Siren Song bs-2

by Cat Adams

  “So, what just happened?” Creede asked. “I felt . . . something in this room, big enough to cause my hairs to stand up even through the wards.”

  “I put something new in the safe and the things I had in there already reacted,” I explained.

  “Reacted how?” He didn’t bother to hide his concern. I couldn’t blame him. Magic is dangerous and this was powerful stuff. I wasn’t nearly as worried now that the safe door was closed and I had thick steel protecting me.

  I shrugged, not to make light of it, but I was confident about the safe. Bruno did the original work, but I had a company that came in on a regular basis to recharge and layer the protections. “Put on a light show. Shot rainbows around the room, hummed a little bit.”

  “Did the things vibrate? Was the light red, green, what? Did the objects get hot or cold?” Creede fired the questions at me like bullets.

  “No vibration, no temperature change, and literally rainbows,” I answered, “just colored light. It was really pretty. But I decided I’d better shut the safe door just in case.”

  “Rainbows.” He shook his head and scowled. “And they reacted to each other. What the hell do you have in there and how did you get it?”

  I liked Creede well enough. But I like my secrets, too. The knives Bruno made for me are valuable enough that there are people who would literally kill to get their hands on them. Even people I’ve known for years have no idea they exist. And if what El Jefe said about the Wadjeti was true, it was basically priceless. So I just smiled sweetly and said, “Gifts from friends.”

  “You must have some powerful friends.”

  I thought about the demon that almost killed me and the woman who set him onto me. He was banished, but you can’t kill a greater demon, and she got away. I was pretty sure Kevin was hunting her, but she was definitely going to be a hard target. Was that what Ivan had been contacting me about? I wished I knew. “I’m just hoping they’re as powerful as my enemies.”

  Creede didn’t have an answer to that, so he changed the subject. “Look, I’d like to apologize to you for what I said earlier.”

  “It’s all right.” Actually, it wasn’t. It still stung. I tell myself I don’t care what people think, that the tough-girl image is part and parcel of the whole bodyguard thing. But it’s more a suit, a persona I put on in the morning. It’s not the real me and I do care. It’s stupid, I know. But I do. And I’m not a bitch. I know plenty of them and they don’t want me in the club.

  He shook his head firmly, which did more to make amends than the apology. “No. It’s not all right. I know better than to believe gossip. But if it helps any, I’m about to get my share of karmic repentance in the press.” He gave me a chagrined look. He was right, too. The tabloids were going to have him for lunch once they learned of the split. The spin-off partner can easily become a public pariah in any business. Magic just makes it worse. It wouldn’t be hard for the press to find present and former M&C employees who would demonize John, off and on the record. After a second of me not assuring him it’d all be okay, he sighed. “Let me make it up to you by buying you a meal. We can talk business, so your boyfriend won’t get jealous.”

  “Bruno doesn’t get jealous.”

  “Bullshit.” Creede’s grin lit up his face and he went from good-looking to handsome in an instant. “You forget, I saw you together at the wake.” He laughed. “And I’ve met ‘Uncle Sal.’ ” He made little quotes in the air when he said the name. “Trust me, I’ll behave. There are some people that even magic won’t save you from.”

  I believed that. You did not cross Uncle Sal. But I kept my tone casual. “I’ll have to take a rain check, I’m afraid. I have an appointment downtown in a few minutes. I hadn’t planned on staying here this long as it is. But yeah, I’ll want to sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk with you before I let you actually sign.”

  Another small, amused curl of his lips. “You still don’t trust me.”

  I just shrugged and returned the smile. Hell, I barely trust myself.

  I arrived at the offices of Pratt, Arons, Ziegler, Santos, and Cortez a few minutes after the Will reading was supposed to start. Mostly it was due to traffic, but I also didn’t want to have a scene in front of the office staff when Vicki’s parents saw me. Sadly, the receptionist recognized me and smiled. I say “sadly” because I’ve spent a lot of time and a truckload of money here lately because of my upcoming hearing.

  “Morning, Tabitha. Where are they holding Vicki’s Will reading?”

