I spoke to the rest of my team. “What do you think, guys? Should we try the plan now?”
Dave checked me out. I already wore the white sundress with red trim and matching jacket we’d decided would be best for this gig. Grief remained hidden in its shoulder holster and my .38 was strapped to my thigh, but I shouldn’t need them. Today my weapons would be the aerosol cans in the black bag at my feet and the lacy red parasol lying across my lap. He said, “I’m ready if you are.”
I nodded. “Vayl?”
“Go ahead.”
I pulled my phone out of the bag and called the hotel desk. “Hello, this is Angelina from the Patra chapter of PETA. Yes, that is the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. You catch on fast. We understand one of your guests has a malamute that has not been walked properly since they checked in. If that animal is not exercised, and we mean at least twice daily, we will have to take very public, loud, and obnoxious action. Am I understood? Very well.” I hung up. “Now we wait.”
“How can you be sure they haven’t already walked the dog?” asked Trayton.
“Dave came down and put cameras on the hotel last night. We have a way of monitoring them from anywhere we happen to be. Nobody’s left that suite since dawn.” I glanced at Trayton. “How much distance can you make your sound carry?”
“A couple of blocks.”
“Good. Dave, as soon as you see them—”
“I know the drill.”
“Fine. Then you can repeat it back to me.”
He blew an impatient breath through his teeth. But he said, “I pull out. Stay ahead of them. Lead them to the fortress. Kastro. Whatever the hell these people call that massive ruin on the hill. Where we move into the second stage of our dastardly plan. Do you need to know every little detail of that too, or have you committed it to memory?”
“I’m clear.”
While we waited, I decided to check my messages. As I’d suspected, another one had come from Cole.
Mark’s travel plans delayed him until tomorrow. But guess who showed instead? Cam! Small world, yes? After I catch some z’s we’re hitting the town. Wonder if we should warn the mayor.
I looked quickly at Dave, but he was watching the entrance. And I didn’t want to get into it with him again by asking what his strong right arm was doing globe-trotting when he should be working. So I sent back a message.
Don’t destroy anything you can’t afford to replace. Also tell Cam Dave needs to talk. A lot. Start draining the Wizard out of his system. So if he wants to lend an ear when they’re back together, great.
We only had to wait a few more minutes, then out the front door trotted an enormous dog. If I hadn’t already known, I never would’ve guessed this tail-wagging, ear-twitching monstrosity was Samos’s one vulnerability. Ziel had a white face, chest, underbelly, and legs. Otherwise his coat was gray. He wore a studded harness, which kinda made him look like he was into doggy S and M, and his tongue practically dragged the ground. Honest to God, it looked like he was grinning. His black, intelligent eyes regarded the just-waking city, with its charming antique lampposts, enormous palms, and urns of flowing red bougainvillea, as if he had a master plan and everything was going according to it.
He was towing a guy with hair so blond I had to strain to be sure he had eyebrows. Not a happy camper, but cooperating with the dog’s wishes so far.
Dave started the minibus and rolled down the window. He said, “Go ahead, Trayton.”
“I am.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Quit talking to him,” I said. “He’s doing something.” Exactly what, I couldn’t be sure. The Were’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his throat tightening as if he was emitting noises. But if anything escaped his lips and flew out the window, it certainly didn’t register in my ears. Ziel felt different. He leaped forward, yanking at the leash so hard he made his handler stumble.
Dave took his cue and pulled into traffic. We had, maybe, a mile to drive to get to the Byzantine fortress used for the defense of Patras from the sixth century right up to World War II. That meant a big commitment on the parts of Trayton and Ziel. But loyalty seemed bred into their bones.
Dave drove up steep streets lined with flower-bedecked pastry shops and small cafés whose raven-haired owners were just opening the umbrellas on their outdoor tables, to a spot where the sun-bleached ramparts and towers of the Kastro rose above the well-tended lawns, shrubs, and palms that surrounded it. Traffic was thick enough that our pace didn’t annoy anyone. And within fifteen minutes we were parking in the lot provided for tourists and local history buffs.
I handed my twin one of the aerosol cans, took the other for myself, and opened the door. As Trayton began to follow me out, I held up my hand to stop him. “There’s no room in this plan for a recovering werewolf. You’ve done your part. Now stay in here where it’s relatively safe. If you get hurt again there’s no way I’ll be able to explain before Krios bites my head off.” Literally. Ouch. What a nasty way to go.
Though he looked disappointed, Trayton had the grace to sink back into his spot. “I understand.”
Dave and I paused by the car to spray each other.
“Ugh! This stuff stinks!” I declared. “It’s like how those African buffalo must smell. You know, the ones on National Geographic specials that have poop all over their butts and spend half their day snorting bugs out their noses?”
“What the hell did Bergman put in this stuff?” Dave wondered.
“We can ask, but you know he’ll just shrug. No way is he going to give up his favorite chocolate cake recipe, much less the ingredients to his unleash-the-mongrel spray.”
“Point taken.”
We walked around the Kastro, feeling it loom over our shoulders like a sleeping dragon as we sought the approach Ziel and his walker would take as pedestrians. There it was. A steep concrete stair with a stone railing on one side and a series of fancy cement banisters on the other looked intimidating enough that older folks might decide to take the route Dave and I had chosen instead. A couple of fiftyish, black-mustached men wearing flat gray caps loitered near the bottom, breakfasting from Styrofoam cups before beginning their day’s work. Beyond them the buildings and streets stretched out in a sensible grid right to the gulf, where we could see a ferry chugging off toward Corfu.
Dave began taking pictures of me, with the Kastro providing a stellar background, which was why I’d dressed up in the first place. To an outsider we looked like a photographer and a model, trying to get in some quality shots before we lost the light. We’d thought we’d have to wait until much later for this. Drop Trayton off and then stake out the hotel until Ziel decided he needed to pee. At which point we’d place ourselves downwind of his route and let him come running. This method was so much better though. It made me wonder if taking similar risks with my heart might pay off in the same immensely satisfying way.
Less than five minutes later the dog arrived, still leading Samos’s man so strongly that if the guy had been on Rollerblades he wouldn’t have had to put any effort into his progress at all. As they began to mount the steps, we moved our poses to the same area, working ourselves into position well before they reached the top.
My back was to the steps, the parasol leaning prettily on my shoulder, so Dave gave me a play-by-play. “I think Ziel has smelled us,” he whispered. “Blondie’s having a hard time controlling him. The dog’s trying to take the steps ten at a time. Can you hear the guy yelling at him?”
“Yeah. What language is that?”
“Sounds like German. They’re almost to the top. Are you ready?”