The Deadliest Bite (24 page)

Raoul said, “Hanzi may very wel die today. A crew of demons is waiting to take him if he does. If the humans at the event where it is to happen can resuscitate him, the Eminent hope that he wil make the choice to change his life. In that case he would be a fine addition to our circle. But, because of how he has lived to this point, they’ve ordered us not to interfere.” He stared hard at Vayl. “This is one place where
I
can’t help you.” Vayl nodded, understanding as clearly as I did that if we got there in time, Raoul wouldn’t interfere with any plan
we
might come up with.

He rammed his cane into the road so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter. In his most control ed, and therefore dangerous, voice he grated, “We must reach Andalusia as quickly as possible.” My Spirit Guide looked up, like the clouds held a map only he could see. “We’l make it in time,” he said. He looked at Vayl and said cryptical y, “Just be ready for a few more surprises from your firstborn. I haven’t told you everything because, wel , for you I think some things have to be seen to be believed.”

Sunday, June 17, 3:50 a.m
.

Since it was nearly four in the morning, giving us only ninety minutes until dawn, we decided to find ourselves a place to shower, grab a meal, and set Vayl up inside his sleeping tent before jumping back onto the road, where we’d take shifts sleeping on the bus. Having already left Bucharest far behind us, we gathered in the bus and broke out the maps and laptops. Bergman, Aaron, and Cassandra searched for hotels while Dave, Vayl, Raoul, Cole, and I plotted our next big move.

“I can’t imagine it happening,” I told Cole.

“Come on,” he whined. “We’re right on the border of Slovenia. I can practical y see the guards waving leis at us from here. This is our big chance to experience true Slovenian culture.” Vayl shook his head. “I am certain the lei is a Hawaiian tradition. And I do not see how dressing up in leopard-print uniforms and racing l amas around the city square while we shout ‘Long live General Maister!’ has anything to do with being Slovenian.”

“Trust me, it does. I should know, my grandma married a guy who could answer al the crossword puzzle questions that made any reference to Eastern Europe.” He clapped a hand on Vayl’s shoulder. “I’m tel ing you, buddy, you’l feel so Slavic when you’re done you may just get the urge to talk out of the back of your throat for the rest of your life.”

“I’ve never ridden a l ama,” said Raoul. “Are they comfortable?”

“They’re covered in wool!” Cole said. “It’s like sitting on a pile of sweaters!” Dave snorted. “Sweaters with teeth, maybe.”

I know, I know. We should’ve shut him down the minute Cole uttered the words “l ama saddle.” But those of us who hadn’t been in the room when our wizard friend Sterling brought his soul back from the brink of Spawn City had heard the story enough times to know that these moments, above al others, were the ones that Cole needed to help him maintain his humanity. So we indulged him until Bergman hooted in triumph.

“I found something! It’s a place cal ed the Flibbino Inn. Oh wait, the reviews are pretty scary.

There’s no indoor plumbing, and this one lady says they give you a toilet lid to take outside with you when you have to go, otherwise the neighbor kids steal them for their own outhouses.”

“I wonder if they’re the squishy kind,” Cole said.

“Is that real y going to make a difference in your decision?” Cassandra asked him.

He thought a minute. “That depends on the reading material that goes along with the lid,” he decided.

“I’m beat,” Dave said. “As long as nobody mentions bedbugs, I’m wil ing to put up with primitive conditions for one night.”

I glanced at Aaron expecting, at the very least, the look of lawyerly disdain he’d probably practiced in the mirror for the day he final y passed the bar. He said, “I was a Boy Scout. I can sleep on the floor if I have to.”

As I shared a look of dawning respect with Vayl, Bergman tapped at his keys a few times. “No bugs here,” he said. “Although one reviewer felt the rooster was kind of a pest.”

“Am I to understand this inn is situated on a farm?” Vayl asked.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Pass,” I said. “The last thing I need is to be squatting in an outhouse on an unattached lid when some big-and-ugly jumps down from the haymow because, guess what? it’s my time to die.” Among a general chorus of agreement, during which somebody mentioned that Bergman might even accidental y slip down the hole in such a situation, Cassandra came up with plan B. “How about this place?” she asked. “Its name is translated as The Stopover.” She passed around the laptop so we could al study three muzzy shots of the trucker-type hotel situated between a major highway and what looked to be a wel -traveled goat track lined with beech trees. The Stopover stood two stories tal , a square brown edifice that drooped at the corners, making it resemble a pile of giant poo. In front sat a line of three gas pumps, one of which was servicing a car so ancient even I couldn’t tel in what year it had pul ed out of the factory lot.

