Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by Jennifer Rardin

  Had Assan pegged us? Had he called in backup to pull us off his tail? No more time to wonder. After another meeting with the SUV our rear end had more wrinkles than an Agatha Christie novel.

  “Son of a bitch!” I floored it, but speed was only a temporary solution. We didn’t have the horses to outrun him, and if he took my bumper at the wrong angle, I’d go spinning off the road like Jeff Gordon after a run-in with Tony Stewart.

  “All right,” said Vayl, “I have had it.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I am thinking it is time we find out who is trying to kill us.”

  “Can we do that without dying?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then I’m for it.” I watched in the mirror as the SUV closed in on us. Geez, but he was coming fast. “Hang on,” I told Vayl. I slammed on the brakes. Taken by surprise, he swerved, caught my back bumper with his side panel and continued his spin on into the median.

  The impact triggered our air bags, and for a while Vayl and I fought to get our eyes uncrossed. They may have slowed those bags down, but when one goes off in your face it still feels like you just got your neck sprung by a Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robot.

  I was debating whether the ringing in my ears was a product of the blow to my head or a sign of imminent mental breakdown when the doors opened. A red-faced, gray-bearded man blocked my exit. He towered over me, wearing faded blue overalls and a Dolphins jacket, looking like he could flip the car over without breaking a sweat. His eye had swollen shut.

  “I hear raw steaks work wonders on shiners that size,” I offered.

  “Shut your mouth before I do it for you.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the car. I stumbled, fell against him, felt the hard outline of a pistol jam against my ribs.

  “What do you want?” I asked. Good. I sounded brave.

  “Just think of yourselves as a stain and us as bleach.” O-kay. Maybe these guys weren’t with Assan after all. Maybe they’d just escaped from some understaffed, underfunded psych ward.

  I turned my head to check on Vayl. They were taking him very seriously. He stood among the brush and scrub that passed for a shoulder on this part of the highway, leaning on his cane as he traded stares with three men in their late twenties.

  Two held him at bay with silver crucifixes. One had JESUS SAVES emblazoned across the front of his gray T-shirt in big orange letters. The other wore a black sweatshirt that framed two praying hands surrounded by a beaded necklace with a silver stake hanging from it.

  The third man, who’d come straight from a funeral judging by his three-piece suit, aimed a cocked crossbow at Vayl that would’ve made me laugh in different circumstances. It looked like he’d built it in his seventh-grade shop class.

  “And don’t try any of that mumbo jumbo on us,” Jesus Saves warned Vayl. “I’ll tell them if you do, and you’ll be smoke before you can blink.”

  As Graybeard yanked me around to Vayl’s side of the car, two big lightbulbs went off in my brain, which probably meant I was flirting with an aneurism. But while I still had my faculties I figured Jesus Saves was a Sensitive, like me. He also must’ve been present at a staking to know vampires do leave trace amounts of dust and ash when they’re vanquished, but the biggest part of them goes up in smoke.

  We were down on numbers and weaponry. Never a good place to be, even when you’re a pro. I admit, dread had sunk its claws into the back of my neck, and it wasn’t helping me think any clearer. Then Vayl met my eyes—and winked. Suddenly I could breathe again. Because in that moment I knew no two-bit operation run by a bunch of yahoos was going to beat us. Not tonight. Not ever.

  As soon as my mind cleared, I noticed two things. An undeniable affection for my partner whose survival meant a lot more to me than mere job satisfaction. And the identity of the organization fronting this one-night event.

  “Hey, Vayl.” I jerked my thumb at Graybeard. “This one’s into cleanliness and that one”—I nodded at Jesus Saves—“is into godliness. What’s that make you think of?”

  “God’s Arm.” Vayl’s instant reply pleased our captors. It’s always nice to have your ultrafanatical religious affiliation recognized.

