Bite Marks

by Jennifer Rardin

  The guard had nothing else of interest on him, unless you counted a tattoo that showed like a bruise on his sun-starved calf. “Another star,” Cassandra said.

  “It’s their symbol for purity,” I told her. “The star means he could trace his ancestry back at least ten generations and they were all small, squat, and blue-schnozzed. In other words, pure gnomes.”

  Cassandra cocked her head to the side. “I can only imagine what they think of Americans, most of you of such mixed blood.”

  “Let’s put it this way. They picked at least two dudes to infect with their larvae, and both came from the States. I know what that says to me.”

  “Got it!” Bergman held the amulet in both hands now, its Ufran face flipped open to reveal a hidey-hole packed with folded white paper. I snatched it and unfolded it. Barely big enough to fit in my palm, it held a crudely drawn picture.

  Some of it I got right away. I knew Ufran’s symbol, the star with the smiley face in its center, so I recognized it hanging in the sky. The gnomes standing on a hill, bowing down to it, I recognized from the pinecone-shaped tufts at the ends of their tails. Though I didn’t quite get why an arrow had been drawn pointing to one in particular. Then I realized he was wearing the distinctive asparagus-carved headdress of the shaman. But I didn’t understand the word that had been written above his head. Ylmi.

  The artist had also drawn another group of crowned figures standing in front of a closed gate at the foot of a second hill. They all pointed their scepters to a grass tree from which protruded the trunk of another tree, one that looked to have burned in a recent brushfire. Of everything, the crowns made the least sense to me. As far as I knew, gnomes governed by smackdown. Nobody dared to call themselves royalty, much less wear head jewelry, for fear they’d be drummed out of the tribe for putting on airs the next time they lost a battle.

  Though I didn’t understand the entire message, that’s definitely what it was. And I suddenly knew that was how I could communicate my previous idea to Cassandra without letting Brude know! “Bergman, I need to borrow a pen.”

  He dug one out of his ever-present pocket guard and handed it over. I sat on the floor. Granny May? I need you to tell Cassandra what I was thinking. You know, while I distract Brude. It might’ve been the hardest mental exercise I’d ever tried. Writing a note with the wisest part of my mind while having a heated argument with the Domytr in possession of its major controlling unit. But in the end I’d managed to piss him off royally as I created a message to Cassandra that said, I think you should hide out in this warren until we’ve killed the demon. I know it’s scary, but you’re smart. Find the deepest, darkest corner of the place and just be still. We’ll come for you as soon as we can.

  She read it twice, nodded, and pocketed it. I signaled for Bergman to hang the amulet back around the guard’s neck. I expected him to get all icky-poo on me. He did it without complaining, but he did wipe his hands down the sides of his pants several times after.

  Vayl returned, explaining that he’d explored the tunnel far enough to discover it led to the industrial center of the warren, where they heated the water they used to power the warren, and where they’d built the artificially lit farms they called gnoves.

  “Let us take the alternate route,” he suggested. “I believe Ruvin’s family waits at the end of it.”

  “Along with the rest of the town,” I said.

  “Just so,” said Vayl. “Which is why you must all stay directly behind me. I will be able to camouflage our approach.”

  “Except for the scent of Febreze?” Cassandra suggested.

  Vayl considered her comment. Then he said, “The guard was expecting trouble. These creatures will not be. You would be amazed at what busy, self-absorbed people never see or choose to ignore.”

  She watched us both for a second. “I suppose, knowing how successful you two have been at this kind of work, I’ll have to take your word on that.”

  I sent Astral ahead to warn us if anyone was coming, and we continued into the second tunnel. This one had been built much taller. As they often did, the gnomes had probably squatted in tunnels built by bigger creatures, bringing in more and more families, steadfastly refusing to leave until the original owners were forced to find more peaceful lodgings elsewhere. Those others must’ve been our height, or even taller. Which was what got Vayl and me started playing our Who Was Here First? game.

  “I like the Lofhs for this warren,” I said from over Bergman and Cassandra’s shoulders. Jack glanced up at my comment like he’d met a few of the tall, shy, wallpainters. “I read that a tribe immigrated to Sydney back in the 1800s. Maybe a few came south.”

