Biting the Bullet

by Jennifer Rardin

  “Asha.”

  “Now go!”

  He made a commanding motion and of its own accord my foot slammed the accelerator.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ibelieve inmiracles. E.J.’smymainproof.Ican’tlookintothosewidegreeneyes,feelthoseperfect little fingers wrapped around mine, realize this complete little girl with her own personality, made of my sister and her husband and a little bit of me, shares my world, without knowing our family recently experienced a miracle. That’s a biggie. Sometimes God throws me small ones too. Like the fact that I didn’t crash Asha’s BMW as I took a sharp right coming onto the road out of his back gate despite the fact that most of my attention was on the rearview mirror.

  Four reavers had come after me. Two of them ran after the car. One actually jumped onto the trunk, but flew off as soon as I turned the corner. The other two had entered the garage to confront Asha, and I felt my chest tighten with fear for him. I’d just decided to turn the car around when I saw the reavers fly out of the garage and the door thump down. Then I was on the street, wailing down the asphalt like a bank robber, heading back to base through choppily lit, third-world-looking neighborhoods on roads that were often so narrow I wasn’t sure how vehicles passed each other during the day.

  I’d made it maybe halfway back when the TV van caught up with me.

  It tried to ram me in the rear end, but I gunned the engine and pulled far enough ahead to wonder if I was giving them too good of a shot at my back tires. I took the next left before I could find out, watched the van nearly roll in its attempt to follow me, and decided a zigzag course might be the best way to keep them from flattening any part of Asha’s ride.

  As we raced through the eerily quiet streets of the city, I debated whether or not to call the team. I’d put it off because, although I knew the Wizard would want them to defend me from the reavers and would, therefore, let Dave help me, I didn’t want any of them hurt because of me. More important, I didn’t want the local authorities to get wind of our operation. Something they were bound to do if the neighbors heard gunshots.

  I slammed the brakes, spun the wheel hard to the left, accelerated almost before I straightened out again. Behind me the van’s tires squealed in protest and a glance in the mirror showed me reavers being thrown around the interior like balls in a batting cage.

  “Dammit, would you monsters wreck already?” I headed down a narrow alleyway, watched the van throw sparks as it squeezed past the buildings that flanked it. “I need Vayl. Come on, Cirilai.” I rubbed the ring against my thigh like it was Aladdin’s lamp and if I wished hard enough Vayl would just waft out of one of the rubies, sink onto the seat beside me, and calm me with that ultracool demeanor of his even as he and I worked out our battle plan.

  Vayl was out, though. The closer I got to the house, the surer I was of that fact. “Shit! Why didn’t I tell Cole to chew on his own holster? Then I’d still have that holy water on me and this Beemer and I could’ve disappeared into the city like a couple of street tramps.”

  As soon as I said the words “holy water” I got an idea. At the next intersection I swung the car back toward the temple.

  The van dogged me all the way there. But it didn’t attempt any more quick turns. And it didn’t run up on my bumper, for which I was grateful. If I trash another car this early in the year, I kind of thought Pete would have a heart attack.

  I drove right up to the steps, dove out the passenger door, and raced to the temple’s huge entryway. The goat raised its head with interest as I stopped at the threshold.

  The van screeched to a halt and reavers piled out like it was on fire. The mahghul crowded onto its roof and the adjoining satellite dish, watching eagerly as the four of them came at me. I stepped inside the temple. They stopped on the other side of the door, prohibited from attacking me, as I’d hoped, by the sanctity of the place. At a temporary impasse, we stared each other down. The original reaver, who was no longer slapping imaginary flies, had found himself some real winners to help him take me out. Beside him, panting like he’d just run to the top of the Sears Tower, was a sweaty, fat man who reminded me of a puffy Jason Alexander. He leaned hard against his neighbor, a tiny old dude who barely looked capable of holding himself up, much less a creature six times his size. The fourth reaver was so thin you could actually see his skull through his skin.

  But though they looked pathetic, underestimating these creatures would be a huge mistake. I could still see their shields, framing each of them in black. And every one of them stared at me from a third eyeball centered in the middle of their foreheads.

  “Where’s the rest of the gang?” I asked the original.

  “Somebody had to stay back at the station,” he said. “We’re a twenty-four-hour-a-day operation, so you know what that means.”

