One More Bite

by Jennifer Rardin

  Oh, that’s reassuring.

  Raoul snapped, “Play with someone else’s head, Brude. Mine is bent on your destruction.” He jumped forward again, smashing his blade against Brude’s staff. Something should have broken. Maybe it was Raoul’s pride. He backed away.

  “Are you done playing already? Good enough.” Brude’s eyes jumped to mine. “I believe it would be better to finish this quickly, after all. It has been so long.” He nodded in decision and slowly lifted the staff, walking around Raoul as he also turned. Waiting for him to make a mistake. He leaped forward, moving so quickly I barely caught the shift in his shoulders that signaled his intentions.

  I bounced away from Raoul, allowing him the room he needed to adjust. He veered sideways, cracking his sword against Brude’s staff as it passed within a millimeter of his head.

  Raoul’s heel to the king’s ribs should’ve scored the best shot he’d made so far. Brude grunted, but only with effort. The armor had slid forward to intercept Raoul’s blow. I’d fought supernaturally shielded opponents before, so I knew Raoul felt like he’d just connected with the radiator of a Mack truck.

  He reversed the sword in his hand, holding it so the blade emerged from the back of his fist like you might hold a dagger in a knife fight. Rushing toward Brude, he battered the king with multiple kicks to the torso and a blow to the temple with the hilt of the sword.

  Brude didn’t bother to block the blows. The armor did all that so well his head barely jerked, though Raoul had hit him hard enough to snap his neck. He responded with a combination of slashing attacks that forced Raoul to pull back or lose some choice parts.

  Oh goody. How about I just stand here like a helpless Victorian Miss whilst the menfolk battle for my honor? Or I could—I looked around. Nope. No heroic rescue wrote itself on my brain as I scanned the scene. Well, this sucks. I moved completely off the path, avoiding the sweating, heaving fighters on my way to a light-gray boulder. I leaned against it, brushing my hands against the rough crags of the stone. Down by my hips I discovered a stash of small rocks in a recess where either the wind or a bored hand had chipped them off and left them for later. I picked one up. Tossed it up and down in my hand.

  And lofted it at Brude.

  It hit him. Of course it didn’t hurt. His inked-on shell came to his rescue. But I threw another anyway. It became the only way I could find to amuse myself between rounds.

  Round One: Raoul busting his ass to no avail.

  Medium-sized piece o’ granite to the small of the king’s back. Bang—two points!

  Round Two: Brude nearly taking off Raoul’s head.

  Two small pebbles to the Domytr’s left thigh. Hey, they hit at the same time. I am the Queen of Rock Pelting!

  Round Three: Raoul throwing such an intricate combination of moves I didn’t recognize what discipline he’d pulled them from, which meant he was now fighting out of the School of Desperation.

  Flat stone, perfect for skipping, bounced right off the ear. It’s no fun when he doesn’t even flinch. How are we ever going to get past that goddamned armor?

  Round Four: I zinged another one. At the same time Raoul landed a punch that should’ve shattered Brude’s jaw. But the crack I heard was his hand breaking. To give him credit he didn’t cry out. Didn’t even delay his next move. Just switched back to his sword, which clanged against Brude’s staff at the same time that he threw a front kick into the king’s diaphragm.

  “Raoul, this is pointless,” I said. “Back off, dude. Maybe I can talk some sense into this guy.”

  Raoul’s response was a kick that caught Brude in the ribs. Unfortunately he didn’t pull his leg back fast enough. Brude grasped his calf with both hands and twisted. I heard Raoul’s knee pop just before he screamed.

  Brude tossed Raoul aside like a bag of laundry, sending him flying at least ten feet into the heather. Then he came for me.

  Because he expected it, I scurried out of his reach. Ran to Raoul’s side. Nope. Forget pulling him to his feet, much less making for less-populated spots. “Are we done for?” I asked.

  Raoul shook his head. Not an answer. Just an attempt to clear the woozies. “He’s pulling strength from somewhere beyond himself. Look at him.”

