One More Bite

by Jennifer Rardin

  Jack jumped down to get a better look out the window. Something on my side of the lane had caught his attention. He began to scratch at the glass.

  I ran my hand down his back. “I don’t see anything, dude. What—”

  Movement. I caught a blur out of the corner of my eye just as Albert yelled, “Watch out!” and threw up his hands.

  I leaped forward, putting myself between my dad and whatever had startled him, practically sitting on his lap as Vayl jerked the wheel to the left. The van spun sideways, giving me half a breath to realize that a man had stepped into the vehicle’s path. He didn’t even look up as the tires squealed, signaling imminent impact. I got the impression of shaggy brown hair with a matching beard. A suit coat and pants in the same color that sagged so badly the man must’ve bought them when he was forty pounds heavier. And a gold chain running from pants to vest pocket.

  Then our window swung sideways. I braced myself against the dashboard. Craned my neck, trying to see whether the man had jumped out of the way in time, tensing against the thud that would signal the beginning of a dreadful few days. It never came.

  As soon as the Alhambra screeched to a stop we jumped out and ran to the spot where the man’s body should be lying. Nothing.

  “You all did see him?” Vayl asked as he yanked off his sunglasses and shoved them into his pocket.

  We agreed somebody had walked in front of the van. “Even Jack noticed him,” I said. But now the dog, who should’ve been straining at his leash to explore new scents, stood right next to me, his shoulder leaning against my knee as if to push me back into the vehicle.

  “He cannot have gone far.” Vayl strode toward the trees on the west side of the lane. I followed him, pulling a reluctant pup behind. Beyond the nice, neat outer row of Scots pines grew a thick copse of spruce, larch, and fir that pressed so close to one another we couldn’t find any easy way to step among them. At least not without taking cuts and scratches that our pedestrian would surely have avoided.

  “Where’d he go?” I whispered as we turned back to the road. Cole had knelt to look under the vehicle while Albert leaned against the hood and worked on lighting a fat cigar.

  “I cannot—” I lost the rest of Vayl’s sentence in a furious red haze as I raced back to the van, Jack galloping gleefully by my side.

  “Are you out of your mind?” I demanded. I yanked the cigar from between Albert’s teeth and threw it on the ground, grinding out the barely smoking tip with the heel of my boot. “What, you’re free of your nurse’s care for a few days and suddenly you think you’re cured? Shelby must’ve wanted to shove his resignation down your throat when he saw you’d started smoking again!”

  “He didn’t quit,” Albert growled. “He got married. And I haven’t started anything. I just thought it would be a treat.”

  “Diabetics don’t smoke for a reason, Dad! For chrissake, the last thing I need in the middle of an important assignment is to haul your ass to the hospital!”

  “Aw, would you look at that? Now your mutt’s eaten my cigar!”

  I glanced down. Sure enough, Jack had chewed up and swallowed the best part of it. Goddammit! “When he pukes it up, I’m going to make sure he’s standing over your suitcase,” I informed him. Unfortunately Jack had an immediate reaction, which left the remains of Albert’s treat all over the lane. “There you go,” I snapped. “Smoke that!”

  “I don’t see why you’re getting all bent out of shape,” Albert grumbled. “It was just an old stogie.” He shuffled back to the van, his ruined knees making him much more the candidate to carry Vayl’s cane than the vamp who swung it thoughtfully between the fingers of his left hand as he, too, made his way back to the vehicle.

  I gestured for it. Inside the tiger-carved sheath was a sword I could use right now.

  Vayl shook his head. Behave yourself, his eyes told me.

  Huh.

  I followed Albert around to the passenger door. At least I knew why he’d come now. Without his nurse to take care of him, he’d had to resort to one of us kids. Dave had taken his Special Ops unit deep into North Korea for some major hush-hush mission, so he was off the hook. Albert had just spent the past couple of weeks with Evie. So now it was my turn.

  And how exactly did I feel about an extended visit with dear old Pops?

