All Your Wishes

by Cat Adams

  We were too late for the lunch crowd and too early for dinner, so we had the place to ourselves except for the staff. Since solids are a problem for me, Rahim and I split a pair of French dip sandwiches. He got the sandwiches, and I got the dip, along with a large Pepsi and a chocolate shake. I lusted after his curly fries, because they smelled absolutely awesome, but didn’t even bother trying to eat one. It is no fun having food get stuck in your esophagus.

  Sitting in our little yellow and orange plastic booth, I drank my shake and sipped au jus from the little white plastic cup you’re supposed to dip your sandwich in, all the while trying to pry more detailed information from the client.

  “Okay, say we go. You and your grandfather do your thing. Then what?”

  “If the spells succeed, we will be able to trap Hasan in Florida, and this will all be over.”

  “If you fail?”

  “It should work.” Rahim sounded supremely confident. His body language, however, was less certain. Still, he plowed on, his voice firm. “At the very least, the spells will give me a link to Hasan and let me determine his location. In his current state, he will not be able to resist my spell binding him to his jar if I am physically in his presence.”

  I was persistent. “But if the spell doesn’t work?”

  He glared at me, dark eyes flashing. “I am the Guardian.”

  I didn’t say a word, just stared, willing him to be forthcoming. Eventually, and with ill grace, he continued.

  “Being the Guardian gives me access to certain … reserves of strength and magical power I can call upon in an emergency. I have access to enough power that trapping Hasan should be well within my capabilities.”

  “Even with the bad guys running interference?”

  “Even so.”

  I didn’t believe him, not after what I’d seen with my own eyes at the casting circle in my parking lot. Granted, his enemies had caught him by surprise. Next time he’d be prepared. But I didn’t like it. Not one itty bitty bit.

  Rahim could tell I was skeptical and that pissed him off, which put paid to my getting any additional information from him—and to any other topic of conversation, for that matter. We ate in record time, in less than amicable silence, and shared an equally quiet trudge back to the jet, where he repeated every step of the preflight inspection that he’d performed before we left California.

  I probably should’ve been reassured when he found nothing wrong and we took off without incident. Instead, I got even more tense. The bad guys weren’t stupid. They were bound to make a move. If they didn’t strike at Midland, then Treasure Island was a safe bet. So I decided to rest up, and dozed for several hours. We were in Florida air space when we hit heavy turbulence. I bounced around in my seat despite the seat belt and had to swallow hard to keep the food I’d eaten from making a second appearance.

  It was only spitting rain in Tampa, but there were heavy gusts of wind, which would make a smooth landing impossible for even the best pilot. Rahim brought us down safely and while I did not kiss the ground upon leaving the plane, I really did think about it. Rahim smirked about that.

  Despite the rain, I made sure to slather myself with sunscreen before climbing down from the plane to check the area. Once that was done, Rahim passed our luggage down before joining me on the tarmac. He folded up the retracting steps, retriggered the latent security spells, and locked the plane in the private hangar he’d rented, while the wind drove the sprinkling of rain so hard that the drops stung as they struck my skin. I could smell the ocean in the distance, even over the scents of oil and gasoline, but didn’t see any gulls dotting the leaden skies. Usually, if I was anywhere near the sea, I quickly accumulated a seagull or two, thanks to my siren heritage. Then again, they might have gone to ground due to the heavy winds.

  Rahim was carrying a large-ish black duffel and his doctor’s bag. I had a weapons bag and a pale blue, wheeled carry-on that had seen better days. It held toiletries, changes of underwear, a couple of fresh blouses, and a couple of pairs of pants. I’d packed a lot of sunscreen. Still, the weapons that really mattered to me were on my person: My guns, and more importantly, my knives.

  Thinking of the knives reminded me of the man who made them. Even though we’d broken up after college, he’d sliced himself every day for five years, shedding blood and working magic, to create weapons that qualified as major magical artifacts. He did that because a clairvoyant had told him they would save my life. They were my most prized possessions and were capable of incredible things. Just a scratch from one of those knives could kill most magical creatures.

