Bitten to Death

by Jennifer Rardin

  Overbite’s face went red. I got excited. Maybe that was the sign that Bergman’s little robots had finally done their job. But no. The explosions going off inside his brain had nothing to do with my sci-guy’s technology.

  Vayl said, “One.”

  The Old-Timer raised his eyebrows at Mohawk. “I’ve seen bluffing. That’s not it.” Actually it was, but only I knew Vayl well enough to tell.

  “Two.”

  Mohawk gave his cohorts a curt nod. “All right, we’re leaving,” he said.

  “All of your men,” Vayl insisted.

  They paused to grab Blondie’s corpse by its arms and legs, which meant they had to holster their weapons. The second I saw those Baikals stored I pulled my own gun. I didn’t intend to shoot. We were at stalemate. I understood that. So did Mohawk, who’d pulled a Glock 37 from behind his back the second Vayl showed his hand.

  “When do we get the dog back?” Mohawk demanded.

  “We’ve got your number,” I told him. “We’ll call at dusk to let you know.”

  Mohawk wanted to linger, do more negotiating, but shouting from a lower floor told him he was out of time. “Dusk,” he said firmly, trying to make it an order. They took off. I went to the door, but by the time I got there the hall held only a dusty gold chandelier and a framed print of a bunch of Christians being eaten by lions.

  I turned to compliment Vayl on his quick thinking. But Dave stood in my way. “The cut on your back—I think it looks more spectacular than it actually is.” He winced and touched his fingertips to his jaw as his own injuries pained him. “You probably won’t even need—” But I didn’t hear the rest. A face, that face, had emerged from the pool of Blondie’s blood. I knew it was real because Ziel perked up his ears, looked straight at it, and then decided he wanted to bury his face in the gap between Vayl’s shirt buttons.

  As my sverhamin dealt with the dog, the face blinked a couple of times, rolled its red eyes as if trying to get its bearings. And then it rose into the air.

  “That’s new,” I murmured.

  “What did you say?” asked Dave.

  “I said that’s a new deal for me. Not needing stitches.”

  “And not dying,” he added. I glanced up at him. Were we reverting to weird jokes? Already? I looked back at the face, hovering over the floor like a huge red mask. Nope, I’m not laughing yet. In fact, I’m trying pretty hard not to scream.

  Because the face was staring in my direction, and once again he was horribly happy to see me.

  Dave said something about leaving his first-aid kit in the bedroom when he’d changed clothes. As he went to retrieve it I wished he could’ve dabbed a little Neosporin and stretched some gauze across my damaged cerebrum. Vayl seemed pretty intent on Ziel, who’d gone slightly batty once he’d been set down, demanding lavish praise and repeated apologies for how he’d been threatened just now. Tarasios, still sitting in the spot where he’d collapsed earlier, seemed fascinated by the ceiling bots, so I decided it was as safe as it was ever going to be to confront my vision.

  “What do you want now?” I hissed to the face.

  “She is nearly finished with me!”

  “Who?”

  “The Destroyer.”

  “This riddle shit is really pissing me off. Who is she?”

  “You must stop her! Before she kills me!”

  “You’re alive?”

  A look of confusion twisted the face so severely that for a second it became an indecipherable blob. When I could make out features again, it blinked at me with such despair I actually felt a flash of sympathy. “It seems, for me, the answer is not so simple. But you and your sverhamin are essential. Only you can save the Trust.”

  “The Trust?” I whispered. “Or you?”

  “We are interchangeable.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .” The face drooped in defeat. “I cannot remember.”

  Tarasios began to sing again. Not Elvis this time. Ed Cobb’s “Tainted Love.”

  “Yes!” The face raised his bloody brows in triumph, shouting so loudly that I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Her mangled notions of love have brought me to this. You must undo the coil. You must save me. Save me and you save the sverhamin.”

  “But you just said my sverhamin was supposed to save the Trust.”

  “We are all One!”

  “You are really bonkers, you know that?” I wasn’t exactly sure I was addressing the face.

