by Cat Adams
Juan made a noise in the back of his throat, clearly unhappy. I couldn’t blame him. You could tell from their body language that they were looking for trouble.
Miller looked angry but also like death and not even warmed over. It was obvious even in the dim lighting of the restaurant. The last time I’d seen him he’d been strikingly handsome thanks to a combination of good genetics and better plastic surgery. He kept fit, dressed in the very best hand-tailored suits, and was more fussy about his appearance than any woman I knew. Not today. Today his wide face was gray and coated with a faint sheen of sweat and there was a fine tremor to his body. His left arm hung absolutely limp at his side. When one of the servers accidentally bumped it Miller’s knees buckled beneath him. Only the lightning-quick reflexes of his men kept him from collapsing to the floor in a heap. From the corner of my eye I saw Barbara scurrying to assist, but he waved her away.
“What’s the matter with him?” Juan had paled to a shade almost as white as the tablecloth.
“Binding oaths are a bitch.”
“He broke a magic oath? Is he insane?”
“Yes. And possibly.” I took a long pull of my drink. I’d probably need it and I was glad for the restorative powers of Pablo’s mexi-shake. But unless and until they came up to the table, I was going to pretend this was just a coincidence and assume that George brought his well-coutured ass down to this neck of the woods all the time. No doubt for the huevos.
“You know about this?” I looked up and realized that Juan didn’t look like a kid anymore. He was all grown-up and ready to play bouncer if need be. I hoped he wouldn’t have to. He’s a tough kid, but I’d feel guilty as hell if anything happened to him and the M&C boys are professionals.
“A little,” I admitted. “John Creede, the man with me? Likely he’s the one who cast the oath on Miller.”
Juan started to swear, softly, under his breath. I almost couldn’t hear him and I was sitting right there, so the rest of the diners were spared. Kind of a shame. They might have learned something. He was doing a very thorough job of it. When he’d gone through his repertoire he took a deep breath. Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “I have your back. But you’re paying for any damages.”
I nodded and shifted in my seat, unfastening my denim jacket. I’d taken some of my usual armament from my car before we left the attorney’s. I always feel naked without a few weapons.
Juan stepped away from the table but didn’t go far, just a few steps away, behind the bar. He stayed there, puttering around in the general vicinity of where I knew the shotgun was kept. I don’t know what signal passed between them, but while he didn’t say a word, I noticed that Lola, his sister, had stepped out from behind the maître d’ stand and pulled on a server’s apron.
“Ms. Graves.” George Miller had come up to my table. I’d thought he looked bad from a distance—up close it was much, much worse. And the smell. Eww. Maybe it was my enhanced vampire senses, but he smelled like meat left in the sun to rot. My stomach roiled in protest even though I was holding my drink close to my nose to try to mask the stench. I moved the salsa bowl so that it sat on the table right in front of me. Pablo’s homemade salsa is really spicy. I figured the pepper smell might help. It’s strong and I don’t like it much, but it was better than the alternative.
“Mr. Miller.” I gave him a pleasant expression, empty of any emotion. I was not going to gag. I wasn’t. Mind over matter.
There are a number of different binding oaths available. All of them are pretty hideous. My guess was that they’d used the necrosis variation. If they had, then his arm was literally rotting off. And unless he (a) made complete recompense; (b) had the arm amputated before the rot spread; or (c) killed Creede, Miller might lose more than just an arm.
“I’m sorry to intrude. But I wanted to take this opportunity to warn you about my former partner.”
I looked up but didn’t say anything. If I opened my mouth, I would retch. I really would.
“You can smell what he did to me. Can’t you?”
I fought down bile and managed to answer him through gritted teeth. “The way he tells it, you did it to yourself.”
“And you believe him?” Miller’s tone made it clear he thought I was a fool.
