Vayl slid the tent into its carrying case, sat back on the bed, and laced his fingers behind his head. “So what do we know about Samos?”
“Not much,” I said, leaning against the wall, fighting the frustration that would only mar my thinking. “He’s an American-made vamp who came up through the ranks of a Vampere house-hold. Though how we found that out I’ll never know. The Trusts are traditionally impossible to penetrate.”
A flickering in his eyes told me maybe I’d discovered our source. “Vayl? Were you ever Vampere?” After the words slipped out I wanted to cover my mouth. Apologize. It was the equivalent to asking a priest if he’d ever been a mule for the mob.
His hands dropped to his lap. “Yes.”
I waited for excuses, but he made none. So I threw one in. “I imagine you were very different back then.”
“You would not have known me. You would not have wanted to.”
“What . . . why did you get out?
“As your
“So is he building is own army?” Vayl wondered.
“It sure looks that way. With Pengfei and Lung as his allies, and this reaver in his pocket, he goes from America’s problem to a worldwide threat. Which makes it all the more imperative that we get that armor.”
“Yes,” Vayl agreed. “And I believe we must find a way to eliminate the reaver, Desmond Yale.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
As we entered the living room area, Vayl took the crossbow he would use off its perch on Mary-Kate. A sleek black model made from mahogany and stainless steel, heavy, but accurate, it had been Matt’s weapon of choice. And I’d carried it with me faithfully since his death. Now it held the bolt Bergman had modified to make sure it dropped its internal load once it penetrated Pengfei’s skin. I thought I’d be okay with Vayl pulling the trigger to Matt’s weapon as long as we got our outcome.
Cassandra, Cole, and Bergman, still finishing supper at the table Bergman had finally been able to clear now that he’d finished his projects, kept snatching glances at the bow. I watched them, trying to fathom their thoughts. If I had to guess, I’d say Cassandra wondered if she could bear the visions that would arise in her mind if she touched it. Cole tried to see himself pulling the trigger. Bergman prayed the mechanism he’d designed to release the inner light would work before Pengfei had a chance to rip our guts out.
Vayl cleared his throat, calling their attention to him. “I would like you three to move about the new tent they erected for us as if you were preparing for another show. We do not want anyone who might be watching to become concerned with our behavior.”
Cole looked up, wanting badly to say something, but we both stared him down. “It sucks being the rookie,” he said.
“I’m going to get changed,” I said.
I went to the bedroom, pulled Pengfei’s dress off its hanger and yanked it down over my butt. With slits up both legs clear to the upper thigh, it left no hiding place for a leg holster. That was the downside. The upside— though it looked quite formal, it had been designed for ease of movement.
The matching low-heeled slippers I’d found in Pengfei’s closet didn’t fit. Her feet were too narrow, making me feel like Cinderella’s stepsister. Cassandra owned a flashy pair that would work, as long as I didn’t mind nursing blisters on my heels for the next week. I did. So I went with my boots. Let people laugh. Next time Pete could just give me fair warning that I’d be costumed like a geisha at some point in my upcoming assignment.
Vayl came in and sat quietly on the bed while I worked on my makeup. I could tell he had something on his mind. And the acid-laced squeegee in my stomach said it would be one of those hard-to-face issues. So I concentrated on the makeup and hoped he’d let me pretend we had nothing to discuss.
The eyes were the tricky part. Pengfei laid it on thick and yet somehow made it out the door without resembling a prostitute. I managed a pretty good likeness and moved on to the accessories. Long black earrings. Braided wig over my tightly bound hair. The translator wires wound happily among the fake tresses. I took the necklace Cassandra had made off the dresser where I’d laid it when we’d come in.
Vayl stirred, making the springs in the bed squeak in protest. I agreed with them. “I was waiting for you to mention it before, but you seem to be following your usual tactics of dodge and ignore so I will say it straight out. Last night, you slept,” he said. “I guarded you until dawn and you did not move a muscle.”
I turned to look at him. Moved close enough for him to hear me speaking English. “No, I didn’t.”
“I take it those troubles that spurred you to sleepwalk have settled themselves.”
I nodded carefully. “I’m never sure with me,” I said. “But I think it’s done with.” I wanted to stop there. I tried. But a guy who sits with you for hours to make sure that your snoring doesn’t turn to shooting deserves something for his efforts. So I struggled to put what I’d learned about the dreams into words. “I’ve needed, wanted to move forward. But I haven’t been able to, knowing that meant I had to let Matt go. I think that’s why I kept dreaming of him as a vampire. Because he didn’t want to live on in that form any more than Jesse did. It would’ve been easier, in a way, to say goodbye to him if he had turned in the end.”
Vayl nodded soberly. “It matters so much the way in which people leave us. Perhaps it should not. Dead is dead. But the why and how make such a difference to the survivors.”
