Siren Song

6

It took me an hour to leave Birchwoods. Thanks to Jeff’s orders to the staff, I was able to get my keys, cell phone, and some of my personal belongings. I made a few calls, making arrangements, and decided to change into real clothes. I was almost deliriously happy not to be wearing gray. Stupid, I know, but still true.

Most important, I needed to eat—or, rather, drink. Oooooh, baby. I was overdue and it was starting to show. Thus far I’ve avoided actual uncooked blood, even animal. The longer I can keep it that way, the better, as far as I’m concerned. I mean, ewwww. And even if I eventually have to do the animal blood thing for nutritional reasons, that’s as far as it will go. I am never going to taste human blood. Period. End of story.

Of course nobody else seems to believe that. They tell me that once I taste human blood, I’ll turn into a full vampire. And everyone seems to believe that someday I’ll “succumb.” I refuse to. I am not a fucking bat and I have no intention of becoming one. Still, temptation is definitely something to be avoided.

On the plus side, the chef here has taught me that it’s possible to have shakes that actually taste like what they were in the solid stage. I asked him to put together some recipes. It’ll be worth the money. We’ve been experimenting with baby food in hopes that I can eventually work my way up to solids.

For the moment, I asked for a repeat of the waffle shake, with an additional protein component of some kind to get my day started on the right nutritional footing. They said it would take a few minutes to put together, so I took my time picking what I wanted to wear from among the extremely limited choices available to me at the moment. In the end I decided on my favorite pair of faded blue jeans and a polo in a shade of blue. My hair is naturally silver blond and while my eyes are gray rather than blue, the shirt was in one of the few colors that didn’t look odd with my new complexion I decided to bring along a long-sleeved denim jacket and hat for practical reasons. Slathering on heavy-duty sunscreen works for a while, but when it wears off I can wind up with second- and third-degree burns in no time. They don’t scar, but they’re painful as hell. So like it or loathe it, I cover as much skin as I can during daylight hours.

I wished I had my weapons. Any weapons. But I hadn’t brought any with me to the wake, so I didn’t have any at Birchwoods. Unless Bruno had hidden a couple in my car when he’d brought it over, I was going to have to do without.

I took a couple extra minutes to do my makeup. My friend Dawna did some extensive online shopping in the short period between my being bitten and her becoming disabled trying to find colors that don’t make me look like a clown. I ended up with a really minimalist palette that leans toward stark, cool colors. It’s made me understand the whole “vampires in black” thing. There just aren’t many colors that look good when you’re undead.

By the time the food arrived I looked presentable. I even had a cute little purse to go with the outfit. When I’m working, I just slip my wallet and phone into the pockets of my jacket, but I was feeling girly today. Seeing Ren looking so flawless had pricked my vanity a little, much as I hated to admit it.

I wolfed down the warm, buttery, maple-flavored slushy, suddenly sorry I hadn’t asked for two. It seemed hard to believe there was actually nutrition in it. Even better, the “meat protein” the chef had chosen was a maplewood beef sausage that went perfectly with my “waffle.” It tasted like real food and I’d have paid money for it in any restaurant, even before the attack.

I was ready to dive out the door when a nurse stopped by with a syringe and a tray of tubes. “What’s this for?”

“Your treating physician said we needed to test your blood to see if you were linked magically to anyone.”

We’d talked about that in therapy. I was confident my vampire sire was dead. King Dahlmar had taken care of that as an advance payment for helping him with his son and the demon. I was grateful enough to have my sire dead that I’d wrapped my body around the unconscious prince to protect him while a seriously ticked-off demon sliced and diced me. But there were still questions about other vamps and sirens and heaven only knows what. Yeah, I wanted to know who I was “linked” to. “Oh, right. Can you make it quick? I need to get going.”

“Do my best.”

It probably only felt like he drew as much as the bloodmobile would. Still, I managed not to complain. I am trying very hard to be a cooperative patient . . . with limited success. But I am trying. Several tubes later I was able to grab the Wadjeti and dive out the door.

As the gate to the facility swung closed behind the back bumper of my Miata I felt a surge of pure joy. Freedom! There’s nothing like it. I hate feeling trapped, and a gilded cage is still a cage. So while I might only be out for a mere twelve hours, I was going to make the most of it.

First stop—the university and a meeting with Warren Landingham. He was my favorite professor in college and had earned the affectionate nickname El Jefe. He’s one of the top experts in the world on all things paranormal. And if he doesn’t know the answers, he’s bound to know someone who does. I couldn’t wait to show him the Wadjeti and the curse mark and to find out what had been going on with my friends during my absence. As Kevin and Emma’s father, he generally stays pretty well in the loop in our little circle of friends.

I turned onto Ocean View, windows down so that I could feel the early-morning breeze blow through, hear the sounds and smell the scents of the ocean.

It was going to be a busy day. There were a lot of things I needed to do and one or two others I wanted to. Top of the latter list was attending the reading of Vicki’s Will. Jeff had actually suggested (strongly) I not go. If he’d had his normal presence of mind, he would have remembered that the reading was today. I felt a little bad about not reminding him. But only a little.

Vicki’s mother is fairly ruthless and a little unscrupulous. I worried that if I didn’t attend the reading, things could mysteriously . . . happen to the original Will. Yeah, it sucks to be that paranoid, but my own mom is no prize, so I have low expectations. Such were my none-too-pleasant musings when my cell phone rang. Swearing, I tried to keep my eyes on the road and the steering wheel steady with my left hand while I rummaged in my purse with my right.

I managed to get my hands on the phone without doing anything unfortunate and flicked it open, hitting the buttons to answer and put it on speaker. “Celia here.”

“Oh good, I caught you.”

I recognized Warren’s voice immediately. He wasn’t the first person I’d called about Ren’s little gift. I’d tried to ring Bruno the moment I was outside the facility’s cell phone–jamming range, but he didn’t answer. I really hoped to get his take on it. Even more important, I had a couple of questions about the death curse and the mark on my palm. Like why hadn’t anyone noticed it before this and, oh, I dunno, maybe, how the hell can we get rid of it? But with the time difference on the East Coast, he was probably already at work, doing something where he couldn’t take calls. I’d left a voice mail. Even if he didn’t get back to me today, I was pretty sure he’d be at my hearing tomorrow. Then I’d called Warren.

Now, I couldn’t help but smile. “What’s up?”

“I called a friend of mine over at UCLA. If you can put off your visit to the campus until four, I’ve arranged a videoconference call with her. She’s very interested to see your Wadjeti. If it’s as old and as powerful as you say, she’d like to arrange to come up and see it in person. She seemed astonished that you’d have such a thing.”

“Why?”

“Apparently, while there are a number of imitation, mass-manufactured sets that have hit the market in the past few years, there are only two complete ancient Wadjeti on hand. One is on display in the Smithsonian. The other’s in a museum in Cairo.”

Wow. All right then. Just to make sure we were actually talking about the same thing I said, “Well, Ren called it a Wadjeti. Basically it’s a carved box containing a bunch of thumb-sized scarabs of different colors with symbols carved onto the bottom of each.”

“That’s a Wadjeti all right. Used correctly they’re extremely accurate tools for divination.”

Which meant it would be pretty much useless to me. “As soon as your friend has had her look at it, I’m locking it up in the safe. It’s got enough juice that my hand’s still tingling and it knocked Ren flat on her ass.” I continued, “Did you have any luck on the curse?”

“Possibly. Dr. Sloan agreed to come by the office and take a look at you while you’re here. He seemed pretty skeptical. Said that if you’d had it long and the curse was that strong, one of us surely would’ve noticed it back when you were a student.”

“Unless it got put on me after.” I checked the mirror and changed lanes. If I wasn’t going straight to the university, I might as well stop by the office before the Will reading. I wanted to check on Dawna, my secretary and friend, and there were no doubt plenty of messages and other things to take care of. I’d also be able to put Ren’s gift behind wards until it was time to head for the university. Maybe I was being overly cautious, but better safe than sorry.

“Always a possibility.” Warren agreed. “Aaron has class until four fifteen, but he said he’d stop by my office right after.”

“I really appreciate all of this, Warren.”

He laughed. “I don’t mind. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to seeing the artifact. And curses are always fascinating.”

“Particularly to the cursee.” My voice practically dripped sarcasm.

Warren knows me too well to be offended. He laughed and said, “Just be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you before you can get here.”

“Your lips to God’s ear.” I hit the end button on the phone.

I felt better. Oh, I was still worried, but Warren was on the job. If there was a way out from under this, he’d find it. In the meantime, it was a beautiful day in sunny Cali. I wasn’t locked up. Things could definitely be worse.

Even thinking something like that is tempting fate. But hey, no risk, no gain.

After only a few minutes on the freeway I turned off and went tooling through the older section of the city. I felt the familiar sharp tingle as I passed over the wards around the parking lot of the building where I have my offices, pulled into my usual parking spot, and hopped out of the car.

My offices are on the third floor of an old Queen Anne–style Victorian mansion. It’s a beautiful building, perfectly tended. I took a deep breath, soaking in the scent of flowering shrubs and stately old palms. But I discovered the careful order was only surface deep. Because when I stepped through the door I learned a new definition of chaos.

Anyone who is used to having their office life organized by a really efficient secretary knows the kind of hell that breaks loose when said secretary is out.

It was instantly obvious to me that Dawna had not opened the office this morning—and that she probably hadn’t been in for a couple of days at least. The phone was ringing off the hook, and as I raced to answer it I stumbled into a pile of UPS parcels behind the desk. The unmistakable smell of caramelized coffee was floating out of the kitchen, and somewhere in the middle distance I heard a cat yowling. A cat?

“What the hell?” Skirting the boxes, I managed to dive behind the desk. All four lines were ringing. I answered each and put them all on hold, then raced to the kitchen to take the coffeepot off the burner. I didn’t feel like picking shards of glass out of my feet for a week if the carafe shattered from overcooking. With that crisis averted, I began wading through the rest of the mess. After about fifteen minutes and the third insulting and irate caller, I resolved that I never, ever, was going to be a secretary. I truly don’t the temperament. Still, I managed to sort through things well enough that Ron, the attorney whose office is on the first floor, actually opened his door and looked out to see why the ruckus had stopped. Not that he had made any effort whatsoever to help stop the ruckus. But that was Ron, down to his probably pedicured toenails.

I’d noticed there were people in the waiting room, and while my higher brain function recognized them, I didn’t have time to deal with them until I could actually breathe.

When there was enough room to sit down behind the reception desk, I turned to face the visitors.

The man in the closest chair was John Creede. I was more than a little surprised to see him. He’s one half of Miller & Creede, the largest security firm in the country, and Bruno’s future boss. Creede might have enjoyed second billing, but I’d met both Miller and Creede and Creede was the one with real power magically. He’d been at Vicki’s wake, guarding her mother, Cassandra. Who was she being guarded from? Why, yours truly, of course.

So why was he here—and without her?

Sitting across from him was a lovely older woman with a kind face and sparkling eyes. At her feet was a blue plastic box with a carrying handle and wire mesh door. A moment of pure panic coursed through me at the sight of her and the delicate mew that came from the carrier. Oh, hell. I forgot. The cat. I agreed to take Dottie’s cat. Shit. But I’d told her at the wake that I couldn’t take Minnie the Mouser until after I got out of Birchwoods. Had something changed?

“Sorry for the delay, folks. As you can see, it’s been a little . . . busy.”

“You’re not that bad a receptionist.” As Creede stood up and walked to the desk, I gave him the look that comment deserved and he laughed. He had a nice laugh, one that lit up his face. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him laugh or even give more than a polite smile. Of course, I’d only seen him on duty. Bodyguarding is a very serious business.

