To Dance with the Devil bs-6

by Cat Adams

  Oh, hell and damnation. I hadn’t liked the woman, but still I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “Do you want me to come down to the station and give an official statement?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway. Neighbors and people on the street saw the abduction. The perps were two men and a driver, all in masks, all male. Nobody thinks you’re involved, but we’re hoping she may have told you something that can be of use.”

  “Okay. I’m glad to help, but it isn’t much.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  I started at the beginning. The story didn’t take long to tell. After all, it had been a short meeting. “In all honesty, I got the impression that a lot, if not all, of what she told me was bullshit.”

  “So she didn’t hire you,” Alex said, bringing me back to where we’d started, going over familiar ground to see if something new might pop into my memory. I’d been questioned similarly before. While the technique can be annoying as hell, it does sometimes work.

  “Nope. Like I said, she stormed out of the restaurant.” Well, stormed as much as a woman in a wheelchair could. “If Barbara hadn’t been able to cancel the order I would’ve had to pay for it.” I paused, thinking about what Alex had … and hadn’t said. The phrasing she’d used was curious. “You said she ‘called herself’ Abigail Andrews. That wasn’t her real name?”

  Alex’s expression grew pained. “I was hoping you hadn’t caught that.”

  “Sorry.” I wasn’t really, and she knew it. After giving me a long, level look, she apparently decided to tell me what I wanted to know.

  “No. It wasn’t her real name. She’d been using it for close to twenty-three years. But it was a fake.”

  Close to twenty-three years. That rang a bell. A loud one.

  She gave me a hard look. “You’ve remembered something else. What is it?”

  “The man … Jacobs, she said he’d been in prison a little over twenty-two years. I think she was lying about the name. But I got her pretty rattled with my questions. Maybe she didn’t think to lie about the time line.”

  “We’ll look into it.”

  “Do you want me to…,” I started to offer, but Alex was shaking her head before I could finish the sentence.

  “No. Really, no.” The expression on her face was stern and more than a little pained. “It’s nothing personal, Celia, but every time you get involved in something, everything goes to hell in a handbasket. I know it’s not your fault, but please, just let us handle it.”

  Ow. That hurt. Nothing personal, my lily-white ass.

  My displeasure must have been written on my face, because Alex winced. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. But that curse mark of yours…”

  Ah, yes, the curse mark. Damn Stefania. She’d been a queen of the sirens. Her psychic had seen something in my future she didn’t like, so Stefania put a death curse on my baby sister, Ivy, and me when we were children, hoping we wouldn’t live to cause her trouble. Ivy hadn’t. I, on the other hand, managed to live to adulthood and helped send her on her way to hell. About once a week I wish I could do it again, just for grins. “Fine, let me know if you need anything else from me.”

  “I will.” She started to rise, then seemed to reconsider. “Do you want to explain why you’re avoiding the phone?” She settled back in her seat as if she was willing to wait until doomsday for an answer.

  I hadn’t been, really. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “It’s not connected to the case.”

  “Don’t care,” she said, shaking her head. “You look like hell, Celia. I know we haven’t been close, but I do care about you. If you’re in the middle of another shit storm, I’d like to know. Maybe I can help. Even if I can’t, I’d like to think you know you can talk to me about whatever it is.”

  I was touched and shocked in equal measure. Without Vicki as a buffer between us, Alex and I barely saw each other unless we were involved in a case together. Now she was extending an olive branch, or lifeline, without hesitation or reservation.

  I’d wanted Gran to be the first to know. But Alex had lived through both Vicki’s death and the passing of her spirit months later, when she’d completed the thing she’d stayed on this plane for. She was in a unique position to understand what I was going through.

  “Ivy’s gone.”

  Alex blinked at me for a second. Then her brain processed what I’d said. “Oh. Oh, Celia … Oh, God. I’m so sorry. What … how?” The hard professional veneer cracked a little, giving me a glimpse of the much more honest, and vulnerable, woman beneath.

  “I had a breakthrough in therapy. I finally accepted that what happened wasn’t my fault. Apparently that’s what she was waiting for.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded, suddenly unable to speak because of the lump in my throat. My vision blurred with tears. I closed my eyes, trying hard to breathe evenly, to not sob, and felt Alex’s arms around me.

  “I know you miss her, and how much it hurts. But it’s better for her.”

  I nodded, unable to say a word, and took comfort from one of the toughest women I’ve ever known.

  5

  Gran called later that morning, before she went to church. When I told her about Ivy, she was thrilled. She’s a true believer. It really bothered her that her sweet granddaughter hadn’t been able to go to heaven when she’d died. Gran believed to the depths of her soul that Ivy was finally exactly where she should be. She had me repeat the details over and over again, reveling in the description, taking comfort in the fact that it supported her own beliefs.

  I was glad she took it so well. Knowing that Gran really believed Ivy was in a better, happier place made the situation easier for me. I felt … not great, but much better. Right up until Gran asked the question I’d most been dreading.

  “Have you told your mother?”

  Oh, crap. “No.”

