by A
over again until I was exhausted and looking for escape.
If that went on, the pressure would break me, and soon.
It was time to break the cycle, to start forcing people to react to me. I raised my eyes to
Bubba‘s. I smiled, showing my fangs. Screw the bastards, indeed. ―You still have that GPS
navigation unit?‖
―Yeah. It‘s down in my truck.‖
―Any chance I could borrow it for a couple days?‖
―Sure. Why?‖
―I have to find an island.‖ Specifically, I needed to find the Isle of Serenity. If the queen was
annoyed I hadn‘t dropped by . . . it was time to go find out who didn‘t want me to meet her.
He didn‘t seem bothered by my request. Then again, Bubba liked to deep-sea fish. Every
time he could manage to wrangle a couple of days off he was out on the water in his boat,
Mona’s Rival, so named because she was the only thing that came close to his wife in his
affections. She was a good-sized vessel, too, big enough to hold five in reasonable comfort.
That was convenient, since that‘s exactly how many I needed to bring along. I didn‘t know
what Bubba would charge me, but it had to be less than one of the commercial rentals. Despite
what I‘d told Gran, I wasn‘t broke yet, but I was going through capital at a truly alarming rate.
That refund from Birchwoods couldn‘t come too soon.
―I‘ll go get it.‖ Bubba rose with a lazy grace and meandered downstairs.
I closed my office door and locked it. I stripped down to my undies, changing out of the
comfy-but-not-practical-for-business workout clothes and into the things I‘d picked up from
my old bedroom at my gran‘s. I hadn‘t had a lot to choose from and most of it had been
black—from back in my ―I‘m cool, I‘m goth‖ teenage period. I pulled on black low-rise jeans
and was pleased to discover that they still fit perfectly. Yay. Let‘s hear it for the all-liquid diet
. . . at least until the next time I craved a pizza.
The cropped black tee with the motto Don’t get even . . . get odd was a little tight across the
bust but not enough to be uncomfortable. The blazer I‘d bought from Isaac was black, so it
would match well enough and cover enough that I wouldn‘t look slutty in the tight top. Which
left me with a choice of shoes. I could go with the white sneakers: practical but not terribly
stylish; the lace-up, heavy-duty, steel-toed Frankenstein‘s work boots, which would certainly
make a fashion statement but were a little extreme; or the dress pumps I‘d worn to court. Not
the pumps. There may be people who can run and fight in heels, but I‘m not one of them. The
Frankenboots were fun but heavy. So I went with the sneakers.
Once I was decent, I opened the door. Bubba would be back in a minute. Then, taking the
jacket off the hanger, I spread it out flat on the desktop and opened my safe. First, before I
forgot, my passport. We were going to a foreign country, after all. Then I began arming up
again. I was strapping on the shoulder rig for my Colt when I heard Bubba‘s tread on the stairs.
I checked the gun, going with silver-jacketed loads. Not cheap and not necessary for dealing
with ordinary baddies, but damned near essential if you want to do more than annoy the
monsters. In my case, better safe than sorry.
I put a pair of One Shot water pistols, filled with holy water, in the snap loops Isaac had
sewn into the jacket lining to hold them, then strapped on an ankle holster with my backup
Derringer. When Bubba reached my doorway I was staring at the safe, wondering what else I
should take. I have quite a few preset spells, little ceramic disks like the one Bruno had used at
the courthouse. You don‘t have to be a mage to use them. You just break the disk to release the
magic. It would be very cool if Creede really could put a full binding spell in a disk. Not
knowing what I‘d be up against, I couldn‘t know what spells I might need.
―Damn, woman, you‘re arming for bear.‖ Bubba set the GPS unit on the desk and picked up
the beer bottle he‘d set there earlier.
