Blood Song

make those knives, I owed him.

“You realize they’re not going to let you stay. Supernatural advisor or not.”

He gave me a smile that was more a baring of teeth. “Unless they are very, very good, they’l never

even suspect I’m here.”

I blinked stupidly. “You can do that? I mean—I thought it wasn’t possible for people to disappear.”

Then again, wasn’t that exactly what Jones had done?

“You’d be amazed at what I can do.” Bruno gave me a genuine smile this time. “But no, I’m not

disappearing. It’s a kind of il usion spel . It makes me very, very, unnoticeable—a part of the furniture.

Don’t get me wrong. There are telepaths who can use mental manipulation to make you and everyone

in the area think they’re seeing someone else. But I’m not a telepath. So I make do with a little magic.”

More than a little magic, unless I missed my guess. But I wasn’t going to start an argument I couldn’t

win. Besides, I was curious. I’d studied the paranormal for four years and none of this stuff had come

up. “So you get a good enough telepath and they real y could go up in front of the crowd and pretend to

be the president and everybody would think it was him?”

“If he had enough oompf, yes. But he’d have to be damned careful. Because while folks with the gift

can influence what people think, they can’t manipulate reality. So a mirror, window, whatever, is going to

reflect what is actual y there.”

I sat there for a few seconds, trying to absorb that. I mean, telepaths had always kind of scared me

—they’re mind benders after al . And it’s one of the skil s the government and the schools keep the

tightest rein on. But Jones had done it. Had to have. I was just starting to ponder the implications of

that when Bruno’s voice brought me back to the present.

“You’d better cal that attorney. Your guests won’t wait forever.”

I looked up, intending to make a snappy comeback, and he wasn’t there. Oh, he was. And if I looked

really hard, I could see him. But at first glance, hel , even second glance, I would’ve sworn he was a

rubber tree. Except I don’t own a rubber tree.

“Show-off.”

“Yeah, wel , it’s a spel , not psychic manipulation, so I can’t move and keep up the il usion. And don’t

stare or they’l know something’s up.”

Not staring was harder than it sounded. I tried to practice, looking everywhere but at the rubber tree

in the corner as I dialed the number for my attorney.

It took a couple of minutes to get through but considerably less time than it should have. I found my

attorneys through Vicki’s referral. To the esteemed professionals at Pratt, Arons, Ziegler, Santos, and

Cortez I was just a teeny little fish in a great big pond. It’s a big firm, with specialists in various areas of

law. They’re the best, but you pay for it. There was no doubt in my mind that the only reason they dealt

with me at al was as a favor to Vicki. That I wasn’t left on hold for ten minutes with the answering

service meant something. I just wasn’t sure what.

Roberto Santos is the senior attorney in criminal defense matters. If you haven’t heard of him, I

assume you’ve been living in a Carmelite convent or hiding somewhere under a rock. He represents

the famous and infamous—provided they pay their bil s. He’s a bottom-line kind of guy. I can respect

that. I’m the same way. I’ve never been a big enough client to merit an introduction. My stuff has always

been handled by very, very junior associates. So the last thing I expected was for the man himself to

pick up the line.

“Roberto Santos, Ms. Graves. I understand you have a problem?” His voice was smooth, cultured,

flowing like molten chocolate down the line. Impressive as it was over the telephone, I could only

imagine the reaction of a jury in person.

It took me a second to gather my wits, but I managed. As succinctly as I could, I caught him up to

speed.

He let me talk. I could hear a pen scratching across paper as he took notes, but he didn’t interrupt

once as I ran through the facts. Once I finished, however, he had questions. Probing, intel igent

questions. He voiced them with brisk efficiency—and actual y listened to the answers. The whole

conversation took maybe twenty minutes.

“I can be at your office in a half hour. In the meantime, I want you to print hard copies and make a CD

for me of everything you’ve got. We’l probably not want to share it al , but it’l save us al time and effort

if you have it al ready when I get there.”

“Right. How much am I going to owe you for this?” I didn’t real y want to know, but I needed to. I just

hoped it wouldn’t bankrupt me.

I managed not to gasp at the amount he quoted. I kept the firm on retainer, but the hourly fees for

actual work—wel , I could afford it … barely. Provided, of course, that things didn’t drag on. “I’l have a

check ready for you when you arrive.”

“Thank you. I’l see you soon.”

I hung up the phone and started getting everything ready for him. There wasn’t much. Telephone

messages, some hand-written notes. I scanned those into the computer, which thankful y Dawna had

gotten working. The signed contract was already on file.

Not too many minutes later I heard footfal s on the stairs and smel ed fresh coffee mingled with the

sweet cinnamon aroma of baked goods. Thank the good lord for Cinnabon. My stomach rumbled

audibly in response.

Dawna was chatting amiably with the deliveryman from the bakery and I could hear Roberto grumbling

that with this kind of workout he wouldn’t need the StairMaster. Good. I’d rather we didn’t have to wait

much longer. In fact, I wanted to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

I flipped open the laptop and was in the process of cabling it to the printer when the three of them

walked in. Dawna and the deliveryman started bustling around in the corner, setting up the baked

goods. Roberto moved one of the chairs over so that he was sitting next to the desk.

I shook Roberto’s hand before he sat down. He barely glanced at my fangs. Who knows? Maybe

he’d seen worse. Dawna kept casting covert glances at the rubber tree, looking confused. But she

didn’t say anything, just kept helping the deliveryman. When they’d finished with the food, she began

rearranging the chairs, even bringing in the patio chairs from the balcony so there’d be enough seating

for everybody. Only when she’d finished and left the room did Roberto speak.

“I told the people downstairs that I needed ten minutes alone with you before they came up. We’ve

already lost nearly half of it. So we’d better hurry. Give me what you’ve got.”

I passed over the copies and plugged a jump drive into one of the computer ports to transfer files for

him as he was scanning the printed pages. It didn’t take him long.

“Is there anything you haven’t told me? Anything else I need to know?” He sounded suspicious.