The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song) Read online

  palace to the courthouse where the chief

  justice would be waiting. The route for

  the procession—by the bridal party, on

  foot, nice and slow. My head hurt just

  thinking about all the ways that could go

  wrong.

  Afterward, there would be a private

  luau on the grounds of the royal

  compound, for which security would be

  a piece of cake by comparison. I’d

  already RSVP’d “no” because of the

  whole

  sunshine

  thing,

  but

  Baker

  informed me they’d changed the plans

  slightly to accommodate me by placing

  the wedding party under a canopy and

  keeping the entertainment and the

  cooking pit in the open. Baker and her

  superiors had decided not to discuss the

  change of plans in public, giving us an

  element of surprise.

  The second ceremony, taking place

  two days later in Rusland, would be a

  traditional Orthodox Christian wedding

  ceremony. This would be a much more

  formal and elaborate affair, much like

  the royal wedding of the British prince a

  couple of years prior. The Siren Secret

  Service was cooperating with their

  Ruslandic counterparts on the details.

  I glanced up at the wall clock. “I

  know there’s more, and I’ll need to go

  over it with you later, but we’re almost

  out of time. What’s on tap for today?”

  Baker scowled, but couldn’t really

  argue. “Adriana flew the queen and the

  other two bridesmaids over from

  Serenity last night. They are guests at the

  Serenial Embassy. They’re scheduled to

  have breakfast until 8:30 with the

  ambassador and his wife. At 8:33,

  they’ll get in the limo and come here.

  They should arrive between 8:59 and

  9:04 depending on traffic.” She glanced

  down, checking her notes.

  “At approximately 9:58, you will

  arrive at the shop of designer Amelie

  Annette Bertrand. The shop has been

  closed to everyone except the princess

  and our people have made a thorough

  security sweep of the shop and the area

  around it. We will have guards posted at

  every

  exit

  and

  patrolling

  the

  neighborhood. At 11:45, the car will

  pick you up at the shop and take the

  group to Simone’s, where a private

  room has been reserved for lunch. The

  facilities have already been secured. At

  1:15, the car will take you and the others

  to designer Angel Herrera’s showroom.

  Security measures will be identical to

  those at the Bertrand shop.”

  I could tell from her narrative that

  security for the day was going to be

  tight. Good. I still didn’t know exactly

  where I fit in the scheme of things, how

  well the team would react to having me

  included. But there was only one way to

  find out.

  “Do you mind if I have Dawna make

  me a copy of the itinerary while I go arm

  up?”

  “Not necessary.” She reached into the

  laptop case and handed me a sheet of

  paper and a thumb drive. “I was afraid

  we wouldn’t have time to cover

  everything, so I took the liberty of

  putting it all on a flash drive for you.”

  “Thanks. Hopefully we’ll get a chance

  to talk later today.”

  She shook her head. “Not in person, at

  least not today. I have an errand to run,

  then I am flying back to Serenity.”

  Well, crap. That sucked. While I

  could probably talk to any of the secret

  service agents, I liked and trusted Baker.

  “Is there anybody specific I should talk

  to?”

  Ever prepared, she reached into the

  case and pulled out a business card.

  “Saren Albright will be the agent in

  charge on this detail. Here’s her card.

  I’ll let her know that you may be

  consulting with her later.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  10

  It took me all of fifteen minutes to

  decide that I didn’t like the other

  bridesmaids. Olga and Natasha were

  Ruslandic royalty. I was betting their

  addition to the wedding party was

  political rather than emotional, because

  neither showed any kind of sincere

  affection for the bride-to-be.

  Natasha was the daughter of a

  prominent conservative clergyman with

  major political power. She had been

  briefly married to King Dahlmar’s son

  before his death. Olga was the daughter

  of Dahlmar’s younger brother. Both

  women were lovely, with dark hair and

  smooth fair skin, although Olga had a sly

  way about her that reminded me of the

  petty little bitches who’d tormented me

  back in high school.

  She and Natasha spoke mostly to each

  other, and in Ruslandic, knowing nobody

  else could understand, which was just

  plain rude. When I decided to tell them

  so, mind to mind, I hit a solid barrier

  and guessed that both of them were

  wearing anti-siren charms. That was

  very interesting, since those types of

  charms are difficult to make and even

  more difficult to obtain. It was pretty

  much an insult for them to wear them

  under these circumstances. On the other

  hand, it should have made them immune

  to the anti-siren sentiments that most

  women feel, yet both radiated a low

  level of hostility. Either the charms

  weren’t working or there was some sort

  of problem. Maybe I should—

  Don’t.

