Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by Jennifer Rardin

  In the short time I’d looked away from her, she’d changed dramatically. She’d grown to twice her height inside that viscous shell. Her hair had clumped and then formed into tentacles. Spinal plates grew out of her back. And where there should have been an extra protrusion in the shape of a sword hilt there was, instead, a jiggling tumerous mass that reminded me alarmingly of a giant egg sac. Only I had a gut-wrenching feeling its contents heralded, not birth, but death. No doubt about it, she had fully ingested the plague. But she still hadn’t completely entered the world. I kept reminding myself of that as the transformations continued, happening so fast I could hear the squeal of bones stretching and the wet, ripping sound of skin opening to make way for new appendages, including two vicious-looking pincers that emerged from the Tor’s bleeding jaws.

  She stretched, rising to a height of at least eight feet. Her new muscles rippled beneath skin the color of a bad sunburn. Her eyes had brightened to violet, the same color, in fact, as Liliana’s. I had never seen anything so immense, so unearthly, so unbeatable. Tammy Shobeson’s voice squealed in my head, Loser, loser, loser!

  “Time to play,” the Tor growled as she shook the gel from her new body (if only Jenny Craig had her recipe). She moved toward me. Even though I knew deep down this was the end for me, I stood my ground. There was no other option.

  “Move!” she demanded.

  “No.”

  “What do you hope to gain by standing in my way?”

  I thought about it. Even now, in the final moments of my life, smart-ass me was ready and available for service. “I’d like a title. Maybe Idiot of the Year. Is that one taken?”

  She leaned over me, the putrid tang of her breath making my curls wilt. “Are you trying to save the lives of your puny friends?”

  “What if I was?”

  “Then you would, without question or debate, qualify as a willing sacrifice.”

  Shit! I turned and ran, mowing through the mud like a sleek little ATV. I waved my hands and screamed, “Run! Run! She’s going to kill us all!”

  As soon as I passed Vayl, I heard a shot. One glance back showed Cassandra diving off to the right while Aidyn began to topple backward, a dark and gaping hole in the middle of his forehead. Vayl closed in on Aidyn fast, a sword-wielding juggernaut that didn’t stop until Aidyn’s head flew from his body and the smoke of his remains stained the ceiling.

  The Deganites milled around, showing the whites of their eyes as Cole swung his gun back toward them, having done all he could to pull the odds back into our favor. He looked ready to bolt, but he stood his ground, which made me enormously proud. I gestured for his gun and he immediately tossed it to me. I sprayed the wall just above the Deganites’ heads. “Run! Run! Run!” Like good little sheep, they obeyed, surging toward the stair wreckage in a babbling mob. Even though it looked more like a tornado victim than a means of egress, people were still finding a way to climb up toward freedom.

  I turned the gun on the Tor and opened up. I’m not sure, but I think I might have been screaming while I shot her so full of holes she looked like a puzzle with several missing pieces. Moments later Vayl joined me, firing Bergman’s weapon. He caught my eye and I realized we were both grinning, a couple of crazy hyenas tackling one badass lion.

  The Tor backpedaled fast, squawking and bellowing by turns. She grabbed Bozcowski from his latest fishing expedition and held him in front of her like a shield. His body bounced like a marionette as our bullets struck him.

  “Put me down, you freak!” he demanded, his voice rising up the scale to a shriekish whine. “Let me go, you disgusting piece of swamp rot!”

  She conceded, in a way, by throwing him against a wall. The sound of his spine snapping oddly resembled the crack of a split log. He fell to the floor in a heap, moaning piteously, picking at his twisted legs as if they had somehow betrayed him.

  And I thought we had her. I honestly did. That’s how badly I wanted it to be true. Then she lunged.

  Even in the midst of battle, when moments move like hours, the Tor was a red blur. Fangs the size of my hand sank into my right side. It felt like two flaming skewers had pierced me through and through, sending bolts of electric pain shooting through the rest of my body. I felt myself sinking into the agony, as if it was a tar pit from which I could never escape.

