To Dance with the Devil (The Blood Singer Novels) (17 page)

“I’ll send Charles over in a minute. I wanted to give you your jacket and make sure you were capable of giving a statement before I let him talk to you.”

“Thanks.” I took the jacket from her hand. I was wearing a pretty lacy bra, and it felt wrong not having a top over it in public. I shifted in my seat and shrugged into the jacket, wincing a little as the fabric touched my quickly healing sunburn. Buttoned, it made me look like a Frederick’s of Hollywood model, but I felt better. I’d take all the help I could get. “Alex, do me a favor.”

“What?” She sounded suspicious.

“Grab me a piece of gravel from the parking lot.”

She blinked a couple of times before bending down and doing what I asked. As she reached out to hand it to me, she said, “Mind telling me why?”

“It’s for Dottie. I figured I might have her take a look to see what actually happened.”

Alex let out a low whistle. “It takes some serious chops for a clairvoyant to do that sort of thing. We don’t have anybody on staff with that much power.”

“Yeah, well, it takes a lot out of her, so I don’t ask her to do it too often. In fact, the way she strained herself yesterday, I’m thinking she won’t be able to do it at all. Still, it doesn’t hurt to pick up a piece. Just in case.”

Alex sighed. “Yeah. Though the judge might not admit the evidence or testimony anyway.” There had been a lot of rulings recently against the use of magic in police investigations. The theory was that magic was too easy to manipulate with illusion—which is true, up to a point. It was tying the hands of the cops who were just trying to do their jobs.

Alex shook her head ruefully. “I bet it’s something to see.”

I fought not to shudder. The first time I’d seen Dottie do this particular trick, I’d gotten to witness my own murder. Not exactly a pleasant memory. “If we wind up doing it, I’ll give you a call.”

“I might just take you up on that. But first, you need to give a statement. You okay to do that now?”

I took a deep breath. I felt better, more like myself than I had a few minutes earlier. “Yeah.”

She gave a brisk nod, then stood up and stepped away from the SUV, shutting the door.

She was back in less than a minute, accompanied by another detective. I assumed that meant he’d been waiting nearby for the all clear. Smart move. Everyone was being careful around me, but at the same time they were giving me the chance to control myself, to show that I was not a monster. I appreciated that, quite a lot. At one time a large number of cops in the department had been actively seeking an excuse to execute me. Times and things had changed for the better. I wanted to keep them that way.

When the car door opened again, I was ready and didn’t react to the sunlight. Instead, I smiled, careful not to show fangs, and said, “Hello.”

“Hello, Ms. Graves. I’m Charles Andrulis.” The man in the doorway stood back just a bit, holding up the gold badge of a detective. He was a small man, probably barely made the minimum height requirements for the force. His features reminded me of a pet ferret one of my former clients had doted on—sharp features, bright dark eyes, and just a hint of sharp teeth. Not that I actually saw his teeth. But the impression was there just the same.

He looked me over appraisingly, taking in everything from the perspiration coating my skin to the drying blood on my hands. “I understand you were the first one out of the building and that you gave first aid to the victim. Is that correct?”

“Yes. We’d been talking inside. She got upset and left. I heard the shot. People inside the restaurant were diving for cover, so I went out the patio doors to see if I could help.” I looked at Alex, who was standing behind Andrulis. “Any chance you could get me my purse from inside? I’d really like to turn on the AC. I’m roasting.”

Alex nodded and left. Andrulis watched her go, then turned back to me. “Is there something you wanted to say to me without her here?” He pulled a little handheld recorder out of his jacket pocket. It was the tape kind, not digital, and I could see the little wheels turning when he pressed the button to start the machine.

“No. I’m just hot. I’d take off my jacket, but…”

“But you used your shirt to help stop the bleeding.” He smiled at me. It was a good smile.

“How is Michelle? Is she going to make it?”

“The victim’s name is Michelle?”

It occurred to me that the girl hadn’t officially introduced herself. “Michelle Andrews, I think. Her mother’s name was Abigail Andrews, so I’m guessing her last name is Andrews, too.”

He nodded, and although he didn’t write it down, I could tell he was committing the information to memory. “You’re a bodyguard. Did Ms. Andrews tell you why she was in danger or who might be after her?”

