The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Song) Read online

either direction will bear that shame in

  the eyes of my people. It is our

  tradition. But if she truly helps us to

  stop this madness, I will allow her to

  commit

  Akkana—ritual

  suicide.

  Nothing can save her, but it will at

  least spare her family the taint of her

  shame.

  Ritual suicide? That was the good

  option?

  I am sorry, Celia, truly.

  I couldn’t tell if she was or not. I was

  just hoping something would change to

  make any action unnecessary. So am I.

  The queen spoke her next words

  aloud, giving me at least the illusion of

  mental privacy. “Go. Think about what

  we’ve discussed.” She reached over,

  patting my hand. I’m not really the

  patting type, and neither is she. It seemed

  an odd gesture. Then again, she was in

  an odd mood—angry, regal, but also

  extremely tired and very worried. “Pack

  everything you will need for several

  days. My jets are busy today ferrying

  most of my sister queens home, but I will

  have Hiwahiwa arrange a flight for you

  tomorrow. I would that it were sooner,

  but we will simply have to trust the

  Secret Service a bit longer.”

  “I could fly commercial.”

  She smiled more broadly, her eyes

  lighting up a bit. “That won’t be

  necessary, but thank you for offering.

  Frankly, security would have a fit, and

  rightly so. No, tomorrow will be fine.”

  I surprised myself by saying, “I wish

  you were coming, too.”

  “As do I. I hate this more than you

  know. Chiyoko has kindly offered to stay

  and to advise Adriana.” The bitterness

  in the queen’s words was palpable.

  “Oh, hell.”

  “Indeed. I had hoped that using the

  video conference idea you had given me,

  showing her that I am recovering, would

  dissuade her from this unseemly grab for

  power…” She let the sentence trail off

  unfinished.

  There was nothing I could say. From

  what I’d seen nothing, ever, would

  dissuade Chiyoko from anything. I had

  never spent more than a few minutes

  with her, but they’d been memorable.

  Besides, power-hungry people are never

  satisfied. It’s an addiction. Any addict

  always wants more.

  I looked at my aunt. She was wearing

  out. Sirens might be tough, but they

  weren’t invincible, and the terrorists had

  very nearly succeeded in killing her,

  thanks to the information Okalani had

  provided.

  Perhaps the queen was right. Or not. I

  just didn’t know. I did know there was

  nothing more for me to do here. “I’ll let

  you get some rest. Try not to worry any

  more than you have to.”

  She gave a snort of amusement, then

  nodded, a silent gesture giving me

  permission to leave.

  Taking my cue I rose, bowed, and

  walked away.

  Baker led me down one of the back

  stairwells after notifying Griffiths that

  we were leaving and telling him where

  to meet us. I’d turned off my cell phone

  to meet with the queen and switched it

  back on as we went down the stairs.

  There were five missed calls, all from

  Laka.

  I knew I should call her back. Maybe

  Okalani had come back. More likely, she

  hadn’t and her mother just wanted

  updates. Whatever, I didn’t want to deal

  with it. Not now, with my conversation

  with the queen so fresh in my mind.

  Later. I’d crush Laka’s hopes for her

  daughter later.

  The car pulled to the curb, Griffiths at

  the wheel. Baker led. She was cautious,

  spraying Griffiths with holy water from

  both a general purpose container bottle

  and from one that looked to be part of

  her own private stash, to make sure it

  was truly him and not a shape-shifted

  spawn, before letting me get into the

  backseat.

  “Where to?” Griffiths half turned,

  looking at me over the top of the front

  seat as Baker climbed in on the

  passenger side.

  “Home,” I answered. “Take me

  home.”

  * * *

  “Princ … Ms. Graves, we’re here.”

  I blinked in surprise, waking. Griffiths

  seemed to be a quick learner, or perhaps

  Baker had clued him in on the “no

  princess” policy. I reached into my bag

  and pulled out the remote that granted me

  entry to my home. It’s not just one where

  you push a button, like a garage-door

  opener. I have to enter a code and press

  my fingerprint to a pad. Magical

  biometrics. Good stuff.

  Cooper Manor is a large estate with

  elaborate security, for which I’m

  grateful every day. There’s a long,

  winding drive through manicured lawns

  that leads to the mansion. A small branch

  off of that drive leads to my parking lot.

  “How long was I asleep?” I was

  shocked. It wasn’t even ten in the

  morning and I’d dozed off?

  “You’ve had a rough couple of days,”

  Baker said. “And there are more of them

  on the way. Rest when you can.”

