"Such as the sweet touch of Jean-Claude's body?" she asked.
The silence this time was so thick I could hear my blood roaring in my ears. Damian felt like a ghost against my body. All the vampires, I was sure, were wishing themselves away.
Either Jean-Claude and Asher had been doing it behind my back. Which was not impossible. But if not, to answer the question truthfully would be bad.
Jason caught my eye, but neither of us dared even shrug. I don't think we were sure what was going on, but that it would end some place painful was almost certain.
Musette swayed around Jean-Claude, to stand closer to Asher. "Are you and Jean-Claude a happy couple, once more, or," here she looked at me, "is it a happy menage a trois? Is that why you did not come home?" She pushed past Asher and Jean-Claude, making them move back, so she could stand in front of me. "How can the touch of such as this compare to the magnificence of our mistress?"
I think she'd just implied that I wasn't as good in bed as Belle Morte, but I wasn't entirely sure that's what she meant, and I didn't care. She could insult me all she wanted. Insulting me was less painful than so many other things she could be doing.
"Belle Morte is sickened at the sight of me," Asher said, finally, "she avoids me in all things." He motioned at the painting that Angelito was still holding up. "This is how she sees me. How she will always see me."
Musette swayed her way back to stand in front of Asher. "To be least among her court is better than ruling anywhere else."
I couldn't help myself. "Are you saying it's better to serve in Heaven than rule in Hell?"
She nodded, smiling, seemingly oblivious to the literary allusion. "Oui, precisement.Our mistress is the sun, the moon, the all. To be parted from her, only that is true death."
Musette's face was rapturous, glowing with that inner certainty usually reserved for Holy Rollers and television evangelists. She was, indeed, a true believer.
I couldn't see Damian's face, but I was betting it was as carefully blank as the rest. Jason was staring at Musette as if she had sprouted a second head, an ugly, spiky second head. She was a zealot, and zealots are never quite sane.
She turned to Asher with that radiance still suffusing her face. "Our mistress does not understand why you left her, Asher."
I did. I think everyone in the room did, except maybe for Angelito and the girl who was still standing on the other side of the couch where Musette had put her.
"Look at the painting of me as Vulcan, Musette, see what our mistress thinks of me."
Musette didn't bother to look behind her. She gave that Gallic shrug that meant everything and nothing.
"Anita does not see me that way," he said.
"Jean-Claude cannot look at you without seeing what was lost," she said.
"The time when you could speak for me, Musette, is long past. You do not know my heart, or my mind, you never truly did," Jean-Claude said.
She turned to him. "Are you truly telling me that you would touch him, as he is now? Be careful how you answer, Jean-Claude, know that our mistress has seen deep into your heart and mind. You may lie to me, but never to her."
Jean-Claude was quiet for a time, but finally he told the truth. "We are not currently together in that way."
"See, you refuse to touch him, as she refuses to touch him."
I loosened Damian's arms enough so I could move more easily. "Not exactly," I said, "sorry, but it's my fault that they aren't a couple."
She turned to me. "What do you mean, servant?"
"You know, even if I was, like a maid, I know enough about polite society to know that you don't call a maid, simply, maid. You don't call a servant, servant, not unless you truly have never interacted with servants." I folded my arms across my stomach, looking puzzled on purpose. Damian's hands stayed lightly on my shoulders. "Is that it, Musette? Are you not an aristocrat, after all? Is it all pretend, and you simply don't know any better?"
Jean-Claude gave me a look that she couldn't see.
"How dare you!" Musette said.
"Then prove you are noble, address me at least like someone who has truly had servants."
She opened her mouth to argue, then she seemed to hear something that I couldn't hear. She let out a long breath. "As you like, Blake, then."
"Blake is fine," I said, "and what I mean is that I'm not entirely comfortable with this bisexual thing. I won't share Jean-Claude with another woman, and definitely not with a man."
Musette did that head to the side movement again, as if she'd spied the worm she intended to eat. "Very good, then Asher has no tie to any of you. He is merely your second."
I looked from one vampire to another, only Jason looked as confused as I felt. The vamps were acting like a trap had been sprung, and I didn't see it yet. "What's going on?" I asked.
Musette laughed, and it wasn't anywhere near as good a laugh as Jean-Claude or Asher were capable of. It was just a laugh, a vaguely unpleasant one, at that. "I am within my rights to ask for him as my gift for tonight," she said.
"Wait," I said, and Damian's hands tried to pull me back in against him, but I wasn't moving this time. "I thought you agreed with Belle that Asher isn't pretty enough to have sex with anymore."
"Whoever said anything about sex?" Musette asked.
Now I really was puzzled. "Why else would you want him for the night?"
She laughed then, head back, very unladylike, a bray of sound like a hound baying. I hadn't said anything that funny, had I?
Jean-Claude's quiet voice came into the silence that followed that laugh. "Musette's interests run to pain more than sex, ma petite."
I looked at him. "You don't mean dominance and submission where you have safe words, do you?"
"There is no word in any language that I have ever heard screamed that would dissuade Musette from her pleasures."
I licked my suddenly dry lips. They lie about that moisturizing lipstick. Your lips still dry out when you get scared. "Let me test my understanding. If Asher was your lover, or mine, or anyone's, then he'd be safe from her?"
"Non, ma petite,Asher would only be safe if he belonged to you, or me. Lesser powers cannot protect those they love."
"But because we're not doing him, he's free meat?" I asked.
He seemed to think about that for a time. "That is accurate enough, oui."
"Fuck," I said.
"Oui, ma petite, oui." A thread of tiredness had finally broken through his empty voice.
I looked at Asher, and he was hiding behind that shining hair again. What was I supposed to say, that if I hadn't been so squeamish this wouldn't be happening? I'm sorry I have issues with my boyfriend doing other men. I'm sorry I have issues with me doing other men. Why was I always being made to feel guilty because I wasn't ha**ng s*x with more people? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?
Musette held her hand out to Asher. He stood there for a second or two, then he took her hand. He looked back once at Jean-Claude, a shine of eyes in all that hair. Jean-Claude never reacted, as if he were trying to pretend he wasn't there.
I moved forward, only Damian's fingers digging into my shoulders brought me up short. "We are not letting her do this," I said.
"She is Musette, and Belle Morte's lieutenant." Jean-Claude's voice had gone small and distant.
Musette didn't take him through the drapes into another room. She stopped a few yards away, not even that close to the "walls." She turned Asher to face her, then she drew a knife from her white skirts, and plunged it into his stomach before anyone could react. Asher could move faster than the eye could follow, but he made no move to protect himself. He just let her sink the knife home, grinding it until the hilt met his skin, and she couldn't push it in any farther.
I had my gun out of the holster, and Jean-Claude grabbed my hand. "The knife is not silver, ma petite,when it is removed he will heal almost instantly."
I looked up at him, straining to raise the gun, and making some progress. Thanks to his own vampire marks, I was stronger than I should have been. "How do you know it's not silver?"
"Because I have played this game with Musette before."
That made me stop trying to bring the gun up. I went quiet in his hands. Their hands, I should have said, because Damian's hands were plastered to my shoulders. Only Jason hadn't joined in trying to hold me back. From the look on his face I think he wanted to help me, not hinder me.