by Cat Adams
When he came in he looked … controlled, everything held carefully in check, his handsome face nothing more than a pleasant mask. He wore an expensive business suit that spoke eloquently of Isaac’s custom tailoring. I was willing to bet he was carrying plenty of weapons, hospital regulations be damned.
“John!” I didn’t bother to keep the surprise and delight from my voice. Our breakup a few months ago had been more than a little bit bitter, but I’d missed him. I don’t regret choosing Bruno, but I’ll always care about John.
“Celia, you’re up … and looking quite a lot better.”
Oh, shit. Gran had said he’d been here, but I hadn’t really thought about him having seen me like that. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
He must have sensed how stricken I was, because he sat down and started talking. His first question wasn’t a question at all. It was more an order. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
I told him. As I did, I could feel his anger building, filling the room like water fills a cup. Interestingly, while Bruno’s rage is scalding hot, John’s is icy. Still deadly, but different. Then again, they’re very different men.
“John…” I paused, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry about Mexico.” I wasn’t sorry I’d fired him. He’d undermined me with the clients—which was totally unacceptable—and doubted my capabilities, which was hurtful as hell. But I could have handled it better, and I was damned sorry about some of the hateful things I’d said during our big fight.
He gave me a rueful grin and took my hand in his. “No. I’m sorry. I was out of line.” He sighed. “I’m not used to being second banana. I’m not very good at it.” His eyes met mine, his expression dead serious. “When I learned you’d missed the last flight out…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. He’d been sure they’d killed me.
I wasn’t insulted by that. My trip into the tunnels had been a last-ditch escape plan with maybe a five percent chance of success—success being survival. I’d made it out, with the last of the MagnaChem employees I’d gone down there to rescue. But it hadn’t been easy or pretty, and the two people who’d been escorting us had died.
I was saved an answer by the sound of whispered voices arguing outside my door. My expression must have shown that I was listening to something, because John gave me a questioning look. My vampire hearing had given me advance notice.
“Company’s coming,” I said with a smile. “Dawna and Chris.”
They were still in the hall, but I could hear every word. I held up a finger to stop John talking and eavesdropped shamelessly.
“You’re being ridiculous, Chris,” Dawna hissed.
His voice rose in both volume and pitch. “Ridiculous? Seriously? She nearly died. She could’ve been permanently maimed—would’ve been, if it weren’t for those stupid gulls of hers. And she’s supernatural. You’re not. These people are playing for keeps.”
Dawna was firm, her voice steady and calm. I knew her well enough to know that Chris was on dangerous ground. When she’s irritated, Dawna will raise her voice and argue. When she gets quiet and calm, she’s seriously angry. “I’m just going to be working in the office, sitting behind a computer and doing a few meetings. There’s nothing dangerous about that.”
“Her last office—your last office—was blown up, remember? No, I want you out of it. It’s much too dangerous.”
“No.”
“No?” He kept his voice quiet, but his whisper was the equivalent of a shout.
“No,” Dawna repeated. Then she turned the knob and opened the door, effectively ending the conversation. “John, you’re here!”
“Just leaving,” he said. He gave my hand a squeeze and rose. “I’m glad you’re doing so much better, Graves.” His voice was gruff. Then, to my exasperation, he ruined the moment by saying, “Try to stay out of trouble.”
He was out the door before I could give the answer I thought he deserved.
Dawna took John’s place beside the bed. She was smiling broadly enough to light up the room, the tension of her argument with Chris vanished as if nothing had happened. She’s a great actress. I knew she was glad to see me and thrilled I was better. She was also probably glad to see that John and I were speaking again. She’s a definite Creede fan.
Her problems with Chris were real and painful, but if she didn’t want to share them, it wasn’t my place to push. I had no clue what to say anyway.
