He leaned forward and tucked his hands crossed at the wrists between his knees. “I see what being involved with the case is doing to you. The physical and mental pain it’s causing. Let me give you the power to build a bit of a shell around yourself to help filter out the emotions bombarding you.”
My eyes widened. My throat went dry. A wall to stop the assault of other people’s emotions. It was like an answer to a prayer.
No, not a wall. A shell. A filter. That was fine; I’d take anything that would help me live in the world even a tiny bit more like a normal person.
“How does it work?” I said. “How does the shell get built?”
He pulled his hands from between his knees and turned them palms up. “I don’t know. I know it can be done though. You’ll have to figure out how to make it work yourself.”
That was a lot of help. But I was smart. I could dream up a way.
“But it can be done?” I said. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “My mentor has a psychic niece. He gave her the magic and she built herself a protective net to catch random emotions and filter them out. I know it can work.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, then steepled my hands in front of my mouth and exhaled a breath.
“So?” he said.
Did he even have to ask? Wasn’t it obvious what my answer would be?
“Yeah,” I said.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“Now is fine,” I said, and braced myself for what I knew I’d feel after and would have to fight down. I wanted that shell. That filter. That net.
Diego slid over next to me on the sofa, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close so that my head rested on his chest. I heard his heart beating in a slow and steady rhythm. He tightened his hold, his hands flat against my back. He breathed into my face and I felt his magic pour into me, like being filled with liquid light. Light that drove thought from my mind. That drove out doubt and fear. Light that brought peace and surety. And power. Power like I’d never known existed. Power to do anything.
He held me a long time, long after the sense of being filled had passed and I felt his magic and power surging within me, finding its new home.
It was weird to feel so peaceful while power roiled inside me and magic crackled in the air.
“Diego,” I said.
“Hmmm?”
His voice was languid. I wondered if the giver felt that afterglow connection the same way the receiver did.
If he did, if I asked him now to kiss me . . .
If I gave in to how deeply I craved feeling his lips on mine, our bodies entwined . . .
This wasn’t the afterglow I’d expected. This was full-on, right-now lust.
I brought my hands up and pushed myself away from him.
“I think it worked,” I said, scooting away, and coming to my feet.
His eyes were hooded. He nodded.
“This might sound crazy,” I said, “but I really need to get out of the house for a while. I feel like I could run all the way to San Diego. I think I need to get out and run.”
He drew in a breath and sat up straight. His eyes cleared.
“I’m not sure I’m up for a long jaunt at the moment. How about we stay here, and I teach you a spell to repel anyone who tries to grab you?”
“That could be useful,” I said.
My God. The energy. The power.
The lust.
“It’s a good spell and doesn’t need any talismans or elixirs, just words,” he said. “How good are you at memorization?”
“I took drama in high school. I was good at learning my lines.”
How was I going to figure out how to build this shell/filter/net thingy? Maybe Diego would introduce me to the niece. She could tell me how she did it.
Damn, I wanted to kiss him. And more.
* * *
Sunlight poured through the ceiling window. From the guest room across the hall, I heard Diego’s voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying. I presumed he was on the phone with someone.
The clock on my bedside table read seven a.m. I rubbed some sleep from my eyes and rolled out of bed. The morning promised one of those warm October days that made you glad to live in California. In celebration, I pulled on a pair of white denim shorts and a green T-shirt—then remembered there was a base-shifter outside, and there’d be no strolling on the sand.
I pushed my hand through my hair. No damn base-shifter was going to ruin the morning. The magic Diego had given me last night still thrummed through my body, vibrating with strength and energy, my skin barely able to contain it. He’d only given me a little push, a tiny bit of the magic in him. What did it feel like inside his skin, to be stuffed full with this power all the time?
I padded across the landing and knocked on the guest room door.
“Are you up?” I said, though I knew he was.
Diego pulled the door open. He must have woken a while ago and already showered, judging by his still slightly wet hair. He wore jeans and a blue T-shirt. His feet were bare. The scraggle along his jaw line said he’d showered but hadn’t trimmed his beard back into submission yet. It was a nice look on him.
“I have something I need to do for Juliana,” he said. “I can put up another no-trespass ward if you like, or you could come with. It won’t take long.”
“I’ll come.” The morning was too lovely to be stuck in the house. “Give me a minute to brush my teeth and get my shoes on. I’ll meet you in the foyer.”
At the door, I watch Diego take down the ward that had protected us through the night.
Once we were on the porch, Diego started to put the ward up again, but I touched his arm and said, “Can I try?”
He’d taught me the protective ward spell last night after I’d learned the repulsion spell. I’d lain in bed, unable to get to sleep for quite a while, and practiced the words. I was pretty sure I had both spells right.
“Go ahead,” he said.
I coughed to cover my sudden nervousness. Why I’d asked to do this was beyond me, especially since the words had suddenly fallen completely out of my head.
So, I cheated. I pried into Diego’s mind just enough to get the spell and put the ward up.
