One More Bite

by Jennifer Rardin

  “No! I don’t want to hear it!”

  “Oh. Okay.” Vayl walked beside me, his lips quirking in his typical smile. I asked him, “Do we even have time for this Viv/Iona deal?”

  “I believe so. Your father has seen to that, at least.”

  That’s my dad, always going out of his way to be helpful. Which was why I’d just set him up with Rhona. Like my granny May always said, “Do for yourself—and others will make sure you get yours in the end.”

  Chapter Seven

  After we’d dumped our bags in our rooms, we met outside the girls’ white-painted door.

  I didn’t love the setup. It would’ve been more efficient for Cole to deal with them while Vayl and I checked our cover chores off our to-do list. But I was pretty sure my boss wanted to accompany us because he didn’t savor Cole and me spending much alone time together. And I knew my presence was required because I could clear a room. The easy method would’ve been to pull any number of lethal weapons from the worn black bag on my shoulder and make all the inhabitants run screaming. But before we’d taken this mission I’d also learned how to block Scidairan magic.

  It had meant a trip to Miami to train with Cassandra. Usually I’d have bitched nonstop about the exile from work—and Vayl. But, as noted earlier, events in Cleveland had escalated to the point where Pete couldn’t wait to boot my ass out of the office. And since Vayl had flown straight from our last assignment to his old stomping grounds near Mogosoaia, Romania, I was happy to go.

  So I’d spent a week living above Cassandra’s health food store. We reminisced about the times she’d spent with Vayl and me working as our Seer, and gossiped about what the future might hold for her and my brother, Dave. In between I read old books that made my nose itch and cross-referenced stories that various members of her guild had stored in the mobile library she called the Enkyklios. The last two days went by the fastest, because one of her fellow guild members, a Sister of the Second Sight named Tolly Mendez, showed up to, as she put it, “take this chica to school.”

  She talked like the Bronx and moved with a rhythm that said, Only Latinas can samba like girls oughtta. Though I hadn’t thought it humanly possible, she wore more jewelry than Cassandra. Rings on her fingers and toes. Bracelets, anklets, biceplets—is that even a word? And in what she liked to call her “punkass hair,” dozens of silver clips from which dangled tiny chains holding miniature charms.

  Her bright yellow shorts would’ve passed uniform inspection at a bike race, and her aqua-blue tank scooped low enough that when she leaned forward the top edge of her black lace bra showed. So how, I wondered, does she skim past skank on first impression?

  Attitude, I decided. Something in that quick smile and those steady eyes that tells you she’s traveled enough to realize nothing’s worth the price of her soul.

  I’d been chilling in Cassandra’s living room, drinking iced tea and reading up on Scidair. I’d just learned her following dated back three thousand years when Tolly clomped up the stairs in her open-toed platform slides and called out, “Let’s have ourselves an entrance, shall we?” The wooden rocker beside the royal-blue couch I sat on began to move on its own. Immediately afterward the candles Cassandra had arranged in the fireplace all flamed at once.

  “Nice,” I said as she sashayed through the door. I tried hard not to wish Cassandra was beside me. Psychics pick right up on that crap, and she had nobody else to mind the store today. Plus, what harm could there be in a little magic lesson from one of her buds?

  I tried a laugh and just managed a weak cough as Tolly introduced herself and in the same breath said, “Cassandra tells me you’re a Sensitive.”

  “Yeah.” I told myself if she didn’t touch me she couldn’t See how wide my powers had stretched since I’d shared my blood with others—Vayl and Trayton included—not to mention accepting the tears of an Iranian power named Asha Vasta. She might not like knowing that now I’d scented her psychically, I could pick her out of a rioting crowd and follow her through a sandstorm.

  She closed the space between us, holding out her free hand for a shake, her other weighted down by an enormous bag covered with quarter-sized metal plates that jingled softly when she moved.

  Putting off the inevitable, I said, “Wow. Your fingernails are really—”

  “Spew green,” she informed me. “It’s my own brew,” she went on, like we were discussing a great piece of cake. Her eyes sparkled. “Don’t worry, my Sight isn’t based on touch.”

