One More Bite

by Jennifer Rardin

  “Oengus!” he snapped. “Leave her be!”

  “You’re calling off all your dogs?” I asked.

  “I have my reasons,” he said. As he leaned toward me I held up my hand to stop him.

  “You promised. Two weeks of safety in your lands.”

  “You will return to me.”

  “If I do, it’ll be to destroy you.”

  His laughter lingered long after he’d disappeared, leaving the same way the hell-dogs had gone.

  Viv kept making the same sign. “What’s she saying?” I asked Cole.

  “She wants to know if the monsters are gone.”

  I nodded. “All but one.” I tried to convince myself it was okay that Floraidh had survived. That had been the plan all along. Plus, with most of her coven gone and Samos dead as a dinosaur, she wouldn’t be much of a threat until—if—she got out of intensive care.

  As I backed out of my dad’s arms, listening to him call an ambulance for the second time that night, I watched her struggle for each breath. Then her attention rolled toward the cairn wall behind me. As she looked over my shoulder, her eyes widened in terror. She let out a single, high-pitched scream and froze, her eyes darting back and forth as if unable to tear themselves away from a nightmare. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck and turned to look.

  Nothing. “What’s going on?” I murmured.

  Iona said, “I’ve been casting charms to protect us against whatever has been attacking her.”

  “It’s her first husband,” I said. “She murdered him in the 1800s.”

  “Ah.” Iona raised an eyebrow at Floraidh, her pitiless glance taking in the crumpled form of a once-powerful Scidair. “Well, he’s taken too much blood from her now. Because she’s other, he can call her into the Thin anytime he likes. And whenever he does, that’s all she’ll be able to see. I have a feeling that’s all he’ll want her to see for a very long time.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The days between Floraidh’s “breakdown,” Samos’s final demise, and my vacation passed with the speed of a fighter plane. So many loose ends to tie up. Cole and Viv had discovered a deep friendship whose brush with death wouldn’t allow it to turn into anything else. But he’d still stayed in Scotland to help her find a new interpreter after Iona went back to her circle. And to help her move to a new flat when she finally admitted she didn’t want to see ghosts at the bus stop anymore—but maybe her haunter should have to stand there for a couple of hundred more years anyway. And the best way for Rhona to heal was for them learn to live their own lives.

  Albert had said his gruff—and brief—goodbyes, the morning after, promising never to mess with my missions again. The Haighs had practically done backflips upon the return of their diamonds and, as a token of their gratitude, had offered us anything in their store. Vayl had taken a look at my ring finger and raised his eyebrows. I’d shaken my head.

  “Cirilai is all I need,” I’d said. So he’d dropped it.

  Then Pete had called us back to Cleveland.

  We sat in his bare little office, which looked much more cheerful painted primrose yellow, and waited for him to finish shuffling papers. While he figured out how to get around to the subject, I noticed he’d replaced the dead plant by his closed window blinds with one of those miniature electric fountains. Suddenly I had to pee.

  “I see here you wrecked the rental vehicle,” Pete said.

  “The Scidairans were responsible,” Vayl pointed out.

  I reminded myself to breathe.

  Pete shuffled his stack some more. Cleared his throat. “The Oversight Committee has reviewed this case.”

  I felt my eyebrows go up. “Already?”

  He nodded. Loosened his tie. “They, uh, are not happy that Floraidh has been admitted to a mental institution and her coven has dropped out of the picture.”

  “Did you explain to them why?” Vayl asked.

  Pete nodded. “They don’t seem to understand all the shadings and parameters of the situation.” He sighed. “They see this as a failed mission. And they’ve strongly suggested that I suspend Jaz, pending further review.”

  Suddenly all I could hear was this high-pitched whine. Like the old class-is-over signal at my high school, only farther up the scale. “What?”

