Demon Song

5

“Y’know, vampire healing isn’t your friend in a gunfight.” The voice, male and pure Jersey, brought me back to consciousness. My eyes popped open as I recognized the speaker. Gaetano, a medic who’d patched me up before, shook his head and cut deep into my shoulder with a scalpel. Thankfully I couldn’t feel anything other than pressure, which probably meant I’d been treated with a combination of morphine and a sedative spell.

“You healed right over the bullet. If I don’t get it out, it’ll sting every time you move your arm.”

“I’ll take healing over the alternative, thanks.” My tongue felt thick and unresponsive and it was impossible to keep my head straight. Good thing Gaetano was one of the good guys—or at least less bad than those who had shot me. Of course, I had been breaking out a prisoner, so maybe I was a bad guy and so was Gaetano. “By the way, are we the good guys or the bad guys?”

He smiled then and let out a snort. “Depends on the day, Graves. Today we were the good guys.” I remembered the glowing eyes of the nurse, who’d smiled with a saw in her hands, and agreed with a shudder. Gaetano’s hands pushed my shoulder down harder on the bed. The click of metal on metal said he’d probably reached the bullet. A weird sensation in my shoulder told me I was starting to metabolize the drugs. It was going to hurt soon, maybe before he finished. Maybe it would be better to concentrate on something else.

I was in a bed. The softness and the sheets gave it away. But whose bed, and when did I get there? Without moving my head, I looked around. I seemed to be in the basement of a house. A hot-water heater stood in a corner and I could see the back of a staircase beyond Gaetano’s muscular arm. “Where are we?” The direct approach is often the best.

“Safe house.” His voice held concentration. “Quit talking. It makes the drugs wear off. You’re starting to flinch.”

Yeah. “Should you give me more?”

His brown eyes flicked my way. Pretty. There was frustration mingled with amazement in his expression. “I’ve already given you enough to kill a full human, Graves. If you just relax and don’t think, they’ll work fine.”

“Celia.”

He stopped again. “What?”

“Celia, not Graves. I’m not a soldier.”

Another snort and a shake of his head. “Then you’re hanging out with the wrong people.” He put bloodstained gloved fingers on my eyebrows. “Now relax and let me finish, okay?” He closed my eyes.

* * *

There was a warm, vibrating weight on my chest that moved when I did. My eyes opened slowly, enjoying the sensation of heat and movement. Orange and white fur was all I could see. Why was our office cat, Minnie the Mouser, in the safe house?

Then I realized she wasn’t. I was in my office, lying on the couch. What the hell? I put a hand on the cat and gave her a stroke or two. She responded with extra purring. Then I gently lifted her up and put her on the floor. The purring stopped and she gave me an annoyed look with wide green eyes before walking into the nearest sunbeam on the carpet to begin bathing her face with one paw. I sat up and immediately regretted it. I’d been through a battle, and from the way my shoulder moved I was betting there was a bandage underneath my shirt, which was actually a button-down shirt and not a black turtleneck with a hole in the shoulder. Oh, crap. That meant my shirt had been off while Gaetano had been operating on me. Logical, and it shouldn’t bother me. Except it did.

My vest, clothing, and wrist sheaths, with knives, were neatly stacked on my desk. My first thought was to check the safe. The lock was still red, but I wouldn’t know if they’d used my palm to deactivate the magical part of the locking system until I looked inside. I was hoping not, but I wouldn’t put much past Jones.

I spun on the couch and sat up. The sound of crinkling paper had me looking around and then groping in the pockets of my bloodstained jeans. I hoped they’d been dry when I’d been laid on the couch. A folded slip of paper came out after a second of tugging.

I don’t date soldiers or coworkers, but you’re not either. Call me.

Gaetano

A phone number followed, and not surprisingly, it was local. How else would he have been around to swoop in, medical kit in tow, twice in a month?

Feast or famine. That’s nearly always how it worked with me. For five years, I couldn’t get a date on a bet. Now I’d attracted a growing flock of men, milling like the birds that were undoubtedly outside my office.

The problem was that everything I’d heard and experienced told me it was all frosting, no cake. Having a date who is magically compelled to worship the ground you walk on isn’t quite the same to me as earning his respect and him liking me as a person. It didn’t matter whether I could help it or not. I didn’t want to wind up like some of the starlets who abound in Hollywood and complain nobody respects their minds while on their way to the plastic surgeon to add a cup size. Maybe I needed to get a whole bunch of those anti-siren charms made up and hand them out to everyone I met.

