Immortal Moon (17 page)

“Sam already knows,” Jarrett sighed.

She grinned and flipped open the leather
case covering the scry-crystal. “Oh, good. That means he can tell
me now.”

Jarrett groaned. If it were any other agent,
he’d tell them to give it their best shot. But Sam would tell
Fiona. And not just because he doted on her like a childless uncle
with his favorite niece. But because Fiona was one of the best
agents Nash City had to offer. The fact that she wasn’t a member of
any special division was owed solely to the fact that she had
family and didn’t want to be unable to communicate with them for
months, even years, at a time. She was also trustworthy. Sam
trusted her with his life, as did Jarrett.

If she made the call, Sam would tell her
everything. And as a consequence of Jarrett not telling her
himself, she’d stay pissed at him for a few days. He might as well
avoid that.

“Put the scry-crystal down. I’ll tell you.”
He let out another put-upon sigh. “I don’t have to explain that
this is top-secret Kukri op intel?”

“Yeah, yeah, pain of death, cross my heart,
poke my eye out with a stick. Whatever,” she rolled her eyes at him
as she slid the crystal back into its case and then into her
pocket.

Jarrett couldn’t help but laugh at her utter
lack of respect for the rules.

“Have you ever heard of Dread, or Captain
Dread?” he asked.

Fiona looked thoughtful. “Yeah, I think so.
Hardcore slaver and vampire elitist. He was on the most wanted list
for a while.”

“That’s the one. As a slaver he was bad
enough, but as long as he stayed out of Allied City-States, we
didn’t have much of a beef with him. But like you said, he was a
vampire elitist. He believed all other races—norm, mage, and
shifter—should be killed or subjugated under vampire rule. He
started collecting quite the cult following. Touted himself as a
captain in the war against inferior beings.”

Fiona shuddered. “Ugh. Real peach of a
guy.”

Jarrett nodded. “Yep, a prince among men.
Anyway, as he grew his cult, he got more and more bold. His crew
started venturing into Allied City-States and their territories to
abduct people to sell as slaves.”

“He must have worked primarily in the south.
As far as I know he never came to Nash.”

“He didn’t. He operated mostly in the
southwest, but he was quickly venturing out. He went from being a
nuisance to being a real problem. It became clear he had to be
eliminated, but his following had grown to the point that he had
cells in multiple areas. We needed intel.”

Fiona nodded, knowingly. “An agent was sent
in undercover. This Cora you were screaming at him about.”

“Yes. She was a Kukri. Her mission was to
infiltrate, get as close to Dread as possible, and get intel. Then,
once we had an idea of his operation, she was to take him out.”

“But she didn’t?”

Jarrett shook his head. “No. She was in his
inner circle within six months. She was a fount of information. She
gave her handler a lot of intel, but about a year after she got
into the inner circle, the information stopped coming. She stopped
contacting her handler. I was sent to track them down, assassinate
Dread, and if she were still alive, pull Cora out.”

“You didn’t find her?”

Jarrett let out a humorless laugh. “I found
her in Detroit. In bed next to Dread.”

Fiona’s eyes went wide. “Wow. What did you
do?”

“My job. Slit his throat and put a knife in
his heart and twisted. Cora woke and I tried to get her out, but
she went crazy. She was hysterical. She was screaming at me that
she loved him. Python, Dread’s right hand man, came in. We fought.
They escaped to the roof of the building.”

In Jarrett’s mind he could see the rain
slicked, crumbling rooftop and Cora standing there naked with
Dread’s blood all over her.

“What happened, how did they get away?”
Fiona asked, pulling Jarrett back to the here and now.

“They had a hot air balloon. It was raining,
so they were having a hard time taking off. Python was in the
balloon and Cora was still on the roof ledge. I put a throwing star
through the balloon and a knife through Python’s heart. Well,
obviously, I put it near his heart. He fell out of the balloon and
into the sea below. Cora kept shrieking at me that I’d taken
everything from her. I tried to persuade her to come with me, but
she said she could never go back to being a Blade. Then, she jumped
off the ledge and into the sea. There were a lot of rocks.”

Fiona sat for a long time, obviously
speechless. “I have no idea what to say. That had to be awful. Do
you think she was really in love with Dread?”

“I kept telling myself she was brainwashed,
but I’m not so sure. Anyway, that was eight months ago. I was
convinced she hadn’t died. It is damned hard to kill a vampire,
after all. But there was no trace of her body, and I couldn’t find
any trace of her in the area. I’ve been searching since. But every
lead was a dead end, and I just closed the case when I came back to
Nash a few days ago.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t put everything in
the report.”

Jarrett shook his head. “The report says
killed in the line of duty. Without further information, that is
exactly what happened. Officially she fell from the building into
the sea below during a struggle with her captors while I was
rescuing her.”

“I’m sorry. That blows. I can see why you
freaked out at Wet Willy’s tonight. I’m still pissed over it, but I
can understand.”

Jarrett gave her a weak smile. “I really am
sorry about that. I just lost my head.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I
think there’s more to this than you are telling me.”

“Nothing relevant,” he said. He’d had enough
emotional revelations for the night, he wasn’t about to explain his
history with Cora right now.

She nodded. “Okay. Well, it’s all done now.
Come on, brother, let’s go get drunk. I’m buying.”

He followed her to the roof door. “You are
part owner of the bar, you get alcohol for free.”

She grinned. “I know. That’s why I’m
buying.”

The
public market was dead compared to market week. The rest of the
month traveling merchants filtered in and set up shop for a few
days alongside the local merchants, blacksmiths, jewelers, and
other trade and craft people that had permanent stalls at the
market. So, though it wasn’t as bustling as it had been two weeks
ago, there was still plenty for Farrah and me to browse on our
afternoon out.

