Waking the Serpent

by Jane Kindred

“Heidi who?”

  “Someone in charge of the client list.”

  The stiffness in Kimber’s body language was back. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Phoebe decided to take a different tack. “Did you know Barbara Fisher? Barbie?”

  Kimber’s expression was guarded. “Maybe.”

  “Do you know whether she ever saw Rafe Diamante professionally, like they’re saying?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I have.” Phoebe sipped her latte, licking foam off her upper lip. “I’m just trying to get some independent verification. It’s a lawyer thing.”

  Kimber was silent a moment, drinking her iced tea, and Phoebe thought she wasn’t going to answer until she spoke quietly while leaning over her drink, still holding the straw to her mouth. “Like I said, he’s considered very elusive. I’ve known a few girls who tried to hook up with him at country club parties and political social events. None of them were professional. Unless you count constantly being on the lookout for a wealthy boyfriend as a profession.”

  She took a sip of her tea. “They all said he was nice. A little too nice. Never made a move on any of them or took them up on any offers. Not even a blowjob. That’s why we figured he wasn’t playing for our team. I don’t know anything about who Barbie was seeing professionally, but I think it would have been news to a lot of people if Rafe Diamante were dating a woman. In any sense of the word.” Kimber looked up. “Which is why your video was such a runaway hit.”

  Phoebe couldn’t help blushing this time. “I really wish it hadn’t been. We had no idea anyone could get close enough to see us, let alone film us through the window.”

  Kimber smiled. “Well, anyway, congrats. You’ve made a lot of women jealous.”

  “Wasn’t really my plan.” Phoebe concentrated on her coffee until the heat in her cheeks went down. “What about Rafe’s lawyer, Carter Hamilton? I know he’s from out of town, but has he been around the scene before? Know anyone who’s dated him?”

  Kimber sat back in her chair and raised her hand to catch the waitress’s attention. “I think we’re done here.”

  Kimber’s reaction meant Carter wasn’t just some client. His was definitely a name that inspired fear. It was as much of an answer to her unasked question as Phoebe was likely to get.

  “Can I ask you one more thing?”

  Kimber shrugged, digging through her purse for her wallet.

  “Who conjures the ride-alongs? How is that done?”

  Kimber put her money on the tray as the waitress set it on the table. “Keep the change.” She rose and gave Phoebe a chilling look. “You’ve gotten the wrong idea about me. I don’t know anything about ‘ride-alongs.’ All I know is certain men will pay a lot of money for a custom experience. Pretending to be the ex who jilted them, for instance, in a punishment fantasy. It’s all negotiated in advance. For the right price, I’ve agreed to let a client get a little rough—dress up like the woman he wants to get back at, let him call me by her name and tell me I’ve got it coming—but it’s all fantasy. Everyone’s consenting in the transaction. But, for some guys, that isn’t enough. They want something one step up from the fantasy. They don’t want a substitute, if you see what I’m saying.”

  The sick feeling in Phoebe’s stomach said she probably did.

  Kimber leaned in, hands braced against the table. “You couldn’t pay me enough to participate in something like that. I wouldn’t do it. I doubt there’s a girl alive who would.”

  Chapter 23

  Kimber’s words haunted Phoebe as she left Tlaquepaque and headed for the grocery store. Not a girl alive. But dead ones—shades who could be compelled to step into an unsuspecting object of the revenge fantasy the way Lila had stepped into Phoebe in Carter’s hotel room after she’d been drugged? That’s what the ride-alongs were doing.

  She’d promised her sisters she’d let them know she was okay as soon as the meeting ended. As she navigated the roundabout of the Y intersection of Highways 179 and 89A, she voice-dialed Theia.

  “Hey, Phoebes. How’d it go?”

  “About as well as we expected. She didn’t give me any real information about who’s behind it, but she freaked when I brought up Carter’s name and ended the conversation.”

  “Well, we already knew he was bad news. Slimeball.”

