Siren Song

I set the box with the Wadjeti on the desk and opened the safe. I got less of a buzz from it than from the doorway. Not because these wards were less powerful but because the safe had been made for me and was keyed to my DNA. I’d had to reset it postattack, but now that it “knew” the vampire and siren me, it was good. I was just hoping it wouldn’t weird out again eight months from now. The safe thinks I’m pregnant. That’s how we got it to accept my altered DNA.



I set the Wadjeti onto the shelf next to the box with my knives. They both started to glow, each reacting to the magic of the other. A soft, gentle hum filled the metal enclosure. I stared in pleased awe at the beautiful rainbow of colors—my own private aurora borealis that pulsed and danced inches away. How pretty.



That emotion lasted for about a second and a half before it occurred to me to shut the safe door in case I was in for more than a light show. Eek. I slammed it closed with a little more force than was probably necessary, just as I heard the gentle tap of knuckles against my office door.



“Yes?”



“It’s John Creede. Can I come in?”



I didn’t really want him to. But if he was going to be a tenant and on the same floor, I should probably be nice. “Sure.”



He opened the door, then reached out a hand to touch the invisible line of power with a smile. He glanced over at me. “DeLuca?”



I nodded.



“He does damned fine work.” Creede’s expression darkened to a scowl as he visibly “swam” through the ward on the door. When he emerged inside the room, he rubbed his arms like they stung. “It just kills me that I may have recruited him to work for George.”



“He hasn’t said yes yet, has he?” I honestly didn’t know, since I hadn’t talked to him.



Creede sighed, as if I were being a fool and he was losing patience with it. “He might not have signed the contract yet, but you haven’t seen the package we negotiated. For some reason he really wants to move to this coast, but he’s a tough one to please.” Creede said it drily and raised one brow. We both knew why Bruno wanted to move. I couldn’t wait until he got out here and wished he’d call me back. I was going to be annoyed if he didn’t get my message until after I was locked up again.



I wanted to hear his voice and definitely wanted to tell him about this situation. It was going to be damned awkward if I wound up partnering with Creede and Bruno was working for the competition. Because Bruno is the best. And the clients would know it.



“So, what just happened?” Creede asked. “I felt . . . something in this room, big enough to cause my hairs to stand up even through the wards.”



“I put something new in the safe and the things I had in there already reacted,” I explained.



“Reacted how?” He didn’t bother to hide his concern. I couldn’t blame him. Magic is dangerous and this was powerful stuff. I wasn’t nearly as worried now that the safe door was closed and I had thick steel protecting me.



I shrugged, not to make light of it, but I was confident about the safe. Bruno did the original work, but I had a company that came in on a regular basis to recharge and layer the protections. “Put on a light show. Shot rainbows around the room, hummed a little bit.”



“Did the things vibrate? Was the light red, green, what? Did the objects get hot or cold?” Creede fired the questions at me like bullets.



“No vibration, no temperature change, and literally rainbows,” I answered, “just colored light. It was really pretty. But I decided I’d better shut the safe door just in case.”



“Rainbows.” He shook his head and scowled. “And they reacted to each other. What the hell do you have in there and how did you get it?”



I liked Creede well enough. But I like my secrets, too. The knives Bruno made for me are valuable enough that there are people who would literally kill to get their hands on them. Even people I’ve known for years have no idea they exist. And if what El Jefe said about the Wadjeti was true, it was basically priceless. So I just smiled sweetly and said, “Gifts from friends.”



“You must have some powerful friends.”



I thought about the demon that almost killed me and the woman who set him onto me. He was banished, but you can’t kill a greater demon, and she got away. I was pretty sure Kevin was hunting her, but she was definitely going to be a hard target. Was that what Ivan had been contacting me about? I wished I knew. “I’m just hoping they’re as powerful as my enemies.”



Creede didn’t have an answer to that, so he changed the subject. “Look, I’d like to apologize to you for what I said earlier.”



“It’s all right.” Actually, it wasn’t. It still stung. I tell myself I don’t care what people think, that the tough-girl image is part and parcel of the whole bodyguard thing. But it’s more a suit, a persona I put on in the morning. It’s not the real me and I do care. It’s stupid, I know. But I do. And I’m not a bitch. I know plenty of them and they don’t want me in the club.



