Bitten to Death (11 page)

Then what?
asked Granny May, who had a hand full of hearts and was trying to give Sitting Bull the high sign without the others catching on to her cheat.
Seriously, Jasmine, what are you going to accomplish, running from the monster in the closet?

Won’t have to look at him anymore,
I thought mulishly.

I’ll give you that,
Granny admitted.

You sure as hell better. And while you’re at it, tell me what on earth is capable of eating a vampire’s face to the point that it won’t heal back right again
.

He had no eyes. No sockets even. His nose and right cheek were also just . . . gone. And in their place, the stuff you’re never supposed to see. The mass of tissue behind a face. But not clean and excised. This was twisted and scarred, especially just above his upper jaw and at his left cheek.

“Some things you are not meant to survive,” he said, and now that we didn’t have to speak in whispers, the odd twang of his voice struck me, its resonance lost along with his nostrils.

“What did this to you?” I asked.

“I believe you mean who.”

“Not a Were, then?”

He shook his head. I really wished he hadn’t. “Disa,” he whispered.

I slid down the wall until my butt met my heels. “I knew something was wrong about her the second we met. Something just smelled off.”
And now she’s bound herself to Vayl.
I rammed my elbow into the wall, realized it was the one I’d hurt earlier, and gritted my teeth as twitchy pains zoomed from shoulder to fingertips.

He cocked his head at me and I wished I could drape a towel or something equally opaque over his mutilated face. I could hardly bear to witness the damage Disa had done anymore.

Okay, you know what, quit being a goddamn wimp! Your career may have hit the shitter. And your position as Vayl’s . . . whatever . . . may be as shaky as a Parkinson’s patient. But while you’re in the CIA, at least suck it up and act like a pro.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Disa smelled strange? Are you a Sensitive?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, I am. And yeah, she did,” I said. “Like a psychic diaper fire. Now you. Tell me what you can.”

He slumped into himself, raising his hands over his head as if to shield his ravaged face from even the memory of the attack. “I don’t even know you.”

“I would’ve thought sharing a space the size of an ironing board had taken us beyond etiquette, but okay. My name’s Lucille Robinson. I came with Vayl to help negotiate with Edward Samos.”

His chin came up. “Vayl has returned?”

“Eryx invited him. We didn’t know he’d been killed until we arrived tonight.”

“If only we’d known Vayl was coming,” the vampire murmured. “The outcome might have been so different.”

“What do you mean?”

His sigh made me shiver, it sounded so alien. “My name is Blas. I was part of a group in the Trust who did not believe Hamon Eryx died by accident, and who wouldn’t accept Disa as
Deyrar
.”

I remembered Vayl asking Disa about the missing vamps, one of whom had been this creature. “What happened?” I asked.

“It . . . it is difficult to recall. We were all gathered in the dining hall for the Mourning.” Blas sighed. “I won’t bore you with succession of power in a Trust. Suffice it to say that the Articles of Transformation were not scheduled to be read until the next evening.”

Blas paused to listen, as if he’d heard someone coming outside our stifling little elevator to nowhere. I reached out with my own senses and felt nothing except a strengthening desire to LEAVE. I began feeling around for a secret door. I know, I know. But the hope that there was one kept me in that hole, listening to his tragic story when I would have much preferred running straight back to America, my feet pumping so fast I wouldn’t even need a ship to get me across the ocean. Nothing behind me. But to my left my fingers managed to budge a section of wall big enough for me to feel from shoulder to hip. I relaxed by a factor of ten.

Blas continued. “Camelie had just finished reciting ‘McNaight’s Refrain’ when Disa stepped into the Speaker’s circle. It wasn’t her place to talk. Until then she had been but a
knaer
, tolerated at first because Vayl asked it, and then because she showed some aptitude for recruiting willing donors.”

“I claim the chalice!” she cried, pointing dramatically at Hamon’s personal guards, two enormous, mute humans who held the chest containing the golden cup that the new
Deyrar
would drink from after we had all given of our blood to fill it.

“Be silent!” Aine snapped.
She had been Hamon’s Second, and the one we all supposed would succeed him.
“If you can observe the traditions of our Mourning, perhaps tomorrow we will allow you to speak in support of a qualified member.”

“The slap was clear,” Blas said. “No one even acknowledged Disa’s pronouncement. In hindsight, of course, I can say we should never have underestimated her ambition or her brutality. But I am surprised none of us realized what she managed to achieve without revealing her plan to anyone. Arrogance is always the stair that trips you.”

I said, “It doesn’t sound like Disa had any trouble negotiating
her
stairs.”

“No. She had planned for her moment so thoroughly I don’t suppose even
she
could get in her own way. She strode up to Aine, the long tails of her sleeves trailing her like pet snakes. Though Aine was at least six inches taller, Disa seemed to tower over her.

“I don’t think you understand me!” she screamed as she grabbed Aine by the throat. “I am your new
Deyrar
!”

“Get off of me!” Aine choked out the words as she spun her arms under and up to break Disa’s hold. It should have sent the lesser vamp flying. But before the break could occur, Disa’s neck bulged horribly. As if she’d turned bullfrog, a low croak spilled from her lips as the skin of her throat thinned and split. A beaklike appendage shoved through the opening like a blood-covered fist. It flew open to reveal dozens of fleshy pink tendrils that looked quite harmless. In a movement so swift even my eyes could not follow, the tendrils shot at Aine’s head. They caught her just where her hairline began, wrapped around to her chin, and”
—Blas paused, took a ragged breath—
“and sliced off her face.”

I crossed my hands over my chest, as if that could stop the stutter it had begun when it realized the truth. “So Disa’s a Vera?”

“What is that?”

