Bite Marks

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Gotta thank the hubby and kids, you know? Not because they’ll give me the silent treatment if I don’t (they’re talkers, the lot of them), but because they are the coolest people on earth. I can say that. I know them best.

Deep appreciation to Christina Tanuadji of Temptation the Romance bookstore in Perth, Western Australia, and April Barton, also of Australia. Both ladies helped me immensely with details of scenery and language that, I think, helped make Bite Marks a much better story. Bethan David, ranger at Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve, and Jean-Pierre Issaverdis, manager, Marketing and Business, at Tidbinbilla, also provided vital information regarding the behavior of kangaroos and the lay of the land for part of the book’s climactic scene. Thank you both so much for your help!

My groovy agent, Laurie McLean, deserves a round of applause (wahoo!) as do my editor, Devi Pillai, and the rest of my übercool Orbit team: Alex Lencicki, Katherine Molina, Jennifer Flax, and Penina Lopez. (I’d thank Tim Holman too, but since he’s technically my boss it seems a little too much like kissing up. Can I just say that he may seem like a mild-mannered Brit by day, but I’ve heard that by night he transforms into a crime-fighting superhero? Rumor also has it that he can fly. I’m just saying.) Special thanks, as well, to Orbit’s genius art department for cranking out the go-jus covers! If you liked this one, just wait until you see what’s coming next! And thanks also to my manuscript readers, Katie Rardin and Hope Dennis—you ladies rock!

Canberra Deep Space Communication Complex does exist, and to the sci-types who work there… I hope you’re not offended that I suggested you don’t have a marvelously intricate alarm system set up to counter an attack by fanatical gnomes. That would just be silly.

And no, I haven’t forgotten you, my reader. Of course I’m glad you’re here! So, yeah, thanks for hanging out with me and Jaz.

JAZ PARK NOVELS

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Another One Bites the Dust

Biting the Bullet

Bitten to Death

One More Bite

Bite Marks

Bitten in Two

extras

introducing

If you enjoyedBITE MARKS, look out for

BITTEN IN TWO

Book 7 of the Jaz Parks series

by Jennifer Rardin

Holy crap, do you smell that?” I asked. I leaned away from the square, sun-bleached building and spat, but the creeping stench of death and rot had already made it down my throat.

Cole didn’t answer, just nodded and pulled the collar of his new gray T-shirt up over his nose. Vayl and I had presented it to him as we’d waited to board the endless flight from Australia to Morocco. He’d worn it over a fresh white tee every day since, making this the third night in a row I’d read the sharp red letters on the front that said, the other guy got the girl. On the back, a black widow perched on her web with her mate’s leg dangling out of her mouth while her rejected lover observed it all from under a striped beach umbrella as he sipped a fly-tai. The caption read: damn, that was close!

“Promise me you’ll wash that tomorrow,” I whispered as I peered down the narrow cobblestone street.

Nothing moved to stir the layer of grime on the windowsills of the red ochre buildings that lined it, their adjoining walls melding like coffin lids. Every door remained shut, locking poverty and misery inside, but each displayed its own unique inlaid design that shoved even this neglected neighborhood into the category of Ancient Beauty. I had bigger distractions than the work of long-dead artisans, however.

Where’d you sneak off to, asshole?

“Washing seems like a waste of time,” Cole mumbled, his voice muffled by one hundred percent cotton.

“I’m just going to wear it again because, you know, it’s only the best shirt ever. I’m not saying you look like a spider, but if you were to cannibalize Vayl, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly the picture the tabloids would end up printing.”

“Holy crap, Cole, just throw some suds on the thing!” To soften the blow I added, “Make it my birthday present.”

“Tomorrow’s your birthday?”

“Nope.”

“Tonight?”

I nodded. And here I stand under the rickety metal awning of a building so old I can practically hear the ghosts screaming from behind these stucco walls. I should be lolling on some beach with my half-naked lover—make him all naked; I don’t have time to waste on foreplay. But no. I’m stalking a vampire through the back alleys of freaking Marrakesh, sniffing what has to be the city’s cesspool, with a guy who has apparently invested in a company that only sells red high-tops.

Moving quicker than I’d have given him credit for, Cole pulled me in for a hug that made me glad I’d left Grief back at the riad. Otherwise I’d have spent the rest of the night running around with the imprint of my modified Walther PPK outlined on my left boob.

“Happy birthday!” he said. “You’re twenty-six on May twenty-sixth. How cool is that? Especially since I didn’t miss it. I thought it was earlier this month.”

“Why?”

“That’s what your file—uh, I mean—”

“You read my file?” I balled his shirt into my fist, forcing his collar past his nose to reveal his gaping mouth. The scent of cherry-flavored bubble gum wafted past, giving my churning stomach a break. Then it was gone and my nose hairs recurled.

“Vayl: read it too,” Cole reminded me.

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

Cole plucked his shirt out of my hand and repositioned it as he asked, “Why don’t you want anyone to know the real date you were born?”

“Because I hate surprise parties. And I’m not interested in sharing my best secrets with snoops like you.” I tapped the thin plastic receiver sitting inside my ear, just above the lobe, activating my connection to: “Bergman? He’s slipped our tail. Have you got a read on him?”

“Gimme a sec, someone’s at the door.”

Our technical consultant’s clear reply confirmed my suspicion that we were still within two miles of him and the Riad Almoravid, where we’d set up temporary headquarters. We’d only left the town square, which locals called the Djemaa el Fna, twenty minutes before. And since the fountain in our riad’s courtyard could probably shoot a few sprinkles onto the square’s crowds of merchants, performers, and shoppers on a windy day, I’d figured we were within the limits of Bergman’s communications gizmo, which Cole had named the party line. Nice to be right about that, at least.

Now, instead of using his own transmitter, Cole leaned forward and spoke into the glamorous brown mole I’d stuck just to the left of my upper lip. “Bergman, today is Jaz’s birthday. We need cake!”

“Ignore him, Miles. Just find—” I stopped when the swearing began.

Cole nodded wisely. “See what happens when people hang around you? Poor Miles probably didn’t even know what those words meant before you lived with him.”

“Nobody should be blamed for the language they teach their roommates in college.”

“Your potty-mouth is gonna get you in trouble someday.” Cole turned his head, like Bergman was skulking in the shadows next to us. “Right dude?”

Bergman growled, “Goddammit, that girl’s back! I thought maids only worked in the morning!” We heard the door open. “I have plenty of towels—”

“Hello, Mr. Bergman, sir.” It was the chirpy voice of the riad’s go-to gal, who’d barely conquered her teens, but oozed the confidence of a woman twice her age. Though Riad Almoravid belonged to a Frenchman named Franck Landry, our girl did it all, from laundry to breakfast. She said, “I finished the book you loaned me. May I borrow another?”

“I’m kind of busy here, Shada. Besides, shouldn’t you be home by now? Your family—”

“My father is happy that I have made many American friends. He likes me to learn new things. What is all that electronics about?” Though Shada had the long dark hair and natural beauty of a native Moroccan, she spoke with a British accent, which made me wonder where she’d gone to school. If I knew, I’d call up the headmaster and let him know that her English teacher had aced second language instruction, but the curriculum hadn’t taught Shada crap about minding her own business.

“We’re doing a study on climate change,” Bergman muttered. “Stay right here. I’ll go get the book.” Shada called after him, “Should you not be at one of the poles? I read that much information can be gleaned from the ice—”

“Climate’s everywhere,” Bergman replied irritably. “Plus we’re close to the Western Sahara. What better place to monitor heat increases than a desert?” For once Shada had no answer. Bergman said,

“Here’s another book I bought for the plane trip over here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work—”

“Did you read it? Shall we discuss it when I am finished?”

“I read them all. It was a long flight.”

“Oh, wonderful!” I heard the patter of clapping hands. “I would like to ask you about the story I just finished, okay? I have many questions, such as why any sane man would believe that a bear could talk—”

“Okay, we’ll do that. But later. Because I have to work now. The weather waits for no one.”

“All right then, I will see you tomorrow!” I barely heard the last bit, because it came after the door had clicked shut.

“What a pain in the ass,” Bergman muttered. “She’s like a helpful infection. You want to get rid of her, but she’s so nice. I’ll bet her face hurts at the end of the day from smiling so much.”

“Do you want me to take care of her for you?” asked Cole.

“No!” Realizing he’d jumped in too fast and way too loud, Bergman added quickly, “Have you seen her brother meet her for the walk home? He’s bigger than a dump truck. Make a move on her and he’ll crush you like an old metal garbage can.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought this through,” said Cole, grinning at me as he drew a heart in the air with his forefingers.

“Uh,” Bergman cleared his throat.… “Don’t we have more important things to worry about?” I sighed. “Muchly, so get busy, will ya?”

I imagined him checking his satellite maps and hacked surveillance video, not to mention the tracker he’d attached to our target’s right boot heel. While we waited for his pronouncement, Cole reached behind his back and pulled a tranquilizer gun out from under the light jacket he wore. It was a lean, black weapon that blended so perfectly with his jeans that it disappeared when he dropped his hands to his sides.

“That looks… lethal.” Could be, too, if we got the dosage wrong. Which we didn’t, because I double-checked it myself. Maybe we won’t need it, though. Maybe he’ll cooperate. I cleared my throat. “Was it stuck in your belt?” I asked.

“Yeah. But don’t worry, the safety was on.” He lifted the barrel slightly. “Hey, imagine what would’ve happened if I’d shot myself in the butt. My cheeks would’ve been numb for a week!” I took off down the sidewalk. I kept to the shadows, avoiding puddles of brown liquid that I knew weren’t water because according to Franck Landry, who’d been ecstatic to rent all five of his riad’s rooms to us, it hadn’t rained in the past two weeks.

Cole jogged after me. “Jaz, where are you going? We don’t even know—”

“I’d rather walk aimlessly than discuss your ass, all right?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t just my ass. This is my numb ass. Do you think my legs would stop working too?” I was getting ready to grab the gun and perform an experiment that would satisfy both his curiosity and my irritation when Bergman said, “Got him. Two blocks northeast of you. He’s not moving.” We turned the corner, moving so quickly we nearly plowed into two men who’d just exited a diamond-painted door. Just before it closed I saw a lantern hanging above a mirror at the end of a tiled hall with four arches along its length leading off into darkness. Cole mumbled an apology in French and pulled me around the men, who wore light shirts, long pants, and baseball hats, all of which were blotched with mustard-colored stains. And damn, did they stink! They must work at the dump we’d been smelling.

One of the men, a black-mustached thirtysomething with a scar under his left eye, spoke to Cole, who replied sharply, his hand tightening on my arm. Already I was used to natives offering to guide us anywhere we wanted to go, but these guys didn’t have the look of dirham-hungry street hustlers. I looked up at Cole. His face had gone blank, a bad sign in a guy who assassinates his country’s enemies for a living.

The .38 strapped to my right leg weighed a little heavier, as did the knife in my pocket, reminding me of my offensive options. But I didn’t want to spill blood knowing a vamp was prowling nearby. “What do they want?” I asked.

“The dude with the scar is demanding a toll for the use of his road, and extra payment for nearly running him and his friend over.”

“What’s his name?”

Cole asked, and while the man replied I checked out his companion. He was maybe fifteen, a brown-eyed boy with lashes so long they looked fake. He couldn’t even meet my eyes.

Cole said, “His name is Yousef. The kid’s name is Kamal.”

“Tell Yousef I’ll pay.”

“What?”

“Tell him.”

Cole began to talk. I swished forward, making sure my skirt swirled around my knees as I moved. I looked up at Yousef like he was the cutest teddy bear I’d ever hoped to squeeze. Even though he couldn’t understand the words, I figured he’d get the tone as I reached down the V-neck of my dress with my left hand and said, “Just gimme a second, okay? I keep my money in here so I don’t have to worry about pickpockets. I understand they can be something of a problem in Marrakesh. Am I right?” By now I’d come within an arm’s length of the reeking man, who was staring at my hand like he wished it were his. He never saw the base of my right palm shoot up. Just grunted with shock as it jammed into his jaw and knocked his head backward. He staggered. Cole aimed the tranq gun at Kamal to make sure he stayed peaceful as I followed Yousef down the sidewalk, throwing a side kick that landed on his chest with the thump of a bongo drum. He landed flat on his back in the street.

I watched him struggle to breathe as I said, “We go where we please, you son of a bitch.” Cole translated. To my surprise Yousef smiled. I looked over my shoulder at Kamal. He was staring around nervously, making me think he didn’t savor a conversation with any authorities that might show up to investigate the noise. But he didn’t seem worried about Yousef. Maybe girls hit him a lot.

“Feel better?” Cole asked me.

I backed off Yousef before the bully’s blech could stick. “Yeah. Let’s go.” We headed down the street, keeping our eyes and Cole’s gun on the little gang until we reached the end of the block and turned north. Yousef called after us.

“Unbelievable,” said Cole as he shook his head.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He wants to know if he can see you again. He says his uncle’s friend owns a good restaurant above the Djemaa el Fna.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No.” Cole’s wild blond hair danced at the suggestion. “I think he liked what you did to him. In fact, I

think he liked you.”

meet the author

Cindy Pringle

JENNIFERRARDINbegan writing at the age of twelve, mostly poems to amuse her classmates and short stories featuring her best friends as the heroines. She lives in an old farmhouse in Illinois with her husband and two children. Find out more about Jennifer Rardin atwww.JenniferRardin.com. .

Don’t go back in that car, the

voice snarled

W hat do you want with a seinji, a shallow playboy, a neurotic inventor, and a See-it-all anyway?

You’re better off on your own, like it was before you met that cowardly vampire.

I closed my eyes. Like all my mental voices, this one felt like an extension of me. But I didn’t have the ability to silence it like I could the others. It had begun quietly near the end of our last mission and grown like a tumor ever since. The only time it voluntarily muted was when Vayl showed.

I scratched at an itch that threaded from wrist to elbow. Hell, maybe I’d still be standing there today, sinking nails into skin, if not for Jack, who let out a series of his rare, throaty woofs. They snapped the hold that voice had woven over me. As I forced my feet to carry me back to the hearse, it suddenly felt like I was attending my own funeral. Because I knew it was time to face the facts. Either I really despised everybody in that car. Or my psyche had picked up a passenger.

CHAPTERONE

My ass felt like a slab of dead flesh, too nerveless to even quiver as the butcher slaps it onto his cutting table. Twelve hours of flying from Manila to Sydney with another sixty minutes’ hop after that is hell on the hindquarters, even when they’ve been cushioned by the most expensive seats available.

I stifled the urge to massage my butt cheeks as I descended the stairs of Vayl’s chartered jet onto the tarmac of Canberra International Airport, its serviceable hangars and practical block terminal hardly preparing visitors for Australia’s capital, which from the air had reminded me of a set from Shrek III. Tall white buildings sprouting from masses of evergreens set in a precise plan; fairy-tale perfection from a distance but up close slanting just left of happily ever after.

Shrek was always having issues with his butt, I recalled, wondering if anyone would notice if I paused to rub mine against the stair railing. Nope, bad plan. I hadn’t seen Bergman and Cassandra in over two months, and I didn’t want my crew’s first look at me to remind them we’d begun a shithole of an assignment that, if botched, could severely cripple the U.S. space program, not to mention vital parts of our anatomies. Plus, with Cole as my third greeter, I figured our hey-how-are-yous probably shouldn’t start with a lot of ass-grabbing.

I didn’t sense that Cole itched to get his hands on me as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. But his ear-to-ear grin, framed by the usual mop of sun-bleached hair, warned me that flexibility might be required. Because Something was Cooking. I eyed my former recruit, trying to get a sense of how bad it might be by the size of the gum wad rolling around his tongue. Then the music began.

“What have you done now?” I asked as my foot hit the fourth step and I realized he’d rented himself a black tuxedo, though he’d traded the bridal shop’s shoes for his red high-tops. “And should I be better dressed?”

I frowned at my Jaded Unicorns T-shirt, which showed my fave new band galloping across a meadow wearing fake horns on their foreheads. At least I’d worn black jeans.

Cole’s answer drowned in a sudden wail of funereal blues. Which made me double-check the landscape. Nope, not even close to New Orleans. In fact, the airport, surrounded by the brownish green grasses of Australia’s autumn, reminded me a lot of the farmlands of Illinois. Except today was May 22, so back in the Midwest everything would be shooting out of the ground, green as a tree frog and bursting into bloom. Here, winter had crept to the country’s edge, and I could feel it sinking its claws into my neck along with the chill breeze that swept down the hills into Canberra’s valley.

I flipped up the collar of my new leather jacket, the mournful tone of the music reminding me of the bullet wound that had killed my last one. Below me, keeping time to my slow descent, two trumpeters, a trombonist, and a sax-man wearing black suits and matching shades slow-marched from behind a baggage van, belting out a song fit for a head of state. If he’d just been assassinated.

I turned back and whistled. Jack had been cooped up so long I couldn’t believe he still stood at the cabin door, sniffing, as if he didn’t approve of this sudden change of season. He stared at me, his white face setting off deep brown eyes that looked somewhat mournful as his gray ears twitched as if to ask, Where did the tropics go? But we both knew he was really thinking, You put me on another fat metal bird when you know my paws belong on the ground.How could you?

“We’re here,” I told him.

He nodded (no, I’m not kidding; the dog is, like, one step away from hosting his own talk show) and bounded down the steps, racing toward the plane’s landing gear so he could make sure the pilot had settled it firmly into place. Satisfied, he lifted a leg. There. Now the gut-churning ear-popper belonged to him. And if it tried to lift him back into the clouds he’d show it who was boss.

Cassandra laughed. She stood opposite Cole, her hand on the rail as if waiting to help me down. But I wouldn’t be touching her if I could help it. I preferred a little mystery in my future, and our psychic had a way of spoiling the fun.

Which wasn’t quite fair. The first time she’d touched me, in the Reading Room above her health food store, she’d had a vision that saved my brother’s life. It was just, you know, now that the two of them were an item, I didn’t want her next conversation with Dave to include the words, “Oh, honey, your twin sister is such a freak in the bedroom! You’ll never guess what I picked up on her today!” As our eyes met, she gave me her regal smile and flipped her heavy black braids over her shoulder, revealing a tangerine stole, which she’d thrown over a navy blue turtleneck and white, rhinestone-studded jeans. An enormous bag made from the same orange furball as her wrap hung over one elbow, its mysterious bulges suggesting that it had been a marsupial on its home planet before space commandos had trapped it, shaved it, and shipped the clippings to her favorite retail outlet. Only the former oracle of a North African god could’ve pulled off that ensemble.

I jerked my head toward the band and raised my eyebrows.

“It wasn’t me,” she mouthed, her six pairs of earrings waving a double negative as she shook her head and rolled her eyes toward Bergman.

I felt a rush of affection as I glanced at my old roomie and current sci-guy. In some ways he hadn’t changed at all since college. He stood at her shoulder, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, looking so worried about the rip in the knee of his jeans you’d have thought he’d just been mugged and was trying to decide if his insurance would cover the replacement cost. His beige sweater hung limply from shoulders that were bowed under the weight of an army-green backpack. Its bulk helped provide balance for his head, which seemed extra large today, maybe because he wore a brown ball cap fronting the Atlanta Braves logo. His lack of glasses encouraged the look too. I’d forgotten that he’d had Lasik surgery and didn’t need them anymore.

Genius that he was, Bergman caught my gaze, flipped his own to Cassandra, and figured out in milliseconds what I was thinking. “Oh no!” he yelled over the dirge. “It was all his idea!” He pointed a bony finger in Cole’s direction.

