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The Fine Art of Becoming a Master	By : Nemhaim Category: Anita Blake > Het Views: 1415 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Anita Blake series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Fine Art of Becoming a Master
- 1
Giving himself a last once-over in the mirror of his bathroom, he tugged his lace-trimmed cuffs into proper position and walked into his room. Jean-Claude, Master of the City of Saint Louis, was ready to face the affairs that his position required. Whichever they were that night.

On his way to the living room, where his guests were waiting for him, he sent an affectionate glance to the prone figure lying in his canopied bed. His pomme de sang, Jason, was still riding the aftereffects of the feeding, with a smile of satisfaction curling on his lips.

“Requiem is entertaining your visitors,” the boy said, in a dreamy voice, “and Asher came to tell me that he’ll take care of Guilty Pleasures tonight for as long as it takes you to settle your affairs.”

“Bon,” he nodded in approval of the arrangements, before gliding toward his destination, leaving Jason recovering to face his work obligations.

It was the night of his weekly inspection in his first business venture. However, he had received a call from his lawyer earlier. One of his vampires was the beneficiary of a will, and the law firm in charge had contacted his, in hopes of finding the fortunate one through an interview with the Master of the City. As there was a question of timing involved, they had requested that the meeting be carried out as soon as possible.

After inquiring further and double-checking the legitimacy of the law firm that had contacted his, he had agreed. There was no danger entailed as far as he could tell, for he knew David Braswell, his lawyer, pretty well. They had conducted business for years, and he was happy with the human’s efficient ways.

Thus, since there were no safety concerns about receiving the two men into the bowels of his own fortress, he hadn’t seen a reason to refuse. Besides, it was a good opportunity to show once more to all his new subjects that he cared about their affairs.

In these dangerous times, with the Sweet Mother looming in the background, reminding his vampires of the difference between the haven they had under his care now and what they had left behind could mark the difference between survival and destruction.

If the years in Belle’s court had taught him something, it was that sowing favors would let him reap benefits and help whenever he truly needed it. He had managed to bring Asher to Belle to escape priestly rage, just in time to save him from true death, by collecting old debts. And he had made it to America using the same method, too.

On the other hand, showing a façade of approachability and collaborating with humans had its share of benefits. Was he not the poster boy – as Anita had put it once-- of the new vampiric society? The Council might think it a joke on their former catamite, but it had worked well in his favor, putting him into the center of the public’s eye. He had become a public figure whose sudden disappearance would bring the glare of human authorities upon vampires in a way that the Council wanted to avoid at all costs, at least for the time being. Oh, yes, having the attention of the media upon him had served him well, no matter how much Anita hated it, and how inconvenient for him it could be at times.

He stood in the threshold of the door separating his private quarters from his living room, and reached to the drapes hiding it, to peek at the visitors who were looking for the vampire inheritor among his subjects.

Neither of the two humans noticed his presence immediately, though he had no doubt that Requiem was well aware of him. One of the lawyers was too distracted admiring the antiques spread around the room, and the other was engrossed in talk with his third in command, which gave him a few precious minutes to study them.

David Braswell was an average man. Average build, average height, average features. Nobody would spare him a second glance. Except for the very expensive suit, there was nothing remarkable about him. However, if one looked into his eyes, there was no mistake about the man’s true nature. The predator in Jean-Claude recognized his kin in Braswell. They were birds of a feather, so to speak.

Jean-Claude’s attention drifted then to the other human in the room. The Englishman was staring at the painting above the fireplace with the calculating gaze of the merchant instead of the admiration of the lover of art. He was taller, a plump, middle aged, bald man, who smelled of fear and greed.

Ah, greed. If sex were as commonly exuded by humans as greed was, his ardeur would be always thoroughly sated. But most humans nowadays were like Anita, repressing most of their natural impulses.

He sighed, rubbing his temples, while he focused his mind again on the problem at hand.

His first assumption had been that the affair involved one of the new additions from that thorn in his side called the Church of Eternal Life.

He had banned his vampires turning humans within his lands. Therefore, there were very few newly made vampires among his subjects. All the few fledglings that populated his kiss had come from only one place: Malcolm’s so-called Church.

There had been little doubt in his mind that they would be the most likely recipients of any will, if only because they were mostly newly turned. New vampires still had relatives who could leave inheritance behind. This was very unlikely for old ones like him.

After his lawyer gave him more details, though, he found out that the beneficiary was someone among the recent immigrants from England. At first, he had thought it was a misunderstanding, considering that most of them were centuries old, and they surely did not have any living relatives. Or at least, those who were distant relatives by blood would not recognize them belonging to their family lines.

