To Dance With the Devil (Blood Singer #6)

To Dance With the Devil (Blood Singer #6) Page 16

11

Two more days passed, slowly. I was getting better. I knew this not only because the doctors finally told me I was being released the following morning, but also because I was getting really, seriously, bored even though I had a steady stream of visitors.

Gran and Bruno took turns being with me. Gran and I spent a lot time reminiscing about Ivy, but we also talked about Gran’s new life on Serenity and my plans for the future. It was great, but when Gran offered to reschedule her flight and stay longer, I turned her down. I could tell she wanted to get back to the island and check on Mom. My grandmother might be mad at my mother, but she still loved and worried about her.

Bruno snuck me in a Sunset Smoothie for dinner. I was grateful. It tasted awesome compared to the thin, bland liquids the hospital had been feeding me. We chatted for a bit, but he was looking pretty worn out, so I sent him home to get some rest. He promised to be back bright and early to take me home.

Home! I couldn’t wait. I wanted out of there so badly, and I wasn’t looking forward to the long, lonely evening that stretched ahead of me once Bruno left. Fortunately, Dawna arrived, bringing clothes for me to wear at checkout tomorrow, and a surprise: one of her sisters—the hairdresser.

Mae, like Dawna, is tiny and pretty. But where Dawna is a more traditional beauty, Mae is edgier. She wears her hair very short in back, almost in a buzz; the front is streaked with magenta, and long bangs sweep across her forehead and over one eye. I’d met Mae only once before—she lives in San Diego and doesn’t visit the family much. I didn’t ask, and they didn’t say, but I suspected that Dawna had asked her to come up as a special favor. Mae took a long look at me, said, “It could be worse,” and set to work.

The results, when she showed me my reflection in the mirror, were startling. My hair was all short and a little ragged. The style looked like one of the cuts you might see on a punk musician or an artist. It made my features look more striking than pretty, though just a little bit harsh.

“It’ll be better in a few days, when it grows out a little,” Mae told me.

“It’s amazing, really!” I was so impressed. I wouldn’t have thought she’d be able to do anything, as bad as it had looked. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” she said firmly. “This is a gift.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Thank you so much!” I was so grateful I was almost in tears. Stupid, I suppose, but appearances matter. At least they matter to me. I’d felt like a freak. Now I didn’t. The difference was huge.

Mae cleaned up the mess. Dawna hugged me. Then they left. When they were gone, I read a couple of magazines Gran had given me until I finally fell asleep.

In the morning I got up early, took a birdbath in the little bathroom sink, brushed my teeth, and got dressed. Dawna had brought me some of my most comfortable clothes: black jeans, a purple polo shirt, and one of my standard blazers. She’d removed the weapons—hospital regulations—but it felt good to pull on such familiar clothing. I did my makeup carefully. The new haircut changed the whole look of my face, and my stubby new eyebrows were a little hard to deal with. Still, after a bit of creative work with an eyebrow pencil, I didn’t look too bad.

I was just putting away the last of my gear when I got a shock: Dottie and Fred arrived. That wasn’t the shock; they’d visited before. The surprise was that they’d brought the Wadjeti. Fred was carrying it in its carved and warded box, but I could still feel the humming power of it, even from across the room.

The Wadjeti was an ancient Egyptian scrying tool that had been given to me by the late, unlamented Stefania and her daughter, Eirene. Since I’m not a seer, I had passed it to Dottie on kind of a permanent loan. It’s tremendously valuable and when Dottie doesn’t need it anymore, I’ll probably donate it to a museum, but in the meantime, she makes use of it. That it was given to my by an enemy doesn’t make it any less powerful a tool. Still, I was surprised to see it, and Dottie and Fred, in my hospital room. I knew they knew I was about to be discharged—Dawna had talked to them last night while Mae was doing my hair.

“Good morning, Celia. You look so much better than you did. Doesn’t she, Fred?”

“Much better,” he agreed as he wandered over to stand on the far side of the bed. He set the Wadjeti onto the bed beside me and left the visitor’s chair available for Dottie, who was moving slowly across the room, her walker making a soft whumping sound each time she set it down on the tile floor. She didn’t take the chair. Instead, she cleared the clutter off the top of the rolling tray table, obviously preparing a clear workspace.

“I’m glad we caught you before you left. I was afraid we wouldn’t,” Dottie said.