  I had been, but only casually. I opened my third eye as wide as I could manage. Brude’s lips curled upward as he strode toward me, his arms swinging confidently at his sides. He moved like a true warrior, comfortable in his skin, capable of instant lethality from any position. But his eyes added a disturbing dimension. They said he’d be happy to stab, hack, or impale given any lame excuse and the weaponry to pull it off. Beautiful, whispered the part of my brain that recognized how closely that trait must link him to evil here, where the prettier you were, the higher up the nasty ladder you got to climb.

  As I watched his tattoos detach from one another, become just another set of funky body squiggles, I caught another movement. Like a longer length of hair flowing off his shoulders, down his back. A nearly invisible cape that fluttered behind him as he walked. It wasn’t like one you’d see on, say, Superman. Where a couple of guys on the ground might look up and say, “Yo! Mr. Hero! Your sheet’s stuck between your legs!” right before he plummeted to the earth and put a big hole in some poor woman’s kitchen island. This item seemed muscular. Almost like a pterodactyl wing, it wrapped around him as he approached us. A shield, or maybe a supernatural steroid pump, it was definitely the item that gave him that extra edge. And I had no idea how to cut it from him.

  I leaned into Raoul’s ear, whispered the secret to Brude’s advantage just as he reached me. He grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. “You will be mine.”

  “I don’t see how I can do that,” I told him, working hard to force calm into my voice. Could I really get stuck here? No. Don’t even allow the possibility. You’re not staying. Because if you do, you’ll probably die. Plus Vayl would be so pissed. I thought of him standing guard over that damned Scidairan when I needed him here. Now!

  “You will do as I say,” Brude said, his hand tightening painfully on my skin. And that’s when I knew what I had to do.

  “You like getting your way, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, you know what?” I stepped up to him, put my free arm around his waist, and shoved my body against his. “So do I.” I nuzzled my mouth against his neck. As he moaned I felt the cape slide out from between us. And wrap around me. I was in. With one chance to get this right.

  I pictured Vayl. Pretended it was his body pressing against mine. His skin under my canines. And bit. So hard that my teeth nearly met each other inside the bloody tissue of his carotid. Though I tried not to swallow, I felt Brude’s blood spurt down my throat.

  It’s okay, this isn’t real, I told myself.

  It’s not a dream, insisted the librarian in my head, who was already shelving this experience into the vast, unending Horror area of my biography section.

  But the blood . . . it’s not like I’m really stomaching the stuff that powers him.

  Lies. All little fibs to keep my mind off the disaster I was making of his throat. The gurgling screams in my ear. The pounding on my back as he tried to release himself from the clench I’d taken on him.

  He tasted of thick, sweet metal. Behind it the heavier flavor of stolen vigor, coming straight from that ghost-cape enveloping us both. As his blood gushed down the sides of my mouth, I had less and less of a problem resisting his onslaught.

  Finally he appealed to Raoul. “Get her off of me!”

  “And what?”

  “I will allow you to cross my lands freely for the next fortnight.”

  That was good enough for me. I released him, spitting until my mouth cleared, backing until my shoulder blades hit Raoul’s chest.

  Wait a second. My Spirit Guide couldn’t stand. I whipped around.

  “Vayl, how did you get here?”

  He motioned to Cirilai. “You needed me. You called. I came.” When his eyes met mine th
ey were blacker than I’d ever seen them. Angry fountains of red rose and fell from his pupils as he stared at Brude’s throat. His words cut into me like a garrote as he said, “Jasmine, what have you done?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The accusation in Vayl’s tone brought the blood rushing beneath my cheeks. Which was when I realized I probably had quite a bit on top of my skin as well. I pulled out the neck of my shirt and wiped my face with it. Wondered if, when I woke up, I’d still have this taste in my mouth, still want to brush my teeth as badly as I did at this moment.

  Neither Vayl nor I felt like looking at each other, so we spent some time watching Brude make a poultice out of dirt, spit, and his own blood. Once he’d packed the entire mess onto his neck, he pointed at me. Kind of satisfying to see that finger trembling.

