“And what’s a Nruug?” I asked tiredly.
“An
other
who’s abusing his or her Gift.”
I threw up my hands with relief. “So we’re set! I found him outside Zarsa’s house. She’s obviously abusing. He’ll take care of the whole deal.”
“Not necessarily,” cautioned Bergman. “According to some of the histories we saw in the Enkyklios, many Nruug Stalkers won’t step in until after somebody’s actually died. They have that mentality where it’s not a crime until the deed’s done.”
“Well, shit.”
“But you can certainly talk to him,” Cassandra encouraged me. “And when you do” — she and Bergman shared a gleaming look of anticipation — “maybe you can tell him about Bergman’s idea.”
“Well, it started with Cassandra,” Bergman said graciously.
“But Bergman made the leap,” Cassandra added.
I held up my hands. “Okay, enough with the lovefest. I almost liked it better when you two were slamming each other. At least we were more efficient.”
Cassandra nodded to Bergman, who sat forward eagerly, his chapped hands each clutching a bony knee. “We realized the only way to detect a shield of the type we suspect is to use a really finely tuned tracker.” He tried to pause for dramatic effect but was too worried about being yelled at to work it for long. “Like you.”
“But —”
He held up his hands. “I know, you and Cole didn’t feel anything during the card game. But think. Every time Vayl has taken your blood, he’s left some of his power behind and it’s increased your own Sensitivity. The reavers even have a name for it.”
“My Spirit Eye,” I said.
“Exactly. We think if you were able to soup up your Sensitivity again, you might be able to see the mole. Or at least the shield he’s using to hide behind.”
“One problem,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Vayl’s pissed at me.”
Cassandra shook her head. “We aren’t suggesting you donate any more blood to Vayl. We don’t think he’d take it if you offered, now that he’s fixated on Zarsa. We think you should talk to Asha.”
I slumped so far down the couch my butt hit the edge of the cushion. Oh yeah, this was going to be a blast. Because I was sure whatever exchange they were suggesting involved some major vulnerability on my side. And, frankly, if I had to crack open the shell I’d begun to build the moment I heard about my dad, I would never make it through this mission.
A clatter at the door that led into the apartment from the garage signaled the return of Dave and his crew. I straightened. Pulled myself together. No way in hell would I let Amazon Grace see me looking pitiful and forlorn. She’d get off on it way too much.
They joined us in the living room. Natchez dropped next to Bergman on the love seat. Grace settled by the fireplace with Cam. Dave sat on the couch with Cassandra and me. Jet and Cole took a detour into the kitchen and came out minutes later with drinks for everyone.
“How did it go?” Cassandra asked Dave.
“Pretty well,” he replied. “We’ve got the location scouted and photographed so we can make a mock-up on the second floor and do some run-throughs with Jaz and Vayl later tonight.” I looked around the room, expecting satisfied nods. But they all looked pretty grim and stoic to me.
“What happened?” I demanded, shelving my own bad news until I heard theirs.
“We ran into some trouble,” Dave said. “We’d probably be in jail right now if not for some quick talking on Cole’s part.”
Now the nods came, along with several toasts. Cole accepted them with his usual good-humored grin.
I looked at my recruit and raised my eyebrows. “Well?”
He sauntered over to Cam, held his hand out, received a toothpick and a salute before taking his place center stage. “We’d finished the reconnaissance and were headed back when the police stopped us and herded us into this huge square. They made us join a group of maybe thirty men. I asked an older guy if he knew why we were there, and he told me we were all suspected of inciting a riot that had happened earlier that evening.”
“I think we were there,” I said through lips that had gone numb. “Two women were hung, right?”
Cole nodded in surprise. “That’s what he said.”
“I thought the riot started when the older woman’s chador came off.”
“According to the old man, it was a combination of the picture pinned to her dress and what the people in the crowd were shouting.”
“Tell me.”
Cole scratched his beard as he gnawed at the toothpick, both sure signs of distress. “The picture was of her daughter, who’d been buried to the waist by her uncle and then stoned to death by him and some other male family members for trying to divorce her husband.”