  The Tor shook me. My feet left the ground and, even as a red haze of torment settled over my brain, I thought distantly that I must resemble an old dog toy, frayed around the edges and in desperate need of retirement.

  I pressed my gun against her skull, shot until my magazine was empty, and she would not let go. Dimly, a mere echo in the booming crush of sound that was my blood rushing, my ribs breaking, my lung collapsing, I heard Vayl yelling, urgent, adamant orders I knew I must obey if only I could decipher the language he barked them in.

  Then I was outside, above, watching from a place so quiet, so warm, so safe that all it would take would be a plate of chocolate-chip cookies and a tall glass of milk for me to feel as I had every time I’d visited Granny May. I realized I’d split from my body one last time, only all the golden threads were missing. I searched for them, feeling a wave of grief at their loss. Then I found a new thread, one imbued with every color of the rainbow, and was amazed I hadn’t seen it before, it was so large, so gorgeous, pulsating to some basic rhythm that might well have been the heartbeat of the universe.

  I moved toward it. Who wouldn’t? But something stopped me, tugged at me, pulled me back. I looked down, perplexed, and then I saw the problem. The Tor had grabbed on to a trailing ribbon of my essence with one of the tentacles that flanked her jaw. I watched her reel me in, panic beginning to eat at the edges of the brief peace I’d found. But I was aware of more, as if I could see everyone and everywhere at once.

  The last of the Deganites had reached the door and was climbing through. Cassandra had crawled to Bergman and was rolling him over. He winced and grabbed his side, saying something to her that caused her to turn him farther and grab at something he’d been lying on.

  Cole had moved to Vayl’s side, where they both fought to force the Tor to release my body. Cole delivered a flurry of blows to the Tor’s midsection, at least one connecting soundly enough to break her arm, eliciting a high-pitched scream. Vayl leaped onto the Tor’s back and sank his fingers into her throat. Frost crackled up her chin and across her face. He dug deeper and the frost turned to ice. No more sounds escaped her throat, not even when he broke her jaw with one powerful blow of his fist.

  My body dropped to the floor, bouncing slightly before it settled into the ooze. Cole immediately went to work, inspecting wounds, searching for a pulse. But Vayl stayed put, hacking away at the Tor’s tentacles with bloody fists. I realized even though he coudn’t see me, that he knew . . .

  The Tor-al-Degan was eating my soul. Slowly. With the relish of a connoisseur. And when she finished, nothing could stop her from leaping onto the throat of the world.

  Once I’d thought maybe I was crazy, and the fear of losing my sanity, losing myself, had dogged every breath, dictated every action. Worse than an infestation of cockroaches, a cancerous tumor, the loss of my family . . . the feeling had left me unwilling to rest, unable to find peace. That had only been fear. This was real.

  Second by second, the Tor was ingesting the best—and the worst—parts of me. I was losing myself inside the horrifying red hell of the Tor’s gaping maw. I struggled. I fought. I prayed. I tried desperately to tear myself free. But the slow torture of my ultimate destruction went on. And though I had no voice, I began to scream and scream and scream . . .

  A voice rang across the room, Cassandra’s deep, rich tones washing across me like warm, clear water. She’d come forward to stand by Cole as he worked furiously over my cooling body. In her right hand she held the pyramid, the key. And in her left she held the Enkyklios, echoing the words as she heard them from the small vision of a Seer who had stood in a long-distant past and saved the world for a time.

>   The Tor bellowed and shook her head, denying the power that had suddenly appeared, demanded her allegiance. But Cassandra would not relent. And moments later I was free. Flying. Soaring toward that stained-glass rainbow of a lifeline and following it straight to the top.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  You know, I thought I was headed to heaven,” I said as I looked out the window. The skyline of Las Vegas glared back at me. I stood in a lavish suite, definitely high-roller territory, surrounded by plush furniture, satin curtains, and so much marble the room could’ve doubled as a mausoleum.

