CHAPTER ONE
My ass felt like a slab of dead flesh, too nerveless to even quiver as the butcher slaps it onto his cutting table. Twelve hours of flying from Manila to Sydney with another sixty minutes' hop after that is hell on the hindquarters, even when they've been cushioned by the most expensive seats available.
I stifled the urge to massage my butt cheeks as I descended the stairs of Vayl's chartered jet onto the tarmac of Canberra International Airport, its serviceable hangars and practical block terminal hardly preparing visitors for Australia's capital, which from the air had reminded me of a set from Shrek III. Tall white buildings sprouting from masses of evergreens set in a precise plan; fairy-tale perfection from a distance but up close slanting just left of happily ever after.
Shrek was always having issues with his butt, I recalled, wondering if anyone would notice if I paused to rub mine against the stair railing. Nope, bad plan. I hadn't seen Bergman and Cassandra in over two months, and I didn't want my crew's first look at me to remind them we'd begun a shithole of an assignment that, if botched, could severely cripple the U.S. space program, not to mention vital parts of our anatomies. Plus, with Cole as my third greeter, I figured our hey-how-are-yous probably shouldn't start with a lot of ass-grabbing.
I didn't sense that Cole itched to get his hands on me as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. But his ear-to-ear grin, framed by the usual mop of sun-bleached hair, warned me that flexibility might be required. Because Something was Cooking. I eyed my former recruit, trying to get a sense of how bad it might be by the size of the gum wad rolling around his tongue. Then the music began.
"What have you done now?" I asked as my foot hit the fourth step and I realized he'd rented himself a black tuxedo, though he'd traded the bridal shop's shoes for his red high-tops. "And should I be better dressed?"
I frowned at my Jaded Unicorns T-shirt, which showed my fave new band galloping across a meadow wearing fake horns on their foreheads. At least I'd worn black jeans.
Cole's answer drowned in a sudden wail of funereal blues. Which made me double-check the landscape.
Nope, not even close to New Orleans. In fact, the airport, surrounded by the brownish green grasses of Australia's autumn, reminded me a lot of the farmlands of Illinois. Except today was May 22, so back in the Midwest everything would be shooting out of the ground, green as a tree frog and bursting into bloom.
Here, winter had crept to the country's edge, and I could feel it sinking its claws into my neck along with the chill breeze that swept down the hills into Canberra's valley.
I flipped up the collar of my new leather jacket, the mournful tone of the music reminding me of the bullet wound that had killed my last one. Below me, keeping time to my slow descent, two trumpeters, a trombonist, and a sax-man wearing black suits and matching shades slow-marched from behind a baggage van, belting out a song fit for a head of state. If he'd just been assassinated.
I turned back and whistled. Jack had been cooped up so long I couldn't believe he still stood at the cabin door, sniffing, as if he didn't approve of this sudden change of season. He stared at me, his white face setting off deep brown eyes that looked somewhat mournful as his gray ears twitched as if to ask, Where did the tropics go? But we both knew he was really thinking, You put me on another fat metal bird when you know my paws belong on the ground.How could you?
"We're here," I told him.
He nodded (no, I'm not kidding; the dog is, like, one step away from hosting his own talk show) and bounded down the steps, racing toward the plane's landing gear so he could make sure the pilot had settled it firmly into place. Satisfied, he lifted a leg. There. Now the gut-churning ear-popper belonged to him. And if it tried to lift him back into the clouds he'd show it who was boss.
Cassandra laughed. She stood opposite Cole, her hand on the rail as if waiting to help me down. But I wouldn't be touching her if I could help it. I preferred a little mystery in my future, and our psychic had a way of spoiling the fun.
Which wasn't quite fair. The first time she'd touched me, in the Reading Room above her health food store, she'd had a vision that saved my brother's life. It was just, you know, now that the two of them were an item, I didn't want her next conversation with Dave to include the words, "Oh, honey, your twin sister is such a freak in the bedroom! You'll never guess what I picked up on her today!"
As our eyes met, she gave me her regal smile and flipped her heavy black braids over her shoulder, revealing a tangerine stole, which she'd thrown over a navy blue turtleneck and white, rhinestone-studded jeans. An enormous bag made from the same orange furball as her wrap hung over one elbow, its mysterious bulges suggesting that it had been a marsupial on its home planet before space commandos had trapped it, shaved it, and shipped the clippings to her favorite retail outlet. Only the former oracle of a North African god could've pulled off that ensemble.
I jerked my head toward the band and raised my eyebrows.
"It wasn't me," she mouthed, her six pairs of earrings waving a double negative as she shook her head and rolled her eyes toward Bergman.
I felt a rush of affection as I glanced at my old roomie and current sci-guy. In some ways he hadn't changed at all since college. He stood at her shoulder, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, looking so worried about the rip in the knee of his jeans you'd have thought he'd just been mugged and was trying to decide if his insurance would cover the replacement cost. His beige sweater hung limply from shoulders that were bowed under the weight of an army-green backpack. Its bulk helped provide balance for his head, which seemed extra large today, maybe because he wore a brown ball cap fronting the Atlanta Braves logo. His lack of glasses encouraged the look too. I'd forgotten that he'd had Lasik surgery and didn't need them anymore.
Genius that he was, Bergman caught my gaze, flipped his own to Cassandra, and figured out in milliseconds what I was thinking. "Oh no!" he yelled over the dirge. "It was all his idea!" He pointed a bony finger in Cole's direction.
Before I could snap his head off, Cole clasped his hands over his heart and sank to one knee. "We are all so sorry for your loss!" he cried. He threw a dramatic gesture toward the hold of the plane, where six frowning pallbearers were taking a casket from the hands of the jet's flight crew. But it wasn't just any old deathbox. Some company with a sense of style but zero restraint had built this sucker to resemble a golf bag. An umbrella, a black towel, and even a couple of irons had been tacked to the side, while the heads of the rest of the clubs jutted from the coffin's end.
I glared down at Cole, so pissed I wouldn't have been surprised if smoke had poofed from my nostrils.
Control your temper, Jaz, I told myself. You know what happens when you lose it.
I'd love to see you lose it. I frowned as I pushed the unwelcome voice to the back of my brain and said,
"Cole, you shouldn't have."
He rose to his feet and dusted off his pants. The moment I reached his side he snaked an arm around my shoulders. "We all know how difficult this must be for you." He put a hand to his chest. "As your former boyfriend"
"We were never!"
"I realized it was on me to make sure your dead boyfriend arrived in Australia in the style to which he hasuh, hadbecome accustomed."
Cole pulled me toward the casket with Bergman, Cassandra, and the sad-band following as he crooked his finger at the hearse I'd asked him to order. Except I hadn't told him to request a white Mercedes stretch with enough room for an NBA player and all his devastated relatives.
It pulled up beside us, its driver stepping out and promptly disappearing. At first I thought he'd fallen.
Jack, also interested in his welfare, raced over to check him out. When the dog didn't immediately surface, I leaned over to get a better view. Then I grabbed Cole's arm and squeezed.
"If that's a gnome whose crotch Jack is nosing, I'm going to tie your hair in a bun and sell you to the pirates who operate off this coast. I hear they're always looking for fresh young girlfriends."
Our boss, Pete, wanted to brief us personally on the details of this assignment, but we both already knew it involved gnomes attacking the Canberra Deep Space Complex, one of NASA's three eyes to the cosmos. Not every gnome wanted to stomp Canberra's eye to jelly. Just the Ufranites, a fanatical sect that'd transformed half their farmers to soldiers in less than a decade.
Cole sighed. "Would you chill? I know Ruvin's got the long forehead and chin of a gnome, but look at him! He's over three and a half feet tall, there's no tail in sight, and if his nose was blue you'd have seen it from inside the plane. He's a seinji."
Okay, seinji I could deal with. They were distant relatives of gnomes. But nearly all of them had, like Vayl, found a way to live among humans. To blend. "Still"
He leaned his chin on my shoulder. "I checked him out. He's fine. Plusand this is the part that's going to make you add at least twenty bucks to my Christmas giftRuvin's an independent contractor."
"He doesn't work for the funeral home full-time?"
"Nope. Only when they have to double or triple up. Or when guys like me request him"he paused for dramatic effect"because his next pickup is the Odeam Digital Security team."
"Really?" So Cole knew what Pete had told me and Vayl. That our target worked for the most trusted software security company in America.
He nodded. "I planted one of Bergman's new bugs on Ruvin. If we're lucky we'll know our target's name before the Odeam team has left the airport." He beamed at me. Like I was supposed to forgive him for conning Vayl into traveling to Australia via golf bag.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "You do understand the whole team is suspect, right? We may have to take them all out before this is over."
Cole swallowed. Nodded.
I checked my watch. Three thirty p.m. We might just have time. If we hurried.
"Let's get him loaded," I said.
Cole squeezed my shoulder. "But then you'll miss the best part."
I wrapped my arm around his waist so I could jerk him close enough to whisper in his ear, "You're about to lose your best part."
"Hey, this event is costing somebody a lot of money. You might as well enjoy it." He grinned down at me, his bright blue eyes daring me to loosen up and have some fun.
"This is not necessary."
Cole popped a huge green bubble in my face. "Picking up a casket-rider and the woman you're about to fall out of love with is boring. Arranging a funeral procession with a displaced band from the French Quarter and a quartet of professional mourners is one for the diary. You do keep a diary, don't you, Jaz?"
"No! And don't call me that. I'm here as Lucille Robinson, remember?"
Cole frowned. "But if you're Lucille, who am I?"
"Hell if I know. As I recall, your last text said you didn't like the name they'd picked for you and had demanded a new one."
"Damn straight! The CIA has no imagination, you know."
I'd have told him to pipe down, but between the band's latest number and the wails of the four women who'd emerged from the backseat of the hearse to drape themselves and a blanket of flowers over the casket's tee-time accessories, I could barely hear his whispers.
"Sure," I agreed, mainly because I thought I'd seen the coffin wobble. Had one of the pallbearers stumbled, or
I checked my watch again. Holy crap, we were cutting this close!
"Do you want to know my new name?" Cole asked as we led Cassandra and Bergman toward the country club casket. Would Tiger Woods be caught dead in one of those? I thought not.
I sighed and said, "Since we're going to be working together for the next few days, a clue to your fake ID
might help."
"Thor Longfellow."
I stopped and stared, not even turning when I heard Cassandra stumble to a halt behind me. "No."
His hair bounced cheerfully as he nodded. I asked, "How did you get away with that?"
He shrugged. "The girl who assigns identities really likes Thai food, and I know this place on the East Side"
"Say no more." I should've guessed he'd charmed that ridiculous cover out of a woman. I got moving again, picking up the pace when I realized the pallbearers had begun to look at the coffin, and each other, curiously.
"Oh, please, could you just put him in the car now?" I asked, attempting to make my voice quiver.
Instead I sounded like I'd tried to squeeze myself into my old training bra. At least it got Jack's attention.
He trotted over to inspect me for injuries, which gave me a chance to grab his leash.
Ruvin, duded up in a white uniform to match the hearse, with green buttons that complemented its future load, opened the back door. The pallbearers had just begun to slide the casket in when the ruby-luscious ring on my left hand shot a stream of warmth up my arm.
Oh, shit, he's awake!
Most vampires would've slept through the whole transfer. But Vayl had powers, baby, and one of those was the ability to draw in another vamp's cantrantia, his or her essential skill, and make it his own. Which meant the one time he'd been forced to stay awake through the entire day, he hadn't just slept it off at the next sunrise. He'd seen the dawn and another two hours of light before going down. Same deal, only reversed, that evening. And every day since. Nice for himand meuntil now.
I handed Jack off to Cassandra, flung my arms into the air, and began to wail, "I can't stand it! This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me! Life will never be the same again! He was so young! We never even had kids!" On and on I ranted, barely pausing to breathe between screeches.