  “Yeah. And it sounds like they use these ride-alongs for the same kind of thing he did to me. Creeps pay to use step-ins for revenge.”

  “Gross.”

  “I think you guys are right. I have to tell Ione about Carter. I just wish we had some real evidence, some way to stop what he’s doing.” Even as she said it, she knew what was needed. Magic that could bind the necromancer from controlling the shades—the magic of the Covent. But that meant putting the shades in the Covent’s crosshairs. There was no way the Covent would agree to help bind the necromancer without insisting on controlling the shades, as well—and banishing them from the mortal plane.

  The sky grew darker as she headed west. Another afternoon storm was rolling in.

  “I’m stopping at the grocery store to stock up before you guys eat me out of house and home.”

  “What house and home?” Rhea had taken the phone from Theia. “You’ve got a box of stale cereal, a quarter cup of milk, some dried beans and an egg.”

  “Yeah, I wonder who ate an entire carton of eggs just this morning?”

  “She’s blaming us for the eggs, Theia.”

  Theia’s voice came from the background. “Ingrate! I made you waffles.”

  Phoebe laughed, flipping on the windshield wipers as it began to sprinkle. “I’ll be home in half an hour with more booty for you marauders.”

  As soon as she’d switched off the phone, she felt the intense pressure of a shade demanding entry—a presence immediately recognizable as Lila. Among Phoebe’s rules for dealing with step-ins, one absolute was no stepping in while driving. The inherent danger of making such a transition behind the wheel notwithstanding, she had no way of knowing if the shade even knew how to drive stick.

  “Not now,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let me pull over.”

  “I don’t think so, darling.” Her foot pressed hard on the gas pedal as the light at the upcoming intersection turned yellow.

  “Dammit, Lila, let go.”

  “What’s the matter? We’re just going for a little drive.” Lila sped through the intersection, taking the next corner too fast.

  “Why don’t you tell me where you want me to go, Lila, and I’ll drive?”

  A low, throaty laugh came out of her. “You don’t like it when somebody else drives, do you? At least you know this time.”

  Phoebe clutched the wheel, feeling like she was in a bad driver’s-ed simulator, doing little more at this point than hanging on for the ride. Lila was trying to get under her skin—even though she was already inside her skin—and the more Phoebe focused on negative emotions, the less control she was likely to have.

  Lila turned the Jeep around and circled the roundabout onto the Red Rock Scenic Byway, heading south.

  “Where are we going, Lila?”

  “To a funeral.”

  “Whose funeral?” As Lila spun around a curve, Phoebe was convinced it would be her own.

  “Rafael Diamante’s.”

  Phoebe’s heart lunged into her throat. Had something happened to Rafe? She lost control to Lila completely for a moment until her brain reminded her. Rafael Senior. The service was today.

  It was unnerving how alarmed she’d become at the thought of something happening to Rafe. It wasn’t as if they had a relationship. And she’d all but convinced herself he couldn’t be trusted. How could her heart have made that strangled little leap at the very idea of losing someone she didn’t even have?

  Lila turne
d onto the winding drive among the red sandstone, heading for the cemetery.

  “Why the funeral?”

  “Because.” Lila let the word draw out long and slow from Phoebe’s mouth. “I figured it would have the most impact.”

  Before Phoebe could process what this might mean, Lila floored the gas, jerking the wheel on the wet road as the pavement ended. The tires spun in loose gravel.

  Phoebe had control of herself now, but not the Jeep. The latter went into a fishtail when Phoebe hit the brakes. And then the world was flipping ass end over teakettle, and Phoebe’s head collided with something solid and sharp.

  * * *

  Rafe recognized the out-of-control vehicle as soon as it came to a stop. The graveside service had just concluded when the sound of screeching tires preceded the flip and roll of a driver who’d been going too fast on the paved section of the road. Rafe ran toward the wreck, realizing too late the camera crews covering the funeral were eagerly following.

