To Dance with the Devil

by Cat Adams

  “The complete lockdown is being lifted, but special safety protocols are still in place, so under normal circumstances, neither of you would be allowed to leave yet. However, I’ve checked with the warden and he says that one of you can fly out with Mr. Levy if there’s room in the helicopter and the pilot agrees to take you.”

  “You go,” Dom said to me. “There are some things I want to check into before I leave. And you should be with Isaac.”

  I nodded, hoping Dom knew what he was doing. Halston slid on another jacket, then opened the door and escorted me into the main room and to Isaac’s bedside.

  Isaac looked like hell. He’d been beaten and left to die in the middle of the minefield. Despite a severe concussion and multiple broken bones, including an open fracture of his right thigh, he’d somehow managed to drag himself into the shade of a large rock. Had the mines been active, that movement would have killed him. But I knew from the reports I’d overheard from outside Warden Davis’s office that the mines had all been deactivated. Every single one.

  Despite that fragment of luck, he had nearly died from a combination of shock, the effects of his injuries, and dehydration. I wasn’t sure what Halston had done, but Isaac was hooked up to several machines and had more than one IV running. I assumed he was heavily sedated, but even so, he kept making small, desperate sounds that hurt to hear.

  I closed my eyes, concentrating, trying to speak to Isaac mind-to-mind. He was too far gone, his thoughts totally incoherent. That was terrifying. “Has anyone called his wife?”

  “I did.” I hadn’t noticed the woman in scrubs before. I’m usually more observant than that, and it bothered me that I’d missed her. “Mrs. Levy is on her way to Los Angeles.”

  “Good.”

  * * *

  I don’t remember much about the flight from the Needle to UCLA Medical Center. I was too worried about Isaac to notice anything else. There was a close call—his heart stopped and I was shoved aside so they could lower the magical barrier and use the paddles on him. We were greeted on the medevac landing pad by ER doctors and nurses with a gurney. They wheeled him off, already working on him, as I climbed carefully out of the helicopter. I stayed low even though the rotors were set well above my height. Sometimes you have to listen to your instincts.

  Waving my thanks to the pilot and the EMTs, I hurried out of the way. As soon as I was clear, the chopper rose from the pad and roared out of sight.

  By the time I reached the lobby, Isaac was being prepped for surgery even while other medical personnel worked to stabilize his less-urgent injuries.

  I sat in the waiting room blaming myself for what happened to Isaac and dreading seeing Gilda. Just as they were wheeling him out of the ER Gilda arrived with John Creede. I was surprised to see her—it usually takes at least two hours to get to Los Angeles from Santa Maria.

  Gilda ran to me, taking me in her arms and holding me so tight I thought my ribs might break. She looked like hell—her hair a mess, eyes red, makeup smeared from tears. For the first time she looked old, her features gray with worry and exhaustion. Her only jewelry was her wedding set.

  I tried to be reassuring and realistic, even though I didn’t have a lot to tell her. “He’s tough, Gilda. He’s hurt, and the leg was pretty bad…”

  “They found him because of you. If you hadn’t gone there…” She choked up, unable to finish the sentence.

  I eased her into a chair, gently breaking her panic-tight grasp, then took the chair beside her. She held one of my hands in both of hers. John Creede took the seat on her other side, giving me a nod of acknowledgment. While Gilda composed herself, John explained that she had called him and begged him to fly her north on his corporate plane. He hadn’t hesitated.

  I gave him a grateful smile. It had been incredibly kind of him to bring her—though since Isaac was the Grand Master of the West Coast, it was probably important that John stay on his good side—and it was considerate of him to stay in the background, letting Gilda get the comfort she so desperately needed.

  I wasn’t surprised at his kindness and tact. John is a good man. It was that, as much as his good looks and charm, that had drawn me to him, and that kindness was what I’d missed most about him since our relationship had ended.

