The Isis Collar

21

It took nearly half an hour to reach the third floor. Thankfully, the cat had realized now wasn’t a time to be affectionate and weave between our legs. She’d taken one look at us and gone back to her favorite perch on the windowsill. I was just glad we hadn’t tumbled down the stairs. The treads are narrow and it wasn’t easy to keep our balance while he hobbled and hopped.

We paused by my office door for John to catch his breath. That’s when I found a note taped on the paneled wood.

Tenant Meeting on Tuesday at 10:00. Be there.

Ron

I yanked it off the door and crumpled it in one hand before throwing it on the floor. Yeah, I’d be at the tenants’ meeting all right. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Ron’s snotty face when he found out I was the new building owner. Maybe I’d kick his ass to the curb.

John was pale and sweating from the stress of the climb up the stairs, but he wasn’t making a sound. I had to give him credit. “Okay, it’s only a few more feet to your office.” John’s office was right next to mine. He’d rented it a few months before during the blowup with Miller. I wasn’t quite sure why he’d kept the lease after Miller’s death. “Hang in there for just a few more seconds and you can lie down.”

“There’s nowhere to lay down in there. All I have is a desk and a safe.”

Okay. Change of plans. I pulled out my keys and opened the door to my own office. In a few minutes, I had John settled on my couch. When I put one of the pillows under his head, he grunted. “It’s comfortable.”

I had to let out a small chuckle. “Glad it suits you. I bought it after the last time I wound up sleeping on the office floor. It’s good to sleep on after long nights. Hang on while I get the med kit out of the safe.” He turned his head so he could watch me open it. He’s mentioned more than once he finds the whole process fascinating. He should. The safe is top-of-the-line and takes a good part of my income to maintain. The day we’d first met, John had planned to stay outside the building and watch the perimeter while guarding his movie star client, but the sheer power of the safe’s magical wards had intrigued him enough to come inside and check it out. He could still feel the energy from the look in his eyes. I shifted position so he wouldn’t see me enter the combination, looking at him over my shoulder.

At my move, a glimmer of humor returned to his face, which was nice to see. “Always the professional. I wouldn’t expect any less. Besides, I don’t mind the view.” He looked me up and down once, slow. “Nice outfit.”

He was being sarcastic, of course. I looked down. The splatters of zombie goo were now accented by splotches of John’s blood. Oh shit, zombie goo, in open wounds. What the hell had I been thinking?

“John, you’re going to have to go to the hospital. I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t think. But I fought a zombie—a guy who’d been infected with M. necrose.…

To my surprise, he only shrugged, then winced. “I’ve been vaccinated.”

I looked at him with disbelief. “Don’t bullshit me, John. Nobody gets vaccinated for a weird disease like that.”

He chuckled. “You do when you’re guarding a group of doctors from Physicians Médecins Sans Frontières in Papua, New Guinea. Especially when M. necrose is what they’re going there to treat.” Maybe my disbelief continued to show, because he shrugged. “It’s on the list of immunizations in my passport in the safe in my office. When I can walk I’ll show you.”

My knees went weak with relief, and I had to steady myself for a second. The thought that I could’ve infected him …

“I’m glad it matters so much to you, but could you get a move on? The leg really hurts.”

No doubt. I pulled myself together and hurried over to the safe that takes up most of the wall behind my desk. The charms, like most of the really valuable stuff I keep on site, were locked inside.

My safe is both magically and scientifically biometric. After I entered a code onto the keypad, a palm plate popped out to test my DNA and fingerprints. The display reminded me that I was nearly at my “due date.” When I was turned, the safe didn’t recognize me anymore. My software guru suggested I use the pregnancy override to account for my changed body. It worked, but when the nine months were up, the safe might not open. I was going to have to remember to clean it out completely before my “due date.” It’s a big safe, so that will be a pain in the butt.

Once the lights all turned green the locks disengaged with heavy thunks and the door cracked open. It’s easier to open now that I’ve got the extra strength, but I’m still glad the door is well balanced. The med kit held all the new stuff I’d bought at Levy’s. I hadn’t planned to use the charms quite this fast. “Okay, let’s see what we have here.” I dumped everything on the coffee table. The one I wanted landed on top. “Here we go. Leg Set.” I read from the back: “‘For relief of simple breaks of toes and legs. Not for use on ankle or knee joints or when bones protrude from skin. Severe breaks should be treated by a physician or licensed healer.” I looked at his left leg. “I don’t think you could have walked at all if the bone was protruding. You probably would have passed out. But we should probably check. Upper or lower?”

