Circus of the Damned by Laurell K. Hamilton Page A

here.”
    â€œAnd if I don’t?”
    â€œThen you fight Marguerite.”
    â€œFine,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
    â€œWhat would it cost you to admit what is true, Anita?” Jean-Claude asked.
    â€œI am not your human servant. I will never be your human servant. I wish you’d just accept that and leave me the fuck alone.”
    He frowned. “ Ma petite , such language.”
    â€œFuck off.”
    He smiled then. “As you like, ma petite .” He sat up on the edge of the couch, maybe so he could see better. “Yasmeen, any time you are ready.”
    â€œWait,” I said. I took off my jacket and wasn’t sure where to lay it.
    The man who had been sleeping on the black-canopied bed reached a hand through the black gauze. “I’ll hold it for you,” he said.
    I stared at him for a minute. He was naked from the waist up. His arms, stomach, chest showed signs of weightlifting, just enough, not too much. He either had a perfect tan or was naturally dark complected. Hair fell in a wavy mass around his shoulders. His eyes were brown and very human. That was nice to see.
    I handed him my jacket. He smiled, a quick flash of teeth that chased the last signs of sleep from his face. He sat up with the jacket in one hand, arms encircling his knees that were still hidden under the black and red covers. He laid his cheek on his knees and managed to look winsome.
    â€œAre you quite done, ma petite ?” Jean-Claude’s voice was amused, with an edge of laughter that wasn’t humor at all. It was mockery. But whether he was mocking me or himself, I couldn’t tell.
    â€œI’m ready, I guess,” I said.
    â€œPut her down, Yasmeen. Let us see what happens.”
    I heard Stephen say, “Twenty on Marguerite.”
    Yasmeen said, “No fair. I can’t bet against my own human servant.”
    â€œI’ll spot you both twenty that Ms. Blake wins.” That came from the man in the bed. I had a second to glance at him, to see him smile at me; then Marguerite was coming.
    She slapped at my face, and I blocked it with my forearm. She fought like a girl, all open-handed slaps and fingernails. But she was fast, faster than a human. Maybe she got that from being a human servant, I don’t know. Her fingernails raked down my face in a sharp, painful line. That was it: no more Ms. Nice Guy.
    I held her off with one hand. She dug her teeth into that hand. I hit her with my right fist as hard as I could, turning my body into it. It was a nice solid hit to the solar plexus.
    Marguerite stopped biting my hand and bent over, hands covering her stomach. She was gasping for breath. Good.
    My left hand had a bloody imprint of her teeth in it. I touched my left cheek and came away with more blood. Damn, that hurt.
    Marguerite knelt on the floor, relearning how to breathe. But she was staring up at me. The look in her blue eyes said the fight wasn’t over. As soon as she got her breath back, she would start again.
    â€œStay down, Marguerite, or I’ll hurt you.”
    She shook her head.
    â€œShe can’t give up, ma petite , or you win Yasmeen’s body, if not her heart.”
    â€œI don’t want her body. I don’t want anyone’s body.”
    â€œNow, that is simply not true, ma petite ,” Jean-Claude said.
    â€œStop calling me ma petite .”
    â€œYou bear two of my marks, Anita. You are halfway to being my human servant. Admit that, and no one else need suffer tonight.”
    â€œYeah, right,” I said.
    Marguerite was getting to her feet. I didn’t want her on her feet. I moved in before she could stand, and foot-swept her legs out from under her. I forced her shoulders backwards at the same time, and I rode her down. I got her right arm in a joint lock. She tried to get up. I increased the pressure, and she lay back down.
    â€œGive up the fight.”
    â€œNo.” It was only the second