Cheat the Grave

that work, all that energy and violence, really amounts to nothing.”

“So?”

“So it shows that against the palate of the universe, making an impact is easy. But making a difference…that’s what’s proven to be hard.”

And no matter how much I huffed, puffed, teased, and taunted, she’d refused to say more than that. Apparently I was supposed to look at ol’ Ophiuchus and be a Seer too.

Making an impact is easy. Making a difference is hard.

As Cher said, how profound. How telling that it could have such disparate meaning depending on who, Tekla or Xavier, was saying it.

“I have something too,” Suzanne said. Her cheerful voice was strained with the need to get this party back on track. I smiled, grateful for her concern, though it was unnecessary. I wasn’t Olivia, and held no soft spot for Xavier. She pulled a small jewelry box from her black clutch, handing it to me with a shy smile. “It’s a thankyou for throwing the rehearsal dinner tonight. Arun wanted to show his gratitude for allowing the wedding to be held at Valhalla too. We know how much work you’ve put into this.”

“It was no problem,” I murmured, taking the box. Open ing it, I found a bracelet in gold so yellow it was almost orange. It was studded with multicolored precious stones, obviously antique and very expensive.

“It’s called a hand flower. It’s been in Arun’s family for five generations.”

“I have the matching ring, see?” Cher clamored from the bed to join her mother and me at the mirror. “They’re kundans, one of the most popular motifs in Indian jewelry. Isn’t that right, Momma?”

Suzanne nodded. “Arun said they’re good luck. Protects against the evil eye.”

“Arun said that, did he?” I murmured.

I thought of Tekla giving me lessons and knowledge she thought would protect me, and of Caine, another Seer who gave me weapons and his body as armor. And now this woman-or more accurately, her wannabe babydaddy- was giving me a pretty, hopeful little bauble with mystical meaning from a country I’d never visit. I lifted the bracelet to the light.

“Why would Arun give these to me?”

“I told you. He’s grateful. And besides,” she said, eyes flicking to the photo Helen had tried to destroy me with.

“True friends are the families we choose.”

I looked at her for a long moment before pulling her into a hug I think surprised us both. Taking in the scents of expensive bath oil and custom perfume, I smiled against her hair. “Sometimes you are shockingly profound.”

She pulled back, eyes glistening as she smiled at me, then pulled Cher-the rest of my chosen family-into the hug. “Well,” she said modestly, “I’ve skimmed a lot of life-coaching articles in my day.”

It was perhaps the girliest moment of my life, but I didn’t mind so much. There was no one I had to defend myself from here.

“So. Shall we go celebrate?”

I nodded, then dumped the photo in my bag. I didn’t want to leave it behind and let Helen think she’d gotten to me, so I’d dispose of it outside of the mansion. I refused to let that woman make a difference or an impact on me.

Cher accompanied Suzanne downstairs to help attend to her adoring guests, Lindy left me alone, and Mackie wasn’t lurking behind my shower curtain. The night was looking up.

I made sure to don my “hand flower” bracelet, and joined them within the hour to find the secondary dining room transformed.

Into a gothic bordello.

Terry, winner of the now infamous treasure hunt, sidled up to me almost immediately.

“What’s all this?” I asked, gesturing at the unapologetic red and black scheme. Sure, the party was being held in

“my” house, but like all good social debs, I hadn’t a thing to do with the planning. Besides, if there was one thing that could give me away as Joanna Archer, it was my inability to juggle a menu and a seating arrangement.

“I know.” Terry had a camera in one hand, a red cocktail with an onyx-stemmed glass in the other, and was dressed in the basic black the invitations had requested. “It’s just one big juicy pot of pornography, right? Arun wanted to show off some of his more intricate textiles, and these are done in the colors of the family coat of arms.”

“Indians have coats of arms?”

“Compliments of the British. There weren’t any fire hydrants to piss on in the old days, so they had to mark everything with a sword and a lion.”

I glanced at the silks lining tables and chairs, the tapestries hanging from the walls and their matching footstools, the double-wide lounge chairs with their red brocade. Crystal tassels set practically every inanimate object to sparkle. I guess nothing said “home sweet whorehouse” like black teardrop crystals. I blinked until I could focus properly again, turning to Terry. “You’re the photographer?”

“Unofficial,” he sniffed, casting a glance over his shoul der. Two small dark men were snapping photo after photo of the room’s focal point, a moon-shaped table where Suzanne sat, arms linked with her groom.

“So that’s Arun Brahma.” My initial impulse to revile him upon sight reared again, but I dampened it, not wanting it to affect an accurate reading of someone who could be worse than merely slick. He could be dangerous.

For a moment I thought he also might be sleeping with his eyes open. While Suzanne laughed gaily, tossing her hair before the cameras like it was an Olympic event, he just sat there, merely altering his profile every once in a while so the photographers had to move for him rather than the reverse. Yet when Suzanne said his name, brushing her hand against his shoulder in as intimate a gesture as one could get while still clothed, his response was immediate. His regally dull expression didn’t brighten, but it altered, like one of those paintings that seemed to follow your progress across the room with a knowing gaze. He leaned toward her with such fierce attentiveness that I wanted to slap him with a restraining order.

That wasn’t love, I thought, watching him drink in her every feature as if it were the first time…and he was very thirsty. That was just creepy.

“You haven’t met him yet?” Terry sounded surprised.

I shook my head. “He’s suspiciously private. Does he move from her side?”

Terry sipped from his bloodred drink. “Only when eyefucking her from afar.”

Also creepy, but then who could blame him? The bride-to-be looked fantastic, blond hair set in siren’s waves, lips as red as the tapestry behind her, eyes glowing. Still, there was something about the way he responded to Suzanne that just felt wrong. She tugged on his arm and he swerved toward her like a weight on a chain. A few months ago I would have closed in and tried to sniff out the problem-maybe he was drugged, maybe he was Shadow-but now all I could do was keep an eye on him, alert to even the smallest movement.

Or could I?

Easing back a step so I was out of Terry’s peripheral vision, I lifted my glass to my lips. From behind it I whispered in a voice so low only those with access to other realities and realms could hear it. “Hey, Arun…”

His head swiveled before he caught himself. Eyes meeting mine, now narrowed, he paused only a moment before looking away. But he’d swallowed hard before he did it.

Suzanne sensed the absence of his attention as clearly as if she’d moved from sun to shade. She caught the arc of his quickly averted gaze, and brightened when she saw me. Her crimson smile widened as she waved, and she pointed at her wrist to indicate my bracelet.

I gave her a big cheesy thumbs-up while Arun watched her with an intensely glowing gaze. Most women would kill to be looked at like that. But some had been killed after being looked at like that. Now that I knew that he was something other than he claimed, I worried for Suzanne. I had no clue what his angle was, if he’d left me protective weapons on a scavenger’s hunt, or if he was an ally. All I knew for sure was I didn’t want her marrying him.

“Well, she looks radiant,” I said to Terry, almost forlornly. Damn. She always had such bad taste in men.