Once Bitten, Twice Shy (6 page)

Vayl pulled me into the shadows between the house and a wrought iron dining set. For a minute I thought he'd snapped and I was going to find out first-hand how much it really hurt to be vampire-bitten. "I can smell your desperation too," he whispered. "It is like burnt metal on my tongue. But above all I sense determination. Courage. The instincts of a predator and the skill of a master. It is a confusing combination, Jasmine. Can I trust it?"

What
? It doesn't take me long to move from any strong emotion to pissed off. Mom used to blame it on the red hair. I guess a shrink would have a different theory. But suddenly I felt like wadding up the last six months of watching his back and shoving it down his throat.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise," I hissed. "Pete made it clear, and I agreed. My life for yours. If that's how it goes down, that's how I go. No questions asked. I know your value."
Just as well as I know my own
.

I glared at Vayl, mostly to give the tears that threatened a big, fat nuh-uh. He responded with his most inscrutable look. I thought of Cole's sparkling eyes and love-me smile and wondered how many times a man would have to smother his own feelings to get to the expression on Vayl's face. "I am not talking about my life," he said.

Okay, now my brain was going to melt. What the hell else could he possibly trust me with?

We heard a bell ring and noticed people begin moving into the dining room. Though I felt like I'd been shoved off a train in Siberia during a blizzard, Vayl's short nod signified he'd made up his mind. "Will you join me?" I knew he wasn't just talking about supper.

I wanted to say
No, let's do this another day, when I'm not shaking like a strung-out crackhead
. Instead I nodded, tucked my hand into the crook of his bent elbow and allowed him to escort me inside. Lucille's smiling face met those of the guests who'd begun to gather in the dining room, and not one of them guessed that behind the facade lurked a hired killer who sometimes thought it would be a great relief to finally die herself.

I'll say this for me, even when my insides are twisting like a contortionist in the Cirque du Soleil, I do know how to focus. By the time we reached our seats Lucille Robinson had taken charge. She took real pleasure in her surroundings, enjoying the granite-topped table, the gold-rimmed plates, the enormous vases (pronounced vah-zes, my dear) bursting with pink and white tulips. My neighbor told me the nurseryman got them to bloom so early by faking them out, making them think they'd spent an entire winter underground when in fact they'd only spent about six weeks in the cooler. The word for the process, she said, was "forced." Those beautiful forced flowers reminded me of Amanda Assan as I watched her negotiate her way through the meal.

She ate $5,000 worth of French onion soup, Caesar salad, chicken parmesan and coconut cream pie, all the time making pleasant conversation with my tablemates who, after a word with Vayl, would never remember me in the morning. Not long ago she'd been crying on an old friend's shoulder. Now she wore a catalog-model smile.

When the white-aproned servers cleared the last dessert plate, Assan suggested we all move into the ballroom. Vayl put an arm around my shoulder and murmured, "I saw the room when I was looking around earlier. This is where you get to guess what is behind Door Number Four." A new Jaguar:

"No. But probably just as pricey."

We moved out of the dining room, across the hall and to a pair of custom doors decorated with intricate scrollwork and generous amounts of gold leaf. Two muscle-bound doormen let us into a room that made the guests gasp. The ceiling set the theme for the entire space. Half-dressed nymphs danced across fields of flowers while studly young princelings looked on from beds made of silvery white clouds. I suspected the artist to be a direct descendent of Michelangelo.

The burnished gold walls sported enough detailed trim to keep an army of plasterers busy for six months. The wood floor was so dark it was almost black. Two long tables set with punch bowls and crystal glasses sat along one wall underneath oversized windows dressed in black velvet. Another wall backed a miniature orchestra, its members dressed to match the curtains. As soon as the door opened they began to play, and the song lasted until all the guests had entered. Amidst applause for the musicians, Assan stepped up to a microphone.

"Notice the dark-haired man in the shadows just to Assan's left," Vayl whispered.

"Wasn't he hovering near Assan when we met?"

"Yes. I think that one is his personal bodyguard. You will have to deal with him when the time comes." I smiled and nodded as if Vayl had just complimented the band.

