Once Bitten, Twice Shy

"Why me?" I asked.

"Previous experience has taught us we need a willing sacrifice. Taking Cole's place makes you willing. It also eliminates the irritation you've been causing." As if I was a hangnail. But there's power in being so severely underestimated.

I addressed Assan. "So that's why using Amanda's brother in India failed, huh? He wasn't a willing sacrifice. Way to read the fine print, dufus."

Assan's eyes nearly crossed with fury at my disrespect, but something made him look off-camera, then move aside. Aidyn Strait joined him and Bozcowski in front of the lens and I fought to remain calm, to mask the fury that whipped through me with stunning force.

"There is no such thing as a failed experiment," Aidyn informed me. "I was working on an entirely different project when I discovered the red plague quite by accident. And I could never have developed it without a series of trials helping me refine it to full potency."

The Red Plague? Such a simple name for something designed to be so horrific. I felt sure we were only going to get one chance to turn the tide, so I kept playing along, fishing for information, watching for some slip that would betray their weakness. I said, "That's what I don't get. Why don't you just let it spread the way the flu does? Why all this elaborate human-to-vampire mumbo jumbo?"

Aidyn looked to Bozcowski, who smiled at him like an indulgent parent. "Go ahead, tell her," he said. Aidyn nodded.

"It is the only way I've found to keep the red plague from mutating into a run-of-the-mill virus." He spoke eagerly, as if I was the science reporter for the New York Times. "When I began this experiment I planned for a sexual transmission. You people were so steeped in free love and multiple partners, I supposed sixty-five percent of you would have been dead in six weeks. But the virus mutated into a non-lethal form when humans spread it to one another. I found out quite by accident that, when it is transmitted to vampires via human blood, it becomes nearly ninety percent lethal. However it also loses its contagion characteristics."

I interrupted him. "You mean, it can't be spread?"

"Not by the vampire carrier. I cannot tell you how frustrating the entire process has been."

Wow. Did anybody else see a Divine Hand dipping down to smack Aidyn every time he took a forward step on this one? First his abominable disease turns into a bunny rabbit when he tries to get humans to pass it around. Then he gets the bright idea for vamps to take the lead role, but they're like a bunch of two-year-olds. NO, WE WON'T SHARE!

Aidyn continued, "However, One among us knew the story of a visionary leader named Tequet Dirani and how he nearly ruled this world and those beyond, with the help of the Tor-al-Degan. She will be our delivery system. She will take the plague from the infected vampire and spread it to the world."

"So, what are you telling me, that I should send my damn-you're-an-evil-genius-Hallmark card to the Raptor?"

Bang. If we'd been standing in front of an impartial jury I'd have gotten my guilty verdict simply from the expressions on their faces. They recovered quickly, however, and without revealing anything incriminating, damn them.

But maybe they didn't need to. Vampirella had said something before I smoked her that didn't make a lot of sense at the time. She'd said Aidyn would kill her for a guy named Edward, because she and Boris had rejected his proposals. So, just for laughs, let's say Boris and Vampirella are the Vultures of a Russian nest that the Raptor wants as an ally because maybe it's big and bad and centrally located. The Raptor approaches them with a proposal and they say hell no. He's pissed, so he works it out with Aidyn to bring them to Miami, get them killed by plague (or by assassin) and both he and Aidyn get what they want. Huh. I'd have to do a little research to back up my theories, but I was willing to bet I'd just discovered the Raptor's real name.

All this time Aidyn had been considering me silently. Now he said, "You look familiar. Do I know you?"

His question staggered me. Did he know me? I experienced an endless moment of total nothingness, like the shock you get right before the boom of a nuclear blast. In that white stillness I instinctively wanted to grab onto something solid. My emotions were suddenly so mangled I couldn't believe I was capable of coherent thought. Oh. My. God! Then I became the explosive, a sleek silver canister containing a mushroom cloud full of infinite death. He'd killed Matt. He'd killed me! And I was supposed to keep chatting him up as if we'd met at a conference years ago and were getting reacquainted?

"Jasmine!" It was Vayl's voice in my ear, concerned, maybe even a little panicky. "I can sense your feelings from out here. Something is tearing you up inside. Do I need to come in?" Hell yeah! Get in here and trash this room! Impale Aidyn's image on that coat rack over there! Save Cole! Save me!

I took a deep breath. And another. I had to get control. Right. Now. I started to shake. Full body tremors that made me tighten my shoulder blades and clench my hands. My teeth didn't quite chatter but it was a close thing, as if I'd been walking in 40 degree weather with no coat for hours.

I closed my eyes. The killing time will come, Jaz. You can wait for it. The Voice told you so.

"Jasmine, I am coming in," said Vayl.

"No."

"No?" Aidyn echoed.

"No, you don't know me," I replied, wishing my voice wouldn't shake like that. I tried to get back to the facts. Things we at the C.I.A. would want to know when we prosecuted the ones Vayl and I didn't immediately terminate. "What I don't get is—why kill us off in the first place? The way you look at things, that's the majority of your blood supply moved so far down the food chain even the worms wouldn't benefit."

Aidyn began shaking his head before I'd finished. "No, not at all. We are simply culling the herd, weeding out the weak in order to purify our stock. When they are gone, we will introduce the antidote." I wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face—with a flamethrower. "This will, of course, make the survivors extremely grateful to us. In fact, they will decide they owe us something in return for saving them from the very plague we have begun."

"I suppose that's where you step in, Senator?"

He gave me his classic, CNN smile. So caring, so sincere. Ass. "A country under siege needs a strong leader. A popular leader. Someone who can explain the new order to them in such a way that they'll wonder why they didn't think of it themselves." His delivery was so smooth I'd have bet he was speaking from a script. One written by Edward the Raptor.

"And that is?"

"Willing servitude, Jasmine dear. Blood for safety, blood for health. It's not such a high price to pay. I'll show them that."

"And your terrorist friends get to see America brought to her knees."

Assan flashed his teeth. "We'll be dancing in the streets."

It wasn't hard to envision. They'd done the same after the Towers fell, and I'd wanted to kill every one of the sons of bitches then. Soon I'd get the chance. But first…

I sighed. "All right. Flip the switch. I'm trading places with Cole."

"Like hell!" said Cole, while at the same time Vayl snapped, "You will not do this!"

I took Cole by the hands, but I spoke to Vayl too when I said, "You have to trust me now. Believe me. I know what I'm doing."

Vayl's voice blared in my ear as Cole tried to shake his head without passing out. "Jasmine! I forbid this!"

"Now!" yelled Assan. "Switch!"

I squeezed Cole's hands as hard as I could, yanked him out of his chair and took his place. He staggered backward until he collided with a pile of boxes. I thought he'd hit the floor next, but he found his balance.

"Time to go," I told both of my men, before either could argue. "I'll see you again. Soon."

"I'll be back for you," Cole vowed, his battered face combining with his ferocious expression to make him resemble a biblical prophet. Wild.

"I'm counting on it," I said. I checked Grief to make sure the safety was on, tossed it to him. "Shoot anyone who tries to stop you. Now get going."

With a final nod, Cole stumbled out of the room. I didn't have time to worry about whether or not he'd make it down the ladder, much less the stairs. The three amigos were still tuned in and I really needed to get rid of them.

"Would you like me to prepare you for tomorrow's activities?" Assan inquired. "We have such a fantastic evening planned."

Oh goody, I've given myself over to the Cruise Director of the Beast Boat. "Why don't you surprise me?" I suggested. "You give me too many details and I may just decide to walk away from this whole deal."

"But—you would be blown up!"

"Exactly."

He and Aidyn exchanged a quiet word with the senator. "Very well then, we will leave you in peace." The picture flickered and faded to gray. They'd gone, though I was sure somebody over at Psycho Central still kept tabs on me.

I closed my eyes and lowered my head. Hopefully my watcher would assume I was praying. And in a way, I was. As when I made my out-of-body visit to David, I focused my entire mind on what I wanted. Except this time I had the right words to go with it, words the Voice gave me now in tremendous, booming thumps, as if they resounded from the world's largest drum.

My voice was a quiet murmur, fitting perfectly with the dust and neglect surrounding me. As the words spilled over my lips I began to feel dizzy and disconnected, as if the moment before sleep falls had been magnified a hundred times. My entire body began to tingle, and if I touched someone right now I'd expect to shock them.

I opened my eyes as I felt myself rise. It scared me, actually. I thought maybe I'd truly begun to stand up, and I sure didn't want to end it all with an accidental Ka-Boom. Part of me, the gravity-bound bomb-sitter, stayed put. But another part continued to move up to and through the ceiling, into the roof's crawlspace and through that as well. I started to wonder if anything would stop me from floating away like a hot-air balloon minus its release valve. I tried to direct my movements, without luck. Up, up I went, a space-bound spirit with no hold left in the world.

"WRONG!" It was the Voice, still sounding more like thunder than communication. "LOOK!"

I am looking! The snippy little reply was on the tip of what now passed for my tongue. It was also a lie. All my attention had been directed inward. Now I looked outside myself. Seven golden cords stretched from various points of the earth up, up to me. I concentrated harder and realized I could tell who the cord was touching simply by the way it vibrated. Actually, the vibration was more of a song. I identified Albert and Evie immediately. Dave, whose cord had just been a yellow blur the first time I'd traveled beyond my body, was there too. Vayl had his own tune, as did Bergman and Cassandra. Cole's was the one I focused on, however. I grabbed that cord of music with what passed for my hands and hurtled down it, delighting in the speed, wondering if this was how it felt to be a skeleton racer.

I stopped just short of ramming into Cole or, more likely, through him. He slumped against the post of a traffic sign, trying to hail a cab. But nobody wanted to stop for a guy who looked like he'd just been mugged and, therefore, had no money for fare.

"Cole," I said softly, whispering right into his ear. "Relax. Vayl's coming."

He jerked upright and spun around, his face a picture of relief and joy. The picture quickly changed to confusion and disappointment. "She's not here, fool," Cole chastised himself. "She's sitting on a bomb. Where you should be."

Okay, I'm invisible. Why is that? Dave saw me.

I let go of Cole's cord and grabbed Vayl's. It took me right into the van, which he was trying, and failing, to start. I settled into the passenger seat as he cranked the key and stomped the gas pedal. Over the sound of the struggling engine I heard him mutter, "Stupid, stupid, stupid son of a bitch!" He slammed the steering wheel with both hands, making it shudder on its perch.

"Geez Vayl, chill would you? At this rate Cole's going to freak out and walk in front of a bus while you're still deciding whether to flood the van or trash the steering column."

He gaped at me, smiled his dangerous smile and grabbed for my arm. I think he was hoping for a hug, but his fingers went right through me. The dismay on his face would've been funny any other time. "Um, I guess I should've warned you I'm not quite solid. But I wasn't sure you'd see me."

He shook his head slowly. "Unbelievable."

"You say that like you're impressed, but you're making that face, the one I get after I've made a stupid mistake."

He made a frustrated, that's-exactly-what-you've-done gesture. "How are you planning to rejoin your body, that is, if it is not blown to bits during the course of events?"

"I thought I'd try just jumping in."

