Cole stood up, speaking quickly so our newest party guest wouldn’t run off before we could take advantage of his native knowledge. When it seemed like he’d run out of words I said, “Tel him we want to show him a picture and I want to know where in the city he thinks it’s located. Tel him I’d be very grateful if he’d think hard about what it could be before he says anything.”
I nodded to Sterling, who handed Yousef the map. He glanced so casual y at the writing that I decided he couldn’t read it. But the drawing he seemed to recognize right away, because he began speaking almost immediately.
“Of course!” Cole translated. “This is the tannery! It has been here for centuries! You should come see. I wil give you a tour.” He slapped himself on the chest proudly. “I give the skins second life.”
Big aha! moment when I suddenly realized why Yousef and Kamal had smel ed so rank and looked so—mustardy
—the first time Cole and I had run into them. And why they’d been holding bath supplies. When you work at a place that makes you wish for a gas mask, you’re definitely going to hit the hammam after work so you can dip yourself in scented soap and aftershave.
As Yousef chattered Cole explained. “Tanning is not just turning hides into leather for them. It’s mystical, watching the skin of a dead creature be reborn under their hands. These guys are also considered lords of fertility so, uh”—Cole started to grin—“if you’re having some problems in the baby-making department he says he’d be more than happy to lend you a hand.”
“I’m set,” I said. And I meant it. So why had Vayl gone so stil al of a sudden?
Cole went on. “He also says the tannery is considered to be the entrance to the world of the dead. And that some of the men who work there, even today, know how to open and close the doorway.”
I looked at my sverhamin. “What do you suppose that means?” I asked.
He arched an eyebrow. “It means our map is genuine.” He stepped forward, pul ing out his wal et. By the way Yousef’s eyes bugged at the handful of euros he pul ed out, it probably amounted to more than he made in six months.
I watched them—a dark, childless Rom who’d taken two centuries to master his craving for blood leaning over the sun-baked tanner with the caterpil ar mustache—and couldn’t imagine more different men. Yet here they stood, bound by their connection to Marrakech and me.
As Vayl said, “We need a guide,” and Yousef pocketed the bil s, I let myself wonder if the tanner could help him in another way. Vayl had been savaged by his sons’ murders, but his grief hadn’t kept him from adopting Helena. And despite his medieval attitudes at the time, he’d stil managed to be a good dad to her. To me, that said he stil wanted the role. Needed it maybe. What if Yousef real y was a fertility guru? What if he—and I—could make Vayl’s dream come true?
I shook my head. Shoved the thoughts into the Miracle Basket at the back of my brain, which, as far as I knew, was directly connected to an incinerator. Because crazy thoughts could not be tolerated inside my skul . Especial y not when they had to share space with a Domytr.
Besides, I had to keep up with Yousef, who’d brought bewildering passion to his new job. In fact, he shot out of the room like the cops were on his tail. Didn’t even look back, just assumed we wanted to get there as bad as he wanted to earn his money.
We ran after him, only barely avoiding an embarrassing body jam at the door because I beat the guys out and Vayl clapped Sterling and Cole’s shoulders together before shoving them forward. Somehow we al kept our feet and raced down the stairs after our guide, hoping his slap-happy sandals didn’t attract Monique. Unfortunately, she was waiting for us at the bottom, cel phone in hand.
“I have many friends,” she cal ed as we swept past her.
“If it’s an earthquake, I need to know who to cal !”
“We think we can stop it from here!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Hunker down and wait for more news. We’l be back soon!” I hope.
“What about Miles?” she cried as Yousef slammed out the front door.
Cole answered for me. “Take care of him for us, wil ya?”
Though I expected Yousef to be three blocks ahead of us, he was beside the Galaxie when we reached the street.
As we piled in, Vayl shoved Yousef to the backseat with Cole and Sterling so he couldn’t cuddle next to me. I grinned
at
my sverhamin,
loving
that
hint
of
possessiveness that I returned with interest. Starting the car felt like loading a gun. I felt my hands begin to shake. I was going to drive my baby to the big showdown!
Vayl put his lips to my ear. “Are you ready to annihilate some demons?”
I thought about Kyphas. And Brude. No more than the grit between my foot and the accelerator. And knew my shiver had as much to do with wasting them as it did Vayl’s hot breath tickling one of my most sensitive spots. When I turned my head his lips hovered next to mine. I stole my smile from his repertoire, just a twitch to show how hard I was working to master my passion as I let my eyelids drop.
“I’m up for it,” I said. Glancing over my shoulder I added,
“Best route, Yousef?”
Cole gave me his reply. “I’l show you. We’l come to the tannery from outside the city, taking the Route Des Remparts to the Bab ed-Debbagh.”
I knew the gate, an arched break in the impressive ochre wal that stretched for miles around the old city, proving that even in the thirteenth century they knew how to turn towns into fortresses.
As I swung the Galaxie into motion I said, “Vayl, do you remember the gate from the last time you were here?” His nod went more up than down. “Helena and I toured the city one day and we saw it then. Legends say that an evil djinn named Malik Gharub is trapped within the gate, so I suggest none of you rub anything that resembles a lamp.”
I glanced over my shoulder, making sure Sterling could see my expression.
“Fine!” he said. “I won’t go after the djinn! Although just a touch could probably fuel me for a year without even sleeping.”
“Why does he want to skip sleep?” Vayl asked me.
“He’s studying to be a Bard,” I said. “Takes time, you know? He’d get there twice as fast if he could skip the Z’s.”
“Ah.”
“Speaking of skipping,” Cole interrupted, “Yousef says there’s a pothole coming up that’s big enough to swal ow us whole. Stay in the middle of the road.”
“Wil do,” I replied. For the rest of the trip I paid attention to the tanner and his interpreter, who continued pointing out the turns and the axle-breakers. I didn’t much mind the backseat driving because, dayum, my new wheels could put the power down! I suddenly wondered… was that al ?
It’d be just like Vayl, having trotted out the big surprise, to hold off on a little one like, “Oh, by the way, I had Bergman make a few modifications,” until he decided it was time to pop the details on me. I vowed to give the girl a good going over as soon as I had a free minute.
Which wasn’t now. Because we’d arrived at the Bab ed-Debbagh, a gray archway topped with a simple array of vertical stones. We parked in a lot outside the gate, piled out, and secured the car, fol owing Yousef onto cobbled streets that turned and twisted so many times before they released us into the city proper we had to wonder how anybody had ever conquered it. This close to dawn we only met a few farmers carting their wares to the souks to be sold later that morning. Otherwise, al we saw were feral cats nosing through piles of trash that had blown against the wal s of neglected red-wal ed homes that might once have housed rich merchants. Now they held the poorest citizens of Marrakech.