Bitten in Two

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Our heavy breathing combined with the

stress we felt at having to confront our target should’ve alerted him.

But feeding vamps are so immersed in the moment they rarely sense their hunters. Ours had stopped beside an empty donkey cart, a hulking shadow stooping next to the wheel like he was checking its integrity. Except that a man wearing a plain white shirt, wrinkled blue pants, and backless leather shoes that dangled from his toes like dead squirrels lay twitching on the cobblestones beneath him.

Movement at the corner of my eye sent my hand to Grief. But it was just one of the gaunt, raggedy-eared cats that stalked the streets for scraps. This one must be hoping for a feast. It darted away when Cole strode forward, switching off his gun’s safety as he said, “That’s enough.

Drop the guy before you kil him.”

The vampire turned. And my heart broke like it had every night I’d been forced to witness this scene. While Cole lifted the cart driver onto his seat and slipped him the wages we’d promised, I watched the creature that had shattered my defenses and made me fal in love lick the man’s blood from his lips.

“Madame Berggia,” Vayl said to me as he straightened. “Why are you interrupting my meal?” This story is for Kirk. My heart is yours, forever.

CHAPTER ONE

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

Cole didn’t answer, just nodded and pul ed the col ar of his new gray T-shirt up over his nose. Vayl and I had presented it to him as we’d waited to board the endless flight from Australia, the site of our last mission, to Morocco, the scene of our present mess. Our sniper and occasional interpreter had worn the shirt over a fresh white tee every day since, making this the third night in a row I’d read the bright red letters on the front that said THE OTHER

GUY GOT THE GIRL. On the back, a black widow perched on her web with her mate’s leg dangling out of her mouth while her rejected lover observed the carnage from under a striped beach umbrel a as he sipped a fly-tai. The caption read DAMN, THAT WAS CLOSE!

“Promise me you’l wash that tomorrow,” I whispered as I peered down the narrow cobblestone street. No room even for breezes here, where the red ochre buildings melded to one another like coffin lids. Every door was shut, locking poverty inside, but each displayed a unique inlaid design that raised even this arid, neglected neighborhood out of squalor. I had bigger distractions than the work of long-dead artists, however.

Where’d you sneak off to, you pain-in-the-ass vampire?

“Washing seems like a waste of time,” Cole mumbled, his voice muffled by one hundred percent cotton. “I’m just going to wear it again because, you know, it’s only the best shirt ever. I’m not saying you look like a spider, but if you were to cannibalize Vayl, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly the picture the tabloids would end up printing.” The crinkles beside his bright blue eyes gave away his hidden grin.

“Would you just throw some suds on the thing?” To soften the blow I added, “Make it my birthday present.” Crap! Only he could make me slip like that!

“Tomorrow’s your birthday?”

“Nope.”

“Tonight?”

I nodded. Reluctantly.

And here I stand under the rickety metal awning of a building so old I can practically hear the ghosts screaming from behind these stucco walls. I should be lolling on some starlit beach with Vayl, half-naked and—

naw, make us all naked; it’s already been too long for me to waste time on foreplay. But instead I’m slouching through the back alleys of freaking Marrakech, sniffing what has to be the city’s cesspool with an ex–Supernatural PI whose sleuthing skills may only be matched by his passion for red high-tops.

Moving quicker than I’d have given him credit for, Cole pul ed me in for a hug so squishy I figured I’d spend the rest of the night with the imprint of my modified Walther PPK

outlined on my left boob.

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

“Why?”

“That’s what your file—uh, I mean—”

“You read my file?” I bal ed his shirt into my fist, forcing hi s col ar past his nose to reveal his gaping mouth. The scent of cherry-flavored bubblegum wafted past, giving my churning stomach a break. Then it was gone and my nose hairs recurled.

“Vayl read it too,” Cole reminded me.

As the CIA’s top assassin, Vayl had been given ful access to my information wel before he’d decided to make his solo act a duet and, eventual y, a whole band. I said,

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

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

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

“Gimme a sec; someone’s at the door.”

Our technical consultant’s clear reply confirmed my suspicion that we were stil within two miles of him and the Riad Almoravid

where

we’d

set

up

temporary

headquarters. We’d only left the town square, which locals cal ed the Djemaa el Fna, twenty minutes before. And since the fountain in our riad’s courtyard could probably shoot a few sprinkles onto the square’s crowds of merchants, performers, and shoppers on a windy day, I’d figured we were within the limits of Bergman’s communications gizmo, which Cole had named the Party Line. Nice to be right about that, at least.

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

I glared. “You need to use my alias,” I reminded Cole.

“And, Miles, you can just ignore what’s-his-face completely.

Just find—” I stopped when the swearing began.

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

“Nobody should be blamed for the language they teach their roommates in col ege. Right, Miles?” Before my oldest and smartest friend could reply, Cole said, “Your potty mouth is gonna get you in trouble someday.” He turned his head, like Bergman was skulking in the shadows next to us. “Right, dude?” Bergman growled, “Goddammit, she’s back! I thought hotel owners had better things to do than annoy their guests every ten minutes!” We heard the door open. “I have plenty of towels—”

“Hel o, Monsieur Bergman.” It was the 1-900-Fantasy voice of Monique Landry, stil accented with Paris despite the decades she’d spent away from home. Contrary to our genius’s opinion, she’d been nothing but courteous and helpful. Except to Miles, who’d gotten extra snacks and the fluffy pil ows from day one. Her twenty years in the Guests-R-Us biz had definitely honed her into the perfect hostess.

And somehow she’d made the fact that she looked fabulous for a widow in her late forties (like Demi Moore with actual meat on her bones and enough past hardships to lace her eyes with compassion) part of the riad’s mystique. Unfortunately al Bergman had noticed so far was that she wore brightly flowered dresses and “bothered” him a lot.

We heard her say, “I noticed you were working late so I had Chef Henri fix you a plate of beignets and a cup of green tea.”

And Bergman’s reply: “I’m kind of busy here, Monique.

And I’m stil ful from—” I heard a smothering sort of sound backed by attempted talking, which I interpreted as Monique stuffing one of the smal fried doughnuts into his Monique stuffing one of the smal fried doughnuts into his mouth. “Hey,” he said after he’d final y worked his teeth around the dessert. “That’s good!”

“Lovely,” she purred. “Henri wil be delighted. And how is the world’s weather today?”

When we’d moved into the riad three days earlier, we’d explained Bergman’s mass of electronics by tel ing Monique that we were studying climate change.

Miles chuckled. Uh-oh. I knew exactly what expression went with that sound. His eyebrow had just gone up. He held his hand out as if a pipe fil ed it. And now he was shaking his head from side to side as if he’d just been caught inside a bel tower at noon. “Wel , the weather waits for no one, my dear. I’d explain, but I’m sure the technical terms would make your head spin. We are, in fact, in the middle of a testing cycle, so I must get back to work. So good of you to come.”

Cole and I cringed as we waited for Monique to order him off his high horse—because he looked ridiculous riding sidesaddle—and stop insulting her intel igence. Instead we heard her hand, gently patting his cheek. “You are so adorable! Al right, then, I’l leave you to your work.

Tomorrow morning we have fresh bread and Berber omelets for breakfast. And just for you, I wil ask Chef Henri to make his famous chocolate éclairs!”

“But I don’t eat breakfast,” Bergman muttered. After the door had clicked shut.

Cole said, “So good of you to come? Dude, who are you, Queen Elizabeth?”

Bergman huffed, “I was trying to get her to leave without pissing her off! What would you have done?” I said, “I’d have gotten on my knees and thanked her for those éclairs. Be nice, Miles. You need the calories.” Bergman muttered, “Are we working, or what?” I sighed. “Constantly. So get busy, wil ya?” I imagined him checking his satel ite maps and hacked surveil ance video, not to mention the tracker he’d attached to our target’s right boot heel. While we waited for his pronouncement, Cole reached behind his back and pul ed a tranquilizer gun out from under the light brown jacket he wore over his T-shirts. The weapon blended so perfectly with his black jeans that it disappeared when he dropped his hands to his sides.

“That looks… lethal.” Could be, too, if we got the dosage wrong. Which we didn’t, because I double-checked it myself. Maybe we won’t need it, though. Maybe he’ll cooperate.

I cleared my throat. “Was that thing stuck in your belt?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry, the safety was on.” He sighted down the long, lean barrel. “Hey, imagine what would’ve happened if I’d shot myself in the butt. My cheeks would’ve been numb for a week!”

I took off down the sidewalk, keeping to the shadows, avoiding puddles of brown liquid that I knew weren’t water because, according to Monique, who’d been so ecstatic to rent al five of her riad’s rooms to us that she gave us random weather reports for free, it hadn’t rained in the past two weeks.

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

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

“Yeah, but this is my numb ass. Do you think my legs would stop working too?”

I was getting ready to grab the gun and perform an experiment that would satisfy both his curiosity and my need to shoot something when Bergman said, “Got him.

Two blocks northeast of you. He’s stationary.” We turned the corner, moving so quickly we nearly plowed into two men carrying bundles of bath supplies, which meant they were headed for the nearest hammam.

They’d just exited a diamond-mosaiced door. Cole hid the tranq gun behind his thigh, mumbled an apology in French, and pul ed me around the men, who wore light shirts, long pants, and basebal hats, al of which were blotched with mustard-colored stains. And damn, did they stink! They must work at the dump we’d been smel ing.

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

Like the knife in my skirt’s hidden pocket, the .38

strapped to my right leg weighed heavier, reminding me of my offensive options if I decided not to pul the gun disguised by my snow white windbreaker. But I didn’t want to spil blood knowing a vamp prowled nearby.

“What do they want?” I asked.

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

“What’s his name?”

Cole asked, and while the man replied I checked out his friend. He was maybe seventeen, a brown-eyed kid with lashes so long they looked fake. He couldn’t bring himself to meet my eyes.

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

“Tel Yousef I’l pay.”

“What?”

“Tel him.” Cole began to talk.

I swished forward, making my ful red skirt swirl around my knees as my boots clicked against the cobblestones, letting my alter ego take the spotlight. Lucil e Robinson was a pale, slender, green-eyed sweetie with a white streak in her red curls that might’ve signified another time when a man had taken advantage of her weakness and bashed her across the head before forcing her to his wil . Yousef didn’t know I’d earned the streak in hel , or that the Eldhayr who’d taken me there had already brought me back from the dead. Twice. Al he could see was that Lucil e’s curls looked more likely to bounce up and defend her than her fists. Mission accomplished.

I looked up at him like he was the cutest teddy bear I’d ever hoped to squeeze. Even though he couldn’t understand the words, I figured he’d get the tone as I reached down the V-neck of my dress with my left hand and said, “Just give me a second, okay? I keep my money in here so I don’t have to worry about pickpockets. I understand they can be a problem in Marrakech. Am I right?”

By now I’d come within an arm’s length of the reeking man, who was staring at my hand like he wished it was his.

He never saw the base of my right palm shoot up. Just grunted with shock as it jammed into his jaw and knocked his head backward. He staggered. Cole aimed the tranq gun at Kamal to make sure he stayed peaceful as I fol owed Yousef down the sidewalk, throwing a side kick that landed on his chest with the thump of a bongo drum. He landed flat on his back in the street.

I watched him struggle to breathe as I said, “We go where we please.”

Cole translated. To my surprise Yousef smiled. I looked over my shoulder at Kamal. He was staring around nervously, making me think he didn’t savor a conversation with any authorities that might show to investigate the noise. He didn’t seem concerned about Yousef. Maybe girls hit him a lot.

“Feel better?” Cole asked me.

I backed off before the bul y’s blech could stick to my sunny-day outfit. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

We headed down the street, keeping our eyes and Cole’s gun on the mini gang until we reached the end of the block and turned north. Yousef cal ed after us.

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

“What did he say?” I asked.

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

“You’re shitting me.”

“No.” Cole’s wild blond hair danced at the suggestion. “I think he liked what you did to him. In fact, I think he liked you. Do you think he’l try to fol ow us?”

“Move fast,” I urged, pul ing him into the next al ey. It would mean doubling back, but Yousef was one freak worth losing. At the same time I asked, “Bergman, is our mark stil there?”

“He hasn’t moved.” Finally, good news.

At the end of the al ey we turned into another neglected street. This one didn’t even have sidewalks to separate the painstakingly carved apartment doors from the hit-and-run lanes. A single light at midblock threw a weak glow onto the run-down two-stories, al owing for multiple hidden spaces where people could do their worst to each other without ever being witnessed.

Our heavy breathing combined with the stress we felt at having to confront our target should’ve alerted him. But feeding vamps are so immersed in the moment they rarely sense their hunters. Ours had stopped beside an empty donkey cart, a hulking shadow stooping next to the wheel like he was checking its integrity. Except that a man wearing a plain white shirt, wrinkled blue pants, and backless leather shoes that dangled from his toes like dead squirrels lay twitching on the cobblestones beneath him.

Movement at the corner of my eye sent my hand to Grief. But it was just one of the gaunt, raggedy-eared cats that stalked the streets for scraps. This one must be hoping for a feast. It darted away when Cole strode forward, switching off his gun’s safety as he said, “That’s enough.

Drop the guy before you kil him.”

The vampire turned. And my heart broke like it had every night I’d been forced to witness this scene. While Cole lifted the cart driver onto his seat and slipped him the wages we’d promised, I watched the creature that had shattered my defenses and made me fal in love lick the man’s blood from his lips.

“Madame Berggia,” Vayl said to me as he straightened. “Why are you interrupting my meal?” Madame Berggia. I think that hurts the most, Vayl.

That you were calling out my name like I’d invented sex three days ago, now you don’t even remember it, and we can’t figure out why. Do you know how much I’d give to hear you call me Jasmine that special way you do, like a song (Yazmeena), right this second?

“You could’ve kil ed the poor guy,” I said dul y.

“You saw him in the Djemaa el Fna,” he replied. “He shoved his wife. He was shouting at his children.” Because we paid him to. So we could set up your hunt tonight and make sure your victim didn’t end up dead.

Like the first one nearly did, before we realized what had happened the night we arrived in Marrakech when you went missing and we had to hunt you for real. The night you woke with such a bizarre case of amnesia that you thought you were still a Rogue, still outside of your vow never to take human blood, and so deep in this brain-blip of yours that you’d mistaken all of us for people who shared your life over two hundred and thirty years ago!

I wanted to slap him with those words like a dueling glove. But he’d just look confused, and I’d be extra miserable. So I said, “The man’s family would starve without him.”

Vayl lowered his eyebrows. “I did not hire you to remind me of such things.”

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my sundress. It was one of his favorites, and I’d hoped seeing it would snap him out of his past. But he stil believed that I was his frumpy middle-aged housekeeper. He also thought Cole was my husband, his valet, who he simply cal ed Berggia. In his mind we’d just traveled to Morocco from his estate in England along with his beloved ward, Helena, whose part was played—grumpily—by Bergman.

My hands closed around the items most likely to console me. In my right pocket sat the long knife my great-great-grandpa, Samuel Parks, had used during his stint as a machine-gun operator in World War I. Mistress Kiss My Ass (my loudly suffering seam-stress) had skil ful y made a place for the sheath in al my clothes. My left pocket held eight poker chips that rang like bel s in my ear when I shuffled them. And on a silver hoop attached to the material so it wouldn’t get lost: my engagement ring. I hadn’t worn it long. But I cherished it now more than ever, because I was sure the man who’d slipped the pear-shaped emerald on my finger eighteen months ago would never forget me, no matter where he ended up. Right, Matt?

It’s not like you’ve slipped Vayl’s mind. Not Matt’s voice. He’d kept a steady silence since the vampire Aidyn Strait had murdered him two weeks after our engagement.

