The Eldritch Conspiracy

“Then why are you driving it?”



“Chris insisted.” She said it bitterly, not a good sign. “He said that if I was going to be spending the day with you, this was the closest thing we had to a tank. And I shouldn’t hesitate to use the shielding spell, either. And see that blue button over there?” She pointed to a button that, like the shielding spell trigger, was after-market, but—also like the shielding spell trigger—very well installed. “That’s a panic button. We press that and the Company descends on us for a rescue.”



“Really? No kidding?” Okay, that was freaking cool. John Creede had a disk like that, which he carried around in case of emergency. But to have it built into a car? Awesome. No, I don’t like the Company. They’re one of those private mercenary and magical contractors that do all sorts of Soldier-of-Fortuney things that countries don’t want to get their hands dirty handling. But a panic button to save one of their people? That appealed to the gadget geek in me in a big way. It was cool. It just was. The moment I got “people,” I was going to have one.



“No kidding.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Chris isn’t just a medic, he’s got an actual healing gift. That’s really rare. And last year he bought into the Company. He’s a junior partner now.”



I didn’t know what to think about that, let alone what to say. “Um, wow. How do you feel about that?”



We were at a stop light, so she gave me a long, level look. “About as happy as he feels about my working for you. I mean, he likes you and everything. But he says being around you is like riding out a hurricane, a coup, and a bomb attack simultaneously.”



Uh-oh. Not good. “Crap.”



The light changed, and we surged forward. “Don’t worry. I’m not quitting.”



I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Oh good. Because I’ve been thinking about doing something, and I was kind of counting on your help.”



“What?” She didn’t say “what now” but her tone of voice implied it.



I winced but plowed on. “I’ve become too high profile to get many bodyguarding jobs as an individual.” There was no escaping the fact that business has been down. I hadn’t taken the Mexico job just as a courtesy.



She nodded in agreement, but kept her eyes on the road. Apparently driving something this much bigger than she was used to took quite a bit of attention.



“And subcontracting the help I needed for a bigger job didn’t work.” Understatement of the decade. I started drumming my fingers on the armrest nervously. Why was talking to Dawna making me nervous? Because what I was about to say was big, and I wanted her to agree. It should have occurred to me before now that she might say no, but it hadn’t. Just like it hadn’t occurred to me that Chris, who was my friend, damn it, wouldn’t want his bride-to-be hanging out with me.



“So what are you going to do?”



“I’m expanding the business. I’ll hire my own people, send them out on individual jobs, work with them running the bigger ones.” I took a deep breath. “I was hoping you’d want to go in with me. I can’t meet with female clients because of the whole siren thing.” Sirens make normal, fertile women irrationally angry and jealous. It’s biological. “You’re better with people than anyone else I know.”



“So, a glorified receptionist.”



“No. A partner. Seventy-thirty. You handle the office end and the computer research. I handle the staffing and action.”



She was so startled she hit the brakes, hard. We were lucky not to be rear-ended. Amazingly, nobody hit us. Hell, nobody even laid on the horn. They just adjusted, driving around. Being behind a car that obviously costs six figures or more tends to make drivers more nimble. I know it does me.



“A partner?” She looked at me, wide-eyed. But when she spoke again, her voice was only a little bit higher pitched and breathy than usual. “Why not fifty-fifty?”



“Because I’m putting up the building and the money. This is going to take a lot of cash to pull off.”



She started the vehicle moving forward again, keeping her eyes on the road. “Then it’s probably a good thing I deposited the check from your aunt, for protecting Adriana. It’ll make a good start. And hey, if she makes it up the aisle safely, you’ll earn the bonus. That should give us more than enough to get started.”



Us. She’d said us. I found myself grinning hugely. And a check from my aunt! I’d have to remind Dawna to send her a contract—though, knowing Dawna, she already had.



“But I’m not taking less than sixty-forty. You need me. Your people skills … well, they sort of suck.” She pulled smoothly into the right turn lane, all shock gone, her expression growing almost smug, dark eyes sparkling with mischief.



I knew that look but wasn’t sure where she was going with it. “What?”



Smugness grew into a grin. “I can’t wait to tell Ron.”



16



Dawna had brought me a printout of Olga and Natasha’s schedule for the day, e-mailed to her by Helen Baker. While she drove to the tow lot, where we’d redeem Emma’s car, I scanned the sheet of paper. Protected by several agents each, Adriana’s bridesmaids were spending the day doing interviews. I hoped that would keep them safe and out of trouble until it was time for us to meet for dinner.



