Bite Marks

by Jennifer Rardin

  Sure, that made sense. Temptation was one of evil’s most effective weapons. And Brude struck me as a greedy creep.

  “Bergman, were you able to fulfill your contract?” asked Vayl. None of us had even noticed my sverhamin slip into the room, we’d been so intent on the picture show and the talk that followed. Now I couldn’t believe I’d missed him. Only the cold bite of his power lifting the hairs on the back of my neck let me know how he’d pulled it off.

  “What do you mean?” For a smart guy Bergman played dumb pretty well.

  “Your clients would never have given you those details unless they had hired you to build a weapon that could defeat such a creature. Did you succeed?”

  Miles pulled down the brim of his cap. “Not yet.”

  Vayl nodded, unsurprised. He spun his cane, making the blue jewel on its tip glitter in the lamplight. “If we can find this Rocenz, separate the pieces, and carve Brude’s name on the gates of hell, I believe it will reduce him to the dust to which his original body has already fallen.”

  Bergman shot me a look. Pure suspicion. He stared back at Vayl and said, “Are you sure we should be talking this way in front of—” He jerked his head at me. But he meant Brude, who’d be listening intently. Unless he was an idiot. Which he wasn’t. Dammit.

  “Of course,” Vayl replied. “If he knows how great the odds are that he will end up as fodder, perhaps he will voluntarily release Jasmine.”

  More conversation followed. Details I really should’ve paid attention to. Brude was probably taking notes and making flashcards. But Vayl’s costume kept distracting me. Because it made him look like a rock star. I hadn’t expected the jacket to be so… oh-baby! It was the kind you wear when riding a Harley. That offset, silver-zipper style that makes a woman’s mouth water when it’s worn open to reveal the broad chest of a vampire at the height of his powers.

  “Jasmine?” Vayl asked. “Were you going to say something?”

  I realized my mouth was hanging open and cranked it shut. My head started to itch. Great. Not only had the rash spread, now I’d look like I had dandruff while I was relieving the irritation. “I’m covered in bumps,” I said glumly.

  “Some more interesting than others,” he replied softly as he reached my side.

  “Would you shut up? Bergman’s, like, five feet away!” My eyes darted to our techie, but he’d opened his backpack and appeared to be rummaging through it as happily as a kid in a toy box.

  “You look, how do you say?” He dropped that crooked smile on me that makes my knees unlock. “Hot.” The last word, barely a whisper, lost itself in my hair as he pressed his lips to that spot just below my ear that can, apparently, flip the off switch in my brain. Before I realized it my hands were inside that jacket, stroking the hard planes of his chest and stomach. And then, as if moving without any prompting from me they reached down, undid his belt, pulled it loose, and…

  “Ahhh, that feels great,” I moaned.

  “I am completely grossed out over here!” Cassandra informed us.

  Vayl, who’d been peering down at me with an expression of utter disbelief, stared at Cassandra over the top of my head. “It is not what you think,” he assured her.

  “As if I’d do something that disgusting,” I said, pulling away from him, but keeping the belt, because the buckle relieved the itching so much better than fingernails. I continued using it to scratch the inflamed skin across my stomach as I sat down by Cassandra.

  “You are pathetic,” she told me.

  “I’d get all offended, but I’m pretty sure you’re right.”

  I ignored Vayl’s glare, after all he probably had a spare belt in his suitcase, and concentrated on Miles, who’d found his treasure. “Here it is!” he said triumphantly. “The new, improved party line!”

  He’d invented the group-communications devices years ago, so the chances of them blowing out an eardrum or melting off parts of our faces had decreased over time. Still, the fact that he’d tinkered with what I saw as the perfect system worried me. He opened up the silver case and handed us each a smaller box containing the set of items we needed to send and receive messages.

  “What’s different about them?” I asked without opening mine. Who knew? Maybe they were rigged to explode when you said a code word. Like “different.”

  “They work on the same general principle,” Bergman explained. “A transmitter that resembles a beauty mark, which you should place near your mouth. And a receiver, which, before, was wired into an earring and then tracked into your ear. Now we have this.”