  She was right, of course. My life had

  been rough, and for longer than a few

  days. But the fact that I’d fallen asleep

  was a good sign—I’d chosen well. With

  Helen Baker as my “partner,” I felt

  secure. And Griffiths must have proven

  himself to my subconscious, too. Trust is

  a wonderful thing. As Griffiths pulled

  the car into the little parking lot near the

  guest cottage, I made up my mind. I

  needed more than rest. I needed peace.

  Until I got things straight in my head and

  my emotions under control, I was going

  to be useless. “I’m going to the beach.”

  They didn’t say a word. Of course,

  they were sirens, so they’d know all

  about the call of the ocean. I pulled my

  house key from my pocket and tossed it

  to Baker. “My bedroom is the yellow

  one. Feel free to take either the blue or

  the white.”

  I climbed from the car, grabbed a

  beach umbrella from the storage box on

  the back deck, and went looking for

  peace. My private bit of beach is a little

  strip of sand and rocks that edge onto the

  ocean. It’s too rough and rocky for good

  boating or surfing, but it’s beautiful. I

  found a sandy spot next to my favorite

  rock, pitched my umbrella, and sat

  staring at the ocean and watching the

  gulls play.

  Within ten minutes I reached an

  unpleasant conclusion. Two hours later,

  I hadn’t changed my mind.

  I couldn’t help Okala
ni, no matter

  how much I wanted to.

  I’d given my information to the police

  via Alex and to Rizzoli via voice mail.

  Alex was good at her job. If she found

  the kid, Okalani would be arrested and

  probably turned over to the feds. If the

  feds found her, or got her from the

  police, she might be able to make a deal

  —information in exchange for witness

  protection. I’d seen it happen before.

  But if the sirens found her, she’d be

  killed. Honorably or dishonorably, she’d

  be just as dead.

  The best thing I could do for Okalani

  was stay the hell away from her and pray

  that the good guys who didn’t want her

  dead found her before the ones who did;

  and that either set found her before the

  villains.

  It sucked.

  Staring at the ocean didn’t make it

  suck any less. I was hurt, sad, and angry.

  I wished … Not that it mattered what I

  wished. As my mom used to say, “If

  wishes were horses, we’d be up to our

  eyeballs in shit.” In fact, I might be

  anyway.

  19

  My flight would leave at 2:00 P.M. from

  a private airstrip not far from town. It

  was probably an hour’s drive from the

  office. Since it was private, I’d be able

  to pack whatever weaponry I cared to

  bring. I could strip the safe bare if I

  wanted. I was going to take spell disks,

  my guns, various ammunition, my knives,

  and some One Shot brand squirt guns

  filled with holy water. I probably

  wouldn’t need the special loads on

  Serenity; there are no monsters on the

  islands. Well, there aren’t supposed to

  be. But we’d be going straight from

  Serenity to Rusland, and I might need

  them there, so I needed to pack them

  now if I wanted them later.

  I would also have time to meet with

  the client who’d been on the books since

  the day I got back in town.

  I could hear Ron and Dawna arguing

  the moment I climbed from the car. So

  help me God, if I hadn’t had to go to the

  bathroom so bad I would’ve climbed

  back in and have Griffiths drive us

  somewhere else. But the morning rush

  hour had offered up bumper-to-bumper

  traffic and I’d drunk two large mugs of

  coffee. So I steeled myself and entered

  the lion’s den.

  “I’ve had it!” Ron is not a small man.

  He towered over Dawna, even in her

  heels. But she stood toe-to-toe with him,

  not giving an inch. Years of putting up

  with his crap had finally come to a head.

  I could tell that from across the room.

  Ron was an idiot if he didn’t recognize

  it. “That woman is a menace.”

  That woman? That would be me. It

  always is.

  “All right, what’s up?” I asked. Baker

  had entered ahead of me and Griffiths

  was behind. They both kept one hand

  close to their sidearms, ready to act as

  backup, but they didn’t need to. On my

  worst day I could handle Ron without

  breaking a sweat. He’s a big bully, but

  there’s no substance to it.

  He whirled around at the sound of my

  voice. “You!” He pointed a meaty finger

  at my face.

  “Yep,

  me.

  Now,

  what’s

  the

  problem?” There was an edge in my

  voice you could shave with. Like

  Dawna, I had pretty much reached the

  end of my ability to put up with Ron’s

  abuse.

  “I’m moving out! I can’t take any more

  of this. Terrorists! There are actual

  terrorists after you, with bombs. You

  being here endangers all of us.” He

  started to move forward, to try to use

  that big body to intimidate me, but Baker

  suddenly appeared just in front of him.

  She wasn’t aggressive; she barely even

  seemed to move. But she stopped him

  cold.

  “Okay,” I said in a perfectly pleasant

  tone of voice. Because, truthfully,

  imagining Ron out of my hair really was

  just so incredibly pleasant.