"Oh, you're good!" Cole scrubbed at his day-old stubble to hide his smile, which quickly transformed into a jaw-dropper when a fist punched through the golf bag's lid. Luckily only the two of us noticed. The rest were distracted by the youngest mourner, who'd ripped her dress, maybe thinking she had to one-up me if she wanted a decent tip.
"Oh, God, why did this happen to me!" I flung myself across the hand, which began to work its way up my ribs like they were a ladder to the Promised Land. But I could feel Vayl's mood through Cirilai, the ring that bound us closer than a promise, and fun was the last thing on his mind. I sent him soothing thoughts, yanked a handful of roses from the bouquet decorating the lid, and shoved them into his fist.
The mourners, inspired by their colleague's wardrobe malfunction and my overacting, kicked it into high gear. Their screams bounced off the hearse and sank into the coffin, sending Vayl into a frenzy. Despite the tradition followed by most of his kind, he'd never spent his days in the spelunker's paradise he presently inhabited. Only Pete's promise of a hefty bonus and the help of a sedative known to work on vampires had convinced him to travel this way at all.
His other hand crashed through the lid, wrapped around my jacket, and forced me down, holding me so tight that I rode the casket into the hearse as Cole, Bergman, and Cassandra helped the pallbearers shove it the rest of the way home. Somebody slammed the door shut and, since the back of the car had no windows, I began to open the latches.
"I'm getting you out!" I called. I popped the last closure and Vayl shoved back the lid, rolling me into the narrow space between the coffin and the hearse's inner wall, raining roses on me like I was a parade float.
Now it was my turn to grit my teeth and wriggle.
"I'm stuck!" I yelled.
The lid slammed and Vayl, moving so fast all my eyes caught was a blur of black leather and bloodred cashmere, grabbed my arms and pulled me into the backseat. We landed on our sides, tangled like teenagers, our mouths so close I could feel the steam of his heavy breaths washing over my cheeks.
I pulled my head back, inspecting him for damage. His short, dark curls practically stood on end. His winged eyebrows looked like they wanted to fly off his forehead, but his eyes, the orange of a tiger lily, were already fading to brown. "That was
unpleasant," he said, his expression still taut enough to show the bulge of his fangs under his upper lip.
"But this is nice," I said as I slipped my hand inside his coat. I made my next move quick, because company was coming and the CIA frowns on fraternization. Not that my crew would've gossiped about me grabbing my boss's rear. They knew how to keep their mouths shut. So did we, for that matter. But people who risk death with you on a regular basis just seem to figure things out. And if the Oversight Committee questioned them I didn't want them to have to lie any more than necessary.
"Jasmine!" Vayl's breath caught. "You pick the worst moments!" Which was true, because people had begun to pile into the hearse. I could hear the delight in his voice though. Damn near three hundred years old and he still loved to be groped.
"I think my necklace is tangled in your sweater," I said. Since the line my shark's tooth, shells, and beads were strung on had been tested to six hundred pounds, one guess which would give first.
"I do not care what is wound where as long as I am rid of that box."
"That bag was lined with real silk!" Cole announced as he bounced into the seat beside Ruvin.
I covered Vayl's mouth before he could reply, because absolutely nothing he said could've helped. I gasped when he licked my palm. "What're you doing?"
"Your hand is bleeding," he whispered.
Oh, great, the roses. I hadn't even felt their thorns dig in when I'd ripped them out of the bunch. But now that I knew, my wounds began to throb, along with a vein in my temple as Bergman and Cassandra got comfy in the seat opposite us. Jack, bummed to be stuck in yet another enclosed space, hopped up on the seat beside us and stuck his nose against the window.
"Somebody needs to pay the mourners," Bergman said to Vayl. "They say they won't cry another tear until"
"What mourners?" he growled.
I dropped my fist to his chest, thought better of patting it. Hell, his sweater no doubt cost more than my entire wardrobe. "It's a long story. One you probably shouldn't hear until you've had some nourishment and Cole's a couple of miles away. Hang on."
I freed my necklace and, taking Jack with me, slipped out the door, making sure the light didn't hit Vayl's position. Though he'd applied Bergman's skin lotion and brought his fedora and sunglasses, the UV still hurt when it struck him. It just didn't make him burst into flame anymore.
Pulling a wad of bills from an inner pocket of my jacket, I headed toward the oldest, and loudest, mourner. "How much?" I asked.
She named a number that made me bite my tongue. I nearly bartered, but realized as a widow wallowing in grief, I probably wouldn't have the emotional stability to go there. Which made me wonder how many bereaved families got screwed the world over.
I gave her the dough and passed an even larger amount to the band. They, at least, made a pretty noise for their pay. I headed back to the hearse.
Stop.
Like competitors in a game of Simon Says, my feet obeyed. That the order came from a voice inside my head shouldn't have been disturbing. I talk to myself all the time, and my imaginary people come in all shapes and sizes. Except this one had risen recently, without welcome or permission, or a face to make it familiar.
Don't go back in that car, it snarled. What do you want with a seinji, a shallow playboy, a neurotic inventor, and a See-it-all anyway? You're better off on your own, like it was before you met that cowardly vampire.
I closed my eyes. Like all my mental voices, this one felt like an extension of me. But I didn't have the ability to silence it like I could the others. It had begun quietly near the end of our last mission and grown like a tumor ever since. The only time it voluntarily muted was when Vayl showed.
I scratched at an itch that threaded from wrist to elbow. Hell, maybe I'd still be standing there today, sinking nails into skin, if not for Jack, who let out a series of his rare, throaty woofs. They snapped the hold that voice had woven over me. As I forced my feet to carry me back to the hearse, it suddenly felt like I was attending my own funeral. Because I knew it was time to face the facts. Either I really despised everybody in that car. Or my psyche had picked up a passenger.
CHAPTER TWO
If Vayl and I were asked to teach a class, and I'm kinda surprised it hasn't happened already, we'd probably begin by saying, "Welcome to Assassination for Beginners, boys and girls. You in the back! Put that knife away! We don't kill anybody until the final! Geez!"
"Anyway, one of the reasons we've never yet failed a mission is because we're terrific liars. We're not talking mundane, slip-a-speeding-ticket fibs. No. We mean world-class shit. For instance, if you can't make your targets believe you're smitten to the point where you'd like to birth two or three evil spawn with them, you might as well go back to Analysis."
I'd lied to all kinds of lowlifes in my time with the Agency. It sucked that, once again, I was using that finely honed ability against my own people. Still, I made sure Lucille Robinson's smile was pasted to my face when I got back into the hearse. Because my crew had to think I wanted them close. And Vayl could never know he'd hooked up with another head case. After his ordeal with Liliana he could have sworn off relationships for good. And the fact that he'd never married again showed how deeply she'd wounded him.
I didn't want to be the one to reopen those scars.
But our team's like a tight family. Hard to fool, especially when you're trying. So when Bergman sat forward, slipped off his backpack, and gave me his you're-about-to-be-a-happy-girl look, I could've kissed him.
"What've you got in there?" I asked, so glad for the distraction I didn't care if it was a bomb and he was about to teach me which wire I should cut if the Daring Defusers got stuck in traffic.
He looked over his shoulder. "Thor?" he said, barely managing not to snicker. "We need a little privacy here."
"No problem." Cole raised the limo's mirrored window between himself, Ruvin, and us. I spared a thought for the mourners we'd abandoned, but apparently they'd carpooled with the pallbearers since they all had another gig in an hour. For their sakes, I hoped the guy in the coffin was fully dead this time.
When Bergman felt we were secure he said, "I promised you an extra-special invention."
I sucked in my breath. "Already?"
He nodded. "I've been working on it for a while. I was going to sell it. But
well, that client doesn't deserve it nearly as much as you."
I didn't have to fake the Christmas-morning anticipation on my face when he put the bag on the floor between us. Jack gave it a sniff, pronounced it inedible, and stuck his nose back on the window.
I glanced at Vayl. "Go on; open it," he said. "It is bound to amaze us." Under his breath he added, "And perhaps it will take my mind off the humiliation of having to crawl inside a golf bag at two thirty this morning."
I reached out to touch him, but a major itch on my thigh detoured my hand. I said, "I'm sorry. I had no idea that's what the company sent. I won't leave the arrangements to Cole again." Now the other thigh itched. What the hell?
"Did you forget to wash your blue jeans before you put them on today?" asked Cassandra as she ran her hand down Jack's furry gray back.
"No."
And why do you give a fuck, Miss High-and-Mighty with your name-brand outfits and effortless elegance?
All you have to do is lift your little finger and you have me outclassed.
Without looking I grabbed Vayl's hand and squeezed. His strong fingers, wrapping around mine like a lifeline, pulled me away from the voice in my head, which faded into a slimy gray mist as I smiled at Cassandra, reminding myself firmly that my brother had recently told me she made him feel like a king.
"Guess I'm just anxious to see what Bergman's brought me."
She nodded eagerly. "Me too. So open your present already, will you?"
After a moment's hesitation, Vayl released my hand so I could unzip the backpack. Movement inside made me jump back.
"Jaz Parks," Bergman said formally, "meet RAFS."
Out of the bag poked a head with inky black ears set wide apart and two golden eyes whose vertical irises betrayed the inspiration of Bergman's schematic. A soft whir of hidden machinery accompanied its smooth leap onto the floor at my feet.
"It's a cat!" I said. Oops. Jack turned around, his tongue dropping as he spied the new creature sharing his temporary confinement. I swear he smiled as he realized the potential for play that had just appeared.
"Don't you dare!" I warned, lunging for his collar. Too late.
He jumped at RAFS, who sprang onto the seat between Bergman and Cassandra.
"This is not a toy, you gigantic slobberbag!" Bergman shouted. He shielded the cat with his body while Jack tried to stick his nose into the crack between our consultant's elbow and knee. It must've been a ticklish spot because, even as I snagged Jack's leash, Bergman began to giggle. Which caused the mechanical cat to feel its shelter had experienced an earthquake of an unsafe magnitude.
It squirted out of Bergman's clutches onto the top of the seat and, from there, jumped onto the casket.
When it stared, unblinking, at us I could've sworn I saw
"Bergman? Did you actually program in cat-snooty?" I asked as I struggled to keep Jack from joining his new buddy on its smooth, wooden perch.
As I glanced from the inventor to his prize I saw him nod happily. "I did. But that was just for fun. The serious attributes will make you wish you had a whole fleet of them."
"What's it do?"
He reached into his back pocket and handed me a container that held fake eyelashes. "Go ahead," he said eagerly. "Put them on."
Cassandra dipped her hand into her bag, did a couple of mixing bowl motions, and came out with a compact. "Here, this should help," she said as she snapped it open and offered me the mirror.
"Thanks." I stuck the lashes onto my own, reassuring myself that I didn't suddenly resemble my dad's sister, Candy, who'd danced her way across the States before the poles got too slick and she decided marrying a rich old coot who could buy her bigger boobs and a cushy retirement home in Orlando might be a better plan.
Vayl asked, "How will the cat help us, Miles?"
"RAFS is a mobile surveillance system with offensive capabilities, in that I gave her claws and teeth. And grenades. But those haven't been sufficiently tested yet, so
"
I looked at the kittybot, trying and failing to figure out just how she would launch a minibomb. "You said
her?"
Bergman shrugged. "RAFS seems female to me."
I pointed to my lashes. "What are these for?"
Vayl leaned forward, his lips twitching. "They make you look
sooty." I could tell he wasn't talking about chimney sweeping. Especially when his eyes dropped first to my neck, then to my chest.
I was glad nobody could hear my heart speed up, although Cassandra's smirk showed she wasn't unaware. Still, I tried to keep the conversation on the right track.
