The Eldritch Conspiracy

Now, the queen had made up her mind, and while I was family, I was also a subject. I ducked into the nearest dressing room, got out of that lovely purple dress, and pulled on my street clothes, half listening as the clerk tried to talk her way out of the pit she’d dug for herself.



The others finished dressing long before I did; of course, none of them had to arm themselves. Most of the weaponry I was carrying, including the holster with my 1911 Colt, was concealed by the spells put on my tailored black blazer. Even with the armament, you couldn’t have faulted my fashion statement. I wore a red silk shell and new black jeans under the jacket; the Colt’s black leather holster perfectly matched my short black boots, one of which had a built-in holster for my derringer.



When I was finally ready, Queen Lopaka and her security detail led the bride and her bridesmaids out of the store, leaving the attendant spluttering in our wake. A black stretch limo pulled up to the curb as we flowed out of the building.



Adriana and I were the last to exit the shop, and I stopped abruptly when my boots hit the sidewalk. Something was wrong. I couldn’t have said what exactly was bothering me, but it didn’t matter.



“Down! Everybody down!” I screamed, swinging my arm out and snagging Adriana around the waist. I shoved her behind me, almost throwing her to the pavement, as I put myself between her and the roadway.



For a fraction of an instant, time seemed to slow drastically. More guards appeared, seeming to hover in midair as the queen’s eyes went wide. The back windows of the limo rolled down. Rifle barrels appeared. Natasha and Olga froze as members of the security team reached for them. The bridesmaids looked like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car—stunned and blank. Guns roared. Men and women screamed, glass shattered, and car doors slammed.



I got all this in fragments; I was busy trying to wrestle Adriana into the limited safety of the bridal shop when what she wanted was to rush to her mother’s side. I heard an engine roar and a squeal of tires as a second limo tore off into traffic. In the silence that fell I realized that Lopaka, Natasha, and Olga had been driven away, leaving me and my cousin alone with the gunmen. It’s not the way I would have done it, but I suppose it made sense—I was a bodyguard, and Adriana was my responsibility. It was actually sort of flattering that the Siren Secret Service presumed I’d get her to safety.



I tried to get her to calm down, saying, “They’re fine. I don’t smell blood behind me.” But Adriana kept struggling with me. I suspected she didn’t believe me—and she was right not to, because I was lying.



Finally I lost all patience and just slugged her in the jaw, then picked her up bodily and dragged her into the store. More gunshots sounded as the guards fought the gunmen.



Lopaka’s voice rang in my mind, telling me to do what I was already doing. Celia, get her out of there. Keep her safe.



I kept my body between Adriana and any open space. The two remaining bodyguards seemed to be giving me some cover with their Kevlar-covered bodies. We passed the bloody form of the dying bridal consultant, her body riddled with bullets and shards of glass.



My cousin began to come back to her senses, which meant she was no longer dead weight, but it was still hard to move her. “Damn it, Adriana, come on.” I was shouting, but since my ears were ringing from the gunfire, I assumed Adriana was similarly affected. I didn’t remember pulling a weapon, but there was a gun in my left hand. I dragged her past a pair of circular racks filled with a rainbow selection of floor-length gowns, toward the back door.



Then I saw movement and ducked, pulling her down with me, gesturing for her to hide in the dress racks and to stay absolutely silent. It was a bridal shop, so nearly all of the racks had floor-length gowns. Peeking around a gorgeous, slinky red silk I couldn’t wear on my best day, I saw a pair of men in business suits moving quickly but nearly silently through the store, guns in hand. That must mean the two guards outside hadn’t survived. Damn it.



The first covered the second, who pushed back the door of each dressing room in turn. The way they moved told me there were wearing bulletproof vests under their dress shirts. They switched positions for the second rank of changing rooms. They were definitely pros.



Adriana stayed silent, but only to those with no telepathy. In my head, she was terrified, indignant, and angry. You expect me to hide?



Hell, yes. You’re the one they’re after and you’re unarmed. Let me do my damned job. Stress always made my telepathy work better and I knew Adriana could hear me clearly.



Fine. But give me one of your guns.



I risked a glance at her. What? Are you nuts?



My cousin gave me a scathing look. I know how to shoot. And if something happens to you, I’d like to at least be able to defend myself.



She had a good point and I didn’t have time to argue. I handed her the derringer from my boot and slithered as quietly as I could to the next rack.



