I looked at my watch. “Shit! It’s a new day!” I slapped my hand to my forehead, as if that could cover up the Mark. I felt my arm for the syringe of holy water I usually kept there. But it was gone. I’d given the sheath to Cole to feed his oral fixation and had stored the syringe back in my weapons case.
“What is happening?” asked Asha. His eyes had moved from the van to the rooftops and gone as round as campaign buttons. The mahghul were gathering.
“The reavers are coming for me. Remember that one you wouldn’t let me kill?”
Asha nodded, wincing at the bite of my tone.
“Well, his sponsor is a mortal enemy of mine who found him a bunch of willing bodies working at a local TV station. Now he’s dumped the demons he was carrying in his head into those bodies, and at least a few of them are in that van.” I took a second to think. No way could I fight off the reavers if, indeed, all six of them had piled into the van for this showdown. I was about five miles from home base, so no time to run for cover. Cirilai would’ve told Vayl I was in trouble, but he’d never get here in time to help. And Asha. Well, we’d already established his status.
I turned to him. “Do you have a car?” I asked, as I looked over my shoulder. They were two blocks away now. I could see reavers in the driver and passenger seats as well as one glaring out the front window between them.
“A car? Yes. But . . . I rarely drive it. I mean —”
“Good.” I pushed him inside the gate, slammed it shut, and barred it from the inside. “I need it.”
We ran around to the back of the house. Asha opened the garage door while I pulled Grief. I thumbed off the safety as I heard the van screech to a halt in front of the house.
“In here,” Asha whispered. I followed him into the garage and stifled a whistle as he opened the driver’s side door of a black BMW 3.
Sweet. He handed me the keys, shielding his face from me as we made the transfer. Still, I caught the glint of tears on his cheeks. Aw, for — are you kidding me? The guy could probably kick my ass into the Persian Gulf while juggling the reavers with three fingers if he wanted to. But I’d called him a name and made him cry. And now I felt bad. Because the truth is I do have a big mouth that I absolutely need to learn to keep shut, and he did have an excellent reason for avoiding the mahghul. I was just so desperate, at this point I’d smack the angel Gabriel upside the head if I thought it would make him mad enough to get down here and yell at me for three days. Because sometime within that span I’d need backup, he’d be there, and voilà. Problem solved.
I slipped into the driver’s seat and closed the door. Asha reached through the open window and poked the remote attached to the visor. The back gate began to roll open. I started the car. “I’m sorry, Asha. I was a real shit to you back there, and here you are, lending me your wheels.”
He leaned down, his sad eyes nearly level with mine. We couldn’t hear the reavers, but they were coming. My back muscles spasmed, as if at any moment they expected the reavers to jump up from the rear seat, rake the meat off my spine, and yank out my still-beating heart.
Asha wiped the tears off his face with both hands. “Here,” he said gently. “Take them.” He cupped my cheeks. I sucked in my breath as the moisture burned into my skin.
“Asha.”
“Now go!”
He made a commanding motion and of its own accord my foot slammed the accelerator.
Chapter Twenty
I believe in miracles. E.J.’s my main proof. I can’t look into those wide green eyes, feel those perfect little fingers wrapped around mine, realize this complete little girl with her own personality, made of my sister and her husband and a little bit of me, shares my world, without knowing our family recently experienced a miracle. That’s a biggie. Sometimes God throws me small ones too. Like the fact that I didn’t crash Asha’s BMW as I took a sharp right coming onto the road out of his back gate despite the fact that most of my attention was on the rear view mirror.
Four reavers had come after me. Two of them ran after the car. One actually jumped onto the trunk, but flew off as soon as I turned the corner. The other two had entered the garage to confront Asha, and I felt my chest tighten with fear for him. I’d just decided to turn the car around when I saw the reavers fly out of the garage and the door thump down. Then I was on the street, wailing down the asphalt like a bank robber, heading back to base through choppily lit, third-world-looking neighbourhoods on roads that were often so narrow I wasn’t sure how vehicles passed each other during the day.
I’d made it maybe halfway back when the TV van caught up with me.
