by Cat Adams
I swallowed hard and tried not to overthink this. I have control issues and always try to make decisions that won’t wind up coming back to bite me. “Tell me who you are first.”
“You know who I am.”
Did I? I thought it was Jones. Maybe. Or possibly a demon. I didn’t buy the theory of the angelic. I could never be that lucky. “No. Actually, I really don’t.”
A low chuckle raised the hair on my arms and the back of my neck. It was distinctly male but not at all familiar. Damn it. Or perhaps … damn me. “Then you’ll have to take your chances. Do we have a deal? Yes, or no?”
It was hard to tell over the sound of the waterfall, but I thought I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall. We were running out of time. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, resigning myself to whatever future would get me out of the present. “Do it.”
Things happened fast after that. There was an indignant squawk and a big red hen came flying across the room at me. It skidded the last few feet on the ground, trying desperately to keep its balance on the stone floor with clipped claws. But it worked. Wings flailing, it broke the chalk circle with a flare of power that lashed against my senses like a bullwhip. I leapt to my feet as Jean-Baptiste burst into the room. I dived out of the circle at the same instant he released his will to power it back up. Magic seared whatever hair was still inside the circle when it rose, assaulting my nose with the sizzling strands. Not exactly how I’d planned to get a haircut.
He chased me around the room with careful blasts of power that erupted from the mouth of the monkey on the end of his casting staff. I managed to stay just one step ahead of him. There was nowhere to go unless I abandoned Simone, and I wasn’t willing to do that. At least by chasing me, Jean-Baptiste was wearing himself down, and not sacrificing the woman in the circle.
I was afraid my freedom would be short-lived, but the entity went above and beyond the call. I felt my arms burst apart from each other, the tape separating, dissolving like a spiderweb before flame.
I might be the vampire, but it was Jean-Baptiste who hissed in fury. I saw a flare of colors as he threw a spell at the entity, banishing it in a flash of sulfur-scented smoke.
But somehow I didn’t think he’d actually performed a banishing. I got the feeling the entity simply decided to leave. Maybe it would be back, maybe not.
I had no doubt we’d meet again in the future. I tried not to think about that.
With practiced ease Jean-Baptiste grabbed one of the ceremonial knives used to kill sacrifices and began circling toward me. His movements were smooth, coordinated, but not skilled. He wasn’t used to actual infighting and he wasn’t a professional.
I am.
I’d rather he have the dagger than the casting staff, so I actually rushed him, surprising him so much he didn’t have time to stab at me. I grabbed the monkey staff before he could blast me again, and turned quickly away. He used that the second I was turned to move in, as I’d known he would. I twisted, using my leg to scythe his legs from under him. And in a single, smooth motion I swung the club with all my strength, burying the wood deep in his temple.
I felt the impact in my shoulder as the wood connected with the thickness of his skull and then the abrupt give and soft finish as it shattered—spraying me with blood and other, thicker things.
Dr. Jean-Baptiste fell to the floor and didn’t move again.
24
There was a body on the ground, a victim to console, and a villain to catch.
Such is my life.
The cops don’t like me for this very reason. So I didn’t call them. I called the Feds. Rizzoli picked up on the first ring. I told him what had happened. He said he was already on his way. Why wasn’t I surprised?
It had been one of the longest and hardest days of my life. Even with Rizzoli keeping most of the heat off, I knew there would be statements to give, questions to answer, and favors to repay. At that moment, I wasn’t sure which I was dreading more.
I realized when I hung up I hadn’t mentioned the entity, and I wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe dwelling on a nebulous future would be too taxing. At the very least, it would be distracting, and I’d need to be at my best.
It took some talking to convince Simone to wait for the Feds. I had to guarantee she wouldn’t see any jail time for her part in getting to this point. I didn’t want her to go, so I made the promise. But it wasn’t my promise to make, so all I could do was hope she hadn’t done anything irretrievable in Rizzoli’s eyes.