  “It is her you must kill,” he insisted. “The Destroyer. Kill her!”

  “Her who?”

  “I cannot capture her name in my mind. The . . . the Deyrar.” Oh. Her.

  I cleared my throat. “Dude, you’ve dialed the wrong number. I’m just here for Samos. That’s it.”

  His sigh ended almost in a sob. “Then all is truly lost.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It would’ve been great to spend the rest of the day flat on my stomach recuperating. Sleeping. Dreaming of a world minus one highly annoying Deyrar who everybody wanted dead, including me. In that world Vayl and I would never stop at one kiss. The brush of a hand would lead to a night full of caresses. Yeah, I pretty much wanted to spend the next nine hours in Fantasyland.

  Dave wouldn’t allow it. As he worked over my back he whispered, “Tarasios may know a way to get Vayl out of this mess.”

  I looked over at him from where I sat the wrong way around in a library chair. He’d passed out on the floor right next to the pool of blood. “The guy has the IQ of a cornstalk,” I said. “I doubt he knows why Disa goes night-night when the sun rises, much less how to break the binding.”

  “He may have seen something though,” Dave insisted. “They were getting along fine last time I saw him. And now he’s turned lush.” He paused, came around the chair to confront me. “Tell me I was never in as bad a shape as him.”

  I took some more time to look over Disa’s reject. “I don’t know. What kind of condition were you in when you punched those officers?” I gazed up at Dave, working to keep an expression of mild inquiry on my face.

  His face went blank. Pale. For a second I wondered if he’d had a stroke. Then his nose scrunched, followed closely by his top lip. Anybody who’d followed his sports career through high school and college would’ve recognized that snarl. It had won more football games, wrestling matches, and track meets than any other expression in his arsenal. “I’m done being that guy,” he growled.

  “Good,” I said. “Because I don’t think he’d be nearly as successful at weaseling info out of Tarasios as you.”

  Dave nodded so sharply it reminded me of a salute. “As soon as he wakes up I’m going to become his very good buddy. See what I can find out. In the meantime, you and Vayl should check out Hamon’s room. Remember he said he had some idea how to get in? We’ve got to find out who this Octavia bimbo is and why Disa thinks she needs to be fed.”

  “What about the mutt?” I asked. Ziel had finally calmed beneath Vayl’s gentle hands and soft murmurs and, after giving him a couple of final sniffs, trotted off to check out the blood and the unconscious guy next to it.

  “I’ll watch him,” Dave said. “We’ve still got that steak we stole from the kitchen when we brought him in, so maybe I’ll give him some of that. He looks like he could use a snack.”

  That took care of my excuses. Which made me wonder why I kept looking for more. Did Hamon’s secrets worry me that much?

  Or was it the idea of being alone with a vampire I had no clue how to befriend?

  “What do you say, Vayl?” I asked. “Wanna do some breaking and entering?”

  The dimple in his cheek told me I might’ve just made a good start.

  Hamon Eryx’s room stood at the end of a wide hall lined with six glass cases, each of which held a single item.

  “What are these?” I asked Vayl as we passed a black glove, a brown leather shoe, a tan fedora, a dangly pearl earring, a pair of round-lensed sunglasses, and a white lace corset.


  “Artifacts from former Deyrars.”

  “Whatever happened to presidential portraits?”

  Vayl’s eyebrows rose just enough to let me know he saw the humor. He glanced at the cameras that covered the area. The slight narrowing of his eyes told me what he wanted. I reached for my gun.

  Overkill, he mouthed.

  Party pooper, I replied in the same manner. Instead I pulled my phone out of my back pocket. Bergman had programmed the Monises to obey simple commands sent from them, including those that would shut down cameras within a twenty-foot radius. You never know when you’re not going to want an audience. But in the CIA, you’re always pretty sure the time will come.

  I could’ve done the same job directly from the Monise as well. But this way, whoever was monitoring us would think I was just pulling a typical American stunt that involved my cell. Especially when I provided audio to go along with it.