Today he wasn’t dressed for work. In fact, we looked almost like twins. His jeans were a little more worn and his polo was a slightly darker blue, but other than that we matched.

He noticed me noticing and gave me a smile. It was a good smile, charming, showing straight white teeth in a face that was handsome but not excessively so. Like me, he hadn’t won the genetic lotto, but he hadn’t lost his shirt, either. He had a strong jaw and good cheekbones, but his nose was a little bit large and hooked, almost but not quite a beak. Eyes the color of honey met my gaze easily and today they held just a hint of warmth.

That made me immediately suspicious. What was he up to?

“So, John, what’s up?” I kept my voice calm, but I knew it was tinged with frustration and wariness.

“I want to rent an office.”

I blinked. Slowly. I don’t doubt it made me look stupid, but I couldn’t help it. I was struck positively dumb. I had to have misheard him. Miller & Creede owns two or three buildings in the greater California area. “Why would Miller and Creede open a branch office in our tiny little city? You’ve already got a huge office in L.A.”

He gave me a look that held more anger than pain. “You might as well hear it from me first. Miller and Creede is becoming Miller Security. The news should hit the papers tomorrow.”

“Crap! What the hell happened?” The words popped out. Probably not tactful of me. Then again, tact has never been my best thing. Another one of the big reasons why I work for myself rather than one of the big firms.

“The short version? My partner decided to fuck me and he didn’t even kiss me first.” John’s voice was filled with a cold, hard rage that almost made me feel sorry for the other guy. He glanced at Dottie belatedly and had the decency to flush. “Pardon my French.”

She waved it off. “I’ve heard worse, dear. Not much bothers me at my age.”

Wow. Miller was an idiot. I mean, I’d only met him briefly and he hadn’t struck me as particularly stupid, but you do not cross a man like Creede. He might not have as much raw magical oomph as Bruno, but Creede makes charms that has made him a major player, both respected and feared by the bad guys. No, you don’t cross Jonathan Creede. Not if you want to stay healthy.

“I was also going to talk to you about going into business together.”

Into business? Together? Me and one of the biggest names in the industry? My brain couldn’t even wrap itself around that concept. But even as the ambitious part of my brain was screaming, Do it! Do it! I couldn’t seem to be able to bring my lips to form words.

He shrugged and looked around. “But if you can’t even afford a secretary—”

“I have a secretary. I don’t know what happened to her. But unless somebody forgot to tell me something, I have one.” That wasn’t the complete truth. Dawna is more than my secretary; she’s one of my best friends. And I was pretty sure I knew exactly what was wrong with her. Not long ago she had been mind-raped by a thousand-some-year-old vampire who’d been looking for me. It damaged her. She was supposedly getting help, but I’d been a little out of touch, what with being an inpatient at the mental facility and all. At a guess, judging by the office, she wasn’t doing so hot. I tried to ignore the wave of guilt that washed over me and focused on the situation at hand.

“I think she quit.” Bubba from Freedom Bail Bonds had come through the front door and immediately picked Creede as the man to keep his eye on. Bubba’s a big ole southern man who looks and sometimes behaves like a stupid redneck, but it’s a carefully constructed act. He doesn’t belong to Mensa only because he doesn’t like “clubs.” He’s originally from central Texas, keeps his head shaved and covered with worn ball caps. About six foot one, he’s built like a linebacker or a small tank, with next to zero body fat. His nose has been broken at least once since I’ve known him, but I don’t think it was ever actually straight. Today he was wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd Free Bird T-shirt over black jeans and heavy black work boots. “She walked out early on Friday after throwing the phone across the room and saying she couldn’t take this anymore. She hasn’t called or shown up since. I got a temp in, but Ron pissed her off and she walked out after a couple of hours. I told Ron that this time he could take care of finding a replacement.”

Which he hadn’t, Ron being Ron and all. Bubba glanced coldly at Ron’s closed office door and intentionally raised his voice to a low shout. “We’re supposed to be taking turns answering the phones.” The look he gave me said things that should never reach air. “Today was Ron’s day.”

Of course it was. Asshole. Never mind that every missed phone call was another potential client lost.

“All right.” I took a deep, steadying breath and turned to Creede. “I had a secretary. I will either get her back or find us another one.” Dawna was my friend. If I could save her job for her, I would. And I so did not want Ron in charge of hiring a replacement.

“There is an office available on the third floor.” I pulled open the narrow center drawer of Dawna’s desk and pulled out the master key she kept there. “Look for the doors without signs. Go see what you think.”

Creede took the key. He was keeping a straight face, but his eyes were sparkling. Apparently he found the situation funny but was keeping his mouth shut. Wise man.

I just wish I could figure out why alarm bells were ringing up a storm in my head. I needed to get hold of Bruno right away, see if he’d heard anything about the Miller-Creede split and what it might mean for Creede and for us. Since Creede had been the headhunter for the firm, did that mean Bruno’s new job was out the window?

“I’ll take him up. Show him around,” Bubba offered, his gaze very steady on Creede.

Perfect. “Go with Bubba.” I made it a benediction as I gestured toward the staircase. They went, which left me with Dottie, her cat, and a stack of various-sized boxes.

Our eyes met and she smiled. In looks, Dottie reminds me of Betty White, but she has the disposition of Aunt Bea from Mayberry. Dottie’s a savvy and talented level-seven or -eight clairvoyant. I’d met her when her ex-son-in-law, a detective for the local police force, had needed to get some answers about the night I was attacked. My memories had been blocked and she cleared them. Unfortunately, he had been very sick at the time. He probably would have been dead from his illness by now, but instead he’d managed to become a hero and die in uniform so his kids would get his pension. I think Dottie had seen his eventual death from the disease, because she wound up giving him the information to be at the right place and time to be killed in the line of duty. I liked her. Because I felt really bad about Karl’s death I’d invited her to Vicki’s wake and had agreed to take her cat, whom Dottie couldn’t keep in her senior housing. Probably she’d seen that I was going to be in the office today and timed her visit for that.

She used her walker to carefully make her way up to the desk, schlepping the plastic pet carrier. I came around as quickly as I could and took the load from her. The carrier wasn’t really heavy, but it was awkward, mainly because the occupant wasn’t inclined to sit still. Every time she moved, the weight and balance of the thing shifted. I set the carrier on the countertop to take a look at the feline inside.

The cat was a tiny thing, orange and white, with huge green-gold eyes that seemed far too intelligent to belong to a supposedly dumb animal. I got the impression that she was sizing me up and wasn’t really thrilled with the result.

“So, Dottie, good to see you. What’s up?”

“You remember we talked about Minnie?”

I remembered.

“Well, I was afraid you’d changed your mind and hoping if you actually met her—”

“But Dottie—I’m still in Birchwoods and I’m not even sure I have a home to go to when I’m out.”

She got a look in her eyes. Now, there are cold, hard-hearted, sensible people who can look deep into the watery eyes of little white-haired old ladies and tell them there is no way in hell they’re taking care of a cat. Alas, I am not one of them. Before I could stop myself, I sighed and “Oh, okay,” popped out of my mouth. But I was at least able to mitigate the damage. “On one condition.”

“What?” She looked at me with wide eyes. I suppose she was seeing her last hope for the cat disappearing.

“How good are you at answering phones? I’ve got kind of a crisis here.”

She smiled and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Get out of the way and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

I shifted out of the way. As she passed me, she gave me a beatific, if slightly smug, smile. “Minnie’s litter box is in the backseat of my car. It’s the white Oldsmobile. Do you mind?”

I wondered how many people wound up doing her bidding because of that walker and that smile. Another sigh. “Right.”

I am such a sucker.

I reflected on that as I got the litter box. That and the presence of John Creede. Damn. I don’t like the notion of working for anybody and I would never have fit in with Miller & Creede with their buttoned-down image and “team” attitudes.

But the thought of partnering with John Creede. Again, I say, damn. Of course it would piss off Miller to no end. But did I really care? The reputation would follow both men and Creede might bring along some of the talent. He could also cover for me with my own clients right now, while I was on my enforced leave of absence. Because if somebody didn’t, those clients would go elsewhere. And if they wound up happy elsewhere, I’d lose them for good.

The empty litter pan and two bags of litter were right where Dottie had said they’d be, along with a box containing ceramic food and water dishes, hard and soft food, a cat bed, one of those carpet-covered cat condos, and a wider variety of cat toys than you’ll find at your average discount store. Apparently Minnie the Mouser knew how to live.

I needed three trips to bring it all inside. As I brought in the last of it, I saw Dottie making desperate hand signals as she chatted on the phone. I dropped my burdens and walked over.

“No, dear. It’s all right. Really. They haven’t replaced you. I’ve just been hired as your assistant.” Sweet little old lady she might be, but she lied like a trooper. “I really can’t work full-time. If I do, it’ll mess up my benefits. But I can cover for you for a day or so until you get back on your feet. You don’t need to worry.”

Dawna? I mouthed. Dottie nodded. Is she okay? She shook her head no, sadly. I winced.

“Here, why don’t you talk to Celia, dear.” She passed me the phone.

“Hey, Dawna. What’s up?”

I spent the next half hour reassuring Dawna that I hadn’t stabbed her in the back, she wasn’t fired, and her job would be waiting for her when she got out of the hospital. She’d decided to check herself into St. Mary’s for a one-week evaluation. Because if she didn’t, she was going to kill herself. She didn’t say that, but I could hear it in her voice. It broke my heart. It wasn’t her fault. I’d met the vampire that “did” her. Nobody but nobody, could’ve faced Lilith down for long. I’d done it, but I’d had the help of a very holy man armed with the words of banishment and a cross shining with his faith . Dawna hadn’t been so lucky. And she felt guilty because she’d given Lilith the address where I was staying.

As I was talking to Dawna, Dottie began, very slowly, putting things to rights. She opened the cat carrier to let Minnie roam around, gathered up the packages I’d dropped, and generally made herself useful. Bless her.

When I finally got through to Dawna that I wasn’t angry, didn’t blame her, and would visit her in person when I got out of Birchwoods for more than a day pass, she calmed down a bit. When I convinced her that her job was safe she took a shaky breath and said, “You hired me an assistant? And everyone agreed?”

There was an incredulity in her voice that I could fully understand. I interrupted her before she could get wound up again. “Dawna, I am not going to let anyone fire you just because you’re having a reaction to being . . . injured. You need to go easy. So I hired you some help. If the group doesn’t agree, it’s on my dime. Dottie needed a way to pick up a little extra money that wouldn’t be too physically strenuous, so I figured it might be the perfect fit.” Okay, I was lying. But it was what Dawna needed to hear. Besides, it was a good idea. We’d needed a backup for vacations and sick time anyway, and most temps couldn’t deal with Ron for very long. I had a feeling Dottie would be able to handle him. Minnie would be the bait; she could live at the office until I was out of Birchwoods.

It wasn’t a bad plan really. Since many of our businesses run on twenty-four-hour workdays, there’s nearly always at least one person in the building. Minnie could live in my office and Dottie could watch over her until I was released. Then we’d see how people had warmed to her. Maybe she could be a permanent office cat. I knew Bubba liked cats and Ron . . . well, he doesn’t like anything, so who cared what he thought?

“You’re sure you’re not giving away my job?”

“Nope. In fact, since you’re going to be a supervisor now, I thought about giving you a raise.” I winced the moment the words left my mouth. That really was a group decision. I hoped I could convince them it was overdue.

She perked up at that. “How much?”

