Bitten in Two (9 page)

Dumbass just can’t stop complimenting the guy whose name is, I kid you not, Doobie. We’re in the kitchen, I’ve got Grief off safety, and Sterling should be ready with a kickass spel . But instead he starts muttering the same old complaints.”

“Fucking Doobie, stealing my gigs, no doubt fucking
everything up.”

“Hello?” I say. “Potential target behind the fridge. Or in
the closet. And you don’t even have your wand ready!”
He looks down at his empty hands. His fingers are
long and pale. Great for weaving spells or playing the
piano. I can’t imagine why his chosen instrument is the
trumpet. “You can’t just carry wands around like cocked
guns,” he says, frowning at me like I should have intimate
knowledge of warlock lore. As if they don’t have it all
guarded closer than nuclear material.

“Why not?” I ask.

“It’s
dangerous
, Chill.” That’s what he calls me, I think
just to piss me off. He shakes his head to emphasize his
point. His hair falls straight to his shoulders. It’s so black
I’d suspect a bad dye job if he wasn’t a Power. He’s saved
from utter geekdom by two factors. The hair sweeps
directly back from his forehead, so there’s no part to
reveal the freakish white of his skull. And he walks and
talks with a rhythm that comes from somewhere deep
underground, like he’s locked into the music of the earth
itself.

We move on to the dining room, which may contain a
table, but we can’t be sure because all we see are moldy
boxes packed with old newspapers. I think we’re back on
track until he says, “If this assignment goes on for more
than a couple of days I’m gonna have to split. I gotta get
back to my band.”

“Are you nuts?” I’m so mad I’m hissing. “We’re about to
confront a disease-carrying mage and all you can think
about is your stupid band? Would you like me to tell you
what matters least to me right now? I mean even less than
clipping my toenails? Your band. The fact that some dude
named Doobie is getting his ass germs all over your
chair. And that he’s probably playing better than you do.”

“Where do you get off talking tunes?” he spits. “You
don’t know shit about jazz. Hell, you’re not even black.”
Anybody else might’ve laughed until they blew snot.

But Matt and my Helsingers have only been dead for four
months. I still feel like I’m walking around with no skin, just
bleeding through my clothes like they should be
bandages. So if you scratch me, I don’t bleed harder. I
scream:

“You’re not black either, you bigoted twat! You’re whiter
than me, and I’m a pasty-ass redhead! All you do is sit
around and whine about how you’d be better-looking if you
were black, you’d get more dates if you were black, you’d
be a better musician if you were black. Because you know
that’s the one thing even the most powerful warlock on
earth can’t change. So it’s the one excuse you can make
that nobody can throw back in your face as your own
failure. How about you shower more than twice a week?

Shave some thorns off that ego of yours, and get some
damn trumpet lessons? Work at it day and night the way
you have your magic. Oh, wait, it actually matters to you
whether you fail at music so you’re not going to put the
sweat into it just in case it all comes to nothing. Right?”

“Enough!” Sterling’s voice spikes in my ears, so full of
venom and jagged edges that I cover them with my
hands. Well, I try. Grief is still in my grip. Should I take
aim?

As I consider my options, he slaps the palms of his
hands against the carved bone bracelets on the opposite
wrists. He slides them off his fingers, and they seem to
reach toward each other, as if they
know
they belong
together. They link with a sound like searing steak.

I have time to think,
Oh shit, that’s his wand
, before he
raises the gnarled weapon and traces an intricate pattern
in the air. As the wand buzzes and he chants, I charge.

Warlocks don’t do much hand-to-hand fighting, and
Sterling’s ego won’t admit that anyone like me would dare
to attack in the face of his might. In a sense he’s right. No
way would I shoot a fellow spy. But I sure as hell would
head-butt him.

Our skulls crack with the force of a couple of rams. For
a couple of seconds everything goes gray.

Cassandra stopped me with a gasp. “You head-butted Sterling Nicodemus? You. Head-butted? The most powerful warlock in the world?”

“Wel , that was before Paolo Grittoli died, so technical y he was number two at the time. In retrospect, it
was
a stupid move, though. Too much risk for too little gain. But as I stood back and my eyes cleared, I gotta say I grinned when the blood gushed from the gash I’d opened up on his forehead. Within seconds it had blinded him. One point for me, right? But my lead disappeared when he hauled off and punched me. Not literal y. Dude doesn’t have to. Just waves that wand of his and al the
oomph
he’s stored up goes zapping through his special little conduit. Looks like a damn blue claw coming at you.”

“What did you do?”

“I flew through a wal . It was a flimsy wal , which is why I’m stil alive today. Luckily that put out the flames, so my clothes were only smoking when I got up and ran. He came after

me,

which

led

to

a

five-minute

attack/escape/something-gets-blown-to-bits chase that final y caused the place to col apse. Unfortunately, the mage we’d been after had never been there in the first place, so we stil had to neutralize him before we could ditch each other. We managed a temporary truce. Did the job. He threatened to rearrange my reflection and we went our separate ways.”

I knew Cassandra was shaking her head because I could hear her earrings clicking together. “Does Vayl know about this?”

“No.”

Sigh. “Al right. I’l cal him. But you have to promise to behave.”

“Cassandra. I’m a total y different person now. It’l be no problem. You can promise him that. And, you know, make a deal if you have to. Tel him I’l buy him a new trumpet or something.”

“You think he’s stil that angry that he’s going to have to be bribed?”

“I don’t know. I mean, Vayl did request his help when we went to Scotland and nothing came of it. At the time he thought the Oversight Committee was responsible. I never corrected him because we were final y going somewhere with our relationship, and the last thing I wanted to say was,

‘Oh, by the way, can I tel you about the time I was a complete ass to a sensitive artist?’”