I stood up and went to the desk, automatically checking each and every pocket of my vest. The place where the bullet had pierced the vest was obvious—the fabric covering the strips of Kevlar was frayed and slightly charred. Jeez! Were they using tracer rounds or something? I could fit my ring finger into the hole. It felt like a .30-06 to me, except that a hunting round would probably have gone right through me. Maybe I would call Gaetano sometime, just to ask what he’d pulled out of my shoulder.

Nothing was missing from the pockets except what I knew I’d used in the fight. I didn’t know whether that was good or bad. Damn my paranoia anyway. I could think of a thousand hideous spells that could be contained in seemingly innocuous ceramic disks. I might think I was throwing a mudder and wind up choking to death from a lack of oxygen around my head.

I sighed. Better safe than sorry. Part of my weapons safe has a containment unit where I store unknown stuff until I can take it to experts who can tell me what it is. All my disks would have to go there.

I put my palm on the sensor of the lock mechanism, then entered the code. There was a long pause. I’ve gotten used to the pause. It used to open right up, but that was before the vampire bite. The tech people got it to work for me after my DNA altered by telling it I was pregnant. Nobody knows what’s going to happen at the nine-month mark. I needed to add a note to my computer calendar to remind me of my “birthday” so I could clean the safe out the day before. I’d hate to not be able to get to my stuff just because I forgot. Finally it let out a confirming beep and the reassuring clunk of the lock that I’d been told could be heard everywhere in the building. I opened the door. Everything looked just as I’d left it, which made me feel better.

I’d stowed my now-unreliable tools and was just finishing putting replacement charms in the vest pockets when there was a light tap at the door. Minnie and I looked up at the same moment and her questioning mew coincided with my, “Yes?”

It was both creepy and endearingly cute.

“You okay in there?” Dawna poked in her head with Dottie right at her heels in an odd contrast of personalities and visuals. “We heard the safe open.”

Dawna is our receptionist. She’s my age, Vietnamese American, and was the epitome of high fashion in a cherry red skirt and blazer and sleek patent-leather heels. Dottie, on the other hand, is elderly, with a delightful lack of self-consciousness, a white-bread, walker-using American in vivid red velour sweats. Two halves of a whole or maybe just a vision of all of our futures. Dottie is our backup receptionist—brought on when Dawna suffered a mental collapse that put her in the mental ward for a little while. As far as I knew, she wasn’t doing inpatient therapy anymore. Emma still was.

“I’m moving slow, but I’m moving. What time is it?” I was guessing it was around ten o’clock given the position of the sunbeam on the floor, but I could be wrong. “Hopefully I know what day it is. Anyone know when I got here?”

Dawna shrugged, but Dottie said, “According to the security log, three men and one woman entered at seven fifteen this morning.”

I wondered immediately which three. Then I noticed that Dawna looked as startled as I felt. “We have a security log?” I asked.

“That shows the sex of the person who entered?” said Dawna.

When she nodded, my eyes met Dawna’s and we nodded. “Sweet.” It came out of our mouths at the same time, which made all three of us chuckle. I’d have to see what else the log showed.

“Oh, and it’s ten twenty,” Dawna added. “You have someone on the phone and someone in the waiting room. Should I tell them both to get lost or do you want one or the other?”

Did I want to see anyone? Actually I didn’t feel all that bad. I should be hungry, but I wasn’t. I briefly wondered what that meant—had Gaetano or Jones gotten some nutrition into me? I felt sore, but not to the point of turning down work. “Depends. Who’s who?”

“Your old therapist, Gwen, is on the phone. She says it’s important. Detective Alexander is downstairs. She’s been waiting nearly an hour and says she’ll wait all day if she has to.”

Crap. Well, there could be worse people waiting I suppose. Like my mother, for example. But she was in jail. One of the many reasons I had a therapist.

“I told her you’d had a long night. Was it a successful night? I haven’t been able to reach Emma.” Dawna was being deliberately coy with Dottie right there. I understood, but it wasn’t really necessary. Like Emma, Dottie was a clairvoyant. I seem to know a lot of them. Vicki had been, as well. I was betting Dottie already had seen what had happened. She’d told me that once she met me she started getting multiple images of my future—mostly of future dangers. Naturally. The death curse put on me as a child saw to that.

