“DeLuca!” Dr. Sloan’s voice preceded him into the office. “I’ve had a thought about that table. I want you to—” The short, wiry, elderly man appeared in the doorway. Looking around through thick glasses, he found Trudy, Emma, and Jan working hard at their desks and no sign at all of Bruno.
“Hi, Dr. Sloan. How are you doing?” I said.
“Celia.” He smiled broadly and cocked one bushy eyebrow at me. “I’m well. The question is, how are you? Has the curse mark faded?”
“I’m fine. And I can’t tell on the mark. Maybe a little. I’m not sure.” I held out my hand so he could look at my palm.
“Jan, Trudy, come here. You’ll want to see this. It’s not often you get to see a death curse of this quality on a living human being.”
They obediently came over to examine my palm. Dr. Sloan gave them a brief, esoteric lecture about the nature of death curses in general and of mine in particular—the one that kept putting me face-to-face with said greater demon—before releasing my hand and gesturing them back to work with shooing movements of his hands. Then, winking at me, he turned directly to the coat rack. “DeLuca, you may take the rest of the afternoon off to visit with the lovely Ms. Graves. But I expect you in my office at ten o’clock tomorrow morning,
without fail
. Do I make myself clear?”
The illusion faded, revealing a sheepish-looking Bruno. “Absolutely.”
“Good.” He turned on his heel and left. But his parting shot could be heard from the hall. “Have fun, kids.”
“All right.” Bruno turned to the others. “What did I miss?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Trudy gave a derisive snort. “The illusion was perfect. Your work is always perfect. The doctor must be psychic.”
I shook my head no. He’d missed something. The illusion was not perfect.
Bruno turned to me. “What?”
I gave him a little smile. “Your cologne. He could smell your cologne. It’s very distinctive.”
Jan laughed. “Of course.”
Bruno’s expression darkened. “Hmm. Smell … I’ll have to work on that.” He wandered over to his desk, where there was a hand mirror in a scrolled silver frame lying next to a razor-sharp knife. With a quick, deft movement, he picked up one of the blades and sliced shallowly into his forearm. There was a surge of power as his blood spilled onto the shining glass and was absorbed into it. The cut knit itself closed as I watched. Bruno hadn’t even winced.
“That is just so cool.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I should be used to it by now. I’ve seen Bruno working often enough. But every time, it just gets to me.
I realized that Jan was glaring at me an instant before he shifted his gaze to the knife and then Bruno’s face. Both men looked stubborn, just short of angry, and I had the feeling I had walked into the middle of an ongoing argument. “I fail to understand why you would do this to yourself for her.” The blond man made a sharp gesture at me. “You yourself said that she allowed one of the knives you created to be ruined.”
“I
told
you”—Bruno’s eyes locked with Jan’s—“she used the knife to kill the überbat that attacked my brother. It’s not her fault that Lilith had been a spawn before she was turned.”
“She was?” That was news to me, but it explained why her death had been so weird. Normally, to kill a vampire you stake it, cut off its head and take out its heart, then have the parts cremated separately and spread over separate bodies of running water. When I stabbed Lilith with the knife Bruno had made for me, she’d burned to ash, from the inside out. It had been
très
creepy and totally unexpected.
“I’ve done the research. It’s the only possible explanation for Lilith’s ability to call a priest on holy ground … and for the damage to the knife.”
Um, wow. Okay. I didn’t even know that it was possible for a spawn to be turned. I mean, Spawn are the offspring of a mating between a human and a demon, so they’re already monsters. Wasn’t turning one into a vampire sort of … well … redundant?
“So you’ve said.” Jan obviously didn’t believe him.
“Jan,” Trudy said, sounding martyred, “just stop, will you? You just saw the curse mark, which you claimed couldn’t possibly exist on a living human. You’ve heard the stories about Celia’s fangs, read about her in the magazines. Now here she is … fangs, curse,
and
in daylight.”
“It isn’t possible for one person—”
“To be that unlucky?” Emma gave a derisive snort. “You don’t know the half of it. If the woman who cursed her wasn’t already dead, I’d kill her myself.
