Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by Jennifer Rardin

“Yes.”

  “What if it’s one of the senators on our oversight committee? They would have all kinds of reasons for keeping us from completing this assignment if, as a result, it were to come out that they were connected to the Raptor.” And if I’m right, we are dealing with one of the world’s major scumbags.

  “Keep talking,” Vayl encouraged me.

  I shrugged. “I just can’t think of anybody else who would know we were here, who could gain access to your blood supply, and who would maybe know of your phobia about snakes.”

  “I have never told anyone about that but you.”

  Really? Wow! “No, but anybody who’s read your reports might just glean that information, you know, reading between the lines, if you’d had a mission that involved snakes. I don’t know; I’m really reaching now.”

  “No,” he said quietly, his eyes on the wall, as if someone had projected some horrifying memories there. “I had a case in 1939. It . . . this abhorrence I feel is directly and probably obviously related to that case.”

  I waited. When he didn’t provide any details I didn’t pout, but I did consider swiping his file. Would it still be on Pete’s desk? “We have a very nasty problem, Vayl.”

  “Two, actually.”

  “Yeah?”

  Vayl sank back down onto the couch, looking as bleak as a cancer patient. “Not only is someone trying to kill me, but now I have to find a supply of fresh blood.”

  I knew that, as we sat there staring at each other, we were sharing the same thoughts. Neither of us wanted to say them out loud, but it had to be done. I started.

  “So what are our options?”

  “They are limited.” Vayl drew in a deep breath, clasped his hands together convulsively. I’d never seen him so agitated. “I cannot hunt. I . . . made a vow.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. “I know that must sound stupid and old-fashioned to you—”

  “Not at all. Of course hunting is out. We’re the good guys.”

  Vayl’s lips twitched.

  “Okay,” I amended, “we’re walking that thin line between good and bad, but we’re not kidnapping kids or blowing up federal buildings so I say, if we’re erring, it’s on the side of good.”

  “Which is why we cannot raid a blood bank or anything similar to that.”

  “I agree.” Weren’t we just two reasonable people? It’s what we spooks do when the alternative is blind panic. “So what can you do?”

  “I can find a willing donor. Vampires tend to attract them. I know of one in the area I might approach.”

  Whoa, buddy. Where did you go when I wasn’t looking? “You’ve . . . made some contact? Recently?”

  If Vayl had any blood in him, he would’ve blushed. He avoided meeting my eyes, and he started to fidget like I’d just caught him slipping a frog into the teacher’s desk. “I, well, yes.” He straightened up and looked me in the eye, realizing, maybe, that he didn’t have to answer to anyone, me the least. “I cannot discuss it right now.” His look softened. Did I really seem that hurt? “I will tell you later, when we have time.”

  “You want to save it for the plane ride back?”

  He nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Yes. I will make everything clear to you then.”

  Maybe. “Everything” gave me leave to cover an awful lot of ground. One thing I was sure of, after all these attempts on our lives, I couldn’t see me loitering outside some locked door while God knew what went down inside. What if this willing donor of Vayl’s was part of the next wave? I voiced my worries. Vayl didn’t want to see it my way at first, but I kept talking.

  “Vayl, be logical. We are two of the most clandestine people on earth. And yet whoever is after us has found us on a highway, infiltrated your luggage, and tainted your blood supply. You can’t do this with someone you can’t trust.” Our eyes met. I didn’t have to say anything. He knew what choices remained to him. Still he resisted.

  “I will not. I cannot—”

  “Why not?”

  Vayl looked at me a long time, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if the words he was about to say needed to be chewed first, ground under his molars until the sharp edges wore away.

  “Jasmine . . .” He stopped, thought a minute, tried again. “I do not know what it would do to us. You would be stepping onto a path that could lead you to vampirism.”

  “Not if you don’t drain me. Not if I don’t drink your blood.”

  “You are right. But because you are a Sensitive you could—you probably would—change.” I must’ve looked puzzled because he kept trying to explain. “The kind of—joining—you are suggesting is not one-way.”

