Siren Song

“Fine. You have things to do. I get that. But you nearly had your head blown off earlier today and you just got threatened because of me. So I’m sticking with you until the alcohol wears off and you have a better chance of defending yourself.”



“Whether I like it or not?”



“Is being driven around by me really such a terrible fate?” He gave me that charming, handsome smile that he seemed to be able to turn on and off at will. It was nice, but I liked the real one better. Shame he didn’t get much chance to use it.



7



I had John drive me to Isaac and Gilda Levy’s shop. They’d redone the place and I would’ve loved to spend some serious shopping time there—as would Creede, judging by the way he was eyeing Gilda’s new stock of magical artifacts—but the day was getting away from me. I still had a lot to do before I met with El Jefe at the university and I really needed a little time on my own, to think. So after only a couple of minutes of good-natured fussing from Gilda, I was able to leave with my new jacket—outfitted with receptacles for my favorite weapons—and a promise that she’d have Isaac “age” a replacement death stone for my Wadjeti. She swore they could have it to me within the hour, so I could wait, or they’d deliver it to my office.



I didn’t have the time to wait, so delivery it was. By the time we were finished at the shop I was stone-cold sober and Creede agreed to take me back to my car. Before he left he insisted on putting a protective spell on me, strong enough to protect me from bullets. He swore it would last through the day—long enough to get me back to the protective confines of Birchwoods.



When I walked in the front door of my office at around three, the reception area was clean, quiet, and smelled of lemon furniture polish. Thank God. Well, actually, thank Dottie. Maybe both. Whatever, I was grateful. I snagged a large stack of messages from my slot on the front desk before pounding up the stairs.



One call from Dawna. Three from reporters who wanted my take on the statement Cassandra Meadows had made to the press after the Will reading. Since I didn’t know what she’d said, I couldn’t comment. But I wouldn’t anyway. In a mudslinging contest, everybody gets dirty.



I unlocked my office door, tossed my purse and keys onto the desk, and sat. No messages from Ivan. I debated calling the embassy. He’d made it sound so urgent, but I’d managed to see a piece of the continuous news feed shown on the television in La Cocina’s bar and nothing big appeared to be going on in Rusland. The king was attending a financial conference in Greece, and since Ivan was his head of security, he was probably there as well.



My attorney had called. Seeing the message reminded me forcibly of the hearing I’d been trying very hard not to think about. Roberto didn’t expect the trial to last more than a couple of hours. By this time tomorrow afternoon I’d know whether I’d be spending the rest of my life in a cage. My stomach did a little flip-flop from nerves and I tried to tell myself that it was going to be fine.



I didn’t believe me.



“The hearing will end in your favor.” Dottie stood in my doorway, leaning heavily on her walker. How she’d made it up all of those stairs I had no clue. Grown men have been known to quail at the sight of them. They’re steep and the treads are narrow, having been made in a time when people had smaller feet. “I . . . peeked.” She moved slowly across the threshold, a small package rattling on the tray she’d attached to the front of her walker.



“Dottie. You should’ve called. I’d have come down.”



She sighed and lowered herself halfway into one of the pair of wing-backed visitor’s chairs across the desk from me, then fell the last few inches onto the seat. “Next time I’ll do that. But I wanted a little privacy to talk with you and Ron is a terrible snoop.”



She’d figured him out quicker than most. Then again, Dottie’s bright. It’s one of the many things I like about her.



“What do you want to talk about?”



She reached over to retrieve the little jewelry box from the tray. Opening it, I saw that Isaac had delivered the Wadjeti stone. Damn, that was quick. I walked over to take it from her. I rolled it over, on my palm, examining it closely. When I’d seen the stone in the Levys’ shop, it had been red, and it still was. But now the shade seemed both richer and more faded and there were little scratches and scuffs on the finish that made it look . . . ancient.



“Wow. Go, Isaac.”



“I take it this isn’t the original stone?”



“Nope. But it sure looks like it.” I turned it over in my hand. It was perfect. How the hell had he managed that? And so fast? Trade secret from a misspent youth?



Dottie paused, licking her lips nervously. “Celia, would you indulge me in something? Please?” She wasn’t quite wringing her hands, but she was getting close and she was pale and a little bit shaky.



“Why don’t I get you a glass of water?”



“No, thank you, I’m fine. But would you let me do a reading for you? I don’t have my bowl, but now that you have a full set I can use the Wadjeti, I’m sure of it.”



“Is that a good idea?” I didn’t say she looked like hell. But she did.



