Bitten to Death

least it was real, dammit! The Weres had been rounded up and locked away where they could heal before returning to their regular lives. This was according to Tarasios, whose IQ continued to drop in my estimation the longer I knew him. So I’d questioned him closely on the details as he’d led us away from the blood-drenched dining room and the mutilated body of Niall’s dead guard.

“Where will they be kept?” I’d asked, looking over my shoulder at the muzzled wolf being carried by Niall and Admes with the help of a curtain rod they’d run between its tied legs.

“The wolf goes in the garage,” said Tarasios. “I had to back the cars out myself, because they might get scratched otherwise. And the bear goes in the wagon house. I don’t know why it’s called that because we don’t have any wagons. But that’s its name, so that’s where he went.”

I looked at his perfect face, serenely perched above his magnificent physique and thought, God is a practical joker. “Is the wagon house that big building at the end of the front-door path?”

He nodded. “I guess it’s a guesthouse now,” he said, snickering like a kindergartener at his own pathetic humor.

In order to get us to our temporary digs, Tarasios had to lead us past the villa’s front entrance. Even if my Spirit Eye hadn’t practically rolled back in its socket from the power I felt in that spot, I’d have had to stop. We stood in the second-floor hallway at a railing that overlooked the massive arched doorway, the handles of which were life-sized carvings of skeletons made to look as if the door was another dimension from which they were just emerging. I could imagine that when you let a guest through, it almost felt like you were pulling the skeletons into your reality as well.

Just inside the threshold stood the rough-hewn statue of a god. Though it had no face, I could tell it was divine. Nothing human could walk upright with a wang that size. The fact that it also had Pamela Anderson breasts just kinda made you go, Huh.

A chandelier the size of a big-screen TV hung from the ceiling, its brass base elaborately woven to resemble a face. I looked closely, my skin going cold as I peered, wondering if . . . no. It wasn’t the same as in the vision I’d had. But it definitely read vampire, its eyes, ears, and fangs dripping ruby-colored crystals, its hair a mass of tiny white bulbs.

On the burgundy tiled floor lay a rug that looked to have been woven from human hair. The umbrella stand beside the stairs might once have served as a man’s wooden leg. But those weren’t the most interesting items in the room. That honor definitely fell to the masks.

They hung from the wall that lined the staircase leading up to our landing. Made of metal, ivory, glass, and wood. Carved with lasers and pocketknives. Ranging in size from yeah-that’ll-fit-your-hamster to a whopping let’s- see-how-many-college-students-will-fit-into-this, these were the source of the power that made my teeth try to sink back into my gums.

“That’s quite a collection,” I said, waving to the wall and then sticking my hand in my pocket before Tarasios could see the shaking. What the hell was the Trust doing with all that alakazam?

“That’s just supposed to be like the spokes of the wheel,” said Tarasios enthusiastically. “Disa says somewhere there’s a—” He stopped, covering his mouth like a kid who’s about to reveal the location of his mom’s Christmas presents.

“A what?” I asked.

“Nothing. We’d better go.” Tarasios hurried on, leaving Vayl and me to exchange curious glances over Dave’s hanging head.

The more twists and turns we took inside that maze of a mansion, the freakier the decor got. Naw, I was cool with the black carpeted halls hung with red and gold flocked wallpaper. What shook me was the little zap of power I detected when we passed a glass case full of skulls whose teeth had all been removed and lined up neatly in front of them. Or the shelf full of ancient clay bowls whose internal stains, I sensed, had not been caused by clothing dye. I was just plain startled by a large frame that looked blank until you’d almost passed, and then you realized it contained a pair of holographic eyes.

Dave saw them too, the suddenness of their appearance causing him to stumble, making me want to put a hand under his arm to steady him. By now his coloring had shaded from its usual wind-burned brown to a sickly celery. But if I offered help he might never speak to me again. Plus Vayl, walking on his other side, was quick enough to catch him before he fell. So I tapped Tarasios on the shoulder.

“We’re almost there,” he said, picking up the pace even more.

Okay, he really doesn’t want to talk about the masks. Or probably anything else that’s tweaked my freak-detector tonight. So let’s try something else. “Aren’t you worried about the police finding out about the Weres?” I asked Tarasios. “I know they’re not protected any better than vamps. But you still need a good reason to have one trapped in your garage. Unless he’s just mangled your family and you’re waiting for the local executioner, I’d say you’re in a legal shithole here.”

“Well, Hamon’s—” He blushed prettily, looking over one shoulder as if afraid Disa would suddenly jump from behind the statue we were currently passing. It was a rather gruesome depiction of Athena emerging from Zeus’s head, which, while scary enough in itself, might even give me the screaming jeebies if she leaped out and yelled, “I am the Deyrar!”

“Go ahead,” I said gently. “We won’t tell her what you said about Hamon. Right, Vayl?”

“I doubt we would tell Disa if her own hair were on fire,” Vayl muttered.

When Tarasios gave him a hurt look, I waved my hand around in front of him to get his attention. “He’s such a kidder. Go on.”

Tarasios shrugged, cocked his head to one side, as if slightly embarrassed. “I was just going to say Hamon’s apartments should be empty. But we’ve been prevented—that is—we haven’t been able to pack up his things, so there’s no room for a Were there.” He turned to Vayl in delight. “Did you hear that? Were there. I made a rhyme!”

“You’re a poet and you don’t know it,” Dave muttered. “Now, where the hell are we staying?”

While Tarasios led us to our door, Vayl and I traded interested glances. What would keep a bunch of determined vampires from clearing out their dead leader’s drawers? Given Hamon’s tragic end, I think I smell a death-spell. One designed to keep bad-wishers out of your goodies if you happen to kick it unnaturally soon.