  “I do?”

  He grinned, his spiked tongue wagging out of his mouth like a bird dog’s. “That means we can wait you out, lambie pie. As long as it takes. Eventually you’ll have to leave here. And then we’ll have your heart. And your soul.” His three amigos giggled. They reminded me of the hyenas in Disney’s Lion King. You’re laughing with them on the outside, but inside you know those sons of bitches mean to eat your favorite cubs and it makes you want to puke.

  Ignoring a sudden urge to run to the bathroom and heave into the toilet, I said, “What’s your name, Reaver?”

  He smiled graciously, his three eyes blinking at a steady, four-second beat, as if he had a timer attached to his eyelids. “You can call me Prentiss Cairo.”

  “Well, P.C., here’s the thing,” I said, flavoring my voice with enough camaraderie that he looked puzzled. “You can take the Magistrate every single one of my organs, tie up my soul with a pretty pink bow, and he’s still not gonna pat your fanny and send you to the showers with a bonus.”

  When they all looked at each other with the confusion you often see on guys’ faces when women start discussing the pros and cons of home hair tinting, I decided to be blunt and hope to God I’d guessed right in forcing this confrontation.

  “Have you boys been in touch with the boss recently? You remember him, don’tcha? Pretty boy hauling around a pound of Uldin Beit’s flesh? The reason I ask is, I have. And I can guarantee there’s been a change in plan. Your sponsor, Samos, may still want me dead. And I’m sure Uldin Beit hasn’t changed her mind. But the Magistrate has developed a whole new strategy where I’m concerned. And he is the guy with the whip, after all.”

  The four of them huddled, all of them talking at once. “I told you we should have checked in when we hit this plane!” whined the Jason Alexander clone.

  “She’s lying!” declared the old man.

  “If we mess this up he’s going to kick the crap out of us,” declared the skinny guy.

  “Shut up!” yelled Prentiss, glaring at me over his shoulder. I shrugged, gave him a hey-it’s-not-my-fault-you-can’t-control-your-stooges look, and stuck my hands in my pockets. The left brushed past my engagement ring. Instant comfort, as if Matt was standing beside me, his hand on my shoulder, his whisper warm in my ear. “You’re doing great, Jaz. I’m proud of you.”

  The other slipped over the hilt of my bolo. The mahghul stirred with excitement as my hand wrapped around the handle. Gave it a slight pull. Several of them dropped off the van. Crept up behind the reavers.

  “So what do you say, P.C.?” I inquired, resolutely ignoring the mahghul. “You want to kill me and put yourself so deep in the Magistrate’s doghouse, instead of souls, you’ll be chasing cockroaches for the next couple of hundred years? Or do you want to make a deal?”

  Prentiss narrowed all three of his eyes. Eeeww, freaky. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “Leave me to the Magistrate. I get to survive another day. Uldin Beit gets what she wants in the long run. And you guys don’t get your asses reamed by the bossman. Seems like a win-win to me.”

  New huddle, much whispering accompanied by a few violent gestures compliments of Prentiss and the o
ld fart. A few moments later they faced me, united and decided. “We’ll do it,” said the old guy. He held out his hand, expecting me to shake on it. Which was when I realized I was screwed. I know a little bit about dealing with the devil. Or, at least, his minions. The CIA presents a whole course on it. People in our line of work, well, we get tempted. A lot. Rails and sates, adversaries and siordents, they’ve all been known to throw our agents an offer they couldn’t resist. So, in order to make sure none of us rookies got dragged off to never-ever-laugh like the famous Drew Telast, who’d thought it worth risking his soul to get the dirt on Premier Khordikov, the Agency had organized a class. As a result, I knew no servant of the Great Taker would ever make a bargain with a simple handshake. If he’d really meant to seal the deal, both of us would’ve had to get bloody.

  I stared at the outstretched hand. Wished I had just one ally guarding my back. Then realized I had an entire temple.

  I stepped forward, shoved my palm into Old Fart’s, and grabbed hard with the other hand as well. Throwing all my weight backward, I swung him around and through the doorway. He screamed as he burst into flame — whoosh — as if he’d been dipped in lighter fluid and thrown into a bonfire.

