by Cat Adams
I wasn’t going to pick on the guy. “Hey, it’s hard. I understand. The whole idea of that kind of money messes with your head.”
The sound he made was a sort of laugh but really closer to a donkey bray. “It isn’t my head as much as everyone else’s. The calls have been non-stop since it made the press here.”
“Press? What press? Nobody was supposed to know about the probate while the court case was going on.”
“This is a small town, Ms. Graves. Nothing, and I mean nothing, goes unnoticed in Fool’s Rush. Someone like your investigator comes to town and everyone knows the story before lunch.”
I winced. I knew all about bad press and people calling at all hours. “Everybody in town has probably called asking for loans, huh?”
“Or trying to sell me something I don’t need or want. People started out happy for us, but now they’re getting aggressive and pissy. I mean, yeah, it’d be nice to give my girls some security—a college education and a trust fund. Maybe buy a new house or expand the restaurant. But we get by okay. It’ll get worse if we keep going. I know it—”
A noise started in the background on his phone, making it hard to hear the last few words. “Sorry. I couldn’t hear that last part. There’s a really odd sound in the background, like a cat yowling on a fence.”
He let out a burst of sound that was part laughter and part struggling not to laugh. “It’s sad, but that really is what it sounds like. I’m at the school Christmas pageant. I didn’t want to take the call in the auditorium, so I stepped into the hallway. You just heard my daughter Beverly singing a solo. I love my baby to pieces, but she can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I know the choir director wants to be fair and give everyone a chance, but it’s torture to listen to.”
My face felt hot because that’s just what Gran and Mom used to say about me. “I can’t really comment because I have the same affliction and remember really well the music teacher wanting to be fair with me. I wished she would have been realistic, not fair. If anything, Beverly sounds better than I did. Does your younger daughter … Jody, was it? Does she sing any better?”
There was a creaking sound and the background music dimmed. He must have gone back into the hallway. “It’s Julie and yeah, she has a better voice. She got most of the talent in the family, in fact. I love them both, but they’re very different girls. Beverly’s kind of standoffish and scored nearly zero on the standard paranormal tests. But Julie is outgoing, smart, can sing and dance, and has an affinity with ghosts.”
I felt a cold chill crawl up my spine. “She’s a necromancer?”
“Nah,” he said, and I breathed a little sigh. “Does a little channeling. Remember I said at the Will reading that my granny’s ghost stayed in the house after she died to show us where her Will was?” I did and said so. “Julie communicated with her to get the information. She was just a little thing back then, but it was pretty spooky to watch. It doesn’t seem to bother her as much now that she’s older.”
I was getting an awful feeling there was a really good reason why Vicki picked this particular family. Two daughters, one twelve and one eight, one who was odd and couldn’t sing, the other talented, with an affinity for the dead? That was just too close for comfort. “Mr. Murphy, could you give me a few days before you call the lawyer to refuse the bequest? Talking to you just now, I had an idea why Vicki might have left you the money. But I need to talk to a few people. I’ve got to go out of town this weekend, but I promise I’ll call you on Monday. Can you wait until then to do anything? Please?”
There was a pause where the only sound was children singing “O Christmas Tree” in high, clear unison. The notes were pure and bright. Beverly must have been mouthing the words. Finally, Mick sighed. “I don’t suppose it’ll do any harm to give it a few more days. Okay. I’ll talk to Molly and we’ll hold off doing anything until Monday. But whether or not you call, we’ll be contacting the lawyer then.”
The door of the library opened and I saw two figures emerging. Anna was slinging her purse over her shoulder hurriedly, and Dawna was loaded down with a stack of books that reached her chin. “I understand. We’ll talk more once I ask some questions of a friend of mine. Thank you and thank your wife as well. And I know it’s none of my business, but I suggest you let Beverly complain about the music teacher on the way home. I’m betting she’s fully aware of how bad she sounded and needs to get the frustration off her chest. I remember how much I hated seeing the pity in people’s eyes when someone forced me to sing.”
