Bite Marks (27 page)

“I think she’s got some good in her,” he insisted.

“I think she’s got big boobs, and in your mind that’s the same thing.” Cole grinned. “You could be right. Although you know what else I was thinking?” As I shook my head he lit a third flare and waved it around. “I can write my name in the air with this!” Jack also thought it was cool. He kept biting at the dropping sparks, though he was at least smart enough not to go for the whole banana.

“What are you gonna do when you singe your tongue?” I asked my dog. When he let it hang out of his mouth I said, “That might work. But don’t expect any pity when you can’t eat anything but gravy for the next month.”

Jack grinned and wagged his tail, like he knew I’d never let it go that far.

Cole set the last flare in place and we waited. Lights appeared in the distance, played hide-and-seek for a while, and then came barreling down on us so fast that we evacuated the road.

But the driver stopped in time. With only a minimum of tire-screeching, she rolled her lemon-drop yellow Hyundai Accent to a stop an arm’s length from the first flare. By the time we’d reached her door, all three of her passengers had bailed, two guys and another girl, all of them giggling and staggering like they’d been partying since dawn.

“Oh goody,” Cole murmured. “We are saved.”

I snorted as I watched the driver try to herd her horde back into the vehicle.

“Hello,” said Cole, pasting on his I’m-unforgettable smile. “I’m Thor Longfellow and this is Lucille Robinson. We’re from Holly—”

“G’day, mate!” the driver sang. “Would you help me gather up this mob before they trot off into the never-never?”

She asked so cheerfully despite the relative impossibility of the task, her black ponytail dancing along with the request, that he immediately said, “Oh, uh, sure!” The other girl, a double-chinned brunette wearing jeans so tight you could see the cottage cheese below her butt cheeks rippling through them, friendlied up to Cole right away. So he had no trouble escorting her back to the car.

“Kyphas!” I called. “Get the big guy!” Leaving Astral to study her reflection in the Wheezer’s hubcaps, Kyphas went after the dude whose scars were either a sign that he kept running his face into people’s fists or that he thoroughly enjoyed his rugby. I tagged the smaller one.

“You are one luscious lady,” he told me, his breath reeking of cheap beer as he dropped an arm around my shoulders.

“And you are going to puke like a school full of flu-bitten kids. But hopefully not until your friend’s gotten you home. What’s your name?”

“Lance.”

“Lance-a-lot-o’-fun!” called out his buddy.

“That’s Rory,” Lance said. “He cannot hold his liquor. But he is a ripper, Rory is. Rory’s a ripper!” Lance announced loudly.

“Clearly. And the girls?” I pointed to the driver, who, Lance informed me in what he probably thought was a bedroom voice, was Dachelle.

“We’re just friends,” he said, trying to wink and succeeding only in squinching his face together like a constipated old man. “Me and Gabbie are also only just friends,” he went on, nodding at Cole’s newest fan. “We’re all friends here!” he shouted. Then he gave me a one-armed hug. “Can we be friends?”

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not Dachelle can give me and my colleagues a ride to Wirdilling. Fast.” CHAPTERTHREE

Between the city of Canberra and the Space Complex that uses its name lies a depressed little burg called Wirdilling. We meant to reach it via Tourist Drive 5, which runs in a huge curvy loop past all kinds of camera-clicking stops. While taking photos would’ve been great for our cover—we didn’t. Because it was nearly four thirty in the afternoon, and if we wanted to make Wirdilling before midnight we all needed to preserve our energy on the excellent chance that we might have to shove our feet through the floorboards of the wreck Cole had rented and walk it there.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to find myself and Vayl squeezed into a 1980 powder-blue Leyland Mini Clubman with a dog, a robot, two irritated crew members and a bubble-blowing comedian.

A shrunken station wagon that might’ve been made to seat five, but only if they were anorexic starlets, the Clubman was a four-speed brake-eater that tended to wheeze when we hit any grade steeper than two degrees. The rest of the time the engine rattled so loudly we had to shout to be heard. Which meant the car spent the majority of the drive through the tree-dotted hills that rolled down to Murrumbidgee River and up to the Tidbinbilla mountain range either gasping like a badly medicated asthmatic or roaring like a mean drunk.

Normally I’d have babied the poor girl. After all, a car isn’t responsible for its renter. But ever since I’d given blood to save the life of a werewolf named Trayton, fires tended to break out when I got pissed.