  When he turned his back on me to open the door I performed several head kicks and one sweeping skull punch that just missed him every time. My Dad Is an Asshole. I’m telling you, it’s going to be a bestseller.

  Chapter Five

  By the time we pulled into Tearlach’s drive, all the inhabitants had piled out of the house to greet us.

  “Are you all right?” gasped the leader of the pack as we emerged from the Alhambra. “I heard tires squeal and then, when I looked out the window, your van was parked sideways on the lane!” Floraidh Halsey’s picture didn’t do her justice. She looked even sweeter in person. A plump, shiny-haired forty-something who gave the impression that she was about to run off to volunteer at the nearest nursing home.

  “We’re fine,” I assured her, keeping a firm grip on Jack so he wouldn’t jerk us both back into the van. As Vayl went around back to grab some luggage, I let Floraidh see my alter ego’s smile. Lucille Robinson could bullshit with rapists and serial killers without losing any wattage off it. I wanted to snap at her to cut the crap. I knew exactly what crawled under that thick layer of L’Oréal.

  “We nearly hit a guy, though,” said Cole as he joined me. He gave Floraidh the once-over and, having seen what he expected, moved his gaze to the crowd. Someone there caught his interest, because I felt him go watchfully still.

  If he’s found another stray from the department’s hit list I’m going to bang my head against the van. Strike that. I’m going to bang his head against the van. No, that’s not hard enough. Maybe the side of the house.

  “That’s awful!” said a woman from the group, the six of whom looked us over with varying degrees of curiosity. She plowed through the rose-covered arch that marked the end of the walk, her sensible heels clunking against the bricks like tiny jackhammers. “What did he look like? Maybe we know him,” she announced in a precise British accent that let you know she came from money, knew how to spend it, and didn’t intend to give you a dime. She motioned for her companions to join her.

  Before Cole could describe our near-victim Floraidh said, “I’m sure it was that Sean McGill from down the road. He’ll get himself killed walking so close to traffic one of these days.” She turned to the crowd, beckoning for the backmarker to push her way forward. As the woman rumbled to the front Floraidh said, “This is Dormal, my right hand. If you have any questions or needs during your stay and you can’t find me, please feel free to ask her.”

  I looked up. And then up some more at the coven’s Gatherer. No, I wasn’t referring to new recruits. Or spell ingredients. This one brought in the sacrifices. Her size had evidently gained her the position. She towered over Vayl by a good three inches and must’ve weighed in at three hundred pounds, most of that muscle.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, making a mental note keep any confrontations with her short and sweet. No talking. No wrestling. Just point and shoot.

  Floraidh went on. “And this is Humphrey Haigh and his wife, Lesley, also here for the convention.”

  “We won tickets!” Lesley gushed, her gray-brown pageboy bobbing as she spoke in an accent so thick it took me a second to understand.

  “Oh? That’s great,” I replied. “Where are you from?”

  “Just Inverness,” she said. “But it’s been so long since we had a vacation from the store, this feels like a hundred miles from home!”

  Her husband nodded and beamed happily.

  “Your business sounds demanding,” said Vayl.

  “We started with just one small shop selling wedding rings and gold necklaces and the like,” Humphrey told him. “And now we have a whole chain of them right across the country. Still, we keep our headquarters
in the same building. Remember your origins, I say. Don’t I always say that, Lesley?” He glanced at his wife.

  “That he does!” she agreed.

  He’s as tight as a factory-wound bolt, I thought as I took in the frayed cuffs of his faded brown trousers and the tiny stone in his wife’s engagement ring. Or maybe it’s her. But I didn’t think so. In another time and place she’d have probably been feeding him grapes and kissing his feet, because that’s just what women in her position did. Yeah, she’s pretty deferential in public. But maybe she’s had it up to her eyeballs with playing poor when her bank account must be fat and sassy. Maybe she’s got no access either. Which would give her good reason to find a steady source of income elsewhere. But is she the type who could kill in cold blood?

  Hard to say from first impressions. Dammit, when we couldn’t get the warlock, we should’ve insisted on Cassandra. But that might’ve put her in serious danger.

