One More Bite (8 page)

She nodded, the contemplation on her face transforming it into a beautifully fragile portrait. But I realized that behind that delicate picture lurked the soul of an Amazon. Those funky shoes proved it. And if she could just get through this terrible time, I had a feeling Viv would finally discover it for herself.

Chapter Nine

We left Iona and Viv with the agreement that we’d sit with them at GhostCon’s opening ceremonies, and split up in the hallway outside their door. Vayl and Cole went to track down Floraidh. Their plan: charm her into saying anything-you-like to setting up our cameras and various other phantom detectors, which, of course, detected no such thing. We’d already manufactured an excuse to flood the house with our Bergman-made goodies, all of them meant to help us track an assassin’s movements. But our experience on the lane had provided us with a better story, one Floraidh might buy. Especially when Vayl waved a few hundred-pound notes under her upturned nose.

Since the guys had deserted us, I grabbed Jack’s supplies from my trunk and we trotted downstairs to the kitchen. Like the other rooms in the house, this one tried its hand at cozy. A farmer’s table holding a blue bowl brimming with fruit and surrounded by six tall chairs dominated the south side of the pea-green room. On the north side, a work island and white cabinets whose doors had been stenciled with red flowers connected by leafy vines gave it Fl„

balance. Though when I began to imagine what all the coven members chopped on the hard maple surface of that island, the kitchen stopped seeming so quaint.

The fake wooden countertops held your typical assortment of canisters, cookbooks, and small appliances. A refrigerator took up space by the door we’d just entered, and an oven stood by the second exit, the window above it overlooking the backyard.

After supplying the dog with his supper, I checked the fridge and found it packed with leftovers and bottled drinks. As I helped myself to a couple of waters, I noticed Jack had deserted his Iams to sniff at the spotless white stove.

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“Whatcha got there, pal? Something fall out of a casserole dish that you need to sample?” I opened the door only enough to get a look, since I could imagine him shoving his whole face in and licking charred grossness off its floor. He didn’t even try. Just looked up at me as I tried to decide why Floraidh would store a bowl full of ashes on its bottom shelf.

It’s probably just burned hickory. Maybe she flavors roasts that way, I told myself as Jack trotted back to his dinner. If it had been any other B and B I’d have left the bowl alone. Since it was Tearlach I pulled it out and set it on the counter.

Time to check for unscheduled interruptions. All I could see out the window was an herb garden leading to a stretch of deep green lawn and a stone barn with red doors and matching roof, all of it backed by a thick, spooky forest called Culloden Wood. So I tiptoed to the lounge. Yup, the Scidairans stood out front with Vayl and Cole, who seemed to be deep into their sales pitch. Albert had decided that meant he was dismissed and turned to come inside.

I rushed back to the kitchen, put a finger to my lips when Jack looked up at me in surprise. As he shoved his nose back in his food I returned to the ash bowl. Okay, I’ll play archaeologist. But only for a minute. I found the silverware drawer on the third try. Used a spoon to sift through. Because not everything burns when . . . yup. There it was. A human tooth.

Fuck!

The thoughts hit me simultaneously. I’m scooping through human remains like they’re freaking Raisin Bran! And. I have to put them back where I found them. I hated the idea of not rescuing them, giving them a proper burial, or at least scattering them somewhere so the coven couldn’t use them for their obscene little rituals. But that would so blow my cover.

I found a Baggie in another drawer, deposited the tooth, some ashes, and the spoon, stuffed it in my jacket pocket and returned the bowl to the stove. Albert had stumped upstairs by now. And since Jack had nearly finished his grub, I grabbed a banana and an apple out of the fruit bowl.

“We need to go,” I said, reaching for the leash. I didn’t have a lot of free minutes. Cole and Vayl would convince Floraidh to allow them to set up the equipment, and one of them would keep an eye on her while the other worked. That just gave me time to call a courier for my gruesome find and run the names of the guests through the Agency’s database. Then it’d be my turn to shadow her.