"Are you insane?!" Now that Vayl had a living—sort of—target for his anger he had no problem starting the van. And now that he'd asked me the one question I'd feared most, I found I was too mad to care.

"You know what? I probably am! I did walk straight into a trap so obvious even a wooly mammoth could've avoided it. Because that's my job. Yes, it is insane to leave the biggest part of me sitting on an explosive device. But, according to my job description, I'm supposed to save innocents, not endanger them. Yes, it's crazy to stick around waiting for a plague beast to eat my soul. You'd think one death would be my limit. But apparently I just can't get enough of it! So can we just agree I'm bonkers and move on already?"

Vayl jerked his head, his version of a nod, and said, "So where is Cole?"

"Two blocks west of here, last I saw him."

"You… saw him. You went to him first?"

"His nose is broken," I said, as if I needed an excuse. "And, you know what, I don't need an excuse. I might be a couple of hundred years younger than you, but I'm still an adult! If I want to show concern for a friend, I will do exactly that!" I nearly stomped my foot, but that seemed a little too junior high to ram home my point.

Vayl steered the van back onto the street as he began to mutter again. I didn't catch it all, but I thought I heard him say, "That won't be all that is broken."

Dammit! If there is any way to screw up a relationship, I will find it. I pictured Cupid sitting in a crappy little bar, drunk and depressed, while he moaned to the bartender, "That Jasmine Parks, gods she pisses me off! Did you see what she just did? Totally blew off this immortal stud who's nuts for her to play kiss-the-boo-boo with a fickle little rent-a-cop. Why? 'Cause she's the biggest chicken-shlit on the planet! I'm ready to toss my bow and pick up a bazooka!"

"Vayl?"

"What!"

"I love you."

I knew he was going to ask for a repeat before he even opened his mouth, as if it wasn't hard enough to say the first time. That's what convinced me it was the real deal. I wouldn't go through this for anyone else on earth.

"What?" he whispered, looking suddenly young and vulnerable.

"I love you, Vayl. There's Cole, see? Can we stop and get him before he keels over?"

"Only if you love me."

We smiled at each other. "I do," I said. "Sorry about the crappy timing. This sort of thing should be sealed with a kiss. Or… something."

"I suppose we will have to save that for the plane ride back."

Oh my.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I thought as I floated into Bergman's house, leaving Vayl and Cole to pass the doorknocker's muster. From the looks of things, we shouldn't have left the cowpokes to their own devices for quite so long. With Bergman bristling like an irritated land baron and Cassandra throwing off bad vibes like a cornered gunslinger, it looked like we were about to have a good old-fashioned bar fight. Never mind that the bar had never seen a shot of whiskey in its whole upper-middle class life, Cassandra looked like she wanted to drag Bergman down the length of it, scattering test tubes, chemicals and bags of contaminated blood all along the way.

I moved over to her, hoping to overhear her low-pitched mutterings. "Lousy, neurotic, egotistical, bigoted, neurotic bastard!" She threw a sidelong glance at Bergman as she sat down at the dining room table, unaware she'd called him 'neurotic' twice, and that I agreed with her 98%. The bigoted part I'd never witnessed, but I was willing to kick his ass once I got my legs back if that part proved true. Then I realized she wasn't referring to skin tone at all. "Thinks magic's for fanatics, skanks and lesbians, does he?" she muttered. "Why, I'd like to…" her words trailed off as she narrowed her eyes, envisioning some satisfying form of retribution. Then she looked skyward and growled, "What is the deal with you? You'd think a thousand years of atonement would serve for one woman. But noooo, you've got to torment me even more by shoving me into a gang full of wiseasses and crackpots!"

A thousand years? I suddenly felt like die-hard stoner. All I could think was, Dude! She's, like, really, really old! Whoa!… Cool!

Then she saw me. Her face puckered, like she'd just bitten into a not-quite-ripe apple and she sat back so fast her chair went up on two legs. While she fought to regain her balance I tried to figure out this latest mystery. David, Vayl and Cassandra could see me. Cole couldn't.

"Hey, Bergman!" I yelled pretty loud, because the part of him that wasn't deeply pissed was focused on conducting his experiments.

Nothing.

Cassandra gasped, "Jasmine?" and he looked up, his face so creased with annoyance he looked ten years older.

"What did you say?" he snapped.

With all four feet of her chair squarely back on the floor, she twisted in her seat, her frown matching his. "Don't you see her?"

"I would if she was here." His tone suggested that maybe Cassandra had fallen right off the deep end.

"Someday someone is going to pinch off your tiny little head," she told him. He had a comeback ready, and for a couple of minutes they bickered like ten-year-olds. But nothing they said could distract me from the fact that Bergman hadn't seen me either. Bergman and Cole were definitely alive. Well, maybe you could debate about Cole, but since human effort had brought him back as opposed to gold-light, crew-cut guy, I was grouping him with Miles. Vayl, Cassandra and me… well, that was another matter entirely. Another matter that now evidently included David. Too. Much.

Cassandra snapped me out of it. She and Bergman had quit slapping each other around conversationally and now she'd moved back to her under-the-breath revelations. "Thinks I can't fight this thing with magic, eh? Well I'll show him!" She flipped through a book like an impatient client at the beauty parlor.

"Any luck?" I ventured.

She rolled her eyes at me. "I cannot find anything more telling about the Tor-al-Degan than I already knew. It is so aggravating! What kind of name is that anyway? I even typed it into Google. You know what I found? Nothing!" She flipped some more, traded books and continued her search.

"At the risk of sounding over much like Sherlock Holmes," said Vayl as he sauntered in, giving Cassandra a knowing smile, "Jaz and I seem to have found a rather compelling clue." Cole came plodding in after him and collapsed on the couch.

Cassandra gaped at him, then at Vayl, then back at Cole. "How can you discuss clues when there is an injured man at your heels?"

Vayl gave Cole an appraising look, "He will live. Now tell me what you think of this." He pulled the pyramid from his coat pocket and held it out so they could all see it.

Bergman gave it one hard look and dismissed it. Factoring in his previous comments and Cassandra's complaints, I gathered he wasn't interested because he thought it might be magical. Instead he grabbed the first aid kit from where he'd stowed it under the sink and went to sit by Cole, where he spent the next ten minutes cleaning, dabbing, patching and urging him to go to the hospital before his nose healed that way.

Cassandra reacted much differently. She flattened her hands on the open pages of her book, her thumbs and forefingers framing a picture of a horned, winged, fanged version of Cyclops eviscerating some hapless bystander. But her attention wasn't on the picture. It was on the key Amanda had passed on to us. It sat in the palm of Vayl's hand, looking like a kid's toy that's been rolled in the mud.

"I think I've been looking at this all wrong," Cassandra said. "All this time I have been focusing on the Tor-al-Degan when I should have been looking for the key. Not that I really knew what it looked like until just now," she darted a furious glance at Bergman as she grabbed a new book from the pile she'd scattered across the table.

I gathered Bergman hadn't entirely passed on the description I'd given him of the pyramid. Considering the import of such information, I seriously considered calling in some folks with handcuffs and squad cars. Maybe that would scare him out of his idiotic prejudices. But that would be for later. Now, Cassandra seemed to be on a roll. She studied the book with more and more interest while the men studied her. About the time I expected her to jump up and shout, "Eureka!" or something equally enthusiastic but a lot less geeky, my cell phone rang. After an odd moment when my nonexistent hands itched to dive into my absent pockets, I realized Vayl had it. Our gazes met across the room and he raised his eyebrows as if to say, Should I answer it? I nodded.

"Hello, you have reached Jasmine Parks' phone. This is Vayl speaking." He listened intently. "No," he said, "I am afraid Jasmine is not available. Can I take a message?… Oh, hello Mr. Parks."

Holy crap on a t.v. tray! My dad is talking to my undead boss, uh, boyfriend, um, whatever! Could this get any stranger?

Apparently so. Because when Vayl hung up he said, "You never told me how kind your father is, Jasmine."

Kind? This was the man who cut off little old ladies with his grocery cart so he could beat them to the checkout counter. If you caught him at the park, he wouldn't be feeding the pigeons, he'd be shooting them. Once I saw him punt a chihuahua twenty yards because it nipped his ankle. Kind? Huh!

I whooshed at Vayl, making him blink. "Oh no you don't," I ordered him. "You don't get to like my dad until I like my dad, and I don't. Do I?" I could tell he thought I'd really flipped out. So I tried to distract him. It turned out to be remarkably easy. "What did Albert have to say?" I asked.

"Senator Bozcowski does have a pool. His cousin-in-law owns the firm that made your faulty beacon. He is also vacationing with his family in Miami at the moment. But you knew that. Did you also know when he is scheduled to return to Washington?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure his dance card's full tomorrow night, so I'll say… day after tomorrow."

"Nope."

"No?"

"He is leaving in the morning."

"This morning?" As Vayl nodded I checked out the Regulator clock hanging over the fireplace. It showed nearly midnight. Oh my God, it's happening tonight! Those lying weasels!

"Um, Vayl?" Bergman ventured hesitantly, "is there a reason you're talking to the mantle?"

Vayl quickly explained, making it sound like I'd gotten myself into a predicament when I was, in fact, trying to rescue poor Cole from the sling we'd wound him into to start with! While Vayl talked, Bergman searched the air for clues to my existence, Cassandra smirked at Bergman and Cole just slouched among the pretty pillows, scowling at the drawn curtains. When Vayl had finished, Cassandra stared at Bergman triumphantly. "Explain that with your equations!" Before he could think up a suitable retort she went on, "By the way, while you were playing doctor, I found it."

"Found what, Cassandra?" Vayl demanded. "Talk fast, Jaz and I have to leave."

"The key!" She pointed to the artifact. "The Tor-al-Degan! I believe I have found the words—" she glanced at Bergman "—the spell that activates the key." She held up, not a book, but the Enkyklios. "We seem to have a detailed record of this beast after all."

"It sounds as if you are coming with us, then."

Bergman lurched off the couch, went to Vayl and grabbed his shoulder, which he quickly released when Vayl shot him his don't-touch-me look. But he didn't back down completely. "If she goes, I go," he said, jabbing a finger towards Cassandra.

"Fine."

Bergman blinked a couple of times, surprised at his success.

"You're not leaving me here while Jaz is sitting on that bomb," said Cole. We all looked at him. Despite the fact that he resembled a plane crash survivor, no one ventured an argument as to why he should stay. Finally Vayl said, "All right, if that is what you want."

"It is."

Another moment of silence passed out of respect for Cole's determination and, on my part at least, an attempt to balance myself against a staggering wave of concern. How were we supposed to keep them all safe? I wasn't sure it was possible, but I could tell none of them would entertain my arguments. As I fought a feeling of impending doom, Bergman launched himself into a packing frenzy that Cassandra quickly copied. For the next five minutes my little gang looked like they were preparing a full-scale evacuation. All except for Cole, who glared at the drapes so hard I was kind of surprised they didn't catch fire. And I was pretty sure that wasn't Visine I saw glittering in his eyes.

Vayl drove toward Club Undead like a drag racer. Every time he had to stop for a light or a sign, his next move was a flat-pedal takeoff. The first couple of o-to-6os left me so unprepared, I found myself hovering outside the van watching its taillights rush off into the night. When I resumed my place between him and Cassandra for the third time, he sent me an apologetic look. "Sorry about that."