Before I could snap his head off, Cole clasped his hands over his heart and sank to one knee. “We are all so sorry for your loss!” he cried. He threw a dramatic gesture toward the hold of the plane, where six frowning pallbearers were taking a casket from the hands of the jet’s flight crew. But it wasn’t just any old deathbox. Some company with a sense of style but zero restraint had built this sucker to resemble a golf bag. An umbrella, a black towel, and even a couple of irons had been tacked to the side, while the heads of the rest of the clubs jutted from the coffin’s end.

I glared down at Cole, so pissed I wouldn’t have been surprised if smoke had poofed from my nostrils.

Control your temper, Jaz, I told myself. You know what happens when you lose it.

I’d love to see you lose it. I frowned as I pushed the unwelcome voice to the back of my brain and said,

“Cole, you shouldn’t have.”

He rose to his feet and dusted off his pants. The moment I reached his side he snaked an arm around my shoulders. “We all know how difficult this must be for you.” He put a hand to his chest. “As your former boyfriend—”

“We were never—!”

“—I realized it was on me to make sure your dead boyfriend arrived in Australia in the style to which he has—uh, had—become accustomed.”

Cole pulled me toward the casket with Bergman, Cassandra, and the sad-band following as he crooked his finger at the hearse I’d asked him to order. Except I hadn’t told him to request a white Mercedes stretch with enough room for an NBA player and all his devastated relatives.

It pulled up beside us, its driver stepping out and promptly disappearing. At first I thought he’d fallen.

Jack, also interested in his welfare, raced over to check him out. When the dog didn’t immediately surface, I leaned over to get a better view. Then I grabbed Cole’s arm and squeezed.

“If that’s a gnome whose crotch Jack is nosing, I’m going to tie your hair in a bun and sell you to the pirates who operate off this coast. I hear they’re always looking for fresh young girlfriends.” Our boss, Pete, wanted to brief us personally on the details of this assignment, but we both already knew it involved gnomes attacking the Canberra Deep Space Complex, one of NASA’s three eyes to the cosmos. Not every gnome wanted to stomp Canberra’s eye to jelly. Just the Ufranites, a fanatical sect that’d transformed half their farmers to soldiers in less than a decade.

Cole sighed. “Would you chill? I know Ruvin’s got the long forehead and chin of a gnome, but look at him! He’s over three and a half feet tall, there’s no tail in sight, and if his nose was blue you’d have seen it from inside the plane. He’s a seinji.”

Okay, seinji I could deal with. They were distant relatives of gnomes. But nearly all of them had, like Vayl, found a way to live among humans. To blend. “Still—”

He leaned his chin on my shoulder. “I checked him out. He’s fine. Plus—and this is the part that’s going to make you add at least twenty bucks to my Christmas gift—Ruvin’s an independent contractor.”

“He doesn’t work for the funeral home full-time?”

“Nope. Only when they have to double or triple up. Or when guys like me request him”—he paused for dramatic effect—“because his next pickup is the Odeam Digital Security team.”

“Really?” So Cole knew what Pete had told me and Vayl. That our target worked for the most trusted software security company in America.

He nodded. “I planted one of Bergman’s new bugs on Ruvin. If we’re lucky we’ll know our target’s name before the Odeam team has left the airport.” He beamed at me. Like I was supposed to forgive him for conning Vayl into traveling to Australia via golf bag.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You do understand the whole team is suspect, right? We may have to take them all out before this is over.”

Cole swallowed. Nodded.

I checked my watch. Three thirty p.m. We might just have time. If we hurried.

“Let’s get him loaded,” I said.

Cole squeezed my shoulder. “But then you’ll miss the best part.” I wrapped my arm around his waist so I could jerk him close enough to whisper in his ear, “You’re about to lose your best part.”

“Hey, this event is costing somebody a lot of money. You might as well enjoy it.” He grinned down at me, his bright blue eyes daring me to loosen up and have some fun.

“This is not necessary.”

Cole popped a huge green bubble in my face. “Picking up a casket-rider and the woman you’re about to fall out of love with is boring. Arranging a funeral procession with a displaced band from the French Quarter and a quartet of professional mourners is one for the diary. You do keep a diary, don’t you, Jaz?”

“No! And don’t call me that. I’m here as Lucille Robinson, remember?” Cole frowned. “But if you’re Lucille, who am I?”

“Hell if I know. As I recall, your last text said you didn’t like the name they’d picked for you and had demanded a new one.”

“Damn straight! The CIA has no imagination, you know.”

I’d have told him to pipe down, but between the band’s latest number and the wails of the four women who’d emerged from the backseat of the hearse to drape themselves and a blanket of flowers over the casket’s tee-time accessories, I could barely hear his whispers.

“Sure,” I agreed, mainly because I thought I’d seen the coffin wobble. Had one of the pallbearers stumbled, or… I checked my watch again. Holy crap, we were cutting this close!

“Do you want to know my new name?” Cole asked as we led Cassandra and Bergman toward the country club casket. Would Tiger Woods be caught dead in one of those? I thought not.

I sighed and said, “Since we’re going to be working together for the next few days, a clue to your fake ID might help.”

“Thor Longfellow.”

I stopped and stared, not even turning when I heard Cassandra stumble to a halt behind me. “No.” His hair bounced cheerfully as he nodded. I asked, “How did you get away with that?” He shrugged. “The girl who assigns identities really likes Thai food, and I know this place on the East Side—”

“Say no more.” I should’ve guessed he’d charmed that ridiculous cover out of a woman. I got moving again, picking up the pace when I realized the pallbearers had begun to look at the coffin, and each other, curiously.

“Oh, please, could you just put him in the car now?” I asked, attempting to make my voice quiver.

Instead I sounded like I’d tried to squeeze myself into my old training bra. At least it got Jack’s attention.

He trotted over to inspect me for injuries, which gave me a chance to grab his leash.

Ruvin, duded up in a white uniform to match the hearse, with green buttons that complemented its future load, opened the back door. The pallbearers had just begun to slide the casket in when the ruby-luscious ring on my left hand shot a stream of warmth up my arm.

Oh, shit, he’s awake!

Most vampires would’ve slept through the whole transfer. But Vayl had powers, baby, and one of those was the ability to draw in another vamp’s cantrantia , his or her essential skill, and make it his own.

Which meant the one time he’d been forced to stay awake through the entire day, he hadn’t just slept it off at the next sunrise. He’d seen the dawn and another two hours of light before going down. Same deal, only reversed, that evening. And every day since. Nice for him—and me—until now.

I handed Jack off to Cassandra, flung my arms into the air, and began to wail, “I can’t stand it! This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me! Life will never be the same again! He was so young! We never even had kids!” On and on I ranted, barely pausing to breathe between screeches.

“Oh, you’re good!” Cole scrubbed at his day-old stubble to hide his smile, which quickly transformed into a jaw-dropper when a fist punched through the golf bag’s lid. Luckily only the two of us noticed. The rest were distracted by the youngest mourner, who’d ripped her dress, maybe thinking she had to one-up me if she wanted a decent tip.

“Oh, God, why did this happen to me!” I flung myself across the hand, which began to work its way up my ribs like they were a ladder to the Promised Land. But I could feel Vayl’s mood through Cirilai, the ring that bound us closer than a promise, and fun was the last thing on his mind. I sent him soothing thoughts, yanked a handful of roses from the bouquet decorating the lid, and shoved them into his fist.

The mourners, inspired by their colleague’s wardrobe malfunction and my overacting, kicked it into high gear. Their screams bounced off the hearse and sank into the coffin, sending Vayl into a frenzy. Despite the tradition followed by most of his kind, he’d never spent his days in the spelunker’s paradise he presently inhabited. Only Pete’s promise of a hefty bonus and the help of a sedative known to work on vampires had convinced him to travel this way at all.

His other hand crashed through the lid, wrapped around my jacket, and forced me down, holding me so tight that I rode the casket into the hearse as Cole, Bergman, and Cassandra helped the pallbearers shove it the rest of the way home. Somebody slammed the door shut and, since the back of the car had no windows, I began to open the latches.

“I’m getting you out!” I called. I popped the last closure and Vayl shoved back the lid, rolling me into the narrow space between the coffin and the hearse’s inner wall, raining roses on me like I was a parade float. Now it was my turn to grit my teeth and wriggle.

“I’m stuck!” I yelled.

The lid slammed and Vayl, moving so fast all my eyes caught was a blur of black leather and bloodred cashmere, grabbed my arms and pulled me into the backseat. We landed on our sides, tangled like teenagers, our mouths so close I could feel the steam of his heavy breaths washing over my cheeks.

I pulled my head back, inspecting him for damage. His short, dark curls practically stood on end. His winged eyebrows looked like they wanted to fly off his forehead, but his eyes, the orange of a tiger lily, were already fading to brown. “That was… unpleasant,” he said, his expression still taut enough to show the bulge of his fangs under his upper lip.

“But this is nice,” I said as I slipped my hand inside his coat. I made my next move quick, because company was coming and the CIA frowns on fraternization. Not that my crew would’ve gossiped about me grabbing my boss’s rear. They knew how to keep their mouths shut. So did we, for that matter. But people who risk death with you on a regular basis just seem to figure things out. And if the Oversight Committee questioned them I didn’t want them to have to lie any more than necessary.

“Jasmine!” Vayl’s breath caught. “You pick the worst moments!” Which was true, because people had begun to pile into the hearse. I could hear the delight in his voice though. Damn near three hundred years old and he still loved to be groped.

“I think my necklace is tangled in your sweater,” I said. Since the line my shark’s tooth, shells, and beads were strung on had been tested to six hundred pounds, one guess which would give first.

“I do not care what is wound where as long as I am rid of that box.”

“That bag was lined with real silk!” Cole announced as he bounced into the seat beside Ruvin.

I covered Vayl’s mouth before he could reply, because absolutely nothing he said could’ve helped. I gasped when he licked my palm. “What’re you doing?”

“Your hand is bleeding,” he whispered.

Oh, great, the roses. I hadn’t even felt their thorns dig in when I’d ripped them out of the bunch. But now that I knew, my wounds began to throb, along with a vein in my temple as Bergman and Cassandra got comfy in the seat opposite us. Jack, bummed to be stuck in yet another enclosed space, hopped up on the seat beside us and stuck his nose against the window.

“Somebody needs to pay the mourners,” Bergman said to Vayl. “They say they won’t cry another tear until—”

“What mourners?” he growled.

I dropped my fist to his chest, thought better of patting it. Hell, his sweater no doubt cost more than my entire wardrobe. “It’s a long story. One you probably shouldn’t hear until you’ve had some nourishment and Cole’s a couple of miles away. Hang on.”

I freed my necklace and, taking Jack with me, slipped out the door, making sure the light didn’t hit Vayl’s position. Though he’d applied Bergman’s skin lotion and brought his fedora and sunglasses, the UV still hurt when it struck him. It just didn’t make him burst into flame anymore.

Pulling a wad of bills from an inner pocket of my jacket, I headed toward the oldest, and loudest, mourner. “How much?” I asked.

She named a number that made me bite my tongue. I nearly bartered, but realized as a widow wallowing in grief, I probably wouldn’t have the emotional stability to go there. Which made me wonder how many bereaved families got screwed the world over.

I gave her the dough and passed an even larger amount to the band. They, at least, made a pretty noise for their pay. I headed back to the hearse.

Stop.

Like competitors in a game of Simon Says, my feet obeyed. That the order came from a voice inside my head shouldn’t have been disturbing. I talk to myself all the time, and my imaginary people come in all shapes and sizes. Except this one had risen recently, without welcome or permission, or a face to make it familiar.

Don’t go back in that car, it snarled. What do you want with a seinji, a shallow playboy, a neurotic inventor, and a See-it-all anyway? You’re better off on your own, like it was before you met that cowardly vampire.

I closed my eyes. Like all my mental voices, this one felt like an extension of me. But I didn’t have the ability to silence it like I could the others. It had begun quietly near the end of our last mission and grown like a tumor ever since. The only time it voluntarily muted was when Vayl showed.

I scratched at an itch that threaded from wrist to elbow. Hell, maybe I’d still be standing there today, sinking nails into skin, if not for Jack, who let out a series of his rare, throaty woofs. They snapped the hold that voice had woven over me. As I forced my feet to carry me back to the hearse, it suddenly felt like I was attending my own funeral. Because I knew it was time to face the facts. Either I really despised everybody in that car. Or my psyche had picked up a passenger.

CHAPTERTEN

Cassandra did everything but check the corners of the dank little bathroom for Candid Cameras.

“Bustiers? Are you joking?”

“You know, if you want to pull off this trust deal, you can’t be making fun of me the first time I try it out!”

“Okay, okay! I just thought, you know, since you were engaged once…” I shrugged. “Matt and I sort of skipped the costumes. I can’t remember if we never had the time or if we were just always in that big of a hurry. Maybe if we’d been together longer we’d have gotten around to it.” Stab of regret. Even now, with Vayl such a presence in my life that all I had to do was think of him to make the ragged edges smooth again, sometimes I missed Matt so sharply it was a struggle not to clutch my stomach and double over.

I forced my mind back to the subject, said, “So I’m getting the feeling Vayl likes the dressing up. And I don’t have much in the way of variety. What was he hinting at before?” While Cassandra explained, I wished I’d brought a notebook and a pen. Because she didn’t stop at that item. Oh, no. Somewhere along the line my girlfriend had amassed vast experience in the world of undergarmentry. And when she realized I particularly liked the types that would transform my up-top look from average to let’s-do-video! she really got on a roll. By the time she was done we were giggling like a couple of co-eds planning our first road trip.

A rap at the door shut us down.

“Yes?” said Cassandra.

“If you ladies are finished, we are ready to discuss our strategy regarding the demon,” said Vayl.

She shot off the toilet like someone had pulled the fire alarm. Throwing open the door, she said, “Is she back?”

His eyes, a troubled shade of blue, cut to mine. “No. Raoul feels that we have time to plan. Perhaps you and he should discuss…” He stepped forward, his cane clicking on the tile as he closed on me.

“All right, then,” she said. “Come on, Jasmine.”

I hesitated, my way blocked not just by Vayl’s physical presence, but by the intensity in his expression.

“She needs me,” he told Cassandra, though he kept his eyes on mine. “I feel it more deeply than this wound in my side. And yet you are the one huddled here with her.”

“Jaz needs all of us.” When she caught his expression, hers softened. “But you most of all. Remember that, because how you handle the next few minutes could make the difference in her soul’s salvation.”

“Oh geez, Cassandra, let’s not put any pressure on him or anything,” I said as I twisted Cirilai on my finger. His eyes shot to it, alarm widening them, making me drop my hands to reassure him that I wasn’t about to take it off. I had once, and the wall that had dropped between us had nearly destroyed us both.

Trust. Maybe I could work on that.

“What is Cassandra talking about?” he asked me.

I tried to pull in one of those bracing breaths that get you through tough situations, but my lungs wouldn’t cooperate. Too busy considering a full collapse. “I think you’ve sensed that something was wrong with me ever since we hit Canberra. I’m—”

I tried. The word wouldn’t move past my frozen tongue. Brude had put a block on communications, and while I struggled against him, Cassandra watched me with a sympathy that made me fight all the harder, because it was a reflection of how far I’d fallen.

She turned to Vayl. “Jaz has been possessed.”

He looked deep into my eyes. I fought to keep mine open against the sudden pain that pierced them.

Brude, you son of a bitch! Now that I know you’ve been the one torturing me, you gotta know how bad you’re going to bleed when I finally beat you!

I’d have piled on more ire, but Vayl was checking Cassandra for confirmation of what he’d seen moving behind my pupils. By the time he turned back to me his irises were already darkening to the black with red flecks that reflected his most disturbing emotions.

“Possessed by what?” he murmured, still talking to me like he thought I could respond.

Cassandra answered. “She says it’s one of Lucifer’s minions. A Domytr she encountered on your last assignment that goes by the name of Brude.”

“Why is she not talking?”

Our psychic considered me. “May I touch you?”

I tilted my head sideways, then nodded. She leaned forward and took my free hand. Just a brief clasp was enough to make her look like she’d eaten something rancid. “His strength increases when she is feeling some extreme emotion. Right now she’s deeply”—Cassandra smiled at me—“nervous. About how you’ll react to this.”

I wanted to snap off a witty comment. Hey, let’s all discuss Jaz like she’s not even here, why don’t we? But now my throat had closed so tight I’d begun to feel dizzy. A lot of good can be said for honesty.

But too big of a dose can kill you.

From a distance, like the wail of a train horn, I heard Cassandra tell Vayl, “She believes you’ll be furious when you find that Cole and I both accidentally discovered her secret before she could tell you. She’s worried that you’ll see her as weak now, or perhaps mentally unfit like Liliana and, in either case, undeserving of your affections. She wanted to handle this on her own, so that your new romance could have time to cement itself before it was rocked by such an event.” Cassandra went on, but her words disappeared in the hum my ears put out as they tried to cope with my narrowing vision. Brude, I swear to Jesus if you let me pass out I’ll make it a personal goal to pry every one of those tattoos off your skin with a screwdriver and a pair of pliers.

Vayl emptied his hands, just like that, dropping the cane on the floor as if it mattered less to him than a flyer you’d crumple up the moment after some poor schmuck handed it to you on the street. He came close and tipped up my chin, a gesture so familiar it nearly made me smile.

“Jasmine,” he whispered. “My pretera. ”

Geez, I didn’t much feel like a wildcat. But if he insisted—

“I am not your father, your mother, nor your grandmother. I am not one of your Helsingers, and definitely not Matt. Listen to me. Look into my eyes. I will not leave you. Not ever—”

“You can’t promise—”

I stopped. More out of surprise that I’d gotten my voice back than that Vayl had held up his hand to prevent my argument. His smile had vanished. “I can make any vow I like. I am your sverhamin , which means what I promise you, I follow through upon.”

“So… you’re not leaving me?”

“Ridiculous.”

“And you’re not pissed?”

“Of course.”

My shoulders dropped. Once I wouldn’t have cared. I’d have said, “F-you. I’m too busy to worry about your petty little problems.” But that was when I was one of the walking wounded and my own issues outweighed everyone else’s. Plus, it had been so long since anyone gave a crap how Vayl felt about anything. He really appreciated it when I paid attention. His kiss, light as a raindrop on my forehead, made me look up.

“Later for that,” he said. “Now is the time to give Brude the boot before he paralyzes more than your vocal cords.”

“Do you know how to do that?” Cassandra asked.

He shook his head. “Raoul might. And I think we should ask Pete as well.”

“NO!” I didn’t realize I’d shouted until I saw Cassandra back up. But I still couldn’t help the panic that kept me babbling. “For shit’s sake, you guys, the last thing I need is for you to call headquarters and inform them that their black sheep just put another blotch on her record. And Raoul… what if he decides I’m damaged goods? Not fit to do Eldhayr work around here anymore? Maybe he’ll reverse everything he’s done and just…”

Cassandra hugged Astral like she were a real, live kitty. “Surely Raoul wouldn’t kill you? He’s one of the good guys!”

“But they look at death differently, don’t they? It’s not such a bad thing to them, because they’re still fighting. They don’t have anybody left down here to hold them.” Vayl rested his chin on his knuckles. “All right, then. Do you have any ideas, Cassandra?” She shook her head. “No, but I have her.” She held up Bergman’s invention, reminding us of all the information they’d downloaded into her. Centuries’ worth. “I suspect it’ll take some time to unearth information on a creature so rare. But if anyone has ever discovered the Domytr’s weakness, it would be a Sister.”

I said, “Okay, and for a backup plan, what about that guy Ruvin?” I asked. “The seinji have a couple of famous demon fighters in their history. Maybe he knows something we—” Vayl’s shaking head stopped me. “He is laboring under the assumption that we are part of a Hollywood film company scouting production locations for our next blockbuster.”