"Are they like our party line?" I asked. We hadn't yet shared out the earpieces and fake moles that would allow us all to talk with each other at a distance of at least two miles, because Bergman had promised an upgrade. Who knew that he'd also bring a cat that somehow connected with me through my blinkers?
Bergman didn't even try to hide the smug. "Somewhat. You should see them at night. Point a light at them and they glow."
I threw up my arms. "Great, now I'm gonna look like a freak too!"
"I like freaks," said Vayl. His eyes, shining the emerald green he saved just for me, demanded some sort of response. I wished we were still vacationing on his island so I could show him how much his comment meant to me. Instead I scratched a new itch on my shoulder and turned back to Bergman.
"Come on, spill. What do the eye gadgets do?"
He grinned. "RAFS, you are now under Jasmine Parks's voice command." He whispered, "Tell her to switch to video mode."
I looked at the cat, its smooth shell made less foreign by the jet-black color Bergman had chosen for it.
"RAFS, switch to video mode."
A holographic image of Bergman and Cassandra, as seen through the cat's eyes, appeared before mine.
"Is it operating?" asked Bergman.
I nodded. "How does it work?" I asked.
"RAFS beams the message to receivers in the lashes, which project an image just far enough from your eyes for you to get a clear view." I gaped at Bergman. "What?" he asked.
"Dude! You never explain your inventions!" I studied his face. "You didn't send a clone of yourself or something?"
"No!" He chuckled. "Maybe I'm just trying to impress you with my engineering genius."
"I've known you since I was eighteen. You had me the second you rigged our refrigerator to dispense Diet Coke out the water spigot."
His smile widened. "Okay, well, maybe I do have ulterior motives. But those can wait until you've gotten to know RAFS better." He nodded at the cat. "She records audio too. And when you're outfitted with the party line, she can receive that signal. You can also access all of the CIA's databases through her, as well as Cassandra's Enkyklios."
"No!" Cassandra's portable library was such a fascinating blend of cinema, history, and magic that I couldn't imagine an alternative.
Our Seer nodded. "We needed another backup, so when Bergman offered RAFS and said she'd belong to you, it seemed like the perfect plan. Especially when he explained that one of her abilities was inspired by the Enkyklios to begin with."
"Wait a minute. You're basically handing me the chance to research any other I come across, plus enter the new events I experience, all on my own? Without one of you Sisters of the Second Sight looking over my shoulder?"
She nodded. "We're making you an honorary member of the Guild."
"But I'm not psychic."
"Your Spirit Eye qualifies you in most of the Sisters' minds. The rest are willing to welcome you as long as the title remains honorary. That means you won't have any voting privileges."
Why was it nobody wanted to give me a say? The Greek werewolves who'd accepted me as a low-level pack member hadn't forked over any power in their elections either. But to be fair, if I was anybody else, I wouldn't let an assassin influence my policy either.
"Wow." I glanced up at Vayl, wondering what he thought of this new development. Well, he definitely approves of my boobs. "Would you pay attention?"
"I am fully aware." He leaned over to whisper, "I have never made love to a Sister of the Second Sight.
Find out if they have a catalog, would you? Perhaps you could order something in the way of a bustier and high heels?"
I stared into those bright green eyes and couldn't find a shred of humor. Son of a bitch! He's serious!
"Oh, for chrissake." I didn't know if I was pissed at him for totally veering off subject or at myself for the blush that burned my cheeks. I pinned my attention on Bergman, who would never mix business with pleasure. Or pleasure with pleasure, for that matter. "So, besides the information it's toting, how is the cat like the Enkyklios?"
Bergman leaned forward, rubbing his hands on his knees with excitement. "Remember the first time Cassandra showed us one of the stories from it? How all the glass balls kept rearranging themselves, changing shape as they searched for the information she wanted?"
How could I forget? That story had played out the personal tragedy that still sometimes woke me up screaming. I cleared my throat. "I remember."
"Considering the tight spaces you might need RAFS to slip into, I thought it would be helpful if she could change shapes the way the Enkyklios does. So I asked Cassandra to help me imbue her with some special qualities"
I held up my hand. "Wait a second. You mean she's a magical robot?"
He winced. "It's not like she's going to pull out a wand and start zapping mice into oblivion. But, yeah, she can rearrange her anatomy in
Here, let me demonstrate. Call her."
I whistled. Jack wheeled around, put his front paws up on my legs, and shoved his face into mine.
"Dude, what have you been eating? No, don't tell me." I reached into my jacket pocket and found a Milk-Bone. "Here. Pretend you're brushing your teeth." As if I needed further evidence that he deserved lapdog privileges, he jumped into the seat beside me, curled into the smallest ball he could manage (mega-beach), and began chomping at his treat.
Bergman waited until Jack was settled before saying, "Obviously RAFS doesn't respond to whistling. She's a cat. Try calling her name."
"Come here, RAFS."
"You could be sweeter."
"She's made of metal."
"And other stuff!"
"Look, she came when I called," I said, motioning to the robokitty, who'd climbed onto Vayl's shoulder right next to me.
"Jaz!" Bergman wasn't whining. Quite.
I rolled my eyes at Vayl. Seriously? I have to make nice with Bergman's walking camera?
Since we'd been working together long enough to read every nuance of each other's expressions, he got the message instantly. His response? Yes.
And I thought the neurotic in him wouldn't piss me off until we'd at least gotten to the rental house.
Vayl's lips rose a couple of millimeters. In anyone else it would've been a grin.
I said, "Fine, I'll pretend she's going to stalk off in a huff if I give her any sass." I leaned back to get a better view, making sure I gave Jack a good petting as I did so he wouldn't feel left out if he noticed me paying attention to another "animal."
The sound her innards made tried to be a purr, though it reminded me more of computer fans than contented cat. Up close, her eyes seemed the most real, even when her pupils expanded and contracted to fine-tune her video feed. I reached out to touch her, poised to pull back in case she swiped at my hand, but she allowed me to run a finger down her front leg. It felt metallic but yielding, reminding me of the alien costumes on a bad Sci Fi Channel movie.
"RAFS doesn't fit you," I murmured. "It's probably an acronym for some impossibly long and hard to pronounce gearhead title."
"Hey!" objected Bergman, but weakly, because it was true.
Ignoring him, I went on. "You need a space-age name. One I wouldn't be surprised to hear if Captain Kirk landed on your planet and found you rubbing up against his leg right before you disintegrated the henchmen he'd brought along just in case. Let's see
"
"How about Pluto?" suggested Cassandra.
"You're not naming my best-yet invention after a demoted planet!" Bergman objected.
"I had a great deal to do with the success of your invention!" Cassandra reminded him.
"I never said you didn't!"
"Stop!" I yelled. "You two are giving me flashbacks to when I had to give you time-outs. Show me you've matured so I don't have to call a nanny!" I turned to Vayl. "Tell your kids to behave."
"Need I remind you that these are the good ones?" He reached up and pulled the cat down onto his lap.
"What if we call her Astral?"
"That I like. All in favorI don't care because she's mine." I leaned forward and patted Bergman on the knee. "Thanks, Miles. She's amazing."
"But you haven't seen the best part."
"Oh yeah, the shape-changing thing." I was about to say, "Have at it." But the beach ball beside me had been eyeing Astral and realized he might have a chance to give her a big welcome-to-the-family kiss now that Vayl held her quiet in one place.
Without warning he lobbed himself over my lap and landed on Vayl's, reaching under his own forelegs to lick Astral's smooth back. He yelped when his slobbers melted her, leaving a quarter-inch-thick blob to roll its eyes at Jack as he yanked his tail between his legs, jumped to the floor, and took refuge next to Cassandra.
"Bergman!" snapped Vayl.
At the same time I said, "What the hell?"
And Bergman held out both hands like he'd just introduced us to his favorite new girlfriend. "See?"
The black blob in Vayl's lap wiggled over his thigh onto the seat between us. She slithered up to the headrest before quietly re-forming. The only extra noises she made were a series of clicks when her claws emerged, evidently as part of a test cycle, because they pulled back into her paws shortly afterward.
"That's freaking cool," I breathed. Bergman smiled.
"How is she powered?" asked Vayl.
He shrugged, back to his old share-no-secrets self. "No need to worry about that for another five years anyway," he assured us.
I watched her lick the dog spit off her back. "Where does the waste go that she collects along the way?"
I asked.
"I've designed an outlet. The capsule looks a lot like cat poop, so when she needs to release one, there's never a problem. She just goes into the bathroom"
Vayl raised an eyebrow. "The cat is toilet trained?"
"I thought that would be easiest. So you don't have to deal with litter boxes when you're traveling."
I sat back, eyeing my dog. His eyes were half closed, his tongue drooped in ecstasy under Cassandra's head-scratchings. So watching his new friend turn to goo hadn't traumatized him. I wondered what he'd do if she exploded.
I said, "Bergman, you're a genius."
CHAPTER THREE
Between the city of Canberra and the Space Complex that uses its name lies a depressed little burg called Wirdilling. We meant to reach it via Tourist Drive 5, which runs in a huge curvy loop past all kinds of camera-clicking stops. While taking photos would've been great for our coverwe didn't. Because it was nearly four thirty in the afternoon, and if we wanted to make Wirdilling before midnight we all needed to preserve our energy on the excellent chance that we might have to shove our feet through the floorboards of the wreck Cole had rented and walk it there.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to find myself and Vayl squeezed into a 1980 powder-blue Leyland Mini Clubman with a dog, a robot, two irritated crew members and a bubble-blowing comedian. A shrunken station wagon that might've been made to seat five, but only if they were anorexic starlets, the Clubman was a four-speed brake-eater that tended to wheeze when we hit any grade steeper than two degrees. The rest of the time the engine rattled so loudly we had to shout to be heard. Which meant the car spent the majority of the drive through the tree-dotted hills that rolled down to Murrumbidgee River and up to the Tidbinbilla mountain range either gasping like a badly medicated asthmatic or roaring like a mean drunk.
Normally I'd have babied the poor girl. After all, a car isn't responsible for its renter. But ever since I'd given blood to save the life of a werewolf named Trayton, fires tended to break out when I got pissed. And if I didn't find some outlet for the emotion making the skin around my eyes redden like stove burners, there was a good chance Cole's gum would transform into lava. So I rode the gearshift like a crashing pilot, shoving it from third to fourth and back again way more than I needed to, and shaking the steering wheel when I thought the Wheezer needed an extra push to make it up the next slope.
"Jasmine?" Vayl murmured from the seat next to me, balancing his mug o' packaged vamp-juice out in front of him to prevent spillage. "Are you going to be all right?"
"I'll be fine." I glanced at him, allowing myself a second to appreciate his fedora. No man of this age can pull off the look the way an original can. Under the shadow of its brim his chemically darkened skin resisted the few waning rays of sun the Clubman's tinted windows allowed in. I guess I could give Cole some credit for at least trying to protect Vayl that far. But geez!
For the third time this trip I mentally replayed the scene in the funeral home's plain, gray-walled garage.
We'd stepped out of the hearse in the first of four bays, all of which led to a closed black door the size of a home-theater screen. I'd nodded appreciatively at the Jeep Patriot parked next to us. Painted a dark orange, it also glowed with flecks of gold and red to my extra-sensitized eyes.
"Now, that is a machine," I'd said, licking my lips to keep the drool from spilling over.
"Isn't she a beaut?" said Ruvin, running his hand along the side panel like it was a woman's hip.
"Sometimes I dream we're walking on the beach together, just her and me. And she's kinda wobbling 'cause she's on her back tires. Then she looks at me. And squeezes my hand. And says, Ruvin, only amateurs use the automatic wash.' And I promise never to wipe her with an old rag."
We stared. Even me, and I've been known to dream about my Corvette from time to time. Ruvin pointed to a steel rod welded across the front of the grille. "Look here! Can you guess what this is?"
I said, "If I didn't know better, I'd guess you were planning on busting through some fairly high snowdrifts."
