“Call 911.” I interrupted his tirade. “They’re up there getting their shit together, and it’s not going to look good for you.”
Grimly recognizing the truth of that, he produced his phone and called in a report. Putting his phone back in his pocket, he ran his hand through his glorious hair. “I meant to kill her,” he declared defiantly. “If it came down to her or my mother, Gloria was going out.”
“Wise choice. Did you see what I saw?” I was curious. Maybe I was the only one who could see men in hell, but it sure seemed as if Andre had sent Gloria there.
I couldn’t see Tim’s reaction, but Andre stared at me, waiting for explanation. Shoot, he hadn’t seen what I’d seen.
Well, either I was crazy, or I’d just seen my very first demon. And watched her die. If demons were running Acme . . . that explained a
14
I’m a lawyer, not a priest. I don’t read about demons much. I always thought they were fairy-tale characters, like witches. So it wasn’t as if I could positively identify red burning eyes and crispy-black features. My brief brush with Max in hell was my only basis for my very weak conclusion. Until I had a better word,
I waved away the horrific image of demons on earth and returned to our very scary reality. A woman had died. There would be repercussions beyond the immediate, but we didn’t have time for more than that. I sure wasn’t going to waste time mourning a Vanderventer.
“The guards weren’t doing anything but their jobs,” I warned Andre. “Granny essentially killed herself, and that’s your story. Stick with it. Give Tim that damned can so he can disappear it when we leave here. I don’t know what’s in that gas, but we don’t want the police getting their hands on it.”
Or the world, but that was well beyond our concerns right now.
Andre handed over the tiny can. Since I couldn’t see Tim, I shoved it in my bag with Milo, who had remarkably just watched instead of roaring into bobcat mode. A bag of kitty treats rattled on the shelf. I got the message and helped myself, feeding them to Milo for his good behavior.
“How am I going to explain her rage?” Andre asked, rationally enough.
I grinned evilly. “You need a porn pic of Dane. That would send her around the bend. I don’t suppose you can arrange that? The police will understand protecting a U.S. senator if you decline to reveal it. They won’t like it, but it’s better than a can of pink rage.”
Surprisingly, he answered, “I can get some of Gloria with the pool boy. I just can’t produce them now. Protecting a senator’s grandmother ought to be enough, right?”
“Burn something on the gas stove,” I suggested. “Say you came down here and burned the photo because you didn’t want the world to see it.”
“You should be a novelist,” he said sarcastically. “Now get the hell out of here. I hear sirens. If I get locked up, I need you out where you can help my dad.”
I hated abandoning him. I knew the police routine well enough to know it wouldn’t be pretty, especially with a hugely wealthy, respected society matron involved. But he was right. He didn’t need hand-holding.
Amazingly, I wrapped my arms around Andre’s neck and planted a big one on his cheek. For a very brief moment, his arms closed around me, and he hugged me as if I might be someone valuable. Even special. That didn’t happen often, and I treasured the ridiculous idea.
I kissed his cheek again, then stepped away. “We have your back. Just get your story together and stick to it.”
He nodded, tugged my ritzy new hair, and departed to burn paper on the stove. I waited until an expensive box of chocolates returned to sight, and grabbed the air near it. I caught Tim’s arm and, invisibly, we slipped out the back door.
As we hurried down the delivery-entrance drive toward the road, I called Schwartz to tell him what had happened. He was a lieutenant now. He probably didn’t have jurisdiction out here, but he’d know best how to protect Andre. He wasn’t happy. He even used a swearword. But he was a Zonie now, whether he liked it or not.
“You can stay out if you like,” I told Tim when we reached the bike and I released his arm. I didn’t know if he could even turn himself back on. We’d seen some pretty scary stuff, and Tim was, well, timid. “Even if someone notices me, you won’t be involved.” I handed him a helmet. It disappeared when he took it.
“Just don’t grab for me if I take a bend too fast!” I shouted, bringing the Harley roaring back to life.
The disappearing trick was highly entertaining, but a seemingly riderless bike would cause wrecks all over the freeway. Malicious mischief was only my style if the parties involved were nasty. Really, I’m a boring gnome in normal life.
We careened back to the row of Victorians that constituted home. Before we reached my place, I slowed down and gaped at the sight of a six-foot guy in camouflage jogging down the hill with a toddler stroller in hand and an infant strapped to his broad chest. I hoped he had been one of the storm troopers and let myself smile with a tiny bit of triumph. Muscles could be put to better use than destruction, and the toddler was laughing in joy at the speed. If only all our problems could be solved so peacefully!
In hopes that this was a benefit from Saturn Daddy, I properly offered up gratitude at the sight.
Back home, I parked in my normal spot by Pearl’s shed. Tim was still scared and thus invisible. Maybe I’d gone a wee bit over the speed limit, but really, he had no cause to shake in his shoes.
An ugly thought belatedly occurred, and I glanced down at the bike, then over to the helmet that reappeared when he hung it on the seat. “Did we just ride here on an invisible bike?” I asked. I didn’t think so. I’d been sort of watching the gauges.
“Until today, I never disappeared anything as big as you,” he complained. “I can’t disappear Harleys any more than I can vanish buildings.”
“I’m not any bigger than you are.” By much, at least. No Viking blood ran in my veins. I’d been told that my mother’s family was from Iran, although she’d been born in the U.S. I’d never met her parents—unless you count the weird messages from Themis. I didn’t know my father, but he sure hadn’t passed on any tall genes.
“Yeah, but you’re different,” Tim concluded.
I sighed. The boy had a point. Hadn’t I wished myself invisible a little earlier in the day? Saturn or the Universe or Satan usually gifted me with my wishes when I sent someone to hell. Did that mean I’d buried one of the troops in the tunnel with my avalanche? And the way I’d been cursing, I’d probably sent him to the devil. Damn.
I’d have to quit cursing.
It had been a long, strange day. And it was far from over. I left Tim to take a nap or do whatever it is teen boys do when no one can see them. I had to warn Julius that all hell was about to break loose.
And call Max! Man, how could I forget? Gloria was Dane’s granny. And Paddy’s mom. Ugh, I hated to be the bearer of bad tidings, although in this case, I didn’t think Gloria would be universally mourned.
I punched in the senator’s number as I jogged over to Andre’s house. He didn’t answer, and I got voice mail.
“Ding-dong, the witch is dead,” I singsonged into the machine. Rude of me, I know, but Gloria had not been what she appeared, and I’d hated her for a long time. Max had once stupidly thought she was interested only in shopping. After she’d had him killed, he’d had to open his eyes. Dane’s eyes, because Max’s big beautiful brown ones were gone forever.
“I thought I’d warn you before the media and cops cornered you,” I continued. “Get your PR guys over to Gloria’s, pronto. Never say I don’t do anything for you. Smooch, big boy. Call me if you need to know more.” I hung
