Bitten in Two

by Jennifer Rardin

  The demon didn’t even try to defend herself. Just said, “Who’s my partner for this party?” Brightly. Like she wasn’t aware of how deep Bergman’s hate ran or how Sterling itched to zap her back to hell.

  My heart sank. I knew I had to pair with her. Neither of them would make it ten steps before all-out war broke out. Then Sterling said, “I’ll do it.”

  I turned to him. “Are you sure?”

  He leaned his head, just a tick, toward Miles. Whose face had gone bright red with suppressed emotion as Kyphas smiled invitingly at him. “You can scent Weres,” he said. “I have my own ways of finding them. It’ll be faster like this.”

  But no safer, I thought as I watched him stride past Kyphas, not even waiting to see whether or not she’d follow him into the crowd. She gave us a mocking salute before turning to trot after him.

  “That demon…” Bergman growled.

  “Isn’t worth your dried scabs,” I finished. I tugged at his sleeve. “Come on.” We walked away from the dancing Berbers and their clapping audience, letting ourselves be swallowed by the human tide that ebbed and flowed around the Djemaa el Fna.

  Three minutes of searching yielded our first targets, standing among another mob of spectators. They were listening to a toothless old storyteller weave a tale of how the spirit of a spring named Amina once chased an old widower named Khalid straight into his hut, and wouldn’t allow him to haul water to his garden until he promised to let his son marry her.

  As the storyteller spoke, he threw glittering salts into the boiling pot at his feet. Out of the smoke danced an image of Amina, her blue-skinned body as fluid as water, her silver eyes flashing as she ran after Khalid waving an oar-shaped fish that looked just as alarmed as the old man at the violence she threatened. Meanwhile Khalid’s son, who the storyteller identified as an innocent youth named Saïd, stood beside the hut’s door like a potted shrub, so paralyzed by the conflict he didn’t know who to cheer for.

  While the storyteller captivated his audience with a chase scene that included fish slapping and clotheslining, I walked right up behind the Were, whose arm rested on the shoulders of what looked like an eight-year-old boy who was trembling all over. But the Luureken was neither a kid nor scared. He was just barely containing a constant, maddening rage.

  I opened my psyche—took a big sniff just to be sure. When I nearly puked from the scent of burning flesh and blood, I signaled to Bergman. He pulled the stick from his pocket, broke open the wrapping, and pretended to cough. Sterling’s spelled powder shot out of its container and onto our marks’ backs, leaving a splatter I could see only because lately I found it harder not to.

  We’d just turned away from the crowd and begun a new search when Sterling’s report came into our earpieces. “We’ve got two over here. Shining them up right now.”

  I said, “Excellent. We’ve just done a pair and I’m sensing more ahead of us.”

  I signaled Bergman to hand me a powder stick and step back, because we were approaching one of the tent restaurants. I’d spotted two male Weres standing together beside a half-size picnic table while their Luureken tore into bowls of, well, it sure as hell looked liked sheep’s heads from here. “Two pairs on our end,” I told Sterling as Bergman and I maneuvered toward the counter.

  My heart threw itself against the wall of my chest as Cole said, “I’m in position on a roof at the eastern edge of the square. I’ve been scouting the area through my scope”—pause for a metallic-sounding adjustment—“and I’ve found Vayl. Looks like he’s tracking somebody.”

  “Where is he?” I asked, scratching my nose to hide my demand.

  “Almost underneath me at booth number eleven. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  No! I want to be the one to— “Excellent work, Cole. We have found eight, repeat, eight targets for you so far.”

  I nodded to Bergman, who nailed his two, then bumped into the guy behind him and made loud with the apologies when the Were turned to see what the fuss was about.

  That caught the attention of the Luureken, who stopped eating for a hopeful check on the kill-order. Which put the other Were on edge. He leaned forward to calm his rider, at which point I marked them both.

  Bergman had already begun to move east. I caught up to him within a minute, and I asked, “Cole, can you give us a landmark for Vayl’s location?”

  He said, “Make for the twelve green patio umbrellas.”