"It's a bull bar," Ruvin told me. "Protects my ute in case I hit a roo."
"Roo? As in the kanga kind?" asked Cole.
"Yeah," I replied. "Ruvin, here, says we don't have to worry while we're driving the Jeep because"
"Oh no." Cole shook his head while Ruvin clutched at his heart, like maybe I'd just suggested we borrow his kids for a couple of days. "Ruvin's not renting us his wheels. Our ride is parked in the third bay."
"Oh. Okay." Mentally kissing the Jeep goodbye, I grabbed my trunk and weapons bag from the hearse's storage compartment and skirted the Jeep. Where I stood gaping until Bergman bumped into me.
"Is he serious?" Bergman whispered.
"Where are we supposed to put all the extra equipment?" Cassandra asked.
Since Wirdilling was a village of six hundred, we couldn't just melt into the crowd. Especially when we were renting one of the local's houses. So we'd decided to use a cover that always got us eager cooperation. It also required a few more bags.
"Strap them to the top," said Cole. He opened the trunk (no wonder they call it a boot here, it's about the size of my foot!) and pulled out some tie-downs. "See? We're prepared."
I didn't realize I'd dropped my stuff and raised my hands to strangle him until Vayl pulled me aside.
"Perhaps not in front of our driver?" he suggested.
I turned to Ruvin, who'd helped Vayl bring over the last of the luggage. "So what do you think of all this?
" I asked him brightly. My smile was faked, but not my interest. I couldn't wait to hear what kind of bullshit story Cole had fed him.
The little man grinned up at me, the gap between his front teeth so wide I could see what he'd eaten for lunch through it. "Aw, your boy Thor is brilliant, that's all!" he said, his accent almost as thick as his ear hair. "How else're you gonna get Gerard Butler into the country without tipping off the crazies, eh, mate?"
He reached out and shook Vayl's hand. "Loved you in 300. What a performance! You need anything at all, I'm your bloke. Don't just drive the dead around all day, ya know. I've got my hand in lotsa kettles. Here, lemme give you my card."
While Cassandra and I traded Vayl-looks-nothing-like- Gerard eye rolls, Ruvin and my boss were playing tug-of-war with the dog-eared ID. "You can reach my wife, Tabitha, at the same number," Ruvin was saying as he banged his blunt finger against it. "You should call her when you're hiring, mate. She's a genius with hair and makeup. Got her own shop in back of our house. You wouldn't believe what she can do with the old cows who come in there!"
Having been briefed on Ruvin's connections to our target, Vayl dropped his arm to the man's shoulder.
"We will put her name at the top of the list. In the meantime, we have a project with which you could be very helpful." He started to talk. But with me opening the hood, slamming it, and doing the same to all the doors as my rage began to build, he decided the deal might be made more smoothly if they moved to the other side of the hearse.
"Hey, Lucille!" called Cole. "I think your dog needs to take a leak!"
Since I'd failed to force any of the doors to fall off, I rounded the front of the car and snatched the keys from his hand on my way to the driver's seat.
"What?" he asked, his eyes showing more white than usual when he caught my expression. He and Jack exchanged wary glances.
I said, "I'm driving. And I suggest you fasten your seat belt. Otherwise I'll be tempted to roll this puppy just for the joy of seeing your head hit the ceiling."
"Lucille"
Cassandra pulled Bergman away from his attempt to stuff one last trunk into the back of the Clubman, and strode forward to yank Jack's leash from Cole's hand. "Miles and I will take him outside," she said, giving us both her don't-kill-each-other look.
Cole came over to stand beside me. "Damn, woman, what's gotten your panties in a bunch?"
I waited until they'd cleared the garage. Then I lowered my voice anyway. Nobody, not even my boss, needed to hear what I was about to say. "You fucked with Vayl, you fucked with me, okay, we get it.
You're pissed that we're a couple. This is your hilarious way of getting us back. Mission accomplished. But you know what? Nothing's changed. We're still together and you've taken it so far that now you just look like an ass. I tried to be gentle with you, because you're one of the greatest guys I've ever met. But I swear, if you screw with me again I will take you down. Permanently."
I stopped. Ground my teeth together. Because behind my words I could hear another voice. Feeding me lines. Goddammit, this is worse than I thought!
Cole shoved his hands in his pockets, his mouth twisted so oddly that it took me a second to realize he was frowning. "You and Vayl ended up with each other and didn't even have the decency to buy me a stupid T-shirt. So I figured you'd at least see the humor" He stopped. Shot his eyes to mine.
"What?"
He grabbed me by both shoulders. "Who's in there with you?"
Aargh! "I have no idea what you're"
Cole's eyes hardened, the flint in them so unexpected I forgot what I meant to say. "Don't try to con me, Lucille. You may be the DeWALT of Sensitives, but I can smell other just like anybody else who's died once already. And there's two scents coming from you when I should only be getting that adrenaline punch that lifts me up on my toes every time I get a whiff of you."
Kil him! Now! Before he ruins everything! I'd actually slid my hand into my right pocket, wrapped it around the hilt of the knife my seamstress had cleverly hidden along the length of my thigh, before I realized what I was considering. I shoved my left hand into the opposite pocket and squeezed my fingers around the ring I carried there. It had always brought me comfort before. Now I wanted more.
Matt, talk to me. Tell me what to do!
But my fiancé's voice had never joined the chorus in my head. When he'd died, he'd gone silent for good.
The other voice knew exactly what to say. Tell him to back off! Your business is none of his! We're doing fine all on our own. It felt like a fog, settling over my synapses, numbing them into immobility while it ate away at my independence.
I grabbed Cole's wrist. The contact helped me think a little more clearly. I forced the words past a sudden blockage in my throat. "I'm pretty sure I've been possessed. I don't know how it happened. Maybe one of those Scidairan bitches hexed me during that big battle before we killed Samos last week. Don't tell Vayl."
"You can't seriously think you're going to hide this from him?"
I nodded, gritting my teeth at the thought of how mad he'd be if he ever found out. I said, "He wants a strong woman. Not some wimp who can't even keep her own mind clear."
Do I really believe that? Vayl could be such a help in thispain speared through the back of my right eyeball. Just as quickly it was gone, along with my train of thought.
Cole glanced over his shoulder to make sure Vayl and Ruvin were still talking. They'd opened the passenger door of his Jeep, and Ruvin was sitting in the seat, showing off the interior while they chatted.
Cole murmured, "I don't think you have any idea what he wants from a woman or why he picked you.
You're just making stuff up as you go instead of checking the source."
"I don't want to lose him!"
"And you think this is a deal breaker?"
My eye began to throb again. I rubbed at it. "Yes." The ache vanished.
He shook his head and sighed. "How are you going to keep him from figuring it out? I mean, it helped that I'm a Sensitive. But what tipped me off to start with was the fact that you were acting weird."
"Sex."
"Seriously?"
I shrugged. "He can't suspect much if every time we're alone instead of talking I have my way with him."
Cole shook his head. "You don't think it'll work?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes. "Vayl might be a vampire, but he's also a guy. Who's about to be deliriously happy.
Good God, if you work this right, he won't even be mad if he finds out because of the way you decided to hide it from him."
I nodded. And reached around to scratch my back.
It itched even more after I'd driven a glorified golf cart through the bewildering maze of roundabouts that makes Canberra almost as famous as its massive termite mounds (er, I mean public buildings) full of politicians. By the time we left the city's shrubbery-choked streets and hit the hills, I was rubbing my back against the seat like a bear scratching against her favorite tree. And in Australia, that had to be eucalyptus.
In the distance they joined other species in covering the mountains like lush green hair. Up close, they towered among the rocks, their lower branches practically nonexistent. Which didn't seem to be a problem for the koalas. Or the parrots. Still, what dominated the landscape was the closely grazed succession of hills. You could play golf on those suckers if you didn't mind going vertical.
The Wheezer did.
"Dammit, Cole, couldn't you have at least rented something with an engine?" I barked. "If I lifted the hood on this sucker I'll bet I'd see the skeleton of Tigger, because this car hasn't had any bounce since Reagan was president."
Vayl stared at his mug, decided the contents were finally warm enough, and took a sip. He said, "Perhaps we should move on to a subject that does not make any of us feel the need to kill our sniper."
Bergman snorted. "I guess that means you don't want to discuss your spectacular airport entrance?"
"Why do you do that?" Cassandra demanded. "The subject was closed. Everybody was ready to let it drop. And then you stirred it up again. You're like a drama junkie, you know that?"
Jack stuck his nose in her chin, as if agreeing. Continuing with his I'm-a-Pomeranian fantasy, my dog had chosen, not floorboards, but laps as his preferred method of travel. He lay across all three of them, like a raja who must be kept dirt free in case of spontaneous parades.
Bergman said, "I'm no" but he couldn't see Cassandra over Cole's mop of hair. His struggle to meet her eyes forced a complete backseat resettlement, not easy when you're sharing a 140-pound load, but everybody finally found new locations for their butts and elbows. After which he said, "I just like closure, that's all."
She said, "Vayl didn't strangle Cole back at the airport. The end."
But it wasn't. Vayl sent a dark look over his shoulder. "Believe me, I was exercising phenomenal restraint."
Through the rearview mirror I could see Cole's fingers, which had been scratching Jack's back, freeze.
"Aw, come on, Vayl. How many vamps have slept inside a golf coffin? Your buddies will be so impressed."
Noting that Vayl's knees were nearly at the level of his shoulders, I said, "Not if he can't stand upright anymore after riding in your rental from Dollhouse Accessories, Inc. Did you forget that we might need to jump out of this vehicle and run at some point? The way this muther rides, we're all going to have to do twenty minutes of yoga before we can even think of walking again!"
Astral chose that moment to stand. Since she'd settled on the ledge below the rear window, my view was now completely obscured by stretching kitty, whose accompanying mechanical clicks caught everyone's attention.
"She's just recalibrating," Bergman explained. "She does it every hour or so to make sure her internal compass is still accurate."
"Ow!" Cole grabbed the back of his head. "She kicked me! What are her legs made of, tire irons?"
When no one replied he met my eyes in the mirror.
"Okay," he admitted. "It may be a little tighter in here than I'd anticipated. But think of it as a team-building experience. This way nobody has to fall off a wall and hope the rest of us catch him."
Vayl turned in his seat. "I believe Cassandra was right after all. Perhaps we should talk about the assignment before visions of you thudding to the ground inspire me to make a reservation with Adventures R Us."
Bergman reached up, adjusted his ball cap, and dropped his hands back to his lap, which was when I knew something was up with it. Would he ever reveal its true purpose to us, or was this some kind of test run we weren't supposed to acknowledge?
I tried to pick up any oddities in its design while Cole said, "Pete said he was going to brief us. How's that going to work?"
Bergman looked over his shoulder. "Astral? Please play Pete's briefing."
Astral yawned and a hologram of my supervisor unfolded on the hood of the Wheezer, startling me so much I pulled my foot off the accelerator. He sat behind his old metal desk, his brown suit nearly hidden behind three teetering piles of files.
Flicking his hand against a black spot-microphone on his lapel he said, "Is it on?" Unintelligible reply from the cameraman. "Jaz, I know you're mad at me for cutting your vacation three weeks short." I snorted.
Yeah, bub, so short I didn't even have time to make arrangements for my dog.
He ran his hand across his last couple of hairs. Had they turned from blond to white in the past week? I couldn't tell. Uncanny, though, the way he turned his head as if he knew I was sitting behind the wheel. As I eased into the gas he said, "I wanted to make it up to you. So I returned your father's investment in your last mission. He said the senators stiffed him." Which could only mean he'd withheld the information they'd asked him to gather.
Vayl and I traded glances. He said, "I told you Albert was honorable."
Wow. My dad taking the high road? Even if it only pertained to buttoning his lip regarding the inner functionings of our team? And Pete, spending actual money to make us even? Maybe I could count on those two after all.