  I shook her hand. “Sorry. I’m just—trained to be cautious.”

  “And private?” When I didn’t answer she nodded. “Okay, we don’t have to go into the event that birthed your Sensitivity. Nobody likes to remember that kind of violence anyway. Just tell me. What did you feel when I lit the candles?”

  “I never feel anything. It’s what I see in my mind. Like a new color mixed with the memory of a dream.” I shook my head. “I don’t know how to describe it any better.”

  “And?”

  “Yours is fresh. Like silver rain on a mountain lake.”

  She nodded. “That’s Wicca. True witchcraft will always show the same shade to you now. What Cassandra tells me you’re about to face is not real witchery. They only call themselves that because they know it hurts the rest of us, and they love spreading pain.”

  “How do you know so much about Floraidh and her coven?” Despite Tolly’s connections to Cassandra, I found myself mentally reviewing the weapons I currently carried. Just in case. She dropped her bag on the floor, where it landed with a metallic clunk. Sinking into the rocker, she clasped her hands in her lap and asked, “How old do you think I am?”

  What the hell? Weren’t we just talking about witches? “I don’t see—”

  “Humor me.”

  I shrugged. “Twenty-seven.”

  “I’m fifty-three.”

  I stared at her for a full thirty seconds, looking hard for the plastic surgery scars. But that still shouldn’t have been able to hide the youthfulness.

  “Bullshit.”

  She shook her head. “I was one of them once. I worshipped Scidair right alongside them. If I told you the things our coven did to cheat death you’d puke all over Cassandra’s furry white rug here. As you can see”—she gestured to her face—“they’ve learned how to put the brakes on. But they still haven’t succeeded completely. Floraidh’s group is the most powerful both because they descend from the first priestesses who buried Scidair, and because they still guard her cairn to this day. We think Floraidh is nearly a hundred and fifty years old.”

  This was all news to me. Her birth records put her age at just over forty, and nobody knew what her coven wanted beyond the power its alliance with Samos had given it. “Did Scidair live a long time?”

  Tolly nodded. “Legend says she died at the age of one hundred and fourteen, when the villagers finally got up the nerve to burn her for still looking thirty-five.”

  Damn. “What kinds of acts did you perform?” I asked.

  “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get detailed. As a Scidairan, when you swear yourself to secrecy and then start blabbing, the people you give up have ways of shutting you down.”

  “Can you tell me anything?”

  “All I can say is that Scidairan magic is wound around death. And it will read to you like a sky full of stinking black pollution.”

  “So how am I supposed to counteract it?” I asked. “Isn’t it going to be laced all through that bed-and-breakfast?” I recalled the last stronghold we’d visited, a Vampere villa so packed with power even the knickknacks seethed with it. The scale didn’t exist that could measure how badly I wanted to avoid a situation like that again.

  She said, “My guess is that the coven will have set permanent shields around the house, like runes carved into the hardscape. Ghosts naturally interrupt their spells, so if you need to run, go to a cemetery or any other place that’s likely to be haunted. But for privacy while you’re in the house, or for a temporar
y shield, I’ll teach you a quick spell that’ll work just fine.”

  As she pulled a funky-looking lantern out of her bag I said, “Won’t they be able to tell I’m messing with their goodies?”

  “I don’t think so. You’ll read as an amateur, so they’ll think it’s a natural occurrence. A talent one of their guests was born with and never learned to manipulate.”

  “Until they look into me?”

  She pulled a fat, tortoiseshell bracelet off her wrist and handed it over. “Cassandra asked me to make this for you. It’ll repel any spells designed to invade your aura. I don’t imagine they’ll go to the trouble though. The Scidair focus intensely on their goal. Which is why most of them are single and childless. Also, rumor has it Floraidh’s taken up an expensive hobby. Nobody knows what it is exactly, but she’s been so obsessed with raising funds lately that as long as your credit’s good, I don’t think anybody in the coven will bother with you.”

  We’d spent the rest of the time practicing clearing rooms.