  Suddenly I felt Cirilai go dead on my finger. Eerie. Scary. Like standing in the middle of the woods when even the crickets stop singing. I wanted to turn around. Go back to the riad and lock myself in my room until Bergman invented a reliable time machine. Or better yet, call Kyphas from her place by Sterling’s side. Snatch up her offer like it was a half-legal land deal. But the reason I survive is deeper than whim, and it reminded me now. Keep moving, it whispered, and I obeyed.

  I only knew we’d reached the rendezvous point when Bergman’s hand, firm on my wrist, brought my eyes up to his. He pushed me onto a bench at yet another fill-your-face place, and said, “Madame B.”

  “Yeah?”

  He sank down beside me. “You keep forgetting to breathe.”

  I forced myself to inhale. “Better?”

  He searched my face. “Jesus, how bad do you have it for this guy?” I shrugged, shook my head. Even if I had eloquence, I still wouldn’t have been able to put the words together. He nodded. “All right. I’m sorry to do this to you, but it’s for the best.” He leaned back, the table hitting him halfway up the spine as he said harshly, “Remember after Matt died?”

  I felt my eyes widen. You son of a bitch! You bring up the worst moment of my life now? At the worst moment of my life? How dare you! Gluing my lips together, willing the tears back, I jerked my head forward.

  He said, “Wall off your heart like you did then. You can’t save Vayl if you can’t think.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at my nose. Showed me the blood he’d mopped up. “Whatever’s doing this to you isn’t helping either.”

  I took another breath. Pulled off my Party Line and nodded for him to do the same. No reason for Kyphas to get an extra thrill off my misfortune. “It’s Brude. I don’t want Sterling to know. But it’s getting—physical—now.”

  “I’m not going to let that fucker take you down.”

  I let out a chuckle. Couldn’t help it. The image of bony little Bergman spinning Brude over his head before throwing him out of a WWE ring cheered me. “You are the best friend I could ever hope for.”

  He leaned back. “You’re not going to hug me or anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. Now come on, show me that cold bitch who makes bad guys want to push her off the sides of mountains.”

  I took another breath, this one not nearly as forced. “Okay, let’s go.”

  He helped me up. Not that he thought I needed it. Just that he wanted to preserve that moment, when I’d inevitably look up into his eyes, so he could show me the love he’d always be too shy or stuck in his own gears to be able to voice. I slapped him on the back, letting my own feelings shine right back at him. And, strengthened by my best, most loyal buddy at my side, I strode toward the vampire I did not want to survive without.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When I saw Vayl, whole and vital, leaning so casually against one of the carts whose owner sold ginseng and cinnamon tea along with big hunks of spice cake I felt… nothing. I’d been certain as tornadoes and prostate cancer that he was already gone. Because I had no illusions about myself. Somebody like me, a hired killer whose best legacy was a niece she saw mostly in pictures, didn’t deserve the love of a man who could shatter bone in his fist and transform blood to ice. Wraiths like him were the legends of their kind. I didn’t even know my neighbors. So, logically, I should’ve found his remains. But I hadn’t. And that made me…

  I put my hand over my heart. Felt it beating, leaping almost, against my palm. But the void was still there inside me. As if I couldn�
��t decode my own internal messages anymore.

  Anytime you want to stop this bullshit you go right ahead. Granny May was sitting in her lawn chair, French-braiding Teen Me’s hair. She spoke from around the comb she stuck in her mouth when she needed both hands for plaiting.

  I don’t know what you mean.

  Admit it. You hate loving Vayl this much. Wearing his ring. Walking in his past—he’s becoming a part of you now. You can say all the pretty, noble things you want to, but this closeness terrifies you. Because you know what it is to lose. To be alone.

  My throat went hot. Okay, since it’s just us, I’ll admit I haven’t felt this vulnerable since Matt died. But I want to grab life. I want to grab Vayl, preferably by that luscious ass. But there’s this—fear—worse than anything I’ve experienced on the job. I could face a hundred Weres tonight and it wouldn’t shake me the way the thought of losing Vayl forever does.

