He reached up and squeezed my hand. “I still want you to be my partner. You and Vayl both. But how can that happen if he spends the rest of our lives in a history book? Go get him back. Please.” He tightened his fingers until it hurt. For once, the shutters that closed off every mystery behind his eyes opened wide, and I could see how much this meant to him.
But my father had been a Marine. I knew what he’d say if I left a man behind. I knew what I’d think of myself. I sat on my heels, so torn by this decision I couldn’t bear to look at him. Then it hit me.
I glared into the gathering crowd and shouted, “Yousef! I know you’re out there, you mangy little perve! Yousef! Where—that’s better!” I said as my stalker squeezed himself between a couple of Japanese tourists and knelt down beside me.
“You arrrre—”
“I know, I’m pretty. Is Kamal with you?”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. A beat later the boy worked his way into our circle, apologizing to the people he’d had to displace as he went. As soon as he saw Miles he did one of those girlie screams that made you wonder if his voice really had changed, and his eyes began to roll up in their sockets. I slapped him hard on the thigh, which got a giggle from Yousef.
“Kamal! Don’t pass out, dammit, I need you to speak for me!”
He turned around, holding his hand behind his back as if I needed to be fended off. “Don’t make me look!”
“For chrissake, Kamal, just tell Yousef I need him to stay with my friend, here, until the woman who owns our riad shows. Her name’s Monique Landry. I’m betting she’ll be here in less than three minutes, four if she decides to call in a rescue helicopter.”
Kamal translated. Yousef shook his head.
Kamal said, “He wants to go with you. To follow. Always to follow.”
I grabbed Yousef by the collar and twisted until his face began to turn red. “You tell this son of a bitch if he doesn’t watch over my friend I will never, ever choke the shit out of him again. You got that?”
Kamal talked. Fast. Yousef’s vigorous nod was all I needed to see. I slapped him across the face. Twice. He kissed my hand. Can I pick ’em, or what?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Returning to Vayl’s battle felt like watching an überlong chase scene. Oh look! The cars are a little more dented and I’m pretty sure that tire is going to go flying off the rim before it’s over, but they’re still driving!
As I caught Cole’s eyes and gave him a reassuring nod, I tried to swallow that Vayl’s-enjoying-the-shit-kicking-way-too-much feeling and concentrate on what to do next. But I couldn’t. It was the fact that even Marrakech has authorities, who I didn’t want to piss with if I didn’t have to. And though our whole operation hadn’t taken more than a few minutes, they were certainly on their way by now. Plus, blood was every-damn-where. Vayl’s worst wound seemed to be on his calf. Hard to assess from where I stood, spinning his cane in my hand, debating my next move. Except that I could tell he was favoring it, and every step he took left a bloody imprint on the street.
I went to stand by Sterling, who had Ahmed by the arm. Kyphas held the other. She’d been studying the mage like a biologist dissects a frog. She noted my presence with a shrug of one shoulder and went back to her thoughts. I reminded myself not to leave her alone with the Wielder. My life could depend on it.
Sterling glanced away from the snarling Were with its blood-streaked fur and shrieking rider battling a scarily silent vampire to ask, “How’s the genius?”
“He’ll be okay.” I didn’t think I could say more without bawling, so I stopped.
“You’re hurt,” he said, his eyes acknowledging the gashes on my arms.
I shrugged. “I’ll heal. But we’ve gotta get Ahmed outta here before we get shredded by whatever remains of this pack. Any ideas?”
Cole drew his PSG1 out from under his coat. “Yup.” The people standing closest to him gasped and drew away as he took careful aim at the snarling fighters. He went so still that for a few moments he seemed to have left his own body. No sparkle in his eyes. No breath.
Vayl slashed at the Luureken, causing it and its Were to rear back.
Cole squeezed the trigger.
Vayl’s opponent roared with pain as chunks of its chest blew away. The bullet traveled through its back and into the Luureken’s belly, throwing it from its mount.
“That’ll work,” I said.
