by A
not want to fall into the hands of the unscrupulous.‖
His face was studiously impassive. ―Are we talking about the kinds of weapons I think we‘re
talking about?‖ As in the Russian nukes that had gone mysteriously missing last fall or maybe
some of the very specialized biological curses I‘d heard of that didn‘t even bear thinking about.
―Let us say that should Kristoff‘s backers discover the location of and gain access to the
weaponry that was at my disposal, there is the definite possibility of a third world war.‖
Oh, fuck a duck . . . twice.
I‘d been right. This was out of my league. Way, way out of my league. ―Why come to me?‖
―I believe you may be the only person I know who has the appropriate contacts to handle the
situation.‖
If he thought that would enlighten me, he was wrong. I don‘t have government connections.
I don‘t even want government connections, despite what Ren had intimated earlier.
Seeing my lack of understanding, Dahlmar continued. ―My son is being controlled by a
woman. I believe her to be a siren.‖
Oh, shit. Well, that certainly explained why me. He probably didn’t have any other siren
contacts. They‘re notoriously reclusive. I might be his only option, but he had a right to know
the truth—that I wasn‘t a good option. ―I may have siren abilities, but I don‘t really know any
sirens. And those I do know have made it clear I‘m not their favorite person. In fact, they‘re
going to have a hearing to determine whether or not they‘ll let me live or destroy me as an
abomination.‖
He gave a fierce smile, baring his teeth. ―Perfect.‖
I raised an eyebrow at him in inquiry because, for the life of me I couldn‘t see an upside.
―Ivan is a mage. Before the coup, he had his suspicions about this woman. She was too
secretive, too careful to make sure none of my people saw her. It sent up a‖—he searched for
the right phrase—―red flag. He managed to obtain a few of her hairs and used them to create a
protective charm that enabled him to escape her influence. With a simple spell, it can be used
to identify her if we are in her presence.‖ Dahlmar didn‘t explain how he‘d escaped being
influenced. I was betting the omission was intentional. And boy, did that make me curious.
Using the amulet to track the culprit might work. But somehow I didn‘t think the sirens
would be wild about my bringing Dahlmar and Ivan to their island to track down and kill one
of their own. Assuming, of course, I could even find it, or that I was willing to let the king use
me that way.
―If she‘s not there?‖
―Oh, but she will be.‖ His smile was predatory and quite chilling. ―There are not very many
sirens in existence to begin with. Your siren ancestry being activated by a vampire is
something so strange and so dangerous that I‘ve no doubt every one of your kin will be called
to this hearing. She will be there. And so will we.‖ His voice was compelling, and despite his
weariness and the silly clothes, I could feel the power and force of his personality. I honestly
didn‘t think it occurred to him that I might, say, refuse him. It was both a strength and a
weakness, this royal arrogance. I‘d seen this in him before. But even as we‘d spoken, even
though he seemed to be him, I needed to be sure. I needed to be careful. Because I have been
fooled before. See the previous notes on spawn.
―How do I know you‘re you?‖
He blinked at me, completely dumbfounded.
―I‘ve dealt with spawn who wanted to take your crown before. Who‘s to say you aren‘t
another one? After all, King Dahlmar is at a very public finance conference.‖
―He is the impostor. I am not demon spawn.‖ He puffed up, taking offense.
―Yes, well, obviously you would say that.‖ I didn‘t add the ―duh‖ because it was just too
insulting. ―So here‘s what we‘re going to do. I‘m going to leave this restaurant and in exactly
twenty-four hours I will meet you at the place where you and your men delivered my sire‘s
head to me. If you‘re you, you‘re bound to remember that. When you get there, you‘ll have to
cross the line of protection and I‘ll be dousing all three of you with holy water. You pass the
test, we‘ll talk.‖
He looked irate and opened his mouth to argue, but I didn‘t let him.
―Look. You need food and rest and more of a plan than just ‗find the siren and kill the
bitch.‘ I‘ve got things to do, too. So . . . twenty-four hours. Nothing critical is likely to happen
in your country before tomorrow, and Creede will keep you safe until then.‖ The waiter came
up with Dahlmar‘s food. I‘d timed it perfectly. I rose as the waiter began setting dishes on the
table in front of the king. Ivan was glowering at me from his spot in the telephone nook.
Creede was looking very thoughtful. They were probably them. Probably. I‘d find out
tomorrow.
11
I‘d had one of the most physically and emotionally draining days of my life. I was freaking
exhausted. I did not have the energy to go back to Birchwoods. I just didn‘t. So I called, left a
message at the night desk, and crashed on the floor of my office, using a cushion from one of
the chairs as a pillow. I often have recurring nightmares when I‘m stressed, but if I dreamed
that night, I didn‘t remember it.
I woke to the sound of purring and the feel of sharp little claws pricking my thigh. It didn‘t
hurt, exactly, but it wasn‘t something I could ignore. I cracked open my eyes. Bright sunshine
had filled most of the room. A few more minutes and my arm would‘ve been burning.
