Scented Lust

by Jacqueline Turner Banks

  “Exactly,” Tyler agreed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Jordan was in high school, she envied the girls who had boyfriends. She’d never been the boy crazy type, and her sex drive was finally getting stronger as she got older, but she wanted somebody looking at her the way the attached girls’ guys looked at them. She figured there must have been somebody in the school who had a crush on her, but she never had a real boyfriend until college, and even then she didn’t believe he was crazy about her—just crazy in general.

  In her high school, it was the Hispanics and a few white boys who seemed to have great love written on their faces. The black guys considered that kind of declaration weak. Artest looked at her the way she’d wanted somebody to look at her in high school. He looked at her like she was beautiful and he believed it to the bone; if everybody else couldn’t see it, that was their problem.

  In high school and college, all of them would declare their great love when it was just the two of them and it was dark and they were alone, but that didn’t count. First of all, it was a lie. Mama May used to tell her that tight pants will make a liar out of any guy, and time taught her the truth of the saying—even if it did keep her confused when she was young and the slim- fit jeans were popular, and she thought Mama May was talking about the actual pants’ cut.

  Secondly, and this was the important thing, back then she didn’t know that it was close to impossible to get a guy to look at you and feel that all-consuming love without having sex with him. Until a girl ended up pregnant and leaving school for the Continuation School, Jordan never believed the rumors about who did and who didn’t. She just assumed that, like her, everybody “didn’t.” She wanted to play the game, but she didn’t know the rules.

  Finally, somebody’s giving me the look. If only he was a normal guy. She still wasn’t sure she was buying all of this Dogon-Hunter bull, but it was making for an interesting weekend. But if it turned out that just half of it was true, where did that leave them?

  She didn’t have to know their language to know something was wrong. She felt his body tense up, and then Artest almost dropped her from his lap. He tilted his head and seemed to be listening to something. He didn’t tell her that, but the next thing she knew, they were walking through the big house looking for someone. He held her hand as he had before, but she felt like it was out of necessity rather than comfort.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “There could be a security breech,” was all he said, suddenly more serious than she’d seen him before.

  She didn’t know what that meant, considering they were in a couple’s house and not an embassy, airport, or some such place.

  “What will you do?” she asked. She’d really had to think of what to say, and that was all she could come up with.

  “We will find it and kill it.”

  A chill ran through her. She looked at him to see if she could find some indication that she’d misunderstood. His expression was hard, and she could almost see, cut in his handsome face, some of the many years he claimed.

  They reached Tyler, who was standing next to the exquisite door she’d seen earlier. Tyler told Artest he’d experienced some difficulty in trying to open it. It didn’t seem like an orange alert to her—it was a very old door, and it looked a little larger than the cut of the frame that held it.

  But what do I know about it, she asked herself?

  Then they talked about performing a test.

  “What kind of test?” she asked Artest while Tyler was explaining the situation to Jahia, who had joined them.

  “A test that a Dogon-Hunter could pass.”

  That was all he said about it, so Jordan assumed a Dogon-Hunter’s squeeze either didn’t have to take it or wasn’t expected to pass it, since he didn’t give her a blue exam book or any oral questions.

  He rejoined the room of visitors, and each of them set about talking to the ones identified earlier as Hunters. Jordan found the conversations very strange, but she was fairly certain they had little to do with the tests.

  They all seemed to talk in parables. One woman told Artest that her husband no longer hunted because, “‘He’s just about finished growing now. Like Sundiata, he has no more anger in him. As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s just about impossible to kill without anger. It should be, anyway. It makes it difficult to save one’s own life without anger.’”

  Artest said, “so true, my sister,” and then he moved on to the next person.

  That might not sound like such a strange thing to say if she’d said something like, he no longer works as an accountant because he’s lost his head for numbers, but she was talking about killing. They were both talking about killing other two-legged beings! And Jordan couldn’t tell if they envied or pitied the husband who was no longer angry.

  “How did you hear of the problem?” Artest asked one of the men. Jordan hadn’t heard what the man had said to him prior to this question because, even though the other guy had been speaking in a language she didn’t understand, he kept looking at her with suspicion and whispering. Apparently Artest’s question signaled that he should speak English.

  “I got my information from Loki months ago, so I took it with a grain of salt. Loki said it wasn’t one of their concerns, but they’d noticed the increased numbers moving west. I didn’t put any stock in it until the Pale Fox told me himself.”

  “No, one should never trust Loki’s word alone. I know he is your friend, but you know it’s the truth.”

  The Hunter nodded; both of them smiled.

  Artest chuckled a little. “When was he in town?”

  “He wasn’t. I ran into him in Vegas. He loves that town.”