Pete picked up a sheaf of papers, banged them against the desk, and set them back down. He said, "As you know, the cult I've sent you after believes their god, Ufran, lives on one of the rings of Saturn. And they're furious that NASA is, to quote their Web page, invading the sanctity of his celestial home by peeping through his curtains.'"
"Wait," said Cole. "There are curtains hanging from Saturn's rings?"
"It's a metaphor," I said.
Pete, just a recording who didn't expect commentary from the crowd, had moved on. "Ufranites had convinced Bob Green, a software engineer for Odeam Security, to carry their larvae into the Canberra Deep Space Complex, at which time they were supposed to wreak havoc on the Complex's vital systems. But while Green and his team were waiting for their plane yesterday, the larvae hatched prematurely."
Big silence as we all imagined that scene. Human carriers were a new phenomenon. Traditionally gnomes deposited their larvae in their castoffs. Those who were born tailless, or whose noses never turned blue, were either made to incubate the larvae, or worse, act as midwives during the "birth." But they hadn't yet formed a coalition, or called the cops, so word hadn't gotten around yet that Bob Green's experience was typical. Certain death, lying twitching on the concourse carpet while slimy red worms burst through your blood vessels and out of your skin, leaving you bleeding to death like an Ebola victim.
Bergman cleared his throat. "But we're still after the Odeam team. Which means what? That they had a backup carrier ready, just in case?"
Cole said, "They'd have to, because hatchings are notoriously unpredictable. Which you'd know if you didn't spend all day in the lab."
"I don't
okay, I do spend a lot of time inside. But look at the results!" He jerked a thumb toward Astral, who currently looked like she'd swallowed a high-quality flashlight.
"Pay attention," snapped Vayl, slanting his chin toward Pete, who'd paused to take a swig from his coffee cup. Aww. It was one I'd brought back for him from a mission to Nevada. It said killer cuppa joe on the side and had a picture of a cowboy shooting his six-guns at a snarling monster whose head was shaped like a gigantic coffee bean.
Pete said, "If the Ufranites just wanted to foul up the Complex's software, they could use the Odeam man himself. But our analysts say that isn't enough for them. They want to sever the connections between the satellite dishes and their computer controllers so absolutely that repair costs will force NASA to divert funds from all of their other projects, causing them to fail too. This would cause billions of dollars of damage that the American people won't want to pay to repair. In which case, NASA will be forced to close down the complex."
"What about the communication stations in California and Madrid?" asked Bergman.
As if he could read Bergman's mind, Pete said, "We've learned that NASA's other two complexes have been targeted as well. I've sent teams to each site. But yours is particularly important, because somewhere in the area the shaman who plotted this entire fiasco is pulling the strings. The name of his warren is N'Paltick. Find it, figure out how to discredit him, and we believe the Ufranites will abandon this plan for good."
"Discredit? Or destroy?" asked Bergman dryly.
Vayl and I traded glances. "We are not in the business of creating martyrs," he said. "If Jasmine and I find an opportunity to reveal this shaman's true colors to his followers, we will take it."
Pete seemed to look at me again. Kinda freaky. Like the Jesus picture in Granny May's pastor's home.
We'd only gone once, to drop off a loaf of banana bread when his wife had died. Those eyes had followed me everywhere. And they hadn't been happy with me. Pete, at least, seemed halfway content. "The Oversight Committee has completely backed off, Jaz. Relax. Do your usual excellent job. You have nothing to worry about from here." He cleared his throat. "And as long as I'm around, you never will."
His image blinked out. I blinked a couple of times too. Wow. Did he have any idea how long I'd been hoping to hear those words?
I felt a smile lift my lips as I rounded another curve. I gave the Wheezer more gas, basking in job-security glow, enjoying the fact that I got to drive on the left side of the road again. You know what would make this moment perfect? If the Clubman was a Maserati. And Vayl and I were alone on his island, rushing toward one of our who-can-get-naked-fastest evenings in his cool, shadowy bedroom, which always smelled like pine and fresh oranges.
Cole snapped me out of my daydream by asking, "Is there any way to kill the larvae while they're still in the carrier? You know, some kind of shot or something?"
I felt the corners of my mouth drop. What kind of friend pulls a chimp move like that and throws poop all over your fantasies? One who sucks almost as bad as your life, said that nasty new voice. I sawed at my shoulder as I said, "Doctors haven't found a way to dump the larvae from the bloodstream once they're ingested."
"Ugh! You mean the computer guy ate them?" asked Cassandra. She looked down at Jack. "You wouldn't do that, would you?" He nodded, his expression assuring her his tastes definitely ran to gnome slugs.
Vayl said, "More likely he drank them. The eggs are tiny after all. It is only after they reach the bloodstream that they experience their first metamorphosis."
Bergman said, "So there's no way we could save these guys?" I caught his drift. Anybody who'd made the Odeam team had to be popping the lid off the IQ container. So he kinda connected.
Vayl took off his sunglasses, his icy blue eyes pinning Bergman in place. "Bob Green was carrying the seeds of a space complex's destruction. He died because he cared more about buying an in-ground pool than he did about his country. After a day's delay to regroup, the team is back on track, due to arrive in Wirdilling later this evening. We do not know if Green's replacement will be carrying the larvae, or if an original team member had already agreed to act as backup. Our sources are only certain that another has taken his place, and NASA is deeply worried that he will succeed where his predecessor failed."
Cole spoke up. "Hopefully the bug I planted on Ruvin will clear up the situation for us right away. Maybe we'll be able to take this guy out tonight and spend the next couple of days exploring the bush."
"Why would we want to do that?" asked Bergman.
Cole blew a bubble, and for a second the scent of cinnamon filled the car. As soon as it popped and he'd licked up the mess he said, "Besides my professional goals, I have a couple of private ones, my man. One of those is to pet a kangaroo before I leave Australia. I understand there's lots of Eastern Grays around this area. What do you say? Are you in?"
Bergman looked at him like he'd just made the worst financial investment of his life. "Kangaroos are wild animals. I've heard they claw like girl fighters and kick like jackhammers. You're going to get your skull crushed."
Cole held up a finger. "Or I'm going to pet a kangaroo. How cool would that be?"
Deciding not to waste any more time on the crazy man, Bergman turned back to Vayl. "What happens if we can't stop the carrier?"
Vayl pulled in a breath. "America faces catastrophe, and not just the sort Pete mentioned. Because NASA administrators fear if their communications facilities are crippled, their program could be halted just when they have begun to receive signals from deep space."
Though I'd heard this before, I still couldn't quite believe it. Pete had left it up to Vayl whether or not to share this morsel, so the kids in the back were hearing it for the first time. They received the news with varying reactions.
Cassandra nodded, as if unsurprised by the fact that somebody way the hell out there might want to give us a call.
Cole slammed his hand against the roof of the car. "I knew it! I'll bet they have gigantic pear-shaped heads and goggle eyes too!"
Bergman cocked his head sideways in the show-me-proof gesture that had started many of our college debates. He said, "Assuming I believe that last part, which could be all kinds of noise having nothing to do with alien language, I still don't quite buy the gnomes wanting to destroy NASA. That seems like a lot of work to protect Ufran's privacy."
"Maybe they've heard about the alien contact," said Cole, his eyes still shining at the idea. "Maybe they're so freaked they're trying to shut it down before the rest of the world finds out."
Cassandra shook her head. "No matter why they've put this plan in motion, you have to agree they're a proactive bunch."
I nodded. "Luckily, so are we."
CHAPTER FOUR
We'd decided to spend the first hour of our wait for the Odeam team stuffing our faces at Wirdilling's one and only eatery. But as I stood beside Vayl at the end of a row of connected gray-faced shops, contemplating what might be the scariest little pub in the southern hemisphere, I told myself I wasn't that hungry. Because apparently somewhere nearby lurked a kickass fishing lake that people liked to visit during the warmer seasons. They didn't always come prepared, so some bright businessman had decided to build a bait shop. And then stick a pub called Crindertab's on the end of it. At least I hoped it hadn't developed the other way.
The bait shop had a closed sign hanging from its faded green door. We weren't so lucky with Crindertab's. Its entry, peeling paint so old it probably contained enough lead to line a bunker, had one small window that allowed enough dim light to emerge to convince us the place was inhabited. I looked over my shoulder, longing to join Jack and Astral in the Wheezer, where they regarded each other warily from opposite ends of the interior.
Vayl opened the door. A tsunami of country music burst out of the opening, reminding me of all the reasons that I hated eating out.
I spun around. "I'll have mine to go. Salad. Italian dressing. Lotsa crackers."
Vayl's hand on my arm stopped me, unaccountably made my ribs itch. "I refuse to endure these tortures alone."
His nod directed my attention to a setup to the left of the door. Which was when I realized the owner of the voice wailing Patsy Cline's "Walkin' After Midnight" sat behind a fold-out table, all but the top of her silver bangs hidden behind a bank of karaoke equipment.
Okay, this is just too weird to miss. But the ash-gray walls covered with framed pictures of old stamps (uniformed man and woman in a background of red, Pink Floydesque flowers about to eat each other, pissed-off Victoria holding her scepter in one hand and a Christmas ornament in the other) didn't increase my appetite as I followed Vayl to a long wooden table in the corner whose top looked like it had been hammered by the boot heels of thousands of drunken cowboys.
I dodged a little girl who was speeding toward the bathroom. Barefoot. A couple of sets of old folks laughed at her progress, and I thought she'd come to eat with them. Until a plump waitress with black roots glaring out of her bleached-blond hair slammed through the kitchen doors and yelled, "Alice! Gitchyer shoes on! Bloody hell, you'll have the health inspectors down my throat in a minute!
"Don't mind my daughter," she told me when she caught me gaping. "She doesn't bite. Much!"
She grinned and moved on, leaving me to scope out the rest of the clientele. Who were even older than Alice's ungrandfolks. Ah, but they loved those wail-and-woof songs. Much foot-tapping and head-bobbing after the microphone changed hands and a man's voice began to sing a George Jones classic. His face hid behind a speaker but his stick-legs, covered by faded jeans and scuffed boots, entertained by pulling a few Elvis moves under the table as he belted, "Son she was hotter than a two dollar pistol, she was the fastest thing around."
Vayl had taken his place at the head of the table. I sat to his left and Cole took the empty chair next to mine. He nodded toward the couples' gams, two-stepping joyously while their upper bodies played hide-and-seek with the electronics. "So, have we just seen the ultimate in performance anxiety?"
I shook my head. "That may be the most bizarre thing I've witnessed all day."
"Do you think they'll let me sing?" asked Cole.
"No!"
Before Cole could protest, Bergman dusted the crumbs off his seat and plonked his butt down opposite me. "Somebody's a collector," he said, nodding to the stamp prints.
"Or a pack rat," Cassandra suggested as she sank down beside him, pointing out a shelf running all the way around the room about twelve inches below the ceiling. It sagged so badly under its load of fake plants, old tins, and cracked china that I was glad I'd chosen a middle-of-the-room chair.
Cole pulled a napkin from the dispenser and wadded his gum up in it. "If you could collect anything, what would it be?" he asked. Raising his hand like he meant for the teacher to pick him next, he twirled it around in the air a few times before pointing it at Bergman.
He answered instantly. "Girls' phone numbers."
Cole grinned. "I might be able to help you there. How about you, Lucille?"
"I don't see the point," I said. "Whatever it was would sit there gathering dust I'd never have time to wipe off."
Alice's mum came to take our orders. Her round, cheery face lifted my spirits instantly. I searched her with the extra sense that had come after my first death. Nope. No powers on her. She was just naturally fun to be around.
"G'day!" she said joyfully in that broad accent so many Americans confused for British. "It's too bloody cold for camping. Tourists?" she guessed.