“Actually, no. She came looking for me because I’d met with her mother before Abigail’s death. When I told her what we’d discussed, she didn’t believe me.

“I can understand why it was a shock. Apparently Abigail never told Michelle she might be in danger and also never told her that she was adopted. Michelle was pretty much in denial about everything—being in danger, being adopted, and that the woman whose body was found was her mother. She stormed off. Then she got shot.”

He nodded in acknowledgment as Alex arrived and handed me my purse. I found the keys to the SUV and stuck them in the ignition. “Do you want to get in? The air conditioner will work better if the door’s closed.”

Charles climbed into the passenger seat while Alex got in the back. The detective raised his brows a bit but didn’t argue. Neither did I.

I started the vehicle, and soon blessedly cool air was blasting out of the vents. I felt better immediately and gave a little sigh of appreciation.

Andrulis resumed his questioning. “You said Abigail Andrews hired you to protect Michelle.”

“No. I said we met. She didn’t hire me. She didn’t like me. Part of that was because she wasn’t wearing a charm against siren influence. But it was also because I pushed her. She didn’t give me a straight story and I didn’t want to take a job blind. So she left. That was the last I saw of her.”

“Yet you say she’s dead.”

“A woman matching Abigail Andrews’s description was kidnapped. A couple of days later, a body was found that could be her. I know that because I was questioned after the police found out she’d met with me.”

“I see.” He cast a brief but meaningful look over the back of the seat. Alex gave him her sweetest smile in return.

“Ms. Graves, I understand that you were attacked recently and wound up hospitalized as a result. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that attack was connected to this incident or to the kidnapping and possible murder of Abigail Andrews?”

He meant it to be an aggressive question, but I wasn’t thrown. I mean, seriously, he had to ask. Too, I had nothing to hide.

“Yes. I do. The attack was supposed to scare me away from taking the assignment. I told them that I hadn’t been hired, but that didn’t matter. The man in the hologram wanted me scared and he wanted to hurt me.”

“The man in the
hologram
?”

“It’s in my report, Charles,” Alex growled.

“Of course.”

“The man in the hologram was the one in charge. I don’t know his name. I’ve been going through mug shots, but I haven’t had a lot of luck.”

“We had a hit on the artist’s rendering in the prison database,” Alex said.

“Who was it?” Andrulis asked before I could.

“Connor Finn.”

Oh, fuck a duck.

17

In college,
I majored in paranormal studies. As part of my classwork, I took two semesters of the history of magic. One semester dealt primarily with the mage wars. The second included an eight-week session on the Finn/Garza feud.

The Finns and the Garzas were families of mages. They’d been good friends at first. The originators of the feud had even gone into business together, developing spells and artifacts that were still in general use today. One of my favorite spell disks, the Mudder, a handy little spell that turns solid ground into deep, wet mud, was a Finn patent. They made money hand over fist.

Until something went wrong.

The textbooks said it was a dispute over a patent, and maybe it was. But I doubted it. Business disputes generate lawsuits. Feuds are more … personal.

Whatever the initial reason, the two clans set to killing each other.

Connor Finn was one of the last two surviving members of his family. The other was his son, Jack, who’d been born during his father’s trial for having loosed a blood curse on the Garza family. Anyone else would have been executed for that crime, but because of his “value” as a mage, Connor had been granted clemency in exchange for providing our government with the spells needed to keep us from losing our last war. He was serving a life sentence—with no possibility of parole—in the Needle, the high-security supermax prison in the middle of Death Valley. The Needle had been created to house mass murderers, terrorists, certain serial killers—the worst of the worst.

My professor had been completely obsessed with the creativity with which each family had wreaked havoc on the other. I had been treated to detailed descriptions of each and every spell used by either side: Connor’s curse that burned people alive, Juan Garza’s spell that tore them into pieces no bigger than a dime.

Connor Finn had unleashed his curse at the wedding of Juan Garza and a pregnant Maria Santiago. Every single person present with Garza blood in his or her veins was destroyed. The baby in Maria’s womb was saved only because Maria killed herself as the spell struck. The baby was delivered by postmortem C-section. The child, Lucia Santiago Garza, disappeared from the hospital shortly after her birth, never to appear again.

