Demon Song (Blood Singer #3)

Demon Song (Blood Singer #3) Page 32

I tried to move forward toward the stage, but everybody else was heading for the tables and I wound up being forced in that direction. While I could have pulled on my supernatural strength and shoved my way through the crowd, it wasn’t really worth it. He’d still be there in ten minutes. So I let myself be propelled to a glass of Chablis. Dawna wound up at the other side of the room, where the goblets held Burgundy.

Two years of waiting, of reading bits of news and searching online for more information, were about to pay off. I raised the glass and inhaled deeply with both nose and mouth. The taste hit my tongue first—vanilla, chocolate, and just a hint of strawberries. But my nose picked up roses and oranges. How weird.

The glass tipped nearly of its own accord and smooth, cool liquid filled my mouth. The taste burst across my tongue—everything I’d smelled and tasted as well as some cantaloupe and fresh green grapes.

Then I heard the woman next to me, holding a glass of the very same wine, say, “Cherries with a woody overtone. It’s heavier than I expected, with more tannin, which is perfect. I normally don’t like white wines.”

I stared at my glass with furrowed brow. Were we drinking the same wine? I tapped her on the shoulder and she turned. She didn’t stare at my fangs, so I was being successful in hiding them. “I’m sorry to listen in, but I’m tasting chocolate and strawberries in mine.” I held up my glass. “Could we switch? I’m wondering if we have different varieties.”

Her elegantly painted brows rose slightly. “Interesting. I like strawberries. All right.” We traded glasses and I took a sip from the side of hers without the lipstick print. Her brow furrowed and so did mine. “It still tastes like cherries and wood.”

“No, like strawberries and chocolate.”

Other people started doing the same thing, switching glasses, and pretty soon all of us were looking confused.

Then we heard Creede’s voice over the growing noise of talking and everyone turned toward those glowing gold eyes. “And now you know what’s special about Witches’ Brew. It’s like no other wine because it’s tailored to the individual drinker. Every person will taste what he or she likes best. You can never serve a bad wine at a party again. The Pinot Noir will be perfect with shrimp or steak. The Chablis? Equally terrific with halibut or hamburgers. Always right … just like magic.”

He snapped his fingers and he and the sisters disappeared. People wanted to applaud, which is hard to do while holding wine goblets, but they managed, tapping fingernails on the glass.

The sisters made a grand entrance through the far doors, which burst open in a shower of glitter and fairy lights. They smiled and separated, moving into the room to do the meet and greet. But as much as I wanted to talk about the craft of making the wine, I wanted to do it with Creede. How had he managed the magic? I wasn’t a witch, but I loved talking about crafting. Bruno had gotten me hooked on the technique of spellcasting.

And … yeah, I wanted to thank him for the tickets.

But I didn’t see him. I looked around, through the sea of talking heads, and didn’t see his familiar golden curls. I finally got up on the stage and looked out over the crowd. But the event had spread out into multiple rooms and it could be that I was just missing him. I did see Emma and Remir, clinking glasses of blush, while Dawna was snuggling up to Latino soap star Fernando Gomez.

“Miss? Can I help you with something?”

I looked down to see a young man with an earphone and clipboard. I realized that I must look like an idiot up on the stage. “Sorry. I was looking for John Creede. He’s a…” A what, exactly? Associate? Friend? Colleague? Sort of all of the above and yet none of them. What the heck, I could embellish. “A friend. Have you seen him?”

He shook his dark hair with amusement. “Honey, everybody is Mr. Creede’s friend tonight. Everybody wants a piece of him. But I know all of his friends and I don’t know you.”

Oh. Talk about putting me in my place. “I’m Celia Graves.”

His eyes widened and his mouth actually dropped as he took in the dress and hair and, yes, he really did look for fangs. “Ohmigod! You’re Celia? Wow. He didn’t describe you quite like … um, well, let’s say I had a little more down-to-earth girl in my head, not a model.”

When I got back to the spa tonight, I was going to find my stylist and makeup person and hand each one a hundred-dollar tip. Because the look on this guy’s face was worth the price.

I felt special for the first time in weeks. “So, have you seen him?”

His eyebrows dropped and he thought. “You know, I haven’t seen him since the Darby sisters came back in. He should be around somewhere.” I started to walk down the stairs and he immediately jumped to my side and offered a hand. I took it because there wasn’t a banister and the risers weren’t very stable with three-inch heels. Once I had my feet back on the thick Oriental rug, he tapped the receiver in his ear. “John? Can you hear me?”

