Biting The Bullet

“You’re amazing,” Raoul said.

His words warmed me, deprived as I was of genuine compliments. I let them carry me back to the house. Played them over and over in my mind as I prepared to face the Magistrate, strapping the sword to my back with a special belt Raoul had given me that was completely hidden under my bland brown tunic and black hijab.

“I’m amazing,” I told my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It didn’t seem convinced. Maybe it was too busy trying to remember that first visit to hell. Not the part about Mom. That was just too disturbing. The before, when Uldin Beit had presented her case to the Magistrate and his court. Something about that scene, I thought, had inspired me to give up my card-shuffling acumen, which I was desperately wishing I had back at this very moment. Something I’d missed had required that sacrifice.

Now I thought maybe I’d witnessed the secret to the Magistrate’s downfall. Not that I wasn’t pretty confident in my sword-fighting abilities. Especially after Raoul’s high praise. But it never hurt to have an edge. (Ha! Jaz made a sword pun! What a gas.) So I played the scene over and over again in my head. Trying to remember details I’d registered only with the back of my mind. For some reason instead of lingering on the Magistrate it kept jumping to Samos and those strange glowing eyes I’d seen behind his office door.

That’s not going to help. What’s the Magistrate’s weakness? What did you see?

I headed to the kitchen, still racking my brain, which was starting to ache from the unaccustomed just-woke-up-dammit strain. “They were sitting in a circle,” I murmured. “There were twelve ugly-ass demons plus supermodel Magistrate. They talked. Then the whipping. But the whole event was about Marking me.”

I gave up. Let my subconscious chew on it for a while. Maybe it would regurgitate something useful while I choked down some toast and juice. And wondered why nobody else was stirring. I finally decided the card game had gone on well into the morning. Figuring they might not make it through the next night, Dave’s crew had probably stretched their time together as far as it would go before they began nodding off into their poker chips.

Cassandra and Bergman had used their distraction to retire to the guys’ room, where they’d worked till God knows when on what they now called their save-Dave device. I hoped they’d made ample progress. Because I planned on needing it soon.

“It’s quiet in here,” I told the cabinets, which stared back at me stoically. I scanned the kitchen. The room should’ve cheered me. But I hadn’t felt this bummed in a while. Going off to fight your battles alone, without a friend or loved one to see you off, sucks. And if I didn’t come back, they’d never know what happened to me.

I thought briefly of leaving a note:

Off to kill the Magistrate. Raoul taught me how to find neutral ground on another plane and summon him there. No biggie. Just a life or death struggle that may slightly muss my hair and call for a new manicure when all’s said and done. Oh, yeah, there is that bit about the risk to my soul. But don’t worry. My new belly gem should have that covered. Maybe. Of course he didn’t mention that it would protect any of the other souls connected with mine. Nothing to fear, however, I’ll be back in a flash. Or, alternatively, a pool of blood. In which case, tell Vayl . . .

What? That I wished he hadn’t turned into a complete ass on this job? Because after that kiss I’d thought we were right for each other. Only now I wasn’t so sure. A man who will forsake you for his obsession, which includes taking a stranger’s blood, is not one who’ll treat you well anytime soon. I caressed the ring in my left pocket. I’d had the right kind of man. One who’d known what I was worth. I could never settle for anything less.

I walked out the door, the windows beside which Vayl had temporarily mended with some slats of wood he’d found in the garage. People glanced at me as I made my way down the street. Most of them seemed simply curious. But a couple — purely hostile. Though I’d darkened my hair and skin, I was clearly not a native, and two gray-bearded men didn’t approve of me walking around unescorted. But I wouldn’t be alone long.

The portal hadn’t moved since I’d glimpsed it the first time and then used it to visit Raoul. People walked right through it as if it didn’t exist. Well, it didn’t for them. Because they didn’t have the Spirit Eye to see it. Didn’t know the words to open it. I did.

Raoul had told me no one would notice when I walked through. The portal itself would shield my passage, actually project an image of me walking into the nearest store, though the proprietor inside would never even see his door open.

Chanting the words Raoul had taught me, I tried not to flinch as the flames framing the door flared, and its black center melted in every direction to reveal . . .

“A football field? Are you serious?” I asked as I stepped out of the street and into the stadium. Well, Raoul hadn’t lied. Things definitely weren’t what they seemed. Maybe the Magistrate would observe an entirely different setup when he arrived. A gladiator’s ring. A matador’s arena. Or, more likely, a reeking pit lined with burning skulls.

My mind had come up with the old RCA dome as neutral territory. A little tip of the hat to my brother-in-law, the rabid Colts fan? Or just a wish that I could revisit Indy, hang with people I loved. With whom, I suddenly realized, I’d come the closest to finding a home.

I shook my head. The time to ponder had passed. And what a relief it was, in a way, to let go of all those thoughts zooming around in my head like child stars hurtling toward their first DUIs.

I shucked my outer layer of clothing, which left me in a white T-shirt and a pair of loose black pants. Drawing the sword, I made the specific motions in the air Raoul had taught me. He’d called them

atra

-cuts, and explained they were symbolic of me slicing through the planes between us in order to bring the Magistrate to me. You could do them with any blade, and though by themselves they didn’t affect any change, coupled with the words I spoke they worked to bring the

nefralim

onto the field.

When I was still working solo I had a job in L.A. where I happened to see Keanu Reeves lunching with, well, who gives a crap, right? Say what you want about the guy, he’s easily the most hell-yeah gorgeous dude on the scene today. The Magistrate left him in the dust. And, shame on me, there was a very American part of me that wanted badly for him to be good because of it. Surely somebody whose eyes, cheekbones, chest, ass made me want to stand up and applaud couldn’t be pure evil.

Okay, can we all just take a minute to remember high school, please? Good. Now, back to business.

He wore, well, that whip. And that was all. Disconcerting. Because I have, believe it or not, never fought a naked man before. Which, while he was not a man, he was certainly built like one, and that could be a distraction. Or a hindrance. Because, despite my chosen profession and my tendency to leave a trail of bent and broken bones behind me, I try to avoid injuring the man parts. They’re just so damn vulnerable. Plus, Dave once explained to me in excruciating detail exactly how it feels to be kicked there. Which is why I totally understand now why guys cringe just seeing it happen on TV. Give it any name you want. My definition is torture, and I just haven’t gotten to the point where I’m willing to cross that line.

On the other hand, this battle had everything to do with saving my brother. Keeping that thought firmly at the front of my mind, I knew I’d do damn near anything to keep the Magistrate from grabbing his soul when the moment came for him to climb that rainbow-colored cord to Raoul.

As the Magistrate loosened the whip from his belt, sauntering toward me from the visiting team’s locker room, I had maybe thirty seconds to consider whether or not Raoul and I had calculated correctly. If we were right, this would be a quick, aggressive fight. Like most of my opponents before him, he’d assume I was weaker, slower, and more likely to give quarter than take it. The very fact that I was standing there showed it never hurt to be underestimated.

“You annoy me, little gnat,” the Magistrate snapped as he strode toward me, uncoiling his whip with a whoosh of air that sounded painfully lethal. “Summoning me away from my duties as if I were some sort of common rail.”

A rail, as I’d learned on one of my previous missions, was a hell-servant. I’d thought they were higher up the hierarchy. Like reavers, and with the same ultimate goals. But apparently the Magistrate saw them more as clean-the-toilet and mop-up-the-puke sorts of demons.

Raoul had advised me, “Do what you do best.” So I taunted him. “And yet you’re here. So who really has the power, huh? I’m thinking the skinny redhead with the kick-ass Spirit Eye.”

Oh, that brought the purple to his face. He charged me like a blitzing linebacker, belatedly remembering the whip. He swung it around as I brought my sword through and the weapons clashed. My blade bit into the leather-wrapped handle of his whip. And stopped. Whatever hid under that overlay was as strong as steel.

I jumped back as he reached out to grab me, slashing at him with the knife I held in my left hand. At the last minute, Raoul had found me a long, thin dagger. Not a one-blow killer, but a cutter, nonetheless. And, baby, did the Magistrate bleed when I strafed that blade across his chest.

“Bitch!” he screamed, spraying spit, jumping backward, giving me just the room I needed to swing the shamshir again. He turned just before the blade bit into his heart, catching most of it on his left shoulder. Though it disabled the entire arm, it didn’t put him down.

Quicker than my eye could follow, he lashed at me, his whip cracking across my upper back. The armor took it a helluva lot better than the T-shirt, which split in two and dropped to the ground. The impact staggered me, and as I struggled for balance he struck again. Twice. The first blow hit me across the upper chest and neck. Though only the tip of the whip touched skin, it felt like a cowboy had pressed a brand to my jugular. Blood began to stream from the wound.

I didn’t have time to figure out whether or not it was serious before the third blow landed, the hardest so far, striking me across the thighs so suddenly and painfully I looked down to make sure my legs were still attached. The whip had wrapped around them. The Magistrate yanked, taking me to my knees.

I countered by rolling away from him, out of his coil. As soon as he attacked again I lunged forward. If I’d been a hair quicker, I’d have buried the sword in his abdomen. As it was I left a three-inch slice that bled freely down his leg and brought another obscenity from his lips.

“Where did you get that sword?” he demanded.

“I have friends in high places,” I said as I jumped to my feet. Afraid to give him any more room to lash me, I rushed him, forcing him to use the handle of the whip to parry my attack. I could see in his eyes he didn’t want to deal with me anymore. Wasn’t prepared for this kind of fight. Hadn’t expected me to be able to hurt him. Hadn’t dreamed I’d be able to withstand his weapon.

I pressed my advantage, slashing at every vulnerable point I could reach with the dagger as he blocked my sword swings. Within seconds his chest and good arm were covered in red, while the blood he’d lost from his left shoulder trailed down his back like a wet cape.

“You’re going down,” I whispered triumphantly.

He kicked at me and I jumped back, giving him the distance he needed to bring his whip back into play. For a fleeting moment I saw him consider it. Realized he meant to go for my face. Blind me if possible. It was a good strategy. I moved in, hoping to ward it off by being too close for the strike to hit me clean when it finally came. Then the Magistrate surprised me.

He wheeled around and ran back the way he’d come, his injured arm flopping against his side until he finally grabbed his wrist to keep it from moving.

“Oh no you don’t!” I sprinted after him, tasting the win like dark chocolate on my tongue.

“Jasmine!”

What the hell?

Still running, I glanced over my shoulder. It was Asha, standing on the sideline, waving his arms like he wanted me to call time-out. I looked back at the Magistrate. He’d almost made it off the field. If I let him out of this plane, I figured he’d go back to hell. And I didn’t have anything left I was willing to sacrifice to follow him there. “I’m busy!” I yelled.

“Please! The need is dire. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. Thousands of lives balance on our swift actions.”

The Magistrate was gone. Too fast for me, even with all the wounds I’d inflicted, he’d split the battlefield and run home to nurse his wounds. Get better. Raise an army. Come back and flatten my ass.

I strode over to Asha, getting more and more steamed with every step. “

Now

you decide to interfere?

NOW?

When I’m on the verge of saving my brother’s life? I should do the world a favor. Split you in half this instant! Why didn’t I get mahghul guts all over the inside of your car when I had the chance?”

“I have no idea,” said Asha as he grabbed my elbow, hustled me to the portal, which, from this side, looked like a gigantic metal door. The kind you expect to see on the loading dock of an aircraft carrier.

“Could you, for once, quit sounding so kind? I’m deeply pissed at you!”

“Rightfully so. And I promise, if there is anything I can do to make it up to you, I will. But right now, we have an emergency situation.”

“No,” I said, as the metal sort of fizzled and we walked through the resulting hole into the streets of Tehran. “

You

have a situation that, once again, you are unwilling to handle all by yourself. It’s a character flaw, Asha. I’d think you’d want to work on that. Build up your backbone, so to speak.”

“I am,” Asha insisted. “Which is why I came to get you. If this country loses Zarsa, nothing I do will make any difference for the next five hundred years. But why should she listen to me? All I have done is stand around and let her get herself deeper and deeper into the mess in which she currently finds herself.”

“What mess?” I demanded as we walked toward Anvari’s. Actually it was more like a two-legged race. I was dressed so unacceptably that I could easily be arrested in the time it took for us to cross the few blocks from the portal to Zarsa’s door. So Asha had yanked off his turban, wound it around me the best he could and then held me close, hiding the rest of me with the proximity of his body. As I struggled to match his long stride I said, “We straightened it all out last night. The deal’s off. Vayl’s not going to turn her. Soheil doesn’t think she’s having an affair. End of story.”

“Not quite,” murmured Asha as we reached the back entrance to the store. He opened the door and let me in. The smell of kerosene made me gag. Instantly I knew Zarsa had not accepted our solution to her terrible dilemma and had instead come up with her own fiery plan.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A

sha and I rushed into Zarsa’s little back room, where she stood against the wall, a burning candle in her hand, her hair and clothes wet, limp with the fuel she’d poured over herself. I expected to find Soheil on his knees on the worn red and gold carpet that covered the floor, begging her to blow the candle out. But he and the children were conspicuously absent.

A letter sat on the round table that dominated the room, which Zarsa had used for her readings. The shop was in the front of the building. It was closed, which told me she’d been minding the business alone. The family lived upstairs. And though I knew Zarsa had never experienced such despair, I couldn’t believe she meant to burn down her family’s home and sole means of support. So she must be psyching herself up to take to the street. Make that final dramatic statement with a self-inflicted funeral pyre.

“Asha, you are a complete idiot,” I whispered out the corner of my mouth. “You have brought an assassin to talk a woman out of suicide. You couldn’t have made a worse choice if you’d gone back in time, plucked Cleopatra, Sylvia Plath, and Marilyn Monroe off their deathbeds and brought them here with orders to cheer Zarsa up.”

“Please,” he begged. “You have immense powers. I can feel them flowing over you like waterfalls. Must they all pertain to destruction? Surely one of them can be directed toward

saving

a life?”

“Oh, you’re a fine one to talk, ya big . . . skinny . . . procrastinator!” Now that it had become glaringly obvious I was out of good insults

and

a hypocrite — because all I wanted to do was put off dealing with this anguished, crazed woman — I gave up and joined the let’s-save-Zarsa team.

I stepped forward, holding up my hands slowly so Zarsa could see that . . . whoops. Still armed. I gave Asha my weapons. “Don’t lose those,” I ordered. “They’re not mine. And translate fast. All she has to do is pull that candle four inches toward her and we’re going to be scrambling for the fire extinguishers.”

“You are not a student,” she said flatly, taking in my blades, my state of dress and, I supposed, the trail of blood leading from my neck to the apple-sized blotch on my chest. “I felt it when I touched you. You are —”

“A student as far as anyone needs to know,” I replied firmly, my eyes telling her to keep my damn secrets as I touched my throat warily. I looked at my fingers. Fairly clean. Well, at least I’d stopped bleeding. We should celebrate. With cake. But no candles, thank you very much. “So, you’re looking like hell,” I said. “Is this the new Iranian spring fashion I’ve been hearing so much about? Little bit of a you-suck to the government for their ridiculous women’s apparel crackdown?”

She shook her head.

“Okay, Zarsa. Talk to me. I’m not here to stop you.”

Liar!

“I just want to know why.”

She leaned against the wall behind her, one hand braced to help her legs hold her upright. “I can hardly breathe,” she said, her eyes suddenly hidden behind a veil of tears. “My husband. My children. I know I should be happy to have them. I am a blessed woman. But that is why my soul weeps. To love so deeply, with every atom of your being, is to know what they can lose. To realize how horror awaits them around every corner now that my last hope is gone.” Her smile reminded me so much of Vayl’s twitchy-twitch I had to suppress a shudder.

“But, I thought you had new hope after we talked last night. Remember? About the Amanha Szeya?”

“I did,” she said. “Until I dreamed of him.”

Uh-oh.

“What, uh, what happened in your dream?”

“The same atrocities I described to you yesterday. All of them under the unwavering gaze of the Amanha Szeya. He alone can change nothing for me and my people.” She jammed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “And now I see the visions constantly. Everywhere I look it is as if the killings have already begun. Even you” — she pinned me with her desperate stare — “seem little better than a walking corpse to me.”

Now I understood the immensity of her pain. And her problem. With Vayl a no-deal and Asha unable to weight the balance, she had no place left to turn. So her desperation loomed, taking all the air out of the room, all the hope out of her heart.

For a second I couldn’t imagine how to help this woman. But I figured she’d already come up against a brick wall. She didn’t need any company in the helpless/hopeless department. So I said, “Zarsa.” I waited for her eyes to clear. For her attention to center. Knew that anything I said might not mean squat if she’d truly counted down to self-destruct. “Your original vision. What makes you think it was wrong?”