Vayl gave her his tight-lipped smile. His accent was so slight you hardly even noticed it unless he was upset. But as soon as he began talking I could see her trying to place his origin. "We are from Hollywood,"
he said. "Our company, Shoot-Yeah Productions, is planning to do a film here next summer. Perhaps you have heard of us?"
As she shook her head, her mouth ratcheting open in a suitable show of awe, Cole added, "We specialize in action films starring some of America's hottest new stars. And we're always looking for fresh new faces."
His grin told her she might just be the freshest he'd seen yet. He stuck out his hand. "My name's Thor Longfellow."
"Well, isn't that exciting?" she said as she gave it a dainty shake. "I'm Polly Smythe. Are you looking for extras? I can scream like bloody murder. Wanna hear?"
"That won't be necessary," said Cassandra. "Unfortunately our casting director had to stay back in California. He's deathly afraid of wallabies. Oddly enough, he has no problem with crocodiles. But the wallabies make him crazy. Poor thing."
All during Cassandra's comment, delivered in a serious but angelic manner, Cole's face had brightened to Jonathan-apple red as he struggled to hold back his laughter.
"Crazy, huh?" said Polly, frowning at the eccentricities of western Americans.
Cassandra nodded her head gravely. "He saw one at the zoo last year and spent the next week in the hospital. Giant hopping rats!' he kept squealing, rather like a Tourette's patient. Only he doesn't have Tourette's, does he?" she asked Cole.
"No," Cole squeaked, shaking his head rapidly as little gasps of overripe giggles escaped his quivering lips.
"Oh. Well, that is too bad." Polly glanced down at the pad in her hand, remembered why she'd come to the table in the first place, and said, "What can I get for you today?"
A diaper for Cole, because he's not going to be able to hold it in much longer.
"You going to be all right there, dude?" I asked him.
He nodded.
"Do you want me to order for you?"
Another nod.
So I did. And after Polly left, Cole buried his face in a pile of napkins and leaned under the table, leaving the rest of us to pretend that our companion made a habit of howling into paper products before every meal.
The food sucked less than the music, though it left me with such a greasy-spoon aftertaste that Vayl suggested a walk might settle my stomach. Leaving a few bills on the table he told our desserting crew,
"We will meet you at the rental house."
Within moments we'd left Crindertab's and he'd pulled me around the corner into an empty side street.
He pressed me up against the stone wall. "It has been too long," he breathed as his lips grazed my nose, cheeks, chin. His cane began a slow slide up my leg.
I swallowed a burp. My breath tasted like fish and chips. Great. I didn't even know if he liked Murray cod.
And I'd run out of mints somewhere between Sydney and Canberra. Also my chest itched like I'd dipped the girls in formaldehyde before strapping on a wool bra for the evening. I hadn't felt less sexy since I'd broken my ankle in ninth grade and watched them pull the cast off to revealugh. I still shudder to remember that moment. Me, sitting on the patient's table hiding my face while Dave (who'd come for moral support) laughed like a wind-up clown and yelled, "Oh my God, it's outta control! Quick, somebody call Gillette!"
I directed my words into Vayl's chest, trying to ignore his roving hands, not to mention that tiger-carved treasure tickling my calf, as I said, "It's been less than twenty-four hours, you nympho." But I missed it like crazy. And I couldn't help comparing that setting to this one.
His island, which office gossip had branded as a working gold mine, was a private paradise in the Philippines with a white-sand beach, a redbrick house fit for a family of ten, and a series of orange groves, which Vayl laughingly said brought him a more preferable income than ore, since at least the fruit grew back. If I closed my eyes I could still feel the warm ocean breeze brushing over my skin and through my hair, following the path of Vayl's kisses.
We'd have been there still if Pete hadn't interrupted our bliss with his urgent, only-you-can-pull-this-off, mission and then dropped the bomb that he'd already sent our regular crew in ahead of us so no way could we refuse to go. The son of a bitch. I might've begun to get mad again, thinking of the danger he could've put my people in. But he had taken major steps to appease me. Plus, Vayl, close and real, made it tough to hold grudges.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held him tight. Because it felt like floating to snuggle with someone who cared that much. And rubbing against his buttons was even better than scratching. He seemed to like it too.
"To the house," he said hoarsely, taking my hand.
"To the car first," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere without my weapons bag." And once we got there, Jack did such a pathetic you-should-walk-me tail drag that we decided to take him and Astral too.
Night had fallen while we'd eaten. And enough streetlamps had been broken or left bulbless that it was easy for us to move through the shadows without being seen. Because of that, Wirdilling should've felt like a sheltering hand, hiding us from unwelcome eyes. Except its bones were shattered. And maybe its spirit too. Plastic bags and dented beer cans littered the street outside the single row of stores that passed for downtown.
To the left of Crindertab's sat a beauty shop called JoJo's with a sun-bleached picture of Hugh Jackman taped to the front window to encourage guys, as well as gals, to take advantage of their no appointments needed! policy. The organized client could stop into the library adjacent to JoJo's first to pick up a dust-covered book, or maybe an old issue of New Idea magazine from the stack I saw teetering by the front door.
Completing the set of businesses south of the main drag, or Wirdilling Drive as the city father had named it, was a mobile home with bright green siding and a six-foot sign that yelled kippings general merchant to ignorant shoppers. Kippings sat just across from our side street, which allowed drivers access to its two white gas pumps. At one end of the building a red box with the word post painted on it also reminded them where they could drop their letters if their schedules demanded a drive-by. Less stressed individuals could follow another sign inside to the actual post office.
A third marker, standing by the edge of the road like a wary hitchhiker, pointed proudly to the sky as it announced: Historical Site! Wirdil ing's oldest standing structure, the wooden water tower was built in 1811
and used continuously until it was replaced by the new tower in 1939.
North of Wirdilling Drive, another stretch of storefronts advertised an insurance broker, antique dealer, Fooboo's Bar, and a hardware store. An alley separated this row of businesses from a small doctor's office whose window was so caked with dust it was clear no one had practiced there in years.
East of this stretch of capitalism, separated by several houses that all looked like they'd melted slightly during the hottest days of the previous summer, sat a school so nondescript it could've doubled as a warehouse. Two large signs nailed to the white picket fence that marked its border informed us that kids weren't allowed inside anymore. But the building looked better maintained than the rest of the town put together. Because it had been purchased by Canberra Deep Space Complex and converted into guest housing units. Not that big a deal. I'd seen churches at home done the same way. And yet I'd never witnessed anything as sad as a school that couldn't hold its kids anymore.
"Shouldn't we stop?" I asked, looking over my shoulder as the school disappeared behind a row of evergreens. NASA had informed us that they'd offered the Odeam team the chance to bunk at the school, and they'd jumped at it.
"Not until the entire crew is with us. And right now I am trying to beat them back to the house."
I felt a giggle spill out of my lips. "Vayl? Are you suggesting a quickie before the kids get home?"
The look he slanted me held just enough heat to make my boobs stop itching. "If I promised you satisfaction, would you be willing?"
I sighed, feeling my smile stretch toward my ears. "I have a feeling the answer to that one's always going to be a yes."
After that nothing could depress me. Not the tennis courts with their cracked surfaces and rotted nets.
Not even the gray pole barn that sat next to them, a rectangular extension sticking out of its side like a malignant tumor. The sign on its door read wirdilling hall, but it reminded me more of an illegal drug dump than a meeting place for clubs and social events. Especially since someone had used roofing paper to repair the spots where storms had torn off parts of the siding. It seemed appropriate for Jack to pause there to pee on an electric pole.
"I wish we were back on your island," I whispered as we continued into a residential area. "This place blows."
"I feel the same. But perhaps you will change your mind about Wirdilling once we have"Vayl paused, gave me his spine-tingling smile"familiarized ourselves with it."
"How is it that you can say a totally innocent word and seem to talk dirty?"
He shrugged. "I suppose it is one of the talents I learned living in the eighteenth century." He slid his hand around my back, leaving a trail of awareness that made me feel like I'd just stepped onto the battlement of an impossibly tall castle. I caught my breath as his palm moved down to my hip. It was actual work to distract myself from his touch when he pointed ahead of us with his free hand and said,
"Look, we are approaching the house." He gazed down into my eyes, his own a sparkling green I began to lose myself in. "Shall we make a good memory out of a bad circumstance?"
I couldn't have spoken a clear word if I'd tried. So I just nodded and let him lead me past an open metal gate down a driveway that was more grass than gravel. The home, whose owner had happily vacated for five hundred bucks a week, hunched behind overgrown bushes that nearly hid its narrow front porch, which was supported by three thin beams. Two floor-to-ceiling windows might've given living room watchers a view if they hadn't been blocked by blinds and shrubbery, but the yard had turned bummer-brown, so I called the loss minimal. Bricks of various shades of red tried to provide some architectural interest, but they couldn't hide the fact that it was just a boring old ranch with a roof that needed replacing in a setting that had seen prettier days. Not much jumped into view at night, but I'd seen the Realtor's pictures attached to the rental agreement. They, along with satellite shots, had revealed a help-me-I'm-dying neighborhood on the edge of town with this house at its western tip. A thin stand of acacia surrounded it, and beyond that a series of roo-chomped hills led up to the tree-dotted slopes of Mount Tennent.
No surprise, I guess, that Vayl couldn't make the home's old lock cooperate. He jerked the key back and forth so violently I said, "You're about to snap that, you know."
"The door will not open."
"I noticed."
He jerked the key out, looked over his shoulder as if to see whether or not our crew had caught up to us.
And then he kicked the door in.
"Vayl!"
"I will replace it before we leave." He handed me his cane and swept me into his arms, which would've been sooo romantic. Except I was also holding a leash and carrying a bag full of lethal over one shoulder.
Plus, I knew my feet would make it through the doorway but my head would bang the frame like an oversized dresser. So, uh, I'll admit to some flailing on my part before I finally decided to drop the leash. At which point Jack chased Astral straight into the dining room, Vayl slid us into the house without braining me, and I readjusted my weapons bag. Except I miscalculated my allotted space and ended up hitting him in the jaw. Probably with my sawed off shotgun.
"Shit! I'm sorry! I was just"
He shook his head. Worked his chin back and forth a couple of times. "It is fine. Just"he glanced down at me"do not move. All right?"
"Okay." I searched his face for bruises, thought I saw a line of purple rise, and just as quickly fall. "Good thing you're a quick healer," I said. "I mean, seeing as you're with me now. You probably didn't have to worry about bumps and scrapes with your other girlfriends, huh?"
He kicked the door shut, strode past the living room, turned left down the hall, and took another sharp left into the nearest bedroom. He didn't touch the light switch because we could both see fine in the dark.
"I once took up with a ballerina," he said as he sank onto the fringe-framed bedspread and pulled the bag off my arm. I heard the clunk as it landed in the big wicker basket at our feet that they probably used for dirty laundry. The cane went next. Smaller clink as he leaned it against the dresser that stood right next to the bed.
"Oh. Ballet. That's
artistic."
"She was very flexible."
"Ah."
"And incredibly devoted. To dancing. I prefer not to feel like anyone's plaything."
"How do I make you feel?"
He lowered his head, his lips so close to mine that his breath whispered into my mouth. "Like a man."
I wasn't sure how Vayl defined "quickie." But even with an agreed-upon slam-bam in our future, I was practically writhing in anticipation by the time he'd lifted my T-shirt. When his hands hovered over my abdomen instead of continuing their usual magic, I quit debating whether or not to rip his shirt open (damned buttons!) and said, "What is it?"
He rolled off the bed and turned on the light. "Have you eaten anything odd lately?"
"You mean besides that mysterious sea creature that might've been related to the Loch Ness monster in Crindertab's? No. Why?" I dropped my eyes. Holy shit, I'm covered in bumps! I jumped off the bed.