"That's all right," said Cassandra, overriding my objections without realizing I wanted to voice them. "So can I tell you what I have learned about the key?" We both nodded. "It acts as a controller. Remember I told you the Tor-al-Degan can perform good or evil acts? Whoever owns the key can tell it what to do."

"So if they summon the beast before we get there, all we have to do is tell it to go back to where it came from," said Vayl.

"I'm not so sure. In fact, I think the Tor-al-Degan is already here. You said it ate the soul of Amanda's brother. And Cole said the torso they found bore the same markings."

"True. But Jaz said they said they needed a willing sacrifice."

"Yes. According to my research, the Tor-al-Degan cannot be completely released from its bonds until it receives a willing sacrifice. It can, however, exist in more than one realm at once. Which is why I think it is already here. Most of it, anyway."

"Why would they only bring it partway into the world?" asked Bergman.

"I suppose they didn't know any better. They seem to be working from a partial text, or perhaps a copy of a copy of a translation that has left out vital information."

Vayl clutched the steering wheel hard and shifted anxiously in his seat. "We have to get there. Now!" He laid on the horn as a light brown Crown Victoria pulled out in front of him, forcing him to brake hard. "Next time take the bus you old geester!" he yelled as he swerved to go around.

"Geezer," I corrected him.

He glared at me. "Never leave your body again!" He jerked us back into our lane just in time to keep us from getting flattened by a street sweet Hummer. He tried twice more, nearly colliding with a red Mustang and a dark blue Camry before he finally succeeded in leaving the old fart to stew in his prunes.

"Would you quit driving like a maniac if I went back to my body?" I asked. I'd never seen him so unnerved.

"Yes!" Vayl practically shouted. He took a breath, visibly pulled himself together. "We need to know if you are still unharmed, whether they have moved you, what they are planning. Report back as soon as you discover anything at all."

"Gladly," I agreed. "Your driving is making me nauseous and I don't even have a stomach!" I floated through the roof of the van and looked around. All my golden cords still stretched in their various directions. Was it me, or did they seem slightly dimmer than before? I didn't spend much time pondering, I was too busy looking for the light that connected the separate parts of me. I played the cords one by one, as if they were the strings of a gigantic harp, and delighted to hear one of them sing my own tune back to me. It wasn't as pure as Evie's or as powerful as Vayl's, but I liked it all the same. Especially when it led me straight back to my body.

There I sat, breathing, blinking, looking as blank as the porcelain dolls Evie collected. I shook my ethereal head. Unfathomable. I still sat alone and, yes, the bomb still blinked its harsh lights at me when I checked under the chair.

No longer interested in standing at my own side, I moved out, through the door into the control booth, now manned by a bald black man who looked fit enough to break world sprint records. He played with the sound board, tweaking the music that pounded through the teeming rooms beyond.

Floating out the window and over the humans and vamps who danced shoulder to shoulder, I imagined the devastation that would occur if I jumped back into my body and rose from the chair. Hundreds would die. Still, it's nothing compared to the loss of life our targets have planned. Something to consider. Seriously. But not yet. At least not until I found them, and it would take precious minutes to search the crowd, time I no longer possessed.

"Help me out here, would you?" I asked, hoping the owner of the thunderous voice hadn't taken a nap. "I've got to find the three stooges." Intuition told me I could sniff out evil now that I'd seen and accepted my transformation, but that ability didn't help much here, with my nose in the attic.

The answer rolled across me like an avalanche, reverberating through me, making me glad I didn't currently possess teeth that might well have shattered against each other in the aftermath. "UNDERGROUND!" I fought a perverse urge to do just the opposite, float back into the atmosphere, chase down the source of that overwhelming voice and discuss with it the benefits of the whisper. But something told me once I went hunting for my guide, I might never be able to return.

So I dropped from my lofty perch near the catwalk, past the dancers' mask-like faces and through the floor beneath their feet. The wine cellar I entered looked like it belonged under a medieval castle. Dusty bottles lined row after row of custom-made shelves that filled more than half the space. A gorgeous cherry table with four matching chairs stood at the open end of the room, made even more prominent by the ornate Persian rug under them. Floating next to the table, I could see a set of stone stairs leading upward. But my guide had left strict instructions. So I dove through the wide-planked pine floor into the cancerous bowels of Club Undead.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I fell into a pit, the symbolic significance of which did not escape me. Lit by flaming torches, painted by their smoke, the pit easily measured four times the width and length of the wine cellar standing above it. Uneven stacks of floor-to-ceiling stone impeded the view, so you could never see more than a quarter of it at once. The walls were as crooked as the load-bearing columns, as if some enormous mole had been snacking on various sections, leaving shallow caverns and outcroppings in its wake.

I drifted around the pit's perimeter, hugging the jagged wall like an amateur skater. The floor beneath my non-feet looked muddy, and steaming pools of viscous liquid made me wonder just what a good CSI would discover given the right chemicals.

In one corner a bona fide stream trickled through a gap in the wall and exited via a basin that could've been twenty feet deep for all its blank, black surface revealed. In another corner I discovered portable metal stairs that led up to a door in the ceiling. A quick check confirmed that it opened to the wine cellar, though it was hidden by the rug that lay beneath the tasting table.

About halfway between the stream basin and the stair, a folding table leaned against the wall. It reminded me of the church buffet suppers Granny May had dragged us kids to on alternating Sunday nights during our summer visits. Eight devoted parishioners could've used it comfortably, or perhaps, not so comfortably after all. The dried stains on the table top looked a lot more like blood than beef gravy.

The occupants of the pit stood in groups of two or three, wearing basic black, as if they meant to attend a highbrow cocktail party after the festivities ended here. I counted thirteen all together, none of whom I recognized as major players. Disappointed that Bozcowski, Aidyn and Assan, not to mention Derek and Liliana, were haunting some other pit—I mean part—of Miami, I continued my exploration. Still hugging the wall, I moved toward the part of the room furthest from the stairs.

I saw her before she saw me, and though I withdrew into a shallow alcove, I knew she would not miss me once she knew what to look for. The Tor-al-Degan viewed the world through cold, dead eyes, making me feel like a deer forced to drink from crocodile infested waters. Irises the color of gangrene swam in pus-hued sclera, making any of the acolytes they rested on shudder and back up a step. I'm not sure I'd have held my ground either. And I could understand why no picture of her existed in Cassandra's old books. She was just plain hard to see.

It could have been a trick of the lighting, the rise and fall of flame throwing odd shadows so all you got were confusing snapshots, none of which revealed an entire picture. After the eyes I didn't expect to glimpse an ounce of beauty in the beast, but there was a finely sculpted cheekbone, and there, the smooth curve of a shoulder. But I couldn't blame the fizzle, fade the Tor did next on the torches. I blinked, squeezed my eyes shut before I remembered they weren't physical orbs at the moment.

Must be tough, existing in a couple of different planes at once, I thought, as she gained enough definition that I could make out a foot, oh, ugh, make that a big, hairy claw. Definitely hard on the posture, too. She seemed to hunch, as if to protect something she held close, though I couldn't tell what it might be since she wore a dark, voluminous gown that hid a great deal. Then she turned her head and I saw the webbed tissue that connected her neck to something even larger that moved, squirmed, underneath the material that covered her back.

Again, the Tor-al-Degan began to fade, taking on the translucence of fine Japanese paper. She turned her head toward the waiting crowd, which immediately began to chant and sway, reminding me of the snake charmers I'd seen on Discovery Channel specials. Three women, all in their late thirties, all prematurely gray, stepped forward. They kept their backs to the crowd as they knelt on the floor, their knees sinking a good inch in the muck. The rest of the group formed a semicircle behind them and fell to their knees as well. The bottom third of their pants darkened as the cloth soaked up the mystery soup that covered the floor. As I tried to figure out its ingredients, Granny May's strident voice popped into my head. Well, that'll never come out, not even with bleach. Frankly, I was glad to hear her. This whole scene gave me the willies. Mostly because I figured my sacrifice was going to be part of the Big Finish.

The Tor's eyes swiveled in their sockets as she opened her mouth so wide her jaw came unhinged with an audible pop. Enormous fangs descended from the pointed teeth surrounding them, and she spit thick white goo at the watchers, making them cringe and retreat though they continued to chant. Then the Tor whipped her head sideways and slammed those teeth into the wall. The power she might soon unleash became clear as she took a bite out of the trembling earth, leaving ugly black scars in her wake.

As soon as she began to chew she solidified, and I realized how she'd managed to survive in this state for so long. Not only did she gain sustenance from unwilling souls, she fed on the earth as well. Assuming our Native Americans were right, some of the earth's spirit entered her that way, providing even more nourishment. Though I don't throw trash on the ground and I have been known to recycle a soda can or two, I'd never thought of myself as an environmentalist until that moment, when all I could see were the scars she'd left in her steady consumption of the good earth.

That's enough, I thought. That's all I need to see. That's all I want to see.

I rushed back to my body and found it where I'd left it, still blinking and breathing, still alone. Out the window I flew, my phantom heart skipping a beat when I discovered the cords connecting me with everyone who mattered in my life had now visibly faded, a hushed octet drawn from the original magnificent orchestra.

Urgency moved me to new speeds and I reached the van within 30 seconds. Vayl jumped in his seat when I dropped through the roof, landing on, or rather in, Cassandra's lap. Muttering a quick apology, I withdrew to my former spot while Vayl informed Bergman and Cole that I'd rejoined them.

"They've started the ceremony," I said. "It's happening below the basement of Club Undead."

Vayl slammed on the brakes and I suddenly found myself perched on the hood of the van as it slid to a stop inches from the back bumper of a dirty green station wagon. Just ahead of us a four-car pileup jammed the street. It must've just happened, because all the drivers involved still sat in their cars and no cops were in sight. I moved over to Vayl's side of the van, standing beside his window as if I really had feet, and told him what I'd seen.

"Dammit!" Vayl never swore. Never. I guess that's when I knew how much he cared. He jerked the van into reverse, but braked hard again as he realized a parade of mini-vans had him blocked in.

He shoved the van into park and let it idle. "This is going to take a few minutes. Go back to your body and stall them."

"What? Vayl, this is not a basketball game! I can't go in there and eat the clock, because when that buzzer sounds the whole block explodes!"

"You have got to do this, Jasmine. We will be there as soon as I can convince these drivers to move."

"How are you going to know where to find me?"

"Give me directions." So I did, along with my last excuse.

"I don't want to go. What if the monster eats my soul?" I sounded like a three-year-old, cowering under the covers because we all know what sleeps under the bed. But I was scared, more even than I'd been that night in West Virginia, when I'd been young and dumb enough to believe I could survive anything.

Vayl stared into my eyes, willing me to believe him. "It won't. And if it does, we will hang it by the ankles and thump it on the back until it coughs you up."

I smiled, only because he meant for me to. "Hurry, Vayl. I don't want to die again." I swooped into the air and stalled almost immediately. Only four of the seven cords remained and I had to strain to see them. I picked mine out as the only one leading away from the van and sped along its length, strumming it like a single guitar string, forcing the music to send its faint melody into the cosmos. The cord disappeared entirely as I entered Club Undead, and the prickles at the back of my un-neck reminded me I could still feel enormous fear despite my current lack of adrenal glands.