  We sent in word that Isaac’s wife had arrived, and after a little while one of the doctors came out and asked for a private word with Gilda. John and I made ourselves scarce, heading for the cafeteria. As we walked down the hall, I took a good look at him. It looked as if Gilda had caught him at the office—he was dressed for business, wearing a medium gray suit with a pale blue shirt and navy tie. He didn’t look rumpled, despite the flight. He’d cut his hair quite short since I’d last seen him, close enough to his head to keep it from curling, and there wasn’t a hint of stubble on his cheeks. It was a very formal look, and I knew him well enough to know that while he did formal well, he preferred not to. So I was pretty sure he’d interrupted important business—perhaps even a meeting or client appointment—to help.

  “Thanks so much for bringing Gilda,” I said as we entered the cafeteria. I got in line ahead of him, picking up a yellow plastic tray and prepacked silverware.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” John slid a tray onto the counter beside mine. “You’ve known them longer, but Isaac and Gilda are my friends, too. In fact, I’m technically his apprentice.”

  “Really?” I hadn’t realized that. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it. John was an adept-class mage, how could he possibly be an apprentice?

  “He’s training me to replace him. That way if he retires, or dies, I’ll be ready to take over his position.” John looked seriously at me. “So I need to know what we are dealing with.” It wasn’t really a request.

  “I’ll tell you, but not here. And before I do, I need to eat.” I hadn’t eaten since my bowl of ice cream that morning with Dom. I wasn’t hungry, in fact I felt a little queasy. But I remembered from painful experience that it was only a matter of time before bloodlust would hit, and hit hard, if I didn’t get some nutrition into my body.

  John reached in front of me to pick up a small saucer filled with a small stack of orange Jell-O squares.

  I love orange Jell-O and this was plain, without any chunks of fruit in it. Maybe if I let the squares melt in my mouth, I’d be able to eat it. It was worth a try anyway. I put a similar saucer onto my tray and moved forward. The soup of the day was tomato, so I asked for two bowls, then got a couple of cans of soda. I’d drink one with my meal and save the other for later. It had already been a long day and I suspected it was going to be an even longer night.

  John insisted on paying for our dinner. I didn’t argue. I followed him to a table in the far corner of the room, away from most of the few doctors and nurses who were scattered at tables around the room. We didn’t have much privacy, but we wouldn’t be overheard if we spoke softly.

  “So, what is going on?” John asked. “Gilda told me that you came to see Isaac and that he left almost immediately after you did. He said it was ‘business’ but wouldn’t tell her anything more. Then he disappears, and nobody knows what’s become of him, until he’s found at the Needle, beaten half to death.”

  I cringed at his tidy summation of the facts. This situation was at least partly my fault and I felt more than a little guilty about it. I’d been the one to drag Isaac into this. I’d gone to him for advice, brought the problem to his attention. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gone to the Needle, wouldn’t be in critical condition right now. Yes, it had been his choice to go … and to go alone. But that didn’t make me feel any better about it.

  Did I really want to risk anyone else? No. On the other hand, John is a big boy, and despite our disagreements, I value his opinion. So I decided to give him an edited version of what was going on.

  I hadn’t gotten very far in describing what had gone down at the Needle when he started shaking his head. He didn’t interrupt, but he was obviously having trouble believing me.


  “John,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes—and for a second I felt the pull of the old attraction between us. His magic had always had a deep, frequently sexual, pull for me. I shook my head, to clear it. “I know. Everyone keeps telling me that Connor Finn can’t possibly be working magic, that there are protections built into the prison that make it impossible. And yet, it happened. I saw that hologram. Damn it, it was him, talking to me, ordering his men to leave me to burn in the sun. It was him.”

  John reached over and took my hand. We both jumped at the tingle of electricity that passed between us. Magic, mine and his, mingled for just an instant. I forced myself to set aside the memories, both good and bad, of the time we’d shared. There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, quickly suppressed.

