by Adams, Cat
“The clairvoyants kept saying that you
were the key to what is going on, but
they couldn’t tell me why. The queen
insisted that you were loyal and had
saved her and Adriana at the bridal
shop. I wanted to judge for myself.”
“And?”
He answered my question with a
question. “What happened in the desert?
How did you know Jason Barnes’s
brother? What do you know about the
Guardians of the Faith?”
I was being interrogated. Oh, we
weren’t in a cinder-block room with a
one-way mirror, but this was an
interrogation nonetheless.
Fair enough.
I straightened in my chair. “Are you
taping this?”
He arched a single blond eyebrow.
“I’ll tell you what little I know. Lives
are at stake. But I don’t want to risk
some of what I’m saying to leave this
room.”
“I can’t promise you that.” He shook
his head. “I have to pursue my
investigations, to protect Queen Lopaka
and the others.”
I hadn’t expected any less, but he was
missing my point. “I know that. But I
have enough problems with the press,
and with law enforcement officials
thinking I’m a monster. Use the
information any way you need to, but be
discreet. I don’t want to see it on the
news.”
He nodded his approval. “You have
my word.” He gave the words weight
and I felt magic building behind them.
He made a quick gesture with his right
hand and I heard a sound like the ringing
of a bell, saw a flash of color as red
runes flickered to life in the ceiling and
walls.
“Now, talk.”
I wasn’t sure what was relevant, so I
told him everything that had anything to
do with the sirens. I started with the
curse Stefania had laid on my sister and
me—when I showed him the mark in my
palm, he said “Hmm” in a quiet voice. I
went through the incident in the desert,
my encounters with Okalani, and
everything
else,
including
what
Hiwahiwa had told me regarding the
clairvoyant’s vision.
He asked many questions.
Most, I answered. Some, I couldn’t—
because I flat out didn’t know. He didn’t
seem upset or disappointed, just
accepted my lack of knowledge and
moved on.
Finally he leaned back in his chair,
fingers steepled to tap against his lips.
His
expression
was
serious
and
thoughtful.
“Well? What do you think?”
“I think,” he said, leaning forward and
setting his hands, palm down, on the
desk, “that this is a fucking mess.”
Well, that was honest.
“And while I don’t think you should
be held responsible for it, your actions
were one of the root causes of recent
events. Still, I can’t see what else you
could’ve done under the circumstances,
and you can’t be held responsible for
your enemies’ terrorist actions.” He
sighed. “Your aunt wants me to keep you
safe, but you’re caught right in the
middle of this mess. I don’t see that
there’s anything that can be done about
that, either. The death curse has
something to do with that, no doubt. If
Queen Stefania wasn’t already dead…”
He let the sentence dangle. He didn’t
need to finish it. I knew exactly what he
meant. I felt pretty much the same way.
We had a moment of silent accord.
Then I said, “So, now what?”
“Now you go back to the hospital to
stay with your grandmother and I get to
work. But please, if you can, try to stay
out of trouble, at least for the next few
hours. My agents are stretched thin
enough as it is.” He gave me a real
smile. His eyes sparkled and a pair of
deep dimples creased his cheeks. He
rose. With a gesture of his hand, the
runes disappeared, the magic dissipating
like mist before the sun.
“I’ll do my best,” I promised as I rose
to my feet. When I extended my hand to
Thorsen, he shook it.
It was late by the time we got back to
the hospital; my conversation with
Thorsen had taken quite some time, and
then I had my driver stop at an all-night
pharmacy. I picked up some toiletries
and clothes for Gran plus baby food and
nutrition shakes for me. I downed two of
the shakes in the car, so I was
reasonably well fed by the time we got
to the hospital. The guards at Gran’s
door checked my identification and
squirted me with holy water. Once they
were sure I was really me, I was able to
enter the room.
She was still out cold. Lying on the
hospital bed, she looked so tiny. Her
slight body barely raised a lump beneath
the thin green hospital blanket. She was
snoring a little, a sound familiar from the
many times I’d slept at her house.
Hearing it made me smile. As I stood
next to the bed, looking down at her, I
promised myself that I’d keep her safe
somehow; that we’d work out our
differences, whatever it took.
But it wasn’t going to be easy.
