by A
gorgeous, the kind of thing I could stare at for hours, noticing more and different details. It
probably cost more than the house I was buying from my gran.
Creede did a slow turn, taking in the sights. ―Nice.‖
―It is, isn‘t it? Yours?‖
―Oh, it‘s not bad. But it‘s not like this or Dahlmar‘s. Then again, I‘m not royalty.‖
He was trying to sound casual, but he was tense. I could see it in the tightness of his
shoulders, the way he kept flexing his hands. He looked a little worse for wear. There was a
big bandage on his cheek. His jeans were gone, replaced by a pair of drawstring sweatpants,
his nice blue polo shirt by one of Bubba‘s T-shirts. It was black and showed a slavering
bulldog with the caption Who’s the bad dawg? So very Bubba.
He gave me a long, appraising look. ―You have clothes?‖
―I sure as hell hope someone‘s going to find me some. The lavalava‘s nice, but you can only
wear something like that so long.‖ I gestured toward his ensemble, ―And somehow I don‘t
think Bubba‘s loaners would fit me.‖
Creede wandered over to take a seat on the couch. I took the love seat directly across from
him, curling my legs up onto the seat beside me. It was worth it to me to stare him square in
the eyes. ―Thanks for banishing the imp yesterday.‖
He scowled. He was a tough guy and I‘d just broken rule one of the Certified Tough Guy
Manual. I‘d said ―thanks.‖ You don‘t do that.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably and I wasn‘t sure if it was just because I‘d said
―thanks.‖ ―Seemed the least I could do under the circumstances.‖ Which was the acceptable
way of saying ―thanks‖ to me for my part in the rescue.
―So, what have I missed?‖
―Quite a lot really. I‘m not even sure where to start.‖
He shifted his weight and there was a tension to his posture I didn‘t like. Something had
gone wrong. I didn‘t know what. I wasn‘t sure whether it was important. But something had
definitely gone wrong. I raised my brows, encouraging him to spill. He did, sort of.
―Queen Lopaka met with King Dahlmar. Privately.‖
I wasn‘t certain why that was bad. But it did seem a good time to bait John about the charm
I‘d learned he made. ―I‘m surprised he‘d be willing to talk to her without a protection charm. I
wouldn‘t have thought he‘d trust her not to screw with his mind.‖
Creede smiled, a swift baring of white teeth. ―He didn‘t.‖ But he didn‘t seem inclined to
elaborate and I didn‘t feel like pushing. Not when he was in this mood. ―And while they were
doing détente, the sirens interrogated Bobby.‖
Bobby must have been the only surviving attacker. Talking about him, Creede‘s voice was
too flat, too matter-of-fact. We‘d finally hit the sticking point. Thank God. The suspense had
been killing me. I tried to think what the problem was and it occurred to me. Bobby was the
name of one of the guys who‘d come with Miller to the restaurant. It had to bother Creede that
someone he knew, had worked with, had tried to murder him. But I was betting that wasn‘t all
of it. I tried to meet his eyes, but he wasn‘t looking at me. He gazed out the French doors, as if
the sky and sea were utterly fascinating.
―A woman, probably a siren, was manipulating Miller magically. It‘s tied back to Dahlmar
and his problems. Apparently she figured with you in the hospital and out of the way, he‘d
come to us for protection. So she screwed with Miller‘s head, turned him against me.‖
Whoa. So Miller’s rage-filled betrayal was against his will? That moved the whole issue
from simply sad to criminal. ―Did they find out who it was?‖
Creede looked at me then, his eyes as cold and hard as Arctic ice. ―No. He told them
everything else. No problem. But when they tried for that, they hit a block.‖
I cringed at the razor-sharp edge in his voice. I‘ve heard of psychic blocks. They were never
good. ―What happened?‖
―It broke his mind. Left him a drooling idiot.‖
I didn‘t say anything. There wasn‘t anything to say. I mean, yeah, he‘d been trying to kill us.
But there are worse things than death and I‘d count what happened to him as one of them—and
I hadn‘t known the guy. Creede had.
―Why didn‘t she just influence you both not to take the case? That would‘ve been easier.‖
He gave me a haunted look. Reaching beneath the neck of his shirt, he pulled out an
amulet—a feather tied to a small sack with silver wire and what looked like a suspiciously
familiar long blond hair. ―She couldn‘t.‖
―So you did come to visit me just so you could hijack my DNA, didn‘t you—you bastard.‖
He shrugged, not admitting but, more important, not denying. ―Ivan had one like this.
They‘re hard as hell to make and it‘s a constant drain on my power.‖ He gave me a fierce look,
filled with pride. ―I may not be Bruno DeLuca, but I managed it. I managed to repower Ivan‘s
so Dahlmar could have his little chat with Queen Lopaka safely.‖
I didn‘t say anything. I didn‘t like that they‘d taken the charm from Ivan‘s dead body, but I
also didn‘t like Creede making one from my hair. But it wasn‘t my call. All‘s fair in the
bodyguard game. I‘d have done the same in reverse. Ultimately, it was practical. King
Dahlmar needed protection from the sirens. Ivan didn‘t. Not anymore. But I didn‘t like it.
