Another One Bites the Dust (3 page)

“No?”

“The problem is that they can’t disagree without getting so mad they want to kill somebody. Like the president, for instance. And if it really does go that far, somebody calls me and then I have to go kill one of them. And the first rule you learn in this business is . . .” I waited for him to finish my sentence.

“Never kill when you’re mad,” he complied, “because that’s when it might be murder.” I didn’t tell him how often I’d broken that rule. He’d figure that out on his own soon enough.

Eventually I felt about as bored as the guards looked. I was just getting ready to suggest Cole and I hike back to our (hopefully missing) mopeds when one of the guards turned to speak to his companion.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

“See what?”

Some instinct made me pull Cole into the shelter of a white party tent, the sides of which had been rolled down to keep the wind from blowing away several boxes full of cone-shaped cups that would eventually contain a ton of ice and a teaspoon of syrup. I peeked through the crack between the material and the pole it had been tied to. A second later I saw it again. “The guard on the right. Watch his face when he moves.”

Cole stared hard, squinching his eyes until he kind of resembled Chinese Baby. “I don’t see anything.”

Weird
. I’d been counting on confirmation from him. A childhood accident had changed him, made him a Sensitive like me. It allowed him to pick up on the presence of vamps and other things that go bump in the night. But then, since I had donated blood to a vampire—my boss, in fact—I sort of had an advanced degree.

“What did you see, Jaz?”

“Every time he moved, his face sort of blurred, like it was catching up to the rest of him.”

Cole blew out a breath. “Bizarre.”

“Yeah. And I get the feeling he’s not the type we should just stroll up and introduce ourselves to.”

“What do you think? You want to stick around, see what he’s up to?”

I took another peek. “He’s not going anywhere. Let’s get the rest of the posse. Maybe they’ll know something.”

I realized Fate, which had often punched me so hard I couldn’t see for the swelling, may have dealt me a pair of aces in Cassandra and Bergman. Though I always had reservations about using consultants, those suddenly disappeared. I had a feeling this new wrinkle was going to need all our resources if we ever meant to lay it flat again.

CHAPTERTWO

I’ll say this, RVs have developed panache since the bang-your-chin-on-the-sink-while-using-the-toilet days of my youth. The one Vayl had reserved for our use was tricked out. A plasma TV took up headspace behind the cab. Cassandra’s couch had a small reading table. Beside Bergman’s there was enough room for a light brown leather banquette to wrap around a glass dining table. Behind it a black granite counter that could be used as a standing breakfast bar rounded back toward the wall, which held a mirrored wine case, a black refrigerator, and maple cabinets. On the opposite wall, more cabinets framed the stove, microwave, and black porcelain sink. The designer had even left room for another, smaller TV.

Down the carpeted hallway, the bathroom looked like it had been lifted straight out of the Ritz. And the bedroom had its own TV plus a big old queen-sized bed and plenty of drawer space. Oh, we still had that RV thing going on, where the couches and banquette all made into beds and you could store stuff in every conceivable nook and cranny. But, baby, we were stylin’.

I’d just entered the RV when I heard Vayl come to life. The gulp he took reminded me of a kid who tries to hold his breath past too many rows of tombstones. I nodded to Cassandra, who’d looked up from her book when I came in. “Cole’s securing the trailer,” I whispered, since Bergman was snoozing, his face buried in a red tasseled pillow, his right arm and leg dragging the gold carpeted floor.

Cassandra nodded and went back to her reading.

I went to Vayl’s room and knocked on the door.

“Jasmine?” His voice sounded gruff and slightly pained.

“Yeah.”

“Come in.”

The light-impermeable tent he slept (died?) in every morning engulfed the top of the bed. He came around from behind it, closing the top button of his tailored black slacks, his navy blue shirt hanging open, revealing a broad, muscular chest covered with black curls and an empty gold chain that had once carried the ring I now wore on my right hand.

I forced my eyes to the ring, swallowing a spurt of highly inappropriate
wowsa.
The rubies that marched around their gold settings glittered in the soft lights Vayl had turned on when he woke. I concentrated on the craftsmanship Vayl’s grandfather had put into the ring, the love and artistry and power that had been required to turn gold and gems into a relic that protected, and connected, us both.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. He stood so close I could feel his cool breath against my heated face.

“Your grandpa must’ve been an amazing man to have made such a beautiful ring for you.”

I peered into Vayl’s eyes. At the moment they were the soft brown that characterized his most relaxed, real self. They squeezed at the corners, as they often did when I forced him into his distant, painful past.

“He was . . . devoted to his family, but also very set in his way of thinking.” His lips drew back at some memory.

“Vayl?”

He began forcing the buttons of his shirt through their holes so abruptly I was surprised they didn’t pop off. “Do you know how the Roma regard vampires?” he demanded.

“No, not really.” Though I should. Why didn’t I delve more into Vayl’s roots?
Because to know him is to love him, and you’re so not ready to go there.

“To the Roma we are dead. And therefore unclean. But that impurity is spread also to our family.” When I didn’t seem suitably impressed Vayl said, “When my grandfather found out about Liliana and I, he led the mob that came to kill us.”

“But . . . he made the ring for you. He knew your soul would be in danger—”

“Yes, but he expected me to be attacked by demons. He did not think I would become one myself.”

“And, what, infect your family somehow?”

“No, not infect them. Kill them, turn them, destroy their very souls.”

“Well, that’s just stupid.”

Vayl’s finger brushed against the ring he’d given me. He called it Cirilai, which meant “Guardian.” The barest hint of a smile lifted his lips. “I appreciate your support. But you must remember the age. It was 1751. Long before computers, cars, penicillin, or anything approaching civil rights. Even now the Roma are a tortured people. But then, it was magnified a thousand times. All they had was one another.”

