One More Bite Page 7

  Chapter Ten

  As I walked through my room, repeating the clearing ceremony I’d performed for the girls as well as for Vayl, Cole, and Albert, I tried to talk myself into liking the place. The wallpaper, which only ran up to the white chair rail, was covered in a ripe plum design. I should be tempted to pluck them right off the wall. Except I kept thinking they looked like frozen testicles, and I was feeling sorry for the model. The part above the rail, painted lavender, just depressed me.

  I did appreciate that I had my own bathroom, so I wouldn’t have to share with the guys. It was situated right across from the entry. Around the corner stood the bed, its frame consisting of long wooden spindles that reminded me of my niece’s crib. And the table beside it was so tiny the lamp looked like it was going to topple off in the night, possibly electrocuting me in my sleep.

  Floraidh had also furnished the room with an interesting piece that was part dresser, part makeup table. Half the thing had drawers, which I’d left empty because this wasn’t a place I wanted to get cozy in. The other half had a flat desk under which Floraidh had pushed a richly cushioned stool. A square mirror framed in lightly stained pine had been hung on the wall above it. Since I wore the bare minimum cosmetics-wise, I’d probably use it five minutes a day. Okay, maybe ten. Fifteen if my damn curls wouldn’t start cooperating.

  As soon as the shields snapped shut I set Tolly’s incense burner on the floor by the door and opened my trunk. Out came the laptop and all its components, which only took a couple of minutes to set up. While I waited for the computer to connect, I changed for GhostCon. This included adding a few weapons I hadn’t worn on the flight. My black bag provided wrist sheaths for both arms. The one on the right held holy water, my first line of defense against vampires. It wouldn’t kill Bea, but it might poison or paralyze her, taking her down long enough for me to use Grief or the blade my seamstress had expertly hidden in my right pocket. Since I wore Tolly’s bracelet on the same arm, the logistics of using the syringe that held the water might become a little tricky. So I strapped it on, hoping I wouldn’t need to use it.

  I’d given up the throwing knives I’d once carried on my left wrist. Hadn’t wanted to use them since that mission to Iran, when I’d been forced to slit my brother’s throat with one in order to free him from a necromancer’s spell. Despite the fact that he’d survived, the knives had become a nightmare reminder of those long minutes when I’d thought he wouldn’t come back from zombieland. So I’d finally ditched them for good. Instead I’d loaded a new sheath with a piece of technology Bergman had sold the Agency under the name of Mongoose.

  A mini cannon that shot some sort of foam, the Mongoose looked about as effective as a movie prop. But it felt as heavy as a tank of grill gas. I didn’t know what Bergman had loaded the sucker with, but when he assured me it would stop anything like a Medusa I had to trust him. The guy knew his science and, increasingly, his magic as well as doctors know the Hippocratic oath.

  The ghost hunters I’d researched (all quacks from what I could tell) favored black, so I dressed with that color scheme in mind. I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans to which I transferred the contents of my pockets, and a peasant blouse that I’d just started to button when the laptop made its final connection.

  Within five minutes I’d arranged for the pickup and found out everything the CIA and Interpol knew about the guests in Floraidh’s house.

  Rhona Jepson was the widow of a banker named Currie, whose murder had, indeed, been related to those of Viv’s roommates. It remained unsolved.

  Humphrey and Lesley Haigh could’ve carpeted their home with the money they’d made and used the spare change to repave their garden paths. But they still lived in the same tiny two-bedroom cottage they’d rented when they were newlyweds. The only difference was that now they owned it. They had one child, a boy named Nesbit who ran their London store.

  Iona seemed clean, but we had too little information on her for me to come up with a firm conclusion either way.

  When Viv Jepson’s file came up, I shoved the stool back from the dressing table and strode over to the window. Mum might’ve convinced the press to lie, but Interpol had a complete report. With pictures. Staring out at the towering Douglas firs and Scots pines of Culloden Wood, I tried to gear myself back to neutral. To swallow the lump in my throat and clutch the curtains hard enough that they’d soak up the sweat pouring from my palms.