  “Some would tell you you’re already there,” said my companion.

  I would’ve pegged him as a fighter from the start, even without the crew cut and the upright bearing. I recognized those eyes, had grown up around men with the same look. Only battle will do that, only pitched battle and the death of men you love like brothers.

  I also recognized him from our last encounter, when he’d mended my broken neck on the blood-stained floor of a house that should never have been called “safe.”

  The guy, this warrior, had smiled when I’d showed up and he’d said, “There you are,” as if we’d prearranged my appearance in the middle of his hotel room. He’d left his perch on a black leather bar stool and come to shake my hand. “Hello, Jasmine. My name is Raoul.” Spain bronzed his skin and flavored his accent, but his manner was pure American military.

  “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

  He’d cocked his head to one side, as if sizing up the new recruit. “That remains to be seen.”

  I’d gone to the window then, confused and somewhat depressed, pretty sure I’d been relegated to the eternal Between. Below me, Sin City sparkled like a desert queen’s tiara. Too bad the stones were fake.

  “I guess some people would like to spend eternity gambling and watching showgirls strut across the stage,” I said. I turned from the window and dropped onto a couch that made every bone in my non-body sigh with pleasure. “Shoot, I wouldn’t mind spending a couple of weeks doing that myself.”

  Raoul settled onto a matching couch that met mine at a forty-five-degree angle. I suddenly realized this room was arranged the same way I’d done the furniture in Diamond Suites and Bergman’s safe house. Yes, and in that long-ago place where Aidyn had destroyed my life.

  “Have I been here before?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “And David? Has he been here?”

  “In a way.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re not supposed to remember.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Should I be?”

  He smiled again. “Probably not.”

  “So, why am I here?”

  He looked surprised, as if I should know. “You’re a hero.”

  I was beginning to get the idea. “Look, I didn’t save the world back there. It was Cassandra.”

  “Despite the fact that it’s a very catchy phrase, there is no such thing as an army of one.”

  “What exactly is it that you want?”

  He gave me that don’t-play-dumb-with-me look that you just hate to see when you’re stalling. But to my surprise, he gave me an answer. “You’re sitting in headquarters, Soldier. It’s time to re-up or retire. It’s your call, of course, but we’d like you to continue your work.”

  I jerked my head toward the window. “Funny place for a headquarters.”

  “We try to stay close to the front.”

  “Then you should be in Miami.”

  “The battle there has been won.”

  “But not the war?”

  “You did not defeat the Raptor.”

  “Will I be done when I do?”

  “If you like. But he is a canny beast. You won’t catch him easily.” Raoul pursed his lips and shook his head. “However, I digress. You need to make a choice.”

  I nodded. It was time to move on, then, one way or another. I could retire. The word “rest” hovered out there like a green velvet dressing gown. But I’d seen what it had done to Albert and there was no reason to think I’d be any more content. Plus, my retirement would leave Evie to cope with the cantankerous old man on her own. I’d never see her baby girl. I’d never hear Dave’s story, which must be as remarkable as my own. Bergman and Cassandra would probably kill each other. Cole would become a bitter old man. And Vayl . . . Vayl would wander the earth alone, longing for his sons. Longing for me.

  I looked Raoul in the eye. “I’m in.”

  “Excellent.” He nodded at me and a mystical wind rose in the room, knocking over lamps, shattering vases, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut tight.

  When I opened them again, Cole’s face was inches away, his breath still warm in my mouth, his fingers pressing against my neck. When he felt the blood move once again inside me, a blissful look of triumph settled over his face.

  “She’s back,” he said, looking over his shoulder. Cassandra and Bergman hugged and gave me the thumbs-up sign. Vayl knelt beside me, a wide smile stretching his face to new limits, making him look happy and pained at the same time.

  “Jasmine, I am so glad you’re here.”

  I thought about it a minute and nodded. “Me too.” But something troubled me. Something beyond the pain would not allow . . . I searched as much of the cavern as I could, considering the only body part I was willing to move was my head. There, still sprawled against the wall. Bozcowski. Everyone had forgotten about him but me.

