by A
recognized them, I didn‘t have time to deal with them until I could actually breathe.
When there was enough room to sit down behind the reception desk, I turned to face the
visitors.
The man in the closest chair was John Creede. I was more than a little surprised to see him.
He‘s one half of Miller & Creede, the largest security firm in the country, and Bruno‘s future
boss. Creede might have enjoyed second billing, but I‘d met both Miller and Creede and
Creede was the one with real power magically. He‘d been at Vicki‘s wake, guarding her
mother, Cassandra. Who was she being guarded from? Why, yours truly, of course.
So why was he here—and without her?
Sitting across from him was a lovely older woman with a kind face and sparkling eyes. At
her feet was a blue plastic box with a carrying handle and wire mesh door. A moment of pure
panic coursed through me at the sight of her and the delicate mew that came from the carrier.
Oh, hell. I forgot. The cat. I agreed to take Dottie’s cat. Shit. But I‘d told her at the wake that I
couldn‘t take Minnie the Mouser until after I got out of Birchwoods. Had something changed?
―Sorry for the delay, folks. As you can see, it‘s been a little . . . busy.‖
―You‘re not that bad a receptionist.‖ As Creede stood up and walked to the desk, I gave him
the look that comment deserved and he laughed. He had a nice laugh, one that lit up his face. I
couldn‘t remember ever seeing him laugh or even give more than a polite smile. Of course, I‘d
only seen him on duty. Bodyguarding is a very serious business.
Today he wasn‘t dressed for work. In fact, we looked almost like twins. His jeans were a
little more worn and his polo was a slightly darker blue, but other than that we matched.
He noticed me noticing and gave me a smile. It was a good smile, charming, showing
straight white teeth in a face that was handsome but not excessively so. Like me, he hadn‘t
won the genetic lotto, but he hadn‘t lost his shirt, either. He had a strong jaw and good
cheekbones, but his nose was a little bit large and hooked, almost but not quite a beak. Eyes
the color of honey met my gaze easily and today they held just a hint of warmth.
That made me immediately suspicious. What was he up to?
―So, John, what‘s up?‖ I kept my voice calm, but I knew it was tinged with frustration and
wariness.
―I want to rent an office.‖
I blinked. Slowly. I don‘t doubt it made me look stupid, but I couldn‘t help it. I was struck
positively dumb. I had to have misheard him. Miller & Creede owns two or three buildings in
the greater California area. ―Why would Miller and Creede open a branch office in our tiny
little city? You‘ve already got a huge office in L.A.‖
He gave me a look that held more anger than pain. ―You might as well hear it from me first.
Miller and Creede is becoming Miller Security. The news should hit the papers tomorrow.‖
―Crap! What the hell happened?‖ The words popped out. Probably not tactful of me. Then
again, tact has never been my best thing. Another one of the big reasons why I work for myself
rather than one of the big firms.
―The short version? My partner decided to fuck me and he didn‘t even kiss me first.‖ John‘s
voice was filled with a cold, hard rage that almost made me feel sorry for the other guy. He
glanced at Dottie belatedly and had the decency to flush. ―Pardon my French.‖
She waved it off. ―I‘ve heard worse, dear. Not much bothers me at my age.‖
Wow. Miller was an idiot. I mean, I‘d only met him briefly and he hadn‘t struck me as
particularly stupid, but you do not cross a man like Creede. He might not have as much raw
magical oomph as Bruno, but Creede makes charms that has made him a major player, both
respected and feared by the bad guys. No, you don‘t cross Jonathan Creede. Not if you want to
stay healthy.
―I was also going to talk to you about going into business together.‖
Into business? Together? Me and one of the biggest names in the industry? My brain
couldn‘t even wrap itself around that concept. But even as the ambitious part of my brain was
screaming, Do it! Do it! I couldn‘t seem to be able to bring my lips to form words.
He shrugged and looked around. ―But if you can‘t even afford a secretary—‖
―I have a secretary. I don‘t know what happened to her. But unless somebody forgot to tell
me something, I have one.‖ That wasn‘t the complete truth. Dawna is more than my secretary;
she‘s one of my best friends. And I was pretty sure I knew exactly what was wrong with her.
Not long ago she had been mind-raped by a thousand-some-year-old vampire who‘d been
looking for me. It damaged her. She was supposedly getting help, but I‘d been a little out of
touch, what with being an inpatient at the mental facility and all. At a guess, judging by the
office, she wasn‘t doing so hot. I tried to ignore the wave of guilt that washed over me and
focused on the situation at hand.
―I think she quit.‖ Bubba from Freedom Bail Bonds had come through the front door and
immediately picked Creede as the man to keep his eye on. Bubba‘s a big ole southern man who
looks and sometimes behaves like a stupid redneck, but it‘s a carefully constructed act. He
doesn‘t belong to Mensa only because he doesn‘t like ―clubs.‖ He‘s originally from central
Texas, keeps his head shaved and covered with worn ball caps. About six foot one, he‘s built
like a linebacker or a small tank, with next to zero body fat. His nose has been broken at least
once since I‘ve known him, but I don‘t think it was ever actually straight. Today he was
wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd Free Bird T-shirt over black jeans and heavy black work boots.
