Another One Bites the Dust (28 page)

I could shoot him, but if I managed to squeeze a bullet behind that shield it would splatter blood and brains all over the room, not to mention make a loud boom that the rest of the crew would find curiously out of place in the peace of the late afternoon. Not too thrilled with the whole stabbing scenario either, considering the amount of blood it would produce, and the fact that I’d be charading as Pengfei and might need these digs later on. Well, those were plans B and C anyway. Given the fact that his shield seemed to weaken at the head as I’d hoped it would, Plan A might actually work.

“So, about my assignment—” I began.

“I am afraid my government could not possibly cooperate with anything you have planned, despite the fact that Lung is our mutual enemy.” Huh. Wu had completely lost the broken accent he’d used over the phone. Was he done pretending then?

I let my arm sag and winced, as if the robes were getting too heavy for me. I moved toward the bed, where I obviously intended to lay them down. “What?” I asked. “You think helping us out would make you look bad? Afraid maybe North Korea will call you a big weenie and go play with its nukes all on its own?”

Wu smiled, showing far too many teeth. I imagined if he unrolled his tongue the tip would hit his belly button. “I believe it has more to do with the fact that we think you Americans are assholes.”

I had reached the bed by now. Laying the robes down just right became a big production. One that allowed me to get much closer to Wu. As I worked myself within range I clicked my tongue at him and gave him my you’ve-been-a-bad-little-boy look. “Only narrow-minded pricks cling to stereo-types like that, Wu. For instance,
I
might have thought that as a member of the People’s Liberation Army you were a dyed-in-the-wool card-carrying Chinese Communist.” I continued to lean over the dry-cleaning, making sure he thought I was off balance, and that he could see both of my hands touched the plastic covering the robes. I went on. “But because I’m willing to consider many different perspectives, I’ve come to realize you’re actually just a soul-snatching reaver.”

He lunged, just as I’d hoped he would. To have allowed myself a single thought in such a vulnerable position would have been the death of me. So instead I acted. I tore the clear film off of the plastic.

I spun sideways as Wu hit the bed and rammed the film, which I called my portable pillow, through the break in his shield.

It wiggled down his face like a living mask, covering his mouth, nose, and eyes so tightly I could see their outlines beneath the material.

He clawed at the material, falling off the bed in the process. I rolled him to his stomach, stuck a knee in his back, and held him there, grabbing his hand from his face and twisting it so hard he was forced to let me pull it behind him. I yanked the other back the same way, pushing them both high up his back and securing them with a plastic strap.

When his struggles finally ceased, I rolled him over and retrieved the portable pillow, folding it into eighths and stuffing it into my pocket. I jumped backward as the third eye opened on his forehead. Unlike Wu’s regular eyes, it was colored light green. I waited, but nothing wafted out of it. It stared at the ceiling, empty and sightless as the originals.

“Where are you, Wu?” I whispered. Then I realized I’d never seen the soul of the first reaver I’d killed either. Which meant . . . “Reaver’s can’t kill anybody who’s not marked. But when they enter a body, the soul leaves. So these people, these reaver-hosts, must agree to the whole idea up-front.” Cole was right. Wu wanted to be a reaver. Samos must have made the life seem awful damn appealing. Godlike, even. With power over life and death. No pesky morals to hold you back. And the benefits package! “But at what cost? Where’s his soul now?” I had a pretty good idea, actually, but I decided right then and there never to breathe a word of it to Shao.

I hid the body behind the screen. Surveying the room again, I thought how handy it would be to pull up a floorboard under some random closet and find Pengfei and/or Lung ripe for the staking. But I didn’t sense a single vampire aboard.

I yanked open the closet doors and stifled a yelp. A row of white Styrofoam heads covered with wigs stared at me from the shelf. Just for a second I’d thought they were real.