“So what, they had to cut you out of the flock in order to save the rest?”

“I suppose you could look at it that way.”

“But you’re here. How did you survive?”

“My father arrived first. He could not bear to lose me. He said I was all he had left of my mother. He moved us to a safe place as we slept. And then, that night, for our own safety he returned and banished us.”

“You can do that? Banish vampires?”

He fixed me with his most piercing glare. “You can, if you have the power and the means. But it is not common knowledge. I tell you this strictly as
sverhamin
to
avhar
, which means you may not share this information with anyone else.”

“There you go again, invoking our special bond, like I know all the rules or something. Is there a book I can read somewhere? Because I’m getting a little tired of being in the dark on the parameters of this relationship.”

Twitch of the lip. In any other man, it would’ve been a full-face smile. Maybe even an outright laugh. But I guess when somebody murders your sons, and your closest relations all try to kill or kick you out before you turn forty, you learn fast how to nail those emotions in the coffin you refuse to sleep in when the sun rises.

Vayl said, “You do not strike me as the type of person who enjoys being lectured. In fact, I sense that if I began to list all of the intricacies of the
sverhamin/avhar
connection and the related rules, the moment I turned around you would fish out your tape recorder, set it on the nearest flat surface, and sneak off to the closest all-night monster truck rally.”

“Okay, although my taste runs more to auto racing, I get your point. Just don’t get all pissy when I break a rule I’m not even aware of.”

“Fair enough.” Vayl collapsed his tent with a couple of quick moves, and suddenly there was a nice big bed at our backs. Vayl’s eyes strayed to my neck and I knew we were both remembering the time I’d bared it to him.

His eyes lightened to green and my heartbeat must have tripled at the thought that we could so easily ignite those feelings again.

“So, banishment,” I blurted, so loudly they probably heard me three blocks away. Vayl dropped his hand. I didn’t even know he’d reached for me. He turned away.

“Yes.”

“What exactly does that mean for you?”

“Liliana and I were forced to distance ourselves from all members of our family for ten generations.”

“What happened if you didn’t?”

Vayl whipped me a look over his shoulder that told me he’d had about enough. You can only scratch a scar so long before it becomes a wound again. “Magical banishment is not like a restraining order, Jasmine. It is quite effective. Well, it was.”

“You mean, it’s over now?”

Vayl nodded. “The banishment expired three years ago.”
Fat lot of good that does me
, said the bleak look in his eyes.
The family I knew is all dead now. Dead and gone
. Or, as he so desperately hoped in the case of his boys, dead and reincarnated.

I felt like such an ass. I’d made Vayl dig up some bad old memories just so I wouldn’t have to face down my own growing desire to toss that tape recorder he’d mentioned off the nearest flat surface and throw Vayl down there instead. Thing was, when I looked in those remarkable eyes and thought of sharing that ultimate moment of ecstasy with him, the image that came to mind was not me and Vayl. It was me and Matt. My fiancé had been dead nearly sixteen months, but parts of my brain still couldn’t seem to believe it.

Vayl had fished some socks out of a drawer and sat on the bed to put them on. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Great, I’d hurt him and he was asking after my welfare. Typical. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry I made you talk about that stuff. It’s none of my business—”

“Actually, it is. As my
avhar
you should be privy to all my secrets, past and present.” His lips twisted. “It is just that, there are so many to tell. And very few of them are pleasant.”

“Well, by all means, take your time. I know, maybe every couple of weeks we can have a slumber party. You can come over to my apartment and we’ll play Truth or Dare. You can let a couple juicy ones slip while we gossip about how Cassandra wears too much jewelry and Cole always smells like grape bubble gum.” An image came to mind of Vayl wearing SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers and I started to giggle. When I got a load of the confused look on his face I laughed even louder. The sharp rap on the door didn’t stop me, but the look on Cole’s face when he stepped in did. He looked pissed. When he saw that Vayl and I were practically on opposite sides of the room his shoulders dropped and his fists opened.

Oh man, he can’t still be carrying a torch for me, can he? I mean, we had it all out already, right? Yeah right
, drawled my cynical self, a chain-smoking echo of my mother, who wore hair curlers like diamond tiaras and was a master at keeping her kids out of the house.

“Yes, Cole?” Vayl’s tone could’ve frozen a pitcher of lemonade.

“I just wanted to know what you thought about the security guards.” When Vayl gave him a blank look Cole’s shoulders bunched right back up. “What’ve you been doing in here all this time?” he asked me.

Before I could reply Vayl said, “The conversations that occur between
sverhamin
and
avhar
are private. If information arises that concerns you, we will let you know.”

“That’s enough,” I told them both, holding out my hands, which immediately seemed kind of stupid. Did I really want to be the one standing in the middle of a pissing match? Ick. “If you boys can’t play nice I’m sending you to your rooms.”

Vayl raised an eyebrow as if to say,
But I am already here
.

I went on. “Cole makes a good point. I should’ve told you straight off that we went to scout out the festival, and while we were there I saw something funky.” I described the guard. Luckily that made Vayl forget all about how much he didn’t care for Cole. Which made his presence on our current mission something of a minor miracle. Enter the flaming ball of guilt who is me.

I’d met Cole on New Year’s Eve during a reconnaissance mission. His connection to our target’s wife had piqued Vayl’s interest. That attention had not gone unnoticed by our enemies. It had resulted in the burning of Cole’s office, his kidnapping and severe beating. At the end of that mission he’d held my hand in the dungeon below Club Undead, tears flowing unchecked down his battered face. “I’m so sorry,” he kept saying.

The pain of my injuries had nearly overwhelmed me. I badly wanted a paramedic with a needleful of morphine. But it helped to concentrate on the men, Cole on my left and Vayl, running soothing fingers through my hair, at my right.