  Vayl ran his fingers across the well-worked stone as we walked toward a dawning light. Astral had already shown me it belonged to a flickering set of wall lamps that gave the warren a haunted-house atmosphere. “My guess is that these tunnels were built by the Rikk’n. I remember hearing that they had built several underground towns in the region before gnomes discovered they preferred talking to fighting and crowded them out.”

  Bergman said, “You know, if my mom knew these others shared a name with the little red-hatted statues she sticks in her garden every spring she’d throw a fit! Don’t gnomes have any redeeming qualities?”

  Vayl thought for a second. “They generally die quietly.”

  “Astral’s at the end of the tunnel,” I said. “She’s registering some manufactured light. Enough, at least, to keep the Ufranites from constantly bumping into each other.”

  Always the scientist, Bergman said, “I’m guessing the ones who run the gnoves wouldn’t appreciate going from pitch dark to fake sun day after day. Same with those who venture outside.”

  “I agree,” said Vayl. “Perhaps your theory will help us in the future,” he added tactfully. “But now we need to know what Astral is seeing.”

  I said, “It looks like a town square. The floor is flat and the ceiling’s so high it doesn’t even register. Kiosks have been carved out of the rock, one right after another, from the entrance right around the curve of the room. Gnomes are lined up at them, trading coins for food and stuff that glows and… yeah, I think I see a T-shirt booth. Most of the Ufranites are gathered in the center of the area, which is almost parklike. Hell, they even have a bandstand with potted trees in the back. Anyway, I see blankets on the floor with plates, silverware, and tubs of food set out on them. Families are sitting, talking to each other and their neighbors. Lots of smiles and giggles. I’d say maybe eighty gnomes have collected, including fifteen to twenty kids.” I bit my lip. “You don’t suppose they’re getting ready to eat Ruvin’s family tonight?”

  Vayl’s pinched nostrils told me he’d considered it. “Do you see any cooking implements? Perhaps a large fire or a cauldron?”

  I stared hard into Astral’s projection. “No. Just that overgrown gazebo everybody’s sitting around. It’s holding a three-piece band with a drum and a couple of stringed gourds. I wouldn’t call what they’re doing to those instruments playing, though.” Gnome music sounded like a constipated guy trying—and failing—to clear his obstruction.

  Cassandra had been crouching beside Jack, petting him to keep him calm as she leaned against the tunnel wall. Now she held up a hand, her distant expression on the one I usually dreaded. But maybe this time her vision had nothing to do with the death of one of my relatives.

  “The shaman is coming,” she whispered. She glanced up at us, her focus still far away. “He’s like a huge ball of black fire in my mind’s eye.” She paused. “Something is off about him.” She put a hand to her forehead, dug her fingernails in. “He doesn’t seem… quite real. Why? Why would—” She stopped, her wide eyes staring into mine, panic swimming so close to the surface that I grabbed both of her arms without thinking.

  “What is it?”

  “My vision flipped. I was trying to get a better view of the shaman and suddenly I was Seeing a man’s face. He’s dead.” Tears spilled from her eyes.

&nb
sp; “Do you recognize him?”

  She shook her head. Went still. “Someone… is trying to speak to me.” She ran her hands along the floor, staring off into the distance like she was blind.

  “Cassandra!” She jerked her head toward me, frowning as her eyes refocused. “The man,” I reminded her. “Describe him.”

  “Dirty-blond hair. His eyes are open. They’re dark blue. He’s still snarling, like he died fighting. There’s a scar, like a half-moon, running from the side of his left eye down almost to the corner of his mouth.”

  Oh. Fuck. “Cassandra, this is important. Look at his neck. Is there a tattoo just under his ear? It would be—”

  She finished my sentence with me. “—of a wolf’s head.”

  Vayl and I nodded at each other. We didn’t need our extra connection to discuss how the shock had blown holes in our concentration. How we wanted to kill something. Right. Now. Because the man in Cassandra’s vision had been one of ours. An agent named Ethan Mreck, who’d spent the past few years infiltrating one of the biggest threats to peace left in Europe. A band of wolves called the Valencian Weres.