She sank into the chair as Chris sullenly clunked a floral arrangement in with the others on the windowsill. He turned to me. “Glad you pulled through, Graves. I need some coffee. Either of you want anything from the cafeteria?” His voice was gruff and his face was flushed, but at least he was trying to be polite.
“I’d love a can of Pepsi. They won’t bring me one before lunch no matter how nicely I ask.” I knew that from my last visit. I smiled at him.
“That’s ’cause it’s bad for you.” He snorted. “All right, one Pepsi coming up. Dawna?”
“Get me a Dr Pepper, please?”
“No problem.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Back in a few.”
She sighed as the door closed behind him, her expression an odd mixture of frustration, anger, and deep sadness.
“You okay?” I asked.
She sighed again. “Not really. But I don’t want to talk about it. Where’s Bruno? He’s practically been camped out here.”
“I’m pretty sure he went home to shower and shave.”
“Makes sense. He probably also has to arrange to have El Jefe cover a couple more of his classes.”
“Warren’s covering for him?”
“Yup, and Dr. Sloan and some of the others. Bruno said there were plenty of volunteers when everybody in the department heard what had happened.”
That was so nice. “When did you talk to Bruno?”
“Oh, one of the times I came to visit. They wouldn’t let anyone actually in to see you, but a lot of us came by anyway, to check on you. The desk nurse was talking about how many friends you have.”
Aw, that made me feel so good. Not good enough to want to stay and soak up sympathy, but good. “Anybody give you a clue how soon I can get out of here?” I asked.
“Nope. Sorry.”
“Damn it.”
“Relax, Celie,” Dawna ordered. “You need to heal. I can take care of the work stuff. Your gran and Bruno will take care of the rest.”
“Speaking of work, did you get a chance to check out your cousin?”
“Talia.” She supplied the name for me and nodded. “Everything I could find checked out. She could be a real asset.”
There was something in her tone of voice …
“But?”
“I just can’t get past that whole thing when we were kids. I know it’s stupid—”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not. People are who they are. They can change … but only if they’re willing to work at it and they really want to.” I firmly believed that, which was why I had so little hope for my mother. She didn’t want to change and she was practically allergic to hard work.
I shoved that thought away, focusing on the problem at hand. “Okay,” I suggested, “what if we hire her on a probationary basis, the same as we’re doing with Kevin? If she doesn’t work out, I’ll fire her. You can tell your family it’s all my fault, so you won’t get in hot water with them. I can take the heat.”
“You’d do that?”
“Sure.” I gave her a so-sweet-it’ll-rot-your-teeth grin.
“What?” she asked, rightfully suspicious.
“But you get the honors if we have to fire Kevin.”
“Oh … oh, hell.”
“Agreed?”
She gave me a sour look, but agreed.
We chatted for quite a while. I took a look at the breakfast tray and sighed. Liquids. Not even thick liquids. No baby food. I drank it, but I wasn’t thrilled. Still, by the time Chris returned, Dawna was in a great mood, laughing and telling me stories about
office spaces she’d looked at and some of the new applicants, whose résumés were completely not what we needed on staff. We agreed that if we hadn’t found the “perfect” office in another month, we’d rent something on an interim basis. Not having an official place of business was getting old.
Chris had put the time away from us to good use as well. He wasn’t nearly as surly as he’d been when he’d left to get the drinks. Still, they didn’t stay long after he came back.
As the door closed behind them, I wondered if they’d be able to work through their problems. I hoped so. But I wouldn’t put money on it.
11
Two more days passed, slowly. I was getting better. I knew this not only because the doctors finally told me I was being released the following morning, but also because I was getting really, seriously, bored even though I had a steady stream of visitors.
Gran and Bruno took turns being with me. Gran and I spent a lot time reminiscing about Ivy, but we also talked about Gran’s new life on Serenity and my plans for the future. It was great, but when Gran offered to reschedule her flight and stay longer, I turned her down. I could tell she wanted to get back to the island and check on Mom. My grandmother might be mad at my mother, but she still loved and worried about her.
