I handed Jack off to Cassandra, flung my arms into the air, and began to wail, “I can’t stand it! This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me! Life will never be the same again! He was so young! We never even had kids!” On and on I ranted, barely pausing to breathe between screeches.
“Oh, you’re good!” Cole scrubbed at his day-old stubble to hide his smile, which quickly transformed into a jaw-dropper when a fist punched through the golf bag’s lid. Luckily only the two of us noticed. The rest were distracted by the youngest mourner, who’d ripped her dress, maybe thinking she had to one-up me if she wanted a decent tip.
“Oh, God, why did this happen to me!” I flung myself across the hand, which began to work its way up my ribs like they were a ladder to the Promised Land. But I could feel Vayl’s mood through Cirilai, the ring that bound us closer than a promise, and fun was the last thing on his mind. I sent him soothing thoughts, yanked a handful of roses from the bouquet decorating the lid, and shoved them into his fist.
The mourners, inspired by their colleague’s wardrobe malfunction and my overacting, kicked it into high gear. Their screams bounced off the hearse and sank into the coffin, sending Vayl into a frenzy. Despite the tradition followed by most of his kind, he’d never spent his days in the spelunker’s paradise he presently inhabited. Only Pete’s promise of a hefty bonus and the help of a sedative known to work on vampires had convinced him to travel this way at all.
His other hand crashed through the lid, wrapped around my jacket, and forced me down, holding me so tight that I rode the casket into the hearse as Cole, Bergman, and Cassandra helped the pallbearers shove it the rest of the way home. Somebody slammed the door shut and, since the back of the car had no windows, I began to open the latches.
“I’m getting you out!” I called. I popped the last closure and Vayl shoved back the lid, rolling me into the narrow space between the coffin and the hearse’s inner wall, raining roses on me like I was a parade float. Now it was my turn to grit my teeth and wriggle.
“I’m stuck!” I yelled.
The lid slammed and Vayl, moving so fast all my eyes caught was a blur of black leather and bloodred cashmere, grabbed my arms and pulled me into the backseat. We landed on our sides, tangled like teenagers, our mouths so close I could feel the steam of his heavy breaths washing over my cheeks.
I pulled my head back, inspecting him for damage. His short, dark curls practically stood on end. His winged eyebrows looked like they wanted to fly off his forehead, but his eyes, the orange of a tiger lily, were already fading to brown. “That was… unpleasant,” he said, his expression still taut enough to show the bulge of his fangs under his upper lip.
“But this is nice,” I said as I slipped my hand inside his coat. I made my next move quick, because company was coming and the CIA frowns on fraternization. Not that my crew would’ve gossiped about me grabbing my boss’s rear. They knew how to keep their mouths shut. So did we, for that matter. But people who risk death with you on a regular basis just seem to figure things out. And if the Oversight Committee questioned them I didn’t want them to have to lie any more than necessary.
“Jasmine!” Vayl’s breath caught. “You pick the worst moments!” Which was true, because people had begun to pile into the hearse. I could hear the delight in his voice though. Damn near three hundred years old and he still loved to be groped.
“I think my necklace is tangled in your sweater,” I said. Since the line my shark’s tooth, shells, and beads were strung on had been tested to six hundred pounds, one guess which would give first.
“I do not care what is wound where as long as I am rid of that box.”
“That bag was lined with real silk!” Cole announced as he bounced into the seat beside Ruvin.
I covered Vayl’s mouth before he could reply, because absolutely nothing he said could’ve helped. I gasped when he licked my palm. “What’re you doing?”
“Your hand is bleeding,” he whispered.
Oh, great, the roses. I hadn’t even felt their thorns dig in when I’d ripped them out of the bunch. But now that I knew, my wounds began to throb, along with a vein in my temple as Bergman and Cassandra got comfy in the seat opposite us. Jack, bummed to be stuck in yet another enclosed space, hopped up on the seat beside us and stuck his nose against the window.
“Somebody needs to pay the mourners,” Bergman said to Vayl. “They say they won’t cry another tear until—”
“What mourners?” he growled.