  “Sarif!” screamed the anorexic guy, momentarily stunned into stillness as his comrades attacked. With no time to draw my gun and fiddle with the safety, I went for my knife. It felt heavy in my hand, which was when I realized a mahghul had wrapped itself around my forearm like a giant sloth. My skin burned where it had bitten me. I tried to shake it off, but only succeeded in making it latch on tighter. Fine, I thought, the rage rising in me. I’ll take care of you later, you little bastard. And if I torture you some first, just think of it as payback.

  The part of my mind that had gained extra protection when my Sensitivity first kicked in understood that my thoughts were no longer quite my own. The mahghul was ratcheting up my killing instinct even as it ate my fury. But I didn’t have time to concern myself with petty details right now. Prentiss and the fat reaver were charging me. Though the mahghul on their backs slowed them some, they still came faster than humans, and only my training allowed me to shove the bolo through Fat Guy’s third eye before spinning clear of P.C.

  I threw a kick at Skinny Dude’s head before he could completely recover. His shield protected him well enough that it only staggered him, but that gave me time to draw Grief. I shot twice at Prentiss, missing the sweet spot both times.

  “Shit!” Now mahghul weighed down both my legs. I felt teeth in the small of my back as well. I wanted to shoot them. But this was no time to waste ammunition.

  The reavers looked like mutants as they moved toward me, so completely had they been overtaken by the murder monsters. The sight made me feel slightly crazed. I felt as if the mahghul were stealing something vital from me by draining my victims. The pleasure of the kill? The delight of seeing real fear in their eyes? Suddenly shooting the reavers seemed too quick. I wanted them to die more slowly. So I could enjoy it.

  I slapped myself across the face. “Get a grip, ya loon!” I aimed Grief at Skinny Dude. Shot him almost point-blank. He went down hard, disappearing beneath the writhing forms of the mahghul like a prey fish caught inside the net of a piranha feeding frenzy.

  Prentiss punched me in the chest so hard I thought for a second my heart had stopped. I staggered backward, hit the frame of the temple’s doorway, and spun on into the building. A chorus of screams rose from the mahghul, nearly deafening me. They pulled away, smoke rising from their skins as they ran out of the temple. The last one didn’t make it in time. He didn’t burn like the reaver. He exploded. I covered my face with my hands, and when I raised it again, realized it was the only part of me not covered in gore. If I’d been in my right mind just then, I might have lost it completely. But the mahghul had drained so much of my vitality that I simply didn’t have any freak-out left in me. I struggled to my feet, knocked the ick out of my gun barrel, and stepped back outside.

  Prentiss looked like a gorilla with mahghul swarming all over him. Something, maybe seeing mine explode, had made him realize he was under attack. He was trying to pull them off. But they held tight, like a pack of enormous, excited ticks.

  “Help me!” he screamed just before one stuck its small paw down his throat. His next bout of begging came out as a series of indecipherable glugs. My first instinct was to run back into the temple. Grab a torch off the wall. I was betting it doubled as holy fire. I had a feeling that might make the parasites loosen their hold.

  Except as soon as they did, P.C. would try to kill me some more.

  So instead I took steady aim at that extra eye, the one the mahghul seemed intent on avoiding. It widened. Began to blink rapidly as the gurgling sounds rose to a fearful peak. I squeezed the trigger gently, part of me happily amazed the mahghul avoided me as I finished off the reaver. Maybe the smell of their brethren on me was enough to keep them at arm’s length. Had I happened on a new pesticide? Should I give Asha a buzz? Hey, buddy. Great news! All you gotta do is spread mahghul guts all over your bod and you can go back to busting humps just like in the good old days! As the remaining nasties slunk away I tried to plan my next move. But it wasn’t easy to think past the I-couldn’t-give-a-shit that had stolen over me. I knew those who’d bitten me had left a mark deeper than the bloody imprints of their fangs. Impossible to pinpoint among the emotional scars that crisscrossed my soul, marring it just as deeply as the welts on Vayl’s back, these wounds were already festering. Soon even the core of me, still clear-eyed enough to be biting its nails to the quick, wouldn’t be able to fend off this pervasive sense of hopelessness.

