Jennifer Rardin - Jaz Parks Book 3 - Biting The Bullet

by Jennifer Rardin

  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.

  The appreciative laughter trickled off quickly when Vayl entered the kitchen. I kept my seat, but I was practically the only one. As soon as he opened the fridge and pulled out a plastic bag full of blood the room cleared like an elementary school during a fire drill. Clatter of tableware. Mumbled excuses.

  “Don’t worry,” I called after Dave’s people as they ran for cover, “we’ll do the dishes.” Apparently Spec Ops types don’t mind seeing blood coming out. Or being the cause of it. But going in? Different story altogether.

  Within five minutes of Vayl’s entrance, my crew and I had the place to ourselves. Even Dave had left. Feeling guilty for sitting out the card game? Maybe.

  Or

  , my conscience, a country-club regular with flawless makeup and 2.5 child-star wannabes goaded me,

  does he just hate to be reminded of who, and how, Jessie might have been if you hadn’t staked her

  ?

  And suddenly I was back there, in the townhouse I’d shared with Matt. Barely moving. Barely breathing, three days after his death, dragging my butt to the kitchen because some ass would not stop knocking. I checked to make sure my gun’s safety was engaged before flipping on the light. I threw open the door. Took a big step back.

  Jessie stood on the threshold. “Let me in,” she begged, looking over her shoulder as if she’d met the bogeyman and he was actually scarier than her.

  “No.”

  “Jasmine, please. They’re going to experiment on me! They’re going to do tests and shoot me full of chemicals like I’m some kind of lab monkey!”

  I believed every word. She’d been turned by Aidyn Strait’s nest, and he loved his weird science. I said, “Jessie, go away. Don’t make me keep my promise.”

  Her eyes flickered. Maybe the change had made her forget the vow we’d made. We had both believed that to become vampire meant one agreed to relinquish her soul. And the only way to get it back . . .

  “Let me in,” she commanded, holding my gaze. It might have worked before the battle. But already I had changed. The Sensitivity had kicked in and vampires could no longer hypnotize me. I aimed the modified Walther PPK Bergman had made for me at Jessie’s heart. I’d already disabled the safety. Pushed the magic button. The bolt I sent into her chest flew true. I held her eyes until the very last moment, but I’ll never know if I saw relief in them. Or if I was just wishing.

  I looked at the gun in my hand as the smoke from my best friend, my late sister-in-law, wafted away in the cold November breeze and told it, “You give me nothing but grief.”

  The clack of Vayl’s porcelain mug against the tile of the countertop brought me back to the present. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  I searched his face. “I’m wondering if it’s always right to keep your promises.”

  “Yes.” He said it so instantly I felt stunned, as if he’d unexpectedly thrown something and hit me with it before I could catch it.

  “Aw, come on,” said Cole, “not always.”

  “Always,” Vayl insisted. “This is one of the reasons I have made you my

  avhar,

  Jasmine. A promise is a sacred bond, never to be breached.”

  “You sound like a third grader,” Bergman said, adjusting his glasses as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Vayl made one of those irritated noises unique only to him. Like a huff, but more masculine. “Perhaps because children know how important trust is. Only when they are repeatedly betrayed by adults do they finally give up believing they can ever find it in even a single person.”

  These were the times I liked Vayl best. I could’ve set my chin on my hands and just watched him talk for hours. Usually I didn’t see squat behind that statuelike facade. The only peek I often got into the turmoil of emotion that I suspected he barely kept in check was the changing hues of his remarkable eyes. But every once in a while the mask would crack and I’d see how important he thought it was, not just to be human, but to be good. Hokey, I know, but the dude’s nearly three hundred. He’s allowed.

  “What?” he asked me.

  “I don’t know. I . . . I guess I’m glad you feel that way. It makes me feel better about a promise I kept.”

  “Good. Now, tell me what I missed today.”