―I first guessed what you were when we were guarding Cassandra. Her reaction wasn‘t
normal, even for her. So I stole some of your hair from your hairbrush in the bathroom at your
office. Made myself one of these as insurance for whenever you were around—just in case you
were more than you appeared to be.‖
I didn‘t like that. But it was also my own fault. I‘d been careless, leaving things out in the
open. Yes, it was my office. But if Creede could get bio samples, so could other, less savory
types. Note to self: start locking the hairbrush and toothbrush in the safe.
―I don‘t know how the siren knew she couldn‘t manipulate me, but she did.‖
―Could she have come by the office? Sensed it on you then?‖
―Maybe,‖ he admitted, ―but I think I‘d have noticed.‖
I shook my head. ―Not necessarily. It‘s a big building, with a lot going on. Miller might not
have felt the need to tell you about the meeting. Hell, she might have forced him not to.‖
―Maybe,‖ he repeated. Silence stretched between us for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, he spoke again, his voice harsh, angry. ―I was going to use magic to trace the hair in
the amulet Ivan made for Dahlmar to find which siren is behind all this.‖
―And?‖
―The spell didn‘t work.‖
―Maybe she wasn‘t in range.‖
He shook his head. ―I don‘t think so. From what they tell me, anybody who‘s anybody was
here for the hearing.‖
―But that doesn‘t mean they stayed after the ceremony was over. I know a couple of them
can teleport and there‘s an airport on the west half of the island. If I was working security, I‘d
have gotten everybody important off-site as fast as I could once the demon showed.‖
―Maybe you‘re right.‖ He leaned back into the couch, looking tired and more than a little
depressed.
&
nbsp; ―Speaking of Dahlmar, where is he?‖
―He‘s sleeping in and Bubba‘s on the door.‖ Creede‘s face darkened, his disapproval
patently obvious. Well, yeah. Bubba was probably still drunk, but it wasn‘t like the king was a
. . . wait a minute. I abruptly realized what the problem probably was. ―Creede, have you been
guarding Dahlmar?‖
―Well, of course. Somebody had to.‖ The implication being that I hadn‘t. That‘d I‘d been
screwing around while he did all the work. Um, no. Time to disabuse him of that little notion.
―Creede, before we met up at PharMart, did Dahlmar actually hire you? Sign any paperwork
like, oh, I dunno, a contract? Give you any money?‖
It took a full ten seconds for that to hit him. When it did, Creede‘s face was a sight to
behold. His eyes widened and he opened and shut his mouth two or three times as he tried to
come up with something appropriate to say. Poor baby.
I let out a small chuckle. I wasn‘t really laughing at him, but . . . well, yeah, I guess I was.
But he‘s been in this business a lot longer than I have. To make such a rookie mistake deserved
a little teasing. ―Of course not. Because he doesn‘t have any money. If he did, would he be
running around in a frickin‘ Mickey Mouse T-shirt? Oh, he‘s probably got money stashed
somewhere, but unless he goes to the U.S. government and claims asylum, he can‘t get to it—
and the second he does, the opposition will be able to track him.‖
Creede just stared at me, so I continued. ―I came on board your little operation for one
purpose: to introduce him to the sirens. I did it as a freebie because he pulled all sorts of major
strings to keep me from being locked up. Now he‘s here. He‘s met the sirens. My job‘s done.
Don‘t be thinking I‘m your backup or anything. You‘ll be disappointed.‖
―So you‘re not protecting him. He‘s on his own?‖ Creede didn‘t exactly sound judgmental,
more curious and embarrassed.
I sighed. ―Oh, I‘ll probably help his ass. I like him. Besides which, the people he‘s up
against are using spawn and maybe full-out demons and are probably the same people who put
a death curse on me. But he‘s safe enough here. He doesn‘t need me watching him. Queen
Lopaka isn‘t going to let anything happen to him. I need to get what information I can and rest
up while I‘ve got the opportunity. Question is, what are you going to do?‖
Creede grew thoughtful. ―People think they‘re using demons, but it backfires and before
long the demon‘s using them—they‘re an open door to our world.‖
―Yup.‖
―George Miller was my partner for years and my best friend longer than that. Somebody
connected with this used him and destroyed him.‖
I nodded.
―I‘m in.‖
―I figured as much. But why don‘t you let Bubba go back to bed?‖
―I‘ll do that.‖ Creede grinned. ―Poor man has a helluva hangover. You should‘ve warned
him not to try to keep up with you now that you have an unfair advantage.‖
―I was drinking Coke and he was pretty far gone before I even got here. I‘m not thinking
he‘s loving the whole lap of luxury thing.‖
―Whereas you, Princess, seem to be doing just fine.‖
―Don‘t make me throw peanuts at you.‖ I pointed a finger at him in warning and was
rewarded with a puzzled look. I laughed it off. ―Never mind. Private joke. But you need to get
out of here. I‘ve got to dress and get something to eat. I went to bed late, but it‘s been close to
four hours—‖
―Right. Wouldn‘t want to wind up a snack. I‘ll go.‖ He rose. ―But if magic isn‘t going to
help us find our siren, how are we going to track her down?‖
I sighed and stood, following him to the door. ―Do you really think we‘ll have to? She wants
me dead, wants Dahlmar dead. I figure all we‘ve got to do is stay in one place.‖
―You think she‘ll try again.‖
I lifted one shoulder, mostly in defeat. ―Don‘t you?‖
We stood there staring at each other for a long moment, him in the doorway and me with
one hand on the door. Tension appeared between us, fully formed, like that moment when he
pulled his hand away from my leg. There was fire in the back of his eyes—real fire. The
strongest mages always have a flicker of magic that you can see when you stare deep. Bruno‘s
eyes had always sucked me inside until that flame surrounded me. Even as a human I could
feel his magic, but when I was a vampire it had blown me away.