However, judging from the British solicitor standing in his living room, fresh out of the plane, his first assumptions had been wrong.

The whole affair had taken him aback, and had he not fully trusted his lawyer, he’d probably have refused the meeting. Nevertheless, he could not deny then that his curiosity had been greatly piqued.

Anyway, there was no reason to delay the meeting further. He usually had very busy nights, even with the efficient help of Asher, Requiem, and Elinore. Jean-Claude finally parted the drapes dividing his quarters from his living room, gliding inside.

The Briton was the first of the two humans to notice him, when he purposely cleared his throat to announce his arrival . The man stood there, frozen in place, staring directly into his eyes, until his American colleague gave him a subtle nudge, and he remembered that he had to lower his gaze.

“Good evening, Jean-Claude,” Braswell said, shortening the distance between them with a fast and determined pace, while offering him his best corporate smile and handshake, “I know you keep a busy schedule and I hope we haven’t interrupted anything important.”

“What can be more important than tending to the welfare of those under my protection, Monsieur Braswell?” he answered, his tone light, but his intent obvious.

There were still some details in the whole affair that weren’t totally clear, and he wouldn’t let anybody drag one of his people into trouble lest he wanted to risk being involved in something damaging for himself. He trusted Braswell to a certain extent. The lawyer would not kill the goose who lays the golden eggs, so to speak. Besides, Jean-Claude thought, he knew that the other man was aware of the risks involved in an attempt against his life.

“Of course, of course,” the man nodded, the dazzling business smile still in place, his eyes carefully fixed on Jean-Claude’s chin. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Christopher Lloyd, from Appleby, Blackwell and Hutton, a very prestigious law firm from London.”

“Enchanté,” he said in his native tongue.

He had been living in America almost for as long as it had been a free country. After such a long time, he could speak English like any American boy, no traces of accent at all if he wanted to avoid it. However, the French accent was a good icebreaker, especially among the ladies, one more trick in his repertoire of charms.
Mr. Lloyd pressed a sweaty, shaky hand into his, the smell of fear increasing with the physical touch. For a moment, just before the Englishman fixed his gaze in his chest, he could see the glint of loathing in the other man’s eyes, the tight pinch of his lips. It was quite obvious that Lloyd wanted to get the unpleasant task finished as soon as possible. Actually, being charged with this job was probably some sort of punishment for the man, given the unusual level of nervousness that the lawyer exhibited. Jean-Claude put on his most neutral expression, slightly annoyed, though this was barely news to him. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d found such prejudices.

Actually, Jean-Claude’s lawyer had been given his account precisely as a way to get rid of him, since the prospect of dealing with vampires had no appeal for most of his colleagues at the firm. However, what Braswell’s boss had never anticipated was that the man would have never seen the task as the punishment he had meant it to be.

After all, vampire or not, Jean-Claude was an excellent client for someone with ambitions and David Braswell was a very ambitious man indeed. A few months after being assigned as his personal lawyer, Braswell was made a partner in the firm, and later on, he had the pleasure of firing his old boss.

Lloyd was made of a different stuff. Braswell would have made a pact with the devil to get his goals, which after all, he kind of was, Jean-Claude mused. Lloyd, on the other hand, still had scruples that hindered his progress, no doubt. For the look of things, Lloyd would be forever a little fish in the corporate pond, while Braswell was already a full grown shark.

He made a gesture to both humans, inviting them to sit in the stylish chairs that he kept for such occasions, as he chose the couch. As if on cue, there was a soft rap at the door, and Requiem opened it, letting Ernie in. His employee carried a tray with glasses and a bottle of wine --Braswell’s favorite-- and a few snacks.

“If Monsieur Lloyd wishes for anything different, he has only to ask,” Jean-Claude said.

“Thank you, but I’d rather not have anything,” the Briton said, shaking his head. Then he hurriedly added, as if he realized his faux pas, “The trip wasn’t as smooth I’d have liked.”

“As you wish,” he answered smoothly, knowing that Lloyd was lying, of course, his smell giving him away.

Was he thinking that he’d stoop as low as to put something in his drink or food to feed on him? Silly human, even in the beginning of life as a vampire none of his kind would need such tricks. Just a glance, and he’d be his, if so he wanted.
Prejudice was the one thing more prevalent, too, in this age of so-called equal rights for the vampirekind. They were, as they said these days, out of the closet, but many humans still hated them like in the old days. Not that he could totally blame them, but that was beside the point, wasn’t it?