  “Celia, the Needle is built on a node—a nexus of lines of magical power. Its protections tap into the node. It takes four mages—working together—and a death to access the power, and it would take another death to break it. The warden would know if there’d been a death at the Needle. Every inch is under constant surveillance.”

  I sighed, leaning forward so that we were very close and no one could possibly overhear. “This isn’t for public consumption, John, but the outer perimeters had both been broken and the minefield was disabled. That’s where they found Isaac.”

  He pulled back, startled beyond calmness. “Fuck!”

  Everyone in the room turned to look.

  I grimaced. John had the grace to blush. “Sorry, sorry.” He looked around. Eventually people went back to their food, but they were keeping an eye on us now.

  “So you told Isaac there was a problem and he went to check it out.”

  “Yes.”

  “And somebody did this to him.”

  I nodded. “The mage on duty disappeared. At first I thought he might be responsible for the protections being down and for what happened to Isaac, but I’m not so sure now.”

  John’s gaze intensified. “Why not?”

  “You said they’d need to kill someone to disrupt the protections. Who better than the mage who’s supposed to be checking them every day and doing the renewal spells?”

  He looked a little sick. “That makes sense … but the only way someone could pass for the duty mage, even for a little while, is if he was a spawn.”

  Ah, yes, spawn, the child of a demon by a human. There weren’t a lot of them, so far as anyone knew, but it was hard to be certain. Most of them could shape-shift to look like anyone, and they lived much, much longer than normal humans. They weren’t immortal, but they were very hard to kill. Fortunately, for the most part, they were subject to the same weaknesses as all demons: holy water, holy artifacts, and the like.

  My eyes locked with John’s. I barely spoke above a whisper. “Nobody sprayed me with holy water at the Needle and there wasn’t a single artifact to be seen. I’ve gone through tighter security at Birchwoods.”

  Now he looked horrified. “That’s not right. I consulted with the architects on the magical parts of the design. I know what the procedures are supposed to be.”

  “Well, I don’t know what they’re supposed to be. I can only tell you what I ran into when I was there yesterday, and I wasn’t impressed.”

  I brought a spoonful of soup to my mouth. It had cooled to the perfect temperature. As the food hit my stomach, I felt a tension inside of me ease. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been clamping down on my inner bat. I’d just done it. Now that I was away from the immediate crisis, and eating, my control loosened just a fraction.

  Letting go even that little bit was a huge mistake. Quick as a snap of the fingers, my vision shifted to hyperfocus. I became very aware of the scent of John’s flesh, the strong, steady beat of the pulse in his neck.

  “Celia?”

  “Ssssorry.” I closed my eyes; it helped not to look. But I could hear his heartbeat speed up—and the smell of him … God, it was wonderful. I wanted. The need to hunt made my entire body ache.

  “Celia, I’m going to go get you some beef juices. Can you hold on while I do that?”

  “Yessss.”

  I kept my eyes closed, taking deep, slow breaths. My hands clutched the edge of the table. From a distance, I could feel the brushed steel of the tabletop giving, bending. It made a soft groaning sound. Or maybe that was me.

  I smelled John as he returned—his skin, his cologne, the fabric softener on his clothes. I also smelled what he carried. Meat juices. There was the clink of metal against metal as he set a large pitcher in front of me, then slowly backed away.

  He didn’t leave the cafeteria. He stood, out of my reach, between me and the rest of the patrons. They had no idea what was going on, but he did. I knew what was in his mind. He was waiting to see. He thought I could regain control of myself. He was almost sure of it. But if I went feral, he’d shoot me. If he had to, he’d stake me, kill me. He didn’t want to. It would kill a piece of him to do it. But he would. If he could. If I made him.

  I breathed deeply, taking in the scent of the juices. Grabbing the pitcher in both hands, I raised it to my lips, gulping down the contents, feeling the bat in me recede with every swallow. I groaned in pure pleasure as tears of mingled grief and relief streamed from my eyes.

