Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by Jennifer Rardin

  “Dad?”

  “Jaz? Hang on.” The background blare of Albert’s TV muted. I heard more clicks as he transferred to his safe phone. “Okay, I’m here.”

  “I know it hasn’t been long, but—”

  “I’ve got a lead.”

  “Yeah?” I guess I sounded, well, shocked, because he said, “Hey, I may be a feeble old Marine, but I’ve still got connections.”

  “And?”

  “There’s something funny about Tom Bozcowski.”

  “The retired football player?”

  “Right. He’s had an unnaturally large turnover in interns. Seems they keep getting sick.”

  “With what?”

  “Anemia.”

  “That is interesting. Has the name Mohammed Khad Abn-Assan come up in relation to the senator? Or maybe Aidyn Strait?”

  “Hang on, that first name sounds familiar.”

  He started to mumble to himself, not so you could understand him, and I heard the sound of papers shuffling. “Yeah, here it is. I asked my contact for anything unusual, and he included this little item with the other stuff. Says here Bozcowski had plastic surgery done by Assan right before he ran for senator five years ago.”

  “Thanks. Keep digging, will you?”

  “Sure thing. Oh, and that little secretary of yours? Martha?”

  “Yeah?” I kept my voice cool, but inside my heart had jumped several inches to the right.

  “She’s clean.”

  Glory hallelujah! “Thanks! Hey, while you’re researching, would you see if Bozcowski has a prescription for a drug called Topamax? And look for connections to technology purchasing for the Agency.” I described the faulty beacon without saying how I’d carried it. No point in starting a fight I didn’t have time to finish. “Also see if he’s got any connections to an exotic pet dealer or something similar. We found a dead rattlesnake in Vayl’s luggage and we’d like to know who packed it.”

  “Damn! Okay. Uh, Jaz?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you eating right? Getting plenty of fruits and vegetables and all that stuff? I’m just asking because Shelby’s been lecturing me on nutrition. You’d be surprised what good food’ll do for you.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, both exasperated that it took this long for the blockhead to figure out maybe he should eat well, and warmed by the fact that he gave a crap about my health. “I’m eating fine.” So’s my vampire friend, but we won’t get into that. No sense in flirting with a stroke at your age, Albert. “Why don’t you call Evie? She definitely needs a good lecture on nutrition.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  I hung up. Vayl glanced over at me and both his eyebrows went straight up.

  “What is the source of your evil grin?” he inquired.

  “I sicced Albert on Evie.”

  “I thought you loved your sister.”

  “I do. She’ll worry less when she hears from him, and that’s good for the baby. So’s eating right, which is all he’ll probably talk about.”

  “I see. Is that the only reason you are smiling?”

  “Martha’s innocent.” That got a big twitch of the lip, which translated to a big grin for Vayl. “And I think we found our senator.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Club Undead waved its tacky tombstones at us as we drove slowly by. A new bouncer watched the front, where only the loveliest and palest of partiers lined up for their chance to touch immortality. Beside the bouncer stood a sign on an easel that hadn’t been there before. A mix of words traced in neon colors spelled out the message WELCOME TO JAZZ NIGHT, only the colors were arranged so that the words “Welcome Jaz” stood out in glowing yellow relief against the black of the board. An arrow drawn in the same glowing yellow pointed straight up.

  “Do you see it?” I asked, leaning past Vayl to get a better view.

  “I do.”

  “Do you think Cole’s in there surrounded by goons who’re just waiting to shoot me?”

  “I would say that is the most likely scenario.”

  Even with the heater on and my jacket zipped, I felt chilled. But my fear factor didn’t matter. Cole needed me. “Let me off at the corner, okay?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Smoke out the innocents downstairs, then meet you upstairs. I think that’s his most likely location. Remember, they believe you’re dead. Use it to your advantage.”

  “I always do.” He pulled up to the curb; I got out and waved him off. He’d park in the alley and make his way to the club’s upper story from there. I opened my jacket, walked to the line in front of the club, wiggled my butt right up to the new bouncer, and gave him a smile so sweet, if they put me on TV I could’ve sold chocolate-covered cherries to an audience of diabetics.

