Siren Song

I snorted. “He’s obsessed. Besides, you know as well as I do that people delude themselves all the time. Given enough time, he’ll have the whole thing being your fault. Probably even sue your ass.” There was a little lisp at the end of that. I’ve been having some trouble adapting to talking with the fangs. However, I will say it was harder than it should have been to put the glass down straight on the table.

“How many of those have you had?”

I sighed. “Not that many. Don’t worry. Vampire metabolism. I’ll be dead sober in no time.” I hadn’t meant the pun but recognized it when I saw his lips twitch. He had good lips. Very kissable. Not that I was ever going to, even though I could feel the brush of magic, just at the edge of my skin. Bruno was moving back soon. Just the thought made me smile, but that didn’t mean I was blind. I could look. I just wouldn’t do anything about it.

Right?

Creede scolded me, “You can’t eat anything solid. Drinks are going to hit you harder and faster than they did when you were human. Even if they do wear off quicker.” Shaking his head, “I’ll drive you back to Birchwoods.”

“Nope. I’m not leaving my car in town.” I shook my head firmly. Well, sort of firmly. Maybe the margaritas had gotten to me a little more than I’d thought. “And besides, I’ve got things to do.”

“You’re not driving like this.”

“Of course not. I’ll take a cab.” Actually, by the time we got back to the attorney’s office I’d be fine to drive. Definitely. Well, at least probably.

“Don’t lie to me, Graves.”

“Who’s lying?” I batted my eyes at him in a deliberately exaggerated gesture and ran a fingernail down his hand. I wasn’t using full siren magic on him, just flirting a little, but he pulled his hand away like it was burned. He was affected. I could tell. I could sense he wanted to help. Wanted to . . . but he fought it off with a shake of his head.

“Fine. You have things to do. I get that. But you nearly had your head blown off earlier today and you just got threatened because of me. So I’m sticking with you until the alcohol wears off and you have a better chance of defending yourself.”

“Whether I like it or not?”

“Is being driven around by me really such a terrible fate?” He gave me that charming, handsome smile that he seemed to be able to turn on and off at will. It was nice, but I liked the real one better. Shame he didn’t get much chance to use it.

7

I had John drive me to Isaac and Gilda Levy’s shop. They’d redone the place and I would’ve loved to spend some serious shopping time there—as would Creede, judging by the way he was eyeing Gilda’s new stock of magical artifacts—but the day was getting away from me. I still had a lot to do before I met with El Jefe at the university and I really needed a little time on my own, to think. So after only a couple of minutes of good-natured fussing from Gilda, I was able to leave with my new jacket—outfitted with receptacles for my favorite weapons— and a promise that she’d have Isaac “age” a replacement death stone for my Wadjeti. She swore they could have it to me within the hour, so I could wait, or they’d deliver it to my office.

I didn’t have the time to wait, so delivery it was. By the time we were finished at the shop I was stone-cold sober and Creede agreed to take me back to my car. Before he left he insisted on putting a protective spell on me, strong enough to protect me from bullets. He swore it would last through the day—long enough to get me back to the protective confines of Birchwoods.

When I walked in the front door of my office at around three, the reception area was clean, quiet, and smelled of lemon furniture polish. Thank God. Well, actually, thank Dottie. Maybe both. Whatever, I was grateful. I snagged a large stack of messages from my slot on the front desk before pounding up the stairs.

One call from Dawna. Three from reporters who wanted my take on the statement Cassandra Meadows had made to the press after the Will reading. Since I didn’t know what she’d said, I couldn’t comment. But I wouldn’t anyway. In a mudslinging contest, everybody gets dirty.

I unlocked my office door, tossed my purse and keys onto the desk, and sat. No messages from Ivan. I debated calling the embassy. He’d made it sound so urgent, but I’d managed to see a piece of the continuous news feed shown on the television in La Cocina’s bar and nothing big appeared to be going on in Rusland. The king was attending a financial conference in Greece, and since Ivan was his head of security, he was probably there as well.

My attorney had called. Seeing the message reminded me forcibly of the hearing I’d been trying very hard not to think about. Roberto didn’t expect the trial to last more than a couple of hours. By this time tomorrow afternoon I’d know whether I’d be spending the rest of my life in a cage. My stomach did a little flip-flop from nerves and I tried to tell myself that it was going to be fine.

I didn’t believe me.

“The hearing will end in your favor.” Dottie stood in my doorway, leaning heavily on her walker. How she’d made it up all of those stairs I had no clue. Grown men have been known to quail at the sight of them. They’re steep and the treads are narrow, having been made in a time when people had smaller feet. “I . . . peeked.” She moved slowly across the threshold, a small package rattling on the tray she’d attached to the front of her walker.

“Dottie. You should’ve called. I’d have come down.”

She sighed and lowered herself halfway into one of the pair of wing-backed visitor’s chairs across the desk from me, then fell the last few inches onto the seat. “Next time I’ll do that. But I wanted a little privacy to talk with you and Ron is a terrible snoop.”

She’d figured him out quicker than most. Then again, Dottie’s bright. It’s one of the many things I like about her.

“What do you want to talk about?”

She reached over to retrieve the little jewelry box from the tray. Opening it, I saw that Isaac had delivered the Wadjeti stone. Damn, that was quick. I walked over to take it from her. I rolled it over, on my palm, examining it closely. When I’d seen the stone in the Levys’ shop, it had been red, and it still was. But now the shade seemed both richer and more faded and there were little scratches and scuffs on the finish that made it look . . . ancient.

“Wow. Go, Isaac.”

“I take it this isn’t the original stone?”

“Nope. But it sure looks like it.” I turned it over in my hand. It was perfect. How the hell had he managed that? And so fast? Trade secret from a misspent youth?

Dottie paused, licking her lips nervously. “Celia, would you indulge me in something? Please?” She wasn’t quite wringing her hands, but she was getting close and she was pale and a little bit shaky.

“Why don’t I get you a glass of water?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine. But would you let me do a reading for you? I don’t have my bowl, but now that you have a full set I can use the Wadjeti, I’m sure of it.”

“Is that a good idea?” I didn’t say she looked like hell. But she did.

“Please, Celia. I have to try. I have to.” She was shaking in earnest now.

“Sure. I suppose . . . but . . . do you know how?”

“I told you, I read the instructions,” she said without heat. “I’m pretty sure I remember enough. And . . .” She paused, licking her lips again. “I need to do this. I’ve only had a compulsion like this a few times, but it’s always been important. Please?”

I turned around and went through the rigamarole of opening the safe. By the time it was finished she was practically jumping out of her skin. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

She nodded. “Positive.”

Okay, I could get that. Vicki had once told me about something similar happening to her. She’d also called it a compulsion. I might not understand, but I could accept it. That compulsion had caused her to have Bruno make the knives that had probably saved my life.