  He met my eyes. Even without telepathic abilities I could read the thoughts raging inside his damaged mind. He had a good lawyer and a genius publicist. If he kept his mouth shut he might be able to ride this one out. Why not? Politicians had a rich heritage of wriggling out of tight situations. And after all, people loved him. Shoot, he might even make vampirism the newest nationwide fad!

  The sick thing was, I could actually envision a situation or two where his fantasies came true. I looked at Vayl, let my eyes stray back to Bozcowski so he’d understand. Finish the job.

  He stood up, strode over to the senator, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him to within a foot of where I lay. He dangled from Vayl’s fist like an obese seventh grader who needs help finishing his first push-up. “Cole, do you still have Jasmine’s gun?” Vayl asked.

  Cole reached into the belt of his pants and pulled out Grief. “Release the safety and push the magic button,” Vayl told him. While Cole readied my weapon, Vayl and I spent some time in each other’s eyes. More and more for us, key moments required no conversation at all. Vayl would’ve preferred to off Bozcowski himself, because he knew this was about to cause me pain. He also knew I needed to do this. Bottom line, the senator had betrayed his own people. It was right that one of his own should end him.

  Cole put Grief, now altered to shoot as a crossbow, in my hand. Vayl raised Bozcowski another inch to give me a clear target.

  “Jaz, please,” Bozcowski blubbered. “You don’t want to do this!”

  “Actually, yes, I do.” I raised the gun and fired. Bozcowski’s body wafted away like the smoke from a newly doused fire. Vayl brushed off his hands and took Grief from me. I closed my eyes.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I sighed. Now I could rest.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I should first recognize my husband’s part in this whole scheme since, when I finally confessed to him my secret love of all things vampire, he didn’t laugh and say, “Good Lord, Jen, how old are you?” Nope, he said, “Then maybe you should write a vampire novel.” To which I replied, “It’s all been done already.” And he said, “Not by you.” So, thanks babe, without your encouragement, I’d never have dared this book. Big thanks to my agent, Laurie McLean, for taking a chance on me and giving me the kind of full-out support and honest feedback I have come to deeply appreciate. Thanks also to my editor, Devi Pillai, whose humor, patience, insight and constant barrage of questions have helped me elevate this work to a level I couldn’t have imagined when I f
irst sent it to her. For their insights into weaponry and military information I must acknowledge Ron Powell and Ben Rardin. Any mistakes I’ve made in either arena are my own. And special you-brave-soul hugs to my readers for taking on the daunting task of reviewing a raw manuscript and offering honest feedback to its nail-biting author. Love to you all: Jackie Plew, Hope Dennis, Ron Powell, Katie Rardin and Erin Pringle. Most of all, thanks to you, Reader, for climbing out to the edge of this limb with me. I hope you enjoy the view!

  extras

  meet the author

  Jennifer Rardin began writing at the age of 12, mostly poems to amuse her classmates and short stories featuring her best friends as the heroines. She lives in an old farmhouse in Illinois with her husband and two children. Find out more about Jennifer Rardin at www.JenniferRardin.com.

  interview with Jaz Parks

  We sat in my sunroom, though dark had fallen hours before. I thought Jaz had chosen the spot for Vayl’s sake. So he could watch. I knew she’d brought him, as she had many times before, but we had yet to meet. I wasn’t sure why.

  The tape recorder sat on the coffee table between us, mutely turning, as if constantly shaking its head at the story she’d been documenting for the last few weeks. I could hardly believe it myself.

  JEN: “You’ve told me things I’m sure some people would keep from their priests. But that’s still left me with some pretty big questions.” Jaz sat forward in her white wicker chair, her red curls framing her pale face so perfectly I felt I should take a picture. She could be any lovely co-ed on any Big Ten campus, except for the shock of white hair spiraling from her forehead around her right cheek to her chin.