  For a long moment Gran didn’t say anything. I knew she was still on the line only because I could hear her breathing. Then, “She deserves to know.” There was no judgment or accusation in her tone, which surprised me.

  Normally Gran vigorously leaps to Mom’s defense if there’s even a hint of a problem—a mama bear protecting her cub. Not this time. I wasn’t sorry. But it wasn’t normal, and I wondered what was wrong. “Gran, are you okay?”

  There was a long pause, and I wished I could see her, especially because her voice didn’t sound quite right when she spoke again. There was something false about her tone, though I knew she was speaking out of genuine concern.

  “I’m fine, dear. How are you doing? You and your sister have always been close, even after she died.”

  “It’s hard,” I admitted, wondering why Gran hadn’t pursued the topic of my mom. “I miss Ivy, but I know it’s for the best.” I sighed. I knew what I had to say next, even though I didn’t want to. “I know I’ve got to tell Mom. I just thought it might be best to tell her tomorrow, during the session.” I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping that my Gran would volunteer to talk to my mother.

  She didn’t.

  “That makes sense,” she said, still in that slightly fake voice. “It would be better in person, but a video conference is better than just a call, and her therapist will be right there if there’s a problem.”

  Oh, there’d be a problem. I’d bet the bank on that. Gran was right about having the therapist handy, too. At least with Mom being in prison I wouldn’t have to worry about her using this as an excuse to go on another bender. But hearing Gran say it, and hearing the way she said it, caused another little shiver of premonition. “Gran, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, dear,” she said again. “I’ve just had a bit of a shock.”

  Well, I suppose my news was shocking. After all, Ivy had been a ghost for a very long time. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. Don’t you worry about me. You just take care of yourself.”

  Now she sounded more like her usual self. My gran always wor
ried about everyone else and didn’t take enough care of herself. “If you say so.” My voice was clearly doubting.

  “I do,” she answered firmly.

  We ended the conversation by telling each other “I love you.” I hung up the phone feeling the odd mixture of relief and apprehension that was so familiar when I dealt with my family.

  I shook my head. Gran said she was fine. And while she might lie to me about it over the phone, once I saw her in front of the camera, I’d be able to tell what was really going on. In the meantime, I needed to hustle and get ready for my brunch date with my boyfriend.

  I’d been dating Bruno DeLuca exclusively for months. We had an extensive past; we’d even been engaged back in college, and we’d dated a lot, on and off, since then. He was smart, handsome, and one of the most talented mages around. When things were good between us, they were amazing. Unfortunately, things had been a little rocky lately. I hadn’t seen Bruno in days, hadn’t done more than text him a couple of times.

  He was busy finishing his research and getting course materials ready for the classes he was teaching at the university in the fall, but that didn’t keep me from feeling just a wee bit neglected. Stupid, really. I’d been too busy myself to spend much time with him. But I’m willing to admit that logic and emotion don’t always coexist happily in my life. I wanted to talk to Bruno, to tell him about Ivy and to get his take on the situation with Chris and Dawna. Neither subject was exactly “text” material. I also wanted to be reassured about the upcoming family therapy session. I know it sounds needy, but everybody needs support sometimes, and I wanted his.

  We had reservations at one of the nicest restaurants in the area. Antoine’s sits perched at the top of a steep cliff and has a wall of windows overlooking the ocean. The food is ridiculously expensive, but the view almost makes up for it.

  It’s next to impossible to get a reservation there, particularly for Sunday brunch. We managed only because I knew the owner and chef. Once upon a time he’d worked in the kitchen at Birchwoods. He’d considered my condition the ultimate challenge. The Belgian waffles he made—which he somehow designed to go through a blender while maintaining their identity—were one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. I’d experienced his cooking again when he’d worked at a restaurant in L.A. Now he had his own place, and I couldn’t wait to see what he’d done with it.

  I wanted to look my absolute best, so I spent a couple of minutes staring into my closet. There’s a fine line between being overdressed and underdressed. I finally decided on a short burgundy dress with a sweetheart neckline. The color was dark as a fine wine and looked great against the paleness of my skin. A short black jacket, black pumps, and a black picture hat would complete the ensemble. I kept my makeup understated, pulled my hair into a tight bun, and finished with garnet stud earrings.

  I looked good, really good—elegant yet not overdone. Yeah, the hat was a bit much, but I needed to keep my face out of the sun. With the big sunglasses it gave me some old-Hollywood glamour, or at least that’s what I told myself.

  So it’s no surprise that I was hurt and just a little annoyed when Bruno barely glanced at me when he arrived.

  He wore a charcoal gray suit with a silver shirt and a black-and-silver-striped tie. The suit was expensive and tailored to fit him perfectly, showing off his athletic build to the best advantage. He’d cut his hair again. It was a little shorter than I like it, with just a hint of curl and a tiny dusting of silver at the temples. The only thing ruining his look was the sour expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as I let myself into the car. Normally he gets out and opens the car door for me. Not today.

  “Nothing,” I lied.