―I‘m in the middle of a situation.‖
―This is about what Dottie saw in those bugs, isn‘t it?‖ Bubba opened the beer and took a
seat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
I sighed and glanced at the Wadjeti, visible on the shelf of my open safe. ―I think so.‖ I
decided to grab a handful of boomers—tiny things, the size of a quarter, that were spelled to
emit a flash of light and a deafening sound when broken. They‘re useful in any number of
situations. I popped a few in each of the front jacket pockets.
―You‘re going to need backup.‖ Bubba‘s voice was flat. When I turned to look at him, his
expression had hardened, his pale blue eyes narrowing to slits. ―And you‘ll need a boat to get
to that island.‖
I really wanted him to take me, but I didn‘t want to lie about what we might be facing. Not
that I knew much about the details. ―Yeah, but I‘m pretty sure it‘s going to get ugly.‖
He smiled and the chipped tooth was proof of his next words. ―I can do ugly.‖
He probably could. He was definitely a tough ole boy. He stood up, grabbing the beer. ―Give
me a couple minutes. I need to let Mona know and call Stew.‖
12
Stew is Bubba‘s brother-in-law. He has the same dark good looks as Bubba‘s wife, Mona, but
none of her fire. Mona‘s ambitious, driven in both her career and her home life. Stew, on the
other hand, is a handsome, charming, cad. He has a bail bondsman‘s license, but the only time
he uses it is when he‘s covering for Bubba. Mostly he pays bass in a band, making just enough
money to pay for a cheap apartment and his booze. Food he cadges off of the most recent in a
successive line of sweet young things who think that his being in a band makes him cool.
He arrived promptly, a sure indication that he was broke. While he half-listened to Bubba,
enough to parrot the appropriate answers, the focus of his attention was my T-shirt. Apparently
the jacket wasn‘t doing as good a job of concealing things as I‘d hoped. Terrific.
―You‘ve got my cell number. Call me if anything comes up. If you can‘t get me, call Mona.‖
Bubba was repeating himself, but it was probably a good idea. Sometimes you have to use a
sledgehammer to drive a point home to Stewie.
―I got it already.‖ Stew wrenched his gaze away from my boobs long enough to glare at his
brother-in-law. ―It‘s not like it‘s the first time and it‘s not like it‘s rocket science. Give me
some credit.‖
I went downstairs to write Dottie a note about the wards before I could say anything
unfortunate. Bubba followed a few minutes later.
We drove to the PharMart in Bubba‘s behemoth of a four-wheel-drive truck. It‘s an older
model but tricked out with every conceivable luxury, including the requisite chromed mud
flaps with a naked woman and a bumper sticker proclaiming him a ―PROUD REDNECK.‖ He
calls the truck Baby. His vanity plates say: BADA55. How he got that past the censors at the
DMV I‘ll never know.
PharMart is one of the bigger pharmacy chains. The stores are all pretty much identical: big
tan brick boxes with windows all along the front. Their product selection is good and they‘re
not terribly overpriced. This particular store is the one where I
usually get my prescriptions
filled. It was also the site where Bruno, Matteo, and I had set the trap for Lilith that had gone
so terribly wrong.
More important, that was where Dahlmar had given me my sire‘s head.
Better than roses, in my opinion.
I felt the power of the PharMart‘s wards buzz across my senses as Bubba steered the truck
into the parking lot. It didn‘t occur to me until we were pulling up next to the Ferrari to wonder
how Creede had managed to drive three large men in that tiny two-seater. Had the king ridden
in his bodyguard‘s lap? Creede was leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette, looking
perfectly comfortable and casual. I assumed Dahlmar was in the car, hidden behind the tinted
windows. Ivan wasn‘t visible, but I was betting he wasn‘t in the car. Probably out of sight
somewhere, keeping an eye on things.
They had passed test one. The real Dahlmar and Ivan would know about PharMart. Fakes
wouldn‘t. Of course I‘d still spray them all down. In this game, safe was definitely better than
sorry.
―So what‘s the game plan?‖ Bubba asked. I‘d filled him in on some of what was going on.