  “So what are you saying, that there’s magic in your backwash?”

  The tightness around Vayl’s eyes eased a little, and a dimple appeared in his right cheek. “You could say that.”

  “What might happen to me?”

  Vayl sank back onto his couch and I sat beside him. “I have never done such a thing with a Sensitive, so it is impossible to predict.”

  “Could you make it so I can fly?” I asked.

  That got his attention. “What?”

  I felt a little self-conscious, but figured the time to guard my ego had long passed. “I’ve always wanted to fly,” I confided, “like Superman, only without the ridiculous costume.”

  “It is not . . .”

  “Or how about superhuman strength so when I throw people they sail clear across the room?”

  “This is serious!” Vayl’s eyes bored into mine, twin obsidian pebbles that looked ready to bury me under a great big avalanche. It ticked me off. Here I was, offering the guy his life, basically, and all he could do was threaten me with metaphorical boulders! “You have no idea, Jasmine. The two of us will mix at a very basic level. I cannot predict the outcome. You cannot know the risk!”

  I considered shaking him ’til his teeth rattled, thought better of it. “Vayl! Calm down! Damn, but you’re grouchy when you’re hungry!”

  That got him. He dug the heel of his palm into the furrows between his eyes.

  “You are insane, you know that?”

  Ouch. “I’m just being practical. I knew someday I might have to bare my throat to you. Pete and I discussed that very possibility. As for danger and risk taking, that’s what Pete pays me to do. And you and I both know he intends to get his money’s worth.”

  “Jasmine, I cannot—”

  “Why not!”

  “Because you are not food!”

  I stared at him for a minute; then I started to grin. I couldn’t help it. “Vayl”—I tried to keep my face straight—“I’m not asking you to eat me.”

  Vayl’s jaw dropped and I burst into peals of laughter. Eventually I heard him chuckling along with me and I knew we’d be okay. When I had my warped sense of humor back under control I said, “It’s just a temporary solution. Until we can figure out something better. Okay?”

  When he sighed and his shoulders dropped out of defensive mode, I knew I’d won. Vayl hesitated one more minute. “I will not take much,” he assured me. “Only what I need and no more.”

  No more, no more, no more.

  I sighed as I felt his power settle over me, warm and comforting as an old quilt. His fingers grazed my neck as he swept my hair aside. His lips brushed my earlobe, moved down to my throat. He kept nuzzling me with his lips, caressing me with the tips of his fangs until something new rose between us, a force that sizzled and snapped, making the very air churn. I could hear my breath coming in gasps.

  “Vayl . . . please.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire. For me? For my blood? I wasn’t sure there was any difference just then. I wanted to delve further into this new insight, but my frontal lobe chose that moment to completely shut down. Even the pain of his teeth penetrating my skin didn’t wake it up.

  The air shimmered with power. With magic. My head buzzed with it. Through half-closed lids I watched colored bubbles of light dance across the walls. Th
e darkness came so quickly after that, I never even knew it had taken me until I returned to myself and realized I was lying on the couch with one leg flung over its arm. Vayl sat on the other couch, staring at me like I’d grown an extra head as I struggled to sit up. A tightness on my neck caused me to reach up, but when my fingertips encountered a gauze pad I dropped my hand back into my lap.

  “What?” I asked, trying hard not to cry. I don’t know if I was more distressed that I’d blacked out or that I’d missed most of an experience that had promised to be unforgettable. “Did I do something wrong?” I asked. “Did I say something out of line?” What the hell just happened?

  Vayl shook his head. “You were perfect. Better than the best. I have never . . . It has never been like that for me before.”

  “For me either.” We smiled at each other. The hard knot of fear that twisted my heart with every new blackout relaxed. Vayl didn’t know. My secret was still safe. Now that my attention could wander, I realized the experience had left some aftereffects. “I do feel kind of funky though,” I commented.

