Bitten in Two (12 page)

She almost never talked about herself, but Bergman liked to know as much as he could about the people inside his comfort zone. So he’d fast discovered that our hostess had been born in Paris to a family with money so old it reeked of mildew and rotten grapes.

Similar story with her husband, who’d spent most of his youth jumping off cliffs and out of airplanes because, apparently, the guy couldn’t get enough thril s driving his Jaguar at ful throttle. When he final y landed badly and broke his pelvis he met Monique, who’d decided to fil her boring days with a career in physical therapy. They had two kids, now in col ege. And he’d died less than two years ago while attempting to relive his youth. Turned out the guy who’d packed his parachute had been drunk at the time.

Monique rarely mentioned Franck, though she did say he was the one who’d hired Chef Henri. And good on him for finding such an excel ent cook. Every morning he spoiled us with a bounty of home-baked breads, herb butters, freshly squeezed orange juice, and mint tea. Which was probably why I’d gained a couple of pounds despite the stress related to my current mission.

In fact, as I stood at the door where the lounge entered the courtyard, my mouth was already watering from the smel s Henri had risen early to tempt us with. But as soon as my foot hit the tiles I lost my appetite. Because laced with the aroma of homemade goodness was the psychic scent of a newcomer. Wouldn’t Vayl just ride the smug al around the block to know his always-be-prepared lessons had saved me yet again?

The source of my change in breakfast plans sat in the shade of the gazebo. He was tapping his fingers against his thigh to a rhythm only he could hear while he watched Monique put the finishing touches to the breakfast buffet.

She lined up the elegantly folded napkins, futzed with flowers so yel ow they made me blink, then poured a couple of glasses of juice and joined him.

I should too. I knew that. Casual y, like my heart wasn’t trying to make a break for the street. Instead I stepped through the open door, silent as Astral on her best day. Five quick steps took me to an enormous banana plant, one leaf of which could’ve wrapped al the way around me. Which wasn’t a bad idea. Because despite what I’d told Cassandra, I wasn’t ready to see Sterling, much less talk to him.

But by the way he sat, long legs stretched out in front of him, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, it looked like I couldn’t count on him leaving anytime soon. He set his glass on the table and linked his fingers over his flat stomach. His piercing black eyes moved from Monique’s to the serenity of the pool and back again as they talked quietly and waited for me to show.

Part of me (one guess which) blew out a sigh of admiration. Something had altered in him since last time.

Though his hair was just as black, long, and flowing as I remembered, he looked… grown up. His heather-green shirt was unbuttoned far enough to reveal a silver chain holding a black onyx amulet that looked like dozens of midnight-tinted lightning bolts had fused at a single point. At their center a silver sphere glittered so bril iantly it gave the il usion of rotation. He stil wore the wide bone bracelets il usion of rotation. He stil wore the wide bone bracelets that had made him famous. Their color complemented his khaki cargo pants, which hugged hips and thighs with the long, slender shape reserved for an endurance runner. My old adversary might spend his weekends jamming with his buds, but it looked to me like Monday morning found him pounding down the miles at his local track.

I couldn’t even get my feet to move. Because, you know, what if I pissed him off? Again? I knew exactly what he was capable of pul ing off these days. And I hadn’t lied to Cassandra when I said I’d changed. Now it did matter what happened if he decided to reach into one of his pockets, pul out a pinch of
shawackem
dust, and wait for me to turn my back before sprinkling it on my toast.

He rose from his seat, slow and lazy, just another guy who’s ready to nap after a good meal. But I knew he was a cheetah. If the mood took him he could tear territorial intruders into pieces so smal even the vultures would snub them.

Monique stood too, looking confused. He put her at ease with his let’s-share-stories grin. “We have company,” he said.

“We do?”

“She’s cowering behind the banana plant.”
Oh! Well, that’s just—I am not!
I stomped right up to him, trying to glare the smirk off his face. It didn’t work.

Monique rushed into the awkward silence with the grace of a born party planner. “Your friend arrived early this morning,” she told me. “He said you were expecting him?” She raised her eyebrow just enough to let me know that under the civilized veneer lurked a she-bear ful y capable of throwing the guy into the gutter if he turned out to be an asshole.

“Yeah, I… yes, I invited him. I was thinking he could room with Mr. Berggia. I’m just surprised to see him so soon.” So how do you greet a guy who—
aw shit, really?
—

wore a smal white scar on his forehead because of you? I said, “Thanks for coming, Sterling.”

He’s goddamn Harry Potter. Which makes me
Voldemort. I am, officially, the most evil bastard on earth.

And I don’t even have a mini me to pawn off the guilt on!

Grannyyy!

Sterling said, “It’s been a while… Madame Berggia.”

“Yup.” I held out my hand. “Thanks for coming.” I waited.

When he shook it, I felt an extra slap on top of the jolt that always hit me when I touched him, which I’d only done this time to show my genuine appreciation. I looked at our linked hands and noticed his pinky ring. Nothing fancy, just a silver band with some deep black engraving. But my Sensitivity told me it was just as powerful as the amulet and bracelets. The hairs on the back of my neck only began to lie down after I pul ed my hand away. Which was when I felt like I could breathe again. So, apparently, could Monique.

Her sigh actual y left a mist on my cheek.

Sterling said, “Cassandra told me you’re offering to pony up a new trumpet.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. “I figured you’d put me on a hunt for your favorite whiskey instead.”

“Naw.” He pointed to the pocket where he knew I kept my cash. “This job’s gonna cost you more than booze, Chil .” So he hadn’t forgotten my nickname.

“Fine, you want a trumpet? You got one.”

“I’ve changed instruments. It’s al part of my ten-year plan. Now you’re going to have to buy me a guitar.”

“Deal.”

“I’m not finished negotiating.”