Pointing to the bedcover I asked, "Have I been bitten by mites and fleas and crap?" As I asked, my midsection began to itch uncontrollably. I jerked my shirt down and scratched until the urge stopped.
Except it didn't disappear. It moved to my thighs. Then my back. Arms. Behind the neck
"Jasmine," Vayl asked grimly, "is the first-aid kit still in your weapons bag?"
Half an hour later, fresh from the shower, covered in calamine and a ratty pink robe I'd found in the master-bedroom closet, I stared glumly at Vayl as he sat on one edge of the living room's plain brown sectional, spinning his cane between his fingers. Too keyed up to join him, I left my spot by the fireplace's narrow mantel and, followed faithfully by Jack, paced around a block of polished walnut that worked as the room's centerpiece and its coffee table. The only lovely item in the house, it threatened to scrape my shins every time I turned the corner. Astral stared at me from its center, having taken her place there as if so offended the homeowners hadn't provided some sort of decoration for it that she'd decided to temporarily volunteer her services.
Why is it that the things I find most beautiful are always the most dangerous?
The table, which would scar an awkward toddler or break an old woman's hip, was the perfect example.
All the demons I'd dealt with were gorgeous. And Vayl, who'd benefited from one of God's better moods, only had to look at me with those wide, you-touch-my-soul eyes, and I totally forgot that he craved my blood like a junkie needs meth. Could take it too, whenever he wanted, if he ever decided to veer off the civilized track.
"And you have no idea when this began or why?" he asked.
I shrugged. Now that my whole sex-distraction-plan had caved like an old grave I could confess that I'd been possessed. That the rash had to be related. But he'd bolt, leaving me with a single week of heaven to cling to as I tried to keep my head above the massive whirlpool of sewage that was my life. Unacceptable.
Maybe he won't
YES, he wil !
Whose voice was in my head now? Mine? Or
"Maybe it's stress related," I said, rubbing a knuckle against the sudden pain in my eye. Geez, maybe I should see an optometrist when I got back to the States.
"That vacation was doing me a lot of good. We don't just work, you know. We work our asses off. Lay our lives out there day after day
" Wow, no way could he be buying this bullshit. Could he?
I stared around the room. Two chairs sat at the walnut block's non-couch corners, extras from the dining table made comfy with tie-on red plaid cushions. Behind them, lining the wall like a mini-kitchen, a series of kiddie appliances in bright pink plastic invited the younger set to come in and play. And what a choice. The fridge, stove, sink, and table came complete with fake pots, pans, food and, quite possibly, dirty dishcloths laced with salmonella.
Good grief, brighten up, wil you? You're not dead yet! Granny May chided me.
Sure thing. Say, I'll make with the cheery if you step off your porch. Because I've never seen you there before and I have to say it's kinda bugging me.
Silence.
I thought so.
I hunched my shoulders against the intensity of Vayl's gaze. "Say something," I demanded.
His eyes narrowed and did that color transformation that usually made my heart go ka-wow! This time it practically stopped. "Jasmine? What is"
The front door slammed open and Cassandra rushed in, followed closely by Bergman and Cole.
"I'll build the circle!" Cassandra yelled. She pointed a double-edged short sword I hadn't realized she owned at Cole and said, "You secure all the entrances. Bergman!"
"Yeah!"
She yanked the chairs to the wall by the fireplace and shoved the walnut block beside them, leaving a clear spot in the center of the room. "Fill Jaz in so she can see if Astral has any ideas."
As Miles nodded and Cassandra dove for the bedroom, Cole paused long enough to say, "Nice getup, Jaz.
What are you, the Ghost of Christmas Alcoholic?"
I looked down at the robe, which, okay, maybe it was a little on the Betty Ford Clinic side. But I couldn't help my lotion-covered legs. Could I?
"What is going on?" Vayl demanded, gripping his cane by the middle like he'd be banging heads with it if he didn't get some quick answers.
Bergman ticked off the facts on shaking fingers. "Jaz has an unexplained rash. You're angry about something. And I can't believe I let Pete convince me not to set up an alarm system." He began to mimic our supervisorbadly. "It's not that kind of mission, Miles. All you need to do is bring your phenomenal brain and a few"
"Bergman!" Vayl's voice, deep as a roll of thunder, shoved him back on track.
He seesawed his hat until I thought he'd rubbed all the skin off his forehead. Then he said, "Okay. We were just driving away from Crindertab's when Cassandra's demon crossed the street behind us. Cole liked the looks of her and slowed down. That's how we saw. She grabbed one of the old men who'd left at the same time as us. Pulled him right out of his car. I don't know what she said to him, but when he shook his head she"Bergman blinked really fast and practically twisted his mouth sideways to force back the tears
"she punched her fist up through the bottom of his jaw and ripped out his tongue."
Vayl let his cane ram the floor. "Evil bitch."
Bergman nodded, rubbing his hand across his mouth as if to confirm that all his parts were still there.
"Cassandra screamed, and that's when the demon recognized her and tried to grab her. So Cole backed the Wheezer into her. She went flying and we booked."
"Wait," I said, holding up both hands. "You called her Cassandra's demon. You mean this is the same one she summoned to kill the scumbag farmer who raped her? The demon she broke the contract with over five hundred years ago and has been ducking ever since?"
We all looked at Cassandra, who'd stepped into the hall to listen. She gulped. Nodded.
And I thought I had problems.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vayl, an island of calm among three adults running around like they were about to be hit by an asteroid, asked the most pertinent question I'd heard yet. "Where is the demon now?"
Bergman said, "Hopefully she's still rolling on the road in front of the post office."
"Astral, I want to see that demon. Now." I snagged the kittybot and threw her into the yard.
Huh, she landed on her feet. Nice. Too bad we can't lock this door anymore though. We could be toast before that cat figures out what it's even chasing. Maybe we could block it with, say, a tank?
"You're sending RAFS into that kind of danger? Already?" I hadn't thought it possible, but Bergman had turned a paler shade of glue.
"She's mine now, and it's her job," I told him flatly.
I watched his Adam's apple bob a couple of times and gave him time to nod acceptance before I asked,
"How is it possible for Cassandra's demon to be here? She wards herself against it every morning."
"You were supposed to ask Astral that question," Cassandra snapped as she ran back into the living room, trailing an armful of sheets, her sword held awkwardly out to one side. Since I'd spent some time studying demons I knew what she meant to do with the bedding. Jack suspected a game and grabbed a trailing end. Bergman just thought she'd lost it.
"This is no time to protect our deposit!" he shouted. "If blood gets all over the carpet, let it!"
She shook her head. "Start making knots. Rope would be better, but I don't want to waste time looking in the garage for something they probably don't have anyway. We need enough to make a circle around all five of us."
I yanked a knot into a yellow and green striped sheet. Cassandra had already finished one, which my malamute kept picking up and trying to transport into the dining room.
"Jack!" I yelled for the fifth time. "Drop it!"
"I know." Vayl disappeared into the bedroom. I couldn't even glance that way now. Not only did I dread seeing the suspicion settle over his face, but my eye hurt every time it wandered Vaylward.
When he came out he was holding a shoe, unfamiliar enough to have come from the same closet that had given up the boozer robe. "Here, Jack. Chew on this for a while."
Jack willingly switched gears, and I smiled my thanks at Vayl, though I glanced away quickly after. If he really began to suspect I was hiding something I'd have to do something crazy to distract him. And I wasn't sure the world was ready for Jaz's Sock Puppet Theater.
"Cole!" Cassandra yelled. "You'd better be praying over those locks!"
"I am, I am!" he replied. "Reverend Brendeen would be so proud to know something he taught me stuck!"
Vayl grimaced at the mention of prayers.
I asked, "This is going to hurt, isn't it? Being shut inside a blessed house, I mean?"
Vayl nodded so slightly I wouldn't have known he'd moved his head if I wasn't watching for it. "I cannot stay," he said. "Already my skin begins to scorch. I shall do my best to help from outside." He came close, his hands painfully gentle on my arms. "We are not finished," he murmured, his eyes slanting toward the bedroom, coming back to mine full of promises that made my toes curl.
I gave myself a second to catch my breath. But lost it again when he said, "And the next time we speak
there will be no more secrets between us." He pulled me close, holding me so tight all the air left my lungs in an unladylike, "Oof." His lips came down on mine almost like an attack, as if he couldn't believe I'd dare do anything other than stand within his arms and accept the heat of his lips and tongue. Just before it began to burn he pulled away.
He snatched his cane from its resting place and slammed out the door, leaving me knuckling my eye, staring after him with the good one like I'd never seen a vampire's back before. Cole came in right after.
He kept looking at me while he and Bergman moved the couch in front of the door, while they prayed, while they helped Cassandra and me finish the knots.
"What?" I finally demanded.
"I'm just trying to decide if I prefer your chest covered in goopy pink lotion or if white would work better.
What do you think, Bergman? Is hydrocortisone cleavage more the look Paris would go for this season?"
I dropped my sheet and my eyes at the same time. Nope, I wasn't hanging out. Not enough there to do much wandering in the first place. But my girls had managed quite a show all the same.
Dammit, Vayl!
I yanked my robe closed and stomped into the bedroom. Jack assumed I'd elevated the level of entertainment and trotted along beside me, still carrying the shoe, his mouth stretching around its edges in what I'd come to call his let's-party grin.
"Jasmine! The demon could be here any second!" called Cassandra.
"If I'm going to hell, I'm doing it with my underwear on!" I snapped.
Forty-five seconds later we were back. Jack wore a leash. I'd chosen a pair of dark blue jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, my leather coat, and boots. We stepped inside the loop Cassandra had designed using prints and solids and one sheet covered in cute little koalas. Of course, now all you could see was part of an ear or maybe a fuzzy nostril, because we'd placed our knots about every twelve inches. Cassandra walked around the inside of the ring's edge, murmuring under her breath while Cole and Bergman watched her.
"What's she saying?" asked Bergman.
"It's from Deuteronomy," I told him, wishing I'd brought a double-edged blade like hers. My bolo wasn't going to do me any good for the work that might be ahead of us. Did I have time to call Raoul? Naw, my Spirit Guide labored under some strict rules. Which meant he probably wouldn't be allowed to interfere in a mess like this. Not when Cassandra had willingly entered into the contract with the demon we were arming against to start with.
Not that I blamed her. If I'd been in her shoes, slave to a reeking sleaze like Anastas Ocacio, forced to submit to his perversions, I'd have asked the devil to drag his body over the sharpest rocks on his land too.
The fact that she'd been clever enough to find a Haitian holy man to help her protect her soul before the demon could throw it into hell afterward just raised my respect for her.
Bergman's wide eyes said he was impressed with her as well. He sure didn't know what to say when demons were coming. "She's quoting the Bible? Which part exactly?"
"Chapter six, verses four through nine. Do you know them?"
"I'm Jewish. What do you think?"
"Good. You might need them later. They're a classic incantation against evil, specifically demonic aggression."
Cole said, "I thought Cassandra worshipped some African god."
"She might. But if your soul was at risk, wouldn't you use every tool you had available to save it?"
"Good point."
"Now listen, we're just trying to banish the thing because we can't kill it while it's on our plane. So, Cole, although I appreciate the sentiment with that Parker-Hale, a sniper rifle is just going to piss her off. If you can find a blade that slices and dices within the next fifteen seconds, you may have a chance."
"Shitsuckers!" He slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Bergman! Got anything sharp on both sides in that backpack?"
Bergman stepped away from him. "No."
"Why are you looking so nervous?"
"We're about to get soul-raped! Wouldn't you be?"
Cole lunged at him. "Gimme that pack!"
Bergman dodged to the left, nearly falling out of the circle before regaining his balance and sliding behind the nearest obstacle. Me.
I glanced over my shoulder. "What the hell, Miles?"
