by Cat Adams
I do not believe in snooping. I don’t. It’s wrong. People are entitled to their privacy.
But I had to know. Had to.
So I lifted the sticky note off the picture.
The image was a surprise. It was a group shot of teenagers standing on a boardwalk. The one in the middle was Bruno, younger and wearing a Metallica T-shirt, worn jeans, and a grin. He had a girl on each arm, but the one on the left was his girlfriend. I could just tell. The girl on the right had bigger hair, more makeup, and less clothing, but the girl on the left had it. Charisma, star quality—whatever you want to call it, she had it in spades. Clouds of dark curls had been pulled back from a face dominated by huge dark eyes and the kind of sultry lips that just beg to be kissed. She wore plain shorts and a T-shirt, but they didn’t look plain on her.
Angelina Bonetti, I assumed. I found myself fighting down a wave of pure jealousy.
“Morning, sunshine.” Bruno greeted me from the kitchen doorway.
“Good morning.” I held out the photo to him. Taking it from me, he glanced at it and gave a gusty sigh, then leaned forward to give me a quick kiss and set the picture on the kitchen counter behind me.
“Your high-school sweetheart?” I supplied, guessing.
“Yup.” He slid one arm around my waist and pulled me against him. Since he was only wearing a thin pair of pajama bottoms I could tell he was happy to have me there. But he didn’t make a move on me. Instead, he righted the little metal cup tree on the counter, pulled off a mug, and put it down in front of the coffeemaker.
When he spoke, his voice was calm and matter-of-fact. “Angelina, and pretty much everyone else, assumed that we’d get married and that I’d take over Uncle Sal’s business while she stayed home and raised babies.”
Uncle Sal probably has some legitimate businesses. But that’s not the kind of business Bruno was referring to. The fact that Sal isn’t in jail with Gotti and the others says he’s smart and dangerous. “I’ll bet Joey didn’t make the same assumptions.” Joey was Bruno’s cousin, Sal’s son and heir. I like him … sort of. But he’s a scary bastard. Not as scary as Sal, but impressive enough all on his own.
“No. Joey didn’t.” There was a long silence. Bruno was lost in thoughts of the past. I didn’t rush him. He’d tell me in his own time and his own way. “Joey and I get along okay now. But back then it was … tense. One of the reasons I came to the West Coast for college in the first place was to get away from the family, from everybody’s expectations, so I could figure out what I wanted. All my life, all my decisions had been made for me. I wanted to make my own choices.”
I thought about that for a long moment. It made sense. It also explained why he has had a hard time sharing in the past and including me in the decision making. I didn’t like the notion. But at least it made sense. I filed that thought away for thorough consideration later, because Bruno was talking again.
“Angie wasn’t happy about my leaving. She wanted me to go to school in New York so we could see each other. We broke up right before I left.” He shook his head ruefully. “Broke my heart.”
The coffee was ready. I moved aside and he busied himself pouring us each a cup. I started to say something, but he continued.
“I hated it here at first. I didn’t fit in at all. My roommate in the dorm was a total asshat. Sal told me to give it time. ‘Finish out the year. You still don’t like it, then we’ll talk.’” He took a sip of coffee. His eyes met mine over the rim and started sparkling. “Second semester, the roommate dropped out, I met you, and I had my first class with El Jefe.”
“You think Sal knew?”
“Maybe. He’s got clairvoyants on staff. I know he was worried about me and Joey. He never said anything, but I could tell.”
I took a sip of my own coffee, and some of the tension in my shoulders eased a bit. “Did I ever tell you about the vision Dottie showed me last Christmas?”
With his mouth full of coffee, he raised one eyebrow in inquiry.
“I was really depressed because of the whole thing with Gran. She showed me what would’ve happened if I’d been killed with Ivy. It was pretty scary—sort of It’s a Wonderful Life as produced by Tim Burton.”
He put down his cup and looked at me seriously. “I’m not the same person I would’ve been without you.”
“No, you’re not.” I brought the cup to my nose with both hands, deeply inhaling the wonderful scent of liquid nirvana before taking another drink. It kept me from shuddering at the memory of what Bruno might have become.
He smiled. “I like this me better.”
It was my turn to look quizzical. “But you haven’t even heard—”
He held up one hand. “Don’t need to. I know what I was like then and I have a pretty good idea of what kind of man I would’ve become.” He set his cup down on the counter and pulled me close. I put my coffee down, too. We were standing face-to-face, bodies pressed together. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about Angelina Bonetti.”
The photograph drew my gaze like a magnet. Damn, she was beautiful. And she was the type who would only have gotten better with age. And Mama DeLuca liked her.
“Celia.” Bruno’s voice was gently chiding. I looked up and found I couldn’t look away. His gaze was intense, the flames at the backs of his eyes flaring. “I love you. I want you. And even if we don’t work out, I’m not going back. I’m not that person anymore. I bought this house for a reason. This is my home now.” He continued, speaking softly and with amazing intensity. “I like teaching. I’m good at it. Once I finish my doctorate and my course work, I’m going to apply for a university staff position. I’ll still make artifacts, but I’ll choose what to create and who to make them for.”
