The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Singer #5)

The Eldritch Conspiracy (Blood Singer #5) Page 42

The new safe didn’t fare nearly so well. What few of my weapons and spell disks I hadn’t brought with me had been utterly destroyed, because the safe that had “protected” them was nothing but scorched and twisted metal.

I downed my drink in a single, long pull and made my way back to the bar.

After my second drink, I retrieved my cell phone from my room and called Dawna. She was a wreck. I wound up trying to calm her down. After all, we were all alive. Even the cat was safe. Then she told me the real problem. Chris had given her an ultimatum. She could marry him, or she could work with me.

Oh, shit. That hurt. A lot. I mean, the man was supposed to be my friend. While I could understand him worrying about her, he was a mercenary, for God’s sake. It was more than a little hypocritical of him to give that kind of an ultimatum.

But she loved him, enough to marry him. I didn’t want to come between the two of them. It would be hard not having her there, cheerful and efficient, helping me get through the work day. Selfish resentment reared its ugly head, and I shoved it down, hard. Dawna deserved to be happy. Chris made her happy. I’d find someone else to work with.

“I understand.”

She sniffled, blew her nose, and said, “He doesn’t get to tell me what to do, Celie. I love him, and I don’t want to lose him, but he doesn’t get to.” Her voice was thick with tears but I could tell she meant every word. “If I let him order me around now, what will it be like after we’re married? If he expects me to understand that he has to go into war zones for his job, he needs to do the same for me.”

Working with me was equivalent to being in a war zone. How sad was that?

“But Dawna…” I tried to find the right words. Chris was perfect for her. They loved each other.

She interrupted me. “I think we’ll be able to work it out when he calms down. We both just need a little time. So don’t call for a day or two, okay?”

I felt terrible. I knew she was right, knew he was right. I desperately wished I could do or say something, anything. But there really was nothing to say. This was their business, not mine. Still, she was my friend, and it hurt me to hear her sounding so wounded.

Two drinks later, I was ready to call Bruno. I had practiced everything I wanted to say … and got his voice mail. Typical. So I left a “We need to talk” message and settled into the recliner. No more news for me. I drank more alcohol and watched mindless television until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I woke at 3:00 A.M. with a stiff neck and a pounding head. My vampire metabolism had let me down. Usually it keeps me from getting too drunk and prevents me from having even the tiniest bit of a hangover. Tonight, not so much. Then again, I’d drunk quite a bit more than I usually did.

I levered myself out of the chair and stumbled up to bed. Tomorrow … scratch that, today, was scheduled fairly loosely. Just a few gatherings after lunch and another luau tonight.

The gatherings were no big deal. Just a loose group of palace insiders mingling with the queen, Adriana, and Dahlmar. Since it was hot and sunny, nobody commented on my sitting under an umbrella and wearing dark glasses.

Lopaka tried to console me even while she was smiling and laughing at the Rusland ambassador’s joke. I am sorry for your loss, my niece. I know how places can hold memories and emotional attachments. I would be likewise devastated if the palace had been destroyed. I will make your apologies. Please feel free to go to your quarters and have a good cry. It will help.

I nodded and took her advice. Adriana and Dahlmar watched me leave, their faces reflecting their concern. They nearly followed me, but Lopaka pulled them aside and I could see by their reactions that she was telling them the news. Then I closed the door behind me and disappeared into the cool, quiet palace.

I didn’t drink any more alcohol. I had vowed long ago not to allow myself to go down the same path as my mother and crawl into a bottle. But it was a temptation. A strong one.

Instead, I went to the well-guarded beach and sat in the shade, looking at the horizon and listening to the waves and the seagulls.

By the time of the luau, I was sober and clear-eyed. Adriana kept the conversation away from me, allowing me to be visibly present yet stay at the edge of the gathering, satisfying those who noticed such things. I drank smoothies made with seasoned pig drippings instead of beef. Not bad, I suppose, but not up to La Cocina standards. At least the fruit juice was nice. Mango, pineapple, and pomegranate. Tasty.

I knew I had to overcome the loss of such a big part of my life, and fast. Or at least wall it off somehow.

Because tomorrow we were off to Rusland for round two of the wedding.

30

There are a lot of things I don’t like about being connected to the royal family, but I’ll give them credit, they know how to live. Everything is top of the line—the food, the wine, and the transportation. First thing in the morning, my luggage and I were shuttled by limo to the tarmac of the private royal area of the local airport. Once there, I boarded the queen’s signature plane—the siren equivalent of Air Force One.