  You’re in love, Granny May said.

  Why does it have to suck so much?

  Because it’s so precious.

  What do I do?

  Leave him. I felt my heart stop under my hand. Or stay, and celebrate each moment you have with him. Taste the laughter and drink the kisses and inhale the caresses because that’s why you’re here.

  Oh. So it’s not to make Albert yell until he’s hoarse?

  Granny May chuckled. We’ll talk about your father another day. Now go on. I believe you have a job to do, you slacker.

  I glared at Teen Me. Stop teaching the old woman slang. It’ll go straight to her head and the next thing you know she’ll want to go buy herself an iPod and a pair of Jimmy Choos.

  We took a second to ponder Gran’s plain brown loafers, then we burst into laughter. It was like emptying a submarine’s ballast tanks. I felt myself begin to lift, and my whole attitude toward the coming fight and the vampire who had no idea what part we meant to play in it began to transform.

  Another quick look to set my bearings. The green umbrellas belonged to a parade of carts selling the same kind of tea out of copper pots and the same kind of cake in white flowered bowls that filled the wheeled wagon Vayl had chosen. Bergman and I stood at the edge of a crowd near number seven. Vayl’s cart had a line of eight patient snackers being waited on by a white-capped gent whose matching jacket made him look more like a hospital orderly than a food salesman. But what he did, he did well and with a friendly attitude that allowed for Vayl’s uncamouflaged presence. Then I saw that my sverhamin held a glass of tea in his hand and the merchant’s patience made even more sense.

  Before I could figure out who was commanding Vayl’s attention, Sterling sauntered up to me. “Chill, you are a long way gone for somebody who’s got work to do right here.” Kyphas’s laugh was meant to snap my last nerve. But I’d finally hit my groove, and nothing was going to fling me out now.

  I said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m just thinking a few steps ahead like Vayl would want me to. Which, now that we’ve found him and marked the Weres, I don’t see any point in delaying, do you?”

  He spread his hands. “I’m ready for the next step.”

  Bergman said, “So I guess you’re going to want the lights to go out pretty soon.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. As soon as Cole gives the okay, we’re set.”

  Cole’s voice came through our earpieces, calmer and more level than usual. “I’m in position. Ready to go when the lights fail.”

  “I’ve been talking to Sterling,” Bergman told me.

  I turned to him. “And?”

  He said, “We have a plan. I could tell you, but I’d rather just show you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve come a long way from the old magic-is-evil days, you know that, Miles?” I said quietly.

  He shrugged. “What is it they say? If you’re not growing, you’re rotting? I don’t want to rot.”

  “Good. I’d still love you if you were a zombie, but it’s more fun not having to bury parts of you in the garden.” I gave him the go-ahead gesture and half watched him help Sterling set up. But the rest of my concentration centered on Vayl. You wouldn’t think there’d be much to see. Kinda like viewing one of the time-worn angels hovering over Michelangelo’s grave. But then most people didn’t know what to look for.

  Though he stood as still as one of those lamenting saints, he was so close to losing control I wished I could pull a fire alarm and clear the place before innocent people got burned. His eyes, dark as unforgiven souls, lit with occasional bursts of red like exploding stars. His fingers, resting on the cloth-covered counter, had dug in deep enough to leave permanent indentations the blue material couldn’t quite disguise. And, this was new—or maybe really, really old—he was biting the inside of his mouth, his lips, his cheeks, bleeding himself to keep the monster on its leash.

  I looked in the direction he’d glued to and instantly picked up on a muscle-bound Were with a hiker’s tan and sun-bleached ponytail. He sat at the edge of one of the rooftop eateries that surrounded the Djemaa el Fna, a spot Monique had recommended for its exquisite food and excellent views of the glittering, smoke-blanketed square.

  As I sized up Vayl’s target I decided he had to be the one leading this pack. His size alone would’ve convinced me. But it was also the way his eyes moved across the crowds, measuring, considering, never stopping. No surprise, then, that his Luureken looked more like an imp than a child, with huge ears framing a pockmarked face and orangey-red tufts of hair sticking out from beneath his skullcap.

