Siren Song

Juan stepped away from the table but didn’t go far, just a few steps away, behind the bar. He stayed there, puttering around in the general vicinity of where I knew the shotgun was kept. I don’t know what signal passed between them, but while he didn’t say a word, I noticed that Lola, his sister, had stepped out from behind the maitre d’ stand and pulled on a server’s apron.

“Ms. Graves.” George Miller had come up to my table. I’d thought he looked bad from a distance—up close it was much, much worse. And the smell. Eww. Maybe it was my enhanced vampire senses, but he smelled like meat left in the sun to rot. My stomach roiled in protest even though I was holding my drink close to my nose to try to mask the stench. I moved the salsa bowl so that it sat on the table right in front of me. Pablo’s homemade salsa is really spicy. I figured the pepper smell might help. It’s strong and I don’t like it much, but it was better than the alternative.

“Mr. Miller.” I gave him a pleasant expression, empty of any emotion. I was not going to gag. I wasn’t. Mind over matter.

There are a number of different binding oaths available. All of them are pretty hideous. My guess was that they’d used the necrosis variation. If they had, then his arm was literally rotting off. And unless he (a) made complete recompense; (b) had the arm amputated before the rot spread; or (c) killed Creede, Miller might lose more than just an arm.

“I’m sorry to intrude. But I wanted to take this opportunity to warn you about my former partner.”

I looked up but didn’t say anything. If I opened my mouth, I would retch. I really would.

“You can smell what he did to me. Can’t you?”

I fought down bile and managed to answer him through gritted teeth. “The way he tells it, you did it to yourself.”

“And you believe him?” Miller’s tone made it clear he thought I was a fool.

I set down my drink and picked up the salsa bowl; bringing it up to my face, I took a long whiff. It worked: peppers, onion, and spices drove off less palatable scents. After just a few seconds, I was able to talk almost normally. “It’s easy enough to check out. Written notice of any binding oaths would have to be filed with the state with your corporate documents. And you don’t strike me as the type to skimp on the paperwork.”

His face flushed, bringing the first bit of color to his cheeks. Scowling fiercely, he told me, “John used black magic to avoid the effects of my oath on him.”

I shook my head. “Not possible. The magic used in binding oaths is a neutral force. It doesn’t care who, or what, the oath takers are. In fact, the man’s a mage. His own power would probably turn on him if he broke the oath.”

“You know that for a fact?” Miller was so bitter. The words dripped venom like acid. I felt as if my ears should actually be burning.

“I graduated with a degree in Paranormal Studies and was engaged to a powerful mage.” I met the heat of Miller’s gaze without flinching. “So, yeah, I do.”

He was visibly shaking now, but whether it was from rage or exhaustion I couldn’t tell. Maybe both. Because he was furious. His eyes were dark, his square jaw set tight enough that I could hear his teeth grinding. Still, he mastered himself enough to speak civilly. “If you partner with John Creede, Ms. Graves, you will regret it.”

“Is that a threat?” I kept my voice sweet and utterly bland, but my eyes were on his hands, making sure he wasn’t about to go for a weapon. It would be a crazy thing for him to do, but I’d pretty much decided the man was nuts. However, I was curious. How did he know about mine and Creede’s discussions? Had he been to the office, or was one or both of us bugged?

“A promise,” Miller growled. With his message delivered, he turned on his heel. At his curt nod, his companions fell in behind him. They were just leaving the restaurant when John stepped out of the restroom. The whole encounter had only taken a couple of minutes. But that didn’t make it any less disturbing.

John stopped, stared after them for a long moment, his features hard and distant as a granite cliff. Then he strode stiffly over to the table, not bothering to sit down.

“What were George, Bobby, and Ian doing here?” His voice was flat, inflectionless.

“Miller wanted to warn me not to go into business with you.” I gave him innocent eyes before grabbing my margarita glass and taking a long pull of lime-flavored frozen goodness.

“And?” Standing there, glowering, he reminded me a little of Miller, only without the BO. They were quite a lot alike: hard, dangerous men who could be equally charming and deadly. Good friends/bad enemies.

“He was trying to intimidate me if he could.” The drink was perfect. As always. And with the kick of a mule. With any luck it would help me relax. Unlikely under the circumstances, but certainly worth a try.

“Did he?”

Juan was coming up behind him with another margarita for me and a fresh basket of tortilla chips. He gave an expressive snort as he reached around the other man to set the fresh drink in front of me before waving a container of cinnamon incense around the area to get rid of the smell. “This one is on me.”

I thanked Juan, then answered Creede. “I’m not easily intimidated. I’m just glad they didn’t cause trouble in the restaurant.” I paused for effect. “Are you going to sit down, or are you planning on standing there all day?”

He glared. I didn’t wilt. So, eventually, he sat. He even unbent enough to grab a chip. I passed him the bowl of salsa I’d hijacked. We sat in silence as he munched and I drank. I would’ve liked to join him. I miss munching. But the combination of salt, lime, and kick-ass tequila was taking the edge off my disappointment. In fact, it was taking the edge off of pretty much everything. I’d probably better slow down a bit.

“So now what?” he finally asked.

“Well, first I think it would be a good idea to find out how Miller discovered we were here and how he knew you’d offered to partner with me. I’m still not sure about whether we’d work as business partners. But I do not like being threatened and I really don’t like being bugged.”

“I can’t believe he actually had the balls to threaten you—and in the middle of a public restaurant.” A slow flush was spreading up Creede’s neck and his voice was low and growling. “Has he lost his fucking mind?”

“Ah, wait.” I raised a finger. “It was not a threat. It was a promise.” I rolled my eyes. “Relax, John. I’m a big girl. I don’t terrify easily.” I watched as he forced himself to calm down. It took a few minutes. He was not taking this situation well. Then again, who would? “Seriously, until you get your legal issues dealt with and I get my legal issues dealt with, we may not want to even try. Because if he can make trouble, he will. He has the connections to do it and apparently he has the technology. You’ll want to do a full scan of your car for trackers and maybe even take it to a priest. Oh, and throw away your clothes.”

“I know how to search for bugs, Celia. I’ve been doing this longer than you.” His growl was growing, but I wasn’t done. Because it needed to be said.

“And yet, they were here and overheard our conversation somehow. I’m pretty sure you’d be chiding me under the same circumstances. Because he’s not going to stop. You know it. Not until he finds some way to get to you—assuming he lives that long.”

Creede’s head jerked and his eyes widened with shock. I could tell he was jumping to conclusions from the look on his face, and it irritated the hell out of me.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I snapped, “I’m not going to do anything. But I don’t need to. That must have been one powerful oath you set up, because he was barely able to walk on his own and I’m pretty sure his arm is literally rotting meat.”

Creede looked from me to Juan, who nodded his agreement.

He started drumming his fingers on the table, his eyes going distant. I could tell he was going over the oath in his mind, checking to see if it was more powerful than he’d imagined. He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be that bad. Don’t get me wrong. If he’s not careful, he’ll lose the arm. But that should be the extent of it.”

“You didn’t smell him. The man is dying.”

Creede leaned back at an angle, his fingers drumming an irritable rhythm against the tablecloth. “The only way it would be that bad is if the oath is still active. So long as he’s still screwing me over, the oath is going to eat at him.”

Ah, I got it. It was a vicious cycle. “He blames you and is bitter, so he keeps trying to get even. And every time he does, the oath gets worse.”

“He can’t be that stupid.” Creede shook his head. He was still angry but there was sadness mixed in with it. I wasn’t surprised. They’d been friends and business partners for a long time.