To Dance With the Devil

Kevin leaned back, stretched out with his elbows propping up his upper body. I could see that he had lost weight and gained muscle over the last few months and looked more like the man I’d crushed on when Emma and I had been in college together. “Repairing them should be much easier than tearing them down. You can use the existing remnants as a base instead of starting from scratch or having to break things so they won’t interfere with whatever bad stuff you were planning to do.”

“What would it have taken to bring down the Needle’s defenses?”

He answered without a second’s hesitation and without flinching. “Blood magic. And it will take more to destroy the last of them.”

So somebody had already died and the bad guys needed someone else to die in addition to the mage. Things were starting to make sense again. “What if Michelle’s death isn’t really about the old Finn-Garza feud? I mean, Connor Finn wants her dead because of the feud, and the curse is how he’s going to do it … But the reason he’s doing it now is so that her death will take down the last of the prison defenses. And because of their shared bloodline, Michelle is a link to Jack Finn, who is a mage. And he’s supposed to die so Daddy and the others can do the whole node thing.”

Kevin blew out a breath. “It scans, but it’s a little complicated. After all, Connor’s already got a direct link to Jack. He doesn’t need Michelle.”

“Yeah. But if he uses himself as the link, he can’t use blood magic to make the kill; it’d double back on him. And if he does something to block that, he breaks the link. And he still needs to kill someone else anyway. So to my way of thinking, Connor Finn’s decided to kill two birds with one stone.”

Kevin and I sat in silence for a bit after that, both of us thinking hard. Finally he said, “It makes sense. You may not be exactly right, but I think you’re at least in the ballpark.”

I didn’t know whether to be glad or sad. I suppose it was good that I had some idea of what was happening; it might make it easier try to counter the bad guys’ plans. But a little part of me had clung to the hope that there was a more benign explanation. Silly. I knew that Connor Finn was truly a bad guy; meeting him had confirmed that for me.

But I just have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that there are people who have such little value for life. I looked at Kevin. “You know what pisses me off most?” I sighed. I felt so tired and so damned stupid. All of this should have occurred to me earlier. If it had …

“What?”

“I’m the idiot who tipped Jack off to what was going on. If I hadn’t, we’d still be safe over at Fred’s.”

“Well, hell. That sucks.” He shook his head. “Why’d you do that?”

“When I went to see Connor, he baited me, said I had no clue about the big picture. I figured Jack didn’t know he had Garza blood and would die if his father went through with the curse. I thought I might be able to turn Jack and that he would help us. And if I couldn’t, maybe he’d let something useful slip.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Yeah.” I looked across the lake at the charred ruins of Fred’s home. “Didn’t work out so hot.”

“Nothing you can do about that now.” He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And hey, we all survived.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“So now that you’ve figured out what’s going on, what’s the plan? Do you have any brilliant ideas?”

“As a matter of fact, I do—but I’m not sure you’re going to like them.”

29

Michelle was on her way to Kevin’s place out in the desert, where he always went for the full moon. It was secluded to the point of being damned near inaccessible, and it was the only place I could think to put her where no one could possibly find her. Kevin hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, but he’d agreed to it—mostly because he liked Michelle, wanted to keep her safe, and also couldn’t think of anything better. Of course we had to explain about Kevin’s condition to Michelle, Bubba, and Talia, and swear them to secrecy. I wasn’t happy about that development. The fewer people who knew, the safer Kevin would be. But I really didn’t see that we had a lot of choice. I trust Bubba implicitly. Michelle and Talia? I wanted to trust them, but …

Dawna and Mona arrived within five minutes of each other. Dawna stayed with me. Everyone else left with Mona in the minivan. I waited for the tow truck to haul away Kevin’s damaged SUV and then gave a statement to the local cops.

It was a long drive back to Santa Maria. Dawna and I hashed out our plans for the next day during the first part of the drive. She promised that she’d make sure everybody got where they needed to go. I was glad to let her handle it. It would probably take most of the rest of the night to arrange, and while she’d be able to take it easy for most of the day, I wouldn’t. Besides, I wasn’t positive I’d be able to pull an all-nighter right now. I was beat.