“And that we brought along Gerard Butler, why, to carry our cameras?” Vayl’s brows lowered. “Cole’s fabrication seems to have stuck because Ruvin is, ah, easily deceived. I am reluctant to follow suit. The man has agreed to drive us around for the next couple of days, not to locate an exorcist.”

I held up my hand. “Okay, I want to go on the record in stating that I refuse to puke green shit and float up to the ceiling while channeling Naomi Campbell before she’s assaulted at least one employee for the day.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Cassandra. “I’ll start researching immediately. And you”—she pointed at me with one perfectly manicured orange-painted nail—“will stay positive. Astral may have all the information we need right in here.” She tapped the cat’s head. The metallic clicking sound that resulted reminded me to keep robokitty in the shadows if any of the neighbors decided to pay us a visit. She’d even begun to fool me, but as soon as someone touched her, our cover would be blown.

Cassandra whispered in Astral’s ear, probably using the very same words she’d said to mobilize her traditional Enkyklios the last time she’d used it to help me. Then it had conjured up an image of a soul-eating monster called a reaver, whose buddies had hounded me for weeks. Somehow I had a feeling whatever Astral dug up would be just as threatening.

“This may take a while,” said Cassandra as we watched the cat’s ears twitch in a regular circuit from left to right and back again, stopping every few centimeters almost like they’d become parts of a clock face.

“When she does come up with helpful information, she’ll relay it to you by video feed, possibly without warning. So, ah, don’t drive off a cliff or anything like that when it happens.”

“O-kay.” I suddenly felt as grumpy as a kid who’s just realized she still has to wait two more weeks to open her Christmas presents. “Now can we get back to the guys? Cole’s probably convinced Raoul to set up a whole petting zoo for him by now.”

“We still need to talk,” Vayl murmured as he picked up his cane.

I scratched at a particularly annoying itch on my left shoulder as I said, “Don’t we always?” Usually smoothing Jack’s soft gray fur into place calms me down. He gives me that tongue-drooping grin while I bury my fingers in his coat and we both just—chill. He’s even tall enough that I can give his head a scratch on the go, as I was now, moving through the dining room with its plain wooden table, four ancient chairs, and its wall full of family portraits, all of which I avoided viewing by keeping my eyes on the white linoleum floor beneath my feet.

But some moods just won’t bend to soothing, and mine was one of them. I felt the fiery ball-o’-whacked in my chest burn even brighter as I followed Vayl and Cassandra out the door, back onto the patio. As soon as we cleared the doorway Jack took off for the yard’s lone tree, fearful that some fence-leaping hound had marked it in his absence. Astral jumped onto the table, where she curled into a ball, her ears still roving like lighthouse beams. Bergman stopped pacing to stare.

“What did you do?”

“Gave her some research,” I said. Cassandra smiled at me as she took her original seat.

“What kind?”

“I’ll spill if you tell me what’s up with that hat you’re wearing.” His hand flew to the brim and yanked it down. “Nothing! Can’t a guy support his favorite baseball team without people getting all over his case?”

“Bergman?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s an RBI?”

He stared at me for a full five seconds. Then he said, “Fine. Don’t share,” and went over to slump in the chair beside Cassandra’s.

Raoul and Cole, still sitting at the table with their heads together over a rough sketch that looked like a plate of spaghetti, hadn’t heard a single word.

“Are you sure about this?” Raoul was asking. “I mean, some people consider their model trains a family heirloom. You could give them to your kids someday.”

Cole shrugged. “If I even have kids, which I doubt, they’ll probably be into something you and I have never heard of like virtual Play-Doh or paintball Monopoly. Anyhow, they may be in sorry shape, because they’ve been in Mom’s attic for ten years. But, yeah, you keep your end of the bargain and you can have my old trains.”

So Raoul had decided to carry through on his plans to tear out the bar in his penthouse, which Vayl had accidentally broken the last time we’d visited, and replace it with a model railroad layout. He’d found, in Cole, an equipment supplier. And apparently the price was getting the dumbass close enough to a kangaroo to give it a scratch under the chin.

I sat down beside my Spirit Guide, trying to decide how to convince him that this whole scheme would probably end up with him mending Cole’s bent and broken body. Then I decided it just might keep him from studying me too closely. Which would be good, since everybody else had pretty much figured out something was off with me after spending ten minutes in my company, and I wanted him to think I was coasting.

A spurt of warmth from Cirilai, sending tingles down my hand to my fingertips, turned my attention to Vayl, who was regarding me intently.

He knows how much this all freaks me out. Of course he does. He’s had my blood. He can tune into my emotions now. And he’s, what, reassuring me? How… nice. And yet. Goddammit.

Shouldn’t I be stronger than this? Why do I need a Vampere hug? Why is this getting to me?

Because Brude is in your head, where no one should come uninvited, said Granny May. She’d cracked open the door. Poked her head out. You hate that almost as much as you despise the idea that you might need help to get rid of him. But really, Jaz, how many times do we have to go over this? Wonder Woman might’ve been a superhero, but I’m pretty sure she never got laid.

Oh, come on, what about Steve Trevor?

I think she hired him from the local escort service. All laurel, no—

Grandmother!

My point is that you’re surrounded by good people now. At some point, if you don’t decide it’s all right to become as much a part of their team as they are of yours, you’re just a frozen-faced mannequin living in a store window designed by some color-blind shtoock who doesn’t believe in Christmas.

Granny May, I think you forgot to take your meds this morning.

That’s entirely possible.

Good talking to you.

I ran my eyes around the table, seeking distraction, and finding instead the faces of five of the people who most cared about me in the world. Maybe I should tell Raoul. Geez, he probably had some firsthand experience in exor—well, you know. And Bergman. If science could scoop out Brude’s sorry ass, Miles would find a way. I flipped my eyes back to Raoul. Nah, he’d started to doodle on his paper again and talk ecstatically about cork and engines. I leaned toward my old roomie.

“Bergman?” He jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it wasn’t you.” He pulled a thin metal box out of his pocket and gave it to me. It fit snugly in my hand, its only feature a screen that currently showed blank. “The timer went off,” Bergman explained. “I mean”—he held up his wrist—“the one on my watch that tells me we need to start paying attention to this.”

He nodded to the item, which led directly to my second question. “What’s it do?”

“It monitors the bug Cole left on Ruvin. As soon as the screen lights up, that means he’s at the airport, which is when I start recording. If we find out through the conversation which one of the team is the carrier, I can activate the minibot inside the bug. At which time it will crawl off Ruvin and move itself to the coordinates the satellite has sent to it.”

“Won’t they see it moving?” Cole asked.

“It won’t matter if they do,” Bergman said. “It looks like an ant.” I set the box on the table and we all stared at it in admiration. “I wish I had more money, Bergman,” Cole said. “I’d join up with you in a second.”

“Thanks.” Only a brainiac like Miles would sound surprised to be receiving such a compliment.

“Perhaps while you all wait for your mission to develop, we can discuss the demon,” said Raoul.

Stone silence as we all realized we couldn’t avoid the subject any longer. On top of the fear that shadowed us I saw frustration too. Our odds seemed so hopeless, nobody much appreciated Raoul rubbing our noses in the fact that we only had a few hours left to enjoy our lives. I looked into my friends’

eyes and thought about how many people go to their deaths pretending everything’s just fine while knowing how utterly wrong they are.

I slapped my hands on the arms of my chair. “How many allies do you figure she’ll bring, Raoul?”

“One for each combatant she had to fight this evening and another to confront those who stood inside the circle,” Raoul guessed.

“So if you count Jack”—which I kinda thought she would—“five altogether?”

“That would be my estimate.”

“Why not more?” asked Bergman. “I figured she’d bring a whole army of demons to overwhelm us.” Raoul shook his head. “The Eldhayr would never allow that kind of massing to occur without reprisal.

But they might overlook a movement of five.”

“Would your people deal with her before she reaches us?” asked Vayl.

Raoul shook his head. “If Cassandra were an innocent I might say yes. But because a contract exists, the other Eldhayr are constrained. As I said before, it could be that the only reason I’m allowed here is to make sure Jaz survives the coming night.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” said Bergman.

Cole spat his gum into the yard and plunked both elbows on the table. “We are so screwed.” CHAPTERELEVEN

One of the greatest traits of any living creature is the desire to survive and the belief, somewhere in the most idealistic part of the mind, that we can take positive steps to ensure that whatever wants to stop us from living gets derailed. Repeatedly, if necessary. Which was why our mutual depression lasted for all of twelve seconds.

At which point Cole banged his fist against the patio table and said, “I know! We attach our souls to our bodies with duct tape. They’ll never be able to take off with them then. Hey, don’t look so skeptical. My dad uses it for everything. It’s held the headboard of his bed together for fifteen years now.”

“Even better,” Bergman joined in. “Coat our souls with Vaseline. That way nothing can get a grip and you’ve pulled off a great gag at the same time.”

And they were off. Even Cassandra had a suggestion, though how we were supposed to snag a hundred hand buzzers this late in the game I had no idea. In the end we sobered up enough to decide the only way we could win was by guerilla warfare, using weapons Raoul offered to provide.

The idea was to lure Kyphas and the other demons away from the house, into a plane where we could defeat them. It would take some time to set up, but my Spirit Guide agreed to set his other projects aside until we’d pulled this one off.

“I’ll take Cole with me to help, if you don’t mind,” he said as he stood.

Vayl and I traded startled looks. We’d been expecting to use our third’s sharpshooting skills in our primary mission. But considering Cassandra’s straits, maybe we could adjust that plan as well. “Can he go everywhere you need to?” I asked Raoul.

“He is a Sensitive,” Raoul reminded me. “That means he can travel on any plane without incurring permanent damage.” He turned to me. “Have you seen the portal I came through? The one just south of the house?”

I nodded. The others gaped a little. I didn’t tend to mention the gate that seemed to follow me wherever I went. Too Twilight Zone when I was striving more for Bewitched.

The flame-framed door that would take Raoul and Cole back to the Eldhayr’s base stood just on the other side of the fence between it and a line of acacia, its center as black as a midnight sky. It would stay that way until Raoul chanted the right words; then it would clear, showing them their ultimate destination.

I described its location to the others. And I told Cole that if someone watched them walk through it, they’d think they were just wandering behind the nearest cover for a quick pee.

Raoul folded up his drawing and said, “We’ll be back as soon as—” He stopped when Bergman’s bug tracker lit up like the table-ready pager they give you at Red Lobster.

“What do I do?” I asked as I picked it up. Blue lights blinked in succession around the edge of the screen, which, itself, had offered me a menu of options and small boxes beside each one to check. “Oh, I see,” I said. I touched the square beside the words Initiate Audio Reception .

Ruvin’s voice, warped into the falsetto adopted by the Bee Gees for most of their disco career, screeched out of the box. “Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’, And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’

alive.”

As Ruvin grooved through the song, Cole jumped out of his seat and started dancing, his hip wiggle causing Cassandra to poke her pinkies into her lips for an ear-piercing wolf whistle.

I stared for a second before dropping my head into my arms. “We are all gonna die.” Vayl said, “He is actually quite good.”

I turned my cheek and laid it on my elbow. “You can’t be condoning this!” He shrugged. “This is why I relish rubbing shoulders with humans. You live. You do it well and thoroughly. Not all of you,” he said, his glance wandering to Bergman, who’d pulled the box from my hands and was poking it with multiple fingers like it had sprouted a keyboard. “But most of those who are loyal to you know how to squeeze every last drop from their experiences. I had nearly forgotten the intensity of emotion wound around that philosophy.”

“Were you that way? When you were human?”

He closed his eyes, trying to remember past the centuries of vampirism to a time when he’d been a husband. A dad. He opened his eyes. “Life was hard then. I remember happy times as a child. And again after Hanzi and Badu were born, when we felt sure they would not die as our other babes had. But I never managed that.”

He gestured to Cole, who’d grown a goofy smile that had lured Cassandra into his dance.

I sat up and reached for Vayl’s leg under the table, ignoring the itch that fired across my back as my hand smoothed up and down his thigh. “I’m kinda glad you never had that in common with Cole. He can be such a doof.”

“And that does not appeal to you?”

The blue in his eyes began to morph to aqua as his fingers trailed across the top of my hand, sending prickles of heat up my arm, my neck, to my cheeks. My reaction? I leaned forward and sawed at my back with fingernails that I wished were three inches longer.

“Allow me,” murmured Vayl, the amusement in his voice making my jaws clench. I let him scratch at the rash and decided this moment had to be the least romantic ever, anywhere. But, damn, it felt good!

All movement in the backyard stopped as Ruvin’s voice piped out of Bergman’s doohickey again.

“G’day, mates! Welcome to Canberra! Here, let me help with your baggage!” Sounds of a hatch rising, suitcases being flung, doors opening and closing. And, after a time, Ruvin starting his Jeep.

Raoul got up. “Cole, this is shaping up to be a long, boring eavesdrop. I think we have better things to do?”

Cole nodded. But then his attention whipped to the box as Ruvin said, “Bugger me, what a fright you gave me there! I thought you were sitting in the back with the rest of the blokes!” And the reply, quiet but firm, “The Ufranites have taken your family. If you want them back safe, get out of the car and go to the rear.”

“It’s our guy!” Cole said.

“Maybe,” I said. “Nothing says he can’t have accomplices on the team. Any group that put together one backup plan probably made room for a couple more. Still.”

I nodded to Bergman and he activated the bug, giving it the signal to transfer from Ruvin to the mysterious man who’d threatened him.

Vayl held up a hand. “They are moving.” Only he could’ve heard the slide of clothes on the Jeep’s leather interior as Ruvin exited the vehicle. But even the humans in the group couldn’t mistake the familiar grunt and smack of a body hitting the asphalt.

“Clumsy you, falling down on the job,” said the guy, the silky concern in his voice making me shiver with rising rage. “Here, let me help you up.” Another grunt and a moan as the guy yanked Ruvin to his feet.

I could hear tears in the little man’s voice as he said, “Wotthehell? I haven’t said I won’t cooperate!”

“You’d better, or the gnomes will boil your kids and have them for appetizers while your wife slowly roasts in a hole they’ve already dug for her.”

I swallowed, hoping Ruvin would realize the threat wasn’t all bluster. Gnomes didn’t regularly stoop to cannibalism. But on special occasions they’d been known to munch a little long pork, especially around planting and harvest time. They stayed away from humans, a move my old Underground Creatures professor had shrugged off to fear of our massive military might. Possibly. Or maybe the Whence delivered its own brand of justice, which tolerated the gnomes’ inclinations as long as they didn’t piss off the wrong people.

Ruvin began to breathe so heavily I wondered if he was going to hyperventilate. “Y-you! D-don’t hurt my family! I’ll do anything you want. Just leave them alone!” His tormenter laughed. “You’d better make good on that promise,” he said. “Because the gnomes have chosen you to be the midwife for their larvae’s birth. So you’re going into the Space Complex with me tomorrow. And after the larvae have arrived safely, your family will be released.” Ruvin moaned. Which told me he knew what many others didn’t. That gnome midwives weren’t the nominally respected birth-helpers Americans sometimes used in place of doctors. They were the death-row inmates who’d lost every last appeal. Because the larvae would burst from their carrier starving for living flesh. And unless someone saved him, Ruvin’s would be the sustaining meat that gave them the energy they needed to destroy Canberra Deep Space Complex.

The gnomes would probably keep his family alive until the larvae ate him. But after, who knew? Once I’d have bet my own life on their safety, but this new shaman had flipped all the old traditions sideways.

Which was why we were here in the first place.

Who is this shaman? I wondered, wishing we at least had a picture to study. And why do they follow him? Are they really that hard up for answers that they’ll swallow any line a dude throws out there just because he swears it came from their deity?

No comment from Granny May, which meant Brude must be stomping around my subconscious again.

Before I could take inner stock Ruvin said, “Promise. Promise me they’ll be okay.”

“Of course. You cooperate and your family will be just fine.” Deep, ragged breath. “Then I’ll help. But I have other jobs waiting. If I don’t show, they’ll call my dispatcher, who’ll call the cops, because I never miss an appointment.”

“Just make sure you’re at my front door at two a.m. Or your family dies.”

“I’ll be there, Mr. Barnes.”

Aha! Our hearse driver had just been accosted by the vice president of Odeam Digital Security.

I wished I knew what that signaled for the other four members of the Odeam team. Two of them were software engineers named Johnson and Tykes. One was a marketing exec they called Pit, and Barnes had brought his executive assistant/mistress, Bindy LaRule.

But Barnes didn’t reveal any more details of his plan. All we heard were car doors opening and closing, the engine starting, and chilly silence for what would be at least a forty-minute journey.

“Now is the time,” said Vayl. He glanced at his watch. “It is nearly eight p.m. We have the benefit of darkness and plenty of time in which to work. Shall we meet back here in an hour?” Raoul nodded. “We’ll be done by then. Here, this should help if the demon returns before us.” He handed me his sword, which made my arm dip so fast I hoped he never asked me to spar with the thing.

I’d last for maybe thirty seconds before my elbow joint would completely unhinge and I’d be left with a dangly appendage that would force me to jerk my whole body in a semicircle just to slap somebody in the face!

I made myself smile. “Gee, thanks. What would you say the chances are of me needing to use this thing before you get back?”

“Minuscule.” He nodded once, confidence showing even in the way the shine of his boots reflected the patio light. “She won’t want to face you a second time without assuring herself a massacre-style win.

That requires planning. And, as I told you before, her kind can’t rise without being called. So she’ll have to partner with another demon who’s fulfilling contractual obligations. Between that and the fact that her kind are notoriously bad teammates, an hour is the least amount of time we have to spare.” I nodded, glancing toward Cassandra. I’d seen her bear up to an awful lot of strain, including Dave’s temporary demise. Which was why I wasn’t surprised to find her shoulder deep in her furbag, mumbling to herself about that ancient tome she’d just been reading that might help. When she stuck her head in the purse too, I realized we should probably have a talk about accessories. It’s fine to take the possible loss of your soul in stride. But when your pocketbook is big enough to hold all your necessities and half your torso, it may be time for an intervention.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Our next order of business required a quick change and, as usual, I made it in and out of the closet first.

Which meant I spent a good five minutes in the bland little living room trying to restore some order to a place that would not be the same without major remodeling. Because the floor where Vayl and Kyphas had battled felt like a freshly tilled field under my feet. It was still wet, but water hadn’t caused all the warping. I crouched, running my fingers along furrows so deep I could almost hear the wood screaming in protest against the violent infusion of power that had curved it at such impossible angles.

“Pete is going to be so pissed,” I whispered, trying to calculate the cost of a new floor and, oh yeah, a replacement door. I picked the old one up and muscled it into the opening, leaning it against the frame as I tried to see where all the glass from the broken window had gone. Nothing had crunched under my feet while I’d assessed damages, so I pulled a mop out of the utility room that sat just off the kitchen and gave the floor a once-over, only then realizing the glass must’ve melted from the heat of the boomerang attack fusing with our holy defenses. One good thing about the cleanup—I discovered I had full range of motion in my Lucille Robinson getup.

Usually I dig the costumes I get to wear in the line of duty. Okay, there was that belly-dancing outfit that had made me want to find a small room where I could scream without triggering a 911 call. But otherwise, no complaints. Not even now that I’d kicked it into Hollywood producer mode.

Most people don’t logic it out that these types dress like regular folks. They want glitz right down to the caterers. So when we use this cover, we give it to them. I wore midnight-blue pants containing just enough spandex to make me feel like I should hop on a treadmill as soon as we’d completed this leg of the mission. The wide satin belt held in the tails of a white tuxedo shirt, the ruffles of which peeked out from under my leather jacket. Bowing to practicality, I still kept Grief strapped into its shoulder holster, and I’d slipped on a pair of low-heeled black boots conducive to running and kicking, not necessarily in that order. My concession to the cover had been to choose a pair with pointy toes that, had they curled, would’ve qualified me to work on the set of The Wizard of Oz.