Creede‘s magic wasn‘t as powerful, but there was a weight to his gaze that had nothing to do
with magic. It unnerved me. Not only because of the intensity of it but also because of the
charm around his neck. He leaned closer as my hand froze on the door, my fingernails digging
into the hard wood, not because I didn‘t want him to come closer but because I did.
He was close enough now that I could feel his breath like heat on my skin. He might not
have me in a total binding spell, but something had me frozen in place.
―Yeah. I do.‖ The words were powerful and full of meaning, but I‘d forgotten the question.
He closed his eyes then and I tensed. But he just took a deep, slow breath, as though smelling
the air around me. A full-body shudder overcame him and he shook his head before turning
without a word.
It was at least a full minute before I could move again, and when I shut the door I was
shaking.
18
Dahlmar and Lopaka were in meetings again, so I had some time to kill. I spent it using the
computer on my desk to catch up on stuff at home. I‘d qualified for the loan. I‘d need to swing
by the bank when I got back. Mom was in detox. Apparently she‘d gotten the DTs in jail. Gran
was upset but hanging in there. The news that I‘d be able to buy her house cheered her up quite
a bit. Of course she wanted everything to happen now. When she found out I wasn‘t in town
and couldn‘t take care of it immediately she got downright snappish. She was even madder
when I told her I probably wouldn‘t even be back in time to take her to church Sunday. I was
glad to hang up the phone.
E-mails were plentiful and informative. Warren‘s friend was okay. She‘d had car trouble,
but it was fixed. She‘d invited us to come up to dinner next week. Unfortunately, the ―us‖
referred to me and Bruno, which ripped the scab right off that wound. The next message only
heaped on the salt.
Emma had arrived in New York. The apartment was amazing. The office was amazing.
Irene was amazing. Everything was just . . . amazing. Emma‘s boss was in and out of meetings
the first day, but she expected Em to jump right in. In fact, she‘d be flying out this morning on
the corporate jet for a business trip. She sounded excited and incredibly happy, but I could tell
she felt a little guilty, too. After all, my life pretty much sucked right now. I sent her a quick
note telling her not to worry and that I was happy for her. That accomplished, I shut down the
computer and went to take advantage of the spa-style bathroom facilities.
There were lots of mirrors, so I was able to check out every inch of my body. Good news, it
didn‘t look like I‘d be getting any new scars from yesterday‘s little adventure. Yay.
Considering how bad the burn
s had been, that was pretty remarkable. I was vain enough to be
relieved.
I‘d poked around in the dresser before stepping into the shower. Someone (I was guessing
Hiwahiwa) had gone to the west side of the island to shop for me, so when I was clean I pulled
on brand-new everything. Of course whoever it was had based her choices on what I‘d been
wearing the first time she saw me, so it was a little more goth than I was used to, but the
clothes were clean and comfortable. She‘d even done a good job of guessing the size of my bra
and panties. Then again, she‘d gotten to see them.
I blushed furiously and tried not to think about that too hard. I needed to get over my
embarrassment about nudity. Hell, I‘d been wearing as much as most people wore around the
pool. But it just wasn‘t the same in my head. I wasn‘t sure quite how to cope other than to
pretend it hadn‘t happened. Easier said than done.
Lunch killed another hour or so, but by mid-afternoon I was bored out of my mind. Creede
was with Dahlmar. Bubba had gone to the west side to see what replacement boats might be
available in his price range. I had nothing to do and lots of empty hours to do it in.
Salvation came in the form of Agent Baker and an invitation from Queen Lopaka‘s personal
seer.
Queen Lopaka has told me of the curse you bear. I believe I can be of assistance to you in
unraveling the mystery surrounding this. If you would like me to try, I will be home most of
the day. My daughter, Agent Baker, will be happy to escort you here.
Pili
Baker drove the golf cart on a road of sparkling white gravel that wound snakelike through
the manicured jungle plants of the queen‘s compound. A pair of guards, male this time, jogged
alongside. We moved at a nice steady clip through a secluded group of buildings that had been
designed in such a way that while they were actually fairly close together, they had been
incorporated into the landscape so well that they were practically invisible to one another. I
was told we were a couple of miles from the village where the royal staffers lived and quite a
few miles from West Island and the cities. Baker suggested that, if I had time, I should head
west and see the sights, maybe even go clubbing. A lovely thought, but I doubted I‘d get the