“I . . . there was a man. I thought Vayl . . . ”

“So you weren’t sure who would partner with you in this rise to power?”

“I didn’t see him clearly. That is, Soheil was with me, but there was another.”

“So you got greedy. Decided now’s the time when maybe you should have waited a week. A year. Until the right person came along. Whoever that was.”

“There

is

no right person!” Zarsa insisted hysterically, the candle shaking so badly I was afraid she’d drop it on herself accidentally.

“Seriously? You haven’t heard of anybody that open-minded Iranians like you and Soheil look up to? Some sort of underground ass-kicker who knows how to get people stirred up without resorting to blowing up shoppers and schoolchildren —”

“FarjAd Daei,” she whispered.

That name. Where had I heard it before? I had to hammer at my memory banks for a second before it came to me. The young woman who’d been hanged. She’d cried it out just before they’d executed her. “Who is he?” I asked.

“I have only heard rumors. He speaks in common places. Markets. Tea houses. He talks of peace. Of treating women as partners, not cattle. Changing our minds. Changing our times.”

“Yes!” said Asha, finally finding the courage to speak for the first time. “I overheard two men who were planning to go and hear him tonight. He’s speaking at the Oasis.”

I grabbed Asha’s arm. “Where?”

When he’d repeated the name back to me twice, I knew there was no mistake. “Do either of you know what he looks like?” I asked, digging the picture out of my pocket that I’d carried since our initial briefing.

Zarsa shook her head, but Asha nodded. “I have seen him. And heard him. That is why I was so interested in tonight’s talk. He is a teller of stories, you know.”

“You mean a liar?”

Asha snorted. “No. A master storyteller. Someone who can weave plot and character into a fascinating tale from which his listeners not only identify, but learn.”

“Is this the guy?” I showed him the picture and when his eyes lit in recognition, I could no longer put the two items I’d just discovered off to coincidence. FarjAd Daei was the man in the picture. The man scheduled to appear at the very café Vayl and I had scouted as our assassination scene yesterday evening. Knowing what I already knew about Dave’s link with the Wizard, I could only come to one conclusion. Iran’s most notorious terrorist had just set up the CIA to blot out its brightest hope for deliverance.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Y

ou don’t bring someone back from the brink in a couple of minutes. We talked to Zarsa for hours. At least we convinced her to shower early on, and we did open up the house so the fumes could exit the premises before the kids got home from school and started asking awkward questions. In the end, having an important task to do was probably the key to turning her face away from the grave.

“Such a vital thing you ask of me,” she said for the third time. “Are you sure I am capable?”

I looked her over and thought,

No, not even close. You’re so strung out it’ll take you weeks, maybe months to recover the kind of inner balance you need to function properly. But sitting around biting your fingernails and obsessing about your last stupid move is going to drive you even crazier. So

— “Absolutely. But if it’s not safe, or if Soheil doesn’t feel comfortable with our plan, make sure you leave your outdoor lights off. Got it?”

She nodded. Then she jumped up. “The house is a mess from last night! I must make it ready! Oh —” She looked at us, realizing suddenly that she was being a terrible hostess. Then she got this confused look. Did the host/guest parameters even apply in cases like these?

I stood, more than ready to rescue her. “We have to go anyway. I have quite a few preparations to make myself.”

She wanted to hug me goodbye, but I told her with a smile that I try to make it a practice not to touch Seers. She understood, and made a sign over my head that ended with her blowing me a kiss.

“What was that?” I asked.

Zarsa said, “The blessings of Aranhya, the Great Mother Spirit.”

“Cool. And for you . . . ” I did a succession of quick-march moves followed by a complicated salute. “My brother, sister, and I made it up. We always did it for our dad before he left the country, usually to fight in some conflict or another. And he always came back in one piece, so it’s gained a sort of mystical good-luck quality in our family over the years.” Which was why Dave and I did it for Evie right before she and Tim got married. I guess we might’ve chosen a more appropriate setting than the altar. But it did crack everybody up, and set the tone for a really fun wedding. Plus their marriage was still going strong. So what the hell.

Zarsa seemed to like it as well. We left her smiling, something I wouldn’t have bet a penny on at the beginning of our visit.

“The sun is beginning to set,” Asha noted as we paused outside Anvari’s so I could do up my last button. Zarsa had lent me clothes to allow for a hassle-free walk back to the house. But I wasn’t looking forward to it. Vayl would be up soon.

“Yeah. I’d better get going,” I said.

“Is there anything more I can do?” Asha asked.

“Just stick to the plan and make sure Zarsa doesn’t get hurt for taking part in it,” I replied. She ought to be okay as long as the Wizard thought we were still going to kill FarjAd Daei. But just in case . . .

He nodded. I watched him walk away with a sinking heart. If everything went according to that plan, General Danfer would be so pissed off that he’d probably find a way to pressure Pete into firing me by morning.

When I got back to the house, Dave and his crew had commandeered the living room, taking up all the furniture and most of the floor, prepping their weapons for the night’s “raid.” Looking at him as he sat with his back to the fireplace wall, his M4 in pieces on a sheet of plastic he’d found in the garage, I felt a horrible ache press against my chest. Because if this all went to shit, I’d never see him again. And we still didn’t have our past straight between us.

“Um, Dave? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” He jumped to his feet and headed toward the kitchen, so I joined him there, sitting next to him on a stool that I wished had a back. It was suddenly taking all my energy just to sit up straight.

“I was just thinking, this assignment’s going to be over soon,” I said, choosing my words carefully so I wouldn’t betray myself. “And then we’ll go our separate ways again.”

He nodded, tracing a random pattern with his forefinger onto the countertop of the little island we shared. I looked down at my own hands as I said, “I was just . . . you know, people shoot at us all the time. Eventually somebody’s going to have good aim. And one of us won’t come back. Which was why, now, I wanted to explain about Jessie.”

Though I wasn’t looking at him, I felt him stiffen. He didn’t raise his hands to stop me. Didn’t even shake his head in vehement denial. But I felt a wave of don’t-go-there come off him and very nearly caved. I didn’t, only because I thought I’d never be able to muster the nerve to talk about it again, even if I got the chance.

“You know, she believed deeply in heaven. And she wanted to go there. But she didn’t think she’d be able to if she became a vampire. She also understood the lure earthly immortality would have for her, especially after she married you. She knew you’d never agree to smoke her if she turned. So she made me promise. And she did the same for me.”

“Promises were made to be broken,” he said, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion.

I looked at him then. “I wish you could forgive me. Jessie said you might not be able to.”

“She . . . she thought it that far through?”

“We were battling vampires almost nightly. I’m surprised you didn’t do the same.”

He shrugged. “I never figured on losing.”

I spread my hands out on the countertop. The left one now bare. The right sporting a glittering reminder of how many battles I’d won. “I didn’t think about it much myself until Jessie brought it up. And then what she said made a lot of sense. She was just doing what she thought she needed to in order to save her soul, Dave.”

As I spoke, his lips drew back farther and farther, as if he’d bitten into something rancid. “She was my wife. And yet she didn’t trust something that sacred to me. If only she’d explained —”

“Could you have let her go?” I whispered. “Could you have stuck a crossbow in your wife’s chest and released an arrow into her heart, knowing the alternative was eternal life, right here on earth, with you at her side? Come on now. I could barely bring myself to do it, and I was only her sister-in-law.”

He rammed both fists onto the counter. “Why are you bringing this up now? I have to be sharp for tonight and you’re tearing my damn heart out!”

Why did I suddenly remember all those afternoons we’d spent pounding Play-Doh into pancakes in Granny May’s kitchen? Evie had wanted to play house, which was hilarious in retrospect, since not one of us knew how a normal family functioned. I’d reluctantly agreed, but Dave had taken one look at our yellow, blue, and red clay breakfast and decided to transform it into a sport. Five minutes later we’d transformed the pancakes into Frisbees and set up a course with Granny May’s Tupperware bowls that would’ve impressed an Olympic committee.

I said slowly, “In case something goes wrong at the takedown, I wanted things to be straight between us.”

“Are you asking me to forgive you?” Dave asked. I thought he sounded more grieved than aggravated. But when he scratched his neck, I was reminded I still couldn’t speak freely.

“No,” I said, surprising myself just as much as him. “I just needed to explain how it went down. And to tell you I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Jessie knew you’d keep your promise and you did.”

I bowed my head. “You gotta have a big streak of ice running through your heart to follow through on a vow like that,” I told him. “I’m apologizing for being that cold.”

Dave nodded. “You did what Jessie wanted. And if she was right, I should be down on my knees, thanking you. I know I should . . . ”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re still talking to me.”

“Well, you did have to travel six thousand miles to have this conversation,” he reminded me. We both managed a smile. The very same one, in fact. One of those things that makes it weirdly wonderful to be a twin. “Then again,” he went on, “you did bring Cassandra with you. That in itself deserves high praise.”

“So you guys are getting along pretty well, huh?” My gut twisted slightly at the thought, but I realized it wasn’t for him; it was for me. For him I wanted only happiness.

“She’s . . . amazing. I think I could spend my whole life talking to her and never get bored. I haven’t gotten to see her much today though. We’ve been really busy running through the scenario. Getting prepped. Lots of last-minute stuff I probably should’ve taken care of yesterday. I’d like to see her before we go though. Maybe I’ll go check on her now.”

Holy crap! Dave’s about to crash the we-know-you’re-the-mole party. May Day! May Day!

In my mind I could hear jets crashing and ships exploding. This was not going to be pretty if I couldn’t think of a good distraction. And my mind was a sudden and total blank!

I followed Dave out the kitchen door, my jaw working like I’d just bitten into a caramel, but nothing came out. No brilliant delay tactic. Not even a bad joke to give me five seconds to pray for a miracle. As we went past the living room I caught Cam’s eye and began to do wild charades. I jumped up and down. Made last-chance-motel faces. Pointed at Dave and then at the closed door toward which he headed. The one behind which Cassandra and Bergman had been laboring all day to develop a device that could remove the Wizard’s control from him.

“Yo, boss,” Cam called. “Question for you.”

“Hold that thought,” Dave called. “I’ve got business.”

Jet dropped something. Broke something else. Said, “Shit!” as loud as he could manage. The din would’ve brought an entire fire-house down the poles to investigate. Dave kept walking. I’ll say this for my brother: He’s got focus.

I was seriously considering grabbing a bust of Iran’s latest president, which was sitting on a pedestal between the bedrooms, and clubbing him over the head with it when Cassandra emerged from the girl’s room.

Part of my Sensitivity opens me up to very strong feelings among my fellow humans. Boy was she ever glad to see him. And likewise with my twin. In fact, if the house had been empty, I was pretty sure they’d have greeted each other in an entirely different manner.

“Where have you been all day?” Dave asked, his voice low and, for the first time in a long time, excited.

She smiled. “A little project for Jaz. She’s not very pleased with this Seer Vayl has taken up with.”

Dave glanced over his shoulder, but I’d already sidled around him. He still managed to catch my eye before I entered the bedroom. “Everything okay with the vamp there, Jazzy?” he asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I assured him. I shut the door before I could catch a glimpse of them making googly eyes at each other. Yuck.

“Bergman!” I whispered, tiptoeing up to him like Dave might have just thrown Cassandra out of his way and pressed his ear against the door. Hey, I’ve seen weirder things. Sad. But true.

He looked up from the temporary work station he and Cassandra had set up at the dressing table. They’d left it against the wall so they wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing the attached mirror, and scattered their tools across it. Bergman’s computer hardware and the gear required to modify it buddied up with Cassandra’s herbs and potions, all of which surrounded the Enkyklios.

I sat at the chair beside Bergman’s that Cassandra had obviously just vacated. “Any luck?” I asked.

He nodded as he peered through a magnifying glass at an item he held with tweezers. It was about the size of a watch battery, but it glowed the red of the rubies in my ring. “We think this will do the trick,” he said.

“Okay.” I gulped down another urge to cry. This was so not going to work if I was going to blubber every five minutes. I resolved to have a huge emotional breakdown the second I stepped foot in my apartment. I’d supply myself with chocolate. A gallon of cookie-dough ice cream. Two boxes of Kleenex. And maybe a good tearjerker to get me jump-started.

The Pursuit of Happyness

always did the trick. Yeah, that sounded like a winner.

Having planned ahead, I now felt better. At least, better able to function. “Okay. How does it work?”

Bergman took a while to answer. Finally he admitted, “I’m not completely sure. Cassandra has made it able to follow the path of the ohm.”

When my eyebrows shot up he explained. “That’s what they call the item a necromancer uses to control his, uh, zombie with.” He gave me an apologetic frown. “Cassandra finally got hold of this woman she said you guys tried to talk to before the mission even started. What was her name?” He had to think a second. “Oh yeah. Sister Doshomi. She had a story on her Enkyklios that basically explained Dave to us. He was made the second way, the way Hilda — remember her, the woman whose daughter died — who ended up as the great necromancy professor?” I nodded, feeling a jolt of sympathy for the woman who’d lost everything and still managed to reach across time to help me. “Dave was made the way Hilda suspected. The way she actually discovered before she was murdered.”

He cleared his throat. Looked at me sympathetically, like we were at a funeral, which it kind of felt like we were. “Jaz, Dave’s not just a regular zombie. He’s a zedran. Which is why there’s an ohm in the first place. You know, so the Wizard can communicate with him from a distance.” Maybe sensing that I was having a hard time digesting all his information without falling off my chair, he rushed on. “The good news is, the ohm has to be made from the Wizard’s own flesh. So once we get it out of Dave, actually once the retriever we’ve built gets it out of him, we can use it to find the Wizard.”

“How?”

“Cassandra knows a spell.”

That got my attention. I laid my hand on Bergman’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because only three weeks ago if I’d have said the word ‘spell’ to you, you’d have burst a blood vessel.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s why I wanted to come.” He put everything down and sat back. “I didn’t count on meeting Natchez. But I guess I was hoping to find somebody — or something — like him on this trip.” He shook his head in amazement. “The man knows how to

live

, Jaz. He’s not afraid of anything that I can tell. Not of getting sick. Or working something new into his repertoire. Or trying something totally off the wall. Did you know he once saw a woman on the street that he just loved the looks of, so he asked her out? Just like that! I mean, she could’ve been psycho. She could’ve had four different STDs.”

“And?”

“She was fine! They went out a few times. Didn’t have enough in common for a longer relationship and parted friends. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“He’s the same age as me, Jaz, and he’s lived, like, twenty lives compared to mine.”

“Do you really envy him as much as it sounds? I mean, if you’d spent all your time jumping out of airplanes and climbing mountains, you wouldn’t have come up with even half your inventions.”

He clasped his hands between his knees and slouched in his chair, like I was one of his professors reprimanding him for not handing in his paper its usual two weeks in advance. But when he looked at me it was with a new defiance in his eyes. “I hate being a wimp. Feeling this paranoia so extreme it’s burning knots in my chest. Like the world’s going to end if I don’t protect myself well enough, if I take one step in the wrong direction. You can’t imagine how bad it sucks.”

Actually I could. After I lost Matt, Jessie, my crew . . . the Agency kept a sharp eye on my sanity. Rightfully so, since I could feel the shards of it slicing against the inside of my skull every single day. And I’d developed a few bizarre habits that were tough to hide. Among them a tendency for my brain to stick on a word like a bad stutter. Also a habit of blacking out at the worst possible moment. Fortunately I’d been able to toe the line long enough to get my head on fairly straight. I said, “So what’s your next step? Surfing those massive Australian waves? Skiing the Alps? Exploring the wilds of Burma?”

Bergman cleared his throat. “Actually, I thought I’d just explain how the retriever works. And then, you know, after this mission’s over? Maybe take a vacation to Cancun. Buy some funky clothes and tell the girls I’m a musician. You know — see what happens.”

I chuckled. “Sounds like an excellent place to start.” I scooted my chair forward. “So show me.”

He handed me the magnifying glass. “It’s the same principal as the bug card. Only with a magical wallop. You introduce it into Dave’s body. It zeroes in on the ohm. Attaches to it. Disables it. And then reemerges.”

“How does it get in and out?” I pictured it like the killer pill he’d made to zap one of the vamps we’d targeted during our last mission. We’d tried to get him to eat it, so I was seeing Dave wolfing this thing down in a cheeseburger or whatever equivalent we could drum up on short notice. Given our current location it would probably be hidden among some rice-stuffed veggie leaves.