After returning Emma’s car to her at school, getting my knives from the police station (they wouldn’t release the gun, it was evidence), and checking my bank balance—Lopaka’s check had caused it to rise quite nicely—we hit the drive-through at Arby’s for a pair of French dip sandwiches. Dawna ate one sandwich, setting the second aside for later. I drank the au jus from both of them. We chatted about the new business plan, kicking ideas around. I’d call Roberto as soon as I had a chance, and get him started on the paperwork for our new partnership. Then it was on to my favorite store.



Isaac and Gilda Levy own a shop that carries high-end magical weapons, extremely high-end spelled clothing, and jewelry. The jewelry is Gilda’s contribution. Isaac does the spell work and tailoring. It started out as a small place, tucked in beside a dry cleaner in a neighborhood that was just a bit off of the beaten path. But the store had grown over the years I’d known them. They hadn’t moved, but they’d expanded into the spaces on either side, and the resulting emporium was now fairly large, bright, and airy.



Gilda Levy met me at the door and gave me a huge hug, squeezing me tight enough that the various gems on her many necklaces began digging uncomfortably into my chest. Gilda is not a beautiful woman in the traditional sense. She’s short, standing all of four foot eight inches. She’s nearly as wide as she is tall, with wiry salt-and-pepper curls that are moving more to salt as the years pass. But she’s got a smile that could melt the polar ice caps and there are laugh lines at the corners of her bright, dark eyes. She practically buzzes with natural energy, zipping from here to there: always busy, always productive. She wears designer clothes in bright colors and enough bling to make the most overdecorated rapper jealous.



Today she was in a pale turquoise pantsuit with a cream, turquoise, and teal striped silk blouse left unbuttoned to show just the right amount of decolletage, which she had accessorized with about ten pounds of jewelry.



“I’m so glad you’re safe. We’ve been worried sick about you.” She gave a delicate shudder that made the bangle bracelets she wore jingle. “Terrorists. Our Celia targeted by terrorists. What is the world coming to?” She turned, looking over her shoulder, and called out. “Isaac, Celia’s here. Do you have her new jacket ready? She’s damaged this one.”



She was right, of course. The explosion had done more than stain and rip the fabric. The spells Isaac had worked into the jacket had probably been destroyed. But they’d done their job. I didn’t have so much as a bruise from the blast that had destroyed most of the auditorium. I wondered if the FBI would pick up the tab for the restoration.



Isaac came to stand in the doorway between the front of the shop and his workroom. “It’s ready for the final fitting. And just in time, from what I hear. Come to the back and I’ll finish it up. You’re wearing your holster?”



I shook my head. “No. The police kept my gun as evidence.”



“You’re not unarmed?” He gave me a stern look.



“I have a Glock in an ankle holster, and I’m wearing my knives.”



“Good. But that doesn’t help us with the fitting. Gilda…”



“I’ll take care of it, dear.” She scurried off to the weapons department with Dawna following in her wake. I followed Isaac into the workroom.



The outer shop is bright, open, and designed to catch the eye of the customers. Every article is lit and displayed to its best advantage. Isaac’s workroom is a much more personal space. There is a silver casting circle eight feet in diameter in the center of the room. Inside it are three platforms of various heights that always remind me of the medal stands at the Olympics, but which actually perform a much more prosaic function. Having the client stand on the low dais puts most of them at the perfect height for Isaac to hem and tailor a jacket. The “second place” dais is great for hemming skirts. The highest one is just right for hemming the legs of trousers and tailoring them to fit perfectly to disguise an ankle holster. I remember how excited Isaac was when he had them built. No more crawling around while he performed both mundane tailoring and complex spell work.



Along the walls, outside the circle, are cube-style shelves in unfinished oak that contain books in multiple languages, various spell components, and sewing equipment. In one corner, an old wooden roll-top desk sits next to a beautiful old sewing machine. A high-definition television hung from a mounting attached to the ceiling that could be rotated to face anywhere in the room; it is primarily used to keep clients from getting bored during long fittings.



At the moment it displayed a talk show. I recognized the guest—one of Adriana’s bridesmaids, the lovely Princess Olga. I’d never seen the hosts before. Not a surprise really, since they were speaking Ruslandic.

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