And if I didn’t find some outlet for the emotion making the skin around my eyes redden like stove burners, there was a good chance Cole’s gum would transform into lava. So I rode the gearshift like a crashing pilot, shoving it from third to fourth and back again way more than I needed to, and shaking the steering wheel when I thought the Wheezer needed an extra push to make it up the next slope.

“Jasmine?” Vayl murmured from the seat next to me, balancing his mug o’ packaged vamp-juice out in front of him to prevent spillage. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” I glanced at him, allowing myself a second to appreciate his fedora. No man of this age can pull off the look the way an original can. Under the shadow of its brim his chemically darkened skin resisted the few waning rays of sun the Clubman’s tinted windows allowed in. I guess I could give Cole some credit for at least trying to protect Vayl that far. But geez!

For the third time this trip I mentally replayed the scene in the funeral home’s plain, gray-walled garage.

We’d stepped out of the hearse in the first of four bays, all of which led to a closed black door the size of a home-theater screen. I’d nodded appreciatively at the Jeep Patriot parked next to us. Painted a dark orange, it also glowed with flecks of gold and red to my extra-sensitized eyes.

“Now, that is a machine,” I’d said, licking my lips to keep the drool from spilling over.

“Isn’t she a beaut?” said Ruvin, running his hand along the side panel like it was a woman’s hip.

“Sometimes I dream we’re walking on the beach together, just her and me. And she’s kinda wobbling

’cause she’s on her back tires. Then she looks at me. And squeezes my hand. And says, ‘Ruvin, only amateurs use the automatic wash.’ And I promise never to wipe her with an old rag.” We stared. Even me, and I’ve been known to dream about my Corvette from time to time. Ruvin pointed to a steel rod welded across the front of the grille. “Look here! Can you guess what this is?” I said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d guess you were planning on busting through some fairly high snowdrifts.”

“It’s a bull bar,” Ruvin told me. “Protects my ute in case I hit a roo.”

“Roo? As in the kanga kind?” asked Cole.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Ruvin, here, says we don’t have to worry while we’re driving the Jeep because—”

“Oh no.” Cole shook his head while Ruvin clutched at his heart, like maybe I’d just suggested we borrow his kids for a couple of days. “Ruvin’s not renting us his wheels. Our ride is parked in the third bay.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mentally kissing the Jeep goodbye, I grabbed my trunk and weapons bag from the hearse’s storage compartment and skirted the Jeep. Where I stood gaping until Bergman bumped into me.

“Is he serious?” Bergman whispered.

“Where are we supposed to put all the extra equipment?” Cassandra asked.

Since Wirdilling was a village of six hundred, we couldn’t just melt into the crowd. Especially when we were renting one of the local’s houses. So we’d decided to use a cover that always got us eager cooperation. It also required a few more bags.

“Strap them to the top,” said Cole. He opened the trunk
(no wonder they call it a boot here, it’s about
the size of my foot!)
and pulled out some tie-downs. “See? We’re prepared.” I didn’t realize I’d dropped my stuff and raised my hands to strangle him until Vayl pulled me aside.

“Perhaps not in front of our driver?” he suggested.

I turned to Ruvin, who’d helped Vayl bring over the last of the luggage. “So what do you think of all this?” I asked him brightly. My smile was faked, but not my interest. I couldn’t wait to hear what kind of bullshit story Cole had fed him.

The little man grinned up at me, the gap between his front teeth so wide I could see what he’d eaten for lunch through it. “Aw, your boy Thor is brilliant, that’s all!” he said, his accent almost as thick as his ear hair. “How else’re you gonna get Gerard Butler into the country without tipping off the crazies, eh, mate?” He reached out and shook Vayl’s hand. “Loved you in
300.
What a performance! You need anything at all, I’m your bloke. Don’t just drive the dead around all day, ya know. I’ve got my hand in lotsa kettles. Here, lemme give you my card.”

While Cassandra and I traded Vayl-looks-nothing-like- Gerard eye rolls, Ruvin and my boss were playing tug-of-war with the dog-eared ID. “You can reach my wife, Tabitha, at the same number,” Ruvin was saying as he banged his blunt finger against it. “You should call her when you’re hiring, mate. She’s a genius with hair and makeup. Got her own shop in back of our house. You wouldn’t believe what she can do with the old cows who come in there!”