  Bruno had put so much of himself into those knives that they were practically a part of him. He could sense when they needed a recharge without even looking at them.

  The blades were beautiful and dangerous—just like the man.

  I missed him. I was worried about him. A big part of me wished I’d insisted on going to New Jersey along with him. If I had, I’d know how he was taking things and I wouldn’t be here, dealing with a case that was an obvious hairball. But when I’d offered, he’d turned me down. If I was being really honest with myself, I’d admit that had hurt more than a little. We were engaged, weren’t we? No, I wasn’t wearing a ring, but we’d been seriously talking marriage for a while now. Didn’t that count? Didn’t it make me part of the family?

  I thought again about calling him. Of course, if he was at the hospital he’d have shut off his phone. And I didn’t want to talk to his voice mail if I didn’t have to.

  Oh, hell. I hoped he was okay. Well, as okay as he could be, under the circumstances.

  Life is awfully hard sometimes.

  I closed my eyes, taking a second to send my thoughts in his direction. My grandfather had siren bloodlines and my great-aunt Lopaka was their high queen. I inherited not only my looks, but the siren “call,” a type of telepathic ability. I’m not good at it, but I’ve been practicing, and my cousin gave me a ring that has given me better strength and range.

  As I expected, he was at the hospital, at his mother’s bedside, sitting vigil along with Matty and most of their other brothers. I carefully pulled my mind from his without interrupting.

  So voice mail it was. I whipped out my cell phone, waited for the beep, and said, “Hi. It’s me. I wound up taking a job and am going to be out of town for a few days. I’ll try to stay in touch. Tell the family ‘hi’ for me. Love you. Call when you get a chance and let me know how your mom’s doing, okay?”

  It was kind of a lame message, but I didn’t really know what to say. I was worried about him and his mom. I was even more worried about our relationship. I couldn’t really apologize—I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong. Then again, neither did he. I just wished … oh, hell, I wasn’t sure what I wished. But it would have been good to talk to him, just to hear his voice. Corny as that sounds, it was the truth. But I knew I really didn’t have time to chat—that might get me, or my client, killed.

  I slid my phone back into my jacket pocket as Rahim, finished sealing the plane away, came up beside me. Hefting his duffel onto one shoulder, he took his magical bag in the other hand and led me toward the office. I stayed about half a pace behind, keeping my eyes open, checking out the surroundings, looking for anything or anyone that seemed out of place. There was nothing unusual going on. The private plane area wasn’t heavily populated at the moment and everybody seemed to be busy going about mundane business. Still, I kept an eye out as we passed through the automatic doors and into the building.

  At the desk, Rahim filed his paperwork, then pulled a credit card out of his wallet to pay. I debated telling him to use cash. Credit cards are so easy to trace. But what was the point? We’d logged a flight plan and we were visiting a man the villains would be expecting us to see.

  Ever since 9/11 and the big threat of terrorism, it’s hard for a law-abiding person to go anywhere or do anything without leaving tracks. I suppose that makes life harder for the crooks, too, but I’ve never been sure it�
��s worth the loss of civil liberties to the rest of us.

  “What are you thinking?” Rahim asked.

  “Nothing important.” I replied. For a second I thought he’d argue with me, demand that I answer. I was getting the impression he was way too used to getting his own way. Unfortunately, that’s not an uncommon situation among the type of folks who wind up needing my services. I gave him the polite, shiny, and utterly meaningless smile I use to settle clients down. As a result, while he compressed his lips in displeasure, he didn’t argue, silently taking his receipt from the attendant before leading me out a different set of doors.

  The rain had stopped, which was nice. But the wind was still gusty, tugging at my jacket, pulling it open. I didn’t want to flash my weapons at every passerby, so I took a moment to button up, reminding myself that it would cost me an extra couple of seconds on the draw.