I remembered only too well Gran cautioning me to “be nice” and not to talk back or complain. My embarrassment had made me furious and I wished I could have just talked to them about how horrible it felt to be put on the spot like that.
His voice sounded thoughtful, with just a touch of worry: “Y’know? I remember her saying that once after another concert. Never thought much about it. But I saw pity in a man’s eyes once when he looked at me, and I didn’t much like it. I’ll give it a shot, let her speak her mind, and tell Molly to hush about politeness. Never hurts to give a horse its head every once in a while. Thank you, Ms. Graves.”
It made me smile to know he was thinking about Beverly’s feelings. I wished I could have had a dad like him. “No problem. I hope it works out. We’ll talk more next week.”
I hung up just as Dawna reached the car. I leaned across the front seat, struggling against the seat belt to push open the door. She caught it with an elbow and swung it wide enough to hold it with her hip. She stuck out her tongue. “You could have helped, you know. It’s a long way across the parking lot.”
Oops. “Sorry. I was on the phone with Mr. Murphy, the mystery heir.”
“S’okay. I didn’t notice you were on the phone. But damn, these things are heavy!” She put down the front seat and started to stack the books on the floor of the backseat.
Anna had reached her car, a little silver sedan that suited her personality—dependable and sturdy. She met my eyes for a brief moment and bowed her head once in what I assumed was a gesture of thanks.
Three things happened at once: Anna turned to get into her seat, Dawna finished stowing the books and sat down, and I noticed a shadow moving toward the silver sedan. The shadow was fast … too quick to be human. I had my seat belt unfastened and the door open before I even realized I was moving. My leg muscles tensed and I sprang forward. My hands planted on the roof of Anna’s car hard enough to make dents and then my hips swiveled, spinning my legs around in a circle as my right arm rose to make way.
The kick caught the vampire who’d been about to grab Anna across the side of the head. He fell back and down. “Shut the door!” I yelled at Anna as I slid down onto the asphalt. “Lock yourself in!”
She did as commanded as the bat got to his feet. He’d been no more than twenty when he died. He had the awkwardness of the newly dead, so he should be no trouble. He bared fully extended fangs and hissed at me. I hissed right back and it startled him for a moment. I guess he’d expected me to be just a brave human.
“Leave now and you don’t have to die.” I pulled both of my knives in a cross draw as I spoke. “You’re out of your league, kid.”
“Or maybe you’re out of yours … Celia.”
Oh, fuck a duck.
Although I didn’t recognize the face, I sure recognized that voice … and the evil chuckle straight out of hell that followed.
Note the word “hell” in there, because that’s just what he was. While I’d never heard of a vampire hosting a greater demon, it’s not that big of a jump. There’s a reason why holy objects are a primary defense against both.
There’s a time when bantering with the bad guys is a good idea—it gives you a chance to think and plan. But the demon had a voice that could make my body react sexually and make my mind turn off. I’d barely escaped with my life and soul the last time.
“Come to me, Celia.” He turned on the voice and I felt it pulling at my stomach, right through my clothes and skin. But
so no. Oh, I’d go forward all right, but not like he wanted.
I lunged forward, making sure to lower my head so he couldn’t get those fangs anywhere near my neck. I had no idea what would happen if I got bit again, and I couldn’t imagine that a demon inside the bat at the time would be a good thing.
I head-butted him in the stomach with every ounce of strength I could muster and simultaneously stabbed one knife toward his heart. He grabbed my arm and tried to pull the knife away. But I’d anticipated that. My goal was to put him off-balance and off-guard so that when he jerked away from my head butt he backed straight into the second knife waiting between his shoulder blades.
His eyes went wide and his mouth open in a soundless scream as the enchanted metal slid effortlessly into his heart. “Go back to hell, asshole.” I threw myself away, making sure to yank my second knife with me. “And stay there this time.”