“Oh?”
Shit! I should’ve bartered. Then he wouldn’t
have realized how desperate I was for his help.

Granny May, back in her outdoor sewing chair, stabbed her needle into the material like she wanted to draw blood.

He already knows you’re dangling off the bottom rung of a
helicopter’s rescue ladder, girl. The way you two parted—

what else could he think? All you have to decide is how
much pride you can swallow before you’ve met your limit.

I said, “What else do you want?”

He smiled, ducking his head so we could stare straight into each other’s eyes. “
You
know.”
Aw, fuck.

“How long?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? How am I gonna

—”

He backed away, his hips twisting slightly, as if he was moving to tango music played too low for uninitiated ears like mine. He said, “Not my problem. You want my help, those are my terms. Your move, Chil .”

Monique’s eyes moved from Sterling to me as if she was watching a slow-motion Ping-Pong match. Her hand had stolen to her lips, where she gnawed a fingernail, waiting for my reply. Geez, what would she have been chewing on if she’d actual y known what was at stake?

I closed my eyes. What sucked more than anything had so far was that I hadn’t even approached the pride line yet.

What did that say about the lengths I’d go to for Vayl? In a word—terrifying.

I said, “Done.” Patter of applause as Monique clapped her hands. I glared at her. “I wonder if you could give us a moment.”

Sterling shook his head. “You know this kind of deal needs a neutral witness. Now seal it,” Sterling demanded.

“Oh, for—okay.” I crossed my hands, one over the other, and pressed them against my chest. “I swear on my heart’s blood that I wil give you a guitar and twenty-four hours of uninterrupted time with you and your Wii playing any damn game you want—”

“I’m going to kick your ass in tennis—”

I gave him my like-hel -you-wil stare as I finished. “—in return for your help in solving my partner’s current problem.” He’d made the same gesture. Now he said, “I swear on my heart’s blood I wil aid you to the end of my abilities until”—he hesitated, glancing at Monique, so I put in

—“Vasil Brâncoveanu”—since Vayl no longer answered to his modern name and Sterling didn’t know him by any other.

The

warlock

nodded

grateful y.

“Until

Vasil

Brâncoveanu is restored or until you release me of my duties.” We clasped hands, my right in his left, his right engulfing my left. I felt, not a zap exactly. More of a slow-dizzy, the kind that fal s over you when you’ve looked in a fun house mirror way too long. It came from his bracelets, making our agreement official. And from his
pull
.

Warlocks borrowed energy from other people to fuel their powers so they didn’t have to sleep sixteen hours a day. Sterling was so good that his was mostly reflex, as much a part of his character as his eye color. I also knew he could crank it up when he wanted to, which was why I enjoyed touching him about as much as I liked slapping skin with psychics. I took my hands back as soon as I could.

His eyes dropped to Cirilai. “Your ring…”

“Is none of your business.”

He let it drop. But I could see the regret in his eyes. His look said,
If only I’d known it wasn’t just a hunk of metal
when I was wheeling and dealing.

I slipped my hands into my pockets.
What have I done?

I watched Sterling touch Monique between the eyes, saw the jolt of blue move from his ring down his finger into our hostess’s skul , and knew the memory of our contract would now be locked away where she could only access it if either of us welshed. Her foggy expression, fol owed by a trip to the buffet to fix the same flowers she’d been working on when I’d entered the courtyard, convinced me it had worked. And brought on the guilt.

We shouldn’t be here. Monique’s place should be full
of vacationing families. Moms and dads planning
shopping excursions or trips to see the Koutoubia
Mosque and the Bahia Palace. We belong in an empty
plain, surrounded by the ruins of long-dead buildings
where we can’t destroy anything that isn’t already rubble.

I felt something trickle down my lip.

Sterling frowned. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“Oh.” I looked around, but Monique was already beside me holding a tissue, her kind brown eyes big with concern.

“Thanks.” I took it and shoved it against my nostrils.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” I glanced around the courtyard so I wouldn’t have to deal with her sympathy or Sterling’s curiosity. I said, “You know what? I think Sterling and I wil eat in the gazebo this morning. We have some business to discuss.”

“Of course. I’l find Shada and tel her you’re ready for her to clean your room.”

I nodded, reminding myself to leave the quiet little maid a big tip before we left for keeping her mouth shut about al my hand-rinsed bedclothes. “Thanks.”

“I’l be working on accounts most of the morning, so if you need me please feel free to knock on my office door.” Monique nodded to Sterling. “Nice to have met you,” she said, then she left through the kitchen doors.

Sterling waved her away, the twist of his wrist and curve of his last three fingers making me wonder if he’d just hexed our hostess until he said, “A smal blessing to fol ow our witness for the rest of the day. It’s the least I can do, don’t you think?” While he tore a generous piece of bread off the loaf and scooped a spoonful of butter onto his plate, I mopped myself up. Again. Fearing that chewing motions would just reconvene the bleeder’s convention, I settled for a glass of juice and fol owed him into the gazebo. I spent as much time as I could arranging myself on the couch, the cushions at my back, my cup just so on the table. Sterling watched me for what seemed like hours. Final y he’d had enough.

“Chil . I’m not gonna jump you,” Sterling said, his voice as smooth as icing.

“Oh. Good.”

“Although an apology would be cool.”

I stared.

He said, “You know, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be black.”

“I never said there was!”

“You said—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” I pressed my lips together before they spat out something that would aggravate him al over again.

“I need you on
this
mission. I need you to concentrate on what’s happening now, not on the past. Is that possible?”

“I’m here.” Some irritation in the way his teeth ripped into the khobz. But I’d take it.

“You got here quick. I appreciate that.”

His eyebrows went up. “You
have
changed. Wel , me too.” He leaned toward me. “I’m better. At magic. At music.