“You dumb bimbo,” she spat, adjusting a stray hair as she spoke, her silver earrings sparkling like daggers. “I can’t believe this is the sacrifice you made to get into hell. And for what? Fair warning on the reavers? Big whoop. That helped you diddly squat. Insight into Mommy’s whereabouts? As if you hadn’t already guessed. A good look at the Raptor’s face? Like one decent reporter won’t scoop that story when Samos feels the time is right. You been screwed, little girl. And not in the kick your legs up and squeal kinda way, either.”
I looked at the cards, strewn across the vibrant red tulip that anchored the rug on which we sat, and felt like I should draw a chalk line around them. Call their next of kin. Wait, that’s me. Oh God, this sucks. I watched my hands gather up the deck, knowing I would never find comfort in the whoosh of a perfect bridge ever again. Fighting the urge to weep.
No boo-hooing, I commanded myself. No panicking either. Think. No way would I relinquish the sweet relief shuffling cards had given me for any of the reasons my inner bitch had listed. There had to be something more, something I’d missed when Raoul and I had traipsed through Satan’s playground. Something key. But now was not the time to replay that visit. Work called. Time to ferret out the mole, it said, its whisper even more seductive than the brush of aces against deuces. I’d survived losses much worse than this. I’d get through. As long as I had the job. I handed the cards to Cole, who sat to my left. “Shuffle for me, would you?” I sat back, letting my hands rest in my lap. Amazon Grace, sensing vulnerability, leaned her back against the fireplace wall and smiled lazily. “Your reflexes are catlike,” she drawled. “I can see why they picked you for this hit.”
Too bad you’re not the traitor. I’d love to rip you in half and feed you to the town rats. I took my time replying, trying to measure how her comrades would react to anything I said. I decided they’d appreciate me rising above. “Well, my instructors figured out pretty quick they’d better teach me how to kill with my feet as well as my hands. It’s a good thing they were so thorough, don’t you think?”
That got a laugh, which pissed off Grace just enough that I felt better. Cole handed me the cards. I called a game of five-card draw, one-eyed jacks wild, and everybody anted up.
The great thing about poker is people expect to be given the eagle eye on a regular basis. So for the next hour, Cole, Bergman, and I got away with shameless snooping right under our quarries’ noses. Jet loved to talk, so we found out quickly that his mom and dad had met in Vietnam and now lived in California. His big sister taught violin at the local college and his little brother played drums in a rock band. He hadn’t met the right woman yet, but when he did he planned to leave the service and start a pizza place because “Pizza is the best food in the universe. Am I right?” High fives all around as we were forced to agree. Jet played aggressively, winning and losing big, bluffing when he should fold. But, damn, he was fun company. Natchez and Bergman, already mutual admirers, found even more reasons to respect each other. Bergman folded about sixty percent of the time, so he was usually all ears when Natch launched into another wahoo tale. Apparently, when he wasn’t working along a tightrope, he lived on the edge. Every story, whether it ended with him being chased into a lake by a grizzly, BASE jumping off the Perrine Bridge, or freeskiing down Crystal Mountain on a virgin slope, made Bergman gape with awe.
“So there we were,” Natch said as he tossed the equivalent of three bucks in the pot and threw an arm onto the cushion of the obese love seat behind him, “snorkeling in water not three feet deep when this ten-foot bull shark comes racing right at us. We found out later people had been feeding sharks in the area, so, who knows, maybe she was jonesing for a handout.”
“Tell them what she got,” said Cam as he threw down his hand in mock disgust.
“A face full of knuckles,” Natch said, miming a slow-motion roundhouse. “Luckily she wasn’t in a fighting mood, so she took off even faster than she came.”
Bergman, who sat between Natch and me, just shook his head. “Natch went mountain climbing in Turkey on his last leave. Can you believe that?” he asked me. “You want to know where I went?”
“A software convention in Delaware?”
“Exactly!”
