Bitten to Death

by Jennifer Rardin

  They hung from the wall that lined the staircase leading up to our landing. Made of metal, ivory, glass, and wood. Carved with lasers and pocketknives. Ranging in size from yeah-that’ll-fit-your-hamster to a whopping let’s-see-how-many-college-students-will-fit-into-this, these were the source of the power that made my teeth try to sink back into my gums.

  “That’s quite a collection,” I said, waving to the wall and then sticking my hand in my pocket before Tarasios could see the shaking. What the hell was the Trust doing with all that alakazam?

  “That’s just supposed to be like the spokes of the wheel,” said Tarasios enthusiastically. “Disa says somewhere there’s a—” He stopped, covering his mouth like a kid who’s about to reveal the location of his mom’s Christmas presents.

  “A what?” I asked.

  “Nothing. We’d better go.” Tarasios hurried on, leaving Vayl and me to exchange curious glances over Dave’s hanging head.

  The more twists and turns we took inside that maze of a mansion, the freakier the decor got. Naw, I was cool with the black carpeted halls hung with red and gold flocked wallpaper. What shook me was the little zap of power I detected when we passed a glass case full of skulls whose teeth had all been removed and lined up neatly in front of them. Or the shelf full of ancient clay bowls whose internal stains, I sensed, had not been caused by clothing dye. I was just plain startled by a large frame that looked blank until you’d almost passed, and then you realized it contained a pair of holographic eyes.

  Dave saw them too, the suddenness of their appearance causing him to stumble, making me want to put a hand under his arm to steady him. By now his coloring had shaded from its usual wind-burned brown to a sickly celery. But if I offered help he might never speak to me again. Plus Vayl, walking on his other side, was quick enough to catch him before he fell. So I tapped Tarasios on the shoulder.

  “We’re almost there,” he said, picking up the pace even more.

  Okay, he really doesn’t want to talk about the masks. Or probably anything else that’s tweaked my freak-detector tonight. So let’s try something else. “Aren’t you worried about the police finding out about the Weres?” I asked Tarasios. “I know they’re not protected any better than vamps. But you still need a good reason to have one trapped in your garage. Unless he’s just mangled your family and you’re waiting for the local executioner, I’d say you’re in a legal shithole here.”

  “Well, Hamon’s—” He blushed prettily, looking over one shoulder as if afraid Disa would suddenly jump from behind the statue we were currently passing. It was a rather gruesome depiction of Athena emerging from Zeus’s head, which, while scary enough in itself, might even give me the screaming jeebies if she leaped out and yelled, “I am the Deyrar!”

  “Go ahead,” I said gently. “We won’t tell her what you said about Hamon. Right, Vayl?”

  “I doubt we would tell Disa if her own hair were on fire,” Vayl muttered.

  When Tarasios gave him a hurt look, I waved my hand around in front of him to get his attention. “He’s such a kidder. Go on.”

  Tarasios shrugged, cocked his head to one side, as if slightly embarrassed. “I was just going to say Hamon’s apartments should be empty. But we’ve been prevented—that is—we haven’t been able to pack up his things, so there’s no room for a Were there.” He turned to Vayl in delight. “Did you hear that? Were there. I made a rhyme!”

  “You’re a poet and you don’t know it,” Dave muttered. “Now, where the hell are we staying?”

  While Tarasios led us to our door, Vayl and I traded interested glances. What would keep a bunch of determined vampires from clearing out their dead leader’s drawers? Given Hamon’s tragic end, I think I smell a death-spell. One designed to keep bad-wishers out of your goodies if you happen to kick it unnaturally soon.

  I wanted a look inside those apartments. But first I had to experience ours.

  The suite consisted of two rooms. The first, which had been painted forest green, couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A table that looked like it might’ve been rescued from a library fire had been shoved against the wall to the left of the main entry. Two straight-backed chairs were pushed so far beneath it they actually tipped backward slightly. A bookshelf made of some dark wood, maybe black walnut, ran the length of the back wall. Knickknacks like the broken pieces of pottery you might expect to pull from an archaeological dig, and figurines of naked women and small round men with enormous genitals ran rampant across shelves that held only a few samples of actual reading material, all of which were written in Vampere.

