One More Bite Page 9

  Vayl said, “An excellent idea, Lucille. Do you suppose we have the time for that, Floraidh?”

  “If you can accomplish it in ten minutes. We really must leave after that.”

  “Ten minutes it will be, then.”

  We slipped out the kitchen door, which took us into the garden I’d seen earlier, a grid of rock-lined plots containing masses of edibles that reached toward the last rays of the setting sun. We went to the first camera, which Cole had set up near the front corner of the house where the lane curved around to meet the barn. While Vayl moved it to the other side of the lane I told him about Dormal and Floraidh’s discussion. “That makes this ghost’s appearance quite convenient, does it not?” he asked.

  “It’s not a ghost.”

  “No?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you about the time I spent with Tolly Mendez, but she’s kind of an expert on Scidairans. And she told me ghosts disrupt their magic.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Nobody’s sure. The current theory is that because the Scidairans’ main goal is to avoid death, and ghosts kind of personify that, the two mix about as well as geeks and gladiators.”

  Vayl said, “So, assuming we did not just see a ghost, what was it? I would not guess hologram. I do not believe they had the time to subvert our technology.” I kinda thought he knew the answer and was just quizzing me. Good old Vayl. Why offer up your own vast store of knowledge when you have so much more fun eeking small nuggets out of others? Luckily I’d been paying attention in college.

  I said, “I agree she wasn’t playing camera tricks. But were you watching Dormal during that whole episode?”

  “Not the entire time,” he said.

  “Me neither, but I did give her a glance or two, and she was working her ass off. Sweating, wordless chanting, and a couple of tugs at her hair. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I think she’s got something tied up under that shaggy do, because as soon as she touched it my senses went zapola. Considering that our visitor came with a message, I think what he was, what she raised, was a loeden.”

  Vayl’s brows lifted. Okay, I admit, I’d reached with that one. Loeden weren’t ghosts, but they weren’t alive either. I wasn’t sure where they fit into the nether hierarchy, except that as its postal system, they probably ranked near the bottom.

  He said, “That is a powerful drawing spell. Especially for a single Scidairan.”

  “Well, who’s to say she did it all by herself? They’ve got a whole coven going on. And even if the rest of them are lying low to keep the guests from bolting, they could’ve stored their powers somewhere for her to draw on. Kinda like the juice in all those masks the vamps had displayed on the wall back in your old Trust.”

  The tightening of Vayl’s jaws told me he didn’t appreciate the reminder of the time, not long ago, when his former mate had tried to suck him back into the community he’d barely escaped a century before.

  I hesitated, reached out, and rested my hand on his where it gripped the camera’s tripod. The other held just as tight to the blue jewel that topped his cane. I said, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No. You are my avhar. That gives you the right, no, the responsibility, to speak your mind.”

  “It doesn’t mean I should dump on your feelings along the way.”

  His expression reminded me of a kid seeing an amazing new magician’s trick. “Do you know how long it has been since anyone concerned themselves with my feelings?” He answered himself. “Such a stretch that I had begun to think my emotions were as damned as my soul.” He looked down at our hands. Turned his so our fingers intertwined. The slide of his skin, warm against mine, made my breath come quicker. Really? Is that all it takes? You are so easy.

  “Maybe there’s hope for them both yet,” I said.

  His smile, so wide that it showed fangs, might’ve made me run once. Now I just responded to that fierce happiness with a couple of hard nods. No doubt anything else would’ve led to indecent exposure and my eventual humiliating arrest.

  “Let’s say Dormal did do a spell,” I suggested, reminding him of why we’d left the house in the first place. “Maybe Floraidh even gave her a boost in there.”

  “It is possible,” Vayl replied after taking a deep breath. “She was the one I watched the most, and I did note a few odd gestures that might be attributed to spell work.”

  I sighed. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Because Bea is the one we’re after.”

  Vayl nodded. “You are correct. But perhaps, once we know who the ashes belong to, we may take a new approach to this mission.”

