“Are you infected?” demanded Amazon Grace, jumping off her stool and heading for the living room. She grabbed Jet and Cam, tried to drag them with her, but they didn’t seem interested in budging. “She’s going to give you guys some fatal disease,” Grace warned them. When they still refused to stand up, she snarled something unintelligible, let go of their shirts, and stomped out of the room.
“It’s not something you can get through the air,” I told them. “Probably not even by touching. I think you have to actually kill somebody.”
“Which you obviously did tonight,” said Natchez, his upper lip curling at the sight I made.
“I’ll fill you all in, I promise. Just let me get a shower first, okay? Actually,” — I turned to Cassandra — “what I really need is some holy water.”
Half an hour later, anointed and bathed, realizing I should feel tons better and feeling a fat lot of nothing instead, I headed back toward the kitchen. I passed the guys’ room on the way. Vayl had closed the door, but I could sense him behind it. The anger came again, and before it could leave I grabbed it. Held hard to it, though it tried to wriggle out of my hands like the slick little eel it had become.
I threw open the door and strode into the room. “Where the hell were you?” I demanded.
He sat on a beautifully crafted blue and white rug within a circle of stones, his hands resting in his lap. His expression, serene as a Buddhist monk’s, didn’t change when I barged in. But his eyes, already a troubled oceanic blue, darkened to purple. Any other time I might’ve taken a second to wonder why Vayl, sitting alone, preparing for an event meant to lead to the fulfillment of a centuries’ long quest, had reason to be upset about anything. But the clock was ticking on my wave of anger and I had more urgent business to deal with.
“What do you mean?” he asked smoothly. He stood, I think because he didn’t like looking up at me as I glared down at him.
Stay mad
, I told myself. Not an easy order to obey considering my circumstances. And the fact that Vayl had already changed for bed. All he wore was a pair of white silk drawstring pajama bottoms that left very little to the imagination. And mine had kicked into overdrive.
I resolutely kept my eyes on his as I said, “While you were out playing Turn the Seer, four reavers nearly killed me. Not to mention twenty or thirty mahghul. You’re supposed to be my boss. You
said
we were partners.”
“What are mahghul?” Vayl asked, allowing his eyes to wander to the bed, which already held his sleeping tent. He didn’t even seem interested.
“We saw them at the hanging!” I informed him hotly. “They attack killers and their victims. They suck away all your emotions and leave you fucking numb, Vayl. They were on me. You wanna see?” I turned around and lifted my tunic, gave him a good five seconds to survey the damage. When I felt the tips of his fingers brush my back I jerked my shirt down and spun around.
I didn’t want to recognize the expression on his face. In my opinion, you shouldn’t have to see that kind of grief on a person more than once in your life. David had worn that look sixteen months ago when he’d walked into my kitchen just in time to watch me destroy his wife.
“What have you done?” he’d yelled, running to the spot where she’d stood only seconds before, begging for entry. So she could tear my throat out.
“She made me promise,” I told him through chattering teeth. I’d begun to shake head to toe. I put my newly named gun on the table before I accidentally shot myself in the foot and hugged myself. “We vowed to each other that if one of us turned, the other would smoke her.”
He stared at me, his eyes wild and disbelieving. I could tell he wanted to lean down, touch what remained of her clothes, her being, but his broken ribs barely allowed him to stand. His doctor had only consented to release him for our team’s funerals if he’d promise to stay with a family member. Since I lived closest to the cemetery, he’d chosen me.
“You’re lying!” he cried. “Jessie would never make that kind of deal! She’d want to live no matter what!”
“No.” I tried to shake my head, but all it would do was jerk. I swallowed reflexively. No longer just trembling now, I was seizing. Having some sort of convulsive fit that made me feel like I was standing on top of a jackhammer. I clenched my teeth together, forced myself to talk through them. “
You
want her to live no matter what.”
“You’re such a fucking hypocrite!” David yelled. “If Matt had been standing on your threshold, asking to come in, you’d have thrown open the door. Hell, you’d have slit a wrist for him!”
I didn’t say a word. Useless to tell Dave that Matt and I had made the same deal as I’d had with Jessie. What did it matter anyway? If he wanted to be mad at me, if that helped him get through this nightmare, let him. It was the least I could do.
I dug my fingernails into my sides, sank them deep and concentrated on the pain. It helped. Kept me from taking the next step, which was walking over to the wall and banging my head against it till I passed out.
“I can’t stand the sight of you for another second,” he said, spitting the words like venom. “I’m getting out of here.”
I nodded, too wounded by my own terrible losses to let this new hurt do more than take its place in line. While he went to his room to pack, I took a few minutes to pull myself together. Then I gathered up Jessie’s remains. They made a pitifully small pile for such a bright, vibrant woman. I put them in a cedar-lined box that Granny May had given me when I was a little girl and handed it to Dave on his way out.
“It’s what’s left of her,” I said. “You can keep it or bury it. Whatever you want.” Tears sprang into his eyes as he took the box from me. “I loved her, Dave. I loved them all.”
He nodded. “You may have. But you were in charge. So it’s your fault they’re dead.”
I’d nodded.
Yes. My fault, my fault, my fault . . .
Later he’d sort of apologized for that last remark. But he’d never really forgiven me for Jessie. And I still didn’t blame him. I guess I’d never pursued another real conversation about her with him after that because I hadn’t wanted to see that expression on his face again. But here it was, plastered across Vayl’s visage like a movie on a screen.
“Cirilai did not warn me,” he said.
“Vayl, this ring is better than a hotel wake-up call. You must’ve felt
something
. It’s been zapping me left and right about you.”
He dropped his head. Shook it a few times. When he looked up again, his whole face seemed to have tightened, as if a decade’s worth of worries had suddenly dropped on his head. “What do you think this means?”
“Why are you asking me? It’s your ring. You should know why you’ve become disconnected from it.”
From what it represents. Come on, pal, isn’t it obvious
?
He threw back his shoulders. Determined, it seemed, to soldier on despite the growing evidence against the wisdom of his current course of action. “It does not matter. You are obviously fine. Our mission is still on course for completion. And Zarsa will be ready for the turning by week’s end. Everything is on track.” By the tone in his voice, I thought he was trying to convince himself more than me. Normally I would’ve grabbed him by the shirt and shaken some sense into him. But at the moment I couldn’t find one give-a-crap bone in my body.
“Okay,” I said. I turned to go.
“What did you say?”
I looked over my shoulder. Why would he be mad? I’d just agreed with him. “I said fine. You’re right. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to —”
“I most definitely
do
mind!”
I turned back to face him, always a good choice when dealing with a madman. “Vayl,” I said gently, so as not to push him clear off the deep end, “what is it that you want?”