  Adriana’s birdlike voice in my head

  was calm and patient.

  They’re being obnoxious.

  She didn’t bother trying to deny it. If

  my mother can ignore it, so can you.

  I looked over at Queen Lopaka. Her

  expression was serene. She turned to

  meet my gaze and smiled. She spoke out

  loud, to my surprise. “We are most

  fortunate that both of Adriana’s possible

  choices for a wedding dress had already

  been delivered. It would be much harder

  to find a suitable bridal gown than

  attendant dresses on short notice. The

  previous dresses were pale gold, quite

  lovely, but all wrong for your

  complexion, Celia. I think perhaps we

  should consider jewel tones this time.

  What do you think, Adriana?”

  “I agree that gold won’t work.

  Perhaps Amelie will have some

  suggestions.”

  “But I liked the gold,” Olga whined.

  I kept a smile pasted on my face and

  gritted my teeth. If Adriana could put up

  with having those two in her wedding

  party and the queen
could be pleasant to

  them, then I could and would shut up and

  smile, even if it was through gritted

  teeth.

  I was so relieved when the limo

  stopped and I could at least put a little

  more physical distance between me and

  the other bridesmaids.

  Since Natasha and Olga were busy

  ignoring us in favor of chatting with each

  other, I didn’t feel guilty speaking mind-

  to-mind to Adriana. I’m surprised there

  aren’t any sirens in the wedding party.

  I

  framed

  the

  thought

  carefully,

  concentrating hard on Adriana.

  Rusland is a land-locked country.

  Most sirens would not be comfortable

  there. My best friend was willing to try,

  but she stepped aside so that you could

  join the party. It’s probably for the

  best, as it would have been very hard

  on her.

  Okay, that made sense. But it sucked.

  A girl wants her best buddies at her side

  for her wedding, not a group of near

  strangers.

  My friends will be with me for a

  party prior to the wedding, and at the

  reception following the ceremonies on

  Serenity. Although I will admit I find

  Olga and Natasha tiresome, I would

  put up with much more to please

  Dahlmar and make a good first

  impression on his people.

  Fair enough.

  * * *

  Dawna has taught me a lot about

  shopping. One: clothes don’t have to be

  expensive to look expensive. And two:

  expensive clothes can look just as tacky

  as cheap ones. I recognized Dawna’s

  lessons at the first shop we visited.

  Amelie

  Annette

  Bertrand

  was

  probably the hottest women’s clothing

  designer around. She could ask whatever

  price she wanted and people would pay

  it. She made sure that she was in the

  store herself to show Queen Lopaka and

  Adriana her wares. She was beautiful

  and charming. Olga was particularly

  impressed.

  I wasn’t.

  Maybe I just had plebian tastes. But it

  seemed really tacky to me for a

  bridesmaid in a royal wedding to wear a

  dress that would make a Vegas showgirl

  blush. Bertrand’s dresses were all too

  something for me: too low cut, too short,

  too glittery, too tight, too loud. Whether

  Adriana and her mother heard my

  thoughts, or simply wanted to see what

  else was available, we left Amelie

  standing heartbroken at the door of her

  shop as we drove off to our scheduled

  luncheon.

  Simone’s was a very nice little Italian

  restaurant that smelled of fresh baked

  bread and garlic. The tablecloths and

  napkins in our private room were heavy,

  cream-colored linen; the silverware,

  actual silver. They’d had plenty of

  advance notice, so the chef had outdone

  himself coming up with a special

  liquified meal that I could eat.

  Somehow, Olga and Natasha got seated

  at opposite ends of the table and were

  forced to either sit mum or interact with

  the others in the party. I wound up next

  to Natasha and found that, minus Olga’s

  influence, Natasha was a fairly nice girl

  with a wicked sense of humor. Of course

  that only lasted through the dessert

  course. Once we were back in the limo,

  the dynamic duo returned to their old

  tricks.

  Sighing, I counted to ten again, and

  settled in for what promised to be a very

  difficult afternoon as we drove to the

  next designer’s shop.

  Angel Herrera had a very tiny, very

  exclusive bridal salon where we were

  served champagne, wedding cake, and

  strawberries. The bridal consultant

  absolutely refused to rush and presented

  us with a selection of impressive gowns.

