To Dance With the Devil (Blood Singer #6)

To Dance With the Devil (Blood Singer #6) Page 28

Damn it, that was frustrating. These landlords weren’t the first and, sadly, probably wouldn’t be the last to turn us down. I needed a real office soonest, but after the destruction of my last place played multiple times on every news channel, nobody seemed to want to let me rent from them. I couldn’t blame them. In their shoes I’d have felt the same way, but it sucked. I fumed silently for a few seconds, wondering what, if anything, I was going to be able to do about it.

“So,” Dawna asked, “you obviously called for a reason. What’s up?”

“We need more people to cover Michelle in the hospital. Did you get a chance to check out your cousin’s references?”

“Yeah, they were all good.”

“Cool. Call her. Tell her that her eight-hour shift starts tonight at six. She can meet up with you to do the official paperwork tomorrow sometime. And if you’ve got Bubba’s number, give him a call. See if he wants to do some pickup work. If he does, his shift starts when Talia’s ends. The client’s in room 305 at St. Joe’s.”

“We’re hiring Bubba?” Dawna didn’t even try to hide her delight. Bubba had been a friend of ours for years. We’d met when he moved his bail bonding office into the third floor of our office building, just down the hall from my office. He’d had to close his doors awhile back when his wife had been diagnosed with cancer. I’d wanted to stay in touch, but somehow I’d lost track of him. He’s big, tough, smart, and utterly loyal. I’ve trusted him with my back more than once and never regretted it. I could only hope he didn’t.

“If he’ll take the job. I don’t know that he will.”

“He might,” Dawna answered. “He’s been working as a bouncer and as a roadie for his brother-in-law’s band. I’m sure he’d rather have something that pays better. They had to sell the house to pay Mona’s medical bills so he’s living with Mona and Sherry on the boat King Dahlmar bought him to replace Mona’s Rival. I’ve got the number.”

I’d known about the house, had even offered to lend Bubba some money. I’d have given it to him outright, but I knew he wouldn’t take it. He was much too proud. As it happened, he wouldn’t even accept a loan. “Dahlmar replaced his boat?” I hadn’t known that. I was really, really glad. One of the things that had weighed on my conscience was the fact that Bubba’s precious boat had been destroyed during one of our previous adventures.

“I told you that. I know I did.”

“Nope. All you said was that Mona was better.”

“Oh. Oops. Well, he did and she is. Full remission. No sign of the cancer returning so far.”

I smiled. That was the best news of all. I knew that Bubba wouldn’t begrudge having lost his business, the house, or anything else, as long as Mona was going to be okay. I’ve known a lot of couples. Very few are as crazy about each other as Mona and Bubba. They’ve been together more than fifteen years and they still act like newlyweds.

“Awesome. I may just head down to the marina.”

“Oh, can I call, please? I’d love to be the one to offer him the job—and Mona likes me better.”

That was so true it wasn’t even funny. “Fine, you do the honors. Call me and let me know whether he takes it.”

“I hope he does. It would be awesome, having Kevin and Bubba both on staff.”

“Then all we’d need is Ron,” I teased her. Ron, an attorney, had had an office on the first floor of our old building. He was a monumental ass and he’d treated Dawna like slave labor.

Her voice grew hard. “Not funny, Celia. Don’t even joke about it.”

“Aw, come on, Dawna. You know you miss him,” I teased.

“About as much as a case of the clap,” she snapped.

I decided not to push it, mostly because she wasn’t taking it well. I wasn’t sure what had happened between the two of them, but obviously something had. It was time to change the subject. “So, any good prospects for office space?”

“Nada. It’s getting depressing. I’m beginning to wonder if it would be better to build something from scratch.”

“Too expensive,” I assured her.

“I know. I know. Uh-oh. Call waiting just beeped. Could be a client. Before I forget, Dottie wants you to call her. Talk to you later.”

“Later,” I agreed.

20

I swung by PharMart to pick up supplies, including more sunscreen and a big, floppy picture hat. When I first became an Abomination—the official term for my half-vampire condition—a doctor had given me a huge list of things I could drink to keep me healthy and keep things under control until I learned to manage my inner bat. I didn’t have the list anymore, but PharMart’s records are computerized. If I was lucky, they’d be able to tell me everything I needed to buy to get back on track. It would be expensive. I still had painful memories of the credit card bills from before. But anything that kept me human was worth the price, and then some.

