“Stop!” I stepped between them, holding out my arms, too aware of how my hands were shaking. I dropped them before it showed, pissed that Sterling’s shining power was partial y fueled by me.
I said, “Kyphas, you know exactly what wil happen to you if you break your contract. So go stuff your face with some damn eggs until you’ve calmed down enough to pretend you’re normal. And you—” I turned to Sterling. “Get it through your thick skul that I need her, at least for now.”
“Why?” Such a reasonable question. But my eyes were drooping so badly now that even if I wanted to tel him I thought she would be the one to find the Rocenz for us, I’d probably be asleep before I could make any sense of it for him. So I said, “Cole, tel him everything you think he needs to know. I’m going back to bed. You’re in charge of Vayl’s safety until I wake up again.”
“Okay,” Cole said. “Just remember, he’s going to want a reply to that letter.”
“Fine. I’l do one before my nap.”
Which turned out to be a good thing. Because the person who woke me up, with a tooth-clicking shoulder shake that made me feel somewhat queasy, was Vayl.
CHAPTER TEN
Madame Berggia, how can you be sleeping at a time like this!” I opened my eyes. Vayl’s face, hovering inches above my own, had locked down so tight I could see the muscles jumping in his jaws.
I shot up in bed, pul ing Grief out from under my pil ow as I did so. “What’s wrong?”
“Your husband says you have a note for me from the Lady Jasmine. Why did you not bring it to me the instant I rose?”
I loosened my grip on the gun. “What time is it?”
“Eight in the evening. Why are you abed? Are you il ? It matters not. Where is the letter? I must have it!” Just remember, eventually he stopped being an asshole, I told myself as I swung my feet onto the floor. I would’ve glared at him, but why waste a perfectly good expression on the broad back of a clueless vampire? He’d turned away from me, so anxious to read the letter that he’d begun to search for it himself.
“Hey!” I yel ed. “Get outta my trunk!”
He rose to his ful height, holding his cane in one hand and a pair of black pantyhose in the other. “What are these?” he asked, hefting the hose. “They seem not to stop where garters would be required.”
I put my hand to my chest because, seriously, I thought my heart might’ve skipped a couple of beats. It was the first time he’d seen my clothing as something not straight out of a museum. “They’re a new invention,” I said. “They stay up al by themselves.”
He dropped the cane, not even noticing as it clattered against the rug, and used both hands to stretch the waistband. “Fascinating.”
“Yeah. Uh, how did you… sleep?”
He shrugged. “As usual.”
“And when you woke up? How did you feel?” He dropped the hose. “I could think of nothing but the woman whose portrait Berggia showed me yesterday. Her face has begun to haunt me. Come, where is the letter? I cannot wait for it a moment longer.”
“Geez, quit being such a freaking Romeo before I have to gag or something. Here.” I trudged over to the bed table.
I couldn’t remember half of what I’d written, I’d been so tired at the time. That’s the last time I touch you, Sterling, you damn leech!
Vayl was so excited to read it that he rushed to the table before me, and for a few moments we stood together, two people sharing space meant for one. He was bent over, ful y involved in the message I’d left, his hands flat on either side of the ivory stationery as if to keep it from flying off and leaving him stranded there.
He’d turned the lamp on. He didn’t need it, but he’d probably done it for my sake, so as not to freak out the old gal during her rude awakening. I was glad of the light, though. It gave me the chance to fol ow the dance of his short, dark curls across his head and down to the strong expanse of his neck. My fingers ached to glide down that path, to slide under the col ar of his dark almond shirt and feel the muscles of his back move under my hands. He stil wore suspenders, which I found oddly charming, and tonight they held up a pair of gray pinstriped trousers that made it real y hard to look away from his ass. But I managed it when he shoved the paper into my face.
“The words look lovely, almost as if she painted them.
Tel me what they say.”
Tel me what they say.”
I tried to back up, but the bed got in my way, so I ended up bouncing on my butt a couple of times as he moved toward the bench. I watched him get comfortable. “You want me to… read it out loud?”
“Yes.”
“Won’t you be embarrassed?”
“Not unless you run out and tel everyone in the street what you have just read.” He stared me down, and I discovered a spectacular reserve of happiness saved just for this moment when I rejoiced not to have ever been one of his victims.
“No. I wouldn’t.”
“That is what I thought.” He nodded. “Proceed.” I held up the paper, tried to ignore the pain behind my eye that signaled the beginning of a nasty headache, and began reading.
My Own Vasil,
Can you imagine how happy your letter made me? Before it came I was falling into the worst kind of despair. But now I have hope. Maybe heroes exist after all, and you are mine. But the way will not be easy. Because you cannot see me, my love. If I stood next to you and whispered, “I love you,” into your ear, you would not hear it. Some prisons are so hard to break free from that it seems nearly impossible to think that we could ever be together. But I believe in miracles, Vasil. So come if you can. Try your hardest to see me, and I believe you will.
Your own love,
Jasmine
I’d dropped my head into my hand at the last line.
Embarrassed to have to read it out loud, but also feeling every word to my core, I knew my knees just wouldn’t hold me anymore. When I looked up, Vayl was gone.
I scrambled to my trunk, puled out the Party Line, and stuck the pieces into place. “Bergman! Vayl’s gone! I mean, I don’t know where he is, but I’m assuming he went out to hunt or something. Have you got him?”
“Hang on.” I heard the tapping of keys. Bergman said,
“Yeah. Looks like he’s heading to the Djemaa el Fna.” I grabbed Grief, my holster, and the jacket that hid both.
“He’s headed to that Seer’s place. Find the address for me, then tel Cole and Sterling to meet me there.”
“Okay, but… okay.”
I weaponed up, threw on the jacket, and ran down the stairs. Each step felt like a nail in my skul . Ignoring the pain, I slammed out the doors, gasping a little at the change between the cool, air-conditioned riad and hot, dry Marrakech.
People fil ed the sidewalks, and as I moved toward the old city’s central square, I passed an equal number of gaping tourists, bright-eyed immigrants, and smiling natives. Some of the last bunch felt I couldn’t live another day without their services, but I turned them al down and, miraculously, they moved on, probably uninterested in keeping up with my pace, which was nearing a run.