  “Woman, you are a viper,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Most of my enemies end up thinking something similar.”

  He shook his head, causing his shining black braids to brush back and forth across his sweating shoulders. “You think us adversaries, but in fact we fall on the same side and always will. So the prophets predicted: And Brude shall take unto himself a queen of unsurpassed skill, strength, and beauty, whose astonishing wit will find itself outmatched by the sharpness of her tongue. Mark my words, we will rule this land together, you and I. And all of Lucifer’s demons will tremble at our dominion.”

  “Like hell!”

  His smile made me shiver. “Now you begin to understand.” He kept his distance, but somehow the intensity in his eyes made me feel as if he’d sidled right up to me. Like his hands had found their way under my clothes, and where they touched my skin burned. “When you need me, call my name and I will come to you. Say it now, my queen. ‘I need you, Brude.’ Let me hear it once before I leave.”

  Beside me, Vayl made a noise I’d never heard before. But if I’d caught that sound in the jungle I’d have scampered up the nearest tree. Because I was afraid even touching him would set him off, I just sent calm thoughts in his direction as I gave Brude my coldest stare. “Go away before I shred you like last year’s receipts,” I said.

  “I shall. But only for a time. You will beg for my return. And thank me as well.”

  “What makes you think I’d ever thank you?”

  “Your enemy is mine just as you are mine. I never supposed you would hear my calls at Clava Cairns. But your pet has much sharper ears. And an obedient heart.”

  “You . . . you showed Jack where to dig for that harness? Why? What does my enemy want to do with it? Which enemy are we even talking about?”

  With a nod of his head and a smile that let me know he loved the fact he’d filled me with questions, he left. Fading to nothing just like his ghostly subjects.

  “Well, shit!”

  “So how did he taste?” asked Vayl. “I am guessing earthy with a hint of ass.”

  I didn’t realize my fists were clenched until I raised one to his face. I unwound a finger, saving the middle one for later, and shook my pointer under his nose. “Where do you get off with the snotty attitude? I was saving my life just now! And working!”

  “You were practically rutting with that oaf!”

  I held out my arms. Twirled around. “See this? Get a good look, will ya? Fully clothed, yeah? How the hell—”

  He widened his eyes in that you-are-the-ultimate-idiot expression of his that made me want to grab a pair of tweezers and start plucking out all his nose hairs. “How could you possibly be more intimate than to take another man’s blood? That should have been me!”

  What the f— . . . Ohhhh. “Vayl, I was not trying to pleasure the freak. I was trying to kill him. Ask Raoul.” I gestured to my Spirit Guide, who was looking properly pathetic over by the edge of the path. Unfortunately he didn’t feel making peace between us was his job. Totally ignoring Vayl’s questioning expression, he said, “Jasmine, we have to go. Colonel John has located the source of your father’s problem. We were supposed to meet him at my penthouse—”

  “Goddammit, Raoul, this is important to me!” He winced at my obscenity and sighed as he faced Vayl.

  “Obviously I couldn’t beat Brude, though I wasted a great deal of effort trying. Jasmine found a way to breach his defenses and used the only weapon that would work for her in this place at this time.”

  Vayl nodded stiffly, but when he turned back to me I could tell he wasn’t satisfied. What the hell? He had all the facts. What else could he need?

  Raoul struggled to rise, failed, gave me a frustrated look. “I’m coming,” I said, striding past Vayl, avoiding contact I would’ve sought half an hour before. As I helped Raoul to his feet I asked, “How come you can’t just zap your parts back to fine?”

  “For the same reason Brude needs to spend the next hour with an excellent needlewoman. We can be injured here. We can even ‘die,’ though the consequences are somewhat more frightening than those we faced as mortals, considering the power of the beings we fight in these planes.”

  “Oh.” Without a word, Vayl arrived at Raoul’s other side and together we walked him down the hill, back the way we’d come. Somehow the greens and purples of the meadow I’d begun this dream-hike through didn’t lift my spirits like it had to start with. In fact, if I could get a guarantee that I’d never see this landscape again, I’d be willing to make payments to any of a number of Raoul’s favorite charities. For life.

