I shook my head. “Bergman, I kid you not, if you don’t get your head into the twenty-first century I am going to take you out behind the woodshed and tan your hide.”
“What?”
Cassandra reached over me and flicked Bergman on the shoulder to get his attention. “A bomb is a powerful weapon, yes?”
“Of course.”
“So not just anybody can build one.”
“Well . . .”
“I could not get on the Internet, find a good plan, and by the end of the day construct myself an explosive device, could I?”
“Yeah . . . but it’s not a fair comparison.”
“Why not?”
“They’re two entirely different things.”
Cassandra leaned forward. “They’re both tools used as a means to an end.”
“The philosophy behind them is light-years apart.”
They were nearly nose to nose now, not a comfortable position for me, since I sat between them. “Bergman,” said Cassandra, “I could build a bomb if I wanted to, although it would help if I had an interest in science. And if you had a bent toward magic, which by the way youdo , you could cast a spell.”
He recoiled so fast you’d have thought she spat in his face. I held up my hand. “Stop,” I told him. “I know you’re about to say something I’ll regret, so don’t even go there.”
“But—”
“Bergman, I love you like a brother and I respect your right to believe whatever you want to believe. But you can’t be on this team if you offend somebody every time you open your mouth.”
He opened his mouth. Then he shut it again. “Excellent choice,” I said. I stared at him for a second longer, trying to see how deeply this magic thing disturbed him, but he’d barred the gate. So I said, “Now, Cassandra, about this spell . . .”
“I’m not sure it would work, after all,” she told me. “It would only affect your looks. Your voice would remain the same.”
“Well, crap.”
We sat in silence for a while, all of us staring at one monitor or another, hoping for inspiration to come give us a big kiss on the forehead. Instead something cracked against the side of the RV.
Bergman ducked, as if some two-hundred-pound jock had just thrown a Frisbee at his head. “What was that?”
Cassandra swept aside the curtains. “It’s too dark outside to tell.”
“Close the curtains!” we all yelled. Her hand jerked back like the cloth had grown teeth and snapped at her.
The cracking sound came again, two, three, four more times. By now Bergman was practically under the table. He motioned for Cassandra to join him. “Get down!” he ordered Cole. “That reaver might be back for Jaz!”
“I’m checking out the bedroom monitor,” said Cole. Bergman and Cassandra, thinking that was a bright idea, followed him to the back of the RV to see what the security cameras had picked up. Vayl and I preferred the direct approach.
He’d already stepped out the door. I shadowed him, drawing Grief, activating my night vision, snapping the band on my watch to shield the sounds of my movements. Vayl motioned for me to skirt the back of the RV since he’d chosen the frontal approach. Another round of cracking sounds accompanied me, along with hurried whispering.
Though my instincts told me our attacker wasn’t a reaver, I still rounded the corner carefully. I sighted my quarry almost immediately. Just as quickly I pointed Grief at the sky and thumbed the safety. “Kids,” I muttered with disgust.
They stood about twenty feet away in the pool of light provided by the barbecue cook-off competitors. They wore jeans, plaid button-down shirts, and tennis shoes. They’d combed their short hair neatly to one side. Not the types I would expect to catch heaving eggs from the white eighteen-pack they’d set on the green picnic table between them. However, I did recognize them. They were the boys I’d picked to go AWOL from theother -hating picketers. But to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl till they puked. Not to plaster our pullouts with cooking essentials.
I holstered Grief and strode forward, preparing to grab them by their collars and shake them until they pleaded for mercy. Vayl had other ideas.
The bottom half of his cane shot through the air and impaled the carton. Eggs flew everywhere. I almost laughed when the boys jumped, yelped, and darted off into the night. Well, they tried.
“Stop,” Vayl ordered. So, of course, they did. “Be seated.” They parked it on the benches. “Tell me your names and ages.”
The kid on the left, who’d apparently chosen to fight his acne battles with a steady diet of donuts and Doritos said, “James Velestor. Fifteen.”