The vamp slid bonelessly to the ground, unable to speak past the blue and gold flames that licked at him from the inside out. When Lilith had burned up from within, I’d thought it was a fluke. Apparently not, because this guy did the same. But while the vampire was burned to ash, it wouldn’t kill the demon. You can’t actually kill a greater demon. All I’d done was remove another link between him and this world. He’d have to find another portal. He’d made a mistake by choosing a new turn. I’d be watching now that I realized the demon was still trying to get to me. Especially for the next few days.
Because come hell, high water, or bats in the night … I was going to that wine debut.
13
The amazement in Dawna’s voice could be heard over the music and road noise: “I cannot believe you slammed the door on Jeffy Benson. He’s the hottest thing on the Billboard charts since Michael Jackson.”
My eyes flicked sideways just long enough to see the shocked expression that matched the voice before returning them to the road. “I told you I was serious about our vacation. I canceled two other jobs. Why is Benson any more special?”
Even Emma’s face became a study in amazement in the rearview mirror. “He’s … Jeffy Benson.”
“He already had four other bodyguards and two of them were former Raiders starters. Marlon Braverton was a Pro Bowl linebacker. I was staring him in the belly button. What did Benson need me for?”
“All that press has been doing you proud, girlfriend. You’re the bodyguard to have right now. Wait until you see all the appointments on your calendar when you get back.”
I struggled against the sudden tension that appeared between my shoulder blades. “That’s not exactly going to help me relax, Dawna.”
“Oh. Yeah. Good point. So … what do you think about the flowers from Bruno?” There was both coyness and challenge in that question. She was digging for dirt.
I sighed, but a small part of me wanted to smile. As we were leaving for the resort, a deliveryman had arrived, holding a vase of what must have been two dozen red roses. They were beautiful. No, more than that—spectacular. But they also wouldn’t fit in the rental SUV, what with all our bags and my work trunk. I was bringing along a selection of weapons, sturdy boots, and a change of clothes. Because despite the best of plans, my life often sucked. The trunk was heavy steel with three kinds of locks. It would take at least two strong men to move it—or one petite woman with vampire strength. Dawna had tried to insist I leave it home.
In turn, I insisted she leave behind at least one of her three makeup cases. Emma broke the deadlock by suggesting I take the flowers to Gran’s to save them from the wear and tear of the long trip to the spa. It was a good solution except that now, as we drove to Gran’s, Emma was spitting leaves, because the arrangement really did take up about half of the backseat.
The Glades retirement center on Parker Road wasn’t a typical apartment complex. It was a combination of a high-rise nursing home and clustered groups of elegant assisted-living bungalows. There was the requisite golf course, site of an even higher-priced retirement community. There were pools, fountains, and gardens everywhere.
Gran was in the assisted-living cluster … not because she needed that much help but because she wanted to live among women she knew. Ahn Long, Dawna’s bá nôi, or paternal grandmother, lived there, and so did several members of Gran’s church group. Each of the connected single-story townhomes had two bedrooms and a small kitchen. Everything in the apartments could be easily navigated or reached by those using walkers or wheelchairs. Gran’s unit was much smaller than the house she’d lived in for so long, but she seemed happy there. As we walked up the smooth concrete sidewalks that snaked among the greenery, she greeted us with a smile.
“Oh! What beautiful flowers, punkin. Who are they from?”
“Bruno. I think he’s trying to make up.”
Her brows rose and she appraised the flowers again. “As well he should. They’re a start at least. But make sure you let him stew for a few days before you acknowledge them. He needs to know you can’t be bought so easily.”
My jaw dropped. It really did. That was so unlike any advice Gran had ever given me that I was frankly stunned. When boys had given me flowers in school, she’d coo and fuss about their beauty and insist I call immediately to thank the boy.
“That card still gives me tingles,” Emma commented. And I couldn’t disagree. She pulled the small white card from the tall plastic fork buried in the leaves and read it aloud with a dramatic flair, one hand held over her heart: “ ‘Celia, I’m so sorry for everything. I understand now why you were upset. You were right. I was wrong. Is there any way you can forgive me? I’m coming to California and want to see you. Please. Call me. Bruno.’ ” She sighed. “It’s like the next-to-last scene of a romance movie. Yum.”