  Hamilton had advised him not to engage reporters, no matter what, but this time he couldn’t help himself. “Why don’t one of you goddamn vultures make yourselves useful and call 9-1-1?” He reached the overturned Jeep and got on the ground to look inside. Blood ran from the side of Phoebe’s head, but she was semiconscious, making a disoriented attempt to unbuckle her seat belt.

  “Phoebe, hold still. The paramedics will be here soon. They’ll get you out. Let them check to be sure you’re okay before you try to move.” He reached in and grabbed her hand to keep her from releasing the button, and Phoebe curled her fingers around his. The strength of her grip was reassuring.

  She groaned and murmured something that sounded like “glad you’re not dead.” Rafe figured she must be confused, thinking he’d been in the accident, as well.

  He had little doubt the image of him holding hands with a bleeding, upside-down Phoebe at his father’s funeral would be plastered all over the internet in an hour. He shook his head. “What are you doing here?”

  “Lila,” she murmured.

  * * *

  Rafe followed the ambulance to the hospital against Hamilton’s advice. The media was going to make a big deal out of it no matter what he did. He needed to be sure she was okay.

  “You could find that out with a phone call,” Hamilton had reminded him before giving up with a shrug.

  He lied and told the emergency room nurse he was Phoebe’s husband so they’d let him in to see her. Phoebe sat on the gurney, looking much more alert, while an ER attendant stitched up a gash on her head at the hairline.

  She grimaced gamely as Rafe peered around the curtain. “Beaten up by my own cell phone. Can you believe it?”

  “I’ve been trying to tell people—Skynet has become aware.” Rafe stepped inside. “You okay? You had me scared.”

  “Just a little rattled. And embarrassed. Apparently, I’m headline news again in our little burg.”

  Rafe waited to ask the serious questions until the attendant finished up and left the little cubicle. “Phoebe, you said something about Lila when you were in the Jeep. Did she...step in?”

  Phoebe nodded, wincing and putting her fingers to her scalp below the gauze bandage as though the movement pulled at the stitches. “She was driving. Not the first time she’s done that recently. Drive me, I mean. Not the Jeep. Whatever she wanted to achieve, she said it would have more impact at the funeral.” Her blue-gray eyes were apologetic. “I’m really sorry, Rafe. I didn’t mean to crash your father’s funeral. Literally.”

  “Obviously not your fault. And it had just finished, so you didn’t interrupt anything. I’m just glad you’re okay. It could have been much worse.” Rafe studied her, struck by what she’d said, that it wasn’t the first time Lila had taken her over recently. He knew Lila had tried to mess with Phoebe before, but this seemed much more purposeful and malicious. “When else has she done it? Driven you?”

  Phoebe looked startled, as if he’d caught her saying something she hadn’t meant to, and her complexion made an odd transition from pale to flushed. “I—I don’t... I told you before.”

  Rafe came closer to the gurney, setting his hand on the mattress to steady himself because he was having a horrible thought. “Did it have anything to do with a compromising photograph?”

  “Oh, my God.” Phoebe covered her face with her hands. “Just kill me now. You got one, too.”

  “Last night—or I guess this morning—after I left your place. I didn’t know what to make of it. But that was Lila, wasn’t it?”

  Phoebe lowered her hands, scrubbing one palm over her mouth. “I don’t really want to talk about it here.”

  Before he could ask her anything else the nurse swept the curtain aside. “The doctor has cleared you for release, Mrs. Carlisle. We’ve got all the insurance squared away. It’s probably best to have someone keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours to make sure there are no ill effects from that bump on your head. Looks like you have a mild concussion. Will your husband be able to stay with you?”

  “Yeah, I’m on it,” Rafe said before Phoebe could answer. “She’s in good hands.”

  * * *

  Phoebe eyed Rafe’s profile as he led her out to the truck after they’d filled her prescription for pain meds. “Husband, huh?”

  “It was the only way they’d let me in.”