  Between the three of us, we filled him in. I finished with, “Something funny’s going on. Think about it. Those zombie reavers didn’t hurt a single one of us. All they did was get in the way of the new reavers. Is there any reason the Wizard would want to be helping us?”

  “Oh, yeah,” scoffed Bergman, “he’s all about aiding and abetting his own assassination.”

  “But —”

  “I believe Bergman is right, Jasmine,” Vayl put in. “The Wizard wants us eliminated. End of story.”

  Yeah, but . . .

  I itched to take the picture of the Wizard Pete had given us out of the pocket of my tunic and study it for the hundredth time. Something about

  it

  bothered me too, but I’d never say that out loud. Dave and his team would probably get medals for discovering that priceless bit of intel along with the cell phone number whose intercept had ultimately led to this mission. As they should. So who was I to say that the man with the graying beard and wide, brown eyes who stood before a tall green door with his arms around his wife and smiling daughter reminded me more of my sweetheart of a neighbor, Mr. Rinaldi, than any of the mass murderers I’d ever encountered? I’d be the first to tell any group of innocents never to base your trust on looks.

  Okay, so no dice on the Wizard

  .

  “Then what about the Magistrate?” I asked. “Why all that hocus-pocus with fake Matt?”

  “You don’t like the trapping Raoul theory?” Cassandra asked.

  Not when you pair it with the weird zombie reaver theory

  , I thought, but since that had already been shot down I just shrugged.

  “I do not see how it matters since you have found a way to protect yourself from detection,” said Vayl.

  Yeah, but I’m not going to be happy washing my forehead with holy water every morning while praying. I mean, God and I . . . I guess we’re on decent terms. But we don’t talk a lot. I’m sure every time he hears me pray he does a double take. So the morning baptisms just seem . . . hypocritical. And irritating. I’m going to need to figure this one out.

  Apparently now would not be the time, though, because Vayl had other things on his mind.

  “Tell me more about this Seer,” he requested. So we went back over the visit from Soheil and Zarsa. This time I added my impressions while Vayl listened intently, sipping from his mug as we spoke.

  “I must visit this Zarsa,” he decided. “Does she speak English?”

  Cole thought about it while Cassandra gave me an intent look that said I’d better be having a private chat with her soon. “She didn’t while she was here,” Cole finally said.

  Vayl’s brows lowered. You could see his desire to talk to a Seer war with his need for privacy. Desire won. “You must come with me, Cole.”

  My teeth tried to clench, and while I was making my jaw relax my hands curled into fists. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” I demanded.

  He shrugged. “Clean Grief? After I return, you and I will attend to our other business.” Meaning we’d scope out the café where the Wizard would, according to the late werejackal, be celebrating his birthday with several close male family members tomorrow.

  Though I wanted to argue, the wild wiggling of Cassandra’s eyebrows forced me to press
my lips together. “Fine,” I said. I couldn’t help adding, “As long as you’re handing out assignments, what about Cassandra and Bergman? Any interesting jobs for them to do while you’re gone?”

  Vayl, within minutes of exploring the depths of a new psychic’s powers for news of his lost sons, remained blissfully immune to my sarcasm. “Actually, yes. I thought the idea of a shielded

  other

  within our midst was rather brilliant. Perhaps the two of you could work on a way to reveal that shield, or lower it, so we could at last pinpoint our partners’ betrayers.”

  Bergman, the buttons of his bland brown shirt practically bursting from Vayl’s compliment, jumped off his chair. “We’ll get right on it.” He was halfway out the door when he turned back to Cassandra. “Well? Are you coming?”

  “Of course.” She nodded at the men, gave me a get-your-ass-in-here stare, and said pointedly, “We’ll be in the girls’ room.”

  Vayl clapped Cole on the shoulder as if they were headed out for a beer. His sudden camaraderie, coming on the heels of so much suspicion and even downright jealousy, made me want to demand a DNA test. Or at least stand up and yell, “Stop acting so damn weird!”