  I’ll give Bruno this, he’s not stupid. He turned to give me the look that that particular comment deserved, and finally, finally noticed what I looked like. But instead of complimenting me, he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that, high enough he could even see it over the sunglasses, but didn’t say a word.

  “We need to talk.”

  Uh-oh. I knew that tone of voice. “What?” I hadn’t meant to sound quite that suspicious, but there you go. The last time he used those words with that tone, he dumped me. Call me sensitive, but while I’ve forgiven him, I haven’t forgotten.

  “I need to know if you’re deliberately insulting me or if you really are that clueless.”

  “Excuse me?” I was pissed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You really don’t know?” His dark eyes were flashing, and I could feel the energy level rise to fill the enclosed space of the car.

  “Not a clue.”

  “Right.” His sarcastic tone left no doubt that he didn’t believe me. Without another word, he started the engine with a roar and pulled out of the drive, gaze locked on the road ahead. Considering the speed he was driving, it was probably best that he was paying attention.

  After several long minutes of silence, I decided to grab the bull by the horns. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “We’ve been back together for a while now,” he said, with that undercurrent of anger.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “And I think I’ve proved myself useful once or twice.”

  “More than useful,” I said honestly. “You’ve been amazing.” He had been, which made this morning’s attitude that much harder for me to comprehend. I am not any easy woman to live with. I know that. But we’d been doing really well. At least I thought we had.

  “Then why”—he slammed his palm onto the steering wheel for emphasis—“did you ask Dawna to partner with you instead of me? Why am I hearing that you’ve advertised for a mage for your company? Why haven’t we discussed one damned thing about your plans for the business?”

  His face was rigid with barely controlled fury. And while it wasn’t sensible, or even remotely smart for me to get into an argument with him, I was too damned stressed myself to deal with his temper.

  “First,” I snapped, “you made it clear that you don’t want to work in the private sector. You want to teach.” I met his gaze, completely unflinching. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “No.” He practically spat out the word.

  “So forgive me if I took you at your word and made other plans.”

  There was a long moment of silence as he thought about that. He still wasn’t happy, but the level of tension in the car ratcheted down significantly.

  Bruno gave me a long, level look. “What’s the other reason?” His voice was almost back to normal.

  “What other reason?”

  “You said ‘First.’”

  Shit. I had, and he’d noticed. I closed my eyes. I so didn’t want to do this. “Bruno, I love you. But we’re too much alike to work with each other all the time. It’d be a constant power struggle, and that wouldn’t be good for our relationship or the company. I want my company to be my company.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, his expression thoughtful.

  I continued. “You made the decision to join the university all by yourself, without consulting me or getting my advice. And that’s fine. You get to. But I’m going to be making my own career decisions, including who I’m going ask to be my business partner and who I’ll be hiring. You can’t ask me to butt out of your career and then expect to have input on mine. It’s not fair.”

  He gave me a sour look but didn’t argue.

  “I love you, Bruno. But you’ve made it very clear that you run your own life, and I can respect that. I expect you to respect me enough to let me run my own life as well. The road goes both ways.”

  “And if I can’t, as you say, ‘butt out’?” He spoke quietly, but his face was flushed and he was so tense I could see the sinews in his neck.

  “Oh, do not go there. Don’t even,” I snapped. “I have too damned much on my plate right now to play those kinds of games.”

  “You think I’m playing games?” His an
ger was coming back. Unfortunately, my own ire was rising pretty damned quickly. All the stress, the lack of sleep, my grief over losing Ivy—everything combined until I just couldn’t handle it. I rounded on him, completely furious and totally heedless of any possible consequences.

  “No, Bruno, I don’t think you’re playing games. I think you’re being a monumental ass. I just lost my sister. I’ve got the family therapy session from hell coming up tomorrow, a woman got abducted right after she didn’t hire me, and all you seem to care about is your wounded pride.”

  He hit the brakes hard, then downshifted and pulled off to the side of the road.

  “You haven’t told me any of this,” he practically yelled, glaring at me.

  “How could I? It’s not like I see you every day, or even get a call, and this shit is not the kind of stuff you send a text about.” I turned to look out the window. I was crying. Damn it! I didn’t want to win the argument by crying.

  Long minutes passed in silence. I stared stubbornly out the window. I might not be able to stop my tears, but I could keep from looking at him. He just sat there, his breathing slowly going back to normal. The only time I moved was to blot my eyes, hoping my makeup wasn’t totally ruined.

  “Why didn’t you call me? You know I would have come.” His voice was soft, but there was still an edge to it. He was trying to put aside his anger, but it wasn’t gone. Not by a long shot.

  “Days ago, I asked you if you could come by. You said no.”

  “You never said it was important. If you had, I would’ve dropped what I was doing in a heartbeat.” The look he gave me held so many emotions it was hard to sort them all, exasperation and hurt were probably the dominant ones, but sympathy was in there, too. “You know that, right?”

  “I know.” I did know. He has always been good about being there when I need him. I don’t expect him to read my mind … well, not often. “I was going to tell you at brunch.” I hadn’t wanted to fight. I’d wanted him to hold me, to listen to me, to help me heal. That wasn’t likely to happen now, was it?