for."

"Not entirely, ma petite." Jean-Claude's voice drew me back to him, and Requiem's now bare chest. I let out a hiss of breath, because he was right. His pale, muscular chest didn't have as many wounds as his arm, but the ones he did have were deeper.

I traced the one under the sternum. It was deep, and I could see the mark of the blade in his flesh. I looked up at him, and it must have shown on my face.

"So shocked, Anita, why?"

"She was trying for your heart. She was really trying to kill you."

"I told you that last night, ma petite."

"I know you said she was trying to kill him, but..." I traced my fingers just above another wound that went between his ribs. The stab wounds were well placed. She'd tried to hack his face, and the marks on the arm showed that she just wanted damage, but the wounds on his chest and stomach, they were kills. "She knew just where to place the blade." My respect for Meng Die went up, and so did my fear. "And she did all this where the customers could see?"