by Cat Adams
He gave a sheepish laugh. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
“It’s all right.” I meant that. He really was trying to help, and I needed all the help I could get.
“Thank you for being so gracious. Now, if you’ll hold your hand still, palm out, I’ll take a few pictures.” He held out a camera phone. “With your permission, I’m going to share them with some of my colleagues. If there’s a cure for this, one of them should know of it.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Yes and no.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Posting these may help you, but it’ll definitely give me bragging rights. You have no idea how jealous some of my colleagues are going to be.”
I switched the book to my other hand and moved to a spot where the light was better. Holding my hand palm up, I let him take half a dozen photographs. When he’d finished, he tucked the phone back in his pocket. “There’s one more thing I think you should know.” He looked uncomfortable and I just knew I was getting bad news.
“What?” I tried to sound casual and failed.
“Until yesterday the mark was invisible, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You encountered something magical that changed that and was powerful enough to injure both you and the other woman?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Then I’m sorry to say, there’s a very good chance that whatever happened affected the curse. It could mean that you encounter problems less frequently or that the threats are less intense.”
Sounded good to me.
“Or it could be the exact opposite.”
No shit.
“Given what you’ve said about your past, I greatly fear that you’re going to be facing more and greater dangers now. I’m very sorry.” He was all earnest now, no longer just a scholar with an interesting puzzle to work on. It’s never fun to be the bearer of bad tidings.
“It’s all right. Thanks for telling me. I’ll just have to be very careful.”
“Please do. I’d hate to see anything happen to you. Now, I have to go. But I promise I’ll look into the matter thoroughly and I’ll contact you through Warren as soon as I find out anything that might help.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you for meeting with me.” He waved and hurried off. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Bubba’s number from memory. Yeah, he’d said he’d call, but I was getting impatient. Dottie’d talked a good game going out the door, but she hadn’t looked good. Pinning the cell phone between my shoulder and ear, I dug in my pockets for a bill that was crisp enough to feed into the pop machine. He answered just as my can of “pure liquid refreshment” dropped into the dispensing bin.
“Hey, Celia. The doctors say she’s fine. Said she should get some extra rest over the next couple days, but no harm done. I did make her promise she wouldn’t be taking those stairs anymore. They’re too damned steep for a woman her age, particularly with a walker!”
“Amen to that.” I let out a silent sigh of relief. I’d tried not to worry, but I couldn’t help it. Then there was the guilt. I mean, I was absolute hell on secretaries lately. What was worse was that the death curse meant I would continue to be a danger to the people around me. I didn’t want to live in a cloister, but . . . oh, hell.
“Anyway,” Bubba continued, “she insists she is not quitting. And she told me to tell you that you’d better not fire her just because she wore herself out. You need her. She’ll just be more careful from now on. She does want to be around Minnie, and Dawna does need the help.”
He was quoting Dottie. I knew because I could hear her in the background, sounding waspish as an angry schoolmarm.
I shouldn’t agree. I knew I shouldn’t. But I also saw a lot of me in her. I knew instinctively that Dottie needed something more in her life than soap operas and cleaning her apartment. Karl had brought that to her, bringing her people to do readings for, giving her a way to use her gift and help others. Now that he was dead, she’d been set adrift.
I understood, but I was not going to push it. “Only if she promises not to overdo. She’s not going to do anyone any good if she winds up dead or in the hospital.”
He repeated what I’d said and Dottie agreed. I could hear the relief in her voice even over the phone.
She’d be careful. So would I. Until I dealt with the whole curse thing, I’d spend as much time as I could away from the office.
One step at a time, Graves. You found out about the curse. Now you find the caster and get the damned thing removed. Then you won’t have to worry so much about Dottie, Dawna, or anyone else.
9
I could’ve gone to dinner with El Jefe. But I was exhausted. It had been a long, tiring day. Besides, neither of us was very good company. He was worried about his friend from UCLA. He’d made calls and learned there’d been no sign of her since she’d left Los Angeles a few hours before. It might be nothing—traffic, car trouble. But she should have called. There aren’t a lot of cellular dead zones between L.A. and Santa Maria de Luna. Of course her phone battery could’ve gone dead. Or she could’ve forgotten it. Or any of a million other things. But it wasn’t like her. So he worried. I was concerned, too, and asked that he call and let me know as soon as he found out anything. I wanted to eat something quick and get the Wadjeti back under wards and behind cold steel. Then I wanted to go back to Birchwoods before John’s spell wore off and go to bed.
One good thing about keeping busy—I hadn’t had time to fret about my upcoming court date. I kept telling myself that Roberto was the best. We had witnesses, including a slew of holy men who’d come at my psychic call to banish the demon. I reminded myself that Ren had sworn I’d get off; and that King Dahlmar, whose son I’d saved, would do everything in his considerable power to help me. All of this was true. Even so, I was scared. On the long drive from my office to Birchwoods I went over my testimony and my attorney’s plan of attack in my head.