Since wigs and I didn’t always agree (can anybody say awkward seatmate with an umbrella?), I’d had my stylist, Magic Mikey, straighten my hair and dye it darker red. The white streak that framed the right side of my face drove him crazy because it wouldn’t take color. That’s what happens when Mommy touches you during your unplanned excursion to hell. But since I couldn’t tell him that, I said I preferred it that way and even the chemicals knew better than to cross me. Which is why even my beautician thinks I’m badass.

Factor the hair in with my big green eyes, deceptively frail frame, the aforementioned ruffles, and Astral lashes, and you’re walking the bimbo line. So I’d added a pair of black, rectangular glasses that, thankfully, didn’t interfere with Astral’s transmissions.

Robokitty had followed my order to stay in the room I was sharing with Vayl while he changed. And now, finally, the pictures were coming in clear and hot. (Shut up. If you had to operate this close to that much sexy while itching like a flea-bitten mongrel, you’d voyeur it up too!) Vayl had, for the sake of his own self-control, spent my changing time in the bathroom. As he moved back into the bedroom and noted Astral perched on the pillow, one corner of his lip curled.

“So is that how you want it, my pretera ?” he murmured, the glint in his eyes sending a shiver up my spine. I abandoned the mop, leaning it against the wall by the door while I nodded. Like I thought he could see me. He probably sensed my excitement as he threw open his suitcase and pulled out a pair of brown motocross leathers that I knew would fit him so well I’d probably spend the evening wishing we needed to do a second-story job so I could watch him go up and down a ladder.

Next came a white silk shirt that I knew he’d leave halfway unbuttoned because he already wore an undershirt, the sleeveless kind that cling like a fan who’s snuck past the bodyguard’s defenses. And to cover it all, not his usual calf-length duster, but a supple leather jacket that would ride his hips, giving me a full view of his tight little tush if my dreams came true and we did need to scale a wall. Or climb a tree.

Or, hell, maybe if I could just find an excuse to tie somebody’s shoes while he was looking the other way.

I dropped to the couch. Which hit me so hard in the back I realized the upholstery had probably squeezed itself into an I-surrender ball sometime before the end of the last World War.

I wiggled around, trying to find a comfortable spot while Vayl peeled off his duster, and dumped his boots and socks. He slowed down with his sweater, staring off into the distance with an increasingly smug smile on his face like he knew I was leaning forward, gripping my knees with my hands so they wouldn’t dig their nails into the wall, possibly clawing right through in an effort to speed up the process.

“You’re fast!”

I sat up, crossing my arms over my chest like Bergman had just caught me in my underwear. “Yeah, ha-ha. That’s why they hired me. I’m like Superman in the phone booth. Except, you know, tightless.” Under my breath I added, “Astral, get out of there. Mission aborted. Repeat, mission aborted.” When I saw the flattened form of the cat slide out from beneath the bedroom door behind Bergman, who stood at the point where the hall intersected both the living room and dining room, I felt some of the tension bleed from my muscles. Not all, though. Because before she’d shut down video Astral had sent me a shot of Vayl. Half naked. And laughing.

“So?” Bergman held out his hands. “They sent me this outfit and said it would make me look like a cameraman. Would you be convinced?”

He’d put on a tan work shirt topped by a quilted vest covered with pockets. Hopefully at least a couple actually held the equipment that identified us as something other than a killing crew from the States. His jeans, while still looking as if they’d accompanied Moses across the desert, at least held together okay.

And he still carried the backpack Astral had arrived in.

I said, “Yeah, I think I’d buy the photographer angle.”

“Out of the way, peon!” Cassandra called as she strode down the hallway. When Bergman spun around she smiled. “I’m working on my world-class bitchy. I believe one of us needs to go there. What do you think?”

He nodded because, well, it was just hard to disagree with our Seer no matter what she wore. For her, our costumers had chosen skintight blue jeans tucked into high-heeled boots and a red mock turtleneck woven with sparkly thread that reflected the gems in her jewelry. Other people might be fooled by the fact that she wore more bling than Flavor Flav, but I wasn’t. I knew she could saw off those heels, shove her hands into a pair of gloves, and muck stalls like a homegrown farm girl. Which was why I wanted so badly to make Kyphas go away for good. I couldn’t imagine another woman I could love more as a sister-in-law. Except, maybe, for Dave’s late wife, Jessie. Thinking of her and looking at Dave’s new girl made me shiver.

I won’t let anyone hurt you, Cassandra, I promise.

As if she’d heard my thoughts she smiled at me. But all she said was, “I have good news.”

“Yeah? Do you See us coming out on top in this whole deal?” She shrugged. “That hasn’t been made clear to me yet. But I don’t See you traveling around in the Wheezer much longer. Perhaps one or two more trips and then you’ll be switching—”

“Hot damn! That’s the kind of vision I like!”

She nodded as she followed Bergman into the living room. He pulled out one of the chairs, dropped into it, and crossed his heels onto the table, oblivious to the fact that he might be permanently scarring the surface. This was the problem with beaker-sniffers. Their sense of beauty had taken such a molecular turn that they’d developed a sort of aesthetic blindness that some people found jarring.

“Get your damn feet off the table,” I snapped.

He dropped his boots to the floor. “Are you going to be like this when we’re partners?” he asked.

“If you’re tearing up other people’s furniture? Yeah.”

“But…” He motioned to the floor.

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“It’s not pretty.”

“Oh.”

Astral had snap-crackle-popped back to form and sidled up to Cassandra’s boots, which she seemed to find cuddly.

“You programmed a lot of cat moves into this one,” Cassandra said to Bergman as she picked up the robokitty and sat down next to him.

“I wanted her to blend in. That move is actually her signal that she has information she wants to share with you.”

Cassandra nodded. “Well done on both fronts, then.” She looked at me. “Do you think we have the time?”

“Go for it,” I said, so she whispered a few words in the cat’s ear, causing her feet to curl up underneath her belly. Astral opened her mouth wide, like she was gagging on a fish bone, and a beam of light winked on from the back of her throat, as if some industrious vet had figured out a way to test from the inside out. Since the video also came straight to my receivers, for a second the holograms blurred, twin images that made me wonder if this was how my parents had viewed Dave and I the day we were born.

I moved to stand behind Astral. I figured I could lean against the fireplace if the dizzies kicked in, but the repositioning worked. The images connected. In fact, Astral was projecting the clearest hologram I’d ever seen from an Enkyklios. It was like watching live actors walk through a movie scene right in the front entryway. Unfortunately she hadn’t found anything on Brude. The guy she’d indexed wasn’t even a Scot, unless they’d taken to wearing chaps and Stetsons like the frontiersmen this dude resembled.

His gear seemed even more out of place given his location, standing before an enormous gate the color of tar. It interrupted a seemingly infinite stretch of spiked fencing on which one or more of the inhabitants had set a series of freshly axed human heads. Behind the gate a river flowed sluggishly inside its broad banks as if it had been partially dammed by old tires and the gutted carcasses of washing machines.

Fog hovered over the river and obscured nearly everything on its far side. But once in a while we could see people running, their faces taut and pale, darting terrified glances over their shoulders before the mist swallowed them again. More constant was the screaming. Nearly every thirty seconds it came. Not always from the same throat. And sometimes several voices shrieked together, like a choir of murder victims harmonizing their last earthly sounds. Sometimes, even worse, we heard the laughter of someone who’s left sanity behind for good.

These were the sounds that made the cowboy jerk and stare through the tiny cracks between the wide bars of the gate. But he didn’t stop for long before continuing with the graffiti. Nope, not kidding. He was writing somebody’s name on the bars of the gate. But this was no ordinary act of vandalism. Because his tools were a gleaming silver hammer and chisel.

Now it was the cowboy’s turn to glance over his shoulder. Whatever he’d heard galvanized him. He bent to his work like a jeweler doing the most important engraving of his life. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. By now he had seven letters. thraole.

New sound. Something enormous, snuffling, crushing the things it stepped on as it neared the cowboy’s side of the gate. I expected him to spin around. Raise the hammer like a club. Or better yet draw his gun.

Which was when I realized he carried no other weapons. None.

What the hell? Where’s your goddamn revolver? And what respectable cowboy leaves his rifle strapped to the saddle, you—

Though his shoulders twitched like they were covered in tarantulas, the man never looked back. He glared at his work, chiseled a hyphen and four more letters onto the gate: thraole-luli. Which was when the creature shouldered its way out of the fog. Still I couldn’t see. Wrong angle to catch anything more than a hint of bloodshot eyes, a flash of curved tusks. And then the cowboy notched in the final letter.

thraole-lulid.

One wild cry from the fog-monster as the man swung around. I still expected him to attack. Instead he held the hammer and chisel high over his head and slammed them against each other. A light, bright as a welding torch, came from the tools, bringing tears to the cowboy’s eyes. Making the fog-monster bellow with pain. When it faded the monster was gone. And the cowboy held a single tool. At one end was the hammer head. The handles had melded seamlessly, and at the other end was the pointed edge of the chisel.

After that came a quick succession of images. People (usually men) of different races stood in different spaces holding that hammer. It moved from a hospital in Japan to a farm in Armenia to a boat dealership in Maine. Each time the holder tried to separate the hammer from the chisel. And each time he or she failed. Died screaming. Crushed and bleeding in the jaws of unspeakable creatures that should never have pulled breath, much less walked lands that still remembered love, generosity, and honor.

And then, finally, audio of the kind that didn’t make you want to huddle under a quilt with your teddy bear. A flat, bored voice piped out of Astral’s chin, saying, “This is all we know of the history of the Rocenz, a tool crafted by Torledge, the Demon Lord of Lessening. According to legend he forged the hammer from the leg bone of the dragon Cryrise and the chisel from the rib of Frempreyn, the rail who led a failed uprising against Lucifer just after the Fall.

“The Rocenz is a Reducer. The user can diminish anything to its simplest version by using the hammer to chisel its name into metal or stone. If the work is done at the source of the threat’s power, it will be completely destroyed. So, for instance, in the case of those we saw who attempted to fight the earthbane

, if any of them could have carved their enemy’s names on the gates of hell, those evildoers would have been diminished into puddles of blood marked with bits of bone and sinew. As far as we know, only Zell Culver, the Hart Ranch cowhand, ever succeeded. But the trick to separating the chisel from the hammer’s handle died with him. Because Zell was dragged back into hell the day after he escaped.

“For our purposes, this tool can also transform and make clear what has been muddy for centuries. This could be most helpful to our research. However, the tool has been lost since 1923 when its carrier, Sister Yalida Turkova, went missing from her hotel in Marrakech, Morocco. We have been unable to locate it since.”

The hologram blanked. Astral yawned widely, giving the miniature projector ample room to reset itself within her jaw before she closed her mouth again.

“That was pretty amazing,” I said.

Bergman snorted.

“You don’t buy it?” I asked him.

“Well, for one thing, you can’t forge bone; it’s too brittle.” Cassandra put Astral down so carefully I realized she’d thought about throwing the cat at him. Through clenched teeth she asked, “Do you mean to tell me you’re stuck on semantics when souls are at stake here?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see how it’ll help us with Ky—” She raised her hand to stop him. “Your demon,” he finished.

“I’m not the only one with a problem here,” she informed him. She jerked her head at me. I sighed.

Might as well bring Miles into the loop too. Otherwise he’d be pretty stunned when I decided to take up the bagpipes.

“Don’t freak out, okay?”

Bergman drew his knees together like I’d threatened to kick him in the crotch. Aw crap, was that the worst thing I could’ve said? Yeah, probably.

“What?” he murmured.

“I’ve… kinda got some company… mentally speaking.”

“You mean… you’re schizophrenic?” He studied me carefully. “You seem pretty pulled together about the whole thing. Shouldn’t you be more paranoid than I am? You know”—he wiggled his fingers and rolled his eyes—“watchers in the woodwork and stuff like that?”

“I’m not—Bergman, I bit a Domytr during my last mission and now his spirit has possessed me. Not completely. But, uh, he’s making some headway. So we have to figure out how to boot him before I start acting the submissive little queen he’s been jonesing for since we met.”

“Geez, Jaz, Domytr’s are badass.”

“You’ve heard of them?” I couldn’t believe it. I had a pretty thorough education, Cassandra’s knowledge put that to shame, and neither one of us had heard of Brude’s kind before he’d shoved his tats in our faces.

“Well, you know, I’m signed with groups outside the CIA.” His teeth clicked shut and his face got that lemony-squish look that told me he’d done the I-know-nothing ass-clench.

Still I tried. “Come on, Bergman. What can you tell me about Domytrs? Knowledge is power, man.”

“They used to be human.”

“I already know that.”

“Like you.”

“What… do you mean?”

“Sensitives. Saved for something better. Who knows, maybe they even rose to Raoul’s status. That’s what my clients thought anyway. That they turned traitor sometime in the afterlife. Not sure how the, uh, people I worked for came to that conclusion, but they had some pretty good sources.” Sure, that made sense. Temptation was one of evil’s most effective weapons. And Brude struck me as a greedy creep.

“Bergman, were you able to fulfill your contract?” asked Vayl. None of us had even noticed my sverhamin slip into the room, we’d been so intent on the picture show and the talk that followed. Now I couldn’t believe I’d missed him. Only the cold bite of his power lifting the hairs on the back of my neck let me know how he’d pulled it off.

“What do you mean?” For a smart guy Bergman played dumb pretty well.

“Your clients would never have given you those details unless they had hired you to build a weapon that could defeat such a creature. Did you succeed?”

Miles pulled down the brim of his cap. “Not yet.”

Vayl nodded, unsurprised. He spun his cane, making the blue jewel on its tip glitter in the lamplight. “If we can find this Rocenz, separate the pieces, and carve Brude’s name on the gates of hell, I believe it will reduce him to the dust to which his original body has already fallen.” Bergman shot me a look. Pure suspicion. He stared back at Vayl and said, “Are you sure we should be talking this way in front of—” He jerked his head at me. But he meant Brude, who’d be listening intently.

Unless he was an idiot. Which he wasn’t. Dammit.

“Of course,” Vayl replied. “If he knows how great the odds are that he will end up as fodder, perhaps he will voluntarily release Jasmine.”

More conversation followed. Details I really should’ve paid attention to. Brude was probably taking notes and making flashcards. But Vayl’s costume kept distracting me. Because it made him look like a rock star. I hadn’t expected the jacket to be so… oh-baby! It was the kind you wear when riding a Harley. That offset, silver-zipper style that makes a woman’s mouth water when it’s worn open to reveal the broad chest of a vampire at the height of his powers.

“Jasmine?” Vayl asked. “Were you going to say something?”

I realized my mouth was hanging open and cranked it shut. My head started to itch. Great. Not only had the rash spread, now I’d look like I had dandruff while I was relieving the irritation. “I’m covered in bumps,” I said glumly.

“Some more interesting than others,” he replied softly as he reached my side.

“Would you shut up ? Bergman’s, like, five feet away!” My eyes darted to our techie, but he’d opened his backpack and appeared to be rummaging through it as happily as a kid in a toy box.

“You look, how do you say?” He dropped that crooked smile on me that makes my knees unlock.

“Hot.” The last word, barely a whisper, lost itself in my hair as he pressed his lips to that spot just below my ear that can, apparently, flip the off switch in my brain. Before I realized it my hands were inside that jacket, stroking the hard planes of his chest and stomach. And then, as if moving without any prompting from me they reached down, undid his belt, pulled it loose, and…

“Ahhh, that feels great,” I moaned.

“I am completely grossed out over here!” Cassandra informed us.

Vayl, who’d been peering down at me with an expression of utter disbelief, stared at Cassandra over the top of my head. “It is not what you think,” he assured her.

“As if I’d do something that disgusting,” I said, pulling away from him, but keeping the belt, because the buckle relieved the itching so much better than fingernails. I continued using it to scratch the inflamed skin across my stomach as I sat down by Cassandra.

“You are pathetic,” she told me.

“I’d get all offended, but I’m pretty sure you’re right.”

I ignored Vayl’s glare, after all he probably had a spare belt in his suitcase, and concentrated on Miles, who’d found his treasure. “Here it is!” he said triumphantly. “The new, improved party line!” He’d invented the group-communications devices years ago, so the chances of them blowing out an eardrum or melting off parts of our faces had decreased over time. Still, the fact that he’d tinkered with what I saw as the perfect system worried me. He opened up the silver case and handed us each a smaller box containing the set of items we needed to send and receive messages.

“What’s different about them?” I asked without opening mine. Who knew? Maybe they were rigged to explode when you said a code word. Like “different.”

“They work on the same general principle,” Bergman explained. “A transmitter that resembles a beauty mark, which you should place near your mouth. And a receiver, which, before, was wired into an earring and then tracked into your ear. Now we have this.”

He pressed his finger into his own box and lifted it up. Stuck to the end was what looked like a narrow piece of tape, only slightly thicker. More like the What’s-in-Our-Oceans? window peels my sister, Evie, thought her kid needed all over the house now that she was a whopping three months old.

“It sticks inside your ear like this,” he said, demonstrating with his own piece. “It sends clearer sound and nobody can tell you have it on.”

“Awesome!”

“That’s not even the best part!” Bergman declared. “It’ll magnify sounds for you if you scratch it enough times. So if you want to hear a conversation that’s happening from across the room, you can. Just remember to scratch it the same number of times when you’re done otherwise you’ll be risking permanent hearing loss. And, of course, while you’re eavesdropping you won’t be able to hear anybody else on the party line until you’re done. I like to call it my RAFS redundancy plan. Except now that her name’s Astral that doesn’t sound nearly as cool.”

“Dude, you keep coming up with awesome gizmos like this and you can call them anything you want,” I said.

Vayl banged his cane on the floor, reminding me of a judge gaveling everybody into recess. “It looks to me as if everyone is ready. Shall we repair to the Wheezer?” I held back a smile. Shall we repair to the Wheezer. Too cute. Vayl was like a British butler’s studly cousin.

“Just a sec,” I said. “Jack’s in the backyard.” Returning Vayl’s belt on the way, I ran to the glass doors and called my dog, who’d just left a giant deposit I reminded myself to clean up before bedtime. “Yo, poop-meister! We’re leaving!”

Hearing his favorite phrase next to “dinnertime,” Jack bounded through the brown grass and into the house, bringing a rush of cool night air with him. Despite the fact that I’d already thrown on my jacket, I shivered. Nights like these were made for killing. I could always smell it in the air. And tonight, the scent in my nostrils meant blood.

* * *

Wirdilling Primary School made up in whitewash what it lacked in charm. It practically glowed in the streetlights, its black roof making it seem to become a part of the night sky, as much a nocturnal creature as the four of us. A square building with its own water tank out front, it gave off the oddest vibe, the deserted swings and seesaws in the side yard seeming to shout,

School sucks when the kiddies can’t

come!

I’d backed the Wheezer into a parking space on the street a few feet from the fence. “Nobody home,” I said. Not surprising. Our sources had informed us the Space Complex was hosting no guests other than the Odeam team this week.

Vayl said, “All right, remember your roles, please. We are acting as the Shoot-Yeah Productions crew.

So keep that in mind at all times, yes?” At a little after 9:15 in the evening we didn’t figure on anyone strolling past. But it always pays to play your part. You never know when the curtain peepers are at their posts.

We piled out of the vehicle. Bergman and Cassandra pulled tripods and video cameras out of the trunk, chatting with each other like they actually knew crap about lighting and B-roll. Vayl disappeared around the building’s far side, probably to check out roof access in a way passersby couldn’t witness. The rest of us headed for the gate.

As soon as we crossed into the playground I stopped. Bergman went on through. But Cassandra halted beside me.

“Do you feel it?” I murmured.

