To Dance with the Devil

18

Michelle Andrews was not my client. Nobody was paying me to take care of her, and some very scary people had made it abundantly clear that they wanted me to stay away from her. They’d let me know that I could be absolutely certain that my safety depended on it. There was no logical reason for me to protect her.

I’m not always logical.

She was a kid. Yeah, I know, she was in her twenties and I’m not all that much older. But I’ve lived a harder life than Michelle Andrews and it showed. I’d been less of a kid at twelve than she was at twenty-three. If I didn’t protect her, she was going to die. It was that simple. Besides, these guys had seriously pissed me off.

So I made what might, admittedly, be a stupid, self-destructive decision and called Kevin. After I filled him in, his first words were, “What do you want me to do?”

“Find out what hospital she’s in. Make sure the police have someone on her door. If they don’t—”

“I can stand guard until morning. But if it’s a magical attack, there’s not a lot I’m going to be able to do. Have you hired a mage yet?”

“Yeah, I did. Look, if we’re doing this, there needs to be a team and some organization. E-mail or text Dawna and me when you get the information. I’m going to be working on the other end of things, trying to neutralize the threat at the source. I’m putting you in charge of the team.” I still had to figure out who the hell was on the team, but hey, one thing at a time, right? “Dawna will coordinate things between us. Expect her to get in touch with the details after a bit.”

My next call was to Dawna. “Get your cousin up to speed and put her in touch with Kevin. He’s in charge of the team protecting Michelle Andrews.”

“We took the case? Michelle’s the client?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted. “Michelle got shot in the chest in front of La Cocina. I expect it’s all over the news. Kevin’s going to the hospital to make sure the cops are guarding her door. If they’re not, he’ll stay. We’re going to need to set up a team in shifts. I’m putting him in charge of it.”

“For a woman who’s not a client.”

“For a twenty-three-year-old kid whose mother was murdered and who just got shot by a sniper.”

She sighed, then said, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.”

“We’ll need more than two people—particularly since you’re not going to be working a shift. You’re not working a shift, right? You just got out of the hospital.”

I grunted. I didn’t like admitting I wasn’t up to taking a shift, but I really wasn’t. Damn it. “I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I need to get some sleep.”

“All right. You rest up. I’ll take care of things.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

We hung up. I fed Minnie and threw a plastic bowl filled with beef juices into the microwave for dinner. When it was ready, I drank it, then used a double chocolate diet shake to wash down a pair of sleeping pills. It was still early, but I was exhausted. Too much had happened. I needed rest. So while I normally avoid taking pills, I gave in to the temptation in the hope that I might have a night of deep, dreamless sleep.

It was a wasted effort.

I knew I was dreaming. But I was too deeply asleep to control or change what was happening. So I had no choice but to go along when I found myself with my eye to the scope of a rifle pointed at the exit of La Cocina. I waited for my target, smiling in satisfaction when she … also me, stepped out into the light.

I aimed between the victim’s eyes, enjoying seeing the cheery little cherry red light dance over my forehead. Then I moved the sight to aim at my heart, knowing I could take either shot and have a perfectly clean kill. But that was not my objective. My job was to injure, not kill. So I lined the sight up with the victim’s right shoulder, an injury that would be painful and debilitating but not fatal. I pulled the trigger, waking with a scream as I heard the shot ring out.

I sat bolt upright in bed, panting, my heart pounding as I grasped at the right shoulder of the T-shirt I’d worn to bed with my left hand.

Holy crap, that had felt real. “It was just a dream, a nightmare. No biggie,” I told myself. But as I threw aside the tangled sheets and shambled down the hall to the bathroom, I couldn’t put the image out of my mind.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed likely that my subconscious was trying to tell me something. So I slid on my shoes and went for a walk on my beach. I sat on my favorite rock, staring at the moonlight and starlight reflecting off of the ocean, letting the sound of the waves lapping the shore soothe me as I tried to figure out what was bothering me.

Michelle had been shot in the right shoulder with a rifle. The only spots suitable for a sniper had been close enough that even an amateur could have made the shot.

So why wasn’t she dead? Had it been, as my subconscious was telling me, a deliberate choice? The more I thought about it, the more I believed I shouldn’t ask Dottie to scry about it. It would be the easy solution, but it wouldn’t be right to risk her health. Maybe I could have Emma give it a try. Now that she had the mirror to use as a focus, she was able to do a lot more than most people with her level of talent. And she was young and healthy. Yeah, maybe in the morning I could ask Emma to take a look. But for now, I’d see where logic got me.

Okay, say the sniper had deliberately missed. Why would somebody shoot if not to kill? If he wanted Michelle dead, why not just kill her?

Bio samples can be used in a lot of negative magic. DNA can be determined from a blood sample as well. So I started asking myself what-ifs. What if the bad guys weren’t positive she was the right target and needed to make sure? What if they wanted a DNA sample so that they could do a spell that affected an entire family (as had been done to the Garza family at the wedding)? It would make sense. If they used what they thought was her blood to target the spell and got it wrong, the effort would be wasted. I wasn’t sure they’d care, but innocents would be wiped out. And in either case, the police would be on their trail.

