Cerulean Sins by Laurell K. Hamilton

somehow yours. I do not understand it, but I can feel it. He is yours the way Angelito is mine, and you are Jean-Claude’s. As Master of the City, Jean-Claude cannot be drink for the taking, but Asher belongs to no one. Give him to me for my guest gift.”
    â€œHe is my second in command, my témoin ,” Jean-Claude said, still in that empty, means-nothing voice, “I would not lightly share him.”
    â€œI have met some of your other vampires this night. Meng Die has an animal to call. She is more powerful than Asher, why is she not your second?”
    â€œShe is another’s second and will be going back to him in a few months.”
    â€œWhy is she here then?”
    â€œI called her.”
    â€œWhy?”
    The real reason was that while I was off doing my soul-searching Jean-Claude had needed more backup. But I didn’t think he’d share that. He didn’t. “A master calls home his flock periodically, especially if he thinks they will soon become masters of their own territory. A last visit before he loses the power to call them.”
    â€œBelle was most perturbed that you rose to Master of the City without that one last visit, Jean-Claude. She woke speaking your name, saying that you had struck out on your own. None of us thought you would ever rise so high.”
    He gave a low, sweeping bow, and she was standing so close that his hair almost brushed her skirt. “It is not often that anyone so surprises Belle Morte. I am most honored.”
    Musette frowned. “You should be. She was most . . . unhappy.”
    He stood slowly. “Why would my rise to power make her unhappy?”
    â€œBecause to be Master of the City is to be beyond the ties of obligation.”
    Ties of obligation seemed to mean more to the vampires than it did to me, because I felt them go all quiet. Damian was so still around my body that it was like he wasn’t there at all. Only the weight of his arms let me know he was still clinging to me. The beat and pulse of his body was gone, tucked away somewhere deep inside.
    â€œBut Asher has not risen so high. He could still be called home,” she said.
    I glanced at Jean-Claude, but his face was utterly blank, that polite nothingness that meant he was hiding his every reaction. “That is, of course, within her purview, but I would need some notice before Asher was called away. America is less settled than Europe, and fights for territory are much less civilized.” His voice was still empty, emotionless, nothing mattered. “If my second were to simply vanish, others would see that as a weakness.”
    â€œDo not worry, our mistress is not going to call him home, but she admits to being puzzled.”
    We all waited for her to go on, but Musette seemed content to let the silence stand.
    Even with Damian hanging on to me, I broke first. “Puzzled about what?”
    â€œWhy Asher left her side, of course.”
    Asher moved up closer, though still keeping a much greater distance between himself and Musette than the rest of us. “I did not leave her side,” he said, “Belle Morte had not touched me in centuries. She would not even watch entertainments where I was . . . featured. She said I offended her eye.”
    â€œIt is her prerogative to do with her people as she sees fit,” Musette said.
    â€œTrue,” Asher said, “but she bid me come to America with Yvette as my overseer. Yvette died, and I had no more orders.”
    â€œAnd if our mistress ordered you home?”
    Silence, ours this time.
    Asher’s face was as empty of emotion as Jean-Claude’s. Whatever he felt was hidden, but the very blankness of both their faces said that it did matter, and it was important.
    â€œBelle Morte encourages her people to strike out on their own,” Jean-Claude said. “It is one of the reasons her bloodline rules more territories than any other, especially here in the