Another One Bites the Dust (7 page)

I followed him out of the RV, my eyes searching the empty beach and the swarming festival site. I couldn’t see them, but they were out there. Their
other
ness combined with their evil intent to send waves of psychic stench ahead of them, making my stomach churn.

We conferred in front of the RV. “We have to lure them away from here,” he said. “Otherwise Jesse and Matt are goners.”

The thought sent a shaft of alarm through me. If either of them was hurt, I’d never forgive myself. Moving in concert, we ran west, across the last strip of grassy slope nobody had covered with some commercial venture. We jumped a low concrete wall and dove onto an undeveloped section of beach. Here the grass grew almost as high as our heads. We plowed through it, dodging mounds of trash, jumping the pilings from a crumbling pier that had been built for higher water. Soon we heard them behind us, stumbling, cursing, moving like a herd of buffalo. I actually thought we could outrun them. Then we emerged from the grass to find a swampy inlet blocking our forward progress.

We looked at each other grimly. Out of choices, we turned south, wading into the moonlit water of the Gulf, counting on it to slow the attack, give us more time to load and fire. Dave raised his crossbow. I looked at it with a pang. It had been Matt’s favorite, one he’d only recently abandoned. I pulled Grief from its holster and thumbed off the safety. True to form, the humans appeared first, sprinting into the clearing between the grass and water as if they too had expected a more protracted chase.

I mowed them down like ducks at a carnival.

The vamps came more warily, spreading out in the grass, surveying the battlefield, yelling directions to each other. I pushed Grief’s magic button and—presto change-o—my gun transformed into a miniature crossbow.

David and I stood shoulder to shoulder, expecting a rush, trying to keep our minds empty so our training would kick in when the time came. What we didn’t expect were the two vamps who came strolling toward the edge of the water, holding hands like creepy Hansel and Gretel. They seemed familiar, though I couldn’t make out their faces at first. I could, however, smell the blood. They’d been freshly turned, which was why they’d been unleashed on us. Nothing fights harder or dirtier than a newborn vamp.

“Oh my God,” Dave moaned, dropping his crossbow.

“David, don’t—” I followed his eyes to the approaching vampires. His wife, Jesse, and my Matt stood gazing at us, their faces set in that flat, otherworldly look that signals the loss of a soul.

“Matt,” I whispered.

He heard me. Of course, he could hear ice cubes melting too. “Jasmine.” The way he said my name, as if it was a foreign language to him, broke my heart.

“We shouldn’t have left them.” Tears coated David’s words.

“They should’ve come with us,” I said, my voice curiously harsh and unforgiving in my own ears.

“It’s your fault!” David turned on me. He grabbed Grief from my hand. Pointed it right at my forehead.

Inside, a part of me broke. And I knew nothing he did or said could ever fix it.

Another part of me thought how remarkable it was that, after all those who’d tried to kill me so far, my twin would be the one to finally get it done.

“JASMINE!” Startled, I looked back toward the beach. Bergman, Cassandra, and Cole huddled together there, like they needed each other’s body heat to keep from freezing to death. Vayl waded into the water. The whites of his eyes made a shocking counterpoint to the blacks of his irises. I’d never seen him so shaken. He held out a hand that trembled ever so slightly as he said, “Please, Jasmine, please, give me the gun.”

And that’s when I realized I’d been dreaming. David hadn’t set foot in the States in over a year. Matt and Jesse were dead. And I was holding my own gun to my head.

CHAPTERSEVEN

Ilowered my arm, thumbed the safety, and set Grief in Vayl’s outstretched hand. As soon as I let it go he pulled me into his arms. It didn’t feel so much like a hug as it did a straitjacket.
Don’t move, you crazy fool
.

“Jasmine, I never knew you felt so desperate. You should have spoken to me. I would have helped you. I am your
sverhamin
.” As if that explained everything. After a few moments of escalating struggles, I disengaged from Vayl’s embrace. I didn’t like his tone. It was too . . . freaked. And Vayl never freaked. Never.