On the other hand, my Granny May, who ruled my frontal lobe, couldn’t wait to comment. He believes he’s living over two hundred and thirty years before he met you, she reminded me.

Exactly! The way he looks at it, Jaz Parks doesn’t exist at all!

So quit whining and figure out why! Granny May had taken up needlepoint. She sat in her tree-fil ed backyard in the old metal chair she left out year-round (paint flecks hinted that it had once been red) alternately watching the cardinals fight over the sunflower seeds at her gazebo feeder and taking long, smooth stitches in a piece of fabric the size of a pil owcase.

I watched her manipulate the needle with one hand while the other steadied the hoop that framed her workspace. Why did I suddenly think she would’ve been just as precise with a throwing knife? I shook my head.

I’m not whining!… Okay, I am. It’s such sucktacular timing, that’s all! I mean, I may have control of the demon in my head. But I think you need reminding that Brude is still a Domytr. Which means Satan’s go-to guy is not going to give up without a fight. Especially when he was so close to succeeding at his own coup. And there’s Vayl, out of his right mind just when I need him to be the sharpest!

Granny May snapped, You still have Cole, Bergman—

and Kyphas—whether you want her or not.

We should’ve deep-fried that hellspawn permanently, I huffed. Not cut her a deal that keeps her in our back pockets like a Chicago politician.

Of course, Gran knew what I was real y worried about.

Cassandra’s soul is safe from Kyphas, you saw to that.

She’s an ocean away, secure behind her locks and wards in her colorful little apartment in Miami. You’re lucky to have a friend like her. A psychic who’s willing to dog-sit have a friend like her. A psychic who’s willing to dog-sit and research a cause for Vayl’s amnesia is practically a walking miracle. Just remember what she said last time you talked. You’re standing in the city where you believe the tool that you need to end Brude’s possession of you is located. So find it!

It sounds easy the way you put it. But I’m not convinced Kyphas is done with Cassandra. And until we know what caused Vayl’s amnesia—

You’re a girl. Multitask!

I sighed and scratched my head, wishing for the thousandth time that Lucifer’s gofer hadn’t infested my synapses. Then I could just concentrate on finding the bottom-feeder that had slapped Vayl into a virtual time machine and strapped a pair of 1777-tinted goggles over his eyes. Unless he was just plain sick. In which case I’d be on my own with Brude.

Who I couldn’t stop obsessing about. The Domytr who wanted to create a whole new hel was stil stomping around in my mind. And although I had him contained in a place where he couldn’t control me anymore, I’d begun to show physical strain from keeping him imprisoned. Mainly nosebleeds. But also headaches that started behind one of my eyes and spread across my skul like I’d cracked it on an iron post. Even without consulting experts, I knew those were bad signs. If Brude broke free of the room where I’d imprisoned him, he’d destroy more than virtual wal s. Which was why failed exorcisms often ended with a coroner writing the word “aneurism” on the victim’s death certificate.

We had to complete our original mission. The one Vayl had set us on before he’d lost his way. My life depended on finding the Rocenz, a demon-forged hammer and chisel that had been supernatural y welded together. Once we had the tool and figured out a way to separate the parts, we could engrave Brude’s name on the gates of hel . At which time the power of the Rocenz to reduce everything to its most basic elements would transform the Domytr in my head to dust.

Proving once again how utterly useless Vayl would be for this aspect of our operation, he asked, “Has your husband’s cough eased now that we have spent a few days in the dry air?”

“Who? I don’t—” Oh, he’s asking about Cole. “Yeah, yeah.”

His lips tightened and I thought I was about to get another lecture on my presumptuous behavior. Which would’ve been fine with me. Another chance to zone out, try to formulate some sort of plan. Plus, okay, I’l admit it.

Despite the fact that it had only been three days since I’d held him in my arms, I was already hunting excuses to stand and stare at my magnificent sverhamin, imagine my fingers brushing across his broad brow, sinking into his soft black curls. Pretend I was standing on the invited side of that come-love-me look in his emerald eyes.

I watched his lips part, wind around the words. My mouth went dry as he said, “I can tel you have something on your mind, Madame Berggia.”

If you only knew! “Uh, wel , sure I do. That is, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you since… we got here.”

“Yes?”

“I have a hard time believing Co—I mean my husband

—was the real reason you left England.” I waited. He liked it when I did that. Freaking elitist.

“You are a very astute woman.” Vayl turned so al I could see was his profile, the proud bridge of his nose, the hard planes of his cheeks and jaw reminding me of pictures I’d seen of Roman generals. Until I realized he was watching his breakfast drive away in the creaking old donkey cart with a look of hunger that made my stomach clench.

“So what’s the deal?” I demanded. “Why are we real y here?”

He turned his head, spoke sharply enough that I probably should’ve felt put in my place. But at least he explained. An entire story in a single word. “Helena.” CHAPTER TWO

While the cart driver urged his donkey to speeds it hadn’t attempted since it was a yearling, Vayl dug one of the evil-smel ing cigars he’d begun smoking after his “transition” out of the breast pocket of his black duster. His lighting routine was so elaborate I was surprised he didn’t have to sacrifice a goat too. Cole took advantage of the pause to needle Bergman through the Party Line.

“I don’t think Lord Brâncoveanu’s ward has the right kind of dresses for this climate, do you, dear?” he asked, turning his head so Vayl couldn’t see him crossing his eyes at me the way we did every time we had to use his title along with his tongue-tripping surname. “Maybe we should take Helena shopping tonight.”

Bergman growled so loud we both had to adjust our earpieces. He said, “I’m only pretending to be that girl because Cassandra said Vayl could be permanently damaged if I didn’t. But if you make me try on dresses I wil happily vegetize him.”

“You’re the one who got your hair al permed and dyed to match mine,” Cole whispered. “Can I help it if it makes you look like Uma Thurman?”

“Who is Uma Thurman?” asked Vayl.

While Cole tried to explain, I urged them both to get moving. The less time we spent dawdling in the medina’s mean streets, the better. Not that the criminals who hung out in Marrakech’s old city were any worse than the ones who preferred the modern section. Just that I’d have relaxed more back at the riad, where I wouldn’t have had to watch our backs while I recal ed the moment when Bergman realized Vayl thought he was an eighteen-year-old girl whose interests revolved around painting and playing the pianoforte. But let’s face it. Even if a whole gang of thugs jumps out of the shadows, a moment that priceless is going to loop in your head until your inner bimbo stops trading howls of hilarity with the bartender and resumes her drunken dance with the coatrack. So I let the memory reel rol .

We’d been gathered in the courtyard that fil ed the center of the riad, giving the building the shape of a grater that went straight at the top. The eye-catcher in the whole outdoor garden was the fountain rising out of the rectangular wading pool, a graceful y crafted urn that made it hard to look away. But then, there was so much more to see.

The pool was surrounded by wooden chairs and tables with such ornate arms and legs you’d almost believe fairies had done the crafting. These sat on sand-colored tiles, two-foot-square sections of which had been removed in choice spots around the courtyard to make room for plantings of banana trees. Copper planters ful of ferns, palms, and lemon trees took turns with hanging lanterns to line the courtyard’s pink wal s, providing some relief for the eye when the sun beat down during the brightest part of the day.

Escape also came in the form of two corner-built gazebos hung with raspberry-colored curtains that could be closed for extra privacy. Inside, Monique had placed two couches framed in metal that was bent to reflect the shovel-shaped arches that showed up in so much of Marrakech’s architecture. The burgundy cushions topped with enough pil ows to satisfy an entire legion of interior decorators cozified them.

I’d been admiring those gazebos for days, thinking about what Vayl and I might have gotten away with behind their thick curtains if he hadn’t been brain-fried. Now I their thick curtains if he hadn’t been brain-fried. Now I shared them with my crew, watching the sky darken, waiting for the moment when—there. Cirilai sent a shot of warmth into the palm of my hand. The ring Vayl’s grandfather had made to protect his soul had warned me he was waking.

Which meant it was time to prepare the troops.

I looked at Bergman, sitting with his hands in his lap.

Across a glass-topped table framed in exotical y carved wood and covered with flickering candles sat Kyphas. I kept my eyes on her couch because, honestly? I could stil barely look at her without reaching for the gun strapped to my shoulder. So what if she’d promised Cole to stop trying to corrupt souls for the Great Taker. My reaction?

Sure, and my belly ring’s set with moon rocks.

What I hoped was that she’d keep her paws off Cassandra now that we’d promised her Brude and a shot at the Oversight Committee in our psychic’s place. Four souls for one? Come on, that’s like a damn clearance sale, even if the soul you’re giving up had promised herself to you over five hundred years before. In return she’d agreed to help us find the Rocenz, which, because it had been demon-crafted, was more likely to be rediscovered by a demon. She’d even signed on to helping us carve Brude’s name onto hel ’s gates. What a gal.

The problem was, Kyphas didn’t believe in generosity.

In fact, greed tended to ooze out of her like hangover sweat. Cole might not recognize the stench. But he tended to get distracted as soon as boobs starting bouncing within his line of sight. I knew that for Kyphas, the more souls she took back to hel with her when this was al over, the higher she’d rise up the hierarchy, so she’d be looking for any loophole she could find in her contract with us. No Cassandra? Okay. Cole’s soul probably looked as juicy as a medium rare T-bone to her.

And she did look like she could gobble him whole as she eyed him from under her lashes. Which caused me to growl a little louder than I’d intended to when I said, “We can’t put Vayl off any longer. He keeps asking for a girl named Helena. We think that must be you, Kyphas. Play the part or—”

“Or what?” The demon’s perfectly pink lips quirked in amusement. “Go ahead, threaten me some more, Jaz.”

“He cal s me Madame Berggia. You should too,” I snapped, reaching for Grief.

“You know, Kyphas, you are probably the most beautiful woman I have ever fantasized about,” Cole said as he laid his arm across my shoulders. She sat forward, giving him ful access to her halter-topped, tight-jeaned magazine-cover bod. He took his time with the view. Then he said,

“Why do you have to be such a bitch al the time?” She sat up straight, crossing her arms as he went on, almost casual y, like he was discussing the price of lawn mowers this season. “I’ve kil ed snakes that were cuddlier than you. Wel ”—he glanced at me—“those inland taipans you offed during that Scidairan witch mission were pretty gnarly. But I remember this pygmy rattlesnake I had to shoot during a case in Miami when I was stil a PI. It was actual y pretty—”

“Al right!” Kyphas slapped her hand against the armrest. “I’l cooperate!” She glared at Bergman. “Am I that bad?”

He shook his head, but the shake slowly turned to a nod. The motion made his hair bounce, which activated Cole’s AGR (automatic giggle response). Because, despite my daily suggestions to dye it back to brown, Bergman insisted that if he modeled his look after Cole’s he might have the same luck with women. So far he’d gotten two imaginary cel numbers and an outright, “Are you kidding me?” Personal y I thought his head was too big and his frame too skeletal to pul it off. He needed a girl who was into unwrapped mummies.

Or, maybe, one who enjoyed feeding people. Monique had come out with a tray ful of cookies and tea just in time to say to Cole, “Lord Brâncoveanu is cal ing for you.” She smiled sympathetical y, stil buying our loony-but-lovable uncle story. Which is why nice people are always getting suckered.

I reminded myself to leave her a big tip as I fol owed Cole out of the courtyard, motioning for the others, especial y Kyphas/Helena, to fol ow us to Vayl’s door.

Where we waited while Cole went in to do valet crap. Ten minutes later he invited us into the suite.

I felt a familiar pang of regret as I glanced at Vayl’s bed, its white spread resembling a cast-off wedding dress.

Except the mesh canopy that draped overhead and tied at each corner of its black metal support was a rich chocolaty brown. And the black-domed sleeping tent perched underneath that veil seemed less like a vampire’s shield from stray rays of light than a tunnel into another universe.

Cole said, “He’s changing. Thank God I talked him out of needing assistance with that yesterday! Have a seat.” Bergman and Kyphas moved into the conversation area, which contained a fireplace, a couch, and matching armchairs upholstered in bright green satin. I took the round white ottoman that stood between them, ignoring the couch because, frankly, I needed Bergman’s moral support.

Vayl swung open the bathroom door and strode out, the deep line between his red-rimmed eyes announcing his hunger. He wore a black button-down shirt with purple pin stripes and tailored slacks that kissed the tops of his shiny black boots. Cole handed him his duster and he shrugged it on as if he was chil y. In fact, he’d informed “Berggia” that he felt naked without it.

Bergman leaned next to my ear, since nothing had happened to injure Vayl’s hearing, and whispered, “How happened to injure Vayl’s hearing, and whispered, “How does he pul that off? It’s hot enough for shirtsleeves but I guarantee you nobody wil harass him about his outfit. I’d probably get the crap kicked out of me if I tried to pul that off. But he’s so manly strangers wil probably stop him on the street to ask where they can tour his castle.” I sighed. Vayl’s vibe was working on me, as wel , but in more of an oh-baby-let’s-play-doctor kind of way. Before I could pul myself together, Vayl held out his arms. His smile, while it kept the fang-reveal to a minimum, was so gentle that for a second I thought he’d come back to himself. My heart jumped, making an utter fool of itself, when he fol owed the gesture by saying, “Madame Berggia. You have brought my little Helena to see me. What a fine way to greet the new day!”

“Oh. Yeah, wel , you insisted—” I jerked my thumb at Kyphas so she’d get the lead out and stand up already.

She shot to her feet, but with a ful -faced pout that revealed just how much Cole’s comment had hurt her.

Damn. Maybe she has a heart after all.

Kyphas raised her arms to return his hug, her hands hanging limply as if she’d inherited some zombie traits from her mom’s side of the family. Vayl raked his eyes over her.

“It would help if my walking stick was balanced on those,” he snapped. “But I wil forgive you since you are, in fact, Helena’s maid.” And then he engulfed Bergman in a hug so enthusiastic I was pretty sure I heard some Russian tourists cheering in the streets.

“How are you, my dear?” Vayl asked, patting Bergman on his fluffy head when the hug had ended. “I missed you. I had not realized our travels tired you so greatly. Here, let us be seated while you tel me everything.”

“Uh.” Bergman shot a look of pure panic over his shoulder as Vayl took him by the hand and began to lead him toward the couch. I’m not a girl! he mouthed.

Suck it up. I’m not a fat Italian housekeeper either! I mouthed right back.

Cole was making a hel uva racket taking down Vayl’s bed tent. Normal y it col apsed very quietly. Then I realized he was punctuating the folding of the poles with swal owed snorts of laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jasmine? Yoo-hoo!”

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

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

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

“Bad idea,” I replied.

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

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

“Yes, I did.”

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

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

her from werewolves?”

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

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

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

Vayl said, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

Therefore—

We couldn’t avenge his death, plus—

We’d missed his funeral.

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

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

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

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

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

What are we, the Rockefellers?”

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

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

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

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

“No. Are you?”

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

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

This dry air should do wonders for your lungs.”

“What about the Were?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER THREE

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

Another quiet evening inside. Sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cole turned and put both his hands on my shoulders.

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

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

“I know.”

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

“Which is why you hate him right now. I get it. Don’t you think I’ve felt the same way about you practical y every day since we met?”

I looked into his eyes and, for the first time, truly understood. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I real y wish—” He shook his head, his smile so smal it resembled Vayl’s least readable expression. “My mom used to tel me that we can’t help how we feel. It’s what we choose to do about those feelings that makes us shits or saints.” His hands slid down my arms until they fel to his sides. “I guess I final y understand what she meant.”

I dropped my head.

I love you, Cole. So much that I wish you could find the perfect girl. Someone who wants to wrap herself around you the same way I do Vayl. With a mind-blowing passion that keeps making me forget to breathe. The downside is that it can tear your heart out. Slowly, so that you feel yourself bleeding, dying inside, every time he looks at you, past you, not seeing, not remembering. And if he never comes back? Another kind of living death that zombies are glad they never have to experience. And still I can say I’ve held the world in my hands.

