“She’s my child now, Hilda. Get out of this house before I decide she needs to strangle you.” She fixed Mira’s mother with a malevolent glare, one that made Hilda shiver and sit back on her heels. But she wasn’t ready to give up. Not when her darling had finally reopened her lovely blue eyes. Even if they were, well, vacant.
“Mira, mine. Come home now. We’ve got so much to do.”
But Mira, the part that mattered, had already gone home. The bit that remained marched to the drum of a new master. That part opened its mouth wide, sank its teeth into Hilda’s wrist. And chewed. Hilda screamed, shoving at Mira’s forehead, trying to get her to release her hold as blood began to spurt from her deepening wound.
Mira growled with irritation as Hilda pushed her away, shoving her half off her tasty treat. She released the wrist but snapped right back to target. Hilda recoiled, but not fast enough. This time Mira had her by the hand. I glanced down at my own hands, marked forever by the talons of a pissed-off reaver. And that’s when I really began rooting for the underdog.
After a brief tug-of-war backed by Mira’s growls, Hilda’s screams, and Madame Otis’s delighted cackles, Hilda finally broke free. She ran out of the cottage, trailing blood as she went. Again the picture faded.
“From then on I spent all my time researching necromancy,” Hilda’s robotic voice informed us. “I discovered that the truly dead can be reanimated by the energies of the necromancer, but she must be choosy. Because though the soul has left the body something remains. A shadow that can become difficult to manipulate depending on how the person lived. Children and those who were obsessed or fixated in life are the easiest to control in this way, as long as the necromancer keeps visual contact with her subjects. I have just discovered there may be another, more insidious method of controlling the dead. But it requires much more sacrifice on the part of the necromancer, because the soul is trapped inside the victim’s body. Therefore this method is rarely used.”
A new, more energetic voice suddenly replaced Hilda’s. “Before Hilda could complete her research she was killed. See eyewitness account by Letitia Greeley.”
But when Cassandra tried to reference that account, the Enkyklios simply offered up a name — Sister Doshomi.
“What’s that mean?” asked Cole as he popped a blue bubble.
“The Letitia Greeley story is in her Enkyklios,” said Cassandra. “I’ll have to contact her and see if she can send me a copy.”
“Seriously?” marveled Cole. “There’s more than one of these out there? I mean, I thought yours was, you know, the database.”
Cassandra shook her head. “Even the Enkyklios is limited in what it can hold. If we were to lose one, we certainly would be devastated if we had no backups. And despite what you may think, it isn’t easy, or even recommended, for one person with one Enkyklios to travel the world recording stories. And so” —
she shrugged — “sometimes we find we must still share information the old-fashioned way.”
“By telephone?” Cole ventured.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “No, silly, by e-mail.”
But Sister Doshomi had proven hard to pin down. In fact, she’d been mountain climbing when Cassandra tried to contact her and wasn’t expected back until after we left Ohio. While we’d begun the mission with an incomplete view of raising the dead, at least the Spec Ops guys had given us solid information regarding a meeting our necromancer would be attending. They knew the time, location — they’d even snagged a picture of their nemesis. The first ever and quite a coup for Dave’s group. He’d probably still be basking in the glory if he hadn’t simultaneously discovered his unit had a mole. The only one who suspected, Dave had tried to hand off the meeting coordinates, along with the job of exterminating the Wizard, to another unit. Instead SOCOM, with the direct support of the DOD, had requested that we team with them.
They knew the CIA had a consultant on staff with insider knowledge of the Wizard. They’d heard our particular department fronted a team of assassins that had never failed to nail its target. And they felt only outsiders like us could ferret out a mole while leaving the rest of a highly trained, incredibly valuable fighting element intact.
Problem was, these guys were tight. I could see them resenting our presence, especially since we’d been called in to finish the job they’d started. If we did this wrong, if Bergman pulled an attitude or Cassandra freaked somebody with one of her visions or Cole made a joke nobody laughed at . . . Hell, so many things could go wrong that if we got through this mission without crossing the path of any “friendly” fire I’d be amazed.
