Are you sure?
The inner bitch was at it again, demanding the full truth whether I wanted to face it or not. She leaned over the bar, showing so much cleavage you could’ve planted a shrub down there, and said,
Admit it, toots. The thought of him sinking those lovely fangs into her neck, resting his lips against her velvet skin, drives you nuts. And the idea that he would turn her, link her to him for all time, makes you want to scream. That’s a permanent blood bond, baby. All you’ve got is a measly little ring and the blood equivalent of a couple of one-night stands
.
“Anyway,” I said quickly, “do me a favor and find out what Amanha Szeya is. I’ve gotta go find (
not stalk!
) Vayl.”
Chapter Fifteen
In another life, in another world even, Vayl would’ve been a spectacular teacher. It’s not enough for him to know. The longer we’re together, the more I realize he can’t help himself. He’s got to share what he’s learned. And since I’m usually the only one around, I’m generally the beneficiary, like it or not.
Often it’s been not.
There was the time he decided my table manners lacked a certain, shall we say, appetizing flare.
“Did you just burp?” he asked me one evening as we sat at a table covered in white linen and real silver.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Wine gives me gas. Plus it tastes like road kill. Don’t they serve any beer here? There’s the waiter. I’ll ask him.”
“No! Jasmine . . .” Vayl caught the hand I’d raised and lowered it quickly to the table. “Obviously we need to talk.”
Thus began an intense month of table etiquette lessons and, right along with them, my growing loathing of eating in restaurants. Thanks to Vayl I can fake my way through a seven-course meal alongside an army of French food critics without raising a single suspicion that I can’t wait to run home, throw a burrito in the microwave, stuff it down my throat, and fart my way through an episode of
South Park
.
My latest, and by far most appreciated bout of training, had involved a much more valuable skill. From the start, Vayl believed my Sensitivity would allow me to find and follow vampires. On our last mission he’d proved himself right. I could track reavers too. Presumably, as I developed my abilities, I’d be able to sense and find even more
others
. That’s what I hoped, anyway.
I don’t think he ever believed I’d use my ability on him, at least not in this way. But here I was, stalking (no, no, sneaking — like they taught us to do in spy school) down the streets of Tehran, chasing his scent and hoping it wouldn’t lead me to Zarsa.
It didn’t.
It meandered around for a while, turning back on itself once or twice, making me think he had no particular destination in mind. He was just trying to walk off some steam. I got a great tour of the city, which included some lovely frescoes, a major boulevard that reminded me of downtown Chicago, and a building so ancient I could actually feel the history radiating off its arched doorways and crumbling columns. At last Vayl’s path straightened, headed north.
Our safe house sat on the southwest edge of the city. The longer I followed Vayl’s trail, the more convinced I became that he was traveling toward the cafe where he and I were supposed to complete our mission the following evening.
“How nice of you to join me,” breathed a voice from behind me.
I whirled. “Vayl! How —”
He regarded me with narrowed eyes as he leaned both hands on his cane. “You are
mine
, Jasmine. When I wish to know where you are, I have only to open my mind.”
After an oh-shit-what-have-I-done moment, I managed to pull myself together. “Yeah, about that. I’ve agreed to look out for your soul, not sit in your closet between your Armani suit and your Gucci shoes. So stop acting all proprietary there, Ricky.” As a fan of the
I Love Lucy
show, he should get the reference.
He put the heel of one hand to his forehead. “I did not mean it that way. Ach, this would be so much easier if you had lived even a hundred years ago. Now everything that comes out of my mouth can be construed as an insult, when I only intend . . . ” He shook his head. “I fear there is no way to explain without further offending you.” He turned away, whipping his cane forward every other step like he was striking at ghosts from his past. I walked after him. The silence spun between us like some sticky web neither of us wanted to touch. But I wanted to look at it even less.
I held my watch out in front of him.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
I pointed to the dial. “Pick a time,” I said.