While I waited for the cavalry to come and deal with Jean-Baptiste I did the two most sensible things I could think of: washed the blood off my face and hands, and curled up to sleep on the first examining table I found.
* * *
Rizzoli showed up some time later with Gail Jones in tow. I was interested to see her move around the room, sensing the energies. I think she realized something bigger than just a demented witch doctor had been here, but she didn’t mention it to Rizzoli.
Interesting.
But the best part is she knew what to do to remove the memory spell once she talked to John on the phone. There was clear fangirling on her part while talking to John.
She was also looking forward to meeting Bruno. Her bright, clear eyes when she said “Mage DeLuca” practically screamed hero worship. I haven’t felt that way about anyone in a long time. Not since El Jefe.
I really wanted to remember the moment I was able to … well, remember, but the whole spell was a blur. Maybe it was painful. I was certainly stiff and sore when I came to. Normally I don’t pass out during spells, but this time I did. Probably best not to know what happened. All I know is when Dom and Gail arrived, it was pitch-black, the darkest part of the night. When I came to, it was afternoon. Never a good sign.
Rizzoli looked at me oddly for a long time when I was drinking down a chocolate nutrition shake, so definitely best not to know.
Still, it’s amazing what some sleep and the lifting of a memory corruption curse can do for a gal. I felt good, better than I’d felt in weeks. I felt even better when I figured out a way for someone to bring me my best weapons and some fresh clothes.
There’s only one person on earth other than me who has access to my safe—the designer, Justin. I’d thought I’d have to pay an outrageous fee to have him meet Rizzoli, Bruno, and John at the office for me. I was willing to, but he refused to take any money. He told John to tell me, “Anything you’re into that is this hairy, you need your stuff,” and, “I prefer live and paying customers.”
The boys all came into Dr. Jean-Baptiste’s exam room together. Bruno was carrying the duffel I keep in my safe. I was so happy to see it, and him, that it took me a second to realize who else had tagged along.
“Kevin?” He gave me a nervous half smile, no doubt worrying I was still angry with him. Yeah, I was, and I wasn’t sure why he thought I’d trust him. “You can’t imagine I’ll work with you. Can you?”
He remained very still but met my eyes without flinching. “Emma sent me. She called and told me where to be. Apparently, you’re going to need me tonight.”
Crap. Emma’s not a terribly powerful clairvoyant, but when she gets a vision, it’s good as gold. She’s come through in the clutch before, so she was probably right. And while I was still hurt and angry with Kevin, he was one of the best of the best black ops guys, even with PTSD.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Rizzoli asked him.
He let out a snort. “No. But I don’t think I have a choice. If anything happened to Celia when I could have done … whatever it is I do to save her, I wouldn’t last a week. Even her enemies would come after me. Let’s not talk about what her friends would do. They’d make me beg to die, just to end the pain.”
Hard to argue with that logic. Looking at Bruno and John, I had the feeling he was right.
“Celia?” Rizzoli inquired.
I could only shrug. “It’s your party. You’ve got the badges. You could make any of them sit this out and I couldn’t do
a thing about it.”
“Glad to see somebody realizes that.” He glared at the other men, but not like he meant it.
“You need us. Glinda’s going to be using magic that’s the equal of mine, plus whoever else she’s robbed. Every mage you have is on duty at the hospitals on zombie watch,” Creede said calmly. “But you’re in charge. I get that.” It drew my attention to him. He looked better than he had. Not good, but better. His physical injuries were less obvious, and he held himself with more of his usual confidence, and I could sense magic in him. That surprised me.
He heard my thoughts, and answered them, even though he still had eyes locked with Rizzoli. DeLuca helped me. We worked closely on the rift. He knows my signature. So he gave me a … transfusion. If he hadn’t, my magic would be gone for good. I’m not myself, and there are some control issues. But, I’ll eventually heal up.
That was … awesome. There are plenty of people who wouldn’t have been willing to share their powers like that, even if they could. But that was Bruno. He has his faults, but he’s one hell of a guy.
Yeah, he is.
