I held up my hand. “Okay, I want to go on the record in stating that I refuse to puke green shit and float up to the ceiling while channeling Naomi Campbell before she’s assaulted at least one employee for the day.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Cassandra. “I’ll start researching immediately. And you”—she pointed at me with one perfectly manicured orange-painted nail—“will stay positive. Astral may have all the information we need right in here.” She tapped the cat’s head. The metallic clicking sound that resulted reminded me to keep robokitty in the shadows if any of the neighbors decided to pay us a visit. She’d even begun to fool me, but as soon as someone touched her, our cover would be blown.
Cassandra whispered in Astral’s ear, probably using the very same words she’d said to mobilize her traditional Enkyklios the last time she’d used it to help me. Then it had conjured up an image of a soul-eating monster called a reaver, whose buddies had hounded me for weeks. Somehow I had a feeling whatever Astral dug up would be just as threatening.
“This may take a while,” said Cassandra as we watched the cat’s ears twitch in a regular circuit from left to right and back again, stopping every few centimeters almost like they’d become parts of a clock face.
“When she does come up with helpful information, she’ll relay it to you by video feed, possibly without warning. So, ah, don’t drive off a cliff or anything like that when it happens.”
“O-kay.” I suddenly felt as grumpy as a kid who’s just realized she still has to wait two more weeks to open her Christmas presents. “Now can we get back to the guys? Cole’s probably convinced Raoul to set up a whole petting zoo for him by now.”
“We still need to talk,” Vayl murmured as he picked up his cane.
I scratched at a particularly annoying itch on my left shoulder as I said, “Don’t we always?” Usually smoothing Jack’s soft gray fur into place calms me down. He gives me that tongue-drooping grin while I bury my fingers in his coat and we both just—chill. He’s even tall enough that I can give his head a scratch on the go, as I was now, moving through the dining room with its plain wooden table, four ancient chairs, and its wall full of family portraits, all of which I avoided viewing by keeping my eyes on the white linoleum floor beneath my feet.
But some moods just won’t bend to soothing, and mine was one of them. I felt the fiery ball-o’-whacked in my chest burn even brighter as I followed Vayl and Cassandra out the door, back onto the patio. As soon as we cleared the doorway Jack took off for the yard’s lone tree, fearful that some fence-leaping hound had marked it in his absence. Astral jumped onto the table, where she curled into a ball, her ears still roving like lighthouse beams. Bergman stopped pacing to stare.
“What did you do?”
“Gave her some research,” I said. Cassandra smiled at me as she took her original seat.
“What kind?”
“I’ll spill if you tell me what’s up with that hat you’re wearing.” His hand flew to the brim and yanked it down. “Nothing! Can’t a guy support his favorite baseball team without people getting all over his case?”
“Bergman?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s an RBI?”
He stared at me for a full five seconds. Then he said, “Fine. Don’t share,” and went over to slump in the chair beside Cassandra’s.
Raoul and Cole, still sitting at the table with their heads together over a rough sketch that looked like a plate of spaghetti, hadn’t heard a single word.
“Are you sure about this?” Raoul was asking. “I mean, some people consider their model trains a family heirloom. You could give them to your kids someday.”
Cole shrugged. “If I even have kids, which I doubt, they’ll probably be into something you and I have never heard of like virtual Play-Doh or paintball Monopoly. Anyhow, they may be in sorry shape, because they’ve been in Mom’s attic for ten years. But, yeah, you keep your end of the bargain and you can have my old trains.”
So Raoul had decided to carry through on his plans to tear out the bar in his penthouse, which Vayl had accidentally broken the last time we’d visited, and replace it with a model railroad layout. He’d found, in Cole, an equipment supplier. And apparently the price was getting the dumbass close enough to a kangaroo to give it a scratch under the chin.
I sat down beside my Spirit Guide, trying to decide how to convince him that this whole scheme would probably end up with him mending Cole’s bent and broken body. Then I decided it just might keep him from studying me too closely. Which would be good, since everybody else had pretty much figured out something was off with me after spending ten minutes in my company, and I wanted him to think I was coasting.
A spurt of warmth from Cirilai, sending tingles down my hand to my fingertips, turned my attention to Vayl, who was regarding me intently.
He knows how much this all freaks me out. Of course he does. He’s had my blood. He can tune into my emotions now. And he’s, what, reassuring me? How… nice. And yet. Goddammit.
Shouldn’t I be stronger than this? Why do I need a Vampere hug? Why is this getting to me?
Because Brude is in your head, where no one should come uninvited, said Granny May. She’d cracked open the door. Poked her head out. You hate that almost as much as you despise the idea that you might need help to get rid of him. But really, Jaz, how many times do we have to go over this? Wonder Woman might’ve been a superhero, but I’m pretty sure she never got laid.
Oh, come on, what about Steve Trevor?
I think she hired him from the local escort service. All laurel, no—
Grandmother!
My point is that you’re surrounded by good people now. At some point, if you don’t decide it’s all right to become as much a part of their team as they are of yours, you’re just a frozen-faced mannequin living in a store window designed by some color-blind shtoock who doesn’t believe in Christmas.
Granny May, I think you forgot to take your meds this morning.
That’s entirely possible.
Good talking to you.
I ran my eyes around the table, seeking distraction, and finding instead the faces of five of the people who most cared about me in the world. Maybe I should tell Raoul. Geez, he probably had some firsthand experience in exor—well, you know. And Bergman. If science could scoop out Brude’s sorry ass, Miles would find a way. I flipped my eyes back to Raoul. Nah, he’d started to doodle on his paper again and talk ecstatically about cork and engines. I leaned toward my old roomie.
“Bergman?” He jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it wasn’t you.” He pulled a thin metal box out of his pocket and gave it to me. It fit snugly in my hand, its only feature a screen that currently showed blank. “The timer went off,” Bergman explained. “I mean”—he held up his wrist—“the one on my watch that tells me we need to start paying attention to this.”
He nodded to the item, which led directly to my second question. “What’s it do?”
“It monitors the bug Cole left on Ruvin. As soon as the screen lights up, that means he’s at the airport, which is when I start recording. If we find out through the conversation which one of the team is the carrier, I can activate the minibot inside the bug. At which time it will crawl off Ruvin and move itself to the coordinates the satellite has sent to it.”