Cerulean Sins by Laurell K. Hamilton Page A

United States.”
    Musette turned those beautiful pitiless eyes on him. “But Asher did not leave to become a Master of the City, he left to have revenge on you and your human servant. He wanted to extract payment for his beloved Julianna’s death.”
    See, she had known the name all along.
    â€œYet, here your servant stands, strong, well, and unharmed. Where is your vengeance, Asher? Where is the price Jean-Claude was to pay for his murder of your servant?”
    Asher seemed to close in upon himself, so very, very still. I thought if I blinked, he’d have vanished altogether. His voice came distant, empty. “I found that, perhaps, I had blamed Jean-Claude in error. That, perhaps, he too mourned her loss.”
    â€œSo,” she snapped her fingers, “like that, all your pain, your hatred is forgotten.”
    â€œNot just like that, non , but I have learned many things that I had forgotten.”
    â€œSuch 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 ménage à 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 couldinsult me all she wanted. Insulting me was less painful than so many other things she could be doing.
    â€œBelle 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.
    â€œLook 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.
    â€œAnita does not see me that way,” he said.
    â€œJean-Claude cannot look at you without seeing what was lost,” she said.
    â€œThe time when you could speak for