Bergman took off his glasses, cleaned, and reset them on his face. His hands shook slightly as he worked the frames. “Cassandra says, in order for the magic to be effective, the retriever has to take the same route as the ohm.” He stopped, waiting for me to figure it out. It took less time than I would’ve liked. I felt my lips draw back from my teeth in a snarl as I said, “You mean we have to cut Dave’s throat?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

D

ave and his crew took off before Vayl woke. The idea, in order to “fool” the Wizard, was for them to leave early, make sure the place was thoroughly scouted and covered before we arrived to carry out the assassination. We’d actually run through the scenario the night before, after Soheil left. Though, with everyone in the know, it seemed an empty exercise. Even the mole understood we’d never join them. Because we would head to the “right” location.

They left the house in twos, with Dave and Amazon Grace in the first pair. That gave me a chance to powwow with the rest of his crew. We met in the living room, Cam, Jet, and Natchez leaning against the back of the couch as I explained about the retriever while Cassandra and Bergman backed me up when they came up with the hard questions.

The guys didn’t like the mode of delivery any more than I did.

“Listen, before we slice into the man’s throat, isn’t there any way we can make one hundred percent sure he’s the mole?” asked Natch.

As Bergman threw him a sympathetic look I said grimly, “He’s it. And it’s not like we’re going to jam a dagger into his carotid. It’ll just be a little incision. Just enough to insert the thing.”

I hope

.

“When?” asked Jet.

“After the mission is over. Vayl and I will handle it.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” said Cam. “We’re his men. We’re going to help get this monkey off his back.” Chorus of hell-yeahs from the other guys.

My mind immediately jumped to the mahghul. Would they gather for an event like the one we were planning? I reminded myself to check the roof the next time I stepped outside. I said, “This isn’t some kind of intervention where we all sit around and whale on Dave for spazzing on our Monday-night football parties and showing up drunk at our weddings. This is a violent attack on a military officer, during which he will die. Not” — I held up a finger to ward off the slew of questions I could see coming — “because of the cut on his throat. But because as soon as the Wizard’s control is released he’ll go back to the state he was in before the Wizard took him. Which was dead.”

I could hardly bear to look at their faces, tight with pain and despair. It made it nearly impossible to contain my own. Which was why I totally avoided looking at Cassandra. Thank God she kept silent. If I’d have heard one hint of a sob, I’d have lost it. I went on. “If we’re lucky, he’ll come back. Like I did.”

I gave them a brief sketch of my own revival, Raoul’s hand in it, and his willingness to take on Dave if my brother made the choice. I hesitated, not wanting to utter the next words, knowing they had to be spoken.

I’m so sorry, Cassandra

. “But you have to know, he may choose to stay gone. In which case, it would suck for you to have touched a superior officer with the intention of harming him. And we all know nobody will believe the Wizard had a hand in his passing, because we won’t be able to prove he had control over Dave in the first place.”

We wouldn’t be able to prove anything about the Wizard, which was why, after all this was over, Danfer would go head-hunting and Pete would have to give him mine. I’d be unemployed. Out of the job that had sustained me through the worst tragedy of my life. Dammit! Wasn’t there a single bright spot in this whole, muck-ridden mess?

Of course there is, Jazzy,

Granny May said from her spot at the bridge game she kept going near the center of my temporal lobe. She set a coaster under Bob Hope’s water glass, the game temporarily suspended while Abe Lincoln made popcorn.

As bright as a spotlight, if you’ll just look hard enough to see it

.

I’m looking, dammit!

But at the moment all I could see was Cam, watching Cassandra, who’d sought the comfort of Bergman’s arms at my last pronouncement. “Oh, he’s coming back,” Dave’s right-hand man said confidently, giving our Seer a wink when she finally turned to look at him. The cheerful optimism on his scarred face made her sit up straighter and say, “How can you be sure?”

“Woman, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And vice versa. No fully functioning man gives that up willingly.” Cam nodded. “He’ll be back.”

I wished I could feel so sure. Unfortunately I knew how tough his return trip might be. But I kept my mouth shut for once, and in the end I convinced Dave’s unit to leave freeing him to us. We said our goodbyes and they left. At which point Vayl emerged from the guys’ room.

He wore a button-down shirt of dark purple silk that flowed off his broad shoulders and caressed his chest. His coal-black trousers hugged his lean hips with the help of a matching leather belt, and I was sure his shoes had been crafted by a master cobbler who, like his great-grandfather before him, still plied his trade on the streets of Milan. On one hand I could’ve scooped that seething mass of masculinity and power into a waffle cone and savored dessert for the next forty-eight hours. On the other, I badly wanted to kick his ass.

Because he’d taken my blood, Vayl was attuned to my emotions. So he turned to me in surprise, detouring through the living room on his way to the kitchen.

Uh-oh

.

I’d been leaning against the couch in the spot Cam had vacated. Now I backed behind the love seat, keeping it and our consultants, who still sat on it, between my boss and me. “Hey, how are you?” I asked, keeping my voice level, trying not to glare. I’d already chosen my fights tonight. Ours wasn’t included.

Vayl gave Bergman and Cassandra a nod that they took as dismissal. They helped each other up, stumbling over each other’s excuses to leave.

“Wow, look at the time,” said Bergman. “I’d better go get the TV van ready for later.”

At the same time Cassandra said, “I’m going to work on that spell you’ll need to locate the Wizard. Perhaps it will help clear my head. If I could just squeeze one vision out of this fog that will help David . . . ” She trailed off and let Bergman help her from the room.

“They’re good people,” I said as various doors closed behind our consultants.

Too good to be soiled by contact with the likes of us

. I was thinking no more missions for either one for at least six months.

“They are,” Vayl agreed. “And yet, the strength of your feelings is not directed toward them just now. And neither are they positive emotions.”

I pressed my lips together. Maybe if I did it hard enough this whole unpleasant business would go away and we could get on with the assassinating. Or not.

“I am puzzled,” Vayl said with the quirk to his lips that passed for a frown. “I have only just risen. How is it that I have disturbed you so deeply already?”

“Ha, ha, ha.” What a lovely little trill of a laugh I have. When I’m drunk. Otherwise — gag. “You know, I’m just thinking about the, uh, the thing tonight. Getting wound up. Like I usually do. You know me.”

“Yes, I do.” He approached me slowly. As if I might spook at any sudden moves. His brows slanted down. “You and I should be fine. I have rescinded my agreement with Zarsa. I will not try to meet Badu and Hanzi until I am sure they will not be harmed by our reunion. And yet I sense you would cheerfully slam my head against the wall if you thought you could get away with it. Why is that?”

“Uh.” My voice broke. I cleared my throat, which felt far too dry for somebody who’d just downed an entire glass of tea. “Do we really have time for this?” I tapped the face of my watch. “We should be at the café in, like —” I checked the time.

Crap! An hour?

How was I going to put him off that long?

Screw it

. I sat down. On the floor. Looked up at him until he sank down in front of me. I was about to rip him a new one over Zarsa. Let him know I didn’t appreciate being the other woman. But some part of me knew that wasn’t the real problem. And when I opened my mouth, that was the bit that spoke up.

“You need to bury your boys,” I said.

Immediately his powers shifted. As if I’d physically threatened him, he raised his abilities the way a boxer will lift his fists. “What do you mean?” he asked, biting off each word as if he wished it were my head. His eyes, which had been their typical relaxed brown, began to darken.

The ghost of my mother rose before me. Not like I’d seen her in hell, but the real-life version. She spread her nicotine-stained fingers like she was holding a plate full of chicken gizzards and screeched,

See? This is why you need to learn to bury your feelings. Never mind how crazy that’ll make you. These conversations never turn out well!

Ignoring her, I plowed on. “You never really grieved. I mean, you went from fury over their deaths, to plotting and pulling off the ultimate revenge. And then, from what I gather, you stepped straight into denial that you might never see them again. You never really mourned. And you definitely never accepted. This whole search has been one long demonstration of how far you’ll go to deny the fact that Badu and Hanzi died. That you lost them. And that it feels horrible.”

“How do you know what I did and did not do?” he snarled. “You were not there. You did not follow me to their graves every night.”

“What did you do there?” I asked mildly. “Did you talk to them about how much you missed them? Or did you promise them vengeance?”

Vayl’s powers tightened up another notch. I didn’t believe he’d freeze me, but I could tell by the look in his eye I’d pushed him about as far as he was willing to go. So I gave him one last shove.

“I need to be able to trust you. Professionally I know I can. But if you want to be with me . . . you need to be with me all the way.”

“This is an ultimatum, then?” he spat, his black eyes sparking red. “Either give up on meeting my boys or forget about us?”

I sighed. “Liliana really did a number on you, didn’t she?” At his wide eyes I said, “I don’t do ultimatums, Vayl. It’s not a this or that deal. You’re going to do what you feel is right. So am I. That’s why they call us adults. And, frankly, I do think you should try to meet the souls that once lived in the bodies of your boys. Someday. After you’ve said goodbye to Hanzi and Badu. When you’ve come to realize that the men you meet in America will not be the teenage Rom you loved beyond words over two hundred years ago. They’ll be grown-ups. Who were raised by men other than you. Men they call Dad.”

Vayl shook his head. Hard. “No. It must not be like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because they are all I have!” He spat the words like they’d been beaten out of him.

“No, Vayl,” I said softly. I let my fingers brush across the top of his hand. Just a touch to remind him of what could be. He shuddered. To be honest, I felt the same. I sucked in a breath. Forced myself to concentrate. I said, “They were all you

had

.”

Before his eyes could go completely green I held up my hands. “My point is, your obsession has already messed with me. The fact that you took Zarsa’s blood. That you did something that intimate with her. That you planned to get even closer. You’re right. It makes me want to wrap you up in rubber bands and then just sit next to you and snap them every time I feel annoyed at you. Which at this point would be all night long.”

He should have looked remorseful. But I thought my words actually excited him. His voice, always husky and low took on a rich undertone as he said, “Jasmine? Are you jealous?”

“Not quite,” I said softly. “But if you belonged to me. Only me. I would be.”

He knew exactly what I meant. He ran his hands up my thighs. Oh. So. Slowly. “Soon,” he whispered.

I shook my head. “Not until you’re ready.”

He pulled his hands back. My thighs throbbed, missing their weight, their heat. “My boys,” he whispered.

“I love them too,” I told him. “Because they were yours.” Startling thought.

I wish they’d been mine. I’d have kicked their asses up, down, and sideways before I’d have allowed them to be the kind of hellions who’d steal a farmer’s wagon. Then they would never have been in a position for that same farmer to shoot them dead

. “But you’re holding them too hard.”

He took a while to ponder the palms of his hands. The mask that typically held back every emotion he ever experienced had slid back into place. “I will have to think on it. This is not something I can just . . . do.”

“Sure.”

I watched him get up, go into the kitchen. I still had to tell him the man we were assigned to take out tonight wasn’t the Wizard’s henchman, but somebody our country would love to support if only we’d known about him. I sighed. It should be good news.

Guess what, Vayl? We don’t have to kill anybody tonight. Let’s partaaay!!

Except the uppity-ups wouldn’t buy our evidence. It was way too flimsy in light of their particular theory, which took into account everything they’d invested in this project. They wanted results. And since we couldn’t promise them that, at least not the kind they could parade across the TV screen, we’d no doubt lose our jobs before we had a chance to pull off the mission as we’d rearranged it.

I went into the kitchen. Vayl was sitting at the counter, pouring blood into a coffee cup. I took the stool beside him. “Is there any way we can avoid contacting Pete and the DOD dudes until our mission’s over?”

“Why?”

I explained what I’d learned about FarjAd Daei while he was out of touch. And my suspicions that my little rewrite of the Big Boss’s script would be met with either outright hostility — “You’re FIRED!” — or surface cooperation — “Well, what you say makes sense” — at which point General Danfer covers the receiver, tells an aide to call Dave on the other line, and orders him to follow through on the assignment Vayl and I inexplicably refuse to complete.

Vayl looked at his cup thoughtfully. “I apologize.”

“What?”

“You have shouldered the burden of this entire mission yourself.”

“Naw, not really. I mean —”

“Yes. And you must be frantic about David. But you have not said a word to me, your

sverhamin

. To whom you should feel free to reveal any thought. Any wish.”

I shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

He shook his head. “It was what you did before we met. Long before I gave you Cirilai. I have shoved you back into your former life. And you barely even noticed. Were you so comfortable there?”

I shrugged. “No. Horribly, terribly

un

comfortable. But I knew where I stood. Here, it’s like I’m never sure of my next step. Nobody tells me the rules until five minutes before I need to know. And you.” I shook my head. “Being with you is like riding the highest, longest roller coaster ever made.”

When he winced I added, “Don’t get me wrong. I love coasters. I’m just explaining why I can transition back to Lonersville so easily.”

He wrapped his hands around his cup. I could see the whites of his knuckles, so I was surprised he didn’t actually break it. He said, “Then I will have to make sure you come to like your new situation so well you cannot stand to slide back anymore. Not even for a day.”

As we stared at each other across the countertop I felt like he’d just made some sort of sacred vow. Especially when Cirilai sent a shot of warmth up my arm. I managed a breathy “Okay,” and realized I was considering climbing on top of that smooth flat surface, knowing that if I did he’d meet me halfway and whatever happened would be Guinness World Record material. Then Cole walked into the room.

I tried not to glare. But dammit! He was like a three-year-old. Always interrupting at the worst possible moment! He sauntered in like he was actually welcome, splayed himself across half the counter, and grinned charmingly. “So. What are we doing?”

Sending your ass to Portugal the first chance we get,

I thought, my inner bitch snapping her fingers in his face as I spoke. Surprisingly, Vayl was the one who kept his temper. He said, “A great deal of Jasmine’s plan tonight rotates on your ability to convince our target that he is a target, but not of our country. That, indeed, we have come to help.”

“We don’t know much about him beyond the fact that his name is FarjAd Daei,” I added. “And that he’s sort of the Martin Luther King Jr. for his people. Which would explain why the Wizard wants him dead.”

“Why is it the good ones always die young?” Cole wondered.

“Generally it is because the bad ones have been in charge far too long and they are reluctant to release power,” Vayl said.

Score another one for the Master of Understatement,

I thought. But I gave Vayl a smile. He had a very European way of sliding up on a subject that I’d only recently come to appreciate. Maybe it had something to do with becoming one of those subjects. I said, “Well, look, I don’t know how long we can keep this guy

alive

. I don’t expect him to stress the retirement system around here, for sure. But we have to, at least, keep him safe until the Wizard is no longer a threat.”

“So has the plan changed?” Cole asked.

“Not much,” I said. “We set up just like for the assassination. We know the event’s not private, so the three of us can enter the café as arranged. Vayl goes to the bathroom early. When FarjAd exits the main room to relieve himself, the two of us follow, bag him without the previously planned fatal blow, hustle him out the window to Asha’s waiting car, and hide him at Zarsa’s house until it’s safe for him to go home.”

“And Zarsa’s okay with this?” Cole asked, slicing a narrow look at Vayl.

“She’s practically frothing at the mouth for a chance to help,” I said.

Cole gaped at me. “You

talked

to her? When?”

“Today. She’s a mess, you know.”

He blew a breath through his teeth. “Well, Christ, who the hell can live here for long and not be? I haven’t seen so much pain in one place since I watched that training video on torture.”

We were silent, conceding the point. Which was why we heard so clearly the knock at the door. “That’ll be Asha,” I said. “Everybody ready?”

The guys nodded. Though I didn’t expect violence, I’d geared up for it. After leaving Bergman I’d gone back to my room, dug into my weapons bag, and pulled out my usual array of guns and blades. Grief sat in its customary shoulder holster. Grandpa Samuel’s bolo was snug in its hip sheath. Since my holy water carrier had been converted to a chew toy, I now wore wrist sheaths for throwing blades on both arms. Knives on the left. Stars on the right.

Since Vayl and I had both been the victims of thrown blades on our last mission, I’d used our downtime to raise my own proficiency in that area as well as swordplay. Now I was confident I’d increased my ability to keep enemies at a distance, which was always my main concern.

Bergman had also outfitted us with his latest improvement on group communication devices. For receiving audio we still had the tiny hearing-aide type devices that fit into our ears. But for transmitting, we’d graduated from mint-style gadgets that stuck to the roofs of our mouths to much smaller stick-on items that looked remarkably like beauty marks. Mine was adorable and went in the crease of my left cheek, à la Marilyn Monroe. Vayl had placed his just above and to the right of his lip. Cole had started with his on the end of his nose which, while hilarious, made you want to recommend a good dermatologist the second you saw him. So in the end he’d put it on his chin. The result — now, instead of hearing our comrades in the woofer range of surround-sound stereo, they sounded more like themselves.

