“I feel I must correct you,” he said. “I am, in fact, only a servant of the Great Taker. Though we reavers are his favorites.” He chuckled fondly as he dismounted. I expected the horse to wander off, but it stayed close, dripping globs of sweat and stringy bits of spit all over Joshua’s bald head. The reaver went to the old gal and lifted her by the scruff of the neck.
“Now, you stop flailing and shut it tight, or I’ll rip your lungs out and call it self-defense,” he said, throwing her back into the carriage and returning for her husband.
The picture froze just as Wyatt sunk his hands/claws into Joshua’s chest.
“I fainted then,” said the tired, hopeless voice of Joshua’s widow. “The next thing I knew . . .”
Wyatt had remounted. Joshua’s body lay across his legs, his chest torn open, his soul struggling for freedom as the reaver bent to run his spiked tongue over it. As I’d just witnessed, the soul slowly drained of color even as the reaver’s third eye filled. In the end, the husk of Joshua’s soul disintegrated, falling back into his body, which jerked eerily at the impact.
Another fade to black, this time with no accompanying narration.Poor woman . My mind would supply no other thought.Poor, poor woman.
When she came to again, the woman had been moved, along with her carriage, to the site of an old, abandoned cemetery. Tombstones peered through long tufts of grass. Most of them leaned hard to the left, as if a gigantic pissed-off chess player had tried to clear the board before stomping off into the hills beyond.
Wyatt spurred his horse to the middle of the stones, reached into the corpse’s chest, yanked out the heart, and fastballed it at a vine-covered tree stump. When the vines blackened and crumbled, I realized the stump was actually a tall, spire-shaped monument.
The woman hadn’t made a sound since the reaver’s threat to her life. In fact, I figured she was nearly catatonic by now.
But when the heart hit that stone and shattered, and the etchings began to ooze thick gobbets of blood down the white marble, she moaned like a dying animal. I reluctantly acknowledged a growing feeling of we’re-so-screwed as my hands itched for my playing cards. I’d left them in the RV.For the last time , I vowed.This is some sick shit we’ve stepped into.
As soon as the blood touched the ground it solidified, growing, building into a fence, a wall, an arched doorway that pulsed like a gigantic aorta. The reaver rode up to it, tossing Joshua’s body aside as he went. A smaller, fist-sized door within the door appeared in the middle about three-quarters of the way up. Wyatt leaned toward it, his saddle creaking eerily as he moved. The small door flew open with abang ! Out of it shot a thick, sinewy, red tentacle covered with tiny suction cups. It latched on to the reaver’s third eye and yanked, making the reaver scream and pound his fists on the door.
Eventually the eye gave and the tentacle retreated with it, slamming the small door behind it. Wyatt leaned his bleeding forehead against the big door for several minutes while the stunned old woman looked on. Then it turned to her. “I cannot take your life,” it said in a fearfully joyous voice, “but I find I have need of your eye.”
The picture faded as he advanced on her, grinning malevolently.
But we weren’t done. Next came a slide show narrated by a woman whose delivery reminded me of all the times I’d slept through Environmental Biology.
“This is the only visual record we have of a reaver,” the professor said blandly as a still shot of Frederick Wyatt appeared. “Our research tells us they are parasitic fiends, which must find host bodies in order to move among humans. The reaver’s sole purpose is to rip souls from hapless victims and transfer them to the netherworld. This is not a random occurrence, but one governed by rules wherein the murder must either be commissioned by an enemy of the victim, or perpetrated by one human against another. In the latter case, the reaver acts as a scavenger, snagging the soul before it can release.
“Reavers are known to run singly and in packs and can often be found traveling on the shirttails of human evildoers. The reaver is extremely difficult to vanquish. In fact, all sources recommend the wisest tactic when encountering such is to retreat. Quickly. Please note: True Believers are somewhat immune to their powers. See also, Holy Dagger of Anan. See also, Reaver Pack Tactics.”
The picture faded to black this time. Bergman watched theEnkyklios nervously, as if at any moment some new horror flick might leap out of it. He scanned the parking lot, looked over each shoulder repeatedly. “I don’tsee a pack.”