“Dude, you can’t be comparing your life to mine,” Natch said, clapping Bergman on the back hard enough to make him cough. “You’re a damn genius. Do you think if I could make a gun like that little beauty you brought us I’d be dragging my sorry ass up some rock on my free time? Hell no! I’d be locked in my lab with my Bunsen burners on full blast, spreading beakers and whatnot across my tables and rubbing my hands like a maniac at the thought of what kinda wild shit I was going to come up with today!”
The image Natch’s little monologue brought to mind fit Bergman so well that, despite the loss of my shuffling privileges, I had to laugh.
Another hour passed. Nobody tried any weird gestures, at least none that couldn’t be explained. Natch scratched his chest a couple of times. But, hey, if mine was covered with hair, I’d expect some itching too. The most interesting thing that happened was a three-way showdown between Cole, Cam, and Natch. As the dealer, Grace had decided on Texas Hold ’Em. Only the three guys had continued to bet after looking at their first two cards. Cole let me peek at his. With a suited king, ten, I figured he was right to stay in.
Grace dealt the flop, one of which was a king. Cole bet. After chewing on his toothpick for a few seconds, Cam did too. Then he sat back against the chair behind him and said, “Natch, I think you should fold, buddy.”
Natch raised his eyebrows with amusement. “Why’s that?”
Cam pointed a blunt-nailed finger at his own face. “See these scars?”
Natch rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“These scars are for you, man. I took a grenade in the face just for you. You owe me.”
“I bought you dinner.”
“You think a steak is going to make us even?” Despite the heavy growth of beard I caught the hint of dimples as Cam didn’t quite succeed in hiding a grin.
“I think that time I carried your lard ass on my back for ten miles after you broke your ankle does.”
“That was before the grenade!”
“You ate a whole box of donuts the night before!”
“I want to win this pot!”
“Not if I can help it!”
And it was on.
They razzed each other until they’d each managed to bet every bit of money they’d brought. And then Cole won.
Collective groan, as if one of them had come back from the shooting range without ever having hit the target. Then they all started talking at once.
Grace and Jet: “Somebody should tell those two how much they suck at poker.” “Are you kidding? Think how much we can win from them next time we sit down!”
Jet and Natchez: “You know he’s going to hold that grenade thing over your head forever.” “I know. I should’ve jumped on the damn thing when I had the chance.”
Cam and Cole: “You look like such a nice guy. I should’ve known you were a con artist.” “I’ll give you ten bucks if you keep me supplied with toothpicks for the rest of this mission.” “You’re on!”
Bergman and me in a low, low whisper: “God, but Natch knows how to live. That’s how I want to be, Jaz! He’s not afraid of anything!” “He’s got some admirable traits, yeah. But don’t forget, he’s found a lot to admire in you too.”
The deep, booming sound of the door knocker shut us all up. Dave and Cassandra rushed into the room.
“Were you expecting company?” he asked me.
I couldn’t resist. “No, David. All my Iranian pals are busy this week.”
“Smart-ass. Cole.” He jerked his head for our Farsi speaker to take the lead. “Everybody remember, we’re students,” he hissed, “so quit looking like badasses in costume.” Almost everyone took a seat on the piece of furniture he or she had been leaning against during the card game. Dave motioned for Cassandra
to join Bergman on the couch. I followed him and our interpreter to the door. My hands itched to pull Grief from its holster. But having a gun in your hand, though it’s hidden behind your back, can prevent you from playing a scene cool. I settled for resting my palms against my thighs, where the fingers of my right hand could feel the reassuring outline of my bola. Dave stayed behind with me in the entrance to the living room as Cole went down three wide wooden steps into the foyer. With a bench to one side and a gleaming vase full of red silk flowers to the other, the room had barely been built to house one full-grown man, much less the additional couple he let into the house. Even as the gentleman caller introduced himself, the three of them trooped up the stairs to join us.
“Hello, hello, I am so very glad to meet you. I am Soheil Anvari, the caretaker of this apartment building and this is my wife, Zarsa. We saw you arrived right on schedule. The owner asked that we should stop by to make sure you were finding yourselves comfortably placed. Is everything all right, then?” Soheil beamed. A lean, mustached man of maybe forty-five, he exuded goodwill like worms crap compost. And I’d have bought it, by golly.