  My client seemed to have spotted his ride and was striding purposefully toward the passenger pickup area. Looking ahead, I saw a man waiting there who looked much like Rahim would should he be lucky enough to live another fifty or so years. The older man’s hair had gone silver; his skin was leathered and worn with time. Wearing jeans and a lightweight canvas windbreaker, he stood next to a huge vintage Cadillac, a classic metal behemoth, complete with tail fins.

  “Is that your grandfather?”

  Rahim grinned, the expression taking a dozen years off his face. “Yes, it is.” He waved vigorously and the old man responded in kind.

  I sighed inwardly. That car might as well have had concentric circles painted on it. Fire-engine red, with tail fins and an abundance of polished chrome, it was beautiful, unique, and noticeable. No doubt it was properly registered, with the address of our destination listed in the DMV database. Damn it anyway.

  “You’re unhappy.” Rahim spoke very softly, keeping a smile on his face as we strolled toward our ride.

  “Even if they didn’t anticipate us coming, it wouldn’t take much to trace your plane from California to here, and the first thing they’ll do is look at your relatives. Bad enough we’re here. That car—”

  “It’s his pride and joy,” Rahim hissed. “It will be fine.”

  I didn’t believe that for a minute, and I was fairly sure he didn’t either. Rahim could—possibly—afford to be more worried about the old man’s feelings than his own safety. I couldn’t.

  “Trust me. The protections on the car are stellar.” He was trying to reassure me, which was nice, but I wasn’t buying it. I could accept that he needed to meet with the old man. I would have preferred we do it somewhere neutral and discreet. This was neither. Still, like it or not, we were doing this. Better to get it done with as quickly and cleanly as possible. And then Rahim and I were going to have a long, serious talk about listening to me, planning ahead, and taking appropriate precautions. Judging from what I’d seen so far, he wouldn’t like it. He didn’t have to. He just had to do it.

  I very deliberately moved ahead of Rahim, greeting his grandfather with a smile and a handshake, using the hand I’d discreetly sprayed with holy water from one of the One-Shot water pistols tucked into my jacket. If he was the real grandpa, he might be offended by a soggy shake—but if this was a demon spawn, wearing Grandpa Patel as a disguise, the holy water would give it away.

  Grandpa passed the test, eyes widening, then narrowing as he dried his hand on his pant leg. He muttered something under his breath in a language I didn’t recognize. I didn’t think it was Hindi, but I wasn’t linguist enough to guess what it might be.

  “Grandfather, you know she had to check. It is her job, after all.” Rahim’s voice was calm as he embraced the older man, but the look he gave me over his grandfather’s shoulder was less than friendly.

  When he stepped back, he said, “Grandfather, this is my bodyguard, Celia Graves. Celia, this is my grandfather, Pradeep Patel.”

  I smiled. Pradeep didn’t. He looked at me shrewdly and said, “You don’t like my car.”

  “It’s a very beautiful car,” I countered, my tone professional and calm. “But it is also very noticeable, and probably properly registered to you. Rahim’s enemies will be keeping an eye on you, since you are family and also an expert in matters related to the djinn,” I continued. “I had a very noticeable car once. My enemies used it to find me. Despite my having the best protections available, they captured and tortured me.”

  Rahim winced. His grandfather didn’t. There was a long moment of silence as the arrogant old man tried to stare me down. Finally, he said, “If you are right about this, I will eat my hat.” Such an old-fashioned expression could have been funny, but wasn’t—his words were precise, his tone crisp and bitter.

  Rahim opened his mouth to say something, but I waved him to silence.

  I counted to ten, biting my tongue until it bled so that I wouldn’t say any of the snarktastic things that sprang to mind. When I had control of myself, I said, “Sir, I am not a seer. I don’t know what will happen. I have to plan for what could. My job is to advise your grandson of risks as well as protect him from them.”

  He made a disgruntled hmpf sound, then grabbed my bags and put them in the trunk. Rahim joined him to stow his own bags. I stepped back until I had a better angle … and watched the two of them have a brief, discreet argument about me before getting into the car.