I nodded. “We got Kevin out and he was fine last time I saw him. I don’t know more than that. But I’ll bet you can’t reach Emma because she’s back in Birchwoods.”

“Okay. Gwen first and then I’ll see Alex. Everything else okay? Is there a reason you’re both in the office today?”

Dottie beamed at me, total excitement in her eyes. “Dawna’s teaching me how to do billing.” Awesome! I’d worried that Dawna would take Dottie’s hiring as a condemnation of her mental state. Looking at her now, I didn’t think the smile on Dawna’s face was fake, but I wouldn’t know for sure until I could meet with her privately to dance around the subject.

“Great. I have several bills to go out this month.” Because I damned well was going to send a bill to a certain monarch of Rusland for at least the cost of my friend Bubba’s boat. Bubba had helped me out so that King Dahlmar could meet with my ever-so-great grandmother, the queen of the sirens. The boat was destroyed in a very ugly way (think big chunks of it sinking slowly into the ocean) and I owed him a new one. Not that he’d asked for it, but our relationship was a little more … tense than it had been.

I put my hands out and made little waving motions. “Okay, shoo. Give me five minutes to talk to Gwen. Get Alex some coffee or something.”

“Already taken care of. Gwen’s on two.” Dawna shut the door. I waited until I heard Dottie’s walker on the stairs before I sat at my desk. I would rather she didn’t climb the stairs with her bad hips, but there’s no stopping her. God knows I’ve tried. She just said, I’m old enough to know my own mind, dear, and I’ll deal with my own consequences.

I stared at the desk and tried to think where I’d left off with Gwen the last time we’d spoken. She’d refused to take me back as a client, and that had hurt. Years ago, she’d helped me keep my sanity after my kidnapping and Ivy’s death. Then Gwen had fallen ill and had to struggle with her own sense of mortality. She’d let her license lapse. For a while I’d been seeing Dr. Scott and Dr. Hubbard at the Birchwoods sanitarium, where Vicki had once lived. But now Dr. Scott had his own problems to face and Dr. Hubbard … well, she was nice enough, but she wasn’t Gwen.

Why she was calling now? Perhaps she’d changed her mind and was willing to work with me again. I hoped she wasn’t going to say that she was disappointed with me after my latest appearances in the tabloids. Disappointing her would be second only to making my gran cry on my scale of “worst days ever.” Just the thought of harsh words from Gwen made my stomach hurt and a burning like bile rise in my throat.

You’re allowed to expect good things, Celia. Just the memory of her quiet but forceful affirmations made the tension in my shoulders release a little. I took a deep breath and pressed the button.

“Hi, Gwen. Sorry to keep you waiting.” I went for brisk and businesslike despite the fact that my hand was trembling. “What can I do for you?”

“Good morning, Celia.” Her voice was calm and collected. Not angry or excited. That could mean anything. Damn. “I hope I didn’t call at a bad time.”

Hmm. Let’s see … how to field that. Bad is such a relative thing. “No. Not at all. I do have someone waiting, but I have a few minutes.”

“Great. I’m hoping you can stop by my office to talk. There are a few things I’ve just been told that affect you directly.”

Her office? Yay! My shoulders dropped to nearly normal. “Sure. When were you thinking?” Lord knew when I could fit it in. I grabbed my flip calendar and started turning pages. Ouch. Not looking so good. I had meetings with potential clients every morning this week, plus jobs every afternoon and evening until Christmas. December is a busy time of year for bodyguards. There are holiday parties and benefits nearly every day where celebrities want to mingle and be seen—but not let certain fans, the ones who adore them far too much, get close. “I have an hour or so next Monday morning. Nine o’clock?”

There was a pregnant pause before Gwen sighed. “I was hoping it could be today. It’s rather urgent.”

Urgent? “What kind of urgent? I’m not doing too badly right this second.” It was true, though I knew I was blithely ignoring most of the problems in my life, hoping that the holidays would be a blur of only mild discomfort. I’m not a holiday person despite Gran’s best efforts. I save Christmas morning for her—fresh biscuits and coffee around the tree—but other than that, I leave the season to people who enjoy it. Like Dawna. And Emma. They’re so into sugary goodwill it makes my teeth hurt.

