'Do you delude yourselves that you could win in a real fight outside the practice arena?' Mischa asked.

'Yes,' Wicked and Truth said together. Their hands were already near weapons. I stepped away from Jean-Claude's embrace so I could have my hands free for weapons, too. Logically, Mischa was just being shitty, which was very him, but logic is seldom what starts a fight.

'I value your skills, Mischa, Goran' Jean-Claude nodded at the second man 'or I would have left you both back in St Louis, but I do not value your skills enough to be insulted, and if I will ask plainly, did you mean to threaten me?'

'No, my lord, I did not,' but his voice was tight when he said it, as if the words and the emotion behind them didn't match.

'Then you are admitting that your language is that imprecise,' Jean-Claude said in a voice that was mild, even pleasant.

'No,' Mischa said, as we'd all known he would.

'Then you did threaten me.'

Mischa looked confused. 'No, my lord, not ...' He seemed to think about what he'd said and finally added very lamely, 'not on purpose.'

'Goran, is your master this much a disaster as a spy?'

'No, my lord Jean-Claude,' Goran said, but there was the quirk of a smile on his lips as he bowed. He was so much bigger than Mischa that you expected the movement to be less elegant, but it wasn't. The werebear's bow was as graceful as the vampire's had been. I guess he'd had nearly as many centuries to practice.

Mischa's hands were in fists at his side. He was obviously fighting to control his temper, and that was just weird in a vampire this old. They were the ultimate in control. He'd been like that from the moment I met him, whereas most of the other Harlequin were smooth and controlled, even empty, as if they waited for the next emotion to be given to them, rather than already owning it themselves. I found that a little disturbing, but that was just vampire creepy; Mischa had a temper.

'It must gall you and many of the other Harlequin that I am your new lord and master. I know that the Dark Mother sent out her guard to spy on the vampires she felt were powerful enough to be on her council, or powerful enough to be a threat. I am betting I wasn't on the watch list, that I never entered her mind as a threat or rival to anyone, let alone her, am I right?'

'Yes, my lord,' Mischa said.

'It was a game of patience and subterfuge worthy of one of us,' Goran said, and he smiled as he said it.

'A lovely compliment,' Jean-Claude said.

Mischa scowled at them both.

'What bothers you more, Mischa: that Belle Morte's concubine is your ruler, or that none of the all-knowing Harlequin saw me as a power to be reckoned with until it was too late?'

'You make them wonder what else they might have missed,' Goran said. 'It undermines their sense of superiority.' He smiled when he said it.

Mischa whirled in a movement faster than the eye could follow, or faster than mine could. I actually didn't see him hit Goran in the face, just the blur and the big man staggering backward, blood scarlet on his mouth.

Wicked and Truth were just there, one second beside us, the next on either side of Mischa. Truth was there to block Mischa's arm as he tried to strike Goran backhanded as his fist returned its arc from the first blow. Mischa's other hand came at Truth, and he blocked that, too, which led to a knee coming up, and the fight was on.

I had trouble following the moves, but it looked like neither of them was landing a blow on the other, so it was like a full-speed, full-contact practice bout, except they meant to harm each other, if they could get through the other's guard. Then Goran moved at Truth's back, but Wicked was there to back the bigger man up, and suddenly we had two impressive fights in a space barely big enough for one.

Why didn't the guards from the hallway come rushing into the room? Because they were all nearly silent; only the impact of flesh against flesh and sharp exhales of breath, cloth, shoes on the carpet, noises I never heard when I was fighting were suddenly loud in the silence of the room. Jean-Claude watched, and I debated on what to do. They were all four our bodyguards, his bodyguards, and here they were fighting one another. They could end up wounded themselves, until we'd be down some more guards. If it had just been me I might have tried to stop it, but Jean-Claude was right there, and he was the king, the prez, the head of all the vampires. If he didn't stop it, was it my place to step in, or did I wait? Question was, what was I waiting for, and if I did decide to try to stop the fight, how would I do it?

Mischa tried for the beginnings of a roundhouse kick, but there wasn't room, and his leg hit a coffin, which stopped the movement and tumbled the coffin over. It also made him stumble, hesitate, and that was all Truth needed.

He hit Mischa in the solar plexus enough to double him over and followed it with a blow to the face that spun him half around and collapsed him over another coffin.

I heard the outer door open and glanced away from the fight long enough to see Lisandro and Emmanuel spill into the room, guns drawn. I held up my hand, not sure if it was needed; I didn't want anyone to get shot, but the silence was suddenly nothing but the labored breathing of fewer men. I turned back to find Goran collapsed on the ground and Mischa still draped motionless over the coffin.

Wicked and Truth stood, chests rising and falling with their breaths, which you didn't always see in vampires, because they didn't always breathe. It meant they'd worked hard to win the fight, but they had won; more than that, they'd knocked them both cold, which wasn't easy against either a vampire or a wereanimal. The brothers grinned at each other, a fierce baring of happy teeth. Wicked grinned wide enough to flash fang, which I'd never seen him do; I could only see the back of Truth's head, so I missed seeing his fangs do their happy, tired flash. Blood started to trickle down the side of Wicked's face, proving that Goran had landed at least one blow.

'Wow,' said Emmanuel.

'I can smell that Goran's alive, but is Mischa?' Lisandro asked. His gun was pointed at the carpet, but not holstered.

It hadn't even occurred to me that when vampires fight among themselves, they might be able to kill each other by snapping the spine. I said out loud, 'Mischa's too ancient and powerful to die from a snapped spine, isn't he?'

Lisandro shrugged.

I glanced at Jean-Claude.

He sighed and started forward.

Truth started to bend over Mischa, as if to check for a pulse.

'No,' I said, loud and firm.

Truth looked at me but kept back from the fallen vampire. 'What's wrong?'

'Other than the fact that you may have killed one of our bodyguards?' I said.

Truth had the grace to look embarrassed then, but he said, 'Yes, besides that.'

I took out the Browning Hi Power and placed it against Mischa's temple, gun to flesh. 'Now check for signs of life,' I said.

Truth looked a little puzzled, but he bent over the fallen vampire.

I didn't keep looking at where my gun was pointed; I'd feel if his head moved. I looked farther down the body like you do in a fight; you look at the center of the body where the arms and legs attach to see if they move, because if the center does not move, nothing moves. I saw his hand tense not on his holstered gun, but near it.

'Don't move, Mischa, not an inch.' My voice was low, careful, honed down with practice and control, because when you have the barrel of your gun pressed to someone's temple, your finger on the trigger, you have to have control, because without it you might flinch and blow their brains out.

'How did you know he was bluffing?' Truth asked.

'I hunt vampires, remember?'

'Lisandro is going to disarm you, Mischa, just until you cool down.'

'I can disarm him,' Truth said.

'No, you can't,' I said. 'If you touch him he might try to kill you, and then I'd have to shoot him.'

Wicked said, 'Goran is coming around.'

It was Jean-Claude who said, 'Goran, can you hear me?'

The werebear's voice was a little shaky and too deep from the dregs of the extra testosterone from the fight. 'I hear you, my lord.'

'This fight is over, do you understand me?'