Siren Song (Blood Singer #2)

Siren Song (Blood Singer #2) Page 10

“That’s a Wadjeti all right. Used correctly they’re extremely accurate tools for divination.”

Which meant it would be pretty much useless to me. “As soon as your friend has had her look at it, I’m locking it up in the safe. It’s got enough juice that my hand’s still tingling and it knocked Ren flat on her ass.” I continued, “Did you have any luck on the curse?”

“Possibly. Dr. Sloan agreed to come by the office and take a look at you while you’re here. He seemed pretty skeptical. Said that if you’d had it long and the curse was that strong, one of us surely would’ve noticed it back when you were a student.”

“Unless it got put on me after.” I checked the mirror and changed lanes. If I wasn’t going straight to the university, I might as well stop by the office before the Will reading. I wanted to check on Dawna, my secretary and friend, and there were no doubt plenty of messages and other things to take care of. I’d also be able to put Ren’s gift behind wards until it was time to head for the university. Maybe I was being overly cautious, but better safe than sorry.

“Always a possibility.” Warren agreed. “Aaron has class until four fifteen, but he said he’d stop by my office right after.”

“I really appreciate all of this, Warren.”

He laughed. “I don’t mind. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to seeing the artifact. And curses are always fascinating.”

“Particularly to the cursee.” My voice practically dripped sarcasm.

Warren knows me too well to be offended. He laughed and said, “Just be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you before you can get here.”

“Your lips to God’s ear.” I hit the end button on the phone.

I felt better. Oh, I was still worried, but Warren was on the job. If there was a way out from under this, he’d find it. In the meantime, it was a beautiful day in sunny Cali. I wasn’t locked up. Things could definitely be worse.

Even thinking something like that is tempting fate. But hey, no risk, no gain.

After only a few minutes on the freeway I turned off and went tooling through the older section of the city. I felt the familiar sharp tingle as I passed over the wards around the parking lot of the building where I have my offices, pulled into my usual parking spot, and hopped out of the car.

My offices are on the third floor of an old Queen Anne–style Victorian mansion. It’s a beautiful building, perfectly tended. I took a deep breath, soaking in the scent of flowering shrubs and stately old palms. But I discovered the careful order was only surface deep. Because when I stepped through the door I learned a new definition of chaos.

Anyone who is used to having their office life organized by a really efficient secretary knows the kind of hell that breaks loose when said secretary is out.

It was instantly obvious to me that Dawna had not opened the office this morning—and that she probably hadn’t been in for a couple of days at least. The phone was ringing off the hook, and as I raced to answer it I stumbled into a pile of UPS parcels behind the desk. The unmistakable smell of caramelized coffee was floating out of the kitchen, and somewhere in the middle distance I heard a cat yowling. A cat?

“What the hell?” Skirting the boxes, I managed to dive behind the desk. All four lines were ringing. I answered each and put them all on hold, then raced to the kitchen to take the coffeepot off the burner. I didn’t feel like picking shards of glass out of my feet for a week if the carafe shattered from overcooking. With that crisis averted, I began wading through the rest of the mess. After about fifteen minutes and the third insulting and irate caller, I resolved that I never, ever, was going to be a secretary. I truly don’t the temperament. Still, I managed to sort through things well enough that Ron, the attorney whose office is on the first floor, actually opened his door and looked out to see why the ruckus had stopped. Not that he had made any effort whatsoever to help stop the ruckus. But that was Ron, down to his probably pedicured toenails.

I’d noticed there were people in the waiting room, and while my higher brain function recognized them, I didn’t have time to deal with them until I could actually breathe.

When there was enough room to sit down behind the reception desk, I turned to face the visitors.

The man in the closest chair was John Creede. I was more than a little surprised to see him. He’s one half of Miller & Creede, the largest security firm in the country, and Bruno’s future boss. Creede might have enjoyed second billing, but I’d met both Miller and Creede and Creede was the one with real power magically. He’d been at Vicki’s wake, guarding her mother, Cassandra. Who was she being guarded from? Why, yours truly, of course.

So why was he here—and without her?

Sitting across from him was a lovely older woman with a kind face and sparkling eyes. At her feet was a blue plastic box with a carrying handle and wire mesh door. A moment of pure panic coursed through me at the sight of her and the delicate mew that came from the carrier. Oh, hell. I forgot. The cat. I agreed to take Dottie’s cat. Shit. But I’d told her at the wake that I couldn’t take Minnie the Mouser until after I got out of Birchwoods. Had something changed?