“Provided that you had, shall we say, a less than satisfying trip, we could leave the pleasantries aside and go to the core of this matter, and be done with it, if you agree, Monsieur Lloyd,” Jean-Claude said, letting some of his power filter through his voice.
Petty retaliation? Yes, probably. But he was the Master of the City, was he not? For this and this alone, he could afford being petty, yet he was careful not to do it openly. Doing it otherwise would be in poor taste.

“Of course,” the human said, predictably squirming in his seat, much to the vampire’s amusement.

“I’ve been informed by Monsieur Braswell that you are here on behalf of one of your clients, who has left some properties to one of my vampires, am I correct?”

“That’s more or less the case, yes,” Lloyd answered.

He blinked, raising an eyebrow in silent inquire.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. How is that ‘more or less the case’, Monsieur Lloyd? Is there or is there not a will on behalf of one of my people?”

“What my colleague means here is that his client hasn’t passed away yet,” Braswell said, looking at the other man.

“I’d appreciate if you could clarify this situation for me, gentlemen. As you can understand, I am in a position where I should evaluate all the potential risks for my people. Protecting them is, as you’d say, part of my job description as Master of the City.”

“That’s exactly what we have been told, and that’s why we are here, contacting you first, instead of approaching this individual directly.”

Both lawyers launched into a detailed explanation. Jean-Claude found out then that the vampire had saved the human’s life decades ago, though the lawyers couldn’t say precisely under what circumstances. Now that he was at the end of his life, the human wanted to repay him the favor somehow.

It was an interesting, albeit unexpected, turn of events. Usually, vampires didn’t go around saving humans. Unless, of course, there was an ulterior motive involved. He had done his share of favors in several opportunities, and his actions had paid him well in moments of need. Now, his curiosity highly aroused, he wanted to know the whole tale very much, whoever was the one that had played unlikely hero.

Also, Jean Claude found out why the human had decided that the legacy should be delivered while he was still alive. The man hoped to prevent in this fashion any legal disputes from the heirs. Considering the human prejudices, it was a sound decision. For as much as they were citizens with rights and responsibilities, required to pay taxes and obey the law, the same law wasn’t always applied fairly to them.

The risk that some prejudiced judge rule against the vampire was always present. He listened attentively, as the lawyers engaged in more explanations, and after their words, it was obvious to him that that was the case. At least one of the would-be-heirs wasn’t happy about sharing the inheritance with the undead.

When the course of his illness had gotten closer to the inevitable outcome, Mr. McLoughlin -- that was the name of the human-- had arranged the search of the recipient of his bequest. The last known location where the vampire had been residing was Ireland, and Mr. McLoughlin had been certain that he had been living there for centuries.

However, in the course of their investigation, it turned out that the vampire no longer lived there.

“He knew that this individual’s Mistress, or given the circumstances, I should say former mistress, had kept him for centuries. Our client never suspected this vampire had been traded to another Master here, in the New World. It was rather inconvenient for him. It hindered our plans a great deal, especially because his former mistress was, shall we say, rather unapproachable, and we had to find very, ah, creative ways to find the requested information” the Briton said, visibly nervous now.

As the lawyers spoke, Jean –Claude’s brain had been racing. His face fell automatically into his pleasant mask, while he regarded his British guest with growing suspicion. Some details of the account revealed that this human and his client had more than a passing knowledge of the vampire world and their dealings. Thus, caution was a necessity.

He analyzed the situation. Braswell wasn’t stupid. He was ambitious, but not suicidal. He would not bring danger to his client’s door willingly. Jean-Claude was glad that he had requested the Rat King and the Oba of the hyenas for some extra guards after he had arranged the meeting. He had done it more to please Anita rather than out of personal concern. She was on edge lately, after the close call of Merlin’s visit and The Harlequin, and he couldn’t quite blame her. They were now being scrutinized from every corner, from Masters considering allegiances, to those who were beginning to see them as too dangerous to let them live, to Council members that had paid to have them killed. And of course, there was also the Sweet Mother, though he knew well, if last December’s scare had been an indication, that no army would stop this last one if she wanted to land in St. Louis.

“As soon as his private investigators confirmed the presence of his intended heir in St. Louis,” Lloyd went on, his voice forcing him to focus on the here and now again, “Mr. McLoughlin made the trip from England against all medical advice. This is precisely the reason of our urgency. As we speak, he is now lying in a house in the outskirts, surrounded by his own medical team, clinging to life by a hair’s breadth, waiting for us to bring the vampire he has been looking for.”

“So I assume from your words that you are certain beyond doubt that the individual you have been seeking is one of my subjects.”