We went to the door and I let Asha in. I expected an überawkward moment when he and Vayl met. But Asha took care of that problem right away. “So you belong to Jasmine,” he said in his melancholy voice. It somehow delivered Vayl his deepest condolences without bearing a trace of malice toward me.

Vayl let out a bark of laughter as he shook Asha’s hand. “Indeed. I am honored to meet the Amanha Szeya. Your legend is vast.”

“And unearned as of late,” Asha said. He turned to Cole. “And you, young hero? Do you also belong to Jasmine?”

Though Cole sent me a quick, searching glance, he grinned at Asha and said, “Not even close, buddy. I’m a free spirit. But if you know any beautiful lady Amanha Szeyas who’d like some company . . . point the way.”

Asha smiled, lighting up the entire room. I instantly felt better. Surely everything would go according to plan tonight. Just because Asha had smiled.

Chapter Thirty

I

t did seem at first as if we were charmed. We arrived at the café in plenty of time to get good seats near the bathroom so no one would notice when we slipped away. Vayl sat across from me at a small white table, giving us each a full view of the room. Without hesitation, Cole settled in the seat beside mine. If we’d been in America, I suspected he’d have gone so far as to rest his arm across the back of my chair, give Vayl that challenging stare I’d seen him send a couple of times when he thought I wasn’t looking. But Cole knew the rules in Iran. A casual touch in our country could get us jail time in this one. So he kept his hands on the laminate and behaved.

Even more miraculously, most of the people attending the evening’s festivities spoke English, so Vayl and I didn’t feel lost in a sea of gibberish. They didn’t say anything worth overhearing. Asked after each other’s families. Commented on the weather. But their nods, their smiles, and that hand gesture I’d first seen at the hanging, all pointed to a bigger, more exciting conversation going on just under the surface.

The evening started to go wrong when the owner and his pals began unrolling the blinds that had been tied at the tops of the windows. Claustrophobia scratched at my skull as, one by one, my portholes to the outside world were blocked. Shortly afterward Asha called.

We’d left him in the car, though he’d protested. “I would like to go in with you. I could help,” he’d said. His mournful face held such eagerness I nearly hugged him.

“Dude, you’re the getaway driver,” said Cole.

“We may need to exit quickly,” Vayl agreed. “It would help if you were ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

More to make him feel involved than out of a true sense of need, I’d donned my special specs and given him the access number. “Just phone me if you see something fishy,” I’d told him.

Now I put my hand over my ear to hide the tiny arm that snaked out to provide me with audio and looked down, so the movement of my lips would be hidden in the folds of my hijab. “Yeah?”

“The mahghul are gathering.”

“What? Here?”

“Yes. What is it that you intend?” he asked, his voice strained.

“It’s not us, Asha. Somebody else must be looking for trouble tonight.”

“Should I come in?”

“Are you sure the source of the danger is inside?”

Long pause. “No. The sidewalks are busy tonight.”

“Well, we’re already inside. So we’ll do what we can from here. Why don’t you scout around out there? See what you come up with. Call if you need help, okay?”

“Okay.”

I disconnected. “Crap.” I told the guys what was happening. Both of them thought we had another assassin in our midst.

“This guy FarjAd’s got to have a ton of enemies,” Cole reasoned. “In a country full of radicals, his viewpoint is bound to raise alarms. Frankly, I can’t believe he’s still roaming around free. Either he’s one lucky sucker or they’ve only just started hearing about him.”

“Just look at this assemblage,” Vayl agreed. “Strangers such as we should not be given such easy access if they wish for FarjAd to live a long life.”

“The whole point is freedom,” I reminded them. “These people are trying to create an atmosphere where it’s okay to just walk in and listen. You know? Like in America?”

“Well, all this freedom is going to get their keynote speaker killed,” said Cole.

“Goddammit!” I hissed the word, but it got Vayl and Cole’s attention. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you two quite vying for coolest agent of the month and help me figure out how to save a guy who’s naive enough to think he can run around Iran having open forums?”

Vayl’s nod allowed me the point. “People are milling about enough that I believe we can move through the room without causing undue attention. It is Secret Service time.”

Even though Cole had only been hanging with us a little while, he knew what Vayl meant. When we’re not working, we’re training, and Vayl’s go-to drill is the Secret Service. The idea is to disguise ourselves and then try to pick one another out of a crowd. It’s how we learn to blend so we don’t get nailed before — or after — our missions are completed. In this case, we weren’t looking for Cole in a ball cap and a flannel shirt or Vayl sporting plastic-rimmed glasses and a briefcase. We wanted the killer Asha had detected.

We got up and spread out. Every computer had a user, as well as two or three onlookers. The tables were all full and small groups of men and women stood in the spaces between, chatting comfortably as they waited for the evening to get underway. The mix of men and women was about even, with the atmosphere equivalent to what you might expect from a crowd waiting to see a much-anticipated play. I had one of those small-world moments I often experience while out-of-country, when I understand that yawning gaps in culture and belief systems are never so huge they can’t be bridged. There’s always common ground. Like how much we all enjoy the company of people we agree with.

I didn’t catch sight of FarjAd at first because he was hidden behind a group of students. I’d thought they were gathered around a computer, because they were laughing every few seconds. A sure sign one of them had found a hilarious Web site. Then the group split, their grinning faces following the subject of their attention as he emerged to greet the rest of the crowd.

He had a presence that made you smile before you realized what you were doing. I’d met so few people like him it was hard to compare. Our secretary, Martha, whose husband was a minister, shared his kindness. But not his immense, almost booming vitality. It crackled through the room like electricity, and I wasn’t surprised to find the hairs on my neck standing on end as he came closer to my position.

I tore my eyes from him and scanned the area, concentrating on the people standing closest to him. Vayl and Cole would take care of their zones, and hopefully we’d discover the culprit in time to divert whatever disaster he or she had in mind. I hadn’t found anybody suspicious by the time I looked back at FarjAd. To find him beaming amiably at me.

“It is so good of you to come,” he said, taking my hands in his and bowing over them. “I have not seen your face before, true?”

“True,” I replied, realizing too late I was smiling again. As a general rule, you try not to do that during the Secret Service drill. Throws you off.

“And from where have you traveled to be with us this night?”

I’m a student from Canada studying Farsi,

said my brain, just like it had practiced. Repeatedly. I looked into those shrewd brown eyes, only a couple of inches above mine, and realized I couldn’t lie. Some people just demand honesty. They’re like walking jolts of truth juice. Granny May had been that way. She’d skewer you with her don’t-screw-with-me stare and you’d be babbling out a confession before the cookie crumbs had dried on your lips.

“I’m from America,” I told him. “My friends and I have come to save your life.”

I don’t know how I thought he’d react. Maybe like Cole, who squawked in my ear. Or Vayl, who whispered, “You must be joking.” But I certainly didn’t expect him to lean his head sideways and say, “May I deliver my speech first? These people have risked a great deal to hear me. And I hate to disappoint them.”

I found myself nodding. “Okay.” I cocked my head at him as his eyes began to twinkle, reminding me oddly of Cam. “Who

are

you?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Do you know how they say the worst kinds of reformers are those who have sinned themselves?”

“You mean, like former smokers are the most rabid antismoking fanatics on earth?”

“Exactly.” The twinkle dimmed. “When I was a young man I joined the Ministry of Intelligence.” He looked me right in the eye, accepting my shock and disgust as he said, “I have done unspeakable things for which I may never be forgiven. I have scarred my people and my country. This is the only way I can think of to put it right again.”

“That must’ve been one hell of an epiphany,” I said.

Still meeting my eyes, his brightened as the memory played through his mind. “You have no idea how the birth of a child will change a man.”

I thought of my father, who’d been out of the country the day Dave and I were born. “No,” I said, “I don’t.”

“Then listen,” he said. He went to a table near the center of the room and stood on the closest chair. He didn’t even have to hold up his arms for quiet. People just stopped and listened.

Holy crap

, my stunned little brain thought,

he’d be great in an E.F. Hutton commercial

.

His message shocked me too. It was so — well — reasonable. Not something I’d expect to hear from a crowd pleaser in the capital city of Iran. As he spoke I studied the faces of his audience. Rapt. Optimistic. Peaceful. Not one of them looked prepared to end his life. These were some true-blue converts. Since I couldn’t find the threat in my area of influence, I moved to another spot in the room, occasionally pausing to check on my partners or tune into the talk.

“We must not concede our country to bullies and bandits,” FarjAd insisted at one point. “Their club is fear. And they beat us with it constantly. We become like abused women. Convinced we deserve our fates and hoping for nothing better. Content to let our children become inured to the continuous spewing of hatred for free lands from teachers, priests, and government-controlled media. Accepting of the ridiculous notion that our sons and brothers must destroy themselves in order to kill two or three or ten enemy men in the name of some far-flung outrage.”

Murmurs of agreement from the crowd. FarjAd held his hands out to them, his eyes wide with passion. “We must stand tall again. We are a blessed people. These are the laws we must live by again: love, forgiveness, fairness, generosity to those who are less fortunate.” He lapsed into Farsi.

“Cole,” I hissed. “What’s he saying?”

“He’s quoting a famous Persian poet named Sadi,” Cole replied. “I’m not good enough to translate the rhyme. But basically Sadi said all human beings are connected to each other. And therefore, we can’t stand idly by while even one of us suffers.”

FarjAd had a lot more to say, but I stopped listening. Too distracting for me to be of any use if something violent went down. I retreated to a corner and, using the menu on my nifty glasses, called Asha. “Anything?”

“Just more mahghul,” he said. “How about you?”

“Nothing so far. But this guy. Eloquent doesn’t even come close to his speaking ability. They’re enthralled!”

“His potential to lead this country into peace and prosperity is — how you put it — off the charts. The greatest I have seen in fifty years. You

must

keep him safe.”

Asha’s urgency fueled my own. How was I supposed to protect him when all I could come up with was a general sense of menace? I hung up, looking at FarjAd with new eyes. Yesterday I’d been planning to kill him. Now I thought maybe he was the leader these people needed to enact the change they were looking for, and I was deeply afraid he wouldn’t live through the night.

“Anything, Vayl?” I asked, meeting his eyes across the room. He stood near the bathroom door, leaning against the wall as he surveyed the crowd. “Nothing.”

“How about you, Cole?”

He sat at an abandoned Internet station, his back to the computer. “Naw. These people seem pretty stoked for FarjAd. If we were at a pep rally they’d all be cheering like horny teenagers.”

You know what? Maybe this is all just coincidence. The mahghul are here because one of these couples is going to get in a huge fight later tonight and end up killing each other. The end.

Still I waited. And watched. And when his speech was over, and FarjAd jumped down from the chair, I began another circuit of the room.

I suppose what first caught my eye was the guy’s size. I actually thought Asha had snuck into the room for a second, this man was so tall. Plus, he wore the same sort of turban Asha favored. Also a long white thobe over beige pants, which stood out among the men, most of whom had come dressed in Western-style clothes.

I hadn’t caught sight of him before, and he definitely hadn’t entered through the main doorway. Which meant he’d come in through the kitchen. A strange way to join the party.

“Guys,” I whispered. “Check out the white turban, my six o’clock from FarjAd.”

I inched closer. Something about the way he moved seemed eerily familiar. It was the same sensation you get recognizing an actor in a film, but you can’t remember what you’ve seen him in before.

He kept his back to me. Almost like he knew I was there. How could he? Still, he had an uncanny way of turning with the crowd just when I was about to get a good look at his face. And he kept getting closer to FarjAd.

“I don’t like this guy,” I finally said.

“I agree,” said Vayl. “Who has the best angle?”

“I’m totally blocked,” said Cole. “Congratulators out the wazoo.”

“FarjAd keeps moving between me and the Turban,” said Vayl. “It looks like he is yours, Jasmine.”

“Okay. And when all hell breaks loose?”

“We grab him and run, as per the original plan,” said Vayl.

The crowd around FarjAd was thick. I gave a few people my dazzling Lucille Robinson smile, which allowed me some progress, but not enough to get to the Turban before he reached his target. With mounting worry and frustration, I weighed my options and came up with only one truly workable alternative. I pulled a FarjAd and climbed on a chair.

It made my interest in the Turban obvious if he bothered to turn and look. He didn’t. He’d almost reached FarjAd by the time I’d found my new vantage point. And he was solely focused on the man, who smiled and shook hands with an exuberance that somehow lit the room.

The Turban made a move only people in my business should recognize. Which was when I saw the dark glint of metal. The shockingly familiar outline of a weapon I’d never expected to see inside this room.

“Gun!” I yelled.

Instant chaos.

Vayl and Cole surged forward to protect FarjAd as the crowd screamed and scattered. Those nearest the doors ran outside, allowing a steady stream of mahghul in.

I didn’t pull Grief. I wanted this assassin alive. So instead I yanked a knife from my wrist sheath and winged it at the attacker’s back. I hit the Turban squarely between the shoulder blades, bringing a disappointed shriek from the mahghul. The Turban dropped to his knees. Still he struggled to bring his gun, one of those Bergman had carried all the way from America for the express use of Dave’s team, to bear.

Vayl shot the sheath of his cane sword at the Turban’s shoulder, knocking his arm off target just as he squeezed the trigger. Bullets peppered an entire row of monitors, shattering glass, leaving behind a mass of dead black screens. It was a miracle no people were hit, but they’d all dropped to the floor as soon as the Manx began its thunderous attack.

I threw another blade, burying it in the meat of the Turban’s shoulder. He dropped the gun. Another knife, to the back of the thigh, took him all the way to the floor.

Though the mahghul had crowded toward me at my first throw, none of them had jumped me. As I continued to broadcast a strong, antimurderous intent, they turned to the Turban, swarming him like a mass of gigantic swamp rats.

Vayl grabbed at the single arm he’d managed to swing free and yanked him from the bottom of the writhing pile, snatching off the three or four attached mahghul as he and Cole secured him. As soon as the Turban became a captive the mahghul lost interest and began loping out of the café.

I jumped off the chair, ran to FarjAd, and took his arm. “I thought you were being figurative,” he gasped as I pulled him toward the kitchen. With a wounded prisoner in tow, no way were we jumping out any windows. So my next choice was a back door.

“You’ve been reading too much poetry,” I told him. I eyeballed my specs, and seconds later had Asha on the phone. “It’s happened,” I told him. “But FarjAd’s alive. Meet us at the car. You’re driving.”

Cole picked up the Manx, Vayl hefted the Turban over one shoulder, and they followed FarjAd and me into the cooking area. As I’d feared, we had plenty of witnesses for our escape. Maybe five altogether. But they were all panicked. All headed for the same exit as we were. We let them go first. Hoped they wouldn’t think to scope out Asha’s BMW or wonder why we were taking the assassin with us. FarjAd, the master storyteller, would have to come up with a whopper to cover this one.

Asha sat in the driver’s seat, peering over his shoulder anxiously as we piled in. Cole and FarjAd in the front seat. Vayl, the Turban, and I in the back.

“Go, go, go!” I yelled as a couple of FarjAd’s followers belatedly realized he’d been hustled away by absolute strangers and came after us, shouting and waving for us to stop.

Asha peeled out like a drag racer. At which point FarjAd and Cole buckled their seat belts. The Turban moaned. I nodded to Vayl and straightened the assassin in his seat, forcing his face upward so we could both see it better. I yanked the turban off his head. And realized he wasn’t a guy at all.

“Grace?” murmured Vayl.

I sat back. Stunned. Everything had pointed to Dave. “Are you insane?” I whispered. “You’re an elite officer in the United States military. You have just betrayed, not only your entire country and all of your comrades, but every woman in Iran who stands to gain from FarjAd’s survival.” I studied her face, trying to fathom her motives. Her stony expression gave nothing away. Not even the immense amount of pain she must be experiencing. Finally I asked, “Why?”

“I was obeying orders.”

“From who?”

“My commanding officer.”

“Your commanding officer on this mission is Vayl,” I told her. “And Vayl expected you to be at the Hotel Sraosa with the rest of your team. Therefore you have disobeyed your commanding officer.”

She winced then, her eyes darting to the window, as if she’d had the same thoughts herself and wanted to escape them. “We told you Dave was the mole,” I said. “And yet, knowing his orders were coming directly from the Wizard, you still obeyed him. What’s the deal with that, Grace?” I asked her.

“Am I going to die?” Her voice had become small. Faint.

“If you’re lucky,” I said. I know it was cruel. Screw it. She deserved every gob of shit that hit her now. “Tell me exactly what he said to you.”

“He just said to come watch you. He suspected that you’d been taken over by the Wizard without your knowledge. He said if you didn’t seem to be gearing up for the job that I was supposed to do it.”

“And how were you supposed to get away afterward?”