They’d reached the last dressing room and found it empty. Scowling, they started scanning the store. They knew we had to be in here. But they didn’t see us and they were running out of time. Police sirens wailed in the distance, closing fast. If the attackers didn’t go soon, there’d be no chance of escape.



They split up, each moving down an aisle of racks. I shifted position, getting ready. Switching off the safety, I braced my gun hand and waited until the first man leaned down to check under the counter. Then I stood. It only took a second, but I felt like I had all the time in the world. The second guy turned at my movement, his gun pointed straight at me. But he hesitated for just a fraction of a second. I didn’t. I fired three rapid shots into the central mass of number two’s neck before diving under a clothing rack, rolling as fast as I could through the tangling fabric. Even if the bad guys always seem to wear vests, they nearly always forget to protect their necks. A head or neck shot will kill you just as dead.



Number one fired at where he assumed I must be. Close, no cigar. I felt the sting of splintering white oak flooring entering my flesh through my jeans, but the bullets themselves missed.



The police sirens were close now. Swearing, the assassin bolted out the back door. I heard the roar of an engine and the squeal of tires, and he was gone.



I bolted out from under the rack and started to give CPR to Thug Two. I would be damned if he was going to die before he told me why they wanted Adriana dead. My cousin joined me a moment later, just before the police edged in cautiously, weapons drawn. I would have done just the same, considering the dead bodies and blood everywhere. They found me keeping the guy’s heart beating—a bit of a losing battle because Adriana was having a hard time keeping his blood in his carotid artery. I hadn’t meant to sever it, but there you go. Adriana and I had tried to save him, and I knew the EMTs who’d come with the cops would do their best, but the odds weren’t good.



11



“One more time, if you would, Ms. Graves. I understand that you called out as the car was pulling up to the curb and shoved your cousin behind you. No one else had noticed anything wrong with the limo. How did you know there was a problem?”



I sighed and tried to stay calm. It had been a very long, stressful day. I needed to eat. I’d been at the police station for a number of hours by now and, while I can go longer between feedings than I used to, my control isn’t perfect by a long shot. Especially when I’ve been busy trying to save lives.



My stomach growled impatiently. I tried to ignore it, forced myself not to look at the pulse beating so temptingly in the detective’s throat.



Deep breath. The man’s just doing his job. Stay calm. “Most of the others were probably at bad angles, and the windows were tinted. Adriana and I were the last to leave the store, so we had a different point of view, through the windshield.”



“Ah. And what did you see that tipped you off?”



I’d had time to think about it and had finally realized what had been bugging me. “It wasn’t the same driver we’d had earlier in the morning. The first guy’s hair was really short; the second guy’s hair brushed his ears and collar. It also seemed to me that the car was moving too fast. I mean, yeah, the driver might’ve been the kind to slam on the brakes at the curb, but most pros aren’t like that, especially when they’re driving royalty.”



“Detective Rawlins,” my attorney, Roberto Santos, said in his honey-smooth voice, “my client has been extremely cooperative. She has given a full statement.” He was sitting next to me, which was the usual for me when I was being interviewed by the police, at least in this country—even when I was just a witness. He hadn’t had a lot to do thus far, because there were all kinds of witnesses saying that I’d basically saved the day and helped foil an assassination attempt.



Self-defense and defense of the life of another notwithstanding, I’d put three bullets into a guy’s neck. He was dead and I’d killed him. It was all clearly visible on the store’s security feed.



Roberto continued, sounding perfectly reasonable, “Ms. Graves has worked with your sketch artist and given a description of the man who escaped. But she has a serious medical condition that is made worse by stress. I really must insist that we take a break at least long enough for her to use the facilities and to eat so that nothing … unfortunate happens.”



Okay, maybe that was pushing it a little. Of course, Roberto couldn’t know how much progress I’d made in controlling my condition.



“Mr. Santos.” The detective’s lips moved up in a semblance of a smile, but his eyes were cold, hard pebbles set in an equally stony face. “A man is dead. Your client killed him. She shot him, deliberately and repeatedly. She will sit here answering questions for as long as I feel it’s necessary.”



I didn’t sigh. I didn’t fidget. I just closed my eyes and counted to twenty. Perhaps Detective Rawlins was just a good, old-fashioned, hard-headed detective. Then again, it was possible he was one of the members of my “fan club,” the group of officers who’ve decided I’m a monster and are willing to go to almost any lengths to prove it. They want me locked behind bars or put down like a rabid dog. Either way, he was pushing my buttons. That was a very bad thing.