Wow. Part of me was shocked … and another part wasn’t. No, he hadn’t discussed any of this with me before. But I wasn’t upset about that. We aren’t engaged. We aren’t planning a future together. Not yet; maybe not ever. I’d been dating both Bruno and John Creede for a while and I would have had no right to bitch if he dated Angelina Bonetti or anybody else—even though I had to admit to myself that I wouldn’t like it.
Teaching at Bayview would be a really good fit for him. He’d hate the politics, but he’d be good at it. And if we did manage to work things out and become a “real couple,” well, he’d be right here. No more long distance.
“I’m happy for you. I think it’s a good idea.”
“But?”
I smiled at him a little sadly. “I feel like too much happened while I was out of town. Everything’s changed.”
A quick shrug. “You’re tough, Celia. And smart. You’ll catch up.”
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure what to say.
He smiled and took my hand. “Come back to bed. Who knows, maybe we’ll even get some sleep.”
9
“I’m sorry,” I said as I extended my hand to the woman who had stood upon my entering the conference room. Helen Baker is a member of the Serenity Secret Service. She is tall, with chiseled features and a seriously buff body underneath the conservative black suit she was wearing with a dove gray blouse. The last time I’d seen her she’d had a buzz cut. Apparently she’d decided to let her blond hair grow out a bit; though it was still short, it was not as short, and it had been styled to look more feminine. She looked good, I thought.
Baker rose from the slight bow she’d given me and accepted my handshake. “There’s no need to apologize, Princess. You’re not late, I arrived early.” That was obvious. She’d had time to take over the conference room, setting up her computer and a projection screen. And I spotted several old-fashioned display boards leaning against the wall.
I realized Baker was still standing. Apparently she wouldn’t sit until I did. She was probably following royal etiquette. That was something I definitely needed to brush up on for my new assignment. I’d done a bit of research a couple of years ago, but it had been awhile. I’d forgotten most of it.
“Actually, I’m apologi
zing because…”—I paused for a second, searching for the right phrasing—“bringing me in makes it seem that you guys aren’t capable of doing your jobs. And that is not true.” I’d worked with Baker and other members of the Siren Secret Service before. They were efficient, well trained, and scary good. “I can’t imagine why I’d be needed.” I pulled out the chair directly across from her, turning it so that I would have a good view of the projection screen.
Baker smiled and took her seat. “But you are needed.” She reached into the padded laptop case on the table and withdrew a manila folder. “I’m a clairvoyant. I’ve seen it myself. There are no specifics. The people moving against us have used powerful black magic to shield their actions—demonic magics. You, Princess, have more experience fighting the demonic than anyone on our staff. You also have fought and executed at least ten vampires, even one übervamp. There has never been a vampire on Serenity, so none of our people has that experience. We’ve trained for it, but training and experience are two very different things. Don’t presume we’re insulted. I assure you, we’re not. We’re eager to learn your techniques.”
It was weird, hearing my last few years summed up so neatly. Baker made everything sound so matter-of-fact, but every one of those incidents had been terrifying, dangerous, and damn near fatal to me and lots of other people.
“So there’s no friction?”
Her expression grew rueful. “Not from me. But I can’t say that everyone on staff is thrilled. Especially since it’s been made clear that the queen wants us to protect you as well.”
“No.”
She raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
“Say it to her as respectfully as you can, but no. If I’m going to do Adriana any good at all, I have to be able to do what is necessary. That means I have to take risks. I may have to throw myself in front of a bullet. I can’t do that if you guys are protecting me. It won’t work. And it puts your team in an untenable position. So, tell the queen that I refuse.”
“Refuse to be in the wedding party or refuse to be protected?”
I shrugged. “I’d prefer protected. But whichever is necessary.”
“She won’t like that.”
Probably not. But— “Queen Lopaka is a sensible ruler. She’ll see the logic.” And while she liked me, she loved her daughter. Protecting Adriana would be her primary concern.
“Very well, if you insist.” She gestured toward the screen. “Shall we get started?”
“Please.”
Baker’s briefing was fairly thorough, especially considering they didn’t know much about the Guardians of the Faith. They were a terrorist group that had started up about two years earlier, beginning with some anti-siren chatter on the Web. They hadn’t become really organized or vocal until King Dahlmar’s engagement to Adriana went public. Since then, they’d mobilized, taking credit for a number of smaller events before the plane crash and bombing of the shop where Adriana had bought her bridesmaids’ dresses. All of the Guardians’ propaganda was virulently anti-siren, and there were specific threats against Adriana, Queen Lopaka, and me. Their stated goal was to prevent the royal wedding at any cost.
I didn’t like the “any cost” part, because that put them on a fanatic list that only a few groups in the world could lay claim to. Worse, despite all of the Guardians’ activity, the siren and Rusland intelligence organizations had no names or locations for any members, and any leads tended to quickly peter out.
Baker turned to her laptop and began her next prepared presentation, on the wedding itself, complete with PowerPoint slides. Nice that the queen’s staff had embraced technology.