“Glad you realize that.” Rizzoli gestured for us to gather around. He spread the blueprints he’d been carrying out on the examining table. Plopping a box of latex gloves on one end to hold it flat, he pointed out specific features of the building where they thought she was.
“We traced the number Jean-Baptiste called to a prepaid cell phone that is currently at this address. It’s on the border of the warehouse and red-light districts.”
I didn’t smack myself on the head, but I wanted to. I remembered now. I’d seen that staircase the night I was bitten and half-turned. I’d been guarding a demon spawn posing as a prince who’d taken us on a tour of the seediest, bottom-of-the-barrel strip clubs in the area. This one had been in a converted warehouse. The main bar and club were in an open area spanning all three floors, with the storerooms and dressing rooms on the north wall of the first floor. The “lap dance” rooms had been on the second floor. There were catwalks leading to the lighting fixtures attached to the ceiling beams. Clubs like that come and go pretty quickly. I wasn’t surprised she’d been able to buy the place. Probably for a song.
“Celia?” Bruno’s voice brought me back to the present with a start.
“Sorry. Just remembering. I just realized I’ve been here.”
Male brows raised all around.
Jeez. “Get your minds out of the gutter. It was on a job. The night I was attacked. But she may have done some remodeling since then.”
Kevin got closer. “You’re right. That’s the alley where I found you. I know a back way to get there … where they won’t see us coming. I never made it inside, but I can get the second group there without a soul seeing.”
Rizzoli nodded. “I’ll take any advantage we can get. And here’s another advantage.” He opened his hand to reveal tiny dots about the size of BBs. “We’ll be using technology and magic to get intel on the layout. All we know so far is the place has some major shielding.”
Magic and technology that can get through shielding. I immediately thought of a gadget John had invented that could turn the tide in our favor.
But he was already shaking his head sadly. “Can’t. The fly is gone. They stole it along with my car. All that was left of the Ferrari by the time the cops closed in on the chop shop was the section of the frame with the tracer on it.”
Aw man. That car had been his baby. I remember flying down the interstate with him, wind in my hair at speeds that were well past illegal … except during a magical crisis, which made even cops change lanes to give way. And the fly, a prototype of a magical device he’d invented himself. Both gone.
It reminded me I wasn’t the only one who’d been having a crappy time of it lately.
I touched his forearm to find it tense. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Yeah.” Man, he really was choked up by the way the sound crawled out of his throat.
“Ahem.” Rizzoli looked from John to me. “Focus, people. Celia, since you’ve actually been here, and fairly recently, walk us through the layout.”
It didn’t take long. Other than the rooms on the one wall, the place was mostly a big open box. Which would make it seriously hard to do anything sneaky. Glinda was definitely going to have the advantage when it came to terrain.
I suggested I go in alone, as though I’d been enthralled by Dr. Jean-Baptiste. I could play dumb pretty well. People sort of expect it from a natural blonde, so I practice. It’s good to keep people off-balance by living down to their expectations. The others could follow while I kept her distracted and we could overwhelm her with sheer numbers.
Not unexpectedly, Bruno, John, and Kevin didn’t like that idea. Not at all. They explained in the finest detail and strongest wording why it was unworkable, illogical, and … well, that pretty well said it all.
Only Rizzoli nodded. “There are six entrances on the ground floor, one fire escape attached to the office areas on the second floor, and skylights on the roof. It could work. Yeah, she’s got shielding and there are lookouts and guards, but really—our best option is to go through with Celia’s plan.” The boys turned as one and looked horrified, which was flattering. “At least partially,” Rizzoli amended. “I think I can go one better, though, so I’ve brought in a very special agent from Dallas.”
On cue the woman who had been waiting in the hallway walked in. Tall, slender, she was like a carving of a goddess done in ebony. She could’ve walked any fashion runway and made a fortune, and I wondered why she’d chosen a career with the Feds.
The boys’ reaction was less favorable. Bruno was fine. But Creede took a step back, his eyes narrowing, and Kevin gave a barely audible growl.
