To Dance With the Devil
Page 40“Celia, it is going to happen. It must.” Isaac squeezed my hand.
“There has to be a death, but it doesn’t have to be one of them.” My voice was odd, thick with tears, but it was gaining strength.
“It has to be a mage, and the mage must be killed by magic. You are not a mage.”
He thought I was planning on sacrificing myself? I’m noble, but I’m not that noble. Although for one of them … but it wouldn’t be necessary. I had an idea that might actually work. “What about Connor Finn. What if he dies?”
“Celia…” His voice was stern. I knew just from the way he said my name that he thought I was talking about human sacrifice.
“I’m not thinking murder, Isaac,” I assured him.
“Then what?”
“Karma. Magical backlash. Finn plans to use a blood curse on Michelle tomorrow night.” I paused, then said, “If he can’t kill her—”
Isaac sat up a little straighter. “His own magic will double back on him.”
“And while he might have figured out a way to shield himself from the blood connection—”
“He can’t hide from his own magic.” Isaac’s smile was cold, hard, and just a little anticipatory. “It’s simple and elegant. But can you do it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
27
The drive back was much faster than the trip up had been. When I got home, I called Kevin to make sure he had his laptop. He did. So I used Skype to contact Michelle at the safe house.
“No. I won’t.”
I counted to ten, slowly, trying to keep my temper in check. I’d expected Michelle to jump at the only chance she had for surviving the death curse. Instead, she was balking.
“Why the hell not?”
I stared at her image on the screen. She was still very pale, but her jaw thrust out stubbornly, and her eyes were flashing.
“You saw what happened at the hospital. If we hadn’t gotten you out of there ahead of time, they’d have captured or killed you.”
She flinched. “Yes.”
“We’re doing our very best to protect you.”
“I know. And I appreciate it. But—”
“But what?” I didn’t shout. I very carefully did not shout. But she flinched anyway.
“Michelle,” I heard Kevin’s voice come from off screen. She turned, looking off to the left. “You have to trust us. This is what we do. If Celia says they’ll try it, they will. And I know the doctors Celia’s hired. They’re the best in the business. They’ll take good care of you.”
“You’re sure?” Now that Kevin was talking to her, she was wavering. Irritating, but useful. Maybe it was that he was male. Or maybe it was just that she’d spent more time with him. Whatever the reason, I was grateful.
“I trust Celia absolutely.” He said it without any hesitation. “She’s saved my life before.”
“If you’re sure.” She turned back to the screen. “I guess I’ll do it.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
I ended the session mentally and emotionally exhausted. Not good. So I took a hot bath, drank some comfort food, fed Minnie, and tried to rest for a couple of hours. Chris would be calling sometime soon with prices and details regarding delivery of the equipment and supplies necessary to make Michelle not “herself,” at least for a while. I needed to be ready when he did. A nap wasn’t a lot of recovery considering the kind of life I’d been living lately, but it was better than nothing.
I really wanted to sleep, but unfortunately, my mind kept racing—and running into dead ends, like a rat in a maze. I was missing something obvious. I knew it. I just couldn’t see it. I tossed and turned so much that the cat jumped off of the bed in disgust. I gave up the attempt after a half hour. Instead, I covered myself with sunscreen, put on my favorite jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed the beach umbrella, and went out to sit on my rock and stare at the ocean.
I was still sitting there when Emma stopped by on her way home from work. She stood on the deck and called my name. When I looked over, she waved at me with the hand that was holding a pair of wineglasses. A bottle of wine dangled from her other hand.
I waved back, beckoning her. Soon she was picking her way across the rocks and damp sand to where I was sitting.
I scooted a bit to one side, making room for her. She handed me the glasses and bottle, then sat.
“Cool. So, what’s up?”
“I need to talk. And I need a drink—maybe several.”
“Hope you thought to bring a corkscrew.”
“Here.” She pulled it out of her pocket and passed it over. “By the way, love the hair. I wouldn’t have thought of that look for you, but it works.”
