by Adams, Cat
extended the cup to her. “It’s black, but I
have cream and sugar available in my
office if you’d prefer.”
“Black is fine.” She stood, smoothing
her dress with an automatic gesture
before taking the cup from my hand.
God, she was tiny. I felt awkward and
huge standing over her. Normally, this
kind of thing doesn’t bother me. Hell,
Dawna had to be about this woman’s
size. So what was the problem?
Attitude. Which meant I needed to
adjust mine. Stat.
Baker took the lead up the stairs;
Angelina, Griffiths, and I followed. The
stairs to the third-floor office are steep.
I’m used to them, and I knew the agents
worked out. And it seemed Ms. Bonetti
did, too, because she made it to the top
without getting breathless or spilling her
coffee. Point to her.
As we climbed, I remembered the
night I’d gone to the winery in the Napa
Valley for the debut of the new wine
John Creede had helped create. Before
that evening, Dawna, Emma, and I had
spent several days in a spa. I’d been
pampered and patted, trimmed and
manicured. Hair extensions, smoking
dress, and perfect makeup.
It took me a few minutes to channel
the Celia I’d been that night, but by the
time we reached my office, I was the
woman John’s assistant had mistaken for
a model. Point to me.
We took our seats, me at my desk,
Angelina in one of the matching wing-
backed visitor chairs. Baker and
Griffiths waited outside the closed door.
“So.” I smiled with saccharine
sweetness and grabbed the bull by the
proverbial horns. “Shall we sharpen our
claws, or should we just cut to the
chase? I’d prefer the latter. I’ve got a lot
to do today.”
She didn’t even blink. “I want him
back.”
Wow, that was direct. I took a sip of
my coffee before answering. “I’d say
that’s up to him.”
“He wouldn’t be with you at all if it
weren’t for you using your siren magic
on him.” Her words were crisp, her
back rigid. It was obvious that she was
furious, and I hadn’t done a damned
thing. I hadn’t deliberately worked siren
magic against Bruno and I’d taken
measures to protect him, but I couldn’t
help having my siren abilities work
against me with Angelina. It made me
uneasy, since jealousy can be used to
kill us.
I shook my head. “Nice try. But I gave
him a charm that counteracts siren
magic.”
“He doesn’t wear it.”
She stated it as a fact. There was no
doubt in her voice, none, which I found
very interesting indeed. She knew about
the charm. Bruno might have told her,
but I doubted it. No, I’d lay my money
that Bruno’s mother was the source of
her information. It made me wonder if
talking was all Mama had done. The
charm had been made with my hair—
hair that could be used in all sorts of
spells: tracking spells being first among
them. Assuming, of course, someone was
a witch or mage with a certain level of
ability. Bruno’s mother is such a witch.
He comes by his talent naturally.
“Not my fault. Not my problem. We
got involved and were engaged before
the bite. I was no more siren than you
when he gave me a ring.” I took another
sip, trying to look casual.
“You’re not even faithful to him. You
expect him to share, of all things.” She
was practically spitting out her words.
Funny, now that she was getting angry,
she wasn’t nearly as attractive. She
looked cold, hard, and capable of almost
anything.
“Why did you come here?”
“I wanted to see what I was up
against. Now that I have, I realize I
shouldn’t have worried.” She rose to her
feet, using rage and posture to make
herself more imposing. “Good-bye,
Princess, ” she hissed.
I stayed right where I was and kept my
voice bland as butter. “Good-bye, Ms.
Bonetti.”
I watched her sashay out. She didn’t
slam the door because of the agents
standing outside. But she would’ve.
Bitch. A beautiful bitch, but a bitch
nonetheless.
Meeting with her probably hadn’t
been smart, but hey, not my fault.
“Whatever.” I shook my head. At
some point I was going to have to really
think about what had just happened—
probably talk it over with Emma and
Dawna. But right now I had an
unexpected hour to myself and I had all
sorts of uses for it.
I spent the time productively, going
over the schedule of wedding events,
looking for a spot to shoehorn in my
party. It seemed that my best choice was
the night of the rehearsal dinner on
Serenity. The notice was so short it was
practically breathtaking. There was no
way was I going to get a venue. They’d
all be booked up. I suppose there was
probably a suitable room in the palace.