  He nodded. Ran his fingers over the two hairs left on his shiny head. “I’m sorry, Jaz. I don’t see how I can deny them. They’re threatening to cut my funding if I don’t—”

  I hadn’t realized I’d begun to reach for Grief until Vayl’s hand slid over mine. I looked at him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from forming. I’d never seen him so forbidding. He turned back to Pete. “I smell ulterior motives. First they refused my request for a warlock. Then they sent Albert to spy on us. And now they want to fire their best assassin, despite the fact that she saved Floraidh from Bea? And do not give me that, ‘But she is practically a vegetable,’ excuse. That is not Jasmine’s fault. What message do all these actions convey to you?”

  Pete’s entire forehead crinkled as he considered the options. “They could be looking to reshape the department.”

  Vayl nodded sharply. “Or eliminate it completely. They put us in a situation most of your employees would not have survived. And you, slave that you are to the bottom line, allowed it.”

  I flattened my hand against my chest because I honestly thought that was the only way I could prevent my heart from leaping out of it. Suddenly I understood Albert’s point of view. This wasn’t how I wanted to die. Flopping on the floor of my boss’s office, wishing to God I’d chosen a career where other people didn’t have so much control over my future. Then I nearly croaked again when Pete didn’t fire Vayl. Or even snap his head off. But sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach thoughtfully.

  Vayl said, “Jasmine is due some vacation time, is she not?”

  “Uh—” Pete turned to his PC, clicked away at his keyboard for half a minute. “Yes. Looks to me like she’s got a month built up.”

  “Then grant it to her, and mine to me. Do not call either of us in that time. Avoid the Oversight Committee members as well, no matter how often they try to contact you, all right? They cannot touch your budget for several weeks anyway, correct?”

  “Right.”

  “By then I will have everything taken care of.”

  We both looked at him. Pete said, “Vayl? What are you planning?”

  He gave Pete a look as grim as a funeral. “It is better that you do not know.”

  Apparently Vayl intended to keep me in the dark as well. He’d whisked me off to my apartment, ordered me to pack for a long getaway, and left. When he returned I was sitting just where he’d left me, having done nothing.

  “Jasmine.” He sat down on the bed beside me. “You have not even opened your trunk.”

  I stared down at my hands, clasped between my knees, and swallowed the lump that had risen in my throat the minute Pete had dropped the hammer. “He’s going to fire me,” I said. “You’ve been around forever. You know how to do different things. But this is all I have, Vayl. This job means everything to me.”

  He slid his hand over both of mine just in time to catch the tear that had escaped from my eye. “I know,” he said softly. “I promised you before that I would not let those cretins harm you. I have never broken a vow and I never will. You have not been fired, nor even suspended. You are on vacation. During which time the Oversight Committee will come to see the error of its ways.”

  I glanced up in time to see a satisfied little smile play across his face. “What are you going to do?”

  “What I should have done the moment I heard they had managed to get themselves appointed.” He met my eyes, his own softening to amber as he said, “You will let me do this thing for you?”

  “I don’t even know what it is!”

  “Are you sure you want to?”

  I nodded. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, as if he thought my drab little bedroom might be bugged or
something. I started to laugh. “Are you serious?”

  “I rarely know how to be otherwise.”

  “You know, that just might satisfy my undying need for revenge on Pete and his goddamn bosses for siccing Albert on us in the first place. Can I help?”

  “It would be better if you did not.”

  I thought about it. “Oh. Of course. Well, then, you have my blessing. And, you know what, this is it!”

  “This is what?”

  “That thing you said you’d try to find that would prove how much you love me. This is definitely the one.”

  “Are you sure? Because I had something else in mind.” His eyes began to dance as his hand slid up my arm.

  I let my eyes go round. Played innocent as I asked, “What do you mean?”

  He swung one leg over my hips and pulled me farther up onto the bed. When my trunk blocked our progress he shoved it onto the floor. The crash delighted me. Gave me hope that most of our bedroom meetings would be loud and surprising. As if he could read my mind he asked, “Are these walls soundproof?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, giggling as he found the ticklish spot under my ear and gently nipped it.

  His lips moved to mine and for quite some time I thought our conversation had ended. Finally he raised his head just enough to lock my eyes with his, which had brightened to emerald. I could hardly think now, not with his hands roaming freely and our clothes flying through the air like confetti, but I did think I heard him whisper, “Then you will have to ask your neighbors in the morning.”