  I jumped when Kyphas spoke. Why do I keep forgetting she’s here? I should ask Sterling if she’s toting some sort of I’m-no-threat sachet.

  She said, “Are you really just going to stand here and watch while the rest of your crew saves the day?” she asked. “Let Bergman and Sterling deal with the lights? Allow Cole to pick off the Weres? Watch Vayl make a fool of himself? I didn’t realize you were such a passive little slave.”

  I stared into the demon’s eyes. When I smiled she pulled away from me. “You’re sweating. Why is that when the evening is cool? Don’t you want us to break the curse?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care when Vayl thinks he is. He’s nothing to me.”

  “Sure. But the Rocenz does matter to you. And the fact that we’re about to restore the mind of the one guy who can not only find it, but keep it out of your hands permanently, must be making you nutso.”

  “Not at all.”

  Nobody can lie like hellspawn. They learn it in the cradle. But, then, so had I.

  I started to say something, then I changed my mind. Instead, “Kyphas, do you ever stop with the manipulating?”

  “I have no idea—”

  “We’re about to massacre a bunch of werewolves and their riders. Do you think you could manage to cut the bullshit for three seconds?”

  Finally, a thread of humor in those hazel eyes. “Yes.”

  “I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer it fast, without even thinking. Can you at least do that?”

  Slight frown at the challenge. “Of course.”

  I motioned for her to take a break from the Party Line, and I did the same. Then I asked, “What do you want, just for yourself?”

  “Cole.”

  I laughed.

  Her hands curled into fists. She said, “It’s not funny!”

  “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because, deep down, you are such a girl. I mean, of course you want Cole. Everybody does. He’s adorable.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I’m not a girl.”

  She stared at me. “No. You’re Eldhayr.”

  “Did you have to stoop to name-calling?”

  She smirked. But the half smile vanished almost instantly as she scanned the rooftop where Cole had settled. “He’ll never have me.”

  “You mean for good.”

  Hurt in those eyes when they came back to mine, which surprised me. I hadn’t realized she felt so deeply for him already. Damn, but he had a way. She said,
“Your honesty is no virtue.”

  I shrugged. “My dad used to love telling us that the biggest obstacle on any course is the one sitting between your shoulders.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Obviously Kyphas’s digs weren’t heavily populated with military men or she’d have totally run with the reference. I said, “You’ll never snag Cole because you don’t believe you can.”

  “I am hellspawn.”

  “Yup.”

  “He wants me. Yet he despises me.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She threw up her hands. “What else is there to say?”

  I shrugged. “I guess nothing. I mean, you and I both agree that you could never, ever become the kind of woman he could love. So just keep on yanking our strings and throwing temptation in our paths. Maybe one of these days you’ll have us all in hell with you. And that’ll be even better. Right?”

  She nodded. Doubtfully.

  I turned to Bergman and Sterling just as they were emptying their pockets. They reminded me of a couple of fifth graders comparing treasures. I could almost hear the discussion.

  “I’ve beaten this Pokémon game so many times I’m dreaming about it now. I’ll trade it to you for that Snickers bar, your free pass to the basketball game, and the combination to Heidi Neyedmeyer’s locker.”

  “Okay, but the Snickers bar’s kinda melty. It’s been in my pocket for, like, three days.”

  “No problem.”

  “Deal.”

  I replaced my Party Line so I could snoop. Their conversation wasn’t nearly as fun as the one I’d imagined. Bergman was saying, “… still think the hardest part will be distracting everybody from what we’re doing. There’s”—Bergman gestured around helplessly—“no privacy.”

  Sterling said, “Stickman, if you’re that worried about it, I can toss the ingredients for my special tea into this dude’s pot instead of using mine.” He nudged his elbow toward seller number seven. “In thirty seconds nobody within a hundred feet will care if we’re dancing naked on the tables.”

  Bergman frowned down at himself. “Are we going to want to dance naked… anywhere?”