I started to roll over and Minnie the Mouser leapt to safety. ―How in the hell did you get in
here?‖ She hadn‘t come in with me last night, that was for sure.
She moved to sit by the door, her expression and posture saying as plainly as words that she
wanted out. Now. I got up, stretched, and obliged her. As I did I noticed a couple of significant
things. First, on my desk were a huge carafe of coffee, an empty mug, and an ice bucket
holding ice and two of the canned diet shakes that I use for food in a pinch. Second, my gym
bag was sitting on the floor next to my desk. Third, it was 3:00.
P.M.
Holy crap. I‘d slept most of the day away. No wonder my mouth felt like something the cat
had dragged in to die. But I was more than a little alarmed that people had been able to come
and go in my office without my knowing it.
As long as I was up, I grabbed the gym bag and went down the hall to the bathroom and set
about doing those things one does to get the day started on the right foot. The third-floor
bathroom isn‘t large, but it‘s not tiny, either. Modest by current standards, it would‘ve been
considered positively luxurious back when the house was built. In those days, not everybody
had indoor plumbing and the standard was one bath for an entire house. But this building had
been a mansion. Along with real parquet floors and a stained-glass window on the landing
between the first and second floors, it had a bathroom on every floor. The original tub had
probably been a big, claw-footed monstrosity, but that had gone the way of the dodo during a
sixties rehab.
Now we had a shower and a matching oversized tub in flamingo pink.
They exactly matched
the pedestal sink and toilet. The wallpaper was candy-cane striped in pink, silver, black, and
white. It was loud but undeniably eye-catching. It occurred to me that I could now afford to
change it if I wanted. The thought was startling. I looked around again. If the design magazines
I‘d seen in the rec room at Birchwoods were any indication, this look was coming back in
vogue. And I had to admit I really did like the candy-striped paper. The air felt lighter
suddenly, as though the room itself had breathed a sigh of relief. I smiled and started to dig
through the cupboards.
I keep travel sizes of my toiletries at the office. My hours are so weird that it just makes
sense for me, so I was able to get cleaned up and dressed in something more comfortable and
less wrinkled than the skirt and top I‘d slept in.
Zipping open the gym bag, I found the lavender and white tracksuit my gran had bought me
for my last birthday. Thinking of Gran made me sad. She was probably having a really hard
time. God knows Mom has her flaws, but my gran loves her as only a mother can. Getting
picked up again meant serious jail time. The good news, Mom might dry out, get into AA. But
I‘d gotten my siren blood through her. If Dr. Marloe was correct—and I was pretty sure she
was—sirens do not get on well with other women. Locking my mother in jail with hundreds of
other women would be a recipe for disaster, no matter how richly she might deserve it. I
wondered if we could use the Americans with Disabilities Act to mitigate her sentence. I didn‘t
know, but I could at least mention it to my mother‘s attorney. Once she had one.
Once I was presentable, I went into the office and ate. I was just finishing when I heard the
gentle double whump of a walker on stairs. Damn it, Dottie!
―That had better not be Dawna‘s new assistant coming up those steps. We have an
agreement. No stairs,‖ I called out.
There was a pause and I was almost sure I heard soft laughter. ―I‘m going slow.‖
I growled with the last bit of chocolate mocha in my mouth. ―I‘ll come down.‖
Jumping out of my chair, I hurried out the door and down the hall. Dottie had stopped at the
second-floor landing. Her walker could be used as sort of a chair when turned backward, and
she was sitting comfortably, the light from the stained-glass window painting her with a
vibrant rainbow of colors.
I sat on one of the steps facing her. ―You said no more stairs.‖
―No.‖ She smiled beatifically. ― You said no more stairs. I simply didn‘t argue.‖
That wasn‘t how I remembered it, but she might be right. Even if she was wrong, I knew
she‘d just blame the faulty memory of old age and do what she wanted. I was beginning to
realize just how hardheaded she could be and wondered if hiring her had been the best idea
after all.
―I‘m the boss,‖ I reminded her.
―Yes, dear, you are,‖ she said in a tone that clearly said I wasn‘t—or that even if I was, it
really didn‘t matter.
―I suppose you‘ve already made this trip once, bringing up my breakfast?‖ I gave her a stern
look.
―No, that was Bubba. He insisted that if he did it, nobody would notice. If Mr. Creede had
known you were right next door, asleep on the floor—well, you know he‘s quite taken with
you.‖
―John was here?‖ It was a stupid question. But I‘d only just had my coffee. I didn‘t know
what to think about the rest of her comment. But it did make me think well of Bubba that he
hadn‘t said anything.
She nodded. ―Along with the client and his bodyguard. They spent the night. Ron seemed to
recognize the man with Mr. Creede. Bubba said he was gushing over the man, which I got the
impression was unusual.‖
I found myself chuckling. I couldn‘t help it. I probably should‘ve guessed that John would
bring Ivan and the king back here. The wards are excellent. I make sure of that. If King
Dahlmar had enough money for a decent hotel, he wouldn‘t be running around in a souvenir T-
shirt and a cheap pair of no-name-brand jeans. That this hadn‘t occurred to me before meant
that I‘d been further off my game than I‘d thought. I‘d needed a good night‘s sleep.
