The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song) Read online

  “No problema. Ron’s in court all

  afternoon. It was just going to be me and

  the crickets.” She tried to sound

  lighthearted, but her smile didn’t light up

  her face the way it usually did. As

  always, she looked lovely enough to be

  garnering a fair number of stares, but she

  didn’t even notice. That was so not

  Dawna. Her suit today was a deep

  crimson. The jacket had an embroidered

  collar and a little peplum that drew

  attention to her tiny waist. The knee-

  length pencil skirt was just long enough

  to be modest, showing off a terrific set

  of legs. Her dark hair was loose,

  hanging in a sleek, shining curtain down

  her back.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s not important.”

  I didn’t believe her, but I also knew

  that pushing was pointless. She’d tell me

  when she was ready. But she would tell

  me. Dawna’s the kind who needs to talk

  things through. Still, it might not be the

  kind of problem you’d want to discuss in

  a public place that had both video and

  audio surveillance.

  We exited into bright sunshine and I

  immediately felt my skin starting to burn.

  “I hope you’re parked close. My

  sunscreen’s worn off.”

  “Crap, they don’t let anyone park

  within a block of the building. Get in the

  shade and wait,” she ordered. “I’ll come

  get you.”

  It made sense, so I was happy to

  agree. I ducked into the shadow of the

  building and felt the painful heat of my

  skin ease almost immediately. I closed

  my eyes for a second in blissful relief.

  Most of the time I’m okay with the

  “new me.” Some of the siren stuff is

  actually cool. The vampire healing is

  great. But if a genie gave me three

  wishes, my very first one would be to go

  back to being a normal human.

  I waited, expecting Dawna to come

  around the corner in her little Chevy

  hybrid. Instead I saw das Humvee pull to

  the curb.

  I say “das Humvee” because this

  wasn’t any old Hummer. No, this was a

  macho man’s wet dream—the full

  military-sized

  model,

  completely

  customized. It was huge, glossy black,

  and ostentatious, with lots and lots of

  chrome that glared blindingly in the

  afternoon sunlight.

  “Holy crap.”

  The passenger door swung open. “Get

  in.”

  “What the hell?”

  She gave an impatient gesture. I

  dashed across the sidewalk and hefted

  myself inside.

  It wasn’t easy. I’m a tall woman, but

  this thing was big. I couldn’t imagine

  how Dawna had managed it, especially

  in a skirt and heels. I especially couldn’t

  figure out how she reached the pedals or

  how she’d managed to lean across the

  length of the front seat to open my door.

  As soon as I had my seatbelt fastened,

  she pulled away from the curb, traffic

  parting in her path like the Red Sea

  parting for Moses.

  Sitting there, I couldn’t quite see to

  the next county but I could certainly see

  over all the other cars into the next

  block. I drive an old Miata, an itty-bitty

  sports car that’s slung low to the ground.

  Riding in the Humvee was a totally

  different experience.

  “I hate this damned thing,” Dawna

  muttered. “It’s so freaking huge. It’s

  impossible to find a place to park.”

  Yeah, that would be a problem—

  assuming you weren’t willing to crush

  the lesser vehicles that dared get in your

  way. But damn, the interior was nice.

  Unlike military models used in the field,

  this had real leather, real wood, lots of

  gadgets. It even had the after-market

  button with shielding spells. How cool

  was that?

  “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.

  “I really wish I was better at

  languages,” I complained as, at Isaac’s

  gesture, I climbed onto the appropriate

  platform.