"Don't let him have my pack!" Bergman pleaded. "Natchez gave it to me. He said it was lucky. He had it blessed by a priest and everything!"
"Why would Natchez give you his lucky pack?" I asked.
They'd become pretty good buddies during our mission together in Iran. But no way would one of my brother's best men give up an edge, even if it was just a psychological one, unless he had a damn good reason.
"It's part of his down payment."
I felt my eyebrows hit maximum lift. "For what?"
Cole had reached around me to tug at one of the straps, which caused Bergman to keep hitting me in the back as he said, "His share of the business. When he retires next spring he wants to come in as a partner. Which was the main reason I took this mission. I figured if I was letting Natch come on board, I should offer you a partnership too. Plusow!"
Another couple of blows to the back and now I could feel a headache coming on. "Cole, would you stop it! He doesn't have a sword!"
"Fine! But if my soul gets eaten I'm haunting you!" He went to Cassandra to see if he could charm her out of her blade, giving me room to turn and face Bergman.
"You want me to be your partner?"
"You and Vayl, if he's interested," he said, readjusting his straps. "My four-leaf clover's inside," he whispered. "Also Myron Shlotsky's rabbit's foot, which he left me in his will."
"Myron's dead?"
"No. He just decided to give away all his worldly goods and join a cult."
"Oh. Well." We'd voted Myron Most Likely to Marry a Dominatrix in college, so I couldn't say I was surprised.
Bergman shoved his finger up the bridge of his nose, still in the old habit of adjusting his glasses. He messed with his ball cap to make the gesture look a little less idiotic and said, "Look, I know you probably think I'm a wimp because I said all that stuff about not being scared anymore and really having a life. And I'm trying. But fear is a hard habit to break. It helps to have props."
"Of course. Like actors."
"Exactly. And about the partnership? You don't have to decide right away. Take some time and think about it. I figured, you know, if we survive this whole demon thing, you'd still have to give notice. And then we could talk about how you'd want the business to expand. I'd still be doing research and development, plus some consulting. But you and Vayl and Natchez would obviously be bringing a whole new set of clients to the table."
What a nice way to say we'd be turning mercenary.
I said, "Okay, I'll consider it. And thanks. I'm really honored that you'd trust me and Vayl enough to bring us into your business like this."
Bergman shrugged. "I've learned a lot working with you. The main thing is that life's too short to go solo.
And I'm never going to get a girl if I'm working all the time. If I had partners I could take a day off once in a while."
I nodded. "This is true." I put a hand out, grabbing on to his arm to steady myself. Geez, when Astral opened her lines it was like transporting into an IMAX movie. The dizzy spell passed as my eyes adjusted to her video feed.
"I can see the demon," I said. "She's walking past that pole barn, uh, Wirdilling Hall. And my lips are starting to buzz because this is so weird. It's like Cole and Cassandra are standing right beside her."
Cole swung a fist. "Did I get her?"
"Nope. She's about a foot to your right."
Cole started to set up a front kick, but Cassandra pushed him off balance. "Would you stop?" she hissed.
"My soul is at stake!"
"This is all for you!" he insisted. "I'm practicing up so we can kick ass and take names. But without actually saying her name, right?"
I said, "Not unless we want to summon her here. Which we don't." I let my vision readjust to the hologram. "She's wearing a hat so it's kind of hard to make out her features. There, she's walking under a streetlamp. Aw, shit."
"What?" they all asked at once.
"She threw her hat at the lamp and busted it."
"Of all the things she could've done, you're upset about that?" asked Cole.
"Yeah. Because before the light exploded I saw her face. She's even prettier than the Magistrate."
CHAPTER SIX
People judge hell's hierarchy all kinds of ways. But I've found the most accurate measure to be by the looks of its inhabitants. You beautiful, you bad. Receive a promotion, get a face-lift. The Magistrate had been one luscious demon, temptation in a Playgirl wrapper. I hadn't wanted to fight him. That's a good way to get yourself rolled in flour and deep-fried. But my Spirit Guide, Raoul, had helped make sure the battle was less David-and-Goliath than is usual in those cases. I could still remember the Magistrate snapping his whip at me as I tried to bury my admiration for his sleek perfection. All that considered, Cassandra's demon scuzzed him out.
"If you didn't summon her, how'd she get here?" I asked.
She shook her head and shrugged. Demons can't just pop into our world like we run to the bank. As far as I knew, they had to be called. But then, the rules governing their movements were more intricate than the IRS tax code. Maybe this demon had found a loophole.
Cassandra said, "I anointed my eyes as usual this morning. I'm sure I chanted the prayer of protection correctly. I've only been repeating it for over half a millennia."
"But she's here," I murmured, watching the demon stalk around Wirdilling Hall, trying to catch our scent.
"You must have done something different."
"No, nothing."
I barely heard her. Something about the way the hellspawn moved, so fluid she seemed nearly boneless, so confident I wondered why any of us should even bother to resist her, reached through Astral's optics and dug in.
She reminds me of a cougar, I thought as I noted her tawny skin and dark blond braid. She'd dressed to hunt in low-heeled boots, skintight jeans, and a silk top the color of lava that she'd unbuttoned far enough to show the sweat beading between her breasts. The headgear, a brown suede bush hat she'd probably taken off some soul-mangled station owner, completed the look.
Crap. Her head had come up. A sun-bleached old van had pulled into the lot beside Wirdilling Hall's main entrance. I only recognized its driver by his skinny legs and cowboy boots. It was our entertainer from Crindertab's, a tanned old dude with a cigarette dangling from his lips and enough hair left on his head to share with three of his baldest buddies. He didn't see the demon when he went around to the back of the van and began to unload equipment into the hall's add-on. Didn't hear her pull his silver-haired partner from her seat and into the shadows. Didn't even startle when she strode up to him and said in a sex-kitten purr, "I am looking for a dark-skinned woman named Cassandra. Have you seen her?"
He looked the demon up and down, squinted as he blew smoke into her face. "Nope."
She smiled. "I could make your fantasies come true, you know."
"Doubt it."
The smile faltered, evened out again. "Anything you like. Anything you can dream of."
"For a price, right? I ain't got that kinda pay."
"I wasn't talking about money."
"Neither was I." He spit the cigarette at her, and she jumped back, giving him time to reach for his belt.
But he was old and unprepared. The knife glinted in Wirdilling Hall's single streetlight, only half out of its scabbard when she lunged. She grabbed him by both shoulders and tossed him like a scarecrow. He hit an electric post on the opposite side of the street, his back breaking around it like an accordion straw.
She dusted off her hands, straightened her clothes, and began sniffing around the hall again. Within two minutes she was moving toward the house. Astral followed, her padded feet silent on the rain-starved ground.
"Jaz?"
I forced my eyes to Cassandra. "What?"
"You're shaking."
I wiped the perspiration off my upper lip. Shit, I just watched her murder two civilians and I stil can't get over how gorgeous she is! How am I gonna function when she's in the same room?
"Think!" I demanded. "She's got to be here for a reason. What's changed in your life since yesterday?"
Cassandra started to shake her head; then she pulled back, as if the realization had slapped her. "Oh."
"What?"
"David asked me to marry him."
CHAPTER SEVEN
My eardrums started to vibrate, like somebody had just hit a gong right next to my head. I couldn't believe the curtains weren't waving like banners, this was so huge! After Dave had lost his wife, I'd given up hoping he'd ever find somebody he could love as much as her. And now? But wait, maybe
"What did you tell him?" I put both hands behind my back so she wouldn't see the crossed fingers.
Her eyes wavered. "He wanted me to wait. He wanted to be the one to tell you"
"Cassandra!"
"I said yes."
"Aahhh!" We both screamed at the same time and started dancing around like we weren't about to get our asses thoroughly kicked by high-level evil.
"Um, ladies?" Cole said, tapping me on the shoulder. "Could we act like sorority girls who've just made it into Barbie's Dream House some other time? Cassandra's got a double-bladed sword. Bergman's got a lucky pack. And, Jaz, you've got your Spirit Eye to protect you. All I have is a new piece of bubble gum, a useless rifle, an even more worthless handgun, and your word that these knotted sheets are going to keep me from falling straight into hell."
"It's less a fall than a sidestep. But he has a point," I told my future sister-in-law.
"Yes, he does," she agreed. We hugged. Twice.
"Okay," I said. "Have you been engaged or married anytime since you made the deal?"
"No." Cassandra winced. "I never remarried after Harith died. There were
other men. Some of them I stayed with their entire lives. But
no. That step always seemed like it would be a lie, somehow."
"That must be it, then. Something in the fine print of your contract gives her leeway in case you pull a fast one and escape like you did. So the second you enter into a relationship bound by a holy promise, she's got you."
Which sucked. Because I knew exactly how Cassandra felt. I'd never dreamed I could find anyone who'd bring out the domestic in me the way Matt had. Never wanted anyone to try. Then Vayl had snuck past my defenses, and now practically all I could think about was the next time I could see him, touch him. If he asked
what would I say? Could we even do marriage, considering the fact that stepping inside a church would set him and his tuxedo on fire?
He's no good for you, said that voice. I put my hand to my throat, like I could choke it into silence. The laughter behind its next words proved how useless the gesture was. You know I'm right. All he wants is to drain you and leave you dangling from the edge of the bed like some neglected old rag doll.
Keep talking, I whispered inside my own mind. You're beginning to sound familiar. Not like the echo of my own thoughts after all. More like
The front door shuddered. Astral's feed showed me why. The demon had thrown her hat up into the air, giving it time to transform into a razor-edged boomerang before it fell back into her hand and she flung it, hard, at the entrance.
How does she not cut her fingers off?
Granny May, still rocking on her front porch, snapped, You're wondering about a demon's digits when her weapon's on fire? Girl, you should be thanking your lucky stars those prayers are strong enough to keep her from burning the house down.
In fact, the flames that had given the boomerang an eerie bluish orange glow had extinguished the second it had hit the door. Unfortunately, the prayers Cole had shielded it with would only work for so long against a siege, and this bimbo clearly had nowhere else to be. She winged that weapon of hers fifteen or twenty times. Each time she knocked a bigger hole in our defenses.
"She's going to get in," I warned my crew.
"But we have the circle," said Cassandra.
"And Vayl," Bergman reminded me.
"Yeah, we do." But the demon had a contract. And I was terrified that nothing we did could prevent her from taking Cassandra's soul tonight. Even if it meant we lost our own in the fight.
Faces began to dance before my eyes. My old crew, laughing it up after another successful raid. Brad and Olivia. Dellan and Thea. My late sister-in-law, Jessie. And Matt, whose eyes still broke my heart every time I remembered them smiling into mine.
I looked around at the new crew I'd unwillingly collected. Bergman, pale as a bone marrow donee, hugging the straps of his pack like he hoped they'd transform into a jet propulsion unit and fly him outta this mess. Cole, blowing bubbles in such quick succession he'd begun to leave a fine film on his upper lip, getting a better grip on the demon-sticker he'd made by duct-taping two kitchen knives together.
Cassandra, trembling so hard her earrings jingled, but standing tall. No. I'm not losing these people too.
I turned to Cassandra. "Gimme that sword. If I can get her to another plane I can kill her."
Not without a special weapon, snarled that voice. Not mine after all. Not even female.
"Don't, Jaz!" Cole put both hands on my shoulders just as I grabbed for the sword. "She'll snap your head off before you can even take two steps outside the circle."
As soon as I touched the weapon in Cassandra's hands her head fell back.
Shit!
Why couldn't she time her visions better? In fact, why couldn't she just go fuzzy where I was concerned like she had with Dave?
A second later she straightened, but her eyes had focused on places nobody else could See. "You are not alone," she said, dropping her hands from the hilt.
I looked at the sword. Kil her! howled the voice. So familiar. Where had I heard it before? And not long ago either! Take off her head!
I'll slit my own throat first!
You would never
Try me. And while you're at
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