Cole restashed his rifle and moved forward, grabbing Vayl by the elbow. “Helena’s in trouble,” he said. “The only way to save her is to get the mage out of here now.” He jerked his head backward at Ahmed, whose lips had begun to tremble. “Come on.”
More than anything, Vayl’s decision to cooperate was based on his trust in his valet. At least that’s what I decided as we double-timed it down the street, leaving the crowd behind us in chaos. He didn’t question Cole’s sources or wonder aloud how a servant could generate a rescue plan. He just came along.
Our plan had been to haul Ahmed back to the riad and force a reversal spell from him. But that was before we found out about his shaggy friends, none of which did we want within scenting distance of Monique. We couldn’t go to the city’s safe house, because we weren’t on official business. Which left another hotel—also putting innocents at risk—or Ahmed’s place.
I picked the mage’s pocket with a sweet little move I’d learned from a prostitute in Thailand, one that Sterling found so disturbing he pulled his own wallet out and stuffed it down the front of his pants.
“Like I’d try anything like that with you,” I said as I checked out Ahmed’s ID.
“You won’t now,” he said defiantly.
“That’s for sure.” I flipped the long black case closed and slipped it back into the mage’s pocket. “Turn right at the end of the block,” I said. “He owns a music shop about five minutes from here.”
The knowledge would drive me a little crazy if I dwelled on it. I’d probably passed the place twice during my scouting trips around Marrakech, never realizing who owned it or what he was doing to Vayl. I turned to my partner, looking for the kind of comfort he hadn’t given me in days. “You look pretty toasty,” I told him.
Vayl swept a lily-white hanky from his breast pocket and dabbed at his face. I couldn’t decide if I was more floored by the fact that it had totally missed being spattered by blood in the first place, or that he even had a pocket left after that melee. “If, by that, you mean I am nearly done in, you may be right. This life has left me soft, just when I most need battle hardening.”
“Well, sir, most vamps I’ve met would’ve been smoke within a couple of seconds of meeting those Weres back there.”
He glanced down at me, the bite on his face already completely healed. “I could have finished them quickly,” he said. Not bragging. Just telling it like it was. “At first I did not because I knew the best way to infuriate Roldan would be to kill them slowly. But then I began to think that I should only kill for the right reasons. And the very idea confused me. In fact, it infuriated me. Why would I think such a thing?”
I hid a triumphant smile. “Maybe you’re changing.”
He pounded himself on the chest. “I am eternal!”
I laughed. “You’re such a gorilla.”
“I am no such thing. Why do you persist in—”
I cut him off with a wave toward his leg. “Your pants are so bloody they’re sticking to your skin. Do we need to bandage it right away?”
He wrinkled his nose. “The Luureken bit me.”
“How… doesn’t matter. Come on, we’ve got a lot to do before the rest of the Weres regroup, and first aid for you is at the top of the list.”
We entered a neighborhood that was, once again, filled with stores whose roofs had been used as anchors for swaths of sun-shading material. None of the souks were open for business at this hour, but the signs above the doors showed even the illiterate what to expect inside. Pottery. Rugs. Jewelry. Musical instruments so numerous you could bar
ely see the walls beneath them. When it was open. Tonight the door was locked, making it resemble a dark brown Hitler mustache against the pink skin of the building’s outer wall. Which went straight up, as if it had been built to imprison whoever wandered inside.
Sterling glanced over his shoulder. “Look, Chill, it’s like a third-world band closet. What do you say we go shopping for that guitar?”
I didn’t ask Sterling how he knew the address matched our mage’s ID. Sooner or later I’d figure it out, and it wouldn’t do to look ignorant in front of the captive. So I said, “Sounds like a plan,” and watched him pull Ahmed toward the shop, his hips and shoulders moving to that internal rhythm that marked him as surely as a tattoo. At the mage’s other shoulder, Kyphas seemed more like an attachment, built for the ride, but not committed to it.