“Yes. Like a thrum through the soles of my feet,” she said. She crouched down and laid her palms flat against the dying grass. “I’m not getting anything clear, just a sense of connected life. I think something big lies under this school.”

“Keep moving. Let’s see how far it extends.” Since we were fenced in, I unhooked Jack’s leash and let him run while the two of us paced off an asterisk from one end of the playground to the other, discovering the extent of the labyrinth under the old school, and trying to figure out what kind of others we’d sensed.

“It’s everywhere!” Cassandra finally announced.

“Yeah, but who does it belong to?” I murmured as I passed Bergman.

“No clue,” he responded. He’d set up the video camera and was now taking a still shot of the building’s main entrance with one of his pocket clickers. I doubted we’d use that door during our return visit, but you never knew. His orders were to get pictures of every visible form of entry so we could figure out the best way to sneak in later that night. He went on. “Hey, don’t let Jack pee on the tripod, okay? Tell him it’s my territory.”

“If you peed on it he’d know without anyone having to say a word,” I told him.

His face puckered like a rotten pumpkin’s. “You know, your standards have really bottomed out since the mutt moved in! I want this clear from the start. If we become partners, you’re handling all the dog poo.”

“Works for me. But that’s a big ‘if.’ I’m still pretty happy at the Agency.” I grabbed Jack’s collar and steered him toward a tree in the corner of the playground. Which kinda disappointed him, because I’d told Astral to stick with Vayl. And Jack badly wanted to find her.

After marking the corner of the property and nosing around the fence in a halfhearted attempt to smell up somebody friendlier than the mystery creature who’d recently entered his life, Jack caught a scent.

Noting the rigidity of his ears and the tension in his haunches I reached down and slowly clicked his leash back onto his collar.

“What is it, boy?” I asked softly. He didn’t even turn to look at me, just lowered his nose and began to walk, setting one paw carefully beside the other.

“Jasmine?” Vayl sounded like he was standing right next to me, though I knew he must be crouched on the roof by now. Good to know Bergman’s gadgets performed above standard.

“Jack’s onto something,” I said. “Maybe it’s just a rabbit. You know dogs.” Okay, I assumed he did.

But maybe not. Had Vayl ever owned one? I realized we’d never had that conversation. And we should’ve. I also didn’t know his mother’s name. Or if he liked lobster. A thread of panic wrapped around my lungs, making me suck in my breath. I should know these things! Why didn’t I know these things?

Because you don’t belong with him. You never did. The only man you were meant for died eighteen months ago and you will never, ever find another like him. Now that I’d outed Brude in my own mind his accent had thickened considerably. Too bad I could still translate his brogue.

I tucked my chin into my chest. You’re in forbidden territory. Go there again and I’ll kill you.

You cannot kill me without killing yourself.

Yup.

You would commit such an atrocity?

Not happily. But you’re a menace. Better to get rid of you while you’re trapped inside me than let you pull off whatever heinous plan you’ve devised that includes me.

I waited. Listened. The only voice I heard was Vayl’s, smooth and sweet as hot fudge as he said,

“Jasmine, what is wrong?”

“Brude,” I said shortly. “Nothing I can’t handle.” For now. “If you’re finished up there we might’ve found something interesting down here.” I thought for a second. “Also, I need to know your mother’s name.”

Was it just my imagination or was Bergman’s doohickey sensitive enough to pick up the catch in Vayl’s voice as he asked, “Why?”

“You know all about mine. And yours was like, a thousand times better.” Because, even though she never knew you, she cared enough to demand that the family make Cirilai to protect you. “Plus, we could use her name as a code word or something. For when one of us is about to do something the other should just take on faith.”

“It was Viorica.”

“And if you were going to pick between lobster and crab, which would you choose?”

“What?”

“These are things we should know. What if we have to take a quiz someday? I can tell you right now that Bergman is allergic to eggs, and Cassandra’s all-time favorite place to visit is Monaco. Have you ever had a dog?”

“I prefer crab. And yes, I have owned several dogs. But I grew tired of burying them every decade or so. Thus, my only pets are the tigers carved into my cane.”

“There, was that so hard?”

Jack had begun to tug at his leash hard enough to make my shoulder ache, so I stopped resisting and followed him toward the northwest corner of the schoolhouse. Concrete steps led down to a basement entrance that had been both boarded and padlocked shut. But that wasn’t the part that interested him.

His nose led him to the side of the steps, to a gray brick wall so ordinary I’d never have given it a second look if not for him. I took a knee.

“What’s that on your nose, dude?” A smudge of powder, the same color as the wall. I reached out to rub the spot he’d sniffed it from. Yanked my hand back. Because my fingers hadn’t touched the rock-hard surface my eyes had registered. It had felt more like membrane, giving like Jell-O at the contact.

“We’ve got something over here,” I said.

“Be casual,” Vayl reminded everyone.

I looked up as Bergman reached the top of the steps and clicked off a couple of shots. Cassandra joined him, exclaiming over the viability of using this spot in our movie’s murder scene. And then Vayl split the two of them in the middle, Astral sitting at his feet like a real cat, which was when I realized that was exactly the kind of pet he needed. Battery-driven. Likely to outlast even him.

Now that I had my audience, I flicked the barrier with a finger. It wiggled, pulling an excited gasp out of Bergman. He ran down the steps, jumping the last two in his rush to get a closer look.

“What kind of technology are we talking about here?” he asked himself as he poked at the fakeness. He gasped when his finger went through. Sagged against me when it came out whole, if dusty.

“I doubt if it’s mechanical so much as chemical mixed with magic,” said Cassandra as she and Vayl descended the steps. “But as soon as I touch it I’ll be able to tell you a great deal more.” Jack and I backed toward the boarded door to give her room to work while Bergman pulled Astral out of the way. Vayl leaned on his cane, watching with interest as she knelt, steadying herself with one hand on the bottom step. She gently pressed the other against the Jell-O wall, squeezing her eyes tight as images filled her mind. Her lips flattened, like she’d just taken a bite of bad potato salad but couldn’t spit it out, because her auntie had made it special, just for her.

Finally she nodded and stood. “This is a new doorway into a gnome warren. It’s the one Pete told us about. N’Paltick.” Nobody said anything, but the silence was full of unspoken speculation. She went on,

“It was built for ease of access to these apartments. I also See gnomes swarming out of this entrance.

They are quite excited, but I can’t tell why.”

Though the answer seemed obvious, Vayl still had to ask, “Is this the same warren that took Ruvin’s family?”

She nodded. “A woman and two boys are sitting in a candlelit room. They seem all right. They’re looking at the door in surprise.” She glanced up at him. “In my vision they believe they’re about to be rescued.”

His eyes, bright blue with the intensity of his thoughts, wandered to mine. As I read the question in them I shrugged. We both knew we’d never find a better chance to humiliate the shaman than this one. A people blinded to their leader’s whacked ways had to start questioning how tight he and the almighty Ufran really were when their god let common kidnappers make off with the bargaining chips—er, I mean—the midwife’s family.

You know I’m for it, I told him silently. Especially considering how much safer Cassandra will be down there.

Gnomes and demons entered into a blood feud right after Lucifer’s Fall. By now the gnomes were so far ahead they’d stopped keeping score. Other creatures might push them around, but demons couldn’t seem to solve the gnomes’ code. A lot of people had studied their defenses and weaponry trying to figure out why, including yours truly. My theory—faith.

Gnomes believed . Even the fanatics—who performed appalling actions in the name of a god whose name translated as “peace”—even they remained demon-immune. I figured this had to be due to their unshakable convictions. And that makes for slim pickings when you have to fill a monthly quota. So the last place Kyphas would look for Cassandra would be in an Ufranite warren.

A thought hit me. I tucked it away before Brude could see it.

“Are we in agreement then?” Vayl asked.

I nodded. “Maybe the prisoners have heard something that could help us identify all the carriers,” I said for Brude’s benefit.

“We have other means,” Vayl reminded me.

“Yeah, but this way we get to… you know.” I smiled. So did he.

Bergman held up a finger. “Hang on, you just made a big leap there. What did I miss?” I clapped him on the back. “Probably better for you just to find out as you go.” I turned back to Vayl, who was studying the brilliantly disguised gnome door.

“You’re not thinking of diving in or anything, are you?” Bergman asked. He gestured at the fake wall.

“We don’t even know what’s on the other side.”

Ignoring Bergman’s observation, Vayl said, “Jasmine, tell me. If you had built an access door, the better to reach Odeam’s traitor, why would you choose this particular location?” I shrugged. “Lots of fake concrete just going to waste in the corner?” He blew his breath out his nose. “Hardly. Where is your mind today?”

“Seriously? After flying forever, fighting a demon, not to mention the Domytr snapping up my synapses, you have to ask?”

“You could at least try.”

Shit. I looked around. “I don’t know, okay? The basement door is the only way in where they wouldn’t be seen, and it’s obviously solid as a—” I kicked at the door as I said, “brick.” But my heel didn’t contact wood, sending a shiver up the bone of my leg as expected. Instead it shoved completely through.

Because the gnomes had pulled off another illusion.

The original door had been removed and replaced by Paint plants. Those wizards of horticulture had created this ivy sometime in the sixteenth century. And since then all they’d done was improve it to the point that it came in every known color, its needlelike leaves laying so flat they were easily confused with the grain of wood. As shown by the door, it could be grown quickly and trained into any position, so even up close it resembled whatever the gardener desired.

I pulled my foot out. Big, noticeable dent, though I could already see leaves unbending. Funky.

“You know, someday you’re going to throw a kick like that and something’s going to bite your foot off,” Bergman said.

“Could be,” I replied. “Or maybe I’ll knock something out before it has a chance to eat my face off.”

“Save the debate for later,” Vayl said. “They should have left a panel for ingress and egress. Jasmine, please check.”

“Sure.” I let loose with another kick, this one at about knee height. A door big enough for Jack to jump through popped open. I looked over my shoulder at Vayl.

“You guard the rear,” he said. “We must keep Cassandra and Bergman between us at all times.” So that if one of us is wounded , his eyes added, they will at least stand a chance of escaping.

I nodded and drew my Walther PPK. As always, Bergman smiled when he saw it. He was the one who’d engineered it to transform into a crossbow, so I understood the pride in his eyes. But when the quick grin disappeared, I knew he’d just realized why I might need it.

Our reconnaissance took ten minutes. The basement had been emptied when the school was closed, and the Space Station hadn’t yet filled it. Up top, the building held eight former classrooms that had been remodeled into apartments, each with its own bath and kitchenette. We marked the access points for each room and developed at least three escape plans. Then we reconvened at the door to N’Paltick.

Vayl and I stood in silent contemplation while Cassandra and Bergman huddled in the corner with the animals.

Glancing at them I said, more for their benefit than ours, “We’ll have to take them all with us. Too risky to leave them here with the demon due back anytime now.”

Vayl eyed our companions. The crook of his right brow demonstrated his concern. It wasn’t necessarily that they’d get in the way. Just that they might do something stupid without even realizing it and get us all killed. Or worse, made into hors d’oeuvres.

“Stay between us,” he told them. “Follow our orders precisely as given. This is no time to think independently, despite your obvious qualities in that area.” They nodded like a couple of little kids who’ve just learned they get to go into the haunted house at the fair, and they can’t figure out if they’re thrilled or terrified.

“Astral,” I said. “Jump up here.” I clapped my hands and she leaped into my arms.

Cool! If I decide to try a second career, robokitty and I can develop a Vegas act.

I walked over to the doorway. “Scout ahead.” I threw her through the portal, wondering how far she’d fall before landing, and if she’d plummet so long even her programming would fail and she’d splat into a thousand pieces.

Bergman must’ve been thinking along the same lines. Because his squeal of protest reminded me of that time in college when I’d accidentally eaten his ChemGen project. Luckily he hadn’t been studying ways to make botulism more lethal. He’d just been trying to come up with a tastier, less fattening form of peanut butter.

After waiting half a minute for the dust to clear, I said, “She’s in a tunnel the size of a large culvert. The picture’s coming in green, so it’s not lit.”

Vayl nodded. He didn’t seem surprised. Which disappointed me. In fact, I realized it had become a challenge to raise his eyebrow, even a tick. You gotta figure a guy who’s been around nearly three centuries is going to be hard to jolt. So when you do… score!

He said, “Get ready to crawl. Bergman? Cassandra? Keep one hand on the leg of the person in front of you at all times. Speak only when necessary, and then in whispers.”

“What if we need a quick getaway?” asked Bergman.

“I doubt that will be possible,” said Vayl. “If violence is called for we must be swift and certain. We cannot afford wavering,” he said sternly, staring at Cassandra.

“Why are you looking at me?” she asked. “I can fight.”

“You are the sweetest soul among us.”

“Which is probably why Kyphas wants you so bad,” said Bergman. He meant to be generous, I know, but his reward was a slap on the arm from me and a hail of frowns and shushes from everyone else. Even Jack turned his back on him. “What did I say?”

“Her name, dude.” I rubbed the back of my neck, like she was already out there, aiming some devilish weapon at us. Standing on tiptoe so I could see over the wall of the basement steps to make sure the coast was still clear, I said, “It’s almost like you’re summoning her when you say it out loud. She can hear it from anywhere. Right now she knows you’ve said it and, if she cares to look, she can see what spot you were standing in when you said it. So don’t say it.”

“Look? Into what? She’s got a crystal ball?”

I sighed. Why hadn’t our consultant taken just one Basic Paranormality class? “Do you give off heat?”

“Yeah.”

“Then all she has to do is look into something else that gives off heat. And assuming she’s scouting hell for allies, it shouldn’t be too tough to find a lava pit to squint into, now, should it?”

“Oh.”

Geniuses! They’re so great for the go-boom and the wireless yapping. But ask them one question about others and their brains turn to mud! I was about to let Bergman know exactly what I thought about the gap in his education when a new picture rose in front of my eyes. And I decided his positives might just outweigh his negatives. Astral was turning out to be real helpful.

I turned to Vayl. “The cat found a crossroads guarded by a gnome. He’s alert.” And wearing a spiffy blue uniform that includes a tail ribbon. Since when are gnomes into insignia and brass? And , I felt myself frowning, guns?

“He’s armed too,” I said. “It looks like the same kind of air-powered rifle we’ve seen most of the other burrow dwellers opt for.”

Vayl inclined his head. “Then it is time to prepare.”

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

As if we stood on a table spun by the same gears, Vayl and I both swiveled toward Cassandra. She looked from me to Vayl and back again. “Was there something—” She motioned toward the notcrete wall. “Do you want me to go first or…”

“We just assumed you understood how gnomes function,” I said.

She shook her head. “My area of expertise is in ancient languages and religions. And the gnomes have been around as long as my people, but they wrote nothing down about their god. And since their history is an oral one that they share only among themselves, I haven’t studied them at all.” I nodded. “All we really know is what we get from the outcasts who manage to escape before the community finds a way to sacrifice them. The gnomes call them kimfs and blow snot out one side of their noses after they say the word.”

“No.”

“I shit you not.”

Cassandra shook her head. “So hypocritical.”

“Yuh-huh. Anyhow, what you also didn’t realize is that gnomes only see a little better than moles. Some of our analysts think they’ve spent too much time belowground. Some suggest it’s a genetic malformation of the eye that could be corrected with surgery, or maybe even glasses. What matters to us is that if our little project here is successful, they won’t be able to retaliate if they see us, because we all pretty much look the same to them. Like we’ve all pulled stockings over our faces so the only details they pick up are eyeholes and nose bumps. But if they get a whiff of us they can follow us clear across the continent.

Because their sense of smell is almost as good as a bloodhound’s.”

“So”—Vayl nodded at her bag—“what have you got in there to help us out?”

“Why do you assume I’m carrying scent around with me?” Cassandra asked, somewhat defensively.

Vayl’s lip quirked. “Come now, Cassandra. I have seen you pull a tire patch kit from your purse.

Anyone that prepared is bound to have thrown in a supply of her favorite perfume.” She did a little sideways head bob, the kind you see on people who hate to admit they’ve just been caught in their own little obsession. She unsnapped the furbag and began rummaging around. “There’s nothing wrong with carrying backup supplies, you know. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve saved myself a trip to the store… Oh, here we go.”

She pulled out a bottle of Febreze.

Bergman took it from her hand and read the label. “Meadows & Rain.” He glanced at her as he spun the sprayer to on and did an experimental squeeze-’n’-sniff. “Not bad. Not my Axe, but fresh.” Cassandra resettled her straps on her shoulders and threw up her hands. “I know it’s strange, but right before David deployed, he asked me to bring him something that smelled like home, because he wanted to feel like he was with me while he was away. And this is what I use on my curtains between cleanings.

So I gave him a bottle to keep, and then I have this one to remind me that he’s smelling the same scent wherever he is.” She touched the blue plastic with an affectionate finger. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“Yeah.” Bergman nodded. “It does.”

I gave him a little shove. “I can’t wait until you fall in love. You are going to act like the biggest dork, and we’re all going to make unmerciful fun of you.”

To my surprise he grinned and said, “Okay.”

We took turns spraying each other. By the time we were done, all of us, including Jack, smelled like a feminine-hygiene commercial.

“Hurry up and get in there,” I told my boss, giving his cane a nudge with my toe to encourage forward movement. “Or else you’re going to have to braid my hair while we watch Bergman and Cassandra cavort around in a field full of flowers.”

“At least Jack is not trying to make love to your leg,” Vayl said.

“I can’t believe you brought that up.” I glared at Bergman. “I still haven’t forgiven you for drenching me in dog pheromones, by the way. So just watch your step inside. This could be the perfect setup for my revenge.”

“Hey, it worked out great!” Bergman squeaked. “You got a new best friend out of the deal!” I looked down at my dog, who smiled up at me, his days as the pet of an international criminal mastermind a distant memory. “You are pretty cool,” I told him. “But we’re about to go into a bad place.

So behave yourself, all right?” He bumped his nose into my leg, his substitute for a reassuring pat.

I took a better grip on his leash as we watched Vayl squeeze past the wiggly gray tunnel cover. Bergman and Cassandra followed, with me and Jack bringing up the rear. No way could I crawl through the gently sloping passageway while holding a gun, so I reholstered Grief. Its weight didn’t provide the usual reassurance. Because according to Astral’s video, the path opened at the crossroads, so Vayl would have to deal with the guard alone.

He’ll be fine.

My body, bent abnormally by the low ceiling, disagreed. It was like my aching back, my stiff neck, even my chafed knees, knew this setup sucked. But my mind kept fighting it.

He’s a vampire. What could go wrong?

Shut up, Brude!

Now what? I am trying to comfort you! Is that not what every good king does for his—

Knock it off! I took a deep breath. Wiped the sweat off my upper lip. Vayl’s not going to get his head blown off. And I won’t be buried under tons of earth. The ceiling’s in great shape. It’s probably held up for a hundred years.

On the other hand… Fuck you, Pete! My next job had better be in the great wide open or, I swear, I’m gonna pull out your two remaining hairs and staple them to your ears!

I took another breath. Realized I wasn’t going to panic, and felt myself relax. Slightly. Although I understood at some level that if I heard one sound that remotely reminded me of an earthquake I could well bolt, leaving all my friends to fend for themselves.

Wuss.

Deciding to deal with my neuroses later, I concentrated on Astral’s video feed. Saw the guard sniff the air, and take a second snort. Just as I realized he’d interpreted our Febreze for the intrusion it was, he drew the weapon he’d kept holstered at his side. Though it looked a lot like a sawed-off shotgun, I knew it worked on totally different principles.

People who live underground don’t like to make big bangs that could cause cave-ins. This gun, powered by air compressed and heated by the breath of his shaman, scattered polished granite shot in a broad pattern that allowed even the most myopic shooters to hit their targets.

“Vayl! He’s onto us!”

“Take cover!” Vayl ordered.

