"I suppose you find this room a bit over the top," said Vayl, making me jump and squeal.
"What is the deal with you tonight?" And how come you keep showing up just when I'm trying not to think of how long it's been since I've had sex?
He shrugged. "I am, how do you say, feeling my oats, perhaps?" He'd let a trace of his original accent creep into his voice. His left eyebrow moved upward a couple of notches. I forgot to breathe as I wondered just how many women had lost themselves in those emerald green eyes. Over nearly three hundred years? Don't make me laugh. And don't think about him that way anymore. You're his assistant. Period.
I sighed, feeling a whole new level of bummed. "Well, I'm not. I was supposed to hang out with my sister tonight, not hop a flight to Miami. She's already mad that I missed Christmas, and if this trip triggers her labor I'm never forgiving myself. Or you. So can we just start the briefing? The quicker this is over the faster I can crawl home." And grovel. At the knees of my kid sister. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
He checked his pocket watch. "All right," he said, "the party is in two hours and, knowing women as I do, it will probably take you at least half that time just to get dressed."
I knew Vayl wasn't complaining, but since I already felt vulnerable, the comment cut me. And when I bleed, I get pissed. It's like he's implying a tough girl like me needs a miracle to transform herself into a beautiful lady and, as we all know, miracles take time. What an ass!
His touch, bare fingers on my cheek, startled me. I could tell by his feverish warmth that he'd eaten when he woke at sunset. The decent vamps, the ones who were trying to blend, all fed without killing. Many had willing donors. Others bought their blood from one of two government licensed suppliers. More would likely pop up as vamps like Vayl made obvious the advantages of integration.
He said, "I have offended you."
"Actually, yeah, you have." I shook my head to dislodge his hand. It felt a little too… nice. "It's okay, though," I said, my anger deflating somewhat in response to his stricken expression. "People ought to be able to point out the truth, or at least give it a nod on the way past without other people getting all freaked out about it."
"I have no idea what you just said."
"Good. Now," I took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the doors, "let me unpack and I'll meet you in the pit, um, living room in five minutes."
He left me alone to empty my trunk. I didn't. I sat on the bed, fished a pack of cards out of my bag and began to shuffle them. Blend, bend, bridge, over and over I shuffled the dog-eared pack until Evie's tears, my ghosts, Vayl's unintended insult and the immense suckage of the holidays, which I'd spent equally blacking out and melting down, receded beneath the steady thrum of the cards.
Vayl had draped himself across one of the couches when I came into the living room. All he needed was an ivy crown and some half-dressed bimbo fanning him with palm fronds between bites of grapes and he'd have been a dead ringer for a gorgeous Julius Caesar.
Aw, who was I kidding, he'd probably palled around with the man before Cleopatra showed up and ruined all their fun. I sank down on the couch opposite him, curling my feet underneath me. "Getting into character?"
"We are going to a $5,000 a plate charity dinner/dance. Our target has only invited the crème de la crème of society. He will expect both of us to behave with a certain amount of savoir faire."
"Let me see if I can translate your bullshit, um, I mean French. We're supposed to be a couple of big spenders?"
"Yes," he replied, raising his eyebrow a disapproving tick at my language.
"So who's the target?"
"A plastic surgeon of Pakistani origin. His name is Mohammed Khad Abn-Assan and he has either lifted, tucked or liposuctioned half of Hollywood. I understand several of his celebrity clients will be there tonight."
"And here I left my autograph book in my other purse. So what's the charity?"
"It is called New Start. It brings in millions of dollars a year, supposedly to pay for reconstructive surgery for child victims of disfiguring accidents."
"Cool. Only I'm guessing the kids will never see a dime."
"Highly doubtful considering the fact that Assan is diverting most of those funds into the Sons of Paradise."
"Whoa, hang on just a second. The Sons of Paradise? Are you telling me we're going to hit a financial bastion of the most extreme of the extremist terrorist groups?" Vayl nodded. "Awesome!" Those assholes will be dining on sand and pisswater by the time we're finished with Dr. Bankroller. "But you said they're only getting most of the money. Why not all of it?"
Vayl's eyes hardened, black obsidian even the most penetrating stare couldn't break. "Sources say he uses the rest to perform surgery on members of the organization who cannot afford to look like their Most Wanted posters anymore."
That got my motor running. "What a creep."
"The world is full of them."
"You're telling me. It's good there's people like us around to balance things out."
"What is this optimistic talk I hear coming from your mouth?" Vayl asked. "Are you Jasmine's evil clone, come to lull me into fluffy white thoughts so you can stake me in my sleep?"
"At best your thoughts are pink. Kind of like this carpet." Vayl's eyes lightened suddenly, a trait that will make you do a double-take if you're not used to it. The vamps I'd known before him didn't have that particular ability, but then it wasn't really fair to compare. Vamps have their individual gifts and weaknesses, just like humans. The one sitting across from me, for instance, wore his eighty-year string of successful missions like a mantle. He had infiltrated the most exclusive factions, beaten the highest tech security systems, faced the most powerful supernatural forces ever seen on earth and won. So why did he need me? After six months he still hadn't given me a plausible explanation.
"Anything else you want to tell me?" I asked.
"Assan has never before been more than a link in a chain. But as far as we can tell he has suddenly gained great power within the Sons of Paradise. We believe he has brought them a new partner, one with the money and clout to rock this country to its core. There is not much chatter about this person or persons, but when you listen to the whispers you hear scary things."
"You mean scarier than usual things?"
Vayl nodded.
"I don't suppose this partner has any Raptor markings on him?" The Raptor was a rising star on our potential hit list. Both Vayl and I knew we'd have to go after him eventually. His lethal mix of charisma and savagery along with rumors that he'd accepted fealty oaths from a dozen large nests, two covens of black witches in Scotland and several packs of Spanish weres had made him the subject of several of Pete's bulletins.
"Not so far." Vayl ran his fingers across the black cane that lay beside him on the couch. A museum piece, it had been hand-carved in India and was almost as famous around the office as its owner. A procession of intricately detailed tigers marched around the leg of the cane up to a gold band, which separated it from the multifaceted blue jewel that topped it. When you twisted the head, the tigers shot away from it, revealing a hand-hammered sword whose maker had been dust for centuries. I hadn't expected to see the cane until the party. It was unusual for Vayl to carry it with him here, where he should've felt safe. Where I'd felt pretty cozy myself. I sat up straighter and looked around the room.