This sucks! There’s human ashes in the oven. I’m fetching food for my dad like the Tearlach bellboy. A Cach">

I tried to console myself with the memory of how my brother had come up with the idea of escaping Samos’s trap. How we’d turned his magic against him and ultimately watched him die. He is dead. And you’ll only have to protect his former ally until you find Bea. Or maybe till you figure out who’s in the bowl. It wouldn’t be the first time Pete changed his orders midmission.

My mood lifted suddenly, and as he often did, Jack took note with a curious look and a pricking of his ears. “Come on, dog. Let’s go feed the gorilla.”

We ran upstairs. Our doors stood in a row, Vayl’s at the head of the steps, mine next, and Cole’s last, with a sauna-sized shared bathroom across the hall. Cole had agreed to room with Albert, so I strode to the door with the little basket of fake daisies nailed to it and the numbers 203

painted in bright red underneath.

“How pissed is he gonna be when he finds out we got him something nutritious?” I asked Jack as we stopped. I paused with my hand on the knob when I heard a voice from inside that didn’t

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belong to Albert. Though I couldn’t make out the words, they sounded threatening.

“Go to hell!” he yelled.

I threw the door open as a second voice murmured, “I’m already there.”

Albert stood between twin beds covered with blue flowered spreads, holding a long black remote control in his shaking hand. As Jack stuck his nose in the back of my leg and I reached for Grief, I looked sharply to my left and right. “Who were you talking to?” I asked, striding toward the wardrobe. I threw open the door. Nothing there but some shirts and a stack of underwear. Geez, how long was he planning on staying?

“It was the TV,” he said, clenching his teeth so hard I could hear his molars rub. I turned to look at where it sat on a corner entertainment center stacked with videos and games. BBC was showing one of my favorite cop movies.

“You’re yelling at Simon Pegg?”

“He’s . . . such an ass.”

“What?”

“Just—he just pisses me off is all!”

“How is that possible? He’s playing this unbelievable policeman—”

“Did you bring me anything to eat?”

I looked at the food in my left hand, feeling off balance and slightly bewildered. As if I’d come in to find my father dancing around in ballet slippers and a tutu. He grabbed the fruit and, without a single complaint as to its lack of chocolate content or sugar glazing, bit into the apple.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “Are you dizzy? Do you need to do a test? Did you shrink your sweatshirt again?”

“I’m fine,” Albert growled. “Quit hovering. You remind me of one of those goddamn blimps.” That sounded more like him. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I turned to leave.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“You taking the mutt with you tonight?”

I looked down at Jack, who blinked at me soulfully. “I figured I would.”

“Why don’t you leave him with me?”

“Huh?” The offer caught me so far off guard I was sure I looked like a total cave brain, with my mouth hanging open to give all my loose gray matter a straight shot to the floor.

“He could keep me company while I watch TV.”

“Are you going to yell at him?”

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“Why would I do that?”

“You mean like you’re yelling at me right now?”

“I’m not yelling!”

“Promise to talk nice or he leaves with me.”

Albert shook his head and stared at Jack. “Do you want to stay with me for a while, Jackster? I may have a few treats for you in my suitcase to help pass the time.” Albert hobbled to the dresser and threw open the lid to his luggage. Right on top lay a box of doggy snacks.

“You didn’t.”

For answer, Albert dug one out and offered it to Jack, who immediately deserted me to make friends with the man who had informed me, at the age of eight, that if I couldn’t figure out how to manage all by myself I might as well skip my independence and check right into Greenfields Assisted Living.

I left my dad and my dog bonding over Milk-Bones and Hot Fuzz, thinking, The way this day is going, things are only gonna get weirder.

Chapter Ten

As I walked through my room, repeating the clearing ceremony I’d performed for the girls as well as for Vayl, Cole, and Albert, I tried to talk myself into liking the place. The wallpaper, which only ran up to the white chair rail, was covered in a ripe plum design. I should be tempted to pluck them right off the wall. Except I kept thinking they looked like frozen testicles, and I was feeling sorry for the model. The part above the rail, painted lavender, just depressed me.

