by A
―Oh no! You can‘t do that!‖ Dr. Sloan paled and dropped my hand as if burned.
I blinked a few times at his vehemence. ―Why the hell not?‖ I asked.
He shook his head firmly. ―The curse has been a part of you for too long. I can‘t imagine
how you‘ve survived, but you have, and your body and psyche have incorporated the curse
into your development, your very being. To simply break the curse now would destroy you.‖ I
could tell he meant it.
Well, crap. ―Then how do I get rid of it?‖
He thought about that for a long moment. ―Your best bet would be to get the person who
cursed you to withdraw the curse.‖
Like that was likely. Anybody who was willing to put a death curse on a little kid wasn‘t
likely to be the merciful sort. If they‘d admit to it in the first place. After all, death curses are a
felony—attempted murder.
―What if the person dies?‖
He gave me a penetrating look that was fraught with disapproval. ―Ms. Graves—‖
―I‘m not going to do anything,‖ I assured him. What was it with people today? Did I look
like a murderer? Wait, I had fangs and glowed in the dark, so I probably did. Hell.
I hurried to reassure him, ―The kind of person who uses death curses doesn‘t usually live a
nice, quiet life in the country, Dr. Sloan. If whoever cursed me dies, do I? Or does the curse
unravel after their death?‖
He tapped his lip thoughtfully with his index finger. ―You‘re assuming whatever being
cursed you can die. Most divine and semidivine beings are immortal or the next thing to it.
Still, I would guess it would unravel. Most curses do.‖ He turned to Warren. ―I don‘t suppose
you have a digital camera? I would love to take a photograph of this, see if I can find anything
out about its origins.‖
Warren shook his head no. ―Sorry.‖
―Not even on your cell phone?‖
―Nope.‖
―I have one in my office.‖ Sloan looked at me. ―Do you mind? You‘ll wait here?‖
―I‘ll wait.‖ He scurried out, moving with remarkable speed for such an old guy. Then again,
he was probably more excited than he‘d been in over a decade. For an academic like him, this
was big stuff. As soon as he was out of hearing range, Warren rose and shut the door. He
turned to me. ―Not exactly the essence of tact, is he?‖
I laughed. ―No. Not really. He doesn‘t seem to get that while this is just a mental exercise
for him, it‘s life or death to me.‖
Warren‘s eyes darkened, his expression sobering. ―He‘s one of the best in the country,
maybe even the world.‖ Warren settled back in his chair. ―And he‘s tenacious. Once he goes
after this, he‘ll keep after it. If there‘s any kind of solution, he‘ll find it.‖
―So I just have to stay alive.‖
―That would be preferable, ‖ he said drily.
I laughed. ―I know it sounds weird, but talking to him actually made me feel better.‖
Warren leaned forward so fast his chair made a thunking noise.
I hurried to explain. ―Seriously. I‘ve always wondered, ‗Why me?‘ How could all this shit
keep happening to one person? Now I know. It may not change anything that‘s happened, but
at least I know it‘s not my fault.‖
―No one ever thought it was.‖
It was a nice thing for him to say. It was not, however, precisely true. Get a few drinks in
people and they‘d let all sorts of things slip out. As my dear gran always says, ―A drunk man
says what a sober man thinks.‖ More than once I‘d been accused of ―manufacturing crises‖ so
that I could be the center of attention, as if I‘m some sort of desperate drama queen. No. So no.
I don‘t even like being the center of attention.
I must have let the silence drag on too long. Warren said, ―All right, no one sane ever did.‖
I laughed again, my mind going back to identify the particular folks he was insulting. Still, it
was probably time for a change of subject. ―So, when is your lady friend going to conference
in?‖
―She should have logged in by now.‖ He glanced at the time indicator on his computer
screen, his brows furrowing with worry. ―If it‘s all right with you, I‘d like to give her a call.
She planned to drive to her office to call and probably just got caught in traffic, but—‖
―Go for it. Do you want me to step down the hall so you have some privacy?‖
―Do you mind?‖
I rose from my chair. ―Of course not. In fact, I think I‘ll go grab a can of pop. Would you
like one?‖
―No, thanks.‖
I closed the door behind me and started walking down the hall. I hadn‘t quite reached the
vending machine area when I heard Dr. Sloan call out, ―Celia, wait. You‘re not leaving, are
you?‖
I stopped and turned around, letting him catch up with me. ―No. Warren‘s making a call. I
figured I‘d get myself a drink.‖
―Ah.‖ He offered me the book in his hands. ―I found this on my shelves and thought it might
interest you.‖
I took the white leather volume. It was quite slender, probably not more than a couple
hundred pages. Most texts have a lot more heft. The title appeared in silver foil letters on both
the spine and cover: Man’s Experience of the Divine.
