All Your Wishes

by Cat Adams

  The Buick was right beside us on the left with its passenger-side window down. I shoved Rahim back behind the seat and down with my left hand as I fought the damned button of my jacket with my right, trying to draw my Colt.

  Pradeep was no fool. He ducked, out of my line of fire, keeping his head only high enough to peek through the gap between the steering wheel and dash as he shouted, “No, don’t! The protections will keep the bullet inside the car.”

  Well, hell. I put the gun back in its holster as the woman in the next car pulled a … paintball gun? What the hell was she doing?

  I didn’t have to wonder long. She fired three times in rapid succession—shots that splattered olive-green goo all over the windshield and the driver’s side window, effectively blinding us to the road ahead.

  I felt, not a surge of power, but a sucking sensation. The goo was eating the protections from the car. I wasn’t the only one who realized what was happening. In the backseat, Rahim began swearing in a combination of English and something else.

  Pradeep hit some buttons and switches, but the windshield wipers and washer fluid only smeared the green stuff around. The old man was effectively driving blind and he wasn’t very good at it. The big car crunched into something with a screech of metal on metal and slewed right, bumping up onto the sidewalk.

  Shots rang out over the sound of a loud clanging. I pulled a stake from its loop in my jacket, jammed it through the safety glass of the windshield in front of Pradeep, and yanked it sideways. The resulting tear wasn’t large, but it let in daylight and gave the old man a peephole to see through. He hit the gas, racing up the sidewalk as bullets flew through the car.

  No one was hit—the enemy was shooting blind. But our luck wouldn’t hold forever. She kept shooting as water blurred past the bridge railing we were nearly scraping. Behind us the SUV had rejoined the chase and was gaining speed, working to get an angle. I knew the tactic. He planned to bump us, forcing us through the railing and into the water. Not that I could do a damned thing about it. I couldn’t even shoot at them—the protection on the back windows was just fine.

  “The SUV!” I shouted in warning as I dropped the stake and drew my gun again. I didn’t dare shoot through the passenger-side window—there were noncombatants out there. But I had to do something.

  “I know,” Pradeep growled as the bigger vehicle slammed into our left rear bumper. He fought for control as the Caddy’s front bumper screamed in protest as it scraped against the metal guardrail.

  “Screw it!” I shouted to no one in particular. Rolling down my window, I climbed out until I was sitting on the windowsill, gun in hand, and began firing at our enemies. I managed to hit the driver of the SUV before I was jarred by a heavy thump that made me grab onto the Caddy’s roof for balance, my body swaying high above open water. There was another huge crash. Red and white chunks of wood and fiberglass flew past, some slamming into my back and shoulders. I risked a glance backward, eyes widening in horror.

  The drawbridge was up. We’d just slammed through the railing and were headed for open air.

  9

  I was screaming a warning as I slid back into the car. Not that it did any good. Pradeep slammed his foot on the accelerator until it was flat to the floor. The engine gave a throaty roar, like some huge, angry beast, and leapt forward, climbing the increasingly steep incline without slowing at all.

  The wheels left the pavement and we were airborne, my stomach sinking to my feet as I clung frantically to the dashboard with the hand not holding a gun, screaming in terror. And then we just … stopped. The car was floating in midair, high above the open drawbridge. Pradeep was grinning as he took his foot from the accelerator, slammed the gearshift into park, and turned off the engine.

  I couldn’t help myself. Leaning out the window, I looked down. A large boat was navigating the passage directly beneath us. I could see cop cars converging on the bridge, where the SUV and the Buick sat abandoned. The bad guys were fleeing on foot to join the driver of the silver Taurus. By the time the cops got here through traffic they’d be long gone.

  That was the first bit of bad news.

  I got the second bit when I slid back into my seat. Pradeep was explaining things to Rahim.

  “I knew about the levitation spells they have in place on the bridge. We will be stuck here for a couple of hours and I will have to pay a heavy fine—ten thousand dollars—but it is worth it. We are alive.”

