Bitten to Death

Although it seemed a little long for vet visits and intros to lady dogs. Jack. Yeah, that’s better.

I felt my arms jerked behind me so painfully I moaned. And then the tying began. Ziel—no, Jack—barked. Only it didn’t sound like woo-hoo, let’s party this time. I’d put it more in the range of you-fulla-doo-doo. I was so touched, actual tears gathered inside my eyelids. I realized the blow to my skull might’ve caused some damage that had led to me thinking—and emoting—in spirals. Still, how cool was that Jacket-humper?

Should I open my eyes? Nope. That’ll just make me puke again. Which’ll hurt like hell and do nothing to clear my mind. I decided to study the inside of my eyelids instead. It struck me that this must be what Vayl saw every morning when he zipped himself inside his tent. And then died for the day. Which he might have done again—for good this time.

Shaft of pain. Not up my arm. More centralized, and so massive it would paralyze me if I let it. I knew how to do pain though. How to cordon it off like a nosy crowd at a murder scene and say, Step back, you callous, cold-blooded gorgons, and let me get to work.

Problem was, when I finally did open the old peepers, I realized it wasn’t going to be that easy to finish the mission I’d started. Dave, Tarasios, and Admes had been arranged in a circle, which I closed, my head and feet to theirs. We were all trussed like pot roasts. And we lay inside a carefully arranged pentagon of wood that was already smoldering.

At each point of the star Samos and his men stood like the executioners they were, waiting for the fun to begin. He wore an ivory leisure suit and matching fedora, both slightly stained from the recent ruckus. His blue silk shirt and white tie gave him the air of a porn star going for the look of an international playboy. It wasn’t a style I’d seen on him before, but that time he’d been in his office, doing a deal with the devil.

Mohawk held Jack tightly, otherwise the straining malamute would’ve jumped the smoking barrier and come to me. Overbite stood with his head in his hand, doing a continuous rubdown. Hey, maybe those robots were causing some damage after all.

Samos’s vamp-groupies looked even more wrecked than his humans. Stick Lady slumped badly, the holes in her chest only now beginning to close. And the Gladiator kept alternately spitting blood and glaring at me, like burning alive was too good a punishment for someone who didn’t mind shooting him in the back.

They were all chanting. At first my battered brain interpreted it as heckling. Then I imagined them doing a really lame rap, their black stiff-brimmed hats cocked to the side, their arrhythmic hips missing the beat as they droned, “We are da baddest, ’cause we kicked your assest.”

“Assest?” I giggled. “That’s not even a word.”

Samos gave me a dirty look. Apparently the doomed weren’t supposed to do any hallucinating as they fried. Then his phone rang. That did piss him off. But he answered it. “What do you mean Disa left? I can’t finish this tonight if the Deyrar is absent! Where did she go?”

As he listened, he kept looking around, like he’d gladly punch somebody if they’d give him a reason. “Why should I ask the town psychic when you’re already costing me so much, Koren?” His phone hand dropped as he stared at first Tarasios and then me. “Disa has absconded with your sverhamin. Where do you suppose they went?”

“Depends on what happened at the wagon house,” I said.

He shrugged, like it didn’t matter if I found out now. “A minor distraction that would keep them busy while I crossed their borders. Blas said they had been battling unexplained fires, so that seemed the most logical choice.”

“If that’s all it turned out to be, they probably went to town to celebrate. They’re ubertight, you know. Maker and mate. Even if you do burn us, it’s going to be impossible to bring the Trust down now that they’ve been reunited.”

When Samos’s lips pinched I thought, Take that, you sack of crap. But my inner celebration quickly fizzled. So Koren was Samos’s inside guy. Girl. Meaning all that rage at my unintended insult to her former sverhamin was just overdone fakery. Shoulda seen through that, Jaz.

Samos shoved the phone back to his ear. “You listen to me, you little bitch! I didn’t put my blood to paper just to see this deal crumble because you can’t figure out where some puta took the object of her obsession! Find them!” He snapped the phone closed, jammed it back in his pocket, and began chanting again. More logs flared, along with a new understanding that sent a shaft of pain spiking through my brain. Samos had made another deal with one of Satan’s minions.

“What did you do, Edward?” I asked. Both because I wanted to know, and because interrupting him slowed the spell and the fire. “What did the devil make you give up to pull off this deal?”

“This was a special one,” Samos said. “It had to be this Trust, because your sweetheart once dwelt here. And, as I well knew, Trust roots grow deep. So he would come running if his old homestead was threatened. Which meant he would bring you.” He spat at me, missing by a mile. But hell, if it got any hotter in this circle I’d be grateful for any form of liquid that came flying my way.

The hatred in Samos’s eyes felt like sulfur in the air, maggots on the skin. Until I reminded myself why it was there. Because Vayl and I had beat him. Repeatedly. And I wasn’t dead yet, dammit. Which meant—

“You didn’t answer my question, Eddie. Demons demand more than blood for their dirty deals. What did you have to give up to get to me?”

Though he turned his face from Jack, Samos’s eyes betrayed him. For just a moment they filled with anguish as they fell to the animal, still prancing restlessly at his henchman’s feet.

Ahhh . . . now I understood why the dog had transferred its loyalty over the course of a few hours. What irony. I’d relinquished my precious cards in order to find out what Samos loved most. And now he’d sacrificed what he loved most, his beloved Ziel, in order to kill me. And it looked like we’d both succeeded. Already the interior of the pentagram had become unbearably hot. We were beginning to sweat and writhe.

“Gotta do something,” said Dave. I wished I could see his face. No, on second thought, it was probably better that we lay back-to-back. It would make the end slightly easier to bear.

“Like what?” I asked as I struggled with my bonds. It was no good. They’d tied them too well for me to release myself before the fire did its work.