Bitten in Two (4 page)

Which made me smile. When I thought about it, I could see how it was kind of—

“It’s not funny,
Berggia
!” Bergman said.

“That’s me!” Cole hooted. “I’m Berggia. And
you’re
Helena!” He pointed at Kyphas. “And you are a maid. How do you like that, Ky—”

Vayl interrupted. “I assume you al have better things to do than stand around exchanging names? Madame Berggia, that ensemble you are wearing is completely inappropriate for a woman of your age and girth. And you have, once again, worn your hair down around your shoulders like a common strumpet. Must we have this conversation twice, or shal I just sack you and leave you in Morocco without a means of transportation back to England?”

I reached for the lamp on the table but Kyphas intercepted my hand. “You’l regret it later,” she murmured.

“What do you know about regret?” I snapped.

“More than you can imagine.” I caught her glancing toward Cole, but was too busy glaring at Vayl to give it much thought. Natural y, he remained total y oblivious to me.

Al his attention focused on Bergman, who he thought was the little girl he’d saved from a werewolf attack seven years earlier. Since my newest blood-borne skil seemed to be reliving his past, I’d been in Vayl’s body for a replay of that battle. So I knew he’d risked his life for her. But I thought he’d given her money when it was over and told her to leave. Until the previous day I’d had no idea he’d gone after her and promised to take care of her until she became independent.

1777-Vayl is a coldhearted shit
, I thought.
Unless your
name is Helena.

I toyed with the idea of changing my name to something Vayl would respond to with as much love and kindness as he showed her. But it couldn’t be a tag you’d hang on your favorite great-aunt. Would people want to cal if I answered the phone by saying, “You’ve reached Myrtle!” Then I realized someone was repeating my real name into my ear.

“Jasmine? Yoo-hoo!”

I touched the receiver, waking to the ful crapality of my present life when I saw Vayl walking ahead of me, stil smoking that stinking cigar.

“Jaz! What are you waiting for?” Bergman demanded.

“Find out why Vayl’s so worried about Helena. Maybe you can convince him to lock her in her room for her own safety.”

“Bad idea,” I replied.

“Come on! I’ve been so busy playing Vayl’s favorite teenager I haven’t had time to set up the security system properly. And don’t tel me to relax because the riad’s already got an alarm. You know it’s outdated,” Bergman snapped. Meaning he hadn’t invented it.

Vayl, responding to my comment as wel , said, “I know you hate my cigars, Madame Berggia, but they help me think. And you did ask about Helena.”

“Yes, I did.”

I tried to focus al my attention on the vampire strol ing through Marrakech’s old city like he was the damn mayor, but Cole was stil interested in the security system issue.

He said, “I don’t get the paranoia. We left Astral there.” Vayl frowned. “How is Helena’s kitten going to protect her from werewolves?”

her from werewolves?”

At the same time Bergman’s snort rattled my eardrums.

“A robotic cat who can shoot a couple of grenades out her butt is no comfort when you have a demon sleeping in the next room!”

Cole whispered, “Bergman! Kyphas told me personal y that she’s not interested in your soul. It’s probably only wired for space travel anyway.”

Vayl said, “What?”

I said, “You know Berggia, Vay—I mean, Lord Brâncoveanu.” Cole and I crossed our eyes at each other.

“He has such a strange sense of humor sometimes. Now, about Helena and the werewolves—”

But Bergman wasn’t done with his side of our bizarre conversation. He said, “Even if I believed you, Cole, which I don’t, that doesn’t change what happened to… your supervisor.”

Ouch. We paused, none of us even able yet to say Pete’s name, his murder was stil such an open wound. And it wasn’t healing any faster in light of the fact that we felt we’d triply betrayed him.

Because we stil didn’t know who’d kil ed him.

Therefore—

We couldn’t avenge his death, plus—

We’d missed his funeral.

It didn’t help that Pete would’ve understood that we had to find the Rocenz pronto. And that Vayl in his present state would’ve been impossible to explain to the grieving widow.