―She walked out early on Friday after throwing the phone across the room and saying she
couldn’t take this anymore. She hasn‘t called or shown up since. I got a temp in, but Ron
pissed her off and she walked out after a couple of hours. I told Ron that this time he could
take care of finding a replacement.‖
Which he hadn‘t, Ron being Ron and all. Bubba glanced coldly at Ron‘s closed office door
and intentionally raised his voice to a low shout. ―We‘re supposed to be taking turns answering
the phones.‖ The look he gave me said things that should never reach air. ―Today was Ron‘s
day.‖
Of course it was. Asshole. Never mind that every missed phone call was another potential
client lost.
―All right.‖ I took a deep, steadying breath and turned to Creede. ―I had a secretary. I will
either get her back or find us another one.‖ Dawna was my friend. If I could save her job for
her, I would. And I so did not want Ron in charge of hiring a replacement.
―There is an office available on the third floor.‖ I pulled open the narrow center drawer of
Dawna‘s desk and pulled out the master key she kept there. ―Look for the doors without signs.
Go see what you think.‖
Creede took the key. He was keeping a straight face, but his eyes were sparkling. Apparently
he found the situation funny but was keeping his mouth shut. Wise man.
I just wish I could figure out why alarm bells were ringing up a storm in my head. I needed
to get hold of Bruno right away, see if he‘d heard anything about the Miller-Creede split and
&
nbsp; what it might mean for Creede and for us. Since Creede had been the headhunter for the firm,
did that mean Bruno‘s new job was out the window?
―I‘ll take him up. Show him around,‖ Bubba offered, his gaze very steady on Creede.
Perfect. ―Go with Bubba.‖ I made it a benediction as I gestured toward the staircase. They
went, which left me with Dottie, her cat, and a stack of various-sized boxes.
Our eyes met and she smiled. In looks, Dottie reminds me of Betty White, but she has the
disposition of Aunt Bea from Mayberry. Dottie‘s a savvy and talented level-seven or -eight
clairvoyant. I‘d met her when her ex-son-in-law, a detective for the local police force, had
needed to get some answers about the night I was attacked. My memories had been blocked
and she cleared them. Unfortunately, he had been very sick at the time. He probably would
have been dead from his illness by now, but instead he‘d managed to become a hero and die in
uniform so his kids would get his pension. I think Dottie had seen his eventual death from the
disease, because she wound up giving him the information to be at the right place and time to
be killed in the line of duty. I liked her. Because I felt really bad about Karl‘s death I‘d invited
her to Vicki‘s wake and had agreed to take her cat, whom Dottie couldn‘t keep in her senior
housing. Probably she‘d seen that I was going to be in the office today and timed her visit for
that.
She used her walker to carefully make her way up to the desk, schlepping the plastic pet
carrier. I came around as quickly as I could and took the load from her. The carrier wasn‘t
really heavy, but it was awkward, mainly because the occupant wasn‘t inclined to sit still.
Every time she moved, the weight and balance of the thing shifted. I set the carrier on the
countertop to take a look at the feline inside.
The cat was a tiny thing, orange and white, with huge green-gold eyes that seemed far too
intelligent to belong to a supposedly dumb animal. I got the impression that she was sizing me
up and wasn‘t really thrilled with the result.
―So, Dottie, good to see you. What‘s up?‖
―You remember we talked about Minnie?‖
I remembered.
―Well, I was afraid you‘d changed your mind and hoping if you actually met her—‖
―But Dottie—I‘m still in Birchwoods and I‘m not even sure I have a home to go to when
I‘m out.‖
She got a look in her eyes. Now, there are cold, hard-hearted, sensible people who can look
deep into the watery eyes of little white-haired old ladies and tell them there is no way in hell
they‘re taking care of a cat. Alas, I am not one of them. Before I could stop myself, I sighed
and ―Oh, okay,‖ popped out of my mouth. But I was at least able to mitigate the damage. ―On
one condition.‖
―What?‖ She looked at me with wide eyes. I suppose she was seeing her last hope for the cat
disappearing.
―How good are you at answering phones? I‘ve got kind of a crisis here.‖
She smiled and made a shooing motion with her hand. ―Get out of the way and I‘ll show you
how it‘s done.‖
I shifted out of the way. As she passed me, she gave me a beatific, if slightly smug, smile.
―Minnie‘s litter box is in the backseat of my car. It‘s the white Oldsmobile. Do you mind?‖
I wondered how many people wound up doing her bidding because of that walker and that
smile. Another sigh. ―Right.‖
I am such a sucker.
I reflected on that as I got the litter box. That and the presence of John Creede. Damn. I
don‘t like the notion of working for anybody and I would never have fit in with Miller &
Creede with their buttoned-down image and ―team‖ attitudes.
But the thought of partnering with John Creede. Again, I say, damn. Of course it would piss
off Miller to no end. But did I really care? The reputation would follow both men and Creede
might bring along some of the talent. He could also cover for me with my own clients right
now, while I was on my enforced leave of absence. Because if somebody didn‘t, those clients
would go elsewhere. And if they wound up happy elsewhere, I‘d lose them for good.
