Demon Song

was holding the umbrella. Most were from existing clients asking if I was available for certain dates and times. I wouldn’t know until I checked my calendar, so I tucked those in my pocket. As I unlocked the driver’s door, one of the messages caught my eye and made me nearly drop the umbrella. I did drop the car keys.

The message was from John Creede:

You didn’t have to return the fly, but the report gave me a lot of information. Thanks. But you’re not off the hook for dinner.

What the hell?

No wonder I couldn’t find the fly. Someone had delivered it to Creede. And while it was nice the fly had found its way back home, that meant … crap!

I picked up my car keys and raced back into the building. Both women looked up and Dawna opened her mouth. I shook my head frantically, holding a finger over my lips. Dottie looked around as if she thought something was going to jump out of the shadows. I grabbed a pen and reached for the spiral-bound message book.

Call Justin. Have him come and do a FULL sweep for bugs. The roaches seem to have especially big ears upstairs.

I turned the book so they both could see it. Dawna stared at the message, mouthing the words several times. On the surface, it seemed like I was asking them to call an exterminator because of an infestation. And I was. Except Justin didn’t work for Orkin. He was our security consultant. The “bugs” I was worried about were of the electronic variety. Only Creede and I had been in the room when he’d handed me the fly and asked for a report, and I sure as hell hadn’t mentioned that to Jones. Okay, it was possible that I’d talked while under the influence at the safe house. Possible, but unlikely. Former torturers would agree that I’m hard to break. Those who are still alive, anyway.

Then Dottie’s face lit up and she wrote the words “listening devices” on her palm. Dawna’s expression shifted from elation at understanding my message to fury at the implication. I didn’t blame her. She nodded briskly and reached for the phone and I headed back to my car, feeling better. Jones is good, but Justin is better. He’d find whatever Jones had planted.

A perfect blue sky with fluffy clouds under a warm sun just didn’t scream Christmas. It sucked that I had to drive my Miata convertible with the top up, but nowadays I can only put it down at night. The Salvation Army bell ringer on the corner near the building, in somber-colored long sleeves, was out of place in a sea of color and movement. But she reminded people of the season nonetheless and they opened wallets and purses to stuff coins and paper into the red plastic bucket.

About halfway to Birchwoods, I realized I’d forgotten to call my gran before heading out the previous night. I turned on the radio, then tucked my cell phone into the holster on the dash and attached the nifty device that lets the sound come through the radio speakers. I hit the speed dial and she answered on the first ring. “Hi, Gran. What’s new?”

Instead of chipper or even calm, her voice was staccato with anger. “Celia Kalino Graves. Where in the world are you? I’ve been waiting for two hours!”

Crap! Waiting? For what? “Um … did we have plans to do something this morning?” It wasn’t Sunday, so it couldn’t be church. What had we talked about in our last call?

“It is December ninth, young lady. What do you suppose we were doing?”

Aw, man, twenty questions. I hate it when she does that. Let’s see … December ninth. Not church, not a holiday, not … wait. It was a holiday and I’d completely forgotten. My voice probably conveyed my mingled embarrassment and frustration. “Mom’s birthday.”

“You forgot, didn’t you? Did you at least buy a present?” There was reproach in her tone, and while part of me knew it was probably deserved, I can’t help what I feel.

I let out a noise that wasn’t precisely a word. “It’s hard to get real enthused about gift giving when every year she throws the gift back in my face. Literally. Or tosses it in a trash can. Or sells it for booze money.”

But as I expected, I got no sympathy. “That is no excuse and you know it. It’s not what she does with it that matters. Now, you get to the mall and buy your mother something nice and then come pick me up so we can go visit her.”

“Visit her? In jail? Can she have visitors yet?” Please, God, let me just go see the nice psychiatrist. I so didn’t want to see my mother in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs on her birthday. “We certainly can’t take gifts there.”

“Well, we can’t leave them, that’s true. And we can’t wrap them. But I asked and they said we can give her a card and we can at least show her the gifts once they’ve passed inspection. She’ll know we remembered.” The last few words were soft and carried an edge that I recognized. I winced and rubbed my left temple to relieve the sudden tension.

“Please don’t cry, Gran. It’s not your fault Mom is a screwup.” Actually, it was partly Gran’s fault, but she didn’t need to be reminded of it. I knew it had stung her hard when Mom got picked up. She’d let Mom drive the car without a license … while drunk. It was her third drunk-driving offense and I’d thought the judge had been really lenient by only giving her three months behind bars. And in the local jail, rather than the state prison.

“Lana has issues, Celia, and she’s getting help for them. But she’s not a screwup. Don’t you think this is hard enough on her as it is? At least leave her a little dignity. She’d do the same for you.”

I bit my tongue until it nearly bled. No, she wouldn’t. She’d had the chance many times and the bottle was always more important to her than her own child. And while I’d like to say she was just weak, that’s not fair, either. She’d actually been a terrific mother until Daddy left and Ivy died. Then she’d crawled into a bottle, and she hadn’t come out since. I didn’t think my visiting her would mean anything to her at all, but it would make Gran happy. That was important to me. I let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. But I have a lot of things going today, so we’ll have to make it short.”

“Half an hour. That’s the longest we can stay this first time anyway.”

I calculated in my head. “Okay. It’ll be at least thirty minutes to get in and out of the mall and get back to your house. How about I come by at three?” It would be tight, but I could probably still fit it all in before Gwen left for the day. But if one single thing went wrong, the whole schedule would be blown.

Fingers crossed.

Gran’s voice went back to her regular happy self. “That’ll be fine, dear. I’ll have a bite of lunch with the girls and see you then.”

I said good-bye and pressed the off button. Honestly. It’s days like these that I wonder if it might not have been better to have had all my memories erased by the vampire.

*   *   *

It was worse than I’d expected. Far worse. I hadn’t anticipated that watching the video from the fly at the zoo would backlash on me in a regular jail. I’d been to jail before and it hadn’t made my heart pound or my head hurt like this. The catcalls of women prisoners sounded like the screams of animals. The touch of the guards as they patted me down made me want to lash out with fangs bared.

What the hell?

I’d had two energy shakes at the mall and I’d been fine there. I’d resigned myself to trying to have a good time as I drove to Gran’s new apartment at the assisted-living facility. It had been a surprise to see Pili there. I’d met her on the Isle of Serenity, the legendary home of the Pacific sirens. She was one of the primary prophets to the queen. I hadn’t realized Pili had decided to retire and move to the mainland. I didn’t know a siren could retire. But she and my gran were getting along great guns. They were bridge partners and fast friends already. Still, there was something serious in the way Pili looked at me when I said we were going to visit Mom that made me nervous. Pili’s a powerful seer, and I recognized the look—I’d seen it on Vicki, and Emma, often enough. But Pili hadn’t said anything, and I hadn’t asked. Maybe she’d known what was coming. Because right now I wanted to run screaming out of this place. Or kill someone.

Desperation and panic began to cling to my skin like six weeks’ worth of grime. I itched under my pretty yellow sweater as though lice were crawling on me. Even Gran noticed me clutching my hands and breathing fast and shallow. “Celia? What’s wrong?” She touched me and I jumped. Now the guards started watching—noticing what seemed to be a person with guilt weighing on her.

“I don’t know.” My head shook as I looked around, searching for the source of the feeling. The visiting room was an open space with pale peach walls, furnished with tables and padded chairs. There wasn’t anything in the