Except for the wife.
She went heavily veiled. Inside, where it wasn’t required. It wasn’t quite as bad as the old pictures of women wearing blue tents with eye slits. But she’d come damn close. And that yellowish purple hue around her right eye couldn’t be the latest craze in makeup. It looked to me like Soheil had been making free with the domestic violence.
My temper’s got a fuse, and Soheil had definitely started a slow burn. Slow because I knew I couldn’t afford an explosion anytime in the near future. But when the moment was right . . . I met Zarsa’s eyes. The depth of misery I saw in those dark brown orbs put me in mind of burned beds and poisoned coffee. Desperate measures taken by terrified, trapped women. I wondered if Zarsa had already reached her limit. If Soheil would “accidentally” slip in the shower and break his neck in the fall before I had a chance to exact some vengeance on his wife-beating ass.
“Everything is excellent, thank you so much,” said Cole.
“You are students, yes?” asked Soheil.
“Yes,” Cole agreed, “here to perfect our Farsi. May I try my hand on a native speaker?”
Soheil held out his arms as if to welcome Cole to the Farsi family, and they launched into a five-minute conversation interspersed with bursts of hearty laughter. Finally Soheil said, “You will do very well, I expect. I am so happy you have chosen to study here. And in your free hours, you must visit my shop! It is just down the street.” He motioned south, no doubt toward the market about six blocks away. We’d passed it on the way in, while the stores were still shut tight, their glass and cement facades reminding me so much of home that their brightly colored banners bearing odd, squiggly writing almost startled me. It had been close enough to dawn that the street sellers were already setting up in the alleyways, heaping homegrown goodies on large round trays that sat on the boxes they’d carted them to town in. We’d seen men wearing ball caps and jeans pushing ancient wheelbarrows full of turnips to the edge of the sidewalk while women cloaked in black crouched next to crates of apples, dates, and peaches, their backs resting against stone walls painted with glyphs of blessing from the goddess Enya. Soheil went on. “Ours is the glass-fronted store with the large yellow signs all across the top. You cannot miss it. We sell only the best in clothing and shoes. And my wife does readings in the back. She is quite popular with the students.”
Here we go. Definitely time to act all interested and girly. “What kind of readings?” I asked. I went for breathless and wide-eyed and figured I succeeded when Cole smirked at me behind our vistors’ backs.
“She will tell you of your future. All you need do is let her touch the palm of your hand. She can also help you recover what has been lost. Or, if you prefer, guide you toward true love.”
Huh. I wondered if Zarsa belonged to Cassandra’s Sisters of the Second Sight guild. I was thinking . . . not. “That sounds wonderful!”
Soheil said something to Zarsa in Farsi. Obediently, she pulled a small brown square of heavy paper embossed with gold writing out of her pocket. “In case you get lost,” he explained with his charming grin.
“Just show this to anyone on the street and they will direct you to our shop.”
“Thank you!” I said, taking the card from Zarsa’s outstretched hand. I avoided touching her. All I needed was for her to divine the real reason I’d come to Iran. Even in her present state, she’d probably still feel obliged to turn me in to the authorities. Eventually Albert might put up a tombstone for me, but my epitaph would probably read “And She Was Never Seen Again.”
They left shortly after that. After a communal sigh of relief, Natch announced it had to be time for chow.
“Hey, we’re pretending to be regular people, ya mook,” said Cam, “and regulars don’t say ‘chow.’ ”
“They do if they’re Italian,” Natch replied, for which he got a punch on the shoulder, which erupted into a three-man wrestling match once Jet joined in, with Amazon Grace officiating. She didn’t have many rules. As far as I could tell the only things she wouldn’t allow were eye gouging and spitting. In the end she declared herself the winner and made the men carry her to the kitchen. Dave shook his head at his crew, but the look he gave me as he followed them out of the living room spoke volumes. How can one of them be the enemy when it’s so obvious they love each other like family? Why can’t I be wrong about this whole, horrible situation?
But he wasn’t. Someone on his team had telegraphed their position to the Wizard six weeks ago, which was why his informant, the werejackal, was dead today. Dave definitely had a mole. But neither Cole nor I had picked up any signals during the game that made us suspect one man over another. All we’d done was find out how much we liked and respected all three.
