by Cat Adams
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Jason let out an exasperated breath. “Of course, we’ll have your clothing returned to you, Sybil. And if that’s not possible, I’ll personally replace it. Please pardon my wife. Apparently, grief has made her . . . well, anyway, we’ll get your things back to you. It’s the least we can do.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” said Vicki from the screen. She took a deep breath and let it out slow. “The residue of my estate, other than a few minor bequests and what I’ve given to you already, less what will be expended in the Will contest suit, will be divided as follows. One-quarter goes to Heather Alexander, the love of my life. It’s not enough to show you how much you meant to me, but money’s all I have to give now.”
Alex’s lip was trembling and Sybil reached out to touch her hand gently. “Next, a quarter will be donated to the Birchwoods Therapy Center for the sole purpose of creating a new building. The Ivy Graves Center for Gifted Children will be built and fully funded for the next ten years through investments and bonds. Dr. Scott, I leave it to you to handle the details. You know my wishes after all those weeks coming up with a curriculum and program, for both inpatient and outpatient care. Emily, I wanted you and Celia to both be here to hear the news. Celia, of course you will have a quarter of my income, even though I know you’ll probably give it to the Center. But do try to keep a little for yourself. You really do deserve it.”
Jeff Scott bowed his head gently and then looked up at the ceiling to where Vicki’s ghost had returned after the threat to me was gone. “I know your wishes and I’ll take care of it.”
Gran let out a sob that could be either joy or sorrow and I couldn’t deny that I was getting choked up. It was more than I’d ever dreamed Vicki would do and I honestly didn’t know how to respond. She was right, though. If it was between me and a center for other messed-up magical kids, the kids would win. I’d just sign over the check wholesale when I got it. I could still make my own money. I didn’t need hers.
Creede handed me the box of tissues as Vicki spoke again. “If such a center had existed when you were young, maybe Ivy could have learned to use her gifts to protect herself before . . . well, before. And maybe if I’d had early training, I wouldn’t have wound up in a nuthouse for most of my life.”
The room erupted in explosions of sound, as everyone who knew Vicki rejected that statement. But she held up a hand. “Nope. Folks, I appreciate the support, but I am very nearly nuts. I tried my damnedest to have a normal relationship with each of you, but it was hard. So very hard. Just ask Dr. Scott. Every visit from you, no matter how much appreciated, came at a price. I hid it well, but the stress has been getting to me for some time. I’m making this tape now because I’m still fully in my right mind, competent by both legal and medical standards to dispose of my estate. That’s why you’ll lose your suit, Mom.”
Cassandra let out a very unladylike snort.
The ghost floated down from the ceiling and hovered right in front of her mother’s face. Then it drifted down the table until it was in front of Sybil. The apparition vanished and Sybil’s head dropped face-first to the stone table with a crunch that made me wince. After a moment, she sat back up, but Sybil wasn’t home anymore. The woman sitting next to Alex was Vicki Cooper. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she held her body. Alex flinched and swallowed hard but didn’t move away. I was proud of her for that. No matter how much she loved Vicki, sitting next to a possessed person had to be unnerving.
Vicki/Sybil turned and faced the attorney. “Mr. Arons, would you please begin recording?” The screen split, with old Vicki on one side and new Vicki on the other. “Mother, I wanted to make something very clear. Crystal clear. I was not manipulated or influenced in life. And while I might have been frustrated, hurt, and angry during life, in death there can be no deception or influence. Ghosts can’t lie, Mom. It’s impossible. Ask any postdeath therapist. So I say to you all, on tape, that my Will is true and correct and was made of my own free will and not under duress. Those are the right words, right, Barney?”
Arons nodded and she continued. Even the inflection of her voice had changed from the way Sybil talked to the true Vicki. It was, frankly, weird. I’d seen it once before, right after she was killed, but that didn’t stop the tiny hairs on the back of my neck from rising. “I say this because I’m intentionally, and with full knowledge, leaving my parents out of my Will. Not because I bear them any grudge. I love them very much. But they have their own money. They don’t need mine. My final bequest will raise eyebrows all around the room, but I believe with all my heart and with all the skill I possess as a level-nine clairvoyant, that it’s necessary.” She motioned toward the one person not yet mentioned.