  We shared a grim nod, understanding how remote that possibility stood right now. I said, “Remember, she was talking about somebody’s bones earlier. What if she murdered the guy we just saw?”

  “We turn her over to the authorities.”

  “Vayl, if you’re right about his age, he’s probably been dead over a hundred and twenty years. Which means she’s done a helluva job ducking death. And I’m pretty sure it also means the statute of limitations on that crime expired a long time ago.”

  “Not as far as I am concerned.”

  “What, are you going all maverick on me now?” And do you know how much that turns me on?

  “Not over this issue,” he said seriously. “I simply mean there are courts other than those you humans run. Ones that would burn her to ash if we proved she had killed a man with magic.”

  I felt my eyes go oh-boy round. I’d never heard of such a thing before. Here again was part of that avhar/sverhamin deal Vayl had warned me about. One of the perks of our bond was info on the world of others. But he only leaked it when he thought I’d earned the right to hear it.

  I said, “That sounds—interesting. And taking out Samos’s strongest allies makes me feel a little bit like a kid again. But won’t it upset the bad-guy balance the new Oversight Committee is trying to maintain?”

  Vayl’s eyes went black so suddenly I felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. I’d seen him mad. Just not this fast. And when he spoke, it was with the absolute lack of mercy he usually reserved for our targets. “You have not spoken with the senators, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Avoid it. They are an even bigger group of fools than the last. All of them have agendas that lead me to believe they do not have our, or the department’s, best interests at heart.”

  “O-kay . . .”

  Vayl pinned his eyes to mine. I shivered and then stood still, thinking, Wow, what did they do to piss him off? He said, “While we will do our utmost to complete our assignments as charged, we are no longer concerning ourselves with what the Oversight Committee does or does not recommend, should extenuating circumstances force us to act independently.”

  “Did you get that from Pete?”

  “No. He is too bound by their budget to dare oppose their harebrained suggestions.”

  “Vayl?” I licked my lips, trying to convince myself the fist squeezing my guts wasn’t a scary premonition. “Are you going to get me fired?”

  Those black-on-black eyes bored into my brain as his husky baritone echoed in my ears for several minutes after. “Maybe.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  After that neither of us had much left to say. We joined everybody at the front door and led our group to the van while the rest went to their cars, which were parked in a small paved lot just off the circular drive our vehicle dominated. I kept my eye on Rhona, secretly hoping she’d stage a big catfight. That would be a nice distraction from my dark thoughts. Unfortunately Viv and Iona stuck to her like a couple of Secret Service agents, hustling her into a titan-gray Bentley Brooklands before she could do anything worse than shoot Floraidh a dirty look.

  So I drove the three miles to Castle Hoppringhill, following Floraidh’s blue Volkswagen Polo and Rhona’s I’m-a-bitch, hear-me-roar car down black and winding roads. Our pace would ordinarily make me scream at them to move the parade route off the main dr
ag. But I was so distracted I only vaguely registered the fact that I’d reached down for a comforting Jack scratch and encountered an empty space where he usually sat. Because Vayl was going to get me fired. I just knew it. And my brain couldn’t decide whether to shriek or explode.

  No, I’m not doing this again. Flipping out about possibly losing this job while I try to kick ass at it. I can’t function like that anymore. I won’t. I took a deep breath. I’m gonna help Vayl whip this mission. And if there’s any bullshit to straighten out afterward, I’ll deal with it then. Wait, can you straighten bullshit? Maybe “flatten” would be better?

  Having made a game plan, I felt more focused than I had since Albert had shown up at Gatwick’s Gate Three, toting his ratty brown overnight bag, his Bears jacket hooked over one arm. I didn’t think I could’ve been more blown away if he’d shoved the barrel of his .45 against my forehead and shot my brains out the back of my skull. It was nice to finally regain some of that balance.