  “Where else would such a scoundrel hang out? Give him my best when next you see him.”

  When they walked away, Jordan asked, “Who’s Loki? I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

  “You’ve studied Norse mythology?” Artest asked. His question seemed apropos of nothing, but she was trying to roll with the strangeness.

  “I wrote a paper about it in undergrad, but that’s about it. Why?”

  “The Hunter I just spoke with is one of the oldest active Hunters. He knows many of the gods and immortals. Loki is listed as the Norse god of mischief. There is a lot more to him than that, but that’s good enough for now.”

  Jordan’s legs buckled. Artest caught her before she hit the floor. He led her to a seat. “What is it?” he asked, his face tight with concern.

  “Norse gods, Artest,” she whispered. “Are you saying all of that mythology is true?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But Loki is real?”

  He bit his bottom lip. She could see he was really struggling with whatever it was he wanted to say to her.

  “The myths are stories. There are a lot of stories in the world, but most of the people and gods they are based on did or do exists.”

  “Even the Greeks?” she asked.

  Artest looked around. He spoke in a deep, hissing whisper. “Please, Jordan, whatever you do, don’t conjure up those worrisome, prima donna Olympians! We have enough to deal with!”

  She would have apologized had she been able to speak. Is he trying to tell me that all of that unbelievable stuff we had to learn about the Greek gods is true?

  “I’m sorry if I sounded angry just then. It’s not you,” he said. He gave the hand he was already holding a squeeze. “And, for the record, the myths are just that. Okay?”

  She knew he’d been reading her thoughts and he was commenting on them, but she let it slide. Clearly he had other things on his mind.

  He bent down and kissed her forehead. She wasn’t sure why.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  At first she didn’t know what he was asking, but then she figured out that he was asking her if she was ready to stand and continue with whatever came next. In for a penny, in for a pound. She was ready.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A real Dogo
n-Hunter would expect to visit the temple before a meeting. When Tyler announced that the temple would be available for the next few minutes if anybody was interested in visiting, he was telling those Hunters among them that something was wrong. There would never be such a casual offer—Dogons take their temple time seriously. To the outside eye, nothing changed, but there was so much mental talking going around the room that it set Artest’s head spinning. “What’s going on?” and “What’s happening?” were the two phrases he heard repeatedly.

  The two witches announced that they had another engagement and they had just stopped by to say hello. Soon, after a few pleasantries, they were gone. They couldn’t hear the mental conversations, but they were very intuitive—they knew something wasn’t right, and they didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

  Before she left, Marabella found him and said, “you know how to reach us if you need us.”

  Artest appreciated her offer and told her so as he hugged her goodbye, even though he knew it was mostly political. He thought about it—she was a member of the regulating council that governed all of the other worldly types (GAN, the Global Association of Nonhumans), and it was good to have friends in high places.

  The council was pushing hard for a policing division to force compliance of the rules and decisions. As it stood, they all policed their own. As Artest understood the proposal, that wouldn’t change, but, if there was a dispute and GAN had to get involved, the policing division would be in place to guarantee compliance. It was, of course, the gods and other immortals putting up the greatest fuss about a police force, especially the Greeks. There are always those beings who can’t be told anything!

  Tyler sent Artest a mental message to join him. He was less than five feet away, talking to Katherine. She was a relatively new Dogon-Hunter. Artest didn’t know her very well, but he knew her uncle, Cyrus, who was retired.

  “Katherine, have you met my charge, Jordan?” Artest asked.

  “No, pleased to meet you,” she said. She barely glanced at Jordan, as if she was afraid to look at her. Artest found that strange.

  “Katherine was just telling me that her aunt and uncle recently bought a villa in South Africa,” Tyler said.

  “I’m so happy for them,” Artest said. “They’ve earned their retirement.” He looked at Tyler. “Do you mind if I close that shade? It’s getting a little warm in here.” The window was directly behind Katherine, and he was facing it as he talked to her.

  “My home is your home.”

  He pulled Jordan with him, behind Katherine, and immediately pushed her aside. He grabbed his dagger and a handful of Katherine’s hair. Before she knew what was happening, he had the blade under her throat, which meant she could not transport. When Artest looked at him, Artest wasn’t surprised to see Tyler’s sword out and pointed toward her.

  “Not on that rug,” Jahia shouted. “She might have fed recently.”

  They all looked down at Jahia’s Persian rug. Tyler rolled his eyes, but Artest pulled the woman to the hardwood floor in the center of the room. Jahia scared him much more than Tyler.

  “Start talking, Bloodsucker,” he said to her.

  “Please, don’t make me die with the face of a killer. Let me change.”