He shook his head firmly, which did more to make amends than the apology. “No. It’s not all right. I know better than to believe gossip. But if it helps any, I’m about to get my share of karmic repentance in the press.” He gave me a chagrined look. He was right, too. The tabloids were going to have him for lunch once they learned of the split. The spin-off partner can easily become a public pariah in any business. Magic just makes it worse. It wouldn’t be hard for the press to find present and former M&C employees who would demonize John, off and on the record. After a second of me not assuring him it’d all be okay, he sighed. “Let me make it up to you by buying you a meal. We can talk business, so your boyfriend won’t get jealous.”



“Bruno doesn’t get jealous.”



“Bullshit.” Creede’s grin lit up his face and he went from good-looking to handsome in an instant. “You forget, I saw you together at the wake.” He laughed. “And I’ve met ‘Uncle Sal.’ ” He made little quotes in the air when he said the name. “Trust me, I’ll behave. There are some people that even magic won’t save you from.”



I believed that. You did not cross Uncle Sal. But I kept my tone casual. “I’ll have to take a rain check, I’m afraid. I have an appointment downtown in a few minutes. I hadn’t planned on staying here this long as it is. But yeah, I’ll want to sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk with you before I let you actually sign.”



Another small, amused curl of his lips. “You still don’t trust me.”



I just shrugged and returned the smile. Hell, I barely trust myself.



I arrived at the offices of Pratt, Arons, Ziegler, Santos, and Cortez a few minutes after the Will reading was supposed to start. Mostly it was due to traffic, but I also didn’t want to have a scene in front of the office staff when Vicki’s parents saw me. Sadly, the receptionist recognized me and smiled. I say “sadly” because I’ve spent a lot of time and a truckload of money here lately because of my upcoming hearing.



“Morning, Tabitha. Where are they holding Vicki’s Will reading?”



“Good morning, Miss Graves.” Tabitha’s voice was painfully polite. She didn’t like me. It was all over her body language. But I was a paying client, so she’d play nice. “We weren’t expecting you.” I knew I was on the list of attendees, but I’d also been in the room when Dr. Scott had called to tell Barney Arons I wouldn’t be attending.



I didn’t reply, just raised one brow. She nodded and picked up the phone, dialing three numbers before moving her gaze to the desk in front of her. I’ve noticed most receptionists do that when they take a call, as though it creates an invisible wall between them and the person standing at the desk. “Yes, sir. Celia Graves is here?” She made it a question and I knew why. Would Arons tell me to take a hike? He had every right.



I could hear the reply with my shiny new vampire ears. “Tell her to come up, please. We haven’t started yet.”



“Of course. Thank you.” She put down the receiver. “They’re in conference room B-nine.” She turned and pointed to the stairs. “Next floor up, take a right at the top of the stairs, go all the way to the end, turn left, and it’s the third door on the left.”



“Up, right, left, left. Got it. Thanks.”



“Have a nice day.” She tried to make it sound sincere and failed. Whatever. I turned right, as instructed, and started walking. I knew from previous visits that this entire floor was devoted to conference rooms, which I thought was a really nifty idea and very smart planning. Cozy little enclaves held just two or three people—I’d often met Roberto in those (usually when his office was too trashed to dig out a chair)—while other, massive rooms could seat forty or fifty people around a single, unhexable table. All the tables were various shades of marble or slate, which made me wonder aloud to Roberto once about the logistics of hauling the solid stone slabs up. He’d replied with a snort, “Cranes, scaffolds, reinforcing floors, removing windows . . . you don’t want to know the headaches.” And he was probably right.



The reading was apparently in one of the big rooms, because it took a while to get to “third door on the left.” At least I had time to admire the stunning abstract paintings on the walls and feel the soft cushion of high-dollar carpeting underfoot. It was utterly silent in the bright hallway. Every room was soundproofed for confidentiality and I could feel the press of avoidance spells that forced me not to stop at certain rooms—probably where other meetings were taking place.



In the end, it wasn’t hard to spot the proper room: It was the one with armed guards standing on either side of the door. Both men were big and wore crisply starched brown uniforms that looked almost like those of a state trooper. They were armed and each wore a holy item on a silver chain around his neck. I wondered if they were here to keep the parties inside safe or to keep the rest of the office safe from the parties inside.