It was my regular night off, and I’d talked
Pinky into giving Farrah a few hours off for the afternoon so we
could have a girls’ day out.

“What do you think of this one?” I held up a
dark grey corset.

Farrah looked up from where she was browsing
the clothing booth’s wares. “Oh, definitely. It will go perfectly
over that strapless, red dress you bought earlier. Pair it with
those black short boots you own, and you have the perfect
night-out-on-the-town outfit.”

“I think you’re right.” I turned to the
proprietor of the stall. “I’ll take it.”

“Jarrett’s tongue will flop out when he sees
you in that outfit,” Farrah said as we moved to the next stall.

I laughed. “That’s the plan. You know, since
you’re going to be working in the pub a night or two a week, you
should buy yourself a few pretty things.”

Farrah snorted. “It doesn’t seem to matter
what I wear, after a few drinks the men are going to make passes at
me no matter what.”

I looked at her for a long moment as she
browsed through a pile of colorful scarves. From what Fiona had
told me, Farrah had once been quite the party girl. As one would
expect, being abducted by a madman had changed her. An air of
depression seemed to hover around her, though she always smiled
when spoken to, and always seemed to try to be helpful and
cheerful. I suspected that part of the problem was that she’d lived
with a certain amount of confidence in her appearance, but either
no longer had it, or no longer wanted men to see her as
attractive.

“You know what,” I said, picking up a floral
scarf. “I don’t wear my clothes, or put on makeup, or do my hair
for men. I do all of it for myself. Because it makes me feel good.
Yes, that red dress will make Jarrett forget his name tonight, but
it’s not the fabric that will do the job. It will be the way I wear
it. The way I feel in my skin while in the dress, and the
confidence and sexiness I’ll project.”

“I don’t think I can be as confident as you.
I don’t think I ever was.” She looked at me doubtfully. “I used to
act like I was queen bee, but I never really felt it. And I don’t
want to be that girl ever again.”

I tried another way of explaining.

“I’m not saying you should be, Farrah. I’m
not talking about projecting a false confidence, or trying to get
the attention of others. It only matters how you feel about
yourself. Have you ever noticed that Fiona is, more often than not,
in dirty khakis and the same, worn-out leather vest?”

Farrah’s brow furrowed. “Not really. I don’t
really notice her clothes.”

“But you are a girl who usually notices
clothes, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. I have always
liked wearing pretty things, I suppose. Yeah, I like clothes.”

“But you don’t notice that Fiona barely
takes time to brush her hair most days, because she projects
confidence. She is most comfortable in khaki or leather pants,
combat boots, and her multi-pocketed vests. The only thing that
ever changes is the color of her shirt. And don’t get me started on
that belt she wears.” I shook my head. “The point is, she feels so
confident in her own skin, when she’s in those clothes her
confidence is all you notice. What about River?”

Farrah smiled. Everyone usually did when
they thought of my baby sister. “She always looks very pretty.”

“Yes, she does. But did you realize that she
only has about five of those flowy dresses she wears over and over?
She’ll wait until one has unmendable holes before making a new one.
Not because she has to, but because that is what she is comfortable
in. She also doesn’t use any of the cosmetics she makes for me,
except the hydrating cream.”

Farrah’s expression told me what I was
saying was starting to register. “So, what you are saying is I need
to wear things that make me feel confident and like ‘me’. But, I’m
not sure what that is.”

“You strike me as a girl who really likes
pretty things. But you brought very little with you when you came
to live with us. You only have a couple of pants and tops, and they
are all a little drab. You don’t seem comfortable in them. You are,
of course, welcome to borrow anything I have, but I think you would
feel better if you had a few pieces that you really liked, that you
picked out. Clothes won’t solve all your problems, whatever they
may be, but feeling good about yourself is a huge step in the right
direction.”

The shopkeeper, who had been standing behind
the table listening to our conversation, said, “She’s not wrong,
honey. Wearing something that makes you feel nice, no matter how
pretty or ugly anyone else thinks it is, can really lift your
spirit.”

“I’ll prove it. Pick a scarf, any scarf,” I
told Farrah, gesturing to some of the more expensive scarves hung
along the back of the stall. “Pick out the scarf you think is the
prettiest.”

After dithering a moment, Farrah pointed to
a large green and gold scarf hanging just behind the
shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper smiled, wiped her hands on
her apron, and retrieved the scarf. “A lovely choice.”

“Here, let’s try it on.” I helped Farrah
drape the scarf across her shoulders.

It looked beautiful on her. The gold in the
scarf matched some of the golden highlights in her blonde hair, and
the shades of emerald and gold picked up the same hues in the
flecks of her eyes. But my point was proven when the shopkeeper
held up a dusty mirror. The moment Farrah saw her reflection, her
entire face changed. She smiled the biggest, most genuine smile I’d
seen since I met her.

“You look just lovely, my dear,” the
shopkeeper said.

“Thank you.”

“Do you like it?” I asked.

She looked at me, her smile wide. “I do. I
think you were right. I do need to have more pretty things in my
life.”

“Good to see someone listens to me,” I said.
Then I looked at the shopkeeper. “We’ll take it. My treat.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I have money,” Farrah
said.

“Yes, you do. But I know how much Pinky pays
you, and you’d blow half a week’s pay on that scarf. As for me, I
won an obscene amount of money on a fight I was in last week. Pinky
won’t let me spend fight winnings on household things, and I
already have way too many clothes. So, you are going to let me
treat you today, and not just the scarf.”