  It was weird how that little word, which obviously didn’t mean anything—just a convenience—sounded so unexpectedly sweet. She slipped into the passenger seat, triggered a bit as she buckled the seat belt. Nothing like getting right back on the horse.

  Rafe was quiet as they drove along the rainy streets toward her house.

  “It’s really kind of you to give me a ride home. I could have called my sisters.” In truth, she hadn’t even let them know she’d been in an accident. She knew they’d worry needlessly, and she’d see them in a few minutes.

  “Not a problem.” Rafe pulled up in front of the house and sighed as if he’d been holding a deep breath. “Look, Phoebe, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Hamilton, but—”

  “Nothing is going on between me and Carter Hamilton.” The words came out a little more violently than she’d planned.

  Rafe glanced at her. “Well, I’m not concerned about that right now, is what I’m trying to say. It really scared me to see you bleeding and half conscious in that Jeep. I’ve strengthened the protection spell around the house, but these shades are obviously extremely dangerous and determined. And I’m the reason they’ve fixed on you. And I know after how I acted last night—this morning—after everything I’ve done, really, you’d probably just as soon see the back of me. But I think the nurse was right. I should stay with you. If the necromancer’s going to...to—whatever he’s gotten Lila to make you do—I think it’ll be harder for him to do it if we stick together.”

  Phoebe’s pulse was racing. Since this much was out in the open, she had to know. “So, you didn’t having anything to do with it? Not with Jacob directing you. No ride-alongs of any kind.”

  Rafe looked genuinely taken aback. “Ride-alongs? With whom? When?”

  “With me, Rafe. Or with anyone.” Phoebe was shaking with delayed shock—and with uttering the words. “Right before my adventure with Lila, I met with a sex worker who knew Monique and she told me even more disturbing things about the ride-alongs than I’d imagined. I need to know you’ve never participated in that. That you’re not part of some network of powerful men these trapped shades are being forced to cater to. I need to know you weren’t in on...that...with Carter.”

  Rafe’s knuckles went white around the steering wheel. “You think I’d do that?” He swallowed. “Of course you think I’d do that. I conjured Jacob to... Jesus. No. That was the first and only time I ever considered letting a shade ‘ride along.’ I didn’t even know it was possible before
that. I swear to you.”

  Phoebe opened her mouth to respond but the front door to the house flew open with a bang and her sisters came racing out.

  “Phoebe! What happened?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Don’t let Puddleglum out!” Phoebe climbed out of the truck to face the onslaught of sisterly love. When Rafe remained behind the wheel, Phoebe spoke before he could do his usual disappearing act. “Rafe’s going to stay for a while. If that’s okay with you two.”

  Predictably, Rhea couldn’t just say “sure” and leave it at that. “I guess, if you think you can keep the noise level to a minimum. Some of us need our sleep.”

  * * *

  After she’d given her sisters the short version of her adventure with Lila and managed to reassure them she was okay, Phoebe took Rafe’s hand. “I kind of need to talk to Rafe in private.” She led him to the bedroom. “And shut up, Rhea Iris.”

  “What?” Rhea feigned innocence as Phoebe closed the door.

  Rafe stood awkwardly with his hands in his suit pockets. Phoebe wondered if it was particularly perverted to find a man dressed in a suit he’d just worn to his father’s funeral that attractive.

  She hugged her elbows, not sure where things stood between them. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “You had good reason to. I don’t know why you’re not throwing me out right now.”

  Phoebe smiled, looking down at her feet. “As much as I enjoy seeing the ‘back’ of you, Mr. Diamante, your front is pretty fantastic.” She glanced up to find him staring at her with a quizzical smile.

  Rafe took a step closer. “You’re an unusual woman, Phoebe Carlisle.”

  Phoebe laughed. “You’re a little weird yourself.”

  “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” He lifted her chin, bringing her mouth to the level of his. “The ink on my tattoo is swimming,” he murmured. “Every time I’m near you.” His kiss was soft and tentative, and Phoebe moved in closer, slipping her arms around his neck, and kissed him back somewhat more aggressively.