She was, however, willing to hold on to the mage while Sterling dealt with the Wielder’s lock. In fact, she seemed fascinated by Sterling’s amulet, watching with the greed of a jewel thief as he pulled it out from beneath his shirt and held it between his cupped hands. When his fingers began to glow red, I shouldn’t have been surprised at my own reaction. My Sensitivity had jumped a few notches since I’d last rubbed against Sterling’s powers. But this was eerie. Like breathing air from a hot oven.
I glanced at Cole, but he didn’t seem to be as bothered by the warlock’s rising powers as I was. He’d pulled his Beretta and was watching Kyphas do her tahruyt-to-sword trick. So I unleashed Grief and said to Vayl, “This could get hairy. Here.” I handed him the cane. “If you twist the blue jewel at the top, the sheath will shoot away from the sword that’s hidden inside.”
Vayl eyed it carefully before taking it firmly in his hand. When his eyebrows lifted a notch I felt another spurt of excitement. He’d recognized it, at least subconsciously. Minuscule progress, but still enough to make me want to hug him. I managed to control myself, but only because Sterling was moving his amulet across the lines of the doorway.
He murmured, “Evendium.” When the lines glowed yellow he backed up. “It’s protected,” he said. He blew out his breath, fast and hard, as if he could release every ounce of tension that way. And maybe it worked, because his face settled and his shoulders relaxed. He reached into one of the pockets of his cargo pants and dug out a plastic zip-close bag containing a substance that resembled grape jelly. But when he pressed it against the top right-hand corner of the door it stuck like chewing gum. Circling the amulet over the spot like he meant to hypnotize it, Sterling began to hum. It wasn’t a tune exactly. But I could feel the music thrum through my feet, and, weirdly, I wanted to dance.
Cole was already waltzing with Kyphas. Spinning her around the shadowed, dusty street like they’d been partners for years. She threw back her head and laughed, her hair flying behind her like the tail of a racehorse. As she smiled up into his sparkling eyes she seemed to shed all her layers of treachery and deceit. For those few moments she wasn’t übergorgeous or evil. She was just a pretty girl with her arms around a boy she couldn’t resist. Except the hand that was wrapped around his shoulder held a sword that could easily slit his throat.
Who was I to judge? I held a lethal weapon too, and I couldn’t wait to swing my partner. I reached out to Vayl, but the demon had already shoved Ahmed into his hands, so it was Sterling who two-stepped me down the block. We flew past the other dancers, skating over the cobblestones like they were coated in bowling-lane wood, the air whistling past our ears as if cheering us on.
“The door.” Vayl sounded surprised. “It has unlatched itself.”
We stopped.
“Excellent,” said Sterling.
I shuffled toward the entrance after him, my elation deflating like a post-birthday balloon as I realized he’d sucked us into his spell. Cole and Kyphas held hands all the way to the door, then Cole looked at her, shook his head remorsefully, and jerked away.
As I shouldered past Sterling I said, “What you did was out of line. Making us dance like puppets just so you could pull off some minor magic.”
“You wanted inside. I assumed that meant—”
I tossed my head, slapping him with my braid. “You haven’t changed. It’s still all about how people can help you manipulate—”
Sterling interrupted me. “But I’m helping you!”
“Tell me that wasn’t a Bardish spell.” Silence. I nodded grimly. “You’re already into the change, aren’t you?” Even less response this time. “And how do you figure you’re going to help us when pirates hear a Bard is operating in Marrakech?”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not gonna tell them!” He looked around the circle of people who’d become fascinated by our exchange. “And neither are you.” The threat, sung softly, still raised the hair on the back of my neck. Vayl barely reacted. Cole went so pale for a second his hair was actually darker than his skin. Kyphas raised her hands as if to say it was beyond her realm of interest. And Ahmed looked like he wanted to throw up.
I turned my back to him. We both knew his threat probably wasn’t necessary. Until he took the oath, and all that went along with it, it was unlikely that anybody would be interested in dicing him up so they could squeeze the magic into an elixir so treasured only the mega-rich could afford it. Still, I was pissed. And that gave me an excuse. To ignore my disappointment that the joy hadn’t been real. And that coming down had reminded me so forcefully of how little was good in my life right now. I switched Grief into firing mode and prepared to enter Ahmed’s souk. But I couldn’t bury the thought that, considering Vayl had just bitten me, the reaction might’ve lasted longer if Sterling hadn’t stuck his nose in. Normally it wouldn’t bother me. But I had so little of him left to hold on to. That our warlock had cut the moment short stuck in my throat like a chicken bone.
