by Cat Adams
It was a pretty building, probably twelve stories tall, tan brick with lots of smoked glass. It was curiously built, with all sorts of angles, so that the balconies of every apartment would give at least a glimpse of the ocean. The parking lot was only half-full, and as we pulled up I could hear the sound of people frolicking in the swimming pool.
Pradeep left with the cab. Rahim and I rode a glass-fronted elevator to the third floor. I wasn’t thrilled with that, but he told me that at this time of night both stairwells were locked. We only had to walk three or four feet to get to our apartment. Rahim unlocked the door, using an old-fashioned key on an oversized keychain shaped like a lighthouse.
I went through the door first. It was an efficiency apartment, scrupulously clean, and cute. Decorated in gray and tan, it had an ocean theme, with a mural painted on the walls, cream-colored tile floors, and a wall clock framed with ropes and sailors’ knots. The windowless bedroom was tucked behind a set of sliding doors. The living area had an open floor plan that was furnished with comfortable beach-style furniture that would wear well and be easy to clean. The couch could fold out into a full-size bed. Open, it would take up most of the living area, butting right up against the two-seater dinette set that was less than a foot away from the galley kitchen. Sliding-glass doors across from the kitchen and beside the couch led out onto the balcony.
The bathroom was, if not precisely roomy, at least well arranged, and had a cute little porthole-style window that was made with some kind of special glass that made the light coming through it look turquoise from one angle and pink from another.
“You take the bedroom. I’ll use the couch,” I suggested. It made sense. The way the apartment was laid out, anyone coming in the front door or from the balcony would have to go through the living room—and past the couch—to get to the bedroom and its occupant.
Rahim nodded and shambled into the bedroom, where he sank onto the bed and began sliding off his shoes.
“My grandmother stocked the pantry if you’re hungry.” His voice was listless, heavy with exhaustion. I knew exactly how he felt. It had been a long damned day. While I wasn’t hungry, I needed to eat before sleeping, so I dragged my sorry heinie off the couch with a groan and walked the three steps to the galley kitchen.
“We should go to bed soon,” Rahim said as I puttered around, looking for a pot and a can of soup. “The ceremony is at dawn tomorrow.” His voice was muffled, and I could tell it was all he could do to stay awake.
I looked up at the clock and managed not to groan. We might be able to get a bit of sleep, but not much. Still, I didn’t argue. “Ceremony?” I made the word a question.
“My grandfather has found evidence that Hasan may be hiding in one of the Temples of Atonement. He and I can work together to use magic to determine which of the temples it is. The best time to do this is at sunrise.”
“Dawn. Right.” I was so tired I couldn’t imagine getting up with the sun … and dawn was problematic for me for another reason as well. The vampire part of me doesn’t like sunrise, not one itty bit. Sunsets are hard because the vamp wants to come out and hunt. Dawn is when it dies and tries to take me with it. It doesn’t last—but until the sun is truly up, I am not at my best. I’d manage in the morning. I always do. But this wasn’t happy news. I debated whether or not to say anything to Rahim about that now, then decided to break it to him in the morning rather than wake him. He was already snoring softly, lying fully clothed atop the covers.
When the soup was ready, I poured it into a large coffee mug and took it out onto the minuscule balcony. I closed the screen but not the glass. I needed to be able to hear what was going on inside in case of trouble.
I didn’t bother to turn on any lights. My night vision is excellent, and being backlit isn’t safe when you know bad guys are after you. I set my mug on the little table and settled into the lawn chair that was part of the set provided. Digging my cell phone out of my pants pocket, I hit speed dial. Late as it was, Bruno picked up on the first ring.
“You’re okay?”
“Thanks to you and Connie, yes.”
“The police statement went all right? No problems?”
