The Eldritch Conspiracy

29

Sirens live a very long time. They aren’t all that fertile and they very seldom marry. So there aren’t a lot of royal weddings or births, and when either occurs, it’s a huge historic event. The photographer was making sure there was an extensive record of the events. There were pictures with Dahlmar and Adriana sitting on chairs that were vaguely thronelike, the rest of us arrayed in a semicircle behind them. There were photos of them kissing. There were group shots, individual shots, shots of the various couples. There were so many shots, in fact, that I would’ve been happy to do a little shooting of my own. But I tried to be a good sport about it and I smiled at the camera until my face muscles ached.

But all things end eventually, including royal photo shoots. When this one did, we piled into various limousines and drove in a motorcade back to the royal compound, through streets filled with drunken revelers.

I stayed close to Adriana and kept a close watch on Olga during the luau that was the reception. And while the food and the free-flowing drinks looked and smelled amazing, I didn’t taste them. While people ate, a steady stream of performers put on a fabulous show that included amazing dance numbers, exciting singers, and exquisite music. I paid zero attention. Only after the bride and groom left the reception to enjoy some time alone was I able to relax. I chose to do that by having Baker and Griffiths escort me back to the guest house so that I could have a little time to myself.

Getting away from the crowds was a huge relief. Now that I wasn’t on duty I wanted a couple of stiff drinks, some food, and to have a good cry.

My beautiful office was probably a pile of rubble by now. I was likely to be treated to constant replays of the “controlled detonation” once I got home.

I didn’t want to see it.

Baker and Griffiths walked me to the door. After checking with the guards on duty to be sure that no one had come in the building in our absence, and that all of the visitors and servants had left, I was given the all clear to enter.

Normally I get a real jolt crossing the spell barrier at the threshold of the guest house. Today, not so much. When I gave Baker a look of inquiry, she smiled. “Our mages came up with a special barrier with you in mind. Any other paranormal creature will get hit hard. But the perimeter is keyed to recognize you. We got the idea from the man who manufactured your weapons safe.”

I found myself grinning. How very cool. Then I remembered that the safe was in my building. The grin died.

I needed a drink. More than that, I need to get stinking drunk, to the point I didn’t care.

The guest house is big, and normally pulsing with life. Even when I am the only guest, the place is full of servants. Tonight, it was echoingly empty. The usual staff had been given the night off for security reasons. I moved through silent halls that led to the living room, my footfalls sounding loud in my ears. Hitting the light switch, I noted that the hair and makeup experts had cleared out, leaving the room spotless. Stepping behind the bar I reached into the minifridge and grabbed ice and some orange juice. To my delight, I found that the cooks had left me a plastic container of frozen au jus. I shook my head a little. Good thing I wasn’t going to be staying on Serenity much longer. I could get used to having staff around who anticipated my every whim.

I popped the lid off of the au jus and stuck it in the microwave to cook while I mixed myself a stiff screwdriver in a tall glass. Once everything was ready, I settled into a comfortable chair with a good view of all the exits. A quick touch on the remote and the big-screen television came to life.

I flipped to CNN. I shouldn’t have. Not until the second or third screwdriver. But there, in high definition, was my building, with a banner beneath it saying “filmed earlier.” I watched in horrified fascination as an officer in a blue FBI windbreaker wrapped hair around a ball, taped it down, and loaded the ball into an air gun. He broke a spell disk over the gun. I couldn’t see the rune on the disk, but I was betting it was for distance and accuracy. He had a straight shot, but was quite a distance from the building.

At his order, a marksman shot out the glass of the French doors of my office. Another barked command and mages were on standby, ready to raise the perimeter the instant after he fired.

Blinking back tears, I watched him raise the air gun to his shoulder and fire.

The explosion put the one back in Mexico to shame.

They played it full speed. Then they played it in slow motion. They showed it from every angle. I watched in horror, over and over, as the beautiful antique stained-glass window shattered, watched the flamingo-pink upstairs toilet soar through the air to crash in the middle of the street. The bones of the old building were rapidly devoured by flames made more powerful by the curse that had been part of the bomb. My old weapons safe, scorched but upright, smashed through the damaged floors to land intact atop the wreckage, its protection spells keeping it defiant against the worst the witch could dish out, even with the door wide open displaying staples, copy paper, and sticky notes. Damn. Jason was the man of the hour. He’d probably get a ton of new orders for safes—and more power to him.