He raised his leg slightly and turned his foot toward me. “Lower. Feels like it’s just above my ankle.”

At least he was wearing sneakers, so I didn’t have to worry about getting a boot off. I carefully pulled up his pant leg and took a look at the leg. He had really nice calves. He must swim or run. The whole front of the leg was definitely swollen and red, but there was no lump that might indicate that the bone was separated. “You’ll need to get an X-ray even with the charm to make sure there aren’t any chips in there.”

He raised his brows. “Of course. But let’s get it to where I can walk on it.”

I opened the package and wrapped the hook and eye fastener around the area and then squeezed the plastic vial inside the covering until I heard it crack. A glow enveloped John’s leg and he sucked in a sharp breath. “You didn’t mention the stinging.”

A quick glance at the warnings revealed the answer. “Ah. ‘May cause swelling, itching, or burning sensation for first thirty minutes. Reaction is generally mild to moderate. Leg should not bear weight for thirty minutes and patient should not run or attempt strenuous activity for twenty-four hours. If pain continues for more than sixty minutes, a spiral fracture may be indicated and professional treatment should be sought.’ So, I guess we’ll see, huh?”

He nodded. “Actually, it’s starting to fade already. Or at least it’s not as bad as when you first put it on.”

“Your lip’s bleeding again. Try not to drip on the rug.” He shot me a sarcastic glance and opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance. “How about we just fix it?”

He shook his head. “Eye first. It’s swelling enough it’s getting hard to see.”

That was easy, but, “Well, that should take your mind off the leg.” I smiled, but he didn’t. Oh, well. It was the truth, because I was going to have to sit down on the couch next to him and hold the cut together while I poured on the skin-mend powder. Nothing like squeezing an open wound for sheer, raw pain.

Worse, it was a long cut and tricky to hold. I finally wound up positioning John’s fingers on one half. He blistered the air with swearing as I poured, but he didn’t move. Soon enough he had a thin, angry red line over his eyebrow instead of the once-nasty cut.

“Okay, then. So—” Next was his mouth. “Any loose teeth?”

He nodded. “I probably took one or two kicks. One molar and an upper canine are loose. But at least they’re all there.”

It was time to bring it up, while I pulled another package from the stack on the table. “So, what happened? Who messed you up?” He was silent for a long moment while I read the instructions for the charm. I decided to break the silence. “Oh, this is the ‘new and improved’ version. I need water. Hang on while I get a cup.” I paused before I left the room. “You can decide what you want to say, but I think I’ve earned an answer.”

He let out a harsh breath as I walked to the bathroom down the hall for a paper cup and some water.

John was in a sitting position on the couch when I returned. That was probably better for swallowing. The intensity and anger in his eyes was hard to watch, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t directed at me, so I sat down on the couch next to him and handed him the cup before reading through the instructions. “Okay, it looks like I pour in the potion and you hold it in your mouth for thirty seconds, swishing it around.” I did it and watched as it bubbled and frothed. “Save a little and I’ll hold it to your lip from the outside.”

He held the cup for a long moment and looked at me. “I have no idea who jumped me or what they wanted. They hit me from behind, blindfolded me, and took me somewhere in spelled cuffs. They somehow stole my magic before I could even react. I couldn’t cast a single spell. Not even break the emergency spell ball. After that, I don’t remember a damned thing until I came to in the parking lot.”

Ouch. That’s gotta be hard on a mage’s pride. “Pour, swish, and swallow. But save some.”

He poured nearly the entire contents of the cup into his mouth and closed his lips. I tilted the cup against his mouth and let the remaining liquid rest against the damaged skin. I started to stare at my watch to count off the thirty seconds required. But my gaze was pulled back to John’s face when I heard odd noises coming from his throat. His lips were still closed, but I could tell he was close to gagging. His expression was one I’d seen in movies, when a kid took a big spoonful of castor oil. John started to turn to spit it out, but I held his head steady. He raised his hands up to push mine away, but I wouldn’t have any of it. “Hang in there, tough guy. Don’t spit. You need to swallow it in ten … nine—” I kept counting until I reached “zero” and pulled away the cup.

He swallowed, but it was a hard effort. Then he did start gagging and turned on the couch in case he wound up throwing up. It took a few deep breaths before he finally sat up again. “Jesus. That stuff tastes like rotten eggs. What brand is that so I never use it again?”