  Of course, they hadn’t been teeming with Floraidh’s special brand of sizzit. Not that I could feel it. Unlike the last place where we’d set up shop, this one’s artifacts didn’t exude their own special snap, crackle, pop of power. They were just innocent landscapes hung from pink ribbons in the third-floor hallway. Half-moon tables covered with yet more doilies that held a collection of antique teakettles. And a half-shaded window hung with white eyelet before which dangled a fabulously healthy ivy whose tendrils had almost reached the blue and red woven floor runner.

  “No, Jack,” I said as he sniffed at the plant before deciding it was edible. He closed his massive jaws without snipping off a leaf and turned to give me his pathetic face. It involved lots of blinking and—I kid you not—a sort of frown. “Are you hungry too?”

  He trotted back to me, eyes bright with anticipation, his tongue practically lapping his neatly trimmed toenails. “Okay, we’ll get you something afterward. I brought you a whole suitcase full of goodies that Floraidh said you could eat in the kitchen.”

  “You’re nicer to that dog than you are to me. You know that, right?” asked Cole.

  “Sorry,” I said, with real regret. “But you have to admit, he’s a lot less demanding.”

  Vayl slipped his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “Would it make you feel better to know she does not sleep with Jack either?”

  Cole glared at him before turning to rap several times in succession on the girls’ door. “Why did I ever agree to do this job?”

  “Because you wouldn’t get paid if you didn’t?” I guessed.

  He made his temper-fraying, breath-blowing sound and said, “You do remember everything that Rolly woman taught you, right?”

  “Her name’s Tolly,” I said. “And I’m fairly certain I didn’t contract Alzheimer’s between Miami and Inverness.”

  I leaned against the wall, its pale blue coloring reminding me vaguely of drowning victims, and crossed my arms as Jack sat beside me.

  Vayl leaned over to whisper, “I really was trying to improve his mood with that observation.”

  “Probably the less said between you and him right now, the better,” I suggested.

  The door flew open. Viv took one look at us, burst into tears, and slammed it shut.

  I said, “Obviously your incredible good looks overwhelm her, Cole. Should I try?”

  Wearing an expression of utter confusion, he bowed me into his spot. I opened the door and walked in.

  “Hey, Viv. Hello there, Iona,” I said. “Sorry our entrance bummed you out so much. Is it because we didn’t bring nachos and beer?”

  Viv, her face buried in fistfuls of tissues, couldn’t have seen Iona’s flying fingers. Still she shook her head. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and attempted a soggy smile.

  Cole leaned into my ear and whispered, “This is totally ruining my fantasy, you know. There they are, sitting beside each other on the bed. Viv would look so great wearing that little scarf around her neck and nothing else. Plus, if Iona scooted over two inches their hips would be touching. This would be ideal—if Viv wasn’t blowing snot like a whale with bronchitis.”

  “Are you sure whales get bronchitis?” I murmured.

  He nodded wisely. “They’re mammals, aren’t they? I’ll bet when they sneeze, the only liquid that comes out of their blowpipes is drippy green mucus.”

  “Eww!”

  “I’m saying! It’s such a turnoff!”

  “Do you know what women find attractive?” Vayl asked him.

  “You mean ladies like our lovely Lucille, here?” he replied, draping his arm across my shoulders while he ignored the spike in my boss’s powers that sent a shiver through the girls.

  “I mean all of them,” Vayl replied darkly.

  “What’s that?”

  “Men who comfort them when they are feeling blue.”

  Cole dropped his arm. “Can we at least wait to see why she’s sniffling? Maybe she’s got bronchitis!”

  Viv dropped her tissues in the trash, but it was only to pull out a fresh batch. Iona said, “Thank you so much for coming. And I know Viv feels really badly about this scene. She’s just so relieved you came. And truly hoping you can help her. Because, as you can see, she’s desperate.”

  “Of course, you know we’ll do what we can,” said Cole in the voice he brings out for single moms at the zoo whose kids have just spilled their slushies on him. He went to the bed, knelt at Viv’s knees, and began asking her questions that seemed designed to soothe her. But they should also help us figure out if she was who she said she was, or just a terrific actress who spent her spare time offing public figures for wild sums of money.