  “Cole’s been sending me text messages,” I said as I activated the code. “This hat reminded me of one I just got.” I held the phone up for Vayl to see and he nodded with interest as we both watched the screen until it blinked the words we were waiting for: Video Feed Deactivated.

  I returned the phone to my pocket as Vayl swept his hand across one of the artifact containers. “Can you feel their power?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “As I suspected, the glass is as much for containment as it is for protection.” He looked the boxes over. “No discernible locks.” He slammed his fist into the glass. It shivered, but didn’t break.

  “Wow, vamp-proof. I’m impressed,” I said.

  The corners of Vayl’s mouth turned up even farther. “Wait until you see this.”

  He positioned his hands on either side of the box and raised his power so swiftly that even I shivered in the rush of its increase. Clouds appeared inside the glass. Which turned into sparkles of ice. And then suddenly the bottom popped out of the case. I lunged forward to catch it, barely snagging it before it hit the floor.

  “Geez! You could’ve warned me!”

  He shrugged. “I thought the top would come off.” I picked up the glove. “Put it on,” he said. “It obviously belonged to a woman.”

  I didn’t want to. With its powers unmasked, the glove felt like a beating heart to me, something alive that had no business being anywhere near my skin. But my boss had given me an order, so I obeyed, sliding the black silk over my tingling palm. It was too long, its tips hanging nearly an inch from where my fingers stopped.

  He pulled the same stunt with the other five boxes. By the time we were finished, he wore the shoe, sunglasses, and fedora, which made him resemble a muscular Johnny Depp cast as a gangster for his next big film.

  I’d clipped on the earring and Vayl had tied the corset over my sweater.

  “You look incredible in this,” he murmured as he stood back to admire his handiwork.

  I peeked down. “You mean my rack looks great, don’t you?” Frankly, I had to agree. I’d never thought there was much you could do with average. But, by golly, someone had hunkered down and come up with a pretty spectacular idea.

  When I looked up it was to meet sparkling green eyes, twin jewels in a face taut with desire. “Jasmine.” The way he said my name, drawing out the syllables so it sounded like Yaz-meena, made me shiver. I ran my tongue across my lips, drawing his gaze.

  “We, uh, didn’t we have a plan? You know, for you to settle your past and for us to learn to be friends? Because I suck at that?”

  “Do friends ever kiss?”

  “Um.”

  He took it as a yes, pulling me to him so quickly that my hands slapped against his shoulders as our bodies met. “Just one,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “Just a taste to help me through the rest of this interminable day.” And then his lips came down on mine.

  Sometime later he whispered, “How can it be that your kisses sustain me?”

  “Dunno.” Honest, I just wasn’t capable of any reply more intelligent than that. Also, I’d forgotten how to inhale by that time, so I’d probably experienced some level of brain damage.

  He took a deep breath. Not because he needed to. Maybe to clear his head. “I usually have better restraint than this. Perhaps it is the power of the artifacts combined with Disa’s binding pulsing through me. Or the feeling of the sun shining bright outside these walls. I truly meant to give us more time. I will.” He dropped his arms, his lips tightening with remorse.

  “Don’t you dare feel bad about stealing a smooch here and there. I haven’t studied the friends-to-lovers credo lately, but I’m sure it’s allowable under certain conditions, including the ones we have right here.” Plus, if he stopped, I’d probably end up doing something unladylike. Several examples came immediately to mind. As usual, my top picks were taking an African hunting trip wherein I got to kill all the poachers I could locate, and eating an entire chocolate cream pie while drinking brandy-laced coffee and watching every Jason Bourne movie ever made.

  Vayl was smiling now. “So you like it when I kiss you?”

  “I’m panting, aren’t I?”

  “But you agree we should get to know each other better.”

  “We have a pretty thorough professional knowledge of each other. But, yeah, I guess personally there are a few [huge!] gaps.”

  “Which we never seem to have the time to fill.” He glanced at Hamon’s door, which was blocked by a second, iron-barred gate. “For instance, we have already used precious minutes that should have been spent trying to enter this place. Someone could come past at any moment and ruin our plan.”

