To Dance With the Devil (Blood Singer #6)

To Dance With the Devil (Blood Singer #6) Page 27

“You were right.” Michelle’s voice cracked when she said the words. “She is dead and she wasn’t really my mother.”

I looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Bullshit.” I kept talking, making sure that every word was emphatic as I could make it. It wasn’t hard. “You may have been adopted. But she was your mother. She raised you. She loved you. And she died protecting you.” There’s a damned sight more to being a mother than giving birth. And I was sure that Abigail Andrews had been a mother every minute of her life since Michelle had come into it.

“You don’t know that.” Michelle wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she stared out the window and the singularly unimpressive view—a few treetops, the landing pad for flight-for-life, nothing interesting.

“The hell I don’t,” I said with enough heat that she turned to glare at me. “Listen to me, kid. You would never have made it out of the airport if your mother had told them you were coming. She didn’t.” I moved to stand by the window, looking out so that I didn’t have to meet her gaze. “They probably would never have found you if you hadn’t come looking for me. They’d seen your mother meet with me. They were probably watching to see if you’d make contact. And you did.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, really?” I turned to face her. “Let me guess. You think your whole life was a lie. That you can’t trust any of it.”

She flushed, giving her skin the first hint of real color. The machine monitoring her heart rate reacted to the change in her pulse. She glared at me, too angry for words.

I backed down. “Look, I’m very sorry for your loss. I truly am.”

“You didn’t even know her.”

“No. But I respect what she did.”

“Lying to me? Pretending that I was something, someone I’m not?” It was the outburst of a wounded child. Physically Michelle was an adult, but emotionally she wasn’t there yet, certainly not when under this kind of stress.

“Did you ever think to ask yourself why?”

“The detective said it’s because of my bloodline. That I’m the last member of a clan that was wiped out in some stupid feud.” Michelle’s gaze locked with mine. “It’s insane. I’m not even a mage. I’m a channeler. That’s it.

“I do ghosts, and I’m not even particularly good at that. I can’t control it enough to stay myself when they use me.” She started sobbing.

I grabbed the tissue box and went over to sit on the edge of the bed. She cried hard, but not for long. When she was done, she took a couple of tissues, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

I embraced the chance for a change of subject. “Personally, I’ve always thought channeling was pretty cool. My sister was a ghost. I would’ve loved to be able to talk with her. Instead we worked out a code with her turning the lights on and off. One was yes. Two was no.”

“I could help you talk to her if you want,” Michelle said. “You saved my life. It’s the least I could do.”

I smiled at her. “Thanks. I really appreciate the offer, but Ivy finally moved on not too long ago.” I took a tissue from the box where she’d set it on the wheeled tray that fit over the bed. I wasn’t actually crying, but I did seem to have the sniffles all of the sudden.

Michelle’s next words were so sad. “Did you get to say good-bye?” She looked at me, her wide brown eyes swimming with tears. “I can’t believe my mom is dead and I didn’t even get to tell her good-bye, didn’t get to say ‘I love you’ or anything.”

I was about to say something trite and reassuring when the temperature in the room dropped like a stone. Michelle stiffened, her eyes rolling back in her head. For a second the machines connected to her body went nuts, then settled back to a normal rhythm.

“Ms. Graves.”

I recognized the voice, even though I’d only heard it once, for a few minutes. More than that, I recognized the body language. It was so weird, it was Michelle’s body in the bed, but it obviously wasn’t her using it. “Abigail Andrews.”

“Elena Santiago, actually. My birth name was Elena Santiago. The girl you know as Michelle was my sister’s daughter, Lucia. I was privileged to raise her as my own.”

“Ah.”

“She needs protection from both Connor and Jack Finn. The son is a mere pawn who will do nothing without the consent of his father, but he is still dangerous. They seek to wipe out the last of the Garzas. Their sources have told them that there are three remaining members of the bloodline.”

“Three?” I blinked at that. “But the spell killed everyone. Lucia only lived because she was born postmortem, after the spell was over.”

“It killed all but Lucia, the man who cast it, and the child his wife conceived days later.”

