All Your Wishes

by Cat Adams

  “Special Agent Evan Morris. FBI.” Morris moved his jacket aside so that I could see the badge case mounted on his belt. Since he was standing across the room, I couldn’t see it in detail without going vampity, but it looked real enough, and he certainly had the attitude. In fact, he was so cold, I was risking frostbite just being in the room with him.

  “FBI?” I made it a question.

  “Two of the deaths took place in US territorial waters, under suspicious circumstances involving magic. That puts this under federal jurisdiction.”

  Crap. Not just local charges, federal, too. Fuck a duck. Twice.

  Bubba, get my attorney in here. Now.

  On my way, boss. Hang in there.

  “Four people died last night. Five if we count you,” Morris growled. “If you think you’ll need an attorney to speak with me, I’ll be happy to wait.” He said the right words, but his eyes flashed with annoyance.

  Bubba brushed past him on his way out the door. When the door closed, Morris turned to me. “So, what shall we talk about until your attorney arrives?”

  “How ’bout them Marlins?”

  He gave a snort of what might have been amusement as he settled himself carefully into the visitor’s chair Bubba had vacated. “I don’t follow baseball.”

  Of course not. We waited in a silence as thick and heavy, and about as comfortable, as a wet blanket.

  Don’t worry. You won’t be charged, said a male voice in my head, in perfect American English, contractions and all. I knew that voice. I’d only heard it for a minute or so, but they’d been pretty damned memorable minutes.

  Hasan.

  The one and only. You will be released. I killed the men who would have killed you. Your curse mark is gone. You can thank me now.

  “Who and what is Hasan?” Morris snapped, both audibly and in my mind.

  You’ll find out soon enough, little man, the very amused ifrit answered. And just like that, he was gone.

  13

  It happened just the way the bad djinn said it would, and it only took forty-eight hours for him to manage it.

  The first day was hardest. I felt like hell, for one thing. My whole body ached. You know how, when you overwork your muscles, you get sore because they didn’t get enough oxygen? Well, death is a non-oxygenized state. I hurt absolutely everywhere, including my eyeballs. My vampire-enhanced healing kicked in, but it took most of the day for me to recover. When I complained about pain, the nurse gave me a couple of aspirin, which helped for about five whole minutes before my enhanced metabolism burned it off.

  It didn’t help that I was cuffed to the bed. Tired and sore as I was, I simply could not get into a comfortable position … and the remote for the television was just out of reach.

  No visitors, no flowers. No access to television, phone, or music. Since they were feeding me through tubes, I didn’t even have meals to break up the hours. I had no contact with the outside world other than through the nurses, who would come in at the damnedest times to check on me and the machines. I’d finally begin to doze off and one would bustle in, and while they were all pleasant enough, they weren’t chatty.

  When the sun got really low, one of them closed the blinds. On the plus side, now I didn’t have to worry about a sunburn, but I also couldn’t enjoy the view. The only things to look at in the room after that were the machines and a clock whose hands crawled across its face with incredible slowness. When I tried to contact people telepathically I got absolutely nowhere.

  No one has ever died of acute boredom, but if that were possible, that first day probably would’ve given me a close call. And I had way too much time to think about things like Hasan using my body as a puppet—the fact that he might be planning to do it again. And that it was likely I couldn’t do a damned thing about that.

  I was incredibly grateful when my attorney arrived to distract me.

  Even though it was getting on toward evening, and he’d undoubtedly had a long day, Roberto Santos looked perfect. His black suit wasn’t the least bit rumpled. His shirt was so white it practically glowed, and it had been starched to perfection. His tie was a vivid crimson, with black and gray diagonal stripes, the perfect amount of color and contrast.

  “Hey, Roberto. Good to see you.” It really was, and not just for the distraction. If he was on the case, I knew I was getting the best defense money could buy. A lot of money, mind you, but he was so worth it. Roberto and his firm—one of the premier firms in LA—have represented me for years. He knows all the details of all my various encounters with law enforcement, so no time was wasted bringing him up to speed.