“I’m sure you’re all wondering about the redheaded gentleman next to Dad. Frankly, I’ve wondered about him myself. I’ve had visions of him and his family for some time, but I don’t know why. I only knew it was imperative . . . critical that he be here today and that I make this bequest. I’ve learned to trust my instincts, even if they don’t make sense at the time. Since I see him here, I know that you found him, Barney. Thank you. I know it was a royal pain, what with the police sketch artist and the private investigator. Unfortunately, sir, I don’t know your name as I’m taping this and I assume you don’t know me.”
Murphy shook his head. “You seem like a nice lady, but I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
Vicki turned to me. “Celia, I’d like you and John Creede to take the time and spend whatever money from my estate that you have to, to find out why this man is at this reading. I’m officially hiring you both. What ties him to me? Why is it important for me to do what I’m about to do—because frankly, it’s making me nervous as hell.”
She turned Sybil’s body in her seat and faced him. “Sir, I’m pleased to inform you that you and your family will inherit a quarter of my estate. At the time I made this Will, that came to about twenty-four million dollars . . . after taxes.”
“Holy Mother of God!” Mr. Murphy exclaimed. I was pretty surprised myself. She gave him twenty-four million dollars? She gave me twenty-four million dollars? Plus the house and the office? Damn.
“Naturally,” Vicki continued, “like everyone else, you’ll have to wait until the end of the suit for the cash, but I did set up a special life insurance policy using this law firm’s escrow account as the beneficiary. Mr. Arons will give you that money now. It’s not much, just a hundred thousand, but it’ll make your life better.” She sighed. I could tell that she was getting tired.
Murphy turned to Barney Arons. “Are you sure this isn’t some sort of joke? Is someone from Punk’d or Candid Camera going to jump through the door now?”
Arons shook his head, with the tiniest of smiles, just as Sybil went face-first on the stone. Ouch again. She sat up moments later, nursing a bleeding nose and looking confused.
Vicki was gone. Arons turned off the tape. Maybe he’d show it to Sybil later.
The reading didn’t last much longer. People crowded around Arons, trying to dig out more information. Even Gran wanted to find out more about the details. I didn’t really care. I felt exhausted. Maybe Jeff had been right and it had been a bad thing for me to have come. But I’d had to do it. Sometimes all you can do is make your choices and accept your punishment. Right now, my punishment was to partially collapse against the table as I tried to stand.
“Ready to eat now?” John grabbed my elbow to keep me standing. “Looks like you could use some protein.” Maybe it was my imagination, but the sensation that crawled up my arm when he touched me felt a lot like his magic had and it made me gasp and pull away even as warmth spread through my body.
I wasn’t going to refuse a meal and I really needed to get out of the room. But touching seemed like a bad idea. “You have no idea. But how will we get through the shield? The hour’s not up yet.”
“You forget who you’re talking to,” he whispered with a small, secret smile and a wink. “Who do you think crafted the shield
? This firm is one of M and C’s biggest clients. Haven’t you ever heard of a coder’s back door? Besides, you need someone to protect you until they catch the shooter.”
I couldn’t deny that. I was having a hard time concentrating, or that little red light would never have made it to my forehead. He took my arm and tucked it through his and then, I kid you not, as my body tingled disturbingly, we walked right through the closed door, without a single person noticing we’d left.
I had to give him points for style.
We went to lunch in his Ferrari 599 GTB. Let me say for the record that it is one helluva car. I mean, I love my Miata but damn! Low-slung, sleek, and a vibrant red, it had a V12 engine that could roar like a lion or purr like a kitten, depending on the driver’s mood. The interior was real leather; the dash was polished wood and it had seats more comfortable than most of the beds I’ve slept in. It could go from zero to outta here in 3.2 seconds or less. It made me glad I chose La Cocina y Cantina on the other side of town just so I could ride in it a little bit longer.