I set down my drink and picked up the salsa bowl; bringing it up to my face, I took a long whiff. It worked: peppers, onion, and spices drove off less palatable scents. After just a few seconds, I was able to talk almost normally. “It’s easy enough to check out. Written notice of any binding oaths would have to be filed with the state with your corporate documents. And you don’t strike me as the type to skimp on the paperwork.”
His face flushed, bringing the first bit of color to his cheeks. Scowling fiercely, he told me, “John used black magic to avoid the effects of my oath on him.”
I shook my head. “Not possible. The magic used in binding oaths is a neutral force. It doesn’t care who, or what, the oath takers are. In fact, the man’s a mage. His own power would probably turn on him if he broke the oath.”
“You know that for a fact?” Miller was so bitter. The words dripped venom like acid. I felt as if my ears should actually be burning.
“I graduated with a degree in Paranormal Studies and was engaged to a powerful mage.” I met the heat of Miller’s gaze without flinching. “So, yeah, I do.”
He was visibly shaking now, but whether it was from rage or exhaustion I couldn’t tell. Maybe both. Because he was furious. His eyes were dark, his square jaw set tight enough that I could hear his teeth grinding. Still, he mastered himself enough to speak civilly. “If you partner with John Creede, Ms. Graves, you will regret it.”
“Is that a threat?” I kept my voice sweet and utterly bland, but my eyes were on his hands, making sure he wasn’t about to go for a weapon. It would be a crazy thing for him to do, but I’d pretty much decided the man was nuts. However, I was curious. How did he know about mine and Creede’s discussions? Had he been to the office, or was one or both of us bugged?
“A promise,” Miller growled. With his message delivered, he turned on his heel. At his curt nod, his companions fell in behind him. They were just leaving the restaurant when John stepped out of the restroom. The whole encounter had only taken a couple of minutes. But that didn’t make it any less disturbing.
John stopped, stared after them for a long moment, his features hard and distant as a granite cliff. Then he strode stiffly over to the table, not bothering to sit down.
“What were George, Bobby, and Ian doing here?” His voice was flat, inflectionless.
“Miller wanted to warn me not to go into business with you.” I gave him innocent eyes before grabbing my margarita glass and taking a long pull of lime-flavored frozen goodness.
“And?” Standing there, glowering, he reminded me a little of Miller, only without the BO. They were quite a lot alike: hard, dangerous men who could be equally charming and deadly. Good friends/bad enemies.
“He was trying to intimidate me if he could.” The drink was perfect. As always. And with the kick of a mule. With any luck it would help me relax. Unlikely under the circumstances, but certainly worth a try.
“Did he?”
Juan was coming up behind him with another margarita for me and a fresh basket of tortilla chips. He gave an expressive snort as he reached around the other man to set the fresh drink in front of me before waving a container of cinnamon incense around the area to get rid of the smell. “This one is on me.”
I thanked Juan, then answered Creede. “I’m not easily intimidated. I’m just glad they didn’t cause trouble in the restaurant.” I paused for effect. “Are you going to sit down, or are you planning on standing there all day?”
He glared. I didn’t wilt. So, eventually, he sat. He even unbent enough to grab a chip. I passed him the bowl of salsa I’d hijacked. We sat in silence as he munched and I drank. I would’ve liked to join him. I miss munching. But the combination of salt, lime, and kick-ass tequila was
taking the edge off my disappointment. In fact, it was taking the edge off of pretty much everything. I’d probably better slow down a bit.
“So now what?” he finally asked.
“Well, first I think it would be a good idea to find out how Miller discovered we were here and how he knew you’d offered to partner with me. I’m still not sure about whether we’d work as business partners. But I do not like being threatened and I really don’t like being bugged.”
“I can’t believe he actually had the balls to threaten you—and in the middle of a public restaurant.” A slow flush was spreading up Creede’s neck and his voice was low and growling. “Has he lost his fucking mind?”