  He sat forward, his eyes narrowing with concern. “How do you mean?”

  “Umm, like, drunk. But not.”

  I thought Vayl would come sit beside me, fuss over me a little, but he sat statue still, like a street performer who’s run out of gray body paint. Finally he whispered, “I know.”

  “Know what?”

  “It is as if you are an entire spectrum of light that just became visible to me. I can . . . hear your heart beating. I can sense your hunger pangs. I know you are frightened. You are also elated, tired, worried and”—his voice dropped—“excited.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “Oh no, oh no, oh no—” I bit my lip hard, stopping the litany with my own blood. Vayl had kept his word. He’d left me plenty. It trickled onto my chin as I tried to stand, but I moved too fast and lost my balance. Vayl caught me just before I landed in a heap on the floor. As soon as I regained my equilibrium I growled, “Back off.”

  He stepped away.

  “No, I mean with your senses or whatever. You were supposed to give me superpowers. You were supposed to make me fly. You weren’t supposed to march through my thoughts like a lumberjack in a rainforest!”

  “Jasmine, that is not how it happened! There is no need to panic.”

  “I’m not panicking!” But I was, and I had no way to hide it. “I don’t want you inside my head,” I told him, keeping my voice as reasonable as possible, considering I just wanted to stuff my face into a pillow and scream. “It’s too intimate, too scary. I’m not ready for that!” I realized I was yelling and covered my mouth.

  “I warned you. I told you—”

  I raised my hand to stop him talking, trying to swallow my oceanic fear as I did. “I can’t have you—exploring me like that. There are things you don’t know. Things I can’t explain.” I stopped, took a deep breath to keep myself from babbling on until he did discover my secret.

  His lips twitched. “Are you really that bad?”

  “Well . . . no, I’m just . . . not that good.”

  “Maybe that is why I find you so interesting.”

  “Huh” was my brilliant reply.

  He nodded to the couch, urging me to cool my jets. “Jasmine, the change has begun. You cannot let it destroy you.”

  I sank down and he sat beside me. I said, “No, I can’t.” Can’t, can’t, can’t . . .

  “So, please, relax. I promise you, I will not probe. I will not intrude. Your thoughts, your memories, are still your own.”

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath and leaned back. He turned slightly to face me, his eyes spilling emotions I couldn’t hope to catch. Especially not in my current state.

  “I have believed for some time that I should do this,” he said, “but our joining has convinced me. You must take this.” He pulled a gold chain out from under his shirt and unlatched it, freeing a ring from its loop. He held the ring out to me, and I stared at it as it sat in his palm. Intricately woven golden knots formed the band. In the center of each knot glittered a superb little ruby. The exquisite craftsmanship made the ring resemble a magical artifact, like a token of love left at the bottom of the Lake of Dreams by some brokenhearted nymph.

  “Oh, wow.” I touched it as if it was crafted of spun glass.

  “You like it then?” Vayl slipped it onto my finger. Though it sat on my right hand, the feeling still spooked me, as if we’d just agreed to some sort of unmarriage.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said, holding my arm out to see it better. I dropped my hand to my lap as a thought occurred to me. “I can’t keep it.”

  “What?”

  “It’s too much, Vayl. Too expensive. Too beautiful. Too personal. Plus Pete would kill me. Remember what he said about not accepting gifts?”

  “From clients, not from each other. Jasmine”—frustration furrowed his eyebrows, edged his tone—“why do you always have to make everything so difficult?”

  My first instinct was to argue, but I had no basis. Vayl had made this wonderful gesture. Did I really have to spit in his hand? “It’s just, I don’t understand why you would give this to me when, you’re right, I have been a pain in the ass lately.”

  “Because it is more than a gift. You wear a ring made by my father’s father on the day I was born. It is called Cirilai—which means ‘Guardian.’ My mother, as she lay dying from the difficulty of my birth, had a vision of my death. She knew it would be violent. She knew it would endanger my soul. Cirilai contains all the ancient powers my family could muster to protect me. As long as it exists, I may lose my life, but I cannot lose my soul.”