  Albert’s descent from the van distracted me, since a couple of grunts and some pops that sounded like fireworks accompanied it. Turned out the explosives were just his knees deciding to hold him up a while longer. I supposed the Marines wouldn’t be using him as a poster boy anytime soon. But he still gave off that proud military air as he inspected the three women who’d lined up beside the Haighs. “Are you from around here?” he asked.

  The eldest of them, the one Floraidh had interrupted earlier, had dark, puffy bags under her eyes and the sallow skin of a lady who proclaims that her work is her exercise. She’d pulled her bottled brunette hair back tight enough to give herself a temporary face-lift. The resulting bun sat on top of her head like a tank turret. I wouldn’t be surprised if she used it to shoot bobby pins at uncooperative cabbies and grocery clerks.

  She said, “We’re up from London for GhostCon. I am Rhona Jepson. This is my daughter, Vivian, though she prefers to be called Viv. She’s deaf.” Rhona announced this last bit of information in such an aggressive tone it sounded like she expected us to laugh at the news. As she spoke she gestured to a petite, dish-water blonde wearing a gray skirt and brown blouse, who gave the girl beside her a rescue-me look before stepping forward.

  At first glance, Viv Jepson looked like a runner. And not the type who did it for health. I imagined she ducked anyone she didn’t know or care to converse with. In fact, I’d bet money she had no friends beyond the two women she’d traveled to Scotland with. Which made her just the kind of loner that tended to snap and kill multiple numbers of people. But not usually on a contractual basis. She didn’t emit enough gumption to saw into a tough steak, much less an annoying neighbor. In fact, the only items that gave me hope for her personality were the gauzy pink scarf wrapped around her neck and her shoes—bright pink heels with swooshes of red and purple flying down each pointed toe. She waved weakly and stepped back.

  Rhona went on. “This is Viv’s translator, Iona Clough.”

  Beside me Cole’s stillness became so predatory, if I hadn’t known better I’d have wondered what he was after. One look at Iona made it obvious. Her generous curves were emphasized by a tight black sweater, wide-legged jeans, and a giant steel belt buckle in the shape of a mirrored teardrop. Her smile appeared easily, giving her long face a mischievous appeal, though as soon as it faded she seemed distant, almost distracted. Her hair, parted in the middle, hung straight down her back. And though she’d obviously dyed it auburn, I still envied her the perfect lines of her do, which didn’t stray or muss no matter how many times she turned her head or nodded.

  Mine, on the other hand, perhaps sensing the nearness of the River Nairn, had decided to do its Carrot Top impression. I wanted a hat. And some gel. And a Sharpie, because no amount of hair coloring would turn that one white strand that bobbed next to my face back to red again.

  “Hi,” said Cole. His smile encompassed both Iona and Viv, who looked to be in their early twenties. Not much younger than me, really, but I knew if we staged a girl’s night out, it would only take about five minutes for me to feel ancient.

  He stepped forward, moving his fingers in elegant accompaniment to his words as he spoke. “I’m Del Taylor,” he said aloud and silently. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that Cole knew how to sign. Languages were one of his specialties, along with sharpshooting and driving me crazy. If I’d asked how he’d gained this particular ability, he’d probably tell me he’d dated a hearing-impaired honey during college.

  “Why’d you dump her?” I’d inquire, because that’s how it always went down.

  His reply would be something off-the-wall like, “She talked too much. At the end of the day my hands were so tired I didn’t even have enough juice left in them to play video games.”

  Viv’s face lit up like a Broadway marquee. She focused on Cole as if he’d just told her she’d be quizzed on this conversation at a later point and every wrong answer would cost her money. Iona, noting her reaction, began to sign as she spoke. “You can sign! And you’re American! How amazing!”

  The girls traded impressed smiles. Cole gave them his awshucks grin that still assured them he outranked every stud they’d met before by a factor of ten. “My little brother lost his hearing really young, so, you know, it was either learn this or beat the crap of him without explaining why he should never touch my G.I. Joe action figures.”

