All Your Wishes (14 page)

And boss, there's something weird, too.

Of course there was. My life was nothing if not
weird
.

What?

Your curse mark's gone.

“What?” I hadn't meant to speak out loud, but I was too shocked to keep silent. I've had a curse mark since early childhood, thanks to one of the siren queens, the late, unlamented Stephania. Her death curse hadn't succeeded in ending my life—though it had cost me my sister—but from my earliest childhood, I've had almost constant brushes with death and disaster. I was reliably informed that the mark had warped my life and career lines, so that I am drawn to deadly situations and have the urge to protect people from death.

I hadn't known it was there until I was an adult, when a piece of magical gear unexpectedly shattered the illusion spells that had concealed it. Since then, it had been visible, an irregularly shaped, reddish-black mark that covered most of my palm. The best experts in the world had been studying that curse for years now, and hadn't had a clue how to lift it.

I turned my head, straining to get a look at my palm. Sure enough, the mark was gone. I stared at the clean, clear flesh for long moments, stunned.

How the hell?

You
died
, boss. They had to do CPR to revive you and you crashed again on the way to the hospital. Dr. Sloan thinks that may have done it. He's practically ordered you to come see him the minute you get back home. He wanted to fly out here to see for himself but we talked him out of it because you're in the middle of a case. He'll never forgive you if you don't let him look you over, and soon.

My friend, Ram Aaron Sloan, was a retired professor from the University of California Bayview. He was the world's leading expert on curse marks and had been a little bit obsessed with mine since I'd first come to his attention.

I've technically died before, Bubba, and nothing changed. When they revived me, the curse mark was still there.
Still, this time I'd seen Connor Finn, watched him being dragged to hell, as a matter of fact. And while it was terribly, terribly un-Christian of me, I felt more than a little satisfaction about that.

Maybe that vindictive streak of mine was why I hadn't seen the doorway to heaven? Then again, no one had tried to drag me to hell, either.

Rahim says Hasan could've removed the curse, but he doesn't know why the ifrit would.

Before I could digest that, thought, the door to my room burst open. The man who stood framed in the doorway was slender, with pale skin stretched taut over cheekbones sharp enough to slice bread. Below his tousled black curls, his eyes were a rather eerie green, more likely to be found on a cat than a human, and were framed by long black lashes. He was dressed in a very expensive, hand-tailored navy suit, but his attitude and body language screamed cop.

“What are you doing here?” he snarled at Bubba. “She wasn't to be allowed any visitors.”

Bubba didn't respond, just turned in his seat. Something about that little shift in position was ominous enough that I decided to jump in before things went too far south to be salvaged.

“Hi. Celia Graves,” I introduced myself, giving a cheery little wave of my cuffed right hand; the cuff rattled against the bed. “I just woke up a minute or so ago. And you are?”

“Special Agent Evan Morris. FBI.” Morris moved his jacket aside so that I could see the badge case mounted on his belt. Since he was standing across the room, I couldn't see it in detail without going vampity, but it looked real enough, and he certainly had the attitude. In fact, he was so cold, I was risking frostbite just being in the room with him.

“FBI?” I made it a question.

“Two of the deaths took place in US territorial waters, under suspicious circumstances involving magic. That puts this under federal jurisdiction.”

Crap. Not just local charges, federal, too. Fuck a duck. Twice.

Bubba, get my attorney in here. Now.

On my way, boss. Hang in there.

“Four people died last night. Five if we count you,” Morris growled. “If you think you'll need an attorney to speak with me, I'll be happy to wait.” He said the right words, but his eyes flashed with annoyance.

Bubba brushed past him on his way out the door. When the door closed, Morris turned to me. “So, what shall we talk about until your attorney arrives?”

“How 'bout them Marlins?”

He gave a snort of what might have been amusement as he settled himself carefully into the visitor's chair Bubba had vacated. “I don't follow baseball.”