“Yes, we are fairly sure the vampire we have been trying to find is under your authority. Actually, it wasn’t easy to find the information required, but our men are dedicated employees.” The Englishman explained, “In fact, the very first real clue about our man’s, or should I say, vampire’s whereabouts came when Mr. McLoughlin’s investigators found your name involved in his move to America. That’s how we traced him back to St. Louis, and found him working in one of your clubs. Due the nature of this affair, however, we have also been cautioned that the proper formalities included approaching you first, to get your approval and permission, instead of contacting him directly.”

“I see. You’ve been thorough with the matter,” Jean-Claude said, finally, studying the folder the lawyer had just put in the table, in front of him.

He didn’t need to go through the detailed description or even the name recorded within the report. By then, Jean-Claude had a very good idea of the identity of the vampire in question, and every detail added by the human only confirmed it. Since he had risen to power, he had offered sanctuary to many of his kind, especially those who were trying to escape from Belle’s grasp, after the demise of the old Master of London. However, among all the vampires that had obtained his protection, he had personally interceded for only one of them. One who had come from Ireland.

The image of the red haired vampire that he had rescued from his cruel mistress flashed through his mind. Tonight he’d be working his usual shift at Danse Macabre. It would be easier to pick him from the club in their way to meet Mr. McLoughlin.

His thoughts zeroed in Anita. He knew she was working that night, and wouldn’t be free from her raisings for the next several hours. In any case, he’d brief her while they were on their way. She might want to join them. After all, Damian was her servant, and part of her second triumvirate. And if she couldn’t join them, then she should be informed, at the very least.

Besides, it was a sensible precaution, at least if he wanted to stay in her good graces. Jean-Claude repressed a wistful sigh, wondering as sometimes he did, why he had chosen to complicate his unlife, bringing her into it. But it was a brief afterthought. The advantages and good moments were worth the headaches that the difficult nature of his lady caused him.

The sound of a cell phone broke the sudden silence that had fell over them, while he made his plans, as he pretended to carefully read the report in his hands.
The British lawyer excused himself and moved to a corner to answer the call. Jean Claude took the chance to make a gesture to Requiem. He didn’t need to speak to issue his orders. A brief mental exchange was enough and his third in command left the room. He’d gather an appropriate party to accompany him.

A light smile graced the Master’s lips, as he thought this kind of communication was even easier since the power boost they had received the night he and Anita shared Augustine. He was looking eagerly towards the next meeting with the Master of Chicago.

“Will you allow us to meet your vampire?” Braswell’s voice took him out of his reverie, as the other lawyer was still on the phone.

“But of course. I will escort you to meet him, though.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt but we have to hasten things, gentlemen. I have just spoken with his doctor, and Mr. McLoughlin’s condition is worsening by the minute. The medical team doubts he’ll see the new dawn.”

“We’ll leave as soon as Requiem has everything ready.”

The British lawyer blinked, uncomprehending.

“I thought that having your permission was enough,” he said.

“It usually is,” Jean-Claude said, smiling lightly, “but let’s say that I have this particular subject of mine in high regard. I’m interested in his complete welfare, and given the unusual nature of the situation, you’ll understand that I want to go with him until the resolution.”

The stench of fear coming from the lawyer increased, and Jean-Claude wondered if there was another reason behind it, besides the idea of spending more time in his presence.

“Is something the matter, Monsieur Lloyd?”

“N-no…“ The man stuttered. “On second thought, perhaps there is. Mr. McLoughlin is a private person, and given his health, his son prefers that he receives as few visitors as possible. If you come with us, you may not even enter.”

“Christopher, Jean-Claude has been nothing but reasonable here. There should be a way to find a solution for this dilemma,” Braswell interjected.

“Let me guess, Monsieur Lloyd. Monsieur McLoughlin’s son opposes sharing his inheritance with a vampire,” Jean-Claude said, voice silky.

The sickish parlor the features of the Briton took gave him the clue that he had hit the right spot. Braswell looked at the man intently, though his expression was carefully schooled. Oh, yes, Braswell would make a wonderful vampire.

“I’ll call and notify in advance that the party will be slightly bigger than was expected,” the lawyer said, without offering more resistance.

“Good, you do that, Monsieur Lloyd,” Jean-Claude almost purred, making the other man shudder. On the other hand, Braswell seemed unaffected. “If you excuse me but for a moment, I’ll get my jacket, and we’ll be on our way.”

Changes in plans were a necessity now. He would contact Asher. He’d make a better choice than Requiem for this particular juncture. Now, like so many centuries ago, there was no-one he could trust better at his back when there was the chance of trouble than his old friend.
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The Fine Art of Becoming a Master