  He pressed his finger into his own box and lifted it up. Stuck to the end was what looked like a narrow piece of tape, only slightly thicker. More like the What’s-in-Our-Oceans? window peels my sister, Evie, thought her kid needed all over the house now that she was a whopping three months old.

  “It sticks inside your ear like this,” he said, demonstrating with his own piece. “It sends clearer sound and nobody can tell you have it on.”

  “Awesome!”

  “That’s not even the best part!” Bergman declared. “It’ll magnify sounds for you if you scratch it enough times. So if you want to hear a conversation that’s happening from across the room, you can. Just remember to scratch it the same number of times when you’re done otherwise you’ll be risking permanent hearing loss. And, of course, while you’re eavesdropping you won’t be able to hear anybody else on the party line until you’re done. I like to call it my RAFS redundancy plan. Except now that her name’s Astral that doesn’t sound nearly as cool.”

  “Dude, you keep coming up with awesome gizmos like this and you can call them anything you want,” I said.

  Vayl banged his cane on the floor, reminding me of a judge gaveling everybody into recess. “It looks to me as if everyone is ready. Shall we repair to the Wheezer?”

  I held back a smile. Shall we repair to the Wheezer. Too cute. Vayl was like a British butler’s studly cousin.

  “Just a sec,” I said. “Jack’s in the backyard.” Returning Vayl’s belt on the way, I ran to the glass doors and called my dog, who’d just left a giant deposit I reminded myself to clean up before bedtime. “Yo, poop-meister! We’re leaving!”

  Hearing his favorite phrase next to “dinnertime,” Jack bounded through the brown grass and into the house, bringing a rush of cool night air with him. Despite the fact that I’d already thrown on my jacket, I shivered. Nights like these were made for killing. I could always smell it in the air. And tonight, the scent in my nostrils meant blood.

  * * *

  Wirdilling Primary School made up in whitewash what it lacked in charm. It practically glowed in the streetlights, its black roof making it seem to become a part of the night sky, as much a nocturnal creature as the four of us. A square building with its own water tank out front, it gave off the oddest vibe, the deserted swings and seesaws in the side yard seeming to shout, School sucks when the kiddies can’t come!

  I’d backed the Wheezer into a parking space on the street a few feet from the fence. “Nobody home,” I said. Not surprising. Our sources had informed us the Space Complex was hosting no guests other than the Odeam team this week.

  Vayl said, “All right, remember your roles, please. We are acting as the Shoot-Yeah Productions crew. So keep that in mind at all times, yes?” At a little after 9:15 in the evening we didn’t figure on anyone strolling past. But it always pays to play your part. You never know when the curtain peepers are at their posts.

  We piled out of the vehicle. Bergman and Cassandra pulled tripods and video cameras out of the trunk, chatting with each other like they actually knew crap about lighting and B-roll. Vayl disappeared around the building’s far side, probably to check out roof access in a way passersby couldn’t witness. The rest of us headed for the gate.

  As soon as we crossed into the playground I stopped. Bergman went on through. But Cassandra halted beside me.

  “Do you feel it?” I murmured.

  “Yes. Like a thrum t
hrough the soles of my feet,” she said. She crouched down and laid her palms flat against the dying grass. “I’m not getting anything clear, just a sense of connected life. I think something big lies under this school.”

  “Keep moving. Let’s see how far it extends.” Since we were fenced in, I unhooked Jack’s leash and let him run while the two of us paced off an asterisk from one end of the playground to the other, discovering the extent of the labyrinth under the old school, and trying to figure out what kind of others we’d sensed.

  “It’s everywhere!” Cassandra finally announced.

  “Yeah, but who does it belong to?” I murmured as I passed Bergman.

  “No clue,” he responded. He’d set up the video camera and was now taking a still shot of the building’s main entrance with one of his pocket clickers. I doubted we’d use that door during our return visit, but you never knew. His orders were to get pictures of every visible form of entry so we could figure out the best way to sneak in later that night. He went on. “Hey, don’t let Jack pee on the tripod, okay? Tell him it’s my territory.”