  As a werewolf himself, Ethan had moved in circles no one else could even visualize. Which was why his undercover work had brought our department so much valuable information. In fact, his intel had sparked our last mission, leading us to destroy Edward “The Raptor” Samos, the worst enemy to U.S. National Security since Adolf Hitler. We’d also severely crippled his girlfriend, the Scidairan coven leader, Floraidh Halsey. After those successes, we’d hoped Ethan could help us find a way to pull the plug on the Valencian Weres, who’d definitely be making a power play now that they smelled the chance to gain territory. But Ethan was dead.

  I watched our psychic’s darting eyes, saw her mouth tighten, and knew she was trying to pin down wisps of images that wanted to be caught and categorized about as bad as a butterfly does. I tried to help. “The fact that you Saw Ethan here, in the warren—that means the gnomes have to be connected to the Weres he was investigating, don’t you think?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “All I can sense now is this terrible calamity, looming like the dust of ten thousand horesemen on the horizon.” She clasped her hands together, her fingers worrying among each other as she gazed up at us. “We have to succeed in this mission.”

  I shrugged. “We always do.” I frowned when she grabbed the sleeve of my jacket.

  “No! You don’t understand! Doom is here, close to us, waiting for us to fail!”

  I raised my eyes to Vayl, who nodded carefully. “We hear you, Cassandra. We understand.”

  I hesitated. When she had nothing else to add I said, “We have to get moving now. You understand?”

  As she bowed her head Vayl nodded. “I agree, and even more quickly than we had anticipated. Jasmine, can you get a more specific sense of the chamber’s layout?”

  I said, “Astral, look around the edge of the room. Stealth-mode, girl.” As obedient as any well-trained dog, my cat stalked around the crowd without once being noticed. Her vigilance paid off when I was able to report details like more tunnels leading out of the town square, probably toward residential areas. Barrels full of waxy white flowers marked the shops and tunnel openings. The one arch they’d failed to decorate was located on the other side of the picnicking crowd. A single barred gateway, it was guarded by a gnome who looked a lot more interested in the band than his work.

  “Go find out what’s behind that gate,” I told Astral as we edged toward the tunnel’s mouth. Everybody could hear the music now. Seeing—not so easy. Our path took a bend before it opened into the square, but when Vayl and I leaned forward far enough we got our first look at those who called themselves Ufran’s Chosen. All of them primmed and propered just in case he looked down from reading his evening paper and needed a moment to remind himself how much they respected him. Because somewhere along the way they’d decided he was big into smiting.

  Vayl caught my attention. Raised his eyebrows. His unuttered question, Has your scout uncovered anything helpful?

  I nodded. Astral had found the family. The kids huddled on a bench under the single window of a tiny, candlelit cell, finishing off the crumbs of supper while Mom paced its length. Her black hair, liberally laced with platinum highlights, combined with a double-sided updo to make her resemble a pissed-off lynx. Especially when she slapped the wall with the palm of her hand every time she made her turn. Seeing the rage on her face, I wondered for a second how they’d managed to cage her.

  My guess? Her dress was partly to blame. It fit so tight I wasn’t sure how she walked more than three steps without falling. The other reasons sat behind her dressed in jeans, white T-shirts, and suspenders, legs swinging back and forth, heels thumping into the rock at their backs in time with their mother’s movements.

  When I finished describing the scene, Vayl motioned us into a huddle. “Bergman,” he whispered, “I believe we are going to need a distraction. As we skirt the crowd, I want you to deduce the best means to cause one. And when I give you the signal, do it.”

  Miles visibly gulped. But he didn’t drop down his old scaredy slide. He said, “What should I do afterward?”

  “Get out. The rest of us will free the family. We will meet you at the car.” He gave Bergman his keys. “If we do not beat you there, make sure it is running.”

  Bergman said, “Now I understand why Jasmine always backs in.”

