The Eldritch Conspiracy bs-5

by Cat Adams

  “FBI! Freeze!” Dom’s bass bellow came from the doorway. He had his weapon aimed at Mortensen. The mage screamed a single word in a language I didn’t know, and an explosion rocked the room, moving outward from where he’d stood, sending chairs, chunks of concrete, and twisted metal speeding outward in a deadly storm.

  I heard Bruno’s voice shout a phrase in a tongue that might be early Latin. I was going to need a Rosetta course for ancient magical languages pretty soon. The fire disappeared but I still took what cover I could on the floor between the nearest two rows of seats and waited a moment that seemed an eternity for the wreckage to land.

  When I felt it was safe enough to poke my head up I saw blood and destruction. Dom was alive but he and three other agents were injured. Bruno was curled in a fetal position near the wall, moaning. His counterspell hadn’t been without consequence.

  There was no sign of Jan Mortensen.

  15

  If I hadn’t been friends with Rizzoli it would’ve been worse. If Dom Rizzoli was more of an ass and less of a professional, it would’ve taken longer. After all, there were injured agents, an injured civilian (Bruno had a cracked rib and needed some stitches where he’d been hit by a piece of flying debris), a missing witness, and an escaped villain—to say nothing of considerable property damage. Not a banner day for the feds or the agent in charge.

  But it wasn’t my fault, except for the small matter of showing up at the college. I specifically hadn’t followed Rizzoli. I wasn’t lying about that and he said he understood. So my questioning was friendly and relatively short, particularly when compared to what had happened at the police station the previous day. I was even able to clean up a little after the session so I didn’t look quite so much like the sole survivor in a disaster movie.

  I sat in the lobby of the federal building, waiting for my ride and thinking.

  The lobby of the federal building is beautiful. The floors are marble, the atrium area stretches up three stories. A mural stretches along two walls, depicting scenes from the beginning of the Bureau to the present. The entrance doors and reception desk take up the third wall. The fourth is unpolished black stone and nearly covered with two-inch brass plates with the name, rank, and date of death of agents who have died in the line of duty. It’s a grim reminder of the price paid to keep the public safe.

  No new plates would be put on the wall because of this morning’s fiasco. I was glad. We’d been lucky. I was lucky they’d arrived in time. The feds were fortunate in that Bruno had managed a partial shield when the blast hit.

  That had been one hell of a spell. It wasn’t the work of a student. Not even a graduate student. It was the kind of spell used by trained combat mages in military operations. You do something like that without a team behind you, you’re going to be wiped out for a week or more. Good news for the feds and all of the others out hunting Jan. They’d still have to contend with any traps he’d set for them. But he wouldn’t be doing any new magic for a few days at least.

  “Wow, that’s grim.” Dawna came up beside me. She stared up at row after row of little brass plates.

  “It’s supposed to be.” I turned to her. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

  “No problema. Ron’s in court all afternoon. It was just going to be me and the crickets.” She tried to sound lighthearted, but her smile didn’t light up her face the way it usually did. As always, she looked lovely enough to be garnering a fair number of stares, but she didn’t even notice. That was so not Dawna. Her suit today was a deep crimson. The jacket had an embroidered collar and a little peplum that drew attention to her tiny waist. The knee-length pencil skirt was just long enough to be modest, showing off a terrific set of legs. Her dark hair was loose, hanging in a sleek, shining curtain down her back.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s not important.”

  I didn’t believe her, but I also knew that pushing was pointless. She’d tell me when she was ready. But she would tell me. Dawna’s the kind who needs to talk things through. Still, it might not be the kind of problem you’d want to discuss in a public place that had both video and audio surveillance.

  We exited into bright sunshine and I immediately felt my skin starting to burn.

  “I hope you’re parked close. My sunscreen’s worn off.”

  “Crap, they don’t let anyone park within a block of the building. Get in the shade and wait,” she ordered. “I’ll come get you.”

  It made sense, so I was happy to agree. I ducked into the shadow of the building and felt the painful heat of my skin ease almost immediately. I closed my eyes for a second in blissful relief.