The empty litter pan and two bags of litter were right where Dottie had said they‘d be, along
with a box containing ceramic food and water dishes, hard and soft food, a cat bed, one of
those carpet-covered cat condos, and a wider variety of cat toys than you‘ll find at your
average discount store. Apparently Minnie the Mouser knew how to live.
I needed three trips to bring it all inside. As I brought in the last of it, I saw Dottie making
desperate hand signals as she chatted on the phone. I dropped my burdens and walked over.
―No, dear. It‘s all right. Really. They haven‘t replaced you. I‘ve just been hired as your
assistant. ‖ Sweet little old lady she might be, but she lied like a trooper. ―I really can‘t work
full-time. If I do, it‘ll mess up my benefits. But I can cover for you for a day or so until you get
back on your feet. You don‘t need to worry.‖
Dawna? I mouthed. Dottie nodded. Is she okay? She shook her head no, sadly. I winced.
―Here, why don‘t you talk to Celia, dear.‖ She passed me the phone.
―Hey, Dawna. What‘s up?‖
I spent the next half hour reassuring Dawna that I hadn‘t stabbed her in the back, she wasn‘t
fired, and her job would be waiting for her when she got out of the hospital. She‘d decided to
check herself into St. Mary‘s for a one-week evaluation. Because if she didn‘t, she was going
to kill herself. She didn‘t say that, but I could hear it in her voice. It broke my heart. It wasn‘t
her fault. I‘d met the vampire that ―did‖ her. Nobody but nobody, could‘ve faced Lilith down
for long. I‘d done it, but I‘d had the help of a very holy man armed with the words of
banishment and a cross shining with his faith . Dawna hadn‘t been so lucky. And she felt guilty
because she‘d given Lilith the address where I was staying.
As I was talking to Dawna, Dottie began, very slowly, putting things to rights. She opened
the cat carrier to let Minnie roam around, gathered up the packages I‘d dropped, and generally
made herself useful. Bless her.
When I finally got through to Dawna that I wasn‘t angry, didn‘t blame her, and would visit
her in person when I got out of Birchwoods for more than a day pass, she calmed down a bit.
When I convinced her that her job was safe she took a shaky breath and said, ―You hired me an
assistant? And everyone agreed?‖
There was an incredulity in her voice that I could fully understand. I interrupted her before
she could get wound up again. ―Dawna, I am not going to let anyone fire you just because
you‘re having a reaction to being . . . injured. You need to go easy. So I hired you some help.
If the group doesn‘t agree, it‘s on my dime. Dottie needed a way to pick up a little extra money
that wouldn‘t be too physically strenuous, so I figured it might be the perfect fit.‖ Okay, I was
lying. But it was what Dawna needed to hear. Besides, it was a good idea. We‘d needed a
backup for vacations and sick time anyway, and most temps couldn‘t deal with Ron for very
long. I had a feeling Dottie would be able to handle him. Minnie would be the bait; she could
live at
the office until I was out of Birchwoods.
It wasn‘t a bad plan really. Since many of our businesses run on twenty-four-hour workdays,
there‘s nearly always at least one person in the building. Minnie could live in my office and
Dottie could watch over her until I was released. Then we‘d see how people had warmed to
her. Maybe she could be a permanent office cat. I knew Bubba liked cats and Ron . . . well, he
doesn‘t like anything, so who cared what he thought?
―You‘re sure you‘re not giving away my job?‖
―Nope. In fact, since you‘re going to be a supervisor now, I thought about giving you a
raise.‖ I winced the moment the words left my mouth. That really was a group decision. I
hoped I could convince them it was overdue.
She perked up at that. ―How much?‖
Better judgment took over and I stalled. ―We‘ll talk about it when you get back. I‘ve gotta
go.‖ I handed Dottie the phone before I could get myself in any more trouble. If I wasn‘t very
careful how I presented things at our next tenant meeting, I was liable to be stuck paying for
Dottie‘s salary and Dawna‘s raise. And if anybody was allergic to cats— I shook my head. It
would work out. It would. I was not going to think about it right now. Because I‘d just glanced
at the clock and somehow, during the course of things, it had become 10:00! I was already due
to eat again and I hadn‘t even made it upstairs!
I was about to climb the first step when Dottie stopped me.
―Don‘t forget your Wadjeti.‖ She gestured to where I‘d left the box sitting next to the phone.
―It feels quite powerful and looks as if it‘s very valuable. Such a shame it‘s missing the death
scarab.‖
She could tell that without even opening the box? Impressive. Then it sank in. ―It‘s missing
a piece?‖ Oh, crap. I couldn‘t know for sure, but I was betting the sirens hadn‘t given me a
defective gift. Which meant that there was probably a thumb-sized piece of ceramic
somewhere on the floor at Birchwoods. Unless it had already been gotten rid of by
Housekeeping. Which would be bad. Very bad. Nobody likes to think you are careless with
their gifts. Of course, they might not ever find out. But, knowing my luck—
―Which one is the death scarab?‖
―It‘s the red one.‖