  “Let’s walk,” said Graybeard, gesturing toward a grove of trees in the distance with the .357 Magnum he’d pulled from his front pocket. Vayl’s slight nod encouraged me to cooperate, for now. So I walked, my sandals protecting me so poorly from the rocks and weeds I considered kicking them off. Only the possibility of stepping on shards of glass or metal deterred me. It had gotten colder too, and my party dress wasn’t providing much protection against the wind that kept brushing against me in an endless, winter-borne tide. The full moon lit up my goose bumps and the pseudo-path ahead of me. But I squeezed my contacts into night vision anyway, preparing for a trek through the deeper brush ahead.

  Nobody talked during the walk, which only took us about two hundred yards off the highway, but seemed endless. Something about the march seemed eerily familiar to me. It was like the entire store of knowledge I’d built around criminals and their victims had coughed up the ghosts of those who’d walked ahead of their murderers, sometimes cold, sometimes stumbling, leaving glowing footprints for me to follow. Only they were angry that I’d consented to follow that trail. “Fight!” they whispered, their wild, haunted memories sharpening their voices. “Fight now. Fight hard. Die, if necessary, only die fighting!”

  I never meant to go another way. And I think . . . yeah, now.

  I sucked in my breath and screamed, “Oh, God! Something bit me!” I grabbed my right ankle, hopping around as much as Graybeard’s grip allowed.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded, looking from my pain-contorted face to my ankle and back again.

  “A snake,” I gasped. “Look, there it is!”

  I pointed at the feet of the Suit, who immediately backed up and looked down.

  “It’s too cold for snakes,” Graybeard was saying, but too late. Vayl had seen his opening. He shot his scabbard at the Suit, knocking him sideways. The bolt from his crossbow flew off into the bushes. Vayl’s blade flashed and the Suit dropped, holding his left arm and groaning as blood spurted from it in steady bursts. I didn’t wait to see how Vayl dealt with Jesus Saves and Praying Hands. The confusion that had delayed Graybeard’s reaction was clearing. In moments he’d be putting his Magnum into action.

  Holding my hand rigid like a knife, I hit him so hard I could almost see the nerves in his elbow curl up into a ball. His fingers stopped cooperating and the gun fell into the brush. I followed up with a punch to the groin, but he blocked it, blocked the hard high front kicks I tried next that should’ve at least knocked the breath out of him. He’d been trained, and well.

  I threw a whole series of punches and kicks at his torso, moving so fast he started to gasp trying to keep up. The second I could tell I’d locked him onto defending his chest and abdomen I jump-kicked him, striking him solidly in the temple. His head snapped sideways and he staggered backward. I closed in fast, but he recovered more quickly than I expected. The punch he threw would’ve broken my ribs if he hadn’t been backing up. Even so, I’d be feeling that blow for a week.

  I spun and hooked him behind the knee, swearing inwardly as my ribs burned in protest. Graybeard landed with a crash that sounded like a tree falling. He tried to roll away, but I nailed him with two more hard kicks to the head. He stayed put after that, quietly bleeding into the brush.

  I’d warmed up, by God. Fully in my element, steaming straight ahead, I was ready to kick some more ass. Not only had the adrenaline slowed time until I could’ve captured the moonlight in my fist and used it as the ultimate flashbang, it had given me rearview vision too. Somehow, even though my back was turned, I knew Praying Hands had broken away from the standoff with Vayl to come after me.

  I spun to face him. He ran hard, intending to bowl me over with his impetus, overpower me by virtue of his superior weight and muscle mass. But he broadcasted tells like an amateur poker
player, allowing me to pull out one of my favorite aikido throws. Just as he reached me I darted to one side, reached around, and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him while at the same time I used my straight right arm across his neck to knock him backward.

  He hit the ground like a pro wrestler, grunting as the air whooshed from his lungs. I knew better than to dive in after him, but he did hesitate, maybe hoping I was that stupid. I aimed a kick at his head. He rolled clear.

  When he reached his feet he stumbled slightly, holding his left hand out for balance. I couldn’t decide. Was he running on all cylinders? Or was he playing hurt, hoping to reel me in? No way was I going to underestimate this guy. I’d done that once in my career. Sometimes I still couldn’t breathe past the consequences.

  I dropped my shoulders, lowered my hands slightly, let him think my guard was down. And once again my adrenaline-induced übervision saved me. I felt, rather than saw, the switchblade flip open in his right hand.