Bruno snuck me in a Sunset Smoothie for dinner. I was grateful. It tasted awesome compared to the thin, bland liquids the hospital had been feeding me. We chatted for a bit, but he was looking pretty worn out, so I sent him home to get some rest. He promised to be back bright and early to take me home.
Home! I couldn’t wait. I wanted out of there so badly, and I wasn’t looking forward to the long, lonely evening that stretched ahead of me once Bruno left. Fortunately, Dawna arrived, bringing clothes for me to wear at checkout tomorrow, and a surprise: one of her sisters—the hairdresser.
Mae, like Dawna, is tiny and pretty. But where Dawna is a more traditional beauty, Mae is edgier. She wears her hair very short in back, almost in a buzz; the front is streaked with magenta, and long bangs sweep across her forehead and over one eye. I’d met Mae only once before—she lives in San Diego and doesn’t visit the family much. I didn’t ask, and they didn’t say, but I suspected that Dawna had asked her to come up as a special favor. Mae took a long look at me, said, “It could be worse,” and set to work.
The results, when she showed me my reflection in the mirror, were startling. My hair was all short and a little ragged. The style looked like one of the cuts you might see on a punk musician or an artist. It made my features look more striking than pretty, though just a little bit harsh.
“It’ll be better in a few days, when it grows out a little,” Mae told me.
“It’s amazing, really!” I was so impressed. I wouldn’t have thought she’d be able to do anything, as bad as it had looked. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” she said firmly. “This is a gift.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Thank you so much!” I was so grateful I was almost in tears. Stupid, I suppose, but appearances matter. At least they matter to me. I’d felt like a freak. Now I didn’t. The difference was huge.
Mae cleaned up the mess. Dawna hugged me. Then they left. When they were gone, I read a couple of magazines Gran had given me until I finally fell asleep.
In the morning I got up early, took a birdbath in the little bathroom sink, brushed my teeth, and got dressed. Dawna had brought me some of my most comfortable clothes: black jeans, a purple polo shirt, and one of my standard blazers. She’d removed the weapons—hospital regulations—but it felt good to pull on such familiar clothing. I did my makeup carefully. The new haircut changed the whole look of my face, and my stubby new eyebrows were a little hard to deal with. Still, after a bit of creative work with an eyebrow pencil, I didn’t look too bad.
I was just putting away the last of my gear when I got a shock: Dottie and Fred arrived. That wasn’t the shock; they’d visited before. The surprise was that they’d brought the Wadjeti. Fred was carrying it in its carved and warded box, but I could still feel the humming power of it, even from across the room.
The Wadjeti was an ancient Egyptian scrying tool that had been given to me by the late, unlamented Stefania and her daughter, Eirene. Since I’m not a seer, I had passed it to Dottie on kind of a permanent loan. It’s tremendously valuable and when Dottie doesn’t need it anymore, I’ll probably donate it to a museum, but in the meantime, she makes use of it. That it was given to my by an enemy doesn’t make it any less powerful a tool. Still, I was surprised to see it, and Dottie and Fred, in my hospital room. I knew they knew I was about to be discharged—Dawna had talked to them last night while Mae was doing my hair.
“Good morning, Celia. You look so much better than you did. Doesn’t she, Fred?”
“Much better,” he agreed as he wandered over to stand on the far side of the bed. He set the Wadjeti onto the bed beside me and left the visitor’s chair available for Dottie, who was moving slowly across the room, her walker making a soft whumping sound each time she set it down on the tile floor. She didn’t take the chair. Instead, she cleared the clutter off the top of the rolling tray table, obviously preparing a clear workspace.
“I’m glad we caught you before you left. I was afraid we wouldn’t,” Dottie said.
“Traffic.” Fred made a disgusted noise.
“Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what’s up that couldn’t wait? I’m going to be leaving in a few minutes.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my nerves were jumping. Dottie was a seer and, to this day, I wasn’t sure how powerful she was. Pretty strong, was my guess. That she didn’t want to wait until I was discharged to give me a reading was the opposite of reassuring. That she wanted to use the Wadjeti to do the reading was worse.
“I know, dear.” Dottie smiled up at me, but her expression was a little vacant. “And there are things you need to know before you go. Sit on the bed, please.”
I sat.
“Three throws, to represent your past, present, and future.”
“Okay,” I answered. After all, it wasn’t as if I had a whole lot of choice. Dottie looked absolutely determined, and when a powerful clairvoyant gets that look, it’s really best to listen. Sighing, I lifted the Wadjeti’s lid to reveal a stack of ceramic scarabs and a small cup of beaten gold set with alternating lapis and moonstone. We’d done this before, and though that had been some time ago, I hadn’t forgotten what to do. I held the cup in one hand and dropped the scarabs into it one at a time. The power built with each stone added. When the last one hit, there was a flare of heat, and a blinding white light shone out through the moonstones.
Dottie shook the cup, then poured the stones out onto the tray table.
Glowing scarabs scurried across the metal and plastic like live beetles, their claws making clicking noises. When they settled into place and became smooth ceramic once again, there was a large group to the left, while on the right, two scarabs stood alone: a bright blue-green one mounted atop the sole red stone—the death stone.
Dottie looked at me and smiled. “That”—she pointed at the two stones—“is life from death. It means rebirth. In this case, your past life is coming to a close, and you’re experiencing a whole new beginning. You can plan on there being a lot of changes in the near future.”
She extended the cup. I took it and repeated the process to fill it. This time, when the last scarab hit, blue lights shone from the lapis stones until Dottie emptied the cup onto the tray.
Once again the scarabs skittered around, this time organizing themselves into identical groups on either side of the death stone. Each group had four scarabs, one at each compass point, surrounded by a circle of stones facing outward.
Dottie stared at the scarabs, her expression confused. When she looked at me, her eyes were wide. I could tell she was upset. “I … I’m not sure what this means. There’s a conflict, life and death. But other than that—”
“It’s okay, Dottie
. Really.” I reached out to pat her hand.
“But you need to know! That’s why I’m here. What good is a reading if I can’t translate it for you?”
“Maybe it’s one of those things that will make sense later, when we have more information,” I suggested.
“If it were a reading for the future, that would make sense,” she said. “But this is the present.” She shook her head, lips pursed in an expression of annoyance. Still, after a moment she held out the cup and we prepared for the third throw.
The power built again, this time thick enough that it burned along my sensitive skin and stole the breath from my lungs. The room seemed to dim, as if the only light came from those small glowing ceramic orbs, each shining with its own individual magic. The cup glittered as if it contained a rainbow.
Dottie spilled the scarabs a third time. As she did, her eyes rolled back in her head and her voice changed, becoming deeper and richer. She sounded eerily like an Egyptian deity I’d encountered not so long ago: Isis, whose magical collar had been misused by a villainous witch who was hungry for power.
That voice rang through the room, clear and pure as the tone of a bell. “Spare the pawn, save the girl. Save the girl, thwart the enemy.”
“Isis?” I whispered. But if I’d hoped for acknowledgment, or guidance, I was doomed to be disappointed.
“Spare the pawn,” the voice ordered, and Dottie collapsed across the bed.
12
Bruno arrived as the doctors were checking Dottie out. She was fine, she insisted. The doctors agreed, but they made her eat some carbs and protein and told her that she needed to take it easy and not use her magic for a few days to avoid straining herself. She didn’t argue, which was proof enough that she had exhausted herself. Fred promised he’d take her home and put her right to bed.
“I take it I missed something?” The lilt in Bruno’s voice made it a question. He sat on the edge of the bed next to me, looking particularly yummy in black jeans, a black dress shirt, and black leather boots, all of which suited his dark hair and eyes.