It tried to ram me in the rear end, but I gunned the engine and pulled far enough ahead to wonder if I was giving them too good of a shot at my back tires. I took the next left before I could find out, watched the van nearly roll in its attempt to follow me, and decided a zigzag course might be the best way to keep them from flattening any part of Asha’s ride.
As we raced through the eerily quiet streets of the city, I debated whether or not to call the team. I’d put it off because, although I knew the Wizard would want them to defend me from the reavers and would, therefore, let Dave help me, I didn’t want any of them hurt because of me. More important, I didn’t want the local authorities to get wind of our operation. Something they were bound to do if the neighbors heard gunshots.
I slammed the brakes, spun the wheel hard to the left, accelerated almost before I straightened out again. Behind me the van’s tires squealed in protest and a glance in the mirror showed me reavers being thrown around the interior like balls in a batting cage.
“Dammit, would you monsters wreck already?” I headed down a narrow alleyway, watched the van throw sparks as it squeezed past the buildings that flanked it. “I need Vayl. Come on, Cirilai.” I rubbed the ring against my thigh like it was Aladdin’s lamp and if I wished hard enough Vayl would just waft out of one of the rubies, sink onto the seat beside me, and calm me with that ultracool demeanor of his even as he and I worked out our battle plan.
Vayl was out, though. The closer I got to the house, the surer I was of that fact. “Shit! Why didn’t I tell Cole to chew on his own holster? Then I’d still have that holy water on me and this Beemer and I could’ve disappeared into the city like a couple of street tramps.”
As soon as I said the words “holy water” I got an idea. At the next intersection I swung the car back toward the temple.
The van dogged me all the way there. But it didn’t attempt any more quick turns. And it didn’t run up on my bumper, for which I was grateful. If I trash another car this early in the year, I kind of thought Pete would have a heart attack.
I drove right up to the steps, dove out the passenger door, and raced to the temple’s huge entryway. The goat raised its head with interest as I stopped at the threshold.
The van screeched to a halt and reavers piled out like it was on fire. The mahghul crowded onto its roof and the adjoining satellite dish, watching eagerly as the four of them came at me.
I stepped inside the temple. They stopped on the other side of the door, prohibited from attacking me, as I’d hoped, by the sanctity of the place. At a temporary impasse, we stared each other down.
The original reaver, who was no longer slapping imaginary flies, had found himself some real winners to help him take me out. Beside him, panting like he’d just run to the top of the Sears Tower, was a sweaty, fat man who reminded me of a puffy Jason Alexander. He leaned hard against his neighbor, a tiny old dude who barely looked capable of holding himself up, much less a creature six times his size. The fourth reaver was so thin you could actually see his skull through his skin.
But though they looked pathetic, underestimating these creatures would be a huge mistake. I could still see their shields, framing each of them in black. And every one of them stared at me from a third eyeball centered in the middle of their foreheads.
“Where’s the rest of the gang?” I asked the original.
“Somebody
had to stay back at the station,” he said. “We’re a twenty-four-hour-a-day operation, so you know what that means.”
“I do?”
He grinned, his spiked tongue wagging out of his mouth like a bird dog’s. “That means we can wait you out, lambie pie. As long as it takes. Eventually you’ll have to leave here. And then we’ll have your heart. And your soul.” His three amigos giggled. They reminded me of the hyenas in Disney’s
Lion King
. You’re laughing with them on the outside, but inside you know those sons of bitches mean to eat your favorite cubs and it makes you want to puke.
Ignoring a sudden urge to run to the bathroom and heave into the toilet, I said, “What’s your name, Reaver?”
He smiled graciously, his three eyes blinking at a steady, four-second beat, as if he had a timer attached to his eyelids. “You can call me Prentiss Cairo.”
“Well, P.C., here’s the thing,” I said, flavoring my voice with enough camaraderie that he looked puzzled. “You can take the Magistrate every single one of my organs, tie up my soul with a pretty pink bow, and he’s still not gonna pat your fanny and send you to the showers with a bonus.”