  “Ready?” Vayl asked.

  “Uh, are we going to have to pay her?” Cole wondered. “Because I lost most of my money playing poker.” A lie. He had, if anything, come out a couple of bucks ahead.

  “Ah, yes, compensation,” Vayl said. “I will be right back.” He practically skipped out of the kitchen.

  As soon as Cole was certain he couldn’t hear us he whispered, “Vayl and cheerful do not mix. It’s just creepy.”

  Yeah. And depressing. Because it’s for the wrong reasons

  . I realized

  I

  wanted to put that dimple in his cheek. His eyes should always be hazel. I liked it when he twirled his cane like he was leading a really great band. And all that would disappear the moment Zarsa told him she couldn’t See Hanzi and Badu any better than Cassandra could.

  “Pay close attention to what happens in there,” I told him. “There’s a reason this feels wrong.”

  “Speaking of which, I really need to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” I’d been expecting this. Should’ve sought him out sooner. Because now that the two of us were alone, he’d let his guard down. And the pain stood clear on his face. “What’s up?” I asked softly.

  He stepped closer. Looked deep into my eyes. Hesitated a millisecond, and then dove in. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  Oh. No

  .

  “Cole —”

  “I know how you feel. About me. About him. I just wanted you to know — we could be good together. We could have a life. Kids. Vacations. On Sunday mornings I could serve you breakfast in bed.” He gave me his I-know-you-find-me-irresistible grin. “And then I could make you something to eat.”

  “I —”

  “No. Just tell me you won’t commit to him until you’ve considered me.”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. Because deep down I kind of thought I already had. Plus, I understood this was so the wrong moment to yell, “I

  like

  you, idiot! I have, maybe, three friends in the world and you may have just messed that up for me! You’re only the catch of the century. You could do us all a favor and fall for one of the hundreds of women who’ve lined up for you. But, no. You’ve got to declare for me. And now things are going to be all awkward and strained between us. You ass.”

  Or, even more appealing, I could just punch him in the gut and run off, cackling, into the night. However, considering his eight-year-old mentality, he’d probably take that as a sign of affection and the next thing you know we’d be engaged. I opened my mouth, hoping something intelligent would pop out, and then clicked it shut again when Vayl breezed back into the kitchen. His manner blew my worries about Cole to the back of my brain. Something about the way he glanced at and then dismissed me worked on me like a time machine, took me right back to my childhood.

  I was fourteen. And I’d just been dumped by Ellis Brenner. I’d had to tear off all the covers of my notebooks so I’d no longer have to look at the elaborate drawings I’d made that variously said Jasmine Elaine Brenner, Mrs. Jasmine Brenner, and Jasmine and Ellis Brenner. I managed to keep it together until I got home from school. And then I lost it. I saw myself now as if I was my mother, standing at my bedroom door, watching teenaged me draped across the lavender bedspread in the room I shared with Evie, sobbing hysterically as I clutched Buttons the Bear to my chest.

  “What’s up with you?” Mom had asked, still manning her post, as if entering my room might be noted by the door generals, who could have her shot for dereliction of duty.

  It took me a while to get the words out. Saying it aloud made it so real. Which made it hurt more. Which made me cry all the harder. “E-huh E-huh Ellis d-huh-dumped me!” I finally wailed. I curled into a ball with Buttons at the center, as if he’d become the wounded little girl I needed to soothe and protect. I longed for my mother’s arms. Though, by now, I knew better than to expect that comfort. We didn’t hug. Not even when we were delighted with each other. Which hadn’t been for a very long time.

  “Who’s Ellis?” she asked.

  That stopped me. The way sometimes an explosion will put out an oil fire. I sat up in bed. Wiped my eyes and nose on the hem of my shirt. “How could you not know? I’ve only been talking about him every minute of the day for the last month! He was my

  boyfriend

  , dammit!”

  “You watch your mouth, young lady!”