  “If you peed on it he’d know without anyone having to say a word,” I told him.

  His face puckered like a rotten pumpkin’s. “You know, your standards have really bottomed out since the mutt moved in! I want this clear from the start. If we become partners, you’re handling all the dog poo.”

  “Works for me. But that’s a big ‘if.’ I’m still pretty happy at the Agency.” I grabbed Jack’s collar and steered him toward a tree in the corner of the playground. Which kinda disappointed him, because I’d told Astral to stick with Vayl. And Jack badly wanted to find her.

  After marking the corner of the property and nosing around the fence in a halfhearted attempt to smell up somebody friendlier than the mystery creature who’d recently entered his life, Jack caught a scent. Noting the rigidity of his ears and the tension in his haunches I reached down and slowly clicked his leash back onto his collar.

  “What is it, boy?” I asked softly. He didn’t even turn to look at me, just lowered his nose and began to walk, setting one paw carefully beside the other.

  “Jasmine?” Vayl sounded like he was standing right next to me, though I knew he must be crouched on the roof by now. Good to know Bergman’s gadgets performed above standard.

  “Jack’s onto something,” I said. “Maybe it’s just a rabbit. You know dogs.” Okay, I assumed he did. But maybe not. Had Vayl ever owned one? I realized we’d never had that conversation. And we should’ve. I also didn’t know his mother’s name. Or if he liked lobster. A thread of panic wrapped around my lungs, making me suck in my breath. I should know these things! Why didn’t I know these things?

  Because you don’t belong with him. You never did. The only man you were meant for died eighteen months ago and you will never, ever find another like him. Now that I’d outed Brude in my own mind his accent had thickened considerably. Too bad I could still translate his brogue.

  I tucked my chin into my chest. You’re in forbidden territory. Go there again and I’ll kill you.

  You cannot kill me without killing yourself.

  Yup.

  You would commit such an atrocity?

  Not happily. But you’re a menace. Better to get rid of you while you’re trapped inside me than let you pull off whatever heinous plan you’ve devised that includes me.

  I waited. Listened. The only voice I heard was Vayl’s, smooth and sweet as hot fudge as he said, “Jasmine, what is wrong?”

  “Brude,” I said shortly. “Nothing I can’t handle.” For now. “If you’re finished up there we might’ve found something interesting down here.” I thought for a second. “Also, I need to know your mother’s name.”

  Was it just my imagination or was Bergman’s doohickey sensitive enough to pick up the catch in Vayl’s voice as he asked, “Why?”

  “You know all about mine. And yours was like, a thousand times better.” Because, even though she never knew you, she cared enough to demand that the family make Cirilai to protect you. “Plus, we could use her name as a code word or something. For when one of us is about to do something the other should just take on faith.”

  “It was Viorica.”

  “And if you were going to pick between lobster and crab, which would you choose?”

  “What?”

  “These are things we should know. What if we have to take a quiz someday? I can tell you right now that Bergman is allergic to eggs, and Cassandra’s all-time favorite place to visit is Monaco. Have you ever had a dog?”

  “I prefer crab. And yes, I have owned several dogs. But I grew tired of burying them every decade or so. Thus, my only pets are the tigers carved into my cane.”

  “There, was that so hard?”

  Jack had begun to tug at his leash hard enough to make my shoulder ache, so I stopped resisting and followed him toward the northwest corner of the schoolhouse. Concrete steps led down to a basement entrance that had been both boarded and padlocked shut. But that wasn’t the part that interested him. His nose led him to the side of the steps, to a gray brick wall so ordinary I’d never have given it a second look if not for him. I took a knee.

  “What’s that on your nose, dude?” A smudge of powder, the same color as the wall. I reached out to rub the spot he’d sniffed it from. Yanked my hand back. Because my fingers hadn’t touched the rock-hard surface my eyes had registered. It had felt more like membrane, giving like Jell-O at the contact.

