Bite Marks (30 page)

No clue
, I thought as I crouched against the railing. But that took too much energy, so I hit my butt.

Because I was suddenly so tired. The after-bite crash had come. If I’d had to raise Grief in that moment I’d have said, “To hell with it,” and hoped for an asteroid impact to do my work for me.

We waited for an eternity. Stars came to life and died in the time I sat there trying to decide if I was already too old for this gig. I began to think I could sense the earth revolving while I remained in one place, like a chess piece that could only be moved by the hand of the universe. Then I realized I was dizzy.

Vayl, where are you? Reach me, dammit!

I closed my eyes, but that only made the vertigo worse. Instead I focused on the fat-headed nails that held the walls of the water tower together. They blurred into a rust-colored mass, like the bricks on a fog-shrouded building. And then I realized I was standing. Not in Wirdilling, Australia, at nearly four in the morning. But in London under a full moon, long before garbage trucks and sewage plants, if the stench gave any clue.

I began to walk, each step bringing my situation more sharply into focus. I had never been so
strong. I felt like I could single-handedly tear the bridge I currently strolled upon from its very
moorings. And part of me wanted to. It yammered inside of me like a mad dog straining at the end
of its chain. Because my boys would never draw breath again.

Oh, fuck.

I glanced into the water. Saw a tall, broad-shouldered man whose shoulder-length curls were held
secure by a band at the back of his neck. He wore a long black coat buttoned over a red waistcoat
and black breeches. His white stockings were stained with mud, his black buckled shoes needed to
be resoled. But I could never mistake those high cheekbones, slanted brows, and fierce,
kaleidoscope eyes.

I’m Vayl. Or he’s me. How—?

I stopped, raised my nose to the foul night air and scented something that did not belong, even
here on these careless streets. Werewolf!

I ran, still new enough to the power that I exulted in the speed I could gain and maintain. Within
moments I had reached the abandoned building where the wolf hunted. Pulling my dagger from
the sheath at my waist, I crept after it, the freezing river that now fed each of my humors rising
quickly to a flood. It took all of my will not to release it upon the city itself, like a rain of
razor-sharp ice. But I had freed the deluge once before. Some actions should never be repeated.

I found it upstairs. A shiver ran up my spine at the sound of its claws raking across the
grime-laden floor as it battered its shoulder against the bedroom door. Its final blow caused a
rupture that made the wood crack like the shots that had taken my sons. I jerked as if hit, my
mind tearing as it tried to evade memories too fresh to bury. But I could never turn from their
faces, their dark lashes brushing their cheeks as if they had simply stopped beside the road to take
a nap before coming home to supper.

A scream jerked me from my nightmare and pulled me into hers. I leaped through the doorway to
find the wolf crouching, grinning at the child as his distorted features and dripping fangs caused
her to writhe with fear.

I know those eyes! Where have I seen that Were’s face?

“Trespasser!” I cried, speaking the only word I had heard from other lips since my travels began.

The wolf spun. His scent hit me fully, causing my gorge to rise. It smelled as if his last meal had
been dead for quite some time before he had indulged. He growled as he came for me, his yellow
eyes intent on my throat.

I let my arms hang limp, as if his charge had petrified me. At the last moment I spun aside,
burying the dagger deep into his chest. Now he screamed, more from rage than pain, since my
weapon contained no silver. He staggered into the wall and turned for another charge, but could
not find me. I hovered above him, hanging from the ceiling, my hands and feet anchored to the
boards that had been uncovered when chunks of plaster had fallen during the building’s decay.

Having lost sight of his latest quarry, the wolf stalked toward the child, his low-bellied rumble
raising the hairs on the back of my neck. The moment he walked beneath me I dropped, landing
prone on his back like a trainer of wild horses. But this beast would never be tamed. And so, as he
rolled and snapped, clawing at me over his shoulders, I buried my fangs in his neck.