I slipped into the attic, the scene inside my body's temporary abode striking me as both comical and desperate. There I sat, draped halfway off the chair, "Unconscious and barely breathing!" according to Assan's hysterical assessment, while Aidyn crouched before me, his head and forearms under the chair, his back supporting my legs as he tinkered with the bomb. Apparently their remote shut-off wasn't 100% reliable. Not a comforting thought.

Assan pressed the shaking fingers of one hand to my carotid while he checked my pupils with the other. "She's dying!" he yelled. "How can she be dying?"

"Silence, you imbecile I am trying to disarm this bomb!" Aidyn's spirited reply jiggled my body so that my legs slipped off his back, my feet thumping to the floor to one side of him as my butt slid completely off the seat to land between his shoulders. Assan shrieked like a schoolgirl as my weight shifted.

"Got it!" shouted Aidyn. "Now get her off me!"

It's time. I know it's time. Why am I so reluctant to reenter my body? I looked up, imagining the stars twinkling in the night sky, with my guide driving a black Jeep Cherokee between them, singing his own, special rendition of "When You Wish Upon A Star." A big part of me yearned for that sort of freedom. Someday, I promised myself, I'll have that. When the price isn't so high.

Letting go of my hesitation, I slid back into myself, trying to be gentle, unobtrusive even. Still, the rejoining hurt like a full-body charlie horse. I woke screaming, startling my captors so much that they screamed as well. Aidyn lurched to his feet, sending me tumbling into a pile of boxes. I laid there a second, stunned and sore, until Assan grabbed my arms and yanked me to my feet, the sword he wore banging into my shins. Sword? I thought. Weird. And then, Holy crap, he means to carve me with runes!

"Bitch!" he squealed, spraying my cheeks with a fine mist as his eyes blazed. "What did you do? What did you do?!"

I wiped my face and straightened my clothing. "I kept my word," I said, feeling too depressed, too bereft to even consider belting him. I'd gotten my body back, for cripe's sake, why this sense of loss? It overrode everything, even the anger I should be feeling at being chastised by this rotten little man with his pruny little soul. And then there was Aidyn, who made me understand exactly how Vayl had felt when he found his sons dead. I wanted him to die, oh yeah, but slowly and oh-so-painfully. Didn't I? Even that rage could not seem to overcome this terrible grief. I hoped I hadn't left it behind. I'd wanted so badly to release it, and now I wondered if I'd be able to muster it in time to ensure our survival tonight. If I couldn't, I hoped it became a little black rain cloud that hovered over these two dirtbags the rest of their days, sending out hailstones and lightning bolts at inopportune moments.

Assan shoved me toward the door and I stumbled. Aidyn caught me, kept me from falling. "Enough!" he snapped, glaring at his colleague, "we do not need her to break her neck on the eve of our triumph."

What did you say?

I jerked myself out of his grasp, my momentary grief burned away by the heat of a fury so sudden and searing I could barely breathe past it.

"Jasmine!" Vayl's voice buzzed distant in my ear, "What is wrong? I have never sensed such anger in you!"

"How many people have you bled out, Aidyn?" I demanded, my self-control beginning to shear away beneath the force of my feelings. "How many necks have you broken? Don't play gentleman with me. I know better."

"What?"

"Jasmine, God Jasmine, get hold of yourself!" Vayl's advice held no more impact than a whisper. But I did hear him.

"Oh yeah, I'll get hold of something." I grabbed Aidyn by the lapels of his Armani jacket. Whatever he saw on my face made his eyes go wide and scared. Assan grabbed my left arm, but I knew I could take them. A simple twist and push would put my hand at Assan's throat, leaving the other free to tear Aidyn's head off, after which I would punt it against the wall. Repeatedly.

Not yet. It wasn't a voice in my head, not really. Just a silvery bolt of reason that started at Cirilai and shot straight into my brain. I dropped my hands as the door flew open and a couple of Assan's goons trooped in.

"What are you doing here?" snapped Aidyn. "You're supposed to be policing the exits. We'll be sealing them any minute now."

One man, whose hair was the color and consistency of motor oil, spoke up. "Liliana has been watching the monitors. She told us you needed help."

Assan snorted and let go of my arm. "Hardly."

Aidyn ran both hands through his hair. "Stick to the plan, people! You two," he jabbed two fingers at Motor Oil and his smaller, greasier pal, "back to the exits. Liliana, Derek," he addressed a vent in the wall which apparently hid a camera, "you should have been downstairs with the Senator twenty minutes ago. Now, move!"

The goons scurried to obey as, I imagined, did Liliana and Derek.

"That goes for you too," Aidyn told me, his entire demeanor a Kodak moment in badly disguised wariness.

"Sure." I gave him a Lucille Robinson shrug, knowing that Jaz must be bottled right along with her rage if we were going to pull this off. Knowing also that when the lid came off, payback would be a bitch.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The scene in the monster pit had changed somewhat during my brief absence. I had a better view for one thing. Aidyn and Assan made sure of that. They escorted me straight to the front row while the faithful, with the addition of Bozcowski, Vayl's ex and Derek "Doomsday" Steele, chanted words in a language I didn't understand, but which my ears heard as, "Over llama catcha fur." The Tor-al-Degan swayed to the rhythm of the chant, her eyes half-closed as if in a trance. I should've cared more, but my proximity to Derek had doubled me over, and I was close to adding my own mound of puke to the nasty puddles of glop on the floor.

While I leaned against a column, trying to regroup, Bozcowski turned to face his audience, holding up his hands for silence. "Today, victory is ours!" he said, baring his shiny fangs as they applauded. "No longer must we watch our goddess hover between worlds, frustrated and impotent. We have found our willing sacrifice!" He presented me to the clapping crowd, a farmer proudly displaying his prize heifer.

I panicked briefly as they surged toward me, but they stopped short, staying at arm's length, well beyond reach of the Tor-al-Degan's grasp. The noise they made swept over me though, their whoops of joy pounding through my head like an ethanol-powered knitting needle. The monster behind me squealed, her high-pitched response making my eyes water.

Assan strode to the back of the pit, taking three large acolytes with him, while Bozcowski continued with the pep rally. I watched Assan's group return carrying the buffet table. They deposited it in front of the Tor and then knelt respectfully.

"No."

Bozcowski interrupted his speech to look at me, his scowl creasing his face like an origami sculpture. "What did you say?"

"No," I repeated, "as in no altar, no pagan sacrifice, no me laying down for it."

"But… you agreed."

"Yes, I agreed to die tonight. But I didn't agree how." Why did I agree to anything? I am, without a doubt, the stupidest woman on earth!

Assan and his cohorts had risen from their soggy knees to hear our conversation. Now Assan's bottom lip jutted out and his glassy black eyes narrowed to slits. "You have to use the altar. I brought the sacred sword and everything." As if I could've forgotten about the weapon that had cracked against my calves all the way down the back stairs and then nearly threw me head-first through the trap-door of the wine cellar when it had gotten tangled up between my ankles.

"Is that the same sword you used to leave little carvings in your brother-in-law's chest?" I asked it in a whisper. My churning gut wouldn't allow anything louder.

"Yes. But we won't need the runes for you. Just a clean, quick execution."

"Oh?" Weren't we being so polite? I could hardly stand it.

"We have no need to hold your soul in stasis because the Tor-al-Degan is already here, prepared to eat it. At least, most of her is here. The rest will arrive soon."

"I'm confused. She looks like she's all here. You can't see through her or anything."

"Looks can be deceiving." I thought about my recent trip outside Physicality and decided not to argue the point. But Vayl had told me to stall, so I reached over the nausea, past the dawning migraine, and plucked out a subject they wouldn't be able to resist.

"I understand what happened to Amanda's brother. But what about the torso? It had the same markings."

Assan pursed his lips and refused to speak. Aidyn was the one who answered me.

"After the debacle with Assan's brother-in-law, we discovered our goddess needed a willing sacrifice. So we petitioned a member of our sect to provide it. He gladly stepped into her jaws, but his soul did not free her. That was when we learned of the second twist, that the sacrifice must be willing, but not a worshiper of the Tor-al-Degan."

Wow. Whoever had trapped the Tor had gone to great lengths to ensure she remained trapped. Leave it to a bunch of vampire/terrorist punks to foul a perfectly good binding spell.

Liliana had been quiet up to now, sizing me up like a tigress waiting in the weeds. To look at her you'd never guess she'd taken a dive off a roof recently. Unless you made the mistake of meeting her eyes. The memory stood there, poisonous and pissed. Suddenly she pounced. "Where is your sverhamin now, you mortal cow?" she asked, sidling up to me as if we were about to share a juicy secret.

Though Derek's scent made me want to curl up in a ball and pretend this was all a bad dream, I straightened and held her off with a raised hand, as if I were a running back in a slow motion replay. "Back off, Liliana."

She grabbed Derek's forearm and pulled him, stumbling slightly, to stand beside her. He looked much worse than the last time I'd seen him. His jaw was slack, his eyes unfocused, his skin bright red with fever. He kept reaching out with his hands, making pinching motions with his fingers like a kid at a 3-D movie.

I raised my hand higher, leaning my back against a column.

"I have found your kryptonite, haven't I Wonder Woman?" she asked, giving Derek a rag-doll shake.

"I believe you're mixing metaphors there, Lil." I stood up, realizing if she'd found my weakness, I'd discovered a new strength. It came from a combination of the ring on my finger and Vayl's voice in my head, whispering words I didn't recognize. Cirilai did though, responding with a warmth that spread up my arm and through my body, pushing Derek's stench off to a bearable distance.

"Give me the ring," Liliana hissed, doing such a good imitation of Tolkein's Gollum that I laughed.

Screaming with frustration she grabbed my neck with both hands.

"Liliana stop! Are you insane?" It was Aidyn's voice coming from somewhere beyond the shadows that had dropped over my vision as Liliana squeezed away my blood supply. I thought dimly how strange it was that she didn't just scratch me. She'd have had me so much easier. But she'd flipped out all the way, and logic didn't fit into the place she'd gone.

I grabbed her wrists and squeezed back. She cried out in pain. I yanked her hands off my neck, held them wide away from my body and head-butted her so hard my vision rimmed everything in gold for the next ten seconds. It was worth it.

She grunted in pain. I stomped her foot and followed up with a kick to the knee that made her scream as the entire leg gave. She swiped at me as she went down, collapsing like the Wicked Witch of the West, only there was no melting this iceberg.

"Please don't kill her." Unbelievable, not one, but two pleas for mercy kept me from dusting Liliana right then and there. Aidyn said it to my face. Vayl whispered it in my ear.

"I would kill you if I could," I told her, "I don't care who begs for your life. You're an evil creature and you deserve no pity, not one drop."

Though the Tor-al-Degan hadn't even cleared her throat, everyone suddenly attended her.

