Biting the Bullet (6 page)

The Magistrate pushed the contract toward him. Samos pointed toward the same spot, mouthed the word “sacrifice,” and
shook his head. When he said “sacrifice” I began to get another image. Something started to emerge from the shadows
behind his open door. All I could see were the eyes. Glowing like embers in the darkness. They winked out when the largest
of the conversing demons glanced up.

“Look!” he cried. “The Lucille is in our midst!”

Raoul snapped, “Is he your mother too? Or is it that everyone can see you because there’s a Demon Mark on your
forehead!” I had time to think,
Oh, so that’s what Mom was trying to rub off!
before he grabbed my hand and yelled, “Come
on!”

I still had my mother’s wrist, so I shouted the same to her and we ran like mountain goats, leaping over rocks and dodging
malicious plants as the demons raced after us.

“What have you done?” screamed my mom.

“I killed a reaver!” I yelled back. “But only because he ripped a woman’s heart out and stole her soul!”

“But why did they call you ‘the Lucille?’ ”

“It’s my alias. I’m an assassin for the CIA.” Wait, could I tell her this now that she was dead? And in hell? Holy crap did I
ever need a Zima!

“How far?” I asked Raoul as we muscled our way through crowds of shocked self-mutilators, all of whom could see us
now. He looked over his shoulder at the pursuing demons.

“They’ll be on us before we get there. We’ll have to fight.”

“I’m armed,” I said helpfully.

“Your weapons won’t work here.”
And neither,
said his eyes,
will your hand-to-hand. At least not well enough to save you. Not on their turf. We’re doomed.

Suddenly Mom ripped her arm out of my grasp. “Run, Jazzy,” she cried as she leaped back at the demons. “Get free!”
With a frenzied sort of charisma I’d only ever seen in my father, she mustered a unit of maybe twenty psychos who thought
battling demons would be a great way to commit hari-kari, and together they attacked our pursuers tooth and nail.

I tried to go after her, but Raoul wrapped his arm around my waist and, lifting me bodily, rushed back to our original
boulder. Somebody hit me on the back of the head. Though I blamed it on my Spirit Guide, he later told me it was simply
the jolt of transition that had sent me, once again, into the Land of Blackout.

Dave considered me for a while, then turned his eyes to the reaver corpse. “It wasn’t Mom.”

“No?’

“Couldn’t have been.”

“Why not?”

He turned on me so sharply I almost cringed. “Our mother is not in hell!”

“Why!” I demanded. “Because you don’t want her to be? Let’s sit here and list all her redeeming qualities, David, starting with the fact that she only beat our butts on a
semi
regular basis!”

“So she was harsh. That shouldn’t make her demon fodder.”

Actually, I agreed. But that’s because I was just as twisted as him, thanks, in large part, to our dear, departed mother. I suddenly realized I’d spent a lot of my life hating the people I loved. I wondered if that could become habit forming.

“Fine, so maybe it wasn’t her,” I said. “And even if it was, it’s not like we could do anything about it anyway. Right?”

“I guess not.” We both stood, refusing to meet each other’s eyes, knowing neither one of us was convinced. But at this point we had no choice but to stick to our current mission.

“Do you think we should move the bodies?” I asked.

“Ideally we’d bury them,” he said, “but I don’t want anyone caught outside when the next wave comes. And we don’t have time to bury so many. We’ll leave them,” he decided.

“On the other issue,” I said, as he turned back toward the farmhouse. He stopped, dropped his head. I knew the very idea of a traitor in his band tore him up. These guys were as close as humans could get. In forty years they’d still be in touch, still want to know how it was going, still need to share the memories. To know one of their number had betrayed them must have wounded him to the core.

“The trap has been set,” I said. “Keep an eye out for an effort to make contact.” He nodded, his eyes still on the ground, and went inside.

Dave’s crew had begun their love affair with the guns by the time we got back, exclaiming over Bergman’s improvements on their M4s, including a shorter barrel for street fighting, a built-in silencer, and a well-armored computer sensor on the barrel that read return fire and gave you those coordinates, automatically siting you in if you wished. The biggest improvement was in weight, since Bergman had crafted the weapon from a new alloy he’d invented that was not only lighter, but also required less maintenance.