Bergman and Cassandra went flat.

“Astral!” I called as I drew Grief. “Go for that guard’s moving arm!” As Vayl lunged forward, trying to clear the tunnel before the guard could squeeze one off, I struggled to advance over my friends without crushing vital organs. Not easy when most of your vision is concentrated on robokitty’s attack. My eyes had such a hard time following her speed that my stomach lurched in protest.

Astral hit the guard just before he pulled the trigger. She snarled just like a real cat and sank every one of her claws through the cloth of his sleeve. He yelled in protest as his arm wavered, the shot went wide, and Vayl emerged from the tunnel, a visible cloud streaming from his shoulders as he dropped the room’s temperature enough to make the guard’s tail shiver and his teeth clack.

“Stay here or you’re gonna get frostbite,” I told my crew as I left the tunnel, Jack bounding after me. As a Sensitive I can take Vayl’s hits without icicles encasing my curls. And my malamute was made for cold weather.

Vayl grabbed the guard by his lapels with one hand while he knocked the gun to the floor with the other.

In a move even quicker than Astral’s he jerked the guard’s head to one side, baring his neck. One bite, one push of power, and his victim’s blood froze.

Vayl let the body fall. His grin, full-fanged and bloody, pulled a similar response from me. He stepped toward me, his power so full I could feel it rubbing between us like cool satin on hot skin. The scrape of boots on the floor made me spin around. Bergman and Cassandra had crawled out of the tunnel. I turned back to Vayl.

In that moment he’d pulled it all back, his jaw clenched so hard I was surprised it didn’t break. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I will discover where this right-hand passage leads.”

“Oh. That—yeah. We’ll wait here.” I watched him go while Astral circled the chamber, awaiting new orders.

“That was… scary,” said Bergman, pointing to the guard’s throat.

“He’s an assassin. What did you expect?” I asked. I realized I was petting Jack, and not because he needed it. I stopped.

Bergman shrugged. “One shot through the forehead with a gun.”

“You watch too much TV.”

“Why do you keep looking after him?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward the tunnel Vayl had taken.

“Is he about to get into more trouble?”

I sighed and met Bergman’s gaze. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

Should I explain? This guy wanted to partner with me. Which meant maybe he should know. Especially if it would back him off of a deal that might not be that great for his health. I pointed at the corpse. “What do you see?”

“A dead guy.”

“What else?”

He looked closer. So did Cassandra. It was like they thought I’d asked them to solve a puzzle. He said,

“Nice, clean uniform that makes him seem like he’s about to march in a parade. Shiny shoes.

Well-maintained weapon. No rings, so I guess he was single.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what else.” I said, “He was alive a few seconds ago. Breathing. Thinking. Trying to make us dead. But we won. We put him down, for good. Vayl and I, we’re not right, Bergman. After a kill we don’t stand around and analyze the remains like you just did. We jubilate. You get it? Inside, we’re freaking high. Because we took that evil spark and crushed it. Just like God.”

When he began to look a little sick I realized he’d begun to understand. I said, “That’s why he had to leave. So you wouldn’t see us—like that. So he could remind himself he’s not even close to God. More the opposite.”

Which was why he needed me. And why I needed my old buddy Miles. Not to mention my new pal Cassandra.

Huh.

Funny what you discover after a kill.

While we waited for Vayl to come down from the rush, I went through the guard’s pockets. Found some dice, a wad of bills to prove they were loaded, a dirty handkerchief—“Catch, Bergman!” He dodged it. “Gross!”

Chuckling, I continued my search. Nothing else in the pockets. Around the neck an amulet with the image of Ufran on one side and a star on the other. I took it.

“That seems a little sacrilegious,” Cassandra protested.

“It’s because of their religion that we’re here,” I reminded her. “Besides, we know a lot of these are used as hides for important papers.” I tossed it to Bergman. “See if you can find a latch.” The guard had nothing else of interest on him, unless you counted a tattoo that showed like a bruise on his sun-starved calf. “Another star,” Cassandra said.

“It’s their symbol for purity,” I told her. “The star means he could trace his ancestry back at least ten generations and they were all small, squat, and blue-schnozzed. In other words, pure gnomes.” Cassandra cocked her head to the side. “I can only imagine what they think of Americans, most of you of such mixed blood.”

“Let’s put it this way. They picked at least two dudes to infect with their larvae, and both came from the States. I know what that says to me.”

“Got it!” Bergman held the amulet in both hands now, its Ufran face flipped open to reveal a hidey-hole packed with folded white paper. I snatched it and unfolded it. Barely big enough to fit in my palm, it held a crudely drawn picture.

Some of it I got right away. I knew Ufran’s symbol, the star with the smiley face in its center, so I recognized it hanging in the sky. The gnomes standing on a hill, bowing down to it, I recognized from the pinecone-shaped tufts at the ends of their tails. Though I didn’t quite get why an arrow had been drawn pointing to one in particular. Then I realized he was wearing the distinctive asparagus-carved headdress of the shaman. But I didn’t understand the word that had been written above his head. Ylmi.

The artist had also drawn another group of crowned figures standing in front of a closed gate at the foot of a second hill. They all pointed their scepters to a grass tree from which protruded the trunk of another tree, one that looked to have burned in a recent brushfire. Of everything, the crowns made the least sense to me. As far as I knew, gnomes governed by smackdown. Nobody dared to call themselves royalty, much less wear head jewelry, for fear they’d be drummed out of the tribe for putting on airs the next time they lost a battle.

Though I didn’t understand the entire message, that’s definitely what it was. And I suddenly knew that was how I could communicate my previous idea to Cassandra without letting Brude know! “Bergman, I need to borrow a pen.”

He dug one out of his ever-present pocket guard and handed it over. I sat on the floor. Granny May? I need you to tell Cassandra what I was thinking. You know, while I distract Brude. It might’ve been the hardest mental exercise I’d ever tried. Writing a note with the wisest part of my mind while having a heated argument with the Domytr in possession of its major controlling unit. But in the end I’d managed to piss him off royally as I created a message to Cassandra that said, I think you should hide out in this warren until we’ve killed the demon. I know it’s scary, but you’re smart. Find the deepest, darkest corner of the place and just be still. We’ll come for you as soon as we can.

She read it twice, nodded, and pocketed it. I signaled for Bergman to hang the amulet back around the guard’s neck. I expected him to get all icky-poo on me. He did it without complaining, but he did wipe his hands down the sides of his pants several times after.

Vayl returned, explaining that he’d explored the tunnel far enough to discover it led to the industrial center of the warren, where they heated the water they used to power the warren, and where they’d built the artificially lit farms they called gnoves.

“Let us take the alternate route,” he suggested. “I believe Ruvin’s family waits at the end of it.”

“Along with the rest of the town,” I said.

“Just so,” said Vayl. “Which is why you must all stay directly behind me. I will be able to camouflage our approach.”

“Except for the scent of Febreze?” Cassandra suggested.

Vayl considered her comment. Then he said, “The guard was expecting trouble. These creatures will not be. You would be amazed at what busy, self-absorbed people never see or choose to ignore.” She watched us both for a second. “I suppose, knowing how successful you two have been at this kind of work, I’ll have to take your word on that.”

I sent Astral ahead to warn us if anyone was coming, and we continued into the second tunnel. This one had been built much taller. As they often did, the gnomes had probably squatted in tunnels built by bigger creatures, bringing in more and more families, steadfastly refusing to leave until the original owners were forced to find more peaceful lodgings elsewhere. Those others must’ve been our height, or even taller.

Which was what got Vayl and me started playing our Who Was Here First? game.

“I like the Lofhs for this warren,” I said from over Bergman and Cassandra’s shoulders. Jack glanced up at my comment like he’d met a few of the tall, shy, wallpainters. “I read that a tribe immigrated to Sydney back in the 1800s. Maybe a few came south.”

Vayl ran his fingers across the well-worked stone as we walked toward a dawning light. Astral had already shown me it belonged to a flickering set of wall lamps that gave the warren a haunted-house atmosphere. “My guess is that these tunnels were built by the Rikk’n. I remember hearing that they had built several underground towns in the region before gnomes discovered they preferred talking to fighting and crowded them out.”

Bergman said, “You know, if my mom knew these others shared a name with the little red-hatted statues she sticks in her garden every spring she’d throw a fit! Don’t gnomes have any redeeming qualities?” Vayl thought for a second. “They generally die quietly.”

“Astral’s at the end of the tunnel,” I said. “She’s registering some manufactured light. Enough, at least, to keep the Ufranites from constantly bumping into each other.” Always the scientist, Bergman said, “I’m guessing the ones who run the gnoves wouldn’t appreciate going from pitch dark to fake sun day after day. Same with those who venture outside.”

“I agree,” said Vayl. “Perhaps your theory will help us in the future,” he added tactfully. “But now we need to know what Astral is seeing.”

I said, “It looks like a town square. The floor is flat and the ceiling’s so high it doesn’t even register.

Kiosks have been carved out of the rock, one right after another, from the entrance right around the curve of the room. Gnomes are lined up at them, trading coins for food and stuff that glows and… yeah, I think I see a T-shirt booth. Most of the Ufranites are gathered in the center of the area, which is almost parklike. Hell, they even have a bandstand with potted trees in the back. Anyway, I see blankets on the floor with plates, silverware, and tubs of food set out on them. Families are sitting, talking to each other and their neighbors. Lots of smiles and giggles. I’d say maybe eighty gnomes have collected, including fifteen to twenty kids.” I bit my lip. “You don’t suppose they’re getting ready to eat Ruvin’s family tonight?”

Vayl’s pinched nostrils told me he’d considered it. “Do you see any cooking implements? Perhaps a large fire or a cauldron?”

I stared hard into Astral’s projection. “No. Just that overgrown gazebo everybody’s sitting around. It’s holding a three-piece band with a drum and a couple of stringed gourds. I wouldn’t call what they’re doing to those instruments playing, though.” Gnome music sounded like a constipated guy trying—and failing—to clear his obstruction.

Cassandra had been crouching beside Jack, petting him to keep him calm as she leaned against the tunnel wall. Now she held up a hand, her distant expression on the one I usually dreaded. But maybe this time her vision had nothing to do with the death of one of my relatives.

“The shaman is coming,” she whispered. She glanced up at us, her focus still far away. “He’s like a huge ball of black fire in my mind’s eye.” She paused. “Something is off about him.” She put a hand to her forehead, dug her fingernails in. “He doesn’t seem… quite real. Why? Why would—” She stopped, her wide eyes staring into mine, panic swimming so close to the surface that I grabbed both of her arms without thinking.

“What is it?”

“My vision flipped. I was trying to get a better view of the shaman and suddenly I was Seeing a man’s face. He’s dead.” Tears spilled from her eyes.

“Do you recognize him?”

She shook her head. Went still. “Someone… is trying to speak to me.” She ran her hands along the floor, staring off into the distance like she was blind.

“Cassandra!” She jerked her head toward me, frowning as her eyes refocused. “The man,” I reminded her. “Describe him.”

“Dirty-blond hair. His eyes are open. They’re dark blue. He’s still snarling, like he died fighting. There’s a scar, like a half-moon, running from the side of his left eye down almost to the corner of his mouth.” Oh. Fuck. “Cassandra, this is important. Look at his neck. Is there a tattoo just under his ear? It would be—”

She finished my sentence with me. “—of a wolf’s head.”

Vayl and I nodded at each other. We didn’t need our extra connection to discuss how the shock had blown holes in our concentration. How we wanted to kill something. Right. Now. Because the man in Cassandra’s vision had been one of ours. An agent named Ethan Mreck, who’d spent the past few years infiltrating one of the biggest threats to peace left in Europe. A band of wolves called the Valencian Weres.

As a werewolf himself, Ethan had moved in circles no one else could even visualize. Which was why his undercover work had brought our department so much valuable information. In fact, his intel had sparked our last mission, leading us to destroy Edward “The Raptor” Samos, the worst enemy to U.S. National Security since Adolf Hitler. We’d also severely crippled his girlfriend, the Scidairan coven leader, Floraidh Halsey. After those successes, we’d hoped Ethan could help us find a way to pull the plug on the Valencian Weres, who’d definitely be making a power play now that they smelled the chance to gain territory. But Ethan was dead.

I watched our psychic’s darting eyes, saw her mouth tighten, and knew she was trying to pin down wisps of images that wanted to be caught and categorized about as bad as a butterfly does. I tried to help. “The fact that you Saw Ethan here, in the warren—that means the gnomes have to be connected to the Weres he was investigating, don’t you think?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “All I can sense now is this terrible calamity, looming like the dust of ten thousand horesemen on the horizon.” She clasped her hands together, her fingers worrying among each other as she gazed up at us. “We have to succeed in this mission.” I shrugged. “We always do.” I frowned when she grabbed the sleeve of my jacket.

“No! You don’t understand! Doom is here, close to us, waiting for us to fail!” I raised my eyes to Vayl, who nodded carefully. “We hear you, Cassandra. We understand.” I hesitated. When she had nothing else to add I said, “We have to get moving now. You understand?” As she bowed her head Vayl nodded. “I agree, and even more quickly than we had anticipated.

Jasmine, can you get a more specific sense of the chamber’s layout?” I said, “Astral, look around the edge of the room. Stealth-mode, girl.” As obedient as any well-trained dog, my cat stalked around the crowd without once being noticed. Her vigilance paid off when I was able to report details like more tunnels leading out of the town square, probably toward residential areas.

Barrels full of waxy white flowers marked the shops and tunnel openings. The one arch they’d failed to decorate was located on the other side of the picnicking crowd. A single barred gateway, it was guarded by a gnome who looked a lot more interested in the band than his work.

“Go find out what’s behind that gate,” I told Astral as we edged toward the tunnel’s mouth. Everybody could hear the music now. Seeing—not so easy. Our path took a bend before it opened into the square, but when Vayl and I leaned forward far enough we got our first look at those who called themselves Ufran’s Chosen. All of them primmed and propered just in case he looked down from reading his evening paper and needed a moment to remind himself how much they respected him. Because somewhere along the way they’d decided he was big into smiting.

Vayl caught my attention. Raised his eyebrows. His unuttered question, Has your scout uncovered anything helpful?

I nodded. Astral had found the family. The kids huddled on a bench under the single window of a tiny, candlelit cell, finishing off the crumbs of supper while Mom paced its length. Her black hair, liberally laced with platinum highlights, combined with a double-sided updo to make her resemble a pissed-off lynx. Especially when she slapped the wall with the palm of her hand every time she made her turn.

Seeing the rage on her face, I wondered for a second how they’d managed to cage her.

My guess? Her dress was partly to blame. It fit so tight I wasn’t sure how she walked more than three steps without falling. The other reasons sat behind her dressed in jeans, white T-shirts, and suspenders, legs swinging back and forth, heels thumping into the rock at their backs in time with their mother’s movements.

When I finished describing the scene, Vayl motioned us into a huddle. “Bergman,” he whispered, “I believe we are going to need a distraction. As we skirt the crowd, I want you to deduce the best means to cause one. And when I give you the signal, do it.”

Miles visibly gulped. But he didn’t drop down his old scaredy slide. He said, “What should I do afterward?”

“Get out. The rest of us will free the family. We will meet you at the car.” He gave Bergman his keys. “If we do not beat you there, make sure it is running.”

Bergman said, “Now I understand why Jasmine always backs in.” Vayl returned to the front of the line and we all followed him around the corner. Now we could be seen.

Theoretically. But the tingle at the back of my neck signaled his power boost. Not that he could actually cloak us. That would’ve been too sweet. But Vayl’s ability worked almost as well, turning the attention toward what it wanted to see anyway. The band. An attractive member of the opposite—or maybe the same—sex. Nobody even turned their heads as we sidled around the edge of the crowd, avoiding family groups and last-minute snackers lined up at the shops that surrounded the square.

Once Jack danced sideways, his nose pulling him toward some little rugrat’s tray of fried tentacles, but he responded well when I pulled him in closer and gave him my like-hell-you-will! glare.

By the time we reached the cell-side of the town’s square, Bergman’s forehead looked like a surgeon’s during the fourth hour of a complex operation. Cassandra and I shared a look. Should we swab him off or just let him sweat into his eyes? I asked her silently.

Her answer was to nod toward his sleeve, so I gently lifted his forearm and wiped it across his face.

Thanks , he mouthed. I nodded.

Vayl had led us to a corner on the guard’s left that held a trash can and a bench carved out of the wall.

Bergman sank onto it. Vayl grabbed his arm and pulled him back upright. Even Miles couldn’t mistake the question on the vampire’s face. Are you ready?

Slight jerk of the head, more a spasm than an actual nod.

Vayl’s gesture could almost be interpreted as, Shoo, then. But he really meant Get into position.

Bergman looked around, as if trying to figure out where to go next.

In front of us, the side of the bandstand rose about five feet off the floor, its base holding up a finely tooled railing punctuated every few feet by a post that held up the wood-shingled roof. No stairs here; they’d been set at the very front so the performers would have to walk through the middle of the crowd to get to them.

All of the trees behind the bandstand sat on watering trays with rollers, which made me wonder how often they rearranged their shrubbery down here. In front, the crowd seemed relaxed, happy. Not at all the types who’d boil kids and roast their mom. Which just goes to show, you should never trust your first impressions.

Bergman crouched and scuttled into the first line of trees, his movements reminding me somewhat hilariously of an anorexic crab. I had to gulp back laughter as I told him through the party line, “You’re out of Vayl’s influence now. So be discreet until you get the order.”

“Will do.”

I checked on Cassandra. She had Jack firmly in hand.

Shaman? I mouthed.

Soon, came her silent reply. And then a shrug and shake of the head. She still didn’t like her vision of our potential target.

I gave her a stay close gesture. Then I brushed my hand against Vayl’s. Doing my best to ignore the tingle it caused, I nodded to him. “Now,” I whispered.

His slight nod acknowledged our readiness as he slipped up behind the guard and we followed, staying clear to give him room to work. So fast. One hand to the throat to stifle sound and crush the airway. One to the back of the neck to support the blow. Vayl held the guard, assuring death while I searched him for the cell keys. I had other ways in, but they wouldn’t be as quick or possibly as quiet. Yup, there they were, hanging from a leather strap around his neck. One for the gate door. Another for the cell that sat at the end of a short path. They both worked perfectly.

As Ruvin’s family crowded toward us, I held my finger to my lips. At the same time Cassandra whispered, “You must be quiet. Practically the whole warren sits outside this cell.”

“Well, you picked a fine time to break us out, didn’t you?” demanded Ruvin’s wife.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Tabitha,” she snapped. The boys had run to her side.

“I’m Laal,” said the taller one, who might’ve been nine or ten, but still only reached my mid-thigh. He pointed to his brother, who stood a head shorter. “This is Pajo.” I stuck out my hand, which Laal and Pajo politely shook. “Lucille Robinson,” I said. “Your dad’s pretty worried about you. And since we were in the area we thought we’d drop in and see if you’d like to join us for dinner. I think we’re having pizza.”

“Anytime now, Jasmine,” Vayl’s deep voice rang in my ear.

The boys were nodding so hard their chins practically banged their shirt collars, but Tabitha held them back. “How do you know Ruvin?”

I wanted to shake her and scream, “How stupid are you, bitch? The door is fucking open! Let’s go!” But she knew that just outside milled a crowd of would-be cannibals and she hadn’t seen our references yet.

I stepped back. “Cassandra?”

She smiled and let some slack out on Jack’s leash. As soon as he stuck his nose into their hands, the boys fell in love. Much hugging and petting of the grinning malamute while our Seer spoke softly to their mom.

“I know you must be terrified. But we are your best chance at escaping this predicament unscathed. Let us help you free your sons before anything more traumatic happens to them. Please?” Tabitha glanced at Laal and Pajo. I expected a rush of warmth to ease the harsh lines of her face.