But you’re not content, are you, Jazzy? Granny May peered at me from around the blouse she was hanging on the clothesline. You’re still going to fight to get him back?

Damn straight, I am. Because in the end, I may be greedier than Kyphas. I’ve had it all. But I want more.

Even so changed, Vayl hadn’t lost his ability to move like one of the tigers that had been carved into the cane he no longer carried. Despite my Sensitivity to his presence, I was stil surprised to find him standing at my shoulder when I final y looked up.

“I am sorry to remind you of your sorrows, Madame Berggia,” he said, his fine black brows drawn down in a frown of, geez, could that actual y be concern? “Let me assure you, the woman I seek is nothing like the Seer who led me to your home in the first place.”

“I… uh—”

His lip quirked, reminding me so strongly of my old lover that I had to grab a handful of skirt to prevent myself from wrapping my arms around his waist. He said, “I have forgotten myself again.”

“No kidding.”

He reached out as if to touch me. I stepped back. If I had felt those fingers brush my hand I’d have lost it completely. His chin tipped. “You are angry.” I shrugged. “You know what happened before.” So tel me!

He put his hand to his heart. “My life on it, this Seer is virtuous and ethical. She is part of a guild cal ed the Sisters of the Second Sight, which strictly forbids its members from sending vampires like me into homes like yours, expecting to find their reincarnated sons…”

Aha! I said, “But they weren’t there, were they?” Even I knew the reunion was supposed to happen in America.

“No. You and Berggia were. Mourning over your young men. It is stil a wonder to me that you did not burn me alive, considering how they had been kil ed.”

The real Berggias’ boys were slain by vampires, then.

Damn.

I nodded. That must’ve been the expected response, because Vayl went on. “I always wondered… did it ease your mind that I found the Rogue who took their lives? That he is now little more than vapor and a few specks of dust?” I thought about how Vayl had kil ed Aidyn Strait. That moment of knowing that my fiancé’s murderer would never laugh again. “There was a need in me. I don’t exactly know what to cal it. I’m—it’s right that he’s gone. There’s a balance restored. But it’s bitter.”

“Yes. Revenge.” He sent me a look ful of fire and blood.

“I thought it would be satisfying enough to give me rest for eternity. And yet here I am, stil seeking what I have lost.” He stopped suddenly. Glanced at Cole. “You never speak of my search. I suppose you think it insane?”

“It’s not my place to judge,” Cole said. A good valet’s response. But Vayl wasn’t satisfied. He turned on Cole so quickly that I reached back, touched the hair I’d woven into a knot before we left the riad. And not just because Vayl had bitched about my choice of dos. When I twisted it up, it looked natural holding the bright blue Japanese hairpins whose true use had been disguised by the CIA’s most creative artists. Each needle tip released a ful dose of vamp tranquilizer when properly, uh, shoved into place.

I relaxed when Vayl’s only violent movement was to fling the cigar into the street. “How do you do it?” he demanded.

Cole ran a hand through his hair, glancing past Vayl to show me what-the-hel eyes. I rol ed my hands. Just go with the flow.

“How do I do what?” he asked.

“I have been without my sons for twenty-six years now. It has been only five for you. How is it that you manage to function as though life stil has some meaning? As if you occasional y see beauty among al this horror?” Had he meant to gesture at the mottled wal s of the buildings that had closed in on us again as soon as we left Zitoun el Kattabi Street?

Cole looked at the toes of his high-tops. I felt myself go tense. Tried to think of some way to deflect the smart-ass comment he was about to fling at Vayl, which would be fol owed quickly by a huge bubble and a suggestion to me that if the Seer was pretty, you know, since he and I were a temporary couple, maybe we could make it a threesome.

But when he looked up I saw depths in his eyes that made me take a quick breath. As if I’d just met the real man behind the fun pal for the first time.

He said, “People deal with pain in different ways. And I can promise you that sometimes what seems like coping to the rest of the world is real y just hanging on by your fingernails. You want to know how I survive?” He took Vayl by the arms and turned him until he was ful y facing me.

“There she is. And here’s another promise. Someday you’l find somebody just like her. When you do, don’t fuck it up.

Because you wil never find anyone like her again.” Vayl nodded. “You are a lucky man, Berggia. To find such a partner is rare. My wife was…” Vayl trailed off, and after a while we realized he didn’t intend to finish that thought. Not out loud anyway.

We stared at one another, an island of silence surrounded by vividly dressed socializers, al headed anywhere but here. They didn’t mind our blockage. Walked around us without comment, like we’d become part of the around us without comment, like we’d become part of the city’s hardscape despite the fact that we stood in a stone-paved thoroughfare so narrow that even a couple of cyclists might brush shoulders if they weren’t careful how they passed each other.

Somebody accidental y bumped Cole, apologized in French, and that was al we needed to get us moving. Vayl led. Cole came next. I fol owed, feeling like I’d betrayed him without ever meaning to.

Raoul? Come on, give me something to cling to here.

Tell me Cole’s got somebody out there waiting. A woman who’ll make him look at me later and laugh.

I didn’t expect a reply. My Spirit Guide hated the feeling that he was on 24-7 Jaz-cal . But within a few minutes I felt the buzz of his presence, so big I clapped my hands over my ears and fought to clear my vision. And then his voice, like a boxing match announcer with his microphone maxed out in my head, said, COLE’S MATE IS CHOSEN. BUT

THEIR TIME IS STILL DISTANT.

Thanks. Oh, man, I can’t tell you what a relief—okay.

That’s something at least. I caught Cole’s gaze. As soon as he felt my eyes on him he stuck out his tongue, tinted red from his bubblegum.

I grinned as he pointed to Vayl. More information, he mouthed.

I nodded and said, “So, Lord Brâncoveanu, you want to visit a Seer. That’s an excel ent idea, actual y. But, uh, we real y should go with you.” Which was what we were doing at the moment, of course. But Vayl could ditch us whenever he wanted, and we al knew that.

“Why?” he asked.

That’s an excellent question. Anybody have a clue?

Shit! Not one of my inner girls was up to the chal enge. In fact, most of them were stil out of breath from doing the Cole-wil -final y-get-his-girl jig.

Once again, my coworker and former recruit came to the rescue. “Considering what you said about Roldan wanting to change Helena, maybe she’d be safer in your care for the night.” Before Vayl could object again Cole added, “I’ve heard bad things about this Were. He has connections far beyond England. If he knows we left the country, he can trace us here. Wouldn’t we al be safer if we stayed together?”

Vayl pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, a gesture I’d never seen before. Maybe he’d dropped it after he’d gotten the cane and could spin it between his hands instead. But he’d rejected it, along with me, the night he woke with most of his life missing.

He said, “Al right. We wil go back for her. But none of you are al owed into the Seer’s chambers while she reads for me. I must insist on privacy in this matter.”

“Oh, sure.” Cole nodded at me.

I raised my hands. “That’s your business,” I said.

“Good.” Vayl cleared his throat.

I waited. Then I prodded him. “Isn’t this where you apologize for threatening to strand me here earlier?” He glanced at me from the corners of his eyes. “Do you mean like I left you in the middle of Cornwal last autumn?”

“He’s done it before?” I murmured. “What a son of a bitch! And she came back? Why?”

His tone went al Dennis Mil er on me, so cutting I was surprised droplets of blood didn’t fly off my skin. “I do not understand why you continue to speak of yourself in the third person, madame. Have you suddenly discovered a familial link to King George?”

I clenched a fist and shook it under his nose. “I’l give you a familial link—”

Cole shoved my arm down. “Relax, woman. It’s 1777, remember? You don’t even get to vote yet.”

“Yeah! Because of pigheaded brutes like him!” I yel ed.

“If I am such a brute, why did you return to my service after our last dispute?” Vayl demanded, his voice closer to a roar than I’d ever heard it. I’d have screamed right back at him but for the note of desperation I heard threading under the anger, brightening his eyes to the color of flames.

I thought about it. Why would a woman who’d pissed off her employer enough that he’d abandoned—but not fired—

her, come trudging back to his door? She probably needed the work. And there was her husband’s job to consider.

Plus maybe she felt loyal to Helena. More likely it was a combination of al of those reasons plus a few others I could name. But there was only one that real y mattered.

I looked into the face of the man an old Italian housekeeper had stared at over two hundred years ago, and before thought could move me I was standing so close to him I could’ve felt his chest rise into mine if he’d chosen that moment to sigh. I looked down, momentarily fascinated by the sight of my slender white fingers, not hanging empty at my side, but instead wrapped around his broad, workingman’s hand.

I said, “Until this moment I never completely understood why my Granny May sat by my Gramps Lew in those last days of his life, when he couldn’t talk anymore and she knew he wouldn’t wake up. Why every single morning she rejoiced that he was stil there with her. To hold hands with.

It was enough for her. You know?”

That line between his brows—how can you love a man’s frown? But I saw it and was glad. It meant he was tuned in—to me. I went on. “Some people, yeah, you catch the first coach outta there and you never look back. But some…” I paused to lock on to his gaze. “You can somehow see past al the bul shit to a soul that shines so bright it brings tears to your eyes. And that’s why you stay.” I dropped my eyes to our interlocked fingers. “Even if al you have left is holding hands.”

Because I knew it would break my heart when he pul ed away, I slid free first. When I looked up again, Vayl had stepped back, made his face into the mask he’d worn constantly in the first months of our partnership.

But I could hear a new thoughtfulness in his voice when he said, “You must understand that I was angry because you are Helena’s sole model of virtue and genteel behavior.

If I cannot count on you to provide a proper example for her I fear this whole facade I have built for her wil crumble on her head and she may never recover. We must teach her how to survive in this society. How to be strong and flourish.” He emphasized his words with pumps of his fist, like he’d beat down anyone who came against his ward, even if it was a sharp-tongued socialite with a reticule ful of invitations and the power to withhold them al from Helena.

I said, “She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?” His shrug barely creased the seams of his coat. It seemed like none of us could purely explain our feelings anymore. But we could stil make concrete gestures. Which he did now, by turning back toward our hotel.

We walked in silence until, again, we stood in front of Riad Almoravid. Vayl’s golden eyes climbed wal s so old that, if they could, they’d double over and chuckle at his immaturity. He took a quick breath as a shadow passed in front of the drawn curtains of Bergman’s room. Miles wouldn’t leave his den wil ingly, which was why Cole and I were now signing to each other, arguing silently about which one of us would be the loser who had to go drag him out. We shoved our hands into our pockets when Vayl turned to us suddenly and said, “I never thought to have another child. Not just because I am a vampire. But because I performed so poorly as a father with my first two.

If I fail with Helena, I wil never forgive myself.” I hadn’t heard the girl’s story before. And the fact that he’d never mentioned her didn’t leave me much hope for a happy ending. So instead of reassuring him I said, “We al know you’re doing your best by her.”

“It wil mean nothing if Roldan takes her.” As if I needed another reason to pul Vayl back to the present. But now I just had to know what had happened to Helena. And the Berggias. I decided to cal Cassandra as soon as we got inside. And if her first words were “I’m stumped!” I was going to swal ow my pride—and a big spurt of fear—and bring in Sterling. Since our department had been shut down he couldn’t be that busy, unless his band had lined up a bunch of gigs to fil his free time, in which case I’d just have to convince (bribe) him to cancel. I wondered if our resident warlock stil favored the Tul amore Dew. And if so, how was I supposed to get my hands on a case of Irish whiskey in the middle of a teetotaling country like Morocco?

CHAPTER FOUR

Though I’d done it at least a dozen times already, I stil wasn’t used to the transition. Stepping from the dusty, crowded streets of the old city into the quiet elegance of Monique Landry’s traditional Moroccan vil a, with its blue and white tiled floors, their pattern so intricate I stood in awe at the time and care that had gone into the job. Smal er tiles in brighter shades of green, red, yel ow, and white climbed a third of the way up the ground floor’s wal s and lined the stairways on either side of the main entrance.

Above the tile, pink or gold stucco was decoration unto itself, though here and there an original painting hung, usual y signed by a local artist who had managed to capture the radiant soul that moved within every corner of the city.

Everywhere we went in the riad—whether it was the big lounge in the front of the place, the formal dining room down the south hal , the kitchen at the west end of the house, up the stairs to the rooms we’d rented, or out to the courtyard where our after-dark meetings occurred—scal oped archways marked the passages, as if the doorways themselves wore lace scarves out of respect for Al ah.

Monique had managed an atmosphere of elegant warmth throughout her home. Except for this moment when, stepping into the lounge, I felt the sinister aura of conspiracy tainting the air. My first clue was that Bergman had not only beaten us downstairs, but was wil ingly sharing space with our hostess and Kyphas. Astral looked far too innocent sitting in the doorway with her tail curled around her paws like an actual cat. And Cole was shoving me into the room like he was afraid I meant to make a run for it.

Then I saw the cake.

And Bergman started singing.

And Cole handed me his phone—which I put to my ear

—only to hear my sister harmonizing from thousands of miles away.

I waited for the rush of pain that I’d been trying to avoid al day, now that I’d been forceful y reminded that this was the second birthday I’d spent without Matt. That the mind-blowing celebration I’d been planning with Vayl had melted into a nightmare.

It didn’t come.

Instead I saw my old roommate, his ridiculous Cole-perm flying out from his head like Einstein Jr.’s, holding a flaming dessert out in front of him. Which meant Monique had rushed out in the middle of the evening just for me. At my right, the man who loved me and would never be more than my dearest companion had made it al happen. At my left, the vampire I’d become so entwined with that I couldn’t tel anymore where I stopped and he began was trying to comprehend how everyone knew the words to a song he was sure he’d never heard before. But he stil had a smile for me. In a dark wicker chair with palm-printed cushions, separate from us al but struggling to understand how we fit so wel together, a demon managed not to stain the moment. And in my ear, my kid sister belted like a Broadway star.

When they were done I said, “Thanks. This is so cool of you guys. I’d say you shouldn’t have, but it turns out I’m glad you did.”

Cole gave me a gentle shove toward the courtyard. “Go on. Talk to Evie. We’l wait.”

As I walked out I heard Vayl say, “What is that contraption Madame Berggia is holding to her ear? Has she gone partial y deaf?”

she gone partial y deaf?”

Ignoring Cole’s attempt to explain his cel , I spoke to my sister for the first time since Vayl’s… accident. “Yo, Evie, thanks for checking in!”

“As if I’d miss this day,” she replied. “Have you found any rad new medicinal plants out there in the middle of nowhere?”

I took half a beat to sink into my research scientist Evie-cover. “Morocco’s amazingly cosmopolitan,” I informed her.

“Especial y in the new section of the city. But to answer your question, no, nothing major. We’re going out into the countryside again tomorrow. Don’t worry, if I have anything to do with it, Demlock Pharmaceuticals wil find at least five or six cancer cures in our lifetimes.”

“Wel , hurry it up. E.J.’s grown about a foot since you saw her!”

“That’s physical y impossible. Put her on the phone.” I waited until I could hear my infant niece gnawing on the receiver. “E.J.? This is your auntie Jaz. Are you being a good girl?”

I heard a gurgle. Or maybe a burp. And imagined the phone covered in regurgitated breast milk. Gross.

“Child, you’re what, almost four months old now? Stop being so cooperative and tel Mommy you want your own phone. Make sure you get texting. I hear that’s the new craze among babies your age.”

Evie said, “Are you corrupting my kid?”

“It’s my job. Look up Auntly Duties online. The description’s on Wikipedia.”

Evie laughed. “Okay, now cut the BS and tel me what’s wrong.”

“I—nothing. I’m having a fabulous birthday.”

“It’s only four o’clock here. That means I have a ful hour until Tim gets home. E.J.’s just discovered her hands, so al I have to do is make sure she finds them again after she’s lost them and I can nag you until you break.”