Chapter Twelve
The party continued through supper, just rations we’d brought with us, and moved into the kitchen as we transported our mess back to where it had originated. The room surrounded us with a cozy, college days feel despite the white-tiled walls that tried to make it resemble an OR. The sink and appliances, all stainless steel, surrounded a tile-topped island that had been furnished with four stools. These were covered with bright yellow material that matched the cabinet doors and transformed the room from nauseating to cheerful.
Cole was hunting soap for the dishwasher, Cassandra was scraping plates, and Cam had just begun to tell the story of how Dave had led the raid that netted two of the Wizard’s top men, when my ring sent a shaft of heat up my arm.
He’s awake! Alive! Whatever! Okay, calm down. How old are you anyway? Geesh! I looked down at my right hand, trying to distract myself from the rush of excitement that made it hard to deny how much I’d missed my boss for the past twelve hours.
I nearly whispered the ring’s name. Not because I knew it meant “Guardian.” But because I loved the way the word sounded coming off my tongue. Cirilai. Like a long, soft kiss. And I valued both the craftsmanship and power Vayl’s family had put into the gold and ruby masterpiece that protected his soul. And my life.
I used my thumb to turn the ring, watched the gems snatch the light and throw it out again, a thousand times clearer and more beautiful than it had been to begin with. I wished I could do that with my life. So much confused me lately. I rarely went through a day knowing anything for sure. Maybe I could at least discover something concrete about Cirilai. Even if Vayl couldn’t — wouldn’t — fully explain the relationship it symbolized.
Oh, I knew the basics. In the Vampere world we’d be considered a couple of some sort. His sverhamin to my avhar. Certain rules applied, only a few of which I knew. He had to reveal anything I wanted to know about his past. In return — well — pretty much, I had to make sure he didn’t turn into a towering asshole, take over some small country, and eat his neighbors.
But deeper complexities existed within our bond that Vayl had promised to reveal over time. He s
aid if he gave it to me in one lump my circuits would melt. I suspected if I knew the whole story I’d run to the nearest airport, crash the pilot’s lounge, and promise the first uniform I met my life’s savings if he’d get me out of town, like, yesterday.
And yet even if I was coward enough to run, I knew I’d return. Because something more lasting and powerful than gold and rubies connected us. Blood. Once in Florida and again in Texas Vayl had set those soft, full lips against my skin and sank his fangs into my throat. The first time I’d been offering him a chance to survive. The second he’d been giving me the ability to save countless lives. But, more than that, we’d found in those moments a bond so basic and pure that, while we silently acknowledged it, we never spoke of it. As if to do so might curse it.
Cam’s story distracted me from my thoughts. “So here I am thinking this is the easiest takedown of all time, when Dave steps up to the Wizard’s right-hand man to ask him a question. And this guy, JahAn, goes ballistic. Starts screaming at Dave, who’s kind of smiling, playing it nice and cool. After all, what can the guy do, right? He’s tied up nice and tight. But somehow his buddy, Edris, has wiggled free, and he’s the one we should be worrying about. But he’s staying nice and quiet in his chair. At least that’s what we think.”
Cam looked around the room, stretching the tension just enough to make even the guys who’d been there lean forward with anticipation. “JahAn is practically foaming at the mouth he’s so pissed. Dave is asking him how long he’s worked for the Wizard when Edris jumps him. Goes straight for the throat, and though we pull him off quick, there’s a ton of blood under Dave’s hands, which he’s crossed over his larynx. Plus he’s been knocked out.”
Cam shook his head, his eyes dimming as he remembered their fears. “Lucky for us, he came to right away and most of the blood turned out to belong to Edris. He’d scraped his wrists raw getting free. Turned out he’d just nicked Dave with a fingernail. I’ve seen worse paper cuts. The actual impact caused more damage. He had a hard time talking for a couple of days after that. Most peaceful forty-eight hours I ever spent in the service,” Cam said, chuckling.
Biting the Bullet Page 9