Feeling frustrated and raw, I kicked the door open, half hoping that I’d find the remaining Weres standing on the other side ready for some hand-to-hand ass kicking. The door slammed into the wall, then sprang shut again. I heard Cole snort behind me.
Vayl said, “I must say, Madame Berggia, I have never seen a lady deliver quite so brutal a blow to an entryway before. Perhaps next time you might simply walk through?”
As I looked up into his bright brown eyes, five different responses occurred to me, most of them containing some form of obscenity that would, no doubt, get the poor housekeeper fired again. Then my sense of humor returned from vacation wearing an exoskeleton T-shirt and carrying a bag full of exploding cigars. I smiled.
And I said, “Where I come from, this is just how we enter a strange building, Lord Brâncoveanu. You should see what we do with suspicious packages.”
He sighed. “You make very little sense to me. I suppose I must assume this has something to do with Sister Hafeza’s prediction. However, where I come from, ladies do not risk unpredictable situations before gentlemen. Or, in fact, at all.” He stood, waiting for me to let him pass. When his eyebrows rose a whole centimeter I fluttered my lashes like a real girl and waved him in.
Because I refused to budge, he had to slide past me to get through the narrow door, his whole body rubbing slowly against mine as he made sure he wasn’t stepping into an ambush. I closed my eyes and relished the moment. The smell of Vayl, so unique that it made me feel as cozy as hot chocolate. The feel of his chest pressing against mine, his tight, flat stomach brushing just close enough to make my belly ring jingle against my skin. Our thighs met, and I licked my lips, remembering all the times nothing had separated our bodies and we’d tried desperately to hold off, to take one more minute for exploration, but the passion had stolen our senses and all we could do was try to breathe while it rode us.
“Madame Berggia?” The low rumble of his voice, sweet and dark as brown sugar, glided straight down my throat.
Which I had to clear before I said, “Yeah?”
“Are you quite all right?”
“Um.”
“Good. Follow me.”
Gladly. Because your ass is a work of art,
my dear. I could watch it all day and—probably get my head blown off if I don’t pay attention now.
We’d entered a shop that was like the evil twin of Sister Hafeza’s place. Small and dark, it was impossible to view in one sweep because at the squat service counter just a few steps in, it swerved and ducked, its countless cubicles each containing enough instruments to supply a small, North African orchestra. Drums of all shapes and sizes lined up like mischievous kids against every vertical space, from which hung gongs, hand harps, and instruments with trumpetlike bells at the end but way too many curves in the middle to go by that name. Anything you could get a halfway decent tune from had been crammed into the souk.
Sterling couldn’t stop grinning. He cocked his head at Ahmed, who he’d taken charge of again. “What a shame you’re such a creep. Otherwise we could’ve been buds, man.”
We spread out, Vayl taking the upper floor while Cole, Kyphas, and I each chose a different turn and Sterling led Ahmed straight toward the back. Within thirty seconds we’d each called, “Clear.”
With nothing spectacular to report in my section, I wandered over to Cole’s, where I found him admiring a drum. Shaped like a wine goblet, it came almost to his thigh. “Check this out.” He rubbed the head, which, according to the tag, was covered in goatskin. “It’s an antique.”
“You should come back and buy it,” Kyphas said as she joined us. Cole, looking over her shoulder, gave a short laugh.
“Not on my salary.”
Sterling called to us from a back corner of the store, “We need to have a family meeting!”
Vayl joined the three of us, and together we found Sterling and Ahmed standing beside a concrete pedestal. Instead of a statue, it held a wide china bowl painted with blue flowers and green vining leaves. The mage had filled it with blue-stained water. And in the middle of the bowl, floating on a spun-glass rose, was the round, marblelike ball from an Enkyklios.
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