“I think Congress considers that torture.”

“Spil .”

I sighed and looked around the courtyard. It was empty.

Which meant Chef Henri, who liked to savor a glass of wine after work, had probably already gone home for the night. I stepped into the gazebo farthest from the front of the house and curled up on the couch. “I’ve been dating a guy at work.”

Amazing. Thousands of miles from home and my sister’s squeal stil forced me to pul the phone away from my ear.

I said, “See, this is why I don’t tel you things. Now my eardrum is bleeding.”

“It is not! Tel me al about him.”

Ha! Like I want you jumping a plane to Marrakech so you can shake your finger under Vayl’s nose and make him promise to keep his fangs to himself!

“He’s, ah, older than me.” But only by a few hundred years.

“Is he hot?”

Why did I suddenly feel like we were teenagers again?

First day at our new school, trading stories about the cute guys in our math classes. I said, “Smoldering.”

“Oh my God, I gotta sit down. Wait, I’m already sitting down. Okay, go on.”

“Would you rein it in? It’s not like that. Wel , it was. But now, I don’t know. He’s… changed.”

“Aw, Jazzy, tel me he’s not married.”

“No. He was, but she’s dead.” In fact, I killed the evil bitch, but I’ll edit that one out of our little talk too, ’kay?

Dammit, why did I start this in the first place? I hate lying to you.

Granny May spoke up from behind a bridge hand that, from the sparkle in her eyes, looked to be a winner. Maybe you needed to talk to somebody real for once, she said.

One of the few people you know who’s in a good relationship.

Could be. I tipped my mental hat to her, acknowledging a spurt of joy at seeing her seated at the table near the front of my mind again, no longer concerned about whether or not Brude was going to swing by and chop off her head. As if to celebrate the occasion, she’d chosen some real winners to play cards with too. Winston Churchil and Woody Woodpecker were partnered against her and Amelia Earhart. It was shaping up to be a hel uva game.

“Jaz? Are you stil there?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, what’d I miss?”

“I was just wondering why you think he’s different now.”

“He’s kind of… living in the past. I real y lo—like him.

But this is starting to get to me. What if, you know, what if he never—”

“Everybody changes, Jaz. Every day. Al the time. How important is this relationship to you?”

I cleared my throat. “It’s up there.”

“Wel , I’d tel you to be patient, but I’m not sure you ever learned that one.” We both laughed. “In which case, just don’t kick his ass so hard you put him in the hospital, okay?”

I visualized me attempting to do just that. It ended up with me on the ground. Bleeding. “I can pretty much guarantee that’s not gonna happen.”

“Wel , I hope you hang in there with this guy, then. He’s the first one you’ve told me about since Matt. And I have to think that’s a good thing. Real y, real y good.” I heard the hope in her voice and felt warmed that it was al for me. I knew some people had crowds of relatives cheering them on al through their lives. I had two. Maybe three, but I stil hadn’t decided about Albert. Which was when Evie said,

“Dad cal ed today.”

“Yeah?”

“Now that you’ve told me about your new boyfriend, I think I understand why.”

“Real y.”

She paused. “Um, he wanted to know, theoretical y speaking, how I’d have reacted if he had forbidden me from marrying Tim. So, of course, I asked him what was wrong with Tim, and he said nothing, it wasn’t about him. It was you. Which must mean he’s met this guy you’re dating. And he disapproves.”

I thought back to our mission in Scotland, the one he’d dropped in on unexpectedly. Though we’d tried to hide Vayl’s true identity, we couldn’t have fooled Albert during that last battle, when he’d caused sleet to fal from a clear sky and blown a hole the size of an elevator in the side of a burial cairn. So the old fart didn’t like it that I’d hooked up with a vampire. I’d worried about the ramifications of that for a while. But the fact that he’d cal ed Evie first? I felt a smile slide onto my face. “Cool.”

“Yeah, I figured that would make you happy. You can have the rest of your present when you get back home.

Party at my house next weekend. Be there.”

“Okay.” I hope. “Love you.”

“Same here. Buy me something extravagant while you’re in Morocco.”

“It’s my frigging birthday!”

“Okay, buy yourself something too.”

She was stil laughing when we hung up.

CHAPTER FIVE

I’d heard from Dave earlier in the day, a short text reminding me that although I’d been born a few minutes before him, he was stil bigger and therefore deserved more gifts. Also Cassandra had confessed that she’d let their engagement news slip, and because he knew I’d bul ied the information from her, I owed them dinner. That he’d left Kyphas out of the message meant Cassandra stil hadn’t told him the rest of the story—that the demon had come after her because the holy contract she and Dave had entered nul ified al the protections she’d used to successful y duck their deal for over five hundred years. At least he knew about that. But she should know that any guy who’l marry somebody who once traded her soul for the death of the slaver who raped her wil also rol with the fol ow-up punches.

I wondered if Albert would approve of her if he knew what she’d done. And then I decided it didn’t matter, because I sure as hel wasn’t going to tel him. And if he was pissed at me, that meant he wouldn’t cal at al , so I’d never even have the chance. It also meant I could leave the cool, dark corner of the gazebo and rejoin my crew in the lounge.

The room was dominated by a brown wicker couch upholstered with the same dark green palm-dotted material as Kyphas’s chair. In front of it sat matching square coffee tables that usual y held vases of fresh roses. Fat forest-green floor pil ows sat at their bases. Overlooking the whole scene was a painting of kestrels, six of them flying in a background so black it reminded me of the maw of a ravenous monster.

The painting looked less ominous when Cole joined Bergman and Monique beneath it, wiggling his butt between theirs, his easy grin making even Bergman’s shoulders relax enough that I was fairly certain the blades weren’t meeting at his spine anymore. He stil kept picking nervously at his jeans, a new pair without the rips or bleach stains that made him happiest. He’d stepped even farther out of his comfort zone by changing from his typical pul over to a shirt in gray and white plaid with only one missing button near the tuck, which Monique probably thought was cute. Maybe she even liked the pocket protector, which contained a pen in each color, a tire gauge, and a calculator that folded to the size of a paper clip.

But she might as wel give up hoping that he wasn’t so distracted by his dress-up clothes that he’d notice her wardrobe change. Instead of the white dress with lavender flowers she’d worn al day, she’d chosen a low-cut strappy number with an ivory background covered in amber vines.

Faceted amber gems surrounded by black beads dangled from her ears, and the same gems sparkled along the straps of her sandals. The whole outfit complemented her smooth skin and silky black hair, which Kyphas seemed more interested in than Bergman. Probably because Cole had just taken the time to tel her how pretty she looked before nudging Bergman, hard, with his elbow.

“Uh, yeah, you look great,” Miles agreed. He pul ed at his col ar.

When the silence got awkward Monique stepped in. “I think Kyphas looks lovely as wel , don’t you, Cole?” As Cole murmured an agreement, she turned to the demon. “Where in the world did you get that lovely dress? I have never seen such a pattern!”

I hadn’t either. She’d worn a little black number with bel -shaped sleeves and a scoop neck. Splashed onto that background were huge white flowers. At least that’s what they looked like at first. But if you let your eyes go blurry the flowers began to resemble skul s.

Kyphas said, “My mother’s a designer. She put it together for me.”

Vayl said, “I thought your mother was a scul ery maid.” Oh. Shit.

He stood near the edge of the room like the shy kid who knows he doesn’t belong and has no idea how to make it better. As if the warmth of the room didn’t affect him, he stil wore his duster over a white silk shirt tucked into black trousers. Where he’d found suspenders to replace his belt I had no clue, but they suited him, as did the walking stick he’d picked up in the Djemaa el Fna.

Unfortunately his view on us didn’t fit nearly as wel .

After a brief, strained silence, Cole was the first to recover.

He laughed and said, “Oh, you know how it is, sir.

Daughters say a lot of things when they’re angry. Monique!

Should we light the birthday candles?”

Huge uproar as we al loudly agreed that we should start a smal , control ed fire. I kept my eye on Vayl as Monique went to the cake, which she’d set on the coffee table closest to the wal . He got over our weirdness with astounding speed, but that may have been due to the fact that he’d found a better area for his focus. The confection fascinated him. And why not? Vayl had probably never seen a dessert quite so… loud… in 1777.

Three layers of chocolaty roundness covered in hot-pink icing and silver sprinkles, my cake was decorated with silver and neon-blue flourishes shaped like banana peppers. In the middle the baker had written Joyeux Anniversaire! in big blue letters. My enhanced vision, an ability I’d developed the first time I’d donated blood to Vayl, usual y added extra colors to the mix. In this case it caused the red and silver dots of icing between the peppers to glow. Like they were radioactive. I started to grin.

“This has to be the most obnoxious birthday cake anyone has ever gotten for me.” I looked at Monique, whose soft brown eyes had gone the size of lightbulbs.

She looked at Bergman hesitantly. “Obnoxious is good?”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Cole, for instance, is one of the most obnoxious guys I know and women can’t get enough of him.”

Her laugh was so sultry I expected the couch to unfold into a bed right then and there. Bergman, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stop obsessing about his dress-up clothes. He said, “Cole could probably get a date wearing prison stripes. But he tel s me I have to raise my game if I want any action.” He pul ed his shirt away from his chest.

“My game is itchy!”

I’m gonna nickname him Clueless McGee, I thought as Cole tried to get Bergman to shut the hel up and Kyphas laughed out loud.

Luckily Monique’s humor was as long as her patience, and she just chuckled along with Kyphas as she said, “But it was so kind of you to do this for your friend. Come, help me serve the cake. It wil take your mind off your discomfort.” She’d put al the necessary accessories on the second table, which sat at Bergman’s knees, running him out of lame excuses before he could even begin. And when Monique sent Cole to the kitchen for the coffeepot, Miles had no choice but to let her snuggle a little closer as she cut the cake.

I accepted my honorary first piece from Clueless McGee, who whispered, “Eat fast, I need to get back to my computer,” without tel ing him what an idiot he was. I was, however, forced to turn my head so he wouldn’t see me rol ing my eyes. Which was when I noticed Vayl frowning.

As I went to him, Kyphas leaned over and murmured,

“How’s the romance brewing between you two? Is Vayl into older women? Or does he get al snooty about banging the hired help?”

I considered stomping the demon’s foot and playing it off as a tripping incident, but nobody who mattered would buy it and I’d just end up looking petty. Which, okay, maybe I was a little. But this time I decided to rise above and settle for quiet disdain. Ignoring Kyphas as if she was no more important to me than a wiggly white maggot, I marched past her and up to my boss. Whose orders I had regularly ignored for the past few days. But stil .

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the dessert. “I did not realize it was your birthday. I apologize. I have nothing for you.”

“That’s fine. I’m used to it.”

When he looked at me, his eyes were that hurricane blue that let me know he was genuinely disturbed. “That is the problem. Somehow I knew your birthdays were never special. And I meant to make this year different, but I failed you.”

I watched him struggle to understand.

Come on, Vayl. Work it out!

When he looked at me again his eyes had darkened to everyday brown. “Ah wel , perhaps we wil find you something pretty in the souk when we go back out tonight, yes?”

My throat tightened so much I had to swal ow before I could say, “Sure. That would be great.”

Kyphas chuckling behind me dropped my mood to the gutter, so when Vayl said, “Monique, I wonder if you can tel us where we might find a Sister of the Second Sight?” I wanted to inform him just what the vision of his future was going to hold if he didn’t pul his head out of his ass and start seeing me straight!

I shoved a huge bite of cake into my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything I’d regret later and nodded at our hostess, winking to let her know it tasted great as she gaped at me.

Then she remembered that at least she had manners and replied, “In fact, yes, Monsieur Brâncoveanu. A Sister named Hafeza Ghoumari lives just northwest of the Djemaa el Fna. You can visit her tomorrow if you like. Her souk opens at nine o’clock.”

The line between Vayl’s eyes deepened. “You mean, she does not do readings at night?”

“Only by appointment. You could cal and leave a message.”

“Then that is what we wil do.”

Monique went back to mutilating my cake and sending Bergman around the room with the pieces.

Vayl turned to me. “You must pay a cal on Madame Ghoumari first thing tomorrow and make an appointment. I want to see her as soon after I wake as possible.” I put my hand on the phone in my jacket pocket. “But I could just—” Then I stopped. When people said “cal ” Vayl’s mind went to putting your feet on the welcome mat, because to him phones didn’t exist yet. “Okay. I’l make the arrangements.”

What a colossal pain in the ass this whole deal is turning out to be. If this isn’t some sort of vampiric disease, but an actual attack on him, and I someday come face-to-face with the person responsible? We’re talking some meticulous, well-orchestrated torture before we ever get down to the killing.

Now that he was finished with me, Vayl ignored me like I was an embarrassing relative. I stood on the other side of the doorframe and jammed a whole day’s worth of calories into my mouth, wishing it didn’t taste so good because now I wanted to eat the whole cake. With my hands. I could just see myself at the end, sitting on a crumb-covered pil ow, my face smeared with fuchsia icing, bawling because I’d just consumed a week’s worth of meals in one sitting and I still wanted to punch my lover in the face!

Okay, this is pathetic. Go to your room. Get a grip.

Call Cassandra. Call Sterling if you have to. Get some sleep. In the morning you’ll have a better idea what to do.

I was on the landing, heading up the second set of steps when Kyphas caught me.

“Are you insane?” she asked. My adrenaline surged as her eyes flashed yel ow in the light of the glittering glass chandelier that hung from the ceiling.

I spun, facing her completely, as if she’d pul ed on me and we were about to do battle. But she stood stil at the bottom of the stairs, her hands at her sides, one of them clutching a tahruyt, which anyone else would’ve thought she’d bought on her latest shopping trip. Of Berber weave, the scarf’s gold and ochre stripes brought out the repetitive black designs tooled on top of them, one of which resembled intertwined sickles, while the other reminded me of dagger-impaled hearts. But I knew the tahruyt was more than it seemed. Just like I knew Kyphas couldn’t be shrugged off as an exceptional y beautiful American girl whose braid shone like ripe wheat on her shoulder.

I kept a wary eye on the tahruyt as I said, “The last time I checked, Vayl was the one having trouble with reality.”

“That’s exactly my point.” She came to stand on the same tread as me. I moved toward the wal , glad that we’d rented a place where even the stairs were wide enough to grab personal space.

I said, “What, that I’m crazy because Vayl can’t figure out what year it is?”

She shook her head. “I’m standing here looking at you, thinking you’re nuts for stil hanging around. I mean, you and Vayl have been together as a couple for what, two weeks?”

“More like eleven days,” I mumbled.

Her mouth drooped, like I’d just rescinded al her vacation time. “You don’t have that much invested in this relationship. And you’re looking at eternity with a man who can’t remember one single moment of the time you spent together as a couple. Why aren’t you and Cole on a plane to Cleveland right now? I mean, there’s a guy who knows your real name.” She raised her fingers to tick off the advantages as she listed them. “He loves you; I’ve heard him say so. He’s not a vampire, so you could have children.

He’s funny. He’s sweet. Where’s the downside?” She forgot to say he’s yummy. It was my Inner Bimbo, staying home for once. It must’ve been Monday in my mind.

Which made a lot of sense, considering. She lounged in a black negligee and transparent robe on a round bed covered with a faux tiger-skin spread. I’m imagining Cole in a pair of skimpy black shorts, all oiled up like one of those calendar models. Yup. He’d be way more fun than

—

Shut up, I told her. Anyone who’d do it in the back of a

’79 Pinto doesn’t get a vote.

But Kyphas sure thought she had a say. “Vayl is only going to become a bigger burden to you. Cut him loose before his enemies realize he’s become vulnerable and you spend what’s left of your life fighting for a brief interlude that wil never happen again.”