  Vayl returned to the front of the line and we all followed him around the corner. Now we could be seen. Theoretically. But the tingle at the back of my neck signaled his power boost. Not that he could actually cloak us. That would’ve been too sweet. But Vayl’s ability worked almost as well, turning the attention toward what it wanted to see anyway. The band. An attractive member of the opposite—or maybe the same—sex. Nobody even turned their heads as we sidled around the edge of the crowd, avoiding family groups and last-minute snackers lined up at the shops that surrounded the square.

  Once Jack danced sideways, his nose pulling him toward some little rugrat’s tray of fried tentacles, but he responded well when I pulled him in closer and gave him my like-hell-you-will! glare.

  By the time we reached the cell-side of the town’s square, Bergman’s forehead looked like a surgeon’s during the fourth hour of a complex operation. Cassandra and I shared a look. Should we swab him off or just let him sweat into his eyes? I asked her silently.

  Her answer was to nod toward his sleeve, so I gently lifted his forearm and wiped it across his face. Thanks, he mouthed. I nodded.

  Vayl had led us to a corner on the guard’s left that held a trash can and a bench carved out of the wall. Bergman sank onto it. Vayl grabbed his arm and pulled him back upright. Even Miles couldn’t mistake the question on the vampire’s face. Are you ready?

  Slight jerk of the head, more a spasm than an actual nod.

  Vayl’s gesture could almost be interpreted as, Shoo, then. But he really meant Get into position.

  Bergman looked around, as if trying to figure out where to go next.

  In front of us, the side of the bandstand rose about five feet off the floor, its base holding up a finely tooled railing punctuated every few feet by a post that held up the wood-shingled roof. No stairs here; they’d been set at the very front so the performers would have to walk through the middle of the crowd to get to them.

  All of the trees behind the bandstand sat on watering trays with rollers, which made me wonder how often they rearranged their shrubbery down here. In front, the crowd seemed relaxed, happy. Not at all the types who’d boil kids and roast their mom. Which just goes to show, you should never trust your first impressions.

  Bergman crouched and scuttled into the first line of trees, his movements reminding me somewhat hilariously of an anorexic crab. I had to gulp back laughter as I told him through the party line, “You’re out of Vayl’s influence now. So be discreet until you get the order.”

  “Will do.”<
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  I checked on Cassandra. She had Jack firmly in hand.

  Shaman? I mouthed.

  Soon, came her silent reply. And then a shrug and shake of the head. She still didn’t like her vision of our potential target.

  I gave her a stay close gesture. Then I brushed my hand against Vayl’s. Doing my best to ignore the tingle it caused, I nodded to him. “Now,” I whispered.

  His slight nod acknowledged our readiness as he slipped up behind the guard and we followed, staying clear to give him room to work. So fast. One hand to the throat to stifle sound and crush the airway. One to the back of the neck to support the blow. Vayl held the guard, assuring death while I searched him for the cell keys. I had other ways in, but they wouldn’t be as quick or possibly as quiet. Yup, there they were, hanging from a leather strap around his neck. One for the gate door. Another for the cell that sat at the end of a short path. They both worked perfectly.

  As Ruvin’s family crowded toward us, I held my finger to my lips. At the same time Cassandra whispered, “You must be quiet. Practically the whole warren sits outside this cell.”

  “Well, you picked a fine time to break us out, didn’t you?” demanded Ruvin’s wife.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Tabitha,” she snapped. The boys had run to her side.

  “I’m Laal,” said the taller one, who might’ve been nine or ten, but still only reached my mid-thigh. He pointed to his brother, who stood a head shorter. “This is Pajo.”

  I stuck out my hand, which Laal and Pajo politely shook. “Lucille Robinson,” I said. “Your dad’s pretty worried about you. And since we were in the area we thought we’d drop in and see if you’d like to join us for dinner. I think we’re having pizza.”

  “Anytime now, Jasmine,” Vayl’s deep voice rang in my ear.

  The boys were nodding so hard their chins practically banged their shirt collars, but Tabitha held them back. “How do you know Ruvin?”

  I wanted to shake her and scream, “How stupid are you, bitch? The door is fucking open! Let’s go!”