Bite Marks

“Yuh-huh. Anyhow, what you also didn’t realize is that gnomes only see a little better than moles. Some of our analysts think they’ve spent too much time belowground. Some suggest it’s a genetic malformation of the eye that could be corrected with surgery, or maybe even glasses. What matters to us is that if our little project here is successful, they won’t be able to retaliate if they see us, because we all pretty much look the same to them. Like we’ve all pulled stockings over our faces so the only details they pick up are eyeholes and nose bumps. But if they get a whiff of us they can follow us clear across the continent.

Because their sense of smell is almost as good as a bloodhound’s.”

“So”—Vayl nodded at her bag—“what have you got in there to help us out?”

“Why do you assume I’m carrying scent around with me?” Cassandra asked, somewhat defensively.

Vayl’s lip quirked. “Come now, Cassandra. I have seen you pull a tire patch kit from your purse.

Anyone that prepared is bound to have thrown in a supply of her favorite perfume.” She did a little sideways head bob, the kind you see on people who hate to admit they’ve just been caught in their own little obsession. She unsnapped the furbag and began rummaging around. “There’s nothing wrong with carrying backup supplies, you know. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve saved myself a trip to the store… Oh, here we go.”

She pulled out a bottle of Febreze.

Bergman took it from her hand and read the label. “Meadows & Rain.” He glanced at her as he spun the sprayer to on and did an experimental squeeze-’n’-sniff. “Not bad. Not my Axe, but fresh.” Cassandra resettled her straps on her shoulders and threw up her hands. “I know it’s strange, but right before David deployed, he asked me to bring him something that smelled like home, because he wanted to feel like he was with me while he was away. And this is what I use on my curtains between cleanings.

So I gave him a bottle to keep, and then I have this one to remind me that he’s smelling the same scent wherever he is.” She touched the blue plastic with an affectionate finger. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“Yeah.” Bergman nodded. “It does.”

I gave him a little shove. “I can’t wait until you fall in love. You are going to act like the biggest dork, and we’re all going to make unmerciful fun of you.”

To my surprise he grinned and said, “Okay.”

We took turns spraying each other. By the time we were done, all of us, including Jack, smelled like a feminine-hygiene commercial.

“Hurry up and get in there,” I told my boss, giving his cane a nudge with my toe to encourage forward movement. “Or else you’re going to have to braid my hair while we watch Bergman and Cassandra cavort around in a field full of flowers.”

“At least Jack is not trying to make love to your leg,” Vayl said.

“I can’t believe you brought that up.” I glared at Bergman. “I still haven’t forgiven you for drenching me in dog pheromones, by the way. So just watch your step inside. This could be the perfect setup for my revenge.”

“Hey, it worked out great!” Bergman squeaked. “You got a new best friend out of the deal!” I looked down at my dog, who smiled up at me, his days as the pet of an international criminal mastermind a distant memory. “You are pretty cool,” I told him. “But we’re about to go into a bad place.

So behave yourself, all right?” He bumped his nose into my leg, his substitute for a reassuring pat.

I took a better grip on his leash as we watched Vayl squeeze past the wiggly gray tunnel cover. Bergman and Cassandra followed, with me and Jack bringing up the rear. No way could I crawl through the gently sloping passageway while holding a gun, so I reholstered Grief. Its weight didn’t provide the usual reassurance. Because according to Astral’s video, the path opened at the crossroads, so Vayl would have to deal with the guard alone.

He’ll be fine.

My body, bent abnormally by the low ceiling, disagreed. It was like my aching back, my stiff neck, even my chafed knees, knew this setup sucked. But my mind kept fighting it.

He’s a vampire. What could go wrong?

Shut up, Brude!

Now what? I am trying to comfort you! Is that not what every good king does for his—

Knock it off! I took a deep breath. Wiped the sweat off my upper lip. Vayl’s not going to get his head blown off. And I won’t be buried under tons of earth. The ceiling’s in great shape. It’s probably held up for a hundred years.

On the other hand… Fuck you, Pete! My next job had better be in the great wide open or, I swear, I’m gonna pull out your two remaining hairs and staple them to your ears!

I took another breath. Realized I wasn’t going to panic, and felt myself relax. Slightly. Although I understood at some level that if I heard one sound that remotely reminded me of an earthquake I could well bolt, leaving all my friends to fend for themselves.

Wuss.

Deciding to deal with my neuroses later, I concentrated on Astral’s video feed. Saw the guard sniff the air, and take a second snort. Just as I realized he’d interpreted our Febreze for the intrusion it was, he drew the weapon he’d kept holstered at his side. Though it looked a lot like a sawed-off shotgun, I knew it worked on totally different principles.

People who live underground don’t like to make big bangs that could cause cave-ins. This gun, powered by air compressed and heated by the breath of his shaman, scattered polished granite shot in a broad pattern that allowed even the most myopic shooters to hit their targets.

“Vayl! He’s onto us!”