“Yeah, he did.”
Her face took on a more serious expression. “Any word on what might have happened to Sarah?”
“Not really, but we think Martin Johansson’s death might be related.”
She snorted. “If you want to know who killed Mr. Johansson, I suggest you look at irate fathers.”
I remembered my conversation with Diana Benning. “How about irate mothers?”
Jeri thought about it. “Maybe. I could see my mom fucking someone up if they hurt me, although I don’t know if she’d kill anyone.”
“How about pay someone to kill him?”
A sly grin spread across her face. “Not my mom, she’d want to hurt him herself, but I could see where other mothers might do that. Women can be nasty.”
“Naw, really? I never would have guessed.” We laughed.
My conversation with Diana Benning a little bit later took on a bit more serious tone.
“Tom Whittaker told us that Martin Johansson is the one who kidnapped Sarah,” she said.
“We don’t have definitive proof,” I told her, “but I have an informant that has said that. But my informant may have been involved. What I still don’t know is where she is now.”
Diana started to say something, then stopped. I watched her swallow, lick her lips, then ask, “Do you think she’s still alive?”
“Actually,” I said, “I do. That doesn’t mean we’ll get her back, but I don’t think the people who have her intend to kill her. But I haven’t given up hope, and I don’t want you to, either.”
The hope that blossomed in her eyes, on her face, was heartbreaking.
“Thank you, Danica,” she said, her eyes tearing up.
Chapter 43
That evening, looking at myself in the mirror, I wondered if the tomboy I’d always been was finally growing up. I thought I looked ravishing, and I was rather pleased about it. Madame Clairemont had outdone herself. The wide panel of glass beads outlining the deep V in the back matched the silver strands in my dark hair—what my father used to call ‘moonlight highlights,’ or sometimes ‘moonbeams.’ The royal blue silk-satin deepened the blue of my eyes.
Now, if I could manage not to express an opinion, break anyone’s arm, or throw a glass of champagne in some bitch’s face, I might make my grandmother happy and catch a husband.
I cracked up at the thought. Naw, never going to happen. I checked my wrist purse to make sure I had my father’s box and my needle gun, an invention of my own. It looked like a small writing pen and fired tiny needles of a frozen magikally enhanced knockout drug. I could also load it with various poisons, but figured that would be frowned upon at my cousin’s betrothal ball.
Kirsten looked like a fairy tale princess. The billowing layers of pale pink chiffon gave her an ephemeral look, as though she was floating. I could tell from the grin she couldn’t control that she was having the time of her life. She looked like a woman who would make the perfect trophy wife, but God help any fool who married her for her looks. Beautiful as she was, her beauty was the least of her gifts. And then there was her need to win, her ice-cold temper, and her absolute confidence that she was always right.
“Come along,” I said. “I can’t wait to see the looks of awe when we make our entrance.”
She giggled. The woman actually giggled. I made a note to myself to monitor her champagne intake.
“Where are we going?” Kirsten asked when we passed the stairs leading to the ground floor.
“Different staircase,” I said. I led her down a long hallway, all the way through the family quarters to a doorway. I pressed my palm against a metal plate set in the wall, and the magitek door opened after it read my DNA. A short, narrow hall took a couple of turns, then another door opened into a wide balcony overlooking the ballroom. A lot of people had already arrived. The orchestra was playing, but no one was dancing yet. It was the greet-and-mingle stage of the festivities.
“Are you ready?” I asked. I saw her hesitation as she gazed down on the throng below us. “Deep breath, and a slow descent. These stairs are extra wide.”
I hitched up my skirts and walked to the precipice. The staircase was wide enough for eight people to walk side-by-side. It curved as it descended, and anyone making their entrance was visible to everyone below.
I was glad I had to navigate the plunge only on two-inch heels rather than the four-inch spikes Kirsten was wearing, but she was used to such shoes. Due to my height, I’d never had to learn to walk in wobbly high heels. And in a floor-length gown, no one could see my shoes anyway.
We didn’t cause a riot, but we did attract enough attention to make me feel good. I would have been crushed if we were ignored. Afterall, there were only a hundred or so marriageable women our age in attendance.
When we neared the bottom, I spotted my grandmother, standing with Granduncle George and Grandaunt Denise. They were watching us, and they seemed to be pleased. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was pretty obvious to me that my invitation and wonderful dress had a reason behind them. I might not be on board with their intentions, but at least I hadn’t pissed them off. To my mind, I had fulfilled my part of the deal. Now I just had to be pleasant and dodge the suitors they had lined up.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life,” Kirsten said.
She followed me to say hello to my oldest relatives. They had all met her before, and they greeted her as an old friend. That helped to put her at ease. The formalities over, I headed toward the booze.
“I thought you said there wouldn’t be any food,” Kirsten said, looking over the buffet on the sideboard.
“Caviar on toast points isn’t food,” I answered, taking a flute of champagne. I watched her take a bite and make a face.
“Salty. Fishy.”
“That’s what the champagne is for, to wash the taste away. Try the ones with the salmon pate instead if you want fish.” I took one of the soft-cheese-and-sausage ones. Tasty.