Cassandra said, “He was out of line too.”

“See, that’s why my brother loves you. Is he home yet?” New excitement in her voice as she said, “I’m meeting his plane tomorrow. I can’t wait! Is it okay if I take Jack with me?”

“Sure. Just tel him he doesn’t have to get
on
the plane this time, okay? Otherwise he’l take off in the opposite direction.”

“Okay. And, um, I’l cal Sterling now.”

“You are the best future sister-in-law ever.” I had to sit there for a minute after I hung up before I could identify the strange new feeling making me want to jump up and pace around the room.

Huh. I think it’s called hope. But don’t quote me on
that. I’ve been wrong before.

Nothing makes me hungrier than a gut ful of optimism. So I took Vayl’s cane in one hand and let the other brush back the sienna-tinted curtains that spanned my balcony door.

Across the courtyard, through the doors that exited the lounge, I could see people moving around inside the room.

Which meant cake could stil be snatched from under their noses if I was cunning, bold, or charming, al of which I felt were suddenly within my skil set. But just in case I needed help, I pul ed a compact from my battered black weapons bag and, from it, peeled off two fake eyelashes. Besides making me resemble Trixie the Velcro-uniformed nurse at the Silver Spurs Saloon, they gave me access to any video feeds our friendly neighborhood robokitty might want to send me.

I ran down to the second floor and knocked on Bergman’s door. He didn’t answer. I knew better than to barge in. He probably had a rocket launcher set to fire as soon as the knob turned the wrong way. So I knelt by the crack between the embel ished wood and the floor.

“Come on out, Astral,” I coaxed. “I know you’re in there. I can hear your gears purring.”

Without another noise she slid out to me, her sleek black coat in blob-array to al ow her to pass through the thumb-sized opening. “Thatta girl,” I said as we both took our typical stances. I only popped a couple of times at the knee. She sounded like a bag of Orvil e Redenbacher’s, and kinda resembled one too, her parts reinflating to catly proportions with remarkable speed. I waited. When her claws didn’t appear I said, “Aren’t you going to recalibrate?”

She regarded me with golden eyes that seemed to cross slightly the longer we stared at each other. Then she said, “Hel o!” Eerie how her lips made just the right shapes.

Bergman must’ve spent six months on her mouth controls alone.

“I’l take that as a ‘No.’ Now remember not to talk in front of Monique. You’re barely believable as it is.” I headed for the next set of stairs, glancing down at Astral as she trotted beside me. I knew if I touched her she’d feel like one of those metal ic silver sleeping bags that insulate to forty below. Which was why we’d told Monique that Astral was a weather cat. We’d unraveled this huge yarn about her already having predicted three tornadoes and a volcanic eruption. So now part of our research (specifical y mine) was to see if she could foresee sandstorms. Or flash floods. But it al had to do with her unique coat, so we’d asked Monique never to touch her, because to do so could ruin al our data.

“You know, I’d worry about there being a special place for liars in hel ,” I whispered to her. “But I’m pretty sure the assassins’ level is so much worse, it’s not even worth my time to stress over it anymore.”

Her only reply was a twitch of her inky ears to let me know she’d heard. At least she hadn’t spoken, or worse, sung out a reply. And once we got to the lounge I realized I hadn’t needed to freak about Monique at al . She’d taken off for the night, leaving Cole and Kyphas to play a game of backgammon. Wel , that seemed to have been the original idea, because the game board and pieces were al set up on the table where the cake had been. Which meant Monique had probably taken it back to the—

Kitchen raid!
shrieked Teen Me. She’d been lounging in a hammock she’d strung between Granny May’s clothesline poles. Now she rol ed off with such an utter lack of grace you’d have laughed out loud to learn her track coaches occasional y referred to her as an “athlete.”
I want
the icing! That’s all I want! Just the icing! You eat the cake
part!
she said, glancing over her shoulder at Gran, who had just begun to hang a sheet on the line.

Granny May looked over the tops of her glasses at me.

You see what I had to put up with?

I shushed them both. Because though I’d thought Cole and Kyphas were bent over the instructions to the game at first, I knew differently when he pul ed the sheet of paper they’d both been holding out of the demon’s hands.

As he studied the paper I backed to the stairs, leaving Astral in the room to send the signal that played out like a holograph three feet in front of my eyes. I sat on the bottom step, turning Vayl’s cane between my fingers as I watched Cole slide the paper in his, giving Astral enough of a view to show a hammer with a double-thick handle that ended in a sharp point.

“So this is the Rocenz,” he said, sitting back on the couch and shoving his feet out in front of him until the toes of his shoes hit the table.

“Yes.” Kyphas leaned toward him, resting her elbows on her knees to show off the remarkableness of her cleavage. And, of course, his eyes tracked to them like radar. Smiling wickedly, she said, “I thought you’d already seen it.”

He shook his head. “Vayl told me about it, but I missed the slide show. So it’s two tools that are, what, magical y joined at the hip?”

“You could say that.”

“And how do you separate the hammer from the chisel?”

She scooted closer to him. “I have no idea.”

“Sure you do. It was forged by a demon, right?” She nodded. “Lord Torledge created it.” She looked down at the picture. When she looked up again I thought I saw her eyes flash bright yel ow. But I could’ve been mistaken. A second later they were back to hazel.

Cole let the picture rest on his thigh and laid his arm across the back of the couch. He seemed so relaxed that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see his eyes flutter shut. “Is he stil around? Pounding out new weapons for hel to lose track of?”

Kyphas sat back. Now it was as if Cole had his arm around her shoulders. She said, “He’s stil working. And I know where you’re going with this. He does know how to separate the parts.” She turned toward him, pressing the side of her breast into his chest. “I can find out for you. If…”