La Cocina is a tiny family-run restaurant tucked up against the college campus. It’s kind of a dive, really—tiny and old. Most of the tables are for two, with gleaming white tablecloths and red bowl candles that give the place an intimate feel. People joke that it’s kept dark to hide the dirt, but in reality the place is spotlessly clean and the food is absolutely amazing. They have an open patio with an awning, but we’d taken a table inside, next to a “stage” the size of a postage stamp where they have karaoke on Friday nights. Where we’d had karaoke the night of Vicki’s wake.
I hadn’t been here since that night. Of course, I hadn’t been anywhere else, either. Coming back now, things felt different. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel the same, if I could ever walk in the doors without feeling sad.
“Celia! Oh my heavens, you poor thing!” Barbara grabbed me in a bear hug before I could protest. Thankfully, I managed to fight back my hunger, which had been growing steadily since we’d left the lawyer’s office. She leaned back from the hug and gently lifted my upper lip. I knew her concern was genuine, so I took no offense. “I couldn’t believe it the other night. I thought I must have been drunk. But look at those teeth.” She made tsking noises as she pulled me nearly off my feet toward a table, leaving Creede following in our wake with a look of amusement. “Now you just sit down. Pablo has made it his mission to make you good food. We’ve been reading up on your condition, so you can keep coming here.”
“Really? Wow, thanks!” I meant it. I loved Pablo’s food. My mild success at Birchwoods had me hopeful that there might be a time when I could go back to a nearly normal diet.
Creede excused himself to make a few calls in private after setting up a shield of protection around me. I took the opportunity to grab my cell phone and speed-dial Bruno.
“Hullo?” He answered on the first ring, but rather than feeling warm and fuzzy at the sound of his voice, I felt . . . strange. He sounded tense and I felt more than a little guilty about being here with Creede. But I figured I could fix that by just being honest.
“Hey, you. How’s it going?”
“Celia, oh, hey, it’s going pretty well. How’d you get to a phone?” There was a flat, distracted tone to his words, like I’d interrupted something that was requiring his attention.
“Day pass. I take it you didn’t get my message?” I pressed the key to increase the volume to high.
“No. Sorry. Things have been a little hectic.”
“Oh, well, there’s stuff you need to know. Is this a good time?” Maybe he could hear the deeper question, because he immediately came back to full focus. It made me feel better and the fluttering things clawing at my insides calmed down.
“Absolutely. What’s up?”
I told him about the Will reading, the shooter, and the breakup of Miller & Creede. “Is that going to change your plans? I don’t have any idea whether they’re still going to honor your deal. Creede said it’s up to Miller.”
“Well, crap!” Apparently, he hadn’t known. “Goddamn it! You’d think that would come up in conversation. I just talked to Miller this morning and he didn’t say a thing. I was joining because John Creede asked me, not because of Miller. He’s a horse’s ass and doesn’t have as much talent in his whole body as Creede has in his little finger.”
“Thank him for saying so.” John was standing next to the table, a pleased smile on his face. “I’d suggest he call his attorney. Since it’s still in the verbal stage, there might be a chance to get out of the deal now. I’d enjoy forming a company with him as part of it.”
“Really?” Now Bruno’s voice sounded more than a little excited. “Hey, tell him—”
I shook my head, amused. “Why don’t you tell him? I need to use the bathroom.” I handed Creede my phone and they started talking terms. Worked for me. I’d be happy to have them team up. Bruno working in my building. That would be amazing.
By the time I got back, the phone was closed and waiting for me on the table and there was a combination plate in front of John. He lowered the fork that was halfway to his mouth and said, “Hope you don’t mind. I’m starving.”
“Me, too. Go ahead.” I sat down and picked up the old-fashioned malted glass that was obviously waiting for me. The contents were warm and smelled wonderful. But scent isn’t everything, sadly. There was an odd, metallic tinge to the smoothie and the cheese was stringy and lumpy enough to nearly make me gag.