  There’s always a part of me that knows exactly how much it’s going to hurt to die by whatever weapon is aimed at me. Oh shit, it whispered, potential for deep, searing pain here.

  Yeah, the rest of me agreed. So let’s fight this right.

  He struck quickly. But I saw him as if he was moving through a vat of honey. Grabbing his knife hand with mine, I squeezed and twisted in such a way that his elbow and shoulder must’ve felt like they were coming unhinged. The knife hilt slipped into my hand as he gasped in pain and loosened his grip. He went to his knees.

  Still holding his hand, I jerked his arm behind him, holding it high, twisting slightly, letting him know how easy it would be for me to break it. At the same time I pressed the blade against his throat.

  “Who sent you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  More pressure. A thin line of blood trickled down his neck. “You people fight too well to be a bunch of pissed-off bigots. And now that I’m mad, you gotta know I’m not going to mind hurting you to get to the truth.”

  His jaw jerked, and before I could pry his teeth apart he’d keeled over. “Son of a bitch!” I checked his pulse, and when he didn’t immediately seize, figured he’d swallowed something less lethal than cyanide. All kinds of drugs could be fit into a fake molar nowadays, many of which could put an operative into a coma for up to a week. So much for quick answers from him. Surely Vayl was doing better. I turned to look.

  Yup, the boss had done pretty well for himself. Apparently Jesus Saves had tried to run for it, because they stood about fifty yards away. He gazed at Vayl like a trapped rat, brandishing his cross like a popgun as Vayl circled him. I could feel his power build as his sword danced in the air mere inches from the cross. Jesus Saves could too, and neither his shaking arm nor his bladder seemed to be able to hold up against it.

  “You will tell me everything you know about the people who hired you,” Vayl said. Being a Sensitive, like me, Jesus Saves was somewhat immune to vamp powers. At the same time he could feel the cold arctic fury that wound around every word Vayl spoke. When the boss moved toward him he screamed like a little girl and ran straight toward the Lexus. Vayl watched him with bemusement for a moment before striding after him. Gibbering like a Blair Witch refugee, Jesus Saves reached the Lexus, saw lights barreling down the highway, and leaped into the road.

  “Stop!” he screamed, jumping up and down and waving his arms.

  Vayl ran forward. “Are you insane? Get out of the road!”

  “Stop! Help me!” yelled Jesus Saves, running toward the lights. Brakes squealed, but semis don’t stop on a dime. Jesus Saves died with his cross in his hand, the vampire who was trying to save him watching incredulously from the side of the road.

  “Son of a bitch!” I turned away from the carnage as Vayl pulled out his phone to make the call. The Suit moaned weakly. I went to check on him. He’d squirmed out of his belt and was trying to cinch it tight enough over his bicep to stop the fountain that had drenched his shoulder, sleeve, and half his face. “Here,” I said, “let me help you with that.” I jerked the belt tight, and he yelped in pain. The bleeding slowed to a trickle. “You want to watch who you ambush next time,” I told him. “There’re a lot worse monsters than vampires wandering the world.”

  “I know,” he whispered, looking straight into my eyes as if he could see my secret life spread before him, a horrific map of violence and destruction justified—maybe, maybe, maybe—by the violence and destruction it had prevented.

  Vayl came back, leaned over the inert form of Graybeard, whispered in his ear.

  “You’ve only got a few seconds left,” I told the Suit. “Soon he’ll be crouching over you, speaking in your ear, scrambling your brain. Is there anything you want to tell me before your mind goes as soft as frozen yogurt?” Okay, I was exaggerating. Most likely Vayl was suggesting to Graybeard’s subconscious that if he ever tried to kill anyone again, even a vampire, his heart would burst. Maybe the Suit sensed that.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Vayl likes to mess with people’s minds,” I told him. “Literally. He might go easy on you, leave the memories of your wife and kids, your childhood. If you tell him who sent you.”

  The Suit was pale, clammy, barely conscious. Which is maybe why he slipped. “He’d kill us,” he whispered. His eyes closed. A tear trickled down one cheek. Would you believe I felt sorry for him?