Instead they tightened, as if she was doing unpleasant math problems in her head. “All right. Boys?” She snapped her fingers and they immediately left Jack to run to her side. Wow. No whining or anything?

Either she runs a really well-disciplined household or—no. I’m not going to think the worst of anyone for once. That’s something Brude would do. I turned to lead them out.

I murmured, “We’re on our way,” to Vayl. Then I looked back over my shoulder and whispered, “Two things. Be quieter than you’ve ever been in your life.” Special smile for the boys. “Übersneaky, got it?” They nodded solemnly. “And stay as close as you can to the big man we’re meeting at the gate. His name is Jeremy, and he can make it so the crowd doesn’t see us. But we’ve arranged a little distraction as well. Just ignore it when it happens and follow Jeremy and me out. Got it?” Ruvin’s family nodded again. I hoped that meant they understood. Hard to say how much was sinking in.

You never knew with somebody who’d spent time as a prisoner and was now escaping. Sometimes the moment itself overwhelmed everything else, even the ability to process the instructions they needed to make it successful. I looked over them to Cassandra, gave her a keep an eye on them look.

We crept down the path toward the gate. “Astral,” I whispered. “Go back to the tunnel exit. Don’t get caught.”

We rejoined Vayl at the gate door. He’d hidden the guard’s body. My guess would’ve been inside the trash can. Good call. Laal and Pajo didn’t need to see us handling corpses if we could help it.

Vayl took stock. Tender look for me. Approval toward Cassandra and Jack. Curiosity in Tabitha’s direction. And for the boys, a moment of intensity, like the silence before a shout.

He pulled me aside. Spoke directly into my ear. “We have to get these boys out safely.”

“Of course.”

“Understand me. Whatever else happens, here, or with the mission, we cannot let these boys die.” I stared into his eyes, which had turned the purple of a boxer’s ribs after a bad beating. And I knew something about Laal and Pajo had reminded him sharply of his own murdered sons. Or maybe it was just that he’d finally found a chance to prevent another father from feeling the anguish he’d endured now for over two hundred and fifty years. Didn’t matter to me.

I said, “The boys live no matter what. Of course. There was never another option.” He put both hands to my shoulders like he meant to hug me; then he looked over my head, remembered our circumstances, and dropped his arms. Turning toward the crowd so that he blocked most of us at the gate with both his bulk and power, he murmured, “Now, Bergman.” Motioning us forward, he began to move at a slow but even pace back the way we’d come.

Which was when Bergman popped out from behind the trees and climbed up the back of the bandstand.

He shoved his way to the front of the stage, a camera in each hand, grinning like a lunatic and blowing an enormous bubble from a spare piece of gum he must’ve borrowed from Cole.

The band faded out. Its inattentive audience quickly swung its focus away from itself and to the stage as this new phenomenon began to click off picture after picture. Finally Bergman grabbed a microphone.

“Okay, that was excellent. Now, my guy in Hollywood tells me if this movie’s going to work we’re gonna need all of you to really get into your parts. Okay? And… smile!” CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Iwas genuinely shocked when I froze. Paralysis is not what I do. I think. On my feet. As they move.

Generally at my target. Or away from danger. Or, in this case, toward the exit while I figured out how to rescue my idiot consultant before he got himself killed and Pete demoted me to, oh, I don’t know…

resident flyswatter?

But I was stuck. This was my first clue that Brude had commandeered my limbs. Then he turned me toward the source of what he thought would soon be lurid entertainment. In other words, a bloodbath.

Starring my best friend, who was clicking off shots of the crowd and talking fast about some fantasy film starring Angelina Jolie and Warwick Davies. Dumbass.

Granny May! I yelled, an SOS to my own psyche. I saw her head shoot up from the green beans she’d been snapping into a bowl on her lap. She still sat on the front porch. But she looked less fearful. And I noticed she’d brought some sort of club outside with her. I focused on the item that lay on the floor beside her rocking chair. Nearly giggled out loud when I recognized the leg of an old iron lamp Gramps Lew had kept promising to fix but never seemed to get to. She’d taken to carrying it with her from room to room as a reminder, which had evolved into a joke. And once he’d died, it had become a memento.

Now, maybe, it would take another role.

I see him, she whispered, leaning down to get a good grip on the club. Trust me, Jazzy, he won’t get any closer. You get on with your job, now.

Hoping my mind could war on itself without causing irreparable damage, I tried to take a step. Yes! A couple more. Go, Granny May! I hustled to get back into formation, which was a lot like before, only now Vayl and I had three extra civilians lining up between us.

We’d made it a quarter of the way around the back edge of the crowd. Nobody had a clue their prisoners were escaping. All eyes had glued themselves to the idiot human on the platform, who seemed to be delivering a message of fame and good fortune that even the most devout among them found hard to ignore.

“I’m gonna kill him,” I whispered. “If they don’t get to him first, that is.” Remembering the party line I said, “Do you hear that, Bergman? You were supposed to pull some amazing gadget out of your bag and fill the place with stink bombs or locusts or something. Not risk your freaking neck on a dumb stunt that Cole might pull. Just let me get these kids safe and then I’ll—”

“I know what I’m doing here!” Bergman announced to the crowd, though I knew he’d aimed his statement at me. “You might question my methods a little bit, but this is how blockbusters get made. I’m telling you, Hugh Jackman started out the same way. Now, could we have all the gentlemen just line up on either side of the stairs here?”

The gnomish men traded puzzled looks. A couple of them rose. And why wouldn’t they? Bergman sounded so confident.

“That’s right,” he said. “Form a kind of hallway for the shaman to walk through when he comes onstage.

That’s the way the director is visualizing it, so he wants me to get some shots to send back to him.” More gnomes stood. A living tunnel began to form. Because the shaman must have approved this stickman’s presence. How else would he know about their leader’s impending appearance?

“Excellent. Great.” Bergman worked himself to the corner of the bandstand closest to our exit as he snapped picture after picture. “Ope! I think I see the shaman coming! Already.” Bergman’s voice tried to strangle itself. He murmured, “Something’s wrong with this parade. The shaman’s standing on some kind of raft carried by uniformed guards, but he’s stiff and wobbly. Almost like a mannequin… Do they believe in freeze-drying their religious leaders?”

“We have no information that he has even been sick,” Vayl replied. “Proceed as planned.” Bergman gulped so loudly my ears popped. Then he yelled, “Everybody stand up straight! Yep, that means you people in the middle too. On your feet! Stand and face the shaman!” Even from our spot, a city block from freedom, I could hear the distant rumble of drums heralding the main man’s approach.

“RAFS! I mean, Astral!” Bergman yelled.

“What do you need?” I asked, using all my self-control to keep my voice at a whisper.

Some of the gnomes were frowning at him now. Moving toward the steps. Reaching up as if to grab him.

“A grenade would be ideal!”

“Astral, show me your location!” She stood in the entrance to our escape tunnel awaiting orders.

“Bergman, what’s her range?” I asked.

“About fifty yards.”

“Come to me, Astral. Run!”

Sooner than I’d expected a streak of black reached my feet and leaped into my arms, slamming into my chest like an oversized volleyball. I tucked her under my arm, feeling ridiculously Monty Pythonesque as I pointed her toward the front of the shaman’s parade, which had just come into view, a long row of guards carrying between them a cooking pot the size of a bathtub.

“Okay, girl, hawk a grenade as far as you can.”

I felt her entire body pulse, a repeated motion just like you’d expect a cat to make. Except her mouth didn’t yawn, releasing a rocket-propelled minibomb as I’d expected. I heard a thunk and looked down.

Astral had dumped a red metal sphere beside my right foot.

“Shit!” I dropped her, grabbed the grenade, and lofted it as hard and as far as I could. Fortunately my college track training hadn’t completely failed me, and the missile exploded in the air, raining shrapnel on the Ufranite guards below.

The sound itself, a whump so deafening I immediately glanced up to see if the ceiling was falling, terrified the gnomes into a stampede. Add to that the gong of the falling cauldron, the screams of the wounded, the wails of terrified women and children, and you have what Pete likes to call “a situation.”

“Bergman! Why didn’t you tell me the grenades came out her ass!”

“Where else would they launch from?”

“Where—where are you?” So I can show you exactly what I think you can do with your cat and her grenades?

“Where do you think? Booking down the tunnel! How come you’re still hanging around there?” Hard to stay pissed at a guy who asked such good questions.

I’d had to stop to launch Astral’s weapon, but I was pretty sure no one had seen me. Now I caught up to the line, still remarkably intact considering the smoke and noise. But disturbing in that Tabitha was hurrying ahead of her sons, not even glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were keeping up with her.

Only a few more steps and Vayl would be inside the tunnel. Which was a good thing, because our camo wouldn’t hold for much longer. With panicked gnomes running in random directions, he couldn’t direct their thoughts anymore. Which meant we could be spotted at—

“The prisoners are escaping!” shrilled one man, a pointy-headed, shaggy-haired example of why gnomes rarely marry outside their species. I stepped out of line to meet his rush, hoping Laal and Pajo were looking the other way as I drew my bolo.

While Vayl led the rest of our party into the tunnel, I confronted Pencil-head with a blade as long as his legs. Astral took her place next to me, arching her back and hissing as he drew his own weapon, a dagger that he spun in an intricate pattern designed to display his skill and intimidate me into making a mistake. I tossed my bolo into my left hand. Back into my right.

He snickered at my obvious lack of ability and lowered his arms. Just the mistake I was waiting for. I flung the blade just like I practiced every day on the range back in Ohio. It flew true, splitting his skull like a ripe cantaloupe. He dropped with the hilt of my great-great-granddad’s war knife sticking out from between his eyes. Unfortunately a couple of his buddies had heard his warning. And a few more saw him go down.

“Vayl,” I said as I sidled toward the exit, robokitty in tow. “I’ve got five, no make that six, gnomes in pursuit.” I pulled Grief, switched it into crossbow mode because I didn’t want to make another loud noise in a place where I could be buried alive. I paused to take a shot. “Make that five. They must not be able to afford to arm everybody the same because I don’t see rifles. All these goons have are knives and handguns.”

A shot pinged off the rock above my head.

“Are they sounding a general alarm?”

“Not yet. That last kill pissed them off too much. Plus, I think they know everybody else is too distracted with the explosion.”

“Can you hold them off until I get the boys out safely?”

“Sure.” Another shot slammed into the path behind me. Nope. And he probably knows that. But I’d be so pissed if he put my life ahead of those kids. And he knows that too.

“Bergman,” I said, forcing myself to breathe evenly because if I lost it now, I’d die. “How many of those grenades did you load into Astral?”

“Two,” he told me. “But, like I said before, they’re experimental. I was hoping we could try them out in a more controlled situation after the mission was over. I was amazed that one worked.” I wouldn’t go that far.

I squeezed off another bolt as the cat and I backed to the tunnel. One more down. The odds looked better, but these Ufranites weren’t giving up easily. Maybe they didn’t like the fact that we’d just tried to bury tiny bits of steel in their shaman’s face.

My remaining pursuers fell back, taking themselves out of range, though that meant they couldn’t hit me either. They fanned out, trying to surround me before I could reach my escape hatch. I could see the plan in their eyes. They knew how long Grief needed to reload now. The second I turned to run, the last three gnomes would rush me. As soon as they got into range, they’d open up with their overengineered handguns and pop me into the next world for good. With a sound only slightly louder than a Jack fart.

The two sides of me warred. I wanted so badly to escape the confines of the tunnels that my eyeballs were straining for natural light. If they could, they’d probably leap from their sockets and bounce down the path, leading the rest of my body to freedom. At the same time I felt insulted at the possibility of death by “poof.” When you get taken out, you kinda want it to happen with such an epic blast that people wish they were sitting on their toilets during the final kaboom. That way there’s less mess to clean up later on.

Okay, well, if this is it, I glanced down at the cat, let’s do it up right.

I said, “Astral, as soon as I shoot, launch a grenade in the same direction. Let’s think airtime this go-around, okay? Imagine it’s burrito night at Crindertab’s.” She responded with her accordion dance. I gave her to the count of three and shot at the gnome farthest from me. A beat later she raised her butt and heaved. This toss reminded me of a second-grader’s softball pitch. One that bounces before it hits the plate.

“Really?” I spared her a disgusted glance. “I’m about to get wasted and you shit out another dud?” She looked up at me, her eyes crossed slightly as if somewhere in her circuits the ghost of a Siamese kitten lurked. Her tail twitched. And the grenade began to smoke. Bright blue. In the shape of a fist with the middle finger raised.

“Oh, Bergman,” I chuckled, “you didn’t.”

His voice came back to me, breathless from running. “You like the effect?” he asked. “I think I got the same shade as Ufran’s nose. At least, that’s what I was going for.” The smoke, thick as yogurt, allowed me to back down the tunnel to where it turned before one of the gnomes caught up to me. We shot at nearly the same time. Only I didn’t jump when the adrenaline surged. Or tighten my major muscles and forget to breathe.

I won the showdown. Later I might puke in reaction to the close call. Now I said, “Come on, Astral.” I turned and rammed full into Vayl. “Ow! Geez, you could’ve warned me!” He’d wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me from falling. Now he pulled me in closer. “You are the most spectacular woman I have ever met.”

My toes literally curled inside my boots as he dropped a light kiss on my lips. A breathless moment later he’d disappeared into the square, swallowed by the smoke. I heard a strangled scream. Well, that takes care of my prob—

Another cry. And another. It sounded like reinforcements had arrived. And not one of them had counted on confronting a vampire in the full rush of his power. We’d created exactly the kind of havoc a shaman couldn’t just shrug off. But we had to survive to make it work. We needed to get our asses out of here.

NOW!

I knew Vayl could feel my urgency. He’d come. But would it be too late?

I transformed Grief back into gun mode, hoping whoever built these caverns had shored them up California style. I went back into the cavern, stood with my back to the tunnel entrance, and stared hard into the smoke, straining to see my sverhamin . It was a role he took seriously if the next groan I heard was any clue. Well, he could protect me until cows crapped coal, I also had a part to play in this relationship. And as his avhar it was my duty not only to watch his back in the fight he was waging, but to get him out in as good a shape as he was when he went in.

There! A face swimming out of the mist. Long, knobby-ended nose. Skin the shade of stale marshmallows. A moment of recognition as we both realized we’d met the enemy. Blur of movement as he raised his gun. But I’d beat him before he knew we were competing. I blew him back into the smoke.

“Jasmine!”

“Vayl, stop playing! We gotta go!”

Rush of cold air as he came to my side. “I do not play,” he said as he wiped a droplet of blood from his lips.

“You were eating ? A religious fanatic? Damn, don’t you have any taste?” Together we turned and ran down the tunnel. Moments later we heard the tromp of boots coming after us.

Still Vayl had the breath to say, “Your dinner before made me hungry. You should be thanking that little Ufranite. If not for him I might be asking you for a donation.”

“On second thought, snack on all the gnomes you like.” I didn’t mean it. I’d just begun sharing sheets with the guy and already I’d have given him anything he asked for. God forbid he ever figured it out. I also wouldn’t tell him that when he took my hand and his power jumped through me, giving me speed no human should master, I wanted to giggle like I had the first time I’d ridden the Rock-O-Plane at the county fair. I’d already embarrassed myself enough for one lifetime.

Vayl handed me my bolo. “I believe you dropped this.”

I hadn’t even realized how much I hated leaving it until my fingers tightened around the hilt.

“You cleaned it and everything! Vayl, this is… wow! Thanks!” For once I could tell exactly what was going on behind those amber eyes. So strange to have found another man who’d do anything to see me smile. I vowed never to take this one for granted.

We burst out of the illusionary door so quickly I’d have cracked my skull on the opposite wall if Vayl hadn’t pulled us to a sudden stop. Bergman, who’d been standing in the corner by the other door, moved forward. He held a bulging white sack whose writing I couldn’t read. But as soon as he threw the contents at the doorway I smelled the powdery grit of quick-drying concrete.

The door shimmered, twisted, and turned a putrid shade of yellow as the crete interacted with it. “What did you just do?” I asked.

“It’s a temporary blockade,” Bergman said.

“But… how did you know what to do?”

“I’d have been able to figure it out myself if I’d had the time. And RAFS. I mean, Astral,” he said defensively.

“Okay. I just wondered how—”

“I called the Agency’s warlock,” he finally admitted. “It was Vayl’s idea.” He frowned as he handed my boss his phone. “By the way, he doesn’t appreciate being called at seven a.m. when he didn’t get to bed until three. I thought he might frogify me through the receiver there for a minute.” Vayl shrugged. “As far as I know Sterling is not on assignment, which means his band probably had a gig last night. Do not worry.He is a decent sort, if somewhat moody.”

“Oh.” Bergman nodded, like that made sense. “Well, Sterling told me to get something that the wall would really be made of and throw it at the fake door while I said—huh. I can’t remember the words now. Anyway, he says it’s only a temporary stopper, but it’ll hold them long enough for us to get away.” Which was when we heard a series of thumps on the other side of the wall. Followed by shouts and cursing. Followed by prayers to Ufran for forgiveness for the cursing.

“Shouldn’t we go?” It was Tabitha, checking her watch and pacing at the top of the steps while Laal and Pajo showered big love on Jack, who withstood the hugs and tugs with his usual good humor.

I started to nod; then I noticed the celebration was missing a partier. “Where’s Cassandra?” As if I didn’t know.

My sverhamin came so close to me that I could feel his breath on my cheeks as he murmured, “I must confess I lied to you earlier. That second tunnel led to the basement of a church. She has taken refuge there until we return for her.”

“WHAT?”

Granny May grinned. Nice acting, Jazzy. Brude is totally convinced.

Vayl kept his voice level, calm, and low enough that only Bergman, he, and I could hear. “She thought it best. And I agreed.”

I shrugged. “Sounds like a plan.” When I felt Brude step back from the conversation I smiled and nodded, said, “Guess we’ll have some good stories to trade next time we get together.”

“Indeed.” Vayl glanced at the door, still blocked despite the loud and continuous onslaught on its opposite side. “We should go.”

“Fine.” I took the stairs two at a time, Astral keeping up nicely despite having passed a couple of grenades recently. I decided I just might get to like the little robot. Jack obviously felt the same. And he’d chosen this moment to bond.

I couldn’t fault his timing. Tabitha had begun to herd the kids toward the Wheezer. The rest of us raced after, leaving him free to demonstrate his affection for the newest member of the family. I caught it all in a single over-the-shoulder glance.

She might’ve had a chance if he’d barked. But he’d remembered their last encounter and decided to approach with wolflike stealth.

Under no orders to do otherwise, Astral sat down in the crackling brown grass and proceeded to groom the gray dust off her exterior, becoming so immersed in the job that he took her completely by surprise.

His jump brought him over the top of her, giving him position to lick her right between the ears before he gently cuffed her with a big front paw. Despite the fact that he was careful, his boot sent her spinning. His this-rocks! grin, an expression I’ve yet to see on another dog, dropped off his muzzle when Astral flipped sideways, snarled in a metallic, my-gears-have-stuck sort of way…

And her head blew off.

It hurtled straight toward Bergman. Vayl dove for him, barely shoving him clear before it rocketed into the side of the building, ricocheted into the fence, and bounced onto the lawn like a renegade croquet ball.

“Holy sh—!” I stopped myself just in time to spare the kids, who’d turned to witness the carnage.

“Cool!” said Laal. “It’s a robot!”

“And it blew up!” yelled Pajo. He tugged on his mother’s skirt. “Do it again! Do it again!” Moment of stunned silence while we watched Astral’s legs jerk and Vayl made a coughing-up-chicken-bones noise that only I knew was his version of barely repressed mirth. I didn’t dare look at him for fear I’d start laughing, and then Bergman, standing beside Vayl, holding on to the crown of his hat with both hands, would never forgive me.