  “Good morning, Miss Graves.” Tabitha’s voice was painfully polite. She didn’t like me. It was all over her body language. But I was a paying client, so she’d play nice. “We weren’t expecting you.” I knew I was on the list of attendees, but I’d also been in the room when Dr. Scott had called to tell Barney Arons I wouldn’t be attending.

  I didn’t reply, just raised one brow. She nodded and picked up the phone, dialing three numbers before moving her gaze to the desk in front of her. I’ve noticed most receptionists do that when they take a call, as though it creates an invisible wall between them and the person standing at the desk. “Yes, sir. Celia Graves is here?” She made it a question and I knew why. Would Arons tell me to take a hike? He had every right.

  I could hear the reply with my shiny new vampire ears. “Tell her to come up, please. We haven’t started yet.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” She put down the receiver. “They’re in conference room B-nine.” She turned and pointed to the stairs. “Next floor up, take a right at the top of the stairs, go all the way to the end, turn left, and it’s the third door on the left.”

  “Up, right, left, left. Got it. Thanks.”

  “Have a nice day.” She tried to make it sound sincere and failed. Whatever. I turned right, as instructed, and started walking. I knew from previous visits that this entire floor was devoted to conference rooms, which I thought was a really nifty idea and very smart planning. Cozy little enclaves held just two or three people—I’d often met Roberto in those (usually when his office was too trashed to dig out a chair)—while other, massive rooms could seat forty or fifty people around a single, unhexable table. All the tables were various shades of marble or slate, which made me wonder aloud to Roberto once about the logistics of hauling the solid stone slabs up. He’d replied with a snort, “Cranes, scaffolds, reinforcing floors, removing windows . . . you don’t want to know the headaches.” And he was probably right.

  The reading was apparently in one of the big rooms, because it took a while to get to “third door on the left.” At least I had time to admire the stunning abstract paintings on the walls and feel the soft cushion of high-dollar carpeting underfoot. It was utterly silent in the bright hallway. Every room was soundproofed for confidentiality and I could feel the press of avoidance spells that forced me not to stop at certain rooms—probably where other meetings were taking place.

  In the end, it wasn’t hard to spot the proper room: It was the one with armed guards standing on either side of the door. Both men were big and wore crisply starched brown uniforms that looked almost like those of a state trooper. They were armed and each wore a holy item on a silver chain around his neck. I wondered if they were here to keep the parties inside safe or to keep the rest of the office safe from the parties inside.

  They didn’t seem surprised at my appearance, which meant someone had warned them to expect the fangs. I was glad. I was already tired of the commotion my new teeth could bring about.

  One guard made me show him my driver’s license, which made good sense. Then, after checking my name off a list on his PDA, he opened the door, then carefully closed it behind me. I paused just inside to scan the room and its occupants.

  Barney Arons sat in the center of the room, on the far side of the table. The others faced him, along with a large video screen that covered one window. They’d turned their heads as I entered.

  “Hey, Celia. Great to see you!” David greeted me warmly, and he and Inez both smi
led as I slid into a chair. David and Inez ran the mansion Vicki had lived in when she wasn’t at Birchwoods. David kept the grounds in enviable condition and Inez did the same with the interior . . . including the guesthouse I called home. I wasn’t surprised to see them here. Vicki had always said she’d take care of them if anything happened.

  I sat near the door in case Cassandra launched herself at me. She looked like she might. Her beautiful face had moved from neutral and sad when I’d first stepped inside to livid hatred. “What are you doing here?”

  Vicki’s father, the legendary actor Jason Cooper, nudged his wife with more force than was probably necessary. He hissed, “Let it go, Cass,” and gave her a look. She returned the look with force and he raised his brows. “I mean it. Drop it now. This isn’t the time or the place.”