  Okay, Amanda, wherever you are . . . this one’s for you.

  “Do you know what I smell?” I asked the bouncer.

  “Nope.” He looked interested though.

  “I smell freshly turned vamp.” I reached into the special pocket reserved for Grief and it came to my hand smooth and deadly as a cobra strike. A flick of the magic button, and two seconds later all that remained of the bouncer was a puff of smoke rising from a tiny rain of debris.

  The girls at the front of the line screamed and shoved their way to the street. A few others went with them. Somebody yelled, “Gun!” An understandable mistake considering the crappy lighting, and a mini stampede ensued, during which I let myself into Club Undead. The music hit me like a hammer. Who knew jazz could be so intense?

  My smoke grenades worked like those little air fresheners you plug in. They had a vent timed to open within twenty seconds of deployment and a fan to spread the smoke within a ten-yard radius. Since Bergman had designed them, I could hold two snugly in each hand and still depend on enough black clouds to make it look like a national forest had caught fire. I distributed them evenly throughout the lower level, avoiding the usual pack of immortal-minded dancers as I moved around the room.

  “Vayl, where are you?”

  “Approaching the fire escape.”

  “I’m taking the spiral staircase now.” I slid past loud, laughing couples who seemed to think they’d found a permanent resting spot up to the second level, which was just as crowded as the first.

  Lit mainly by blue flashing lights and the red and white exit sign stationed above a dark door on the back wall, the cavernous room managed to feel like a damn tunnel. I wiped the sweat off my upper lip as I walked past the dance floor and a steady succession of tables dressed in white cloths. Each held a vase with a black rose in it. Matching black candles flanked the roses, each held by expensive-looking crystal. Men and women leaned toward each other across the tables, trading passionate looks and caresses, making me wonder how they didn’t catch their hair on fire.

  Speaking of which—

  “Fire!”

  The smoke grenades popped one after another, sending clouds of black smoke billowing toward the ceiling.

  Screaming. Shoving. Flailing arms and pounding feet. The kind of chaos the Sons of Paradise relished. Only this time it was working for me.

  I moved quickly toward the exit sign, eyeing the door it highlighted. No telling what lay behind it, and any surprises promised to be nasty. I looked around, hoping to find another way up. What I saw suspended from the ceiling reminded me of a university theater. Lights tilting at every possible angle covered the entire expanse except for the section taken up by the catwalk. It started at a glass-walled booth, perched nearly ten feet above my current position, and wandered across the ceiling in a pattern that allowed access to all the lights. A black metal ladder, nearly invisible against the darker black wall, allowed access from my level. I told Vayl what I’d found.

  “I’m going to check it out,” I said. “Maybe the booth has a back door.”

  “Good idea. I am headed up to the third level now. It looks as if the windows are boarded over, so you will have to be my eyes.”

  “Oka
y.”

  I climbed the ladder, which hugged the wall from floor to ceiling, intersecting the catwalk on its way. From there just a couple of steps took me to the door of the overlook. It was open. “I’m in the booth,” I whispered. “It’s empty. I love smoke.”

  To my left, a bank of blinking controls stretched from one edge of the window to the next. Two black chairs on rollers parked in front of it. The only other contents of the room were an empty trash can and a full ashtray. There was, however, another door. I eased it open, expecting a sound, a click maybe, that would signal the closing of a trap. I need not have bothered. The trap Aidyn and Assan had set for me was too big for a click. A gong, maybe, but not a click.

  My senses told me the room wasn’t empty, was actually inhabited by someone feeling deep, repeated waves of misery, and once again they were right. I pulled a long-handled dental mirror out of the kit I’d packed at Bergman’s and slipped it through the crack I’d made in the door. I couldn’t see any guards, not one. I did see Cole.

