Blood Song

“Speaking of weapons, what have you got on you?”



He held open his jacket to show me his main gun, a Glock Safe Action 9mm in a custom leather holster. Loops in the lining of his jacket held a pair of throwing knives. I knew they had high silver content, and could tell from the engraving that he’d sprung for the throwing accuracy spells. But that was it. Which was so not like him that I was actually taken aback. I tried to hide my surprise, but it must’ve shown, because he answered me, his voice gruff with embarrassment.



“I had to pawn some of my stuff to pay for the ticket out.”



Well, shit. I really didn’t know what to say in response to that, so I kept my mouth shut. It just seemed safer.



“Well? I showed you mine—” He made a gesture that was more a demand than an invitation. Which was fair, I suppose. But I was almost embarrassed to show him. Steeling myself, I held open the jacket and watched his eyes widen as he took inventory of my armament. “Damn, girl! And it doesn’t even show.”



“Special tailoring and spells on the jacket,” I admitted. “And I had the sleeves made wide enough that I could draw my knives.” I did just that, pulling one with a smooth, easy draw. I held it out to him hilt first. Anybody else, I wouldn’t have shown the knives. They were a gift from Vicki and are valuable as hell. The spell work on them is such that they rank as major magical artifacts. People have killed to get their hands on that sort of thing. For me, though, they were a major part of my kit, because a single scratch from the blade will kill pretty much any of the monsters. I never wanted to get close enough to have to use them, but I damned well wanted to have them … just in case.



Bob let out a long, low whistle as he ran his hands over the polished wood handle. I was guessing he was testing the spell work as well but couldn’t be sure. “Damn, girl, you get the best toys.”



“Gift from Vicki,” I admitted.



He shook his head and passed the knife back with what was almost reverence. “Keep those out of sight if you can. Don’t want to invite trouble.”



I just nodded my assent and thought about the possibility of trouble. Something about this job was bugging me. (Other than the obvious demon thing.) It wasn’t obvious, just a pebble in your shoe kind of thing. Bob had said he didn’t like the guy who’d interviewed him. I couldn’t say I disagreed. The guy I’d talked to had been vague about details of the job to the point of being coy. I don’t like coy. He’d answered my questions in ways that really didn’t tell me much of anything. I’d come damned close to rejecting the job.



And then there was the fact that I suspected I might have been chosen just because I was a woman, to force Rezza into toeing his father’s progressive line.



Don’t get me wrong, there are cases when a woman is specifically needed—you get a female client, she needs someone who can check out the ladies’ room without problems, go into dressing rooms. But that wasn’t what this was supposed to be.



“I feel better knowing you’re here.” Bob admitted quietly.



“Back atcha, big guy.”



The elevator bell rang. We stepped inside the elegantly appointed cabin. Pressing the button for the top floor, I turned to face the front as the doors whooshed smoothly closed. When they reopened I stepped into an expansive living space. One entire wall was a bank of windows, open to show a panoramic view of the city lights sparkling below.



Stupid. Unless those windows were bulletproof, I could see three perfect spots for a sniper’s roost, and that was without really trying. I thought about the demon again. What if he was in the room with us already? I needed to figure out a way to check each person. I couldn’t do it openly for fear of a violent reaction with possible hostages. But leaking a little holy water onto my palm and then shaking hands with everyone would just make it look like I had sweaty palms.



“You’re early.” The retainer repeated his earlier complaint. In photographs in my research file, he was always just a pace behind the king, always with the same dour expression. I turned to face him, keeping my expression neutral. He stepped away from a group of men standing by the bar. His voice was disapproving. I’d thought that the photos just made him look cranky, but they’d only captured the real him. I immediately felt sorry for whoever his significant other might be.



Standing at about five nine, he was a little bit shorter than me. I could tell he didn’t like it. He was apparently used to looking down that beakish nose and glaring with those beady black eyes until the person opposing him backed down. If that’s what he wanted, he’d picked the wrong girl. I wouldn’t start trouble. Certainly not with a client. But I wouldn’t grovel or toady, either. Wouldn’t be much use as a bodyguard if I did. I gave him the pleasant, not-quite-blank expression I reserve for difficult clients. He didn’t seem to like that, either. Sometimes, you just can’t win. I held out my water-soaked hand. He looked at it like it was a distasteful bug.



Crap. Now what?