  Rahim took the backseat, which left me riding next to Gramps. Oh freaking goody. I kept my expression neutral and reached for the door handle. The instant my fingers touched the metal, I got a jolt of pure magic like a hot icepick rammed through my hand.

  Wow, the car really had stellar protections. Ow.

  I didn’t gasp, or swear, but it wasn’t easy to just climb in and act like that hadn’t hurt, and part of me was really annoyed at Grandpa Pradeep’s smirk: annoyed enough that I began to notice the pulse point at the base of his neck, just a thin bit of skin, stretched tight over the arteries that held warm, salty blood.

  Shit. “I need to eat. Now. Where’s the nearest grocery?” I tore my gaze away from the old man’s neck, resolutely looking out through the windshield. My jaw was clamped shut so tight that my words sounded odd.

  The old man stared at me for a long moment. When he spoke, there was none of the previous hostility in his tone. “I can get you there in ten minutes. Will that be fast enough?”

  “Do it.” Rahim said, adding “please” as an afterthought.

  Just as well. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to talk.

  8

  I was hungry enough to be blood-lusting. It had only been a bit over four hours since my last meal, but I had screwed up my mental calculations. I hadn’t taken the time change into account. We’d headed east and I’d lost two hours in the air. That put us close to sundown.

  Worse, I’d used my vamp powers for healing earlier in the day, and hitting the wards on Pradeep’s car had pushed at my inner bat. Damn it. I should have anticipated at least some of all that. I felt stupid, embarrassed, and more than a little angry at myself. I was also unhappy with Grandpa Pradeep. Those protections of his had given the bat inside me a big shove and it wanted so badly to shove back. Still, I knew I could control myself long enough to get some food, provided it didn’t take much longer than Pradeep’s promised ten minutes.

  The tension in the vehicle was palpable. We rode in silence.

  We’d been driving for four or five minutes and had made it onto Central Avenue, the Treasure Island Causeway, when I spotted them. They were very good, or I’d have caught sight of them sooner. There were three cars, working a tight pattern.

  “We have a tail. It’s a three-car team: the navy Buick, the silver Taurus, and the black SUV.” I concentrated as I spoke, focusing to bring my vampire abilities to the fore. It was easy—too easy. My vision shifted, becoming more acute; I was able to see clearly into the blue sedan even though it was in the far lane and one car ahead. The rain had slowed to a mist, but the wind was heavy enough that I could hear it whistling around the car; it was keeping
the mist from obscuring visibility.

  The woman in the sedan’s passenger seat wasn’t pretty, but she was striking. More to the point, she held herself like an athlete or a fighter, and while I couldn’t see most of the bulk of her body, I noticed where her jacket bulged under her seatbelt, probably bending around a weapon. Her dark hair was pulled back from a sharp-featured face with alert, hazel eyes. She was looking at us; a flicker of frustrated annoyance played across her features before she turned to say something to the driver.

  “Are you sure?” Rahim’s voice, behind me, was tense. He leaned forward, putting his head between his grandfather’s and mine.

  “Yes.”

  “I haven’t noticed anything.” Pradeep wasn’t exactly arguing, more reserving judgment.

  The cars were closing in. “We need to get off this road before we’re forced onto the bridge.”

  There wasn’t a lot of time to react. People were driving carefully on the wet roads. Traffic was heavy and we were in the left lane. There was a little grass island to our left, but it was filled with trees and street lamps placed at just the wrong intervals. Even if Pradeep jumped the curb, he wouldn’t be able to run that obstacle course in this boat of a car. That meant turning right. The next section of Causeway Bridge was in sight, two blocks ahead.

  Pradeep began to swear as the trio of vehicles closed in. I couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable. I guessed he believed me now. Our enemies knew they’d been spotted, so all pretense was gone. They were trying to surround us.

  The older Patel hauled the big old Caddy into a hard right, forcing an opening, to the accompaniment of slamming brakes and blaring horns. Braking hard, Pradeep tried to cut onto the 80th Street exit, but the SUV beat us to the punch, positing itself diagonally across the lanes.