I played it absolutely straight and hoped that was how everybody in the room would take it. Meeting my brother’s green eyes, the only part of him that made me feel I was looking in a mirror, I said gravely, “I know you’re a lot more surprised to see me than I am you. But then, that’s how the Agency works sometimes. Secrecy is the key to success. You know that.”
He paled slightly and I mentally slapped myself. I’d been reunited with him less than ten minutes and already managed to remind him of the most painful tragedy of our lives. Because it had nearly destroyed our relationship, we’d never been able to confront it head-on. That’s something I can manage with limited contact. Not so much up close and personal. I’d have to step lightly if I still wanted a brother when this mission was over. Dammit, all this tiptoeing is already making my arches sore. “Anyway, about eight months ago, I teamed up with Vayl.”
“So . . . you’re an assassin?” Dave asked incredulously.
“Why do I feel like you’d have used the same tone if I’d just confessed to being a stripper?” I demanded.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m just a little surprised, is all.”
“I’m very good at what I do.”
Dave nodded, then shrugged. “They said they were sending the best.”
“Well, then.” My entire crew had gathered around me as I spoke, Vayl by my right side, Cole at my left, Cassandra and Bergman behind us in the gaps our shoulders made. I didn’t like the formation. It looked too much like a defensive barrier. But that’s how people break themselves down in any new situation. Get with the herd until you know the lions aren’t going to pounce. Dave’s group, superior to ours in both numbers and weaponry, felt free to stay scattered across the room, though every one of them remained alert to our conversation, even the wounded. The medic, a sturdy, dark-skinned brunette with strong, capable hands, had patched two of her charges and was threading a needle for another while a fourth held a bandage to his bicep to help control the bleeding. That fourth, the same giant who’d saved me during the battle, gave me a considering look, cocked his head to one side, grinned, and winked. I couldn’t help it. I kinda thought we were going to be friends. I didn’t have time to check out the other half of Dave’s unit. He’d found yet another unhappy thought. At this rate, even a whole pouchful of Tinker Bell’s magic dust would never get him flying. “There’s something weird about this whole deal. Two people who’ve barely spoken to each other in over a year —”
“Sixteen months,” I told him.
He barreled on. “— don’t just whoops into the same mission. Especially when those people are twins.”
That got his unit’s attention. My eyes raked the room. Yup, amazement in all corners. Geez, hasn’t he told them anything about me besides my name? I mean, omitting the fact that you’re a twin? How pissed do you have to be . . .
I guessed I knew the answer to that.
The guy who’d uncovered the lantern sauntered over, rolling the toothpick he carried in his mouth from one side to the other. Cole twitched so hard he actually bumped me. A glance in his direction showed him biting his lip. Uh-oh. Our interpreter had something of an oral fixation, which he generally soothed with varying flavors of bubble gum. Unfortunately, he’d run through his entire supply on the trip over. I crossed my arms, jabbing him in the ribs as I did so.
Toothpick-chewer stopped beside Dave and looked
up at him, nodding, just nodding, as a smile spread across his broad, pitted face. I liked him immediately as well, which didn’t bode well for any mole-hunting I’d be doing in the future. Come on, Jaz, you’re supposed to be the neutral party here. But this dude, you could tell he’d been through all kinds of hell. If the acne had been cruel, the shrapnel had been brutal, leaving a spray of scars across his forehead, cheeks, and neck that the beard and mustache only partially disguised. I also noted a ridge just in front of his ear that made me wonder if somebody had, at some point, been required to sew it back on. And still this immense humor danced in his hazel eyes, just waiting for the right moment to leap.
Like the rest of us, he was dressed in traditional Middle Eastern clothes, looking comfy in a flowing white thobe and shalwar pants to match, a maroon kufi resting on his brown hair. We would only wear these sorts of clothes while we traveled across the eastern edge of Iraq and crossed the northwestern corner of Iran. Once inside Tehran we’d change into the more commonly worn Western wear of the city folk. Button-down shirts and khakis for the guys. Hijab and pantsuits for the girls that involved a knee length, button-down tunic and comfy, elastic-waisted pants, covered by either a chador or a manteau — both of them dark and shapeless coverings — when we went out. Not that we meant for anyone to get a close look. For obvious reasons Vayl and I moved at night. Lucky for us, Dave’s unit preferred the same.