“It’s a CIA term, taken from the name of the first
other
who somehow managed to move beyond the typical boundaries of her biology. Veras learn how to trip a transformational trigger that should take thousands of years. But it’s not a permanent deal. They can swing back and forth between representations. That must be what she meant by evolution. But how’d she do it?”

Blas shook his head, making my blasted ticker pause to flip-flop before it stumbled on its way again. At this rate I’d need a pacemaker before my next birthday. He said, “We have no idea. But vampires are terrible snobs about such impurities. The fact that she had accepted, no, sought a change so radical spoke volumes about the role she had played in the Trust since Vayl brought her in, and how firmly she intended it to change.”

“Yeah, but . . . poor Aine.”

Blas clutched his hands together at the memories. “She tried to scream, but there was nothing left of her to make sounds. The blood gushed from her wounds as she fell to the floor. Not dead. No, never dead.”

“What happened after that?” I asked.

“We rushed Disa. But she had already enlisted Hamon’s guards, as well as Genti and his bunch. The guards took Fielding and Panos with crossbows. Camelie fought Genti and Rastus like a tigress, but in the end they overcame her, taking her head. That left me alone to fight Disa.”

“Wait a second. Where were Niall and Admes? And their guard would’ve still been alive then. I mean, I don’t know the guys. But they don’t seem the types to take something like that sitting down.”

“She had even thought of that. Niall and Admes are, without doubt, the best fighters among us. But when a
Deyrar
dies, the shields that protect Trust lands weaken. As a result, during the Mourning our fiercest warriors must guard our borders. All three were outside the walls, patrolling the edges of our property. Too far to be of any use in the battle. I, alone, was left to destroy the threat.”

His hands, which had been resting on his thighs, balled into fists. “But you can see how that ended. Though I slashed at her with my
cantrantia
, which can liquefy small pockets of flesh and bone, she managed to protect herself quite well. The wounds I caused healed instantly. In return she sent those razor-sharp tentacles slashing at my face.”

“I wonder why . . .” I stopped. This was not an anatomy class. I couldn’t just . . . well, could I? Hard to know if he’d be receptive with no expression to read. I decided I had to know worse than he needed me to protect his feelings. Maybe it would help in the long run. “I’ve seen vampires survive wounds that would’ve been catastrophic to anyone else and wake up the next nightfall completely healed. Was the damage just too extreme or . . .”

He shook his head. “Those tentacles. I could feel the sizzle when they hit me, as if they had released a sort of acid that ate into my flesh. After I went down, Sibley and Marcon carried me to my rooms. When I woke, it was to this monstrous facade.” He pressed his palms against his temples, as if by sheer will he could put everything back like it had been. “I was never a handsome man,” he whispered. “But I keep remembering how once, long ago, my mother told me I had the eyes of an angel.” He dropped his forehead to his knees. “Oh, how I miss my eyes!”

“They’ve been doing face transplants,” I blurted, feeling idiotic for saying so because, really, what did I know about this guy? He’d been in the Trust when Vayl left. So, despite his mother’s opinion, he was no angel. Still, I felt sorry for him. So I continued. “I’ve seen the headlines. Not that there’s a huge demand for them, but . . . well . . . I’m just saying . . .” I trailed off because Blas was making funny sounds, which I feared might have something to do with sobbing. And I so didn’t want to be stuck in a closet with a crying vampire.

“Do you think it possible?” he asked, snuffling a little between words.

“I have no clue. But, you know, it’s something to think about.”

“Yes, perhaps . . . Excuse me, is your rear end buzzing again?”

I dug out my phone. “How did you know? It’s not like I was leaning up against you this time.”

Blas shrugged. “I felt the vibration through the wall.”

“Yeah,” I said. “There’s this guy who thinks he wants to marry me. He doesn’t understand how miserable we’d be together, so he keeps texting me.”

“In other words, you have not told him no?”

“I haven’t figured out how. I don’t want to give him that tired old line about how I want to be
his
buddy and someone
else
’s lover. My impression is that’s the best way never to see a guy again. But then, I don’t want to lead him on, either. So I’ve been walking a line so thin I think my feet are starting to cramp from the pressure.”

I checked the last two messages. When I started chuckling, Blas asked, “What does he say?”

I considered telling him it was none of his business. But he was such a pathetic little bundle there in the corner. Plus, it was nice to finally have someone I could talk to. A guy who literally couldn’t nail me with a look of disdain because I’d allowed my life to become such a tangled mess. “The first one says: ‘If I have to sit still for one more hour, my ass is going to look like a manhole cover. Hey, wait a minute!’”

Blas laughed softly. “And the second?” he asked, the eager note in his voice making me wonder how long it had been since he’d spoken to anyone. Did he spend all his waking hours in this coffin of a room?

“He says: ‘Great, now I have to pee. Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk that eighth cup of coffee. Plus, I’ve got the caffeine jitters. Do you think anyone would notice if I wrote my name in the snow and then break-danced around it?’”

Blas let out a delighted sigh. “Your friend sounds amusing.”

“Yeah.”

“
You
sound wistful.”

“He’s been a better pal to me than I’ve been to him. I miss him. Especially now when—”
when everything is falling apart.

I’ll admit it. For about three seconds I considered staking out the corner of the closet Blas hadn’t laid claim to. I wouldn’t take up much room curled into the fetal position. The rocking and sobbing might irritate him some, but it would pass in a few hours. After which we’d probably get along fine. I’d pace the length of the closet, bouncing off the walls every third step like a Roomba doing the vacuum tango. He’d enjoy all the stories I’d tell of my exploits. Yeah, that’s what we’d call them. Exploits. But then, eventually, he’d get hungry and sink his fangs into me. At which point I’d have to smoke him.
You know what? Never mind.