Of course not. We waited in a silence as thick and heavy, and about as comfortable, as a wet blanket.

Don't worry. You won't be charged,
said a male voice in my head, in perfect American English, contractions and all. I knew that voice. I'd only heard it for a minute or so, but they'd been pretty damned memorable minutes.

Hasan.

The one and only. You will be released. I killed the men who would have killed you. Your curse mark is gone. You can thank me now.

“
Who and what is Hasan?
” Morris snapped, both audibly and in my mind.

You'll find out soon enough, little man,
the very amused ifrit answered. And just like that, he was gone.

 

13

It happened
just the way the bad djinn said it would, and it only took forty-eight hours for him to manage it.

The first day was hardest. I felt like hell, for one thing. My whole body ached. You know how, when you overwork your muscles, you get sore because they didn't get enough oxygen? Well, death is a non-oxygenized state. I hurt absolutely everywhere, including my eyeballs. My vampire-enhanced healing kicked in, but it took most of the day for me to recover. When I complained about pain, the nurse gave me a couple of aspirin, which helped for about five whole minutes before my enhanced metabolism burned it off.

It didn't help that I was cuffed to the bed. Tired and sore as I was, I simply could not get into a comfortable position … and the remote for the television was
just
out of reach.

No visitors, no flowers. No access to television, phone, or music. Since they were feeding me through tubes, I didn't even have meals to break up the hours. I had no contact with the outside world other than through the nurses, who would come in at the damnedest times to check on me and the machines. I'd finally begin to doze off and one would bustle in, and while they were all pleasant enough, they weren't chatty.

When the sun got really low, one of them closed the blinds. On the plus side, now I didn't have to worry about a sunburn, but I also couldn't enjoy the view. The only things to look at in the room after that were the machines and a clock whose hands crawled across its face with incredible slowness. When I tried to contact people telepathically I got absolutely nowhere.

No one has ever died of acute boredom, but if that were possible, that first day probably would've given me a close call. And I had way too much time to think about things like Hasan using my body as a puppet—the fact that he might be planning to do it again. And that it was likely I couldn't do a damned thing about that.

I was incredibly grateful when my attorney arrived to distract me.

Even though it was getting on toward evening, and he'd undoubtedly had a long day, Roberto Santos looked perfect. His black suit wasn't the least bit rumpled. His shirt was so white it practically glowed, and it had been starched to perfection. His tie was a vivid crimson, with black and gray diagonal stripes, the perfect amount of color and contrast.

“Hey, Roberto. Good to see you.” It really was, and not just for the distraction. If he was on the case, I knew I was getting the best defense money could buy. A lot of money, mind you, but he was so worth it. Roberto and his firm—one of the premier firms in LA—have represented me for years. He knows all the details of all my various encounters with law enforcement, so no time was wasted bringing him up to speed.

“Celia.” He smiled and pulled up the visitor's chair that had been vacant since Morris had left. Setting his briefcase onto the floor, he leaned back, trying to get comfortable. “I just got out of a pair of hearings with local and federal authorities regarding your cases. They haven't charged you with anything yet. Since you are restrained, you are considered to be in police custody, so the clock is running. They have a total of forty-eight hours before they have to either press charges or let you go.”

“Unless they declare me a dangerous monster.” I said it softly, because, frankly, the prospect scared me. In the past, someone had tried to do just that. They'd failed, but it had been a really close call. If anyone ever succeeded, I wouldn't have to be tried—or treated like a human being at all. They could just lock me away forever “for the safety of the public.”

“That motion was heard and denied at both the federal and local levels this morning.”

I gasped. I couldn't help it. “Thank you.”

He gave a brisk nod. “Under the circumstances, it wasn't unexpected that they'd try that tactic. But they really didn't have any evidence to back the claim, and their own expert had to admit under questioning that it was highly unlikely you had the power to swamp the Jet Skis. Everything else involved purely human weaponry. Special Agent Morris testified that he heard the djinn admit responsibility for all the deaths, so they really didn't have a leg to stand on.”