"Thank you all for coming," said Assan, his voice echoing weirdly in the enormous room. "You are the reason so many young children have been given a second chance at life." He went on but I stopped listening, so steamed by his b.s. I'd begun to consider how I would kill him if Vayl gave me the chance. But those daydreams ended abruptly as my nose twitched and my scalp began to tingle.

"Jeremy?"

"Hmm?"

I tugged on his sleeve so he'd lean down, bringing his ear within an inch of my lips. "There's another vampire in the room." It seemed weird to be the one, of the two of us, who could sense this. But vamps are completely closed to one another. I would imagine it makes for horrible relationships.

"Find him."

I focused on the scent, a rotten potato kind of odor that made my head ache. When the man slithered his way to the front of the crowd I knew it was him. He wore his nutmeg colored hair long, past his shoulders. His eyes, a striking light blue as cold as the arctic, kept him from looking girlish. His blue, pin-striped suit fit so well at least half the guests would be asking him for the name of his tailor before the evening ended. But it didn't look as if he meant to stay. He caught Assan's eye, signaled him with a slight nod, and suddenly our host couldn't get away from the microphone fast enough.

"Excuse me," he said, "I am afraid that duty calls. Please enjoy the rest of your evening knowing that, even tonight, your generous donations have helped to make an unfortunate child whole again."

I caught myself short of a full-blown snort. I murmured, "If he's going to put some poor kid's face back on straight I'll do the hula."

"Lovely dance, that. The story is all in the hands. I did not know you knew—"

"Vayl, I was kidding."

"Oh." Tightening of the lips. Translation—crap, when am I going to leap into the 21st century and get with their damn humor? Jerk of the head. Translation—obviously not today, so let's get on with the job, shall we?

"Keep hold of my hand." Vayl's power slid over me like silk pajamas.
What a rush
! No one even glanced at us as we passed, and most of them couldn't have seen us if they'd tried. We followed Assan and his vampire friend into the part of the foyer that wandered underneath the stairs. Assan's vamp wouldn't sense me here either, not as long as I was touching Vayl.

There are other, more permanent ways for a vamp to share power, but I preferred this one. Less invasive. Plus I liked the hand-holding. Pathetic, I know, but that's what happens when you haven't touched another soul in over a year.

We crouched behind a huge statue of a naked guy and listened in. Okay, the gleaming black marble butt in my face distracted me slightly, but I'm still a pro, so I did hear the highlights.

"—well?" Assan was saying.

"Better than expected," the vamp said, "the virus has already mutated."

My stomach clenched at the word 'virus.'

Assan nodded happily. "So we are ready for the final test?"

The vampire nodded, pushing his hair away from his face in a way I found chilling, because it was such a graceful gesture. The worst monsters are always the prettiest.

"I wish we could do it tonight," Assan ventured, but the vampire shook his head.

"No, we must follow the plan. We know the mutation must have a full 24 hours to thrive before it can be transferred and made lethal. Tomorrow night is soon enough."

"And then?"

"You know," the vampire said indulgently.

Assan's grin would've fit better on a shark. "And then the purge begins."

The vamp flashed his fangs in ecstatic agreement. He looked at his watch. "Svetlana and Boris arrive in 20 minutes. We should go."

Vayl and I traded looks of dread. Obviously defrauding charities and rearranging fanatics' faces were the least of Assan's crimes.

I jerked my head toward the surgeon and his undead friend, raised my eyebrows.
Let's take them now. Try to make them talk before this virus can be unleashed
. I badly wanted to grab the bastards and bang their heads together.

Vayl shook his head. I knew what he was thinking.
Too public. Too soon
. Though it chafed to admit it, he was right. Only God knew what vital information we'd miss if we hit them now. So we followed the men toward the back of the house. When we knew they were headed for the garage, we shifted into high gear.

We dodged into the dining room, slipped out the poolside doors and raced to our car. Still holding hands, we swept through the night like a couple of phantoms, Vayl's power pushing us so our feet barely touched the ground. I'd never felt so strong, as if all the complex systems that allowed me to exist were working with such perfect precision I could perform miracles if I wanted to.
Nifty Gift
, I thought. If Vayl's ferocious grin was any sign, he thought so too.