Yes, there had been little flutters in my heart when I’d read the card and I’d immediately wanted to call him and scream, Yes! Of course I want to see you! Then reality had sunk in.
“It’s not that easy, Em.” I closed my eyes again, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. Either it was time for another shake or I was just starting to realize the gravity of the problem.
Gran apparently knew what I was feeling. “Emma, honey, life isn’t always like a romance movie. I watched Celia’s whole relationship with that man, just like you. They were engaged, so I watched close. He said all the right things, but his actions spoke different too often. I want to believe that he’s changed. I do, because I truly think he loves her. And this is a good first step. But how long do you honestly believe his understanding will last? That’s what he still needs to prove. That he can accept Celie the way she is.”
Emma’s face crumbled. Dawna reached over and put a hand on mine. “I’m sorry, Celia. I know how much he hurt you.”
That was the crux of the problem. It did hurt. I wanted it to work … desperately. But Bruno was who he was and I couldn’t expect him to change. He was an old-fashioned Italian American who honestly believed in hearth and home. A woman was expected to fill a home with children, laughter, and love. To Bruno, that was a primal thing that was more important than anything else. It was the life he had grown up in and it was what he wanted for himself. I respected that, but that’s not what I see as my role in life. At least not now.
Now I’m about keeping people safe. It’s my business and, more, I’m happy throwing myself into danger. I’m willing to neglect home and hearth when necessary. Those two worldviews don’t mix well. In truth, I wouldn’t want him to change. I know he feels the same about me. Our relationship would always be based on an uneasy truce, no matter how reluctant either of us was to admit it.
“Anyone can change,” Emma said after a long silence. “I truly believe that. If you try hard enough and want it bad enough, you can change.” The words were quiet but impassioned and almost too personal to hear out loud.
She wasn’t just talking about Bruno and we all knew it. The taint of the demonic isn’t easy to escape, and I can’t run from my fangs. The main reason we were going on this trip was as an escape from our
own brushes with death and worse.
Gran stepped forward to pull Emma into a hug. “Of course people can change, honey. It just takes time and wanting it bad enough that nothing else is more important. And it takes people supporting you, keeping you on track.” I knew she wasn’t just talking about Bruno anymore, or even Emma. She was talking about all of us but, I suspected, mostly about Mom.
Lord, but we were a messed-up bunch.
“All right,” I said after a long pause, “I’ll call him. I promise. But next week, okay? This is our ‘ladies only’ weekend.”
Emma pulled back from Gran’s arms and beamed at me, while Gran offered me a sad half smile of solidarity. I knew she’d stand behind me, whatever happened. She was the one constant in my life … the only person I could really count on.
Dawna shook her arms, letting out the tension. “So, Emily, how are you liking the tai chi lessons? Bá Nôi says you’re really doing well.”
Huh? Dawna’s grandmother was giving Gran tai chi lessons? She hadn’t mentioned that.
Gran laughed and made a graceful movement of her arm, ending with a flattened palm held toward me. “Oh yes. For several weeks now. It’s really improving my flexibility. Ahn is a wonderful teacher.” She walked past me and started toward the entrance to her apartment. “But we should get those roses out of the sun. Please, come inside.”
I was surprised to see Pili sitting on my grandmother’s couch, holding a cup of tea. Gran didn’t even like tea. There were colorful brochures with pictures of exotic locales scattered all over the table. Dawna clapped her hands in delight. “Oh! You are going away? I know you’re going to have a wonderful time.”
Huh? I didn’t like the feeling that I was completely in the dark. I plastered on a smile and nudged Dawna’s shoulder. “Could you come help me with the roses in the kitchen, please?” She turned, confused, so I gave her one of my patented I need to talk with you. Now. looks.