“Can it, Fido,” she warned impatiently. “I’m on your side.”
“What’s up?” Bruno asked. He didn’t seem to know what was bothering them any more than I did, but he was alert, and I could feel him gathering his power.
Rizzoli sighed. “Special Agent Matumbo’s mother was human, a witch. Her father was a demon.”
She was a spawn, with magic? Oh, crap. There were spawn working for the Feds? That was disturbing on so many levels.
“She is a trusted field agent”—he glared at each of us in turn—“and has the ability to shape-shift convincingly and produce powerful shields. Her magic is primarily defensive. She will be going in with Celia in the guise of Jean-Baptiste. You”—he pointed to Bruno—“and I are going to be his hired thugs. That will get us in the front door so we can find and disable the source of the shield.”
Bruno nodded. “It has to be an artifact. A shield as powerful as you say is hard to maintain for any length of time. It takes constant attention for things as stupid as mice and bats—the outdoor kind that eat bugs. They really mess up a building shield. A single person would spend all their time sensing problems in the shield and correcting them, so it only makes sense to give the task over to an object that handles the dirty work. If it’s an artifact, I can find it. It’s what I do for a living.”
Creede started to protest that he should go in with us, too, but Rizzoli silenced him with a gesture. “The rest of you will be waiting outside the perimeter. We have to have a second mage in case the first wave is killed. Once we’re in, we might not have communication. It’ll be Celia and Matumbo’s job to keep Glinda distracted. You”—he pointed to Bruno—“have one job. Get that barrier down. Don’t worry about me or Celia. This witch can’t be allowed to keep that collar. What the demons and the rift couldn’t accomplish in destroying the city, she just might.”
“What will you be doing?” Matumbo asked.
“I’m the floater. My gift will put me in the right place to do whatever needs doing.” He was very matter-of-fact about it. I had a feeling he had reason to be. “Creede, you’re a registered telepath, Celia, you’re a siren, so I’m assuming you can do the telepathy thing as well.”
“Um…” I hated to disagree, but now was not the t
ime to have lofty expectations. “I’m not very good at it. I can speak with other telepaths, but generally they initiate the conversation and drag words out of me. I can’t guarantee I’ll be any help.”
Rizzoli shrugged. “My gut says you’ll do fine. It’ll help with communications between the group inside and our reinforcements. But because the rest of us mere mortals can’t do any head talking at all, we’re all going to be wearing some very high-end technology. Stuff that doesn’t appear on the radar with anyone, so nobody can track it or spot it. But I don’t have enough for everyone, so Celia, do your damnedest.” He passed out the tiny headsets, not much bigger than a swollen-up tick, which attached to the inside of the ear about the same way. Press a button and tiny jaws clamped down right on the skin, making everyone flinch. It looked a little like a mole. But definitely not like a microphone. He tapped on his ear and Bruno jumped. Even I could hear the sound. “Try to stay silent, people. We don’t know what kind of magic and tech she has going on and we don’t want to give anything away.”
Made sense to me. The part I really didn’t like was agreeing to meet her on her own turf. But she’d insisted on it when she called back Jean-Baptiste’s phone. Rizzoli had made some convincing grunts and growls when the phone rang earlier, before Bruno and crew had arrived, and she’d bought he was the deceased doctor.
But we were going in early, hoping to throw her off-balance. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the best we could do. We needed to act fast. Children were dying.
“We leave in a half hour. Be ready and at the front door. Landingham, come with me. There’s something we need to go over with you.” Rizzoli rolled up the blueprints and left, with Matumbo and Kevin right behind him.
I grabbed the duffel, pulled out one of my daggers, and checked the edge. It really could use some sharpening. I’d been taking them to the gun range to practice throwing them. They weren’t really intended to be throwing daggers. But the last few times I’d used them, throwing was what ended up happening.
Bruno was watching me work with the daggers, but his brow furrowed when I took out the second dagger, the black one. “What the hell? What happened to that knife, Celie?”