Biting the Bullet (26 page)

Yeah, I was hooked. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, he let me take a handful of ones to practice with. Gotta love that guy.

Raoul, on the other hand. Not so cuddly. In fact, I thought he resembled a pissed-off timber wolf as he towered over me, his crew-cut practically shooting sparks as he said, “You asked for this meeting. You would not believe what I had to do to be here. You know” — he put a fist on his hip and ran the other across his head in a gesture so much like my dad’s I had to stifle a laugh — “I don’t just sit around waiting for you to call! I am trying to find out what the Magistrate wants with you. You do remember him, don’t you? Tall, blond demonic type? Likes to tear the skin off people with his whip?”

“Yeah, Raoul, your description rings a bell.”
Okay, Jaz, drop the sarcasm. Right. Now. As far as you know, this guy is the only
one who can save David. For once in your life, do not piss off your last chance. Even if he did foul up Dave’s transition
and let the Wizard . . . No, you’re not even sure of that. Quit judging, keep an open mind, and don’t screw this up.
I sighed.

“I’m really sorry. It’s . . . this mission is just insane. Things keep happening and I honestly couldn’t fall asleep when I wanted to. I tried. I really did.”

Raoul’s expression softened. “Let’s go somewhere else to talk,” he said. “Your bathroom makes me feel as if I’m buried alive.”
Gee, thanks. Now I’m going to have that lovely image playing in my head every time I have to pee
. But I didn’t say a word.

Just followed Raoul out the door and into my living room.

He didn’t complain about its size, but he should’ve. It wasn’t even cozy. I just . . . I don’t really know how to make a place seem like home. We moved so much when I was a kid, and now I spend so much time in rented rooms. I guess I feel more comfortable in a hotel atmosphere.

The white walls were bare. The brown suede couch and chairs matched; they just didn’t look like anyone had sat in them in the past five years. I use an ottoman for a coffee table. It was empty. The only redeeming feature of the whole room was the fancy maple rack behind the couch that held my prized possession. In her will, Granny May had specifically stated that I should receive her Amish quilt, a gorgeous black, red, and green creation that played on your eye like a classic piece of art. Someday I’d display it that way. But only when I’d found someplace permanent.

Raoul settled on the couch. I sat beside him. “Have you thought about what I said before?” I asked. “Give it to me straight. Does Dave have any chance at all? I mean, I can’t let the Wizard control him much longer. When we pull the plug, so to speak, what will happen?”

Raoul sat forward, his hands clasped between his legs. “He may have a chance. But before you start the party, let me explain.” Deep lines appeared between his brows. “No. Let me apologize.” He met my eyes squarely, because that was how he’d been trained to face things. “I am forced to follow certain rules that strictly govern how much I may” — he grimaced — “interfere. Which is why I could not warn you. Couldn’t immediately send you to his aide. Even now I must be careful what to say.” I stifled the urge to shake him. To get in his face and yell, “This is my brother we’re talking about! Tell me everything you know, dammit!”

Raoul went on. “When a person is murdered at the order of a necromancer, great powers are stirred in order to strap the soul into the body and bind it into service. One with the strength of your brother cannot be completely restrained. A part of him, almost what you would call a shadow, escaped. That was what came to me. Ever since then I have been trying to find a way to free him.” Okay, so Dave
was
the second kind of zombie. The kind necromancers rarely messed with. The kind Hilda the expert had died trying to find out more about.

“But . . . this assignment. I thought it was engineered by the Wizard.” Raoul nodded. “And yet, even seeds need nourishment to grow. So if I made a few suggestions as he dreamed . . . ” He shrugged.

“You’re here. And yet we still walk a thin line. David’s soul is incredibly vulnerable. Freeing it could be the worst possible scenario.

Because we believe —”

“Wait a minute. We? Who’s we? Does that include Asha Vasta? I mean, is he part of the we?” Because if he was, maybe he could help Dave if I crapped out on Raoul.

Raoul sat back, his eyes troubled. “What was the Amanha Szeya doing when you met him?”

“Talking me out of killing reavers.”

Raoul shook his head. “And so it goes.” He sighed. “Asha is not part of my — how would you understand it? — my regiment. The

‘we’ to which I was referring are the Eldhayr. Like you, we once lived as human beings. And now we fight to protect our kind.