The lobby could’ve doubled as a convenience store. Who knows, maybe it did. And the rooms looked like they’d been decorated by depressed nuns. Behind the hotel stood a second building whose purpose remained a mystery. Bergman pointed to it. “That’s probably where they hide the bodies until it’s dark enough to dispose of them.”

Cassandra laughed. “Miles! It’s not that bad! Believe me, I’ve slept in dives that make this place look like the Ritz!”

Bergman shook his head. “I hate to disagree with you. Wel , actual y, it doesn’t bother me at al to disagree with you. But it seemed like a nice way to start out saying you’re ful of crap. This is total y a Norman Bates hotel. I’l bet the owner has a furnace in the basement just like Sweeney Todd.” Dave held up his hand. “You can’t mix movie slashers with musical vil ains. It’s just wrong, Bergman. I thought you knew that.”

“I don’t know,” said Cole. “I could happily spend the next half hour discussing which of those guys is the most twisted.”

“Definitely Sweeney Todd,” Aaron offered. “The guy ate his victims after al .”

“Did he eat them, or did he sel them to other people to eat?” asked Cole.

“Does it matter?” asked Cassandra.

“I’m not sure there’s a line that fine,” I said. The last word came out as a grunt, mostly because Jack had, once again, stepped on a major organ in his attempt to pass himself off as a Pomeranian.

I was trying to decide if a paw could actual y fit between my pancreas and liver when Vayl found that ticklish spot underneath my earlobe and began to circle it with his thumb. I blanked on everyone else in the bus as my mind centered on Vayl’s touch. Such a little thing, and yet I nearly gasped out loud when his fingers, which had been folded and resting against my neck, uncurled. His fingertips, hidden by my hair, brushed toward my spine, making me shiver with anticipation.

“Jasmine?”

“Huh?”

“What do you think?”

“Uh-huh.”

“About the hotel,” Vayl clarified, amusement threading through his voice now.

“We need to stop somewhere,” I said.

I saw a quick glint of fang and then his hand went stil . Mine rushed to cover it, a silent protest I hoped the others wouldn’t notice. He murmured, “You must think for everyone, not just us. It wil not be a pleasant day, Bergman’s reviews have assured us of that.” I dropped my hand to Jack’s head and rubbed at his soft fur. Reality came flooding into my mind so fast that it felt like somewhere a water main had exploded. “We’re going to hel tomorrow,” I murmured. “It seems right that we should take our first step in this world.”

“Perhaps the hotel’s owners would not appreciate such a comparison?” I shrugged. “Then they shouldn’t have painted their place the color of shit.” CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Sunday, June 17, 4:25 a.m
.

Thirty-five minutes after discovering The Stopover hotel on our laptops, we puled into its garbage-strewn parking lot. Not a single light provided extra security, or the ability to see where to walk Jack for his pee break so he wouldn’t tread on broken glass. Since Vayl could navigate the dark better than any of us, he took my dog’s lead while the rest of us got shower gear and clean clothes out of our overnight bags. I hated to leave my Galaxie in a lot where there were more hubcaps than cars, but I’d made my choice, and an hour from dawn was no time to back out. So I locked the doors and hoped that the thieves were into VW buses as I looked down at the cat standing beside me.

“Okay, Astral,” I told the kittybot. “No talking in front of strangers.” She looked up at me innocently, as if she was offended I would think she was capable of such rudeness. I pointed my finger at her. “No freaking out the dog. And definitely no home movies of people fal ing off mountains. You got me?”

She stared down at the asphalt, paying close attention to her trotting paws as she fol owed me toward the front entrance. But I thought I heard her say, “Dammit” in a smal metal ic voice that stil managed to express disappointment.

Suddenly every light in the place flipped on. The ones above the gas pumps came to life too, bright neon white spotlighting us like a bunch of military targets. I knew Dave was thinking the same thing when he yel ed, “Take cover!”