"I like this woman's soul." Holy crap what a freaky voice. It crawled across the skin like a colony of spiders, making you want to shiver and scream. I had to bite my lip to keep myself from begging for mercy. Led by Bozcowski, her little congregation fell to its knees like a fanatical group of synchronized swimmers. The Tor-al-Degan was looking at me like I generally regard a big plate of cheesecake. "She will taste of spice and vigor," said the Tor. "Let us begin."

I braced myself to fight whoever tried to manhandle me onto the buffet table. But I wasn't the one Assan's assistants grabbed.

Derek had collapsed beside Liliana, watching through bleary eyes as she squirmed with pain. Now four Deganites lifted her out of the muck and carried her to the table. She sat on it, her legs dangling over the side, the one I'd kicked still slanted strangely. Derek crawled toward her and the Deganites helped him to his feet.

"Say it!" urged Bozcowski from his perch in the muck, "say the words!" Aidyn had moved to stand by the table, but the senator wasn't talking to him, nor Liliana and Derek. His orders were for Assan, who had retrieved a gym bag from wherever he'd left it. Now he brought from it a bubble-wrapped object about the size of a standard flashlight. When he unwrapped it and sat it on the ground between the Tor-al-Degan's feet, I saw that its base was made from a human skull—a small one, maybe a child's? Three primitive stone daggers protruded from the top of the skull, and on their points sat a shallow stone bowl.

At Bozcowski's urging, Assan had begun chanting. Every time he paused, the congregation echoed him. It reminded me, ridiculously, of Girl Scout camp and the song I still knew by heart—The other day (The other day) I met a bear (I met a bear) Out in the woods (Out in the woods) Away out there (Away out there).

I realized my mind was beginning to play tricks on me, trying to remove my consciousness from this scene and send it back to better days. That way it could protect my frail sanity from moments like this that could well snap it. What a great idea. Too bad I couldn't allow it. I made myself watch carefully. Somewhere among this devilry, please, oh please, was the key to their downfall.

Assan had unwrapped and placed three of his grisly statues in a tight triangle around the Tor. But Liliana had gone on without him. She held Derek between her legs, the fall of her hair hiding his neck as she prepared to drink from him.

For Vayl's sake I said, "Liliana, if you take his blood, you'll die. You did hear Aidyn say that, right?"

She threw me a smirk. "You think he developed an antidote for humans only? What an imbecile." As she leaned to drink from him my gaze tracked to Aidyn. And what I saw in his face looked a helluva lot like Liliana's death sentence.

"It is time." I shivered as the Tor-al-Degan's throaty growl scratched at my senses. "Bring her!" Assan had stepped back beside Bozcowski, and though the chanting continued I could see the change it had brought. The Tor looked more vibrant, more lethal, as if the ceremony had filled her with venom.

"Vayl," I whispered, "where are you?" No answer. Damn Bergman's prototypes!

"Your mewling little eunuch cannot save you now," snarled Aidyn. He grabbed my arm and jerked me forward, past Derek, who had fallen to his knees, and Liliana, who lounged atop the table as if it were a gigantic, vibrating mattress.

"Not her you imbecile," snapped the Tor, making Aidyn flinch, "the vampire!"

I nearly laughed to see Aidyn's insults thrown back in his face. He didn't take it well either. His expression would've sat comfortably on a preacher who's just discovered his theology's full of holes.

He let me go, left me standing just feet from the Tor while he fetched Liliana. Her complexion pink from gorging, she rose languorously from the table and followed him to the first skull, not even limping from our last encounter. With a casual flick of the fingernail, she opened a vein in her wrist and let Derek's blood, now transformed by her vampirism, drain into the bowl. When she'd filled it she moved to the next, bending over to show off her cleavage to Aidyn's fascinated eyes.

The chanting rose in volume and urgency. The Deganites, including Bozcowski and Assan, swayed to their own rhythm, their faces a collective mask of fanatical bliss. Derek, still on his knees, drenched in his own blood, had joined in.

The second bowl was full, and it looked like my cavalry was still stuck in traffic. Assan reached into the duffel, pulled out a bubble-wrapped object that he would soon discover was not the key. Then all hell would break loose. Maybe literally. With no key to control her actions, wouldn't the Tor run rampant?

Not without a willing soul.

I could run, but I wouldn't make it far. And that would still leave the Tor poised to wreak havoc. As the first drops of Liliana's blood hit the third bowl, I did one more quick study of the Tor-al-Degan.

Her inability to maintain a solid front made her seem vulnerable despite the energy that came off her in waves.

One clean shot, Jaz, that's all you're getting and then you're done for. I took one, heartbreaking look at the life I could've had, and let it go.

I began to cave myself inward, as if my soul was a collapsible laundry cart. Turn and fold, turn and fold, until the only portion left of me could've been punted, like a paper football, over goalposts formed by four fingers of a sixth grader's hands. It was the only fortress I knew how to build, and my sanity huddled at its center where, if I survived, maybe the blood and the horror of what I was planning could only leave a faint stain.

"Aaahh! Aaaahh! AAAAAAHHHl!!" It was Assan, too freaked to scream with words, holding a wooden statue of a closed fist with the middle finger raised. I couldn't connect that F-you statue to Amanda's frilly room, which was how I knew it must've been her brother's, maybe from his med school days when he still felt confident enough to flip off the world. It looked as if Assan had gotten the message.

Strings of box tape and bubble wrap streamed from his fingers like thick cobwebs, jigging to the rhythm of his shaking hands. His eyes had gone buggy, and he kept glancing from the Tor to Bozcowski to Aidyn, as if at any moment one of them would tear him limb from limb. And maybe they would if the angry mob the Deganites were becoming didn't lynch him first. They converged on him, pushing, shoving, yelling spit-laced curses. Aidyn, still mesmerized by the slow trickle of Liliana's blood looked around, confused. So did Vayl's ex.

I rushed to the nearest torch and tore it off the wall, breaking the tip off its wooden handle so that its jagged end threw splinters onto the murky floor. A small sliver of wood floating in an oily puddle gave me an idea. I touched the torch to it and it flamed nearly waist high, grabbing gases from the air that burned green and stank worse than a rotting skunk in the middle of the swamp.

With only seconds to spare before somebody figured out their sacrifice had grown a spine, I sprinted from puddle to puddle, lighting them up like road flares behind me. When I was done, a fence of noxious flame trapped Liliana and the Tor. Both of them screamed at Bozcowski, Aidyn, Assan, the crowd, not one of whom had thought to stock the dungeon with a fire extinguisher.

I had one more moment to grab a second torch from the wall before the bad guys reorganized. Behind me, the Tor and Liliana cringed against the back wall as putrid green flames licked the air and pronounced it kindling. I held the torches out in front of me and the crowd backed up. I took a step forward. They retreated another step, their shoes squelching in a puddle of mire large enough to hold fifteen pairs of feet.

"I'll bet you guys didn't know I went through college on a track scholarship," I said, glaring into their flushed and wary faces as they tried to figure out how to surround me. "For javelin."

I tossed the right-hand torch up in the air, caught it in an overhand grip and launched it at their feet. The puddle ignited instantly, catching a woman's skirt and a man's sleeve.

The crowd stampeded, throwing their burning brethren into the muck as they went, stomping bones along with the flames. They reached the stairs as a herd, scrambling over each other to reach the top. Men cursed, women screamed, people fell, got up and jumped back on. Bozcowski, Aidyn, Assan and I watched, spectators at a train wreck. Then Assan shook his statue at me.

"You're dead," he croaked, advancing on me slowly.

I nodded grimly. "You don't know how right you are."

He stopped, not sure what to make of this. Aidyn and Bozcowski tried to flank me. I waved the torch at them. "Don't. Move."

Behind them the crowd's roar doubled. The men turned to look, so I risked a peek as well. The Deganites were backing, tripping, falling down the stairs in the face of a pair of space-age guns held by Cole and Bergman. As those two cleared the stairs and began to round up the Deganites, they were joined by Vayl, leaning just slightly on his cane, and Cassandra, holding the key in one outstretched hand. In her other hand, the Enkyklios was transforming, its marbled parts rolling into the shape of an hourglass. She was already chanting, and I risked a look behind me to see if the Tor had heard her call. Evidently she had. Despite the heat of the fire that trapped her, she'd pulled away from the wall and risen to her full height, her eyes glued to the key.

The screech of buckling metal drew my attention back to the stairs. Cole and Bergman had made it to floor level with their prisoners. Vayl and Cassandra had reached the fourth stair when the whole structure collapsed. Vayl tried to balance Cassandra, but she lurched out of his hands and onto the floor, averting her face just in time to miss the taste of mud and flammable gases. A portion of the stair glanced off her head and shoulder, the artifacts flew free and her chant ceased.

Holy crap! My heart froze as I looked back at the Tor. She'd fallen to her hands and knees, was lapping Liliana's tainted blood out of the offering bowls, one after another.

"Cassandra!" I yelled, "Hurry! Get control!"

Assan chose that moment to attack, rushing me like a crazed linebacker. I never could've met that mad attack full on, but then I never meant to. I faked a run to the right until he committed to that direction, then I came back left and connected with a leg sweep that sent him sprawling. I moved toward him, meaning to follow up with a bone-crushing kick to the skull, but Vayl's voice stopped me, "Jaz! Behind you!"

I spun around in time to see Liliana launch herself over the wall of flame, which was vastly shorter now than it had been a moment before. The Tor's chuckle of triumph told me she might've had something to do with that. I tried to dodge out of Liliana's path, but stepped into deep, thick mud. It grabbed at my shoe, slowing me just enough that Liliana's nails grazed my neck as she landed, reopening the wounds Vayl's fangs had made.

"Now I've got you!" she exulted, keeping her distance as I desperately jabbed the torch at her. Assan struggled to his feet and drew his sword. His eyes were on the trickles of blood running down my neck into the collar of my shirt as he said, "Now, Jasmine. Now is your time to die." Son of a bitch!

Liliana began to circle me, her expression a study in satisfaction. Assan followed suit. "It looks as if our rat is finally cornered," she told him. "Shall we play a bit before we take her soul?" He grinned and nodded, licking his lips as if he was about to sit down to a luscious feast.

As I turned to keep Liliana and Assan in full view, I could see Vayl and Aidyn over their shoulders, struggling for possession of the key Cassandra had dropped. The Enkyklios sat forgotten, half-buried in gook. Something about the scene it played called to me, and I narrowed my eyes, trying to discern details I was too far away to see. Vayl distracted me, shooting the sheath off his cane just as Aidyn threw a punch that connected with his shoulder. The missile flew off course, missing Aidyn completely, but hitting Assan in the back of the head, taking him directly to his knees and over onto his side.

Liliana didn't even spare him a glance as she said, "You must admit I have the upper hand, Jasmine. Perhaps now you would like to hand over Cirilai? No? Well then." She held both hands out, as if she meant to grab me by the shoulders. Then she closed her fists.

The vice gripped my heart so suddenly, so painfully, that I screamed. It felt as if she'd actually sunk her claws into my chest and squeezed. But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst part was that I couldn't catch a full breath, just shallow pants that made me even more desperate for air. A moment's release allowed me one whopping inhale, then the vice closed again, bending me backwards, bringing tears to my eyes. Through the numbing wall of blood and panic that pressed against my body I heard the sharp crack of a rifle shot. The Deganites screamed and the vice around my heart dropped away.