There was a second, deeper sigh in my ear. “It’s not about you, Celia, although I do want to hear about what’s really going on with you.” I knew she’d catch me.… “This is about a friend of yours. I’d rather not say any more on the phone. Do you have time to drop by today?”

A friend? There aren’t many people in my life who fit that description, but the ones I have are important. “Um, sure. Do I need to set a time or should I just drop by?”

“You can drop by.” She paused briefly, then said, “I’m working at Birchwoods.” I started in surprise.

“What? Why?” There was probably a note of horror in my voice. I’d been kicked out of Birchwoods by Dr. Scott. I got why … he’d rightly objected to one of my siren cousins walking through security without a single person stopping her and then psychically manipulating him into giving her information about me. But … damn it!

Her voice sounded surprised when she spoke: “I thought you knew. I’m the new administrator. The announcement was in the papers last week. Of course, I can’t do full sessions with patients until my license is renewed, but the center needed a new chief after Dr. Scott became a patient and I’m well qualified for that.”

Ah. That would explain it. I’ve been avoiding the press lately nearly as carefully as a movie star involved in a scandal. “Sorry, I don’t read the paper much. But congratulations!” I meant it. A new chief meant new rules and my being eighty-sixed from the facility could be swept away with the stroke of a pen.

I did know that Jeff Scott needed therapy. I’d suggested it to him myself, very sincerely. He’d been traumatized by a mental attack magical kidnappers had inflicted. From his description it had been the mental equivalent of rape. They’d tortured him because it was fun. I’d killed or disabled most of those responsible, but he couldn’t seem to get past it. That I understood only too well. It becomes disabling and therapy is really the only way out of the maze in your own brain.

“Thank you. So I’ll see you sometime today? I’ll let the gate know to pass you through.”

She might have to insist. The gate guard, Gerry, had once been a friendly acquaintance—before I’d saved a stadiumful of baseball fans by manipulating him and a bunch of cops. Then he turned into an anti-siren crusader. I still didn’t know if it was by his own will or the result of another manipulation by Eirene.

I pressed the cutoff switch after our good-byes, the receiver still in my hand. I was feeling … odd. I was happy that I might be able to have Gwen as my therapist again one day but curious—and worried—about what she was going to tell me. Emma was an inpatient there at Birchwoods, but she’d seemed generally okay while shopping, outside of her concern for her brother. Dawna was in outpatient therapy and also seemed fine. Not knowing what was wrong made me want to jump in my car and head straight over. Except that Alex was still downstairs and I had an eleven o’clock meeting with a P.I. I’d hired about a mysterious heir Vicki had posthumously asked me to investigate.

I released the cutoff switch and pressed the intercom for the front desk. “Yes, dear?” I was getting used to being called that, as were the other tenants. Hard to argue about office propriety when confronted by watery blue eyes and a patient smile.

“Send Alex up, please.”

“Of course, dear. But have you eaten yet?”

I sighed. No. Of course I hadn’t. If I’d gotten here at seven fifteen and woke at ten fifteen then I was definitely due for a shake. Except that I really wasn’t hungry and didn’t know why. But I’d had it hit me without warning before—like at the mall. “Thanks for the reminder. Give me five minutes.”

She hung up without another word. It’d probably be a good idea to take a look at my shoulder, too. It used to be that the only refrigerator in the building was in the lunchroom on the first floor. But since I need nourishment every four hours, I decided that having a fridge in my office would be a good idea. In part because of Dottie, we were also looking into an elevator for the building. It was officially a landmark building, so the elevator would probably have to be either a period art deco one or a freestanding external one that wouldn’t alter the building’s lines, with a window becoming a door. We’d had two tenant meetings on it without coming to an agreement.

Eventually I’d have to decide, providing the Will was deemed valid. Vicki had left the building to me. I hadn’t told the guys yet—Bubba would be fine with the idea, but Ron, the attorney who has most of the first floor, would have a conniption fit. But hey, Ron was an ass. Vicki had even asked in her video Will if her ghost could watch when I told him.

After grabbing a chocolate nutrition shake from my mini-fridge and drinking down half, I walked to the bathroom. In the mirror, which was framed by bright pink, candy-stripe wallpaper, I looked a wreck. No wonder Dawna had asked if I was okay. My face was blood smeared and my hair was sticking out at all angles.