“Ah, wait.” I raised a finger. “It was not a threat. It was a promise.” I rolled my eyes. “Relax, John. I’m a big girl. I don’t terrify easily.” I watched as he forced himself to calm down. It took a few minutes. He was not taking this situation well. Then again, who would? “Seriously, until you get your legal issues dealt with and I get my legal issues dealt with, we may not want to even try. Because if he can make trouble, he will. He has the connections to do it and apparently he has the technology. You’ll want to do a full scan of your car for trackers and maybe even take it to a priest. Oh, and throw away your clothes.”
“I know how to search for bugs, Celia. I’ve been doing this longer than you.” His growl was growing, but I wasn’t done. Because it needed to be said.
“And yet, they were here and overheard our conversation somehow. I’m pretty sure you’d be chiding me under the same circumstances. Because he’s not going to stop. You know it. Not until he finds some way to get to you—assuming he lives that long.”
Creede’s head jerked and his eyes widened with shock. I could tell he was jumping to conclusions from the look on his face, and it irritated the hell out of me.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I snapped, “I’m not going to do anything. But I don’t need to. That must have been one powerful oath you set up, because he was barely able to walk on his own and I’m pretty sure his arm is literally rotting meat.”
Creede looked from me to Juan, who nodded his agreement.
He started drumming his fingers on the table, his eyes going distant. I could tell he was going over the oath in his mind, checking to see if it was more powerful than he’d imagined. He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be that bad. Don’t get me wrong. If he’s not careful, he’ll lose the arm. But that should be the extent of it.”
“You didn’t smell him. The man is dying.”
Creede leaned back at an angle, his fingers drumming an irritable rhythm against the tablecloth. “The only way it would be that bad is if the oath is still active. So long as he’s still screwing me over, the oath is going to eat at him.”
Ah, I got it. It was a vicious cycle. “He blames you and is bitter, so he keeps trying to get even. And every time he does, the oath gets worse.”
“He can’t be that stupid.” Creede shook his head. He was still angry but there was sadness mixed in with it. I wasn’t surprised. They’d been friends and business partners for a long time.
I snorted. “He’s obsessed. Besides, you know as well as I do that people delude themselves all the time. Given enough time, he’ll have the whole thing being your fault. Probably even sue your ass.” There was a little lisp at the end of that. I’ve been having some trouble adapting to talking with the fangs. However, I will say it was harder than it should have been to put the glass down straight on the table.
“How many of those have you had?”
I sighed. “Not that many. Don’t worry. Vampire metabolism. I’ll be dead sober in no time.” I hadn’t meant the pun but recognized it when I saw his lips twitch. He had good lips. Very kissable. Not that I was ever going to, even though I could feel the brush of magic, just at the edge of my skin. Bruno was moving back soon. Just the thought made me smile, but that didn’t mean I was blind. I could look. I just wouldn’t do anything about it.
Right?
Creede scolded me, “You can’t eat anything solid. Drinks are going to hit you harder and faster than they did when you were human. Even if they do wear off quicker.” Shaking his head, “I’ll drive you back to Birchwoods.”
“Nope. I’m not leaving my car in town.” I shook my head firmly. Well, sort of firmly. Maybe the margaritas had gotten to me a little more than I’d thought. “And besides, I’ve got things to do.”
“You’re not driving like this.”
“Of course not. I’ll take a cab.” Actually, by the time we got back to the attorney’s office I’d be fine to drive. Definitely. Well, at least probably.
“Don’t lie to me, Graves.”
“Who’s lying?” I batted my eyes at him in a deliberately exaggerated gesture and ran a fingernail down his hand. I wasn’t using full siren magic on him, just flirting a little, but he pulled his hand away like it was burned. He was affected. I could tell. I could sense he wanted to help. Wanted to . . . but he fought it off with a shake of his head.
“Fine. You have things to do. I get that. But you nearly had your head blown off earlier today and you just got threatened because of me. So I’m sticking with you until the alcohol wears off and you have a better chance of defending yourself.”
“Whether I like it or not?”