I leaned in to the wal , feeling the knife in my pocket slide back as my balance changed. “I could have Cole anytime I wanted. I don’t need your help, if it comes to that.

So why are you real y here?”

She nodded, giving me a good-on-you look that reminded me of al the times I’d passed Vayl’s little tests.

The bitch. “I knew you were a quick study. Of course, if you real y wanted Cole, I could smooth the road for the rest of your lives. But you and I both know he’s not your true desire.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “You want Vayl back? I could give him to you. Along with your job. Just like it was before your boss went and got his throat slashed.”

“Who did it?” I demanded.

She wagged a finger in front of my face, which I had a juvenile desire to bite. “Information is expensive, Jasmine.

Are you wil ing to pay for the name of Pete’s kil er?” I realized I’d pushed forward, letting her know how eager I was for any facts I could gather related to his case. I let my shoulder blades fal against the wal .

“Al right, then,” said Kyphas. “For Vayl? What would you give to have your greatest love back? How much do you miss Vayl right this minute? Or Matt? I could give you either one, just like this.” She snapped her fingers. Was it just me, or did I see a spark light the air along with the sound? I felt something move inside my chest. Vayl. Matt.

The two best things that had ever happened to me. Both lost by the age of twenty-six. Boy, could I pick ’em, or what?

I peered toward the lounge, where Cole’s laughter, Bergman’s staccato comments, and Monique’s soft tones offset the rumble of Vayl’s voice. Even from here his presence made me feel a little less like feeding Kyphas a couple of bul ets. So what if I could have him back? Or Matt? What if I could close my eyes, turn around, and see him standing there, smiling, just like he’d been the morning before he died. Saying, “I love you, Jazzer. After we get married, let’s dump this gig, build a big house, and fil it with dogs and kids and bowls of fruit salad!” And I’d laugh and throw a pil ow at him, and maybe we wouldn’t leave the bedroom right away after al .

I slid my hand into my pocket, said, “So this is how you do it, huh?”

“Do what?”

“Corrupt decent people. You start talking to them about the gravel-road stuff they’re pondering. Because everybody has thoughts like that. It’s just part of the shit your brain churns up every day. Demons, though, they take that shit and make it seem like a newly sealed interstate.”

“It’s not?”

“Not when you factor in the price.”

“But you’re tempted.”

“ I am human.” I’m human. After all this time and all that’s happened, I’m still… I began to smile.

“You’ve got no reason to show your teeth,” Kyphas snapped. “You’re more miserable than you’ve been in nearly two years.”

“Nope. Maybe you have to strip the meat off a relationship to understand what its bindings are made of.

And that’s why Vayl could never tel me ful out what it meant to be the avhar to his sverhamin. He just had to slip his ring on my finger and hope someday I’d figure it out for myself.” I held Cirilai up to the light coming from the hal . The red facets reflecting on Kyphas’s face made her look diseased.

“Oh, right,” she scoffed. “Your lover thinks you’re a fat old lady and suddenly you understand why you can’t leave him?”

I shrugged. “Ten days. Ten years. Time stops counting when you’ve found somebody you can’t live without for the second time in your life. He’s mine, Kyphas. I’m not leaving him. And I’m going to bring him back. He deserves that from me.”

I didn’t react when I caught the movement of her hand out of the corner of my eye. She’d banged the tahruyt against her thigh hard enough to transform it into a sword whose shape I recognized immediately. Straight at the top, curved and tapered at its razor-sharp bottom, the flyssa was a local creation, especial y beautiful because of the brass design inlaid along its spine. The pommel of Kyphas’s blade, shaped like a bird of prey, flashed its ruby eye at me as she raised her hand.

“I can alter your prediction,” she said. “See what I know?” she drawled as I watched the blade approach my throat. “You can die now, even if you are Eldhayr. One short stroke and I can send you straight to hel .”

“Yeah, I’ve only got one life left. But neither of us believes you could Pit me. Besides, I’ve already escaped once. Don’t think you could keep me there, even if you tricked me into dropping in temporarily.” My smile widened as I saw her eyes flash toward my white curl, winding among its red neighbors along the right side of my face, providing evidence that I hadn’t just fil ed her ful of crap. Not that hel gets much in-and-out traffic, but those of us who do go in and then receive the touch of a family member come back with a memento that no brand of hair dye can disguise.

She dropped the sword. Her smile gave her face a beauty-queen shine. She said, “I had to try. No offense?” I shrugged. “It’s who you are.”

“You weren’t afraid I would cut you?”

“You’ve already signed a contract agreeing not to hurt anyone in Vayl’s Trust. I know how demons are bound.”

“You understand us, do you?”

“It’s part of my job.”

She smiled again, sisterly, like her next move might be to hug me. I shoved my other hand into my pocket in case she decided to fol ow through. Instead she jerked her head toward the chandelier and the light sputtered out, leaving us in almost total darkness. I yanked out my bolo, but it wasn’t necessary. Al she did was lean forward and whisper, “Then you’l appreciate why I set you up for this next bit.” She kissed me, peck, on the cheek, and ran up the stairs.

I stood with my back against the stairway wal, its tiles so cool I could feel them through the thin material of my dress.

That’s why I’m chilled, I told myself as Cole and Vayl walked out of the lounge and came to stand at the bottom of the stairs.

“Berggia,” Vayl said, his smooth baritone more hesitant than I’d heard it the nearly ten months we’d worked together. “I did have a favor to ask of you now that your wife has gone up for the night.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you remember the first evening we arrived here?” Drol humor in Cole’s voice as he replied, “That’l be tough to forget.”

“Yes, you and Madame Berggia seemed quite confused at first. Of course, long periods of travel wil do that to anyone. But then you insisted we play that game with the smal portraits. Remember? You showed me several and asked me to respond if I recognized any of them.” I remembered. The panic. Near desperation.

Bergman’s idea to show Vayl familiar photos, every face we could find online, from vampires he’d lived with in the Grecian Trust, to mass murderers he’d disposed of in the thirties, to members of our present crew.

Cole said, “Yeah. Did you want to play the game again? Do you think—”

“No.” Impatient. Almost like, Get with the program, dammit. In fact, I’d be ecstatic if you could read my mind so I wouldn’t have to say this out loud. Vayl rubbed the back of his neck. Stretched his shoulders. Final y blurted it out. “I am interested in meeting a woman.” I stopped breathing.

Cole said, “Madame Berggia is making your appointment with the Seer in the morning—”

“No!” Deep breath. “I want an entirely different sort of woman.” Long pause.

Cole: “Oh.”

Vayl: “One of the smal paintings you showed me… I was captivated. I have been unable to turn my mind from her in these days since.”

Me: You fucker. I’m going to kill you. Right here. Right now.

Granny May: He doesn’t know about you yet. You’d be murdering an innocent man.

Me: Like hell! Kyphas was right. I turned to go upstairs.

Maybe I will just—

Cole: “Which one was it?”

Vayl: “I cannot remember her name. She was a green-eyed beauty with flaming red hair. You told me she was biding in Marrakech with her lover, a vampire named Vayl.” I shoved my palm against my mouth. Two fat tears tracked down my cheeks.

Cole said, “Her name is Jasmine.” Bless him, he pronounced it just like Vayl would have.

I turned back. My sverhamin stood on the bal s of his feet, his entire body tight with anticipation. “Yes! Can you arrange a rendezvous?”

“Sir.” Cole pushed his hands into his hair, pul ed his palms down his face. “Although I’m fairly sure she’s unhappy with her current situation, uh, I don’t think a face-to-face is going to be that easy. Vayl is the jealous type.”

“We shal start with a letter, then. I wil dictate and you wil pen and deliver it, yes?”

Cole nodded, but slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe the conversation. “I guess I could.”

“Excel ent!” Vayl clapped him on the shoulder. Which was when I realized his next move would probably be to bound up the steps and rush to his room on the third floor, next to mine, where he could have the privacy he needed to write his fantasy girl a love letter.

I grabbed my skirt, hiked it up to my thighs, and ran toward my room. My mouth was open the whole way, pul ing in big breaths of air to fuel my race, pushing out gusts of silent laughter. Because 1777 Vayl wanted me too.

Yeehaw!

CHAPTER SIX

Vayl never talked much about his childhood. But I always suspected it included lots of hand-me-downs and skipped meals. Because he’d reached the end of his second century with a wel -developed appreciation for the finest clothes, food, and accommodations.

I could see instances where spending extra dough got you better quality, but to me a room was pretty much just a place to crash unless you lost so many stars you began to see mold and bugs. Yeah, I appreciated my sunset-striped king-size with its wal -length headboard and the silk-cushioned bench at its foot. But Vayl would’ve wanted me to ooh and aah over my yel ow and red bathroom (egad, was there no end to the tile?) and the metalwork decorating the windows and the door that led to my balcony. No dice. I saved that kind of reaction for, say, people who could eat entire lemons without puckering. Now, that’s impressive!

For lack of a better place to put it, I’d set my trunk against the wal between the bench and the bathroom. I opened the lid, dug through a couple weeks’ worth of clothing, most of which Monique had sent out to be cleaned for me the day before. Vayl’s cane nestled between a pair of jeans and a pile of silky lingerie that threatened to depress me al over again. So I concentrated on the item that had been his companion so long that he’d added a metal tip to its base and then replaced that twice. Even if he hadn’t recognized me, he should’ve known his cane. But even it had gotten a REJECT stamp.

Which was, maybe, why I spent time with it every day, curled up on the bench with the cane across my knees, my fingers trailing along the whole length of the black wooden sheath that held a sword Vayl had once wielded like it was part of his arm. Now I wasn’t sure he knew how. I turned the cane on my lap, watching the carved tigers spiral down its length while the blue gem at the top glittered in the light of my wal sconces.

Maybe he’ll ask for it tomorrow, I told myself, as I had every night since we’d arrived. My new mantra. The one I repeated right before I cal ed Cassandra.

Who, once again, had nothing new to tel me. Except that she wanted to put Jack on the phone.

“Cassandra, I’m not talking to a dog on the—”

“Here he is!”

I heard panting. Echoes of my conversation with E.J., only Jack had enough control of his slobbers that Cassandra

wouldn’t

need

to

decontaminate

her

mouthpiece when we hung up.

“Uh, hel o, Jack. This would be Jaz. Talking to you on the phone.” I dropped my forehead into my hands, knowing Cassandra could blackmail me until the end of time now.

Because I would pay, yes, raid my savings regularly to make sure nobody ever heard about this. Even so, I said, “I don’t know how you dogs deal with disembodied voices.

My guess? You’re wondering why I haven’t walked out of Cassandra’s bathroom by now. Anyway, be a gentleman and do your business outside, okay, buddy? See you soon.”

Cassandra said, “He’s smiling. Huh. I wonder why he’s checking out the toilet?”

“No idea. So we’re stil stuck on what happened to Vayl?”

“I’m sorry, Jaz. I haven’t found any mention of this kind o f memory loss in the Enkyklios or my books so far, so I don’t think it’s a natural occurrence for vampires.”

“Yeah, Astral hasn’t come up with anything either.” Which sucked. Cassandra could research hundreds of supernatural sources. Astral, the wundercat Bergman had invented for me, also contained an Enkyklios, along with every government database I cared to access. Problem was, only a smal number of vamps had ever made it into the records. Most of them lived highly secretive lives, and of those who’d shared info, none had experienced Vayl’s current malady.

I took a deep breath. “Al right, then. I’m bringing in Sterling.”

Silence.

“Cassandra?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Do you think—that is—maybe someone else would do just as wel ?”

“We’ve worked together before.”

“And how did that turn out?”

I cleared my throat. “I believe the city was going to have that house torn down anyway—”

“Jaz—”

“He’s the best. Nobody else wil do.”

“Okay.”

“So, uh, could you cal him?”

I didn’t actual y hear her gulp. But the long pause led me to believe she went through a hard swal ow or two before she said, “Me?”

“Yeah. Wel .” I pul ed my poker chips out of my pocket.

Set them down on the bench and began to shuffle them.

When I’d calmed down enough to talk again I said, “The last time I saw him, he told me that if I ever spoke to him again he was going to turn my hair purple and put a permanent knot in my tongue. He’s good enough to pul that off, you know.”

“What did you do?”

I sighed. If she was going to be my emissary, maybe she should have some background. “It was about three months before I started working with Vayl. I was chasing down a mage who’d been hired by some lobbying group to give the first lady a disease. I can’t even remember the name of it now. But it was rare enough that the government wasn’t providing any research funding. They figured if the president’s wife came down with it, the money would come pouring in. I’d cornered the mage once, but when he nearly dropped a bank sign on me, Pete decided I needed some hocus-pocus in my back pocket.”

“So he sent in Sterling.”

“Who is, I kid you not, the most annoying man on earth.

We’re only on the case for two weeks, but the entire time he never stops bitching about al the gigs he’s missing and how his band is probably just fal ing apart having to play with this dude from St. Louis. Like they’ve never heard of jazz in Missouri.”

I shook my head, realized Cassandra couldn’t see me, and went on. “So we’re searching through this abandoned house in the worst neighborhood in D.C., where we’ve heard the mage has holed up. There’s trash everywhere. It stinks like rotten potatoes and I’m pretty sure rats are living inside the furniture, so at least Sterling’s wearing shoes this time out. But I can’t figure why he’s dressed the rest of himself like a house painter. If his T-shirt was any whiter it would glow, making him a prime target. This, of course, makes me realize my black-on-black ensemble has probably qualified us to star in the next series of Good vs.

Evil videos on YouTube. But I’m not interested in becoming a cartoon. I just want to kil the mage and run before I catch whatever he’s got cooking for Mrs. President. However, Sterling’s not in the mood. He’s just had a cal from his drummer, who’s enchanted with his St. Louis sit-in.

Dumbass just can’t stop complimenting the guy whose name is, I kid you not, Doobie. We’re in the kitchen, I’ve got Grief off safety, and Sterling should be ready with a kickass spel . But instead he starts muttering the same old complaints.”

“Fucking Doobie, stealing my gigs, no doubt fucking everything up.”

“Hello?” I say. “Potential target behind the fridge. Or in the closet. And you don’t even have your wand ready!” He looks down at his empty hands. His fingers are long and pale. Great for weaving spells or playing the piano. I can’t imagine why his chosen instrument is the trumpet. “You can’t just carry wands around like cocked guns,” he says, frowning at me like I should have intimate knowledge of warlock lore. As if they don’t have it all guarded closer than nuclear material.

“Why not?” I ask.

“It’s dangerous , Chill.” That’s what he calls me, I think just to piss me off. He shakes his head to emphasize his point. His hair falls straight to his shoulders. It’s so black I’d suspect a bad dye job if he wasn’t a Power. He’s saved from utter geekdom by two factors. The hair sweeps directly back from his forehead, so there’s no part to reveal the freakish white of his skull. And he walks and talks with a rhythm that comes from somewhere deep underground, like he’s locked into the music of the earth itself.

We move on to the dining room, which may contain a table, but we can’t be sure because all we see are moldy boxes packed with old newspapers. I think we’re back on track until he says, “If this assignment goes on for more than a couple of days I’m gonna have to split. I gotta get back to my band.”

“Are you nuts?” I’m so mad I’m hissing. “We’re about to confront a disease-carrying mage and all you can think about is your stupid band? Would you like me to tell you what matters least to me right now? I mean even less than clipping my toenails? Your band. The fact that some dude named Doobie is getting his ass germs all over your chair. And that he’s probably playing better than you do.”

“Where do you get off talking tunes?” he spits. “You don’t know shit about jazz. Hell, you’re not even black.” Anybody else might’ve laughed until they blew snot.