I’ve been a witness before, plenty of times, mostly in paparazzi stalking cases, defending myself against assault charges from people who tried to get through me to the people I was guarding. But this was different. This was a paranormal manipulation charge. And I was now considered a monster. Both of which meant that I was considerably less likely to get a fair trial. My attorney was sure that, worst-case, I’d be confined to an institution of my choice. I hoped he was right.
The spectre of a state-run facility had been haunting my nightmares even before the attack on the limo. Now, knowing that someone there had already been paid to murder me . . . I shuddered. Were the same people behind the shooting at the Will reading, or was that something else entirely? I wasn’t sure I had the energy right now to track down more than one threat.
The closer I got to my destination, the worse I felt. By the time I slid my ID card into the slot of the security machine for the outer gate I was well and truly depressed. A full-body shudder hit me as the heavy metal grill rolled closed with a clang behind my car. Would this be the rest of my life? Locked away to protect the world from me—or worse, to protect me from the world?
The night guard at the second gate was a new guy, but apparently he’d been briefed about me, because the fangs didn’t panic him. We went through the expected routine with holy water and silver; then he opened the gate and I drove through.
I parked under one of the lamps, locked my weapons in the car trunk, and, feeling vulnerable and naked, made my way through the open parking lot to the administration building and the night-check-in desk. A very nice, very professional nurse took my shoes, my cell phone, and my name before sending me off to my quarters.
A message had been written on a slip of paper and slipped beneath my door. I picked it up and read: We must talk. It is urgent. I will contact you tomorrow. It was signed: Ivan.
Oh, freakin’ goodie. Just what I needed. More trouble.
I dropped the note onto the nearest flat surface and shambled off to bed.
I wish I could say I slept well. I didn’t. My dream
s were weird and haunted, my sleep fraught with tossing and turning.
So, after a long, restless night, I rose and got ready to face the music. Since this hearing was an “official” event, I was escorted to the courthouse by the police—and not in my own car. At least I wasn’t under arrest, so I didn’t have to arrive in handcuffs. But the police insisted I eat two jars of beef and vegetable baby food in the back of the squad car before we set off. Logical, but yuck!
The Santa Maria de Luna Justice Center is a big four-story box of a building, built of stucco painted brilliant white with brick red trim. Red tile steps lead up to the four front entrance doors, each of which is manned by men and machines whose job it is to make sure nothing dangerous makes it into the building. I’d been through those doors many times. Today, however, I was taken in the back to avoid the hordes of press staked out front waiting for pictures of the vampire who could attend day court.
Roberto met me at the back door. He checked my appearance carefully, to make sure I would make a good impression. I was dressed for success in a conservative navy suit with a red silk blouse. It felt absolutely bizarre to be wearing one of Isaac’s signature jackets and not be carrying any weapons. Roberto had insisted on panty hose and heels. I hate panty hose. Whoever invented them was a sadist. They are hot in summer and never fit quite right, even if you don’t get them on crooked, which I usually do.
The goal was for me to, in Roberto’s words, “channel Laura Bush.” So the skirt hit me well below the knee and the pumps were low heeled and plain. I was supposed to be dignified, sedate, conservative, and still look good. I had no idea whether or not I was succeeding at it.
My escort stayed close as we went up the stairs and through the hall leading to the courtroom. The place was full of spectators. The most obvious glares were the ones I was getting from Gerry, one of the head guards at Birchwood, and a group of five police officers, all in their very best finery and seated together in the gallery. Gerry and I had been friendly once—before he saw me go all spooky. It scared the crap out of him. Now he was making it his personal mission to see me put away. I think he honestly believes it is the right thing to do. Of course that doesn’t make it any better for me.
I recognized one or two of the police officers. They’d been among the people I’d used my siren abilities on. If I hadn’t, a greater demon would’ve wreaked havoc at that World Series game in Anaheim a few weeks back. I had witnesses willing to testify to that.
But the prosecution had witnesses, too. According to the list they provided to Roberto, they were even bringing in Dr. Greene from the state pen. Greene was a null and a shrink. She was also the woman who’d drugged me and set me up for the murder of a minister. Compulsion spells might make her tell the truth and nothing but the truth. But I wasn’t sure the whole truth was what I wanted the jury to hear.
Shit.
My stomach tightened into knots. If I were still able to eat solids I’d probably have tossed my cookies by now. As it was, I tasted bile in the back of my throat, despite the claim that baby food is a low-acid concoction.
“Celia, you need to calm down.” Roberto murmured the words softly enough that they barely carried to my ears. “You’re starting to glow.”
I looked down and felt my stomach try to do a backflip. Oh, that was so not good. Glowing is not human. It is not normal. It was not going to reassure the prosecutor, judge, and jury that little ole me was no threat to anybody.
I closed my eyes and took deep, cleansing breaths, forcing myself to think about the rocky stretch of beach where I go to be alone when the stress of life gets to me. I was starting to feel better—until I heard somebody say “Do you smell salt water?”
But I wasn’t glowing anymore and Roberto hustled me to the front of the courtroom without further incident.
“In front of the bar” has real meaning in a courtroom and only those who are on the daily docket can get through the magic barriers that separate the “working” area from the main gallery. Roberto went through first and I saw a flash of silver light as he passed through the scanner and heavy-duty wards. Then it was my turn.