It was a palace, after all. But what kind
of party happened in the bride’s home?
I looked around, trying to come up
with some inspiration, and found it. The
office. This building was secure. It was
historic and elegantly furnished. There
were multiple bathrooms and a kitchen.
If Ron took me up on my offer (and he
would—there was no way he’d miss a
chance to save a buck), there was a good
chance he’d be out of the way. We could
put a bar in the lobby and the buffet in
the conference room, and have a DJ and
dancing in the empty offices.
It might just work.
Holy crap. It really might.
I called Baker and Griffiths in to
review the plan with them. They
immediately started poking holes in it.
“No caterers. There isn’t enough time
to do background checks on their staff
and drivers,” Baker stated.
She was right, of course. Small
caterers wouldn’t have the facilities to
do something this quick. Big ones were,
well, big. “Crap.”
“You could use staff from the royal
kitchens,” Griffiths suggested.
“There are all sorts of laws about
importing food,” I pointed out.
“True,” he agreed. “But if they come
over today, they could buy and prepare
the food here.”
Baker grinned; her smile lit up her
face, taking years off of her appearance.
“What?” Griffiths and I chorused.
“I am
picturing Chef Antoine’s
reaction to working in an office kitchen.”
The two of them laughed. Apparently
it was an inside joke. Whatever. “Do
you think it’s workable?”
“Call the princess. She’s in charge. If
she agrees to it, we will make it work.”
20
Adriana’s answer (to my secret relief)
was no. She already had plans with her
gal pals from Serenity during that time
slot. Even though they were no longer in
the wedding party, they were her best
friends, and she wanted some time with
them before she moved to the other side
of the planet. And, as she pointed out,
there was no other room in the schedule,
and security would be a nightmare. She
thanked me for the thought, but insisted
that it just wasn’t workable. She added
that her friends had asked her to invite
me to come along. I told her I’d be
happy to, but as her security. She didn’t
argue, just said, “I’ll tell them you’re
coming.”
I didn’t dance out of the office after
that call, but I wanted to. I’d have done
my duty by Adriana the same way I
would for Dawna and Emma when the
time came. But Dawna and Emma, I
know. I know who to invite, and that if I
didn’t have it at La Cocina my friends
would be seriously disappointed, as
would Barbara.
So with a smile and a clear
conscience I told Dawna, Baker, and
Griffiths that the princess had declined. I
promised Dawna I’d keep in touch by
phone and e-mail over the next few days,
and with quiet delight, grabbed my
things and headed off to the islands.
* * *
The Isle of Serenity is actually the
largest of a chain of small islands in the
Pacific between the mainland and
Hawaii. For centuries the Pacific branch
of sirens have made it their home and,
until recently, kept it and themselves shut
off from the rest of the world. The
islands hadn’t appeared on maps. They
weren’t on flight paths. Magic had been
used to keep people the sirens didn’t
want to see at bay.
That was all changing, and changing
rapidly under my aunt’s new “inclusion”
rules, with mixed results. East Island has
the royal compound, the queen’s private
docks, and the nature preserve. West
Island is as modern as you could want,
with a couple of actual cities and the
international airport. I’d been worried
that there’d be trouble since I was
bringing in enough weapons to arm a
developing nation. Although Baker and
Griffiths had assured me that my permits,
my rank, and the direct orders of the
queen herself would smooth the way, I
was fretting.
Turned out I shouldn’t have worried.
Adriana had decided to meet the plane,
with Queen Chiyoko at her side, and
with all the pomp and circumstance that
a real princess would receive. It was so
weird. But I’d wager it would be best
not to get too used to it, because once the
wedding was over, things would get
back to normal with startling speed. The
attention span of the public in general
and
the
press
in
particular
is
exceptionally short.
What a relief that would be. Until
then, however, the spotlight was on the
sirens,
particularly
their
royalty,
including me. I knew full well that my
appearance was a direct reflection on
Adriana. So before we got ready to land
I popped into the miniscule but well-
appointed
on-board
bathroom
and
primped. I could, and would, look my
absolute best.