  “If you can do it without me letting go, be my guest.” He knew she wouldn’t be able to change completely with him touching her, but that wasn’t his problem. If he let go, she could transport.

  Everything changed except her hair. Like most Sangsue she was tall, about two inches taller than Katherine. And she was about twenty pounds lighter than the model-thin Katherine. Her tan skin became a pale, chalky white, and her brown eyes turned blue. Artest figured she was blonde, like many of the Sangsue in the U.S. are, but he was holding on to her hair and it remained brown.

  “I’ve got Katherine on the cell,” Roberta shouted, which really wasn’t necessary since the room was dead silent. “She’s fine.”

  “Somebody call Cyrus,” Tyler said.

  Artest looked up and saw the demon, Sam, frantically pushing the buttons on one of the tiniest phones he’d ever seen. He’d never met a Demon who wasn’t a technophile. Most of them were wizards with computers.

  “I’m not getting an answer,” Sam said.

  “Call his Aide. Does anybody know Cyrus’s Aide’s name?” Artest didn’t know who said that.

  Nobody answered.

  “I’ll go look it up,” Jahia said. “The rug, Tyler,” she said before leaving the room.

  Artest had somehow managed to pull the Bloodsucker back near her rug, but they weren’t on it. He pulled her farther away again. He wasn’t sure if Jahia was serious or if she was messing with the woman’s head. As a team, she and Tyler were considered some of their best interrogators, with Tyler playing good cop and Jahia playing “I’d rather kill you than look at you” cop.

  “His name is Montag, and he’s answering,” Jahia said from another room.

  He looked over at Jordan. With him no longer holding her hand, she had moved away from the action as far as possible while still being able to see what was happening. He tried to give her a look to convey confidence, but he wasn’t feeling especially confident. A Bloodsucker has boldly fouled our sanctuary. Even with his blade under her chin and his hand yanking her hair, Artest wasn’t feeling a lot of fear from the creature. Why? Then it came to him.

  She’s not alone, Artest told Tyler.

  I was beginning to sense that too, he replied.

  Jahia screamed. The Bloodsucker poised herself to jerk away, but Artest held tighter. Nobody, not even Tyler, knew as well as Artest that Jahia could take care of herself.

  Tyler retracted his sword and rushed to his wife.

  “Who’s working with you?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  Some of the guests followed Tyler, but the majority stayed where they were standing. He tried to think about who was missing. He pictured the room the second before he’d grabbed the Katherine lookalike. Bree, the fairly. He hadn’t seen her since before he went upstairs with Jordan.

  He smelled an odor that reminded most people of burned rubber, and he knew the Sangsue was gone. The one he was still holding shuddered. She had to be thinking that she would be the next to implode into a pile of putrid dust.

  Tyler returned. “It had shape shifted into Bree. Can one of you contact her to see if she’s alive?”

  Again it was Sam on his little phone.

  “What happened?” Artest asked Tyler.

  “Before I got there, it had shifted back to itself. Jahia saw it, and that must have been when she screamed. By the time I reached the doorway, Jahia had cut its throat.”

  “Any blood on her floor?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Jahia never had been one to ask a lot of question during an encounter. When she was Artest’s teacher, she used to say, “Talking doesn't fill the basket in the farm.” She used the expression for so many different occasions he wasn’t always sure what she meant, but he did gather that she didn’t have a lot to say to the enemy.

  She returned to the room looking drained. A kill was always very difficult, even for somebody as good at it as Jahia was.

  “What did you learn?” he asked.

  Jahia looked at him as if she was surprised to see him there. He wondered how long it had been since her last kill.

  “I learned that a Bloodsucker was in my house, posing as one of my friends.”

  Tyler, standing behind and to the right of her, shook his head, but he need not have bothered. Artest wasn’t going to ask her anything else.

  “Bree is in Canada. And she’s fine,” Sam announced.

  Artest saw Tyler give Roberta a look; he imagined they were speaking. Next he saw Roberta wrap her arms around Jahia. Soon Roberta was on one side of her and Sam was on the other as they led her to the temple. Artest always thought of Roberta as the earth mother type.
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br />   Sam, of course, would have only have gone as far as the door. It wasn’t that he had anything against their temples, but Dogon temples were for Dogons. Being with Roberta, Artest suspected Sam was spiritual, but he didn’t know what religion, if any, he practiced.

  “Clare, why don’t you and Ian take this one into the kitchen and see what you can learn?” Tyler said. “I’ll be in there after I check on my wife.”

  Artest looked at Tyler, mentally demanding an explanation. It was his dagger on the Bloodsucker’s throat! Tyler simply glanced over at Jordan, who was literally sitting on a corner chair, shaking. Artest nodded.