  “Celia.” He smiled and pulled up the visitor’s chair that had been vacant since Morris had left. Setting his briefcase onto the floor, he leaned back, trying to get comfortable. “I just got out of a pair of hearings with local and federal authorities regarding your cases. They haven’t charged you with anything yet. Since you are restrained, you are considered to be in police custody, so the clock is running. They have a total of forty-eight hours before they have to either press charges or let you go.”

  “Unless they declare me a dangerous monster.” I said it softly, because, frankly, the prospect scared me. In the past, someone had tried to do just that. They’d failed, but it had been a really close call. If anyone ever succeeded, I wouldn’t have to be tried—or treated like a human being at all. They could just lock me away forever “for the safety of the public.”

  “That motion was heard and denied at both the federal and local levels this morning.”

  I gasped. I couldn’t help it. “Thank you.”

  He gave a brisk nod. “Under the circumstances, it wasn’t unexpected that they’d try that tactic. But they really didn’t have any evidence to back the claim, and their own expert had to admit under questioning that it was highly unlikely you had the power to swamp the Jet Skis. Everything else involved purely human weaponry. Special Agent Morris testified that he heard the djinn admit responsibility for all the deaths, so they really didn’t have a leg to stand on.”

  Maybe, but it was still scary that they’d tried.

  “I’ve contacted your partner. She’s sending appropriate clothing for you, in case you have to appear at a hearing. You’d need clothes anyway, since the ones you were wearing on the beach are currently being processed as evidence. Obviously, I don’t want you talking to any of the authorities without me being present.”

  “The Patels hired James Barber for me as local counsel. He helped with the thing at the bridge.”

  Roberto nodded. “He’s very good. But I’d still rather be there myself for any questioning, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem.”

  He picked up his briefcase and set it on his lap, then dialed a combination on the pair of old-fashioned physical locks before snapping the latches and lifting the lid. “Since you’re in custody, only the police or your attorneys are allowed any contact with you. Your partner didn’t want to send information to you through Mr. Barber, but she did ask me to pass on a few personal messages.”

  “Yes?”

  He pulled out a yellow legal pad to refer to his notes. “Bruno has been trying to reach you. I decided to tell him what’s going on and he’s absolutely frantic despite my assurances that all will be well. He can’t leave New Jersey right now. Isabella has lost consciousness, and it’s only a matter of time. But he loves you and he’s worried about you. So for God’s sake, call him as soon as you get a chance.” It was almost funny hearing Roberto relay Bruno’s emotional message in his calm voice. Almost, but not really.

  “Right.” I’d actually intended to do that anyway. I didn’t like putting another worry on Bruno right now—he had more than enough on his plate—but he was my lover, and my friend, and he’d more than earned the right to know what was going on.

  “Your great aunt says that if you need anything at all, let her know.”

  I nodded.

  “And Dottie and Emma both say to be very, very careful
, but they aren’t saying anything else.” He grinned thinly, as familiar with clairvoyants as I was.

  He set the pad back in the case and snapped it closed.

  “The doctors want to keep you for observation for at least another twenty-four hours, so there’s no chance of you being transferred to a police holding cell or federal custody for at least that long. And while I know the cuffs and guards are a nuisance, they’re actually working to our benefit. If you’re cuffed, you’re in custody. If you’re not in custody, the clock stops running. So try to make the best of it. I’m staying on top of the legal aspects, but is there anything else you need?”

  “There’s one thing you could do that would be awesome.”

  He raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Yes?”

  “Can you pass me the remote?”

  * * *

  At seven the next morning, James Barber came into my room with the uniformed police officer who had been stationed outside the door. The officer didn’t say a word, just unlocked the handcuff and walked out. It was obvious he wasn’t happy. That was all right. I was happy enough for both of us. The restraint had really been getting on my nerves.

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Normally you would be taken to jail after the doctors cleared you, but that’s not going to happen. Special Agent Morris heard the ifrit confess. So did the local police force; all of them, from the chief of police down to the newest recruit. Maybe even the janitor.”