  I glanced into the rearview. Lesley and Humphrey had taken the seat just behind mine, their silence making me wonder if they’d had a fight during my brief absence from the group. Maybe she’d finally told him to stop acting like such an ass.

  Cole sat alone in the back while Vayl rode shotgun, keeping a sharp eye on the vehicles in front of us and the surrounding area. So far, nothing. Bea was still playing it conservative. Good call. I wouldn’t pull a hit while guests crowded Floraidh either. Better to wait until everybody was snoozing. Especially if you really are a Medusa.

  When the castle appeared, shooting above the surrounding trees like an enormous old war machine, my first reaction was relief that I wasn’t a raider trying to take down the well-armed Scotsmen inside. Damn. That massive collection of towers and battlements seemed to stretch for a couple of miles in every direction. Not to mention the wall around it, which was only interrupted by a single electric gate. And once we got inside, we had to cross a stream using one of those plank bridges that made you feel if you put a tire wrong you’d end up replacing your entire exhaust system.

  GhostCon workers, wearing orange vests and waving glowing yellow devices that looked so much like dildos I could hear Cole snickering behind me, directed us to a stretch of lawn beyond the castle’s interior wall. Green as a golf course, it was big enough to hold eighteen holes, so the couple of hundred cars lined up in neat rows fit just fine.

  Granny May, who spent a lot of time lounging around the forefront of my brain, had taken to hanging out the wash as she did her imaginary gabbing with me. She used the old-fashioned, no-spring clothespins, and her line kind of sagged in the middle because Gramps Lew tended to let home improvement chores go until he finally got fed up with her bitching. As I pulled into a space between a couple of vehicles that looked more like packing crates than automobiles, she said, Take a look at this parking lot! These ghostlusters are crawling out of the damn woodwork!

  Some patience, Gran. A lot of them are here because they’ve lost somebody dear to them and they think the person’s still floating around.

  What would you do if you thought I was a ghost?

  Force you into business. You’d be great entertainment at slumber parties.

  We managed the hike to the ironbound front doors without losing anyone, though Dormal was panting slightly from carrying bags and boxes, and the Haighs complained the whole way that the Con organizers should’ve picked a more accessible spot for their gathering.

  Cole rolled his eyes at Iona, who responded with an indifferent shrug. Despite her lack of interest in him, we’d still decided he should stick with the girls. Since Viv clearly dug him and Iona had to hang with her, he shouldn’t have a problem keeping an eye on them. Plus Rhona should stay close to Viv, giving him charge of three suspect-Beas. But the matchup couldn’t be too obvious. So we’d come up with a plan that would lump them together, leaving Vayl and me to shadow the Scidairans and the Haighs. Of course, the fluidity of events might require us to change partners and responsibilities, but at least we had a place to start.

  Our plan began along with GhostCon, just inside the front door. In a hall where sky-high pillars held up the room’s corners, and a parquet floor had been designed to portray the story of Morag emerging from Loch Morar to bite off some poor fisherman’s head, convention organizers dressed in black polo shirts and beige slacks had set up two rows of tables on opposite sides of the entryway. Behind the tables to our left sat four groups of two women, each of them guarding a stack of papers, a three-by-five file holding preprinted name cards, and plastic badges on red lanyards. Signs taped to the front of the tables told us where to line up alphabetically if we were preregistered. Another sign directed walk-ins to the other side of the aisle.

  People packed the room. Some of the overflow even straggled up the grand staircase, which intersected the walk-in tables like a superhighway. It, in itself, caught the imagination with its enormous stone balusters and a mile-long tapestry at the first landing depicting a coiled serpent with a dragon’s head rearing to strike as a knight charged it with a burning lance. Pretty striking stuff. But even that didn’t draw the eye like the paying customers.