  He sat in a chair in the middle of a room that reminded me strongly of Granny May’s attic. Boxes, old trunks, and abandoned chairs took up every bit of wall space. From the scuff marks in the dust, it looked like they’d been shoved to the sides to make room for the chair. And Cole.

  He sat perfectly still, looking straight ahead, breathing through his mouth because his nose had been broken. The only way I managed to contain the fury I felt at seeing him hurt so badly was to promise myself I would damage Assan extensively before I finally wiped him off the face of the earth.

  After another look around the room, I decided Cole was its sole occupant.

  “Jaz?” Vayl’s voice in my ear held the slightest trace of worry.

  “I’m here. So’s Cole. No sign of his captors.”

  “These boards are flimsy. I can break through them anytime you need me.”

  “But you’d rather keep a low profile?”

  “Yes, for now. We are going to get only one chance at this surprise. Just be careful.”

  “I’ve been hanging with you for the past six months,” I reminded him. “Careful, okay, it’s not my middle name. But I’m warming up to the idea.” I nudged the door wider with my foot while I trained Grief on various sections of the room, both of us primed for attack. The only thing that happened was Cole turned his head and saw me.

  He looked like a spring break boozer who’d somehow survived a tumble off the balcony. Black-and-blue bruises covered his entire face, except for where it was red from dried blood. Blood-crusted gashes showed through his torn clothes. His hands, lying limp in his lap, were swollen, the knuckles scraped and cut. He could’ve gotten up at any time; nothing bound him to the chair, or even to the room, but he stayed put, looking at me with wordless regret.

  “Cole?” I stepped forward and he said, “Stop.” The word came out slurred, mostly due to his fat lip, but I also noticed a couple of gaps where he’d had teeth the last time we talked.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” I urged him.

  “Can’t.”

  “What?”

  He shifted his gaze and I followed his eyes to a dark, lifeless TV that sat on top of a round, wooden barstool. It blinked to life and within seconds I was involved in a staring match with Mohammed Khad Abn-Assan.

  Mostly for Vayl’s benefit I said, “Assan, what are you doing on TV? Don’t you know lowlifes like you have been outlawed by the FCC?”

  “Good evening, Lucille. Or should I say Jasmine? We appreciate your quick arrival. It gives us some extra time to prepare.”

  “For what?”

  He chuckled, flashing a couple of gold fillings as he looked off camera, sharing his amusement with his comrades. “Why, the end of the world as we know it.”

  The fear that spiked through me fueled my comeback. “You know, you could be killed for throwing clichés around like they actually mean something. However, I believe I’ll take you out for your other crimes instead. Starting with your wife’s death.”

  Cole made a desolate sound that demanded comfort. But I couldn’t give it. Not now, while I was still locked in conversation with Assan.

  He laughed again, his absolute lack of remorse making me feel truly murderous. “You are a jewel. How fortunate for us both that my master has created the perfect setting for you.”

  “Bozcowski’s not a master. He’s a slave to his own psychotic fantasies.” Come on, Senator, see if your ego can take that blow, even though we both know who’s really in charge.

  My comment worked like peanut butter on a mousetrap. No sooner had I laid it down than there came the rodent himself, leaping into the camera frame, red-faced and defiant. I expected him to bluster, but he pulled it together fast. He actually smoothed his thick, stubby fingers through his gray-blond hair and straightened his navy blue suit coat. Ah, the magic of television.

  “You are a straight-talking woman, aren’t you?” he said. “Well then, I’ll give it to you straight. Your actions in the next few minutes will determine whether or not your young man dies. You see, we’ve strapped a clever little device beneath the seat of his chair. If his weight leaves that chair, it will explode, destroying the two of you, the club, and most of the block it sits on. Think of the loss of innocent life.”

  “Go on.”

  “We can disarm it temporarily from our present position, but only for the ten seconds it would take for you to switch places with him.”

  Scumbag. “You don’t mind if I check out your story, do you?”

  He beamed at me as if I’d just won him a bet. His jowls quivered with pleasure, reminding me of that bulldog from the old cartoon. Would he come prancing into the room if I yelled, “Oh, Belvedere, come here boy!” I hid a smirk at the mental image as he said, “Of course not. Feel free.”