Asha was never human.”

“So how many of you Eldhayr are there?”

Raoul shook his head. “Some details are better left unknown.”

I recognized that face. That was the you-might-get-tortured-so-remain-ignorant-please expression Pete always got when he sent us into anti-American territories. “Okay. Fine. So did you tell your Eldhayr buddies what an excellent recruit Dave would make? He already thinks he’s working for you, so obviously he’s cool with the idea. Plus —” Raoul held up a hand. “Jasmine, there is no need for the sales pitch. Of course we’ll invite your brother to join us if he can. But it won’t be as easy for him as it was for you.”

I gulped. When your Spirit Guide compares your neck-breaking experience to anything and calls it easy, his next news ain’t gonna be pretty.

“Why not?” I asked, clearing my throat to hide the quiver in my voice.

“We believe the problem is directly related to your last experience with the Magistrate. The fact that the scene was a concert was no coincidence.” He stopped. Said, almost to himself, “How to explain this so you’ll understand?” So suddenly that it startled me, he jerked around to face me fully. “Since we’re in your dream, this shouldn’t hurt. Here.” He held his large, broad-fingered hands out to me. They made mine look like a little girl’s when I slid them into his. He closed his eyes for a second and I felt a tingle coupled with a sudden desire to throw him down on my couch and see just what hid under that starched blue shirt of his.

I pulled my hands away. “Oh, hey, that’s not fair!”

He grinned. “Relax, Jaz. It’s just chemistry, as you like to say. And I rearranged yours momentarily to help explain what I mean.

That feeling you just had? Well, you felt it with Matt, didn’t you? And now it’s growing in you for Vayl. Am I right?”

“Uh.”

“Okay, too personal. But when you hold your niece or hug your sister, also there are good feelings, correct? Feelings of connection and belonging.”

Where the hell was he going with this? Should I take notes? “Sure,” I agreed.

He gave me a good-girl nod. So far I was getting an A in his class. “Those feelings are actually songs. Part of the music of the universe. Everyone has their own tune, and when they find someone whose music harmonizes well with theirs, a link is made.

Sometimes for a few weeks. Sometimes forever.”

Okay, now I’m getting it
. “So when I go out-of-body, those golden cords that connect me to everybody I’m close to are . . .

what?”

“The songs the two of you make as members of a relationship. They allow you to find each other across time and space. That’s one of the reasons why, when you die, your soul knows where to go.”

“And this has what to do with the Magistrate?” I asked.

Raoul dropped my hands. “While he had your cord frozen, his song was playing against all the songs of the cords connected to you. We believe you were right that he wants you to leave your body again. But not to lead him to us. We think he heard something unique in David’s tune. Something that makes him valuable as a prisoner of hell.” I stared at my bland beige carpet, trying to put it all together in my head. “So you’re saying, as soon as we take the Wizard’s control away from Dave he dies again. But that leaves his soul vulnerable to the Magistrate.”

“Exactly.”

I met Raoul’s eyes, but the pity in them made me feel like bawling, so I went back to the carpet. When had I spilled Coke on it? “I can’t let my brother continue to be a zombie. He’d despise that. But I can’t let the Magistrate get him either. Well, this sucks like a frigging leech.”

“I agree.”

I leaned back on the couch. Switched my gaze to the ceiling. Boring white tiles that did not work to distract me like I’d hoped. “I’ll have to figure out a way to fight the Magistrate.”

“Not in this form,” Raoul reminded me. “You haven’t yet developed the ability.”

“Okay. There’s a couple reavers left. I could probably get one of them to deliver him a challenge. Have him meet me in Tehran. But he might kick my ass since Asha’s tears didn’t really give me the boost I was hoping for, physically speaking. Maybe Vayl —”

“Jasmine, the Magistrate is
nefralim
. That means the only way he can enter your world is to be summoned. Wait, what did you say?” asked Raoul. His voice, sharp with command, caused me to sit up straight like when I was seven, at the dinner table, and Albert had just ordered me to finish my lima beans.

“Well, Vayl’s kind of pissed that I didn’t tell him about Asha right away. But he’ll probably be over it by sundown. If he takes my blood again maybe I’ll —”

Raoul shook his head so hard I thought I heard his eyeballs rattle. “No. No, before that. Did Asha share his tears with you?”