“He made it clear it was my choice. That I’d be caught. Probably tortured. Definitely killed.”

“Grace. Think. That’s not Dave’s MO. He’d never send one of his own into that kind of situation. Not ever. That’s a Wizard move.”

She began to cry then. Soft, muffled sobs that made her moan with pain every time they shook her. “I loved him so much. I’d have done anything for him. Anything.”

Obviously

. I looked at Vayl.

Does love make fools of us all? Maybe. Eventually. At least for a little while.

Chapter Thirty-One

W

e left FarjAd and Asha with Zarsa and Soheil, who still hadn’t gotten over their awe by the time we moved on. Since they didn’t know of a doctor who wouldn’t blab to the authorities, we took Grace back to the house, stowed her facedown in the girls’ room bed, and let Cassandra experiment with her nursing skills, which, while admittedly rusty, were still exceptional.

Before I left I said, “We can’t get you to a hospital until this mission is complete, Grace, and it’s not done until the Wizard’s dead. But that should be tonight. As soon as the guys are back I’ll send in the best backup medic. Who is that?”

“David,” she said miserably.

I muttered a very bad word under my breath. “Next?”

“Cam.”

“Okay.” I turned to leave.

“Jaz?”

I nearly snapped at her. But since she still had three of my blades sticking out of her body, I figured enough was probably enough. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded. “You’d better be.”

When Cassandra assured me she had everything she needed, I went to the kitchen. All three of my guys were there, standing around looking like they could use a stiff drink.

“Phase two?” asked Cole.

I nodded, unstrapping the sheath from my right wrist. I chose the knife I wanted. It had a short, thin blade, which I held in the stove burner until it glowed red. While I watched the sanitization process I tried to jump out of myself. Not physically. This was no time to confront the Magistrate. I just needed that separation between action and emotion that would allow me to cut my brother’s throat without collapsing into a gibbering heap. At least until later.

The front door slammed. My heart constricted.

“They’re back,” said Bergman, his voice pitched so high I almost expected to look up and see someone strangling him.

“Jasmine,” Vayl said, his voice icy, his powers rising. “Can you do this?”

I nodded, raising my eyes to his. I couldn’t explain that only I loved David enough to make this work. That I didn’t trust anyone else to be quick. That I thought even Vayl, who was strong enough, cool enough, might be too distracted by the blood to go fast. I suddenly understood the stories I’d heard of families who, during the Middle Ages, had piled wood high on their condemned relative’s pyres. Though their loved ones had been consigned to burn at the stake for choosing the wrong religion, or bewitching the wrong husband, their concern in the end had been for as much speed and as little pain as possible. Funny how some things never change.

I turned off the burner. Held the knife behind me and leaned casually against the counter as my brother walked into the room, scratching steadily at the back of his neck. He smiled when my eyes met his. I reminded myself the soul looking out from those deep green orbs was trapped, screaming to be free.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

I gave him Lucille’s fake warmth, hoping he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. “Like clockwork. What did you expect, bro? You’re working with the best.”

Vayl had circled behind him during our conversation. I stepped forward, nodding to him as if giving him his kudos. Dave looked over his shoulder. Started to congratulate Vayl. But he’d already taken his cue and raised his powers, sending ice into David’s veins as he grabbed his arms.

We weren’t sure how he’d be affected by Vayl’s abilities. If he was a Sensitive, like me, he’d be resistant. We had no idea how zedran reacted. But hopefully the cold would slow the bleeding. I know, I know. If Raoul brought him back it wouldn’t matter if he puddled all over the floor. Physically he’d be fine. But I didn’t want him waking up in a huge pool of his own blood. One less nightmare. At this point, that was all I could give him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dave demanded, his eyes going wide. Not scared. Not yet.

“You’re the mole, Dave.”

“What? Are you out of your mind?”

“The Wizard’s man, the one who attacked you during questioning? He killed you and inserted a control device in your neck called an ohm.” I hated this next part. But the Wizard was listening, so I continued. “I’m sorry. You set me up. Forced me to kill the wrong man tonight. So now I have to kill you.”

Now the fear. I faced it, understanding it might be the last expression I ever saw in my brother’s eyes. “You’ve snapped! The Helsingers! Matt! Jessie! It’s all jumbled your brains. There’s no way I’m a traitor! No way!”

“Goodbye, David. I love you.”

Vayl moved his right arm, still clenched under Dave’s, higher, so his hand could control his face. He forced Dave to look up. I had the retriever in my left hand. With my right I made a quick incision with my dagger.

Dave roared in protest and tried to throw his head backward. But Vayl had such a tight hold on him he could only flinch.

I slipped the retriever into the opening I’d made near the base of his throat and kept my hand over it, staunching the bleeding, which slowed quickly to a trickle.

“Is it in?” Cole asked a few seconds later.

I dropped my hand. Nodded.

Vayl let go of David’s head.

“I’m not dead,” David whispered.

I just looked at him, so full of regret I couldn’t speak. Never in my life had I wanted more to be a different person. One of those women who cringe at violence. Who are all about healing and mending, birth and rebirth.

Suddenly Dave’s head jerked back. His eyes rolled. His mouth began to work at sucking in air he could no longer seem to access.

“Let him go,” I said in a low voice.

Vayl released Dave’s arms. His hands immediately went to the back of his neck, clawing at it until his fingernails were bloody. He went to his knees. I dropped to mine before him. I wanted to touch him, but I knew it would be of no comfort. I’d brought this horror down on him.

But I stayed with him. Suffered with him as he fell onto his back and went into full-body spasms. Cole moved everything out of the way that might injure him. I knelt on his right. Vayl on his left. We watched helplessly as foam erupted from his lips.

The spasms gave way to convulsions. Not quick, hard shakes, but long, tight moments where his entire back would bow and he would almost stand on his head. I counted one. Two. Three. And on the fourth the retriever appeared.

When I didn’t immediately take it, Vayl nodded at me.

You must finish what you started,

his look told me.

I reached out. Took the retriever between my fingers and gently pulled. It resisted one hand’s efforts, so I brought the other into play, pulling out Bergman and Cassandra’s invention along with the item it had attached itself to. A red plastic tube the length of a toothpick and as big around as my pinky.

As soon as it exited Dave’s body he went absolutely still.

I dropped my head and quickly spoke the words Raoul had taught me. Within seconds I felt myself lifting from my body. I heard Cole say, “How long until we know?”

Vayl shook his head. Shrugged.

A shimmer above Dave’s body let me know they wouldn’t have long to wait. He was rising.

He hesitated when he saw me. “Jazzy?”

“Go on,” I urged. “Raoul’s waiting for you.” I didn’t tell him I’d protect him. He never would have left then. But I did follow close behind, watching sharply for the Magistrate as Dave followed the rainbow-colored strand that led to Raoul. If my Spirit Guide and I were right, this would be the moment he’d pounce.

Nothing happened.

Dave made it safely to Raoul’s. I was just chastising myself for reading the signs as hieroglyphs when they were, in fact, Roman numerals, when I caught sight of the demons. Three of them, including the Magistrate, winging their way toward one of the cords that bound me to my loved ones. Not Dave’s at all. E.J.’s.

“Raoul!” I yelled. “They’re after the baby!” But even as I spoke I knew he couldn’t help. He was occupied with Dave. Doing the deal. Or not. Which left this battle to me.

I flew at the demons, not knowing how much damage I could actually cause in my noncorporeal state. Not caring. I had to

do

something!

Feeling like a fighter jet, I screamed headfirst into the Magistrate. And right through him. He laughed, waved his hand carelessly. A wind came up out of nowhere, buffeting me backward.

As I rolled and spun, trying desperately to regain my equilibrium, I could see the three of them advancing on E.J.’s cord. The largest of the demons, who had a bluish blotch across half his face that seemed to be growing its own fungi, reached out for the golden cable that connected her to me. His claws touched it, and jerked back as if burned. At his contact E.J.’s cord had flashed. Apparently the kid had some built-in defenses.

“Idiot!” barked the Magistrate. “Why do you think I told you to bring the vine?”

“Aha!” shouted the third demon, a pig-eared, dog-snouted hulk who, even here, smelt of rancid meat and feces. Reaching inside the breastplate of his brown spiked armor he pulled out a braided green rope, complete with black-edged leaves and even a couple of sickly yellow flowers. I’d just managed to halt my tumbling when the Magistrate snatched one end of the vine from the demon and began wrapping it around E.J.’s cord as the demon held the other end still.

“No!” I cried as the vine instantly tightened, sending white thorns into its new support, making it tremble and visibly fade. I rushed back into the fray. The bad guys loved it. They laughed like maniacs as I sped toward them, thinking I’d had another brain fart and decided I liked being tumbled halfway across space. In reality I was pulling a move I’d watched Cam do at the poker table a couple of times the night before, making a small sacrifice now so I could see how they really meant to play their cards.

I tried not to think of my niece, whimpering on the other end of a line that seemed to be strangling under the vine’s hold as I watched the demons prepare to whip up on me. Their gestures seemed random, so I dismissed signed magic. But they had to be pulling power from somewhere. I concentrated on the Magistrate. His psychic scent was the strongest, least pleasant, and most familiar. I let it draw my Sensitivity, what the reavers liked to call my Spirit Eye, into full focus.

“Leave her alone, Magistrate!” I shouted.

He glanced sideways, reached down as if to pluck a blade of grass out of the ground. But now that I was concentrating I could see he’d actually flicked a braid out of one of the shining black cords that bound him and his companions to their own world and snapped it toward me. It struck me square in the chest, numbing my entire untorso, spinning me backward yet again.

I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t been able to see their cords before. But I thought it had something to do with Raoul saying I needed training if I wanted to fight effectively in this dimension, combined with what I knew about Vayl’s ability to camouflage. The Magistrate knew how to disguise his cords so that I wouldn’t see them unless I was looking for them. Which made them highly significant.

Problem was, I had no idea how to cut them and very little time to do so. The vine they’d brought was tightening like a boa constrictor. More flowers had begun to bloom. Any minute now I expected E.J.’s cord to go as limp as a drowning victim. The only thing I could think of was to use my cords the way they had theirs.

I flew to Albert’s cord, misjudged my speed, and stopped against it so suddenly that it twanged dissonantly. The Magistrate’s buddies covered their ears.

“Watch your aim, there, nimrod!” barked the larger one. When his hands came away I saw his earlobes were bloody.

“Don’t you like that?” I asked. I grabbed the cord and whacked it, making a harsh noise that caused the smaller demon to wince and stick his stubby fingers in his greenish brown ears. A drop of blood escaped his nose.

The Magistrate lashed at me with his newfound weapon. It snaked out to sting me, so much like his whip I wondered if that was why he carried one in the first place. At the last moment I dodged, shoving Albert’s cord into the gap I’d just vacated. The Magistrate’s cord wound around it and immediately began to sizzle. I took a second to watch the shock work its way back up the line, enjoy the clench of the Magistrate’s teeth as his body began to twitch. He jerked on his weapon, trying to free it as I raced to Vayl’s cord.

I hit it hard, bouncing off and then smacking into it again as the Magistrate’s companions howled in protest.

“Stop!” they screamed as blood spurted out of every orifice. They were prone now. Writhing in pain. The vine looked none too healthy either.

Holy crap, I think this might just do the trick!

I ran the circuit of the golden cords that connected me to those I cared for. Evie. Cassandra. Bergman. Cole. Albert. Vayl. Dave’s was still missing. But E.J.’s looked brighter every time I slammed into a line, bringing from it a razor-sharp tune that cut into the demons and their cords like broken glass.

When the first cable gave, it split with an unearthly scream, as if it were a living thing and not just a conduit. The largest demon disintegrated. His buddy wasn’t far behind. As I slammed into Cole’s cord, his exploded, along with his unbody.

Yeah, baby!

I felt amazing. Elated. Damn near invincible. Nobody could stop me now that I’d figured out the key to destroying these evil sons of bitches.

I should’ve known better.

As I moved to strum the Magistrate’s death song he broke free. The speed at which he came after me made my movements look like somebody upstairs had hit their remote and consigned me to slow motion for the remainder of the battle.

He’d reached up for another section of his braid while he was struggling. Now he held two whiplike weapons. He snapped one around my waist, pinning me to my current position just three feet shy of E.J.’s shining cord. The other he snaked around my neck. Immediately my vision began to dim, as if he were cutting off blood supply. Which he wasn’t. So what the hell?

Exactly

, said Granny May as she wound up her bridge game and began packing the snacks.

Name one other place that made you feel this kind of horror. This awful sense of futility.

So what’s your point?

I asked her dully.

She snatched a popcorn kernel out of the bamboo bowl she held and poked it at me impatiently.

What? Have you forgotten what we talked about all those Sunday afternoons?

After church. After lunch. During our long, ambling walks around her farm. We’d talked about everything. But those were usually our get-serious times. When we kids could tell her anything that was on our minds and expect a nugget or two of wisdom in return. Often, however, due to how we’d spent our mornings, our talks had turned to the nature of good and evil, everything that fell between, and how to tell where you stood at any given moment.

“Hell’s a real place,” she’d informed us. “Don’t you let anyone tell you different. And it’s not just a destination. It’s one of those powerful, sneaky places that will move in next door, wait until you’re looking in the other direction, then reach out and grab you if it can.”

“How do you fight something like that?” I’d asked.

Granny May had pursed her lips and looked at me sideways, her way of applauding me for asking the question she’d hoped for. “Purity of motive,” she’d responded. “Innocence of spirit.”

Why, you sly old witch,

I thought as the Magistrate loomed over me, his finely sculpted face set in a triumphant smile as he watched me weaken,

you’ve fought demons before

. Later, when I had time, I’d delve into Granny’s past. Right now, I’d just take her advice.

I closed my eyes. And concentrated on the purest, most innocent person I knew.

I could feel her. The same way I often felt Vayl through Cirilai and through my senses. E.J. hung out there at the edge of my psyche like a new star. So fine and bright I could feel the beauty of her being burning away my own darkness.

The Magistrate jumped and squawked. I opened my eyes. His coils had retreated. He’d reared back, rubbing his hands as if they’d been singed.

I reached out. Wrapped my own hands around E.J.’s cord.

As soon as I touched it, the last, wilted vestiges of vine dropped away. I strummed it. Made the music uniquely suited to my niece. It filled the air, loud as a symphony, joyous as a Christmas carol.

“No!” screamed the Magistrate, blocking both of his bleeding ears with his hands. “STOP!”

I played on until the echoes of that fresh, uncorrupted song bounced off all the other cords around us, pulling out harmonies that made me weep with joy. Not so the Magistrate.

He clutched at his black, glistening line. Tried to ride it back to its source. But it began to shred. Then

he

began to crack, like one of Evie’s porcelain dolls after a tumble off the shelf. His model’s body developed long fissures, as if everything inside it had shifted. His perfect face split. Skull and teeth, muscle and blood, replaced smooth red skin. But I continued to play until the Magistrate’s entire unbody shivered into pieces and the cord that bound him finally melted into tiny black globs of horror that fell like black rain back to where they’d begun.

I let my hands drop. God, I was so tired. And my cord was starting to fade. A sure sign my body was weakening. But was it smart to return before I’d talked to Raoul? How vulnerable would that leave E.J.? On the other hand, Dave might need me back at the house. As I debated, I felt myself suddenly pushed — hard — back into physical.

I felt my back bow as the pain of rejoining hit. When I finally regained my breath I only had enough to say, “What the . . . ”

Vayl leaned over me. “Is everything all right?”

I shook my head, trying to clear it.

Raoul? What’s the word?

No answer.

Shit!

“Cam!” I yelled. Natchez came running into the kitchen, took one look at me kneeling by David, who still wasn’t breathing, and slapped a tear from his cheek. “Where’s Cam?” I demanded.

“Working on Grace.”

“Get him! Now!”

Natch was back in thirty seconds with the entire team in tow.

“CPR!” I snapped. “Now!”

Without a word Cam went to his knees and started chest compressions.

“I thought you said Raoul —” Cole began.

“I’m not leaving it up to him,” I growled. I bent down to give Dave some air.

The door flew open again and Cassandra ran into the room. “Jasmine, I can See again!” she cried. She looked like she’d prefer to remain in Curtainland.

I nodded, saving my breath for Dave.

“You have to leave!” Cassandra said, her voice shaking with barely checked emotion.

“What?”

“A vision. Terrible destruction. Mass murders. Black smoke from fire bombings. Thousands of innocents dead in the rubble. The Wizard will not be stopped unless you go for him now!”

I looked down at my brother, tears blinding me as I struggled to my feet. Jet took my place as Vayl led me out of the kitchen, into the guys’ room, where Cassandra had secreted the items she needed for her spell.