I lowered my hand after a few awkward moments. There would be other opportunities before we left. “I came in a little ahead of time to check the perimeter, meet up with the other guards, find out who’s going to be in charge, and iron out the details.” I sounded polite, professional, without even a hint of irritation or sarcasm. My gran would be so proud.



“I will be in charge.”



The man who glided away from the bar spoke with a hint of an accent and more than a hint of condescension. I recognized him from his pictures. The prince was six two and slender, he moved with a sleek grace that should have been effeminate but wasn’t. He was wearing gray dress slacks with a cream-colored silk shirt that had enough buttons left open to expose a lightly muscled but hairless chest. His light brown curls were artfully mussed; his dark eyes narrowed with appraisal as he looked me over from head to foot. He kept his hands clasped behind his back.



“Ultimately, of course”—I gave a respectful nod—“but generally with a multiperson team, there’s a coordinator the other guards report to. I was wondering who that was going to be.”



He stopped, barely two inches away from me. I think he expected me to react. He was obviously used to women reacting sexually and men backing down. I didn’t do either. I simply stood my ground, pleasant and impassive, waiting for him to respond. I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say. But maybe I was wrong. Surely he wasn’t that much of an idiot—



“I will be in charge,” he repeated.



Apparently he was that much of an idiot. Oh joy. I cringed inwardly but kept my mouth shut, counting to ten so that I wouldn’t say anything stupid. I could walk away from the job, but the money was damned good and the connections were better. Any small business grows by word-of-mouth referrals. Tick him off and I could be going hungry for a long time. But it was tempting. Because his stupidity could get me killed. On the other hand, Bob was here. He’d have my back—and I’d have his. Risking my life is part of what I get paid for. And, again, I was going to be getting an almost obscene amount of money for this.



I glanced across the room to where the rest of the security team was standing. I mean, I couldn’t actually be the only person worried about this, the only one to notice the prince’s glassy, bloodshot eyes, could I? Surely somebody else was bothered by the situation?



Two of the guards stared past me as if I were beneath their notice. I felt my jaw clench, and had to force myself not to grind my teeth. I didn’t know either of them, which surprised me. I’m fairly well connected in the industry. I’ve worked with most of the independents at one time or another, and most of them have come to respect my abilities and treat me as an equal. I’d have bet half of what I was making that they were pissed because I was a woman. I’ve dealt with the prejudice before. You’d think I’d be used to it.



You’d be wrong.



Bob’s soft cough drew everyone’s attention while I was shaking hands with the third guard. He was clean … or at least human.



“We checked the perimeter. There was evidence it had been broken by a demonic presence. Ms. Graves put together a temporary patch, but we need to contact the authorities.”



He said my name as if he’d never met me before tonight. I might have said something, but he gave me a quelling look. He was probably right. The prince didn’t seem the type to appreciate socializing among the staff, and it wouldn’t do to have the other guards pissed at him, too.



The prince’s eyes narrowed, and he gave me a long, assessing look. “My people contacted the authorities while you were on your way up.” He turned to one of the nearest retainers, a short, square man with blunt features and small dark eyes. “Jean Paul, take Josef downstairs and deal with Ms. Graves’s ‘patch.’”



The two men hustled off, not looking particularly happy. Then again, they didn’t seem the sort to be happy about much of anything. Maybe they were paid to be surly. In which case, Josef deserved a bonus.



Prince Rezza stared at me, trying to judge my reaction. I tried to keep it neutral but failed. His expression darkened. “It’s being dealt with. Satisfied?” His tone was challenging.



Not really. I’d be more satisfied when some of the militant religious were on scene. But saying that would just piss him off more. So would forcibly touching him. It might even create an international incident. We’d already started off on the wrong foot, so I kept my mouth shut and gave a curt nod.



“Good.”



2



The prince hadn’t wanted to get entangled with the authorities. So we left before they arrived. I didn’t like it. Since I was the one who’d discovered the breach, I was pretty sure they’d want to talk to me, not Jean Paul. But it was made very clear that arguing would cost me the job. So I settled for leaving a business card with my cell number in case they wanted to call, along with an offer to give a statement the next day.



So, with minimal delay we had started the prince’s night on the town. Now, at 3:00 A.M., my shift was half-over. Thus far there had been no signs of assassins, demons, or really much of anything. Good. Even better, I’d managed to stay professional. That had been harder than I’d thought. The prince was impeccably bred, ridiculously wealthy scum. I hadn’t quite been reduced to counting the minutes till I could be away from him, but I was coming close.

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