  The middle of the room held a fountain featuring a nude woman holding an urn on her head. Six brown wicker chairs with flowered cushions snuggled up to it. Given my surroundings, I couldn’t decide if I was supposed to study for my final or host a tea. Neither might prove to be the healthiest choice. Because the walls smelled vaguely of mold. Brown water flowed down naked-stone-lady’s body. And I was certain, given the right chemicals, I’d discover the stains scarring the wooden floor at the adjoining room’s threshold were blood.

  Its open door invited exploration. But I figured Dave might appreciate some moral support, given that he looked like he’d just been bitch slapped by a gangbanger wearing steel gloves. So I stood by the covered window as he sat in one of the wickers, his nostrils flaring when Vayl shoved the needle too deep. To give him credit, my sverhamin worked with surprising care for one who’d seen, and done, so much violence. I don’t know what I’d expected. Something more along the lines of an old Western maybe. Here, chew on this stick while I dig around inside you and see if I can hammer every nerve ending in the immediate vicinity of my oversized, blunt-ended, outmoded instrument of torture—um, I mean modern medicine. But it looked like Vayl had plenty of experience stitching up slash wounds.

  Come to think of it, putting members of my family back together seemed to be becoming a habit with him. My mind tracked back to the first night we’d returned home from our mission to Iran. When I’d traced him to his doorstep.

  I’d stood in front of the redbrick Victorian with its wraparound front porch and Rapunzel-let-down-yer-hair turret and tried to square it with my mental image of Vayl. Who’d never seemed that attached to home. I’d expected to find him in a place similar to mine. Small. Nondescript. Hospital cold. But Vayl had a blue gazing ball beside his front steps. And flowers. Which didn’t calm me one bit. Because I was already pretty far gone. Not panicked, but getting close, which is maybe why I couldn’t stop once I started pounding on his sturdy oak door.

  “Jasmine?” He’d thrown it open so fast my fists connected with his chest before I could stop myself. He caught my hands in his and held them still. “What is wrong?”

  “I—” I gritted my teeth, trying to keep the words simple in my brain so they’d come out straight. “I can’t seem to stop sh-shaking.”

  I felt him lift me, heard the door close. I curled into his feverish warmth, knowing it meant he’d just emptied the packaged blood he kept in his fridge. I wasn’t cold, but my teeth clicked like fingernails on a keyboard as I buried my face in his white silk shirt. I breathed in his scent. And still the shivers rocked me, as if I’d spent the past ten hours stuck in the back of a milk truck.

  He sat down, holding me like a child on his lap. I got the impression of a room paneled in squares of rich brown wood, a couple of tall, ivory-shaded lamps, and a coffee table stacked with books. “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “I don’t know—”

  “When did it begin?”

  “When I was unpacking. I was putting stuff in a pile to wash. Everything was okay. But then I opened my weapons case. And I got out the knives. The knife. To clean it. Because it still had Dave’s blood on it. From when I had to cut him, to get the Wizard’s ohm out of his throat. That—the thing the Wizard used to control him with when he was a zombie.” Vayl knew all this. I was babbling. But I couldn’t seem to stop. “Do you remember?” I said. “It contained part of his finger
bone—”

  “Of course.”

  “Th-that’s when I s-started to sh-shake.” It had gotten worse. Just talking about it sent me into such spasms that Vayl had to fold his arms around me and hold me tight to keep me from juking off the long leather couch we shared.

  After a minute or so I calmed down enough to say, “What the hell is up with me?”

  While Vayl held me around the waist with one arm, he slid his free hand into my hair. As he slowly and repeatedly ran his fingers through my curls, he leaned forward until his forehead touched mine. Every move he made seemed gauged to relax and, bit by bit, I did feel myself begin to unwind.