It was obvious he’d been worrying: with good reason, really. I’ve had several run-ins with the authorities in the line of duty. Since I am one of the good guys, you’d think that wouldn’t be a problem. You’d be wrong. I look like a monster. I have fangs and an über-pale complexion. It’s very well known that I have siren abilities. The cops don’t find any of these to be endearing qualities. A number of members of law enforcement have lobbied vigorously to have me locked up permanently. I shuddered at the memory of what those prisons were like.
“As well as can be expected. Bruno, thank you—and thank Connie for me. I know she doesn’t like me…”
He gave a snort of amusement. “Yeah, well, Connie doesn’t like anyone younger and blonder than she is, just on principle.”
I laughed. That sounded about right. Connie was Sal’s trophy wife. He’d married her after his first wife, Ida, passed away from breast cancer. It was no surprise that Connie worried that someone younger, and maybe blonder, would catch Sal’s eye and he’d move on. I didn’t know if she had reason to be insecure or not.
There was a moment of silence between us that wasn’t quite as comfortable as it should have been. That hurt. I wanted things to be right again between us. I just wasn’t sure how to make it happen.
“Bruno…” I started, but he cut me off.
“Celia, don’t. Just … don’t. I love you. And I know you love me. But I can’t talk about us right now. I’ve got too much else on my plate. Mom’s condition has gotten worse. Things here are insane. Sal’s having problems with the Russians and everybody’s on edge.”
I took a sip of soup and tried to think what to say. Sal was the head of an old-school mob family. If he was having “trouble” with the Russians, it was probably damned dangerous for Bruno to be in Jersey at the moment. But he wouldn’t leave, not with his mother ailing.
Isabella Rose DeLuca was matriarch of the family, a top-notch mage, and a force to be reckoned with. Normally I’d bet on her against all comers. But time and fate have a way of catching up with you. She had done what she had to do, and now she was paying the price, without hesitation or complaint. I might not like the old girl much, but I respect the hell out of her. And I knew for a fact that she’d do it again without hesitation if she were given the chance, if for no other reason than to protect the two sons who’d been part of the ceremony with her.
Isabella’s mind and magic might be as powerful as ever. But her body was giving out. The node magic she’d channeled was causing her body to fail, one system at a time. The best doctors in the world were working on her, but they’d told the family there was only so much they could do. She was dying. It was that simple. And Bruno damned well intended to be by her side when she drew her last breath—screw the Russians and any danger they might pose.
“I’m so sorry. Tell your mom hi for me.” I didn’t say to get well. We all knew she wouldn’t.
“I will.” His sigh was so heavy it made me feel tired. “Look, I know you’ve got to do what you do.”
That was a concession, but I didn’t comment on it. He continued, “But do me a favor. Be careful. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. You be careful, too. It sounds like it could get hairy out there.”
He didn’t deny it, which from him was as much as an admission. And while there really didn’t seem to be anything else to say, neither of us seemed willing to end the call. I sipped more soup, staring across the parking lot at the strip of beach and patch of moonlit ocean visible from the balcony, wondering how we’d gotten to this point and worrying we wouldn’t get past it. My heart ached. I knew we didn’t mean to keep hurting each other, but we couldn’t seem to help it.
Bruno finally broke the silence with, “I’ve gotta go.”
“Yeah, me too. The client’s doing some big ceremo
ny at dawn.”
“Dawn’s not your best time.” There was no judgment in his tone. He was just stating a fact.
“No,” I sighed, “it’s not.”
“You’ll be careful?”
“Much as I can.” It was the best I could offer, and this time he accepted it without argument. “You too.”
“As much as I can.”
“Give my best to the family.”
“I will.”
We hung up after saying good-bye. I opened the screen door and leaned in. Rahim was still out of it, his breathing steady. Closing the screen again, I dialed Dawna. What with the time difference it actually wasn’t too late for her.
We exchanged greetings and got straight to the point.
“Are you all right? I saw the shootout on TV.”
“I’m fine. The client’s fine. What have you got for me?”
