Bite Marks by Jennifer Rardin

band than his work.
    “Go find out what’s behind that gate,” I told Astral as we edged toward the tunnel’s mouth. Everybody could hear the music now. Seeing—not so easy. Our path took a bend before it opened into the square, but when Vayl and I leaned forward far enough we got our first look at those who called themselves Ufran’s Chosen. All of them primmed and propered just in case he looked down from reading his evening paper and needed a moment to remind himself how much they respected him. Because somewhere along the way they’d decided he was big into smiting.
    Vayl caught my attention. Raised his eyebrows. His unuttered question, Has your scout uncovered anything helpful?
    I nodded. Astral had found the family. The kids huddled on a bench under the single window of a tiny, candlelit cell, finishing off the crumbs of supper while Mom paced its length. Her black hair, liberally laced with platinum highlights, combined with a double-sided updo to make her resemble a pissed-off lynx. Especially when she slapped the wall with the palm of her hand every time she made her turn.
    Seeing the rage on her face, I wondered for a second how they’d managed to cage her.
    My guess? Her dress was partly to blame. It fit so tight I wasn’t sure how she walked more than three steps without falling. The other reasons sat behind her dressed in jeans, white T-shirts, and suspenders, legs swinging back and forth, heels thumping into the rock at their backs in time with their mother’s movements.
    When I finished describing the scene, Vayl motioned us into a huddle. “Bergman,” he whispered, “I believe we are going to need a distraction. As we skirt the crowd, I want you to deduce the best means to cause one. And when I give you the signal, do it.”
    Miles visibly gulped. But he didn’t drop down his old scaredy slide. He said, “What should I do afterward?”
    “Get out. The rest of us will free the family. We will meet you at the car.” He gave Bergman his keys. “If we do not beat you there, make sure it is running.”
    Bergman said, “Now I understand why Jasmine always backs in.” Vayl returned to the front of the line and we all followed him around the corner. Now we could be seen.
    Theoretically. But the tingle at the back of my neck signaled his power boost. Not that he could actually cloak us. That would’ve been too sweet. But Vayl’s ability worked almost as well, turning the attention toward what it wanted to see anyway. The band. An attractive member of the opposite—or maybe the same—sex. Nobody even turned their heads as we sidled around the edge of the crowd, avoiding family groups and last-minute snackers lined up at the shops that surrounded the square.
    Once Jack danced sideways, his nose pulling him toward some little rugrat’s tray of fried tentacles, but he responded well when I pulled him in closer and gave him my like-hell-you-will! glare.
    By the time we reached the cell-side of the town’s square, Bergman’s forehead looked like a surgeon’s during the fourth hour of a complex operation. Cassandra and I shared a look. Should we swab him off or just let him sweat into his eyes? I asked her silently.
    Her answer was to nod toward his sleeve, so I gently lifted his forearm and wiped it across his face.
    Thanks , he mouthed. I nodded.
    Vayl had led us to a corner on the guard’s left that held a trash can and a bench carved out of the wall.
    Bergman sank onto it. Vayl grabbed his arm and pulled him back upright. Even Miles couldn’t mistake the question on the vampire’s face. Are you ready?
    Slight jerk of the head, more a spasm than an actual nod.
    Vayl’s gesture could almost be interpreted as, Shoo, then. But he really meant Get into position.
    Bergman looked around, as if trying to figure out where to go next.
    In front of us, the side of the bandstand rose about five feet off the floor, its base holding up a finely tooled railing punctuated every few feet by a post that held