  I kept my voice low, trying not to startle him into silence. “Who?”

  No answer. I shook him, but he’d passed out, and it looked like he’d be spending the next couple of hours that way.

  “Get the car started while I deal with him,” said Vayl. “I hear sirens.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I coaxed the battered Lexus off the highway at the nearest exit and headed south. I’d never used the roads I now took, never even seen them on a map. But I’d get us back to the hotel all the same. Evie liked to tell people I’d gotten a GPS implant. Neat idea, but untrue. My uncanny sense of direction had come to me along with my Sensitivity—after. It made sense in a way. My life as I’d known it had changed in every way it could. It seemed right that the way I perceived life should change too.

  “It’s still early,” I told Vayl. “Do you want to go back to Assan’s house?”

  Vayl shook his head. “Not yet. We need to learn more about this vampire partner of Assan’s. And now that we know about the virus”—Vayl slumped in his seat—“it is clear we need to revise our plan. Perhaps expand our net to include him, or even the vampires he and Assan just met. We must also ensure that our little confrontation does not mean the entire mission is compromised.”

  “What are you saying? That we should abort?”

  “Perhaps another, less clandestine, more fully staffed agency would be the appropriate one to deal with this matter. We must think carefully and decide rightly.”

  That shut me down. Vayl got quiet too, considering our options, maybe. Or maybe just recharging. In the silence, the banging of our bumper took center stage like an American Idol loser, making me cringe. Graybeard and company had really done a number on the Lexus. We’d had to bend the back fenders away from the tires before we could even drive the thing, and I wouldn’t bet on the axle still being in mint condition.

  By now the three survivors would be strapped in their roller beds, and in another ten minutes hospital personnel would be trying to figure out how one of them could’ve picked up a sword wound outside of a circus sideshow. Once they’d healed sufficiently, our backup crew would move in and start asking questions. Not that they’d find out much. At least, not in time to help. But you had to try.

  “That was a smart move back there,” Vayl said.

  “Oh, the snake thing? Thanks. Yeah, that did the trick.”

  “I noticed. Could you refrain from trying it again in the future?”

  I glanced over at Vayl. I’d blinked off my night vision, so only the moonlight glancing through the windows showed me his expression. It looked tight, the way men
’s faces will when they’re either feeling or remembering pain. I’d seen it often on Albert after diabetes had forced him to retire, and on David the night we’d stopped speaking. That look went straight to my heart and squeezed.

  “You, uh, don’t like snakes very much?”

  “No.”

  “Well, quit looking all pinched and aristocratic. I’m not making fun of you.”

  “I am just somewhat sensitive about my phobias.”

  “You mean there’s more than one?”

  He jerked his head toward me. I held up one hand. “Okay, okay, backing off. Um, I suppose this would be a bad time to ask you to talk to Pete for me, you know, about the car?”

  His eyes widened. I could almost hear him thinking, Of all the nerve! “You were driving,” he said.

  “But he likes you so much better than me.”

  “That is because I do not keep wrecking the rentals.”

  Jesus Henry Christ, Parks, why is it that every time I send you out on assignment something explodes?”

  Only Pete called me Parks, and only when he was mad. He called me Parks an awful lot. “The car didn’t explode, Pete, it crumpled. In the back. About six inches all the way across.”

  A strangled scream from the other end of the phone told me Pete might be choking on his own tongue. Maybe if I just waited very quietly at this end he’d suffocate before he could fire me.

  “Let me talk to Vayl.”

  “Okay, hang on.”

  I took the phone to Vayl, who was lounging on one of the couches, getting a huge hairy kick out of my current predicament. The louse. “Tell him it wasn’t my fault,” I whispered as I handed him the phone.

  “It was not Jasmine’s fault, Pete,” Vayl said. Just for that I went to the minifridge to get him a beer. I got one for myself too, a reward for spending the hours since we’d gotten back to Diamond Suites trying to untangle this new mystery Assan had presented us with.

  “Yes,” said Vayl.

  At least we’d figured out the identity of Assan’s accomplice. He’d made the FBI’s Most Wanted Vampires list.