―There‘s a chart in the first chapter of the various divine and semidivine beings, demigods
and so forth, that might be useful for you. You can keep the book if you like. Consider it a
thank-you for bringing me in on this and an apology for my being . . . insensitive.‖ He gave me
an earnest look. ―I realize this is your life, but this curse is simply extraordinary. The first one
of its kind I‘ve seen on a person. A live one, anyway.‖
I gave him a wry look. ―That‘s one way to put it.‖
He gave a sheepish laugh. ―I did it again, didn‘t I?‖
―It‘s all right.‖ I meant that. He really was trying to help, and I needed all the help I could
get.
―Thank you for being so gracious. Now, if you‘ll hold your hand still, palm out, I‘ll take a
few pictures.‖ He held out a camera phone. ―With your permission, I‘m going to share them
with some of my colleagues. If there‘s a cure for this, one of them should know of it.‖
―That‘s very kind of you.‖
―Yes and no.‖ He gave me a conspiratorial smile. ―Posting these may help you, but it‘ll
definitely give me bragging rights. You have no idea how jealous some of my colleagues are
going to be.‖
I switched the book to my other hand and moved to a spot where the light was better.
Holding my hand palm up, I let him take half a dozen photographs. When he‘d finished, he
tucked the phone back in his pocket. ―There‘s one more thing I think you should know.‖ He
looked uncomfortable and I just knew I was getting bad news.
―What?‖ I tried to sound casual and failed.
―Until yesterday the mark was invisible, correct?‖
―Yes.‖
―You encountered something magical that changed that and was powerful enough to injure
both you and the other woman?‖
―Yes.‖
He sighed. ―Then I‘m sorry to say, there‘s a very good chance that whatever happened
affected the curse. It could mean that you encounter problems less frequently or th
at the threats
are less intense.‖
Sounded good to me.
―Or it could be the exact opposite.‖
No shit.
―Given what you‘ve said about your past, I greatly fear that you‘re going to be facing more
and greater dangers now. I‘m very sorry.‖ He was all earnest now, no longer just a scholar with
an interesting puzzle to work on. It‘s never fun to be the bearer of bad tidings.
―It‘s all right. Thanks for telling me. I‘ll just have to be very careful.‖
―Please do. I‘d hate to see anything happen to you. Now, I have to go. But I promise I‘ll
look into the matter thoroughly and I‘ll contact you through Warren as soon as I find out
anything that might help.‖
―I appreciate that. Thank you for meeting with me.‖ He waved and hurried off. I pulled out
my cell phone and dialed Bubba‘s number from memory. Yeah, he‘d said he‘d call, but I was
getting impatient. Dottie‘d talked a good game going out the door, but she hadn‘t looked good.
Pinning the cell phone between my shoulder and ear, I dug in my pockets for a bill that was
crisp enough to feed into the pop machine. He answered just as my can of ―pure liquid
refreshment‖ dropped into the dispensing bin.
―Hey, Celia. The doctors say she‘s fine. Said she should get some extra rest over the next
couple days, but no harm done. I did make her promise she wouldn‘t be taking those stairs
anymore. They‘re too damned steep for a woman her age, particularly with a walker!‖
―Amen to that.‖ I let out a silent sigh of relief. I‘d tried not to worry, but I couldn‘t help it.
Then there was the guilt. I mean, I was absolute hell on secretaries lately. What was worse was
that the death curse meant I would continue to be a danger to the people around me. I didn‘t
want to live in a cloister, but . . . oh, hell.
―Anyway,‖ Bubba continued, ―she insists she is not quitting. And she told me to tell you that
you‘d better not fire her just because she wore herself out. You need her. She‘ll just be more
careful from now on. She does want to be around Minnie, and Dawna does need the help.‖
He was quoting Dottie. I knew because I could hear her in the background, sounding
waspish as an angry schoolmarm.
I shouldn‘t agree. I knew I shouldn‘t. But I also saw a lot of me in her. I knew instinctively
that Dottie needed something more in her life than soap operas and cleaning her apartment.
Karl had brought that to her, bringing her people to do readings for, giving her a way to use her
gift and help others. Now that he was dead, she‘d been set adrift.
I understood, but I was not going to push it. ―Only if she promises not to overdo. She‘s not
going to do anyone any good if she winds up dead or in the hospital.‖
He repeated what I‘d said and Dottie agreed. I could hear the relief in her voice even over
the phone.
She‘d be careful. So would I. Until I dealt with the whole curse thing, I‘d spend as much
time as I could away from the office.
One step at a time, Graves. You found out about the curse. Now you find the caster and get
the damned thing removed. Then you won’t have to worry so much about Dottie, Dawna, or
anyone else.
9
I could‘ve gone to dinner with El Jefe. But I was exhausted. It had been a long, tiring day.
Besides, neither of us was very good company. He was worried about his friend from UCLA.
He‘d made calls and learned there‘d been no sign of her since she‘d left Los Angeles a few
hours before. It might be nothing—traffic, car trouble. But she should have called. There aren‘t
a lot of cellular dead zones between L.A. and Santa Maria de Luna. Of course her phone
battery could‘ve gone dead. Or she could‘ve forgotten it. Or any of a million other things. But
it wasn‘t like her. So he worried. I was concerned, too, and asked that he call and let me know
as soon as he found out anything. I wanted to eat something quick and get the Wadjeti back
under wards and behind cold steel. Then I wanted to go back to Birchwoods before John‘s
spell wore off and go to bed.