  Instead of relaxing, she pushed back her chair. I tensed. Sure, I could handle her, but I really didn’t want to hurt her. She was my best friend’s mother. Vicki would be hurt beyond belief if I harmed Cassandra. The worst part was that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d loved Vicki like a sister. It made me sad how much Cassandra hated me. But she didn’t turn my way. Instead, she moved to the far end of the room and sat down in the chair opposite me. Then she proceeded to ignore me completely. She pulled a nail file from her purse and began shaping her already perfect nails.

  Sheesh, all that trouble, just so I’d know she was ignoring me. I shook my head and leaned back. So she was going to be dramatic instead of physical. Worked for me.

  Alex was also there. She gave me a sad smile. Her eyes were red—she’d been crying again. Detective Heather Alexander had been Vicki’s lover. They were as close as a honeymoon couple and had one day hoped to marry. While we aren’t close, Alex and I get along well enough to get by.

  It was disturbing to see the person next to Alex face-to-face. Sybil Jones was the woman Cassandra had selected to be Vicki’s double. Hired when Vicki was just a teenager, Sybil was the public face of Victoria Cooper, the darling of the social set in Monte Carlo and the Hamptons. Personally, I never thought Sybil looked all that much like Vicki. She had a different facial shape—oval to Vicki’s heart—and her nose wasn’t the same at all. She’d cut her hair into the latest bob, which would have looked ridiculous on Vicki but dramatically altered Sybil’s overall appearance. I might not have been so uncomfortable with her if I hadn’t known that her very existence had been a source of never-ending hurt to Vicki—not just that her parents wouldn’t acknowledge who she really was but also that they were embarrassed by her.

  The press had finally gotten wind of the deception. Vicki had commented more than once that she actually felt sorry for Sybil. Yes, she was given a life of privilege, with jewelry, trips, and fame. But now what? What did the future hold for a woman who had lived most of her life as a lie? She’d betrayed every relationship she might have made—had to, to keep the secret. I’d imagine it was like being a spy, a James Bond. Frankly, I couldn’t do it. It would ruin me emotionally.

  She glanced at me blankly. We’d met just once, so I wasn’t surprised she didn’t remember. It had been . . . awkward. Like Alex, Sybil had been crying. For the loss of a woman she never knew, or the end of her life of privilege?

  We sat in silence for several minutes. Arons continued to make notes on a yellow legal pad. After checking her watch for the fifth time, Cassandra finally spoke: “Are we going to get on with this? We only planned for this to take an hour. We have a flight at three and still have other errands.”

  Arons looked up and blinked at her from behind thick horn-rimmed glasses. “We’re still waiting for five interested parties. According to Ms. Cooper’s written instructions, I’m not to read the Will until everyone is present.” He went back to writing notes, flipping pages in a thick manila folder with the other hand.

  “But we have a flight.”

  The attorney sighed and put down his fat Waterman pen. He took off his glasses and began to polish the lenses with a handkerchief. “Ms. Meadows, I can’t imagine what gave you the impression this entire event would take only an hour. Your daughter had an extensive estate, owing to both the inheritance from your parents and her own investment skill. Vicki crafted a very creative and carefully thought out Will. She chose not only to have her wishes memorialized in a standard legal document but also to create a video so there was no question of her intent. Being a highly attuned clairvoyant, she set up a precise timetable for this event. We have another”—he glanced at a gold watch that I was betting was a Rolex—“eight and a half minutes before we begin. Everyone should have arrived by then. If you wish to use the time to good effect . . .” Arons carefully put his glasses back on and cocked his head just a bit. He concluded, “You might want to make a call and change your flight.”

  I stifled a smirk, but Alex laughed out loud and Cassandra’s pale face reddened.

  There was a knock on the door. The attorney looked up, glanced at his watch, nodded, and wrote a checkmark on the top sheet of his pad. “Yes?” he called out softly.

  The door opened and it was my turn to be surprised and a little angry. John Creede walked in the door and started visibly when he saw me.

  I didn’t mirror Cassandra’s outburst from my arrival, but I did raise an eyebrow and he could probably feel the anger that made my muscles clench. How dare he play me, pretend to want . . . well, what? Honestly, I couldn’t decide why I was angry, but I was. “There wouldn’t have been much time for lunch, would there?”