It was beyond nice. Everything was designed to be elegant, efficient, and comfortable. In addition to full access to the common spaces of the cabin, I’d been given a small room for my private use. All of the furniture was built in so that it wouldn’t fly around in the event of severe turbulence and so well-designed that it seemed spacious. It was decorated as both a lounge and an office and the couch could fold out into a bed. The walls were dove gray, the carpet navy blue, and the furnishings combined those base colors with gleaming, black-painted wood and white and chrome metal accents.

I settled in at the built-in desk. The queen had offered me use of the satellite phone and I was happy to take her up on it. My goal was to get the insurance claim process rolling on my office building—not that I had a lot of hope of succeeding. If past experience was anything to judge by, the insurance company would do everything it possibly could to get out of paying the claim. I’d just bet that something in the “Force Majeure” clause would apply. Terrorist attack? Check. Act of War? Check. Sabotage? Check. Maybe I could sue Angelina Bonetti in civil court—if she had any money, that is.

It could just be that I have bad luck. But I didn’t think so. Death curse? Check.

Forty-five minutes into the flight, after the fifth full cycle of elevator music on hold, I was finally transferred to a live person.

“We’re Reliable, the company you can trust, Meagan speaking.”

The teenage daughter of my insurance agent, Meagan was spending her summer working as her father’s receptionist, as she had the two summers before. She could charm your socks off when she wanted to. Unfortunately, she almost never did. Today she was bored and angry. I could hear it clearly in the little sneer she put in her voice.

“Meagan, it’s Celia Graves.”

She perked up at that. “Ah, Ms. Graves. I’ve been expecting your call. I’m so sorry about your building. Let me put you through to my dad.”

Ed Winters handles the insurance on my home, the office, and their contents. He’s in his early forties, already nearly bald, and nearly as wide around as he is tall, but that doesn’t keep him from thinking he’s a ladies’ man. For all I know, he may be. The last time I’d visited in person he’d flirted with me shamelessly—after his daughter had left the room. It had been awkward enough that I was glad to be filing the claim over the phone. At least this way I only had to suffer through yet another repeat of the elevator version of “All You Need Is Love” until he picked up the phone.

“Celia, hi. Ed here.”

“Ed, I need to make a claim on the office building and contents.”

“Of course you do. Saw it on the news. Pretty scary stuff. Glad you’re all right though.” Lord, he sounded cheery enough to make my teeth ache. Nobody should be that chipper first thing in the morning.

“We were lucky. No one was hurt.”

“That’s a blessing,” he agreed. Then, muting his tone to regret, he continued. “But Celia, there’s something you need to know. There’s an exceptions clause in the policy.”

Of course there was. I waited, steeling myself for the inevitable.

“The policy isn’t valid for acts of war. Since the president declared War on Terrorism…” He let the sentence tail off.

I silently counted to ten. A loophole. He was trying to get out of the claim on a loophole. Well, not this time. I smiled and there was steel in my voice. “The bomb wasn’t planted by terrorists. Have you looked at the police report?” I didn’t bother to keep the satisfaction out of my voice. I’d been a dutiful customer of the insurance industry in general, and his company for years, paying my premiums on time, every time. But let me try to make a claim and they’ll find a reason to deny it.

He spluttered a little. “It wasn’t? But the news…”

“Nope. This was personal. A jealous woman did it. Ever seen that show Snapped?”

He harrumphed at that. “Fine. Well, be sure to submit police reports and any proof you may have of that to us in writing with the completed claim. I’ll send you the appropriate forms. What’s your e-mail address?”

I was still on the phone with Ed until after we’d landed in L.A. I was going over the claim forms with him item by item. We were just wrapping it up when I heard a light tap on the door. Bruno poked his head into the room.

I remembered then that we were picking up several people while we refueled, to take to the ceremony. “Can I come in?”

I waved for him to come in as I spelled out my address for Ed for the second time. That finished, I was able to say good-bye to my agent and hello to my boyfriend.

Bruno looked so good. He was wearing new black jeans with a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up slightly to show muscular forearms. His belt was black leather, chased with silver runes that almost seemed to move as they caught the light. His dark hair had been recently cut, so it was a little shorter than I like, and there were traces of gray showing at the temples. He carried a duffel, black leather and suede in a patchwork pattern.