I checked Jack to make sure his yelp had purely been one of surprise. He seemed to know he’d done something bad, because his tail remained between his legs even after I’d reassured him he was okay.

I picked up the body, which stayed stiff as one of those lifelike planters with the hole drilled in the belly for a bunch of geraniums. I risked a glance at Bergman. I couldn’t tell if the deep furrow between his eyes meant he was holding back tears or he wanted to kick some kittybot-killing ass.

Always long on wisdom, Vayl decided to move away from Bergman so he wouldn’t notice the shaking of my boss’s shoulders. He walked toward the Wheezer, and had almost made it to the car when he stopped and said, “The head is over here.”

We joined him, only some of us to gawk. Astral’s head lay on the ground. While smoke still spiraled from the ears and clear fluid leaked from the neck, I didn’t see much in the way of dangling parts.

Jack gave it a sniff and slumped into his I’ve-been-bad position, lying with his tail tucked under his butt, blinking soulfully up at us as if to apologize for our inconvenience.

“Look at him,” I said. “He feels terrible.”

“Aww.” Laal and Pajo knelt by Jack and began rubbing him down, telling him it was okay. Tabitha kept glancing from them to the car and rocking from one foot to the other like she really wanted to make a break for it now that the coast was clear, but she knew it would be rude to run while her rescuers were mourning.

I said, “I’m sorry, Miles. Jack was just playing. He didn’t mean to hurt her.” I retrieved Astral’s head, silently thanking Raoul’s boss that her eyelids had shut.

“I’m really sorry, Miles,” I repeated. Should I try to stick the head back on the body? Would some kind of internal magnet at least pull it back together for the burial? Such wishful thinking. “He was just trying to make friends.”

When my dog started to get up I gave him my don’t-even-go-there glare and he sank back down, dropping his head to his paws. Laal and Pajo began the scratchfest all over again. I said, “I’ll cover the damages, of course.” Though, considering what it must’ve cost to put Astral together, by the time I’d even halved the payment we’d probably both have forgotten about my debt, along with each other’s names and where we’d left our teeth the night before.

“I don’t understand,” said Bergman, shaking his head. “Jack must’ve triggered her self-destruct mechanism. But how? I mean, he didn’t even try to bite her.” He came to stand in front of me, took a pen out of the collection he always kept in his pocket, and started poking around the neck.

“Uh, Bergman?” I said, catching the look on Tabitha’s face. “That’s kinda gross.”

“It’s just a machine,” he said impatiently.

“But it looks like a cat. That you’re doing a primitive autopsy on.” I cleared my throat to get his attention, which I then turned toward the kids. Who were riveted.

“Oh. Sorry.” He frowned at the remains. “This is a mess.”

“You can fix it,” Vayl said.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

He nodded. “It is what you do, and you are superb at your job.” Bergman considered Astral’s innards with new interest as Tabitha rechecked her watch. “Shouldn’t we be going? That door can’t hold forever. And Ruvin will be so worried.” Both true. But watching her futz with her dress and hair, I sensed ulterior motives. Still, we jumped straight into the Wheezer, which now felt like one of those maximum-capacity clothes dryers.

I started the car and said, “Whoever has their foot in the back of my head better not have stepped in anything disgusting recently.”

The offender moved the shoe and I beat it back to the rental house before anything else exploded, fired on us, or (God forbid) needed a ride.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

The family reunion began just as you’d expect. Ruvin drove up in that glorious Jeep expecting to spend a few miserable hours driving us around while he pretended not to be freaked about his family. Tabitha and the boys ran out of the house. He’d just walked around to the front of the Patriot when he saw them. The surprise and relief sent him staggering back into the bull bar.

Hugs. Tears. More hugs and kisses. Then Tabitha grabbed Ruvin by the hand and said to me, “Look after the boys for a few, will you?” and dragged him inside.

Uh. What just happened?

I stared at Laal and Pajo, who gazed right back at me. When I looked to Vayl for ideas, he shrugged.

Bergman remained just as silent, his attention still focused on Astral’s repair job.

I said, “I have a niece.”

What, are you trying to impress them with your babysitting qualifications?

“Where did Mummy and Daddy go?” asked Pajo, his lower lip beginning to tremble.

I looked desperately at my teammates. “Does anyone have candy?” Vayl knelt down beside the boys, his demeanor so nonthreatening that a bystander wouldn’t have been surprised to hear he made his living breeding and selling bunnies. “You know parents,” he said. “They just need to have a talk and then they will be right back. I wonder, while we wait for them, should we go into the backyard and play a game? Hide-and-seek might be fun. I believe I saw several places boys your size could tuck into the last time I was there.”

My jaw dropped. I’d been certain Vayl had forgotten how to play games somewhere near the turn of the nineteenth century. And he didn’t actually participate in the hiding or the seeking. But he did laugh out loud when Jack gave the game away by running straight to Laal and Pajo’s spots before Bergman and I could even get started. They didn’t seem to mind, because when he stuck his nose in their faces, they giggled too.

This is your window into Vayl’s past. Look carefully. It may never open again, Granny May told me. This is what got lost when his boys died. And who knows? Maybe this is what he’s searching for just as much as the actual reincarnated souls of Hanzi and Badu. A chance to pull a little bit of himself from the jaws of the predator he’s become.

Hard to fault that, especially when I remembered who I’d been before Matt had died. If I could retrieve the part of me that hoped , would I?

I realized the inside of my arm had begun to hurt. When I focused on it, I found I’d been scratching at it long enough to raise welts. A couple of them were even bleeding lightly. This is my life now. Rashing out due to an untimely possession. And if I don’t do something about it soon—

Give yourself to me, Brude whispered, his voice itself like a lesion, searing bits of my brain as it crackled past them. Fulfill the prophecy. Become my queen and together we will rule the Thin.

The Thin? I asked. Or all of hell?

Soon there will be no difference.

Get out of my head, you parasite.

Or you will do what? Run to Lucifer and tattle? Even a woman with your courage knows better than to put herself near the Great Taker. No, there are only two ways to loosen my grip on you, lass. And I would suggest you pick the first. Because the second sees you in hell.

I wanted to respond with something clever. But all I could think of was, I’ll see you in hell , which was kinda what he wanted. So I stayed silent and wished Granny May could pull in a couple of reinforcements. Anything to push the ancient king away from the front of my mind.

Her image appeared behind my eyes, just like I remembered her when we were dressed for church. She stood at the top of her steps, wearing a dark blue pantsuit and sensible brown slip-ons. Her bag matched the shoes. I knew it contained a few bucks for the offering as well as coloring supplies for us kids and a crossword book for her. She liked to say that she heard the Lord clearest when the reverend was droning and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out eighteen across.

She said, I know of another one who can help. But you’re not going to like it.

I’m past the point of picky. Bring her on.

Gran moved aside, revealing Teen Me. From the amount of eyeshadow and blush she was toting, and considering she was hanging out with Gran, I put her age at right about fourteen.

I started to chuckle. Even more so when I sensed Brude’s spurt of fear at the realization that he was about to be set upon by an angry freshman who was old enough to play dirty and young enough not to give a crap how much it hurt.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Less than ten minutes later Ruvin and Tabitha appeared on the patio looking… mussed.

What the hell?

The backyard, recently the site of such a lively game of tag that we were still out of breath, transformed itself again as the boys squealed and ran to their parents, who stood beside the sliding-glass doors.

The rest of us joined them on the patio, each choosing a chair to fall into while the family enjoyed a second reunion. Vayl’s expression masked itself sometime during Ruvin, Laal, and Pajo’s bout of ecstatic hugs and kisses, watched somewhat indifferently by Tabitha. I wondered if she was jealous of their closeness.

Vayl seemed to have questions too, because I detected a hint of steel in his undertone as he said,

“Tabitha, I know you must be anxious to get your sons even farther from the warren. But we need to ask you a few questions before you go.”

She reared back her head. She’s gonna tell him where to shove it , I thought. And not because of the delay it’ll cause either. Something about the jut of her chin and the set of her shoulders told me she thought any form of cooperation spelled weakness. And at her size, she didn’t think that was something she could afford.

“My husband said you people were filmmakers.”

Ruvin put his arm around her waist and rubbed. His touch, like his expression, was enthusiastic. “What I said was that they told me they’d come from Hollywood to scout movie locations. Now, I know studio executives aren’t normally capable of doing what they did. But these people are special, Tabitha.” He jerked his head toward Vayl. “They have Gerard Butler on their side! Remember him in The Transporter

? He’s like a superhero!”

Oh. My. God. I cleared my throat. “Um, Ruvin? I believe you’re thinking of Jason Stratham.” Tabitha had an even better point. She jabbed a finger at me and Vayl. “They had weapons.”

“We’re American. Pretty much everybody goes armed there,” I lied, figuring my country’s reputation would back me up. It did. She took a moment to watch Laal leap on Jack, his little hands disappearing into the malamute’s thick fur as he patted him on the back. Pajo preferred bigger prey. He ran to Vayl, jumped onto his lap, and wiggled himself into the crook of my sverhamin ’s arm so he could gaze happily at the rest of his family.

Tabitha sighed. “What do you need to know?” she asked.

When Vayl looked up from Pajo’s grinning face, his eyes had lightened to gold with brown highlights. He blinked, the line between his eyes appearing briefly as he tried to refocus. He said, “We were just curious if the Ufranites told you why you were taken.” He glanced at Ruvin. “Stories are a weakness of ours.

You never know what will make a good movie.”

Tabitha shook her head, her thick hair barely shifting as she said, “They never said anything about that to me directly. But I heard our jailer talking to the woman who brought our food. She said this would show the shaman the true price of betrayal.”

“What do you think she meant by that?” asked Bergman.

“I have no idea. It almost sounded like kidnapping us was a punishment for the shaman. But we’re seinji.

We don’t even know any Ufranites.”

“Did you ever see the shaman?” asked Vayl.

Another head shake. “I demanded to see him. But the guard said a word I didn’t understand, and then he said, ‘As long as your husband is cooperating, you’ll be fine.’”

“What was the word you didn’t understand?” I asked her.

“Ylmi.” She raised her chin, as if daring me to fight. About what though? I decided she must be a real bitch to receptionists and fast-food workers. Then I realized.

Ylmi was the word in the dead guard’s amulet. Dammit, Cole, how long does it take to assemble a demon-bashing armory? We need your translating skills now!

Miles adjusted his ball cap while he traded a significant look with Vayl. So they’d both remembered the word too.

“What happened then?” I asked.

The sides of her mouth turned down. “I asked him what would happen if I didn’t cooperate. He laughed and said it didn’t matter. That Ufranite young would be feasting on my husband while he screamed for death by tomorrow afternoon.”

While the conscious part of me saw Laal pause in his Jack-petting to get a reassuring nod from his dad while Pajo tucked his head into Vayl’s chest, my inner librarian said, You have less than twenty-four hours to complete this mission. If you don’t succeed, people are going to die. You might blame it on an evil, no-faced gnome. But you know it will be partly your fault. She jotted the info on an index card and filed it neatly in a drawer the length of a tractor trailer.

Where have you been? I demanded. Granny May could’ve used backup when Brude was doing his mental manipulations before, you know.

She sniffed and shut the drawer. I’ve been organizing.

That’s no help!

She raised a slender eyebrow at me and tucked a stray curl into her French twist. You’d be surprised.

For instance, right now I’m compiling a list of every item you’ve ever heard, read, or learned about the Thin. If Brude wants to create a new hell based there, maybe something you know can alter his plans. That might send him spinning out of your head. Alternatively, knowing more about his species might help. You have no innate knowledge, so I suggest a session with Astral or, perhaps, Raoul.

You know, for a brainiac, you’re not half bad. Just don’t let Brude know what you’re up to.

Robert, that.

Um, it’s Roger.

Oh. Sorry.

Well, it looks as if you are marshaling your forces. Brude strode to the forefront of my mind, grabbing me so firmly by the intellect that I froze in place. It will not work, my Jasmine. You must understand, I am here for you. And also for what you can do for me.

What do you mean?

I already told you I never do anything for a single reason. So I slipped into your mind, which is

—he looked around and licked his lips— nearly as delectable as your body. Because I promised to make you my queen, did I not? But you never asked why. Why you?

He wants to transform the Thin into a chaotic realm and destroy hell, my librarian reminded me.

Granny May rose from her front porch rocker. But he’ll never do that without a massive army to fight Lucifer’s hordes.

Where’s he gonna get that many lost souls? wondered Teen Me as she sat on the ledge, dangling one leg over while she leafed through one of Granny May’s comic books.

“From me,” I whispered.

Bergman had leaned across the table, his hands inches from mine like he thought I might need to be pulled from the brink of something anytime now. “What are you saying?” he asked.

I couldn’t look at him. My eyes, glued to the covered barbecue, only saw my inner visions. Vayl stirred in his seat, gently lifting Pajo from his lap. “May I suggest that you take your parents inside?” he told the little boy. “Perhaps Jack will accompany you as well. Then you and Laal can play with him while Mum and Dad decide what to do next.”

Murmurs of agreement from the parents. The shoosh-snick of sliding-glass doors opening and closing. I forced the words through a throat so suddenly parched it felt like it was lined with sand-paper. “Brude knows who I am. He believes if he can subvert my missions, he can cause just the kind of death toll he needs to build up his forces. And what better way to do that than from inside my head?” I felt my lips cracking. Next would come the blood. I turned to Vayl. “I have to withdraw from this assignment. I need to take a leave of absence.”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “You and I are a formidable team. If they separate us—they win.”

“But… Vayl… the son of a bitch is in my mind. He can make me—do things. What if—” Vayl leaned forward. Not much. Just the fraction it took to capture my attention. Something about the intensity in his bright blue eyes demanded that I listen, not just to his words, but to the things he couldn’t say. Because Brude would overhear. “We will beat him. That is what you and I do, my pretera. We win.

Together.”

His touch, just a whisper of fingertips grazing my thigh, spelled out a sign we used for face-to-face attacks. I was so distracted by the zap of awareness his fingers raised, followed by an unbearable need to scratch, that I nearly missed the message. You go in loud and annoying. I will slide in under the radar to make the kill.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

He caught me in his gaze, stared at me hard like I should be able to read his mind. Geez, Cassandra, I wish you were here right this second so I could slap your hand on his and get a freaking clue!

He whispered, “Trust me.”

Aw, shit.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

We joined Ruvin in the living room. He shook everyone’s hand with a grip so firm I know my fingers tingled afterward. “We just can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us. You Hollywood types are so gifted! I wish I had half the talent!” He nodded toward the bedroom. “Tabitha thought it would be better for the boys if we talked privately.”

We’d all had enough of sitting. We wanted to run off in twelve different directions. Find the Rocenz.

Continue discrediting the shaman. Destroy the larvae carriers. Demon-proof the house. But it seemed rude to tower over the little man, so we all sat. Vayl and I took the couch. Bergman sank into a chair.

Jack lay at my feet, watching Miles tinker with Astral. He’d gotten her head reconnected, which Jack must’ve deduced was a good thing, because he kept flopping his tail against the floor hopefully.

Ruvin stood beside Miles, his eyes occasionally cutting to the intricate operation-in-progress as he spoke. “Again, I can’t thank you enough for getting my family out of the shit. And, um, sorry about the quick exit before. To be honest, we’re on something of a schedule. We are seinji, and it’s just our luck that this is the week of the year when she’s most likely to conceive…” His ears went bright red as he grinned down at his feet.

Collective “Ahhh” of understanding from our group as we realized why Tabitha had chosen an oooh-baby dress for a Wednesday evening when her hubby wasn’t even supposed to get home until the pubs had long been closed. It also explained why she’d kept checking her watch and pacing. Seinji find it tough to bear children, which is why their physicians are among the top experts in the field of infertility.

They combine cutting-edge science with some of the most off-the-wall rites in the world. Common practices included hanging upside down from a tree limb for three hours after sex and writing suggestive fan letters to the cast members of Willow . And if anyone questioned their approach, all they had to do was pull out the studies that proved their birthrate had risen by thirty percent in the past twenty years.

“So, ah, we need to get rolling,” said Ruvin. “If Tabitha doesn’t have a bowl of Yabbie Chowder within the next two hours we’re doomed.”

“You know the gnomes are going to try to get her back,” I said.

He bit his lip and nodded. “We’re going to her aunt’s house in Christchurch, New Zealand. The gnomes don’t live on the South Island, you know.”

I did. They’d been driven out by bigger, badder beasts called attry-os nearly a century before and had never returned. But if I knew, so did Brude. I flashed a warning glance at Vayl. Which he smoothly ignored.

He said, “That is a wise choice. May we offer you our car for the journey? You can just leave it at the airport and we will pick it up later.”

Ruvin grinned, leaping forward to grasp Vayl’s hand and pump it up and down. “You’re ripper, you are!

I’m sure I can never thank you enough! But if there’s anything I can do now…” Bergman was the one who said, “I’m pretty sure we’ll think of something.” Ruvin kept smiling. But at the same time his bottom lip had started quivering.

Uh-oh. I tried to back up, but the couch didn’t have an emergency exit. So I had to watch helplessly along with Bergman and Vayl while Ruvin sobbed into his handkerchief.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just all finally crashed down on me. Do you have any idea how hard it was to pretend I wasn’t shit-a-brick when that gorilla shoved me against the Patriot? And the worry was just eating my guts out.” He wiped his eyes and blew his nose with a honking blast that made some night bird outside return the call.

Bergman nodded sympathetically. “We know exactly what you mean. Well, most of us,” he qualified.

“Probably not Jeremy.”

We all looked at the vampire, who’d been the only one smart enough to get out of the line of fire during Ruvin’s breakdown. He’d parked himself by the fireplace, leaning one arm against the mantel, obviously ignorant as to what a fantastic picture he made. He shrugged. “Every living thing feels fear at one time or another.”

“Exactly my point,” Bergman said.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Ruvin, his stress taking a backseat to this new distraction.

Vayl sat on the coffee table beside my propped feet. He played with the heel of my boot, a gesture I found oddly erotic, as he admitted, “I am actually Vampere. These people are part of my Trust, and we all work for the CIA. We have come to your country to eliminate the man who threatened you today as well as anyone who has agreed to act as his backup.”

He paused. I could feel his power build and then drop. Whatever he said next, evidently he wanted Ruvin to decide for himself what to do about it. “We need you to stay in Australia. The Ufranites have chosen you as their hatchling feast, and at this late date I fear that if we force them to choose another, we will not be able to provide that family with the same sort of protection as we have you and yours. Do you understand?”

Ruvin looked down at his clasped hands. “You’re saying if I go to Christchurch with Tabitha and the boys, probably somebody else’s wife and kids will end up in the warren’s boiling pot.” Vayl nodded. “I believe they will be like you in another respect as well. In fact, you can almost count on the Ufranites capturing another seinji family.”

Ruvin bit his lip. “Why us?” he asked, his tone as bewildered as that of a child trying to make sense out of undeserved punishment.

Vayl took a knee in front of Ruvin, like the little man had the power to knight him. “The Ufranites are fanatical when it comes to purity of bloodline. And, as your historians are well aware, many generations ago gnomes intermarried with feragoblins and the Japanese sect of tryynets, thus creating the line from which you descend.”

“So gnomes think we seinji are… impure?”

“They look upon you as an even lower form of life than their kimf . But do not worry over their willingness to harm seinji. We will guarantee your family’s safety.” I stuck my fingers in my ears and wiggled them. Vayl had never cared before about the consequences of bringing civilians into our assignments. Cole was the perfect example. I’d argued against asking for his cooperation when he was still a private investigator, and look what happened to him. Poor schmuck had been lured into the good-versus-evil swamp with the rest of us.