Too, the type of spell that would target a family would take a lot of juice. Most individual mages couldn’t pull it off once without draining themselves dry and possibly dying. That was one of the main reasons spells like this were so uncommon. Self-preservation is a basic instinct. Fortunately for humanity, there haven’t been too many groups of homicidal mages willing to work together.

If I was right and Connor Finn was behind this whole thing … well, it seemed he liked things messy, liked inflicting pain. The spells he’d used against the Garzas before going to prison twenty-three years ago had been hideously violent. Leaving me in the sunlight had been truly effective torture. Abigail’s death hadn’t been clean. Slugger’s punishment had been torture as well, capped by his death. Just shooting Michelle wouldn’t be enough for someone like that. He’d want her to suffer.

Michelle was just a kid. She didn’t know about Connor Finn. She didn’t know about the feud, hadn’t done a damned thing to deserve being shot. But right now she was in the hospital, afraid and in pain. The only mother she’d ever known was dead.

It was wrong.

I’m no saint. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, made choices that I don’t like thinking too hard about. But if I let my fear keep me from protecting this young woman, whether she hired me or not—if she died because I didn’t shield her from the monster who was stalking her—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

Knowing what I was going to do didn’t make the possible consequences any less terrifying. But I’d face that when the time came.

Staring at the ocean, I confirmed the choice my subconscious had already made when I’d called Kevin. I was going to stop Connor Finn.

The question was how.

I needed advice from somebody I trusted who could be objective about things. One name sprung to mind: Isaac Levy. I knew just where to find him, too. He’d be at his shop at ten o’clock sharp.

I dressed conservatively, choosing a nice blue suit with a plain white silk top. My good sheaths had disappeared with the knives, so I strapped on a backup set. They were just a little less comfortable, and the stiff leather chafed slightly. Still, once the jacket was on you’d never know they were there. And even with the chafing, I was glad because, hey, I had my favorite weapons back. Sad to admit, I felt really naked without them.

I was waiting in front of Isaac’s shop, reading Kevin’s text, when Isaac arrived. He strode up to the SUV, his expression curious. His face broke into a genuine smile when I opened the door and he saw it was me.

Isaac stood a step or so back, giving me room to climb down. “Celia, so good to see you. Have you been waiting long?”

“No, just a couple of minutes.” I smiled at him. Isaac and his wife, Gilda, are dear friends of mine. They’re old enough to be my grandparents, and sometimes they act like the set I lost when my father abandoned us. Isaac was wearing his usual dark gray suit, but instead of his usual snow-white shirt, he’d chosen one in dove gray with silver striping. It looked very good on him.

“You’re looking very spiffy today,” I said. “Something special going on?”

“Gilda’s birthday. We have reservations at her favorite restaurant for lunch.” He smiled. “I’ve got her gift in the safe inside. Would you like to see it?”

“Does it sparkle?” I was teasing him a little. Gilda loves jewelry and Isaac loves to indulge her.

We both laughed fondly as Isaac began disarming the complex web of spells that protected his shop. Once that was done, he disarmed the more traditional alarm system. This might seem like a lot of security for one store—even though it was a triple storefront—but Levy’s was a high-end place. They stocked a lot of valuables and weapons, so they were always very careful. I’d even helped them pick out the firm and system they used.

When all was well, Isaac held open the door for me. I stepped in and flicked on the lights.

I felt like a kid in a candy store.

Levy’s had started out as a small place, tucked in beside a dry cleaning shop in a neighborhood that was just a bit off of the beaten path. They hadn’t moved, but they’d expanded into the spaces on either side and the shop was now fairly large, bright, and airy. It carries all my favorite stuff, and it’s of the highest possible quality. I’ve purchased all of my weapons and had all of my professional tailoring done here since I first went into business. Not only that, I’ve gladly referred everyone I know with similar needs, which is why Isaac and Gilda Levy are now responsible for outfitting the security services for both Rusland and the Isle of Serenity, the staff of Miller & Creede, employees of several other businesses, and more than a few “general contractors” like myself.

A part of me wanted to roam the aisles, see what was new, and pick up a few goodies. But no, I was here on business.

Isaac is the best at what he does. If anyone could give me the straight scoop, it would be him.

“So, what are you in the market for today?” Isaac asked as he walked past me. He inserted a key into the control box for the retractable metal gates, like those that protect the doors of stores in the airports or malls, that covered the shop’s windows.

“I know you’re busy, but do you have a couple of minutes to talk? I could really use some information.”

“Of course. Go on back into the workroom. I’ll join you in a minute. We can chat while I work. Gilda’s at the hairdresser this morning, but Edna will be in soon to cover the front.”

Edna was a widow from the neighborhood. They’d given her a part-time job after her husband died, to give her “something to do.” It had worked out well for both sides. Business at the shop had grown so much that the Levys had really needed the extra help. Still, I was sorry I wouldn’t be seeing Gilda.