Better judgment took over and I stalled. “We’ll talk about it when you get back. I’ve gotta go.” I handed Dottie the phone before I could get myself in any more trouble. If I wasn’t very careful how I presented things at our next tenant meeting, I was liable to be stuck paying for Dottie’s salary and Dawna’s raise. And if anybody was allergic to cats— I shook my head. It would work out. It would. I was not going to think about it right now. Because I’d just glanced at the clock and somehow, during the course of things, it had become 10:00! I was already due to eat again and I hadn’t even made it upstairs!

I was about to climb the first step when Dottie stopped me.

“Don’t forget your Wadjeti.” She gestured to where I’d left the box sitting next to the phone. “It feels quite powerful and looks as if it’s very valuable. Such a shame it’s missing the death scarab.”

She could tell that without even opening the box? Impressive. Then it sank in. “It’s missing a piece?” Oh, crap. I couldn’t know for sure, but I was betting the sirens hadn’t given me a defective gift. Which meant that there was probably a thumb-sized piece of ceramic somewhere on the floor at Birchwoods. Unless it had already been gotten rid of by Housekeeping. Which would be bad. Very bad. Nobody likes to think you are careless with their gifts. Of course, they might not ever find out. But, knowing my luck—

“Which one is the death scarab?”

“It’s the red one.”

That brought me up short. “There’s only one red piece?”

She nodded. Well, now, wasn’t that interesting? I distinctly remembered handing Ren the red piece. Of course she’d hustled off right after that. It might just have been an accident. Or not.

“You’re sure? I mean, not too many people seem to know about these Wadjeti things.”

Dottie smiled sweetly, but her voice had that same scolding tone you get when you put your elbows on the table at Grandma’s house. “I am a clairvoyant, dear. It’s a tool for divination. Karl was planning on giving me a set for my next birthday. He was hoping it’d be easier for me to use than my bowl. I found it and the card, when I was cleaning out his house after his funeral. It came with an instruction book. I read most of it in one sitting. It isn’t hard to learn. I can bring the instructions in tomorrow if you’d like.” She looked at me slyly. “Should I presume I’ll be here tomorrow? Or was what you said to Dawna just to make her feel better?”

“You’d actually be willing?”

“Of course. And it will give me a chance to see Minnie regularly.” She smiled sweetly.

“Cool.” I was relieved. The temp situation was solved and, I hoped, the cat issues as well. “I won’t be here tomorrow, so just leave a copy for me here at the front desk.” I gave her my best smile and grabbed the Wadjeti box. “Now I have got to get upstairs, or I’m not going to get anything done. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” She winked at me. “We can talk about my salary later.”

I just bet we would.

It was a relief to finally get out of the lobby and up the stairs. My office takes up a large portion of the third floor. There is no elevator, only a steep staircase. But if Dottie was going to work here . . . was there somewhere to put an elevator? Or maybe one of those electric stair lift things? It was a historic building. We technically didn’t need to be ADA compliant. But still—

As I rounded the second-floor landing, passing the stained-glass window, I heard Creede chatting amiably with Bubba about boats and deep-sea fishing. Creede was admiring one of the photos of Bubba’s boat displayed on the office wall. Technically, it’s a good-sized yacht, and he bought it at a government auction. But he calls it a boat, because “I ain’t that fancy.”

As I came closer, the subject switched back to Creede’s situation and what he was doing here. “I woulda thought you’d have had a binding oath set up to keep him from backstabbing you,” Bubba chided.

Creede’s small chuckle showed his dark side. There was evil under that laugh, mixed with the anger. “Oh, we did. He just decided that there’d be enough money left after the medical bills to make it worth it.”

I shook my head. To my mind, Miller was stupid. That’s all there was to it. Yeah, he’d get the money, but he’d made a bad enemy. Still, greed can make most people stupid.

“So, you gonna rent this place?” Bubba asked.

“I think so. Do you know if Celia had to get the floor reinforced to hold her safe? I’m going to want to put one in, too. Hers is just on the other side of this wall, right?”

“Yep. But you’ll have to ask her, or the safe guy. He’s due in a half hour. Comes in same time every week to reinforce the spells. If Celia’s not here, Dawna lets him in.”

A raw, jagged edge of paranoia rushed through me and I suddenly knew why Creede’s being here had me on edge. Bubba was being too friendly. Creede now knew the layout of the office, knew how often my wards were reinforced and all the tenant names. Future tenant, or future burglar? I tried to think of some way to limit the damage in case this was all a very simple and therefore very elaborate trap. So obvious it was overlooked. I decided to make a blunt, direct accusation and see how he responded.

I hurried to the doorway into Bubba’s office, just as he was saying, “We’re a pretty boring bunch here. Same schedule every week.”

“But, of course, that schedule will be changing . . . the moment you’re out of earshot.” They both turned and simultaneously gave me an odd look. My answering expression showed a lot of fang and as much distrust as was clawing at the pit of my stomach. “Tell me something, John.”

I paused long enough that he frowned. It was a better look on him. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Maybe.”

My nod was automatic. “Perfect. That’s just the mind-set I’d like you in for this. Let’s reverse our positions for a moment. You’re a sole proprietor, in business for a handful of years, comfortable but not wildly successful. Clients are attracted to you because you have a slew of magical gadgets and the skill to use them. With me so far?”

He nodded but didn’t comment.

“In walks me,” I went on. “I’m a partner in a multinational company that is so far above your level I can’t be considered competition. I only personally guard the most exclusive people, the richest of the rich.”

His brow was furrowing even further, if that was possible. At this point, Bubba had also started to frown and his eyes kept flicking to Creede to watch his reaction.

“I made a deliberate point of coming to your office in the company of a client—a client who has a personal grudge against you. Yet now . . .” I held up my hands as though a revival preacher in front of the faithful. “I appear before you with the—you have to admit—slightly outlandish claim that I’ve broken up with my partner of more than a decade and want to partner with you. I inspect a vacant office which just happens to be right next door to where you keep your gadgets. I learn the schedule from the other tenants.” I looked at him and smiled, showing as much fang as I could. “Tell me, John. What would you do, right this minute?”

His voice came out in a rumble that vibrated his arms on his chest while Bubba started muttering self-berations at himself. “Are you accusing me of spying?”

I shrugged, unwilling to react to his growl. “Spying, infiltrating . . . hell, maybe hexing. Or, you’re completely innocent and I’m just paranoid. I ask again, what would you, a professional security consultant, do in my place?”

He glared. I just raised my brows. I could feel magic now, and while he wasn’t casting anything, his emotional turmoil was causing energy to whip through the room like errant mosquitoes. You wanted to slap at them, but they were too quick and too small to be seen. Then the wheels started clicking. I watched as his eyes lowered to a place somewhere near but not quite on the floor. After a long moment, he let out a sound like a snort; his chest rose with the force of it. When he met my eyes again, he was actually blushing. “I’d put you in a full-body binding until I could call around to check out your story.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Either that, or I’d kick your butt to the curb and then”—now a smile appeared—“call my safe company and have all the combinations changed and add a few special hexes for anyone cutting through the adjoining wall or ceiling.”

Actually, I hadn’t thought of that and gave the idea the credit it deserved. “Good idea. I’ll mention that. I’d only planned on waiting until you left, but then, I’m not a mage. I like the full-body binding, though. Do those come in a charm disk?”

He pursed his lips. “Dunno. I’d imagine I could come up with something.” He grinned again. “But it’ll cost you.”

The muscles in my stomach were loosening a little as I let out a small chuckle. Either he was a consummate actor or his story was true. I was going with my gut. I hoped I wouldn’t regret it. Bubba still looked embarrassed at being so effusive, but he was easing down a little, too. “Just make sure you’re not the first person I’ll have to use it on.” Creede didn’t respond, but his eyes were twinkling. “Obviously, I’ll need to talk to the others and will have to find out from Dawna where she keeps the sample leases with the terms and house rules.”

“Dawna’s your secretary? I think I met her at the wake.”

Bubba said, “Yeah, that’s her,” and shook his head. “Poor kid.” Dawna wasn’t exactly a kid, but his sympathy was well placed. He paused for a moment, then grinned and said, “My vote is to let him take it.”

I gave Bubba a return smile. “I could use the rent to pay for Dottie’s salary and Dawna’s raise.”

“You’re givin’ her a raise?” Bubba was obviously shocked. He’d probably expected me to vote for firing her for not showing up.

“Guilt money,” I admitted. “The bat that got her was after me. I’d do more if she’d let me, but she’s too damned proud.”

Bubba nodded. He was a tenant in the building before any of the rest of us ever got here. He’d known Dawna a long time.

“That’s nice.” Creede sounded shocked and gave me a startled look.

“I can be nice,” I answered, more than a little insulted by the implication.

He raised both hands in surrender and started to apologize. “Sorry. I’d just heard you were a stone-cold bitch. It’s sort of one of the reasons I considered you for the business. I need someone tough.”

I could just bet where he’d heard that from: Vicki’s mom. Damn it.

“Celia’s all right,” Bubba rose to my defense. “She’s only a bitch if you really deserve it. Act decent and she’s cool. But don’t make the mistake of thinking she can’t be a bitch.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do.” The growl that escaped me along with the word surprised us all. Apparently, Creede had dug deeper than I realized. I’d get over my annoyance faster if I wasn’t in the same room with him, so I turned my back on them and walked to my office.

I unlocked the door and stepped over the threshold, feeling the buzz of power. Last time Bruno visited, he’d put a new set of wards on the doorway. He hadn’t bothered to ask if I wanted them. He’s sweet like that—he knows I’m always in favor of more security. But it was a damned good thing the vampire bite hadn’t affected me to the point where I set them off. That would be so embarrassing. And painful. Judging from the amount of buzz I was getting, very painful.

I set the box with the Wadjeti on the desk and opened the safe. I got less of a buzz from it than from the doorway. Not because these wards were less powerful but because the safe had been made for me and was keyed to my DNA. I’d had to reset it postattack, but now that it “knew” the vampire and siren me, it was good. I was just hoping it wouldn’t weird out again eight months from now. The safe thinks I’m pregnant. That’s how we got it to accept my altered DNA.

I set the Wadjeti onto the shelf next to the box with my knives. They both started to glow, each reacting to the magic of the other. A soft, gentle hum filled the metal enclosure. I stared in pleased awe at the beautiful rainbow of colors—my own private aurora borealis that pulsed and danced inches away. How pretty.

That emotion lasted for about a second and a half before it occurred to me to shut the safe door in case I was in for more than a light show. Eek. I slammed it closed with a little more force than was probably necessary, just as I heard the gentle tap of knuckles against my office door.

“Yes?”

“It’s John Creede. Can I come in?”

I didn’t really want him to. But if he was going to be a tenant and on the same floor, I should probably be nice. “Sure.”

He opened the door, then reached out a hand to touch the invisible line of power with a smile. He glanced over at me. “DeLuca?”

I nodded.

“He does damned fine work.” Creede’s expression darkened to a scowl as he visibly “swam” through the ward on the door. When he emerged inside the room, he rubbed his arms like they stung. “It just kills me that I may have recruited him to work for George.”

“He hasn’t said yes yet, has he?” I honestly didn’t know, since I hadn’t talked to him.

Creede sighed, as if I were being a fool and he was losing patience with it. “He might not have signed the contract yet, but you haven’t seen the package we negotiated. For some reason he really wants to move to this coast, but he’s a tough one to please.” Creede said it drily and raised one brow. We both knew why Bruno wanted to move. I couldn’t wait until he got out here and wished he’d call me back. I was going to be annoyed if he didn’t get my message until after I was locked up again.

I wanted to hear his voice and definitely wanted to tell him about this situation. It was going to be damned awkward if I wound up partnering with Creede and Bruno was working for the competition. Because Bruno is the best. And the clients would know it.

“So, what just happened?” Creede asked. “I felt . . . something in this room, big enough to cause my hairs to stand up even through the wards.”

