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his face looked a helluva lot like Liliana's death sentence.
"It is time." I shivered as the Tor-al-Degan's throaty growl scratched at my senses. "Bring
her!" Assan had stepped back beside Bozcowski, and though the chanting continued I
could see the change it had brought. The Tor looked more vibrant, more lethal, as if the
ceremony had filled her with venom.
"Vayl," I whispered, "where are you?" No answer. Damn Bergman's prototypes!
"Your mewling little eunuch cannot save you now," snarled Aidyn. He grabbed my arm
and jerked me forward, past Derek, who had fallen to his knees, and Liliana, who lounged
atop the table as if it were a gigantic, vibrating mattress.
"Not her you imbecile," snapped the Tor, making Aidyn flinch, "the vampire!"
I nearly laughed to see Aidyn's insults thrown back in his face. He didn't take it well either.
His expression would've sat comfortably on a preacher who's just discovered his
theology's full of holes.
He let me go, left me standing just feet from the Tor while he fetched Liliana. Her
complexion pink from gorging, she rose languorously from the table and followed him to
the first skull, not even limping from our last encounter. With a casual flick of the
fingernail, she opened a vein in her wrist and let Derek's blood, now transformed by her
vampirism, drain into the bowl. When she'd filled it she moved to the next, bending over to
show off her cleavage to Aidyn's fascinated eyes.
The chanting rose in volume and urgency. The Deganites, including Bozcowski and
Assan, swayed to their own rhythm, their faces a collective mask of fanatical bliss. Derek,
still on his knees, drenched in his own blood, had joined in.
The second bowl was full, and it looked like my cavalry was still stuck in traffic. Assan
reached into the duffel, pulled out a bubble-wrapped object that he would soon discover
was not the key. Then all hell would break loose. Maybe literally. With no key to control
her actions, wouldn't the Tor run rampant?
Not without a willing soul.
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I could run, but I wouldn't make it far. And that would still leave the Tor poised to wreak
havoc. As the first drops of Liliana's blood hit the third bowl, I did one more quick study
of the Tor-al-Degan.
Her inability to maintain a solid front made her seem vulnerable despite the energy that
came off her in waves.
One clean shot, Jaz, that's all you're getting and then you're done for. I took one,
heartbreaking look at the life I could've had, and let it go.
I began to cave myself inward, as if my soul was a collapsible laundry cart. Turn and fold,
turn and fold, until the only portion left of me could've been punted, like a paper football,
over goalposts formed by four fingers of a sixth grader's hands. It was the only fortress I
knew how to build, and my sanity huddled at its center where, if I survived, maybe the
blood and the horror of what I was planning could only leave a faint stain.
"Aaahh! Aaaahh! AAAAAAHHHl!!" It was Assan, too freaked to scream with words,
holding a wooden statue of a closed fist with the middle finger raised. I couldn't connect
that F-you statue to Amanda's frilly room, which was how I knew it must've been her
brother's, maybe from his med school days when he still felt confident enough to flip off
the world. It looked as if Assan had gotten the message.
Strings of box tape and bubble wrap streamed from his fingers like thick cobwebs, jigging
to the rhythm of his shaking hands. His eyes had gone buggy, and he kept glancing from
the Tor to Bozcowski to Aidyn, as if at any moment one of them would tear him limb
from limb. And maybe they would if the angry mob the Deganites were becoming didn't
lynch him first. They converged on him, pushing, shoving, yelling spit-laced curses. Aidyn,
still mesmerized by the slow trickle of Liliana's blood looked around, confused. So did
Vayl's ex.
I rushed to the nearest torch and tore it off the wall, breaking the tip off its wooden handle
so that its jagged end threw splinters onto the murky floor. A small sliver of wood floating
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