by Cat Adams
I talked to Gwen, who wasn’t nearly as fierce as I’d expected her to be—then again, some of my flowers had come from her. I figured that maybe she was cutting me some slack since it was obvious I was in the middle of yet another of my infamous shit storms.
By the time I reached Los Angeles, the phone needed a recharge and I was seething with rage. I forced myself to go through the drive-through at a local PharMart to pick up some nutrition shakes, swallowing two out of the six-pack while I waited for my change. I didn’t trust myself to go inside.
On the other hand, this was the perfect mood to be in to go confront a bad guy. So, hey, not a total waste.
Only a few blocks farther and I was pulling up outside Finn Billiards. I’m not sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t what I found. Jack’s place was in an upscale, mixed-use neighborhood. There were a couple of twelve-story office buildings across the way and a pub on the first floor directly below. It wasn’t quite time for the happy hour rush, but there were plenty of patrons inside, most wearing business suits. I caught a whiff of fries and burgers cooking even inside my vehicle. It took me a minute or two to find a free parking space.
I slathered on sunscreen, which looked odd given the faint glow my skin was putting off. The smell of coconut and aloe mixed in with the scents of food reminding me of beach parties with Gran and Grandpa when I was little. That made me smile—right up until I caught a glimpse of fangs in the rearview mirror.
I did a quick weapons check. I wasn’t completely happy with the result. I’ve got backup gear, and carrying it is better than going unarmed, but I wasn’t nearly as comfortable with it. Still, it’s all kept in good condition, so it was ready to use, just in case Jack wasn’t any happier to see me than his daddy had been.
The stairs leading up to the pool hall—were they still called pool halls? I wondered—were steep and narrow, but the lighting was good and there were sturdy handrails. Even so, they were nothing I’d attempt drunk. Then again, most of the really serious pool sharks I’ve known don’t drink much “on duty.” It messes with their game.
The temperature started to drop when I reached the midway point on the stairs. A cold breeze ruffled what was left of my hair. Frost began forming on the metal fittings that held the railing in place. My breath misted the air in front of me, and each time I inhaled I felt the sharp sensation of cold air biting against freezing nose hair.
A ghost. I bet I even knew which ghost.
“Hello, Abby,” I said cheerfully. “Glad you could join me.” The overhead light blinked once.
The staircase opened into a large room. A long, polished bar and an accompanying string of the usual black vinyl stools ran most of the length of the interior wall. Most of the rest of the room was taken up by billiard tables of various vintages and sizes, spaced far enough apart to allow ease of play. I spotted an antique snooker table in one corner. A pair of lights hung above each table, casting clear light onto the green felt surfaces with no distracting shadows. There were seats and tables placed at intervals around the room so that spectators could watch and order food and drink.
The décor was pleasant and clean and included movie posters from films like The Color of Money and The Hustler along with large autographed photos of champion billiards players from various eras.
There weren’t a lot of customers at this time of day, only a couple of die-hard types who looked like they’d been here awhile, judging by the backlog of glasses and half-eaten sandwiches on a table near where they played. They ignored me, intent on what was probably a high-stakes game.
Jack Finn stood behind the bar, drying a glass with a white towel. Instead of the suit he’d worn when we met the last time, he wore jeans and a polo shirt that was the exact color of the table felt, with an embroidered eight-ball rack on the left breast. He looked younger than he had in the suit but still older than the twentysomething I knew he must be.
“You,” he said, his tone almost identical to the one Chris had used. If this kept up, I might develop a complex.
“Me.” I smiled sunnily. I might have shown just a wee bit of fang. The temperature in the room dropped precipitously.
“What do you want?” He set down the glass, moving ever so casually to his left, where I assumed a weapon was concealed under the counter.
“Don’t,” I told him. “I’m not holding a grudge right now. I’m here to give you some advice.”
“Yeah, right.” But he stopped moving.