I grabbed a medium-sized carpet bag with a gold clasp from the closet and filled it with the long-braid wig, which had been shoved behind the others and probably wouldn’t be missed, along with a few of Pengfei’s vanity supplies and a fan. With Lung’s clothes and the bag in hand I left the room. Though I badly wanted to take the shortest route back to the speedboat, when I passed the stairs that led up to the pilothouse I stopped, considered the huge gaps in my knowledge, and decided to take a detour.

As I’d expected, an actual captain inhabited the pilothouse during this, my second visit.
Amazing how effective that hat can be when worn the right way around.

“Excuse me, sir. I thought I saw Xia Wu come this way.” I held up the dry-cleaning. “He told me to bring this to Chien-Lung’s quarters, but I got lost. Your ship is so massive!” Ladies, for future reference, when speaking with nautical men, ship equals private parts. The captain melted like chocolate in my hands. “Anyway, I wanted to tell him I realized we didn’t get the stain completely out of this robe, so I’d like to take it back and reclean it for free. I can have it done first thing in the morning.”

“I am afraid that will not be possible,” the captain said in British-accented English as he gave me a come-sit-on-my-lap smile. “We are leaving port this evening.”

“Oh, no! Are you going right away? Because I can take it straight to the store to clean and have it back here in a couple of hours.”

He rose from his chair and sauntered over to me, which was when I realized he resembled Sulu from the old Star Trek series. I’d always thought Sulu was kind of hot, so it was easier to make the flirty face when he said, “Actually, we’re not scheduled to weigh anchor until midnight. In fact, my employers said not to expect them aboard until after ten. So why don’t you bring the dry-cleaning back around seven, and you and I can have a late supper?”

Well, it looked like I could cross the yacht off my list of potential Pengfei hideouts. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her returning and missing the goodies I’d stolen. If I’d given it a second’s thought, I’d have realized she and Chien-Lung, having already cleaned up after the tent fire, would feel no need to return to the yacht when they rose to repeat the process. Wherever they were, their evening’s adventures would begin as soon as their eyes opened. Which meant I needed to get the hell back to shore.

I looked around the pilothouse, not having to act impressed at the blue-lit instrument panel. “Wow, supper on a real yacht? That would be amazing!”

He leaned in. “And bring your bikini. Maybe we’ll just have dessert in the hot tub.”

Which was when he went too far. I wouldn’t even take a dip with Sulu, and he was genuinely cute. “Thanks, that would be great!” I looked out the window. “Oh, there’s my ride!” I pointed to Cole and waved, as if he could see me. Then I waved at Captain Sulu and ran down the steps that would lead me to the lower deck and the speedboat home.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE

Even if I get Alzheimer’s I will never forget the sight of Bergman huddled over his work. It’s one of my first memories of him. I’d made friends with a girl in English Lit named Lindy Melson. She and her roommate, a grad student named Miles, needed some help with the rent. When she showed me the place, the first thing I saw when she opened the apartment door was Bergman hunched over the white Formica counter, fixing the toaster so it would sound an alarm when the waffles were done.

“Miles,” I said as I walked into the RV and saw him bent over the table, “what’s up?”

“Not your bullet, that’s for sure.” He sat back and rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of both hands, a sure sign of high-end stress.

“Where’s Cassandra?”

“Bathroom, running water over the
magical item
.” He said the last two words as if they had personally shoved him against the lockers and tried to steal his lunch money.

I sat down across from him.

“Don’t—”

I held up my hands.

“—touch the stuff.”

I scooted over until I was right next to him.

He looked down at me suspiciously. I put my head on his shoulder, breathed him in, and felt myself begin to unfold. After a kill, it’s always hard for me to get back to real. In the six months I’d worked solo . . . Well, let’s just say this was the safest way I’d found to reground. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You mean besides the fact that I need my entire lab to build something this intricate?”

“Yeah, besides that.”