“I put something new in the safe and the things I had in there already reacted,” I explained.

“Reacted how?” He didn’t bother to hide his concern. I couldn’t blame him. Magic is dangerous and this was powerful stuff. I wasn’t nearly as worried now that the safe door was closed and I had thick steel protecting me.

I shrugged, not to make light of it, but I was confident about the safe. Bruno did the original work, but I had a company that came in on a regular basis to recharge and layer the protections. “Put on a light show. Shot rainbows around the room, hummed a little bit.”

“Did the things vibrate? Was the light red, green, what? Did the objects get hot or cold?” Creede fired the questions at me like bullets.

“No vibration, no temperature change, and literally rainbows,” I answered, “just colored light. It was really pretty. But I decided I’d better shut the safe door just in case.”

“Rainbows.” He shook his head and scowled. “And they reacted to each other. What the hell do you have in there and how did you get it?”

I liked Creede well enough. But I like my secrets, too. The knives Bruno made for me are valuable enough that there are people who would literally kill to get their hands on them. Even people I’ve known for years have no idea they exist. And if what El Jefe said about the Wadjeti was true, it was basically priceless. So I just smiled sweetly and said, “Gifts from friends.”

“You must have some powerful friends.”

I thought about the demon that almost killed me and the woman who set him onto me. He was banished, but you can’t kill a greater demon, and she got away. I was pretty sure Kevin was hunting her, but she was definitely going to be a hard target. Was that what Ivan had been contacting me about? I wished I knew. “I’m just hoping they’re as powerful as my enemies.”

Creede didn’t have an answer to that, so he changed the subject. “Look, I’d like to apologize to you for what I said earlier.”

“It’s all right.” Actually, it wasn’t. It still stung. I tell myself I don’t care what people think, that the tough-girl image is part and parcel of the whole bodyguard thing. But it’s more a suit, a persona I put on in the morning. It’s not the real me and I do care. It’s stupid, I know. But I do. And I’m not a bitch. I know plenty of them and they don’t want me in the club.

He shook his head firmly, which did more to make amends than the apology. “No. It’s not all right. I know better than to believe gossip. But if it helps any, I’m about to get my share of karmic repentance in the press.” He gave me a chagrined look. He was right, too. The tabloids were going to have him for lunch once they learned of the split. The spin-off partner can easily become a public pariah in any business. Magic just makes it worse. It wouldn’t be hard for the press to find present and former M&C employees who would demonize John, off and on the record. After a second of me not assuring him it’d all be okay, he sighed. “Let me make it up to you by buying you a meal. We can talk business, so your boyfriend won’t get jealous.”

“Bruno doesn’t get jealous.”

“Bullshit.” Creede’s grin lit up his face and he went from good-looking to handsome in an instant. “You forget, I saw you together at the wake.” He laughed. “And I’ve met ‘Uncle Sal.’ ” He made little quotes in the air when he said the name. “Trust me, I’ll behave. There are some people that even magic won’t save you from.”

I believed that. You did not cross Uncle Sal. But I kept my tone casual. “I’ll have to take a rain check, I’m afraid. I have an appointment downtown in a few minutes. I hadn’t planned on staying here this long as it is. But yeah, I’ll want to sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk with you before I let you actually sign.”

Another small, amused curl of his lips. “You still don’t trust me.”

I just shrugged and returned the smile. Hell, I barely trust myself.

I arrived at the offices of Pratt, Arons, Ziegler, Santos, and Cortez a few minutes after the Will reading was supposed to start. Mostly it was due to traffic, but I also didn’t want to have a scene in front of the office staff when Vicki’s parents saw me. Sadly, the receptionist recognized me and smiled. I say “sadly” because I’ve spent a lot of time and a truckload of money here lately because of my upcoming hearing.

“Morning, Tabitha. Where are they holding Vicki’s Will reading?”

“Good morning, Miss Graves.” Tabitha’s voice was painfully polite. She didn’t like me. It was all over her body language. But I was a paying client, so she’d play nice. “We weren’t expecting you.” I knew I was on the list of attendees, but I’d also been in the room when Dr. Scott had called to tell Barney Arons I wouldn’t be attending.

I didn’t reply, just raised one brow. She nodded and picked up the phone, dialing three numbers before moving her gaze to the desk in front of her. I’ve noticed most receptionists do that when they take a call, as though it creates an invisible wall between them and the person standing at the desk. “Yes, sir. Celia Graves is here?” She made it a question and I knew why. Would Arons tell me to take a hike? He had every right.

I could hear the reply with my shiny new vampire ears. “Tell her to come up, please. We haven’t started yet.”

“Of course. Thank you.” She put down the receiver. “They’re in conference room B-nine.” She turned and pointed to the stairs. “Next floor up, take a right at the top of the stairs, go all the way to the end, turn left, and it’s the third door on the left.”

“Up, right, left, left. Got it. Thanks.”

“Have a nice day.” She tried to make it sound sincere and failed. Whatever. I turned right, as instructed, and started walking. I knew from previous visits that this entire floor was devoted to conference rooms, which I thought was a really nifty idea and very smart planning. Cozy little enclaves held just two or three people—I’d often met Roberto in those (usually when his office was too trashed to dig out a chair)—while other, massive rooms could seat forty or fifty people around a single, unhexable table. All the tables were various shades of marble or slate, which made me wonder aloud to Roberto once about the logistics of hauling the solid stone slabs up. He’d replied with a snort, “Cranes, scaffolds, reinforcing floors, removing windows . . . you don’t want to know the headaches.” And he was probably right.

The reading was apparently in one of the big rooms, because it took a while to get to “third door on the left.” At least I had time to admire the stunning abstract paintings on the walls and feel the soft cushion of high-dollar carpeting underfoot. It was utterly silent in the bright hallway. Every room was soundproofed for confidentiality and I could feel the press of avoidance spells that forced me not to stop at certain rooms—probably where other meetings were taking place.

In the end, it wasn’t hard to spot the proper room: It was the one with armed guards standing on either side of the door. Both men were big and wore crisply starched brown uniforms that looked almost like those of a state trooper. They were armed and each wore a holy item on a silver chain around his neck. I wondered if they were here to keep the parties inside safe or to keep the rest of the office safe from the parties inside.

They didn’t seem surprised at my appearance, which meant someone had warned them to expect the fangs. I was glad. I was already tired of the commotion my new teeth could bring about.

One guard made me show him my driver’s license, which made good sense. Then, after checking my name off a list on his PDA, he opened the door, then carefully closed it behind me. I paused just inside to scan the room and its occupants.

Barney Arons sat in the center of the room, on the far side of the table. The others faced him, along with a large video screen that covered one window. They’d turned their heads as I entered.

“Hey, Celia. Great to see you!” David greeted me warmly, and he and Inez both smiled as I slid into a chair. David and Inez ran the mansion Vicki had lived in when she wasn’t at Birchwoods. David kept the grounds in enviable condition and Inez did the same with the interior . . . including the guesthouse I called home. I wasn’t surprised to see them here. Vicki had always said she’d take care of them if anything happened.

I sat near the door in case Cassandra launched herself at me. She looked like she might. Her beautiful face had moved from neutral and sad when I’d first stepped inside to livid hatred. “What are you doing here?”

Vicki’s father, the legendary actor Jason Cooper, nudged his wife with more force than was probably necessary. He hissed, “Let it go, Cass,” and gave her a look. She returned the look with force and he raised his brows. “I mean it. Drop it now. This isn’t the time or the place.”

Instead of relaxing, she pushed back her chair. I tensed. Sure, I could handle her, but I really didn’t want to hurt her. She was my best friend’s mother. Vicki would be hurt beyond belief if I harmed Cassandra. The worst part was that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d loved Vicki like a sister. It made me sad how much Cassandra hated me. But she didn’t turn my way. Instead, she moved to the far end of the room and sat down in the chair opposite me. Then she proceeded to ignore me completely. She pulled a nail file from her purse and began shaping her already perfect nails.

Sheesh, all that trouble, just so I’d know she was ignoring me. I shook my head and leaned back. So she was going to be dramatic instead of physical. Worked for me.

Alex was also there. She gave me a sad smile. Her eyes were red—she’d been crying again. Detective Heather Alexander had been Vicki’s lover. They were as close as a honeymoon couple and had one day hoped to marry. While we aren’t close, Alex and I get along well enough to get by.

It was disturbing to see the person next to Alex face-to-face. Sybil Jones was the woman Cassandra had selected to be Vicki’s double. Hired when Vicki was just a teenager, Sybil was the public face of Victoria Cooper, the darling of the social set in Monte Carlo and the Hamptons. Personally, I never thought Sybil looked all that much like Vicki. She had a different facial shape—oval to Vicki’s heart—and her nose wasn’t the same at all. She’d cut her hair into the latest bob, which would have looked ridiculous on Vicki but dramatically altered Sybil’s overall appearance. I might not have been so uncomfortable with her if I hadn’t known that her very existence had been a source of never-ending hurt to Vicki—not just that her parents wouldn’t acknowledge who she really was but also that they were embarrassed by her.

The press had finally gotten wind of the deception. Vicki had commented more than once that she actually felt sorry for Sybil. Yes, she was given a life of privilege, with jewelry, trips, and fame. But now what? What did the future hold for a woman who had lived most of her life as a lie? She’d betrayed every relationship she might have made—had to, to keep the secret. I’d imagine it was like being a spy, a James Bond. Frankly, I couldn’t do it. It would ruin me emotionally.

She glanced at me blankly. We’d met just once, so I wasn’t surprised she didn’t remember. It had been . . . awkward. Like Alex, Sybil had been crying. For the loss of a woman she never knew, or the end of her life of privilege?

We sat in silence for several minutes. Arons continued to make notes on a yellow legal pad. After checking her watch for the fifth time, Cassandra finally spoke: “Are we going to get on with this? We only planned for this to take an hour. We have a flight at three and still have other errands.”

Arons looked up and blinked at her from behind thick horn-rimmed glasses. “We’re still waiting for five interested parties. According to Ms. Cooper’s written instructions, I’m not to read the Will until everyone is present.” He went back to writing notes, flipping pages in a thick manila folder with the other hand.

“But we have a flight.”

The attorney sighed and put down his fat Waterman pen. He took off his glasses and began to polish the lenses with a handkerchief. “Ms. Meadows, I can’t imagine what gave you the impression this entire event would take only an hour. Your daughter had an extensive estate, owing to both the inheritance from your parents and her own investment skill. Vicki crafted a very creative and carefully thought out Will. She chose not only to have her wishes memorialized in a standard legal document but also to create a video so there was no question of her intent. Being a highly attuned clairvoyant, she set up a precise timetable for this event. We have another”—he glanced at a gold watch that I was betting was a Rolex—“eight and a half minutes before we begin. Everyone should have arrived by then. If you wish to use the time to good effect . . .” Arons carefully put his glasses back on and cocked his head just a bit. He concluded, “You might want to make a call and change your flight.”

I stifled a smirk, but Alex laughed out loud and Cassandra’s pale face reddened.

There was a knock on the door. The attorney looked up, glanced at his watch, nodded, and wrote a checkmark on the top sheet of his pad. “Yes?” he called out softly.

The door opened and it was my turn to be surprised and a little angry. John Creede walked in the door and started visibly when he saw me.

I didn’t mirror Cassandra’s outburst from my arrival, but I did raise an eyebrow and he could probably feel the anger that made my muscles clench. How dare he play me, pretend to want . . . well, what? Honestly, I couldn’t decide why I was angry, but I was. “There wouldn’t have been much time for lunch, would there?”