“Please, Celia. I have to try. I have to.” She was shaking in earnest now.



“Sure. I suppose . . . but . . . do you know how?”



“I told you, I read the instructions,” she said without heat. “I’m pretty sure I remember enough. And . . .” She paused, licking her lips again. “I need to do this. I’ve only had a compulsion like this a few times, but it’s always been important. Please?”



I turned around and went through the rigamarole of opening the safe. By the time it was finished she was practically jumping out of her skin. “You’re sure you want to do this?”



She nodded. “Positive.”



Okay, I could get that. Vicki had once told me about something similar happening to her. She’d also called it a compulsion. I might not understand, but I could accept it. That compulsion had caused her to have Bruno make the knives that had probably saved my life.



I pulled the box from the safe and started to hand it to Dottie, but she shook her head. “You need to take all of the stones and drop them one at a time into the cup. I can’t touch them. I only touch the cup.”



“All right.” It sounded a little odd, but magic is one of those things that frequently defy explanation. The rules may not make logical sense, but they’re the rules . . . and if you don’t follow them, the magic doesn’t work.



I took the cup from the box and set the box on the desk. The cup was small and, compared to the box, quite simple. It was made of beaten gold set alternately with lapis and moonstone. I set it on the desktop and began dropping the scarabs in, starting with the one Isaac had aged for me. Each stone landed with a soft click. With each, I could feel the power build, drop by drop, until the air actually felt thick with it. I felt heat radiating upward and when the last stone fell into the cup shafts of brilliant white light beamed out through the moonstones, practically blinding me with their brilliance.



“Hand me the cup.”



I picked it up. It was warm to the touch and surprisingly heavy. I passed it to Dottie carefully and she used both hands to take it from me. “We need to do three throws to get guidance for each of the three levels of your present existence: the first is for the physical; the second, the intellectual; and the third, finally, for the spiritual and emotional.”



“If you say so.”



She gave me a sad little smile. “I do.” She shook the cup and scattered the stones across the top of my desk. They glowed, each stone shining with its own light. They scurried like the beetles they resembled to form two precise groupings.



Dottie gave a soft gasp. I didn’t blame her. It was one hell of a show: both startling and surprisingly beautiful.



She began pointing to the arrangements. “The group over there represents your past. There was danger, suffering, and death, but it served to make you stronger.”



I couldn’t argue with that and I didn’t want to break her concentration. Her voice had taken on a singsong quality that I recognized as indicating the beginning of a trance. If I interrupted her now she’d lose her train of thought and the reading would be ruined.



“The right grouping is your present. You notice the death stone in the center halfway between the two groups? It has a double meaning. First, the death of your old self and your rebirth with new powers and abilities.”



That didn’t sound so bad. I’d been afraid it meant something more . . . well, sniper bullet–ish.



“But it also represents real danger. You must be very careful. There are traps and betrayals ahead, people plotting your death.”



Sniper. Bullet. That pretty well says it all.



“Your survival may depend on your acceptance of your changed existence.”



She looked up at me; her expression was serene and her eyes were shining, but Dottie, the Dottie I knew, wasn’t “home.” I wondered if she’d even remember the things she was saying to me when this was done. Probably not.



“Fill the cup.”



I did, again feeling the power build, and she repeated the throw. This time, though, the beams of light shone through the lapis, the shafts of intense blue looking like nothing so much as Luke’s lightsaber slicing across the room.



This time the scarabs formed a single picture, again with the death stone in the center.



“You are clever. But so is your enemy. Life and death balance on a knife’s edge with deception determining the winner. You must be brave, but more, you must be intelligent if you are to save yourself and those under your protection. You cannot let emotions cloud your judgment. You must remain clearheaded.” She gestured imperiously at the cup. “Once more.”



I dropped the scarabs into the cup with increasing dread. I’d had enough experience with clairvoyants that I had never before been bothered all that much by the process. But while I might not admit it out loud, this frightened me. There was so much power to it. So deep, so elemental, that I felt as if we were channeling the energy of an earthquake, the tides, or the sun itself. My mouth was dry as I picked up the last stone, the death stone. It felt warm, almost alive in my hand, and the mark of my curse began to burn where it touched. Hissing with pain, I threw it away, into the cup. It hit with an explosion of light and a roar of sound that left me deaf and blind for a full minute. My eyes were watering so hard I was practically weeping and I groped through my tears for the box of tissues I kept on the corner of my desk. I wiped my eyes and handed Dottie the cup.