"Feeling better?" Cole asked, cocking a raised eyebrow in my direction.
"Much."
"That wasn't an act, was it?"
I shook my head. "There's something so far off about that man that every time I get near him I feel like the earth's about to break orbit."
Cole absorbed my reply with quiet attention. "Then we'd better find out what he's up to. Are you hearing anything yet?"
"No talking. Kind of a steady thrumming sound. Knowing Bergman this thing is so fine-tuned I'll be able to hear Derek's pulse but his conversation will sound like Charlie Brown's teacher. Wa, wa-wa, wa, wa."
"Who's Bergman?"
I held up a finger. "Someone's talking," I whispered.
"—Assan isn't too happy with you," said one of the guards. His voice was throaty and strained, probably lined with decades of nicotine buildup. I immediately dubbed him the Marlboro Man.
"I was just following orders." It was Derek—whining. "It's not my fault somebody decided to play superhero."
"Who was it?"
"A girl with red hair and a man with a foreign accent. He had a cane. Said his name was Jeremy. I don't remember anything more about her."
"Well between them they managed to smoke Jonathon and both your victims."
Jonathon must've been the doorman. It seemed strange to think of Boris and Svetlana as Steele's victims, but that had been her take on the situation last night as well. The final experiment, my mind whispered, transferring the mutated virus from human to vampire. What did that do to the vamp? What did it do to the virus?
"The Tor-al-Degan's ritual is tomorrow. The senator's even coming," chided the Marlboro Man.
"How should I know that?" asked Derek. "I just do what he tells me, and he never tells me more."
"Well here's what he's telling you now," said the other guard, his voice hard and sharp as an axe blade.
A loud, scraping sound drowned out part of Axe's message. Derek must've scratched his neck, or else gulped loudly, because all I heard was, "—Undead tonight, and you're snagging him two new vampires."
"Tonight?" The whine had reentered Derek's voice. I suspected it never stepped very far aside. "I've lost so much blood. Surely tomorrow—"
"—will be too late," snapped Marlboro Man.
Again the interference kept me from getting the complete reply.
"—afterwards?" said Derek.
"Leave them to us," said Axe. "We'll make sure of it."
The third time was the charm for the bad guys. The sound that had kept parts of their conversation from me resumed in earnest and when it finished, I couldn't hear anything more. Derek had killed the bug.
I looked at my watch. More time had passed than I realized. Time enough, at least, to ensure that I had fully recovered for my next meeting.
"What did they say?" asked Cole.
I hesitated, but he was already in it to his neck. So I told him what I knew. "Have you ever heard of the Tor-al-Degan?" I asked.
"Nope. But I know some people who might have."
"Me too. And I've got to meet Bergman there in half an hour, so let's try her first."
"Works for me." I gave him the address and Cole took the next left, heading us away from Derek and his companions. At least now I knew what destroyed my balance every time I got close to the man. The virus he carried must be as lethal as Aidyn and Assan had advertised. Though why those two thought it needed to become a vampire cocktail I could not fathom. And where the hell did this Tor-al-Degan fit in? Obviously it was a key component in the plan, or Assan wouldn't have been so pissed about his 'final experiment' interfering with the ceremony. And in my experience, senators never showed up anywhere unless it benefited them in some way.
As it did so often, my brain looped back to the original question. Why did Derek need to hook vampires for his vicious little boss? It made no sense, no matter how I looked at it. Hopefully Cassandra would clear up the whole situation.
Chapter Fifteen
Cassandra's Pure & Natural was a tiny brick storefront in a predominantly Cuban neighborhood. Bins of fresh apples, oranges and grapefruit sat on the sidewalk beside the door which was equipped with the most soothing set of chimes I'd ever set off. Inside, the walls and aisles carried a surprisingly wide selection of spices, herbs, vitamins and natural remedies for everything from erectile dysfunction to the common cold.
I asked the cashier, a petite old woman with gleaming white teeth and blinding red hair where we could find Cassandra. She directed us to the back of the store, where shelves full of fresh-baked breads, rolls and sugar-free desserts made my stomach growl.
As soon as Cole caught sight of Cassandra he yanked off his glasses, spat out his fake teeth and wrapped them in his fishing hat, which went into the waistband of his sweats. Literally. He'd probably have to cut the lure to separate them. But at the moment he seemed pretty oblivious. All his concentration centered on Cassandra as she added some bran muffins to a glass case that already contained a full load of fiber-filled goodies for folks forced to make regularity a priority.
A slender beauty with black velvet skin and hair that fell in braids to her waist, Cassandra moved with the grace of a dancer. She wore a canary yellow blouse, red flowered skirt, beaded moccasins and enough gold jewelry to keep e-bay shoppers bidding for weeks.
"How may I help you?" she asked in an accent that made my Midwestern drawl sound pale and asexual.
"My name is Lucille Robinson," I said. "This is my friend, Cole Bemont." He nodded, doing a nice job of keeping his drool in check. "I—we—need a translation."
She nodded. "I assume you heard of me through a mutual acquaintance?"
"Yes, um, you would probably know him as Vayl."
Instant sympathy filled her warm brown eyes, but all she said was, "Yes, I remember him." She leaned aside, caught the cashier's eye and said, "We're going upstairs for awhile, Rita." To us she said, "Follow me, please."
Cole managed to keep his tongue from rolling out onto the stairs as we trailed Cassandra's swinging hips to the second floor. It made me laugh inwardly to see him, smitten, as it were. But I was glad I'd seen the show. It confirmed my feelings for him. I might love him someday, but never in the way I'd loved Matt. Never in the way I could, maybe, if I found the guts, love Vayl.
When we reached the landing at the top of the stairs I was surprised to find the three doors that opened to it, well, open. The one to our left revealed an apartment's living room and kitchen. A bathroom stood directly in front of us and a gypsy den sat on our right. That's where Cassandra led us, into a large room, the walls of which were covered in silky materials that ranged from blood red solids to dark gold prints. The new colors I saw within those familiar shades pleased my eye and my spirit. Somehow, despite the fringed pillows on the black couches and the multitude of candles on the large central table, the room maintained an exotic dignity.
Four dark wooden chairs with more curlicues than Shirley Temple sat around the table, which must've been crafted soon after Vayl's transformation. Cassandra sank into one of the chairs and motioned for us to join her.
"I sensed that I would be entertaining three visitors today," she said, her voice as satiny as the wall coverings. "Are you expecting another?"
"Actually, yes, we are meeting a friend here. He should be arriving any time now," I said.
Cassandra nodded, the golden studs that lined her ears shining with reflected light. "Rita will send him up when he arrives. Would you like to show me what you need translated?"
I pulled the paper Cole had traced the symbols on out of my front pocket. I took care not to touch her as I handed it to her. Vayl might need the services of a Seer, but I preferred to leave my future a blank. My new senses told me that if Cassandra touched me, she would tell me things I didn't want to hear. I was inclined to believe them.