by Cat Adams
“Dottie did a reading for me.”
“And pushed herself too hard,” he said, without the question this time.
I sighed in answer.
“She’s a grown woman, Celia, and knows what she’s doing. Don’t blame yourself.”
That was so much easier to say than to do, but I didn’t argue. There really wasn’t any point. I just shook my head and got up, crossing to where the little redheaded nurse, in her pale blue scrubs, was waiting with a wheelchair.
Bruno got up, too, then knelt in front of my wheelchair. Taking my hand in his, he said, “I’m so glad you’re coming home. I love you. You have no idea how badly you scared me.” His eyes grew haunted, then hardened with anger. “I just wish I could get my hands on the bastards who did this to you.”
I shuddered at the look on his face. I didn’t often see a resemblance between him and his relatives on the East Coast—reputed organized crime kingpins—or the man a vision had told me Bruno would have been if he’d never met me. But at this moment, I saw it all too clearly.
I don’t know what expression he saw on my face, but it affected him. As I watched, he swallowed all that rage, forcing himself to calm down. When he had himself under control, he leaned forward, kissing me gently on the forehead. “Let’s blow this pop stand.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He rose and gathered up the plastic tote bags that held the stuff I’d accumulated during my stay—books, magazines, toiletries, and other bits of junk. Bruno promised the same nurse who’d remembered us from the M. Necrose attack that he’d come back for the flowers and plants—and she reluctantly agreed to let him, so long as he did it soon. She wheeled me to the main entrance, where Bruno’s black SUV was waiting in the loading zone. The car has heavily tinted windows, and seats that are more comfortable than my bed. It’s new enough to still smell like vinyl and leather.
We drove in silence until we got onto Oceanview. Something was bothering him. Rather than sit and brood about it, I decided to just ask him straight out.
“What’s up?”
“I need to tell you something,” he said.
“Then why aren’t you talking?”
His mouth twitched. It wasn’t really a smile, but his expression softened enough that I didn’t think he’d be moving to Mount Rushmore.
“I’ve been trying to trace your knives using magic.”
“Wow, um, thanks. Any luck?”
“No.”
Okay, that was just weird. His blood was an essential part of their making. Logically, he should be able to find them anywhere on the planet.
“They haven’t been destroyed. I’d know it if they had been. But they’re being blocked from me.”
I blinked a little stupidly at that. Bruno is a top-level mage. He’s got world-class talent, excellent training, and plenty of experience. It would take somebody—or several somebodies of equal talent—to keep him from finding those blades. Of course, it had taken more than a hedge mage to put together that hologram spell.
I looked more closely at him. Bruno’s handsome features showed worry and exhaustion, and I’d have sworn there was a fine tracing of lines at the corners of his mouth where none had been just a few days ago. I reached out and laid a hand on his arm, gently, so as not to interfere with his driving.
“I hate to lose them. But if some collector has them behind wards that powerful, there’s not much we can do about it.”
“There’s more.” He pulled the car onto the shoulder, cut the engine, and turned on the flashers. I decided that whatever he was about to say, I wasn’t going to like.
“On my last attempt, I came this close.” He held his thumb and forefinger a fraction apart. “I wasn’t quite strong enough, so I called Matty. We made plans to work on it together this afternoon.”
That was a good idea. Matty’s only a level-six mage, but he knows how to make the most of his abilities. And he and Bruno are brothers. Being blood relations would make the bond between their magics that much stronger.
“So what’s the problem?”
“I’m thinking maybe I should reschedule. You see, I got a call from Alex this morning while I was on the way to the hospital to get you.”
“And?”
“She wants me to drop you off at the station. She wouldn’t give me any details and she doesn’t want me to stick around—said she’d give you a ride home when you were finished. I don’t like it.”
I can’t say as I blamed him. After all, until very recently a group of police officers had made it their mission to see me behind bars. The primary instigator was gone, dead through no fault of my own, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others who’d be looking to take any advantage.
Bruno continued, “I don’t like it. It feels … off. I’m thinking either it’s a trap for you or they’ve discovered something about your attack that Alex doesn’t want me to know about.”
I thought about it for a minute and decided the latter was more likely. Alex didn’t always like me, but I didn’t think she’d set me up to be imprisoned or executed. And she was a cop. She knew all about Bruno’s more … colorful relatives. She wouldn’t trust Bruno not to do something drastic. After the way he’d looked in the hospital when I first woke up, I wasn’t entirely sure I blamed her. Still, better not to say that. So I went with, “Alex wouldn’t trap me.”
He shook his head as if surprised by my naïveté. “I wouldn’t have thought Angelina would betray me either. People do what they think they have to, and the brass might not give Alex a lot of choice.”
There was a hint of hurt in his voice. Angelina Bonetti had been his high school sweetheart. He’d loved her once, and he would never have believed that she’d turn state’s evidence against his family. But she had.
I decided it would be best to avoid the conversational minefield Angelina presented and kept on point. “If push comes to shove, I’ve got diplomatic immunity,” I pointed out. “But I’m thinking it’s much more likely that they got a hit on one of the drawings.”