I used to have pale, translucent skin that burned easily. Now it was white enough to cause guys like the father in the mall to spritz me with holy water. It might be even more noticeable if not for my light blond hair. Dark hair would make me look three days dead. We’d been experimenting with makeup palettes to make me seem more … natural. The shopping trip had mostly been a success—nobody had gone screaming or running until I went vamp and got all glowy—so I was satisfied with the foundation and blush we’d settled on. I’d bought three sets of the colors. One for home, one for here, and one in my purse for emergency touch-ups.

The shirt I’d woken up in was a man’s … and from the way it hung on me, the man was a linebacker. I sniffed at the collar to see if I could get a hint of who it had belonged to, but it just smelled of clean cotton and Downy fabric softener. Stripping it off, I was pleased to note that I was wearing a bra. Strange how the little things like modesty ease the mind. But there was blood on the bra as well as the gauze bandages, so it would have to go. Let’s see … three hours. Would I have healed under the bandages? Would it be safe to shower? Hmm.

Naw. Probably best to give it another half day. Gaetano said he’d had to reopen the wound. I would take a sponge bath and wash my hair in the sink. Alex would understand. She’s been through more than one messy raid.

In fifteen minutes I was clean, blow-dried, freshly painted, and dressed in my own clothes. The linen cabinet now doubled as a wardrobe, so I had client-worthy clothes available whenever needed. Another reason for our shopping trip. Pale colors offset with black or rich, intense colors like burgundy seem to suit the “new me,” so I put on a pair of black jeans and a pale yellow sweater set with baby blue and pink embroidered roses. Not too bad, actually, with the light brown eyeliner and “peace rose” blush. Not stark, not threatening, and very not vampirey.

Since I wasn’t sure whether Alex was here as Alex or as Detective Heather Alexander I definitely wanted to appear non-threatening. Nothing to see here, Officer. Just a peace-loving citizen … not a prison-raiding, shopper-terrifying, fanged monster.

I drank the rest of the shake as I walked back into my office. It really tasted good after toothpaste—a chocolate cool mint shake. They should team up to market that flavor.

Alex was waiting for me in a client chair, reading the latest issue of Bodyguard Quarterly. They have trade journals for nearly everything now and it was a great place to find out about new gadgets. Crap! That reminded me. I didn’t remember seeing the fly in my vest. Well, shit. I wasn’t going to enjoy telling Creede I’d lost it. With any luck it was in my car.

“Morning, Alex. Sorry to keep you waiting. Want a soda?” She turned her head and took in my appearance with raised brows and general approval. I skirted around the coffee table just as she tossed the magazine the five feet backward to it. Good aim. It hit the top of the stack of magazines and stuck like an Olympic gymnast.

“Celia. Sure. I guess.” She looked and sounded haggard but determined. It’s hard to lose someone you love, especially to murder. Rumor had it that, like me, she’d thrown herself into her work to escape the pain and emptiness. I think I fared better. While she hid it well with makeup, I could tell from the fit of an outfit I’d seen her in before that she’d lost weight and had a few more wrinkles around her mouth. She took the drink I held out. “You’re looking well.”

I shrugged as I sat down in my office chair. “I’m trying some colors that don’t make me look so … well, you know.”

She nodded and then took a deep breath. I could tell that part of her wanted to be annoyed with me for not being a blubbering mess. I had been for a couple of weeks, but it had become a little easier because Vicki was still around in ghost form. We talked. Which reminded me, we needed to talk about Ivy. Damn. Alex said, “You’ve been avoiding my calls and I’m starting to get a lot of … pressure from above.”

So. She was here as a cop. Playing innocent was only playing, but I do it well. I wasn’t about to panic and throw myself on her mercy until absolutely necessary. “About what?”

“The department needs your help. Our guys on the street are getting edgy. They’re demanding protection.”

That stopped me cold. “Protection? From what?” She was silent for a long moment, obviously uncomfortable. Her fingers nibbled at her blazer trim before tucking into a pocket. Her foot began a light tapping on the floor that I’d seen before when she didn’t want to tell Vicki something about an active case she’d foreseen the events of.