I stepped in, closed my eyes, and stood perfectly still so that the scanner could do its thing. I saw a flash of red through my closed eyelids, felt the hot rush of magic across my skin, and it was over. I was cleared.
I tried not to show how relieved I was. I tried to act normal, but I’d left normal so far behind at that point that I was definitely faking it. Still, I meekly followed my high-priced attorney to the small table assigned to the defense and took my seat. I glanced around the courtroom, hoping someone I knew was there to cheer me on. In the corner I saw my gran, sitting with El Jefe and Emma. And toward the back on the right side I spotted Dr. Hubbard and Dr. Scott. But no Bruno. I felt my heart sink. I’d hoped . . .
I tried not to fidget as I watched Roberto pull folder after folder from his big, boxy trial briefcase. The prosecutor came over to shake Roberto’s hand. His name was Jose Rodriguez and he looked to be about thirty-five, or maybe a young-looking forty. Tall and slender, he was very handsome, with wavy black hair with just a touch of silver and eyes the color of dark chocolate. He had a winning smile and his navy suit looked nice and expensive until I compared it to Roberto’s.
“Bob. Good to see you again.”
“Joe.” They shook hands, “Here to give me a last-minute offer?”
Joe stepped back, his eyes widening. “You don’t know? Seriously?”
“Know what?”
The prosecutor looked at me and his expression darkened. There was a slight edge to his voice when he replied, “This hearing is just a formality. It isn’t going to last five minutes. Your client has some very powerful friends.”
Roberto looked at me over his shoulder. I shrugged to let him know I didn’t have a clue.
Rodriguez’s eyebrows rose until they almost disappeared beneath his hair, his expression conveying not just surprise but more than a bit of disbelief.
“Care to enlighten us?” Roberto’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Until that moment, they’d seemed like friends who happened to be on opposite sides of a case. Now Roberto had shifted gears and shown he was all business.
The prosecutor turned to his associate, who handed him a thin stack of papers. Turning back to us, Rodriguez began laying the sheets on the table one at a time, like playing cards, indicating what each was as he did.
“A certificate of dual citizenship with Rusland. The official letter and certificate announcing Ms. Graves’s appointment as Official Security Liaison, with full diplomatic status, signed by King Dahlmar himself, including the royal seal. A letter of pardon signed by the governor to be used in the event of your conviction. A letter of pardon signed by the president of the United States, to be used in the event of your conviction. And we received a visit from some of the boys over at the State Department, suggesting that, all things considered and since you were acting in defense of others, we should save the state the money it would take to prosecute.”
“You’ve got a letter from the president? Seriously?” I just about choked on the words. “The president of the United States wrote a pardon for me? Holy crap. Ho”—I took a breath between syllables—“ly crap.”
Rodriguez smiled. It made him look younger, less cynical. “Yes. And I’ve got to tell you, the politicos don’t do that. Not in advance. It’s too likely to blow up in their faces.”
“I’m not surprised.” Roberto smiled benignly, leaning back and folding his hands across his waist. “Ms. Graves’s actions saved the lives of King Dahlmar and his son Prince Rezza and unmasked a political plot that would’ve destabilized their nation. She also assisted in the banishment of a major demon who had been summoned to wreak havoc at one of the largest public sporting events on the calendar. Who knows how many lives might have been lost if Ms. Graves hadn’t done as she did? King Dahlmar previously indicated to me his intent to do everything he could to keep her from being imprisoned as a result of her
actions.”
“Well, he’s a man of his word.” Joe gathered up the pages, stacking them neatly.
“So, are you going to prosecute?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself.
Rodriguez shook his head. “Why bother? It’d be an open-and-shut case and a complete waste of the taxpayers’ money.”
“And the other matter?” Roberto’s voice was silken.
Rodriguez’s expression darkened, all the humor draining out of it in a rush, his features seeming to harden into stone. “It was self-defense. She and the doctor were kidnapped.” He turned to me, his eyes capturing mine, his gaze intense. “But know this. If you ever again set so much as a toe out of line, we will prosecute. We might not be able to put you away. But if you show you are a threat to our citizens, we will find some way of getting rid of you, even if we have to deport you to do it.”
I didn’t doubt that he meant it. I really hoped it never came to that. It bothered me deeply that I wasn’t considered one of “our citizens” anymore and somehow I just knew it wasn’t because of my new diplomatic status.
We were spared further conversation as the bailiff came in and announced the judge. The prosecutor stepped back behind his table as we all rose for the Honorable Sarah Jacobsen to take the bench.
Once she took her seat, the prosecutor made his announcement about dropping the charges. Judge Jacobsen immediately asked the attorneys to approach the bench, and it didn’t take vampire hearing to catch the gist of the conversation. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it one bit. Governor, president, king, or no, she wanted me locked up somewhere far, far away from vulnerable humans and she did not appreciate the fact that people higher up the food chain were usurping her judicial authority.
She motioned the men back to their seats and stared at me for a long moment. Finally, she spoke. “Ms. Graves. The prosecutor has asked to dismiss the charges against you based on what, in my opinion, are political threats from people who have no business interfering in this case.”