  A couple of hours. With no food and me all vampity from adrenaline.

  Could this day get any better?

  I opened my mouth to ask what would happen if I got out of the car, but was interrupted by the simultaneous ringing of three cell phones and the noisy arrival of the 10News Chopper.

  I slid lower in my seat. We were on the news. Of course we were. After all, we’d been involved in a public shootout and were trapped floating above a drawbridge. At this point we were probably the hit of YouTube.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket. It was Bruno. I flipped it open, answering the call just as Pradeep and Rahim did the same. “Hi.”

  “What the fuck? You’re in Florida? Floating above a bridge?” He wasn’t exactly shouting, but it was close.

  “You saw.”

  “I’m watching it live right now.” He lowered his voice. I wasn’t sure that was an improvement, since there was a hint of a growl under his next words. “What the hell happened?”

  “It’s a long story. I took a case this morning. It’s gotten complicated.” I could hear Pradeep and Rahim in the background, reassuring their respective wives that everything was fine.

  “Complicated.” One word, but it held a world of meaning. I knew he was having to fight the urge to say more—to start up again about how I kept taking cases no one else would, hopeless, ridiculously dangerous cases that every other firm had the good sense to turn away. But he didn’t say it. Didn’t say anything, just waited; the very silence was somehow accusatory.

  “Yesssss, complicated.” Oh shit. I was lisping. The fangs were down and affecting my speech.

  “Celia?” He made it a question.

  “I need food, Bruno. But I’m sssstuck up here. Maybe for hourssss.” My voice reflected the fear I couldn’t quite contain.

  I heard him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke, his voice was soft, soothing, all anger set aside in the face of an obvious crisis. “Baby, listen to me. I need you to do something.”

  “What?” It was a little hard to talk; my mouth was watering. I didn’t dare look at the men in the car with me. I could hear their pulses like thunder, smell their fear. It smelled so good. It would be so easy—

  Bruno’s voice came to me like a lifeline. “Celia, listen to me. We’re going to hang up and you’re going to e-mail me a picture of some empty space inside the car you’re in. Can you do that?”

  “Yesssss.” I didn’t ask why. I was hoping I knew.

  “My aunt Connie is here. I’m going to have her send you some food. Just hang on, okay? Hang on.”

  Aunt Connie was Sal’s wife. I’d only met her once. We hadn’t much liked each other. She was a teleporter. If she could get me food, I’d … hell, I didn’t know what I’d do for her. But I’d do something. Something really, really, big.

  The line was dead. Bruno had hung up. Fear and hope warred within me as, with shaking hands, I used my phone to snap a picture of the space in front of my lap and e-mail it to Bruno in Jersey.

  A minute later there was a popping noise and a huge bowl of tomato sauce, fragrant with spices, appeared in my lap. Seconds later there was a series of three rapid pops and the floorboards in front of me were filled to overflowing with nutrition shakes and a wine bottle.

  I was weeping with gratitude and relief as I guzzled my improvised meal. Chocolate diet shakes and tomato sauce may not sound like much of a meal, but to me it was pure heaven.

  My phone rang while I was sucking down the third shake. Pradeep answered it. As if from a distance I heard h
im assuring Bruno that the food had arrived and we were going to be all right.

  For the moment, anyway.

  10

  The police closed the bridge to all traffic, set up giant lights, and brought in CSI types to gather evidence. They left us hanging in the air while they did it. I got a beautiful view of the sunset. It was very pretty. I might even have enjoyed it in different company, and if I hadn’t had to go to the bathroom. Only when the authorities were darned good and ready did they summon a group of uniform-clad mages. With the power of their combined magic, they gently lowered the Caddy onto the bridge. We were instructed to step out of the vehicle, slowly, and then to lie down on the pavement, putting our hands behind our heads.