Not all. I hadn‘t had a chance to ask King Dahlmar if I could reveal his identity, so I hadn‘t
given Bubba any names.
―You stay here. I get out and make sure they‘re what and who they‘re supposed to be. If
they are, we head out for your boat.‖
―It‘s going to be a little crowded if we‘re all going.‖
―Yeah,‖ I agreed. ―But I‘m hoping that getting out on the water will make it harder for
people to use mundane magic to track us.‖ I unfastened my seat belt and turned to open the
truck door.
―Mundane magic?‖
I sighed. I probably shouldn‘t have worded it that way. ―As opposed to siren magic. Sirens
are water creatures. The ocean‘s their thing.‖
―You‘re a siren now,‖ he pointed out.
―Yeah, but I don‘t have magic.‖ I sounded grumpy. Then again, I felt grumpy. Funny, when
I was growing up, I‘d wanted desperately to have some sort of paranormal talent. I‘d failed the
tests so miserably that they‘d checked to make sure I wasn‘t a null. I wasn‘t. But back then, I
hadn‘t been a siren, either.
But so far, other than the illegal psychic manipulation and the ability to drive seagulls
insane, I haven‘t discovered any magical ability.
It was ironic. All of the kids I went to school with had some sort of talent. I‘d wanted one so
bad, just so I could fit in. Now that I did have paranormal abilities, I desperately wished I was
rid of them. Some people are just never satisfied.
Bubba turned, unfastening his seat belt.
―I thought you were staying here.‖
―Groceries.‖ He pulled out his wallet to check the contents. ―More people, more supplies.
We‘ll need a few things. I won‘t be long.‖
I couldn‘t argue. It was a sensible thing to do. We were going to be out on the boat several
hours at least. At least. Bubba swore he knew where the Isle of Serenity was. But the wards
around the island had pushed his boat away. He‘d tried, but he couldn‘t even swim underneath
with the poles.
I wasn‘t kidding about Bubba being a fisherman. The fish near the sirens‘ island stay inside
the magic circle. Bubba could see them, but he couldn‘t cast to them. It‘s enough to drive any
boat captain to drink—or to try to swim through the barrier. With his fishing pole in his mouth.
Speaking of drinking, I‘d probably have to go inside and stock up on the ever-handy but
God-am-I-sick-of-them diet shakes and some baby food. I swear, if the vamp that tried to sire
me wasn‘t already dead I‘d hunt him down and kill him—as painfully as possible.
Get your mind in the game, Celia, I scolded myself. Right now I needed to chat with my
client and let Creede know the plan. Then I could do the shopping and move on to the next
thing.
I am not a particularly small woman, but there‘s a certain knack to getting in and out of a
vehicle that big. By the time I‘d finished climbing down from Das Truck, Bubba was already
inside the PharMart. Creede had crushed out his cigarette and the passenger window of the
Ferrari had lowered to reveal Dahlmar‘s profile.
I pulled out one of my little squirt guns. ―Who wants to go first?‖ Creede rolled his eyes but
extended his hand. I squeezed the gun‘s trigger, just enough to lay a couple of drops of holy
water onto his palm. The problem with one-shot water guns is that they hold just that . . . one
shot. Pull the trigger and you might as well throw the thing away until you refill.
No reaction. Creede was Creede. Actually, I‘d known that from the scent and the effect his
magic had on my skin. If he noticed that all the hairs on my arms were standing at attention, he
didn‘t mention it.
The success with Creede didn‘t keep me from repeating the process with King Dahlmar.
When Ivan showed up, I‘d do him, too. In the meantime, just to make sure they were comfy
with me, I sprayed my own palm.
―Who was that man?‖ King Dahlmar snarled. Apparently ―we‖ were still miffed about
having to sleep in an office and wait twenty-four hours for a meeting. I was kind of surprised
he hadn‘t met Bubba during his sleepover, but there you go.