When they all looked at each other with the confusion you often see on guys’ faces when women start discussing the pros and cons of home hair tinting, I decided to be blunt and hope to God I’d guessed right in forcing this confrontation.
“Have you boys been in touch with the boss recently? You remember him, don’tcha? Pretty boy hauling around a pound of Uldin Beit’s flesh? The reason I ask is,
I
have. And I can guarantee there’s been a change in plan. Your sponsor, Samos, may still want me dead. And I’m sure Uldin Beit hasn’t changed her mind. But the Magistrate has developed a whole new strategy where I’m concerned. And he is the guy with the whip, after all.”
The four of them huddled, all of them talking at once. “I
told
you we should have checked in when we hit this plane!” whined the Jason Alexander clone.
“She’s lying!” declared the old man.
“If we mess this up he’s going to kick the crap out of us,” declared the skinny guy.
“Shut up!” yelled Prentiss, glaring at me over his shoulder. I shrugged, gave him a hey-it’s-not-my-fault-you-can’t-control-your-stooges look, and stuck my hands in my pockets. The left brushed past my engagement ring. Instant comfort, as if Matt was standing beside me, his hand on my shoulder, his whisper warm in my ear. “You’re doing great, Jaz. I’m proud of you.”
The other slipped over the hilt of my bolo. The mahghul stirred with excitement as my hand wrapped around the handle. Gave it a slight pull. Several of them dropped off the van. Crept up behind the reavers.
“So what do you say, P.C.?” I inquired, resolutely ignoring the mahghul. “You want to kill me and put yourself so deep in the Magistrate’s doghouse, instead of souls, you’ll be chasing cockroaches for the next couple of hundred years? Or do you want to make a deal?”
Prentiss narrowed all three of his eyes. Eeeww, freaky. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “Leave me to the Magistrate. I get to survive another day. Uldin Beit gets what she wants in the long run. And you guys don’t get your asses reamed by the bossman. Seems like a win-win to me.”
New huddle, much whispering accompanied by a few violent gestures compliments of Prentiss and the old fart. A few moments later they faced me, united and decided. “We’ll do it,” said the old guy. He held out his hand, expecting me to shake on it. Which was when I realized I was screwed.
I know a little bit about dealing with the devil. Or, at least, his minions. The CIA presents a whole course on it. People in our line of work, well, we get tempted. A lot. Rails and sates, adversaries and siordents, they’ve all been known to throw our agents an offer they couldn’t resist. So, in order to make sure none of us rookies got dragged off to never-ever-laugh like the famous Drew Telast, who’d thought it worth risking his soul to get the dirt on Premier Khordikov, the Agency had organized a class. As a result, I knew no servant of the Great Taker would ever make a bargain with a simple handshake. If he’d really meant to seal the deal, both of us would’ve had to get bloody.
I stared at the outstretched hand. Wished I had just one ally guarding my back. Then realized I had an entire temple.
I stepped forward, shoved my palm into Old Fart’s, and grabbed hard with the other hand as well. Throwing all my weight backward, I swung him around and through the doorway. He screamed as he burst into flame —
whoosh
— as if he’d been dipped in lighter fluid and thrown into a bonfire.
“Sarif!” screamed the anorexic guy, momentarily stunned into stillness as his comrades attacked.
With no time to draw my gun and fiddle with the safety, I went for my knife. It felt heavy in my hand, which was when I realized a mahghul had wrapped itself around my forearm like a giant sloth. My skin burned where it had bitten me. I tried to shake it off, but only succeeded in making it latch on tighter.
Fine
, I thought, the rage rising in me.
I’ll take care of you later, you little bastard. And if I torture you some first, just think of it as payback.
The part of my mind that had gained extra protection when my Sensitivity first kicked in understood that my thoughts were no longer quite my own. The mahghul was ratcheting up my killing instinct even as it ate my fury. But I didn’t have time to concern myself with petty details right now. Prentiss and the fat reaver were charging me. Though the mahghul on their backs slowed them some, they still came faster than humans, and only my training allowed me to shove the bolo through Fat Guy’s third eye before spinning clear of P.C.