I showed him the package and he shuddered.

“How are the teeth? Your lip looks great.” It did. The bruising and cut on his lower lip were completely gone and the skin was smooth and new.

He used his tongue to feel around. His face registered wary surprise when he picked up the box again. “The teeth are solid again. Damn it. I hate it when something that crappy tasting actually works.”

I noticed another bolded bit of text on the front. “And apparently it leaves your breath minty fresh. Better than the taste of old blood, I guess. Does your mouth feel minty?” I said it with teasing in my voice and he let out a small chuckle.

“You tell me.” He blew out air softly toward my face.

I had to lean down to catch the scent and closed my eyes to identify it. “Actually, it does. Peppermint.” I opened my eyes to find I’d leaned startlingly close to his face. His hazel eyes stared deep into mine. He didn’t say a word. Just stared, and before I even realized I’d done it, I pressed my mouth against his so-soft healed lips. Firm, full, and … damn. He let me, relaxed his jaw so that my mouth partially fell into his. His peppermint-flavored tongue touched mine, toyed with me, passed along the potion’s tingle to my mouth, and sped my pulse. Slow, so slow and sweet. His hand rose and touched the braid tight against my head, stroking the twists until he reached my bare neck. My own hands were busy exploring his neck and shoulders. I’d heard his shallow breathing and didn’t want to put any pressure on his chest. Well, actually, I did. Wanted to put pressure in a number of places. But I didn’t.

He didn’t have any supernatural energy to rush over my skin, but I shivered nonetheless as his fingers drew patterns on my neck. I pulled back from the kiss with a nearly violent shudder that raised all the hair on my body. “How do you do that?” My words were breathless, nearly panicked.

“Do what?” he whispered.

“Make me tingle like this without any magic.”

He didn’t answer right away … only offered a quirk of a smile while running his thumb along the line of my jaw. “You tell me.”

I pulled back from him, trying to find my focus again. “I should help you up so you can get that passport to show the doctor.”

He was amused now and continued to tease. “Y’know, not all of my body parts were injured.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me while still stroking a finger down my cheek. I wasn’t sure if he was joking but decided to treat it that way.

“Keep it up, buddy. I can fix that.” Now he did laugh and it sounded good. Relaxed. But there was still a haunted look at the back of his eyes. It sucked not remembering. “I’ve been there … the not remembering part. It’s hard.”

He nodded. “I think I need to find out somehow. It’ll bug me forever otherwise.”

“Okay, then how about focusing on something else. What did you find out about the spell on me? I got your messages but then … well, you know. Why does my head hurt so much?”

He sighed and leaned back into the pillow. “They were right. It’s a memory-wipe spell. It’s trying to rewrite your past, like it changed the memories of the others so they forgot about the bomb. But the vampire healing has been fighting the spell. That’s where the headaches come from. And I bet you’ve been having more trouble with the vamp side of your nature as well. The reason it was so hard to work with is that someone went to a lot of trouble to make it untraceable and difficult to unwind. I managed to get to the bottom of it before … well, before. Now that I know what it is, it will be a simple matter to remove. I can do it when my power is back, or you can go to Jean-Baptiste.”

“Oh, thank God.” I didn’t bother to hide my relief. “I was afraid…” I stopped before I could finish admitting that I was terrified I was actually becoming a vampire. The very first thing the magic that creates a vampire does is erase all memories of the bat’s human life and personality.

“It’s okay to be afraid, Celia.”

I frowned because of the way he sounded. “What’s wrong?”

I could tell he didn’t want to answer, but he finally sighed. “I can’t feel my magic. It’s like your foot going to sleep. It’s just … numb. I’m hoping it’s temporary.”

Crap. I didn’t know what to say about that. I touched his cheek and couldn’t fix what was in his eyes. “John, I—”

Another male voice sounded from downstairs. “Celia? You up there?”

It was Bruno. “Up here!” He started to bound up the stairs and I realized at the last second how it would look. Sitting next to John, my hands on his face and his fingers stroking my shoulder. I stood up and John’s face took on a flat, emotionless expression.

Damn it. I couldn’t win.

Bruno started talking before he reached the entry. “Are you okay? The front door was wide open. Your purse is still in the car and there’s blood on the sidewal—” His heavy footsteps came to a stuttering stop when he could see inside the room. His eyes flicked from me to John to the open med kit and the charm on John’s bare leg. He fixed his fellow mage with a steady stare. “You look like shit. What happened?”

John shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I whispered, and started to clean up the empty boxes scattered on the floor. Putting them in the trash can, I could only shake my head at the rising level of testosterone in the room. It was better if I stayed out of the line of fire.

“Mm-hmm.” Bruno’s voice was understandably skeptical as he tossed my purse on the desk and turned one of the wing chairs around with his free hand and sat down. He didn’t take his eyes off John. A long pause was filled with tension before Bruno asked again, “So. What happened?”

“Fell down a flight of stairs.” I raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Maybe this was what it would take to get him to talk.

“Really.” Bruno kept a straight face and leaned back into the cushions before raising his coffee cup to his lips to take a sip. Once it was down, he remarked drily, “That’s a damned long flight of stairs. How’d you make it around the corners?”

I snorted while John glared at him. I couldn’t help it. “Just tell him, John. He might be able to help.”

John looked my way. “Celia, could you go get my passport from my office?”

“I thought it was in your safe. And besides, I don’t have a key.”

“There’s one in Dawna’s desk and I just remembered the passport is in my center desk drawer. Bad of me to forget to put it in the safe, but there you go.” He gave me a serious look. “If you don’t mind.”

Ah. Guy talk. The best part was that I could probably hear it if I listened close.

But by the time I reached the front desk I hadn’t heard anything new. Bruno asked a couple of good questions about sounds or smells John remembered before he blacked out, but the memory was just gone. John’s voice was frustration personified. “It’s starting to drive me nuts.”

I really did know how he felt and that made me realize there might be a solution to his problem—the same solution I’d used. I wouldn’t call her today, but Dottie might be able to help. We’d met when a friendly cop had asked her to help restore my missing memories.

When I reached the third floor again, they stopped talking until I passed by. “Got the key. Be right back.”

As I opened the door to John’s office, I realized I wasn’t sure what to expect. When I flipped on the light I was taken aback at the massive casting circle that practically filled the space. It was set up on the equivalent of a portable dance floor. All there was room for outside of the circle was a desk and a single armchair that matched the ones in Bubba’s room. Heck, maybe it was one of those from Bubba’s office.

The safe in the corner wasn’t as big as mine, but it was equally well protected by magic wards if the energy surge that hit me when I got too close was any indication. The power crawled along my skin like biting ants and I was forced to hop to the side before the sensation dug any farther down inside my arm.

The desk wasn’t what I expected. I’d always imagined John as a clean-line, Architectural Digest kind of guy who would have a glass and chrome look. But this desk was hand-carved of heavy, knotty wood and had a … country feel that screamed “home on the range.”

Interesting.

I opened the middle desk drawer and right on top was his passport. It was well used and about to expire. His photo inside was nearly a decade old and a seal identified him as a licensed mage at level 8.5. The intense, dangerously competent look he gave to the camera in his photo made me shiver. I flipped through the pages. He really had been all over the world. Stamps and stickers from countries I’d barely heard of filled nearly every sheet and he wasn’t kidding that the back page listed a host of weird vaccinations—one of which was for M. Necrose. Who’da thunk?

The built-in bookcases along the wall were identical to mine and he’d filled them with a variety of leather-bound texts–magical volumes, given the crawling sensation on my arm when I passed by. I had just cleared the books when I noticed the line of framed photos on the shelf next to his desk. I couldn’t resist and backtracked to look.

One shelf was a tribute to the wine he’d helped develop. Witches’ Brew was the world’s first magical wine. It tasted exactly like the best wine you ever had. If you like cherries, it tastes like cherries. I’d been to the wine’s debut party and had a very good time. Right up until the rift tried to destroy the world.

On the next shelf, was a photo of John and George Miller in younger days—standing in front of the dilapidated building that would become the home of their business and one of the most recognizable addresses in L.A.

There was another photo of John in a family setting, like a studio shot, showing him along with three women and a man who had an older version of John’s strong features. I was betting one of the women was Gillian, but I had no idea which. And I had no idea who the other, younger woman might be.

But it was the last photo, shaded partially in darkness, that made me gasp and stare as the passport fluttered to the carpeting from my suddenly limp hand.

Fuck a duck.

A familiar face smiled out at me from the silver frame and it made my blood run cold.

John Creede had a framed photo of the woman who’d bombed six grade schools and had tried to kill me twice … that I knew of.

What the hell?