But Matt and my Helsingers have only been dead for four months. I still feel like I’m walking around with no skin, just bleeding through my clothes like they should be bandages. So if you scratch me, I don’t bleed harder. I scream:

“You’re not black either, you bigoted twat! You’re whiter than me, and I’m a pasty-ass redhead! All you do is sit around and whine about how you’d be better-looking if you were black, you’d get more dates if you were black, you’d be a better musician if you were black. Because you know that’s the one thing even the most powerful warlock on earth can’t change. So it’s the one excuse you can make that nobody can throw back in your face as your own failure. How about you shower more than twice a week?

Shave some thorns off that ego of yours, and get some damn trumpet lessons? Work at it day and night the way you have your magic. Oh, wait, it actually matters to you whether you fail at music so you’re not going to put the sweat into it just in case it all comes to nothing. Right?”

“Enough!” Sterling’s voice spikes in my ears, so full of venom and jagged edges that I cover them with my hands. Well, I try. Grief is still in my grip. Should I take aim?

As I consider my options, he slaps the palms of his hands against the carved bone bracelets on the opposite wrists. He slides them off his fingers, and they seem to reach toward each other, as if they know they belong together. They link with a sound like searing steak.

I have time to think, Oh shit, that’s his wand , before he raises the gnarled weapon and traces an intricate pattern in the air. As the wand buzzes and he chants, I charge.

Warlocks don’t do much hand-to-hand fighting, and Sterling’s ego won’t admit that anyone like me would dare to attack in the face of his might. In a sense he’s right. No way would I shoot a fellow spy. But I sure as hell would head-butt him.

Our skulls crack with the force of a couple of rams. For a couple of seconds everything goes gray.

Cassandra stopped me with a gasp. “You head-butted Sterling Nicodemus? You. Head-butted? The most powerful warlock in the world?”

“Wel , that was before Paolo Grittoli died, so technical y he was number two at the time. In retrospect, it was a stupid move, though. Too much risk for too little gain. But as I stood back and my eyes cleared, I gotta say I grinned when the blood gushed from the gash I’d opened up on his forehead. Within seconds it had blinded him. One point for me, right? But my lead disappeared when he hauled off and punched me. Not literal y. Dude doesn’t have to. Just waves that wand of his and al the oomph he’s stored up goes zapping through his special little conduit. Looks like a damn blue claw coming at you.”

“What did you do?”

“I flew through a wal . It was a flimsy wal , which is why I’m stil alive today. Luckily that put out the flames, so my clothes were only smoking when I got up and ran. He came after

me,

which

led

to

a

five-minute

attack/escape/something-gets-blown-to-bits chase that final y caused the place to col apse. Unfortunately, the mage we’d been after had never been there in the first place, so we stil had to neutralize him before we could ditch each other. We managed a temporary truce. Did the job. He threatened to rearrange my reflection and we went our separate ways.”

I knew Cassandra was shaking her head because I could hear her earrings clicking together. “Does Vayl know about this?”

“No.”

Sigh. “Al right. I’l cal him. But you have to promise to behave.”

“Cassandra. I’m a total y different person now. It’l be no problem. You can promise him that. And, you know, make a deal if you have to. Tel him I’l buy him a new trumpet or something.”

“You think he’s stil that angry that he’s going to have to be bribed?”

“I don’t know. I mean, Vayl did request his help when we went to Scotland and nothing came of it. At the time he thought the Oversight Committee was responsible. I never corrected him because we were final y going somewhere with our relationship, and the last thing I wanted to say was,

‘Oh, by the way, can I tel you about the time I was a complete ass to a sensitive artist?’”

Cassandra said, “He was out of line too.”

“See, that’s why my brother loves you. Is he home yet?” New excitement in her voice as she said, “I’m meeting his plane tomorrow. I can’t wait! Is it okay if I take Jack with me?”

“Sure. Just tel him he doesn’t have to get on the plane this time, okay? Otherwise he’l take off in the opposite direction.”

“Okay. And, um, I’l cal Sterling now.”

“You are the best future sister-in-law ever.” I had to sit there for a minute after I hung up before I could identify the strange new feeling making me want to jump up and pace around the room.

Huh. I think it’s called hope. But don’t quote me on that. I’ve been wrong before.

Nothing makes me hungrier than a gut ful of optimism. So I took Vayl’s cane in one hand and let the other brush back the sienna-tinted curtains that spanned my balcony door.

Across the courtyard, through the doors that exited the lounge, I could see people moving around inside the room.

Which meant cake could stil be snatched from under their noses if I was cunning, bold, or charming, al of which I felt were suddenly within my skil set. But just in case I needed help, I pul ed a compact from my battered black weapons bag and, from it, peeled off two fake eyelashes. Besides making me resemble Trixie the Velcro-uniformed nurse at the Silver Spurs Saloon, they gave me access to any video feeds our friendly neighborhood robokitty might want to send me.

I ran down to the second floor and knocked on Bergman’s door. He didn’t answer. I knew better than to barge in. He probably had a rocket launcher set to fire as soon as the knob turned the wrong way. So I knelt by the crack between the embel ished wood and the floor.

“Come on out, Astral,” I coaxed. “I know you’re in there. I can hear your gears purring.”

Without another noise she slid out to me, her sleek black coat in blob-array to al ow her to pass through the thumb-sized opening. “Thatta girl,” I said as we both took our typical stances. I only popped a couple of times at the knee. She sounded like a bag of Orvil e Redenbacher’s, and kinda resembled one too, her parts reinflating to catly proportions with remarkable speed. I waited. When her claws didn’t appear I said, “Aren’t you going to recalibrate?”

She regarded me with golden eyes that seemed to cross slightly the longer we stared at each other. Then she said, “Hel o!” Eerie how her lips made just the right shapes.

Bergman must’ve spent six months on her mouth controls alone.

“I’l take that as a ‘No.’ Now remember not to talk in front of Monique. You’re barely believable as it is.” I headed for the next set of stairs, glancing down at Astral as she trotted beside me. I knew if I touched her she’d feel like one of those metal ic silver sleeping bags that insulate to forty below. Which was why we’d told Monique that Astral was a weather cat. We’d unraveled this huge yarn about her already having predicted three tornadoes and a volcanic eruption. So now part of our research (specifical y mine) was to see if she could foresee sandstorms. Or flash floods. But it al had to do with her unique coat, so we’d asked Monique never to touch her, because to do so could ruin al our data.

“You know, I’d worry about there being a special place for liars in hel ,” I whispered to her. “But I’m pretty sure the assassins’ level is so much worse, it’s not even worth my time to stress over it anymore.”

Her only reply was a twitch of her inky ears to let me know she’d heard. At least she hadn’t spoken, or worse, sung out a reply. And once we got to the lounge I realized I hadn’t needed to freak about Monique at al . She’d taken off for the night, leaving Cole and Kyphas to play a game of backgammon. Wel , that seemed to have been the original idea, because the game board and pieces were al set up on the table where the cake had been. Which meant Monique had probably taken it back to the—

Kitchen raid! shrieked Teen Me. She’d been lounging in a hammock she’d strung between Granny May’s clothesline poles. Now she rol ed off with such an utter lack of grace you’d have laughed out loud to learn her track coaches occasional y referred to her as an “athlete.” I want the icing! That’s all I want! Just the icing! You eat the cake part! she said, glancing over her shoulder at Gran, who had just begun to hang a sheet on the line.

Granny May looked over the tops of her glasses at me.

You see what I had to put up with?

I shushed them both. Because though I’d thought Cole and Kyphas were bent over the instructions to the game at first, I knew differently when he pul ed the sheet of paper they’d both been holding out of the demon’s hands.

As he studied the paper I backed to the stairs, leaving Astral in the room to send the signal that played out like a holograph three feet in front of my eyes. I sat on the bottom step, turning Vayl’s cane between my fingers as I watched Cole slide the paper in his, giving Astral enough of a view to show a hammer with a double-thick handle that ended in a sharp point.

“So this is the Rocenz,” he said, sitting back on the couch and shoving his feet out in front of him until the toes of his shoes hit the table.

“Yes.” Kyphas leaned toward him, resting her elbows on her knees to show off the remarkableness of her cleavage. And, of course, his eyes tracked to them like radar. Smiling wickedly, she said, “I thought you’d already seen it.”

He shook his head. “Vayl told me about it, but I missed the slide show. So it’s two tools that are, what, magical y joined at the hip?”

“You could say that.”

“And how do you separate the hammer from the chisel?”

She scooted closer to him. “I have no idea.”

“Sure you do. It was forged by a demon, right?” She nodded. “Lord Torledge created it.” She looked down at the picture. When she looked up again I thought I saw her eyes flash bright yel ow. But I could’ve been mistaken. A second later they were back to hazel.

Cole let the picture rest on his thigh and laid his arm across the back of the couch. He seemed so relaxed that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see his eyes flutter shut. “Is he stil around? Pounding out new weapons for hel to lose track of?”

Kyphas sat back. Now it was as if Cole had his arm around her shoulders. She said, “He’s stil working. And I know where you’re going with this. He does know how to separate the parts.” She turned toward him, pressing the side of her breast into his chest. “I can find out for you. If…”

“If?” He dropped his free hand to the expanse of tanned skin between her neck and shoulder. Watched his fingers push her sleeve down her arm, then move across the dangerously low neckline of her blouse.

She gasped. Reached up for his face and pul ed him to her. Their kiss was so fiery that I turned away. My stomach rol ed. Everything about this moment was wrong. But I couldn’t do anything to make it better. I stepped back.

Then I heard Kyphas say, “I can give you everything you want, Cole. You have only to ask. The Rocenz. The key to unlock it. You can save Jasmine. You can have me.”

“I want that. But I’m not as convinced as everybody else is that this tool is going to work.”

I recal ed the playback I’d seen of the Hart Ranch hand, Zel Culver, using the hammer and chisel to carve the name of the earthbane, Thraole-Lulid, into the gates of hel . The tool had performed as promised, diminishing the monster to a pile of gore.

Kyphas’s next words pul ed me back into the conversation. “I don’t make agreements I can’t keep, Cole.

Jasmine can defeat Brude with the Rocenz.”

“Al you want in return is my soul, right?” Yel ow lit her eyes. “I could take it without your permission. The Rocenz is more than just a primitive demon-kil er, after al . It was designed to do much more intricate carving.” She smiled as her eyes darkened. “But I’m not that kind of girl. I like my souls freely given. And when you think of it, it’s a smal price to pay for eternal ecstasy.”

Cole transferred his hand to the back of the couch. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” No, I wasn’t wrong. That was real pain in her voice.

His voice was hard as flint as he said, “Jaz would never forgive me if I sold my soul for her. And I couldn’t live with that. In fact, I couldn’t live with you. Yeah, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever kissed. But you’re not her.”

“I could be.” Was she… begging… a little now?

“No. Jaz may cross the line once in a while, but at least she knows where the line is.”

“Line?”

Cole rose, bringing Kyphas up with him. My cue to backpedal. “Exactly.”

“You should reconsider.” Harshness now, clear warning in that hel born tone.

“What’re you going to do to me, Kyphas? And before you answer, let me just remind you how many burn wards would’ve written you off the last time you came after a member of Vayl’s Trust.”

She snorted. “Vayl is no threat in his current state.”

“But Jaz is. I’m not saying I know a whole lot about Vampere politics. But as his avhar, she’s gotta be perfectly capable of stepping in and kicking your ass out the door.

Or, to be more specific, enforcing the contract you signed promising you wouldn’t hurt anybody under Vayl’s protection.”

I could only see her profile in the silence that fol owed, but it was enough to show the frustrated color that had risen in her cheeks. Even though Astral picked up minute sounds, I had to lean forward to hear her whisper, “You have to know I would never wil ingly hurt you.” His laugh was so sharp it should’ve drawn blood.

“You’re a demon. That’s who you are.”

She stepped toward him. Her eyes were wide, intense on his as she said, “It’s not who I want to be. Not when I’m with you.”

She reached forward. Pressed her hands against his chest. “You confuse me. You enrage me. But I’m tired of pretending that you’re nothing but meat to me. I’l do anything. I’l be anyone you like. If you only kiss me again.” Anticipation curled the corners of my mouth. And now for the final cut.

I nearly gasped out loud when he pul ed her into his arms. Their lips met in a kiss so fiery I was surprised their clothes didn’t melt off. When Cole grabbed her by the hips and her legs wrapped around his back I tore off the fake lashes, Astral’s cue to get the hel out.

She joined me on the steps, sitting beside me while I tried to think what to do next. Thump from the lounge as the couch rammed back into the wal . That did it. My buddy, one of the most cheerful, hilarious dudes I’d ever met, was screwing an unrepentant demon. No good could come of it, especial y for him. As soon as Kyphas became expendable I was going to kil her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

So much for cake. I gripped Vayl’s cane tight and sped up to my room, Astral a rocketing shadow at my heels. The run did me good. By the time I col apsed on my gigantic bed with the cat curled up beside me I could think again. As I stroked her smooth head I decided to have a real face-to-face with Raoul. Fighting demons was his gig after al . If anybody could help me take Kyphas down, it would be him.

And in the meantime?

I had to think of some stel ar babe to fix Cole up with.

But I didn’t real y know any nice girls besides Evie. Hey!

That was it! She had a lot of friends who spent their whole lives in Normalvil e. She could easily find Cole a fabulous woman. Somebody who wouldn’t flip out if he traveled some. A woman who liked guys with sun-bleached hair and…

I didn’t realize I’d nodded off until I heard a tapping at my window. I sat up in bed, pul ing Grief from its holster before my feet hit the floor. Again the taps, four or five, hitting almost, but not quite, at the same time. The window was the one that faced the street.

“What is it, Astral?” I whispered.

The cat didn’t reply, just hopped off the bed and went to the curtains, where she waited patiently for me to pul them open. I stood by the wal . Peering between the material and the glass, I could see down to the street, where a man wearing a gray button-down shirt and white pants stood, his hand ful of pebbles, his upturned face clear in the streetlights.

“Oh, for chrissake!” I flipped the curtains aside and lifted the window. “Aren’t you the guy I kicked the crap out of before?”

He smiled and slapped himself on the chest. “Yousef!” he announced happily.

“How did you find me?”

He glanced over his shoulder and his young translator slunk guiltily out of the shadows. After a brief conference the teenager said, “Yousef says it is not difficult to place you, as you may be the only red-haired woman in Marrakech.”

Dammit! Why didn’t I dye my hair before we came here? “What do you want?” I demanded. I checked the watch Bergman had made me, wishing it shot lightning bolts or laser beams. Holy crap! “And why are you here at four thirty in the morning?”

“We are on our way to work, lady,” said the boy.

“Where do you work?” I asked.

“In the tannery.”

That explained the stench on the men and in the part of the medina where we’d been fol owing Vayl the night before. Transforming animal skins into supple leathers was a laborious and revolting job, but I wouldn’t look down my nose at these guys for the work they’d chosen. At least they were trying to make an honest buck.

I said, “Isn’t this out of your way?”

Another discussion between Yousef and the boy. What was his name? Oh yeah, Kamal. He wiped his hand across his lips, clearly wishing he didn’t have to say, “Yousef would like you to know that he is fal ing”—he made a diving motion with his hands—“into the love with you. And you would do wel to marry him before you leave the country.” I felt my jaw drop. “Are you insane?” I slashed my hand at Kamal before he could translate, stomped back to my weapons bag, grabbed my silencer, and screwed it onto Grief’s barrel. Just as I got back to the window a handful of pebbles flew through.

Shit!

I dodged aside, waited a beat to make sure Yousef wasn’t launching a second handful, then whipped my Walther PPK into position.

Kamal squealed as soon as he saw the gun clear the windowsil . He dove into the bushes that belonged to the two-story house across the street. Yousef, on the other hand, spread his arms like we were about to do big reunion hugs. He started speaking rapid Arabic, shaking his head back and forth to emphasize his words and closing his eyes blissful y as he talked.