I’d told him about the drawings during one of his hospital visits. I hadn’t given him copies. But Dawna might have. She has some very strong feelings about justice and protecting her friends. As to what he’d do with the information …
“So, you want me to drop you off?” he asked, interrupting a train of thought I didn’t really want to ride.
I smiled at him. Not because I was happy but because he wasn’t trying to make the call for me. Maybe what I’d said to him the last time we were pulled over on the shoulder of a road had sunk in a little. “Yeah. I think so.”
“All right. But call me when you’re finished. If I don’t hear from you by two, I’m calling Roberto.” Roberto was my very expensive, top-of-the-line criminal defense attorney who had, thus far, managed to keep me from getting staked, beheaded, or permanently incarcerated. If I was … unnecessarily delayed … at the police station, calling him would be a very good idea. I nodded, and Bruno got us back on the road.
“You’ll have to expect to see an unfamiliar number when I call. My cell was in my car.”
He shook his head, a hint of amusement coming into his expression. “You and cell phones.”
“Tell me about it.”
The humor drained from his face, leaving him looking sad and grim. I wasn’t trying to read him, but I caught a glimpse of his thoughts. He was remembering what I’d looked like when they’d brought me in from the beach. He’d been absolutely terrified that he was going to lose me, either to death or to the vampire part of my nature.
“I’m fine,” I said softly, trying not to spook him.
He looked at me, his expression haunted. “This time.”
I couldn’t think of a way to respond, so I stayed silent. Fortunately, we reached the police station shortly thereafter. Before jumping out, I gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks. And … I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything. Love you.”
“You too.” H
e smiled when he said it; his eyes lit up and his dimples flashed. I’ve always loved those dimples. “I’ll wait for your call.”
“Right.”
The Santa Maria de Luna Police Department has a pretty lobby—once you get through security. The atrium is airy and there is a lovely fountain and a display of plaques honoring officers injured or killed in the line of duty. I always stop there to say a quick prayer for lost friends.
I was looking at the small gold plaque that bore the name Karl Gibson when Alex came up beside me—the officer at reception had called to let her know I’d arrived. I’d met Karl right after the vampire had tried to turn me, and though we hadn’t had long to get to know each other before Karl’s death, I’d liked him. He’d been shot trying to stop a plot that involved a greater demon and a political coup.
“He was a good man,” I said to Alex.
“And a good cop,” she replied. “I still miss him.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I changed the subject. “So, why am I here?”
“Upstairs.” She gestured with one arm toward the door, and while she wasn’t exactly acting friendly, I didn’t get any kind of a weird betrayal vibe either. So I went with her.
I hadn’t been upstairs very often since the building had been redecorated and redesigned—the city was turning a lot of offices into open-plan workspaces, and the police department was no exception. Considered on its own merits, it wasn’t bad. The small, grim, mostly windowless offices had been replaced by a huge, brightly lit open area that held a cubicle farm. The half-height cubicle walls were covered in nubby mauve fabric; plants in colorful pots were placed at intervals throughout the room; more plants hung from the ceiling. The carpet was orange and purple in a weird, abstract pattern. I thought it was hideously ugly, but it looked serviceable, wouldn’t show stains, and would probably last until doomsday.
All that light and color was intended to make the place look cheerful and bright, which struck me as wrong on so many levels. I mean, seriously? It’s a police station; it’s full of people who are being questioned or arrested. Then again, I suppose cops are just as entitled to a nice workspace as anyone else.
The size of the open space made sound echo and carry despite the cubicle walls and acoustical tiles in the ceiling. There was no privacy, but at the same time it would be hard to distinguish any particular conversation in the overall din of ringing phones, whirring copiers and printers, other conversations, and the click of fingers on keyboards.
Alex’s cubicle was in the far back corner of the room, near the fire escape and only three steps away from both the copier and the coffee machine. She’d personalized the space a little with a Far Side calendar and a framed photo of her with Vicki. The suit she wore, charcoal gray, with a red silk blouse, was the same in both the photo and real life. The woman, however, had changed. She looked older, grimmer, and much more tired. She gestured for me to take the visitor’s chair and poured me a cup of black coffee without bothering to ask.
“Alex?” I made her name a question.
She lowered herself into her chair. Taking a sip of her coffee, she sighed. “So, do you want the good news, the bad news, or the seriously weird shit?”
“It’s been a rough couple of days. Start with the good news.”
She nodded and smiled. “Love your hair. That cut looks really good on you.”
“Thanks.” My tone was dry. Not that I didn’t appreciate the compliment, but I was pretty sure we weren’t here to discuss grooming.
“The bad news: we found what was left of your car.” She opened the center drawer of her desk, pulled out a little metal plate, and tossed it onto the desk in front of me. “Sorry,” she said as I stared at my Miata’s VIN stamped into the ID plate.
“Damn it!” I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. I’d hoped … well, never mind what I’d hoped. I’d liked that car. I’d had it for years. Now I was going to have to find something else and probably have some huge car payment to deal with. And, God help me, I was going to have to deal with yet another insurance claim. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. I was not going to cry, damn it. I was not. I was alive. I wasn’t horribly scarred. I had my friends and my freedom. I’d get another car. “And the weird news?”