The one on the right, a brown-haired twig whose glasses kept slipping toward his braces, muttered something. “I cannot hear you!” Vayl barked.
“Aaron Spizter, fourteen.”
“Who brought you here?”
The boys looked at each other and smirked. I stepped forward. “Come on, Vayl, this would be a lot more fun if you’d let me bang their heads together a few times.”
That sobered them up. James looked up at me, both chins shaking slightly as he demanded, “Why do you hang withothers like that psychic? She’s an abomination in the eyes of God, you know.”
Aaron piped up, speaking more to his buddy than to me. “What aboutthis freak?” he said, jerking a thumb toward Vayl. “I mean, look how it’s working its mind control on us right now!”
“You sound like a couple of brainwashed little ruffians to me,” I told them in my let’s-read-a-nursery-rhyme voice. “I’m guessing Mommy and Daddy have made it clear to you that the human race is by far superior to anyother , and therefore you should feel free to damage their property and treat them like dirt every chance you get. I’m guessing they went so far as to buy you the eggs and give you directions to our place. Am I right?” I leaned over and looked hard into the brats’ faces. They couldn’t believe how I’d figured them out on such short acquaintance.
“Where are they?” Vayl asked grimly. When he didn’t get an immediate reply he bellowed, “Where?”
James and Aaron both pointed shaking fingers over their shoulders. Eventually we deduced that their fathers were parked in the hate-crimes van near the marina. Vayl put his dripping sheath back where it belonged and we escorted the boys, along with their eggs, to the real scene of the crime.
Generally Vayl’s power feels like a calm arctic ocean, mystic blue with countless tiny waves on top and an icy cold current running beneath. But as we followed the boys, I decided any decent sailor with my increased Sensitivity would agree the bottom had just dropped out of the barometer and we were in for a helluva blow.
“Um, Vayl? Are you sensing how I’m feeling right now?” I murmured. Usually I want him to stay clear of my emotions. Like continents away. But at the moment . . .
“No.”
“Well, pay attention.”
I allowed myself a small sigh of relief to see not a spark of red in his eyes when they met mine. After a moment he asked, “Why are you concerned for me?”
“Because I know what I do whenI’m too pissed off to think straight. And the aftermath is never pretty. So I’m thinking maybe you should not follow your first instincts when we speak to these boys’ fathers, because tearing their arms off and beating them over the heads with them is not going to solve the ultimate problem.”
“Huh.”
Oh God, he was even beginning to sound like me.
However, he did not pull a typical Jaz move when we arrived at the van. He walked over to the driver’s side as the boys took refuge within and stood patiently until the man rolled down his window. I took my place by the passenger—a guy with the pasty, sagging features of the perennial couch squatter.
“What do you want?” demanded the driver. Maybe he felt safe because of his size. He certainly filled out his powder-blue blazer, and if he had a neck, it was squatting behind his thin black tie.
“I want to know why you felt it appropriate to send your son to damage my property,” Vayl
said in his I’m-about-to-lose-it voice. It can be deceiving to those who don’t know him because it’s so soft. Almost unassuming. But when people get next to it, and ignore it, generally they can count the remainder of their lives in breaths.
Since the driver was a stranger to Vayl’s more dangerous moods, I expected him to make up some bullshit story about how one of the boys had lost his wallet and they’d just driven them back to the festival so they could try to find it. At nearly three a.m. On a Monday morning. Maybe he knew how lame that was going to sound, though, because he said, “Our boys are doing God’s work and we are proud of them. Psychics are no more than witches, and they are an affront against God.”
“An affront,” my fella agreed.
“What’s your name, fella?” I asked him.
“George Velestor,” he said.
“You ever formed an original thought in your life, George?”
He looked at the driver.
“Apparently not.” I kept talking because Vayl’s power had spiked, and I figured if I didn’t do something quick, we’d soon be dealing with a van full of Popsicle people. “What’s your name, driver?”
His glance took in my hair, boobs, eyes, boobs, and then eyes again. I wondered how many people would miss him if he quietly disappeared. “My name’s Dale Spizter, ma’am.”