I threw a kick at Skinny Dude’s head before he could completely recover. His shield protected him well enough that it only staggered him, but that gave me time to draw Grief. I shot twice at Prentiss, missing the sweet spot both times.
“Shit!” Now mahghul weighed down both my legs. I felt teeth in the small of my back as well. I wanted to shoot them. But this was no time to waste ammunition.
The reavers looked like mutants as they moved toward me, so completely had they been overtaken by the murder monsters. The sight made me feel slightly crazed. I felt as if the mahghul were stealing something vital from me by draining my victims. The pleasure of the kill? The delight of seeing real fear in their eyes? Suddenly shooting the reavers seemed too quick. I wanted them to die more slowly. So I could enjoy it.
I slapped myself across the face. “Get a grip, ya loon!” I aimed Grief at Skinny Dude. Shot him almost point-blank. He went down hard, disappearing beneath the writhing forms of the mahghul like a prey fish caught inside the net of a piranha feeding frenzy.
Prentiss punched me in the chest so hard I thought for a second my heart had stopped. I staggered backward, hit the frame of the temple’s doorway, and spun on into the building. A chorus of screams rose from the mahghul, nearly deafening me. They pulled away, smoke rising from their skins as they ran out of the temple. The last one didn’t make it in time. He didn’t burn like the reaver. He exploded.
I covered my face with my hands, and when I raised it again, realized it was the only part of me not covered in gore. If I’d been in my right mind just then, I might have lost it completely. But the mahghul had drained so much of my vitality that I simply didn’t have any freak-out left in me. I struggled to my feet, knocked the ick out of my gun barrel, and stepped back outside.
Prentiss looked like a gorilla with mahghul swarming all over him. Something, maybe seeing mine explode, had made him realize he was under attack. He was trying to pull them off. But they held tight, like a pack of enormous, excited ticks.
“Help me!” he screamed just before one stuck its small paw down his throat. His next bout of begging came out as a series of indecipherable glugs. My first instinct was to run back into the temple. Grab a torch off the wall. I was betting it doubled as holy fire.
I had a feeling that might make the parasites loosen their hold.
Except as soon as they did, P.C. would try to kill me some more.
So instead I took steady aim at that extra eye, the one the mahghul seemed intent on avoiding. It widened. Began to blink rapidly as the gurgling sounds rose to a fearful peak.
I squeezed the trigger gently, part of me happily amazed the mahghul avoided me as I finished off the reaver. Maybe the smell of their brethren on me was enough to keep them at arm’s length. Had I happened on a new pesticide? Should I give Asha a buzz?
Hey, buddy. Great news! All you gotta do is spread mahghul guts all over your bod and you can go back to busting humps just like in the good old days!
As the remaining nasties slunk away I tried to plan my next move. But it wasn’t easy to think past the I-couldn’t-give-a-shit that had stolen over me. I knew those who’d bitten me had left a mark deeper than the bloody imprints of their fangs. Impossible to pinpoint among the emotional scars that crisscrossed my soul, marring it just as deeply as the welts on Vayl’s back, these wounds were already festering. Soon even the core of me, still clear-eyed enough to be biting its nails to the quick, wouldn’t be able to fend off this pervasive sense of hopelessness.
“I need a cure,” I whispered. I looked down at myself. Covered in drying blood and body parts, I should be puking, gagging, swearing. Jesus, I should at least be trying to get it off! But I just stared.
I’m doomed
.
A single tear escaped the corner of my eye, burned its way down my face, and dripped onto my hand, which still held my bolo. I watched it sizzle on my skin for a moment, as if it were a drop of grease in a pan.
“Ow!” I rubbed my hand, surprised at the pain a bead of moisture could cause. Certain the Amanha Szeya had affected more than my tear ducts when his hands had cupped my cheeks. Pleased at the white spot I’d cleared with that small effort.
I wiped my face off too, before it could get any hotter. Took a look at the gook my hand had removed.
Jennifer Rardin - Jaz Parks Book 3 - Biting The Bullet Page 16