  We complied and I made myself lie absolutely still as a uniformed officer proceeded to thoroughly disarm me. I felt very naked and vulnerable, lying there under the bright police lights, knowing that there were any number of spots looking down on us from which a skilled sniper could take us out. But we were lucky; none did. Instead the three of us were escorted to separate vehicles for questioning as cheering bystanders watched, held back from the bridge by officers working crowd control.

  I scanned the crowd as the cop pushed my head down, kindly making sure I didn’t bash it while climbing into the car with my hands cuffed behind me. I was looking for familiar faces from the car chase, and for a moment I thought I spotted the woman. But the face was lost in the crowd in a flash, so I could have been wrong.

  Even if she was there, it wasn’t like I could do anything about it.

  Looking through the window, I caught a glimpse of the Caddy. The car was trashed, completely totaled. The engine might be salvageable, but even that was questionable, given that it had taken a few direct hits. It broke my heart; remembering my own lost car, I could imagine how bad Pradeep felt. But when they helped him to his feet he didn’t say a thing, just turned his back on the wreck and walked over to the waiting police cruiser. Rahim, too, ignored the vehicle, his face set in grim lines as they led him to a third car.

  The police station wasn’t far away. I was whisked through the back door, escorted into an interrogation room. I was lucky. The car chase had been all over the news; it was obvious I’d been acting in self-defense. Because of that, the cops were more generous than they might otherwise have been. They took off the handcuffs, for one thing. And while they sent a female officer in with me, they did let me visit the bathroom before they sat me down for questioning.

  I was really grateful for the restroom break as the hours rolled on while I waiting in the interrogation room, mostly alone. Somewhere in there, the CSI folks asked for, and I gave them, permission to perform gunshot residue testing on my jacket. My attorney, Roberto, might get on me about it later, but I wanted their good will. Besides, I had no doubt there was video of the shootout circulating on the Internet already. No point in denying what they had actual evidence of.

  Finally one of the local detectives deigned to grace me with his presence.

  “Ms. Graves, I’m Detective Erik Allbright.” He extended his hand, giving me a bright smile that wasn’t particularly sincere. He was wearing black suit pants and a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up and the collar unfastened. I could see an anti-siren charm peeking out from his chest hairs.

  Allbright was probably forty years old, with medium brown hair, brown eyes, and the kind of leathery skin that comes from spending a lot of time in the sun without much use of sunscreen. His features were pleasant, if unmemorable, and while he had a nice enough smile, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Detective Allbright.” I shook his hand, firmly. Unlike a lot of guys I’ve met, he didn’t feel the need to get aggressive and squeeze until it was uncomfortable. That was hard to do to me—my inner bat had great tolerance for pain—but I still didn’t enjoy it.

  “So, I have to ask. Why on earth would a college professor need a bodyguard to come visit his grandparents?” Allbright smiled more broadly.

  “You’d have to ask him. But whatever the reasons, he did hire me. And it’s a good thing he did.”

  “So what exactly happened?”

  “I’m sure you have it on video.”

  He didn’t deny that, just smiled and said, “I’d like to hear the story from your point of view.”

  Something in the way he said it made me wary. “I think maybe I should have an attorney present before I say anything else.”

  He wasn’t happy about my request, but he didn’t argue, just got up and opened the door.

  The man who strode in had an alligator briefcase, a thousand-dollar suit, and a million-dollar smile. “Ms. Graves, my name is James Barber. I’ve been retained by Rahim Patel to represent your interests. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

  I shook his hand, smiling broadly, and asked if I could have a copy of his business card and see his driver’s license.

  Yeah, I’m suspicious. So sue me.

  Barber didn’t bat an eye. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he drew out a business card, a stack of papers, and his wallet. The papers were the representation agreement, which verified what he’d told me.

  “Could I have a moment alone with my client?” he asked Allbright, flashing another killer smile.

  “Sure. Just knock on the door when you’re ready.” Allbright left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “All right. We’ll be quick about this. Rahim Patel is paying me, but I represent you and only you. So you don’t have to worry about a conflict of interest. The man you shot is in the ICU. He’s alive—barely.”