His blood tasted foul, and I did not sup. Only summoned the cold fury that rode me every waking
moment and pushed it into the wound I had made. It felt… delicious. I found I could not stop. I
wanted him to choke on my sorrow. To die again and again since I, damned father that I was,
could not. I shoved the ice of my undeath into him until his eyes bulged and his ears cracked.

“Is he dead?”

Such a small voice. And miraculously steady for what she had just seen. I raised my head.

“Perhaps. Werewolves are notoriously difficult to kill, however, so you must run home.”
She looked around at the filthy, curtainless room with its corner full of papers and four distinct
marks where a bed had once stood. “I am home.”

“How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

I dug into my pocket and gave her a pouch containing all the money I had left in the world. “Go
find another home. One that is clear of both dirt and monsters.”
She looked at me with wide blue eyes. “Will you come with me?”

“I… cannot. My time for homes is past.”

She nodded, as if she understood how the warm blood pumping through her body tempted me
even now. After she left I turned back to the wolf. Silver I did not have, but I thought I knew
another way to finish him. Ah, if only he did not smell so damned—

“Jaz!”

I jerked my head, banging it against the tower so hard my ears rang. I looked down. Bergman stood at its base, his hand gripping the arm of Ruvin’s wife.

I signaled to Cole and Kyphas that I was heading down. As I climbed I told myself firmly,
No. That’s
all. Just, no. I’m not going nuts today. Okay, so now I can relive Vayl’s past. That’s fine. Some
people are skilled fishermen. You don’t see them hurling themselves off water towers just because
they know which lures to pick for the big tournament. I’ve just gotta figure out why I had that
particular vision. The girl looked familiar, but I think she’s just reminding me of some young
actress. So it’s the Were, right? I’m sure I’ve seen those yellow eyes somewhere before. Yeah, and
those raggedy ass ears too. Vayl didn’t end up killing it after all. It survived. And now…

I reached the bottom rung. Felt the ground, solid beneath my feet. And grinned. Because I knew, strange as it sounded, that the wolf was Roldan, Sol of the Valencian Weres.

Which means he’s been alive a long damn time! Judging by Vayl’s clothes, that gig couldn’t have
gone down any later than 1770. And I’ve never heard of a Were living longer than a hundred and
fifty years. So what the hell’s gotten into him? Or should I say who?

Maybe Miles’s little buddy could tell me. I glanced at Astral, who sat quietly, whir/purring like she’d never spoken a word in her short, bizarre robolife. “Make sure you record this for the
Enkyklios
,” I murmured to her. “Somebody might find it helpful in the future.” I’d never have known she heard me, except she glued her attention to Tabitha and never let her eyes waver from the shaman once during our entire conversation.

I said, “Tabitha, why aren’t you with your sons?”

“I… was looking for Ruvin,” she answered. “He’s turned off his phone. And that’s not like him. I was afraid…” She trailed off, maybe seeing the doubt in my eyes. I’d believe a lot of emotions from Tabitha.

Fear wasn’t one of them.

“What an interesting outfit you chose to wear for your hunt,” I told her, reaching out to rub the feathered collar of her knee-length tunic between my fingers. Beneath it she wore loose pants made from an animal she might have tanned herself they looked so primitive. The seams were sewn on the outside with a dark brown strip of leather strung every few inches with red and blue beads. Emu feathers hung from metal rings clamped into the pants at knee level.

Tabitha looked down at herself. “This is, ah, a traditional seinji pantsuit designed to hasten the conception process,” she said.

“Bullshit.”

Her eyes bugged. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know, something’s been bothering me from the start. I couldn’t put my finger on it because it seemed almost normal to me. And then I realized, that’s because I grew up with a bitch for a mother.” Her eyes darted to mine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No, I don’t guess you would. They never do. But, take my word for this, good moms never leave a dangerous situation ahead of their sons. During the rescue, you charged out of the warren first, with them running behind you trying to keep up. And back at the house, they should’ve run to you for comfort.

Instead they came to Ruvin and us. You know why? Because they’ve figured out, at some level, that you don’t give a crap about them.”

“You are out of line—”

“But here’s where I get a little fuzzy. Why, if you’re so disinterested in Laal and Pajo, are you so eager to have another baby?”