I dropped my fist to his chest, thought better of patting it. Hell, his sweater no doubt cost more than my entire wardrobe. “It’s a long story. One you probably shouldn’t hear until you’ve had some nourishment and Cole’s a couple of miles away. Hang on.”
I freed my necklace and, taking Jack with me, slipped out the door, making sure the light didn’t hit Vayl’s position. Though he’d applied Bergman’s skin lotion and brought his fedora and sunglasses, the UV still hurt when it struck him. It just didn’t make him burst into flame anymore.
Pulling a wad of bills from an inner pocket of my jacket, I headed toward the oldest, and loudest, mourner. “How much?” I asked.
She named a number that made me bite my tongue. I nearly bartered, but realized as a widow wallowing in grief, I probably wouldn’t have the emotional stability to go there. Which made me wonder how many bereaved families got screwed the world over.
I gave her the dough and passed an even larger amount to the band. They, at least, made a pretty noise for their pay. I headed back to the hearse.
Stop.
Like competitors in a game of Simon Says, my feet obeyed. That the order came from a voice inside my head shouldn’t have been disturbing. I talk to myself all the time, and my imaginary people come in all shapes and sizes. Except this one had risen recently, without welcome or permission, or a face to make it familiar.
Don’t go back in that car, it snarled. What do you want with a seinji, a shallow playboy, a neurotic inventor, and a See-it-all anyway? You’re better off on your own, like it was before you met that cowardly vampire.
I closed my eyes. Like all my mental voices, this one felt like an extension of me. But I didn’t have the ability to silence it like I could the others. It had begun quietly near the end of our last mission and grown like a tumor ever since. The only time it voluntarily muted was when Vayl showed.
I scratched at an itch that threaded from wrist to elbow. Hell, maybe I’d still be standing there today, sinking nails into skin, if not for Jack, who let out a series of his rare, throaty woofs. They snapped the hold that voice had woven over me. As I forced my feet to carry me back to the hearse, it suddenly felt like I was attending my own funeral. Because I knew it was time to face the facts. Either I really despised everybody in that car. Or my psyche had picked up a passenger.
CHAPTER TWO
If Vayl and I were asked to teach a class, and I’m kinda surprised it hasn’t happened already, we’d probably begin by saying, “Welcome to Assassination for Beginners, boys and girls. You in the back! Put that knife away! We don’t kill anybody until the final! Geez!”
“Anyway, one of the reasons we’ve never yet failed a mission is because we’re terrific liars. We’re not talking mundane, slip-a-speeding-ticket fibs. No. We mean world-class shit. For instance, if you can’t make your targets believe you’re smitten to the point where you’d like to birth two or three evil spawn with them, you might as well go back to Analysis.”
I’d lied to all kinds of lowlifes in my time with the Agency. It sucked that, once again, I was using that finely honed ability against my own people. Still, I made sure Lucille Robinson’s smile was pasted to my face when I got back into the hearse. Because my crew had to think I wanted them close. And Vayl could never know he’d hooked up with another head case. After his ordeal with Liliana he could have sworn off relationships for good. And the fact that he’d never married again showed how deeply she’d wounded him. I didn’t want to be the one to reopen
those scars.
But our team’s like a tight family. Hard to fool, especially when you’re trying. So when Bergman sat forward, slipped off his backpack, and gave me his you’re-about-to-be-a-happy-girl look, I could’ve kissed him.
“What’ve you got in there?” I asked, so glad for the distraction I didn’t care if it was a bomb and he was about to teach me which wire I should cut if the Daring Defusers got stuck in traffic.
He looked over his shoulder. “Thor?” he said, barely managing not to snicker. “We need a little privacy here.”
“No problem.” Cole raised the limo’s mirrored window between himself, Ruvin, and us. I spared a thought for the mourners we’d abandoned, but apparently they’d carpooled with the pallbearers since they all had another gig in an hour. For their sakes, I hoped the guy in the coffin was fully dead this time.
When Bergman felt we were secure he said, “I promised you an extra-special invention.”
