The Isis Collar (25 page)

I caught the keys in the air and felt my stomach drop. I’d watched cop movies before and I knew what he meant. I looked at my beautiful convertible and winced. Yes, there are bombs that can’t be defused, but please, oh, please, let this be one they
can.
I love my car. I saved up for years to buy it. “I’ve got a trunk safe with extra weapons. If you can get them out if … you have to, I’d appreciate it. But try not to have to.” I pulled my key ring out of my purse, took the car key off, and handed it to him before turning and starting toward his boring sedan. Then I stopped and turned toward him. “Could I have that remote, too? I’d hate to lose your car, too.”

He made a noise I couldn’t decipher and tossed the box to me. “Push the red button on the bottom to link it to the car. Keep the remote with you. If anyone touches it, the remote will vibrate and sound a tone. I’ll get another one from the bomb squad guys. And for God’s sake,
be careful,
Celia.”

The way he said my name was the same way I’d said his—an acknowledgment of a new level for us. An
I’ve got your back
level. “Thanks, Rizzoli. Really.”

“Bring my car back. That’s thanks enough. It would be miles of paperwork if it, or you, blew up.” He didn’t smile, but only just. I stepped past Baker, who was writing down the license plate number on her torn notebook page. “It’s a common model. This will help to know it’s you and can also help when you call. If I ask for
the code,
give me the last four characters on the plate.”

Actually, that was a good idea. I wrote down
6B82
on my paper for good measure and saw Rizzoli look approvingly at us before he pulled out his cell phone and started making calls.

Rizzoli’s car wasn’t a bad ride, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. When you’re used to seats that fit perfectly and instruments in specific places, it takes time to get used to everything. Baker’s eco-rental, with a GPS unit mounted on the windshield, turned left at the stop sign and I went right. Driving was like managing a boat down the road instead of the roller skate I was accustomed to. By the time I got to my first stop, downtown, I was glad the sign read
Closed,
because there was nowhere to park that this thing would fit. Another good reason for a small car in this town. But I did have to admit that the tinted windows were better for my skin. It was the first time, other than night, when my arm didn’t hurt from being close to the window. Thank heavens I’d remembered to reapply my sunblock when I left the restaurant.

I was glad I’d written down the addresses in clusters by location. I wouldn’t want to drive back and forth across town because I was sure I was going to clip someone with that honking big trunk. I’d already had several horns blown at me for coming too close to front bumpers when I passed, which was mortifying.

Harry’s Bar & Grille was next on my list. It was a little hole-in-the-wall family bar with windows set high above concrete blocks and covered with neon beer signs. All the signs were lit, so it was a good bet it was open. I didn’t recognize any of the cars, but that didn’t mean Mom wasn’t there. She could have caught a cab. I parked in the lot and went inside. No one there but two old guys sipping from frosted beer mugs in the darkness. I have a picture of Mom in my wallet and I took it out to show them. “Have you seen this woman yesterday or today?”

The two men shook their heads. The bartender, a narrow-faced man with some Middle Eastern in his heritage, looked at the picture while wiping down a glass. “Yeah. Lana, right? She was in last night for a few hours. Hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks before that. Everything okay?”

I pulled one of my business cards from my purse, not answering because no, everything was not okay. “If you see her again, could you call me?”

The bartender looked at the card and then tapped it with a fat finger when he noticed the name. “Oh. You’re the daughter? Boy, was she hot about something you did. Ranted to some lady for close to an hour. I didn’t listen other than to know she was mad.”

All I could do was shake my head. I’d heard it before. I spent my whole damned life being told by one person or another about the wrongs I’d done my mom. She’d tell anyone who’d listen about how I’d abused her some way or the other. Yeah, it always hurt that she considered me an annoyance or, worse, a threat. But that’s how Mom was. I shrugged. “She’s always mad about something. Could you call?”

He raised one shoulder. “If she comes in, but I doubt she will. Sounded like she and her new friend were taking off, heading up north.”

Well, hell. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “You actually heard them talk about leaving town? Any idea where they were headed?”