“Celia, I—”

Arons interrupted whatever lame apology Creede had been about to offer. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Creede. I was unaware of the change in your office administration. Once I was informed you hadn’t received our messages I obtained the number for your cell phone from Mr. Cooper.”

“Well, I didn’t have anything else scheduled, so I was able to come right over.”

John sat down right next to me with barely a glance at Jason and Cassandra; this gesture and his stony facial expression told me that he wanted nothing to do with his former clients. I couldn’t bring myself to look up to see the reaction of the Coopers.

Barney Arons clucked his tongue in disapproval. “The receptionist at your former firm should have advised us you were no longer working with them.” He sighed. “No harm done, I suppose.”

There was another knock on the door, another “Yes?” from Arons.

When the door opened this time, my jaw dropped. A dozen emotions swam through my stomach as my gran stepped in, wearing her best Sunday dress and clutching the little golden purse Vicki had given her one Christmas. Her smile when she saw me lit up the room and she raced over to embrace me in a hug. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m so glad you made it. I’ve missed you.”

I returned the hug with gusto. I’d missed her, too.

Dr. Scott walked through the door at Gran’s heels. He took in the occupants with a glance and then his gaze fell on me. His voice was a threatening rumble. “Celia, I am beyond angry with you. I believe I made it clear that you were not to come to this meeting.” He took a single step toward me and Creede stood in a flash, blocking his path. Power began to bleed off them both, filling the room with enough energy that even the protection spell couldn’t completely dampen it. John held his hands in classic mage mode, hip level, fingers spread and cupped—ready to throw a fireball if needed. The doctor’s brow had furrowed and he’d adjusted his stance so all his weight was on the balls of his feet. I wasn’t sure what the classic position of a psi-warrior was just before battle, but I was pretty sure I was seeing it.

While I didn’t think the doctor would hurt me, I didn’t really like the look in his eye. All the little stresses were piling up on him, straining his composure to the breaking point.

Gran likewise turned, putting herself squarely in front of me. But I don’t need a bodyguard, much less two. I am a bodyguard. I stepped out from around Gran and said, “Guys, let’s all calm down, okay? Doctor, I didn’t trick you. But as long as I was out for the day I decided I should be here. I may be a patient at your facility, but I make my own decisions. You are not my treating doctor and Dr. Hubbard never saw any problem with my attending. Yes, I’m under court order for treatment but—”

All of a sudden, I started to feel shaky and realized breakfast was wearing off quickly. I was staring at the doctor’s neck and the fast-pulsing vein just under the skin. . . . I could feel the drool pooling in my mouth. It wasn’t just the good doctor who needed to calm down. I hissed. Everybody stepped away from me as the world slipped into hyperfocus. My hands rose, glowing green fingers curled into claws. Calf muscles twinged as I sank into a crouch, the better to spring at and land on my prey.

Crap. No, not now! Not with Gran in the room!

A cold wind abruptly blew my hair back, probably slapping it against John’s face. The temperature in the room dropped hard and fast and my breath began to come out as steam. Writing appeared on the frost-covered glass over an ocean scene. Knock it off!

I heard the furnace kick on and warm air began to flow up around my feet and down on the top of my head. The cold had pushed away the hunger and I could think again. Before it could return, I retreated from the situation. I slid my chair away from the table, into the farthest corner of the room, and curled up in the chair, legs against my chest as I struggled to get control of my breathing and my predator’s response. The others sat down as well but scooted just a bit farther from me. Even Gran watched me with a new nervousness that I didn’t like. But she’d only seen the vampire peek out once and never like this, so I could hardly blame her. I could only hope it didn’t affect our relationship.

“Thank you, Vicki.” Arons’s voice was calm but leaked a bit of nervousness that said that this might not have been on the schedule. After taking a deep breath, letting it out slow, and then wiping the fog that had appeared on his glasses, he picked up the phone receiver. “Becky? The confrontation phase is concluded. Please bring in our next guest and the refreshment for Ms. Graves.”

Wow. So Vicki had foreseen even this? Damn, she was good. But who was the next guest? I didn’t even expect half the people already here.

The door at the far end of the room opened and a slightly disheveled brunette woman stepped in the door. I’d seen her around the office before, so I presumed she was Becky. She held open the door and waved someone inside, then brought me a large thermal mug filled with what smelled like French onion soup.

The young man she’d ushered in had skin that was pale, and freckles stood out in sharp relief under a shock of carrot orange hair. Mr. Arons stood and held out his hand across the table. “Mr. Murphy? Barney Arons. We spoke on the phone last month. Thank you for coming. I hope you had a comfortable trip. Is your hotel satisfactory?”

I’d never seen him before in my life and apparently nobody else in the room had, either. Jason and Cassandra were exchanging confused glances, as were Alex and Sybil.

“Yessir. I’ve never flown in a private jet before and Molly and the girls are loving the hotel room. But you really didn’t have to put us up in a suite. A regular room would have been just fine.” He had a light southern drawl but with a sophisticated edge. I couldn’t quite place the location.

“Not at all. Ms. Cooper was very clear in her wishes for your stay here. You were to have the best of everything, with no expenses spared. So, please . . . enjoy it.” He waved toward a seat between Cassandra and Jason. “If you’d have a seat? We’re ready to start.”

Mr. Murphy stopped in his tracks, jaw dropping when he actually got a look at the people he would be sitting next to. I watched him swallow hard and pull himself together enough that he wouldn’t act starstruck and embarrass himself in front of everyone.

Arons had said five new people. So, Creede, Gran, Dr. Scott, and Mr. Murphy. Was Vicki the fifth, or was there someone yet to arrive? I put down my soup to ask, “Didn’t you say five people, Mr. Arons?”

He nodded. “Vicki was the fifth. Oh, that reminds me—” He turned to Mr. Murphy. “Mr. Murphy, do you have any problem with ghosts? Or vampires, mages, or psychics?”

Yeah, that was probably a good thing to find out. We had sort of a weird bunch here today.

“Well . . . I’ve got a cousin who’s a mage and my grandma stayed in the house for a bit after she died, until we found her Will. But I’m not a fan of bats, and psychics sort of creep me out. Why?”

“Ah. I see. Let me make formal introductions, for those who don’t know each other.” Arons took a moment to identify each person gathered at the table and ended with, “Finally, if you’ll direct your attention to the ceiling, you’ll see a sparkling formation.” We all dutifully looked up. The gaseous cloud that was Vicki’s normal state in this realm sparkled in the remaining cool air. “The deceased has elected to attend this reading. I hope that doesn’t bother anyone.”

Mr. Murphy eyed the cloud with an odd look but finally shrugged. “I suppose there’s not much to be done about that, is there? Ghosts do what they will. But if she starts throwin’ stuff, you’ll find me somewhere between here and the hotel. Try to keep up if you want to talk.”

Laughter erupted from nearly everyone. It was just what we needed.

Arons checked his watch again. “Excellent. We’re right on schedule. Let’s begin.” He picked up a remote control and pointed it toward the wall. The lights dimmed and the blinds turned to block out the sunlight.

With a press of a key on his laptop, the big screen in front of the windows flickered to life. I couldn’t help but smile as Vicki looked out at us. She was sitting in a comfortable-looking chair in front of a bookcase filled with legal volumes, so probably she’d taped this somewhere in these offices. She looked directly at me and smiled, as though she knew right where I was sitting. Then she turned her gaze to each person in turn, ending on Alex, with a wink and a blown kiss. Alex burst into tears anew.

Seeing the screen was a little tricky, so I moved my chair until I had a clearer view.

“My family, friends, and guests,” Vicki began. “Thank you all for coming. And thank you, Barney, for going to all the trouble to gather everyone together. I know it wasn’t easy in some cases.”

Arons looked up at the ceiling rather than the screen. “That’s our job. We’re here to serve.”

The Vicki on the screen smiled. “Yes, but you do go above and beyond the call. Thank you.”

Whoa. That sounded like a direct response to what he said. The revelation caused me to lean forward so I could see the screen more closely. Vampire vision was good for a few things, and seeing in the dark was one. Yep, just as I suspected, Vicki’s eyes were glazed over slightly. She had been having a vision during the filming. She really was seeing us here, in this time, and was going to actually “talk” to us. Just to clue in the rest of the confused-looking people, I asked, “You’re really here right now, aren’t you, Vick? You’re seeing all of us, in the future, while you tape this?”

Her head turned and she looked at me—not where I had been sitting a minute earlier, but where I was now. “You always were one of the smartest people I knew, Celia. Yes, I’m here but in the past. If you look at the file for this recording, you’ll see it was taped at least a year ago. I say ‘at least’ because I’m not really sure what year I die. That’s the trick with this gift. You don’t always see your own life with any clarity. But I can see each of you sitting in front of me.” She sighed. “I’m really sorry that Dawna couldn’t be here. But it’s more important she get well.” She turned her head again, looking past Alex. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, Sybil. It’s a good look on you.”

My friend’s former body double gasped and put a hand up to her hair. “Um . . . thank you?”

Vicki’s eyes sparkled. The cameraperson must have thought she was nuts. Or not, since it was no secret that Vicki was clairvoyant. “Now, Barney has the full document each of you will be given a copy of. But I wanted to tell you the terms in my own way.” She turned to face David and Inez. “I don’t know if you two knew how special you were to me. Even after I moved to Birchwoods, you kept my house feeling like a home whenever I was there. I could think of only one way to express my appreciation for your years of hard work.”

“Pshaw,” David said under his breath. “We’d have done it for free . . . it’s a beautiful place.”

“I know you would have,” she interrupted, causing him to stare at the screen openmouthed. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to get to do for as long as you want to. David. Inez. Cooper Manor is yours. Take care of it. And yes, Inez, your mother is welcome. Please bring her home to live with you. I know you’ve been worried about her.”

Now it was Inez who burst into tears. She stared up at the screen with shining eyes that probably only I could see. “Miss Vicki, no. We can’t. It’s too much. That house . . . it’s so expensive.”

Vicki snorted and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “And it does me what good now? I can float on the ceiling almost anywhere. Inez, please . . . accept this small token. Really, it is small in the scheme of things. And just so you know, I’m also leaving you enough money to take care of the taxes and such for as long as you live there.”

“This is ridiculous!” Cassandra apparently had had enough. She stood up and slammed a fist down on the table. “I will not watch my daughter leave a multimillion dollar home to a servant.”

“Mother, shut up.” Vicki’s voice was cutting as she half-stood from her seat. “It is not my fault that you could never make amends with Grandma, nor is it my fault that her estate was left to me. You’ve made your own way and I’m very proud of you and Daddy. But this is my money and my property and I will damned well leave it to whomever I choose. I already know you’re going to challenge this Will and have made appropriate arrangements to defend it. Just so you know, I win. Now . . . sit down!”

I couldn’t help but smirk. Vicki was finally able to do in death what she’d always wanted to do in life. “You go, girl,” I whispered. Gran elbowed me in the arm. But Cassandra wouldn’t be able to see my smile in the dark.

“Ms. Meadows,” said Arons, “you really do need to sit down.”

With a light growl, she threw herself back into her chair so hard the springs squeaked.

“Thank you.” Vicki sat back down and returned to looking at Inez and David. “Now, no more arguments. Plan for the house to be yours. Until the lawsuit is over, you’ll be renting it from the estate. Barney has papers for you to sign before you leave. It’ll cost you a dollar a year. No telling how long the suit will last, but the lease is ironclad, so don’t have any fear you’ll have to leave. Oh,” she continued, and pointed to me. “There’s one exception. I’ve asked Barney to hire a surveyor. The guesthouse is going to be split off from the main house into a separate parcel. That property will be yours, Celia. That’s surprise number one.”

Holy crap! She was giving me the guesthouse? “Um, wow. Thanks, Vick.”