“Traffic.” Fred made a disgusted noise.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what’s up that couldn’t wait? I’m going to be leaving in a few minutes.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my nerves were jumping. Dottie was a seer and, to this day, I wasn’t sure how powerful she was. Pretty strong, was my guess. That she didn’t want to wait until I was discharged to give me a reading was the opposite of reassuring. That she wanted to use the Wadjeti to do the reading was worse.

“I know, dear.” Dottie smiled up at me, but her expression was a little vacant. “And there are things you need to know before you go. Sit on the bed, please.”

I sat.

“Three throws, to represent your past, present, and future.”

“Okay,” I answered. After all, it wasn’t as if I had a whole lot of choice. Dottie looked absolutely determined, and when a powerful clairvoyant gets that look, it’s really best to listen. Sighing, I lifted the Wadjeti’s lid to reveal a stack of ceramic scarabs and a small cup of beaten gold set with alternating lapis and moonstone. We’d done this before, and though that had been some time ago, I hadn’t forgotten what to do. I held the cup in one hand and dropped the scarabs into it one at a time. The power built with each stone added. When the last one hit, there was a flare of heat, and a blinding white light shone out through the moonstones.

Dottie shook the cup, then poured the stones out onto the tray table.

Glowing scarabs scurried across the metal and plastic like live beetles, their claws making clicking noises. When they settled into place and became smooth ceramic once again, there was a large group to the left, while on the right, two scarabs stood alone: a bright blue-green one mounted atop the sole red stone—the death stone.

Dottie looked at me and smiled. “That”—she pointed at the two stones—“is life from death. It means rebirth. In this case, your past life is coming to a close, and you’re experiencing a whole new beginning. You can plan on there being a lot of changes in the near future.”

She extended the cup. I took it and repeated the process to fill it. This time, when the last scarab hit, blue lights shone from the lapis stones until Dottie emptied the cup onto the tray.

Once again the scarabs skittered around, this time organizing themselves into identical groups on either side of the death stone. Each group had four scarabs, one at each compass point, surrounded by a circle of stones facing outward.

Dottie stared at the scarabs, her expression confused. When she looked at me, her eyes were wide. I could tell she was upset. “I … I’m not sure what this means. There’s a conflict, life and death. But other than that—”

“It’s okay, Dottie. Really.” I reached out to pat her hand.

“But you need to know! That’s why I’m here. What good is a reading if I can’t translate it for you?”

“Maybe it’s one of those things that will make sense later, when we have more information,” I suggested.

“If it were a reading for the future, that would make sense,” she said. “But this is the present.” She shook her head, lips pursed in an expression of annoyance. Still, after a moment she held out the cup and we prepared for the third throw.

The power built again, this time thick enough that it burned along my sensitive skin and stole the breath from my lungs. The room seemed to dim, as if the only light came from those small glowing ceramic orbs, each shining with its own individual magic. The cup glittered as if it contained a rainbow.

Dottie spilled the scarabs a third time. As she did, her eyes rolled back in her head and her voice changed, becoming deeper and richer. She sounded eerily like an Egyptian deity I’d encountered not so long ago: Isis, whose magical collar had been misused by a villainous witch who was hungry for power.

That voice rang through the room, clear and pure as the tone of a bell. “Spare the pawn, save the girl. Save the girl, thwart the enemy.”

“Isis?” I whispered. But if I’d hoped for acknowledgment, or guidance, I was doomed to be disappointed.

“Spare the pawn,” the voice ordered, and Dottie collapsed across the bed.

12

Bruno arrived as the doctors were checking Dottie out. She was fine, she insisted. The doctors agreed, but they made her eat some carbs and protein and told her that she needed to take it easy and not use her magic for a few days to avoid straining herself. She didn’t argue, which was proof enough that she had exhausted herself. Fred promised he’d take her home and put her right to bed.

“I take it I missed something?” The lilt in Bruno’s voice made it a question. He sat on the edge of the bed next to me, looking particularly yummy in black jeans, a black dress shirt, and black leather boots, all of which suited his dark hair and eyes.

“Dottie did a reading for me.”

“And pushed herself too hard,” he said, without the question this time.

I sighed in answer.

“She’s a grown woman, Celia, and knows what she’s doing. Don’t blame yourself.”

That was so much easier to say than to do, but I didn’t argue. There really wasn’t any point. I just shook my head and got up, crossing to where the little redheaded nurse, in her pale blue scrubs, was waiting with a wheelchair.