  He wasn’t nearly as good at comforting as Vayl. But my boss had decided to stay clear of the youngsters. Instead he’d gone to the window and flipped aside the curtain to glance at the countryside, glowing with the soft light of evening. After spending his first thirty-eight years as your average Roma family man, he’d turned. Which meant it had been over two and a half centuries since he’d seen daylight. Now that he didn’t have to concentrate fully on the job, he could relax and just enjoy. His face settled into a new sort of immobility. One I equated with Buddha statues and transfixed lovers.

  I could’ve watched him reacquaint himself with twilight for hours. If the room had been quiet. How could he just stand there while Sniffette honked her way through an entire box of tissues? I looked at the watch Bergman had made for me. At this rate it might continue for hours. I was voting with Cole on this one. Geesh! She’s like a damn sob machine!

  Trayton would’ve peered at me through his curtain of fine black hair and said, “You really need to work on your people skills, woman. Where did you learn sensitivity anyway?”

  To which I’d reply, “The Marines.” End of conversation. At least until I was sure I wouldn’t have to kill the girl hiccuping into her hand.

  Vayl tossed his handkerchief to Cole, who gently dried her tears with it before wrapping her fingers around it.

  She wiped her nose and dropped the handkerchief on her lap so she could sign as she spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said, through Iona, her lips forming the words along with her hands. “I’ve just been overwrought lately.”

  “Hold that thought,” I said, raising my palm toward her. Some signs must be universal, because she stopped talking and stared at me as I began to clear the room. Starting at the corner nearest the door, I pulled the incense holder out of my bag and fired up the sage already packed inside with the lighter Tolly had given me before she left.

  “This is how you light fires,” she’d told me sternly. “Any other way is gonna lead to you staring out the barred window of a high-security psych ward. Guaranteed.”

  The incense holder Tolly had lent me, a cast-iron goddess image with hollow eyes and a gaping mouth, swung from my hand as I moved clockwise around the perimeter of the room. I whispered words she’d made me memorize, remembering that I must genuinely want to push Scida
ir and her trollops from this room for the spell to work. After a single lap I stopped and rang the bell that doubled as the holder’s handle. The shield closed with a psychic whoosh that made my scalp tingle. If I’d taken two more circuits it would’ve lasted as long as I stayed in the house. But that felt too extreme, at least until I knew Viv and Iona were innocent. So it would only work until I left the room.

  “Why did you do that?” asked Iona as I sat the goddess by the door and sank down beside it, mainly to keep Jack from knocking it over. I’d discovered quickly that anything within reach of his nose either got sniffed, poked, flipped, or sneezed on.

  “We didn’t want the ghosts to eavesdrop,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe how snoopy they are. We have this one that follows us everywhere we go. I think we picked it up in Pamplona when we were putting the shade of a murdered chef to rest.”

  I waited for the girls to call my bluff. Okay, Viv might be too upset to catch the lie. But if Iona had really spent any time around Viv and her crusading mom she’d know that—

  “Ghosts don’t travel,” she said flatly.

  I smiled. “You got me there. I’m kidding, of course. The sage ceremony is just something I do to cleanse a room before important conversations. Helps everybody relax and also ensures that the conversations remain honest.” I shook my head regretfully. “You’d be surprised how many people try to lie to us about their haunt problems. And we can’t be effective when we begin with false information. You can see that, can’t you?”

  The girls nodded as if they completely understood our predicament.

  “So how can we help you?” asked Cole.

  Iona said, “Viv would like to hire you to eradicate a ghost. Not lay it to rest,” she emphasized, “but get rid of it forever.”

  As Vayl and I competed to see whose eyebrows could rise the highest, Cole sat back on his heels, moving so fast he nearly fell over. He finally managed to say, “That’s a tall order. Why us?”

  Viv began some mad signing. Iona said, “She agreed to accompany her mother here because she knew that every year a few groups like yours also come to GhostCon trying to drum up business. We looked you up on the Web and phoned your references. You come highly recommended.”