One good thing about keeping busy—I hadn‘t had time to fret about my upcoming court
date. I kept telling myself that Roberto was the best. We had witnesses, including a slew of
holy men who‘d come at my psychic call to banish the demon. I reminded myself that Ren had
sworn I‘d get off; and that King Dahlmar, whose son I‘d saved, would do everything in his
considerable power to help me. All of this was true. Even so, I was scared. On the long drive
from my office to Birchwoods I went over my testimony and my attorney‘s plan of attack in
my head.
I‘ve been a witness before, plenty of times, mostly in paparazzi stalking cases, defending
myself against assault charges from people who tried to get through me to the people I was
guarding. But this was different. This was a paranormal manipulation charge. And I was now
considered a monster. Both of which meant that I was considerably less likely to get a fair trial.
My attorney was sure that, worst-case, I‘d be confined to an institution of my choice. I hoped
he was right.
The spectre of a state-run facility had been haunting my nightmares even before the attack
on the limo. Now, knowing that someone there had already been paid to murder me . . . I
shuddered. Were the same people behind the shooting at the Will reading, or was that
something else entirely? I wasn‘t sure I had the energy right now to track down more than one
threat.
The closer I got to my destination, the worse I felt. By the time I slid my ID card into the
slot of the security machine for the outer gate I was well and truly depressed. A full-body
shudder hit me as the heavy metal grill rolled closed with a clang behind my car. Would this be
the rest of my life? Locked away to protect the world from me—or worse, to protect me from
the world?
The night guard at the second gate was a new guy, but apparently he‘d been briefed about
me, because the fangs didn‘t panic him. We went through the expected routine with holy water
and silver; then he opened the gate and I drove through.
I parked under one of the lamps, locked my weapons in the car trunk, and, feeling
vulnerable and naked, made my way through the open parking lot to the administration
building and the night-check-in desk. A very nice, very professional nurse took my shoes, my
cell phone, and my name before sending me off to my quarters.
A message had been written on a slip of paper and slipped beneath my door. I picked it up
and read: We must talk. It is urgent. I will contact you tomorrow. It was signed: Ivan.
Oh, freakin’ goodie. Just what I needed. More trouble.
I dropped the note onto the nearest flat surface and shambled off to bed.
I wish I could say I slept well. I didn‘t. My dreams were weird and haunted, my sleep fraught
with tossing and turning.
So, after a long, restless night, I rose and got ready to face the music. Since this hearing was
an ―official‖ event, I was escorted to the courthouse by the police—and not in my own car. At
least I wasn‘t under arrest, so I didn‘t have to arrive in handcuffs. But the police insisted I eat
two jars of beef and vegetable baby food in the back of the squad ca
r before we set off.
Logical, but yuck!
The Santa Maria de Luna Justice Center is a big four-story box of a building, built of stucco
painted brilliant white with brick red trim. Red tile steps lead up to the four front entrance
doors, each of which is manned by men and machines whose job it is to make sure nothing
dangerous makes it into the building. I‘d been through those doors many times. Today,
however, I was taken in the back to avoid the hordes of press staked out front waiting for
pictures of the vampire who could attend day court.
Roberto met me at the back door. He checked my appearance carefully, to make sure I
would make a good impression. I was dressed for success in a conservative navy suit with a
red silk blouse. It felt absolutely bizarre to be wearing one of Isaac‘s signature jackets and not
be carrying any weapons. Roberto had insisted on panty hose and heels. I hate panty hose.
Whoever invented them was a sadist. They are hot in summer and never fit quite right, even if
you don‘t get them on crooked, which I usually do.
The goal was for me to, in Roberto‘s words, ―channel Laura Bush.‖ So the skirt hit me well
below the knee and the pumps were low heeled and plain. I was supposed to be dignified,
sedate, conservative, and still look good. I had no idea whether or not I was succeeding at it.
My escort stayed close as we went up the stairs and through the hall leading to the
courtroom. The place was full of spectators. The most obvious glares were the ones I was
getting from Gerry, one of the head guards at Birchwood, and a group of five police officers,
all in their very best finery and seated together in the gallery. Gerry and I had been friendly
once—before he saw me go all spooky. It scared the crap out of him. Now he was making it
his personal mission to see me put away. I think he honestly believes it is the right thing to do.
Of course that doesn‘t make it any better for me.
I recognized one or two of the police officers. They‘d been among the people I‘d used my
siren abilities on. If I hadn‘t, a greater demon would‘ve wreaked havoc at that World Series
game in Anaheim a few weeks back. I had witnesses willing to testify to that.
But the prosecution had witnesses, too. According to the list they provided to Roberto, they
were even bringing in Dr. Greene from the state pen. Greene was a null and a shrink. She was