  Holy crap, I’d heard fables about such artifacts! But to actually have one wrapped around my finger? Well, to be honest, it made me feel kind of nauseous. “Why on earth would you give something so precious to me?”

  If I’d known him for years, maybe I could have read the answer in those amber eyes. He must’ve spent a minute trying to tell me things with them that words could not express. But too much of the unknown still stood between us to allow a translation. That’s what I told myself. Maybe I was just too scared to let myself understand. Finally he said, “I gave you Cirilai because the ring will protect you as well. And because I sensed in you the same power that is invested in the ring. The two of you belong together—with me.”

  At the risk of sounding like a two-year-old, I repeated myself. “But why?”

  Thank goodness, unlike mine, Vayl’s patience isn’t tied to a lit fuse. His hands clasped together in his lap. “You and Cirilai remind me that, while I am no longer human, I am also no better than human.”

  “Is that all? We keep you humble?”

  “Think of what happens to people who possess such powers as mine when they decide their ideas, agendas, race are superior to all others.”

  “Napoleon,” I whispered. “Hitler. Hussein.”

  Vayl nodded solemnly. “In guarding my soul, you protect the world. And that is why I need you as my assistant.”

  Bam! Finally, an explanation for our partnership that made some sort of sense. And one that raised Vayl so high in my esteem that, even though he’d never need it, I’d happily step between him and a bullet. Which gave me an insight into Albert I’d rather not have. But you can’t continue to believe your dad’s a complete tool when others respect him just as highly.

  “I would like to ask you something,” Vayl said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Why did you rearrange the furniture again?”

  “Well, I wanted to work out and . . . again?”

  “Remember Ethiopia? And Germany? And Hong Kong?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So, you have rearranged the furniture in every apartment, hotel, and hut we have stayed in since I have known you. And always the same way. I just wondered why.”

  “Oh.” I laughed weakly, racking my brain for a plausible excuse. “Well, that’s the way it always was growing up. No matter what house we were living in, Mom
arranged the furniture the same way to make it feel like home.”

  A damn fine explanation, I must say, and one Vayl swallowed whole.

  “I was just wondering.”

  “Let’s go kick somebody’s butt,” I suggested, thinking it would sure make me feel better. “I feel like I really could throw a bad guy across the room.”

  “And suddenly we have so many from which to choose.” Vayl thought a moment, giving me time to rearrange my brain. Like the furniture, it made no sense to me, but I did recover most of my scattered control. “Do you have any ideas?” he asked.

  “Assan comes immediately to mind.”

  “I am sure it will be a pleasure ending his existence. But he is more valuable to us as he is right now, oblivious and unbruised. First we need to find out where he and Aidyn are storing the virus.”

  “And how they’re making it,” I added. “Do you suppose they’re keeping their notes at Assan’s place?”

  “It is possible. Though Aidyn seems to be the creator. We need to ascertain where he is staying as well.”

  “Sure would be handy if we had a contact on the inside,” I said. “But Assan’s staff is unapproachable.”

  “What about his family?”

  “You mean the wife?” We shared a knowing look. “You mean the jealous wife who’s hired a private investigator?” We both nodded. With the butt-kicking officially tabled, I moved across the pit to a mauve armchair beside which stood an end table with a phone on top, a drawer for the phone book, and a lamp to read it by.

  Most men I meet through work tend to avoid that whole live-like-a-normal-guy gig. In fact, most guys I meet through work want to kill me. So when I found Cole’s name and number listed in the White Pages I felt a sudden urge to giggle. It went away just as quickly. I’d met a normal guy. Big whoop. That didn’t make me any more normal.

  He answered his phone on the first ring. “Cole Bemont.”

  “Cole! This is Lucille Robinson. We met—”

  “Last night!”

  “You remembered.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been kicking myself all day for not getting your number.” We stopped speaking for a moment, homage to the kiss.