Still, that was a problem for later. For
now, I just needed to be here with her.
So I stacked my packages in the corner
and settled into the recliner next to the
bed.
The chair wasn’t too uncomfortable
and I was freaking exhausted. This had
been an incredibly long day. I needed
rest. There were guards on the door. So I
closed my eyes and soon dozed off.
Previous experience had taught me
that I wouldn’t get a lot of sleep in a
hospital. Every few minutes, one staff
member or another would come check
on my grandmother. Still, I did get some
rest, but it was just dawn when I woke
for the first time in years to the sound of
her voice.
“Celie? What are you doing here?”
She didn’t sound happy to see me.
I used the lever to shift the chair to its
upright position and tried to shake the
cobwebs from my head. Gran was sitting
on the edge of the bed, feet dangling.
She scooted off of the bed, steadying
herself with one hand on the mattress as
her feet reached the floor.
I rose, intending to help her, but she
waved me aside.
“No. I can get myself to the bathroom
without your assistance, thank you.” The
words were as bitter as acid, and
I
stepped back, stung.
She was steady enough to make it the
few steps to the bathroom and use the
facilities. That seemed like such a good
idea that I followed her example as soon
as she was done.
When I came out, she was back in
bed, tucking in to the breakfast I’d heard
arrive while I was in the bathroom. She
had the wheeled tray pulled close and
the bed adjusted to allow her to sit up
straight.
“Before you say anything,” Gran said,
setting down her spoon and looking me
straight in the eyes, “I remember now
why I’m here. I was just sleepy and
disoriented. So you don’t need to worry
about that.”
I opened my mouth to respond but she
kept talking.
“And I don’t want any lectures from
you about where I’ve been living. It’s
my choice and my money. I’ve been
making my own decisions since before
you were born.…” She was starting to
work up a good head of steam. If this
kept up, we’d have a fight, which I
didn’t want, but she apparently did.
Most likely she thought the best defense
was a good offense. But she didn’t need
to defend herself from me. Why didn’t
she realize that?
“Gran, stop. Just stop. All right? I get
it. You wanted to be close to Mom so
you could visit every day and you
wanted to make sure she had everything
she needed at the prison. Money just
doesn’t ever go as far as you think it’s
going to.”
She subsided a little, but her
expression remained wary. She stared at
me, chin down, eyes narrow with
suspicion. That look, more than anything,
told me just how hard times had been for
her lately.
“I wish you’d talked to me. I could’ve
helped, could’ve visited.”
“Why would you bother? You don’t
visit your own mother.” Wow, the
amount of bitterness she fit into that
sentence was enough to choke on.
I took a deep breath, fighting to
maintain my self-control. “I love Mom. I
will always love Mom.” God help me,
that was the absolute truth. “But I won’t
let myself in for more abuse. I’m not that
much of a masochist.”
“Celia Kalino Graves! Your mother
never—”
I cut her off. “Bullshit. You don’t
believe me, hire a clairvoyant. Have
them take a look back for you. Hell, I’ll
even pay for it. But I’m warning you—
you won’t like what you see.”
Gran’s jaw set in a hard line and we
glared at each other. This probably
wasn’t a good time to have this
particular argument. She was in the
hospital
for
a
reason.
But
this
confrontation had been brewing for
months, years even.
God help me, I was tired of trying so
damned hard to do everything right, to
make everything work, only to watch my
mother destroy my efforts … and then
have to listen to my gran make excuses
for her.
To my own surprise, I wasn’t shouting
when I responded. “You want to know
why I act the way I do? Go find out.
Then we’ll talk. But until you know the
facts, don’t you dare judge me. Don’t
yo u dare tell me that Ivy and I lived
some idyllic childhood with a mother
who cared about us. Because we
didn’t.”
“Get out.” She didn’t yell, but there
was a cold fury in her voice.
“Gladly,” I snapped back.
I picked up most of the packages I’d
stacked by my chair, leaving only the
ones with the clothing and toiletries I’d
bought for her. Then I left, without
saying good-bye, without so much as a
backward glance. But not without regret.
None of the guards said a word as I
left the room—not the two by the door,
and not Baker or Griffiths, who were
seated beside a small table on the far
side of the hall. They had to have heard.