The ceremony on Serenity would be short and casual … and a security nightmare. In the distant past, sirens didn’t marry. They used the men they wanted for as long as they wanted and then compelled them to leave and never return. Girl children were kept and raised. Boys weren’t. But while change came slowly among the sirens, it did come. Marriages now existed, mostly as a promise to keep and support all children of the union. For the average siren and her husband, that meant posting an intent to marry in the newspaper and signing official papers in front of a local judge.
Adriana’s marriage on Serenity would be a bit more formal than that due to her rank, but not much. The day of the wedding had been declared a national holiday. Streets were being blocked off along the entire 2.3 mile route from the palace to the courthouse where the chief justice would be waiting. The route for the procession—by the bridal party, on foot, nice and slow. My head hurt just thinking about all the ways that could go wrong.
Afterward, there would be a private luau on the grounds of the royal compound, for which security would be a piece of cake by comparison. I’d already RSVP’d “no” because of the whole sunshine thing, but Baker informed me they’d changed the plans slightly to accommodate me by placing the wedding party under a canopy and keeping the entertainment and the cooking pit in the open. Baker and her superiors had decided not to discuss the change of plans in public, giving us an element of surprise.
The second ceremony, taking place two days later in Rusland, would be a traditional Orthodox Christian wedding ceremony. This would be a much more formal and elaborate affair, much like the royal wedding of the British prince a couple of years prior. The Siren Secret Service was cooperating with their Ruslandic counterparts on the details.
I glanced up at the wall clock. “I know there’s more, and I’ll need to go over it with you later, but we’re almost out of time. What’s on tap for today?”
Baker scowled, but couldn’t really argue. “Adriana flew the queen and the other two bridesmaids over from Serenity last night. They are guests at the Serenial Embassy. They’re scheduled to have breakfast until 8:30 with the ambassador and his wife. At 8:33, they’ll get in the limo and come here. They should arrive between 8:59 and 9:04 depending on traffic.” She glanced down, checking her notes.
“At approximately 9:58, you will arrive at the shop of designer Amelie Annette Bertrand. The shop has been closed to everyone except the princess and our people have made a thorough security sweep of the shop and the area around it. We will have guards posted at every exit and patrolling the neighborhood. At 11:45, the car will pick you up at the shop and take the group to Simone’s, where a private room has been reserved for lunch. The facilities have already been secured. At 1:15, the car will take you and the others to designer Angel Herrera’s showroom. Security measures will be identical to those at the Bertrand shop.”
I could tell from her narrative that security for the day was going to be tight. Good. I still didn’t know exactly where I fit in the scheme of things, how well the team would react to having me included. But there was only one way to find out.
“Do you mind if I have Dawna make me a copy of the itinerary while I go arm up?”
“Not necessary.” She reached into the laptop case and handed me a sheet of paper and a thumb drive. “I was afraid we wouldn’t have time to cover everything, so I took the liberty of putting it all on a flash drive for you.”
“Thanks. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to talk later today.”
She shook her head. “Not in person, at least not today. I have an errand to run, then I am flying back to Serenity.”
Well, crap. That sucked. While I could probably talk to any of the secret service agents, I liked and trusted Baker. “Is there anybody specific I should talk to?”
Ever prepared, she reached into the case and pulled out a business card. “Saren Albright will be the agent in charge on this detail. Here’s her card. I’ll let her know that you may be consulting with her later.”
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
10
It took me all of fifteen minutes to decide that I didn’t like the other bridesmaids. Olga and Natasha were Ruslandic royalty. I was betting their addition to the wedding party was political rather than emotional, because neither showed any kind of sincere affection for the bride-to-be.
Natasha was the daughter of a prominent conservative clergyman with major political power. She had been briefly married to King Dahlmar’s son before his death. Olga was the daughter of Dahlmar’s younger brother. Both women were lovely, with dark hair and smooth fair skin, although Olga had a sly way about her that reminded me of the petty little bitches who’d tormented me back in high school.
She and Natasha spoke mostly to each other, and in Ruslandic, knowing nobody else could understand, which was just plain rude. When I decided to tell them so, mind to mind, I hit a solid barrier and guessed that both of them were wearing anti-siren charms. That was very interesting, since those types of charms are difficult to make and even more difficult to obtain. It was pretty much an insult for them to wear them under these circumstances. On the other hand, it should have made them immune to the anti-siren sentiments that most women feel, yet both radiated a low level of hostility. Either the charms weren’t working or there was some sort of problem. Maybe I should—
Don’t.
Adriana’s birdlike voice in my head was calm and patient.
They’re being obnoxious.
She didn’t bother trying to deny it. If my mother can ignore it, so can you.
I looked over at Queen Lopaka. Her expression was serene. She turned to meet my gaze and smiled. She spoke out loud, to my surprise. “We are most fortunate that both of Adriana’s possible choices for a wedding dress had already been delivered. It would be much harder to find a suitable bridal gown than attendant dresses on short notice. The previous dresses were pale gold, quite lovely, but all wrong for your complexion, Celia. I think perhaps we should consider jewel tones this time. What do you think, Adriana?”
“I agree that gold won’t work. Perhaps Amelie will have some suggestions.”
