He nodded. “Duly noted.”
“And since we’re talking about fighting, what do you say we figure out a way to even up the odds between ourselves and Samos’s crew?”
“Only if you promise to shower first.”
“That’s a given.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I took half an hour to scrape off the skank I’d sprayed on myself while the guys discussed strategies and Ziel raced around the suite sniffing everything like it smelled of dog chow. My sundress had found new life as a doggy bed, so I didn’t even bother slipping it into a plastic bag after my shower. I just left it on the floor beside the door and dressed in a much comfier outfit. A pair of hunter green jeans and a moss-colored sweater that didn’t feel clingy until Vayl gave me a look that made me double-check to assure myself his hands were safe in his lap and not roving my curves like it suddenly felt they were. I turned back to the bedroom. “I think I’m going to change,” I said.
“No!” the men replied in unison. Dave’s tone made it clear he was sick of waiting. Vayl—well, when my brother gave him the thumbs-up for voting with the team, he must’ve finally realized what was up. Because he stared at my boss, then he looked back at me until I started playing with my hair. At which point he said, “Dad’s gonna kick your ass.”
To which I replied brilliantly, “Nuh-uh.”
“What, you’re not going to tell him you’re romancing a vampire?”
“To be fair, it has largely been the other way around,” Vayl said.
“We’re just friends,” I said, sounding as defensive as a nun who’s been caught flirting with the neighborhood rabbi. I held my hands up to fend off Vayl’s glare. “Okay, hardly that. And a lot more than that. Like many things in my life lately, I’ve come at this whole relationship backward. We’re trying to be friends so we can be a really great couple that Albert doesn’t have to know anything about yet. Please?” I asked them both. Okay—begged.
Dave and Vayl spent some time in silent conversation. It was a guy thing, so I had no idea what flew back and forth between them, though my nerves were strung so tight they could’ve played a twangy sort of clang-ring-bang accompaniment to the communion. Finally both men nodded and looked back at me.
“Okay,” said Dave. “I won’t tell. But since I probably won’t be there for the big reveal, you have to tape it for me.”
“How am I supposed . . .” He just smiled, which was when I realized he meant for me to make the full confession to Cassandra so she could record it into her Enkyklios. Holy Jam on a Crapcracker, this blowup was going to be fodder for all of freaking history to chew on! I thought about backing out. But the idea of unleashing Albert’s fury any sooner than necessary made me shudder. Not that he scared me much anymore. But I so didn’t want to spend one more second pissed off, depressed, or contemplating patricide than I absolutely had to. I sighed. “Okay. Although how it took you this long to figure out Vayl and I—”
“Hey, I’ve been busy! Former zombie turned semi-alcoholic nutjob, remember?”
“Oh, that.”
“But I’m getting better.”
I smiled. “I noticed.”
“Come and see what else your brother has achieved,” Vayl said as he motioned to the tableau they’d arranged on the library table between them.
“Vayl helped,” Dave protested.
As the two of them explained their tightening of our execute-Samos plan, it began to resemble something out of a military manual. A thing of beauty that belonged on some strategist’s chalkboard. Only Dave had gone one better. He’d picked the lock of one of the display cases upstairs and stolen a couple of handfuls of teeth. Once you got past the yuck factor, they worked great as miniature tombstones. He’d set them up across the table just as we’d mapped them.
As I sat down at the table with them Dave said, “You’ll come in from the south, between this line of molars. So I’ll set up behind this bicuspid. Remember the raised plot with two slabs marked by an angel standing with her wings spread? That’s the one I’m talking about.”
“Where’s Vayl—” I began, but Ziel distracted me. He’d gone to the hall door and begun scratching at it.
“Does he need to go out?” Vayl asked.
I looked at my watch. “We got back at, what, ten forty-five? That was about an hour ago, and he went before we came inside,” I said.
“Enough to keep an army of dung beetles busy for a week,” Dave added. He shook his head. “I bet it costs a fortune to keep that dog stocked with Iams and chew bones.”
Ziel kept scratching at the door, so I went over to him. But as soon as I crouched down, he bolted into the bedroom. What the hell?
The door crashed open, throwing me into the wall like one of those sticky toys kids get for a buck at Wal-Mart. I reached for Grief, but the blow to my head had thrown off my dexterity and I ended up with a handful of boob. I looked down. Goddammit! I commanded my hand to rise to the butt of my gun, watched it grip.
At the same time Vayl and Dave had risen from their chairs. Dave’s hand was on his holster. Vayl’s powers had spiked, raising a chill breeze in the room. I scrambled to my feet.
“Stop!” commanded Blondie. His hair stood out on one side like he’d gotten too close to an überstrong fan. I could see grass stains on his powder blue suit.
Beside him, lined up in a semicircle of intimidating guy-flesh, were three of the largest men I’d ever laid eyes on. Which explained why I hadn’t sensed them outside the door. Oh, I can pick up on strong human emotions, but these guys weren’t emitting anything, except possibly an invisible steroid fog that would make them all wonder why their kids couldn’t divide simple numbers sooner or later. They, too, were dressed as if to attend a back-to-the-seventies charity event, each of them sporting suit coats in varying shades of pastel, two days’ growth of beards, and way cool shades. I know, we were inside, but apparently their pupils couldn’t adjust.
In addition to Blondie, we had to contend with a balding dude whose overbite was so pronounced it left his lower lip in perpetual shade. He stood to Blondie’s left, blocking the exit. Beside him, flexing his hands as if preparing to reach forward and strangle one of us, stood a black guy with a sparkling Mohawk. While I wondered what kind of product he used, I also decided the last goon had aged out of this game at least a decade ago and nobody had bothered to tell him. He hunched his enormous shoulders inside his lemon-drop coat and frowned at me, as if pissed that I’d pulled him away from his daily rendezvous with a mug of Boost fiber drink and the latest issue of Sports Illustrated. Overbite and the Old-Timer both held silenced Baikal IJ-70s at their sides, letting us know it could get nasty but they’d rather it didn’t.
A lot of stuff flew through my mind in the five seconds we stood there, closer than football foes, sizing each other up. Some of it made no sense. Thoughts like, Damn, I think I forgot to pay my water bill! And, I’ll be so mad if I die before I’ve done the Indy Racing Experience. And, I’m glad I don’t have to pee right now. Like a tornado, it all whirled around a quiet eye, which clicked off the relevant thoughts rapidly, calmly, and without regard to the cows, minivans, and occasional tourists who flew past, trying to distract it from its vital business.
They’ve come to take back the dog. But they shouldn’t even know Ziel’s here. We snuck him in through Admes’s tunnel. And the Monise showed us all the humans were in the kitchen when we brought him to the room. Or were they? Does Samos have an insider here we haven’t even met yet?
I lowered my hands to my sides. That way, when it all went to crap, I could grab the bolo from my right pocket. And, with a twist of my left wrist, I could put Bergman’s latest invention to use.