  Most of the time I’m okay with the “new me.” Some of the siren stuff is actually cool. The vampire healing is great. But if a genie gave me three wishes, my very first one would be to go back to being a normal human.

  I waited, expecting Dawna to come around the corner in her little Chevy hybrid. Instead I saw das Humvee pull to the curb.

  I say “das Humvee” because this wasn’t any old Hummer. No, this was a macho man’s wet dream—the full military-sized model, completely customized. It was huge, glossy black, and ostentatious, with lots and lots of chrome that glared blindingly in the afternoon sunlight.

  “Holy crap.”

  The passenger door swung open. “Get in.”

  “What the hell?”

  She gave an impatient gesture. I dashed across the sidewalk and hefted myself inside.

  It wasn’t easy. I’m a tall woman, but this thing was big. I couldn’t imagine how Dawna had managed it, especially in a skirt and heels. I especially couldn’t figure out how she reached the pedals or how she’d managed to lean across the length of the front seat to open my door.

  As soon as I had my seatbelt fastened, she pulled away from the curb, traffic parting in her path like the Red Sea parting for Moses.

  Sitting there, I couldn’t quite see to the next county but I could certainly see over all the other cars into the next block. I drive an old Miata, an itty-bitty sports car that’s slung low to the ground. Riding in the Humvee was a totally different experience.

  “I hate this damned thing,” Dawna muttered. “It’s so freaking huge. It’s impossible to find a place to park.”

  Yeah, that would be a problem—assuming you weren’t willing to crush the lesser vehicles that dared get in your way. But damn, the interior was nice. Unlike military models used in the field, this had real leather, real wood, lots of gadgets. It even had the after-market button with shielding spells. How cool was that?

  “Then why are you driving it?”

  “Chris insisted.” She said it bitterly, not a good sign. “He said that if I was going to be spending the day with you, this was the closest thing we had to a tank. And I shouldn’t hesitate to use the shielding spell, either. And see that blue button over there?” She pointed to a button that, like the shielding spell trigger, was after-market, but—also like the shielding spell trigger—very well installed. “That’s a panic button. We press that and the Company descends on us for a rescue.”

  “Really? No kidding?” Okay, that was freaking cool. John Creede had a disk like that, which he carried around in case of emergency. But to have it built into a car? Awesome. No, I don’t like the Company. They’re one of those private mercenary and magical contractors that do all sorts of Soldier-of-Fortuney things that countries don’t want to get their hands dirty handling. But a panic button to save one of their people? That appealed to the gadget geek in me in a big way. It was cool. It just was. The moment I got “people,” I was going to have one.

  “No kidding.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Chris isn’t just a medic, he’s got an actual healing gift. That’s really rare. And last year he bought into the Company. He’s a junior partner now.”

  I didn’t know what to think about that, let alone what to say. “Um, wow. How do you feel about that?”

  We were at a stop light, so she gave me a long, level look. “Abo
ut as happy as he feels about my working for you. I mean, he likes you and everything. But he says being around you is like riding out a hurricane, a coup, and a bomb attack simultaneously.”

  Uh-oh. Not good. “Crap.”

  The light changed, and we surged forward. “Don’t worry. I’m not quitting.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Oh good. Because I’ve been thinking about doing something, and I was kind of counting on your help.”

  “What?” She didn’t say “what now” but her tone of voice implied it.

  I winced but plowed on. “I’ve become too high profile to get many bodyguarding jobs as an individual.” There was no escaping the fact that business has been down. I hadn’t taken the Mexico job just as a courtesy.

  She nodded in agreement, but kept her eyes on the road. Apparently driving something this much bigger than she was used to took quite a bit of attention.