  I blinked, stunned, and tried to think how that could have happened. I had no doubt the room had been bugged, but that would have had a limited audience. So, it had to have been magic, and magic with enough juice to overpower the spells set by local law enforcement and the feds. Hasan. Had to be. But why?

  Barber ignored my stunned expression and continued talking. “While the district attorney and federal prosecutor are both displeased, neither one is willing to press charges at the moment. They do, however, want to meet with you at the Federal building this morning, at nine thirty. Your attendance is totally voluntary, but I strongly recommend you go and answer their questions. Roberto Santos has gotten them to agree to allow you to leave the jurisdiction, but that is contingent on your cooperating with the authorities.”

  “I have no problem with that.”

  “Good.” He gave a brisk nod. “I have an eight o’clock hearing in District Court. I should be able to do that and reach the Federal building on time. Mr. Santos will pick you up here and take you to the meeting in his car. He’s also assured me that you’ll be appropriately dressed.” He raised an eyebrow at that, as if wondering if I even possessed appropriate clothing. Not a surprise, given the circumstances under which he’d seen me.

  “So, if there’s nothing else you need until then,” he concluded, the lilt in his voice making it a question.

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll send in your associate.” Barber nodded and left.

  Unsurprisingly, my “associate” was Bubba. He dropped the black nylon duffel he was carrying onto the foot of the bed before taking a seat in the visitor’s chair. He was a sight for sore eyes, dressed in highly pressed khaki trousers and a red, short-sleeved dress shirt. No jacket, but he’d probably left that in the car. After all, hospital regulations meant he couldn’t come in armed, and why wear a jacket in the Florida heat if you don’t have to conceal a holster and gun?

  The very first thing I did was bum his phone and try to call Bruno. I’d been out of touch too long and I knew he would be worrying. He must’ve been at the hospital, though, because he didn’t answer.

  I was disappointed, but not surprised. Roberto had told me Isabella was doing worse. Of course Bruno would be with his mother. I left a voice mail saying I was fine, getting out of the hospital, and how much I loved him. That done, I gave the phone back to Bubba and turned my attention to the duffel bag. Dragging it to me by its strap, I unzipped it and immediately found myself grinning.

  Okay, I’d known Roberto asked Dawna to send clothes. I’d expected her to go to my place and pick up something from my closet.

  But that wasn’t what she’d done. Nope. She’d gone shopping—high-end shopping at that. In the bag were two suits from Isaac Levy’s shop: one in black and one in charcoal gray. The blazers were my favorite of Isaac’s styles, and since he had my measurements on file, I knew they and the matching pants would fit perfectly. Both suits had been made from lightweight fabrics that would keep me from roasting in the heat; there was enough spell work on them that the power of the magic buzzed against my senses—not painful, but it was definitely noticeable. Digging farther into the duffel, I found a pair of silk blouses, one royal purple, the other a vivid crimson. Dawna had also included underclothes, socks, makeup, toiletries, some jewelry, and a pair of sensible black pumps. All of it top of the line. Thanks to my partner, whatever outfit I chose, I’d be looking good. Then again, that was no surprise. If Dawna ever decided to be a stylist to the stars, she’d make a killing at it. In the meantime, I’d reap the benefits.

  I slid off the bed, grabbed the bag, and lugged it into the bathroom to get ready, leaving the door open just a crack so that Bubba and I could talk.

  It was a huge relief to get out of that flimsy cotton, backless hospital gown. I pulled on plum-colored lingerie, then the black suit with the purple blouse. An amethyst and silver necklace and matching earrings completed the outfit. Looking in the mirror, I felt pretty good about my appearance.

  Bubba’s voice came to me clearly as I leaned over the sink to apply just a hint of color. I have to be really careful with makeup. My vampire-pale complexion makes it really easy to overdo it and then I look like a clown.