As Bergman handed out ammunition, he explained that the Manx, as he liked to call the small, ferocious weapon, was a multitasker: Sensors built into the butt of the rifle could sniff out a vast array of biological and chemical toxins. In addition, every third round was equipped with something he referred to as an infrared dye. Anything it hit was bathed in that light, allowing the shooter to see farther than his goggles or, in our case, lenses, would normally allow.

Bergman had actually brought a few pairs of his night-vision lenses along as well. “They’ll only work if you have twenty-twenty to start with,” he warned. “I didn’t have time to check your prescriptions and make special ones. But if you like them, I’ll customize some for you when I get back.” The offer, a generous one from any perspective, surprised me. He must’ve had to make a lot of promises to get his skinny butt on our jet.

While Cam, Ashley, and Natch tried out the lenses, I decided to make some formal introductions.

“Dave, I’d like you to meet my crew.” I led him to the corner we’d commandeered.

“Everybody,” I said, “this is my brother, Dave. Dave, this is Cole. He’s our interpreter.” Cole had been leaning against the wall, chewing on the collar of his dark gray thobe. Like me, he’d dyed his hair black for this mission, but it still ran wild, sticking out from under his cap in every direction as if directly reflecting his stress over popping his last bubble nearly twelve hours ago. He spat out the collar and shook Dave’s hand.

“Pleased to meet you. Do they give you guys gum in the army? Chewing tobacco? Anything like that?” He looked at me. “What?”

“Shut up,” I mouthed.

Dave frowned at me. “An interpreter seems redundant. Otto speaks Farsi.” I raised my eyebrows.
He’s only redundant if Otto’s not the mole.
Dave got the message. Out loud I said, “Cole is also in training. He’ll be going solo after this mission.”

Cole dug out his most charming smile. “Plus, I have somewhat of an insider’s knowledge of Tehran. I dated a girl whose parents were born there. They left to study in America and never went back.” He looked at me. “She really dug tea.”

“Why’d you leave her?” I asked, knowing it hadn’t been the other way around.

“Couldn’t hack all the praying. We have arthritis in the family, you know. I’d have had to get knee replacements before I was fifty.” I turned to Dave. “He grows on you.”

Vayl stood beside him, his hand wrapped firmly around the head of his cane. Somehow he managed to look as if he belonged, as if he’d been chiseled out of the same stone as the walls of the farmhouse. His short dark curls were nearly hidden beneath his turban, which accentuated his winged brows, fine Roman nose, and full lips. Those lips had brushed mine once and nearly sent my heart tumbling out of my chest. But I could never forget they hid a pair of fine, sharp fangs. Yeah, you had to be careful about Vayl’s unseen qualities. Those were what would kill you.

He turned to face us fully as we approached. Can nerves tighten? Mine felt like fishing line. The kind with an obese accountant on one end and a nine-hundred-pound tiger shark on the other. I cleared my throat. “This is my boss, Vayl.” Dave didn’t quite stand at attention, but he pulled his shoulders way back and totally blanked his face, the way he does when something’s made him deeply uncomfortable. “You, uh, you’re not human, are you?” Total silence fell in the room behind us. I couldn’t believe Dave was so out of touch with his Sensitivity. What the hell did he use it for?

“No,” Vayl said. “I am vampire.”

I did a half turn so I could monitor Dave’s people. They hadn’t moved yet, but they sure looked interested in the conversation. I searched their faces for animosity. Nothing. They’d donned the same mask as Dave. Their eyes were schooled to blankness. But in his, the question I dreaded:
Your fiancé was killed by vampires, Jaz. How
could
you?

I could because I knew, just as well as Dave did, that not all vampires were evil. He and I had worked closely with two vamps on our Helsinger crew. I was surprised he didn’t have one in his unit right now. Obviously he’d changed more than I thought since the days of our youth.

“The vulture responsible for Matt and Jessie’s deaths” — I paused when I said Dave’s wife’s name, but he didn’t motion for me to stop, so I went on — “for killing our Helsingers, Vayl destroyed him two months ago. Vayl’s one of the good ones. He doesn’t hunt. He doesn’t turn people. He’s been working for our side since Granny May was a little girl.” Why did I suddenly feel so defensive? It wasn’t like everybody was going to grab a torch and have at my boss like some crazed mob. These were highly disciplined troops. They’d at least wait until Dave gave the order. Still, I had to fight a sudden urge to leap in front of Vayl and yell,

“Back off, bozos!”

