She'd jumped me almost before I realized she smelled undead. But the newbies are sloppy. Lack of training, maybe, or an overabundance of hunger. My crossbow bolt pierced her heart before she could even form a decent snarl. When I looked back at the fountain, Vayl stood alone as well. We'd smoked both our vamps without sustaining any major personal damage. Always a cause for celebration.
Vayl had pointed to the little bits of ash and dust that had fallen where the nun had stood moments before. "That is why you must hone your skills."
Six months later I hadn't made a helluva lot of progress. While I often felt like yanking my hair out by the roots, Vayl maintained his cool. He just kept saying, "We are missing a vital link in the chain. When we discover what it is, you will rocket forward. But that does not mean you should stop trying."
So he continued to throw training ops my way, and since I wanted to keep my job, I kept cooperating.
I looked around the lot, wishing I could ping some sort of radar off him. After all this time, I still hadn't figured out how to narrow my search. I'd learned only that if I paid attention to the awareness, it might alert me when he moved. Leaving the car running, I turned off the headlights and turned on the night vision. It was easier than it sounded.
One of my roommates in college was a techno-wizard named Miles Bergman. The tall, skinny son of a Russian dissident and an environmental biologist, his paranoia prevents him from working for the government outright. But he does sell us the rights (sometimes exclusive) to use his gadgets. Pete loves the arrangement, because it means he doesn't have to put out any extra cash for pesky items like health insurance and vacation days.
One of the many cool inventions Bergman developed for me was a set of night vision contact lenses. I squeezed my eyes shut for a couple of seconds and when I opened them the interior of the Lexus looked like it had been parked under a green streetlamp. The cars surrounding me could've come straight from Enterprise of Emerald City. All lovely shades of lime, they lined up like contestants at the Miss Oz Beauty Pageant. Only one wasn't what she seemed. One hid a dark, long-lived secret. But which?
I scanned the lot quickly, never letting my eyes rest in one place for too long. And I still nearly missed him. He stood between a Toyota Tundra and a Jeep Cherokee, an inkblot in the shadows, tapping his cane on the side of his shoe.
"I see you," I whispered. As if I had shouted, he stepped forward. I unlocked the doors as he made his way to the car, just another well-to-do gentleman going out on the town. He looked like an Oscar winner, handsome and elegant in his black tuxedo. Even his cane worked, an integral part of the affluent man's evening clothes rather than an assassin's tool.
He slid into the car beside me, which shook me more that I let on. I preferred him sitting in the back, like a boss, rather than in front, like a date. I moved to change gears and nearly yelped when his hand covered mine.
"Wait a moment," Vayl said, looking at me steadily through his predatory eyes. I tried not to fidget while he took stock of my hair, dress, shoes, though every second that passed squeezed at my nerves, as if he'd wrapped them in barbed wire and turned a crank that pulled it tighter until they screamed. I wanted to thump him. Didn't he know he was being rude? And unsettling? And rude? I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought when he said, "You look incredible. Like a goddess. I take back everything I said earlier."
The attention-starved teen in me melted. Even my brain reverted. All I could think for a second was, He likes me! He really likes me!!
Gag.
I squeezed my eyes shut, took my vision back to normal. It helped restore my equilibrium too. "Thanks," I said. "You look pretty sharp yourself." I paused a second. "I was just thinking about our first mission."
"You were?"
"It reminded me of a question I've been wanting to ask for awhile." One I apparently only felt brave enough to pose while in goddess mode.
"Oh?" His tone buttoned up like a Victorian collar. But, being temporarily divine, I barreled on.
"I noticed that you always bleed your vamp targets before you take them out."
"That is true."
"Well, for cripe's sake, don't go all frosty on me. I don't give a crap about that part. I just saw a pattern and wondered—"
Vayl sighed and the whole car filled with the sound, like a mournful wind bouncing off the walls of an empty canyon. "It is my failsafe. I do not want to kill innocents, so I take their blood during battle. I can taste whether or not the donor gave it willingly or with his last gasp."
"Wow, I didn't know you could do that. Cool." I glanced at him. Not much changed. But the easing of the lines around his eyes and lips told me I'd said the right thing. Which was when I realized it mattered to Vayl what I thought of him. Wow. When had that happened?
Probably during your last blackout, spat a bitter, scared corner of my mind.
I regarded it as if it stood separate from me, a flat-chested freshman wearing too much eye shadow and the confidence of a lame-duck president. Shut the fuck up, I told it. Then I drove my boss to the job.
We arrived at the gates of Assan's mansion behind a short line of vehicles that included two limos and a gleaming black Corvette. One by one the drivers showed the guards their invitations and were allowed to enter. I hadn't seen any guards on my scouting trip, though intel had informed us Assan kept anywhere from 10 to 12 on staff. These two shopped in the big and beefy section and still their suit coats barely buttoned, maybe on purpose, so all the guests could see the outline of the guns riding underneath.
One looked to have some Chinese ancestry. He wore his black hair pulled back into a ponytail. His partner reminded me of Schwarzenegger in his bulkier days. If he spoke with an Austrian accent I'd struggle not to laugh in his face. Unprofessional, I know, but the more stressed I get, the more likely I am to bow to inappropriate hilarity. I could already feel the giggles tickling the back of my throat.
"This had better be a damn good forgery," I said, as I took the invitation from the seat beside me and rolled down the window.
"What," Vayl whispered, "are you finally nervous?"
Is the Pope Catholic? "Shh, it's our turn." I pulled up to the gate and handed the invite to Arnold Jr. Up close he overwhelmed the eyeballs, built like a tractor with the confidence that came from knowing he could mow us flat without breaking a sweat.
"Welcome to Alpine Meadows," he said in an American accent—whew!
Vayl sat forward. "Thank you," he said, his voice more melodic than usual as his eyes met those of the guard's. I felt the magic cross my skin on its way to Arnold Jr., a scented breeze of power so purely Vayl, I would have recognized it in a perfume factory. "In five minutes you will not remember our faces or the fact that you admitted us." Junior's jaw went slack and his pupils dilated like he'd scored an instant high. He nodded, handed the invitation back to me and stepped away from the car.
"Can you do that for me next time Pete wants to wring my neck?" I asked as I moved the Lexus toward Assan's mini-castle. The rumble in Vayl's throat could've been anything from a growl to a burp. I stole a look at his face, and from the way his lips were quivering decided it was a chuckle.
The valet had a hard time understanding why any high society dame would want to park her own car. Then Vayl spoke to him and made it all better. He directed us around the side of the house, where I backed into the space closest to the front door. I sort of specialize in quick getaways. Too bad I wasn't driving a Hummer, It would've been fun to pull straight in and then mow over the perfectly trimmed hedges and gigantic urns on the way out.