“Kamal! Tel your buddy to go away!”

Kamal translated. When it was time for him to relay Yousef’s message to me he was nearly weeping. “Yousef says he must stay until al the birds of Morocco have sung your name. Please do not shoot him, lady. He is not a bad man. He is just a little crazy.”

I took aim. Squeezed the trigger. Ping! The cobblestones in front of Yousef’s feet flew apart as the bul et impacted them.

Kamal screamed and jumped out from behind the bushes. Yousef laughed and did a little soft-shoe.

What the hell?

Kamal grabbed his friend’s arm and tried to pul him away. They argued vehemently for about thirty seconds.

Final y the boy’s head dropped and he yel ed up to me,

“Yousef says he wil only leave if you give him your name. I apologize, but it was the only way I could secure his agreement.”

I shrugged. “It’s Madame Berggia.”

Kamal sighed as Yousef talked some more. Then he said, “Yousef wishes me to say these words: ‘Al right, I leave, my wondrous one. But while we are apart my heart wil beat with the sound of your name. Until we meet in our dreams!’” The tanners walked away, leaving me free to go back into my room, dropping the window and the curtain.

“Ow!” I picked up the pebble I’d stepped on. “You know what, Astral?” The cat looked up inquiringly. “No matter how I look at it lately, love hurts.”

“Love is a battlefield,” she sang softly, making me wonder how many of Pat Benatar’s hits Bergman had downloaded into her memory.

I flopped back down into bed, so tired that I didn’t have a single conscious thought before the dreams began. And they made no sense. It was like one of my inner girls had commandeered the remote and decided to channel flip her way through the night. I relived the poker game I’d played with Dave’s unit, after which Cam, his right-hand man, had given me my precious chips. Stel a screamed at me again as the dogs dragged her back into hel . And just as I turned away, the blizzard-swept cairn dissolved into a Hawaiian pier, and Matt stood before me, his hands outstretched.

“Dance with me, Jazzy.”

Every fear lifted. Al my worries dissolved as I felt his arms close around me. I laid my head against his shoulder and took a deep breath. The scent of cedar and freshly mown grass that was uniquely Matt fil ed my lungs, and for one moment I felt whole again. I smiled against the rough cloth of his jacket. And then realized.

“You should be wearing a cotton shirt. One of those ridiculous Hawaiian numbers with huge pink flowers.”

“Jasmine. It’s me.”

I shoved him away. My blue-eyed Navy Seal had been replaced by a uniformed Ranger with a soft Spanish accent. “Raoul? What the—I mean, real y? Here? Now?” When I was finally feeling good? I’d shove you again, but that’s probably a major sin and I am so stocked on those.

that’s probably a major sin and I am so stocked on those.

He ran his hand through his dark brown crew cut. “I am sorry, but jumping into your dreams is like parachuting into an active volcano. Do you realize how unpredictable they are? I’m lucky not to hit when you’re under a barrage of gunfire!”

“Are they that real?”

Raoul led me to the table at the end of the pier. It was stil set for two. Hel , even the candles were stil burning. He said, “Not until I arrive. And then they become something more… that makes me want to avoid blades and bul ets.”

“Wel , couldn’t you time your drops a little better? What if I’d been having a real y hot dream about Vayl? That would’ve ended our relationship right then and there!”

“I would never—”

“Good!”

We sat down and I grabbed a breadstick from the woven basket. “Do you want some?” I held the basket out so he could reach it easier.

“No, thank you.”

I put it down. Started breaking little pieces off my breadstick and tossing them into the water. We sat there until Raoul decided I’d calmed down enough for us to talk like reasonable human—uh—Eldhayr. I jacked my arm back and threw the rest of the breadstick into the ocean.

“Are you al right?” he asked.

What kind of question is that for somebody whose broken neck you once repaired as easily as if it was pieced together with buttercream icing? I mean, Raoul, every time you and I meet I have to face the fact that we have our own classification. You could at least avoid reminding me that I was the only one who agreed to come back to fight. That Matt preferred paradise—or whatever—

to me.

I said, “I’l be okay.” I badly wanted to shuffle through my poker chips. When I found them in my dream pocket I nearly cheered, but since Raoul knew what that was al about I satisfied myself with grabbing one and holding it tight between my fingers while I faked a relaxed expression. “It’s so great that you showed. I wanted to ask you about—”

“I need a favor.”

“Oh?” I looked at him a little closer. He seemed as control ed as ever. But I realized his knee was bobbing up and down under the table like he was trying to run one of those treadle sewing machines you occasional y see in antique stores. And every once in a while he would tap the base of his water glass with his forefinger, until he caught himself and made himself stop.

He said, “I wonder if I could borrow Astral.” I felt my eyebrows shoot up. If I let the cat go I wouldn’t just temporarily lose access to al the information she stored. I’d be loaning out my scout and backup arsenal.

“How long do you need her?” I asked.

He looked over his shoulder. I did too. If he thought somebody else could fol ow him into my dreams I sure as hel wanted to know who.

He said, “I’l tel you. If you promise to keep it to yourself.”

I said, “Okay.” He waited. “Oh! I promise not to tel anyone,” I finished.

He lowered his voice. “Remember the woman we discussed a few days ago? The one with the shiny lips?”

“Yeah. What was her name? Tina? Thea?”

“Nia,” he said.

I nodded. “Right. Nia with the intimidating lip gloss. Did you make with the chitchat?”

“She’s coming over for lunch.” He slid toward the edge of his chair, like I was about to send him off on a vital errand.

“You smooth talker, you!”

“Yes. Wel , no. I wrote everything down first and memorized it.” He took a breath through his nose and blew it out his mouth. I could see the stress drop away as the corners of his mouth lifted. “Spending my life in the military did not prepare me to converse with women.”

“You’re talking to me.”

“You’re different.”

Okay, we’ll stop before you tell me I’m just another guy, okay? That way I won’t have to club you over the head with this flower vase. I asked, “So where does Astral come in?”

“Nia mentioned that of everything in life she had to leave, she missed her cat the most. So I thought…” Mischievous smirk. Gosh, it seemed that even higher beings needed props to get to second base.

So I guessed the question was, should I steer Raoul away from the shiny-lipped cat lady or get comfortable with a Diet Coke and a bowl of popcorn? Wel , he had interrupted one of my favorite dreams. “Astral wil make the trip okay?”

“She’s a robot.”

I’ll take that as a “yes.” “Then you can have her. But—” I raised my hand before he could shower me with thanks.

“I’m going to need some payback.”

“Anything.”

Oh, no, Raoul. Tell me you haven’t got it this bad. I said, “Kyphas is going to betray us.”

“Natural y.”

“Can you find out what she can do with the Rocenz if she gets her hands on it? I mean, beyond the obvious political gain she’d receive by returning it to hel ? We know what it’l do for humans. But she hinted that it works differently for demons, and I’m worried that someone’s gonna lose his soul if we don’t head her off quick.” Raoul nodded. “You make an excel ent point. I’l get busy with that.”

“Okay. And next time I wake up, I’l send Astral through the portal. I should warn you, she’s developed some funky habits since Jack accidental y blew her head off.” Raoul nodded. “Good. That wil be a great icebreaker.” He leaned over and took my hand. “Thanks, Jaz. I real y appreciate this.” I looked down at his fingers, long and bronzed by endless days in the sun. And watched them change into shorter, broader digits that wrapped around my own with familiar strength.

“I think it’s time for bed, Jazzy. How about you?” I raised my eyes to Matt’s. Such a clear blue I could imagine sailing around the world in them.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He pul ed me to my feet. Slid his arm around my waist, slipped his fingers under my shirt so he could brush them along the sides of my ribs. I shivered with anticipation.

“Let’s get married right away,” he said. “Can we get the whole thing planned in a month?”

I caught my breath. “Why are you in such a rush?” He pul ed me closer. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad.

What do you think? Soon?”

I smiled up into his eyes, part of me dancing as I imagined the future unfolding ahead of us. But even deep into sleep I couldn’t push away the voice that said, Hold tight to this moment, Jaz. Because two weeks from tonight the dreams die with him.

I woke feeling more exhausted than I had when I’d falen asleep. My hand went to my face, trying to brush away the drool that must’ve dried on my chin while I was out. But it was too thick for spit and too smooth for upchuck. Then I realized it was on my upper lip too. I sat up and looked down at the T-shirt I was wearing. It was one of Vayl’s. Plain white cotton that made him look like a bodybuilder but hung to my knees. I’d bled al over the front of it. I checked the pil owcase. Soaked. Geez, how do you sleep through a gushing nosebleed like that?

Maybe when you spend the whole time dreaming backward instead of looking forward.

I ignored Granny May, who was staring at me with uncharacteristic concern from behind her embroidery hoop.

Because I stil had to deal with the aftermath. Not as big a deal as you might expect, because I’d already done cleanup twice before, and I was starting to develop a process.

I showered and then spent another half hour in the tileriffic bathroom. With gal ons of cold water, a little soap, and some scrubbing, I got al the blood out. I hung everything but the pil ow over the shower’s curtain rod, and that I just set on the toilet lid. At the end of that time I final y admitted to myself that the race was on now. If I couldn’t carve Brude’s name on the gates of hel before he blew my circuits for good, it wouldn’t matter much what century Vayl thought we were living in. Because he’d be trudging through the rest of it without me.

I returned his cane to my trunk and motioned to Astral.

“Time for breakfast, girl. What do you eat, like, bolts and oil or something?” She looked up at me and blinked a couple of times. “No patience for stupid questions, huh? See, that’s why you’re a sucky pet. Now, Jack? He thinks everything I say is bril iant. You can tel by the way he wags his tail. Have I told you lately how much it bites that he’s gone? And so, pretty much, is Vayl?” I stopped, shoved my palm against my chest. Amazing how it literal y hurt from time to time. Maybe people real y could die of broken hearts.

hearts.

“But not in this getup, right, Astral?” I looked down at my sun-colored T-shirt and couldn’t help but feel cheered by the grinning superhero posing on the front, who was pretty much al straight white teeth, pointy-edged face mask, and flowing red cape. He had his hands on his hips as he gazed bravely off into the wild blue. The caption read IMAGINE WHAT I COULD DO IF MY TIGHTS WEREN’T STUCK UP MY

CRACK!

I’d found it in a package outside my door just before going downstairs and had immediately decided to change clothes. It had come with a note: You’re the best. Happy Birthday! Cole

I also wore a pair of denim cutoffs that hit me just above the knee and black running shoes. I left my hair down and shoved the yel ow-framed sunglasses Cole had also bought me on top of my head for later. Grief needed a place to hide, which wasn’t a big deal now that the temperature hovered in the mid-sixties. I threw on my white jacket from yesterday, made exclusively for gun-toting babes like me.

Lined to hide the dark contours of my holster and gun, it was stil made of material that breathed like cotton. It might begin to look slightly awkward when the temperature rose to eighty-five or so. But that was where my country of origin saved me. People just seemed to accept weirdness from Americans.

Walking downstairs for the fourth day in a row didn’t feel any more habitual. I stil marveled at the exotic feel of Monique’s riad, a house so old that even the dirt lodged in the carved curlicues of the stair balusters had become valuable. While we stepped in and out of the rays of sunshine slanting through classical y arched windows, Astral played a song she’d overheard in the Djemaa el Fna the day before, one that a group of musicians with flutes, drums, and a couple of brass instruments had been belting out with more enthusiasm than talent. It felt like a fanfare as I reached the front door.

“So you know where you’re going?” I asked her. She looked up at me. I slapped my chest. “Jump up here.” She sprang into my arms. “I’m sending you to spend some time with my Spirit Guide, Raoul. Be a good girl.” She launched into a terrific cover of Cyndi Lauper’s hit

“Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” Which made walking her to the end of the block where a plane portal stood between a fruit sel er’s souk and a shoe repair shop somewhat awkward—because I had to pretend to be belting out the words as she sang, “Oh, Mother, dear, we’re not the fortunate ones. And girls, they wanna have fu-un.” By the time we were done with the song, we’d gathered a smal crowd, who clapped politely and gave me a handful of euros for our performance.

“Thanks,” I said, waving goodbye to them as they moved on down the street. I glared down at the cat. “You are a pain in the ass, you know that?” I held my finger under her nose as she opened her mouth. “Don’t. Sing. Don’t talk.

Just act like a damn cat for a second.”

I stood watching the portal, the flames that framed its rectangular entry flickering from blue to orange and back again as I waited for Raoul to open it from his side. A car slowed down and a grinning old man with hair sprouting from his ears leaned out the passenger door. “Hel o, pretty lady!”

“Get lost!” I yel ed.

Come on, Raoul. I have now done a cappella karaoke and convinced the natives I’m a prostitute, all so you can get a date. Open the damn door!

The shadowed entryway swirled and then cleared. I looked straight into his penthouse, a tidy black-and-white-themed bachelor pad located high above the rooftops of Sin City. He stepped into view, his boots polished to a gleam, his trousers and jacket creased so sharply if you looked at them too long they’d give your eyebal s paper cuts. He held out his hands and I stepped forward just far enough to set Astral into them.

“She’s in a musical mood today.”

He nodded, his clear blue eyes busy taking in my T-shirt. When he laughed out loud I nearly fel off the curb.

Relaxed Raoul was a whole different guy. Like somebody you’d want to go bowling with, because between frames you knew he’d have you rol ing with stories about when he and his buddies had once hung a gigantic sign lined with old-lady bloomers from the high school roof that said NOW

WE KNOW WHY NOBODY BAKES LIKE GRANDMA!

I said, “One thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I stil haven’t figured out quite what you are, but I know you deserve the best. If she doesn’t treat you right, move on.”

Stil smiling, he said, “I’l go one better. If she breaks my heart, I’l sic you on her.”

I nodded. “Works for me.”

He lifted Astral, who’d been rubbing her paws against his buttons, as if she was fascinated by their shape and texture. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked over both shoulders. Touched Astral on the forehead and whispered, “Some celestial interference, if you please.”

Astral yawned widely, but her mouth didn’t close again.

If any sound was coming from it, I couldn’t hear. But suddenly I felt… tense. “Raoul?”

“My scouts have discovered information that not everyone thinks you should be privy to. They fear, if you knew, you would throw this mission and run back to America. They don’t know you as wel as I do, but they have more power.” His voice went even lower. “So listen closely and be careful who you repeat this to. What you asked me about before? About the… tool and what the demons could do with it?”

I swal owed past the sudden dryness in my throat.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t al ow the demon in your party to get ahold of it. If she did, she could turn any one of you into spawn as wel .”

“How?”

“They’re stil questioning the informant, so I can’t be sure. I only know she’d have to use her own blood and another item, the source of which we haven’t pinpointed yet.” He looked around again. “You’l be careful?”

“Of course. And thanks. For everything. But I should real y go. Because I’m sure it looks like I’m talking to myself in the middle of the sidewalk in Morocco. And I think I’ve pul ed al the weird stunts this neighborhood can handle for one day.”

He nodded. “I’l be in touch.” The image of his place grayed out, and I turned back to the riad before I was, once again, staring into a black hole. It just felt like I was doing too much of that lately.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Monique Landry had probably been born smiling. In fact, I’d never met a person I believed more when she said, “I’m delighted to know you!” This was a lady who ran a hotel because she’d be lost without company.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grannyyy!

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

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

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

Her sigh actual y left a mist on my cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

“I’m not finished negotiating.”

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

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

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

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

I said, “What else do you want?”

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

“How long?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

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

—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The

warlock

nodded

grateful y.

“Until

Vasil

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

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

His eyes dropped to Cirilai. “Your ring…”

“Is none of your business.”

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

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

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

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

I felt something trickle down my lip.

Sterling frowned. “Your nose is bleeding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Good.”

“Although an apology would be cool.”

I stared.