I did appreciate that I had my own bathroom, so I wouldn’t have to share with the guys. It was situated right across from the entry. Around the corner stood the bed, its frame consisting of long wooden spindles that reminded me of my niece’s crib. And the table beside it was so tiny the lamp looked like it was going to topple off in the night, possibly electrocuting me in my sleep.

Floraidh had also furnished the room with an interesting piece that was part dresser, part makeup table. Half the thing had drawers, which I’d left empty because this wasn’t a place I wanted to get cozy in. The other half had a flat desk under which Floraidh had pushed a richly cushioned stool. A square mirror fra Fd tmed in lightly stained pine had been hung on the wall above it. Since I wore the bare minimum cosmetics-wise, I’d probably use it five minutes a day. Okay, maybe ten. Fifteen if my damn curls wouldn’t start cooperating.

As soon as the shields snapped shut I set Tolly’s incense burner on the floor by the door and opened my trunk. Out came the laptop and all its components, which only took a couple of minutes to set up. While I waited for the computer to connect, I changed for GhostCon. This included adding a few weapons I hadn’t worn on the flight. My black bag provided wrist sheaths for both arms. The one on the right held holy water, my first line of defense against vampires. It wouldn’t kill Bea, but it might poison or paralyze her, taking her down long enough for me to use Grief or the blade my seamstress had expertly hidden in my right pocket. Since I wore Tolly’s bracelet on the same arm, the logistics of using the syringe that held the water might become a little tricky. So I strapped it on, hoping I wouldn’t need to use it.

I’d given up the throwing knives I’d once carried on my left wrist. Hadn’t wanted to use them since that mission to Iran, when I’d been forced to slit my brother’s throat with one in order to free him from a necromancer’s spell. Despite the fact that he’d survived, the knives had become a

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nightmare reminder of those long minutes when I’d thought he wouldn’t come back from zombieland. So I’d finally ditched them for good. Instead I’d loaded a new sheath with a piece of technology Bergman had sold the Agency under the name of Mongoose.

A mini cannon that shot some sort of foam, the Mongoose looked about as effective as a movie prop. But it felt as heavy as a tank of grill gas. I didn’t know what Bergman had loaded the sucker with, but when he assured me it would stop anything like a Medusa I had to trust him. The guy knew his science and, increasingly, his magic as well as doctors know the Hippocratic oath.

The ghost hunters I’d researched (all quacks from what I could tell) favored black, so I dressed with that color scheme in mind. I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans to which I transferred the contents of my pockets, and a peasant blouse that I’d just started to button when the laptop made its final connection.

Within five minutes I’d arranged for the pickup and found out everything the CIA and Interpol knew about the guests in Floraidh’s house.

Rhona Jepson was the widow of a banker named Currie, whose murder had, indeed, been related to those of Viv’s roommates. It remained unsolved.

Humphrey and Lesley Haigh could’ve carpeted their home with the money they’d made and used the spare change to repave their garden paths. But they still lived in the same tiny two-bedroom cottage they’d rented when they were newlyweds. The only difference was that now they owned it. They had one child, a boy named Nesbit who ran their London store.

Iona seemed clean, but we had too little information on her for me to come up with a firm conclusion either way.

When Viv Jepson’s file came up, I shoved the stool back from the dressing table and strode over to the window. Mum might’ve convinced the press to lie, but Interpol had a complete report. With pictures. Staring out at the towering Douglas firs and Scots pines of Culloden Wood, I tried to gear myself back to neutral. To swallow the lump in my throat and clutch the curtains hard enough that they’d soak u K thiedp the sweat pouring from my palms.

Even caught in another woman’s tragedy and my own struggle not to drown in it, I sensed him coming to me. I was surprised enough to turn and look when he didn’t knock, but opened the door and walked in, shutting it softly behind him.

“So you don’t need an invitation to cross my threshold anymore?” I asked.

Vayl’s gaze went to my left hand. “When you accepted Cirilai, you made a great many things possible for me that could not have happened before.”