“I’d congratulate you on a good job,” he said, “but I think you had a bit of help.”
I shrugged an admission. “You can feel me poking around, can’t you?”
He nodded. “It’s like a little tickle inside my skull.”
I squared my shoulders. “Take it down again and I’ll put the ward up without any help from you.”
He shook his head slightly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Oona.”
I felt my cheeks warm. I couldn’t help myself, I poked around in his mind just a little more and smiled.
He swiped at the side of his head as if shooing away a fly.
Okay,” he said. “So, now you know.”
Yep, I knew. I didn’t have to prove anything because he was already impressed with me.
He turned and started down the porch steps.
“Hey,” I said. “I’ll stay out of your mind from now on.”
“I’d appreciate that,” he said, turning back toward me. “People deserve their privacy.”
* * *
The leather seats in his car were warm from the sun. I sank into them and listened to the music playing softly on the radio—classic rock, from our parents’ and grandparents’ day: “Hotel California,” “Hungry Like the Wolf,” “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
I’d settled in, tapping my foot in time to the beat, thinking it was a nice day for a drive, when the back of my neck prickled, and my hands began to itch.
“Stop the car,” I said.
Diego kept his eyes on the road. “Why?”
My chest felt tight. “Just stop the car. Now.”
His lips pulled in a taut line, but a hole immediately opened in the traffic and he guided the car into the parking lot at the Manhattan Beach mall.
I didn’t wait until the Audi was completely stopped before I jumped out.
Diego was out and beside me in seconds.
“What’s going on?” he said.
I flitted my gaze left and right. “He’s here. Somewhere nearby.” I pulled my gaze to him. “Remember I told you I had the killer’s signature and I’d know it if I felt it again? He’s here.”
I caught it again, like a scent on the breeze, and stalked off toward the stores to follow it.
Diego caught my arm. “Don’t be crazy. If he is nearby, you can’t just go chasing after him.”
I pulled my arm free of his hold. “We can. The two of us.”
He didn’t look happy. “How close is he?”
I cast my senses out, feeling for the killer, but I’d lost the signature.
“He’s gone now.” I slumped a little, disappointed in myself. “He was probably in a car and drove on by. I shouldn’t have had you pull over.”
“Do you know for sure he was in a car?”
I shook my head. “He was close and now he’s not. That’s the best reason for that to happen that I can come up with.”
“You’re sure he’s not around here now?”
“No. Definitely gone.”
“Then let’s get back in the car and finish what we started to do.”
Diego opened the passenger-side door and held it for me, then walked around and slid in behind the wheel.
“The killer was nearby,” I said firmly.
He started the engine. “I believe you.”
I sat in silence a bit, feeling stupid and berating myself. I was tempted to peek into Diego’s thoughts and see if he really did believe me but resisted. He was right—people deserved their privacy. I was going to have to take him at his word.
“Where are we headed?” I said, making my voice light in the hope that my mood would follow its lead.
“To see a friend who has some information for Juliana.”
I cleared my throat. “But where are we going?”
Diego pulled onto the freeway and did that thing again that made traffic open up for us.
“Disneyland,” he said.
“Mickey has some info?”
“Not into the park, actually,” he said. “But close by. One of the parking lots.”
“Ah,” I said. “The lot attendant?”
Diego shot me a quick, exasperated look.
“I should stop asking questions?” I said.
“Let it be a surprise,” he said and leaned forward to change the channel on the radio.
I resisted the urge to comment on his new choice of music—headbanger metal—and sat back trying not to think about sensing the killer’s signature and losing it like that. I didn’t know what I could have done differently. I’d felt the signature, knew it was close, but didn’t have any sense whether the killer was in a car or walking, or what direction he was moving. If I couldn’t figure out a way to home in on it more, I might as well not feel the signature at all.
Diego pulled off the freeway and we followed the signs to parking for the Disneyland Hotel. We passed a number of open parking spots as he drove to the very back of the lot and parked next to a strip of well-manicured greenery. He glanced at his watch and got out.
I wasn’t sure if I should go with him or stay in the car, so I sat.
“You coming?” he said.
I slid out of my seat and joined him as he walked toward the greenery. Something moved among the well-tended flowers so perfect they almost didn’t look real—tall red tulips in bloom out of season—a flash of gray among the green stems and leaves.
A large opossum stepped out onto the asphalt. The air shimmered and a very good-looking man who I guessed to be maybe twenty stood where the possum had been.
Diego and the man embraced and exchanged a bit of greeting. I stood there, my mouth a little agape, but neither of them seemed to notice. Diego didn’t introduce us.
The man reached behind into a back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a large manila envelope that was much too big to have fit there. He handed the envelope to Diego.
“Thanks,” he said.
The other man nodded, the air shimmered again, and the man was gone.
I waited until we were back on the freeway and headed north again before I said, “What was all that?”
“Kingston?” Diego said. “He’s a fairy and a shifter. A lot of fairy-men are shifters but for some reason instead of being wolf, bear, or whatever big beastie, they seem to choose smaller animals for their alternate form.”