“You married, Dale?”
“Sure am.”
“Then keep your damn eyes off my chest.”
His head jerked away and I thought I heard the boys snicker. Vayl opened the door. “What are you doing?” demanded Dale.
“Get out.”
“I will not.”
Vayl’s voice rang with cold, hard power. “The four of you will exit this vehicle and precede us back to the RV.” His face might’ve resembled a mask to our guests, but I could see the muscles in his jaws working, the vein in his forehead throbbing. Not happy signs.
Like good little puppets, they jumped to it. The men, however, looked like they expected to be struck down from above at any moment. They drooped even farther when we reached our destination and mustered up a couple of bowls full of soapy water and some paper towels. Vayl set up the lawn chairs, invited Cassandra outside, and the three of us watched them clean up the mess they’d made. He’d also brought out a flashlight, so she got to point out the spots they’d missed. She found quite a few.
I thought Vayl had taken enough satisfaction from this revenge until he stood and started pacing. I couldn’t take my eyes off that cane, digging deeper and deeper gouges into the ground with every other step.
“We’re done,” said Dale. He dropped his wad of paper towels in the water and rolled the sleeves of his suit coat down.
I stood up. “Fine. Get out.”
“No. I have a few words to say,” he announced.
They always do.
“Dale, maybe we should go,” said George. I liked him better when he was echoing my opinions.
“God has brought us here for a reason, George,” Dale said in that singsong TV-preacher voice that makes my molars ache. “We must uphold our responsibility to hiyum—”
I felt the power winding up in Vayl and suddenly understood where blizzards begin. I also knew clearly why my guy needed anavhar . If he killed these men in front of their sons, beyond the obvious tragic consequences, he’d be doing irreparable damage to his own soul. Both my instinct and a sudden heat from Cirilai told me so.
I strode forward, planting myself firmly between Dale and mysverhamin . “Dale, you are so far out of line that if this was a NASCAR race you’d be in the grass. I’m not going to argue philosophy or religion with you. Think what you think. I really don’t give a crap. But here’s the deal: Standing behind me is a vampire who’s quite capable of icing you like an Alpine ski slope. He is deeply pissed that you’ve insulted his Seer. But she’s a grown-up and he’ll eventually get past that.”
I closed the distance between us because Dale had puffed out his chest and begun rocking from foot to foot, starting his little I-am-the-man dance before I’d even finished. I slammed him hard in the diaphragm with the heel of my hand, backing him up, taking the strut right out of him.
“Listen up, asshole,” I hissed. “Because what I’m about to say may just save your life. My boss here is trying very hard not to rip a great big hole in your throat, but more and more he’s thinking, ‘Why the hell not? Here’s a guy who thinks nothing of sending his son, who should be more precious to him than his own soul, into mortal danger. Aaron will probably be safer if I just kill his father now.’”
I looked at George. “Same goes for you and James, Xerox.”
Aaron came up to me and grabbed my arm. “Please”—his desperate glance went to Vayl—“please don’t kill my dad.”
I told him, “Once a farmer murdered two boys just about your age. Why? Because he was ignorant. Too stupid to ask questions. Too narrow-minded to wonder if maybe things had changed while he was looking the other way. If I’d known the man before that instant, I would’ve killed him. And by killing him, I would’ve saved those boys’ lives.” I stared into Aaron’s eyes. I spent some time on James as well. “Vayl is wondering if he needs to save your lives now, the same way I would’ve saved his sons. Or if you have the brains and the courage to do that for yourselves.”
Aaron and James looked at each other. It was the first time I’ve ever seen a boy grow up. I just wish both of them had.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
As soon as the eggers left our sight I slumped back into my chair, my arms dangling over the side, my feet stretched out in front of me with the toes of my boots pointing straight up at the sky. “So tired,” I muttered.
Vayl brought his chair close to mine and sat down.
“Can I get you something?” Cassandra asked.
“Caffeine,” I said.
She hurried inside.