  Iona laughed. But because she knew it was expected of her, as if she’d given Cole all the attention she could spare and now her mind must swing back to whatever had been occupying it before he showed. Viv, on the other hand, practically glowed. She had to nudge Iona to remind her to translate her half of the conversation for the rest of us. “Uh, why have you decided to come to the Con this year?” Iona asked

  Cole chuckled as his fingers flew. “We have plenty of ghosts to choose from on our side of the Atlantic. But we’re sure you have a lot more over here. Which means steady work for us. I’ve got some great ghost stories I could tell you. Are you ladies going to the opening ceremonies tonight? We could ride together. Our van holds, like, ten people. Twenty if we sit on laps,” he added with a smile that said he knew they weren’t the type, but he was.

  Viv nodded, but her mom jumped in. “We drove here for the express purpose of having the freedom to come and go as we pleased. I’m sure we’ll see you around the place.” The pinch in her lips assured him she was just being polite and if these were more savage times she’d have built a fence around her daughter, chopped his head off, and left it on a pike outside to warn off the other undesirables.

  When he gave me his this-doesn’t-happen-to-me head tilt, I sent him a reassuring smile. She’s probably the assassin anyway, I told him silently, hoping he’d get my signal.

  But maybe not. All the women we’d just been introduced to scented human to me. Not as in, Sniff, sniff, geez you poured the Chanel on kinda strong tonight, didn’t you, Gloria? My Sensitivity runs deeper than nasal cavities, back into my brain where it developed after I died. Yeah. As in, Should we give her last rites? Nope, never mind. Raoul the WunderSpirit has brought her back to life, because some people are just meant to fight the extra scaries. Besides, she’s not Catholic.

  She is, however, almost as suspicious of people and circumstances as her former roommate and present tech guru. Bergman would’ve taken one look at Rhona and Viv, leaned into my ear, and asked, “Why isn’t the mother translating? Don’t family members usually learn sign language the second their relatives go deaf? Cole did.”

  Huh, good point. Maybe she has arthritis? I glanced at her hands. Nope, they looked nimble to me. Okay, then. Something simpler. As long as she doesn’t learn to sign she doesn’t have to admit her daughter has a permanent disability? But Rhona didn’t seem the type to bury herself in denial. Suddenly I missed Bergman. Though his paranoia generally made me want to pinch his little head off, at the moment he was just too far away for my own good. I’d have loved to get his take on all these women.

  As Vayl came around the side of the van toting half our luggage, Rhona pointed her lon
g nose at my dad and said, “So you people are professionals?”

  “Uh—” Before Albert could say something stupid and screw us over for good, Vayl put down his suitcase, released my trunk’s handle, and stepped forward.

  “Indeed, we are.” I felt his powers lift, a slight cooling of the air that made Rhona adjust her stone-gray blazer. Most of the women smiled, as did Humphrey, charmed by the big man with the antique cane. Only Floraidh and Dormal seemed unaffected. Vayl said, “I am Jeremy Bhane and this is my associate, Lucille Robinson.” He gestured to me, so I nodded and smiled as he went on. “Our company, Rest Easy, specializes in locating and releasing ghosts.” He reached into his coat pocket for business cards, which he distributed with the flare of a magician who’s just pulled a quarter from his volunteer’s ear.

  “Oh, how wonderful!” enthused Rhona as she read her card. “I’m giving a talk on the entrapment and exploitation of ghosts by certain members of the tourism industry. I wish you would sit on the panel.”

  “Certainly, if I have time. But Lucille and I must do a great deal of networking in the next few days if we are to continue to grow our business.”

  “Of course.”

  I said, “Before we go in we should really apologize to the guy we nearly splatted just now. Floraidh, maybe you can put us in touch with this Sean McGill. Or if it wasn’t him, would one of you others have seen a brown-bearded man in his thirties wearing a coffee-colored suit at least three sizes too large for him?”

  I kept Lucille’s sweet smile on my face, but my inner eye narrowed when nobody responded, allowing me to ask the question I really wanted answered. Which one of you bitches is going to die this week? Humphrey jerked.