I looked up from where I'd been crouching, one hand on my chest, the other on my thigh, trying to prevent a full-body muck bath while the torch sputtered on the ground beside me. I had a moment to be grateful nothing else had caught fire as I searched for the source of the shot. Cole was swinging his gun back around, training it on the Deganites, though he spared me a look that could've meant anything. I read it as a command. I've done my part. Now stand up and do yours.

Liliana stood swaying, hands out for balance, the hole in her chest a bloody blob of muscle and bone. I grabbed the torch. It flickered to life as I raised it and leapt toward her. She held her hands out as if to resist me, but the injury left her too weak to maintain even token resistance. At the last moment I flipped the torch in my hand and rammed the jagged handle into the opening Cole had left for me. Liliana clutched the torch and staggered backwards, the shock and denial on her face lit by yellow and orange flames. Then her face was nothing more than a ghostly shadow made of smoke and steam as the remnants of her physical being fell to the floor, a heap of clothes and fake hair with a few particles of dust and ashes mixed in.

I moved past Bozcowski, who was digging in the mud, apparently under the impression that we were in the middle of trench warfare. "Where is it? I thought I saw it fall over here. Where is the key?" he kept asking himself. I was pretty sure he was in the wrong spot, so I went to help Vayl, inwardly cheering as he delivered a smashing uppercut that lifted Aidyn completely off the floor and threw him five yards back. A black slash at his throat revealed how close Vayl had already come to taking his head. Then Assan rose to block my way.

"Oh, no you don't," he muttered, holding his sword out before him with both hands, "I still have plans for you."

"It won't work, Assan. I'm not a willing sacrifice."

"But you were once, and like most contracts, supernatural or otherwise, the word given to seal the deal is the one that counts."

I felt an immense, fiery hatred for this miniscule pile of bones and trash that had dared to masquerade as a loving husband, a charitable soul. I would disarm him with a couple of well-placed kicks. Then I would disembowel him with his own sword which, as I eyed it, seemed more and more familiar. Where had I seen it? And recently too.

He jabbed at me, forcing me to back up, to close the distance between the Tor-al-Degan, still trapped behind a knee-high wall of flame, and myself. Then I suddenly had it.

"The Enkyklios," I breathed.

"The what?"

The scene that had played out just beyond my vision had involved the sword. Someone, a tiny blurred figure shining with sweat, covered with blood, had fought the Tor-al-Degan with Assan's sword.

"I need that sword," I told him.

"Don't worry, you'll get it." His smile, white and gold teeth gleaming from a face half-caked with mud and grime, made him look purely demonic.

"Then come give it to me," I demanded.

"I was never one to turn down a beautiful woman's invitation."

I'll bet. I glanced over his head. Vayl had Aidyn down on his knees, one hand at his throat, the other holding his wrist, pressing hard, trying to squeeze a dagger out of his grip. He leaned over, inhaled deeply, opened his mouth and breathed icy air into Aidyn's face. I saw Aidyn's skin begin to crackle and darken. Meanwhile Bozcowski had moved to another mudhole in his desperate search for the key. Then Assan demanded my full attention.

He charged straight at me, sword held high before him. "Run bitch!" he screamed. "Run from your fate!"

"Now why in the world do you think I'd take your advice?" I asked him. Utter disbelief crowded the rage from his eyes as he saw I meant to stand my ground. But he didn't stop. He came steamrolling toward me, mud flying from his ruined shoes, sword cocked and ready for a killing blow. Still I let him come, and just as he began to make the cut I jumped at him, coming in under the arc of his swing, giving the blade only air and a small slice of my calf, not even enough to sting until later.

Remembering every tip I'd ever heard Albert give David during his high school football days, I went in low, head up so I could see, catching Assan just above his right hip, driving him backwards into a pillar. When I heard the air whoosh from his lungs I grabbed his right wrist and twisted while I drove my other hand hard into the back of his elbow. His agonized scream told me I'd done the move right. From there it was easy to tear the sword from his grip and drive him to his knees. He hit the mud one last time, cupping his broken arm with his whole one. I swung the sword hard and straight, taking his head so cleanly that it stayed on his neck for a teetering moment before it toppled off, hitting the mud a second before his body followed.

Twenty feet beyond my left shoulder, Vayl had also found a use for one of the pillars. He slammed Aidyn into one and the resulting crack surely signaled a fractured skull. Then he looked at me. "This is your kill, Jasmine. I have been saving him for you. Come—" Words failed him as his eyes tracked away from mine, behind me, and the horrified expression on his face told me nothing, nothing, nothing, ever goes as planned.

I turned on one heel to find the Tor-al-Degan standing inches away, her reeking breath making me feel like I'd just entered a sewage pipe. I jumped back and she smiled, revealing at least three rows of graying teeth, all of which looked shark sharp.

"Cassandra!" I yelled, "center-stage, girl! Reel this monster in!" I risked a look back and wished I hadn't. While Cole guarded the prisoners, Bergman struggled to help Cassandra sit up. She looked ill, like somebody had slipped raw eggs into her morning juice. Vayl fared only slightly better. Aidyn had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to disarm him. Now they were duking it out like old-school boxers, standing toe-to-toe, delivering blows that would've sent most men to their knees.

Only Bozcowski continued as before, a frustrated pirate digging for treasure.

I looked back at the Tor, a wave of despair dulling my vision, making my mouth taste of metal and grave dust. I felt my shoulders slump, watched my sword arm drop.

"This is how it will feel when I eat your soul," the Tor whispered. "Everything that was good and glad in you will nourish me, bring me full into this tasty, luscious world of yours where I will eat, and eat, and eat…" She subsided, glassy-eyed, smiling hellishly at the prospect of such a meal.

In that moment she reminded me strongly of a balding, thick-lipped serial killer Vayl and I had recently dispatched. He'd worn that same expression right before we blew his brains all over the wall. I wanted to call it an omen, but it was too late for that. I laughed bitterly.

As soon as my laughter hit the air I felt better, and knew she'd been bewitching me. I'd just been so focused on Cassandra and Vayl I hadn't noticed my magic-meter spiking.

"You laugh," said the Tor, "why?"

"Because you won't be able to squeeze enough joy out of my soul to qualify as an anorexic's dinner." I shoved the sword into her and she screamed, her rotten-egg breath burning my nostrils, making me gag. She staggered backward and I pulled the sword free. As she turned to run I struck again, slicing into her slithering hump, my sword sliding through it easily until it lodged in her spine. She screamed again, but when she turned to look at me over her shoulder she wore an evil grin.

"Gotcha." In that one word her voice tipped the scale from old hag to nether-being. At the same time her ripped gown fell to her feet. The whole room got a nightmare glimpse of sagging, pustule-covered skin and then all hell broke loose.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Surely if Dante could've seen the rock-lined pit under Club Undead he'd have thought it an accurate depiction of at least one of his many hells. Lit by torches and burning bits of floor, the Tor-al-Degan's current residence stank of flammable gases, blood, vomit and outright evil. It also rang with the voices of her worshipers, who'd agreed it would be a bright idea to summon her fully into our realm—a big, bad carnivore who saw the entire world as her Little Red Riding Hood.

The Deganites, who probably passed as upstanding citizens by day—bankers and insurance agents and definitely lawyers—screamed like a bunch of U2 fans as their goddess began to change. The rest of us just watched, stunned speechless, as a yellowish red substance the consistency of hair gel oozed out of the Tor's wound.

I let go of the sword hilt and backed up, fear and confusion warring with panic and horror to see which could gain control of my mind first.

In defiance of gravity, the ooze rose, growing over the top of the Tor's head. It spread downward as well, until it looked as if she had stepped inside an enormous tank of pink Vaseline.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. I looked back at my friends. Cole still had the crowd corralled, but they seemed cheerful about it now.

Everything else had gone from bad to worse. Somehow Aidyn had escaped Vayl long enough to deck Bergman, who lay crumpled on one of the floor's few dry spots like a worn out bloodhound. Aidyn had then grabbed Cassandra, who still looked spaced out, and now held her in front of him like a shield. The Enkyklios lay at their feet, replaying another fight scene featuring some long-dead hero and the Tor. This one had, not a sword, but a two-handed battle axe. Time after time the Tor suffered blows that would've felled a crazed elephant, and yet she kept coming back for more. Kept… healing.

"Give me the key!" Aidyn screamed. "Give it to me now, before I break this Seer of yours over my knee!"

"I do not have it," said Vayl. "One of us must have kicked it into a pool while we were fighting." He said it casually, a weatherman mentioning the cold front that was about to whip through the region. But his eyes kept darting to the Tor, as did Aidyn's. In the short time I'd looked away from her, she'd changed dramatically. She'd grown to twice her height inside that viscous shell. Her hair had clumped and then formed into tentacles. Spinal plates grew out of her back, the second one sporting an extra protrusion in the shape of a sword hilt. And the transformations happened so fast I could hear the gut-twisting squeal of bones stretching and the wet, ripping sound of skin opening to make way for new appendages, including two vicious looking pincers that emerged from the Tor's bleeding jaws.

She stretched, rising to a height of at least eight feet. Her new muscles rippled beneath skin the color of a bad sunburn. Her eyes had brightened to violet, the same color, in fact, as Liliana's. I had never seen anything so immense, so unearthly, so unbeatable. Tammy Shobeson's voice squealed in my head, Loser, loser, loser!

"Time to play," the Tor growled in her new voice as she shook the gel from her new body (if only Jenny Craig had her recipe). She moved toward me. Even though I knew, deep down, this was the end for me, I stood my ground. For me, there was no other option.

"Move!" she demanded.

"No."

"What do you hope to gain by standing in my way?"

I thought about it. Even now, in the final moments of my life, smartass me was ready and available for service. "I'd like a title. Maybe Idiot of the Year. Is that one taken?"

She leaned over me, the putrid tang of her breath making my curls wilt. "Are you trying to save the lives of your puny friends?"

"What if I was?"

"Then you would, without question or debate, qualify as a willing sacrifice."

Shit! I turned and ran, mowing through the mud like a sleek little ATV. I waved my hands and screamed, "Run! Run! She's going to kill us all!"

As soon as I passed Vayl, I heard a shot. One glance back showed Cassandra diving off to the right while Aidyn began to topple backwards, a dark and gaping hole in the middle of his forehead. Vayl closed in on Aidyn fast, a sword-wielding juggernaut that didn't stop until Aidyn's head flew from his body and the smoke of his remains stained the ceiling.

The Deganites milled around, showing the whites of their eyes as Cole swung his gun back towards them, having done all he could to pull the odds back into our favor. He looked ready to bolt, but he stood his ground, which made me enormously proud. I gestured for his gun and he immediately tossed it to me. I sprayed the wall just above the Deganites' heads. "Run! Run! Run!" Like good little sheep they obeyed, surging toward the stair wreckage in a babbling mob. Even though it looked more like a tornado victim than a means of egress, people were still finding a way to climb up towards freedom.

I turned the gun on the Tor and opened up. I'm not sure, but I think I might have been screaming while I shot her so full of holes she looked like a puzzle with several missing pieces. Moments later Vayl joined me, firing Bergman's weapon. He caught my eye and I realized we were both grinning, a couple of crazy hyenas tackling one badass lion.