“I do not think there is one,” said Vayl.
“Why?” demanded Bergman.
“Because if there were, we would have been attacked by now.”
“Oh. Well, if you don’t mind, I’m still going to set up the security system I brought for the RV. Just in case the pack is back at the watering hole.” On a snide scale of one to ten, I’d say Bergman had just hit a 7.5, which meant he was one scared puppy. I held my breath, waiting to see if Vayl understood Bergman would chill as soon he’d put the system into place, or if he’d take offense, in which case I’d be spending the rest of the night soothing ruffled feathers. Not my strong suit, which was why it would take so long.
“I approve your plan,” said Vayl, watching with one eyebrow slightly cocked as Bergman threw the pens in the Dumpster and headed back to the RV. Luckily he had no idea Vayl was broad-casting his I’d-love-to-knock-your-block-off expression. Cassandra seemed to have more of a clue. After a moment during which she considered Vayl with a look of mounting alarm, Cassandra followed Bergman. She caught up to him within fifteen seconds and moments later they were deep in conversation.
The rest of us stared down at the two bodies. Finally Vayl said, “Cole, call the office. I believe it would be best if our people disposed of these. There is no need for it to become common knowledge that Jasmine knows how to kill reavers.”
Capital idea, Sherlock. Let’s not make them think they have to terminate me before I have time to organize a How-to-Stab-a-Reaver Workshop.
Cole nodded and took out his cell phone.
“Hang on,” I said. I bent down and slipped the two-faced man’s watch off his wrist. At the guys’ puzzled and somewhat grossed-out glances I said, “I wouldn’t ask Cassandra to touch the body, or even this, if I could help it.” Psychics had been known to lose their minds when they came into contact with the belongings of known murderers. “But if we get desperate, we may ask her to touch this. See what it can tell her about this monster, where it came from and why.”
Vayl said, “All right, but only if we must.”
CHAPTERSIX
I’d gotten into a bad habit while staying with Evie, Tim, and E.J. I blamed it on the baby. If she’d slept through the night even once I wouldn’t have needed multiple naps to make up for the 2:00 a.m. feedings. (Tim and Evie had taken all the other shifts, so I shouldn’t complain. But I did anyway.) During the three weeks I stayed with them, I’d developed the ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere. Waiting in line at the DMV. On the floor while Evie and I played with E.J.’s toys and pretended it was all for the baby’s benefit. Once on the toilet.
I hadn’t quite shaken the habit by the time we’d reached Corpus Christi. As soon as we entered the RV and I felt this immense exhaustion creep over me, I figured I’d better grab forty winks before somebody caught me snoozing on the crapper.
“Do you want to discuss tonight’s plan?” asked Vayl.
“Yeah, absolutely, but you know what? I need to freshen up first. Give me five minutes?”
“Take all the time you need,” Vayl said gently. “We will finish the tent while you recoup.”He’s not really being nice. He just wants me fresh for later on. It’s going to be a demanding couple of hours. That’s what I told myself. But I still felt warmed as I went to the back of the RV, stretched out on the queen-size, and almost totally avoided thinking about how big and empty it felt.
“No more beds for me,” I murmured into the pillow. “I’m switching to hammocks when I get h
ome. Who could be lonely and depressed sleeping in a hammock?”
Jasmine, wake up!”
The hammock I snoozed in jiggled and swung so drastically I was either going to fall out or puke. Or both. I opened my eyes. Oh wait, never mind the hammock. I was still in bed. I checked my watch. I’d only been asleep for eight minutes.
“What the hell—?” I demanded irritably.
“Shush,” David hissed. “We don’t have much time. They’re coming.” Weird. I’d thought he was thousands of miles away, kicking terrorist ass somewhere in the Middle East. But here he stood, his urgency catching more easily than the chicken pox.
I jumped out of bed, knowing he was absolutely right. And I knew who “they” were too. A nest of newbie vamps and their surviving human guardians, all severely pissed that we’d killed their leaders, the ones we called vultures.
I followed him out of the RV, my eyes searching the empty beach and the swarming festival site. I couldn’t see them, but they were out there. Theirother ness combined with their evil intent to send waves of psychic stench ahead of them, making my stomach churn.