“Gotcha.”
About twenty minutes later, the orchestra fell silent, and everyone turned toward the grand staircase. The lady of the hour stood there, the only woman in the place dressed in white. Even I had to admit that Lila looked radiant. The band took up a new tune, and she started down. Her fiancé met her at the bottom, took her hand, and led her out onto the dance floor.
He took her in his arms, and they launched into the traditional betrothal dance. Ballroom dancing, totally different from dancing in a bar, was a holdover from before the pandemics. Partners actually touching each other, getting in each other’s faces. From what I knew, the Magi were the only ones who still practiced the art form, arrogant in the belief that they were immune to most diseases.
I watched Kirsten’s face, and she was enthralled.
I didn’t know how old the betrothal ceremony was, or its origins, but I did know that the lower classes didn’t have such a ritual. Kirsten had fielded a couple of dozen serious proposals, and not one of them had been delivered in public. Of course, I couldn’t be sure where Marco’s and Lila’s original negotiation took place. It could have been in bed for all I knew, but I did know the final deal was sealed in either Uncle George’s or Frank Novak’s study. That’s how things were done.
At the end of the dance, Marco knelt down and held out a ring with a diamond the size of my thumbnail. She acted surprised, he put it on her finger, and then they kissed. Everyone cheered and toasted them, then the orchestra started again, and several dozen couples joined them on the dance floor.
As if by magik, Mychal appeared and asked Kirsten to dance. Jerri might classify him as a nerd, but he definitely had an appreciation of beauty and a sense of timing. Over his shoulder, I saw three other men pull up, disappointment evident, and turn away. Kirsten would have no trouble filling her dance card.
She shot me a panicked look.
“Go on. The men lead, just allow them to move you. You’ll enjoy it.”
I watched Mychal lead her out onto the floor and
take her in his hands, talking to her the whole time, and soon I saw her relax as he whirled her about.
I, on the other hand, ate another hors d’oeuvre, sipped some more champagne, and waited to see who my grandmother had lined up as a sacrificial lamb.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” A pleasant baritone voice. I looked up and discovered a pair of dark-chocolate eyes, deep enough to get lost in. Dark hair, almost black, tanned skin, and he was taller than I was. I couldn’t place his accent, but I didn’t think he was a native English speaker. If my grandmother had sent him, her taste was improving.
I gave him a smile. “Of course.”
He was a good dancer, strong and fluid. An athlete or a warrior. It was easy to let him lead.
“Your name, sir?”
“Aleksandr Janik.” He smiled. “Call me Aleks. And you, I believe, are the fearsome James woman who everyone gossips about. Danica?”
“Guilty as charged.” He appeared to be around my age. I searched my memory. Janik, one of the Hundred, from somewhere in Eastern Europe. Tied to Novak.
“A friend of Mychal’s, I believe?” he asked.
“We work together.”
“He is quite smitten with your friend.”
“Most men are.”
“And I am quite smitten with you.”
I felt myself blush. “You have a thing for women who get in fights?”
“I have a thing for beautiful, strong women who aren’t afraid to be themselves.”
Blush? My face practically burst into flame. I found myself tongue-tied.
“I’ve embarrassed you,” Aleks said. He took a deep breath. “And I’ve made a mistake. You think I’m a player, a man who preys on women, because I’m being so forward.”
“You certainly know how to deliver a line.”
He chuckled, leaning closer and dropping his voice. “I practice in front of the mirror so I don’t stammer and make a fool of myself.”
I had to laugh. “And how many times have you used that well-practiced line?”
He twirled me around, catching me around the waist and pulling my back against his chest, then let me spin away at the end of his arm. All a part of the dance, but it took my breath away.
“I have to admit, that was a line I haven’t practiced. I never dreamed I’d meet a woman like you. Normally, I would comment on the deep blue of your eyes, your thick and luscious moonlight-streaked hair, your sensual, athletic body, or how inviting your lips are, but instead I just blurted out the first thing that popped into my head.”
By that time, I was laughing so hard it was difficult to maintain the rhythm of the dance.
“How much did my grandmother pay you?” I gasped.
He looked genuinely puzzled. “She will pay me to dance with you? I will admit, that is tempting, since I am enjoying doing it for free. Who is your grandmother? Perhaps we can still negotiate something.”
“As if you didn’t know. Olivia Findlay.”
He cast a panicked look to where she was speaking to Frank Novak and another man I didn’t know.
“You’re a Findlay?”
I nodded. “My father, Lucas James, was her only child.”
The music ended. As he walked me back to where I’d left my drink, I said, “Are you a friend of Mychal’s?”
“Yes, but he didn’t tell me about your Family. I asked who you were, and he just said, ‘That’s my friend Danica.’”
I wondered at the tone in his voice. I had plenty of experience with men’s reactions to my family. Those who were either afraid of me or disdainful because I was a James. Then there were those who were afraid of screwing with a Findlay girl, or those gold diggers who were attracted by my perceived wealth. And then there were those just looking for a good time, who decided getting involved with a scion of the Ten was a potential level of seriousness they weren’t ready for.