The Tor back-peddled fast, squawking and bellowing by turns. She grabbed Bozcowski from his latest fishing expedition and held him in front of her like a shield. His body bounced like a marionette as our bullets struck him.

"Put me down you freak!" he demanded, his voice rising up the scale to a shriekish whine. "Let me go you disgusting piece of swamp rot!"

She conceded, in a way, by wrapping her maw around Bozcowski's head and snipping it off as if it were a piece of thread. His body wafted away like the smoke from a newly doused fire.

And I thought we had her. I honestly did, that's how bad I wanted it to be true. Then she lunged.

Even in the midst of battle, when moments move like hours, the Tor was a red blur. Fangs the size of my hand sank into my right side. It felt like two flaming skewers had pierced me through and through, sending bolts of electric pain shooting through the rest of my body. I felt myself sinking into the agony, as if it was a tar pit from which I could never escape.

The Tor-al-Degan shook me. My feet left the ground and, even as a red haze of torment settled over my brain, I thought distantly that I must resemble an old dog toy, frayed around the edges and in desperate need of retirement.

I pressed my gun against her skull, shot until my magazine was empty, and she would not let go. Dimly, a mere echo in the booming crush of sound that was my blood rushing, my ribs breaking, my lung collapsing, I heard Vayl yelling, urgent, adamant orders I knew I must obey if only I could decipher the language he barked them in.

Then I was outside, above, watching from a place so quiet, so warm, so safe that all it would take would be a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk for me to feel as I had every time I visited Granny May. I realized I'd split from my body one last time, only all the golden threads were missing. I searched for them, feeling a wave of grief at their loss. Then I found a new thread, one imbued with every color of the rainbow, and was amazed I hadn't seen it before, it was so large, so gorgeous, pulsating to some basic rhythm that might well have been the heartbeat of the universe.

I moved toward it. Who wouldn't? But something stopped me, tugged at me, pulled me back. I looked down, perplexed, and then I saw the problem. The Tor had grabbed onto a trailing ribbon of my essence with one of the tentacles that flanked her jaw. I watched her reel me in, panic beginning to eat at the edges of the brief peace I'd found. But I was aware of more, as if I could see everyone and everywhere at once.

The last of the Deganites had reached the door and was climbing through. Cassandra had crawled to Bergman and was rolling him over. He winced and grabbed his side, saying something to her that caused her to turn him further and grab at something he'd been laying on.

Cole had moved to Vayl's side, where they both fought to force the Tor to release my body. Cole delivered a flurry of blows to the Tor's mid-section, at least one connecting soundly enough to break her arm, elicit a high-pitched scream. Vayl leapt onto the Tor's back and sunk his fingers into her throat. Frost crackled up her chin and across her face. He dug deeper and the frost turned to ice. No more sounds escaped her throat, not even when he broke her jaw with one powerful blow of his fist.

My body dropped to the floor, bouncing slightly before it settled into the ooze. Cole immediately went to work, inspecting wounds, searching for a pulse. But Vayl stayed put, hacking away at the Tor's tentacles with bloody fists. I realized he could see me, that he knew…

The Tor-al-Degan was eating my soul. Slowly. With the relish of a connoisseur.

Once I'd thought maybe I was crazy, and the fear of losing my sanity, losing myself had dogged every breath, dictated every action. Worse than an infestation of cockroaches, a cancerous tumor, the loss of my family… the feeling had left me unwilling to rest, unable to find peace. That had only been fear. This was real.

Second by second, the Tor was ingesting the best, and the worst, part of me. I was losing myself inside the horrifying red hell of the Tor's gaping maw. I struggled. I fought. I prayed. I tried desperately to tear myself free. But the slow torture of my ultimate destruction went on. And though I had no voice, I began to scream and scream and scream…

A voice rang across the room, Cassandra's deep, rich tones washing across me like warm, clear water. She'd come forward to stand by Cole as he worked furiously over my cooling body. In her right hand she held the pyramid, the key. And in her left hand she held the Enkyklios, echoing the words as she heard them from the small vision of a Seer who had stood in a long distant past and saved the world for a time.

The Tor bellowed and shook her head, denying the power that had suddenly appeared, demanded her allegiance. But Cassandra would not relent. And moments later I was free. Flying. Soaring toward that stained glass rainbow of a lifeline and following it straight to the top.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"You know, I thought I was headed to heaven," I said as I looked out the window. The skyline of Las Vegas glared back at me. I stood in a lavish suite, definitely high-roller territory, surrounded by plush furniture, satin curtains and so much marble the room could've doubled as a mausoleum.

"Some would tell you you're already there," said my companion.

I would've pegged him as a fighter from the start, even without the crew cut and the upright bearing. I recognized those eyes, had grown up around men with the same look. Only battle will do that, only pitched battle and the death of men you love like brothers.

I also recognized him from our last encounter, when he'd mended my broken neck on the blood-stained floor of a house that should never have been called 'safe.'

The guy, this warrior had smiled when I showed up and he'd said, "There you are," as if we'd prearranged my appearance in the middle of his hotel room. He'd left his perch on a black leather bar-stool and come to shake my hand. "Hello, Jasmine, my name is Raoul." Spain bronzed his skin and flavored his accent, but his manner was pure American military.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

He'd cocked his head to one side, as if sizing up the new recruit, "That remains to be seen."

I'd gone to the window then, confused and somewhat depressed, pretty sure I'd been relegated to the eternal Between. Below me, Sin City sparkled like a Desert Queen's tiara. Too bad the stones were fake.

"I guess some people would like to spend eternity gambling and watching showgirls strut across the stage," I said. I turned from the window and dropped onto a couch that made every bone in my unbody sigh with pleasure. "Shoot, I wouldn't mind spending a couple of weeks doing that myself."

Raoul settled onto a matching couch that met mine at a 45-degree angle. I suddenly realized this room was arranged the same way I'd done the furniture in Diamond Suites and Bergman's safe house. Yes, and in that long ago place where Aidyn had destroyed my life.

"Have I been here before?" I asked.

He nodded.

"And David? Has he been here?"

"In a way."

"Oh."

"You're not supposed to remember."

"Hmm."

"Are you okay?"

"Should I be?"

He smiled again. "Probably not."

"So, why am I here?"

He looked surprised, as if I should know. "You're a hero."

I was beginning to get the idea. "Look, I didn't save the world back there. It was Cassandra."

"Despite the fact that it's a very catchy phrase, there is no such thing as an army of one."

"What exactly is it that you want?"

He gave me that don't-play-dumb-with-me look that you just hate to see when you're stalling. But to my surprise, he gave me an answer. "You're sitting in headquarters, soldier. It's time to re-up or retire. It's your call, of course, but we'd like you to continue your work."

I jerked my head toward the window. "Funny place for a headquarters."

"We try to stay close to the front."

"Then you should be in Miami."

"The battle there has been won."

"But not the war?"

"You did not defeat the Raptor, though you were right to believe he was behind the plot to begin with."

"Was he ever even there?"

"No. He is a canny beast. You won't catch him easily. But I digress. You need to make a choice."

I nodded. It was time to move on, then, one way or another. I could retire. The word "rest" hovered out there like a green velvet dressing gown. But I'd seen what it had done to Albert and there was no reason to think I'd be any more content. Plus, my retirement would leave Evie to cope with the cantankerous old man. I'd never see her baby girl. I'd never hear Dave's story, which must be as remarkable as my own. Bergman and Cassandra would probably kill each other. Cole would become a bitter old man. And Vayl… Vayl would wander the earth, alone, longing for his sons. Longing for me.

I looked Raoul in the eye. "I'm in."

"Excellent." He nodded at me and a mystical wind rose in the room, knocking over lamps, shattering vases, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut tight.

When I opened them again, Cole's face was inches away, his breath still warm in my mouth, his fingers pressing against my neck. When he felt the blood move once again inside me, a blissful look of triumph settled over his face.

"She's back," he said, looking over his shoulder. Cassandra and Bergman hugged and gave me thumbs up. Vayl knelt beside me, a wide smile stretching his face to new limits, making him look happy and pained at the same time. "Jasmine, I am so glad you're here." I thought about it a minute and nodded. "Me too."

Acknowledgments

I should first recognize my husband's part in this whole scheme since, when I finally confessed to him my secret love of all things vampire, he didn't laugh and say, "Good Lord, Jen, how old are you?" Nope, he said, "Then maybe you should write a vampire novel." To which I replied, "It's all been done already." And he said, "Not by you." So, thanks babe, without your encouragement, I'd never have dared this book. Big thanks to my agent, Laurie McLean, for taking a chance on me and giving me the kind of full-out support and honest feedback I have come to deeply appreciate. Thanks also to my editor, Devi Pillai, whose humor, patience, insight, and constant barrage of questions have helped me elevate this work to a level I couldn't have imagined when I first sent it to her. For their insights into weaponry and military information I must acknowledge Ron Powell and Ben Rardin. Any mistakes I've made in either arena are my own. And special you-brave-soul hugs to my readers for taking on the daunting task of reviewing a raw manuscript and offering honest feedback to its nail-biting author. Love to you all: Jackie Plew, Hope Dennis, Ron Powell, Katie Rardin, and Erin Pringle. Most of all, thanks to you, Reader, for climbing out to the edge of this limb with me. I hope you enjoy the view!

meet the author

Jennifer Rardin began writing at the age of 12, mostly poems to amuse her classmates and short stories featuring her best friends as the heroines. She lives in an old farmhouse in Illinois with her husband and two children. Find out more about Jennifer Rardin at www.JenniferRardin.com.

interview

We sat in my sunroom, though dark had fallen hours before. I thought Jaz had chosen the spot for Vayl's sake. So he could watch. I knew she'd brought him, as she had many times before, but we had yet to meet. I wasn't sure why.

The tape recorder sat on the coffee table between us, mutely turning, as if constantly shaking its head at the story she'd been documenting for the last few weeks. I could hardly believe it myself.

Jen: "You've told me things I'm sure some people would keep from their priests. But that's still left me with some pretty big questions." Jaz sat forward in her white wicker chair, her red curls framing her pale face so perfectly I felt I should take a picture. She could be any lovely co-ed on any Big Ten campus, except for the shock of white hair spiraling from her forehead around her right cheek to her chin.

Jaz: "What do you want to know?"

Jen: "Are you haunted by the people you've killed?" Her eyebrows shot up. I could see her thinking it was none of my damn business. But she wasn't ready to shut me off. Not yet.

Jaz: "That would presuppose that I felt guilty about killing them, wouldn't it?" She thought a second. "The ones that bother me are the ones that didn't go down as quick or painless as I would've liked. But I'm not haunted. My job is to take out bad guys. If you think that makes me a bad guy…" she shrugged, "that's your problem."

Jen: "Actually, I don't. But I do think it makes you unique. How did you get into this line of work?"

Jaz: "After the big blowout with my dad, I'll tell you about that later, the military was just out for me as a career path. But I still wanted to serve my country." She paused. "What, no smartass remark?"

Jen: "No."