I'd left the car unlocked just in case. My keys were in my hand almost before I thought of it, and within seconds we were rolling down the driveway.

"No lights in the rearview," I said.

"Good. Do you know where you are going?"

"Yeah. One of the neighboring houses is vacant. The drive's open, but there's a row of pine trees near the road that screens the rest of the yard and the house. We can wait there."

"Excellent work, Jasmine." I nodded my thanks, pressing my lips together to keep myself from grinning at the compliment.

The guards at the gate waved us through without even a second glance. I made a left as if I was headed for the interstate. When the gate had disappeared behind us I took the next right and killed the headlights. After some high speed, highly illegal driving, I hit the driveway of the empty house, drove into the grass and behind the trees. With my night vision activated I could easily see Assan's mansion and, moments later, the headlights of a vehicle began to close the distance between the house and gate. Vayl didn't tell me it was all in my hands now. Even though I'd screwed up less than an hour before, he still trusted me to know my job. I liked that about him.

My hands were wet on the wheel as I pulled back onto the street. Following taillights is easy in a low traffic area like Assan's neighborhood. It gets a little more challenging on the interstate, but Assan's vehicle, an extended-cab Dodge Ram the color of strawberry Pop Tart filling, was tough to miss. Too bad this virus bombshell had blown our original assignment to shreds. I could've taken him out on the Interstate and no one would ever have known it wasn't an accident.

Ten minutes later we'd followed the Pop Tart truck to an abandoned air force base. As soon as we could, we ditched the car and headed toward a congregation of sightless buildings gathered in the empty compound. A hundred yards from Assan's truck, we grabbed cover among the jungle of shrubs and tall grasses that edged one of the base's old helipads and watched the two men exit their vehicle. The vamp leaned on the hood while Assan went to an electric pole where he fiddled inside a large gray box. Seconds later a ring of red lights came on and less than five minutes after that I heard the rhythmic thump of helicopter blades spinning overhead.

I tensed with expectation as the copter touched down and a couple, one large, one small, wearing black jumpsuits hopped out. They crouched low as they hurried toward Assan's truck. Moments later the helicopter flew away and our four subjects made their own exit. I sat in the weeds and watched them go, trying to come to some practical conclusions.

Okay. So we have two new vamps named Svetlana and Boris arriving the night before the final test of a virus that mutates and is capable of purge-like deaths. Hey, maybe it's not all that bad. Maybe the Russians are computer geeks and the virus is just a big, bad worm. I wish. I really, really do.

We gave Assan, his buddy and the Russians just enough lead-time that they wouldn't see us pull out behind them, and hoped their next stop would lead us to some answers that didn't include the phrase, 'end of the world as we know it.'

One of my worst childhood memories is of sitting at the kitchen table of our tiny house on the base at Quantico. I was crying so hard my favorite Mariah Carey T-shirt had wet blotches on it, and snot bubbles kept popping out of my nose, which Dave thought was "Way rad!" I remember that bothered me even more, because I thought
he
should be crying too. Mom sat across the table from us, smoking a cigarette and patting a howling Evie on the back. Evie always cried when I cried. It was one of the reasons I finally stopped.

Mom looked at me with what I took to be an utter lack of sympathy. And she said, "I know you were expecting your dad to come home today. I know you were planning to share a piece of your birthday cake with him. But, you've gotta remember, Jaz, nothing ever goes according to plan. Nothing. Not ever."

I believed her. What I couldn't tell her was that I also believed Dad hadn't made it home because he'd been killed in Desert Storm. My neighbor had told me so. The twelve-year-old daughter of a supply sergeant who ruled us all with her advanced training in name-calling and dirty fighting, Tammy Shobeson got her kicks from torturing me when Dave wasn't around to back me up. And learning it was my tenth birthday had inspired her. She'd buried her claws deep, too. I spent the rest of my childhood dreading the news of Albert's death. Despite his long absences. Despite our chilly relationship. And then, BAM, Mom keeled over in the shoe department of WalMart. A massive heart attack had proven once and for all that nothing ever goes as planned. Nothing. Not ever.