It was impossible to explain to Kirsten the different issues I had with men. To her, relations with men were very simple. There were times I wondered if changing my name and moving to Europe would make things simpler for me. And of course, Family didn’t even touch on the prejudice some people had for those with elven blood.
I expected Aleks to drop me off, thank me for the dance, and scoot away as fast as he could. Instead, he grabbed two glasses of champagne and handed me one.
“To getting to know each other better,” he said.
“I would like that.” I clinked my glass against his. “How long do you plan to be in town?”
“For some time. Janik has recently assigned me here as our senior trade representative with Novak. I’ve taken an apartment at the Royal Arms.”
“I see. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with your Family’s business interests.”
“At home, agriculture—food, brewing, and distilling. Here in North America, primarily vodka, brandy, and beer, along with specialty foods.”
“Competitors of Findlay?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. I have a meeting with your grandmother next week to discuss distribution of our goods.”
The sizzle of lightning and a thunderclap startled the entire assembly. A gunshot rang out. People scattered and dove to the floor. I dropped into a squat, setting my glass down out of my way and pulling out the box.
Across the room from us, a man in a guardian’s uniform—the colors unfamiliar to me—stood over a man on the floor staring blindly into infinity. The man in uniform was bleeding from his upper left chest, and his coat was charred. As I watched, he grabbed a woman by the hair, brought her face close to his, and kissed her. His body immediately fell to the floor.
The woman whirled about and charged a man and a woman cowering on the floor near the wall. Another bolt of lightning grazed the possessed woman’s back, but she didn’t seem to notice. What drew my eye were the two people a few feet away—Mychal and Kirsten.
The crazed woman reached the pair on the floor and ripped the man’s head off, then stuck her fist through the woman’s chest and pulled her heart out. Then she turned toward my friends.
Mychal stuck his arm out, and I heard a Raider go off three times in quick succession. The woman jerked, then her head exploded, and her body fell to the floor. Mychal jumped up and stood over her.
“No!” I screamed. “Get away from her.”
Her body melted, and the demon who had possessed her took on corporeal form. Laughing maniacally, he reached for Mychal.
My partner took a step back and fired twice, both shots hitting the demon in the head. A Findlay guardian appeared at his side, and also fired twice, blowing holes in both sides of the demon’s chest. Its body collapsed.
The ballroom was eerily quiet, and then a woman screamed. Soon, a different kind of pandemonium reigned, but there weren’t any more killings.
I picked up my glass and turned to Aleks. “I have a feeling you’ll never forget the night we met.” My hand was shaking.
He gave me a wry grin and clinked his glass against mine, his hand as shaky as mine. “I think that’s a fairly safe prediction.”
“I need to go.” I drained my glass and crossed the room to where Mychal and Kirsten were. I didn’t put away my weapon.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, thanks to Mychal.” She was pale and shaky.
“Nice shooting,” I told him.
“Maybe. I don’t think her family is going to be happy.”
I looked at the remains of the woman the demon had possessed. “Did you know her?”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “I went to university with her.”
Chapter 44
At two o’clock in the morning, Mychal and I sat in Osiris’s office with Tom Whittaker and Henri Novak, the Novak Family’s head of security. Henri was Mychal’s uncle, and the family resemblance was obvious—tall, slender, with dark hair graying at the temples, and olive skin. A long scar next to his right eye was the only thing that marred his video-star good looks.
“How did a demon get past your security?
” Whittaker demanded.
What we had pieced together was that a guardian accompanying some guests from Europe had been possessed by a major demon. He killed a man, and was immediately wounded by real guardians. In response, he abandoned the wounded body and took possession of a woman who was nearby, then killed two more people.
Osiris started to open his mouth, but I stepped in. “Do you know of any system that can detect a possessed human?” I asked. “I don’t. I’m not even sure a mage who’s a demon detector can do that. Boss, with all due respect, finding blame isn’t going to help things. What we need to do is figure out who hired him, and why. Do we even know if the victims were the intended targets?”
Whittaker started to say something, then let it go, and slumped back in his chair. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“We don’t even know if the demon originally possessed that guardian here, or in Serbia,” Henri Novak said. “The three people it attacked are all from the same Family in Eastern Europe. It leaves a leadership vacuum in one of our allies.”
“Who would benefit?” Mychal asked.
“The quick and obvious answer is the Rudolf Family,” Henri answered. “They’re competitors in the same markets, and there’s a long-running feud between their Houses. But why would they do such a thing here? We must be careful. I think we’re meant to see the obvious.”
“Someone wanted to upset Findlay,” Whittaker said. “Some of the Families represented here aren’t friends of yours. Some Novak allies are Findlay rivals, and some of the people invited are only tied to Findlay through marriage.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but if one of Findlay’s rivals set it up, it seems a little chancy to put your own friends in jeopardy like that. Once a demon gets started killing, you can’t expect him to control himself. Especially a major demon. The emotional high he probably experienced from more than a thousand terrified people would have been tremendous.”
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