  “Celia, I—”

  Arons interrupted whatever lame apology Creede had been about to offer. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Creede. I was unaware of the change in your office administration. Once I was informed you hadn’t received our messages I obtained the number for your cell phone from Mr. Cooper.”

  “Well, I didn’t have anything else scheduled, so I was able to come right over.”

  John sat down right next to me with barely a glance at Jason and Cassandra; this gesture and his stony facial expression told me that he wanted nothing to do with his former clients. I couldn’t bring myself to look up to see the reaction of the Coopers.

  Barney Arons clucked his tongue in disapproval. “The receptionist at your former firm should have advised us you were no longer working with them.” He sighed. “No harm done, I suppose.”

  There was another knock on the door, another “Yes?” from Arons.

  When the door opened this time, my jaw dropped. A dozen emotions swam through my stomach as my gran stepped in, wearing her best Sunday dress and clutching the little golden purse Vicki had given her one Christmas. Her smile when she saw me lit up the room and she raced over to embrace me in a hug. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m so glad you made it. I’ve missed you.”

  I returned the hug with gusto. I’d missed her, too.

  Dr. Scott walked through the door at Gran’s heels. He took in the occupants with a glance and then his gaze fell on me. His voice was a threatening rumble. “Celia, I am beyond angry with you. I believe I made it clear that you were not to come to this meeting.” He took a single step toward me and Creede stood in a flash, blocking his path. Power began to bleed off them both, filling the room with enough energy that even the protection spell couldn’t completely dampen it. John held his hands in classic mage mode, hip level, fingers spread and cupped—ready to throw a fireball if needed. The doctor’s brow had furrowed and he’d adjusted his stance so all his weight was on the balls of his feet. I wasn’t sure what the classic position of a psi-warrior was just before battle, but I was pretty sure I was seeing it.

  While I didn’t think the doctor would hurt me, I didn’t really like the look in his eye. All the little stresses were piling up on him, straining his composure to the breaking point.

  Gran likewise turned, putting herself squarely in front of me. But I don’t need a bodyguard, much less two. I am a bodyguard. I stepped out from around Gran and said, “Guys, let’s all calm down, okay? Doctor, I didn’t trick you. But as long as I
was out for the day I decided I should be here. I may be a patient at your facility, but I make my own decisions. You are not my treating doctor and Dr. Hubbard never saw any problem with my attending. Yes, I’m under court order for treatment but—”

  All of a sudden, I started to feel shaky and realized breakfast was wearing off quickly. I was staring at the doctor’s neck and the fast-pulsing vein just under the skin. . . . I could feel the drool pooling in my mouth. It wasn’t just the good doctor who needed to calm down. I hissed. Everybody stepped away from me as the world slipped into hyperfocus. My hands rose, glowing green fingers curled into claws. Calf muscles twinged as I sank into a crouch, the better to spring at and land on my prey.

  Crap. No, not now! Not with Gran in the room!

  A cold wind abruptly blew my hair back, probably slapping it against John’s face. The temperature in the room dropped hard and fast and my breath began to come out as steam. Writing appeared on the frost-covered glass over an ocean scene. Knock it off!

  I heard the furnace kick on and warm air began to flow up around my feet and down on the top of my head. The cold had pushed away the hunger and I could think again. Before it could return, I retreated from the situation. I slid my chair away from the table, into the farthest corner of the room, and curled up in the chair, legs against my chest as I struggled to get control of my breathing and my predator’s response. The others sat down as well but scooted just a bit farther from me. Even Gran watched me with a new nervousness that I didn’t like. But she’d only seen the vampire peek out once and never like this, so I could hardly blame her. I could only hope it didn’t affect our relationship.

  “Thank you, Vicki.” Arons’s voice was calm but leaked a bit of nervousness that said that this might not have been on the schedule. After taking a deep breath, letting it out slow, and then wiping the fog that had appeared on his glasses, he picked up the phone receiver. “Becky? The confrontation phase is concluded. Please bring in our next guest and the refreshment for Ms. Graves.”