Having been briefed on Ruvin’s connections to our target, Vayl dropped his arm to the man’s shoulder.

“We will put her name at the top of the list. In the meantime, we have a project with which you could be very helpful.” He started to talk. But with me opening the hood, slamming it, and doing the same to all the doors as my rage began to build, he decided the deal might be made more smoothly if they moved to the other side of the hearse.

“Hey, Lucille!” called Cole. “I think your dog needs to take a leak!” Since I’d failed to force any of the doors to fall off, I rounded the front of the car and snatched the keys from his hand on my way to the driver’s seat.

“What?” he asked, his eyes showing more white than usual when he caught my expression. He and Jack exchanged wary glances.

I said, “I’m driving. And I suggest you fasten your seat belt. Otherwise I’ll be tempted to roll this puppy just for the joy of seeing your head hit the ceiling.”

“Lucille—”

Cassandra pulled Bergman away from his attempt to stuff one last trunk into the back of the Clubman, and strode forward to yank Jack’s leash from Cole’s hand. “Miles and I will take him outside,” she said, giving us both her don’t-kill-each-other look.

Cole came over to stand beside me. “Damn, woman, what’s gotten your panties in a bunch?” I waited until they’d cleared the garage. Then I lowered my voice anyway. Nobody, not even my boss, needed to hear what I was about to say. “You fucked with Vayl, you fucked with me, okay, we get it.

You’re pissed that we’re a couple. This is your hilarious way of getting us back. Mission accomplished.

But you know what? Nothing’s changed. We’re still together and you’ve taken it so far that now you just look like an ass. I tried to be gentle with you, because you’re one of the greatest guys I’ve ever met. But I swear, if you screw with me again I will take you down. Permanently.” I stopped. Ground my teeth together. Because behind my words I could hear another voice. Feeding me lines.
Goddammit, this is worse than I thought!

Cole shoved his hands in his pockets, his mouth twisted so oddly that it took me a second to realize he was frowning. “You and Vayl ended up with each other and didn’t even have the decency to buy me a stupid T-shirt. So I figured you’d at least see the humor—” He stopped. Shot his eyes to mine.

“What?”

He grabbed me by both shoulders. “Who’s in there with you?”
Aargh!
“I have no idea what you’re—”

Cole’s eyes hardened, the flint in them so unexpected I forgot what I meant to say. “Don’t try to con me,
Lucille
. You may be the DeWALT of Sensitives, but I can smell
other
just like anybody else who’s died once already. And there’s
two
scents coming from you when I should only be getting that adrenaline punch that lifts me up on my toes every time I get a whiff of you.”
Kill him! Now! Before he ruins everything!
I’d actually slid my hand into my right pocket, wrapped it around the hilt of the knife my seamstress had cleverly hidden along the length of my thigh, before I realized what I was considering. I shoved my left hand into the opposite pocket and squeezed my fingers around the ring I carried there. It had always brought me comfort before. Now I wanted more.

Matt, talk to me. Tell me what to do!

But my fiancé’s voice had never joined the chorus in my head. When he’d died, he’d gone silent for good.

The other voice knew exactly what to say.
Tell him to back off! Your business is none of his! We’re
doing fine all on our own.
It felt like a fog, settling over my synapses, numbing them into immobility while it ate away at my independence.

I grabbed Cole’s wrist. The contact helped me think a little more clearly. I forced the words past a sudden blockage in my throat. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been possessed. I don’t know how it happened.

Maybe one of those Scidairan bitches hexed me during that big battle before we killed Samos last week.

Don’t tell Vayl.”

“You can’t seriously think you’re going to hide this from him?” I nodded, gritting my teeth at the thought of how mad he’d be if he ever found out. I said, “He wants a strong woman. Not some wimp who can’t even keep her own mind clear.”
Do I really believe that? Vayl could be such a help in this
—pain speared through the back of my right eyeball. Just as quickly it was gone, along with my train of thought.

Cole glanced over his shoulder to make sure Vayl and Ruvin were still talking. They’d opened the passenger door of his Jeep, and Ruvin was sitting in the seat, showing off the interior while they chatted.

Cole murmured, “I don’t think you have any idea what he wants from a woman or why he picked you.