  He stood there, blinking a little as if

  we’d startled him. “Okay?”

  I sighed. “Ron, actual terrorists have

  made viable threats. Any sane and

  rational person would get as far away

  from that as possible. I’m a little startled

  to find out you’re rational, but hey, good

  on you.” I heard a soft snort of what

  might have been suppressed laughter.

  Griffiths, I think. I didn’t look. If I did, Ron would notice and we’d have more

  of a fuss on our hands than we already

  did. “You want out of your lease, I’ll let

  you out. Hell, if you can get moved out

  by the end of the week and leave the

  place clean, I’ll not only give you back

  your deposit, I’ll refund this month’s rent

  as a gesture of good will.”

  It took him a few seconds to take that

  in. He’d won. But he was Ron, and he

  was an attorney, he had to push for just

  that little bit more. “My moving

  expenses—”

  “No.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but I

  cut him off. “No.”

  I turned aside and moved around both

  him and Baker, to the reception desk

  where Dawna had resumed her usual

  seat. I was not going to argue. If he took

  the offer, fine. If he didn’t, he was a

  fool. Either way, I was finished with it,

  and him. “When’s my client due?”

  Behind me, Griffiths gave a polite

  cough.

  Apparently, I’d been too involved to

  notice a new arrival. Just great. Peachy.

  I pasted a smile on my face and turned to

  greet the newcomer. Points to me, I was

  even able to hold on to the smile when I

  saw who it was.

  Angelina Bonetti.

  Oh, hell. This was so not my day.

  “Ms. Bonetti.”

  “You know my name.” She wasn’t

  happy about it. Her eyes had narrowed,

  her voice polite but chilly. She’d

  expected to surprise me, have the

  advantage.

  “Bruno showed me your picture.” Oh,

  she didn’t like that, not a bit. It showed.

  Apparently he was supposed to keep her

  from me, like some deep dark secret.

  The woman he’d always hold a torch

  for, someone to be ashamed of still

  having feelings for. And maybe he

  would have kept her a secret—if I hadn’t

  found the picture. Or not. Because he’d

  had the whole day to plan our date. To

  clean up. Why keep an incriminating

  photo around if he was embarrassed?

  I forced myself to keep smiling. “I

  understand you were his high-school

  sweetheart. If you’ll ha
ve a seat, I’ll be

  with you in just a minute.” I gestured

  toward the lobby. I didn’t stay to see if

  or where she went. Whatever was going

  to happen next could wait. I was going to

  the bathroom. Now.

  As I was washing up, I took stock of

  myself in the mirror. I was wearing a

  nice black suit with a white blouse. My

  hair was pulled back and my face was

  made up in my usual business-

  appropriate way. My bone structure has

  always been a little harsh, but that

  became more apparent after the bite—

  and even more so since I’d dropped

  weight in Mexico. I’ve learned to keep

  the fangs hidden most of the time. My

  skin doesn’t glow green unless I’m

  vamping, which isn’t often anymore. I

  could hold my head up at any business

  meeting in the city. Unfortunately, I

  couldn’t hold a candle to Angelina

  Bonetti.

  I’ve known some gorgeous people.

  Vicki Cooper, my best friend since

  college, was the daughter of a pair of A-

  list movie stars, and was so beautiful

  that when she went out in shorts and a

  tank top she could actually stop traffic.

  Seriously, I honest-to-God saw a guy

  almost wreck his car because he was

  staring at her.

  Angelina left Vicki in the shade.

  She’d grown into the face I’d seen in the

  photo. She was still petite, tiny even, but

  with dangerous curves that were

  emphasized by the crossover cut of the

  sapphire-blue dress she was wearing.

  The jewels she wore at her throat, wrist,

  and ears were sapphires as well, with

  just enough diamonds to add a little

  sparkle. Her long, dark hair had been

  swept back and to one side in a casually

  messy braid, a style that emphasized a

  heart-shaped face dominated by huge,

  doelike eyes and full, red lips.

  She was overdressed for a simple

  business meeting and I doubted it was

  accidental. How I reacted would

  determine if she got the upper hand.

  “She’s trying too hard. That means

  she’s nervous.” My reflection smiled at

  me. It wasn’t a happy smile. But I

  stiffened my spine, dried my hands, put a

  quick, glossy shine on my already pink

  lips, and went back to the lobby by way

  of the kitchen, where I fetched coffee for

  myself and my guest.

  Baker was coming down the stairs as

  I entered the room. She gave me a brisk

  nod to let me know the office was clear.

  I acknowledged the gesture and turned to

  my client. “Ms. Bonetti, if you’d like to

  come upstairs? I hope you like coffee.” I