“Okay,” was all I could say. I’d known human shifters and though I’d never met a fairy before I didn’t discount their existence. If there were fairies, it wasn’t a far stretch to believe there were fairy-shifters just as there were human ones. And if the fairy wanted to be an opossum, who was I to judge?
As to how an opossum carried around that large envelope or how the fairy fit it into the small back pocket of his Levis—I guessed that would stay a mystery to be solved another day.
“Did he give you what you needed?” I said.
“It’s for Juliana,” he said. “I have no idea what’s in the envelope.”
“Because she’s the boss?”
“Because everyone at Danyon and Peet minds their own business unless asked to be involved.”
I nodded, taking that in. Every company, like every team, has its own culture. I was still figuring out how things were at Danyon and Peet. Being a private person myself, knowing that no one there would get all up in my business made me happy.
Diego, I guessed, was the exception to the don’t-stick-your-nose-where-it’s-not-wanted rule, given that he’d jumped all over making sure I wasn’t alone and unguarded. Not that I’d minded all that much, so far. I could see, though, that the ‘woman in jeopardy/knight protector’ thing could get old really fast.
10
“Where does Juliana live?” I asked as we drove north on the 405 freeway.
“Holmby Hills. Mapleton Drive,” he said, and let it lay there.
I would have whistled, but that seemed a little rude. Mapleton Drive didn’t even have homes that sold for less than nine million dollars, and those were probably teardowns. The Spelling mansion, known as The Manor, was on that street—once, and maybe still, the most expensive estate in the country.
“She doesn’t believe in your magic,” I said.
I was pretty sure Diego already knew that, but it had struck—and bothered—me when I’d met her.
He grinned. “She doesn’t believe but she does, if you know what I mean. Her rational, surface mind says magic doesn’t exist, but deep down she knows all about me, and now about you. She knows that things happen in the unseen world and that sometimes they spill over into the ordinary world and wind up at the door of Danyon and Peet, but she’d rather pretend everything had a rational explanation.”
I knew exactly what he meant. I’d experienced the same sort of thing with friends and non-magical family. One part of them dismissed magic or psychic ability out of hand. Another part couldn’t deny things they’d witnessed that couldn’t be explained away. It must be confusing for them and easier to develop a sort of convenient blindness than contemplate what real magic in the world might mean. We humans had amazing capacities to believe what we wanted even when all the facts said otherwise.
“What would you tell Juliana if she asked where you got whatever is in the envelope?”
“The truth,” he said. “I always tell her the truth. She chooses to believe instead that I’m brilliant and resourceful.” He flipped on the car’s blinker. “She’s half right.”
“Which half?”
The traffic opened up and we pulled off the freeway at Sunset Boulevard. “I am exceedingly resourceful.”
I chuckled under my breath.
“What about Mr. Danyon? Does he believe you’re a wizard?”
“Tyron is, uh, more willing to suspend disbelief.”
“Does he believe you abou
t my psychic abilities?”
Diego nodded. “Psychic abilities seem not only possible but plausible to both Tyron and Juliana. Much more than pure magic. It’s funny, because we take cases that involve the supernatural or people in the magic community; we’re known for it. Juliana and Tyron manage to convince themselves there’s nothing unusual going on when clients come in with problems that turn out to be a ghost, or poltergeists, theft by gnomes—whatever.”
We wended our way east, up into the hills. Most houses in the area were behind high privacy-inducing hedges and tall, old growth trees. All the greenery and the hidden houses made the neighborhood almost country-like. The ultra-wealthy liked their surroundings pretty. I was more than happy to enjoy it too.
Juliana’s house, more an estate really, was set far back from the road. Only a small corner was visible when we stopped, and Diego punched in the code to make the black iron gates part so we could drive in.
“Who else lives here?” I said as the giant home came into better view. The two-story house was done in a French Château style, white with gray trim, with small balconies in front of the upstairs bedroom windows, and a tall chimney at either end. The grounds were as well kept and tastefully done as the house, with yew hedges and a row of tall, thin Cypress lining the circular driveway.
“She has a cook and housekeeper who live in,” Diego said.
“No family?”
“She says she’s too busy for a family or even a love life,” he said. “She thinks she’s fooling people. She’s been off and on with a musician who lives in Venice for as long as I’ve known her. He’s fairly famous. I think she tells herself she’s keeping the relationship secret for his sake, but the truth is that Juliana likes to project this aura of married-to-the-job-and-you-should-be-too.” He shook his head. “Stupid way to live.”
He stopped the car in front of a set of tall double doors painted a deep dark red.
“Do you want to go in and see the place? Otherwise I’ll just drop the envelope and we’ll go.”
Curiosity urged me to join him at the door to at least get a peek inside. I would have liked a full house tour, I loved seeing how people lived, but didn’t think I much wanted to put up with Juliana’s attitudes at the moment.
Ice Cold Death Page 7