Cirilai had quieted back down and, for that matter, so had Vayl. “You did well,” he said. “I . . . Sometimes it is harder than others. This year is shaping up to be a bad one. I lost my boys in April and already . . .”
“I know.” He nodded. Though it sucks to have such tragedy in common, it’s nice not to have to talk about how torturous the anniversaries can be. He just knew I’d be there to get him through. And come next November, I had a feeling I might not be the complete wreck I’d been last year.
Cassandra returned, carrying a carafe of Diet Coke. “Original and uplifting,” I told her with a smile. She also brought Bergman.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
That’s half your problem!My mouth was fizzy full, so I just nodded and let him continue. “I might be able to come up with something that would make you sound like Pengfei,” he said. “I’ve been working on some instant translator software for a while and if I could . . . Well, let me see what I can do, okay?”
I gulped my drink, thanking my lucky stars it went down the right tube. “Really? I mean, really, really? Bergman, that’s awesome!”
“Well, it’s not a sure thing yet—”
“Dude, if anybody can do it, you can.”
I didn’t realize how much he’d slumped until he straightened up. “Thanks. I guess I’ll get started then.”
“Excellent.”
As soon as Bergman left earshot Vayl said, “I am going to buy you some pom-poms and a short pleated skirt—”
“Hey, if Bergman needs a cheerleader, that’s what he’s getting.”
Vayl tipped his head to one side and smiled wickedly. “I was just thinking perhaps I need a cheerleader as well.”
Cassandra got up. “If that’s where this conversation is headed, I’m leaving.”
“She wants some pom-poms too,” I told Vayl.
“I do not!” Moments later we heard the RV door close behind her too.
“Oh man.” I dropped my head back as far as it would go. “I am so wasted. And you know what’s sad about that?”
“What?”
“I’m the only person I know my a
ge who can say that and not mean too many Fuzzy Navels.”
“Do you need to sleep?”
Hell yeah!“Nope.”
“Do you want to visit David?”
Definitely not. I looked at the wide Texas sky and thought about the golden cord I’d see stretching across it if I gazed up through different eyes. It connected me and my twin, and I could use it as a path to visit him anytime I wanted to have an out-of-body experience. It’s more dangerous than it sounds. But that wasn’t what was stopping me.
I turned my head, let my vision fill with the vampire who’d brought me back from the brink more times than I cared to mention, the last being less than two months before, when the year was new and I feared my grip might have finally slipped for good. I was afraid this trip might take me right back there. I opened my mouth, my lips already burning with the difficulty of the words I knew I had to say. “I feel like I’m finally beginning to heal from what happened back then. It doesn’t seem wise to dredge it all up again. It’s like picking at old wounds. How smart is that?” I asked him.
He did a quick visual inventory of my recent injuries, which were all aching despite the painkillers Dr. Darryl had prescribed. “Perhaps that is the only way they can truly heal,” he suggested. His eyes lifted to mine. I’d never seen such naked honesty in them before. “I would wish that for you.” His eyebrows shot up, as if he’d found something surprising behind some inner door. “Even if it came at my own expense, I would like for you to be whole again. Maybe David can help you find the way.”
I sighed, feeling slightly better, but not nearly enough to make this trip okay with my churning gut or my pounding heart. “I’d better go.”
Vayl sat forward, his presence wrapping around me like a blanket. “I will be right here beside you.”
I nodded my thanks, unable to translate my gratitude for his presence into speech. I wanted to pull into myself like a turtle, as if that could provide some extra protection for the trek ahead. But my stitched leg wouldn’t cooperate. Neither would my chair. In the end I simply closed my eyes and bowed my head.
I still remembered the words Raoul had given me the last time I’d traveled outside my body, when the fate of my country had been at stake. Frankly I preferred those circumstances to these. I murmured them now, concentrating on Dave’s face, his high forehead, stern green eyes, unsmiling lips, and dark brown hair touched with just a hint of red.
Jennifer Rardin [Jaz Parks series book 2] Another One Bites The Dust Page 16