  Even caught in another woman’s tragedy and my own struggle not to drown in it, I sensed him coming to me. I was surprised enough to turn and look when he didn’t knock, but opened the door and walked in, shutting it softly behind him.

  “So you don’t need an invitation to cross my threshold anymore?” I asked.

  Vayl’s gaze went to my left hand. “When you accepted Cirilai, you made a great many things possible for me that could not have happened before.”

  I glanced at the ring he’d given me. A gold and ruby masterpiece his grandfather had crafted, it had been imbued with all the powers his family could summon to protect him from the horrible fate his mother had envisioned for him before she died. It connected us in ways I still didn’t quite understand. Though I was beginning to wonder if it, more than anything else, was the catalyst that had matched us in the first place.

  “Where’s Floraidh?” I asked.

  “Cole is demonstrating our equipment to her. He has, how do you say, ramped up the charm, so she is quite fascinated.” His eyes wandered down my body, and when they returned to mine, brilliantly green in a face taut with desire, I remembered I hadn’t quite finished dressing.

  “Why—” I cleared my throat. Husky wasn’t where I wanted my voice to be right now. “Did you need something?”

  Oops. Loaded question, and one Vayl seemed only too willing to answer with action as he closed the distance between us. But he didn’t touch me. Just stood near as a whisper as he said, “I know you hate it when I eavesdrop. But I felt your anguish from outside. What has upset you?”

  I wanted to turn back to the window. Climb out and run into the trees, maybe do a little Scottish version of Tarzan. Only I couldn’t blame my need to escape on my wild upbringing. Just a sense that I might never be free of horror. That in twenty years I could be skipping through life, thinking I’d somehow “made it,” and I could read a story in the newspaper or see someone on the train who reminded me of that day in Virginia when my own nightmare had begun, and I’d know it had never let me go. It never would.

  I took a deep breath, started with the least of my worries. That sad bowl of ashes and the samples I’d be handing off to some stranger during the opening ceremonies tonight. Vayl accepted the whole story with nothing more than a lowering of the brows, his substitute for any of a number of the four-letter words that relieved the worst of my stresses.

  I moved on to the part that had burned holes into my guts. “Viv’s on the level with her story. Whether that makes her our killer or not . . .” I shrugged, unable to go on. Those pictures. Jesus. You could distance yourself from the victims. But not from Viv’s stoned and tragic face. Especially when you put it next to the before shot of an outgoing debate team member with a promising political career ahead of her.

  “Viv’s had it pretty rough since. She dropped out of college. Doesn’t see any of her friends. Works at the library in her hometown and lives with her mom and Iona.”

  “So do you believe she has simply come because her mother will not let her stay home alone?” Vayl asked. “That she is, indeed, Bea? Or that she truly intended to find someone like us all along?”

  “I prefer choice number three.”

  Vayl’s brows lowered. “Disturbing, is it not, that the living allow the dead to exert so much power over them?”

  We stared at each other for a second and then shook our heads, trading sheepish grins. “We’re a couple of hypocrites, Boss.”

  He inched closer. “I wish you would not call me that.”

  I lifted my chin so I could look into his
eyes, glittering like gems in his immobile face. “Sverhamin, then?”

  “Ahh.” His breath blew across my lips. “When you agreed to accept me as such, did you ever think you would find yourself here?”

  “In Scotland?”

  He gave me that semi smile that made my knees want to buckle. “Why is it that you love to tangle with my patience?”

  “Well, having spent some time in the Vampere world, I can now say that being your avhar has taught me to entertain myself at your expense whenever possible. Because who knows when I’ll have to turn around and smoke your ex-wife or kick your old girlfriend’s ass?”

  “Disa was never my girlfriend.”

  “She wanted to be.”

  Vayl slipped his hand around my waist. “What about you?” He ran the fingers of his other hand along my collarbone, which had mended during his trip to Romania. His touch sent such tremors through my body that my tongue flew to the roof of my mouth and stuck there.

  “I did as you asked,” he said. “I revisited the site of my worst memories. My sons’ tombstones still stand where I set them over two hundred and fifty years ago. You cannot read their names anymore. I considered recarving them, and then I decided to let it be.”