I sucked in my breath. “Already?”
He nodded. “I’ve been working on it for a while. I was going to sell it. But… well, that client doesn’t deserve it nearly as much as you.”
I didn’t have to fake the Christmas-morning anticipation on my face when he put the bag on the floor between us. Jack gave it a sniff, pronounced it inedible, and stuck his nose back on the window.
I glanced at Vayl. “Go on; open it,” he said. “It is bound to amaze us.” Under his breath he added, “And perhaps it will take my mind off the humiliation of having to crawl inside a golf bag at two thirty this morning.”
I reached out to touch him, but a major itch on my thigh detoured my hand. I said, “I’m sorry. I had no idea that’s what the company sent. I won’t leave the arrangements to Cole again.” Now the other thigh itched. What the hell?
“Did you forget to wash your blue jeans before you put them on today?” asked Cassandra as she ran her hand down Jack’s furry gray back.
“No.”
And why do you give a fuck, Miss High-and-Mighty with your name-brand outfits and effortless elegance? All you have to do is lift your little finger and you have me outclassed.
Without looking I grabbed Vayl’s hand and squeezed. His strong fingers, wrapping around mine like a lifeline, pulled me away from the voice in my head, which faded into a slimy gray mist as I smiled at Cassandra, reminding myself firmly that my brother had recently told me she made him feel like a king. “Guess I’m just anxious to see what Bergman’s brought me.”
She nodded eagerly. “Me too. So open your present already, will you?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Vayl released my hand so I could unzip the backpack. Movement inside made me jump back.
“Jaz Parks,” Bergman said formally, “meet RAFS.”
Out of the bag poked a head with inky black ears set wide apart and two golden eyes whose vertical irises betrayed the inspiration of Bergman’s schematic. A soft whir of hidden machinery accompanied its smooth leap onto the floor at my feet.
“It’s a cat!” I said. Oops. Jack turned around, his tongue dropping as he spied the new creature sharing his temporary confinement. I swear he smiled as he realized the potential for play that had just appeared. “Don’t you dare!” I warned, lunging for his collar. Too late.
He jumped at RAFS, who sprang onto the seat between Bergman and Cassandra.
“This is not a toy, you gigantic slobberbag!” Bergman shouted. He shielded the cat with his body while Jack tried to stick his nose into the crack between our consultant’s elbow and knee. It must’ve been a ticklish spot because, even as I snagged Jack’s leash, Bergman began to giggle. Which caused the mechanical cat to feel its shelter had experienced an earthquake of an unsafe magnitude.
It squirted out of Bergman’s clutches onto the top of the seat and, from there, jumped onto the casket. When it stared, unblinking, at us I could’ve sworn I saw—
“Bergman? Did you actually program in cat-snooty?” I asked as I struggled to keep Jack from joining his new buddy on its smooth, wooden perch.
As I glanced from the inventor to his prize I saw him nod happily. “I did. But that was just for fun. The serious attributes will make you wish you had a whole fleet of them.”
“What’s it do?”
He reached into his back pocket and handed me a container that held fake eyelashes. “Go ahead,” he said eagerly. “Put them on.”
Cassandra dipped her hand into her bag, did a couple of mixing bowl motions, and came out with a compact. “Here, this should help,” she said as she snapped it open and offered me the mirror.
“Thanks.” I stuck the lashes onto my own, reassuring myself that I didn’t suddenly resemble my dad’s sister, Candy, who’d danced her way across the States before the poles got too slick and she decided marrying a rich old coot who could buy her bigger boobs and a cushy retirement home in Orlando might be a better plan.
Vayl asked, “How will the cat help us, Miles?”
“RAFS is a mobile surveillance system with offensive capabilities, in that I gave her claws and teeth. And grenades. But those haven’t been sufficiently tested yet, so…”
I looked at the kittybot, trying and failing to figure out just how she would launch a minibomb. “You said… her?”
Bergman shrugged. “RAFS seems female to me.”
I pointed to my lashes. “What are these for?”