She’d explained earlier that it was based on my already heightened abilities to track

others

. So far the only way I could follow a trail was to find its source first. This spell would not only show me the source, it would impress the Wizard’s psychic scent on my brain so I could follow it if he moved to another location before we arrived.

Cassandra held out her hand for the ohm, which I was only too glad to get rid of. She took one of Bergman’s small hammers, broke open the plastic casing, and pulled from the wreckage a small white bone.

“What is that?” I asked, not even recognizing my own voice. I sounded like a robot. Yeah, somewhere along the line I’d switched to full automatic. There’d be hell to pay when I took back the reins. But until then I could at least do my job.

Cassandra said, “When you locate the Wizard, I believe you will notice he is missing part of a finger.”

I nodded. That would be the least of his worries when I found him.

Cole came in.

“Anything yet?” I asked him.

He shook his head.

Goddammit, Raoul,

do

something!

I turned my attention, such as it was, back to Cassandra. She’d laid the finger bone on the floor in the center of a circle of yellow powder. “Now, Jaz,” she said tightly. “Lean your head over the circle.”

I did as I was told, not much caring what came next. If she’d set the powder on fire and, by proximity, my hair, I wouldn’t have muttered a word of protest. Instead she sprinkled a sparkly white substance, like sugar only with bigger crystals, on top of the powder. At the same time she whispered a series of funky words.

“Ayada. Torenia. Terell avatam latem.”

The circle ignited into a sort of mini electric storm, with my head as the locus. Every time I breathed in or swallowed I tasted iron. My eyes felt gritty, and no matter how often I blinked, it seemed like an eyelash the size of a giant redwood was caught inside my contact lenses. My head began to throb, but I welcomed the pain. I deserved no less for what I’d done to my brother. No matter that he’d never have wanted his current existence. He was now lying dead on the kitchen floor because of me.

The storm ended suddenly, leaving me on all fours, panting like a dehydrated hound dog. But I had it. The scent of the Wizard. My lips drew back at its stench. A mix of bloated corpse, stagnant water, and really cheap aftershave. And I’d thought vampires were bad.

“I know where he is,” I said. I stood up, swayed dangerously, grabbed on to Vayl and Cole as they straightened me up again. “We’re going to need some wheels. And a couple more guns.”

The four of us went back into the kitchen.

“David!” Cassandra went to her knees beside my twin. Who was sitting up. Shaking hands. Not smiling. But not ripping anybody a new one either.

I stopped just inside the doorway, my hands clutching Vayl and Cole each by the forearm. Otherwise I definitely would have fallen. The relief took the juice completely out of my legs. But since Cassandra was doing my sobbing for me, I was able to stand dry-eyed. Waiting for his verdict.

He looked into my eyes and the room went silent. “I could never have done what you’ve done,” he finally said. “You’re an amazing woman. Thank you.”

I bobbed my head, pressing my lips together so I wouldn’t start blubbering. Because the next step would definitely be snot bubbles. And I so did not want to ruin this moment with snot bubbles. So I did it with work.

“I can’t even tell you how happy I am to have you back. But we have to go,” I told him. “Cassandra says if we don’t, the Wizard will go free.”

“You know where he is?” asked Cam as David’s face drained of the little color he’d regained at the mention of his former master.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re taking the TV van.”

“Then you’ll have room for us,” said Jet, rising with the sort of try-to-stop-me purpose I’d learned early on not to fight against.

I shrugged and said, “Yeah, okay, whoever wants to come.”

“That would be all of us,” said Dave. He struggled to his feet. And rather than let him embarrass himself, Cam and Natchez gave him a hand. He looked around. “Where’s Grace? We’re going to need her too.”

“She’s been injured,” I said shortly, unwilling to take him on that guilt trip for the moment. We all knew better than to try to talk Dave out of coming with us. Still, it was easily the worst idea of all time. I needed him gone. Far away. Preferably in another time zone, where we could only speak via sat phone, our signals kissing cheeks as they met at a dish not unlike the one that sat atop the TV van.

Which gave me the brightest idea ever. Inside my head, Granny May grinned, nodded with approval, and said,

Finally

.

“I need you and Jet at the TV station,” I told Dave. “Right now it’s being manned by the two remaining reavers who were sent to take me out. You need to either get control of them, so they’ll obey your orders, or kill them and then figure out how to receive a live feed from the van and then transmit it out the tower. Just remember, if you do kill them, you’ll also have to contend with mahghul.” I described the little buggers and briefly explained my own showdown with them in front of the temple.

“It sounds as if you have a plan,” said Vayl.

I tried to contain my rising excitement, but as I continued to roll the idea around in my brain and couldn’t think of any huge stoppers, I couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Maybe,” I said. “Just maybe there’s a way we can save our asses while we accomplish this one. Bergman? We’re going to need your expertise, buddy. Looks like you’re really going to earn that vacation tonight.”

Fleeting look of fear. Then it was replaced by a new expression. Bergman and determination: I kind of thought they looked good on each other. He nodded sharply. “You’ve got me.”

“Cam, don’t you guys all carry first aid kits?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to need to fake an injury to my left hand.” He looked bewildered, but knew better than to ask questions while I was on a roll. As he left to get his supplies I spec-phoned Asha. “How’s it going on your end?” I asked.

“Excellent. You would not believe the plans FarjAd and Zarsa have made! I think they have pulled apart the seams of the world and resewn them four different times since they met! Zarsa believes she can use her Gift to help FarjAd survive any future attacks. And he thinks having a woman of her ability and family support will bring even more people to his movement. And you?”

“So far, so good. But I have another favor to ask: We need your wheels one last time.” I explained our mission and my plan as well as I could in ten seconds.

“I will be right there,” he said. I had to give Asha his pats. When he finally decided to step back into the ring, he did it with both feet.

We all escorted Dave to the living room to wait with Jet for Asha. Cassandra would stay with them too until they left, at which time she’d go back to Grace. The Amazon was definitely getting the short end of the stick on this one. But considering Dave had just died — again — I wasn’t wasting any sympathy on her.

“I’ll be okay,” Dave kept insisting as one by one we asked him if we could get him anything before we left. It just felt wrong to go. We should be celebrating. We should be bouncing off the ceilings, for chrissake! And instead we were deserting the man whose resurrection we had all hoped and prayed for. Not only that. We were allowing him to step back into a life-or-death situation. Despite the fact that we all knew none of us had any other choice, it sucked.

One thing I could do.

Raoul? You are keeping some sort of watch, right? Over him? Over E.J.?

THEY ARE WELL PROTECTED.

And that would have to do for now. I patted Dave as we finally ran out of excuses not to go. “Be careful, please. If I have to bring you back to life again, Raoul’s going to want something major, like a virgin sacrifice. And I need Bergman too badly to give him up at this point.”

Dave laughed, as he was meant to. It brought a whole new meaning to the phrase “music to my ears.” Then, so suddenly it took my breath away, he swung me into a bear hug, lifting me until my toes barely touched the floor. “I love you,” he said. “And about Jessie? I understand. And I forgive you.”

I stood back in his arms. Grateful for his words. Certain they came from his heart. But also sure that heart was no longer as comfortable as it once was. I could see it in his eyes. In the way he looked at his men and then quickly at his fists, so they wouldn’t catch the flicker of rage. Not at them. At himself, for consorting with their enemy. For endangering their lives and their country. It didn’t make sense. Maybe it never would. But I understood. He’d only begun to deal with the realities of what he’d done. And even though he hadn’t been responsible, he was still the boss. So he

felt

like he was. Maybe we could talk it through. Later. Right now — it was time to finish the mission.

Chapter Thirty-Two

T

he Wizard headquartered in the northern part of the city, where the mountains loomed over the rooftops like angry gods. I eyed his house through the rolled-down window of the TV van, charmed by the visual despite knowing its contents. The three-story confection reminded me of a miniature Taj Mahal, a bright white masterpiece complete with turrets and five separate domed roofs. It stood surrounded by a large well-lit yard, securely fenced by a six-foot wall of mauve-tinted concrete. Not a very nondescript home in which to hide the King of Chaos. However the Wizard was also Delir Kazimi, a well-known businessman and community leader. Popular due to his generous contributions to charity. For him the mini mansion, his home away from his Saudi headquarters, fit.

However, its designers had clearly put security first. Cameras perched on the corners of the fence and on strategic points of the house itself. Only one gate allowed access from the front, and that crossed a cement driveway. This led me to assume pedestrian visitors were not welcome at Chez Wiz. While that gate wasn’t manned, it was guarded by an intimidating-looking digital lock whose keypad required you to put your hand entirely inside a metal box. I imagined if your fingerprints didn’t match the scan a small blade came down and chopped it right off.

As I took a turn around the block my specs notified me of an incoming call. It was Jet.

“Everything’s secure here,” he said.

“How’s Dave?”

“About like you’d expect.”

I took that as a tired-but-functioning and decided to be satisfied. “Okay. We’ll call when we’re ready for you.” I broke contact.

As I approached the front of the place again, I reviewed the conversation we’d had on the way to the Wizard’s backup stronghold, looking for holes in our admittedly flimsy and alarmingly last-minute plan.

“Jasmine and I will go in alone,” Vayl had said as I drove, following the pull of the Wizard’s scent, taking as straight a route as I could manage without actually mowing through yards and parks.

“Vayl’s got a way of moving unnoticed that even you guys can’t match,” Bergman had explained. He’d taken one of the four available chairs, with Cole, Cam, and Natchez filling the other three. If they’d pulled them up to the banks of monitors and electronic controls that lined the walls of the van, they could’ve covered the summer Olympics. As it was they simply belted in and made sure their weapons were ready to fire.

“Fine,” said Cam, twirling in his chair so he could see Vayl better. “What’s our role?”

“Bait,” he said frankly. I glanced in the rearview to see how Bergman would take this morsel. Looked to me like he was forcing himself to chew, fighting his ingrained urge to regurge.

Well, what do you know? He really meant it when he said he was tired of being a wuss

.

As I reworked my perspective of him to include some newfound respect, Vayl went on. “Jasmine and I are betting the Wizard will not be able to resist the lure of this TV truck since he just received an anonymous tip — thanks to Bergman — that Edward Samos has taken control of the station and has sent reavers to initiate the coup Jasmine mentioned to David just after we entered the country. He will send his guards to take it out. It will be up to you four to make sure that does not happen.”

“Understood,” said Cam, gritting his teeth on his toothpick as he spoke. “We’ll have the drop on them, so if we plan well it could even go down without a fight.” The rest of the men nodded and put their heads together. Before they could begin formulating a plan, Vayl signaled Cole.

“As soon as you catch sight of them, let us know,” he said. “It will mean they have temporarily disabled their security system, which will be our cue to move into the house.”

I wished Bergman had brought enough hi-tech instant-communications devices for the whole bunch of us, but he hadn’t anticipated such a large group needing to network on our dime. So, while Cole could talk to us through his stick-on transmitter, if anyone else on the team wanted a word, he’d have to use Cole as a relay.

I pulled the van to a stop beside the curb. To our right, darkened houses marched down the street like good little soldiers, all of them built to similar specs, the only difference being the color scheme and the shape of the gate in the obligatory fence/wall that separated sidewalk from courtyard. I wondered what the neighbors would say when they discovered they’d been living across the street from one of the world’s most reviled terrorists. I could hear the interviews now.

“You know, maybe we should’ve been suspicious when the bomb went off in his basement. But we thought he was learning to play the bass drum. And who would we tell anyway? Half the cops on the force are scared to leave their cars and the other half are working for him!”

I looked back at the guys, sharing the smile that can grow right out of your teeth just before battle. It’s involuntary. Like breathing. Or shaking your ass to rap music. Something about the threat of death just makes you feel alive. I know I wouldn’t have chosen any other spot than the one I occupied beside these fierce, grinning men tonight.

Okay. We’re as ready as we’re going to get.

I looked a question at Vayl.

Now?

He gave me the slight tilt of his head that passed as a nod. I felt his powers rise once again, like a cool swirling breeze that encased only us.

“Where’d they go?” asked Natchez.

“I told you he was good,” said Bergman. I followed Vayl out his side of the van, slamming the door on Bergman’s monologue of my boss’s known and suspected kills despite a strong urge to crawl into the back, sit absolutely still, and listen like I might never hear again.

With Vayl’s camouflage flowing over us we walked boldly across the street, daring the cameras to record us. They might show some movement, but watchers would see it as a blur and think the lenses needed to be cleaned.

A miniscule jerk of Vayl’s head told me he wanted to head around back. I followed closely enough to stay within his sphere of influence. Reaching into the compound with my senses, I tried to pick up any information I could. I’m no Cassandra, but I can perceive intense human emotion. And somebody inside was pissed.

“Vayl,” I whispered. “We made the Wizard mad.”

“Really?” he drawled.

“I’m thinking we can use that to our advantage.”

He slanted me an amused look over his shoulder. “Jasmine, if anyone can manipulate someone else’s fury to her gain, it is you.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” I warned him.

He made a muffled sound that I interpreted as a chuckle. “I meant it no other way.”

The house took up half the block. We turned the corner, followed it to a private access road. It was blocked by a chained gate upon which hung a sign that might’ve spelled out why nobody but the owners were allowed to drive past that point — except I couldn’t read Farsi, so I was just guessing. For all I knew, it said,

Sick of living? Have we got a job for you! Inquire inside.

The gate itself was lower than the one in front. Also somewhat in disrepair. In fact, it looked to me like somebody had run into it with their vehicle. Hard. Leaving a buckled-in spot that made it resemble an enormous football player who’s just been kicked in the cojones. The resulting fold made a great foothold for us as we climbed to the top of the wall and then gently dropped to the other side.

The lack of outbuildings and absolute void in landscaping meant we could see the entire backyard and rear of the house from our vantage point. The only adornment the architect had given this area was a pool. But there were no lawn chairs. No potted plants. Nothing softened the stark effect of cement-encased water. It looked like a place where people are baptized. Or drowned.

If I’d been a run-of-the-mill assassin, the distance between the gate at which I stood and the back of the house would have seemed to stretch for miles. The Wizard had made it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on him while he was at home. But then, he’d never expected to be targeted by a vampire like Vayl.

We had our choice of entrances. As we faced the house, the garage sat to our left. It had four bays, all of them accessed by barnlike closures. A walk led from the driveway to the main door, a windowless white-painted archway with a black metal latch. To our far right, almost at the building’s edge, was another entry. A much less imposing white rectangle — definitely reserved for the servants.

Vayl motioned to my gut.

Where is it leading you?

his expression asked me.

I nodded to door number two.

We walked to the corner of the building. Despite our relative safety, it still felt eerie to cross someone’s line of sight and realize you might as well be invisible to them. Too bad we didn’t have more time. It would be such a blast to make them think they were cursed. I could just see the guards, gathered around the monitors.

“Holy crap, Khorsand!” one of them would shriek. “Look at camera five! The light fixtures have leaped off the garage and are floating around the pool like severed heads! What could it mean?”

“We are obviously being haunted by the souls of all the good men we murdered, NimA,” his partner would respond. “The only choice we have left to us is to fall upon our swords!”

I sighed.

Aah, if it were only that easy

.

We took our positions and waited for Cole’s signal.

“You smell amazing,” said Vayl, standing as close as he could get to me without touching. Apparently that was his definition of professional distance.

“Keep your mind on the job, bub.”

“Bub? Is that my new nickname?”

“Sure.”

“I hate it,” Vayl said decisively. “Give me another.”

I looked up at him, his excitement so palpable I could almost reach out and stroke it, like a luscious mink coat I’d feel guilty about petting while I totally grooved on the furry. This job necessarily brings out the worst in us, usually at the same moment. We were feeling the buzz now. That rush of God-power that precedes most kills. Lucky for us, my contrary nature drives me to poke holes in anything that seems overinflated.

“I had a parakeet named Murray once. How about that?” I asked.

His shoulders dropped. “Are you serious? When you look at me you think . . . parakeet?”

“Definitely,” I said, warming up to the idea now that I knew he hated it. “Because your eyes turn all kinds of colors like a parakeet’s feathers. And your fangs are kind of shaped like its beak. Murray crapped on newspapers. And you read the newspapers while you —” His look stopped me. “Or maybe, being a vampire, that’s not a necessary function. But since you eat, and you take the papers, I just thought —”

“Jasmine!”

“You’re right. This conversation should definitely wait until we’ve known each other a while longer.”

I didn’t catch his entire reply, but it sounded like he might’ve said, “A hundred years longer.”

“Okay,” came Cole’s voice. “I’ve had all I can stand without puking. Plus, the bad guys are coming. Repeat, Wizard henchies are on the loose.”