So my hair was fluffed, my makeup in
place, and my smile fang-free when I
stepped out of the plane and onto
television screens throughout the world.
Adriana embraced me with actual
warmth. To my surprise, Chiyoko
hugged me, too. Her posture was so stiff
she might as well have been wearing a
whale-bone corset under her pretty red
suit. But while it was obvious she didn’t
like me any better than she had the last
time we’d met, and hated having to touch
me even the littlest bit, she smiled like a
pro for the cameras and said all the right
things.
I was expected to say a few words, so
I told everyone how happy I was that
King Dahlmar and Princess Adriana had
found each other, and added that I was
incredibly flattered to have been asked
to be part of the bridal party.
One of the reporters in the back tried
to ask probing questions about my
mother and my childhood. I pretended
not to hear, answering other, lighter
questions instead. Then I posed for a
few more photos, before we were
whisked across the tarmac to the
motorcade.
We drove swiftly through the city, our
path cleared by an advance team.
Neither Chiyoko nor Adriana seemed to
want to talk, which was fine by me. I
contented myself looking out the car
window.
Serenity City was a lot like L.A.—
minus the movie stars and plus a lot
more flowers. There were lots of
boutiques and a handful of high-end
department stores. There were few signs
of the earthquake that had roused me
from sleep that night at Bruno’s, though I
knew from news reports that it had been
felt here, too. If there had been any
damage, it had already been cleaned up
thoroughly. Everything had been gussied
up for the royal wedding. Banners of
black and silver alternated with ones of
purple and gold above all the main
streets.
Posters
of
Dahlmar
and
Adriana’s engagement photograph hung
in shop windows that also displayed
commemorative plates, knickknacks, and
anything else you could think of. Adriana
looked
stunning,
nearly
ethereal.
Dahlmar looked regal and elegant. I
think they’d added a little more black to
his hair than he really has. But hey—
artistic license and all that.
The place was pulsing with life, too.
Gulls wheeled and cawed overhead,
their voices competing with the sounds
of the city. Baker commented that the
roads were packed because so many
people had come to witness the first half
of the wedding festivities. It had to be a
current of excitement ran through the
town, and for the most part everyone
from the mainland seemed happy in their
ill-fitting lavalavas and Bermuda shorts.
They lined the streets, shouting and
waving wildly as we went past, cameras
and cell phones clicking away, capturing
fleeting images of royalty. Adriana and
Chiyoko did the tipping-hand “royal
wave” as we drove down the street. I
couldn’t bring myself to, so I just smiled
a lot.
We’d reached the highway leading to
the east half of the island before Adriana
broke the silence. “What is the status of
the bridesmaid dresses?”
“They should arrive at Levy’s today.”
I smiled. “Isaac and Gilda have agreed
to do the tailoring and the spell work.
Agent Baker told me that they’ve cleared
their background check, so no worries
there.” I hadn’t been worried. I’ve
known and loved Isaac and Gilda for
years.
But
Adriana
had
wanted
reassurance from her own security
people. Her big days were coming up
very quickly and things hadn’t exactly
been going smoothly. She needed to
know that something, at least, was going
according to plan. Well, plan B. Or C,
or whatever plan we were on by now.
“You should be using one of the royal
tailors, not some stranger.” Chiyoko
didn’t even bother to look at Adriana
when she said it. It was a small slight,
but a deliberate one. Since she outranked
my cousin, she knew she could get away
with it.
Still, Adriana isn’t one to let things
slide. She smiled ever-so-sweetly and
answered, “Isaac has done all of Celia’s
tailoring for years. In fact, that’s one of
his outfits she’s wearing right now.
Cousin, how many weapons do you have
on you at this moment?”
I took a quick mental inventory. “Two
guns, a pair of knives, two One Shot
guns with holy water, about a dozen
various spell disks”—I paused, knowing
I was forgetting something—“oh, and the
garrote.”
Chiyoko turned away from the
window, her eyes just a little bit wider
than usual. “Truly?” She stared at me,
looking me up and down very carefully.
“I can’t see any of it.” Her voice was
more curious than disbelieving.
I don’t like flashing my weapons, but I
could tell that Adriana was up to
something. So, sighing, I pushed up my