Should we light the birthday candles?”
Huge uproar as we al loudly agreed that we should start a smal , control ed fire. I kept my eye on Vayl as Monique went to the cake, which she’d set on the coffee table closest to the wal . He got over our weirdness with astounding speed, but that may have been due to the fact that he’d found a better area for his focus. The confection fascinated him. And why not? Vayl had probably never seen a dessert quite so… loud… in 1777.
Three layers of chocolaty roundness covered in hot-pink icing and silver sprinkles, my cake was decorated with silver and neon-blue flourishes shaped like banana peppers. In the middle the baker had written Joyeux Anniversaire! in big blue letters. My enhanced vision, an ability I’d developed the first time I’d donated blood to Vayl, usual y added extra colors to the mix. In this case it caused the red and silver dots of icing between the peppers to glow. Like they were radioactive. I started to grin.
“This has to be the most obnoxious birthday cake anyone has ever gotten for me.” I looked at Monique, whose soft brown eyes had gone the size of lightbulbs.
She looked at Bergman hesitantly. “Obnoxious is good?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Cole, for instance, is one of the most obnoxious guys I know and women can’t get enough of him.”
Her laugh was so sultry I expected the couch to unfold into a bed right then and there. Bergman, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stop obsessing about his dress-up clothes. He said, “Cole could probably get a date wearing prison stripes. But he tel s me I have to raise my game if I want any action.” He pul ed his shirt away from his chest.
“My game is itchy!”
I’m gonna nickname him Clueless McGee, I thought as Cole tried to get Bergman to shut the hel up and Kyphas laughed out loud.
Luckily Monique’s humor was as long as her patience, and she just chuckled along with Kyphas as she said, “But it was so kind of you to do this for your friend. Come, help me serve the cake. It wil take your mind off your discomfort.” She’d put al the necessary accessories on the second table, which sat at Bergman’s knees, running him out of lame excuses before he could even begin. And when Monique sent Cole to the kitchen for the coffeepot, Miles had no choice but to let her snuggle a little closer as she cut the cake.
I accepted my honorary first piece from Clueless McGee, who whispered, “Eat fast, I need to get back to my computer,” without tel ing him what an idiot he was. I was, however, forced to turn my head so he wouldn’t see me rol ing my eyes. Which was when I noticed Vayl frowning.
As I went to him, Kyphas leaned over and murmured,
“How’s the romance brewing between you two? Is Vayl into older women? Or does he get al snooty about banging the hired help?”
I considered stomping the demon’s foot and playing it off as a tripping incident, but nobody who mattered would buy it and I’d just end up looking petty. Which, okay, maybe I was a little. But this time I decided to rise above and settle for quiet disdain. Ignoring Kyphas as if she was no more important to me than a wiggly white maggot, I marched past her and up to my boss. Whose orders I had regularly ignored for the past few days. But stil .
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the dessert. “I did not realize it was your birthday. I apologize. I have nothing for you.”
“That’s fine. I’m used to it.”
When he looked at me, his eyes were that hurricane blue that let me know he was genuinely disturbed. “That is the problem. Somehow I knew your birthdays were never special. And I meant to make this year different, but I failed you.”
I watched him struggle to understand.
Come on, Vayl. Work it out!
When he looked at me again his eyes had darkened to everyday brown. “Ah wel , perhaps we wil find you something pretty in the souk when we go back out tonight, yes?”
My throat tightened so much I had to swal ow before I could say, “Sure. That would be great.”
Kyphas chuckling behind me dropped my mood to the gutter, so when Vayl said, “Monique, I wonder if you can tel us where we might find a Sister of the Second Sight?” I wanted to inform him just what the vision of his future was going to hold if he didn’t pul his head out of his ass and start seeing me straight!
I shoved a huge bite of cake into my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything I’d regret later and nodded at our hostess, winking to let her know it tasted great as she gaped at me.
Then she remembered that at least she had manners and replied, “In fact, yes, Monsieur Brâncoveanu. A Sister named Hafeza Ghoumari lives just northwest of the Djemaa el Fna. You can visit her tomorrow if you like. Her souk opens at nine o’clock.”
The line between Vayl’s eyes deepened. “You mean, she does not do readings at night?”
“Only by appointment. You could cal and leave a message.”
“Then that is what we wil do.”
Monique went back to mutilating my cake and sending Bergman around the room with the pieces.
Vayl turned to me. “You must pay a cal on Madame Ghoumari first thing tomorrow and make an appointment. I want to see her as soon after I wake as possible.” I put my hand on the phone in my jacket pocket. “But I could just—” Then I stopped. When people said “cal ” Vayl’s mind went to putting your feet on the welcome mat, because to him phones didn’t exist yet. “Okay. I’l make the arrangements.”
What a colossal pain in the ass this whole deal is turning out to be. If this isn’t some sort of vampiric disease, but an actual attack on him, and I someday come face-to-face with the person responsible? We’re talking some meticulous, well-orchestrated torture before we ever get down to the killing.
Now that he was finished with me, Vayl ignored me like I was an embarrassing relative. I stood on the other side of the doorframe and jammed a whole day’s worth of calories into my mouth, wishing it didn’t taste so good because now I wanted to eat the whole cake. With my hands. I could just see myself at the end, sitting on a crumb-covered pil ow, my face smeared with fuchsia icing, bawling because I’d just consumed a week’s worth of meals in one sitting and I still wanted to punch my lover in the face!
Okay, this is pathetic. Go to your room. Get a grip.
Call Cassandra. Call Sterling if you have to. Get some sleep. In the morning you’ll have a better idea what to do.
I was on the landing, heading up the second set of steps when Kyphas caught me.
“Are you insane?” she asked. My adrenaline surged as her eyes flashed yel ow in the light of the glittering glass chandelier that hung from the ceiling.
I spun, facing her completely, as if she’d pul ed on me and we were about to do battle. But she stood stil at the bottom of the stairs, her hands at her sides, one of them clutching a tahruyt, which anyone else would’ve thought she’d bought on her latest shopping trip. Of Berber weave, the scarf’s gold and ochre stripes brought out the repetitive black designs tooled on top of them, one of which resembled intertwined sickles, while the other reminded me of dagger-impaled hearts. But I knew the tahruyt was more than it seemed. Just like I knew Kyphas couldn’t be shrugged off as an exceptional y beautiful American girl whose braid shone like ripe wheat on her shoulder.