  As they always did, his eyes had darkened while he talked about Hanzi and Badu. I was beginning to understand that their murders felt as fresh to him as my own losses did to me. He said, “You asked me to let them rest. To accept that I lost them so I could move forward. With you. All I can tell you is that I have begun.”

  I raised my hand to his cheek, slightly rough with evening stubble. I slid my fingers into his hair. “You are so brave.”

  Our lips came together so quick and hard that our teeth clicked and I felt blood on my lip, though I wasn’t sure if it was mine or his. Didn’t matter. The world had narrowed to breath, hot and quick. Fingertips leaving fiery trails across skin. His tongue tracing a path down my torso to my abdomen and, amidst my gasps of pleasure, his delighted whisper. “You wore it!”

  I looked down as he brushed his finger against the belly ring he’d sent to me while we were apart. The interlocked golden hearts with their ruby centers swung gently from side to side as I smiled at him. “It’s my favorite,” I told him.

  He pressed his lips against it and I clutched his shoulders, letting my head fall back against the window. Forget the Highlands. This was the escape I needed.

  “Yo, Lucille!” Rapid knocking at the door and Cole’s insistent voice calling, “You about ready to go?”

  Shit, fuck, dammit! When Vayl rose he looked even more pissed than I felt. As he buttoned my shirt he murmured, “We are not finished with this.”

  “You’d better not be that big of a tease.”

  He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me until our eyes were on the same level. “Kiss me, woman.”

  Chapter Eleven

  What took you so long?” Cole demanded when I opened the door.

  “Where’s Floraidh?” I asked.

  “In her room getting ready. It’s the one on the right across from the linen closet. I have a camera set up in her hallway and Albert’s watching the feed, so you’re free until she comes out. You have maybe five minutes before you’re on.” He stepped in and looked around suspiciously. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Research on your girlfriend,” I said as I shut the door and went to look over Vayl’s shoulder. He’d pulled the stool up to the makeup dresser and keyed Iona Clough into our database.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Cole said, distracted from the door-knocking delay as I’d hoped he’d be. “What are you finding out?” He searched for a chair, found a cushy purple number in the corner, and pulled it up to the computer.

  “Yeah, I’m kinda curious myself,” I said. “I’ve already done the check on her.”

  “Nothing,” Vayl told Cole.

  “What do you mean, nothing?” he asked.

  Vayl typed, entered, typed some more. “I mean Iona Clough seems normal enough.” He dropped his hands to his lap.

  “So you think she’s Bea?” said Cole sarcastically.

  “Perhaps. I do believe she is hiding something.” He regarded Cole thoughtfully. “Ever since I have known you, women have consistently fallen at your feet. In all my life I have only met one other with such charm to turn feminine heads.”

  “Oh yeah?” Cole grinned. “What happened to him?”

  “He died in an asylum. I think now he must have contracted syphilis, which was never diagnosed. Thus the dementia later in his life.”

  “Ew.”

  “My point is that the both of you truly appreciate women. You admire them, respect them, even love them for a time, and they sense that. They want to snuggle up to you as if you were living teddy bears. Except for Iona.”

  “Maybe she’s a lesbian,” I suggested.

  Cole’s eyes lit up and he practically clapped his hands. Vayl regarded me thoughtfully. “Do you suppose so?”

  I shrugged. “She’s obviously got somebody else she’s really serious about.”

  “So serious she is not even warm to him? Jasmine, even you are Cole’s friend.”

  I glanced at our third, acutely aware that I’d never given him an answer to his proposal. That I’d just hoped he’d figure out on his own we could never be more than friends, but we’d be idiots to let a stunted romance get in the way of that. I waited for the light to dawn. For Cole to look at me with a sense of letting go.

  Didn’t happen. He was too keyed on the mystery behind Iona.

  “Maybe she’s some heiress trying to escape the clutches of her overbearing parents.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Maybe you should write for Harlequin.”

  Vayl rose from the stool. “Try your charm on Rhona, Cole. Iona must have come with references. A woman like Viv’s mother would never hire someone otherwise. Perhaps we can trace her through her last employers. We also need to capture a picture of her as soon as possible. I cannot believe the one in our database is so badly out of focus.”