“I don’t think they’re actually hers,” said Bergman. “Remember their bone structure? How even and symmetrical their faces were? But Tabitha and Ruvin have long foreheads and chins. I think—”

“They’re adopted, all right?” Tabitha snapped. “They’re not even…” She started to say something, stopped, began again. “I just want a child of my own flesh. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Plenty, if you’re treating the other two like crap.” I wanted to shake her. I jerked my head at Miles. He still had a good grip; maybe he’d get the message. “I don’t know why you’re getting so wound up in this DNA bullshit. It doesn’t make for a happier family, believe me. I can point you to thousands of couples who’d give everything they own to raise a child that didn’t share their biology. So what’s your problem?”

“
Ilda fra priladr neld!
” she growled.

Cole’s voice rose, excited, in my ear. “Jaz, she’s starting to curse you. Don’t let her finish it.” I nodded. I could feel the stirrings of power as well.

“What did you just say?” I asked.

“
Echreada Ufran pilrat sritarnem, de aflor drmep sehike!
” she replied, almost smug, not realizing I had a translator listening in.

I grabbed the nearest handy piece of clothing, which happened to be Miles’s baseball cap, and slapped her with it. The rudeness of my interruption clipped her curse short, shocking her into silence. But not for long.

“How dare you strike me?” she cried. “I am Ufran’s chosen, the shaman of my people!”

“Tell me about that. How does a woman without a tail or a single spot of blue on her nose rise to the highest place of honor among her people?”

“Ufran spoke to me,” she said simply. “He told me to return to the warren and take my rightful place. He said I deserved everything that had been denied me all the years my mother hid my identity and my deformity.”

“Where were you when Ufran gave you this message?” I asked.

“Ruvin and I were in Scotland adopting Laal.”

“And I suppose you traveled to Valencia, at Ufran’s bidding, soon after?” Her jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

I shook my head. “Did you arrange your own kidnapping?”

“How else was I supposed to get Ruvin’s cooperation?”

“You’re willing to sacrifice your husband for some insane scheme that’s only going to get your people killed?”

“If that is what Ufran commands.”

“Wow. You’re a bigger dumbass than I thought.”

The whole time we’d been talking, Cole had been making strange noises in my ear. Like he was holding back a bad cough. Now he lost it. Peals of laughter rocked my eardrums. I said, “Cole! What the hell?”

“Jaz! Look at Bergman!”

I raised my eyes. For a moment my lips sealed themselves and I feared Brude had retaken my brain.

Then I realized the shock had simply paralyzed me for the seconds it took to process the fact that our genius consultant, the most practical, logical person I knew, had gotten a perm. And dyed his hair blond.

“Aw, shit, Miles.”

Bergman’s shoulders slumped. “Cole gets all the girls. I thought, you know.” He grabbed one of his curls and tugged. “Maybe I could have just one.”

“But he’s never going to let any of us live this down.”

“Damn straight!” Cole hooted. “I’ve got the luv-do. Next thing you know Vayl will be stepping into the beauty shop for a little Cole-over.”

“See what I mean?”

Tabitha cleared her throat. “I like it.”

Even Astral sounded extra interested as she purred, “Hello!” CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

While Miles smiled shyly at his new admirers, I shoved the Braves hat back on his head. “Get a grip, dude. Literally. Keep this murdering piece of trash waiting in the street until I call for you. And whatever you do, don’t let her talk. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Astral’s got your back. Don’t hesitate to sic her on Tabitha if she gets out of line. I’m going back up.” I shook my head at the idiocy of some people.

Cole’s chuckles echoed through my head as I, once again, scaled Wirdilling’s old water tower. “I’m gonna make up a song about the Cole-do,” said my sniper, his ego ballooning so drastically I was surprised he didn’t float right off the roof. “What do you think about this one, Jack? We’ll rap it until we get some music down.
Wild man, wild hair, waving in the breeze, like a whip-crack, lip-smack,
gimme some squeeze.
”