  “Jasmine, correct me if I am wrong. But in the past three months you have been murdered by a Kyron and brought back to life by Raoul. Spent weeks in hospital. Become an aunt. Endured killer nightmares. Come to terms with the loss of your fiancé. Saved the world at least twice. Freed your brother from a cursed existence only to see him die. Rescued your niece from otherworldly soul stealers. Sighed with relief when David did come back to this life, but then lost that relief because the next minute you found your father was the target of a murderer.”

  Nodding didn’t seem to be among my current skill set, so I jerked my head a couple of times. “That about s-sums it up,” I said. Then I shut my mouth before I could accidentally bite my tongue.

  “Darling, your body is telling you to give it some peace or it is going to shake you right into a mental institution.”

  I was torn. Should I be delighted that he’d called me darling? Or terrified that my boss had brought up the idea of dumping me into the nuthouse? My feet, which were dangling over the side of the sofa, began tap dancing. Not a pretty sight.

  I tried to get up. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have b-b-bothered you.”

  “Jasmine, look at me.” For once my Sensitivity failed me. That hypnotic tone in his voice demanded and my eyes glued to his. They were amber. Glowing. He leaned in and kissed me, oh so softly, once on each cheek. “You will be fine. You simply need time and rest. Go to sleep. That is where the healing will begin.”

  As usual he’d been right about me. I just wished Dave could’ve come home with us. Partaken of Vayl’s wisdom. Maybe then he wouldn’t be here now, torn up inside and out.

  The cell phone in my back pocket vibrated, signaling the arrival of another text message. Oh yeah, as if I didn’t have enough guys to worry about. Then there’s him.

  I pulled it out and checked the screen. Yup, it was from Cole. Now working his first solo mission, he’d become a real pain in my ass. And not just because every time my phone buzzed against my right butt cheek I knew his sweet, funny message would send me into a spiral of confusion and worry about how badly I was going to break his heart when I finally said, “No, Cole, I can’t see me married to you.”

  Since I’d helped with his training, I also didn’t appreciate the spike of fear that jammed itself into my spine when I thought of everything that could possibly go wrong with him out there on his own. Which was the main reason I tolerated his ridiculous texts instead of putting him in his place. At least this way I could be sure he was still kicking.

  I read quickly, happy that Cole spelled most things out, saving me the labor of code breaking.

  Bored as a gay guy at Hooters. Cold, too. Mark is late. Rude of him, yes? Dreaming of you in ski boots and fur hat—nothing else! Tell Vayl he sux. Luv, C.

  Uh-oh. Cole sitting around waiting for his target to show makes me wonder who’s going to get the banana up the muffler first. I immediately texted him back to behave himself and stowed the phone for later study. If I could figure out what part of the world Cole had been assigned to I might be able to give him better, more specific advice on how to stay out of trouble.

  “I’m sorry, Jaz,” Dave said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you’re mad as hell right now.”

  “Really? How can you tell?”

  “You’re staring at my shirt. Which means you’re not meeting my eyes. Therefore you’re trying pretty hard not to punch me.”

  Oh. Ha, ha, ha, not at all. I was just hoping that bizarre, bloody face wouldn’t reappear before we burn that rag you’re wearing. And then, yeah, come to think of it, I may have to beat the crap out of you.

  Before I could say anything, Vayl stepped in. “Tact does not run in your family, does it?”

  Dave and I shared a wry smile. Together we said, “No.”

  Since that seemed to be the last word, Vayl leaned into his final stitches and I wandered into the bedroom. Just to the left of the door sat a canopy bed with a scrolled headboard. It was dressed in enough white lace for three brides, which made the arch-lidded trunk at its base seem like a shipwreck survivor. Beside it sat a table whose finish was flaking like hickory bark. It held a lamp and an empty wooden bowl big enough to hold an entire birthday cake. On the other side of the table sat an armchair in dire need of reupholstering, but once fit for royalty if the velvety blue and green fabric gave any clue.

  Two white armoires that needed repainting covered the wall adjoining the bed. I was betting they blocked a window as well. The bathroom was just to the right, a mildewed, water-stained closet that I’d have to attack with a case of bleach before I’d feel comfortable using it. As in the sitting room, the floor had been left in its original wide-planked, wooden state.