“They want siren charms. Two of the cops Eirene manipulated are having post-traumatic stress symptoms. The staff psychologist says the only thing that will help them even start to get over it is protection against future events.” She gave me a disgusted look that had both frustration and fear in it. “I’ve been resisting putting you in this position, but I’m afraid they’re going to hold it against me if I don’t get you to donate hair or skin samples for anti-siren charms. You’re the only siren they know and I’m the only one on staff who knows you.”

Whoa. I honestly didn’t know what to say to that. I understood the fear of being out of control—doing things against your will. Whether or not you realized it was manipulation until later was pretty irrelevant. But while I sympathized, I was also offended and worried. Because DNA samples can also be used effectively in spells that are a lot less benign, and there were more than a few cops who’d felt I should be hunted as a monster. And then there was the obvious implication. “In effect, they want an anti-Celia charm. Isn’t that right? I presume your department witch told you there are two kinds. A true anti-siren charm would take a lot more magic and would have to be recharged periodically. Wouldn’t what you’re really asking for break something like a hundred years of precedent about discrimination against individual magic users? I don’t plan to break the law, so it would be punishment before an event.” Last night excepted, of course. And I wasn’t even sure I’d broken any laws. Other than throwing myself into one guard to keep him from shooting Kevin, the worst I did was break through the magic barrier, and I’m not sure it’s a crime to break into a prison. I wasn’t the one who actually got Kevin out.

She sighed like she agreed with me but had to present the official viewpoint. “Except it’s not just you. Once Queen Lopaka sent that letter to the governor saying that you were certified royalty and he made that press statement about how proud he was to have a royal who was a citizen of California … It’s only a matter of time before there are official state visits or before other powerful magical visitors come to see you. That’s going to put an extra strain on our department. How can we protect the citizens if visitors can run mentally roughshod over our people?”

Fuck a duck. Lopaka and the governor? Jeez, I really did need to start reading the newspapers. I was surprised there weren’t a dozen reporters sticking mics in my face when I went outside. “When did all that happen?”

Now she looked surprised. It softened the lines on her face and made her look more like the Alex I remembered. The semifriend. “Have you been living in a cave? The only reason the press isn’t on your doorstop is you’re not the flavor of the week this week. There are other people with siren blood in California—both male and female—but not all of them have the ability to manipulate minds. Right now, the press hasn’t quite figured that out.”

Ah. Now I got it. “And without charms, none of your guys are willing to tell the press about me for fear I’ll retaliate. Is that it?” She had the decency to blush slightly. She covered it well, but I knew it bugged her. “Y’know, I can’t see any wins for me in this situation, Alex. There’s no way to know if a charm made with samples from me would be effective against other sirens, even if the department witch added extra oomph. If I give you DNA to make charms, then cops who already don’t like me will go public or use them for God knows what. The press will hound me and I won’t be able to do my job. What’s my incentive?”

She shrugged slender shoulders and flipped her short blonde hair just as I heard a click. It sounded just like the little digital recorder I used for keeping notes. She was taping our conversation? Okay, that’s a total violation of multiple laws. But all of a sudden she relaxed into her chair and let out a snort. Apparently with the taping done, she could now be open about her own opinion of the department decree. “Precisely. I tried to tell them you weren’t stupid and would figure that out. But I said I would try. And I have. I’d do exactly what you did and refuse. It’s ridiculous. Our own department witch couldn’t give any opinion about the charm’s effectiveness. She said we’d just have to try it and see. But she didn’t like the idea, either. Too risky, she said.”

“You know I could sue the department, and you, for taping this without permission?”

She nodded but didn’t say anything out loud—probably thinking I’d been doing the same thing. I wasn’t but should have been, damn it. “As a favor, I would appreciate a formal refusal … on the record.” She put her hand back in her pocket. “Ready?”

I held up a hand. “Wait. Let’s talk this out for a second.” This might be a golden opportunity for some backroom dealing. I needed to tell someone official what was going on at the prison. Yes, Jones might take care of it, or his company might have been the cause of it. Tough to tell with shadowy government organizations. “I agree that the police should be immune to mental manipulation—even from me. That just makes sense. And I know people who would know what kind of charm would be effective against all sirens. What I’m leery about is giving the samples and how we can be absolutely positive that that’s all they’re used for. And frankly, I have a problem that you might be able to solve … or at least help solve. So, I’ll make you a deal.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “I’m listening.”