But I preferred imagining that Pete would’ve been überpissed to find out we’d skipped the final ceremony of his life. That would’ve been a more comforting feeling.

Familiar. Like al the times he’d yel ed at me for wrecking rental cars during the course of my assignments. Not that they’d—al —been my fault.

Wah, wah, wah, my God, you’re a bigger whiner than
Mom.
It was my inner adolescent. Teen Me lay on her stomach on Evie’s bed because, of course, hers wasn’t made. She was reading a comic book she’d stolen from Dave’s stash while she listened to her fave radio station, WFAT, play Casey Kasem’s American Top Forty. While Matchbox Twenty sang, “She says, baby, it’s 3 a.m. I must be lonely,” Teen Me said,
Remember all that bitching she
used to do?
Teen Me launched into a great imitation of Stel a’s smoke-roughened voice.
“Gawd, working at night
sucks. You kids should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll
be a little more grateful for the food I put on this table.”
She snorted.
As if Albert didn’t always have his check sent
to the house! Oh, do you remember this one? “What the
hell, you mean I have to go to the Laundromat again?

Why can’t you kids wear a pair of jeans more than once?

What are we, the Rockefellers?”

I said,
I sound nothing like her!
Wait, that did have something of a whiny undertone.

Teen Me sat up and careful y laid the comic on Evie’s pink, lace-rimmed pil ow. If Dave detected a single new wrinkle in the pages she knew there’d be hel to pay. She said,
Losing Pete, I get it. That’s gonna suck a long time. I
dunno, maybe forever. But all this mental grinding you’re
putting yourself through about him understanding your
motives or not? Lookit, he was your boss and you were
lucky that he cared about you. Also vice versa. Now he’s
dead. Be sad, but quit torturing yourself! That’s all.

I didn’t realize I’d stopped in the middle of the street until I saw Vayl and Cole coming back to get me.

“Madame Berggia, are you quite al right?” asked Vayl.

“No. Are you?”

He took a big puff of that obnoxious cigar and, thank God, blew the smoke into the night sky. When he looked back down at me his eyes were the dark blue of drowning waters. “Not at al ,” he said. “I am rarely afraid. But you know how Helena came to be in my care. In al this time, the werewolf who brought us together has not forgotten. He has watched from afar as she has grown in grace and beauty.” Cole snickered, and then coughed. “Uh, sorry,” he said.

Vayl patted him on the shoulder. “Never fear, my man.

This dry air should do wonders for your lungs.”

“What about the Were?” I asked.

“His name is Roldan. And he has marked her.”

“You mean, like, as part of his territory?” I imagined a werewolf peeing on a wigged and long-skirted Bergman. I slapped a hand over my mouth. Real y, this was no laughing matter.

Vayl paused. “I realize you have very little knowledge in this area, so I must explain. And I do apologize if I upset you unduly. But werewolves know when they have met their life’s partner. Roldan wants to change Helena, Madame Berggia. He has, in fact, become obsessed with the idea ever since I cheated him of the satisfaction. And her rejection of his every advance has merely emboldened him.” Vayl lowered his head. “No, it has crazed him,” he corrected himself grimly.

I remembered. I stood absolutely stil so I could clearly recal the moments when I’d discovered that donating blood to Vayl had given me the power to walk in his memories. I’d
seen
Roldan’s first attack on Helena. Defending her had felt so real that even now I wanted to bury my fists in the wolf who hadn’t died in that first battle but had, evidently, stalked the girl for years after. And who, unlike any other Were I’d ever heard of, had survived long past the 150-year mark to put himself at the top of the our Most Likely to Vaporize the World list.

I said, “Even if Roldan wasn’t after Helena, could he stil be jonesing for revenge on you?”
Even after all these
decades?

Vayl nodded. “I do not believe his surname is Jones”—

puzzled glance at Cole as his “valet” slapped himself on both cheeks to maintain his composure—“but given our history, I think it entirely possible that he and his pack are hatching plans to kil me even as we speak. Al they need is my location. Which, I assure you, madame, is an absolute secret.”