“You need to live near the ocean. You just do. So the beach is going to go with the guesthouse. I hope you don’t mind, David.”

He shrugged and looked my way. “Nah. Never did go there anyway. I’ve got the pool if I want to swim.”

“Now, as for the rest of my real estate . . . Celia, did you know that I own a holding company called C and S Enterprises?” She stared at me, smiling, waiting for me to get whatever I was supposed to get. It rang a bell, but I couldn’t place the name. I shrugged helplessly and she finally sighed. “Okay, I’ll give you a hint. One of the properties is an old Victorian with a big old palm tree out front.”

The penny dropped with a bang. “You own my office?”

Vicki threw up her hands in joy. “Yay! You got it in one. Surprise! The office is also yours. You’re the new landlord. Promise me I get to be there, at least in spirit, when you tell Ron.”

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it. God, he was going to hate that. “What does ‘C and S’ stand for, anyway?”

She grinned and tipped her head. “ ‘Chips and Salsa.’ In honor of all those late nights at La Cocina with you, Emma, and Dawna. I’m also giving Emma’s apartment building to her. But I knew she wouldn’t be able to be here today, so Barney will send her a letter to let her in on the secret. Now, don’t spoil my surprise and tell her early. She won’t believe it without the official letterhead. Dawna’s getting a surprise, too, but I’m not telling you what, so don’t ask.” She winked at me.

How well she knew us. She was absolutely right about Emma Landingham. Everything had to be by the book with her. And wow . . . I knew how much our nights at the cantina meant to me. Apparently they’d been just as important to Vicki. “You are . . . were an amazing woman, Victoria Cooper.”

She gave a little bow at the waist. “Yes. Yes, I was.”

I heard Jason chuckle. His face was entranced at seeing his daughter like this, so animated and happy. Maybe he’d never really known what an awesome person she was. He hadn’t spent much time around her. More’s the pity.

“So, that’s all my real estate. Now comes what Barney calls the residue. I’ve split my estate into four parts . . . well, technically, five. Sadly, it’s going to take a fifth of my total estate to fight my mother’s lawsuit. Pity. But there’s no helping it. I know you won’t be able to step back from this and let it go, Mom, so, I’ve planned for it.”

“I cannot believe you think so little of me.” There was no hurt in Cassandra’s voice, only rage.

“I don’t think little of you, Mom. I actually think quite highly of you. You’re a shrewd businesswoman and a talented actress. But today, here, anything you show us is just that—an act. You can’t help it and I can’t blame you for it. I pray you’ll stop before you completely drive Daddy away, but that future is unclear even to me. It’s all about choices. Celia was right. If you can just see past your anger and your hurt, you’ll know that what Grandma did she did for you. Denying you the inheritance money forced you to go out and earn it. She knew it would spur you on. She might not have been a clairvoyant, but she was smarter than you and me put together. And she knew that my talent had helped her earn a good part of her fortune, as much as you hate to admit it.”

I wished Vicki hadn’t invoked my name, because it turned Cassandra’s attention back to me. “I knew it! I knew you were the one who poisoned my daughter against me. You influenced her, manipulated her. Bitch, I swear you won’t see a dime of the money.”

Why wasn’t I surprised?

Vicki interrupted. “Celia had nothing to do with my decisions, Mom. This is all me. Just me, and if you’d only listened when I tried to tell you, Celia . . .” She paused and looked my way and panic was suddenly etched in her voice. “No! Celia! John, do something!”

I turned to Creede and saw a bright flash of red light. Creede flung one arm toward me and I flew across the room, hit the wall, and slid down to the floor. His other hand was thrust in the opposite direction. I heard glass breaking and the sound of a rifle shot far in the distance.

The lights came up abruptly and hanging in the air where I had been sitting was a copper-jacketed bullet, a Glaser round that expanded on impact. They’re used by the police when they don’t want stray bullets going through walls to kill innocents in the next room and by bodyguards everywhere who want to make sure that a shot into a bad guy doesn’t kill their client. Vicki’s ghost zoomed down from the ceiling to hover around me protectively. I wasn’t sure cold gas could do much, but it was a nice thought. Gran was likewise by my side in seconds.

I could feel the pulse of incredibly powerful magic sealing the entire length of the windows. The second and third bullets never made it through, just hovered in the air, not quite touching the glass, outside the window. The magic raised the hairs on my skin, more a caress than a sting. The sensation was soft and electric, close to erotic, and pulled at parts of my body that shouldn’t be excited by a near assassination. I really didn’t want my body equating nearly dying with sex, so I refused to look at Creede to see if it was intentional or not.

I didn’t know many mages who could pull off a shield this powerful just with raw power and no prior spell. Even Bruno might struggle with that. There was a box of tissues sitting on the table; Creede took one and used it to keep his fingerprints off the bullet as he plucked the bullet out of the air. “The police will want this.” He looked up at the screen. “Any idea where it came from?”

Vicki shook her head, looking actually shaken from the experience. “No idea. Sorry. I only saw the red light. It looked like a laser sight on a gun. Apparently, this is why I invite you to the party. I’ll definitely have to spend some time to figure out how to get you here, since you’re working for my parents right about now. Hmmm—”

She dropped into her own thoughts while everybody watched me struggle to my feet. The slam against the wall hadn’t done my back any good, for which Creede at least seemed a little embarrassed. But I waved off the apology that was about to escape from his mouth, even though I still couldn’t look him full in the face while my body struggled to shake off the effects of his magic. “No apologies. I’ll be fine in a few minutes. Great thing, vampire metabolism. And nice job with the window. Can you keep that up for the rest of this, or should we get the heck out of here until they find the shooter?”

Barney Arons was busy typing on his laptop while Vicki mulled on the screen. “No, we’ll stay here. I’ve just activated the emergency shields for this floor and have e-mailed Becky to call the police. Nothing, not even a bullet or a bomb, can get in or out of this room for the next hour. So please sit down. I’d frankly forgotten about this part of the event after a year or I would have put up better shields. I should have watched the tape before the appointment.”

“And yet, Vicki knew you wouldn’t. So she made alternate plans.”

“An amazing woman.” He shook his head in renewed awe. “Mr. Creede, you may release your shields whenever you feel appropriate.”

“I’ll leave them up until someone flies up to collect the bullets. I wouldn’t want them disappearing.”

“Again I thank you for the compliment.” Vicki was back with us. “Now, this reminds me. Celia, I know you distrust most people. Sadly, you have reason. But let me assure you now that John Creede, even if he can be an ass occasionally, is being honest with you. About what, I don’t know. But you can trust him. Trust me. You’ll need him soon, so please know you can rely on his skill and his courage.”

This time, it was John who let out a snort. “Even if I can be an ass occasionally. There’s a ringing endorsement.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I picked up the chair, righted it, and settled painfully down. “That’s about the best you’ll get from Vicki. She was nothing if not a realist.”

“Now,” she said, right on cue, “let’s finish up quickly before anything else happens. Sybil, I’m leaving you my clothes, jewelry, furs, and Cadillac convertible. I’m sorry you got sucked into the middle of my life. It was bad enough for one of us to live it. At least you can sell the furs and buy some new clothes.” She turned her head. “I mean, really, Mom. Her clothes? You took back her clothes? For what? What could possibly be the purpose in that?”

My jaw dropped. I knew Cassandra Meadows could be a bitch, but that was ridiculous! I agreed with Vicki.

“They weren’t hers. I bought them. I paid for them. They were just a uniform and I had every right to take them back when the job ended.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” The outraged voice belonged to Jason. “Cass, when you said you’d retrieved ‘our belongings’ from Ms. Jones, you didn’t say anything about clothing. Good god, hon. That makes no sense.”

Cassandra’s mouth was tight-lipped, so it was Sybil who spoke up. “The people who showed up at the door were from one of the local charities. They were very nice about it and I probably wouldn’t have minded much if I’d had warning. But it was a surprise.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Jason let out an exasperated breath. “Of course, we’ll have your clothing returned to you, Sybil. And if that’s not possible, I’ll personally replace it. Please pardon my wife. Apparently, grief has made her . . . well, anyway, we’ll get your things back to you. It’s the least we can do.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” said Vicki from the screen. She took a deep breath and let it out slow. “The residue of my estate, other than a few minor bequests and what I’ve given to you already, less what will be expended in the Will contest suit, will be divided as follows. One-quarter goes to Heather Alexander, the love of my life. It’s not enough to show you how much you meant to me, but money’s all I have to give now.”

Alex’s lip was trembling and Sybil reached out to touch her hand gently. “Next, a quarter will be donated to the Birchwoods Therapy Center for the sole purpose of creating a new building. The Ivy Graves Center for Gifted Children will be built and fully funded for the next ten years through investments and bonds. Dr. Scott, I leave it to you to handle the details. You know my wishes after all those weeks coming up with a curriculum and program, for both inpatient and outpatient care. Emily, I wanted you and Celia to both be here to hear the news. Celia, of course you will have a quarter of my income, even though I know you’ll probably give it to the Center. But do try to keep a little for yourself. You really do deserve it.”

Jeff Scott bowed his head gently and then looked up at the ceiling to where Vicki’s ghost had returned after the threat to me was gone. “I know your wishes and I’ll take care of it.”

Gran let out a sob that could be either joy or sorrow and I couldn’t deny that I was getting choked up. It was more than I’d ever dreamed Vicki would do and I honestly didn’t know how to respond. She was right, though. If it was between me and a center for other messed-up magical kids, the kids would win. I’d just sign over the check wholesale when I got it. I could still make my own money. I didn’t need hers.

Creede handed me the box of tissues as Vicki spoke again. “If such a center had existed when you were young, maybe Ivy could have learned to use her gifts to protect herself before . . . well, before. And maybe if I’d had early training, I wouldn’t have wound up in a nuthouse for most of my life.”

The room erupted in explosions of sound, as everyone who knew Vicki rejected that statement. But she held up a hand. “Nope. Folks, I appreciate the support, but I am very nearly nuts. I tried my damnedest to have a normal relationship with each of you, but it was hard. So very hard. Just ask Dr. Scott. Every visit from you, no matter how much appreciated, came at a price. I hid it well, but the stress has been getting to me for some time. I’m making this tape now because I’m still fully in my right mind, competent by both legal and medical standards to dispose of my estate. That’s why you’ll lose your suit, Mom.”

Cassandra let out a very unladylike snort.

The ghost floated down from the ceiling and hovered right in front of her mother’s face. Then it drifted down the table until it was in front of Sybil. The apparition vanished and Sybil’s head dropped face-first to the stone table with a crunch that made me wince. After a moment, she sat back up, but Sybil wasn’t home anymore. The woman sitting next to Alex was Vicki Cooper. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she held her body. Alex flinched and swallowed hard but didn’t move away. I was proud of her for that. No matter how much she loved Vicki, sitting next to a possessed person had to be unnerving.

Vicki/Sybil turned and faced the attorney. “Mr. Arons, would you please begin recording?” The screen split, with old Vicki on one side and new Vicki on the other. “Mother, I wanted to make something very clear. Crystal clear. I was not manipulated or influenced in life. And while I might have been frustrated, hurt, and angry during life, in death there can be no deception or influence. Ghosts can’t lie, Mom. It’s impossible. Ask any postdeath therapist. So I say to you all, on tape, that my Will is true and correct and was made of my own free will and not under duress. Those are the right words, right, Barney?”