  “Get out of my room!” I screamed.

  Rolling her eyes, she backed into the living room. “You should be onstage with those antics,” she said just before I slammed the door in her face. I cried most of the rest of that night. Evie helped me through it. But I never told her the worst part of my grief was the realization that Mom really didn’t give a crap about us.

  Indifference. That’s what she’d shown me when she’d said, “Who’s Ellis?” That’s what I saw on Vayl’s face when it should have been clear to him that I was tied up in knots after my conversation with Cole. That I was upset about his choice to talk with Zarsa. I knew that if I stepped up to him right now and said, “Vayl, I need you. Please stay,” he wouldn’t. He’d let me down. Just like my mother had all my life.

  Well, I’d had no choice with her. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Vayl get away with it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I really didn’t think I could sink any lower than I had the day I’d motored through Corpus Christi on a 1993 moped. Apparently I’d been mistaken. “This is it,” I muttered to myself as I crouched on the roof of Soheil Anvari’s business, the second floor of which was his home. “I am officially a stalker.”

  I’d been trying to justify following Vayl to Anvari’s for the past half hour.

  He’s treated me like crap

  , I told myself.

  So the second he’s done with Zarsa I’m grabbing him by the short hairs and shaking till he whimpers for mercy.

  But it’s tough to lie to yourself when nothing is happening to distract you from your own insanity. I’d set out behind Cole and Vayl with the idea that, once they were done with the reading, I would intercept them. Initiate a confrontation. Force Jaz-interest back into Vayl’s eyes.

  Now I had to admit I might just be nutty-bar jealous. Because my strongest current impulse was to drop through the ceiling and kick Zarsa in the teeth for putting that spark of hope in Vayl’s heart and then leading him into her den so she could crush his hopes and dreams. What made it worse was that I could see her torturing him even now. Because these people had a skylight. It pissed me off, actually. What, did they just trundle off to the Home Depot when they discovered Zarsa didn’t have enough light to break her clients’ hearts by? In Tehran? Gimme a break!

  He was taking it well. But he would. Vayl would hardly flinch if you filled him f
ull of lead and accused him of kidnapping the Pope. On the other hand, Cole clearly needed a quick getaway followed by an all-nighter with a bowl full of Bubble Yum. He’d already chewed three toothpicks to shreds and was halfway through his fourth. Zarsa would run her finger along Vayl’s palm, say something, and Cole would practically jump out of his chair before translating.

  “Okay, I’ve had enough,” I said for the eighth time. “I’m going in.” But with what excuse? I couldn’t think of one thing that wouldn’t bring the full fury of a psychic-deprived vampire down on my head. I should’ve asked Cassandra for some ideas before I left. She certainly had good insight into his current frame of mind.

  As soon Cole and Vayl had departed I’d run up to the girls’ room. Cassandra had practically thrown me in a chair she was so anxious for my attention.

  “Listen to me,” she said. “Vayl is in danger.”

  I jumped up. “Is it the reavers? Did you have a vision just now?”

  “No.” She shoved me back down, which was when I realized how serious the situation had become. She really did know better than to push me around. “Vayl is a sober, reasonable creature except when it comes to his sons. And then he cannot be made to hear anything he doesn’t want to hear. Do you understand?”

  “He’s obsessed?”

  Cassandra knelt by my knee while Bergman sat on the bed, unpacked his tools, and pretended not to listen. Actually, I hoped he was all ears. He could be just as obtuse as Vayl at times. “Please promise me you will never repeat what I am about to say.”

  I thought of what Vayl had said about promises. Looked at Bergman and raised my eyebrows. He nodded. “I promise,” I said.

  Cassandra looked over her shoulder.

  “Me too,” he said.

  She’d been clutching my tunic, almost begging for my word. Now that she had it, she dropped her hands to her lap and began. “Many of my Sisters have sought Vayl’s sons for him over the centuries.”