The guys at the pool table had looked up and were watching us very closely. They hadn’t moved this way, but I made sure to keep them in my peripheral vision. I know from painful experience that billiard balls and cue sticks make nasty weapons.
Behind Jack’s back a few of the glasses started levitating … just a little. I hoped Abby would give me a chance to talk to Jack before she went all poltergeist, but she might not. After all, odds were good he’d had all sorts of things to do with her getting tortured to death. She was probably just itching for a bit of payback.
“I spoke to your dad in person yesterday. He’s planning on going ahead with the whole blood curse thing, even though he knows that the two of you both have Garza blood in the family tree.
“Bullshit.” His voice was cold, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Not agreement, precisely, but he was listening. The pool players had settled back into their game, but I could tell they were still watching and wary.
“If you don’t believe me, check. I’m sure you have a couple of bio samples left. Use your magic. Check her blood against yours. I think you’ll be unpleasantly surprised.”
I continued, “I don’t know how, but Connor plans to survive the curse. Maybe he’s let you in on the secret?”
Jack glared at me, murder in his eyes. If I wasn’t so intrepid—and if Abby hadn’t gotten all sorts of weapons ready—I might have been a little nervous.
“Apparently he hasn’t,” I said. “Look, you know what he’s doing. You know his plans. If you work with me, we can stop him.”
Jack leaned forward, planting both palms on the bar. His gaze locked with mine, cold, hard, and steady. When he spoke, he enunciated every word absolutely separately and with perfect clarity. “Get the fuck out of my bar.”
“If you say so.” I turned toward the exit. He went for his gun. Before I could react, a wall of cues flew up between the pool tables and the bar, cutting off reinforcements. Simultaneously, Abby began pummeling Jack Finn with glasses and bottles of alcohol, even going so far as to fling the knives he’d been using to slice limes at his chest.
I turned back to the door and kept walking, ignoring his swearing and grunts of pain.
A guy from the table called out, “Hey! You said you weren’t holding a grudge.”
“I’m not,” I answered without looking back. “The ghost is. Nothing I can do about that.”
It takes a serious amount of mojo for a ghost to manifest with that much power. I didn’t figure Abigail would be able to keep it up for long, so once I got to the stairs, I dropped the whole casual thing and hustled. I was starting the SUV when the first police car arrived; an ambulance passed me, heading toward the building as I pulled out of the parking lot.
Nobody stopped me. Hell, nobody even noticed me. All eyes were on the hubbub at the door to the pool hall. I pulled onto the street behind some guy in a subcompact and drove away with no muss, no fuss.
Well, Graves, that was next to useless. It was a shame, really, but then again, the plan hadn’t had a lot of promise to it to start with. After all, I already knew that Jack was a murderous thug. I should’ve known he wouldn’t be frightened by what I’d told him. Still, I’d hoped.
I called the hospital again, figuring that as long as I was already in town, I should see Isaac. Checking at the desk, I was told that he was allowed to have visitors. I then followed the cashier’s directions to room 320.
I tapped on the door and was rewarded by Gilda’s voice calling, “Come in.”
When I
stepped into the room, the first thing I saw was Isaac himself, sitting up in bed. He was pale and half his face was still swollen and black with bruises. His right arm was hooked up to an IV and various machines. But his left hand held Gilda’s.
She was looking great. She’d pulled herself together this morning and was radiant in an icy pink silk track suit that set off her coloring, and her trademark jewelry, platinum today. Best of all, though, was her smile. It lit up the room. That smile told me the doctors had given the two of them good news.
“Celia.” Gilda beamed at me. “I was going to call you, but the doctor was just here.”
Isaac spoke softly. “He says that, barring complications, I can expect a full recovery.”
“That’s wonderful!”
I saw him squeeze Gilda’s hand. They exchanged a look and she rose. “Celia, come sit. I’m feeling a little peckish. I’m going to head down to the cafeteria and get myself a snack. Would either of you like anything?” She bent down to pick up a handbag that was bigger than some carry-on luggage.