“Actually, I kind of had to guilt them out of him. And then they burned. And then nothing. Except I did see this flaming door, which Vayl said was a plane portal. I didn’t learn much more about it because Cole called to say a guy was threatening to kill our people, so we had to get back to the house. And then Vayl was mad at me about the Asha thing. So . . . what was your question?” Raoul smacked a hand on his thigh. “That may be the answer.”

“Okay.” I waited, and when no information was immediately forthcoming said, “Raoul. Spill. Before I have to beat you. Which I’m kind of sure is a major sin.”

“Asha’s tears have given you the ability to see the portals. But more than that, they have allowed you to step through them. Into neutral territory.” He was leaning so far forward he looked like he was preparing to take off, as if he’d just received an emergency call that required his unique skills. “This means you can meet the Magistrate physically. Anywhere. You can fight him using your abilities. Your weapons. All right, not the gun. But definitely the sword.” He looked at me, gave a sharp decisive nod. “You could beat him.”

I woke with the afternoon sun slanting through the windows, feeling as if I hadn’t slept at all. But also as prepared as I’d ever be to face an opponent who might well kill me.

Cassandra and Grace still snoozed on their pallets, giving me the chance to sneak my new toys into the bathroom without having to deal with a lot of diversionary tactics. Once Raoul had given me the correct words to say, I’d made a physical trip to his headquarters during the post-dawn hours of the morning using the portal I’d seen while walking with Vayl.

Beyond the fact that I was actually alive this time or, well, as near as I’d ever get to it again — nothing much had changed from the way I remembered his place. The suite made me feel underdressed in my shapeless black manteau and pants. At least I matched the bar stools to the right of the front door, which lined up neatly under a sleek black counter backed by a mirror that ran the length and width of the wall behind it. But I looked like I should be running a vacuum over the plush white couches, arranged just as I recalled in the center of a room made even more elaborate by white satin curtains and marble floors with rich pink veins. In the back corner of the room, a lovely ivory dining set with six high-backed cushioned chairs completed the mood.

Raoul had been standing by the bar when I walked into the room. “How was your trip?” he asked politely. “Any problems?”

“No. Should there have been?”

He smirked. “With you, I’m never sure. May I take your coat?”

“Please.” I shucked the awful thing, watched him hang it on the elaborately curved black wall rack by the door. “That’s one depressing piece of clothing,” I told him. “Makes me feel like a mortician.”

“Well, I think I know just how to lift your spirits.”

He led me past the bar and the dining table toward a door I assumed led to the bedroom. It didn’t. It was a hall. A long one that, as we walked it, branched into several others, making me wonder just how big Raoul’s penthouse really was. The door we finally stopped at looked no different from any of the others. Rimmed with elaborate white molding it held the kind of lock you expect to see in a hotel. But Raoul didn’t slide a card into the slot. He leaned down, pulled a knife out of his boot, and quickly slashed his forearm. Gathering a generous amount of blood on the blade, he then transferred it to the lock, letting it drip the whole length of the slot. When the light turned green, he opened the door.

“That’s some security system you’ve got there. I’m guessing you don’t access this room very often.” He sent me a smile over his shoulder. “Since I met you I’m doing all kinds of things I haven’t done for years.” He was right about the room cheering me up. When you’re in my biz and you walk into an arsenal, something inside you springs to its feet and starts yelling, “Yipee!” The place could’ve come straight out of a medieval castle. Swords, axes, lances, spears, anything that could hold a blade and prove fatal graced three and a half walls of a room roughly the size of Raoul’s living space. The last half held built-in drawers, which I soon discovered held armor. But this was modern. Stuff you could wear under your day clothes, probably even move comfortably in. And yet I imagined it outperformed even Bergman’s famous dragon armor, which, since we’d rescued it from its kidnappers on our last mission, was still undergoing testing at White Sands.

The armory’s floor space had been kept completely clear. For sparring? I kind of thought I was about to find out. Raoul strode across the battered wooden floor to one corner of the room, lifted from its moorings a sheath holding a curved blade similar to the one I’d been clutching in my dream. Prophetic, huh?