  It was good he was alive, but bad that he was in ICU. If he was that badly injured, the cops wouldn’t be able to interrogate him properly for days, by which time it might well be too late. Judging by the speed at which things had been moving since this morning, the situation with the ifrit would be coming to a head sooner rather than later.

  Barber continued, “There’s video all over the news and the Internet showing that you acted in self-defense.”

  “Did they get any good shots of the faces of the bad guys?”

  “One or two people were able to get photos of the one you shot and there are a couple of blurry photos of one of the others. But whether the police will be able to enhance them enough to be usable is anyone’s guess.”

  Crap. Having their pictures on the news would have put a lot of pressure on our opposition to go underground, might even have driven them away from Florida altogether, which would have been helpful. That there weren’t any meant that the bad guys were still anonymous—and free to act.

  “You’ve been cooperative, which is good. And since Treasure Island is an island, they have siren charms on hand, so there will be no accusation of mental tampering on your part. Also, you are a very public person with a known propensity for working on the side of the angels. So, while they could hold you for questioning for up to forty-eight hours, they probably won’t.”

  “Good.”

  “They’ll keep your gun as evidence. I’m working on getting them to return your other weapons.”

  “My knives,” I said. Barber interrupted.

  “Yes, I know. They’re major artifacts, and very valuable. I’m fairly certain I’ll be able to get them back to you shortly. I’ve contacted the district attorney. Under the circumstances, he’s reluctant to press charges. On the other hand, he doesn’t want it to look like he’s going easy on you because you’re a celebrity.”

  “I’m not a celebrity.”

  He gave me a disgusted look. “Of course you are. I’ve heard of you. I contacted your usual counsel, Roberto Santos, who confirmed for me that you have diplomatic immunity. If absolutely all else fails, we can use that—but only as a last resort. Now, let’s get Detective Allbright back in here. Answer his questions honestly and simply. Don’t volunteer any extra information. If for any reason I think you shouldn’t answer, I’ll let you know.”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.” He got up,
went to the door, and opened it. “We’re ready now, detective.”

  * * *

  The interview went about as well as I could have expected. Not great, but in the end the cops didn’t arrest me and didn’t hold me for forty-eight hours. They let me walk out with only the standard warning about it being an ongoing investigation. It was better than I had any right to expect, but I was too tired to rejoice. After all, I’d skimped on sleep because of the vampire case and the move. I was pooped. My attorney led me through the halls and out into a reception area where both Rahim and Pradeep were waiting.

  “They are not keeping you?” Pradeep asked.

  “No. But they’ve got my weapons. I have backup gear, but that’s in my bag in the Caddy.”

  “Which is in impound. We won’t be able to get to it until sometime tomorrow at the earliest,” Rahim said. “That presents a problem.” The way he said it made me think that I had missed part of an important conversation between the two Patels. Not unlikely. Since neither of them had actually shot anybody, their interrogations had probably been considerably shorter than mine.

  “I can deal with that in the morning,” Pradeep assured him. Turning to me, he said, “You’re not hungry?”

  I was, but not horribly. Thank God for Connie, I thought, but said, “I’ll be fine for a little bit—’til we get where we’re going. Where are we going anyway? I assume we’ll be staying the night.”

  “My wife has arranged discreet accommodations for you. One of her friends from the bowling league manages a timeshare. There was a room available and I have made sure it is booked under another name. I have made arrangements regarding transportation as well.”

  I raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

  “I am an old man, but still capable of learning.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He wasn’t lying about having learned from his earlier mistake. Our exit from the police station was managed like a Broadway stage show. Four cabs left simultaneously from the underground parking garage. Three contained spell disks magicked to project illusions that looked like Rahim and me. One went to each of the local airports; the third was sent to the Tampa Marriott. We rode in the fourth, to a beachfront timeshare called Safe Harbor.