I lucked out. The pharmacy did have the records. They printed out the list for me and I set about loading up my cart with dehydrated beef and chicken broth, the liquid form of a multivitamin and mineral supplement, flavored shakes from a popular liquid fast program, and more. I also stocked up on lots of sunscreen and picked up another hat and a couple of umbrellas to use as sunshades. My favorite employee had been promoted to night manager, so he wasn’t on duty, but I asked the pharmacist to let him know I’d been by and that I said hi.

Though I’d grown tired of drinking nutrition shakes over the course of the past couple years, they were the quickest and easiest way to take the edge off of my hunger. I popped one open and drained it as I loaded my groceries into the back of the SUV. I hadn’t had any bloodlust yet that day, even though I’d been in a hospital, and I wanted to keep it that way. Besides, I think better on a full stomach.

Michelle would be discharged tomorrow. She’d need a place to stay. Someplace safe, where no one would think to look for her, preferably far away from innocent bystanders in case the defecational matter hit the rotary oscillator. In short, a safe house.

I didn’t have a safe house. Hell, I didn’t even have an office. She certainly couldn’t come to my place—Connor Finn’s goons would undoubtedly look there first. Besides, I barely had room for the cat. Just bringing home these groceries would put me at risk of starring in the next episode of Hoarders.

Climbing into the car, I strapped in, turned on the engine, and let the air-conditioning bring the temperature down to something close to bearable. Digging in my purse, I pulled out my cell phone and typed in Dottie’s number.

She picked up on the third ring, right before it would have gone to voice mail. “Hello.”

“Hi, Dottie. How are you feeling?” I was kicking myself a bit for not having checked on her earlier. Yeah, I’d been busy, but straining your magic is a big deal. The doctors had said she’d be okay, and I knew Fred would take good care of her, but still.

“I’m fine. Really. And I have the solution to your problem.”

She knew. “Dottie, the doctors said—” I started to scold her, but she interrupted.

“Hmpf.” She sounded completely disgusted. “Like I was telling Fred, it’s not as if I can just turn it off like a tap. But I am trying very hard not to use my gift.”

Judging from her tone of voice, she’d been telling him repeatedly. I was betting he wasn’t buying it. Still, it might be true. Psychic ability is notoriously difficult to control, particularly for someone with as powerful a gift as Dottie’s.

“Which problem are you solving for me this time?” I put a smile in my voice.

“Fred and I have discussed it, and we think we have the perfect safe house for you. And while I know the answer to your office problem, I’m not telling.”

“Dottie—”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

She was using the same tone of voice my gran always used when she’d locked the Christmas presents in the front closet when I was a kid. So while I was frustrated—I hate not knowing things—I was also amused. “Fine, have it your way.”

“I fully intend to,” she said smugly. “Now, if you’ll come to our apartment, I’ll get everything ready for you.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

It was a quick drive. Dottie and Fred live in government subsidized housing on the east edge of Santa Maria. The complex is composed of six one-story brick duplexes connected to each other by a web of sidewalks with a central courtyard. There’s a two-story office and “clubhouse” on the north end of the property, with parking for guests. Residents have numbered parking spots on the surrounding streets. It is a pretty place and very well kept. Dottie told me her only complaint was that they didn’t allow pets. It was so nice, in fact, that when she and Fred married, they decided to share her apartment rather than the house he had lived in with his previous wife, out by Edwards Lake.

I pulled into a guest spot under a shady tree next to the office building, slathered on sunscreen, plopped a hat on my head, and stepped out of the SUV—just in time to see Mickey drive past in a black Dodge Charger so new it still had temporary tags. Okay, a Charger isn’t the most expensive car around, but it’s not the cheapest, either. I wondered how a man with no job and supposed money troubles could afford a brand-new car of any kind. Something definitely wasn’t adding up.

I could tell he didn’t see me. That was good.

Fred met me at the front door with a hug. Leaning close he whispered in my ear, “She’s been blaming herself for not being able to interpret the stones.”

I gave a tiny nod to let him know I understood. According to the sirens, Dottie is my personal prophet. Her job is to be sort of an advance-warning system, to help keep me safe. I don’t know what my great-aunt Lopaka said to her when they met, but it made Dottie, who was already protective, absolutely ferocious in performing her duties.