We conferred in front of the RV. “We have to lure them away from here,” he said. “Otherwise Jesse and Matt are goners.”
The thought sent a shaft of alarm through me. If either of them was hurt, I’d never forgive myself. Moving in concert, we ran west, across the last strip of grassy slope nobody had covered with some commercial venture. We jumped a low concrete wall and dove onto an undeveloped section of beach. Here the grass grew almost as high as our heads. We plowed through it, dodging mounds of trash, jumping the pilings from a crumbling pier that had been built for higher water. Soon we heard them behind us, stumbling, cursing, moving like a herd of buffalo. I actually thought we could outrun them. Then we emerged from the grass to find a swampy inlet blocking our forward progress.
We looked at each other grimly. Out of choices, we turned south, wading into the moonlit water of the Gulf, counting on it to slow the attack, give us more time to load and fire. Dave raised his crossbow. I looked at it with a pang. It had been Matt’s favorite, one he’d only recently abandoned. I pulled Grief from its holster and thumbed off the safety. True to form, the humans appeared first, sprinting into the clearing between the grass and water as if they too had expected a more protracted chase.
I mowed them down like ducks at a carnival.
The vamps came more warily, spreading out in the grass, surveying the battlefield, yelling directions to each other. I pushed Grief’s magic button and—presto change-o—my gun transformed into a miniature crossbow.
David and I stood shoulder to shoulder, expecting a rush, trying to keep our minds empty so our training would kick in when the time came. What we didn’t expect were the two vamps who came strolling toward the edge of the water, holding hands like creepy Hansel and Gretel. They seemed familiar, though I couldn’t make out their faces at first. I could, however, smell the blood. They’d been freshly turned, which was why they’d been unleashed on us. Nothing fights harder or dirtier than a newborn vamp.
“Oh my God,” Dave moaned, dropping his crossbow.
“David, don’t—” I followed his eyes to the approaching vampires. His wife, Jesse, and my Matt stood gazing at us, their faces set in that flat, otherworldly look that signals the loss of a soul.
“Matt,” I whispered.
He heard me. Of course, he could hear ice cubes melting too. “Jasmine.” The way he said my name, as if it was a foreign language to him, broke my heart.
“We shouldn’t have left them.” Tears coated David’s words.
“They should’ve come with us,” I said, my voice curiously harsh and unforgiving in my own ears.
“It’s your fault!” David turned on me. He grabbed Grief from my hand. Pointed it right at my forehead.
Inside, a part of me broke. And I knew nothing he did or said could ever fix it.
Another part of me thought how remarkable it was that, after all those who’d tried to kill me so far, my twin would be the one to finally get it done.
“JASMINE!” Startled, I looked back toward the beach. Bergman, Cassandra, and Cole huddled together there, like they needed each other’s body heat to keep from freezing to death. Vayl waded into the water. The whites of his eyes made a shocking counterpoint to the blacks of his irises. I’d never seen him so shaken. He held out a hand that trembled ever so slightly as he said, “Please, Jasmine, please, give me the gun.”
And that’s when I realized I’d been dreaming. David hadn’t set foot in the States in over a year. Matt and Jesse were dead. And I was holding my own gun to my head.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Ilowered my arm, thumbed the safety, and set Grief in Vayl’s outstretched hand. As soon as I let it go he pulled me into his arms. It didn’t feel so much like a hug as it did a straitjacket.Don’t move, you crazy fool .
“Jasmine, I never knew you felt so desperate. You should have spoken to me. I would have helped you. I am yoursverhamin .” As if that explained everything. After a few moments of escalating struggles, I disengaged from Vayl’s embrace. I didn’t like his tone. It was too . . . freaked. And Vayl never freaked. Never.
I said, “I know what it looked like, but I wasn’t trying to kill myself. It was a dream.”
“You mean, you were sleepwalking?”
“Looks like it.”Be calm. Pretend that wasn’t the most insane thing you’ve done so far. And, for God’s sake, shut off that Pink Floyd soundtrack in your sick, twisted brain. But no matter how hard I tried, I kept hearing the song “Brain Damage” and Roger Waters crooning, “The lunatic is in my head.”