“Cam?” said Dave as his sergeant continued to nod with a general air of amusement.
“Yeah?”
“You got something to say?”
“Well, sir, on behalf of everyone here I’d appreciate knowing if she’s as big a pain in the ass as you are. Because, if so, we’d like to request double hazard pay and an extra week of leave after this one’s wrapped up.” Chorus of chuckles from Dave’s team.
Our dad, the marine, would burst a vessel at such a breach of military etiquette. But it just didn’t track among people so highly skilled they worked only the most top-level, skin-of-your-teeth, crap-down-your-leg missions available. In fact, it got in the way. However, since he’d put Dave in a helluva spot just now, I fielded the man’s question. “That one’s going to be tough to answer, Cam. As siblings, we’re very competitive. Which means we could probably argue this issue all night long and never come to a satisfactory conclusion. Actually, though, if you’d ever met our dad, you’d probably agree that the award for overbearing, tyrannical, asshole of the century would have to go to him.”
Which was when I realized how this little coincidence had been arranged. Albert Parks was a semiretired consultant to the CIA. He might have been able to pull enough strings to pair his kids on the same mission if he felt either one of us would benefit from it. But in order to do so he would’ve had to know about it. Yeah, he could’ve found out. I wasn’t sure how, but with his contacts, I could practically see his hairy paw prints all over this deal.
“Jaz?” Dave asked. “Are you okay?”
Oh, absotively, brother dear. Well, okay, I want to thump our father over the head with a large blunt object. Like his ego. Because what the hell is he trying to prove? Interfering old poop. But other than that, I’m just peachy.
“I’m fine,” I said. I sounded okay, too. Good. But to help bring myself back to center, and because I really did want to see his reaction, I said, “Did I tell you Albert bought a motorcycle?”
My brother’s mouth fell far enough open that I had to stifle an urge to wad up the nearest napkin and try my rim shot off his upper lip. “You’re shitting me!”
“Nope. He has a purple helmet to match the gas tank, which glitters in the sunlight like Mom’s old bowling ball — I’m quoting him here. Also he bought a full set of leathers. I think Shelby —that’s his new nurse,” I reminded him, “has to spray him with Pam before he slides into them.”
“How does he start it?”
“Push of the button. No kicking necessary.” His knees weren’t what they used to be. Dave shook his head in horrified disbelief as he rubbed the back of his neck, maybe imagining our dad breaking his. “What the hell was he thinking?”
I shrugged. “He just became a grandfather. I guess he’s trying to pretend he’s not an old man despite all evidence to the contrary.”
“You guys are making me squirm,” objected Jet. “Colonel Parks is practically a god in my house. If my dad knew you two were talking about him like this he’d beat the shit out of me!”
Dave nodded toward my shooting buddy. “I guess Albert saved his dad’s life a couple of times. You know how it is.” I did. Jet’s dad had probably spent more time with mine than I had. Even now, all grown up and taking care of myself, I couldn’t help the spear of jealousy that skewered me when I thought of their relationship. They’d never struggle to understand one another. Never question each other’s motives. Their bond was unbreakable. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure Albert and I had one. I shoved my hands into my pockets. My left forefinger brushed against the memento I always kept there. The engagement ring Matt had given me two weeks before he died had only lately begun to remind me of a relationship that hadn’t made me want to pull my hair out by the roots. And that only because I’d finally accepted that now, sixteen months after his death, maybe Matt wanted me to be happy. Too bad my closest male relatives didn’t always feel the same.
“Jaz? Are you sure you’re okay?” Dave asked again.
“Yes.” Shut the hell up and leave me alone.