  “And subcontracting the help I needed for a bigger job didn’t work.” Understatement of the decade. I started drumming my fingers on the armrest nervously. Why was talking to Dawna making me nervous? Because what I was about to say was big, and I wanted her to agree. It should have occurred to me before now that she might say no, but it hadn’t. Just like it hadn’t occurred to me that Chris, who was my friend, damn it, wouldn’t want his bride-to-be hanging out with me.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m expanding the business. I’ll hire my own people, send them out on individual jobs, work with them running the bigger ones.” I took a deep breath. “I was hoping you’d want to go in with me. I can’t meet with female clients because of the whole siren thing.” Sirens make normal, fertile women irrationally angry and jealous. It’s biological. “You’re better with people than anyone else I know.”

  “So, a glorified receptionist.”

  “No. A partner. Seventy-thirty. You handle the office end and the computer research. I handle the staffing and action.”

  She was so startled she hit the brakes, hard. We were lucky not to be rear-ended. Amazingly, nobody hit us. Hell, nobody even laid on the horn. They just adjusted, driving around. Being behind a car that obviously costs six figures or more tends to make drivers more nimble. I know it does me.

  “A partner?” She looked at me, wide-eyed. But when she spoke again, her voice was only a little bit higher pitched and breathy than usual. “Why not fifty-fifty?”

  “Because I’m putting up the building and the money. This is going to take a lot of cash to pull off.”

  She started the vehicle moving forward again, keeping her eyes on the road. “Then it’s probably a good thing I deposited the check from your aunt, for protecting Adriana. It’ll make a good start. And hey, if she makes it up the aisle safely, you’ll earn the bonus. That should give us more than enough to get started.”

  Us. She’d said us. I found myself grinning hugely. And a check from my aunt! I’d have to remind Dawna to send her a contract—though, knowing Dawna, she already had.

  “But I’m not taking less than sixty-forty. You need me. Your people skills … well, they sort of suck.” She pulled smoothly into the right turn lane, all shock gone, her expression growing almost smug, dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

  I knew that look but wasn’t sure where she was going with it. “What?”

  Smugness grew into a grin. “I can’t wait to tell Ron.”

  16

  Dawna had brought me a printout of Olga and Natasha’s schedule for the day, e-mailed to her by Helen Baker. While she drove to the tow lot, where we’d redeem Emma’s car, I scanned the sheet of paper. Protected by several agents each, Adriana’s bridesmaids were spending the day doing interviews. I hoped that would keep them safe and out of trouble until it was time for us to meet for dinner.

  After returning Emma’s car to her at school, getting my knives from the police station (they wouldn’t release the gun, it was evidence), and checking my bank balance—Lopaka’s check had caused it to rise quite nicely—we hit the drive-through at Arby’s for a pair of French dip sandwiches. Dawna ate one sandwich, setting the second aside for later. I drank the au jus from both of them. We chatted about the new business plan, kicking ideas around. I’d call Roberto as soon as I had a chance, and get him started on the paperwork for our new partnership. Then it was on to my favorite store.

  Isaac and Gilda Levy own a shop that carries high-end magical weapons, extremely high-end spelled clothing, and jewelry. The jewelry is Gilda’s contribution. Isaac does the spell work and tailoring. It started out as a small place, tucked in beside a dry cleaner in a neighborhood that was just a bit off of the beaten path. But the store had grown over the years I’d known them. They hadn’t moved, but they’d expanded into the spaces on either side, and the resulting emporium was now fairly large, bright, and airy.

  Gilda Levy met me at the door and gave me a huge hug, squeezing me tight enough that the various gems on her many necklaces began digging uncomfortably into my chest. Gilda is not a beautiful woman in the traditional sense. She’s short, standing all of four foot eight inches. She’s nearly as wide as she is tall, with wiry salt-and-pepper curls that are moving more to salt as the years pass. But she’s got a smile that could melt the polar ice caps and there are laugh lines at the corners of her bright, dark eyes. She practically buzzes with natural energy, zipping from here to there: always busy, always productive. She wears designer clothes in bright colors and enough bling to make the most overdecorated rapper jealous.