  After a couple of minutes I said, “Um. Aren’t we kind of in my dream?”

  “Technically,” said Raoul. “But only in that your dream allowed Brude to pull us into the Thin, where his realm seems to be flourishing like mold on bread.”

  His frown didn’t stop me from asking, “So what’re we doing now?” Because I was beginning to seriously worry about my Spirit Guide, who was sweating like a college wrestler in mid workout. The pain must be excruciating.

  “We’re looking for a door.”

  “You mean like the one I used to visit your place last time?”

  He nodded, biting his lip as his toe accidentally hit the path. “They exist in every plane. Remember I told you there was one in Castle Hoppringhill?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s the one I’m looking for.”

  “But it’s miles from Tearlach!”

  “It’s miles from your body. But your mind always keeps one close. Ah, yes, there it is.” He pointed across the meadow to a flaming rectangle framing a black portal whose center could lead us any number of places depending on the words we chanted before we walked through it.

  “Explain that,” I demanded. “Why’s the door always close in my mind?”

  “I don’t know. It’s something unique to you. I’ve never known anyone else who’s been able to do it.”

  Oh great. One more weird spot on the mustard-and-blood-stained T-shirt that was my life.

  Raoul murmured the appropriate wordage and the door cleared, automatically widening to admit the three of us at the same time. When we emerged, what hit me was the thought of how starkly my two bosses’ workplaces contrasted. Raoul worked out of his home, a penthouse currently overlooking the sparkling skyline of Caracas. Pete’s office looked like it had come straight out of a library basement.

  Colonel John waited for us by a bank of large windows, his hands clasped behind his back as he observed the city below him. He took one look at Raoul and his mustache seemed to drop an extra inch. “Over there,” he ordered.

  We lowered Raoul onto the soft white couch Colonel John had directed us to.

  Clearing a place on a glass coffee table that Raoul had added to his decor since the last time I’d visited, Colonel John sat opposite him with his knee between Raoul’s booted legs. We watched him pull a long, well-maintained knife out of the sheath at his left side and split Raoul’s pants from thigh to hem. My Spirit Guide’s knee had swollen to three times its regular size. And the noise he made when Colonel John laid his hands on it made me turn away.

  I strode to the sleek bl
ack bar, where I poured myself something that smelled a lot like whiskey from a glass decanter and stubbornly ignored my reflection in the mirrored wall. “Do you want something?” I asked Vayl as he came up to the other side and sank onto one of the black cushioned bar stools.

  When he didn’t answer I met his eyes. Same color as before, and not the one I was hoping to see. “Vayl—”

  “Why could you not wait?”

  “What?”

  “Now his blood is in you when mine should have been first.”

  I clutched my glass so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter in my hands. I wanted to yell at him that I’d had no choice. I considered throwing my booze in his face and screaming that drinking blood was grosser than sucking toes, neither of which could he expect me to do at any time during our relationship. Then I got this image of my big toe, painted bright red, suddenly developing a face and a hot Southern temper to match, screaming, “What the hell is wrong with mah bad self?” And I started to giggle.

  His brows lowered so fast they would’ve crossed if it had been anatomically possible. “Oh, stop,” I said. “I’m not laughing at you. I never do. You should consider that. It’s not necessarily a good thing.” As his jaw began to tighten I went on. “If you’ll recall, you were first. In Miami. Your fangs? My neck? You seemed to think it was a big yummy moment.”

  “That is . . . different.”

  “Bullshit. And I haven’t forgotten the night you explained that you make it a point to sample your targets’ A-positive whenever possible, just to make sure they taste as guilty as the CIA led you to believe they were to start with. So, using your method of judgment, I should also be pissed that you’re the equivalent of a blood whore.”

  “A what?” His voice went so deep it practically tolled. I wasn’t sure when he’d slid off the stool and come around to my side. Usually I noticed things like that. But his eyes had captivated me so completely I’d lost all awareness of my surroundings.

  “It’s all in how you look at things, isn’t it?”

  “You are mad.”