Vayl put his finger under my chin, lifting my face to make sure I met his eyes. It was only the second time he’d touched me in weeks. I’d tried to forget how the simple brush of his skin against mine could zap me like an electric wire. It disturbed me, made me feel like I spent most of my time operating on standby. Like I was only fully functional when I was aware of how much Vayl could rock my world, if I let him.
“Love knows no boundaries,” he said, his eyes that soft amber hue I’d begun to equate with the finer emotions.
“Neither do horses,” I drawled.
He dropped his hand. Sat back. “What do you mean by that?”
“You lead them to a barrel full of oats, they’ll eat till their stomachs burst. You put them in a pasture, they’ll run off if you don’t fence it. They don’t even go to the same spot to crap every time so you can manage their manure.”
So much for amber. Vayl’s eyes hardened to blue, which was how I could tell I’d affected his emotions pretty much the way I’d attempted to. He said, “I assume you have a point to make with this semihysterical outpouring.”
“Just because something doesn’t have boundaries doesn’t mean it’s good. Or right. Or even possible.”
“What is your problem with Cassandra and David?”
“David just lost his wife. He’s not ready for a serious relationship.”
“It has been well over a year, Jasmine —”
“He’s not ready. End of story.”
But Vayl wouldn’t let it go that easy. He gave me his sternest gaze. “Whose feelings are you describing now, really? Your twin’s? Or your own?”
Chapter Six
Sometimes I get songs stuck in my head. I had one playing right now, even as I snoozed. It was that Kenny Loggins hit “I’m Alright.” And I knew why. When we were seventeen Dave and I had snuck off to a Van Halen concert. Ordinarily he’d have gone with a group of his cool friends. But it was summer, we’d just moved to town, and he hadn’t had a chance to make a name for himself as a stellar running back, or point guard, or pole vaulter.
In my dream we were closer to the stage, near enough to piss off Security if we decided to throw something more life threatening than panties. The opener, a band called Ringgs, was covering the song and doing damn well. The lead singer, an anorexic mike swallower who thought he was stud enough to go shirtless, sang, “You wanna listen to the man? Pay attention to the magistrate.”
I glanced at Dave, swigging his beer, flirting with the girl dancing next to him, and wished I could get to know people that easy. When I looked back at the stage everything had changed.
One by one, the band members ripped off their outer skins, revealing the same demonic faces I’d seen on my visit to hell. Uldin Beit pounded the drums, her flayed back oozing as she flew through the song. Her fiendish pathologist, Sian-Hichan, fingered the bass guitar. A huge, broad-shouldered demon with the horns of a ram played lead guitar. And center stage, his voice tearing at my heart, stood the Magistrate himself.
I pinched myself. Nothing. Gave my cheek a slap. Looked around. The scene remained the same. “Dave, wake up!”
“Dude, I’m fully conscious!” he yelled, rolling his eyes at me as he dropped an arm around Neighbour Girl’s shoulders.
The Magistrate finished the song, raised both hands above his head, like he wanted to catch the wave of thunderous applause and throw it over his shoulders as a mantle. When he lowered his arms, he pointed both forefingers at me. “Come.”
I rose into the air, as if some roadies had attached wires to my belt while I was buying my ticket.
Oohs and aahs from the crowd as I gulped down a scream. I’d looked up. And seen fire. This was no dream. Somehow I was back in hell. Without Raoul. My only comfort was that I’d also seen the golden cord that connected my soul to my body. Small comfort however, in that none of the other cords that bound me to my closest friends and relatives were visible. Worse, something green and slimy had encased the cord. I could almost feel it, like an infection on my heart.
The “wires” broke about ten feet above the stage. I landed and rolled the way I’d been taught, sustaining no damage because I wasn’t in a real body anymore. On my feet again, I felt for weapons. But of course I’d come with nothing corporeal. The Magistrate laughed heartily.
“What a little spitfire you are!” he cried as he approached me. I backed to the edge of the stage. Thought about jumping. But he’d just pull me up again.
“How did you bring me here?” I demanded, sounding a lot braver than I felt.
He poked a finger toward my forehead. I jerked back before he could touch me. “You’re Marked, little girl — Uldin Beit’s blood has bought you a spiritual tatoo. And do you know what that means? I can find you anywhere. I can take your soul anytime I please.” He grinned. Gorgeous freaking demon, he could’ve made the cover of
GQ
twelve months running. And yet my only response was a wave of terror so huge I felt it freezing my brain, numbing my senses. And I knew I was quickly becoming the victim he wished me to be.
I curled my fingers into fists. Though Cirilai was just the ghost of a ring, I still felt it warm on my finger, reminding me of who I was. Of who believed in me. The wave subsided just enough to allow me to hear my own voice, desperate, strident, practically hoarse from trying to be heard over the fear.
Come on, Jaz, if he could really take your soul, he’d have done it to start with. You’ve been in bigger trouble. Not often. But you survived. Just stay on your toes and don’t, for God’s sake, do not freak.
“You can’t make me stay here,” I said.
“I am the Magistrate,” he crowed, throwing his hair back as if he knew just how beautifully it set off his profile. “I can do anything I like.” He pointed out to the audience. “See?”
My neck creaked as everything in me wished I didn’t have to turn. To look. But I did. The adoring screams had changed while my eyes moved from him. As I stared outward I wished I had the means to vomit. They’d been crucified. Every one of them, nailed to crosses that spun like windmills. Except my brother. He was gone. What did that mean?
That you have some control
.
I tested my cord. I should be able to travel right back to my body along its length. But the stuff covering it acted as a roadblock. I’d have to figure out a way to blast it off before I could get back to my body. And soon. Already the gold had begun to fade. If I waited too long I’d lose that line and never be able to find my way home.
I stared at the Magistrate.
Which was your plan all along, wasn’t it, asswipe? Just keep me here until I had no other choice.
“I like your hair,” said the Magistrate. I ignored him, concentrated on moving up my line, but force would not remove the glop that encased the cord. “You know what that shock of white tells me?” he inquired. As if we were having a polite conversation, he went on. “It says you have a very close relative in hell who touched you on your last tour.”
I looked at him then, narrowed my eyes, barely bit back a threat. Anything I said could endanger my mother.
He giggled with delight. “You two will have such fun together.”
“I’m not staying,” I said. I closed my eyes.
Raoul, I’m in deep trouble here. Any ideas?
No reply. I didn’t really expect any. Hell was probably way out of Raoul’s calling area.
Another chorus of screams opened my eyes. They came, not from the audience, but from the band. A group of fighters had rushed the stage from the back. Dressed all in white, including masks that covered everything but their eyes, they attacked the demons with weapons that glittered so brightly it was hard to look at them.
I wished Cole was with me so he could verbalize what I was thinking. He’d pop a big old grape bubble and say with childlike wonder, “They are like ninjas from heaven.”