Nobody
should have to go through the kind of shit Celia puts up with.” She stood and gathered her things. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Celia and I have business.” She looked from me to Bruno and back. “Unless you’re planning on bailing on me?”
I gave a derisive snort. “Of course not.” I turned to Bruno, who was still glaring daggers at Jan. “You coming with?”
Tearing his gaze away from the other man, he turned to me. “Nope. You go see the house. I’ve seen it. We’ll meet at my place for dinner at … seven o’clock? I want to have plenty of time to get things ready.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” I collected another kiss before I left.
5
I
wasn’t
sorry to leave. I’d be seeing Bruno later and the tension in that little office had been intense. As we were on our way out of the building, I asked Emma, “What was that all about?”
“If by ‘that’ you mean my snarling at Gary—”
“No. That, I get. He pushed your buttons when he talked about demons. No surprise, considering your history.”
She nodded, her lips pressed in a tight line. “He just won’t leave it alone. Demons fascinate him.”
“And every time he brings the subject up, it chips away at the magical barrier muting your memories. Have you talked to him about it?”
She sighed. “I have. He’s trying to do better. It wasn’t his fault I walked in right then.” She pushed open the door to the outside and held it open for me.
“Just bad luck,” I agreed, then added, “Are you even supposed to park here?”
We were in the faculty lot and Emma was leading me to her father’s assigned spot, which was occupied by a big black SUV. “Normally, no. But since Dad’s in Cairo this year, he isn’t using it, and I needed to borrow his Suburban. I figured since you were coming to the house anyway, I’d get you to help me move Vicki’s big mirror. I don’t really trust the movers with it.”
That made sense. It was a full-length mirror in a big wooden frame, both awkward and heavy. She didn’t need to worry about breaking it, though. It had been spelled until it was pretty much impervious to anything. So the problem wasn’t with the mirror; it was human nature. Like my knives, the mirror was a major magical artifact and thus valuable as hell. People have killed for that sort of thing and many more would be happy to steal it. Emma had inherited the mirror from Vicki because she had been the only other person in our circle with clairvoyant abilities. Emma’s not that powerful, a level four I think, but the mirror has helped her focus, so she’s getting more control and better results, which is, in effect, the same thing as moving up a level or two.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“Oh good.” Emma smiled, pointed the little black keyless remote at the SUV, and pressed the button. Beeping ensued, as did the popping of the door locks. She gestured to the passenger side. “Get in before you start burning.”
I waited until she’d maneuvered the SUV out of the tight parking space before I brought up Jan Mortensen. “What’s with him? Did he, like, not believe I existed?”
She groaned, then answered. “Jan Mortensen is very talented and is a complete and total ass. I don’t have any proof, but I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping with one of his undergrad students.”
“Eww.” I gave a low whistle. While not unheard of, that was completely unethical and a firing offense if he got caught. Which apparently he hadn’t … yet. Since Emma’s a by-the-books kind of gal, and her father’s one of the program administrators, I could understand why she was upset about it. “It’s one thing not to believe all the stories about me. But he actually seems to hate me. Why?”
“I’ve no clue, but you’re right. He’s practically irrational on the subject. He and Bruno don’t get along well because of it.”
I almost felt like I should apologize, which was just silly. Mortensen’s attitude problem was his problem, not mine. I’d never met the guy before today.
We chatted amiably all the way to Emma’s place. She caught me up on Dawna’s wedding plans and I told her about becoming Adriana’s maid of honor. Finally, I got around to bitching about my fight with John Creede.
Emma hadn’t heard we were on the outs. She paused for a long moment after I’d told the whole sad tale—up to the firefight and our escape through the tunnels. “You know,” she said, “I almost feel sorry for the guy.”
“
Excuse
me?” I stared across the seat at her, eyes wide.
“I mean it. You call him for help. I bet he figured you wanted him to be your white knight, charging in to rescue the damsel in distress—when in fact, you only wanted an efficient subcontractor with excellent equipment. That had to be a blow to the ego of the top guy in the game.”
I spluttered. I couldn’t help it.
A white knight
? Seriously? So not me.