Barbara came to the table, looking like an eager puppy, watching for my reaction. Should I lie to save her ego, or tell the truth and give them the chance to try again? I went for analytical. “Spices are about right, not too much garlic or onion. But there’s an odd metallic aftertaste. And maybe a different kind of cheese? This didn’t melt fully and I can’t do solids. At all.” Okay, good. She was taking notes and didn’t look at all offended. I breathed a sigh of relief. “But a great first attempt! Really.”
She picked up the glass even though I’d taken only a few sips. “Okay, let us give it one more go before we give up today. Just take a second.”
It was a torturous few minutes. I could smell John’s plate and watch him chew it with obvious delight, and my hunger was getting hard to resist. He wasn’t quite done with his plate before Barbara was back. “Try that,” she said with pride.
I took a tentative sip. And then another. Yum! “Wow! Not bad, Barbara! Not bad at all. I can live with this. What did you do different the second time?”
I was sipping as she spoke and nearly spit it out when I heard, “We cooked the cow blood just a little bit, to get rid of the metallic taste, and I switched to Velveeta instead of regular cheese. I don’t use it much, but it does blend better.”
“Cow blood?” I asked as my tongue conflicted with my brain and good sense.
She looked at me as though I were nuts. “Well, of course cow blood. Girl, you got to have plasma protein and there’s none better than cow. Just short of human for taste. Pig is a little better for nutrition, but there’s all those diseases they carry and you are still part human.”
It was like finding out I was eating worms and liking them. John didn’t say a word. He made a little smirk that he covered with a coffee cup. But I knew he thought it was funny. That’s okay. I had plenty of time and many ways to get him back.
I forced myself to drink the smoothie because logically she was right. But it still disturbed me to realize how good it tasted. Almost immediately, I started to feel better. I even felt my hands warming up, although I hadn’t realized they were cold until they heated. Reluctantly, I stopped myself before I licked the glass down more than a few inches.
Then Creede and I talked business, including discussing who the shooter might have been. After a little hesitation, I unbent enough to show him the curse mark and tell him what had happened . . . jeez, was it only this morning?
“And you’re sure there was no sign of the mark before then?”
“Nope.” He was holding my hand in hi
s, palm up, running an index finger over the ugly discoloration of the mark. His touch wasn’t in the least erotic this time and I was grateful. Because if there was any chance we were going to be working together I did not need that kind of distraction.
“About the only thing that can create and hold that level of illusion for any period of time is demonic energy.”
Oh, crap. Demons. Again. I shuddered at the memory of facing off against a demon in the parking lot of Anaheim Stadium. It had been one of the most awe-inspiring and terrifying experiences of my life. I did not, ever, want to encounter the demonic again.
“I can feel a hint of it still. But that was just the masking. The curse itself isn’t demonic at all. In fact, I can’t really tell what kind of energy is behind it. But whoever or whatever cursed you was damned powerful and the curse feels old.” He shook his head and gave me a wry grin. “You do lead the most interesting life.”
“Tell me about it.”
Juan, the oldest son of the owner, was waiting tables today. I’ve known him since he was too young to carry a fully laden tray. Bright and handsome, he was wearing a starched white shirt and crisp black trousers. I smiled in greeting as he brought my third margarita to the table. Creede had excused himself to use the restroom, so Juan and I spent a couple of minutes chatting, catching up on family gossip.
I hate having my back to the door. But I didn’t have much choice when we’d arrived. When I saw Juan stiffen and heard a commotion by the door I had to turn sharply in my seat and look over my shoulder to see what had drawn everyone’s attention.
Three imposing men in hand-tailored suits had come through the front door and were peering through the gloom, obviously looking for someone in particular. As soon as I got a good look I knew they wanted either me or Creede. The man in front was George Miller. How the hell did he know we were here? Sure, Creede’s car is pretty unique, but La Cocina isn’t in a common area of town and I don’t think George had ever been here before the wake.