At Isaac’s gesture, I made my way to the back room. Isaac’s workroom is a very personal space that is centered on a silver casting circle eight feet in diameter. Inside the circle are three daises of various heights that always remind me of the prize stands at the Olympics. If clients stand on the low dais, most of them are at the perfect height for Isaac to pin the hem of and do the tailoring on a jacket. The “second place” dais is great for hemming skirts. The highest stand is just right for hemming pant legs and tailoring them to perfectly to disguise an ankle holster. I remember how excited Isaac was when he had them designed and installed. No more crawling around while he performed either mundane tailoring or complex spell work.

Along the walls outside the circle are cube-style shelves in unfinished oak. They hold books in multiple languages, various spell components, thread, and sewing equipment. In one corner a wooden, roll-top desk and a pair of chairs sit next to a beautiful old sewing machine. A high-definition television hangs from a mounting attached to the ceiling. It could be rotated to face anywhere in the room and was helpful to keep clients from getting bored during long fittings.

I spent a few minutes scanning the book cubicles while I waited for Edna to arrive, freeing Isaac.

“So, you have a problem?” he said, right behind me. I hadn’t heard him approach, which was startling. I jumped a little; he laughed and I smiled. There was no danger here. Isaac continued, “Come sit down. Tell me all about it.”

We went over to his desk, where we sat down and I told him the story from the very beginning. Every once in a while he would stop me to ask specific questions. He was particularly interested in the hologram disk and the failure of my shield spell. As I was going over that for the third time, he opened his desk drawer to retrieve a pad and pen and took notes.

I told him about the research I’d had Anna perform and shared my theory about the reason for the shooting. I finished with, “My guy sent me a text a few minutes ago. He’s found out what hospital she’s in and is guarding the room. But I’m really not sure how much good it will do—particularly against a spell. And if we could find out where she is, I’m sure they can, too.”

Isaac tapped his pen against the desk in an irregular rhythm, then rose abruptly and strode over to a section of shelving that was filled with worn and dusty hardbacks. Reaching up, he pulled down one, flipped through it, and put it back before bringing a second volume back to the desk.

He set down the book and flipped it open somewhere just past the middle. Flipping a couple more pages, he found what he was looking for and turned the book so I could see the page clearly. “Is this the man in your hologram?”

The man in the picture was much younger, his features softer and less wrinkled, his hair a darker red. But there was no mistaking that it was Hologram Guy. I was not at all surprised to see the name associated with the photograph: Connor Finn. The two-page spread was fascinating: in addition to the photo, it contained biographical information on Connor, his family tree, a detailed summary of all of his mage test scores from grade school on, and a list of the spells he designed and executed.

“That’s him, all right. I don’t suppose you have a picture of his son, Jack?”

Isaac rose and retrieved another file. Sure enough, Jack Finn was the guy I’d called Suit. Damn it.

“Where did you get all this?”

Isaac smiled. “You didn’t know? I’m surprised. I would have thought Bruno or Isabella would have told you.”

I gave a bitter little laugh. Bruno doesn’t talk mage business with me. As for Isabella—Bruno’s mother—I wasn’t positive she’d spit on me if I were on fire. Sadly, this was an improvement on my relationship with her from a couple of years earlier.

Isaac’s expression softened. He’s my friend and he doesn’t like to see me unhappy. But he also knows me well enough to understand that I wouldn’t discuss my relationships with my lover and his mother. So he didn’t address it, just answered the implied question. “You know that Isabella DeLuca is the Grand Hag of the East Coast?”

“Yes. Back when she was first appointed, Bruno explained that it’s a really big deal.”

Isaac smiled benignly. “He’s right, it is. Well, I am her counterpart on this side of the country. I am the Interim Grand Master of the West Coast. I am also Head Chronicler.”

Holy crap! Go, Isaac. I’d always known he was a terrific mage, but I hadn’t had any idea he had a place in their hierarchy. “Wow. Congrats.”

“Thank you.” His expression sobered. “Connor Finn is in a maximum-security facility. He should not be able to work magic of any kind. Are you absolutely certain it was him?”

“I am, It was.”

Isaac drummed his fingers against the desk, his expression pensive. “I will need to check into this. I very much hope you are wrong, but I fear you are not. Connor had—has—one of the finest minds I’ve ever encountered and power no less than that of your Bruno.” He sighed. “But he lacks any conscience or sense of empathy. There are those born physically handicapped or mentally disabled. Connor Finn was born spiritually stunted.”

“He’s capable of anything.” I stated it as a fact because I believed it was one. Isaac nodded in agreement. Then he stood, and I rose as well, realizing my audience—which is what it had turned into—was over.

“If you will excuse me, Celia, there are things I need to do now. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

I paused in the doorway. “Isaac, can he do another spell like the one he used on the Garza family to kill Michelle Andrews?”

“Until I spoke with you, I’d have said no. Now I am not sure. But even if that is his intent, he will need the power of the full moon to do it. So we have some time to prepare.

“Thank you. Good-bye, Isaac.”

“Good-bye, Celia.” He raised his hand and made an odd gesture. I felt the warm wash of magic flow over me like a blessing. “Take care.”