Jaz: "Sorry. Even now I get a little defensive. You can love a man or a kid or a piece of damn pie and nobody has a problem with you. But love your country and in some places you get booed right out of the joint."

Jen: "Go on."

Jaz: "Anyway, the C.I.A. recruited me straight out of college. After the Helsinger tragedy…" a pause here while Jaz looked out the window, and then down at the lovely gold and ruby ring on her left hand, "I was a wreck. But I kept it all buttoned up good and tight. So after a couple months at a desk, I got an interview with Pete, and he hired me." Her laugh managed to completely lack humor. "The job killed me, and then it saved me. Ironic, huh?"

Jen: "Why are you telling me all this?" She answered quickly. Too quickly.

Jaz: "I guess I want to leave something behind me when I'm gone. A legacy."

Jen: "You could just as easily have said you wanted the historians to get their stories straight once this is all declassified."

Jaz: "Meaning?"

Jen: "Either way, your story's bullshit." She smiled, then. She appreciated honesty, I think because she so rarely saw it in her world.

Jaz: "All you hear any time you turn on the TV is, the world is ending. Some scientist with too little data and too much funding is in the microphone of some anchor who's only interested in scaring the hell out of her audience because that's how you get ratings, man. Nobody seems to recall that people have been screaming about the world ending for the last two thousand years. They're scared out of their minds. They live in fear. Every move, every decision is based somewhat on how terrified they are at any given moment. People need to know there's hope. That people like me are out there fighting for them, making sure the world keeps turning, so they can occasionally let go of that fear and find a moment or two of happiness." She sat back. Grimaced, like she'd eaten something sour. "And if you ever tell anybody I said that I'm going to kick your ass."

I liked her. God help me, I felt a real affection for this dangerous woman sitting in my old farmhouse while her vampire lover hovered somewhere among my gardens or my fields. Even though I knew the only reason she'd picked me was that she'd read one of my stories in a magazine and liked it, and she knew I'd keep her secrets until she told me it was time to tell. What a weird old world.

Jaz: "Things are stirring. I won't be able to stick around much longer. After I'm gone you'll have plenty of time to write up the Tor-al-Degan story. In the meantime, let me tell you what happened next."

Jen: "You mean after you got out of the hospital?"

Jaz: "Of course. God, they had me on the strongest drugs. Couldn't remember a thing that happened that first week. Took me awhile to heal, of course, but I want to tell you about the mission. It involved this Chinese vampire named Chien-Lung. Dragon fanatic. If he'd been a teenaged guy he'd have had dragon posters plastered all over his bedroom walls, tattoos, t-shirts, the works! Anyway, let me start at the beginning…"

introducing Jennifer's next novel

turn this page for an excerpt from

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST

available in paperback December 2007

Holy crap, I've had another blackout! But as soon as the suspicion hit me I knew otherwise. I hadn't experienced the usual warning signs, and I'd never before left my mind in a daydream while the rest of me got busy. This was something new. Something scary. Because after the knock-down-drag-out with the Tor-al-Degan, I thought I'd kicked those nutty little habits that made me seem, well, nuts. Okay, the card shuffling kept up without much of a break. And sometimes words still ran loops around my brain until I forced them back on the road. But those moments were rarer now. And the blackouts really had stopped, along with the dread that someone I knew would find reason to recommend an asylum and a heavy dose of Zoloft.

Familiar laughter caught my attention. The couple from the beach, they were here, just entering an elevator. Without conscious thought I'd followed them to their hotel and booked a room. I checked the receipt. At least I'd used my personal credit card. If I'd had to explain this to Pete, well, maybe I could've come up with something. But I probably would've just resigned.

I shoved the stuff the desk clerk had handed me into my back pocket and strode outside. I needed to do something concrete. Something to bring me back to myself. So I phoned my sister.

"Evie?"

"Oh, Jaz, I'm so glad you called."

"You sound tired."

"I am. E.J. has hardly stopped crying all day. This doesn't seem right, does it?"

Hell no! But then I'm the least qualified to say. "Did you call the pediatrician?"

"No. I know he'll just say it's that colic." Her voice started to shake. "I just feel like such a terrible mother that I can't make her stop crying!"

Now here was something I could deal with. "Evie, you are an awesome mother. This I can tell you from experience. I've seen you in action. Plus I have had a crappy mother. So I know whereof I speak. You rock. I know it's tough on you guys having a baby who cries all the time. The lack of sleep alone is probably making you a little crazy. I know I'm still kinda grouchy and I've only been gone, what, a couple of days? But listen, you will figure this out, okay?"

Big pause. "O-kay."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"It's just… usually you tell me what to do. Then I do it, and things get better."

"That was before you started playing out of my league," I said, smiling when I heard her soft laughter. "Just… trust yourself, okay? You and Tim know E.J. better than anybody, including the pediatrician. And get some sleep, would you? You're going to have bags under your eyes you'll be able to store your winter clothes in."

"Okay. How are things going with you?"

Well, let's see. I think my vampire boss should pose for his own calendar and I'm having a crazy-daisy relapse. Otherwise—"I'm doing okay. Call me when you can, okay?"

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you too."

Feeling somewhat rebalanced now I'd touched base with the most stable person I knew, I walked around to the back of the building, which faced the festival site. As I wound my way through the first tier of cars in the parking lot, a green glow near some fencing that disguised a large garbage bin distracted me from my inner teeth-gnashing. It didn't mesh with the white of the lot lights. I drew Grief and chambered a round. The glow brightened, changing color from pine needles to ripe limes.

I closed my eyes tight for a couple of seconds, activating the night vision contacts Bergman had designed for me. They combined with my Sensitivy-upgraded sight to show me a greenish-gold figure standing beside the fence. It faced me, but leaned over every few seconds, fully engrossed in whatever lay at its feet. Oddly, a black frame surrounded it, as if someone had outlined it with a Sharpie.

I moved closer, sliding past the dark hulks of parked vehicles, taking quick glances every few steps, trying to identify the thing on the ground that acted as both the source of the green glow and the subject of the outlined figure's interest. When I finally caught a glance, I bit my lip to keep from gasping. It was the body of the security guard, the one who'd been hanging out with the two-faced man. His face, a twisted photo of his last tortured moments, warned me not to look any further. But I had to. One of the suckier parts of my job.

Okay, enough with the procrastinating. You're at a possible murder scene with a potential suspect. Look at the body already.

Blood, everywhere, as if someone had tapped a geyser. Exposed ribs. Dark, glistening organs. Someone had ripped this guy's chest open from neck to navel! The smell, damn, you just never get used to it. And thank God we were outside, otherwise I'd be puking like a bulimic after an Oreo cookie binge. Above it all hovered a jeweled cloud I could only think of as his soul. I wanted to regard it as untouched. The one part of the man his murderer could not soil. But I couldn't. Because this is what had his killer's attention.

No doubt, the one who'd taken his life stood right next to him still, and had been all day, posing as a man with only one face. "Man" was the wrong descriptor though. That outline—nobody I'd ever met had that. And when he leaned over, the outline split at his head and his fingers, allowing some of the greenish-gold of his inner aura to seep through.

His mouth opened wide and from it unrolled a huge, pink tongue covered with spike-like appendages. He ran it along the length of the dead man's soul. It shivered, frantically trying to fly apart, to meld with his family, his friends, his maker. But the spikes released some sort of glue that forced the jewels into immobility. At the same time the soul cloud bleached to pastel.

The two-faced man looked up, his eyes closed, ecstasy lifting the corners of his flabby lips. And then a third eye opened on his forehead, a large, emerald green eye that darkened at the same rate at which the dead man's soul lightened. Coincidence? I don't think so.

I'd had enough.

I stepped forward, skirted the bumper of an El Dorado Coupe, and trained my gun on the monster's face.

"Dinner's over, pissant."

The two-faced man opened his regular eyes, which were blue, took one, long look at me, and growled.

"Give me a break," I drawled, sounding oh-so-bored though my stomach spun like a roulette wheel. "I know special effects guys who can produce scarier roars than that." Okay, I don't really know any, but I've watched Resident Evil, haven't I?

This time he bellowed, and I admit, it gave me something of a chill. But it didn't freeze me like it was intended to. I was ready when he charged, leaping over the body like some meat-hoarding gorilla, his hands stretched wide, a full set of lethal-looking claws appearing and disappearing as he moved. If he raked those vein-poppers across my throat while they were just fingernails, would they still leave stitch-worthy gashes?

Not something I wanted to find out. I fired, five shots in quick succession. They staggered him, though I could see the black outline had worked as a shield, preventing them from delivering any fatal wounds. Five more shots backed him up, almost to the body. Thanks to Bergman's modifications I still had five left. And I intended to make them count.

As he moved on me again, I concentrated on the breaks in his shield. They came and went in rapid succession, but I noticed a pattern based on his movements. It helped that he approach more warily this time. Apparently it still hurt to be shot. I should be thankful, but small favors sometimes suck.

I watched his face, waiting for the blur and the accompanying break in his shield. There!

I fired once, but the shield had already closed. I would have to anticipate the breaks, rather than wait for them to reveal themselves. Four rounds left. I took careful aim and fired. One. Two. Three. Four. Damn! The timing just missed with every shot. And now I'd used the last of my ammunition. If Grief didn't work in gun mode I didn't anticipate much success from it as a crossbow. I holstered my weapon.

But I was still armed.

Unlike Vayl, I don't use blades as a rule. Generally if I have to get that close to a target, something's gone terribly wrong. Same deal defensively speaking. Still, I keep one on me. My nod to the wisdom of weapons redundancy.

My backup plan started life as a bolo. It had been issued to the first of my military ancestors, Samuel Parks, before he marched off to war in 1917. Handed down father to son since that time, the ugly old knife had lost its appeal for David after Mom threw it at Dad upon finding him on top of her best pal. Since it had sailed clear through the bedroom window on that occasion, I'd discovered it on the lawn the next morning. Thus, it came to me.

I carry the knife, sheath and all, in a special pocket designed for near invisibility by my seamstress, Mistress Kiss My Ass. I call her this, because it's the response she gives me every time I call and say, "Sherry Lynn, guess what, I just got a new pair of pants!"

Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed the artfully disguised hilt and pulled. A blade the length of my shin slid out. Originally meant more as an all-purpose tool, the bolo had been refined to my needs thanks to Bergman. Now it was sharp enough to cut metal or, better yet, defend my life.

The creature circled me, looking a lot less intimidated by great-great grandpa's knife than I would've liked. Well, screw it. I ran straight at him, yelling like a pissed off soccer mom, waving my blade like a samurai warrior. I faked left, right, left, watching as his shield opened wider and wider. It could not keep up with his bobbing head as he tried to avoid getting his throat cut. One more feint and I jumped forward, burying my blade in the shield gap his movements had caused.

He died instantly.

I pulled my weapon free and cleaned it on his stolen uniform. Glad the bolo had saved me. Sorry the same family had subjected it to nearly one hundred years worth of blood and guts. We seem to spawn killers, no doubt about that. I found myself hoping hard that E.J. could break that chain. Maybe when I got a free second I'd give her a call and make that suggestion. Never mind that she was less than a month old and would spend the entire time trying to eat the receiver. It's never too early to start brainwashing your young.

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