  Today she was in a pale turquoise pantsuit with a cream, turquoise, and teal striped silk blouse left unbuttoned to show just the right amount of decolletage, which she had accessorized with about ten pounds of jewelry.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe. We’ve been worried sick about you.” She gave a delicate shudder that made the bangle bracelets she wore jingle. “Terrorists. Our Celia targeted by terrorists. What is the world coming to?” She turned, looking over her shoulder, and called out. “Isaac, Celia’s here. Do you have her new jacket ready? She’s damaged this one.”

  She was right, of course. The explosion had done more than stain and rip the fabric. The spells Isaac had worked into the jacket had probably been destroyed. But they’d done their job. I didn’t have so much as a bruise from the blast that had destroyed most of the auditorium. I wondered if the FBI would pick up the tab for the restoration.

  Isaac came to stand in the doorway between the front of the shop and his workroom. “It’s ready for the final fitting. And just in time, from what I hear. Come to the back and I’ll finish it up. You’re wearing your holster?”

  I shook my head. “No. The police kept my gun as evidence.”

  “You’re not unarmed?” He gave me a stern look.

  “I have a Glock in an ankle holster, and I’m wearing my knives.”

  “Good. But that doesn’t help us with the fitting. Gilda…”

  “I’ll take care of it, dear.” She scurried off to the weapons department with Dawna following in her wake. I followed Isaac into the workroom.

  The outer shop is bright, open, and designed to catch the eye of the customers. Every article is lit and displayed to its best advantage. Isaac’s workroom is a much more personal space. There is a silver casting circle eight feet in diameter in the center of the room. Inside it are three platforms of various heights that always remind me of the medal stands at the Olympics, but which actually perform a much more prosaic function. Having the client stand on the low dais puts most of them at the perfect height for Isaac to hem and tailor a jacket. The “second place” dais is great for hemming skirts. The highest one is just right for hemming the legs of trousers and tailoring them to fit perfectly to disguise an ankle holster. I remember how excited Isaac was when he had them built. No more crawling around while he performed both mundane tailoring and complex spell work.

  Along the walls, outside the circle, are cube-style shelves in unfinished oak that contain books in multiple languages, various spell compon
ents, and sewing equipment. In one corner, an old wooden roll-top desk sits next to a beautiful old sewing machine. A high-definition television hung from a mounting attached to the ceiling that could be rotated to face anywhere in the room; it is primarily used to keep clients from getting bored during long fittings.

  At the moment it displayed a talk show. I recognized the guest—one of Adriana’s bridesmaids, the lovely Princess Olga. I’d never seen the hosts before. Not a surprise really, since they were speaking Ruslandic.

  “I really wish I was better at languages,” I complained as, at Isaac’s gesture, I climbed onto the appropriate platform.

  “Ruslandic is not one of mine, but Gilda is fluent. She prefers to watch in the original language when she can, as translations are so often bungled.” He held up a needle and pointed it up at me. “Did you know that American English has the most words of any language in the world? And yet, they never seem to be able to adequately translate a word that has only four or five meanings in a foreign language.”

  Gilda was fluent in Ruslandic. Really. How … awesomely useful. Oh, the wheels in my mind were free-spinning. “Isaac, do you carry audio equipment for surveillance?”

  * * *

  I looked hot. Men stared and women glared as I followed the maître d’ through the trendiest of trendy L.A. restaurants to the private dining room where I’d be meeting the princesses. I wore a tight, bloodred dress with a sweetheart neckline. The hem came to my knees and there was a little slit so that I could walk. Three-inch heels in black matched the jacket I wore and the purse I carried. They also matched my shoulder holster as well as the hilts of my knives and my gun. But nobody would see those. Actually I thought the handbag kind of ruined the look, but I’d had to pick one large enough to hold a netbook.

  I made up for the bag with my jewelry. It was perfect—understated and elegant. Each of the individual pieces was spelled: the bracelet was also a microphone so that Gilda could hear everything that went on. I just had to be careful not to bump things as I ate. My earrings were speakers so that she could translate the Ruslandic for me. The gear had set me back a fair amount of money, but, by God, tonight I’d know what Olga and Natasha were saying and whether or not I needed to be worried about them.