Vayl leaned forward, his lips twitching. “They make you look… sooty.” I could tell he wasn’t talking about chimney sweeping. Especially when his eyes dropped first to my neck, then to my chest.
I was glad nobody could hear my heart speed up, although Cassandra’s smirk showed she wasn’t unaware. Still, I tried to keep the conversation on the right track.
“Are they like our party line?” I asked. We hadn’t yet shared out the earpieces and fake moles that would allow us all to talk with each other at a distance of at least two miles, because Bergman had promised an upgrade. Who knew that he’d also bring a cat that somehow connected with me through my blinkers?
Bergman didn’t even try to hide the smug. “Somewhat. You should see them at night. Point a light at them and they glow.”
I threw up my arms. “Great, now I’m gonna look like a freak too!”
“I like freaks,” said Vayl. His eyes, shining the emerald green he saved just for me, demanded some sort of response. I wished we were still vacationing on his island so I could show him how much his comment meant to me. Instead I scratched a new itch on my shoulder and turned back to Bergman.
“Come on, spill. What do the eye gadgets do?”
He grinned. “RAFS, you are now under Jasmine Parks’s voice command.” He whispered, “Tell her to switch to video mode.”
I looked at the cat, its smooth shell made less foreign by the jet-black color Bergman had chosen for it. “RAFS, switch to video mode.”
A holographic image of Bergman and Cassandra, as seen through the cat’s eyes, appeared before mine.
“Is it operating?” asked Bergman.
I nodded. “How does it work?” I asked.
“RAFS beams the message to receivers in the lashes, which project an image just far enough from your eyes for you to get a clear view.” I gaped at Bergman. “What?” he asked.
“Dude! You never explain your inventions!” I studied his face. “You didn’t send a clone of yourself or something?”
“No!” He chuckled. “Maybe I’m just trying to impress you with my engineering genius.”
“I’ve known you since I was eighteen. You had me the second you rigged our refrigerator to dispense Diet Coke out the water spigot.”
His smile widened. “Okay, well, maybe I do have ulterior motives. But those can wait until you’ve gotten to know RAFS better.” He nodded at the cat. “She records audio too. And when you’re outfitted with the party line, she can receive that signal. You can also access all of the CIA’s databases through her, as well as Cassandra’s Enkyklios.”
“No!” Cassandra’s portable lib
rary was such a fascinating blend of cinema, history, and magic that I couldn’t imagine an alternative.
Our Seer nodded. “We needed another backup, so when Bergman offered RAFS and said she’d belong to you, it seemed like the perfect plan. Especially when he explained that one of her abilities was inspired by the Enkyklios to begin with.”
“Wait a minute. You’re basically handing me the chance to research any other I come across, plus enter the new events I experience, all on my own? Without one of you Sisters of the Second Sight looking over my shoulder?”
She nodded. “We’re making you an honorary member of the Guild.”
“But I’m not psychic.”
“Your Spirit Eye qualifies you in most of the Sisters’ minds. The rest are willing to welcome you as long as the title remains honorary. That means you won’t have any voting privileges.”
Why was it nobody wanted to give me a say? The Greek werewolves who’d accepted me as a low-level pack member hadn’t forked over any power in their elections either. But to be fair, if I was anybody else, I wouldn’t let an assassin influence my policy either.
“Wow.” I glanced up at Vayl, wondering what he thought of this new development. Well, he definitely approves of my boobs. “Would you pay attention?”
“I am fully aware.” He leaned over to whisper, “I have never made love to a Sister of the Second Sight. Find out if they have a catalog, would you? Perhaps you could order something in the way of a bustier and high heels?”
I stared into those bright green eyes and couldn’t find a shred of humor. Son of a bitch! He’s serious!
“Oh, for chrissake.” I didn’t know if I was pissed at him for totally veering off subject or at myself for the blush that burned my cheeks. I pinned my attention on Bergman, who would never mix business with pleasure. Or pleasure with pleasure, for that matter. “So, besides the information it’s toting, how is the cat like the Enkyklios?”
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