She shook her head, grinning. “A lot of other women would’ve been angling for the rescue. Probably more than one had done just that. Set up a situation where only he could fix the problem.”
“I’m not like other women.”
“Amen to that.” She laughed, then continued, “But anyway, I can see how he got his signals crossed and wound up grumpy.”
“He wound up more than grumpy.”
“So did you,” she pointed out. “And when you get grumpy, you occasionally overreact. Like … kicking him out of the country when you had people to get to safety?”
Well, that was true enough. We rode in silence for a few minutes. I finally said, “I am perfectly capable of running a large team.”
“Well,
duh
. Of course you are. Nobody said you weren’t.”
I didn’t answer. She’s a bright girl. She connected the dots and turned to me with shock clear on her face. “Tell me he didn’t! That
bastard.
” Emma’s face flushed and her eyes blazed. If John Creede had been here now, she’d have given him an earful, no doubt about it.
“He’s not completely wrong, though.” I started reciting the facts. “Glinda offered me the job to get me out of town, not because I was qualified. The company kept the offer on the table because nobody else would take the job—including Miller & Creede. In fact, there’s a good chance MagnaChem hired me because they figured I’d drag Creede into this. It’s not like our relationship’s exactly been a secret.”
Emma pulled the SUV into her father’s long driveway. “Okay, I can buy that.” She cast a glance my way. Her expression was thoughtful, almost stern. In that moment she was every bit her father’s daughter: cold, logical, and brilliant. “But let’s look at this logically. You got everyone out, right?”
“Yes.” It had been damned close, and hard as hell. But we managed it.
“Even after you fired his ass and had no replacements?”
“Yes.”
“And the only injury occurred when John disobeyed your orders?”
“Yes.”
“Other than you being left behind because you saved that local, everything went smoothly once you had a team that did what you told them?”
“Yes.”
She made a voilà-type gesture, then slammed the Suburban into park just outside of the garage door. “Then you’re capable. And he’s an ass.”
We didn’t talk much for a while after that. First, we were mirror wrangling. Second, she’d given me a lot to think about and was giving me time to digest it. Still, I could sense her excitement from the moment we pulled out of the driveway; it grew steadily as we got closer to her new place. Her eyes lit up. Her fingers started tapping against the steering wheel. Hell, she was practically bouncing in her seat.
We rounded one last corner, and there it was.
Wow. Just … wow. I live in the guest house of a mansion and I’ve been in and out of some pretty magnificent homes because of my work. But Emma’s place … it wasn’t a mansion. It was a church. Okay, it was a small church, but it still probably took up most of an acre. Located on the outskirts of town, it was a beautiful old stone building with a pair of bell towers and gorgeous architectural details. It probably wasn’t old enough or important enough to qualify for the historical society mission trail, and it was too small and outdated for a modern congregation. The church and grounds were surrounded by a gated wall; as we drew up to the gate, I spotted a parking area on the east side and a small cemetery on the west. I wondered who had been buried there—perhaps the very first missionaries stationed there?
“Is it decommissioned?” I was wondering if the place still qualified as holy ground.
“It’s in the process,” she said with a smile. “But even after the paperwork’s done, this place has seen years and years of daily masses and prayers of the faithful. I’ve been told by a church authority that the prayers have sunk into the stone itself.”
Wow. I whistled as she slowed the SUV. “It’ll probably take a hundred years for that kind of protection to wear down.” Emma would be safe—safe from vampires and demons. It wouldn’t be anathema to werewolves, but that was a good thing, since her brother, Kevin, turned into a wolf with the full moon.
“Welcome to my Fortress of Solitude,” Emma quipped. Hitting the button on the garage-door opener she’d clipped to her sun visor rolled back a gate that looked like wrought iron, but was probably heavy-duty, spelled silver steel. There was barely enough time for her rear bumper to clear the perimeter before the gate began moving back into place. And that perimeter! As we crossed it, the magic hit my senses like a ripsaw, making me yelp in unexpected pain. I’ve been able to sense the magical perimeters around most buildings for a while now. Most barriers are no big deal. The better ones are a little uncomfortable. But this … wow … and OW.
“Damn, girl, who did your spell work?”