  “We’ve got something over here,” I said.

  “Be casual,” Vayl reminded everyone.

  I looked up as Bergman reached the top of the steps and clicked off a couple of shots. Cassandra joined him, exclaiming over the viability of using this spot in our movie’s murder scene. And then Vayl split the two of them in the middle, Astral sitting at his feet like a real cat, which was when I realized that was exactly the kind of pet he needed. Battery-driven. Likely to outlast even him.

  Now that I had my audience, I flicked the barrier with a finger. It wiggled, pulling an excited gasp out of Bergman. He ran down the steps, jumping the last two in his rush to get a closer look.

  “What kind of technology are we talking about here?” he asked himself as he poked at the fakeness. He gasped when his finger went through. Sagged against me when it came out whole, if dusty.

  “I doubt if it’s mechanical so much as chemical mixed with magic,” said Cassandra as she and Vayl descended the steps. “But as soon as I touch it I’ll be able to tell you a great deal more.”

  Jack and I backed toward the boarded door to give her room to work while Bergman pulled Astral out of the way. Vayl leaned on his cane, watching with interest as she knelt, steadying herself with one hand on the bottom step. She gently pressed the other against the Jell-O wall, squeezing her eyes tight as images filled her mind. Her lips flattened, like she’d just taken a bite of bad potato salad but couldn’t spit it out, because her auntie had made it special, just for her.

  Finally she nodded and stood. “This is a new doorway into a gnome warren. It’s the one Pete told us about. N’Paltick.” Nobody said anything, but the silence was full of unspoken speculation. She went on, “It was built for ease of access to these apartments. I also See gnomes swarming out of this entrance. They are quite excited, but I can’t tell why.”

  Though the answer seemed obvious, Vayl still had to ask, “Is this the same warren that took Ruvin’s family?”

  She nodded. “A woman and two boys are sitting in a candlelit room. They seem all right. They’re looking at the door in surprise.” She glanced up at him. “In my vision they believe they’re about to be rescued.”

  His eyes, bright blue with the intensity of his thoughts, wandered to mine. As I read the question in them I shrugged. We both knew we’d never find a better chance to humiliate the shaman than this one. A people blinded to their leader’s whacked ways had to start questioning how tight he and the almighty Ufran really were when their god let common kidnappers make
off with the bargaining chips—er, I mean—the midwife’s family.

  You know I’m for it, I told him silently. Especially considering how much safer Cassandra will be down there.

  Gnomes and demons entered into a blood feud right after Lucifer’s Fall. By now the gnomes were so far ahead they’d stopped keeping score. Other creatures might push them around, but demons couldn’t seem to solve the gnomes’ code. A lot of people had studied their defenses and weaponry trying to figure out why, including yours truly. My theory—faith.

  Gnomes believed. Even the fanatics—who performed appalling actions in the name of a god whose name translated as “peace”—even they remained demon-immune. I figured this had to be due to their unshakable convictions. And that makes for slim pickings when you have to fill a monthly quota. So the last place Kyphas would look for Cassandra would be in an Ufranite warren.

  A thought hit me. I tucked it away before Brude could see it.

  “Are we in agreement then?” Vayl asked.

  I nodded. “Maybe the prisoners have heard something that could help us identify all the carriers,” I said for Brude’s benefit.

  “We have other means,” Vayl reminded me.

  “Yeah, but this way we get to… you know.” I smiled. So did he.

  Bergman held up a finger. “Hang on, you just made a big leap there. What did I miss?”

  I clapped him on the back. “Probably better for you just to find out as you go.” I turned back to Vayl, who was studying the brilliantly disguised gnome door.

  “You’re not thinking of diving in or anything, are you?” Bergman asked. He gestured at the fake wall. “We don’t even know what’s on the other side.”

  Ignoring Bergman’s observation, Vayl said, “Jasmine, tell me. If you had built an access door, the better to reach Odeam’s traitor, why would you choose this particular location?”