“The trick is that I can’t tell you everything about my problem without involving other people who don’t want to be involved.”

A second nod. “Still listening. Not liking, but listening.”

“First, let’s put the device on the desk, where we can both see that I’m not about to make an ‘open-mic gaffe.’ ”

The slim silver and black recorder was on the desk in moments. It was a tape unit, rather than digital. Not a big surprise. A lot of cops were back to using tapes after a recent case in Michigan where a digital recording had been altered by a simple spell. It had been good for the local economy. The tape-manufacturing plant at the edge of town that had closed in the nineties was back open and working three shifts to supply the sudden demand.

The tape wasn’t moving, but just to be safe Alex took out the microcassette and set it on the desk next to the unit. I took a deep breath and let it out slow as she reached for the red and silver can in front of her and took a long drink.

“There’s a demonic presence possessing guards and prisoners out at the zoo. I want the police to get some priests out there to cleanse the place before it spreads.”

Apparently, this bore no relation to whatever she’d thought I was going to say. Her eyes went wide and she spewed a mouthful of cola across my desk. I managed to scoot back fast to keep the spray off of my shirt. I grabbed tissues and started to clean spit and soda off the polished wood—and the tape and tape recorder. Her coughing fit would have made me laugh in other circumstances. Not today. Finally Alex got control of herself and said, “Excuse me? Why do you think that?”

I leaned back in my chair, my head swimming. So many things I couldn’t say. “That’s the part I can’t tell you about. What I can say is that it showed on a detector and I confirmed it visually.” I held up my hands helplessly and stared into her wide green eyes. I knew I was asking for a lot. For a local police detective to question a state facility was bucking ten levels of protocol. Yes, I could call one of the warrior-priest organizations, but I’d be put on a list to check it out. A request from Alex would go to the top of the pile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me on this. You know I wouldn’t ask unless I felt it was important.”

She began to tap her fingers on the desk. I didn’t realize she chewed her nails. I’d never noticed before. But they were down to bleeding on some fingers. She looked troubled. I needed to convince her, but how?

“Wait! Vicki was there, too. Would you do it if she confirmed it?”

Alex’s whole face brightened. It was well established in law that ghosts couldn’t lie.

Alex looked up. Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “Vick? You there, hon?”

There was no response. No chilling of the room, no breeze moving my hair. I was sorry but not surprised. “She was pretty tired. Did she visit you at all yesterday?”

Alex nodded. “She showed up right at dusk and listened while I ranted about my day. It’s not … not like it used to be, but it’s something. She left suddenly. I presume because you called?” There was a pain in her voice that I was powerless to remove. I didn’t know why Vicki would choose being with me in a crisis over being with her hurt and lonely lover. The siren queens claim Vicki’s my spirit guardian. I don’t know about that. I do know our friendship was strong enough to survive the grave. That’s enough in my book.

“She’ll probably be back later today. You can ask her then, when I can’t give her any hints. If it checks out, will you go?”

“That’s your only condition? You’ll give the samples if I do it?”

Now it was my turn to tap fingers. “I’d still like to check out what the charm needs to do … and not do. And I want guarantees there’ll be precautions against the samples being misused. But by tomorrow we should both know. Deal?”

She nodded. “What I can do until I hear from Vicki is check the board and the incoming bulletins, see if there have been reports of anything strange out there. I can do that without alerting anyone. We’re all supposed to look at those anyway, and I’m behind on them.” She smoothed her skirt as she stood. “If what you say is true, I’ll do whatever I have to do to get the priests out there, even if I have to drive one there myself.” She picked up the cassette and put it back in the machine. Without asking if I was ready, she pushed the record button. She remembered just where she left off. “Your incentive is to do the right thing. For yourself, for the people of this city, and for all of us who protect them.”

It was all true and, again, I didn’t disagree with the concept. I paused an appropriate length of time before responding. “I want to talk to a mage I know to find out more about the process … and the consequences. Call me tomorrow about this same time and I’ll have an answer for you. Deal?”

She reached across the desk with her right hand and also met my eyes in a way that wasn’t for the tape. “Deal.”

After a few more pleasantries to show she had taped the whole interview—as such—she left. I sat in my chair, thinking a thousand different thoughts.