“Sorry for the delay, folks. As you can see, it’s been a little . . . busy.”

“You’re not that bad a receptionist.” As Creede stood up and walked to the desk, I gave him the look that comment deserved and he laughed. He had a nice laugh, one that lit up his face. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him laugh or even give more than a polite smile. Of course, I’d only seen him on duty. Bodyguarding is a very serious business.

Today he wasn’t dressed for work. In fact, we looked almost like twins. His jeans were a little more worn and his polo was a slightly darker blue, but other than that we matched.

He noticed me noticing and gave me a smile. It was a good smile, charming, showing straight white teeth in a face that was handsome but not excessively so. Like me, he hadn’t won the genetic lotto, but he hadn’t lost his shirt, either. He had a strong jaw and good cheekbones, but his nose was a little bit large and hooked, almost but not quite a beak. Eyes the color of honey met my gaze easily and today they held just a hint of warmth.

That made me immediately suspicious. What was he up to?

“So, John, what’s up?” I kept my voice calm, but I knew it was tinged with frustration and wariness.

“I want to rent an office.”

I blinked. Slowly. I don’t doubt it made me look stupid, but I couldn’t help it. I was struck positively dumb. I had to have misheard him. Miller & Creede owns two or three buildings in the greater California area. “Why would Miller and Creede open a branch office in our tiny little city? You’ve already got a huge office in L.A.”

He gave me a look that held more anger than pain. “You might as well hear it from me first. Miller and Creede is becoming Miller Security. The news should hit the papers tomorrow.”

“Crap! What the hell happened?” The words popped out. Probably not tactful of me. Then again, tact has never been my best thing. Another one of the big reasons why I work for myself rather than one of the big firms.

“The short version? My partner decided to fuck me and he didn’t even kiss me first.” John’s voice was filled with a cold, hard rage that almost made me feel sorry for the other guy. He glanced at Dottie belatedly and had the decency to flush. “Pardon my French.”

She waved it off. “I’ve heard worse, dear. Not much bothers me at my age.”

Wow. Miller was an idiot. I mean, I’d only met him briefly and he hadn’t struck me as particularly stupid, but you do not cross a man like Creede. He might not have as much raw magical oomph as Bruno, but Creede makes charms that has made him a major player, both respected and feared by the bad guys. No, you don’t cross Jonathan Creede. Not if you want to stay healthy.

“I was also going to talk to you about going into business together.”

Into business? Together? Me and one of the biggest names in the industry? My brain couldn’t even wrap itself around that concept. But even as the ambitious part of my brain was screaming, Do it! Do it! I couldn’t seem to be able to bring my lips to form words.

He shrugged and looked around. “But if you can’t even afford a secretary—”

“I have a secretary. I don’t know what happened to her. But unless somebody forgot to tell me something, I have one.” That wasn’t the complete truth. Dawna is more than my secretary; she’s one of my best friends. And I was pretty sure I knew exactly what was wrong with her. Not long ago she had been mind-raped by a thousand-some-year-old vampire who’d been looking for me. It damaged her. She was supposedly getting help, but I’d been a little out of touch, what with being an inpatient at the mental facility and all. At a guess, judging by the office, she wasn’t doing so hot. I tried to ignore the wave of guilt that washed over me and focused on the situation at hand.

“I think she quit.” Bubba from Freedom Bail Bonds had come through the front door and immediately picked Creede as the man to keep his eye on. Bubba’s a big ole southern man who looks and sometimes behaves like a stupid redneck, but it’s a carefully constructed act. He doesn’t belong to Mensa only because he doesn’t like “clubs.” He’s originally from central Texas, keeps his head shaved and covered with worn ball caps. About six foot one, he’s built like a linebacker or a small tank, with next to zero body fat. His nose has been broken at least once since I’ve known him, but I don’t think it was ever actually straight. Today he was wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd Free Bird T-shirt over black jeans and heavy black work boots. “She walked out early on Friday after throwing the phone across the room and saying she couldn’t take this anymore. She hasn’t called or shown up since. I got a temp in, but Ron pissed her off and she walked out after a couple of hours. I told Ron that this time he could take care of finding a replacement.”

Which he hadn’t, Ron being Ron and all. Bubba glanced coldly at Ron’s closed office door and intentionally raised his voice to a low shout. “We’re supposed to be taking turns answering the phones.” The look he gave me said things that should never reach air. “Today was Ron’s day.”