  I knelt in the dust of Club Undead’s attic and peered under the chair. Yup, definitely a bomb. I had seen similar devices in bomb squad manuals under the heading “Run Like Hell!” Though I felt pretty sure Bozcowski had exaggerated its power—I doubted it carried enough explosive to take out much more than the building’s top floor—it would still kill Cole and all the people they’d managed to herd back upstairs. Not an acceptable scenario. I had that sinking-in-quicksand feeling that any escape we attempted now would only make us descend deeper and die sooner.

  I stood up again, my mind looping around a single word—run, run, run, run–and providing the Pink Floyd soundtrack to back it. A roaring began in my ears, and it had nothing to do with my reconfigured hearing aids. The blackness came next, creeping into my peripheral vision like a feral dog, making my face tingle, making my eyes water. Instinct made me stiffen, resist. It felt so much like losing control, being engulfed in some other, more powerful personality.

  I looked at Cole and my heart began its own chant. Get him out. Get him safe. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes. Whatever . . .

  I let my head fall forward and closed my eyes. Without the distraction of sight, I could feel the blackness towering over my psyche like a monstrous storm-filled sky. I resisted the urge to bolt. I didn’t invite it in. I just listened. Instantly the roaring sounded less like the Atlantic hammering Florida during Hurricane Barney and more like . . . a voice. All it said was, “Let yourself go,” but the words carried a richer meaning, showed me exactly what needed to be done. I recognized that voice. It belonged to the golden man who had brought me back to life. To fight.

  I raised my head and opened my eyes, catching Bozcowski in such a look of greedy anticipation that I was suddenly reminded of the villain who starred in many of my childhood nightmares, the kid snatcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

  “Why me?” I asked.

  “Previous experience has taught us we need a willing sacrifice. Taking Cole’s place makes you willing. It also eliminates the irritation you’ve been causing.” As if I was a hangnail. But there’s power in being so severely underestimated.

  I addressed Assan. “So that’s why using Amanda’s brother in In
dia failed, huh? He wasn’t a willing sacrifice. Way to read the fine print, doofus.”

  Assan’s eyes nearly crossed with fury at my disrespect, but something made him look off camera, then move aside. Aidyn Strait joined him and Bozcowski in front of the lens. I fought to remain calm, to mask the fury that whipped through me with stunning force.

  “There is no such thing as a failed experiment,” Aidyn informed me. “I was working on an entirely different project when I discovered the Red Plague quite by accident. And I could never have developed it without a series of trials helping me refine it to full potency.”

  The Red Plague? Such a simple name for something designed to be so horrific. I felt sure we were only going to get one chance to turn the tide, so I kept playing along, fishing for information, watching for some slip that would betray their weakness. I said, “That’s what I don’t get. Why don’t you just let it spread the way the flu does? Why all this elaborate human-to-vampire mumbo jumbo?”

  Aidyn couldn’t wait to brag on his baby. He spoke eagerly, as if I was the science reporter for the New York Times. “When I began this experiment I planned for a sexual transmission. You people were so steeped in free love and multiple partners, I supposed sixty-five percent of you would have been dead in six weeks. But the virus mutated into a nonlethal form of pneumonia when humans spread it to one another.”

  “How frustrating for you,” I said.

  Aidyn nodded grimly, totally missing the sarcasm. He went on. “I found out quite by accident that when vampires take the blood of a human carrier, however, the Red Plague becomes nearly ninety percent lethal. However, it also loses its contagion characteristics.”

  I interrupted him. “You mean, it can’t be spread?”

  “Not by the vampire carrier. I cannot tell you how provoking the entire process has been.”

  Wow. Did anybody else see a divine hand dipping down to smack Aidyn every time he took a forward step on this one? First his abominable disease turns into a bunny rabbit when he tries to get humans to pass it around. Then he gets the bright idea for vamps to take the lead role, but they’re like a bunch of two-year-olds. No, we won’t share!