Dave and Vayl had a long staring match, during which Cole moved from his collar to his fingernails and I tried to decide if I might actually be forced to choose between my brother and my
sverhamin.

Cassandra came forward, emerging from the shadows like a guardian angel. She’d discarded her hijab, and her hair hung in a long black curtain to her waist. Somehow, even in her abaya, she managed to resemble an exiled African princess. Her usual compliment of glittering gold jewelry helped with the illusion, but really it was the way she held herself, tall and confident with just a touch of listen-up-punk in her attitude that made you pay attention when she spoke.

“Jasmine has become very precious to me,” she said, the combination of kindness and command in her voice forcing Dave’s eyes to hers. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet her twin. My name is Cassandra.” She held out her hand, and before I could prevent it, Dave slid his into hers.

I wish I’d known Otto a little better. I’d have said, “Hey, Boom, do me a favor and set off some C4.” I’d have bet a month’s pay neither Dave nor Cassandra would’ve noticed the blast. Some other kind of explosion had gone off in their brains and they both looked slightly dazed from the fallout.

“Do I . . . know you?” Cassandra finally asked breathlessly.

Dave shook his head, his free hand going to the back of his neck, as if checking to make sure he hadn’t just been clubbed. “Would you like to?” he asked; then he slammed his mouth shut. He couldn’t seem to believe those words had escaped it.

Behind him his crew agreed. Amazon Grace and Jet exchanged amazed glances. Cam mouthed the words “Is he flirting — with a girl?” to Natch, who replied with a stupefied nod. The rest of the unit seemed equally stunned, except for Adela, who was new enough not to realize how monklike Dave’s existence had been since his loss. She kept her attention on Vayl, and though she made no outward sign I sensed, of everyone in the room, she was the unhappiest with his presence there.

The sound of a distant engine broke the silence.

Dave dropped his hand. The smile he gave Cassandra was the first I’d seen since before Jessie died. “I’m glad Jaz has someone like you on her team.” While I totally agreed, an aggravated Puerto Rican chica stomped to the front of my brain and screeched,

“Someone like
who
, you testosterone-crazed hunk of beef? You ain’t known Cassandra more than ten seconds!” I was just wondering how much more complicated this whole mess could get when Dave turned to his team. “Okay, let’s pack it up,” he said calmly. “Our ride’s nearly here.”

Within two minutes we were all ready to board the truck, which was just now slowing to a stop in front of the farmhouse.

“Stay inside until Mehdi opens the back doors,” Dave had ordered, so we waited and watched while the driver parked his rig, hopped down, and walked around to the back of the truck. He carried a flashlight, which trembled as he trained it first on the road, then on the back of the truck. He never flashed it at the farmhouse. Maybe he’d been told not to. After some fumbling, he threw open the doors.

“All right,” Dave whispered into the small headset he and his team all wore for communications. “Let’s go.” It wasn’t far from the farmhouse to the road. Maybe thirty yards. Of dirt. Yeah, I know. It sucked. No trees to hide behind. No little outbuildings. No cover whatsoever. But it worked in our favor too: We’d see anyone coming well before the bullets could hit us.

Dave had set Terrence and Ashley at the windows to guard our move. Terrence operated their SAW, a lovely light machine gun currently set on a tripod for maximum stability. Ashley, not willing to entrust this duty to his new Manx, held his M4 ready.

Dave led us out with Cassandra by his side. I hadn’t been sure about mixing my people with his so soon, but I could trust this pairing. So too, the next one.

Natchez, who’d told Bergman his real name was so embarrassing he’d legally changed it to his birthplace, hadn’t stopped asking him questions about his inventions since he’d broken out the guns. They’d discovered a mutual interest in weapons engineering that I figured would at least carry them through Iraq before Bergman said or did something that made Natch want to rip his face off.

Jet came next, followed by Adela. Moments later Ricardo left the farmhouse. Grace hung back, probably to keep an eye on me.

Cam lingered as well. I got the feeling he wanted to make sure she behaved. And Boom decided he too could bring up the rear with Vayl, Cole and me.