  To my surprise, when I saw myself in

  the mirror, wearing the dress they’d

  chosen for me, I felt pretty good about

  the way I looked. A lot of bridesmaids’

  dresses are hideous—after all, you can’t

  have someone upstaging the bride on her

  big day. Adriana, being a siren, had

  nothing to worry about on that front, and

  didn’t want to punish her bridesmaids by

  forcing them to wear unattractive outfits,

  and Herrera and her people had taken

  those instructions to heart.

  My proposed maid-of-honor dress

  was royal purple, a color that looks

  really good on me. It was cut low

  enough to make the most of my figure

  and the slit up the side was high enough

  to give a glimpse of the ivy tattoo I’d

  gotten years ago, to honor my deceased

  sister, Ivy. The dress was much more

  conservative than the ones at the other

  shop, but I was still a little worried

  about showing all that skin. There’s a

  big conservative contingent in Rusland.

  What would they think of the foreign

  bride’s attendants looking so downright

  sexy?

  Then I saw Adriana’s reflection,

  smiling at me, and figured if she was

  happy, that was all that mattered. That,

  and the fact that I looked really good in

  that dress.

  I figured we were good to go. Right

  up until the bridal consultant told me,

  “I’ve

  found

  the

  perfect

  beauty

  enhancement spell for you.”

  “Excuse me?” I tried to make it sound

  as if I wasn’t insulted, and failed

  miserably.

  “ Wel l , obviously, for any wedding

  you want to look your best, and for a

  royal wedding, televised around the

  world, you’ll definitely need to hide

  those scars and your fangs.” She gave a

  delicate little shudder as she said the

  word.

  Lopaka’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  Without another word, she rose, which

  sent everyone else scrambling to their

  feet. You do not sit when the queen is

  standing. “We are finished here. Thank

  you for your time.”

  Holy crap.

  My cousin gave a brief nod of

  agreement and the other bridesmaids

  hustled into the dressing rooms to strip

  as if they’d been given a telepathic

  message. They probably had. The queen,

  after all, was the best telepath in the

  world. Even if Natasha and Olga had

  basic anti-siren charms, Lopaka’s mental

  voice could easily overcome them. And

  it was highly unlikely that Adriana’s

  bridesmaids had been given charms

  made from Lopaka’s hair—I was betting

  that the queen was very, very careful

  about who got near her hairbrush.

&n
bsp; The consultant flushed, and her face

  set in grim lines, but I could see the

  panic in her eyes. Not only was she

  about to see what was likely a six-figure

  sale, once shoes and accessories were

  figured in, walk out the door, the design

  house’s reputation would be ruined—

  everyone would know that her faux pas

  cost her a royal wedding. Worse, we

  still wouldn’t have dresses. I could only

  imagine how hard people had worked to

  set up the appointments with the two

  salons we’d visited that day and how

  difficult it would be to make room in

  Adriana’s and Lopaka’s schedules for

  any additional shopping, especially

  considering that the wedding was only

  weeks away and the dresses needed to

  be purchased, fitted, and finished as

  soon as possible. All because of a little

  insult to me. I looked at my aunt and

  concentrated. I appreciate the thought,

  but …

  Lopaka didn’t even look at me. Her

  eyes were only on the consultant and

  flashed with anger. But nothing. Celia, I

  appreciate your humility, but you

  underestimate your position. Right

  now, you are the most famous siren on

  the planet. Your heroics have been

  splashed across the media worldwide

  and have given us much prestige. You

  have set right some of our worst sins

  and the public consider us honorable at

  last. To allow this insult to stand would

  be to allow our entire nation and

  culture to be insulted. And that I will

  not tolerate.

  That took me aback. I hadn’t thought

  of it that way.

  Seriously, I’m not all that humble.

  Yeah, I know that technically I’m a siren

  princess. My grandfather had been

  Lopaka’s beloved brother, but we hadn’t

  known that until after the vampire bit me

  and my siren powers started wreaking

  havoc. I’d grown up poor, with a pretty

  dysfunctional family. And right at this

  moment, my mom was in jail, my

  grandmother wasn’t talking to me, and

  my sister was (still) dead—and I hadn’t

  seen her ghost in a while, either. So I

  just don’t think of myself as a princess.

  As I told one of my friends when I found

  out, “That’s just so … Disney. ”

  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.