He paused, like he knew something but didn’t want to reveal any confidences. “They was just talking. Nothing definite. Just ranting. A lot of them do that—talk a good game and then nothing comes of it. But I’ll call you if I hear anything.” He turned away then and walked down the bar length, taking the empty mugs with him on the way.

Uh-huh. I’d definitely come back to this place if I didn’t turn up anything sooner.

The third bar was locked tight. The last place on my list was Sloan’s Tavern. I’d heard Mom mention this place more than once as having a “great party.” I could hear music inside, along with singing, which seemed a little unusual for not even four o’clock. I climbed up the two narrow, crumbling concrete steps from the sidewalk. Apparently this place hadn’t heard of the Americans with Disabilities Act … and their insurance rates must be in the stratosphere. Drunks and stairs don’t really mix.

I didn’t even have to open the door to hear Mom’s voice. She was apparently already messed up, because she was slurring. God, I didn’t want to do this. But, as promised, I called Baker and Natura to tell them where I was. Now I just had to wait for them to show up … and keep Mom from leaving before they could collect her.

At least that was my plan. Before I got a call.

My phone burbled wetly to life and I pressed the green button. “Hello?”

“Celia, dear. You must talk to her. It’s the only way.”

I recognized the voice immediately, but it sounded odd, distant and mechanical. “Dottie? Talk to who?”

“Go inside and talk to her. That’s why the girl comes and you can find out what’s wrong.” She paused and then concluded, “And you must hurry. Before the others arrive.”

“What girl, Dottie? Can you tell me any more?” But the line went dead. The trouble with clairvoyants was that often they didn’t even remember talking to you about their visions, so it wouldn’t do any good to call her back. Dottie seems to talk her way through the event, where Emma visualizes it and tells you about it later. Vicki had been such a powerful seer that she feared even vocalizing events in case they’d come true just because they were spoken of.

I sighed and stared at the old wooden door with the barred window. If it was important to do this, I guess I would. But I didn’t have to like it. And I knew Baker wouldn’t.

Two steps and a squeaking door later and I was inside the dim interior. Although it wasn’t fair to say it was dim. Only parts were. The rest was lit in vivid red and pink from neon stripes and hearts on the walls. It was like being trapped inside a box of Valentine’s chocolates. The music assaulted my ears—a hideous disco version of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Who would ruin a classic like that? The whole place smelled of alcohol and sweat, and as my eyes adjusted to the weird lighting, I saw five or six people sitting around a pod of tables in the corner. One woman with dark hair was facedown on her arm; the drink at her elbow had the same colors as a tequila sunrise, but smelled far different.

I saw my mother through the doorway to my left, playing pool with another woman. My mother’s companion wore dark-rimmed glasses and a platinum blonde wig that was styled like Jackie O’s when she was Jackie Kennedy. Don’t see that very often. The face looked familiar, but only vaguely. I stared at my mother with something approaching disgust. She was so drunk she was swaying on her feet and was using the pool cue as a staff to keep herself upright. “Mom?”

She turned and squinted at me through glazed eyes. She actually looked better than I expected. When she’d left the prison here, she’d been gaunt and pale—near death. But now her cheeks were filled out a little and the leathery appearance of her skin was nearly gone. “Oh, man. Why are you bothering me again?”

I let out a sigh, determined not to let her get to me. “C’mon, Mom. It’s time to go back to the island. You forgot to tell them you were going on this trip.” I reached out to take her elbow, but she’d have none of it. She jerked away, nearly sending herself tumbling across the floor. “I want to make sure you get back safe.”

“Just go away, Celia. I know you don’t give a tinker’s damn where I am or whether I’m safe. You haven’t visited me
once.
Not …
once
!” Her eyes filled with tears, but it was a lie. She could turn those crocodile tears on and off at will.

“You’re not allowed visitors, Mom. I can’t come and see you. Not while you’re still in treatment.”

Her jaw set tight and the tears magically disappeared. “Treament.
Treament?
There’s nothing to treat. I’m jusht fine the way I am. Everybody telling me how I’m
sick.
How I can get better. Well, guess what, Celie honey? I
like
myself this way. What’choo think about that? Huh?” She was in my face now, blowing hot, whiskey-filled breaths at me hard enough to make me cough.