He reached forward, pulled my hijab down, snagged one of the long curls that framed the right side of my face. Usually they’re a vibrant red. I’d dyed them black for this mission. Except . . . “Did you have an accident recently?” he pressed.
“Why do you ask?”
He pulled the twirls of hair straight and stretched them across my vision. My lips went dry. “What,” he demanded, “has turned your hair white?”
The first thing I did was grab another hunk of hair and yank it forward. Whew! It was still black. Only that bit beside my face had turned. The relief was so intense I laughed. Not so my crew. During the moments of babbling, confusion, and near panic that followed I had to remind myself that I hadn’t just been in a near-fatal car accident. Nobody had shot or stabbed me. We were just talking about some hair tintage here, folks. But you’d never have known that by the frenzy my crew fell into. And damned if they weren’t getting me wound up all over gain.
“Ohmigod, somebody’s gotten to her!” yelled Bergman, clenching his bony fists like somebody was about to take a swing at him. “She’s probably caught some vile disease!” He hadn’t forgotten the close call we’d had with a virus called the Red Plague that had been designed to wipe out ninety percent of those who were exposed to it. He scuttled to the farthest corner of the room despite the fact that it put him next to the woman who’d covered the windows — a six-foot-one-inch amazon with the face of a beauty queen. At the same moment Cassandra leaned forward and said urgently, “I can help you fight whatever has possessed you.” A courageous offer, I thought, since as soon as she touched me she’d be putting herself at its mercy, too.
“I’m not sick and I’m not possessed,” I said, but my reply was muted by Cole’s exclamation.
“It’s this location, isn’t it? I told you they’ve got all kinds of lethal crap floating in the air over here. Comes from all that nuclear testing and biological warfare and —”
“Enough!” Vayl bellowed. The sudden silence made my ears ring. I thought, See what happens when you hardly ever raise your voice? You should take a lesson from this, Jaz, though I knew I wouldn’t. Vayl looked at me. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea what caused this?” He curled the offending hair around his finger, brushing against my face as he did so. His touch, gentle and yet electrifying, made me hold my breath.
“Yes.”
“Would you like to discuss it?”
I sighed. If I could say it had nothing to do with the mission I’d be off the hook. But
it did. In fact, it had a whole helluva lot to do with why four good men were currently sitting on the floor feeling like the poster boys for Johnson & Johnson.
I met Vayl’s eyes. They were the indigo blue that signified deep concern. I twirled Cirilai, the ring he’d given me, around the finger of my right hand. I don’t know if it was that simple action or a stronger power from Cirilai itself that calmed me, but as soon as I thought of it, touched it, I relaxed. “I fell asleep while we were in the helicopter,” I said.
“Yes, I know.” Oh, so that had been his shoulder I’d been leaning on the whole time. Comfy. Anyway.
“Raoul came to me in a dream.” You could almost feel the intensity in the room rise. It started with Vayl, who knew Raoul had twice resurrected me. Yeah, as in, Lazarus, quit acting like such a stiff already. He’d also, from time to time, offered me advice, usually in a thunderclap sort of voice that made me wish I’d bought earplugs.
The intensity spread to our crew when they realized, just from looking at our faces, who I must be talking about. Cassandra and Bergman had seen Raoul pull his first miracle on me via holographic replay. They’d filled Cole in later on. It wasn’t something any of them were likely to forget. Dave knew Raoul as well, and his team, keyed in on him as they were, reacted to his startled response with a little dance I like to call the bump and shuffle. It’s a series of significant looks accompanied by shifts in stance and simple footwork that a very tight-knit group uses to let each other know something big is about to go down and everybody should remember their assignments. I didn’t know what they expected me to do. Suddenly transform into a brain-eating siren? Mow them all down with the AK-47 I kept hidden in my undies? Burst into flame?
Vayl, noting the change in pressure, tried to put a spin on the release valve. “Jasmine is a Sensitive,” he explained to the room at large. “Among her Gifts is the ability to travel outside her body. Raoul exists in that realm, and has had occasion to act as her Guide.”
Biting the Bullet Page 2