The new safe didn’t fare nearly so well. What few of my weapons and spell disks I hadn’t brought with me had been utterly destroyed, because the safe that had “protected” them was nothing but scorched and twisted metal.

I downed my drink in a single, long pull and made my way back to the bar.

After my second drink, I retrieved my cell phone from my room and called Dawna. She was a wreck. I wound up trying to calm her down. After all, we were all alive. Even the cat was safe. Then she told me the real problem. Chris had given her an ultimatum. She could marry him, or she could work with me.

Oh, shit. That hurt. A lot. I mean, the man was supposed to be my friend. While I could understand him worrying about her, he was a mercenary, for God’s sake. It was more than a little hypocritical of him to give that kind of an ultimatum.

But she loved him, enough to marry him. I didn’t want to come between the two of them. It would be hard not having her there, cheerful and efficient, helping me get through the work day. Selfish resentment reared its ugly head, and I shoved it down, hard. Dawna deserved to be happy. Chris made her happy. I’d find someone else to work with.

“I understand.”

She sniffled, blew her nose, and said, “He doesn’t get to tell me what to do, Celie. I love him, and I don’t want to lose him, but he doesn’t get to.” Her voice was thick with tears but I could tell she meant every word. “If I let him order me around now, what will it be like after we’re married? If he expects me to understand that he has to go into war zones for his job, he needs to do the same for me.”

Working with me was equivalent to being in a war zone. How sad was that?

“But Dawna…” I tried to find the right words. Chris was perfect for her. They loved each other.

She interrupted me. “I think we’ll be able to work it out when he calms down. We both just need a little time. So don’t call for a day or two, okay?”

I felt terrible. I knew she was right, knew he was right. I desperately wished I could do or say something, anything. But there really was nothing to say. This was their business, not mine. Still, she was my friend, and it hurt me to hear her sounding so wounded.

Two drinks later, I was ready to call Bruno. I had practiced everything I wanted to say … and got his voice mail. Typical. So I left a “We need to talk” message and settled into the recliner. No more news for me. I drank more alcohol and watched mindless television until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I woke at 3:00 A.M. with a stiff neck and a pounding head. My vampire metabolism had let me down. Usually it keeps me from getting too drunk and prevents me from having even the tiniest bit of a hangover. Tonight, not so much. Then again, I’d drunk quite a bit more than I usually did.

I levered myself out of the chair and stumbled up to bed. Tomorrow … scratch that, today, was scheduled fairly loosely. Just a few gatherings after lunch and another luau tonight.

The gatherings were no big deal. Just a loose group of palace insiders mingling with the queen, Adriana, and Dahlmar. Since it was hot and sunny, nobody commented on my sitting under an umbrella and wearing dark glasses.

Lopaka tried to console me even while she was smiling and laughing at the Rusland ambassador’s joke. I am sorry for your loss, my niece. I know how places can hold memories and emotional attachments. I would be likewise devastated if the palace had been destroyed. I will make your apologies. Please feel free to go to your quarters and have a good cry. It will help.

I nodded and took her advice. Adriana and Dahlmar watched me leave, their faces reflecting their concern. They nearly followed me, but Lopaka pulled them aside and I could see by their reactions that she was telling them the news. Then I closed the door behind me and disappeared into the cool, quiet palace.

I didn’t drink any more alcohol. I had vowed long ago not to allow myself to go down the same path as my mother and crawl into a bottle. But it was a temptation. A strong one.

Instead, I went to the well-guarded beach and sat in the shade, looking at the horizon and listening to the waves and the seagulls.

By the time of the luau, I was sober and clear-eyed. Adriana kept the conversation away from me, allowing me to be visibly present yet stay at the edge of the gathering, satisfying those who noticed such things. I drank smoothies made with seasoned pig drippings instead of beef. Not bad, I suppose, but not up to La Cocina standards. At least the fruit juice was nice. Mango, pineapple, and pomegranate. Tasty.

I knew I had to overcome the loss of such a big part of my life, and fast. Or at least wall it off somehow.

Because tomorrow we were off to Rusland for round two of the wedding.