―That‘s Bubba. He is a friend and he owns the boat that is going to take me to where we
think the Isle of Serenity is.‖
―You‘ve arranged the meeting? Good.‖ Either he missed the ―me‖ and the fact that I wasn‘t
actually sure where I was going or he was ignoring it. I was betting on the latter. ―This
Bubba—do you vouch for him?‖
―I do.‖
―I do not like it.‖ Ivan‘s voice shattered the illusion that had made him appear to be a
newspaper vending machine. It startled me enough that I let out one of those girly little yelps.
Creede snickered; Ivan looked smug. I couldn‘t really blame him. I‘d only ever seen one other
mage do that. A few weeks ago, Bruno had done an impersonation of a rubber tree so he could
sit in on a meeting where he wasn‘t wanted. It hadn‘t been easy for him and he is one hell of a
mage. That Ivan could do the same thing raised my estimation of his skill level considerably.
His lips stretched into what could only loosely be termed a smile, but he held out his palm for
the requisite test. He passed.
―You arranged a meeting with the sirens?‖ Creede was scornful. That pissed me off. Who
the hell did he think he was dealing with? But I bit back the first response that came to mind
and answered him politely.
―Supposedly, the queen has been wanting to see me for a while now.‖ I didn‘t mention the
fact that they were already pissed in front of the client. That was something better shared
privately, when we were doing our planning, if at all.
―How‘d they contact you?‖ he snapped.
I tried not to be too obvious about glaring at him. He was questioning my abilities, my
authority, and my judgment. If this was how he thought our partnership was going to work, he
was sorely mistaken.
He didn‘t wilt at the look, but I hadn‘t really expected him to. He‘s used to running things,
being the big dog. I‘m used to being my own woman. If we really
were going to make a
business relationship work, we needed to iron out the kinks. But, again, not in front of the
client.
―They left word for me at Birchwoods.‖
―I do not like this,‖ Ivan repeated. ―It could be a setup.‖
―I‘m with you, big guy,‖ Creede agreed.
―That‘s all right. The three of you won‘t be going to the island with me, so even if it is a
setup, it doesn‘t matter. You‘ll stay on the boat with Bubba.‖
―And how am I supposed to work my magic from the boat?‖ Creede asked.
―You won‘t be doing any magic until I‘ve cleared it with their queen.‖
Dahlmar scowled. ―I do not wish to proceed in this manner. I will meet the queen.‖
Creede stared at me thoughtfully and finally nodded. ―Celia‘s right. She needs to lay a
foundation. It makes sense to let her do the preliminary groundwork. The only way this is
going to work is with the queen‘s support.‖
Well, hallefrickinlujah. Apparently he wasn‘t going to argue every decision I made, just the
ones he didn‘t like. I took a deep breath and tried to look professional. I didn‘t feel
professional. I was angry. I didn‘t need the men questioning my every move. If I‘d thought it
was sexism, I would‘ve been even more pissed, but my gut instinct said that this was just
good-old-fashioned paranoia.
Ivan didn‘t argue, but I could tell from his expression that he was annoyed.
―Fine.‖ Dahlmar‘s voice was cutting, making it clear that he didn‘t like being on the
sidelines and hinting that there would be nasty repercussions if things went south.
Ivan still didn‘t say a word. He just looked at me, and I knew if this went badly, if anything
happened to his king, he would make sure he lived long enough to kill me himself, as slowly
and painfully as possible.
Peachy. Just . . . peachy.
Bubba came out of the store, laden with groceries. He loaded them into the truck bed, then
strolled over to join us.
I turned to introduce him to everyone. ―Bubba, you know John. This is—‖
―Robert.‖ Ivan extended his hand. Okay, secrecy was fine from the bad guys, but for God‘s
sake . . . Bubba might look like a hick. He sometimes acts like a redneck. But he is well-read
and he‘s nobody‘s fool. He knew from the international newspapers who King Dahlmar was.
