All Together Dead

Arkansas. This room was rented to the delegation of Arkansas vampires. The remaining Arkansas vampires.”
    The word remaining possibly got a little extra emphasis. Donati definitely knew the queen’s history.
    Christian Baruch raised a thick, dark brow. “I do know my own people, Donati.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Sophie-Anne’s nose might have wrinkled delicately with distaste. His own people, my ass, that nose said. Baruch was at most four years old, as a vampire.
    “Who’s been in to see the bodies?” Baruch asked.
    “Neither of us,” Andre said promptly. “We haven’t set foot in the suite.”
    “Who did?”
    “The door was unlocked, and we smelled death. In view of the situation between my queen and the vampires of Arkansas, we thought it was unwise to go inside,” Andre said. “We sent Sigebert, the queen’s guard.”
    Andre simply omitted Clovache’s exploration of the suite. So Andre and I did have something in common: we could skirt the truth with something that wasn’t quite a lie. He’d done a masterful job.
    As the questions continued—mostly unanswered or unanswerable—I found myself wondering if the queen would still have to go to trial now that her main accuser was dead. I wondered whom the state of Arkansas belonged to; it was reasonable to assume that the wedding contract had given the queen some rights regarding Peter Threadgill’s property, and I knew Sophie-Anne needed every bit of income she could claim, since Katrina. Would she still have those rights to Arkansas, since Andre had killed Peter? I hadn’t thought through how much was hanging over the queen’s head at this summit.
    But after I’d finished asking myself all these questions, I realized that the most immediate issue had yet to be addressed. Who’d killed Jennifer Cater and her companions? (How many Arkansas vamps could be left, after the battle in New Orleans and today’s slaughter? Arkansas wasn’t that big a state, and it had very few population centers.)
    I was recalled to the here and now when Christian Baruch caught my eyes. “You’re the human who can read minds,” he said so suddenly that I jerked.
    “Yes,” I said, because I was tired of sirring and ma’aming everyone.
    “Did you kill Jennifer Cater?”
    I didn’t have to fake astonishment. “That’s giving me a lot of credit,” I said. “Thinking I could have gotten the drop on three vampires. No, I didn’t kill her. She came up to me in the lobby this evening, talking trash, but that’s the only time I ever even saw her.”
    He looked a little taken aback, as if he’d expected another answer or maybe a humbler attitude.
    The queen took a step to stand beside me, and Andre mirrored her, so that I was bracketed by ancient vampires. What a warm and cozy feeling. But I knew they were reminding the hotelier that I was their special human and not to be harassed.
    At that very opportune moment, a vampire flung open the door from the stairs and hurtled toward the death suite. But Baruch was just as swift, and he barred the way so that the new vampire bounced off him and onto the floor. The small vamp was up in a movement so quick my eyes couldn’t break it down and was making a desperate effort to get Baruch out of the doorway.
    But the newcomer couldn’t, and finally he took a step away from the hotelier. If the smaller vampire had been human, he’d have been panting, and as it was his body shook with tremors of delayed action. He had brown hair and a short beard, and he was wearing a suit, a regular old JCPen-ney one. He looked like an ordinary guy until you saw his wide eyes and realized that he was some kind of lunatic.
    “Is it true?” he asked, his voice low and intent.
    “Jennifer Cater and her companions are dead,” Christian Baruch said, not without compassion.
    The small man howled, literally howled, and the hair on my arms stood up. He sank to his knees, his body swaying back and forth in a transport of grief.
    “I take it you are one of her party?” the queen said.
    “Yes, yes!”
    “Then now I am your queen. I offer you a place at my side.”
    The howling stopped as if it had been lopped off by a pair of scissors.
    “But you had our king killed,” the vampire said.
    “I was the spouse of your king, and as such, I’m entitled to inherit his state in the event of his death,” Sophie-Anne said, her dark eyes looking almost benevolent, almost luminous. “And he is undoubtedly dead.”
    “That’s what the fine print