I took off the necklace I wore, worked the shark’s tooth into the lock, and waited while Bergman’s molten metal worked itself into the correct configuration. Within ten seconds we were inside, sans alarm, thanks to our baited TV van. I spared a moment to hope for their success. Then I brought all my concentration back to the task at hand.

We’d walked into a room that seemed too small and far too plain for the rest of the house. It was as if the architect had come to this corner and mused, “Well . . . they are going to need somewhere to throw their bloody clothes.”

In America we’d have called it a mud room. It was basically an eight-by-nine dump-your-shoes-and-shawl area, with a row of pegs on the wall opposite the door on which hung a couple of caps. Faded brown tile covered the floor. Two steps led up to another door.

I unzipped the pouch at my waist as Vayl gently inched it open. The dental mirror I carried reflected a large meeting room. Dark and empty, it reminded me of a church basement. Long tables. Folding chairs. And on the other end a kitchen area. Smaller rooms adjoined the large one, but we weren’t interested in those. The Wizard was brewing up a storm on one of the upper floors.

I led the way through the kitchen to an alcove that contained a wooden stairway. This led to a second-floor hallway, but it also continued to the third floor.

“He’s up there,” I whispered. “Now, remember. The idea is

not

to kill him right away. Okay?”

“That is the third time you have reminded me!” Vayl hissed. “I am a professional, you know!”

“Kill him!” Cole yelled suddenly, his voice so loud in my ear I considered removing my receiver and stomping on it.

“Cole, what are you talking about?” I demanded.

“These guys he sent out after us? They’re zombies! Our bullets are barely slowing them down. So screw the plan! Kill him!”

Shit!

I should’ve known something weird was up when I didn’t see any mahghul gathering. But I’d thought it was because our guys hadn’t begun their part of the evening with murderous intent.

As Cole related the story later, they’d all agreed that only one of them really needed to physically stay inside the van and act as bait. And they’d elected Bergman. “You look like a TV geek,” Cam had told him genially.

“Hey, Miles,” Natch asked, holding up his Manx. “Didn’t you tell us this baby has a built-in silencer?”

“Yeah,” Bergman said, trying to hang on to his newfound toughness in light of Cam’s shocking news. “Just twist the barrel to the right until it won’t turn anymore.”

Cole clapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like your adventures have already started,” he said.

“Heh. Yeah,” said Bergman.

His Manx now in stealth mode, Natch unsnapped the holster at his hip, pulled his sidearm, a silenced Beretta M9, and handed it to Bergman. “Aim careful,” he said with a big grin as Bergman took the gun and stuttered his thanks. “We don’t want anybody down tonight but the bad guys. Got it?” Bergman nodded.

“Ya scared?”

Bergman nodded again. But he said, “No, not at all. Of course, my bowels are so loose if I stood up I’d shit down both legs. But I’m sure it was just something I ate.” They looked at each other for a couple of beats. Then they both burst into laughter. Natchez clapped Bergman on the shoulder and followed Cam out of the van.

Cole, already on the sidewalk, gave Bergman thumbs-up and closed the doors. After which they made themselves scarce. While they didn’t have Vayl’s powers, these guys were damn good at disappearing. Especially when they came prepared, wearing the black body armor that usually went underneath their uniforms, and having already darkened their faces. Except for Natch, of course, who liked to say God created him for night combat. Cole ended up tucked between two cars parked a quarter block up the road. Cam and Natch faded into the shadows provided by the recessed gates of the houses nearest the van.

The Wizard’s men didn’t even try for sneaky. Almost as soon as our guys had secreted themselves they trooped out the front gate, six in all, headed straight for the van. Once he saw they’d cleared the street, Cole moved in behind them, hugging cover, making his way to the driver’s side. The men never even looked over their shoulders. They were that confident. When they realized nobody sat in either of the front seats they all went around to the side and threw open the door.

Cole had figured on getting a jump on the Wizard’s men. So when the bad guys made their move, Cole aimed his Manx through the driver’s side window and yelled, “Freeze!”

Except, as walking dead, they only heeded a single command. And that was coming from inside the house.

“Cole, they’re zombies!” screamed Bergman.

“Get out now!” Cole shouted as he saw one of them raise his weapon. He riddled the creature with bullets as Bergman grabbed one of the cameras and dove for the back door. He threw it open and jumped out, falling to his knees, but saving the equipment from harm.

“Take cover!” Cam yelled, as the zombies, three of them downed by Cole’s quick reaction, began to return fire.

As soon as Bergman was out of the way, Cam and Natch opened up from behind the zombies, ripping into the backs of their heads with rounds designed to leave only fragments in the aftermath.

Bergman joined Cole behind the van as the zombies turned on their attackers. Even though most of them could no longer see through their own eyes, their master could. Cam and Natch vaulted the nearest wall just as they opened up.

“Jasmine, haven’t you found the bastard yet?” Cole demanded as he covered his comrades’ withdrawal. “We’re in some dire straits here!”

“Moving on him now,” I whispered. We’d made it up the third flight of stairs. It had led us down a hallway, past a series of rooms clearly used for training purposes. Tables held reams of paper. Maps covered the walls. Other rooms held weights, stationary bicycles, punching bags, mats. I got the feeling not all of the Wizard’s men were zombies. Or, at least, not at first. I wondered where they’d gone. Surely he had more than the six he’d sent against our guys. But the rooms were empty.

The hall finally opened to a large circular area accented with a huge rug done in blues and reds. Silk pillows in rich, dark hues were strewn across this in groupings of twelve or fifteen. An indentation in one large red one showed where the Wizard had been resting before we showed up to disturb him.

He stood at the opposite end of the room, staring through one of a large bank of windows, clutching at the sill as if only it was keeping him from falling to his knees. If my knowledge of necromancy was correct, all we had to do was break his concentration, get his eyes off those zombies, and our guys would be able to destroy them.

I looked at Vayl. Got the nod.

“So you’re the son of a bitch who killed my brother.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

I

felt like Clint Eastwood, about to duel it out on the streets of Laredo with the gun-toting bully who’d torched my farm and shot my horse. And, like I said before, killed my brother. Only, since Dave was technically alive, I didn’t feel I was bringing quite enough emotion to the role. So I reminded myself of how I’d felt before he’d revived. There. That did it.

I stalked to the middle of the room as the Wizard turned, first his body, then his head, then his eyes. A slow-motion dance step that made him realize belatedly that he faced two attackers.

“They’re off us and coming your way!” Cole warned me. “You’ve got maybe three minutes before they’re on you.”

Just keep to the plan,

I told him silently, knowing he would despite the fact that it looked as if Vayl and I were about to be trapped between six zombies and their pissed-off master.

“I ought to kill you right now, you . . . you monster!” I cried. I kept my expression taut. Fraught with pain. But just behind my eyes calculations were whizzing through my brain like I’d just been handed my college chemistry final. The Wizard, whose resemblance to FarjAd I’d put down to coincidence, I now realized must be familial. It wasn’t just looks they shared. It was a way of moving. A sense of one’s place in the world. But where FarjAd opened up to include everyone along with him, the Wizard kept out all but a select few. You could see it in his expression, even now forbidding us access though we had him at a huge disadvantage.

“No, Jasmine!” Vayl held up his free hand. The other, holding tight to his cane, pointed at the Wizard as he spoke. “This man must pay. And there is only one way to ensure that justice is served. You promised!”

“Yes,” I said, allowing my stance to ease somewhat. “My brother made a specific request of me. And I will honor it.” I held up the bone in my right hand, my left securely tucked behind my back. “Do you see this? Do you know what it is?”

He glanced down. His left hand wasn’t even bandaged, it had healed so long ago. It just lacked a pinky.

“No!” I yelled. “I destroyed yours the second I took it out of my brother’s neck!”

I whipped my left arm into the open. Let him see the fantastic bandaging job Cam had done. A hint of red showed at the “stump” where it sure looked like I’d hacked off my smallest finger.

“You are not a necromancer,” the Wizard whispered. But he sounded unsure. He stepped forward, into the pool of light provided by a standing lamp covered by a beaded red and gold shade. Here the resemblance to FarjAd faded beneath the sallow, emaciated look of a man who hadn’t slept in weeks and only ate when someone forced him. Running Dave must have taxed him to his limit. I hid my satisfaction behind a surge of anger that my brother had once been spiritually connected to this slime.

“I am

other

,” I told him hotly. “And that’s enough. Especially when all I want to do is control one. Puny. Zombie.”

Vayl slid the sheath off his cane sword. The metallic

whoosh

sent a shiver up my spine. “Just a slit to your throat,” Vayl said silkily. “Just enough for Jasmine’s ohm to be inserted.”

“And then you’re mine,” I said. “Just like Dave wanted. You’ll be my zombie servant forever. Slave to an American assassin. How do you like them apples, Kazimi? And here’s the yummiest” — I hugged myself and licked my lips ecstatically — “the most chocolate cream-filled deliciousness part. Before I set you up in my apartment, wearing a frilly white apron, baking bread, dusting, and cleaning the toilet? I’m going to use you to take down the Raptor. That’s right. I’m setting your whole network up for an Edward Samos takeover. You’re going to lure him right out of the shadows. And when he moves in, the whole network caves. Won’t that be lovely?”

As the Wizard’s stony facade started to crumble, what I’d just said about Samos and shadows triggered a memory from my trip to hell with Raoul. It was important, but not enough to warrant my attention just now. I tucked it into my Check Later pile and concentrated on the Wizard’s face. I’d seen men go gray before. Delightful, as usual.

“What is it that you want?” he whispered. “I’ll do anything to avoid . . . ”

“Zombie bondage?” I inquired. I got right in his face, mustering all the spite I could gather on short notice. A surprising amount surfaced. If the words on my tongue were venom my whole mouth would’ve gone numb.

“You know what I want? Nothing,” I spat, my voice low and cruel. “My boss, here, has agreed to let me kill you slowly. You’ve got a lot of lives to answer for, after all. And justice so often looks the other way when it comes to pricks like you. So why would I give up my one chance to make things right? I mean, you’ve hidden yourself from the world for what? Twenty years? Built a booming real estate business using your legit identity while your shadow self perpetrated the worst sorts of atrocities imaginable on innocent civilians. It was you who released mustard gas into that subway in New York, right? And you planned the murder of three hundred Kurdish schoolgirls. Because we all know what Angra Mainyu thinks about females who can read. And, yeah, I’m certain I heard the Wizard was behind the bombings of Israeli airliners, British consulates, and Somalian Freedom trains.”

“You have no proof!” the Wizard cried.

Bingo

. “Give it to me,” I said.

“What?” He looked bewildered. Like I’d just dropped him in the middle of the rain forest and ordered him to hitchhike home.

“I’ve got a TV van outside. Go on camera. Show your face. Admit what you’ve done. And I’ll let you live.”

“What kind of life will that be?” he demanded. “To watch my world slowly decay as more and more misguided idiots swallow the rantings of men like —” He bit his lip.

“Your brother?” Vayl asked. Aha, so he’d seen the resemblance too.

“FarjAd Daei,” I said as the bitterness on the Wizard’s face betrayed him. “You set us up to kill your own brother.”

“

Half

brother,” Delir corrected. “We share only a mother.”

I shook my head. “I gotta say it was a brilliant plan. You couldn’t shed your own relative’s blood, so you manipulate the Americans into doing your dirty work for you. The bonus being that you cause a huge rift between our country and the only people in Iran who don’t want to vaporize us at the moment.”

Despite his dire situation, the Wizard grinned. “It was a glorious plan,” he said.

“It blew,” I told him. “You kill my brother to force me into killing yours? There’s no balance in that. You know the universe is going to come back and slap you for even trying it. And tonight, Delir, I am her strong right hand.”

“You are nothing!” he spat. “You have so little value that I am surprised every time I blink that you do not suddenly wink out of existence!”

“Oh yeah? Putting me in the garage sale before you even get a look at the goods? Not wise, Wizzy.”

“Bah. What good are you . . . you Americans? You strut around spouting rhetoric as if everyone should follow your lead. And yet your sons drive drunk and your daughters idolize whores. You scream that the planet is failing. But you guzzle the world’s resources as if they were cheap wine. You pray for peace even as your soldiers fight and die for a purpose they can no longer discern.”

“Ah, don’t give me that crap,” I said, waving off his rant with a careless hand. “You just hate us because you enjoy hating people and we’re an easy target. If we weren’t around you wouldn’t be any different.”

“Would too!” he insisted, stomping his foot like a surly three-year-old.

“Would not,” I said coldly. “Because the problem isn’t us. It’s you. You won’t talk. You won’t compromise. Hell, you won’t even come to the table without a big old stick of dynamite strapped across your chest. So screw you.”

The Wizard’s eyes got so big I wondered for a second if they were going to pop out of his head. “Infidel!” the Wizard screamed, spittle spraying off his lips. “Angra Mainyu let me live a thousand years so I can kill every American on earth!”

“Are you certain Angra Mainyu has any interest in your plans at this point?” Vayl asked. “After all, he did allow us to find you here.” When the Wizard had no reply Vayl added, “I should also note, though you cry for American deaths, the one you desire most is that of your brother, who is not.”

“He might as well be. Spouting all that rot about peace and tolerance. I should have killed him when we were boys. But I couldn’t figure out how to make it seem as if I were innocent. And my blessed mother would never have forgiven me had she known. ‘If only he were dead, but everyone else thought he was alive,’ I used to think. So I began to study necromancy.”

“But the zombie path wasn’t your ultimate choice for FarjAd,” I said. The Wizard shook his head. “Why not?” I asked.

“He’d be too hard to control. But I couldn’t trust myself to kill him. So I had to arrange for you Americans to do it.” Kazimi looked at me slyly. “And you have. So, despite the fact that your heart is set on binding me to your yoke indefinitely, I fear I must decline.” He directed our attention to the back of the room, where his zombies lined up like a badass bombardment team.

“Um, Wizzy?” I gave him a little wave to get his attention. “Before things get too hectic in here, I’d suggest you take a peek at Channel Fourteen.”

Giving me a puzzled look, he grabbed the remote from a low-slung table and keyed the power on his fifty-two-inch plasma. Up came his own snarling face, in five-second delay, announcing that he should’ve killed his brother when they were kids.

“Of course, not everybody in Iran knows English, so we’ll be taking our interpreter to the station later on to provide a translation. I think we’ll do a little ticker underneath the video as well. Something like

Real Estate mogul Delir Kazimi revealed to be state’s enemy, the Wizard. Housing prices drop accordingly

. What do you think?”

Vayl pointed toward the hallway’s end, where you could just see a lens and one pale, trembling hand. “Wave to the camera, Delir.” Bergman peered around the corner, gave me a brash grin, and then went back into half hiding. His bodyguards didn’t. Cole, Cam, and Natchez stepped out from their secreted spots and aimed their weapons at the Wiz as if daring him to hurt their little buddy.

“You ever heard of character assassination?” I asked. “It can be worse than death, Kazimi. Because you never recover. But you live on. Broke. Friendless. Exiled from your family. Your country —”

“I will always have the dead!” the Wizard cried, holding out his arms to his zombies.

“No. You will not.” It was Asha. He’d come. My shoulders slumped with relief as he swept into the room. I handed him the bone. He held it up. “This is the ohm of Delir Kazimi. Let it hold all his power forevermore.” The Wizard fell to his knees as a black cloud that buzzed like an angry nest of wasps swirled out of his mouth and into the ohm. For a moment the room filled with pressure. So much that my ears popped. Asha folded the bone into his large hand. Squeezed. And when he opened it, all that was left filtered onto the carpet as harmless white powder. The pressure released. The Wizard’s zombies fell to the floor, finally truly dead. And we all stared as Asha laid his hand on Kazimi’s forehead.

“I am the Amanha Szeya, and I say you are still too dangerous to live.”

“Asha” — I pointed to the windows — “the mahghul.” If they were at the glass, they were also trying to find another way in. It wouldn’t be long until they joined us in this room.

“Be ready to fight,” he told me. I drew Grief and prepped it to fire. Looked to Vayl and the team.

Do you see them?

Vayl nodded, but the others shook their heads. They’d be visible soon enough, however. As soon, in fact, as we made one of them bleed.

“Don’t freak when a bunch of nasty little spikey-faced gargoyles seem to appear out of nowhere,” I told them. “Just kill them. Okay?”

They nodded.

Asha drew a long crystalline blade from his robe. It looked otherworldly, none too sharp, and I briefly considered offering my bolo for the job. But Asha had started murmuring some ceremonial-sounding words and I hesitated to interrupt.