  “That should be easy,” said Cole. “Our cameras are set to shoot the second they detect movement.”

  “Are you sure Floraidh’s convinced they’re not just regular video monitors?” I asked.

  Cole clapped a hand to his heart. “How could you think I’m such a bad actor? She believes we brought spectervids and electromagnetic field detectors and phantasonic probes for the ‘job’ we have lined up after this convention. And she couldn’t wait for us to set them up when Vayl started counting out the notes. Albert’s going to keep track of the feed while we’re gone in case Bea decides to do some setup work when she thinks the place is deserted.” Now it was his turn to frown. “You did clear my room? We wouldn’t want Dormal charging in there and using your dad for a rug beater when he’s turning out to be such a big help.”

  “They’re all Scidair proof,” I assured him, practically grinding my teeth that Albert had recruited himself another fan. “I should go,” I said. “Floraidh could be leaving her room any minute.”

  “Me too,” said Cole. “I want to make sure all the feeds are working before we take off.”

  “Jasmine, would you wait a moment? We need to discuss the assassin’s most likely plan of attack.” As Cole hesitated at the door, Vayl said, “Go on. We’ll catch you up shortly.”

  His face pinching like he’d just swallowed one of his gum balls whole, Cole stomped out the door and slammed it shut.

  “What’s the deal?” I asked. “We’ve already decided Bea’s probably going to hit Floraidh while she’s asleep.”

  “This.” Vayl grabbed me around the waist and backed me to the wall. Before I could take a decent breath his lips had covered mine. Fierce. Wild. Like taking a barrel over Niagara and stopping just short of the bottom. When he lifted his head I could hear myself panting.

  “Again,” I breathed.

  “Soon.”

  Before I could truly see straight I found myself standing in the hallway, my hands
braced against the wall because my legs still weren’t teaming up, listening to my heart pound against my ribs as Vayl’s door opened and closed just feet from my buzzing ears.

  “Holy crap, I think I have just lassoed a comet.”

  Chapter Twelve

  As I hiked upstairs I pulled a thin silver case out of my back pocket. It held the communications device that would allow me to talk to the guys from a distance of at least two miles. Cole had decided we needed a cool name for it, something catchy like walkie-talkie, only much less lame. After trying out and rejecting possibilities that included chattie-splattie and speak’n freak, he’d settled on the party line.

  The microphones resembled beauty marks. Mine rested beside my lip. The receivers, just slivers of clear-coated wire that used a dangly gold earring as an anchor, wound around and into the ear. When we’d tried them in the airport, Cole had commented that his hoop made him resemble a pirate. If he’d have slid on an eye patch and blackened a few teeth I might have agreed. But Vayl pulled his off the best. Maybe it was his Rom ancestry or Bergman’s sunscreen, but I thought he looked freaking hot. Kinda like Jake Gyllenhaal with fangs and a shudder-to-think-of-it past. Especially when he slapped on the transmitter, a barbed-wire tattoo that emphasized the bulge of his right bicep.

  I grabbed the rail. Holy crap, are my knees spazzing out under me? I thought that only happened in Victorian romance novels! Geez, the next thing you know I’ll be having the vapors just when I need a steady aim!

  Resolutely redirecting my thoughts to matters more supportive to my muscles—like whether I really believed Bergman’s wrist-launched Mongoose-juice was gonna work against Bea’s head fulla snakes—I made it to the fourth floor without once falling on my butt. When I reached the landing I noted the wall on my right, which led to Floraidh’s room, had been covered with peach-tinted paper featuring tiny white flowers with yellow centers.

  Photos of the Scidairan and various women smiling as they posed in woodsy settings hung between the two doors to my left. I peeked in the first, surprised at how deep the linen closet ran. These old houses might not provide much storage space, but by damn when they built one, that sucker offered up some shelving. I didn’t try the knob to the next room, my senses telling me a run-in with Dormal would be the result. And since I didn’t have to play brave at the moment, I could freely admit she scared me a little. Walking close to her felt like sidling up to a pissed-off silverback.