  “Yeah, although according to my Monise they’re sticking pretty close to their chosen vamps’ rooms. Maybe because Disa’s pissed us off so much she’s afraid we’re going to come hunting her while she sleeps.” I stopped, gave myself a second to fantasize. “You’re right though. Let’s get inside if we can. I guess we’ll just have to keep stealing moments for ourselves until—”

  “Until you agree to visit my diamond mines with me.” He’d turned away, so he didn’t see my jaw drop. But maybe he sensed it, because he chuckled. “No, I have not forgotten your promise. And I know you have vacation time coming. A month at least.” He slanted a look over his shoulder. Sly, brilliant vampire. “If we kill Samos, perhaps then—”

  “You never know.” I tried for cheerful and ended up sounding like a nervous little virgin instead. Geez! Would you relax? Every time you even smell the potential for something terrific, you do not have to lay a damn egg!

  Vayl went to the door. He motioned for me to come stand in front of him and then pulled me tight against him, his arm warm around my waist.

  “Put your hand over your heart and tuck your hair back so the earring is visible,” he whispered. I did as I was told, noting that he slid his left leg forward beside mine so the shoe showed clearly to whoever—or whatever—was watching. “I am going to whisper words in your ear. Then we must repeat them together.”

  “What are they?” I asked.

  “You said that when Hamon died Camelie recited ‘McNaight’s Refrain.’”

  “That’s what Blas told me.”

  “It was Hamon’s favorite poem, one he often quoted. I am sure Disa tried using it to get into his room. But not with the relics. I believe they are significant because some are meant for a man, and some for a woman. Are you ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  He whispered the first line into my ear, and together we said, “As separate souls we met in the moon-bathed glade.”

  With pauses for prompting, we continued to the end.

  “And if our eyes locked, they are the bluer for it.

  Never should we have tarried, not a sigh, nor a touch,

  For now we mix and cannot blend our hearts, our minds, ah

  These bodies serve to curb our love,

  We two,

  We ultimate duet.

  In the end, we sing alone,

  Our voices rent by fate.”

  The
door began to weep. At least it seemed that way. Black flecks fell from the bars like tears for the next several seconds. And then we heard a click.

  “I think the sucky poem worked,” I whispered.

  “You did not like it?”

  “Hell no!”

  “Which part?”

  I looked over my shoulder and rolled my eyes, though Vayl’s were hard to see, hidden behind the specs like they were. “You know. That bullshit about being alone in the end. Once you’ve loved for real, you’re never alone. Lonely, maybe.” I stuck my hand in my left pocket. Gave my old engagement ring an affectionate squeeze. “But never truly alone.”

  Vayl cocked his head to one side. “I like that.” He motioned to the door. “Shall we?”

  I pulled on the bars and they moved easily. Behind them stood your standard Deyrar-style door. Ceiling-high oak engraved with the image of a Hydra. A simple twist of the knob revealed a sumptuous bedroom that had not, like the rest of the house, fallen prey to any sort of rot, mold, or mildew. Hamon had hung wallpaper in thick blue and white stripes that made me feel like I was standing inside a circus tent. Ornate white woodwork lined the paper top and bottom. A plump-mattressed bed framed by black iron scrollwork took up one wall. Another held a bachelor chest and a brown leather wing chair. A full-length mirror flanked by wall shelves that supported busts of Einstein and Newton filled a third.

  “Just one room?” I said. “That doesn’t seem right for the head of a high-falutin Trust like this one. Or at least, like it used to be.”

  “No, not at all,” Vayl agreed. “Nearly everyone had a secret place where they kept their crypt. So if we search along the walls, perhaps we will find the entrance to another room.”

  “Like the one Blas had?”

  “Precisely. Or, perhaps, the one referred to as the Preserve.”

  As we searched on opposite walls I spent some time trying to convince myself Vayl’s former sleeping arrangements were none of my business. Then I decided this was exactly the kind of thing a friend would ask. “Um, Vayl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you, ah, have a stone, that is, a coffin-type thingy when you lived here?”