  I was getting ready to claim the bed and let the guys fight for floor space when I took a closer look at the painting mounted on the wall opposite the door. The bed’s occupant would view this picture every night before closing her eyes. If she could manage sleep, that is, after subjecting herself to its bold, slashing images. It showed a vampire feast. Without actual food. Yeah, screaming victims, their blood running like red tar in a backdrop of a blazing city. Chicago, maybe, back when everything was flammable, including the sidewalks.

  I thought about it a second. Would it be better to snooze in the sitting room next to the rusty water and the fungus-covered walls? Nope, I still wanted the bed. But the picture had to go.

  A tap at the outer door brought me back to the sitting room. “Were we expecting somebody?” I asked Vayl.

  “Always,” he replied gravely.

  I drew Grief, triggered the magic button, and sank into the chair nearest to Dave, holding the crossbow comfortably in my lap. All that my Sensitivity told me was that the creature on the other side of the door scented vampire. At least I had that. Before I’d died the first time, I’d been stuck in the five-sense box with everybody else I knew. I still hadn’t figured out if these extra-specials had been worth the price. But at the moment—any advantage they gave me got a definite hell yeah! As soon as I nodded to Vayl he said, “Come in.”

  Marcon stepped inside and stopped, his eyes darting nervously from Vayl to Grief and back again. He winked, which I found odd, until he did it again and I realized he’d developed a twitch. Which meant something had changed. He’d been nervous before. Now he seemed überstressed. “Disa and Sibley wish to discuss Hamon’s contract with you,” he said.

  “It’s a little late now,” I replied roughly.

  “Ah, my apologies.” His bow, so courtly, took me to another age. I suddenly felt underdressed and ill-mannered. “Our sense of timing never seems to be in step with that of the outside world,” he said.

  Despite my obvious red-neck ancestry, I soldiered on. “What is there to discuss? You people are in breach. You’ve allowed injury to my guy, here. Plus, you don’t seem to be able to tell your asses from a hole in the ground. What guarantee do we have that you won’t pull some idiotic stunt during negotiations that will blow our chance to eliminate Samos, or worse, get us killed?”

  Marcon’s eyelid fluttered so wildly he put a finger to it and rubbed. “Sibley requested that I extend to all of you the Vitem’s deepest apologies, and ask if you would consider rejoining the contract. If so, we would like to confirm the details you and Hamon agreed to, as well
as any new deals you might like to make.”

  “What did Disa say she would do to you if you came back with a negative reply, Marcon?” Vayl asked gently.

  He shuddered. “N-nothing.”

  “But if I walked in the Trust once more, you would tell me . . .”

  Marcon stared at him miserably, then shook his head. “You should never have left.”

  “I was little more than a killer when I was here.”

  “Yes, but you were ours.”

  Vayl shrugged. “Now I am the CIA’s. And”—his eyes strayed to mine—“I am more.”

  Marcon’s sigh could almost have been a sob. “What shall I tell the Vitem?”

  Vayl tied off the last stitch and cut the thread with the scissors Dave handed him. “I will tell them myself.”

  “Do you want me to come?” I asked.

  “Not this time,” he said. Before I could argue, he was crouched in front of me, his fingertips warm on my face.

  “I should be there to guard your back,” I whispered as his eyes lightened to the green I equated with long, breathless kisses.

  “That is David’s job,” he said.

  But he’s injured! Plus, the danger around us is so electric it’s practically sparking. If we’re separated here, where everyone’s against us, will we ever come back together?

  Small nod of Vayl’s head. “Perhaps you could bring our bags in and get us settled. I believe that vehicle you wanted to take off-road is now parked in the garage. At least”—he lifted an eyebrow—“I am fairly sure Tarasios said that is what he did with it.”

  It took me longer than it should have to get his drift. First I had to get past the I’m-not-your-goddamn-maid! reaction before I could decipher his real message. Tarasios had pulled all their cars out of the garage. Ours wasn’t even on Trust property. Which meant Vayl was giving me an excuse to go outside. Why?

  Because Disa would never allow those Weres to live.