Until now.

Because if Connor Finn was somehow behind these attacks, I’d bet my last dime that the intended victim was a Garza, and Suit—Suit was probably his son, Jack. Like father, like son.

“You look sick. Are you okay?” Charles asked.

I felt sick. Remembered images from photographs of the carnage flashed through my mind. The man who’d done that was the man who was threatening me.

I’d been scared before.

Now I was freaking terrified.

“I’m fine,” I croaked.

“Liar.” Alex made the accusation sound kind.

Charles shook his head. “Connor Finn is in the Needle, in solitary. There’s no way in hell he’s responsible for this.”

“Pretty to think so,” Alex said.

“Have you
seen
that place, Heather?” he snarled. “I have. It’s impossible. Maybe Connor’s son is behind it, or some copycat who’s obsessed with the feud. But it isn’t Connor. It can’t be.”

He was so certain. I wasn’t. Connor Finn has one of the most brilliant minds of all time. His IQ scores are off the chart. His magical ability and creativity are infamous. And he is a psychopath, a murderer with double-digit kills to his credit.

Charles sighed. “Look. I’ve got at least a dozen witnesses who saw you in the restaurant when the shot was fired. I’ve got your statement of what happened. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I’ll check back with you later.”

He opened the car door and started to climb out. Heather, however, didn’t move. “Are you okay to drive?” she asked me.

“Yeah. I guess so.” I looked down at my hands. The blood on them, Michelle’s blood, was drying and starting to flake. It looked so gross.

“You know what, you look a little shocky. Why don’t I drive you home?”

I wasn’t up to an argument, so I agreed, though I was getting tired of being in situations where Alex had to look after me. “Okay. But first I need to wash my hands.” She reached into her purse, retrieved a small package of diaper wipes, and passed them over the seat.

“Here, use these. Now scoot over.”

I climbed over the gearshift to the passenger side while she moved from the back to the driver’s seat. As she pulled out of the parking lot, I began using wipe after wipe to clean the mess on my hands. Soon I had a dozen filthy wipes and nowhere to put them, so I stuffed them into the cup holder in the passenger door, promising myself I wouldn’t forget to take them out later.

I slept, or passed out, or whatever. One minute I was fastening my seat belt, the next thing I knew we were pulling into the driveway. I rolled down the passenger-side window to lay my palm against the reader and line my eye up with the retinal scanner, glad there were security checkpoints on both sides of the entrance. I said my name and the gate swung open. We drove through, and before we’d gone more than twenty feet, the gate closed and locked with a clang.

We parked in the usual spot. I grabbed the wipes and hurried into the house, since I’d already been burned once that day and hadn’t reapplied sunscreen since. It was a real relief when I stepped through my front door and into the living room.

Minnie mewed a greeting but didn’t leave her sunbeam. I was fine with that.

“Wow, that’s a lot of flowers,” Alex said, sounding mildly awed.

She was right. Yesterday I’d been too preoccupied to really take it in. Now, looking around, I was seriously impressed. The living room, kitchen, and part of the hallway looked as if a florist’s shop had invaded. There was a riot of color and the scents were nearly overpowering. Every flat surface was covered, as was most of the floor. There were small arrangements, large arrangements, and two that were so spectacularly huge they nearly blocked access to the kitchen.

I remembered those. The yellow and peach one was from Queen Lopaka and Gunnar Thorsen; the purple and gold was from King Dahlmar and Queen Adriana. There were live plants, too. I love flowers and plants, but this was ridiculous. Maybe I could call David and Yolanda and see if they wanted to take some of them up to the main house.

“Come close to dying and they really hit up the florists for you,” I joked.

“Not funny, Graves.” Alex’s face sobered. “These people are playing for keeps.”

I dropped the wipes into the nearest wastebasket. “Alex, please. Do you really think I don’t know that? After what they did?” She opened her mouth to argue, but I kept talking. “I have to joke about it. If I don’t, I’ll lose my nerve. I can’t afford to do that. My job isn’t just what I do, it’s who I
am.
I believe in it. I’m good at it. And I am
not
letting these bastards take that away from me.”