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

“I never said there was!”

“You said—”

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

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

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

“You got here quick. I appreciate that.”

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

You want to know why?”

“Um—”

“Because at their core they’re the same. I’m making my way to the source now. And when I get there?” He paused, his amulet swinging hypnotical y, his eyes glittering like I should prepare for hefty news. “I’l be a Bard.” I sat back. “Dude. There hasn’t been a Bard roaming since…” I thought back. What had my History professor since…” I thought back. What had my History professor said? “I dunno, 1715?”

“Olfric the Hand was the last Bard, and he was murdered by Calico Jack Rackham and his pirate crew in 1718.” We both looked over our shoulders at the mention of pirates, who had strongholds in North Africa guarded, so it was said, by badass magic and wicked beasts. They’d never been a national security threat, so we hadn’t dealt with them directly. But we’d heard horror stories, and I sure as hel didn’t want to take any of them on. Especial y when they’d made it part of their code to exterminate the Bardish from the face of the earth.

I whispered, “Why would you want to be a Bard?”

“As a warlock I’m at the top of my game. Musical y I’m final y pul ing it together.” He lowered his voice.

“Sometimes when I’m playing, I think I can hear the universe singing back to me.” He made a pil ar of his fists on the table and rested his chin on them. Staring at the grouping of purple candles at its center he said, “That’s real y why I’m here. Because I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“What?”

He turned his head, letting his cheek rest on his hand. I watched his dark lashes sweep against his cheeks as he closed his eyes, wincing against the admission. “Nobody ever stood up to me before. For obvious reasons. I mean, we destroyed a fucking house.”

I nodded. “I was just thinking that we should probably be banned from property that has any value. At al .” Tiny smile that dropped right off his lips as he said,

“You were right. I needed to stop whining and start working.” He sat up and glared. “I stil think I’d have been a better man if I’d been born black.” His eyes softened. “But that’s probably because the only people who showed any kindness to me when I was a kid were a Jamaican named Tel er Keene and Skinny Day, who was African American.” I nodded. “Where’d you grow up?”

He looked through the curtain-framed opening to the sparkling blue of the fountain, then up to the ornate metalworked balconies. “Louisiana. First in a Catholic home for orphans. Then I spent a couple of years in juvie.” He glanced at me. “I may have been a kil er even longer than you.”

What do you say to that? Especial y when the guy revealing al these intimate details once tried to col apse a roof on your head?

“Why are you tel ing me this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve got a pretty thick skul . Skinny always said I was so hardheaded that I could drive nails with my eyebrows. But I’m not fool enough to turn my back on the few people brave enough to throw an honest opinion under my feet.” Again with the smile. “Especial y when it comes with the offer of a new instrument.”

“Never let it be said that I’m above bribery.” He swung his legs onto the couch, crossing them in front of him so he could face me as he spoke. “Cassandra said Vayl’s got a pretty serious problem.” My bottom lip started to tremble, so I bit it. “Yeah. About that. We haven’t been able to discover what could’ve caused it.”

He nodded. “During my flight I thought about al the dead ends you’ve been trying to make into highways. And then I realized there was one road you hadn’t considered.” He draped an arm across the couch’s metal backrest.

“Maybe this is a curse.”

I shook my head. “Curses are personal. My understanding is that you need the victim’s hair and clothing, stuff like that, to pul it off.” Sterling said, “That’s true. They’re also al about timing, meaning they can only be cast in special circumstances.

For instance, has Vayl been in New Orleans in the past three months?”

“No.”

“Has he kil ed an innocent or cursed someone else recently?”

“No to both.”

“Has he—”

“Wait a minute! Wait, wait, wait…” I rubbed my forehead, trying to pul a scene I’d wanted to forget forever back into focus. “About two weeks ago we were in Scotland. My mom escaped from hel to—wel , it doesn’t real y matter what she wanted with me. But before the dogs dragged her back down, Vayl whispered something in her ear that real y flipped her out. And then Satan’s Enforcer”— who’s trapped in my head right now, but I’m sure as hell not admitting that to you—“he said, ‘So it shal be.’ And he took her away. Does that sound like it might’ve been a curse to you?”

Sterling had started to straighten up and sit forward halfway through my story. He nodded and said, “When someone lays down a curse, they leave themselves vulnerable to the same kind of attack. It’s not a wide window. In fact, it starts to close right away, and by the time the moon changes again they’re safe. But if an enemy can attack that person within the month, they can do massive damage.”

I stared at the candles. Was it just my imagination, or had they begun to melt in the heat of my gaze? “The only person who knew about that curse before today was the Enforcer. Brude. Who, we just discovered on our last mission, has ties with the Sol of the Valencian Weres. Have you heard of him?”

“Just through office memos. His name’s Roldan, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s not just some superalpha who’s in the mood to throw his weight around. He’s so old that he met Vayl for the first time during the same era his mind is currently stuck in.” I looked up at Sterling. “Do you believe in coincidences?”

“Not when they click like a seat belt. How does Roldan feel about Vayl?”

“A week ago I’d have said he was just some creeper who’d backed a bunch of fanatical gnomes that were trying to gut NASA. I never knew about Vayl’s history with him until the end of the mission. And even then I’d have guessed Roldan was only after what he got when we were able to stop the Australian gnomes—you know, a major reputation boost among the moon-changers. But now I’d guess he’s probably hating like a reality-show reject, and it’s al to do with this ward Vayl had in the late 1700s named Helena.” Sterling raised a finger. “We also know he kil ed Ethan Mreck.”

Ethan had been one of us, a Were assassin assigned to infiltrate Roldan’s pack. News of his death had reached us shortly before Pete was kil ed. Sterling must’ve been thinking along the same lines because he went on. “Pete’s kil er was clawed too.”

I shivered, almost like I could feel the tips of those razor-sharp spikes brush against my neck. “That’s enough for me. You want to know what I think?”

Sterling’s eyes had begun to blaze. “Hit me.”

“I’m glad you don’t mean that literal y. There’s this guy named Yousef—never mind.” I took a deep breath. “I think Roldan was moving to fil the power void that was left when we took out the Raptor and Floraidh Halsey lost her coven.

He kil ed Ethan and Pete in a largely successful bid to bring down our department, which was the biggest threat to his safety. Take us out, he hamstrings his worst enemies. In addition, somewhere along the way, he learned that Vayl was working for Pete. I don’t know how or when. The chronology doesn’t real y matter. The point is that he’s chronology doesn’t real y matter. The point is that he’s created this perfectly geometric plan, which probably has him bouncing like a kid on a trampoline, where he gains power over al Weres by taking his revenge on Vayl.” Sterling shoved his plate away from the edge of the table so he could tap at its top, almost as if he was playing the notes of a song as he spoke. “But this kind of curse? It’s mondo magic. Only a few people can pul off the kind of mind-fuck Vayl’s experiencing right now.”

“Meaning?”

“I’d bet big money that Roldan’s hired himself a mage. I can’t give you a name. They keep their identities closer to their chests than poker cards. But if you get close enough to him, you’l be able to sense him.”

I jumped off the couch. If the mage felt anything like Sterling, my hair would probably fly straight off the nape of my neck the second I hit his neighborhood. “Let’s go get him.”

He raised a hand. “I’m not wasting my energy looking for a guy who’s probably guarded his home better than a super-max prison.”

“So how are we going to find him?”

Sterling flicked his hand like I’d just presented him with a simple math problem. “He’l be where the crowds are thickest.”

Right. A parasitic pickpocket, feeding off mass energy so nobody in particular would notice what he was stealing.

Sterling had probably done it hundreds of times himself. I said, “That’l be the Djemaa el Fna after dark. It’s rol ing with people.”

“So we know where he’l be.” But Sterling didn’t seem satisfied. He ran a hand through his hair, pul ing it back far enough to reveal an earring that hung halfway to his shoulder. Shaped like a boat oar, it was inscribed with runes that made me feel a little sick when I stared too long. I concentrated on his straight black eyebrows as he said,

“But I’m not positive I’m right. No mage could have pul ed off the curse without using some of Vayl’s personal things. I looked it up. He’d need something from the year he wanted to stick Vayl’s mind in. Something with his blood on it.

Something related to a habit he’d had in—what year was it?”

“1777,” I said.

“Okay, so let’s say he drank a glass of port every night before he went to bed in 1777. The mage would need a bottle of port of the same brand Vayl liked. How would he have gotten hold of something like that?” I shook my head. “It couldn’t have been from his house.

Bergman designed his security system so nobody’s broken in. And he would’ve mentioned stuff going missing from our hotel.”

“What about other places Vayl’s lived?”

I thought about it. I knew he’d spent his early days as a Rogue, wandering Europe and parts of Asia. Then he’d settled into a Trust in Greece before moving to America.

With his kind of power and pul , Roldan could’ve easily stolen, or even bought, a few of Vayl’s old possessions. In fact, as soon as he’d found out Vayl had left the country in 1777, he could’ve robbed him blind, stomped his valuables to bits, and then thought, But I’m keeping this box of foul little cigars just to remind me of how I got one over on the bastard.

“It’s conceivable,” I said.

Sterling nodded. “So let’s assume it’s a curse and move forward from there.”

“Then we’re hunting a mage tonight?”

“Shit, yeah.”

CHAPTER NINE

I was suddenly ravenous. Tearing into the bread on my plate, I tucked both my feet under my legs and munched happily, wondering what kind of preparations Sterling would need to make for our showdown tonight. I was hoping for an explosion. Somehow I felt that only splattage would make up for what I’d been through the past few days.

Sterling leaned toward me, his hair sweeping forward like an axe to cut the air for him. He shoved it back as he smiled, blinking sleepily as he gave me a good long look.

“What?” I asked through a wad of half-chewed carbs.

He rol ed his head toward the door that led to the lounge. “Someone’s coming. I’ve got a little ward up that he’s making tingle in al the right places. Tel him I’m available.”

“I thought you had a girlfriend.”

He shrugged a shoulder, his look tel ing me his tastes in love were about as flexible as his spel range.

I said, “My guys are straight, Sterling. Although maybe I could hook you up with this dude I just met named Yousef.

You never know what he might be interested in.” We turned our heads as Sterling’s lost love interest strol ed into the courtyard. He wore his black widow T-shirt, military-green Bermudas, and neon-pink flip-flops. Which he cal ed thongs, because that was the word for them in Australia, where he’d bought them. But mostly because he thought it was hilarious. And he carried a briefcase. It clashed with the outfit so badly that if they were people they’d have been throwing rocks at each other, but somehow Cole managed to pul it off.

He also looked remarkably refreshed for a guy who’d just spent the night boffing a demon. I waited for the spurt of anger. Jealousy. Whatever. Nothing happened. Which was when I realized I trusted my buddy to make the right choice in the end. And if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, because I was stil going to kil her.

In fact, the idea cheered me up so much that I ran to meet him halfway. “Cole! You’l never guess what I just found out!” He looked curiously over my shoulder at Sterling a couple of times as I told him about the mage and the curse.

“That dude needs to go poof,” he pronounced when I was done.

“That’s just what I was thinking!”

“Then we’re set. Who’s your buddy?”

“Oh. That’s Sterling.”

Cole ducked a little. “The warlock?” he whispered.

“Wow. I don’t know whether to ask for an autograph or go buy a talisman.” When I raised my eyebrows he added,

“The analysts say he’s moody.”

“Oh. Wel , he hasn’t tried to hex any of his partners since—” I stopped. Hid a wince. “I’m sure you’l be fine.” I introduced them. Cole, at least, knew enough not to shake Sterling’s hand. He gave the warlock a lazy sort of salute and sat opposite him inside the gazebo, laying his briefcase on the table.

“I thought you were done with the office accessories,” I told him as he went for breakfast.

“Oh, no. You always gotta think progress,” he told me, nodding sagely. “I’m liking the shirt by the way,” he said, pointing at my chest as he stuffed half a rol into his mouth.

Around the flying crumbs he added, “Glad it fit. Got something else for you too.”

He cracked the case and slipped out a folded sheet of paper.

“What is it?” I asked.

He just smiled and rol ed one hand toward me so I’d open it and give it a read. As soon as I saw the signature I walked away from the table. It was from Vayl. The letter he’d written to me last night thinking I was an eighteenth-century damsel who could be wooed away from her badass vamp lover. Well, let’s see what old-timey Vayl has to say to Jaz-in-the-picture.

My Dearest Jasmine,

Please forgive my boldness, but your beauty captivated me from the moment I beheld your portrait, a work of artistry so intriguing I felt as if I could reach out and touch your soul.

Can a man fall in love with a woman simply by viewing her image? Perhaps not. But I am no man. I am Vampere. I have looked into your eyes, and what I see makes my heart race as never before. That, itself, is a miracle. For I thought it had been broken forever, a ruin no creature could rebuild after the deaths of my sons. Perhaps you are the one who could make me whole again, my Jasmine. If I could but touch your hand, taste your lips, I would know. I must see you tonight. Say yes.

Yours alone,

Vasil Brâncoveanu

Whew, baby! I folded the letter and fanned myself.

“Dude knows how to put words together, doesn’t he?” asked Cole.

I spun around. “You read it?”

He shrugged, sharing one of those guy-smiles with Sterling that made me want to knock their heads together.

“Lord Brâncoveanu”—we rol ed our eyes—“can’t read or write. So Berggia had to do a little secretarying last night.” I came back to sit with them. “It’s fine. I’l write him back later this morning.” When Cole’s smile widened I added hastily, “It’s just to keep him from running off into the city looking for some tramp that I’m going to have to end up beating the crap out of sooner or later.” I paused to think.

“Probably sooner.”

Sterling began to laugh.

“What?” I demanded.

“Only you could get yourself into this kind of jam. Tied to a cursed vampire who’s hot for your bod—only he can’t see it.”

“And that’s only half of the story,” Cole claimed as he cracked open the briefcase and pul ed out a plastic, G.I.

Joe–sized dol .

“What’s the other half?” asked Sterling.

“That’s on a need-to-know—and you don’t,” I snapped.

He held up his hands. I pul ed back, an instinct that doubled Sterling’s grin. The jerk. Luckily his attention wandered before he could piss me off so much that I repeated history and ended up ribbiting and snagging flies out of midair. He’d become fascinated with Cole’s new project, which involved lathering his dol ’s bald head with superglue and then sticking tufts of platinum embroidery thread on top. Afterward he pul ed some scissors from his case and began to trim the dol ’s do. Sterling couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Is there a purpose to this hobby or do you just enjoy playing beautician?” he asked.

Cole snipped and fluffed as he spoke. “This is just a prototype. I figure to make mil ions when I sel this to Mattel.” He thought a second. “Or maybe Hasbro.”

“And why should they buy it from you?”

“Because it’s the Cole Bemont action figure.” I slumped in my seat. But Teen Me sat forward. I don’t know, it could be kinda cute.

Shut up; you’re too old to play with dolls.

She nodded toward Bergman as he shuffled into the courtyard. He’s older than you and he has a bookcase full of them.

Those are called collectibles, I informed her.

Not if you talk to them when nobody else is in the room.

I ignored her—because what we were doing wasn’t a whole lot more mature—and waited for Bergman’s greeting. It didn’t happen. Which meant the record was stil intact. Someday he’d make it into the Guinness Book for number of mornings waking up grouchy. Because until our techxpert had downed at least two cups of coffee, he wasn’t even fit company for a room ful of assassins. His mood did promise to improve later on, however, because he’d worn jeans that were ripped in both knees and he’d put on his gray pul over right side out this morning.

“See that dude?” Cole whispered to Sterling. He waved toward Bergman, who was scratching his unruly mop as he yawned so big that for a second I thought I could see his lungs. “He did his hair just like mine on purpose because he thought it would get him more girls.”

“Has it?”

“No, but that’s only because he keeps forgetting to ask.