“So
you’re
Celia Graves.” I looked at the platinum blonde on the other side of the green felt. Her voice had a malevolent eagerness that made me immediately tense. “I was told you’d be here, and here you are.”

“Do I know you?”

“No, but I know
you.
You’re the spoilsport.” Her laugh gave me chills because I recognized it, and I reached immediately for my knives. I was face-to-face with the witch from the school. The one whose voice had taunted dreams for weeks after the bomb. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper that I could hear despite the music. “You won’t escape this time.”

Her hand and mine moved at the same time, but before I could get the daggers out, she smashed a charm disk on the table. I saw a recent cut on her hand—like from a double-edged, silver blade. Magic flashed through me in a wave that stole my breath and singed the hairs in my nose. I pushed Mom against the wall, where she stumbled and dropped onto a convenient chair. I jumped onto the pool table and pounced at the witch. But she was gone after sending another blast of energy that slammed me against the wall. Then she sprinted out the door.

I’d started to get to my feet to follow when something hit me in the head hard enough to knock me sideways and make me see stars. Another missile hit me in the elbow. I let out a yell of pain and bounced against the pool table. I saw something else heading my way and caught it before it struck my leg. It was a billiard ball. The yellow-striped nine, to be specific.

I heard my mother cry out and watched her get knocked off the chair by a maroon seven to her temple. A trickle of blood started to roll down her cheek and she reached up to touch it.

“Why do you have to ruin
everything
?! You’re a jinx! You always have been. Get out before you get me killed.” She crawled out the door into the main bar.

I couldn’t even think how to respond, because a barrage of pool balls began to rise up from the pockets of three tables and fling themselves at me. Then pool cues pulled away from their holders and hurled through the air, crashing into me. No matter how I tried to shield myself, I got pounded. My best bet was to leave. Taking a tip from my mother, I crawled into the main bar. The spell followed me. Bottles began to lift from the shelves and slam against the walls, ceiling, and floor around me, exploding hard enough to slice through my clothes and skin. Patrons scattered, except for the brunette passed out at the table.

Mom started screaming incoherently from under a table near the bathroom. “Get out! Leave me alone. You’ve taken it all away. My family. My baby girl. My
life.
Just get the hell out of here. You’re a devil child. Evil, undead
creature
!
Begone, demon! GET OUT!
” she screamed, and covered her face as a glass smashed on the floor next to her leg.

A bottle hit me in the ribs and it hurt. But not as much as my mother’s words. I wasn’t a demon. I wasn’t undead, and I hadn’t taken her baby away. I’d done everything in my power to
save
my sister. I grabbed a pool stick and started to use the thick end to bat away the bottles, glasses, and mugs that were coming at me.

“Cessess!”
I heard a woman’s voice and looked up to see Natura and Baker standing in the entryway. Natura’s hands were in the air and a wave of magic made everything clatter to the floor. The roar of sound, followed by the abrupt silence, made my head hurt. Well, actually, that was probably from the pool ball. If the purpling lump on my arm was any indication, those balls had been whizzing at me at near-hurricane speed.

Baker hurried over to where I was breathing hard and leaning on the pool cue. The other customers and the bartender huddled near the far end of the bar, staring at us with terror on their faces. Baker inspected the lump on my head and the cut above one eye that was starting to drip copper-scented blood into my eye. “I thought I made myself very clear, Celia. You were to wait outside.”

Natura was pulling Mom from underneath the table and putting her arms behind her; one of my mother’s wrists was already encircled in a spelled cuff. My mother’s face was red, furious, and looked different than I’d ever seen. I wondered if the witch had done something to her or if this was just some new, evil aspect of her illness. “I
never
want to see you again. I
hate
you!”

Even Baker looked up at that, surprise clear on her face. But we both turned when the bar’s door opened and a young blonde girl was silhouetted in the doorway. “Don’t say that, Mom! Don’t you
ever
say you hate my sister!”