“I’d love a can of soda,” I admitted.
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Isaac said, “but close the door behind you?”
“Of course,” she agreed.
I took my place in the chair next to the bed. Before Isaac could speak, I asked him one of the questions that had been simmering in the back of my mind.
“Isaac, I’ve been wondering. The demon rift occurred at a prison. Now this thing with Finn—at the Needle, also a prison. Do you think they’re connected? I mean, two incidents aren’t exactly a pattern…”
“It’s definitely something that will need to be looked into.” He tried to smile when he spoke, but the half of his face that was bruised and swollen didn’t do it well. In fact, he winced a little from pain and I saw a drop of blood form where his lip split open again at the effort. “But that’s not what we need to discuss.”
“Isaac.” I took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Whatever it is can wait until you’re better.”
“No, Celia, it really can’t.” He seemed to steel himself, and I heard a small sigh escape his lips. “Isabella DeLuca came to visit me yesterday.”
Oh, hell.
“We discussed what needs to be done to restore the protections around the prison.” He sighed. “It will take the energy of the full moon, a mage for each point of the compass, and access to the node.”
Access to the node … I met Isaac’s eyes. The one that wasn’t swollen shut was infinitely sad and terribly weary. “Because of my injuries, I am not physically strong enough to do what is needed and the doctors won’t allow me out of the hospital at any rate.”
Neither would Gilda. Not a chance.
“So John Creede will take my spot on the south point. Isabella has performed node magic before and will take the north.”
Mama DeLuca had used node magic? Scary, but at the same time I wasn’t surprised. Then again, I’d had so many shocks in the last few days that I might have lost the ability to be surprised. Plus I was so damned tired, I just wanted to crawl in a hole and pull it closed behind me.
Isaac continued. “Isabella has had to choose strong mages with a powerful connection to cover the east and west. She will hold the spell together, so she will be protected by the others. But they would do that anyway.” He waited, letting the realization of what he meant kick in.
A strong connection to Isabella and Creede … Bruno … and Matty. The other two mages would be Bruno and Matty.
Tears blurred my vision. I was having a hard time breathing. I wanted to shout my denial, scream at the unfairness. But it wouldn’t do any good. They’d chosen this. I was as sure of it as I was of gravity. The fact that Bruno, Matteo, and Isabella were family would make the magic stronger. The fact that Bruno had shared his magic with John Creede, to give him back his abilities when he’d been drained nearly dry, connected the two of them, which further strengthened the foursome’s power. It made perfect sense. And any one of them would be willing to do whatever was necessary—even sacrifice his or her own life—if it would keep the horrors in that prison locked away from humanity.
They were heroes.
And one of them was going to die tomorrow.
“No.” It was a hoarse whisper, a visceral denial. Tears were pouring down my cheeks. I could barely breathe from the pain in my chest.
“Celia, it is going to happen. It must.” Isaac squeezed my hand.
“There has to be a death, but it doesn’t have to be one of them.” My voice was odd, thick with tears, but it was gaining strength.
“It has to be a mage, and the mage must be killed by magic. You are not a mage.”
He thought I was planning on sacrificing myself? I’m noble, but I’m not that noble. Although for one of them … but it wouldn’t be necessary. I had an idea that might actually work. “What about Connor Finn. What if he dies?”
“Celia…” His voice was stern. I knew just from the way he said my name that he thought I was talking about human sacrifice.
“I’m not thinking murder, Isaac,” I assured him.
“Then what?”
“Karma. Magical backlash. Finn plans to use a blood curse on Michelle tomorrow night.” I paused, then said, “If he can’t kill her—”
Isaac sat up a little straighter. “His own magic will double back on him.”