  “I’m supposed to tell you that Dawna got a text from Dom Rizzoli. He’s trying to get the government to open the files on the incident at the Needle, but so far he isn’t having much luck. Dawna’s gotten a big fat zero trying to find any trace of any of Connor Finn’s cronies—they all seem to have vanished. Meredith Stanton and Bob Davis are still at the top of the FBI’s most-wanted list, but there haven’t been any developments in terms of finding them, at least as far as she’s been able to find.”

  That last bit didn’t surprise me. Davis and Stanton were smart and powerful. If the feds hadn’t found them, I’d be shocked if we were able to.

  “What have the Patels been up to?” I called out.

  “Nothing good,” Bubba answered, clearly unhappy. “Pradeep and Rahim have been going at it pretty hard. The old man thinks Rahim should have let you die on the beach. A couple of other relatives have arrived and they’ve joined right in on giving Rahim a bad time. They blame him for everything. I don’t know the language, so I can’t tell you exactly what they’re saying, but it’s not hard to guess the basic thrust of the arguments, what with all the shouting and pointing of fingers.”

  That was no surprise either, not after what I’d seen the morning of the ceremony. Our failure on the beach wouldn’t have improved things among the family members, just made it worse. I felt a little sorry for Rahim. Family drama sucks.

  “Any word from Bruno or Matty?”

  “Their mom is still hanging on. It’s tough. Matty did check in with the Church. He’s going through channels, so it may take a couple of days, but he thinks he can get you everything they have on the demons that were involved in the incident at the Needle. He’ll try to get them to rush it if he has the chance, but he said something about ‘the wheels of God.’”

  I blotted my lipstick, dropping the tissue into the waste can. Zipping up the duffel, I returned to the main room. “They grind slowly, but exceedingly fine,” I said as I tossed the duffel onto the bed and slid my feet into the pumps. I actually thought the original quote referred to the wheels of justice. But Matty’s version worked as well. Maybe better.

  Bubba checked his watch and winced. “I’ve got to go relieve Kevin. Are you going to be okay?”

  “It’s just a meeting. Roberto will be with me.”

  “Good. Yo
u need all the help you can get. This case is an even worse hairball than usual.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “I’ll be fine.” I tried to put as much conviction into the words as I could, but it sounded thin to my own ears. Bubba didn’t call me on it. We said our good-byes. When he was gone, I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for my attorney.

  As usual, Roberto was prompt. Today he wore a charcoal-gray suit, snow-white shirt, and a tie that had silver, white, charcoal, and black diagonal stripes. He was impeccably neat, and I suspected that if I were gauche enough to ask, he’d tell me that the suit had been hand-tailored on Savile Row and cost more than my first car.

  Roberto was on time. The hospital wasn’t. The wheels of God have nothing on those of hospital administration. It was nine forty-five when I was finally released. Roberto called to let the prosecutors know we’d be late, but I wasn’t sure how much that helped reassure them.

  The meeting wasn’t a condition of my release—but it wasn’t a request either. I knew that being late was going to piss everybody off. The authorities wanted answers. They also wanted to intimidate me. I didn’t have the former, and they couldn’t hold a candle to Hasan when it came to intimidation. But hey, let them take their best shot.

  Roberto’s driver dropped us in front of the federal building nearly an hour behind schedule. After being processed by security, we caught an elevator up and made our way to the conference room without trouble.

  It was a pleasant enough space—an interior room, so there was no distracting view, but the prints on the wall, while bland, were attractive. Their frames were cherry, which matched the cherry veneer of the oval conference table, around which eight of us were seated in rolling black faux leather chairs that were actually pretty comfortable. The spells worked into the walls, floor, ceiling, and table were not. I could feel their power crawling across my skin like fire ant bites. It was unpleasant, but I’ve dealt with worse.

  Going through with this meeting—“informal” as it was—would result in me getting my weapons back. Not the guns—the authorities weren’t budging on those. Made sense, since they were part of an ongoing investigation. But I hadn’t used my knives or any of my magical gear and I wanted them back.