I waited while he listened, then shrugged and shook his head. “Sorry. He’s not answering.” He held out his hand. “I’m Andrew, by the way … John’s personal assistant. I’ve been with Miller and Creede since I was in college. He’s an amazing practitioner. I’m learning so much about the trade.”

I shook the hand. He had a good grip. Not too tight and there was a tingle of power there. But I could tell he’d never be at Creede’s or Bruno’s level. Maybe he was a level four. “Nice to meet you. I guess I’ll just wander around and hope I run into him.”

Andrew let out a frustrated noise. “I know he’s going to want to see you.” Then he snapped his fingers before giving his own forehead a little slap. “I bet I know where he is. He’s probably taken some people down to see the grotto.”

“The grotto? What’s that?”

He flipped open the cover of his clipboard, pulled a pen from behind the ear without the phone, and started drawing. “Oh, you’ve got to see it. That’s where all the magic happens. It’s amazingly beautiful. Here. Just follow this map and you can’t miss it.”

The paper he tore off showed an x in a circle that I presumed represented where we were now. It wasn’t much of a map—just a curvy line that ended shortly with another x. “Is it far?” I looked down at my slinky, strappy sandals. “These boots weren’t made for walking, Andrew.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. I raised my brows and lowered my chin. I don’t like it when people touch me. He pulled away instantly. “Sorry. Too much, huh? John tells me all the time I need to learn distance to work in this business. I’ve got to work on not touching. But no, in answer to your question, it’s not far. Probably not more than a hundred yards from where we are. Just follow the path to the right and it’s all downhill on a paved path. You’ll get to see some of the new vines, too. Very picturesque with all the paper lanterns.”

Well, it was gorgeous weather and my friends were otherwise occupied. What the heck. “Okay, thanks.” I took the paper and walked across the room to tap Dawna on the shoulder. “Be right back.” She nodded and returned to talking to her new favorite leading man.

Andrew had been right. It wasn’t a long walk and the path only went one place. The Japanese lanterns that had been strung along the pathways offset the twisted vines on waist-high poles and made them seem elegant. But when the string of lanterns ended, so did the paved path—as though people were supposed to stop when they reached the end of the lights. But there was a flickering light ahead in what looked like the mouth of a cave.

Oh. Duh. A grotto—as in cave.

There was enough light to see and the ground was hard-packed soil, so it was easy walking. As I approached, I could hear murmuring voices inside, so I stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt. I expected the cave itself to be cooler than the outside, but it was actually warmer. The press of light magic flowed over me as I walked down the steep path into the earth. The barrier explained the dampening of sound. Now that I was inside, the voice was louder, but I couldn’t make out what was being said.

Flowering vines covered the walls and ceilings, turning what would normally have been dark stone and soil into a burst of color and texture. The smell was amazing … soft and sweet but not cloying. Even though I didn’t recognize any of the individual flowers, together they smelled like a butterfly garden in the warmest part of spring. “Hello?” I called out softly. There was no answer.

Finally I saw a brighter light ahead and heard a roaring sound that reminded me of a bath being run in a distant room. The air felt moister, cooler, and heavier with magic. The combination of sensation and scent was amazing. I stepped into the main grotto. The ceiling was high enough I couldn’t actually see it, and the waterfall I’d heard was the height of a three-story building. I was so engrossed in looking around that I didn’t notice the circle drawn in white in the very center of the room, where a hooded figure was kneeling.

Crap. I’d walked into a casting.

The candles on the points of the compass were the giveaway and I should have recognized the muttering after hearing Bruno speaking in odd tongues all those years. I froze in place, remembering Bruno’s stern lectures: Never interrupt the caster, don’t speak, don’t break the circle, and don’t freak out at anything you see. He hadn’t been kidding about the last part. I’d seen full-blown tornadoes spring up in a casting circle. Demons had appeared in chains, pulled out from inside the person they were possessing, spewing all the vile excrement and lava of hell itself until they were banished by the mage.

I looked around and spotted a bench carved out of the rock wall next to a massive taproot from one of the ancient white oaks I’d seen from the road when we arrived. I could be quiet and I was really curious to find out if I was going to see a sample of Creede’s skill. I’d seen his power in battle and a hint of the finesse behind it. But to see a real casting was to see into the soul of a mage.