I said, “I know what it looked like, but I wasn’t trying to kill myself. It was a dream.”

“You mean, you were sleepwalking?”

“Looks like it.”
Be calm. Pretend that wasn’t the most insane thing you’ve done so far. And, for God’s sake, shut off that Pink Floyd soundtrack in your sick, twisted brain.
But no matter how hard I tried, I kept hearing the song “Brain Damage” and Roger Waters crooning, “
The lunatic is in my head
.”

We’d made shore. Cole, Bergman, and Cassandra turned to lead Vayl and me back to the RV.

“I’ve heard of sleepwalkers acting out their dreams like that. There’s a name for it,” Bergman offered.

“There’s a name for everything,” I said dryly. I sounded calm, but inside my psyche had drawn up with a
snap!
The normal order had, once again, gotten all mangled in Jazland. Only this time I couldn’t hide it from my coworkers and pretend all was right with the world.
Damn, damn, damn
. . . I bit my lip.
Okay, Jaz, you are now in damage-control mode. That means you may not flip out all the way. No word looping. No blackouts. And no card shuffling
—
until you’re alone. At which time if you want to swing from the chandelier and bark like a German shepherd, go right ahead. Until then
—
play sane
.

Inside the RV, several cups sat on the table, but someone had dropped a pile of paper plates on the floor. I retrieved them, set them on the counter beside the sink, and headed toward the shower.

“Jasmine,” Vayl said softly. I turned around. He remained on the entry steps, trying not to drip onto the carpet. He’d let the others come in before him, and they huddled together between Mary-Kate and Ashley, staring at me with varying expressions of concern. The kids looked achingly normal. A multicolored hair band held Cassandra’s braids away from her face. She wore at least five pairs of gold earrings, the biggest of which reached the shoulders of her teal-blue knit blouse. Her black peasant skirt touched her ankles and she wore matching black pumps edged with blue ribbon. Bergman’s gray sweater with its stretched sleeves topped old blue jeans and the same snow boots he’d worn when they’d picked me up at Evie’s house. Cole wore his red high-tops, khakis, and a black T-shirt with a pile of lumber on it. The caption underneath readHEY LADY, NEED A STUD ?

“What is it, Vayl?” I asked.

“What just happened was not mere sleepwalking. Your finger was pressed against the trigger of a cocked crossbow. We cannot simply disregard this problem and hope it goes away.”

So, okay, I did want to say,
We can
so
ignore this!
But I knew he was right. What if I’d come awake with that gun pointed at Cassandra’s head? Or one of the guys’? I nodded. “What do you suggest?”

That’s where speech failed him. Cassandra waited a moment, and when it was clear he didn’t have an immediate plan, she stepped up. “I know someone who might be able to help.”

“Okay, when this mission is over—”

“Actually, he lives in New Mexico. He could probably meet you tomorrow.”

“Is he a doctor?”

“Of a sort.”

Alternative medicine. Okay, I can deal with that.
“Fine, set it up.”

“And . . .” Cole began.

I swallowed the urge to snap. They just wanted to help. It wasn’t their fault the idea of getting to the root of this bizarre behavior terrified me. In my point of view, any explanation of what causes a person to point a gun to her own head is not going to start with “Good news, Jaz—” But considering the current potential for a bolt to my brain, pretending it never happened wasn’t the smartest tactic I could choose. “Yes?”

“Until we’re sure how to deal with this, someone should guard you while you sleep.”

“Naturally. You can all draw straws or something. And stop with the war orphan faces, will you? I’ll deal.”

“Of course you will,” said Bergman. “You’re Jaz.”