We’d made shore. Cole, Bergman, and Cassandra turned to lead Vayl and me back to the RV.
“I’ve heard of sleepwalkers acting out their dreams like that. There’s a name for it,” Bergman offered.
“There’s a name for everything,” I said dryly. I sounded calm, but inside my psyche had drawn up with asnap! The normal order had, once again, gotten all mangled in Jazland. Only this time I couldn’t hide it from my coworkers and pretend all was right with the world.Damn, damn, damn . . . I bit my lip.Okay, Jaz, you are now in damage-control mode. That means you may not flip out all the way. No word looping. No blackouts. And no card shuffling —until you’re alone. At which time if you want to swing from the chandelier and bark like a German shepherd, go right ahead. Until then—play sane.
Inside the RV, several cups sat on the table, but someone had dropped a pile of paper plates on the floor. I retrieved them, set them on the counter beside the sink, and headed toward the shower.
“Jasmine,” Vayl said softly. I turned around. He remained on the entry steps, trying not to drip onto the carpet. He’d let the others come in before him, and they huddled together between Mary-Kate and Ashley, staring at me with varying expressions of concern. The kids looked achingly normal. A multicolored hair band held Cassandra’s braids away from her face. She wore at least five pairs of gold earrings, the biggest of which reached the shoulders of her teal-blue knit blouse. Her black peasant skirt touched her ankles and she wore matching black pumps edged with blue ribbon. Bergman’s gray sweater with its stretched sleeves topped old blue jeans and the same snow boots he’d worn when they’d picked me up at Evie’s house. Cole wore his red high-tops, khakis, and a black T-shirt with a pile of lumber on it. The caption underneath readHEY LADY, NEED A STUD ?
“What is it, Vayl?” I asked.
“What just happened was not mere sleepwalking. Your finger was pressed against the trigger of a cocked crossbow. We cannot simply disregard this problem and hope it goes away.”
So, okay, I did want to say,We can soignore this! But I knew he was right. What if I’d come awake with that gun pointed at Cassandra’s head? Or one of the guys’? I nodded. “What do you suggest?”
That’s where speech failed him. Cassandra waited a moment, and when it was clear he didn’t have an immediate plan, she stepped up. “I know someone who might be able to h
elp.”
“Okay, when this mission is over—”
“Actually, he lives in New Mexico. He could probably meet you tomorrow.”
“Is he a doctor?”
“Of a sort.”
Alternative medicine. Okay, I can deal with that.“Fine, set it up.”
“And . . .” Cole began.
I swallowed the urge to snap. They just wanted to help. It wasn’t their fault the idea of getting to the root of this bizarre behavior terrified me. In my point of view, any explanation of what causes a person to point a gun to her own head is not going to start with “Good news, Jaz—” But considering the current potential for a bolt to my brain, pretending it never happened wasn’t the smartest tactic I could choose. “Yes?”
“Until we’re sure how to deal with this, someone should guard you while you sleep.”
“Naturally. You can all draw straws or something. And stop with the war orphan faces, will you? I’ll deal.”
“Of course you will,” said Bergman. “You’re Jaz.”
I nodded, appreciating his vote of confidence. Unlike Bergman, however, I knew my limits. Sometimes I could see that line in my mind, a stark black wall at the horizon reminding me that sanity, unlike the earth, is flat. And there is a point at which you can fall off. I just hoped this dream didn’t mean I already stood on the wrong side of the gate.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Evie had bought me the outfit I changed into after my shower, a white scoop-neck peasant top with lace and crochet accents and a pair of jeans somebody had beaten soundly with a jackhammer before forwarding to the retailer. So I knew I looked good. My girl’s got an eye for these things. Plus—übercomfy. And not just because she knows my size. There’s something about stuff from your family. For instance, when I’m home, I sleep under a comforter Granny May made for me. Ugliest damn blanket I have ever seen. But it makes me feel better to snuggle under fabric and thread she put together to warm me. Evie’s outfit, Granny’s blanket—they’re part of the basic core of my life that assures me I matter.
Jennifer Rardin [Jaz Parks series book 2] Another One Bites The Dust Page 5
