Bitten in Two

Part of the booty he tore from the last ship he took included a lyre just like that one. He loved to tel the story of the battle he waged just to kil the siren who guarded it.” His eyes locked on Cole’s. “Like the Enkyklios bal , it had carried within it special powers. I can tel you similar stories about that flute and those castanets.” His workman’s fingers brought our attention to simple, everyday products that were only made unique by the way they were displayed.

The flute stood on end, held aloft by a hand carved out of mahogany. The castanets hung from a glittering silver chain that had been secured to the ceiling by four white cup hooks.

“Sterling touched that flute,” I said. “He would’ve picked up anything out of the ordinary on it—if it stil held magic, I mean.”

Vayl nodded and started expounding on his idea that Ahmed had stolen the items primarily so he could drain the magic from them. Old story, real y. Lazy bum oozing with talent but zero work ethic doesn’t want to put in the practice and study time despite the fact that it could lead him onto new paths that no one has ever walked before. Instead he puts his smal store of energy into making off with other people’s treasures.

Teen Me had stopped listening almost after Vayl’s first word. In fact, for the past thirty seconds she’d been running up Granny May’s back porch steps, pausing at the top to jump off, and then running back up them again to repeat the whole process. The entire time she kept repeating, Vayl was ripped! Holy shit! No wonder he never talks about it. It must’ve hurt like a muther not to take a whole year to turn, like every other Vampere. And his, what do you call it?

Sire? Was a pirate? Is that cool, or what?

Or what, I told her. Ripping isn’t something you do out of kindness. It’s harsh, and usually lethal for both sides.

Considering that the vamp turned Vayl’s wife first, we can pretty much bet Vayl’s Sire was psycho.

Was? Or is?

What do you say we never find out?

Vayl had stopped talking. Had come so close to me I could feel his power brushing against mine, a sweet friction I could hardly bear without touching him. I closed my eyes.

“Madame? Are you quite al right?”

I stared at him, my mind a complete blank. Cole came to my rescue. “Now that we’ve scouted the shop, we’d better secure the whole building before we question Ahmed. You know, in case his buddies come back before we’re ready to deal with them. And, uh, our boss is stil bleeding.”

Work. Right. That’ll get me through this. Or kill me.

Sad, right now, that I don’t know which would be worse. I said, “Let’s go old-school and barricade al the doors and windows.”

“I’m on it.” Without even a glance at Kyphas, Cole went off to secure the second floor before finishing the job below.

Ignoring the demon’s pout, I fol owed him up to Ahmed’s living quarters, grabbed a couple of clean T- shirts when I couldn’t locate a first-aid kit, and came back down to find that everyone except our sniper had assembled in the office, a smal room whose wide door opened to the service counter.

Sterling had dropped the mage into a wooden chair on rol ers that creaked like an eighty-year-old man whenever Ahmed shifted his weight. Our warlock had made himself comfortable by sitting on the edge of a battered wooden desk that held a PC, miscel aneous office supplies and, on its other corner, a blood-soaked vampire.

At the opposite end of the room, Kyphas, probably under orders from Sterling, had fil ed his teapot with water and set it on a hot plate that stood on top of a filing cabinet so old the handles had been replaced with knotted bandanas. While she waited for the water to rol , she leaned against the doorframe and stared unwaveringly at Ahmed.

“Tel her to stop,” he final y whispered. “I am a devout man. A Mage of the Seal. I cannot be tempted by feminine flesh.”

Kyphas nodded.

I said, “Did you see that, Ahmed? She’s making a mental note. That’s what hel spawn do. They figure out what you don’t want. Then they offer you everything you think you need.”

“Huh-huh-hel spawn?” he squeaked. “In my shop? Make her leave!”

her leave!”

I went up to Vayl and motioned for him to lift his pants leg. It was work to keep the holy-shit-you’re- missing-a-hunka-yerself! off my face as I began cleaning and bandaging. I managed it by interrogating the asshole who’d made the past few days complete misery for me.

“Ahmed,” I said. “Why would I want Kyphas to go when I’m considering asking her to reach down your throat and rip out your kidneys?”

He cringed. Wow. These pixie-dust types don’t have a whole lotta backbone when their wands are pulled out from underneath them.

“What have you done with Helena?” Vayl demanded.

“What?” Now our prisoner was both scared and bewildered. Good mix? Maybe. You never can tel until it al boils over. Speaking of which, the teapot had begun to whistle. Sterling handed Kyphas a pouch ful of, wel , it looked (and smel ed) like potpourri.

“Dump it al in,” he said. Typical. Leave it to the warlock to keep the secret ingredient to himself until it was time to make real magic.

At the same time Vayl was struggling to stand. I could feel his anger and frustration rising.

“Lord Brancoveanu—Vasil,” I said. “You’re making this extra hard to—”