“Wait … Connor Finn…”

“Has Garza blood in his veins. The feud between the families started when Sherry Garza went to Edmond Finn with proof that their spouses were having an affair. What neither of them knew was that the affair had been going on for years. Two of the elder Finn children were actually sired by Julio Garza. Connor Finn is the descendant of one of them.”

“Holy crap.”

Michelle’s mouth turned up in a bitter smile. “I must go. Lucia is tiring. But as of now I am hiring you to protect her. There is plenty of money. You will be paid.”

“And if I say no?”

She was as firm as ever in her response. “You won’t. Otherwise your werewolf wouldn’t be standing guard outside her door.” With that, Michelle’s body thrashed once abruptly and fell back against the bed.

Well, hell.

I leaned over to check on the patient. I could easily see that I was looking at Michelle, who was gasping in pain. She ignored me completely as she fumbled around a bit before finding and hitting the button on the pump that controlled her pain meds. Her body didn’t relax until the spelled morphine actually hit her system. When it did, Michelle’s eyes fluttered shut.

I left the room as the nurse came in to check on her.

Ghosts don’t lie; they can’t. Connor Finn hated the Garzas more than anything in this world … and he was one. The irony of that was bitter enough to choke on. I had more knowledge than when I’d come in. I just wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Celia, are you okay? You look … strange.” Kevin’s voice brought me back to the present.

He rose and guided me to his chair, where I tried to gather my scattered thoughts. After a moment, I said, “Michelle Andrews channeled the ghost of her mother while I was in there. Abigail hired us to protect Michelle from Connor Finn.”

“A ghost hired us.” He shook his head, bemused. “Really?”

“Yup.”

He chortled, his eyes sparkling with real mirth. “Well, one thing about working for you. It isn’t boring.”

I found myself snickering. It was a little funny, now that I thought about it. I asked Kevin if he wanted to take a quick break, maybe take Paulie outside, then grab something from the cafeteria.

He agreed and left just as the nurse came out of the room. I settled farther into the chair, using the quiet time to think.

Kevin needed backup. It was tempting to stay here and help stand guard. It was familiar duty and I was good at it. But I remembered those pictures from my college textbooks. Standing watch at a door wasn’t going to protect the woman in the room from that kind of attack. It wouldn’t keep her alive.

Connor Finn had taken drastic preemptive measures to keep me from taking this case. Clairvoyants had seen the possibility of my stopping whatever the hell he was doing. That meant I could.

That was encouraging. I needed encouragement at the moment. I was feeling particularly stupid and frustrated.

All right, one thing at a time. One of the reasons for my success at my job—even though until relatively recently I had been fully human, even though I’m a woman in a male-dominated field—is my ability to plan, and plan well. Good planning is flexible and thorough, taking into account many likely contingencies.

The attack that had put me in the hospital had spooked me, thrown me off my game. I’d been running frantically around in reaction ever since. Now that I had a minute, I needed to take a deep breath and logically and calmly think things through.

What were my strengths? I’m good at tactics and I’m great in a crisis. I know weapons. I can do violence and physical mayhem as well as anyone I know. I can be physically intimidating.

I’m not good at investigating things. I’m not nearly patient enough. Dawna is. In fact, I’m blessed in having surrounded myself with people who are some of the best in the world at what they do.

“So, Graves,” I asked myself, “why aren’t you using them?”

Okay, the first thing I needed to do was get someone here to relieve Kevin, a couple of people, actually. If we were going to cover Michelle 24/7, it would be better to have a minimum of three people, each on an eight-hour shift. Six—two on each shift—would be better, but I didn’t think I had the personnel resources for that just yet.

Dawna could do research, see what she could find about blocking blood curses. In the meantime, I could start figuring out what we were going to do with our client once she got out of the hospital.

Kevin came back to find me writing notes on a scrap of paper I’d begged from the duty nurse. Both he and Paulie looked relieved as they resumed their positions.

Signs all through the hospital let me know that cell phone use was forbidden, so I had to wait until I was walking into the parking garage to call Dawna. She picked up on the first ring. “Graves Personal Protection. Can I help you?”

“Hey, Dawna, it’s me.”

“Oh, hi! I’ve got the business phones forwarded to my cell while I look at some of the office space we talked about. One place looked pretty good, but when they heard it was us, they said no.”