He wrapped his arm around Cassandra’s waist and pul ed her into the alcove between the front door and the building’s outer wal .

I pul ed Grief and shot out the gas pump lights, backing toward the tour bus with Astral at my heels. Vayl and Jack met us there. Bergman, Aaron, and Raoul had clambered back inside the vehicle, abandoning their bags halfway between the building and the bus. Cole had taken shelter against the only other automobile in the parking lot, a black sedan so covered with grime it couldn’t have been washed since the country’s last election.

The door to the inn flew open. “Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot!” A skinny old Indian man with a thin mustache, wearing a brown vest and blue pants, walked into the parking lot with his hands held high above his head. “She said you would come here. She is the one playing with the lights, not us.

Please, those bulbs are expensive!”

I lowered my gun as Vayl demanded, “
Who
said we would come?”

“The woman in black. She has taken over our entire establishment. She has been just waiting, waiting for you to arrive. Please, please talk to her now so she wil leave us alone.” He clasped his hands together, real y begging, truly scared of whoever was waiting for us inside.

As Cole left cover and Raoul opened the bus door for Bergman and Aaron, the owner of The Stopover, whose name badge said we could cal him Sanji, motioned for us to join him. Dave, stil holding Cassandra safe behind him, remained in the shadows. With my arms stil at my sides, I lifted my palm to him, silently encouraging him to keep it that way. We held our weapons out where Sanji could see them as we approached him and the front door. “Please,” he said again. “She said she would go as soon as she spoke to you.”

“Did she give you her name?” Vayl asked.

“Bemont,” he said. “When she checked in she said her name was Mrs. Bemont.” Even Aaron knew better than to gape at Cole. But we al felt the shock that shot through him at hearing that whoever had anticipated a move we’d only just decided to make was posing as his wife. I reminded myself, once again, to create a whole new vocabulary for our line of work, because

“creepy” just didn’t cover it.

When we didn’t show any signs of movement, Sanji asked, “Are you ready now? Mrs. Bemont is not a patient woman. You should hear the yel ing if we are late with her breakfast.” Vayl held up his hand. “In a moment. Cole.” Our sniper stepped forward. In his hand he held a duffel ful of clean clothes and a second padded bag containing his rifle, a Heckler & Koch PSG1

that was nearly new but had already seen action (translation: Saved our asses) in Marrakech. Vayl said, “Find the back way in. Clear it if necessary. Then cover Mrs. Bemont’s room. But before you go, give Raoul your pistol.”

Cole reached into his shoulder holster and pul ed out his Beretta. Handing it to my Spirit Guide he said, “I know it’s been a while. Do you need a refresher course so I don’t have to worry about you shooting off your big toe?”

Raoul took the gun with a wel -practiced hand, making sure to keep the business end pointed away from the rest of us. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Vayl said, “I suppose I shal need something as wel . Sanji, give me your gun.”

“I-I have nothing of the sort!” blustered the manager. “I’m a peaceful man—”

“I beg to differ,” Vayl replied, his voice so mild Sanji had no idea how close he was to getting his head slammed against the wal . “You run a rotten hotel in a neighborhood infested with criminals.

Where do you keep it, behind the counter? If not, I wil be happy to tear this place apart until I locate it.”

“No! No, that won’t be necessary.” Sanji rushed into his office and came out carrying a sawed-off shotgun.

I said, “Now I’m having weapon envy.”

My
sverhamin
smirked at me. “You are just saying that because you know how much I would rather use my cane.” He turned to Sanji. “Where is Mrs. Bemont staying?”

“She’s in the honeymoon suite.”

We stared up at the sagging building. “You have a honeymoon suite?” It was the first time Aaron had spoken since he left the bus. And I was sure these words had been ripped out of him by pure disbelief.

Sanji shrugged. “It’s the biggest room in the establishment, real y two rooms put together. Up there, on the corner of the second floor.” He pointed to the windows, the curtains of which were closed tight. Vayl nodded to Cole, who left so swiftly that Sanji didn’t even notice. He just kept blabbing in the way of lonely innkeepers, “I think they forgot to put the wal up in between them when they raised the building, so now it’s the honeymoon suite. It has a wonderful view of the river.”