  We didn’t go back upstairs. Instead, John led me out to the rental car he’d picked up at the airport. He called Gilda and explained what had happened. She told him she would be fine, to take me home. So he did.

  25

  I didn’t lose control. Ten points to me. John stuck with me the whole time, on the drive to the strip where he’d left his plane, on the flight back to Santa Maria, and on the drive home. He was by my side, a strong, calming influence, not judging but making sure that I wouldn’t hurt anyone else if I lost control. Ten bazillion points to him.

  He left me, reluctantly, at the door to my house. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’ll eat again, then I’ll get some rest. You don’t need to worry.”

  He might not need to, but he’d do it anyway. He might even park outside and watch the house, just to make sure I didn’t sneak out to hunt.

  Whatever. That was his choice, and his business. I just needed some time alone. So I told him good-bye on the doorstep, then went in, shutting the door gently but firmly behind me.

  Minnie came to greet me. She stared at me intently. I knew that look from when she’d been our office cat. It meant, Where have you been? My cat box is filthy and disgusting. I was pleased that I could tell the difference between that and the only marginally different glare that meant, You do realize that my food was supposed to be served two point eight minutes ago?

  I checked anyway, just to be sure. Minnie’s plate was empty. Her box was full. I remedied both situations, in that order. Then I took a shower, fixed myself some chicken broth, put some watered-down mashed potatoes and gravy through the blender and sucked them down, then went to bed.

  I woke up at nine thirty. My mouth tasted dry and furry, in part because I’d been snoring and the cat had apparently shed on my pillow. Gargh.

  I got up, brushed my teeth, and grabbed the phone. I tried calling Bruno, but it went straight to voice mail. Dawna, however, answered on the first ring.

  “Celia, you’re home.”

  Ah, caller ID, lets everyone know where you’re calling from. “I called to see if everybody’s gotten to the safe house, and if Bubba’s given his statement to the police.”

  “They did and he has. He called me after, said it went as well as those things can go. Fred called. His attorney has the lease ready. And while I don’t mean to be a party pooper, how are you planning on paying the rent? We’ve got money in the bank, but we’re blowing through it like water.”

  Dawna was right. We were spending like mad, hiring staff, insuring them, buying weapons and spell disks, and more. But I wasn’t worried. “Just keep track of expenditures. Michelle Andrews is actually the last living member of the Garza clan. All the profi
ts from all of the patents they own are hers outright. I don’t think we need to worry about the bill.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Trust me.”

  I heard her give a snort of what might have been laughter. “Fine, whatever. I saw on the news about Isaac being hurt out at the Needle. They made a big deal about him being medivaced out, but they didn’t really give a lot of solid information. Is he going to be okay?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. It was bad, but the doctors at UCLA were pretty encouraging. I’m going to call and check again first thing in the morning. By the way, can you pick me up around eight o’clock? I’m stuck here without a vehicle.”

  “Make it nine. I’m going to see Fred’s attorney at eight to sign the lease and drop off the first check.”

  “Nine it is.”

  I tried Bruno again. This time he answered on the first ring. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”

  He snorted—well, at least I was amusing my friends tonight. “Good. I was worried. I heard about Isaac from John. He told me what you think we’re up against.”

  “We?”

  He sighed. “Sweetheart, it’s Connor freaking Finn. And it’s mage business. Those protections need to be restored now. Please don’t tell me you’re going to get all territorial about this.”

  “No, of course not.” I totally wasn’t. In fact, it was kind of a relief knowing that Bruno and John were going to be involved. I might not want either of them on staff, but as backup? Oh, hell, yeah. Was that wrong of me? Maybe. But it’s how I felt. “Any word on my knives or the ring?”

  “Almost finished. There were some seriously nasty curses on them, took awhile to untangle. But it’ll be after midnight before I finish and I’ll probably just fall into bed after. Would it be all right if I don’t come over tonight?”