Maybe, but it was still scary that they'd tried.

“I've contacted your partner. She's sending appropriate clothing for you, in case you have to appear at a hearing. You'd need clothes anyway, since the ones you were wearing on the beach are currently being processed as evidence. Obviously, I don't want you talking to any of the authorities without me being present.”

“The Patels hired James Barber for me as local counsel. He helped with the thing at the bridge.”

Roberto nodded. “He's very good. But I'd still rather be there myself for any questioning, if you don't mind.”

“No problem.”

He picked up his briefcase and set it on his lap, then dialed a combination on the pair of old-fashioned physical locks before snapping the latches and lifting the lid. “Since you're in custody, only the police or your attorneys are allowed any contact with you. Your partner didn't want to send information to you through Mr. Barber, but she did ask me to pass on a few personal messages.”

“Yes?”

He pulled out a yellow legal pad to refer to his notes. “Bruno has been trying to reach you. I decided to tell him what's going on and he's absolutely frantic despite my assurances that all will be well. He can't leave New Jersey right now. Isabella has lost consciousness, and it's only a matter of time. But he loves you and he's worried about you. So for God's sake, call him as soon as you get a chance.” It was almost funny hearing Roberto relay Bruno's emotional message in his calm voice. Almost, but not really.

“Right.” I'd actually intended to do that anyway. I didn't like putting another worry on Bruno right now—he had more than enough on his plate—but he was my lover, and my friend, and he'd more than earned the right to know what was going on.

“Your great aunt says that if you need anything at all, let her know.”

I nodded.

“And Dottie and Emma both say to be very, very careful, but they
aren't
saying anything else.” He grinned thinly, as familiar with clairvoyants as I was.

He set the pad back in the case and snapped it closed.

“The doctors want to keep you for observation for at least another twenty-four hours, so there's no chance of you being transferred to a police holding cell or federal custody for at least that long. And while I know the cuffs and guards are a nuisance, they're actually working to our benefit. If you're cuffed, you're in custody. If you're not in custody, the clock stops running. So try to make the best of it. I'm staying on top of the legal aspects, but is there anything else you need?”

“There's one thing you could do that would be awesome.”

He raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Yes?”

“Can you pass me the remote?”

*   *   *

At seven the next morning, James Barber came into my room with the uniformed police officer who had been stationed outside the door. The officer didn't say a word, just unlocked the handcuff and walked out. It was obvious he wasn't happy. That was all right. I was happy enough for both of us. The restraint had really been getting on my nerves.

“So, what's up?”

“Normally you would be taken to jail after the doctors cleared you, but that's not going to happen. Special Agent Morris heard the ifrit confess. So did the local police force; all of them, from the chief of police down to the newest recruit. Maybe even the janitor.”

I blinked, stunned, and tried to think how that could have happened. I had no doubt the room had been bugged, but that would have had a limited audience. So, it had to have been magic, and magic with enough juice to overpower the spells set by local law enforcement and the feds. Hasan. Had to be. But why?

Barber ignored my stunned expression and continued talking. “While the district attorney and federal prosecutor are both displeased, neither one is willing to press charges at the moment. They do, however, want to meet with you at the Federal building this morning, at nine thirty. Your attendance is totally voluntary, but I strongly recommend you go and answer their questions. Roberto Santos has gotten them to agree to allow you to leave the jurisdiction, but that is contingent on your cooperating with the authorities.”

“I have no problem with that.”

“Good.” He gave a brisk nod. “I have an eight o'clock hearing in District Court. I should be able to do that and reach the Federal building on time. Mr. Santos will pick you up here and take you to the meeting in his car. He's also assured me that you'll be appropriately dressed.” He raised an eyebrow at that, as if wondering if I even possessed appropriate clothing. Not a surprise, given the circumstances under which he'd seen me.