“And while he might have figured out a way to shield himself from the blood connection—”
“He can’t hide from his own magic.” Isaac’s smile was cold, hard, and just a little anticipatory. “It’s simple and elegant. But can you do it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
27
The drive back was much faster than the trip up had been. When I got home, I called Kevin to make sure he had his laptop. He did. So I used Skype to contact Michelle at the safe house.
“No. I won’t.”
I counted to ten, slowly, trying to keep my temper in check. I’d expected Michelle to jump at the only chance she had for surviving the death curse. Instead, she was balking.
“Why the hell not?”
“This isn’t a hospital. I am not going to have a major medical procedure in somebody’s living room. I won’t do it. Besides, how do you even know they’re going to try a death curse? You don’t. Not really. You’re just assuming they will.”
I stared at her image on the screen. She was still very pale, but her jaw thrust out stubbornly, and her eyes were flashing.
“You saw what happened at the hospital. If we hadn’t gotten you out of there ahead of time, they’d have captured or killed you.”
She flinched. “Yes.”
“We’re doing our very best to protect you.”
“I know. And I appreciate it. But—”
“But what?” I didn’t shout. I very carefully did not shout. But she flinched anyway.
“Michelle,” I heard Kevin’s voice come from off screen. She turned, looking off to the left. “You have to trust us. This is what we do. If Celia says they’ll try it, they will. And I know the doctors Celia’s hired. They’re the best in the business. They’ll take good care of you.”
“You’re sure?” Now that Kevin was talking to her, she was wavering. Irritating, but useful. Maybe it was that he was male. Or maybe it was just that she’d spent more time with him. Whatever the reason, I was grateful.
“I trust Celia absolutely.” He said it without any hesitation. “She’s saved my life before.”
“If you’re sure.” She turned back to the screen. “I guess I’ll do it.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
I ended the session mentally and emotionally exhausted. Not good. So I took a hot bath, drank some comfort food, fed Minnie, and tried to rest for a couple of hours. Chris would be calling sometime soon with prices and details regarding delivery of the equipment and supplies necessary to make Michelle not “herself,” at least for a while. I needed to be ready when he did. A nap wasn’t a lot of recovery consid
ering the kind of life I’d been living lately, but it was better than nothing.
I really wanted to sleep, but unfortunately, my mind kept racing—and running into dead ends, like a rat in a maze. I was missing something obvious. I knew it. I just couldn’t see it. I tossed and turned so much that the cat jumped off of the bed in disgust. I gave up the attempt after a half hour. Instead, I covered myself with sunscreen, put on my favorite jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed the beach umbrella, and went out to sit on my rock and stare at the ocean.
I was still sitting there when Emma stopped by on her way home from work. She stood on the deck and called my name. When I looked over, she waved at me with the hand that was holding a pair of wineglasses. A bottle of wine dangled from her other hand.
I waved back, beckoning her. Soon she was picking her way across the rocks and damp sand to where I was sitting.
I scooted a bit to one side, making room for her. She handed me the glasses and bottle, then sat.
“Inez buzzed me in.” Emma answered the question I’d been about to ask. Inez and her husband live in the main house. They’re dear friends and have known Emma for years, so they’d be comfortable buzzing her through.
“Cool. So, what’s up?”
“I need to talk. And I need a drink—maybe several.”
“Hope you thought to bring a corkscrew.”
“Here.” She pulled it out of her pocket and passed it over. “By the way, love the hair. I wouldn’t have thought of that look for you, but it works.”
“Thanks.” My smile was more sincere this time. I reached over to pick up the wine. “Dawna’s sister did it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“Very cool. And hey, you’ve got eyebrows and lashes again.”
“Thank God. I looked seriously creepy for a while there. I had no idea that eyebrows were so important.” I peeled off the foil cork cover and set to work opening the bottle. I was thirsty. Besides, this was one of my favorite wines, a very special vintage that John Creede had been part of developing. It tasted different—fantastic, but different—to each person who drank it. It became the wine best suited to each drinker’s taste.