  Acknowledgments

  Mountains of thanks to Mike Calder, owner of Transreal Fiction in Edinburgh, for answering my endless questions regarding his lovely country. I’ll always appreciate your kindness, Mike! And if I’m ever in Scotland, I won’t buy a single book until I get to your place! Thanks also to Gareth at Falcata Times for enjoying Albert so much that he wished aloud to see the old coot in a bigger role. I must acknowledge Devin for inspiring the name of one of the ferrets, and thank Darrin Turpin at Orbit for helping me with some language issues. Of course, my deepest gratitude goes to all of those wonderful souls whose feedback and support I’ve come to rely on: my agent, Laurie McLean; my editor, Devi Pillai; also Alex Lencicki, Katherine Molina, and Penina Lopez. How about that Art Department at Orbit, eh? These covers just kick it through the roof! A big bless ya to my readers, Hope Dennis and Katie Rardin. And I must thank my family for putting up with my crap, loving me through everything, and making the joyful times so much sweeter. I couldn’t do it without you. As for you, my reader, my friend, thanks for following Vayl and Jaz through their adventures so far. It’s not over, not by a long shot. And what comes next should test their mettle and their love. I can’t wait. How about you?

  extras

  meet the author

  JENNIFER RARDIN began writing at the age of twelve, mostly poems to amuse her classmates and short stories featuring her best friends as the heroines. She lives in an old farmhouse in Illinois with her husband and two children. Find out more about the author at www.JenniferRardin.com.

  introducing

  If you enjoyed ONE MORE BITE,

  look out for

  BITE MARKS

  Book 6 of the Jaz Parks series

  by Jennifer Rardin

  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-minute 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. After all, my crew would be waiting for me, and I hadn’t seen Bergman and Cassandra in over two months. In other words, I didn’t want our reunion 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.

  While I didn’t sense that Cole itched to get his hands on me as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, his ear-to-ear grin, framed by the usual mop of sun-bleached hair, warned me that flexibility might be required on my part. Because Something Was Cooking. 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 own red high-tops.

  My question 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 belted out a song fit for a head of state. If he’d just been assassinated, that is.

  I turned back and whistled. Jack had been cooped up so long I couldn’t believe he still stood at the cabin door, sniffing the air as if he didn’t approve of this sudden change of season. He stared at me with his expressive brown eyes, his ears twitching as if to ask, Where did the tropics go?

  “We’re here,” I told him.

  He nodded (no, I’m not kidding; the dog’s, 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 everybody realized it stood in his territory.

  Cassandra laughed. She stood opposite Cole, her hand on the rail as if waiting to help me down. But we both knew 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.

  As our eyes met, she gave me her regal smile and flipped her heavy black braids over her shoulder, revealing a tangerine stole that 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 various bulges suggesting that perhaps 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. No doubt about it, 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.

  He stood at her shoulder, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, taking such serious note of 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 with its thin red stripes 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 Falcons logo. His lack of glasses might’ve encouraged the look too. I’d forgotten that he’d had corrective 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 my former recruit’s head off, he clasped his hands over his heart and sank to one knee. “We are all so sorry for your loss!” Cole cried. The
n he threw a dramatic gesture toward the hold of the plane, where six sober-faced pallbearers were taking the casket from the hands of the jet’s flight crew. But it wasn’t just any old death box. Some company with a sense of style but no restraint whatsoever 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 poofed from my nostrils. Control your temper, Jaz, I told myself. You know what happens when you lose it.

  “Cole,” you little shit, “you shouldn’t have.”

  He rose to his feet and dusted off his pants. The moment I reached his side he laid a gentle arm around my shoulders. “We all know how difficult this must be for you. 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 has—uh, had— become 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 taken a tumble. Jack sure seemed interested in his welfare. When my malamute didn’t return from his scouting mission right away, I leaned over to get a better view and learned the real story.

  I grabbed Cole’s arm and squeezed. “If that is a gnome whose crotch Jack is sniffing, I’m going to tie your hair up in a bun and sell you to the pirates that operate off this coast. I hear they’re always looking for fresh, young girlfriends.”