  When I say they dressed for the occasion, I’m talking costuming by Hollywood on its best day. I recognized Dickens’s Christmas ghosts, as well as Casper, the Headless Horseman, and Harry Potter’s poltergeist, Peeves. Others had chosen less identifiable characters. Guys in monks’ robes with fake axes buried in their heads. Women in eighteenth-century frocks with nooses dangling from their necks. And one odd couple whose blue makeup and sewn-on kelp seemed to symbolize a double drowning. I got the feeling the getups were supposed to be cool, but I kept getting the oddest urge to whip out handfuls of candy for their tricks-or-treats.

  All of us Tearlachers found our respective tables and took our places in line. Floraidh finished first, but decided to wait for Dormal, whose line wound around a metal pole with a red velvet rope connecting it to another pole standing in the center of the room. I guess that’s how karma slaps you when you claim your last name is Smith.

  When it was my turn I pasted on my best smile and said, “Lucille Robinson.” The volunteer looked up at me. And just as I was thinking she should never sport a ponytail because it made her look like she needed a year’s supply of Rogaine, her face did one of those stretchy numbers the TV camera sometimes pulls to simulate an acid trip.

  I leaned forward, bracing my left hand on the table, moving my right into my jacket. As my fingers slid around the grip of my gun, another face swam into focus on top of hers. Edward Samos. Looking healthy and smug as a Grand Champion Fair pig. “Such power in a name,” he said. “Can you really kill a man if you don’t know his true identity?”

  Since Cole’s cover name started with a T, his was the hand that snaked out to pull me upright. “Lucille? Are you okay?”

  No way was I looking away from that face again. “Are you feeling anything . . . unusual right now?” I asked Cole.

  Samos’s body clapped her hands. She said, “Oooh, are you channeling a Visitor? We usually get quite a few at the opening ceremonies.” The longer she talked, the less she resembled my nemesis, as if his features melted into hers with each expression switch.

  Cole said, “No. I’ve got nothing.”

  I grabbed the tag the woman held out for me and backed up a step. “Me neither. Not really.” By now Samos had faded completely. Son of a bitch! I can’t really be seeing his ghost. Can I? But that would be better than the alternative. Which would be that I’m losing my marbles. Again.

  I mentally reviewed the moment of his death. It had seemed like every other vampire’s passing. That horrified moment of realization. And then, poof. Vapor, wafting away on the wind while the few bits and pieces that remained of his physical self fell to the ground. But before that. Just prior to the big finale, he’d scraped up a small pile of grass and dirt, spit on it, and begun to chant over it in a language I now knew belonged to the followers of Scidair.

  Did he mana
ge to save some part of himself? And if so, how can I find out for sure?

  I know one tall, buzz cut, and handsome bumming around in the stratus that you haven’t talked to in a while, said Granny May as she bent over her brown wicker laundry basket. He’d probably have an idea. Or at least give you some peace in the matter.

  He’s not allowed to interfere. Besides.

  What?

  He doesn’t like Vayl.

  So?

  I haven’t figured out how I feel about that, okay? I thought we were all pretty much on the same team.

  There’s dissent in every rank.

  But he’s supposed to be above that. Literally. He’s an Eldhayr, for crying out loud!

  Granny May shoved back the edge of the sheet she’d just clipped to the clothesline. From what I understand, so are you.

  Okay, we’re not even going there. You got that?

  She gave a whatever shrug. Raoul is your Spirit Guide. Sooner or later you’re going to have to work something out with him.

  You dropped a sock.

  Where?

  With my sensible side distracted, I ignored the problem a while longer while I assured Cole I was fine. I moved toward the murmuring crowd filling the back section of the front hall and heading toward the open doors of the great room, where most of the activities would take place. I took a program from a woman dressed in the Hoppringhill tartan and used it to fan myself as I leaned against a wall and eyed the rest of Tearlach’s guests back at the registration tables. Cole sidled up beside me.

  “I’ll bet this place is a bitch to clean,” I said as I motioned to the series of velvet banners hanging from the ceiling.

  Cole didn’t want to talk about dusting. At least not that kind. “Tell me you weren’t going to pull on that nice woman,” he murmured.