“I got an anonymous tip a few minutes ago. Someone said that if I wanted to find some stolen magical artifacts, I should go to this address.” She pulled a slip of paper from the still-open drawer. “Now, while lots of artifacts go missing, I’m not the one to get calls about them. Not my department. But since you’re missing a couple of things, I thought maybe I’d go check this out … and that you might like to ride along.”
I jumped to my feet.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Graves. It could be nothing.”
Too late for the warning. I was hoping like crazy. My knives and my siren ring are my most prized possessions—and they are such heavy-duty magical artifacts that there was no way I could replace them. I don’t have that kind of money.
Still, Alex was smiling as she rose from her chair. Leaning over the cubicle partition, she told the coworker in the next stall, “I’m taking my lunch break. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He gave a nod of acknowledgment and kept talking on the phone.
* * *
The address was down in the warehouse district. The area was familiar. It’s off the beaten track, not well patrolled, and not all that busy. Most of the manufacturing has moved elsewhere, so there are a lot of vacant buildings; their For Lease signs are barely readable under the graffiti. The street was echoingly empty and bits of trash blew across the road like modern tumbleweeds. More than one bad guy has established a home base in this warren, with the result that the whole neighborhood just had a bad vibe. Even in broad daylight a chill ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the AC in Alex’s car.
Alex pulled her car to the curb. Unfastening her seat belt, she reached between the seats to retrieve her bulletproof vest. As she put it on, she asked me, “That jacket of yours spelled?”
“Yes.” In fact, I was probably safer wearing my blazer than she would be in her vest. I don’t cut corners on protection, and Isaac Levy does terrific work.
“Yeah, well, you still stay behind me,” Alex ordered as we got out of the car.
“Gladly,” I agreed. “But I don’t suppose you have a spare gun?”
Grumbling, she reached down, pulled a Derringer from an ankle holster, and passed it to me.
She led the way up a set of cracked concrete steps up to a loading dock and a metal door marked DELIVERIES in peeling white paint. The door was unlocked and partially open. Alex stopped outside. She drew her weapon, holding it next to her right leg as she called, “Police. Open up!” and swung her arm to pound on the door.
When her fist made contact, the door swung easily back—too easily. Somebody had spelled it to open at a touch.
I smelled blood, sweat, piss, and fear. My vampire senses heightened and I could hear the squeals of rodents and soft gasping noises that reminded me of the way it sounded when someone tried to scream without drawing a deep breath. My teeth lengthened, saliva filling my mouth.
Now was so not the time to go to the bat side. I concentrated, beating down that part of my nature by pure force of will.
Alex gave a hiss of displeasure. “You can sense magic, right?” she asked me.
“Yeah.”
“You feel any booby traps?”
“Nothing,” I said. “But I didn’t feel the spell on the door either.”
“Wow, that’s real helpful.” She edged around the door, moving carefully so as to have the best possible cover while still getting a look inside.
I couldn’t see anything but her back, but I was okay with that. If there was something worth seeing, she’d tell me.
Sure enough, she began swearing. Turning to me, eyes blazing, she said, “Go back to the car. Use the radio to call for backup and an ambulance.”
13
Of
course I didn’t retreat straightaway. Instead, I leaned around Alex to get a look at what was inside—and immediately wished I hadn’t. Slugger lay naked in the center of the room, his hands pinned to the wooden floor by my knives. The blood had attracted rats, and while he wasn’t dead, he was a mess.
I threw up off the edge of the loading dock, then ran to the car to call for help as Alex went into the warehouse and started giving what first aid she could.
Slugger had been a thug and a potential rapist. He’d left me on the beach to burn. As I sat in Alex’s car, shivering and nauseated, I told myself he’d made his bed. It didn’t help. It had been obvious from my quick glance that Slugger had been there for hours before anyone had bothered to call Alex. The casual brutality of it was chilling. I thought of the man in the hologram—the one in charge. Presumably he was the one who had arranged to have this done.
“You okay?” I started—I hadn’t heard Alex approach. Not good. I must be a little bit shocky. I’d need to take care of that.
“Not really,” I admitted.
“Too much like what happened to you?”
“Yeah.” I hated to admit it, but it was the truth. As if from a distance I heard the slam of the ambulance doors.
“Do I need to take you back to the hospital?”
“No. I want to go home.” I wanted a hot bath. I felt like I’d never be clean again. I needed to brush my teeth. More important, even though food was the last thing I wanted, I needed to eat something. It must be close to lunchtime.
Oh, shit.
“What time is it?” I turned to Alex, a little panicked.
“Eleven fifty-three, why?”
“I have to call Bruno.”
She didn’t ask why, just retrieved the cell phone from her pocket and passed it to me. My fingers were shaking so badly that it took me three tries to dial the number.
He picked up on the first ring. “Celia, is that you?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t say much more than that. All of a sudden my throat was tight. I wanted to be sick again, wanted to cry.