I’d kept my voice down, but Gran
hadn’t, and the walls were paper thin.
But all four were tactful enough to at
least pretend they didn’t know what had
happened on the other side of that closed
door.
Baker offered me a box of tissues,
which is when I realized that I was
crying. Damn it! I took a few tissues and
tried to pull myself together. It took a
few ragged breaths, and blowing my
nose several times, but eventually I
calmed down.
“Not that I’m objecting, but why are
you two still on duty? Don’t they ever let
you sleep?”
Baker gave a delicate snort, which
pulled a small smile from me. “Please,
this close to the ceremony, with as many
tourists and strangers as we have on the
islands, it’s all hands on deck.”
“Besides”—Griffiths gave me a grin
that didn’t seem the least bit weary
despite the long hours—“you’re where
the action is.”
Wasn’t that the damned truth?
24
We
were on our way back to the
compound. I wanted a shower, coffee,
and breakfast. I knew that I had a lot to
do. But I couldn’t think what. I couldn’t
seem to think at all. I was on emotional
overload. So I rode in the back of the
limo in silence through streets that
weren’t yet crowded because it was
barely dawn. Oh, there were a few die-
hards, their dome tents pitched along the
parade route, fans waiting for the best
seats to the show of a lifetime. But
mostly the thin, watery light of a new
day revealed empty streets and darkened
shops.
It suited my mood.
Adriana might be perfectly happy with
how I’d handled things thus far. I wasn’t.
Gran could have been killed. Queen
Lopaka nearly had been. Natasha had
certainly had a close call. We all kept
scurrying around, putting out fires, but
we were just reacting and getting
nowhere in terms of finding out who was
behind it all. I had no doubt there were
all kinds of agencies working on this, but
so far their results had been less than
stellar.
But I was expected to slap on a smile
and keep marching blindly forward to
the wedding.
I hated it.
Right now I hated my whole freaking
life.
I knew I was feeling sorry for myself.
But I couldn’t seem to help it.
I needed comfort, a friendly voice,
somebody to l
ie through their teeth if
necessary and tell me that it wasn’t all
my fault, and that eventually everything
would be fine.
I checked my watch, figured out the
time difference, and called Dawna. After
all, what are friends for?
Dawna sounded bright, perky, and
cheerful enough to make my teeth ache.
“Good morning! ’Bout time you called
in. You would not believe the stack of
messages I have for you!”
“Good morning to you.” I tried to
force cheer in my voice to match hers
and failed, miserably.
“Uh-oh. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Gran’s in the hospital. She’s going to
be all right, but we had a big blow-up.”
“Let me guess, was it about your
mom?”
“Isn’t it always?”
Dawna gave a gusty sigh. “Pretty
much. Sorry. Why’s she in the hospital?”
I told her the whole story. If the
phones were being tapped, I wanted
everyone listening to know that we’d
stopped the a-hole and that nobody who
targeted my family would survive.
“Wow! Sorry times two, girlfriend.”
“Me, too. I figured I’d call and see if
you had any good news to cheer me up.”
“Actually, I do have some,” she
assured me. “First, Ron’s moving out
today. The movers are due here at nine
o’clock and the cleaners are coming at
one. I’m supposed to tell you that”—she
imitated Ron at his most pompous
—“he’s abiding by the agreement and
expects you to do the same.”
I found myself letting out a knowing
snicker. “Write the man a check and sign
it. And don’t quibble.”
A chuckle was followed by the
shuffling of papers. “Dom Rizzoli
called. He said I’m supposed to tell
you”—she paused, and I heard another
rustle of papers as she dug for the right
message—“He said to tell you: “‘Good
news. You won’t have to testify against
Raul.’”
That was a shock, but a good one.
“Say what?” Paulo Ortega was the drug
king pin whose tunnels I’d used to
escape. Raul was his baby brother and
right-hand man. Paulo was a violent
psycho who ruled his own private army
with an iron fist and practically
unlimited funds. The stick, and the
carrot, generally used in that order. I’d
been scheduled to testify about the
tunnels and the vampires in them. I
wondered what had happened. Had the
Mexican authorities decided—or been
convinced—not to prosecute?
Dawna continued, “Rizzoli didn’t say,