I nodded, appreciating his vote of confidence. Unlike Bergman, however, I knew my limits. Sometimes I could see that line in my mind, a stark black wall at the horizon reminding me that sanity, unlike the earth, is flat. And there is a point at which you can fall off. I just hoped this dream didn’t mean I already stood on the wrong side of the gate.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Evie had bought me the outfit I changed into after my shower, a white scoop-neck peasant top with lace and crochet accents and a pair of jeans somebody had beaten soundly with a jackhammer before forwarding to the retailer. So I knew I looked good. My girl’s got an eye for these things. Plus—übercomfy. And not just because she knows my size. There’s something about stuff from your family. For instance, when I’m home, I sleep under a comforter Granny May made for me. Ugliest damn blanket I have ever seen. But it makes me feel better to snuggle under fabric and thread she put together to warm me. Evie’s outfit, Granny’s blanket—they’re part of the basic core of my life that assures me I matter.

For the same reasons, Bergman handpicked where his inventions traveled and who put them to bed at night. And the more I learned about the freak who’d stolen his baby, the less I blamed Miles for totally losing it when he’d found out the baby had been kidnapped. Because after spending Vayl’s shower time with my face in my laptop, reading the file some intrepid agent had gathered on this guy Chien-Lung, I had come to a single conclusion. The guy was a total whack-job.

Frankly it made me feel better about my own peculiarities. But there was a method to Lung’s madness. For instance, dragons are deeply revered by the Chinese. According to legend they have megapowers that include weather control and life creation. And they’re seen as kind, benevolent creatures. Funny. Every fairy tale
I’d
ever heard involving dragons starred daring knights trotting off to kill said dragons. Probably the real reason every time East meets West they get pissed off and throw tea in our faces.

Vayl came out of the shower wearing jeans and a hunter green T-shirt. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

“The guys went back to the tent raising and Cassandra decided to supervise so Cole wouldn’t be tempted to clonk Bergman over the head with a stray pole.” Which was when I realized we were all alone.

“I was just researching Chien-Lung,” I said quickly, motioning to the laptop on the table in front of me. “I guess when he didn’t actually turn into a dragon he decided to settle for second best and go for the armor.”

Vayl raised an eyebrow. “From the sound of it, I would hardly describe the armor as second best.”

“No, that’s not really how Bergman operates, is it?”

Vayl sank onto the banquette beside me and sighed. “We are not going to talk about this sleepwalking issue, are we?”

“Nothing to discuss. I’m seeing Cassandra’s guy tomorrow. He’s going to slap me with a cure.
Bam
. I’m ready to roll.”

“Do you understand how few things actually get accomplished with a
bam
?”

“You’ve never watched
The Flintstones
, have you?”

Twitch of the lip. For him it was practically a giggle. “Fair enough. Let us talk about work then.”

“Okay. Just how were you planning to take out an ancient vampire wearing invincible armor?”

“The simplest approach would be to find his resting place. When dawn breaks, he dies, so the armor automatically detaches. We pull it free and then smoke him like a Cuban cigar.” He said it with such zest I could imagine him sitting on the balcony of some Caribbean villa, sharing a hand-rolled cancer-carrot with Hemingway while they mused over the aroma of vaporized vampire and discussed which shoes to wear for the next running of the bulls.

I snorted. “Sometimes you are about as PC as Peter Griffin.”

“Who?”

“This cartoon guy . . . Never mind. I am curious, though. You did notice that the majority of people are against smoking these days, yes?”

“Yes. And a good thing too. We used to lose houses and barns left and right to careless smokers. Now it is usually just faulty wiring or children with fire fetishes. I imagine the rate of fire loss has dropped drastically since smoking became so unpopular.”

I crossed my arms, pursed my lips, and nodded through his entire statement. As hard as I stared I could not unearth a single twitch of the lip. Vayl seemed absolutely sincere. But really, what did a guy who could live forever under the right circumstances care about malignancy?

“You know what,” I said. “Your get-him-while-he’s-zonked idea seems solid. And yet I’m thinking if it had a chance, somebody would’ve made it work a long time ago.”

Vayl held up a finger. “Ah, but you see, this somebody you speak of never had you.” He pointed the finger at me and I still had to fight the urge to look over my shoulder.
Who, me?

“Vayl—”

“Tonight we will scout out the most likely locations. And then tomorrow you and Cole will revisit those locations as well as any others you can think of. If you sense any vampires—what is that word?—Ah, yes:
bam
.”