  “I need a cure,” I whispered. I looked down at myself. Covered in drying blood and body parts, I should be puking, gagging, swearing. Jesus, I should at least be trying to get it off! But I just stared. I’m doomed. A single tear escaped the corner of my eye, burned its way down my face, and dripped onto my hand, which still held my bolo. I watched it sizzle on my skin for a moment, as if it were a drop of grease in a pan.

  “Ow!” I rubbed my hand, surprised at the pain a bead of moisture could cause. Certain the Amanha Szeya had affected more than my tear ducts when his hands had cupped my cheeks. Pleased at the white spot I’d cleared with that small effort.

  I wiped my face off too, before it could get any hotter. Took a look at the gook my hand had removed.

  “A shower. That would make me feel better.” Just knowing I’d entertained a positive thought allowed me to move to the vehicles. No way would I sit my disgusting ass in Asha’s beautiful black sedan. So I got into the TV van, started it up, and drove home.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Being a girl, I enjoy the dramatic entrance. Having all eyes on me, preferably admiring and male, as I sashay to my table. Or, better yet, to the podium to accept a major award. My hair, makeup, and gown the most perfect combination any woman has ever put together in the history of the world. But in my line of work, if that happens, I’ve just screwed the pooch. So when I opened the kitchen door, after parking the TV van in the garage and thanking my lucky stars its high ceilings just barely accommodated the satellite dish, I experienced a flash of guilt when every eye in the room turned to me and widened in a united moment of shock. I couldn’t hang on to the feeling though. In fact, no emotion seemed to stick for longer than a few seconds before it fizzled beneath the mahghul tumor that grew inside me, spreading its tentacles into every part of my being.

  “Hard night?” asked Cole in a lame attempt at humor.

  “You could say that,” I replied, taking stock of my audience. Everybody had bought a ticket. Except Vayl. “Where’s the boss?” I asked Cole.

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “In the guys’ room,” he said, “meditating. Apparently you have to achieve nirvana before you can turn a human into a vampire, and he hasn’t quite made the leap.”

  Anger flitted through me. Cirilai would’ve warned him of my danger. Normally he’d have come dashing to the rescue. Even if he’d
thought I could handle the situation, he’d have hovered nearby. Stood on the sidelines and cheered me on. Nothing on earth would’ve stopped him from backing me up. Until now.

  “Jaz.” Dave stepped forward from his spot by the stove, where he’d been talking with Cassandra.

  “What happened to you?” He reached out and I backed up, my heel banging into woodwork before my shoulders could hit the wall and leave a big red splotch.

  “Don’t touch me. I . . . the things that attacked me leave a residue. I don’t want you hurt.” And I don’t want you to know that I know. Somehow I think if you touch me the Wizard might get a whiff of my suspicions. And that’ll be the end of us all. Oh Jesus, Dave, how am I going to save you?

  “Are you infected?” demanded Amazon Grace, jumping off her stool and heading for the living room. She grabbed Jet and Cam, tried to drag them with her, but they didn’t seem interested in budging. “She’s going to give you guys some fatal disease,” Grace warned them. When they still refused to stand up, she snarled something unintelligible, let go of their shirts, and stomped out of the room.

  “It’s not something you can get through the air,” I told them. “Probably not even by touching. I think you have to actually kill somebody.”

  “Which you obviously did tonight,” said Natchez, his upper lip curling at the sight I made.

  “I’ll fill you all in, I promise. Just let me get a shower first, okay? Actually,” — I turned to Cassandra

  — “what I really need is some holy water.”

  Half an hour later, anointed and bathed, realizing I should feel tons better and feeling a fat lot of nothing instead, I headed back toward the kitchen. I passed the guys’ room on the way. Vayl had closed the door, but I could sense him behind it. The anger came again, and before it could leave I grabbed it. Held hard to it, though it tried to wriggle out of my hands like the slick little eel it had become. I threw open the door and strode into the room. “Where the hell were you?” I demanded. He sat on a beautifully crafted blue and white rug within a circle of stones, his hands resting in his lap. His expression, serene as a Buddhist monk’s, didn’t change when I barged in. But his eyes, already a troubled oceanic blue, darkened to purple. Any other time I might’ve taken a second to wonder why Vayl, sitting alone, preparing for an event meant to lead to the fulfillment of a centuries’ long quest, had reason to be upset about anything. But the clock was ticking on my wave of anger and I had more urgent business to deal with.