He dropped his hand. Sat back. “What do you mean by that?”
“You lead them to a barrel full of oats, they’ll eat till their stomachs burst. You put them in a pasture, they’ll run off if you don’t fence it. They don’t even go to the same spot to crap every time so you can manage their manure.”
So much for amber. Vayl’s eyes hardened to blue, which was how I could tell I’d affected his emotions pretty much the way I’d attempted to. He said, “I assume you have a point to make with this semihysterical outpouring.”
“Just because something doesn’t have boundaries doesn’t mean it’s good. Or right. Or even possible.”
“What is your problem with Cassandra and David?”
“David just lost his wife. He’s not ready for a serious relationship.”
“It has been well over a year, Jasmine —”
“He’s not ready. End of story.”
But Vayl wouldn’t let it go that easy. He gave me his sternest gaze. “Whose feelings are you describing now, really? Your twin’s? Or your own?”
Chapter Six
Sometimes I get songs stuck in my head. I had one playing right now, even as I snoozed. It was that Kenny Loggins hit “I’m Alright.” And I knew why. When we were seventeen Dave and I had snuck off to a Van Halen concert. Ordinarily he’d have gone with a group of his cool friends. But it was summer, we’d just moved to town, and he hadn’t had a chance to make a name for himself as a stellar running back, or point guard, or pole vaulter.
In my dream we were closer to the stage, near enough to piss off Security if we decided to throw something more life threatening than panties. The opener, a band called Ringgs, was covering the song and doing damn well. The lead singer, an anorexic mike swallower who thought he was stud enough to go shirtless, sang, “You wanna listen to the man? Pay attention to the magistrate.”
I glanced at Dave, swigging his beer, flirting with the girl dancing next to him, and wished I could get to know people that easy. When I looked back at the stage everything had changed.
One by one, the band members ripped off their outer skins, revealing the same demonic faces I’d seen on my visit to hell. Uldin Beit pounded the drums, her flayed back oozing as she flew through the song. Her fiendish pathologist, Sian-Hichan, fingered the bass guitar. A huge, broad-shouldered demon with the horns of a ram played lead guitar. And center stage, his voice tearing at my heart, stood the Magistrate himself.
I pinched myself. Nothing. Gave my cheek a slap. Looked around. The scene remained the same. “Dave, wake up!”
“Dude, I’m fully conscious!” he yelled, rolling his eyes at me as he dropped an arm around Neighbour Girl’s shoulders.
The Magistrate finished the song, raised both hands above his head, like he wanted to catch the wave of thunderous applause and throw it over his shoulders as a mantle. When he lowered his arms, he pointed both forefingers at me. “Come.”
I rose into the air, as if some roadies had attached wires to my belt while I was buying my ticket.
Oohs and aahs from the crowd as I gulped down a scream. I’d looked up. And seen fire. This was no dream. Somehow I was back in hell. Without Raoul. My only comfort was that I’d also seen the golden cord that connected my soul to my body. Small comfort however, in that none of the other cords that bound me to my closest friends and relatives were visible. Worse, something green and slimy had encased the cord. I could almost feel it, like an infection on my heart.
The “wires” broke about ten feet above the stage. I landed and rolled the way I’d been taught, sustaining no damage because I wasn’t in a real body anymore. On my feet again, I felt for weapons. But of course I’d come with nothing corporeal. The Magistrate laughed heartily.
“What a little spitfire you are!” he cried as he approached me. I backed to the edge of the stage. Thought about jumping. But he’d just pull me up again.
“How did you bring me here?” I demanded, sounding a lot braver than I felt.
He poked a finger toward my forehead. I jerked back before he could touch me. “You’re Marked, little girl — Uldin Beit’s blood has bought you a spiritual tatoo. And do you know what that means? I can find you anywhere. I can take your soul anytime I please.” He grinned. Gorgeous freaking demon, he could’ve made the cover of
GQ
twelve months running. And yet my only response was a wave of terror so huge I felt it freezing my brain, numbing my senses. And I knew I was quickly becoming the victim he wished me to be.
I curled my fingers into fists. Though Cirilai was just the ghost of a ring, I still felt it warm on my finger, reminding me of who I was. Of who believed in me. The wave subsided just enough to allow me to hear my own voice, desperate, strident, practically hoarse from trying to be heard over the fear.
Come on, Jaz, if he could really take your soul, he’d have done it to start with. You’ve been in bigger trouble. Not often. But you survived. Just stay on your toes and don’t, for God’s sake, do not freak.
“You can’t make me stay here,” I said.
“I am the Magistrate,” he crowed, throwing his hair back as if he knew just how beautifully it set off his profile. “I can do anything I like.” He pointed out to the audience. “See?”
My neck creaked as everything in me wished I didn’t have to turn. To look. But I did. The adoring screams had changed while my eyes moved from him. As I stared outward I wished I had the means to vomit. They’d been crucified. Every one of them, nailed to crosses that spun like windmills. Except my brother. He was gone. What did that mean?
That you have some control
.