―You needed your rest. Are you feeling better? I‘m so sorry about your beau, dear. I didn‘t
mean to snoop, but I did want to know how the court case was going—‖
She looked like a softer version of Gran. I couldn‘t help but offer her a sad smile. ―That‘s all
right. I know you meant well.‖ Clairvoyants. You can‘t stop ‘em looking. At least with most of
them there was a chance they‘d be wrong. But in Dottie‘s case, like Vicki‘s, it was a damned
small chance.
―Thank you for understanding.‖ She sighed. ―So few people really do.‖ Her expression grew
even sadder than mine. It made me wonder about her family. Were they dead, or did they just
never get around to seeing her, like Vicki‘s parents?
―I saw something just a few minutes ago, too.‖ She sounded mournful.
―Yes?‖
―I‘m not certain. It‘s just an impression. But . . . I really think you need to check on your
grandmother.‖
My stomach tightened, but I kept my voice calm. ―I‘ll do that.‖ I rose to my feet. ―Anything
else?‖
―Not right now.‖
―All right. But Dottie, I mean it. No more stairs. Promise me, right here and now.‖
She gave me an impatient look. ―If you don‘t want me taking the stairs, you‘re going to need
to move down to the first floor.‖ She stood, flipping up the little seat and turning the walker
around. ―There are too many secrets in your life and Ronald is far too interested in things that
are none of his concern.‖
I watched her go down the stairs. It was a slow, painful process, but she made it safely. Once
I knew she was all right, I dashed up the stairs to my office to give my gran a call.
She didn‘t answer on the house phone.
It could mean nothing at all. But I just couldn‘t get over Dottie‘s expression, the tone of her
voice. I set the phone down, debated with myself what I should do. I was probably already in
deep, deep trouble with Jeff for not being back at Birchwoods. But I had to know that Gran
was all right.
Screw it. If he gets pissed, I’ll have to live with it.
I grabbed my purse, slipped on the jacket to the tracksuit. It was broad daylight and nowhere
near the full moon, so I shouldn‘t need weapons from my werewolf or vampire kits. But I
slapped on some sunscreen and strapped on my knife sheath and the knives Bruno had given
me. Just in case.
I didn‘t speed on the way to Gran‘s. I wanted to. But a cop car pulled behind me about a
block away from my office and stayed there, obviously following me, all the way across town.
When I pulled into Gran‘s driveway, the cruiser drove off but not before I got a glimpse of the
driver: Officer Clarke. Oh joy.
Gran‘s house is a small two bedroom, painted gray with white trim. An old-fashioned wire
mesh fence surrounded a pair of flower beds on either side of the steps leading up to the front
porch. California poppies and Shasta daisies exploded from the beds and filled my nose with
flowery goodness. Gran lives in a working-class nei
ghborhood that‘s not as good as it used to
be when she and Grandpa first bought the place fifty or sixty years ago but is still not bad. The
neighborhood population is aging because back then people bought houses with the intention
of staying in them until they retired or died, whichever came first.
My gran was sitting on the front porch in the same old metal rocking chair she‘d cradled me
in through skinned knees and childhood heartbreaks. She didn‘t rise when I drove up, didn‘t
call out a greeting, or react at all. Just stared into space. It reminded me forcibly of my own
actions yesterday. As I climbed from the car I saw the track of tears on her cheeks.
―Gran.‖ I opened the gate and hurried up the walk to the house.
She looked up. ―Hello, Celia.‖ She didn‘t smile.
―Gran, what‘s wrong?‖ I knelt down in front of her chair. ―What‘s the matter?‖
―I met with your mother‘s lawyer this morning.‖
Oh, crap. ―Gran—,‖ I started to say something, anything.
―You were right. All those times when you told me not to let her drive. You were right.
They have pictures, taken by cameras at intersections for months. Even though they didn‘t pull
her over right then, they‘re going to show them to the judge. The attorney said there‘s no
chance we can say this time was a mistake.‖
I touched her shoulder, but even then she didn‘t react. ―Gran, it‘s not your fault.‖
―If I hadn‘t let her use the car—‖ The tears were flowing hard now and she reached into the
pocket of her sweater to pull out a damp clump of tissues.
Sometimes the truth, although harsh, can be comforting. I‘m hoping she took it that way. ―If
you hadn‘t let Mom use the car, she would‘ve taken it anyway. You know that. I‘ll bet she had
her own secret set of keys made.‖ I gave her a wry smile. ―Nothing ever stops Mom.‖
Gran laughed, but it was more of a croak and it died as quickly as it had come. ―He says
she‘ll go to prison. My poor baby . . . my Lana, in prison. ‖
I didn‘t say a word. Any time my mother served would be richly deserved. She‘d driven
drunk and without a license or insurance more times than I could count. She‘d wrecked cars,
and while she swore to us that nobody had ever been hurt, she‘d endangered herself and