He moved, forcing me to look at him. “Jaz, you want a bullet hard enough to penetrate but soft enough to break apart once it’s impacted so that it doesn’t exit the victim. Hard enough to protect the inner casing but soft enough, again, to break up and allow that inner casing to light up a vampire from the inside. Do you understand how tall that order is with the equipment I have available to me?”

I stretched my hands toward the ceiling.

“Taller,” he drawled.

Cole had been leaning against the kitchen counter, absently watching the cleaning frenzy on the monitor as we talked. Now he looked at us and said, “You know what this situation calls for?”

Bergman and I shook our heads.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his fist, sat at the table, and offered us his open hand. “Bubble gum.”

We dug in and sat in relative silence except, of course, for the blowing and the popping. Suddenly it came to me. “What if it’s not a bullet?” I asked.

Bergman sat up, a sure sign of interest. Cole blew another bubble, so who knew. I went on. “What if it’s a dart?”

“Nah,” said Bergman. “The needle’s too thin. We need something round enough to contain the pill.”

“Crossbow bolt?” suggested Cole. His eyes went from my face to Bergman’s and back again. “Hey, quit looking so shocked. Just because I have beautiful tresses doesn’t mean there isn’t a working brain underneath. Look at Cassandra.”

We tried. She’d just emerged from the bathroom, so we craned our necks, bending nearly backward to see not only her lovely long locks but also the shining silver medallion she carried on a chain between her outstretched fingers.

“Is it ready?” I asked.

“Quit bouncing, Jaz,” Bergman growled. “You’re going to knock something off the table.”

“Lemme out!” I ordered. Bergman stood up, allowing me to exit stage left. I went to Cassandra and took the medallion in my hands. When she’d put it into the pot along with all the other ingredients, it had just been a plain silver disc. Now she’d imbued it with the powers of the herbs. And magical writings, the words she’d whispered over the pot, had carved themselves into its face.

“Cool,” I whispered. She grinned with pride.

“Do you remember me telling you we needed something that belonged to Pengfei to make the spell work?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

She tapped the side of her head with a newly manicured fingernail. “I think I figured it out. While you were gone, Bergman raised Pengfei’s image on his computer.”

“Under protest,” Bergman cut in.

Cassandra ignored him. “That helped me make a detailed transfer to the
Enkyklios
. Then I dangled the medallion in the image replay while I spoke the words of permeation. Go on, see if it changes you,” she suggested.

“Okay, but I want to put on the dress first.” I ran into the bedroom, shimmied out of my clothes and into Pengfei’s. They were loose in the bust and tight in the butt, which made me hate her all the more. I hurried back to the living room.

Bergman and Cole had moved to the driver and passenger seats, which they’d turned to face me. Cassandra stood waiting beside Ashley.

“Okay,” I said. “Lay it on me.”

She draped the medallion over my neck.

I looked from her to Cole to Bergman. When all the color left Miles’s face I knew the spell had worked. “Take it off,” he whispered, “before it curses you!”

Ignoring him, I looked at Cassandra expectantly. “Well?”

For an answer she clapped her hands one time, hard, and smiled so big you’d have thought she’d just won the lottery.

Cole popped a bubble. “Hey, Cassandra,” he said. “Can you make me one where I look like Keith Urban?” He glanced at Bergman. “Isn’t he still married to Nicole Kidman? God, what a babe.”

But Bergman seemed to have developed blinders. Cole could’ve been broadcasting from the Space Station for all the attention Miles paid him. His hands jerked, and I realized he’d dug his fingernails into his chair’s armrests up to the first knuckle. He leaned forward, and for a second I thought he was going to lunge out of his seat, rip the medallion off my neck, throw it down, and stomp on it like some enraged second grader. Instead he fell back in the seat, closed his eyes, and took off his glasses. As if that still wasn’t enough to keep the scene before him from playing out behind his eyelids, he turned his seat around.

Okay, be that way,
I thought, ignoring the fact that my inner voice sounded awfully middle school. Why did I keep letting Bergman bring out the gnarly teen in me?