Quick Bites: A Short Story Collection

by Jennifer Rardin

Genres: Fantasy Romance; Paranormal; Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Now, together in one place for the first time, Quick Bites combines Jennifer Rardin's short stories into a wild ride of vampires, zombies, and voodoo that is impossible to put down. This omnibus edition includes the stories "Scouting Jasmine," "The Golem Hunt," "An Evening For Jaz and Vayl," "Paul and Brady Get Hoodoo with the Voodoo," and "Zombie Jamboree."

Release date: December 15, 2011

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 94

Sample

Jasmine Parks leaned against a maple tree at the edge of a grassy path, one booted ankle crossed over the other. Her left hand clutched a knife nearly as long as a machete. In her right she held the Walther PPK that had made her the envy of every other assassin in her department. She called it Grief, and Vayl noted that she had already transformed it into crossbow mode as it rested against her thigh. He supposed it would serve her well once again in her mission to smoke Almont, the Vulture of Indianapolis.



Vayl had never met the vampire himself. But he had heard enough. In fact, the only reason he had refused the opportunity to eliminate a nestleader, with the audacity to turn a state’s governor and either blackmail or bully its top authorities into transforming its capital into his own personal fiefdom, was because it interested him to see how Jasmine would handle the assignment. After all, she had become something of a mythic figure within the CIA’s most obscure section.

A fragile beauty with a halo of fiery hair who spoke tersely when she deigned to talk at all, Jasmine had never failed to hit her target. According to the file Vayl had purloined, she seemed to have an uncanny ability to know where her prey crouched before they managed to pinpoint her position. And despite increasingly daring exploits, she had so far escaped unharmed. He found her methods fascinating and wished to observe her work firsthand.

At least that was what he had told Pete. And himself.

But now, watching from the cover of a monument so large it dwarfed the cedar tree beside it, Vayl found it difficult to perpetuate the lie. Though the night was sultry for May, Jasmine had chosen black leather for her jacket, pants, and boots. Perhaps not such a bad decision considering the woods at her back were filled with thornbushes and the crypt before her was stacked with vampires, but as far as Vayl was concerned, the outfit could not have been more perfect, either. He thanked the fates that a man born to fret over the endless layers of a woman’s skirts could have lived long enough to slide his eyes over an outfit so supple that it seemed to celebrate the curves of her hips, to invite his hands to explore her soft belly and high breasts.

He felt his breath come faster and let his forehead rest against the stone marker before him. He reminded himself that a general lay beneath his feet. That he and Jasmine stood within one of the largest cemeteries in the country, and if either of them lost their heads, Pete would be forced to dig new graves alarmingly similar to these old ones. Besides—he looked up at the woman who had lost everything that mattered to her less than five months before—she was not interested in new attachments. He could see it even now, when she raked her eyes across the space between them. They held only death.

Even though she should not be able to see him, Vayl called up the power that would distract her vision and make him seem to be part of the marble that hid him. He twirled the tiger-carved cane in his hand, promising himself he would only use it if she found herself backed into an impossible corner. Then he allowed himself a moment’s relief that Almont and his fledglings were late risers. Given that, he still would never have reached this location in time if he had not spent the day sheltering beneath a hollow log insulated by generous piles of dead leaves.

He ran a hand through his hair for the twentieth time and sniffed at his wine-red shirt. No debris fell from his tight black curls, but he smelled like old rot. That decided him. Even if he approved of Jasmine’s tactics tonight and her actions convinced him she deserved special training, he would avoid a face-to-face meeting. Let Pete introduce him from a distance so that when they did meet, her first thoughts would not run to the grave.

He watched her study the front wall of a vault that had been built into one of the slopes of Crown Hill Cemetery. It was well hidden in a corner section whose old stones had been swallowed by trees. Though the path had been mowed for wanderers who might want to leave a flower at the memorial, people rarely followed it down the hill and around the corner to where large squares had been carved out of the cement. Some of them held the names of the dead. Helen Farley, Wife of Dundee Farley, Born 1821–Died 1853. And beside her, Dundee himself, who had lived another thirty-two years. Isaiah Farley had lived to be over a hundred. But Sharon, his wife, had also died in her thirties. Several of the stones remained blank, as if the family had forgotten they had reserved a place in which to bury their dead.

Vayl crept closer, his vantage point at the end of the trail partially obscured by some sort of orange-flowering ivy. He moved more quietly than a deer, his camouflage so firmly in place that not even another vampire could have seen him.

Jasmine went into a crouch, Grief aimed just to the left of his head, her eyes searching the air around him. “Stop right where you are, you fucking bloodsucker!” she demanded.

Vayl heard the click of the safety releasing. She can sense me! How is that possible?


And then six of the tomb’s facades exploded behind her.

  

*   *   *

All of Vayl’s instincts roared for him to rush to her rescue, but the cursing gave him pause. And if he had learned anything in over eight decades with the Agency, it was that jumping into another assassin’s setup was the best way to get him or her killed. So he stood perfectly still.

And she shot at him! She had no time left to improve the fuzzy aim her vampire sensitivity had provided for her, so the finely crafted wooden bolt went high. It would have sailed over his left shoulder, except that he had folded his arms across his chest. His right hand still held his cane, the thicker end of which protruded nearly six inches above his collarbone. As a result, the bolt slammed into it.

Vayl glared at his wounded walking stick. The bolt dropped from it, as if embarrassed that it had dared such a mission and then muffed it. The puncture it left was deep enough that only a trip to India would suffice if he wanted the cane to be repaired correctly. All right, now I am annoyed!


He stared down the path at the stranger who had already nearly destroyed him and left a semipermanent scar on his old friend. He stopped himself from grinding his teeth just before chips began to fly, then realized he might not have to concern himself with reckonings after all. Because Almont’s nest had risen.

They emerged from their temporary rest weeping, screaming, and tearing off their outer layers of clothing. Among the wailing, Vayl heard the word garlic several times. He laid his eyes upon Jasmine with new interest. Pete had told him she had personal connections to a brilliant scientist who occasionally consulted with the Agency and to be on the lookout for inventive approaches because of it. This must be the garlic grenade he had heard tell of. Similar to a bug bomb, it sent a mist of the vegetable into the cracks and crevices of an edifice she had obviously not cared to penetrate on a more personal level. Because this plan was working better. Before the panic subsided, Jasmine shot two of the vampires with a calm proficiency that proved her reputation was based on more than flimsy fairy tales. The men fell with Grief’s bolts cleaving their hearts, and moments later all that remained were wisps of silk and cotton mixed with bone fragments and a thick swirl of vapor that, though Vayl had seen it countless times in his long life, still captured his full attention. This is how you end, it seemed to whisper as it wafted into the sky.



The remaining vampires cleared their streaming eyes. Alerted to the danger, all of their attention centered on the kneeling human whose blood they could smell even at a distance of fifty yards, they charged.

Jasmine rose and whipped around in a single smooth movement that stirred something deep within Vayl. He watched her sprint straight up the path, Grief in one pumping hand, her long knife firm in the other. He clenched h. . .