Arons nodded and she continued. Even the inflection of her voice had changed from the way Sybil talked to the true Vicki. It was, frankly, weird. I’d seen it once before, right after she was killed, but that didn’t stop the tiny hairs on the back of my neck from rising. “I say this because I’m intentionally, and with full knowledge, leaving my parents out of my Will. Not because I bear them any grudge. I love them very much. But they have their own money. They don’t need mine. My final bequest will raise eyebrows all around the room, but I believe with all my heart and with all the skill I possess as a level-nine clairvoyant, that it’s necessary.” She motioned toward the one person not yet mentioned.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering about the redheaded gentleman next to Dad. Frankly, I’ve wondered about him myself. I’ve had visions of him and his family for some time, but I don’t know why. I only knew it was imperative . . . critical that he be here today and that I make this bequest. I’ve learned to trust my instincts, even if they don’t make sense at the time. Since I see him here, I know that you found him, Barney. Thank you. I know it was a royal pain, what with the police sketch artist and the private investigator. Unfortunately, sir, I don’t know your name as I’m taping this and I assume you don’t know me.”

Murphy shook his head. “You seem like a nice lady, but I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Vicki turned to me. “Celia, I’d like you and John Creede to take the time and spend whatever money from my estate that you have to, to find out why this man is at this reading. I’m officially hiring you both. What ties him to me? Why is it important for me to do what I’m about to do—because frankly, it’s making me nervous as hell.”

She turned Sybil’s body in her seat and faced him. “Sir, I’m pleased to inform you that you and your family will inherit a quarter of my estate. At the time I made this Will, that came to about twenty-four million dollars . . . after taxes.”

“Holy Mother of God!” Mr. Murphy exclaimed. I was pretty surprised myself. She gave him twenty-four million dollars? She gave me twenty-four million dollars? Plus the house and the office? Damn.

“Naturally,” Vicki continued, “like everyone else, you’ll have to wait until the end of the suit for the cash, but I did set up a special life insurance policy using this law firm’s escrow account as the beneficiary. Mr. Arons will give you that money now. It’s not much, just a hundred thousand, but it’ll make your life better.” She sighed. I could tell that she was getting tired.

Murphy turned to Barney Arons. “Are you sure this isn’t some sort of joke? Is someone from Punk’d or Candid Camera going to jump through the door now?”

Arons shook his head, with the tiniest of smiles, just as Sybil went face-first on the stone. Ouch again. She sat up moments later, nursing a bleeding nose and looking confused.

Vicki was gone. Arons turned off the tape. Maybe he’d show it to Sybil later.

The reading didn’t last much longer. People crowded around Arons, trying to dig out more information. Even Gran wanted to find out more about the details. I didn’t really care. I felt exhausted. Maybe Jeff had been right and it had been a bad thing for me to have come. But I’d had to do it. Sometimes all you can do is make your choices and accept your punishment. Right now, my punishment was to partially collapse against the table as I tried to stand.

“Ready to eat now?” John grabbed my elbow to keep me standing. “Looks like you could use some protein.” Maybe it was my imagination, but the sensation that crawled up my arm when he touched me felt a lot like his magic had and it made me gasp and pull away even as warmth spread through my body.

I wasn’t going to refuse a meal and I really needed to get out of the room. But touching seemed like a bad idea. “You have no idea. But how will we get through the shield? The hour’s not up yet.”

“You forget who you’re talking to,” he whispered with a small, secret smile and a wink. “Who do you think crafted the shield? This firm is one of M and C’s biggest clients. Haven’t you ever heard of a coder’s back door? Besides, you need someone to protect you until they catch the shooter.”

I couldn’t deny that. I was having a hard time concentrating, or that little red light would never have made it to my forehead. He took my arm and tucked it through his and then, I kid you not, as my body tingled disturbingly, we walked right through the closed door, without a single person noticing we’d left.

I had to give him points for style.

We went to lunch in his Ferrari 599 GTB. Let me say for the record that it is one helluva car. I mean, I love my Miata but damn! Low-slung, sleek, and a vibrant red, it had a V12 engine that could roar like a lion or purr like a kitten, depending on the driver’s mood. The interior was real leather; the dash was polished wood and it had seats more comfortable than most of the beds I’ve slept in. It could go from zero to outta here in 3.2 seconds or less. It made me glad I chose La Cocina y Cantina on the other side of town just so I could ride in it a little bit longer.

La Cocina is a tiny family-run restaurant tucked up against the college campus. It’s kind of a dive, really—tiny and old. Most of the tables are for two, with gleaming white tablecloths and red bowl candles that give the place an intimate feel. People joke that it’s kept dark to hide the dirt, but in reality the place is spotlessly clean and the food is absolutely amazing. They have an open patio with an awning, but we’d taken a table inside, next to a “stage” the size of a postage stamp where they have karaoke on Friday nights. Where we’d had karaoke the night of Vicki’s wake.

I hadn’t been here since that night. Of course, I hadn’t been anywhere else, either. Coming back now, things felt different. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel the same, if I could ever walk in the doors without feeling sad.

“Celia! Oh my heavens, you poor thing!” Barbara grabbed me in a bear hug before I could protest. Thankfully, I managed to fight back my hunger, which had been growing steadily since we’d left the lawyer’s office. She leaned back from the hug and gently lifted my upper lip. I knew her concern was genuine, so I took no offense. “I couldn’t believe it the other night. I thought I must have been drunk. But look at those teeth.” She made tsking noises as she pulled me nearly off my feet toward a table, leaving Creede following in our wake with a look of amusement. “Now you just sit down. Pablo has made it his mission to make you good food. We’ve been reading up on your condition, so you can keep coming here.”

“Really? Wow, thanks!” I meant it. I loved Pablo’s food. My mild success at Birchwoods had me hopeful that there might be a time when I could go back to a nearly normal diet.

Creede excused himself to make a few calls in private after setting up a shield of protection around me. I took the opportunity to grab my cell phone and speed-dial Bruno.

“Hullo?” He answered on the first ring, but rather than feeling warm and fuzzy at the sound of his voice, I felt . . . strange. He sounded tense and I felt more than a little guilty about being here with Creede. But I figured I could fix that by just being honest.

“Hey, you. How’s it going?”

“Celia, oh, hey, it’s going pretty well. How’d you get to a phone?” There was a flat, distracted tone to his words, like I’d interrupted something that was requiring his attention.

“Day pass. I take it you didn’t get my message?” I pressed the key to increase the volume to high.

“No. Sorry. Things have been a little hectic.”

“Oh, well, there’s stuff you need to know. Is this a good time?” Maybe he could hear the deeper question, because he immediately came back to full focus. It made me feel better and the fluttering things clawing at my insides calmed down.

“Absolutely. What’s up?”

I told him about the Will reading, the shooter, and the breakup of Miller & Creede. “Is that going to change your plans? I don’t have any idea whether they’re still going to honor your deal. Creede said it’s up to Miller.”

“Well, crap!” Apparently, he hadn’t known. “Goddamn it! You’d think that would come up in conversation. I just talked to Miller this morning and he didn’t say a thing. I was joining because John Creede asked me, not because of Miller. He’s a horse’s ass and doesn’t have as much talent in his whole body as Creede has in his little finger.”

“Thank him for saying so.” John was standing next to the table, a pleased smile on his face. “I’d suggest he call his attorney. Since it’s still in the verbal stage, there might be a chance to get out of the deal now. I’d enjoy forming a company with him as part of it.”

“Really?” Now Bruno’s voice sounded more than a little excited. “Hey, tell him—”

I shook my head, amused. “Why don’t you tell him? I need to use the bathroom.” I handed Creede my phone and they started talking terms. Worked for me. I’d be happy to have them team up. Bruno working in my building. That would be amazing.

By the time I got back, the phone was closed and waiting for me on the table and there was a combination plate in front of John. He lowered the fork that was halfway to his mouth and said, “Hope you don’t mind. I’m starving.”

“Me, too. Go ahead.” I sat down and picked up the old-fashioned malted glass that was obviously waiting for me. The contents were warm and smelled wonderful. But scent isn’t everything, sadly. There was an odd, metallic tinge to the smoothie and the cheese was stringy and lumpy enough to nearly make me gag.

Barbara came to the table, looking like an eager puppy, watching for my reaction. Should I lie to save her ego, or tell the truth and give them the chance to try again? I went for analytical. “Spices are about right, not too much garlic or onion. But there’s an odd metallic aftertaste. And maybe a different kind of cheese? This didn’t melt fully and I can’t do solids. At all.” Okay, good. She was taking notes and didn’t look at all offended. I breathed a sigh of relief. “But a great first attempt! Really.”

She picked up the glass even though I’d taken only a few sips. “Okay, let us give it one more go before we give up today. Just take a second.”

It was a torturous few minutes. I could smell John’s plate and watch him chew it with obvious delight, and my hunger was getting hard to resist. He wasn’t quite done with his plate before Barbara was back. “Try that,” she said with pride.

I took a tentative sip. And then another. Yum! “Wow! Not bad, Barbara! Not bad at all. I can live with this. What did you do different the second time?”

I was sipping as she spoke and nearly spit it out when I heard, “We cooked the cow blood just a little bit, to get rid of the metallic taste, and I switched to Velveeta instead of regular cheese. I don’t use it much, but it does blend better.”

“Cow blood?” I asked as my tongue conflicted with my brain and good sense.

She looked at me as though I were nuts. “Well, of course cow blood. Girl, you got to have plasma protein and there’s none better than cow. Just short of human for taste. Pig is a little better for nutrition, but there’s all those diseases they carry and you are still part human.”

It was like finding out I was eating worms and liking them. John didn’t say a word. He made a little smirk that he covered with a coffee cup. But I knew he thought it was funny. That’s okay. I had plenty of time and many ways to get him back.

I forced myself to drink the smoothie because logically she was right. But it still disturbed me to realize how good it tasted. Almost immediately, I started to feel better. I even felt my hands warming up, although I hadn’t realized they were cold until they heated. Reluctantly, I stopped myself before I licked the glass down more than a few inches.

Then Creede and I talked business, including discussing who the shooter might have been. After a little hesitation, I unbent enough to show him the curse mark and tell him what had happened . . . jeez, was it only this morning?

“And you’re sure there was no sign of the mark before then?”

“Nope.” He was holding my hand in his, palm up, running an index finger over the ugly discoloration of the mark. His touch wasn’t in the least erotic this time and I was grateful. Because if there was any chance we were going to be working together I did not need that kind of distraction.

“About the only thing that can create and hold that level of illusion for any period of time is demonic energy.”

Oh, crap. Demons. Again. I shuddered at the memory of facing off against a demon in the parking lot of Anaheim Stadium. It had been one of the most awe-inspiring and terrifying experiences of my life. I did not, ever, want to encounter the demonic again.

“I can feel a hint of it still. But that was just the masking. The curse itself isn’t demonic at all. In fact, I can’t really tell what kind of energy is behind it. But whoever or whatever cursed you was damned powerful and the curse feels old.” He shook his head and gave me a wry grin. “You do lead the most interesting life.”

“Tell me about it.”

Juan, the oldest son of the owner, was waiting tables today. I’ve known him since he was too young to carry a fully laden tray. Bright and handsome, he was wearing a starched white shirt and crisp black trousers. I smiled in greeting as he brought my third margarita to the table. Creede had excused himself to use the restroom, so Juan and I spent a couple of minutes chatting, catching up on family gossip.

I hate having my back to the door. But I didn’t have much choice when we’d arrived. When I saw Juan stiffen and heard a commotion by the door I had to turn sharply in my seat and look over my shoulder to see what had drawn everyone’s attention.

Three imposing men in hand-tailored suits had come through the front door and were peering through the gloom, obviously looking for someone in particular. As soon as I got a good look I knew they wanted either me or Creede. The man in front was George Miller. How the hell did he know we were here? Sure, Creede’s car is pretty unique, but La Cocina isn’t in a common area of town and I don’t think George had ever been here before the wake.