We finished the ride in silence. I hadn’t killed anybody. Other than that, I had thought the day had gone pretty much as badly as it possibly could.

Silly me, I hadn’t factored in my mother.

It was after one and I was home warming a bowl of pho in the microwave when I got the call. I answered and heard Helen Baker on the other end, and immediately began to worry. No one called at this hour with good news. Before I could ask, Baker told me my gran was fine. The problem, as usual, was my mother.

“I’m sorry, Princess … Celia. I hate to be the one to tell you bad news.”

“It’s okay, Helen. Just tell me. I can deal with whatever it is.”

“Your mother didn’t react well to the news that your sister had passed over.”

I remembered the scene she’d made during the conference call. “I know.”

“She threatened suicide, so the prison kept her under close observation. After a few days, she seemed to be doing better. But when they relaxed their guard—”

“Is she dead?” My voice was flat, not hinting at the maelstrom of emotions I was holding at bay.

“No. It wasn’t a very serious attempt. Her doctor said it was a ‘cry for help.’”

Emotions boiled within me: hurt, anger, fear, anger, despair, anger. I love my mother. I do. But I don’t want to. If I could just hate her, life would be so much easier. If I hated her, it wouldn’t rip my soul to shreds when she did things like this or went to jail, or when she said the kinds of brutal things she’d said during the therapy session. If I didn’t care, she couldn’t hurt me.

But I did, and she did.

“Was there a note?” Why did I even ask? If it was a cry for help she’d have to write a note. I could even guess what it said: something about being abandoned by everyone. No doubt she blamed me. She always did. Fortunately for me, I no longer blamed myself.

“Yes.”

“What did it say?”

She didn’t answer me directly. “Your mother isn’t in her right mind, hasn’t been for a long time.” There was no pity in her voice. If anything, I thought I heard an underlying note of anger.

“I should probably hear it,” I said.

“I don’t think so. And certainly not from me.” Baker was firm. “I’ll send a copy to your therapist; your grandmother can give me the contact info. If your doctor thinks you should see it, she can give it to you.”

It was obvious she wasn’t going to bend on this, and in a way, I loved her for it. Baker and I had looked out for each other more than once. And really, I knew what my mother was likely to say, and I didn’t need the distraction with a major op looming. The mess would still be there when the crisis was over. I’d deal with it then, with Gwen’s help. Assuming, of course, I survived.

I’d been silent for too long.

“You’re not going to argue?” Baker said, obviously surprised. She knows me well enough to know how pigheaded I can be.

“Not when you’re obviously right,” I answered. “Are you sure Gran’s okay?”

“She’s worried about your mother, but she’s also worried about you. She wants to be sure that you don’t blame yourself.”

That was a reasonable fear, based on our history. But this time, it was unfounded. For the first time, I didn’t feel that what had happened was my fault. I blamed Mom. Even forced into sobriety, she couldn’t take responsibility for her actions and their consequences. She would forever believe it was someone else’s fault that she’d been “forced” to lie, or caught in a lie, or caught stealing, or any of the other stupid, hurtful things she had done. Maybe it was cold and reprehensible of me, but I didn’t believe for a minute she was really suicidal. I believed she was desperate for attention, desperate to regain control—but not suicidal.

I was angry and upset, but not at myself. For once, not at myself. Ivy had taught me well.

“I don’t.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“Good,” Baker said firmly. “Because this is not your fault. Not even a little. Your mother is a sick, sick woman to try to blame you for her problems.” I heard both conviction and support in her voice and drew strength from that. It was good to hear other people voicing my own thoughts.

“Thanks, Baker.”

“No problem, Princess. I do hope you’re not planning on being alone tonight.”

“I think Bruno’s coming over later.” Actually, I wasn’t too sure about that, but saying it would get her off the line. I was suddenly very tired of this conversation.

“Just so long as you’re not alone.”

“Helen, I’m fine.” My voice was stronger. “I’ve been dealing with my mother my whole life. This is lousy news, and the timing’s just about as bad as it could possibly be, but there you go.”

That got her attention. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 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">