On the other end of our receivers, Bergman emitted what could’ve qualified as a silent scream, except we heard a sort of echo, like a kid’s attempt to make crowd noises into a microphone. Then he said, “Astral? Here, kitty. Let’s check those grenades, okay, girl?”

Cole and I folowed Vayl back toward the riad, walking a couple of steps behind him like the obedient servants he expected us to be. The closer we got to the Djemaa el Fna, the more people we met. Black-haired, brown-eyed men dressed in colorful caps and the choir-robish jel abas that Vayl had insisted on wearing as pajamas, smiled and wished us a good evening. Tourists with one hand on their wal ets and the other clicking pictures either nodded or ignored us completely. Maybe they couldn’t be bothered with socializing when Marrakech demanded so much attention, its original builders somehow infusing an exotic beauty into everything from mosque minarets to bathhouse floors. Its current citizens added to the color with displays of intricately woven rugs, mounds of ripe fruits, and materials dyed in vibrant colors that dared the sun to fade them. The variety, volume, and availability al increased the closer we got to the square. Which, considering how much Vayl went for hunting nowadays, we’d be smart to avoid.

Another quiet evening inside. Sigh.

Maybe I’d cal Cassandra and check on Jack. (By now maybe he’d forgiven me for putting him on yet another airplane and, even worse, sending him away from al the action. Because demons get their kicks infesting canines, and I couldn’t risk my favorite malamute around Kyphas any longer).

Cassandra would probably bring me up to speed on her and my brother, Dave’s, wedding plans. And then I’d ask the inevitable question. “Stil clueless?” And she’d say,

“I’m sorry, Jaz,” because by now I didn’t expect her to hit anything but dead ends in her search for the cause of Vayl’s massive memory lapse.

I tried to cheer myself with the sight of Riad Almoravid, its wal s rising out of the street like a mini fort coated in cotton candy. A former vil a remodeled for tourist stays, it contrasted starkly with the neglected homes we’d left behind. Here an elegant awning offered us instant shade so we could more comfortably admire the white molding that hung like lace from the double arches that formed its entrance, or rest our sun-blasted eyes on the cool beauty of the smal garden that fil ed the area between riad and sidewalk. Like the courtyard, it was packed with greenery, huge pots ful of starlike blooms, and a fountain that always reminded me to hit the bathroom ASAP.

Vayl hardly noticed. He glanced at the double doors, the arch above which had been fil ed with triangles of green glass, and said, “The two of you go on in. I wil catch up later.” He picked up his pace.

I grabbed Cole’s arm so hard that he jumped. “Uh, Lord Brâncoveanu?” he said. Pause for eye rol . “We’d be happy to do that but, er, you know how Helena worries when you’re out on your own. What do you say we al stay together tonight? You know, do something as a family?” By now we were nearly jogging to keep up with him.

“That would be fine, except I am planning to find a woman who—”

I lost the rest of Vayl’s sentence in a mental whiteout.

The sensation was close to the feeling (or lack of) that I reach just before my finger squeezes the trigger. But it was misleading. Because before a kil I go to a place very close to peace. This was the indrawn breath before a battle cry.

Cole lunged forward to yank on Vayl’s coat sleeve, managing to stop his progress. At the same time he shoved his body in front of mine. He said, “I’m afraid Madame Berggia doesn’t understand. At al .” Madame Berggia doesn’t understand. At al .” Vayl didn’t even spare me a look. “She does not need to.” His voice was hard as the eyes of the children who suggested we use them as our guides every afternoon when we went to the Djemaa el Fna to search for the answers we couldn’t find in Cassandra’s books or at Bergman’s keyboards. Only Cole kept me from shoving my face into Vayl’s, wrecking our relationship and maybe his mind by demanding that he remember the only woman who should matter to him anymore.

Cole turned and put both his hands on my shoulders.

Leaning down so our noses were nearly touching he murmured, “Get it together.”

I glared over his shoulder at the vampire who was tapping his foot impatiently. “I hate that son of a bitch!”

“I know.”

That stepped me back. “But… I love him.”