“Nothing. Not a damned thing!” Dawna didn’t bother trying to hide her frustration. “The good news is, there’s been no sign of ifrit activity. None.” She sighed. “But, there’s also no clue as to who stole him or why. Most of the world experts on the djinn have taken ‘leaves of absence’ in the past few days. The two who hadn’t have both been murdered—and thanks to my stumbling into the middle of that, the FBI are on their way over to ask me a few questions.”
I wasn’t surprised about the leave-of-absence thing, and I’d bet dollars to donuts that the missing experts were probably involved in whatever action was keeping Hasan contained. But the deaths, and the lack of information on the thieves, were both seriously concerning.
“Has Dom returned my call?”
“No, he hasn’t. I don’t suppose you have his number handy?”
“It’s in the Rolodex up in my office,” I offered. I have an old-fashioned, paper Rolodex, with addresses and phone numbers of my contacts, clients, and so forth. I keep it up to date, too. I have a problem with phones. I lose them. Constantly. And while you can back up a phone, and even transfer information from phone to phone, I like having a paper copy. And a Rolodex doesn’t ever lose its charge.
I wasn’t entirely sure Dom would take Dawna’s call, but hey, it was worth a shot.
“I’ll try. How much information can I give him on the current situation?” Dawna asked.
That was a trickier question than it sounded. We’re bodyguards, not private investigators or lawyers, so we don’t have intrinsic protections or the client confidentiality rules that the police need to honor. On the other hand, we’re not expected to protect more than the client’s body.
“Just tell him I’m in the middle of a hairball that involves the djinn and that I have it on good authority that Connor Finn’s ghost and a couple of his buddies are involved. That should be enough to satisfy him, at least for a bit.”
“He’ll want to know more. He always does.”
“Yeah, well, he can want what he wants. If he gives you too much trouble, have him call me.”
“You’re assuming you’ll have a phone,” she said, only half-joking.
“Yeah, yeah, cute. Whatever.” I took the last gulp of my now-cold soup. “I need to get to bed. I’ve got an early day tomorrow. Let me know if you turn up anything else.”
“I will. And Celia,” she gave a meaningful pause. “Be careful.”
God, I was getting tired of people saying that. I mean, seriously. I’m always careful. Or at least as careful as I can be while getting my job done. I might have said something to that effect, but she hung up before I could respond.
I went back into the apartment, trying to make as little noise as I could. Rahim was completely out, spread-eagled across the bed, snoring full out now. He hadn’t closed the sliding door between the bedroom and the living room, for which I was glad. I would’ve had to slide the door open and check on him otherwise, and might have awakened him. As it was, I locked the balcony, double-checked the front door, set my dishes in the sink, and went about converting the foldout couch into a bed. I took off my empty holster, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair. Next came the empty sheaths for my knives. Last, I undid my ankle holster, setting it onto the end table next to the bed. Since I didn’t have a gun, I took one of the larger knives from the kitchen drawer and put it on the end table within easy reach. Then, taking off my shoes, I climbed into bed, switched off the light, and slept.
* * *
I woke to the sound of Rahim’s phone playing reveille. I groaned. Apparently he was a morning person. It was enough to make me sick.
Seriously, 5:15 was just too early for anyone to be expected to rise, let alone shine and be chipper. Ugh. I so didn’t want to get out of bed. The only thing that made the thought even close to bearable was that I could smell fresh coffee. Rahim’s grandmother must have programmed the coffeemaker the night before.
I felt my way across the end table past the knife to switch on the light as Rahim edged awkwardly around the end of my bed on his way to the bathroom.
I rose. It only took a minute to convert my bed back to a couch. By then Rahim was out of the bathroom, so I picked up the knife and took my turn.
I don’t like sleeping in my clothes much. I’ve done it before. I’ll probably do it again, but I don’t like it. Unfortunately my clean underwear was in the Caddy, which was in impound. I so did not want to put my dirty underwear back on after a shower. Yuck.
Then I had an idea. Quick as could be, I hand-washed my undies and dried them with the blow-dryer attached to the wall. It took less time than drying my hair had when it was long, and I felt much better about facing the morning. Silly? Probably. But true just the same.