“Thanks.” My smile was more sincere this time. I reached over to pick up the wine. “Dawna’s sister did it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“Very cool. And hey, you’ve got eyebrows and lashes again.”
“Thank God. I looked seriously creepy for a while there. I had no idea that eyebrows were so important.” I peeled off the foil cork cover and set to work opening the bottle. I was thirsty. Besides, this was one of my favorite wines, a very special vintage that John Creede had been part of developing. It tasted different—fantastic, but different—to each person who drank it. It became the wine best suited to each drinker’s taste.
Thinking about John made me falter a little. We weren’t together anymore, and it had ended badly, but I didn’t want to think about a world without him in it. The same was true for Bruno and Matty. Hell, I’d even miss Isabella … but I was less worried about her than the others. I knew that both her sons would protect her with their lives.
I needed a distraction even more than a drink. So as I worked the cork loose, I turned to Em and asked, “What do you need to talk about?”
“Well, there’s good news, and there’s bad news,” she announced. I had the cork out, finally, so she picked up the wineglasses, holding them while I poured.
“Good news first; I could use the lift.” I slid the cork partway into the bottle, setting it carefully beside me so that it wouldn’t tip over. I did not want that bottle to break or spill. The wine was too good, and too expensive, to waste.
“The church approved Matty’s transfer out of the militant order and into the regular priesthood. So we can get married.” Emma grinned.
“Yes!” I did a fist pump with my left hand. Then we clinked glasses and took a celebratory drink.
I didn’t want to hear the bad news. I figured I already knew what it would be. Damn Connor Finn anyway. Then Emma surprised me.
“Oh, hell. That sucks.” I almost stumbled over my words because what she’d said so wasn’t what I’d expected to hear. “But Portland and Seattle are just a road trip away. I was afraid they’d send you guys somewhere on the other side of the world—if they approved the transfer at all.”
“Me, too,” she admitted. She sipped her wine. “That’s not what you thought the bad news was going to be.” She stared at me through narrowed eyes.
Oh, crap. If Matteo hadn’t told her, it sure wasn’t my place to. But damn it.
Before she could pursue it further, my phone rang. I just about broke my neck in my hurry to get it out of my pocket. I was absolutely desperate to avoid the inevitable grilling Emma was about to give me. “Hello?”
Rizzoli answered me with, “About freaking time, Graves.”
“Sorry. Life’s been crazy. What’s up?”
“You owe me two hundred bucks,” he growled.
“Huh?” Okay, not the most intelligent response, but he had me at a disadvantage. I had no clue why I would owe him any money.
“I figured that with everything going on you might not be able to go back to the diner to get the SUV for a couple of days, so I paid the owner of the truck stop next door to park it in an empty bay. That way it won’t get stolen before you can pick it up. But it’s only paid through Tuesday, so don’t dawdle.”
“Thanks, Rizzoli, I really appreciate it. I’ll be sure to pick it up before then. And I’ll give you the money next time I see you.” I paused. “So, what happened at the Needle after I left?”
“A lot of paperwork. A lot of interviews. There’ll be inspections and all sorts of crap going on for God alone knows how long. Zorn is having conniptions. So is the warden. You were lucky to miss it. They’re trying to keep a lid on how bad the situation actually is, so the press is being given limited information. If any reporters contact you, don’t tell them anything. We don’t want to start a panic.”
I agreed with that. Just so long as they fixed the problem. “And Connor Finn?”
“They’ve got him under special guard.”
Maybe that was good enough. I hoped so. But I wouldn’t bet the bank on it—in part because I suspected that someone high up in the prison hierarchy was helping Finn and that at least one spawn had been added to the staff while the barriers were down. So the “Connor Finn” in the Needle could be a spawn and the real man could be free to do whatever he wanted. I thought that the Connor Finn I spoke to was the real deal, but I couldn’t be sure. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">