In the few moments since Vayl and I had stripped him of his veneer and Asha had rescinded his powers, Kazimi seemed to have shriveled. He knelt, unmoving, at Asha’s feet, shoulders bowed, eyes staring off into the distance. That look never changed. Not when Asha’s chant gained power and he grabbed Delir by the hair. Not when he set the tip of the blade against Kazimi’s face five separate times, drawing a sort of star across it. Not even when he cut his throat.

As soon as the body dropped the mahghul came pouring through the doorway. I had just enough time to take a deep, calming breath before they were on me.

I fired both clips and half of a third before I could no longer see. One of the little bastards had covered my face. Remembering how the hanged woman had gone to her death, I holstered Grief, grabbed the mahghul with both hands, and yanked as hard as I could. I lost some hair off the back of my head, but I could see again.

I threw the mahghul against the wall. Heard its neck snap as I pulled my bolo. I skewered the mahghul attached to my right leg, stabbed the one on my left through the side, and then Vayl was there. Pulling them off me. His face a frenzied mask of blood and gore.

“I thought they had you,” he gasped as he broke a mahghul’s back.

“Me too.”

We went to help Asha, whose entire torso was a writhing mass of mahghul. Stabbing, slashing, sometimes just grabbing and punching, we worked him free. On the other side of the room I could see our guys were faring much better. The mahghul didn’t appreciate Bergman’s weapons a bit. In fact, the Manxes seemed to repel them. They’d leap at Cam or Cole, but as soon as they touched that new alloy they’d jump away, as if singed.

“Asha,” I said as the last of his mahghul hit the ground. “Look.”

We watched as one of the monsters charged Natchez from the right. He was shooting off to his left, so by the time he swung the Manx around the mahghul was nearly on him. It jumped up, touched the gun barrel, and somersaulted backward.

“What is that?” Asha asked.

“Bergman will never tell you,” I said. “But I’ll bet I can have him make you some armor out of it.”

Asha’s eyes gleamed. “How soon?”

“How about right after his vacation?”

“Excellent.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

F

inally. Celebration. We were all back in that cheery yellow kitchen, drinking tea and wishing it was beer, but happy nonetheless. Somehow fighting the mahghul together had negated their ability to drain us emotionally. Dave and Cassandra stood arm in arm, gazing into each other’s eyes every few minutes as if they’d found the world’s greatest treasure. And in between we related our adventures.

Dave and Jet had overcome the reavers easily. One of them had been asleep. The other was so engrossed in the movie they were airing he didn’t hear them until it was far too late.

“So we duct taped them to some chairs,” Jet said. “And man, they did not want to cooperate. But we kept asking them questions, and their third eyes kept straying right to the spots we needed. You could tell they really wanted to bang their heads against the wall before it was all over. It was hilarious!”

As Cole began relating their tales I thought about those eyes. They’d been designed to entrap the souls of a reaver’s victim until it could be transported to hell. Where I’d been myself, and had seen another pair of eyes quite unlike those of the reavers. They’d haunted me from the shadows of my psyche for so long, I’d all but given up on identifying their source. But maybe, if I replayed that scene in my head one more time . . .

Just before the demons had seen us, they’d been talking about Samos trying to make a deal with the Magistrate so he could watch the pound-of-flesh ceremony. But he hadn’t been willing to sign the contract allowing him temporary-visitation rights, because it would’ve required him to give up something precious. I was just getting an image of that something when the demons identified us. All I’d seen were its eyes, glowing, as if in the lights of a vehicle.

Forget about the eyes for a second, Jaz. You’re so damn fixated it’s nauseating. What else was there? Anything? At all?

I thought hard. It had all happened so fast, it was tough to remember. Just a split second really.

I closed my own eyes. Relaxed.

Don’t create anything. Don’t try to see. Just be in that moment one more time.

Demons talking. Gossiping, really.

Did you hear? No, you’re kidding!

Their words creating images, like a movie, right in front of me. Yeah, yeah, there were the eyes. And . . . something more. A rough outline, darker than the dark, of a furry body. Four legs. A tail.

“Holy crap!” I opened my eyes, realized the room had gone silent.

“Jasmine?” Vayl crooked an are-you-all-right eyebrow at me.

“I just figured it out! The reason I was willing to go to hell with Raoul. Give up shuffling cards. It was for the chance to find out what is more precious to Samos than anything in the world now that his

avhar

’s dead.”

Vayl’s eyes glittered with excitement. He knew what this could mean. Leverage of the best kind against our worst enemy. “What is it?” he asked.

“His dog. He wouldn’t give it up. Not even to come to hell. Meet with the Magistrate. Maybe arrange himself a real power play.” And we all knew how much Samos adored power.

Vayl rubbed his hands together. “How do you put it? This is major. This is . . . this is very exciting, Jasmine. We could really get to him with this.”

“Yeah. So start thinking.”

Everybody began talking at once, which gave me the cover I needed to slip out of the room. Asha had offered to take care of the reavers for me, but I felt like I should be the one to deal with them. My actions had brought them to this place, after all. In a roundabout way, okay, but still. As I suited up for one last job, I thought back to my farewell with the Amanha Szeya. He’d come such a long way in the short time I’d known him. The sad-dog look had fallen from his face, to be replaced with a quiet, proud courage. He stood taller, smiled wider, spoke surer than I’d ever known him to before.

“I wish I could do something for you,” he’d said as we stood outside the Wizard’s compound.

“You’ve done plenty, Asha.”

“And yet I feel incomplete.” He stared at me a moment; then his eyes cleared. “There may be something after all.” He laid his hand on my forehead. For a second it burned, just as his tears had. Then it was over. “Your Mark is gone,” he said.

“How did you do that?” I asked. “I thought —”

He shrugged. “It is within my rights, and so I exercise them.”

I smiled up at him. “You’re a good guy to know.”

“Thank you.”

I was just pulling on my manteau when Dave walked into the girls’ room. “What’re you up to?” he asked.

“Going to get those reavers,” I said.

“Why?”

“Well, I can’t let them run around loose grabbing stray souls, now, can I?”

“Jaz, I’m working for Raoul now, remember?”

“Um, yeah.”

“So . . . it’s taken care of.”

I looked at him. There were new lines beside his eyes. New depths behind them. A blooming misery I hoped he’d be able to master. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Long pause. Soon an awkward one. “Jaz?”

“Yeah?” I said quickly. My chest tightened. I knew what he was going to say. He was going to ask me to go back into hell. To rescue our mother. And I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. There was only so much you could sacrifice. I’d given her my childhood. I’d given the CIA my beloved cards. I’d reached my limit.

Maybe he read it in my eyes, because that wasn’t the question he asked. “Do you like Cassandra?”

“She’s a jewel.”

He nodded. “Good.”

He left and I sank onto the bed, mostly because my knees didn’t want to hold me anymore. Before I realized what was happening my eyes had strayed to the calling feature on my special specs and I’d dialed Evie’s number. “Jaz?”

“Yeah. How’s everyone? How’s E.J.?”

“Fine. She’s right here. She just woke up for the day. I’m feeding her right now.”

Crap, I hadn’t even thought about the time difference. I checked my watch. Nearly midnight in Iran. Yeah, I guess it was about time for breakfast in Evieland.

“And Albert?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Before I could stop her, she’d handed the phone to the old man. We talked for a while. Just long enough to exhaust him. We hung up just as Vayl walked into the room.

“I missed you,” he said, striding over to sit on the bed beside me.

“Yeah.” I handed him my glasses. Didn’t want to wear them anymore. They felt too heavy. “I just talked to my dad.”

“Oh? That is good, yes? You should tell David.”

“Okay. But maybe, you know, just until he’s sort of recovered from this whole ordeal, I’ll leave out the part about how Albert thinks somebody is trying to kill him.”

I leaned my head on Vayl’s shoulder as his arm came around me. But I could not feel comforted. A necromancer had enslaved my brother, a demon had tried to steal my niece’s soul, and now my father was telling me his motorcycle wreck was no accident. The violence that formed the framework of my life had never before touched my family. But within just a few days it had nearly destroyed it.

I looked into Vayl’s eyes. “This shit’s hitting too close to home,” I whispered.

“What do you want to do about it?”

I didn’t even have to think. “Hit back.”

Acknowledgments

I

want to express my deepest gratitude to all the pros at Orbit who work tirelessly to put Jaz Parks into the field. They include: Bob Castillo, Bella Pagan, Penina Lopez, Alex Lencicki, Katherine Molina, Jennifer Flax, and most especially my editor, Devi Pillai, who is an absolute freaking genius. Plus, she’s hilarious. To my agent, Laurie McLean, whose astounding energy and absolute support let me know I am professionally blessed — thanks so much for everything you do. My readers have hung in with me once again, and if the beauty is in the details, much of what’s lovely in this book is due to Ben Rardin, Katie Rardin, and Hope Dennis. And to you, Reader, it’s so cool that we’ve shared this adventure! Shall we have another?

extras

meet the author

Photo by Cindy Pringle

J

ENNIFER

R

ARDIN

began 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 at

www.JenniferRardin.com

.

introducing

If you enjoyed BITING THE BULLET, look out for

BITTEN TO DEATH

Book 4 of the Jaz Parks series

by Jennifer Rardin

I stood in the stone-paved courtyard of a Greek villa so old and refined it would’ve made me feel like a cave-dweller if I hadn’t been so pissed. I’d only just raised Grief, the Walther PPK my former roommate-turned-tech consultant had modified for me, so I had no problem keeping a steady bead on my target. Since he was a vampire, I’d pressed the magic button, transforming Grief into a crossbow. Which said vamp was taking pretty seriously. The only reason he was still pretending to breathe.

Beside me, my boss played his part to perfection. He’d already made the leap from feigned surprise that I’d drawn on one of our hosts, to acceptance that I’d once again dropped him into a socially precarious situation. Maybe he slipped into the role so easily because he was used to it. I did tend to make his existence, well, interesting.

He turned his head slightly; his dark curls indifferent to the steady breeze coming off the bay they were clipped so short. He managed to keep an eye on my target, as well as whatever vamps might come pouring out of the sprawling sand-colored mansion to back him up as he said, “Are you sure you recognize this fellow?”

“I’m telling you, Vayl, he’s the one,” I insisted. “I just saw the report on him last week. He’s wanted for murder in three different countries. His specialty is families. The pictures were —”

gruesome,

I thought, but I choked on the word. The twitch of Vayl’s left eyebrow told me I was on a roll. The thing was, at the moment, I didn’t give two craps about our little game. The Vampere world might be all about superiority, which was why we’d needed to make a power play the minute we crossed their threshold, but I’d have popped the vamp in front of me even if it meant we had to fight our way out of a nest of enraged vultures and their human guardians. In fact, that we should personally benefit from his demise made me feel almost . . . dirty. I know, I know. As assistant to the CIA’s top assassin, I was hardly in a position to make moral judgments. But I didn’t see why that should stop me now.

“You can’t prove anything,” snarled the vamp, whose shoulder length hair did nothing to hide his enormous bulging forehead.

“I don’t

have

to, you idiot!” I snapped, wishing I could objectify the rage I was feeling, hurl it at him like it was an enormous black vase full of cobras. “Much as it often pains me to say so, you

others

have so few official rights they could fit on the back of my driver’s license. That leaves me free to smoke you if I feel you are a clear and present danger to society. Which you are.”

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the woman who steamed out one of the villa’s blue-framed back doors, all four of which were framed by solar lamps made to resemble antique street lights. The tendrils of her black chiffon gown batted the air behind her, making her resemble a pissed off Homecoming Queen candidate, one whose friends had voted for the other, uglier girl. Though her carefully groomed version of beauty could have landed her in any number of pageants, her psychic scent hit me between the eyes so hard I felt like I’d been drop-kicked into a garbage dump. As a Sensitive, I recognize vampires like hawks sight rabbits. But I’d never before felt so nauseated by the realization. What the hell kind of vamp

was

she?

Vayl turned to intercept her, placing the tiger-carved cane he always carried firmly on the gray rock between them to make sure she kept her distance. She stopped three feet from it, rearing back as if she’d hit an invisible wall. Her eyes, the liquid brown of a beagle pup, widened angrily as a how-dare-you look tried to settle on her face. But it fled almost immediately, as if she’d undergone a recent Botox treatment and couldn’t sustain any sort of facial feature that might leave evidence of emotion. I struggled not to stare. I had a job to do after all. But her scent, combined with the way she strafed Vayl with her eyes, made me want to give her a closer look.

I forced my gaze back to my target. He’d taken half a step forward. I smiled at him.

Come on, asshole. Make it easy for me

. He stopped.

“What are

you

doing here?” the woman snarled at Vayl.

For a second I thought he was going to ignore her completely. Then he said, “Where is your

Deyrar

?”

She drew herself up to her full height, which was maybe five-one, and said, “

I

am the

Deyrar

.”

Vayl and I don’t have a psychic link. But we’re tight enough to say a ton of words with one stricken look.

Are we screwed

? I asked him with raised eyebrows.

A valid question, Jasmine

, his narrowed gaze replied.

We must play this carefully. Obviously she was not expecting us. Which means she knows nothing about the deal

.

Well, shit

.

We’d been asked to come to Patras by the vampire who ran Vayl’s former Trust, a canny old sleaze named Hamon Eryx, who’d promised us safe passage in return for a shot at Edward Samos, aka The Raptor. Samos had either committed or attempted enough acts of terrorism in the last few years to raise him to the top of our department’s hit list.

We had made one great stride in identifying Samos’s vulnerabilities, and had been hatching a plan that would draw him into the open when Eryx had contacted Vayl with a thinly disguised plea for help. Samos had contacted him offering an alliance. This was not good news to Eryx, since he wasn’t interested in playing. And since he knew that those who refused Samos’s advances generally ended up dead, he’d asked Vayl to intervene. After some negotiations that ended with a contract signed in blood — no, I’m not kidding — Vayl got our boss, Pete’s, blessing and we were on our way to Greece.

Now the

Deyrar

had apparently been replaced, which meant our whole mission could be junk before it even came out of the box. Plus we were standing in the middle of a Vampere house-hold. Any minute now we could be surrounded by fifteen to twenty pissed off vamps and their human guardians, who would feel they had every right to kill us for trespassing.

As if he’d read my mind, an enormous man burst out of the door the new

Deyrar

had just exited. His appearance, yet even more distracting than that of his mistress, made me seriously consider smoking my target just so I could stand and stare. He went shirtless, though mid-April in Greece is pretty mild and the temperature currently hovered around sixty degrees. I supposed that said something about the man’s vanity. Maybe he wanted me to get a load of that sculpted bod and wonder how many hours he worked out a day. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he was a vamp. But he wasn’t. From what I could tell with my souped-up,

other

-sensing abilities, he was human. The kind photographers love to feature on the covers of books with titles like Forbidden Folly and Wesley’s Wench.

“Disa, I came as soon as you called,” he said eagerly. He looked at Vayl, starting slightly, as if he’d only just seen him. “Who’re you?” he demanded.

“I am Vayl. And this is my

avhar

, Lucille Robinson.”

Huh

. Hamon Eryx had insisted on using real names, because he said they gave us all a certain power over each other once the deal was signed. Vayl couldn’t fake his own identity, because most of the vamps in the Trust would know him. But the fact that he’d given them my favorite fake ID showed me how little faith he had that we’d find anybody we could work with on the inside now that Eryx was gone.

Cover Boy looked at Disa. “Do you want me to kill them?” he asked.

I tried not to gape. After all, I was holding a loaded weapon. How long did he think it would take me to swing it in his direction? Could he

be

that stupid?

Disa’s fleeting expression seemed to wonder the same. “Get the rest of the Trust,” she snapped. As he bobbed his head obediently and went back inside, she turned her glare to me. “So you are Vayl’s

avhar

.” She made it sound like a criminal sentence.

Guilty, as charged. Hang her from the highest tree, boys!

I gave her one, hopefully, emotionless look, said, “Yeah,” and then sent my attention back to my target. He was beginning to relax. Starting to believe his

Deyrar

would get him out of this pickle. So I shot him in the shoulder.

His hands went immediately to the wound as he looked at me in shock. “What did you do that for?”

“Hair-trigger,” I said, though my eyes told him different. I’d read the reports. He liked to torture his victims before he killed them, half of whom had been under the age of twelve. The more I thought about it, the less control my brain seemed to have over my hand. “I suggest you stand very still. Wouldn’t want you to have a bad accident before I decide your fate.” In the deep silence that followed all I could hear was the whir of well-oiled machinery as Grief automatically loaded another bolt into my crossbow.

Copyright © 2008 by Jennifer Rardin

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Orbit

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First eBook Edition: February 2008

Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group USA. The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-316-02906-3