I was putting the dryer away when Gordon contacted me mind-to-mind.
Princess Celia?
Gordon? What are you doing awake at—
Two thirty in the morning, he finished for me. I haven’t been to bed yet. I’ve been researching the Guardians and Rahim Patel.
And obviously working hard at it. Oy. Thank you.
You’re welcome. Ifrits are a bad business. I want to do all I can to help.
What did you find out? Obviously he’d found out something, or he wouldn’t have bothered to contact me. But I couldn’t hang out in the bathroom forever—Rahim would get suspicious—and I wasn’t good enough at talking mind to mind to do it without the client noticing unless there was a lot going on around us.
Not much—some historic stuff that is interesting, but probably not germane. But there is some recent gossip I uncovered from someone at Notre Dame. The Guardians are chosen from a family line. It’s an inherited talent. Usually there are two or three in a generation capable of stepping up to the position when the existing Guardian retires or dies. Pradeep Patel chose Rahim’s father and Rahim’s father chose Rahim.
Made sense.
Pradeep didn’t approve of that. He thought the position should go to Rahim’s cousin, Tarik. The two of them came to South Bend shortly after Rahim’s father died, ten years ago. There was an argument. The secretary and professors I talked to said they weren’t speaking English, but things got ugly enough that security had to be called and Tarik and Pradeep were escorted off campus. It might not mean anything …
Pradeep seemed to have worked things out with Rahim. Maybe Tarik had, too. But if there was a traitor in the family, Tarik would bear looking at. Have you told Dawna?
Yes. They’re looking into both Tarik and Pradeep. Be careful.
I will. Thanks, Gordon. Now go get some sleep.
I am. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.
Of course. Thanks again.
Well, that was certainly interesting. I pulled on my clothes, pondering whether or not I could trust Pradeep. Based on his actions yesterday, probably—to a point. The old man struck me as being totally devoted to his cause—and arrogant enough to think that he was the only one who knew best. So long as we did what he wanted, he’d support us. If we did something he disagreed with, we’d have a problem.
I came out of the bathroom, clean, dressed
, and smiling as if nothing was wrong. Rahim gave me an odd look. I answered the implied question with two words, “Clean underwear,” as I took a mug from the kitchen cabinet and began filling it with coffee from the pot he’d left warming.
He grinned and the expression took years off his face, making him look much younger, less serious, less arrogant, and almost attractive, despite the day-old, rumpled clothes he was wearing.
I beat that thought down firmly. He was a client—and married besides. If you think of a client as an attractive man, your body language changes. That changes the relationship subtly, and not in a good way. Maybe it’s cultural, maybe it’s biological, but every time there’s been sexual chemistry in the mix, the protectee has started becoming protective of me—which defeats the whole purpose and makes it impossible for me to do the job. Besides, I love Bruno. I’ve zero interest in anyone else.
Rahim’s smile lost some of its wattage. Still, it didn’t fade completely, and he took the chair opposite me at the small kitchen table amiably enough. “My grandparents will be here in a few minutes with suitable food, a gun for you, and the things we’ll need for the ceremony.”
“Tell me about what’s going to happen.”
The look he gave over the rim of his coffee mug spoke of his reluctance to talk about it.
“I need to know what’s going on if I’m going to protect you adequately during the process,” I explained. “It’s not good for me to be surprised or get distracted by what you’re doing. And while we’re on the subject of ‘not good,’ you should probably know that I’m not at my best at sunrise. The first five minutes after the sun clears the horizon are really hard for me. I’ll do my best, but you’ll need to be particularly careful at that point. And I’ll be carrying an unfamiliar weapon. That could cost me seconds when it counts.”
“I see.” He wasn’t thrilled. All his bonhomie evaporated in an instant. Ah well, not much I could do about that. I drank my coffee with sublime calm and waited him out. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later he caved.