“Is being driven around by me really such a terrible fate?” He gave me that charming, handsome smile that he seemed to be able to turn on and off at will. It was nice, but I liked the real one better. Shame he didn’t get much chance to use it.
7
I had John drive me to Isaac and Gilda Levy’s shop. They’d redone the place and I would’ve loved to spend some serious shopping time there—as would Creede, judging by the way he was eyeing Gilda’s new stock of magical artifacts—but the day was getting away from me. I still had a lot to do before I met with El Jefe at the university and I really needed a little time on my own, to think. So after only a couple of minutes of good-natured fussing from Gilda, I was able to leave with my new jacket—outfitted with receptacles for my favorite weapons—and a promise that she’d have Isaac “age” a replacement death stone for my Wadjeti. She swore they could have it to me within the hour, so I could wait, or they’d deliver it to my office.
I didn’t have the time to wait, so delivery it was. By the time we were finished at the shop I was stone-cold sober and Creede agreed to take me back to my car. Before he left he insisted on putting a protective spell on me, strong enough to protect me from bullets. He swore it would last through the day—long enough to get me back to the protective confines of Birchwoods.
When I walked in the front door of my office at around three, the reception area was clean, quiet, and smelled of lemon furniture polish. Thank God. Well, actually, thank Dottie. Maybe both. Whatever, I was grateful. I snagged a large stack of messages from my slot on the front desk before pounding up the stairs.
One call from Dawna. Three from reporters who wanted my take on the statement Cassandra Meadows had made to the press after the Will reading. Since I didn’t know what she’d said, I couldn’t comment. But I wouldn’t anyway. In a mudslinging contest, everybody gets dirty.
I unlocked my office door, tossed my purse and keys onto the desk, and sat. No messages from Ivan. I debated calling the embassy. He’d made it sound so urgent, but I’d managed to see a piece of the continuous news feed shown on the television in La Cocina’s bar and nothing big appeared to be going on in Rusland. The king was attending a financial conference in Greece, and since Ivan was his head of security, he was probably there as well.
My attorney had called. Seeing the message reminded me forcibly of the hearing I’d been trying very hard not to think about. Roberto didn’t expect the trial to last more than a couple of hours. By this time tomorrow afternoon I’d know whether I’d be spending the rest of my life in a cage. My stomach did a little flip-flop from nerves and I tried to tell myself that it was going to be fine.
I
didn’t believe me.
“The hearing will end in your favor.” Dottie stood in my doorway, leaning heavily on her walker. How she’d made it up all of those stairs I had no clue. Grown men have been known to quail at the sight of them. They’re steep and the treads are narrow, having been made in a time when people had smaller feet. “I . . . peeked.” She moved slowly across the threshold, a small package rattling on the tray she’d attached to the front of her walker.
“Dottie. You should’ve called. I’d have come down.”
She sighed and lowered herself halfway into one of the pair of wing-backed visitor’s chairs across the desk from me, then fell the last few inches onto the seat. “Next time I’ll do that. But I wanted a little privacy to talk with you and Ron is a terrible snoop.”
She’d figured him out quicker than most. Then again, Dottie’s bright. It’s one of the many things I like about her.
“What do you want to talk about?”
She reached over to retrieve the little jewelry box from the tray. Opening it, I saw that Isaac had delivered the Wadjeti stone. Damn, that was quick. I walked over to take it from her. I rolled it over, on my palm, examining it closely. When I’d seen the stone in the Levys’ shop, it had been red, and it still was. But now the shade seemed both richer and more faded and there were little scratches and scuffs on the finish that made it look . . . ancient.
“Wow. Go, Isaac.”
“I take it this isn’t the original stone?”
“Nope. But it sure looks like it.” I turned it over in my hand. It was perfect. How the hell had he managed that? And so fast? Trade secret from a misspent youth?
Dottie paused, licking her lips nervously. “Celia, would you indulge me in something? Please?” She wasn’t quite wringing her hands, but she was getting close and she was pale and a little bit shaky.
“Why don’t I get you a glass of water?”