Juan made a noise in the back of his throat, clearly unhappy. I couldn’t blame him. You could tell from their body language that they were looking for trouble.

Miller looked angry but also like death and not even warmed over. It was obvious even in the dim lighting of the restaurant. The last time I’d seen him he’d been strikingly handsome thanks to a combination of good genetics and better plastic surgery. He kept fit, dressed in the very best hand-tailored suits, and was more fussy about his appearance than any woman I knew. Not today. Today his wide face was gray and coated with a faint sheen of sweat and there was a fine tremor to his body. His left arm hung absolutely limp at his side. When one of the servers accidentally bumped it Miller’s knees buckled beneath him. Only the lightning-quick reflexes of his men kept him from collapsing to the floor in a heap. From the corner of my eye I saw Barbara scurrying to assist, but he waved her away.

“What’s the matter with him?” Juan had paled to a shade almost as white as the tablecloth.

“Binding oaths are a bitch.”

“He broke a magic oath? Is he insane?”

“Yes. And possibly.” I took a long pull of my drink. I’d probably need it and I was glad for the restorative powers of Pablo’s mexi-shake. But unless and until they came up to the table, I was going to pretend this was just a coincidence and assume that George brought his well-coutured ass down to this neck of the woods all the time. No doubt for the huevos.

“You know about this?” I looked up and realized that Juan didn’t look like a kid anymore. He was all grown-up and ready to play bouncer if need be. I hoped he wouldn’t have to. He’s a tough kid, but I’d feel guilty as hell if anything happened to him and the M&C boys are professionals.

“A little,” I admitted. “John Creede, the man with me? Likely he’s the one who cast the oath on Miller.”

Juan started to swear, softly, under his breath. I almost couldn’t hear him and I was sitting right there, so the rest of the diners were spared. Kind of a shame. They might have learned something. He was doing a very thorough job of it. When he’d gone through his repertoire he took a deep breath. Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “I have your back. But you’re paying for any damages.”

I nodded and shifted in my seat, unfastening my denim jacket. I’d taken some of my usual armament from my car before we left the attorney’s. I always feel naked without a few weapons.

Juan stepped away from the table but didn’t go far, just a few steps away, behind the bar. He stayed there, puttering around in the general vicinity of where I knew the shotgun was kept. I don’t know what signal passed between them, but while he didn’t say a word, I noticed that Lola, his sister, had stepped out from behind the maître d’ stand and pulled on a server’s apron.

“Ms. Graves.” George Miller had come up to my table. I’d thought he looked bad from a distance—up close it was much, much worse. And the smell. Eww. Maybe it was my enhanced vampire senses, but he smelled like meat left in the sun to rot. My stomach roiled in protest even though I was holding my drink close to my nose to try to mask the stench. I moved the salsa bowl so that it sat on the table right in front of me. Pablo’s homemade salsa is really spicy. I figured the pepper smell might help. It’s strong and I don’t like it much, but it was better than the alternative.

“Mr. Miller.” I gave him a pleasant expression, empty of any emotion. I was not going to gag. I wasn’t. Mind over matter.

There are a number of different binding oaths available. All of them are pretty hideous. My guess was that they’d used the necrosis variation. If they had, then his arm was literally rotting off. And unless he (a) made complete recompense; (b) had the arm amputated before the rot spread; or (c) killed Creede, Miller might lose more than just an arm.

“I’m sorry to intrude. But I wanted to take this opportunity to warn you about my former partner.”

I looked up but didn’t say anything. If I opened my mouth, I would retch. I really would.

“You can smell what he did to me. Can’t you?”

I fought down bile and managed to answer him through gritted teeth. “The way he tells it, you did it to yourself.”

“And you believe him?” Miller’s tone made it clear he thought I was a fool.

I set down my drink and picked up the salsa bowl; bringing it up to my face, I took a long whiff. It worked: peppers, onion, and spices drove off less palatable scents. After just a few seconds, I was able to talk almost normally. “It’s easy enough to check out. Written notice of any binding oaths would have to be filed with the state with your corporate documents. And you don’t strike me as the type to skimp on the paperwork.”

His face flushed, bringing the first bit of color to his cheeks. Scowling fiercely, he told me, “John used black magic to avoid the effects of my oath on him.”

I shook my head. “Not possible. The magic used in binding oaths is a neutral force. It doesn’t care who, or what, the oath takers are. In fact, the man’s a mage. His own power would probably turn on him if he broke the oath.”

“You know that for a fact?” Miller was so bitter. The words dripped venom like acid. I felt as if my ears should actually be burning.

“I graduated with a degree in Paranormal Studies and was engaged to a powerful mage.” I met the heat of Miller’s gaze without flinching. “So, yeah, I do.”

He was visibly shaking now, but whether it was from rage or exhaustion I couldn’t tell. Maybe both. Because he was furious. His eyes were dark, his square jaw set tight enough that I could hear his teeth grinding. Still, he mastered himself enough to speak civilly. “If you partner with John Creede, Ms. Graves, you will regret it.”

“Is that a threat?” I kept my voice sweet and utterly bland, but my eyes were on his hands, making sure he wasn’t about to go for a weapon. It would be a crazy thing for him to do, but I’d pretty much decided the man was nuts. However, I was curious. How did he know about mine and Creede’s discussions? Had he been to the office, or was one or both of us bugged?

“A promise,” Miller growled. With his message delivered, he turned on his heel. At his curt nod, his companions fell in behind him. They were just leaving the restaurant when John stepped out of the restroom. The whole encounter had only taken a couple of minutes. But that didn’t make it any less disturbing.

John stopped, stared after them for a long moment, his features hard and distant as a granite cliff. Then he strode stiffly over to the table, not bothering to sit down.

“What were George, Bobby, and Ian doing here?” His voice was flat, inflectionless.

“Miller wanted to warn me not to go into business with you.” I gave him innocent eyes before grabbing my margarita glass and taking a long pull of lime-flavored frozen goodness.

“And?” Standing there, glowering, he reminded me a little of Miller, only without the BO. They were quite a lot alike: hard, dangerous men who could be equally charming and deadly. Good friends/bad enemies.

“He was trying to intimidate me if he could.” The drink was perfect. As always. And with the kick of a mule. With any luck it would help me relax. Unlikely under the circumstances, but certainly worth a try.

“Did he?”

Juan was coming up behind him with another margarita for me and a fresh basket of tortilla chips. He gave an expressive snort as he reached around the other man to set the fresh drink in front of me before waving a container of cinnamon incense around the area to get rid of the smell. “This one is on me.”

I thanked Juan, then answered Creede. “I’m not easily intimidated. I’m just glad they didn’t cause trouble in the restaurant.” I paused for effect. “Are you going to sit down, or are you planning on standing there all day?”

He glared. I didn’t wilt. So, eventually, he sat. He even unbent enough to grab a chip. I passed him the bowl of salsa I’d hijacked. We sat in silence as he munched and I drank. I would’ve liked to join him. I miss munching. But the combination of salt, lime, and kick-ass tequila was taking the edge off my disappointment. In fact, it was taking the edge off of pretty much everything. I’d probably better slow down a bit.

“So now what?” he finally asked.

“Well, first I think it would be a good idea to find out how Miller discovered we were here and how he knew you’d offered to partner with me. I’m still not sure about whether we’d work as business partners. But I do not like being threatened and I really don’t like being bugged.”

“I can’t believe he actually had the balls to threaten you—and in the middle of a public restaurant.” A slow flush was spreading up Creede’s neck and his voice was low and growling. “Has he lost his fucking mind?”

“Ah, wait.” I raised a finger. “It was not a threat. It was a promise.” I rolled my eyes. “Relax, John. I’m a big girl. I don’t terrify easily.” I watched as he forced himself to calm down. It took a few minutes. He was not taking this situation well. Then again, who would? “Seriously, until you get your legal issues dealt with and I get my legal issues dealt with, we may not want to even try. Because if he can make trouble, he will. He has the connections to do it and apparently he has the technology. You’ll want to do a full scan of your car for trackers and maybe even take it to a priest. Oh, and throw away your clothes.”

“I know how to search for bugs, Celia. I’ve been doing this longer than you.” His growl was growing, but I wasn’t done. Because it needed to be said.

“And yet, they were here and overheard our conversation somehow. I’m pretty sure you’d be chiding me under the same circumstances. Because he’s not going to stop. You know it. Not until he finds some way to get to you—assuming he lives that long.”

Creede’s head jerked and his eyes widened with shock. I could tell he was jumping to conclusions from the look on his face, and it irritated the hell out of me.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I snapped, “I’m not going to do anything. But I don’t need to. That must have been one powerful oath you set up, because he was barely able to walk on his own and I’m pretty sure his arm is literally rotting meat.”

Creede looked from me to Juan, who nodded his agreement.

He started drumming his fingers on the table, his eyes going distant. I could tell he was going over the oath in his mind, checking to see if it was more powerful than he’d imagined. He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be that bad. Don’t get me wrong. If he’s not careful, he’ll lose the arm. But that should be the extent of it.”

“You didn’t smell him. The man is dying.”

Creede leaned back at an angle, his fingers drumming an irritable rhythm against the tablecloth. “The only way it would be that bad is if the oath is still active. So long as he’s still screwing me over, the oath is going to eat at him.”

Ah, I got it. It was a vicious cycle. “He blames you and is bitter, so he keeps trying to get even. And every time he does, the oath gets worse.”

“He can’t be that stupid.” Creede shook his head. He was still angry but there was sadness mixed in with it. I wasn’t surprised. They’d been friends and business partners for a long time.

I snorted. “He’s obsessed. Besides, you know as well as I do that people delude themselves all the time. Given enough time, he’ll have the whole thing being your fault. Probably even sue your ass.” There was a little lisp at the end of that. I’ve been having some trouble adapting to talking with the fangs. However, I will say it was harder than it should have been to put the glass down straight on the table.

“How many of those have you had?”

I sighed. “Not that many. Don’t worry. Vampire metabolism. I’ll be dead sober in no time.” I hadn’t meant the pun but recognized it when I saw his lips twitch. He had good lips. Very kissable. Not that I was ever going to, even though I could feel the brush of magic, just at the edge of my skin. Bruno was moving back soon. Just the thought made me smile, but that didn’t mean I was blind. I could look. I just wouldn’t do anything about it.

Right?

Creede scolded me, “You can’t eat anything solid. Drinks are going to hit you harder and faster than they did when you were human. Even if they do wear off quicker.” Shaking his head, “I’ll drive you back to Birchwoods.”

“Nope. I’m not leaving my car in town.” I shook my head firmly. Well, sort of firmly. Maybe the margaritas had gotten to me a little more than I’d thought. “And besides, I’ve got things to do.”

“You’re not driving like this.”

“Of course not. I’ll take a cab.” Actually, by the time we got back to the attorney’s office I’d be fine to drive. Definitely. Well, at least probably.

“Don’t lie to me, Graves.”

“Who’s lying?” I batted my eyes at him in a deliberately exaggerated gesture and ran a fingernail down his hand. I wasn’t using full siren magic on him, just flirting a little, but he pulled his hand away like it was burned. He was affected. I could tell. I could sense he wanted to help. Wanted to . . . but he fought it off with a shake of his head.

“Fine. You have things to do. I get that. But you nearly had your head blown off earlier today and you just got threatened because of me. So I’m sticking with you until the alcohol wears off and you have a better chance of defending yourself.”

“Whether I like it or not?”

“Is being driven around by me really such a terrible fate?” He gave me that charming, handsome smile that he seemed to be able to turn on and off at will. It was nice, but I liked the real one better. Shame he didn’t get much chance to use it.