To Dance With the Devil (Blood Singer #6)

To Dance With the Devil (Blood Singer #6) Page 5

“Only when they let you, I suspect,” Gwen said. “But you needed to see this, to know that Ivy would be well and happy, that she was moving on to a better place. To heaven, as it were.”

She said the word “heaven” as if it were in quotes. Obviously, despite what she’d just seen, Gwen was not a true believer. Then again, neither am I. Although, I have to admit, having been party to quite a lot of religious-based supernatural shit, I was beginning to wonder if my gran had it right.

“You’ve had a real breakthrough today. There’s a lot for you to assimilate. But there’s one more thing I want you to consider before the family therapy session.”

I resented that a little. I mean, something else? Seriously? Didn’t I have enough to digest? I didn’t answer, so she continued, her voice firm.

“Ghosts must leave this realm when their purpose is fulfilled. I know that Ivy had left you to care for your mother. But that wasn’t her purpose. Her purpose was to see you healed. Your healing was as necessary for her as it was for you. Ivy was not here for your mother. She was here for you.”

I pulled myself together. Gwen had a big budget meeting scheduled, and I needed to go. I was exhausted when I left Gwen’s office—physically, mentally, and emotionally wrung out. Still, I managed to drag my butt to my car. I tried to call Gran before I headed home, but she didn’t answer the landline or her cell. I left a message asking her to call me, then drove back to my house. Once there, I went straight to bed. And even though it was the middle of the day, I slept soundly and dreamlessly for the first time in ages.

I woke up at midnight physically refreshed. I could literally feel that a huge emotional burden had been lifted from my shoulders. At the same time I was sad. Ivy’s ghost had been with me for more years than Ivy had lived. She’d helped me through all sorts of trials and crises. She’d protected our mother from the other inmates in prison. Whenever I needed her most, she’d come.

I’d miss her.

I knew it was best for her. But that didn’t change the fact that I felt well and truly alone. Even when she’d been with our mom, these last eighteen months, I’d known she was still around. She’d visited me often and every time I’d really needed her. But now, knowing that she was truly gone, her absence was different, a permanent void.

On the one hand, it was an odd, sad feeling, and I knew it was one that would take a lot of getting used to. On the other, a load of terrible guilt that I had been carrying for so long that I didn’t really even think about it anymore was just … gone. I felt so light, like I might float away. I knew it was silly, but that didn’t change how it felt. I’d miss Ivy and grieve for her. But this time, when the grieving was over, I’d finally be able to heal.

4

I went out on the beach for a while and stared at the waves. I felt very alone. Late as it was, I could’ve called Bruno or any of my friends, and they would’ve come. But I didn’t want company, wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened, not even to the people closest to me. Besides, it just seemed wrong telling someone else before I told Gran. Eventually, I went back inside and back to bed.

When morning came, I checked to see if Gran had called. She hadn’t, so I tried to call her again. I wasn’t going to call Mom. First off, I wasn’t positive the prison hierarchy would let me talk to her. If I pulled rank and used the whole “princess” thing and said it was a family crisis, they might. Though I wasn’t sure that what had happened qualified as a crisis. Ivy had, after all, been dead for years. Mostly, I just wasn’t in the mood to deal with Mom and the inevitable fallout. I hadn’t willingly spoken to my mom in a very, very long time, not since the day she’d tried to exorcise me as if I were a demon. She’d let loose with the kind of invective I wasn’t capable of forgiving. I’d tell Gran about Ivy. Gran could tell Mom.

Of course to do that I needed to actually talk to Gran. I’d tried the telephone without success, maybe I should try telepathy.

Closing my eyes, I concentrated on an image of my grandmother’s face—and tried to contact her. No luck. My thoughts hit a shield that was solid enough that I couldn’t get through. That was … odd … and a little worrying. In the end I decided to call my great-aunt Lopaka’s assistant and ask if she could get in touch with Gran and have her call me. It was a roundabout way of doing things and I really didn’t have the authority to ask for that kind of favor. But Hiwahiwa didn’t seem to mind, telling me cheerfully that she’d “get right on it.”

I spent the rest of the day puttering around the house, putting boxes back in the closet, cleaning out the refrigerator, and waiting for the sun to go down. I could’ve put on sunscreen and used a beach umbrella, but the day was just too bright—too cheerful—for the mood I was in. Still, I longed for the ocean.

The hours passed slowly. I didn’t cry. I was too numb. I didn’t answer the phone either. When Lopaka, queen of the sirens, tried to reach me telepathically, I shielded her out. She probably could have forced the issue, but she didn’t. I was glad. Lopaka was family, and I’m sure she was concerned—I’m sure her assistant had told her something was up. But I still wanted to talk to Gran before I spoke to anyone else, even mentally.

Eventually, the sun set and I gathered up a few things and went out onto the beach.

One of my favorite memories was sitting around a campfire on the beach—me, Ivy, and Grandpa Peahi, eating s’mores under the light of the stars. I couldn’t eat them now, but I could light a fire in the portable firepit, sit on the beach, and watch the waves and the flames. So I did. Only after the tide had turned and the fire was long guttered out did I pack up my things and head indoors to bed. I’d kept my phone with me the whole time; my grandmother did not call. I was starting to worry.

At nine thirty the next morning I was awakened by the buzz of the intercom. Someone was at the front gate and wanted to be let in.

I stumbled out of bed, cursing, and shuffled over to hit the switch. “Yes?”

“Celia, it’s me, Alex. Let me in. We need to talk.”

Heather “Alex” Alexander was a detective at the Santa Maria de Luna Police Department. She had been the lover of my best friend, Vicki Cooper, until Vicki’s death. We had been friendly acquaintances—we socialized well enough when we were with Vicki but never sought each other out otherwise. While we both loved Vicki dearly, mourning her hadn’t brought us closer together. If Alex was here without an invitation, it wasn’t a social call.

Crap.

I hit the button to turn on the camera. It was Alex, all right. She was alone and looking both businesslike and cranky. With a sigh, I hit the switch that sent the signal to open the security gate, then went back into the bedroom to throw a robe over the worn T-shirt and men’s boxers I’d worn to bed.

By the time she reached my front door, I was decently if not glamorously covered.

I greeted her as pleasantly as I could manage, even offering her a cup of coffee.

“No, thanks.” She brushed past me, taking a seat on the living room couch without being asked. I didn’t mind. I’d have liked to be closer, but it just never seemed to work out, perhaps because we were both so strong-willed and stubborn. Those two qualities had helped Alex to rise to detective in the competitive boys’ club atmosphere of the police department. They’d helped me make a success of my business, guarding other people. They probably also made us too much alike to ever be completely at ease with each other.

Alex was dressed for work in a black pantsuit with a faint pale blue pinstripe that matched her prim cotton blouse. The jacket didn’t quite manage to conceal the weapons she carried. I suppose that was understandable. On a public servant’s salary she wasn’t likely to be able to afford special tailoring or concealing magics. She’d inherited a bit from Vicki, but I knew that money had gone into her retirement fund and to charity.

“You haven’t been answering your phone.” She fingered the anti-siren charm at her neck when she said it. The charm had been made using my own hair, giving her special protection from me personally as well as other sirens. She hadn’t asked, but I’d had it made for her. She’d needed to be able to prove I wasn’t influencing her on the job. It had taken a lot for me to give it to her. A person’s hair can be used to do some pretty serious bad magic to her. I had to trust that Alex didn’t wish me ill and wouldn’t let anyone who did get hold of the charm. I had to trust that she’d destroy it before she’d let it be used against me. Vicki had trusted her like that. I still wasn’t sure I did.

Had she tried to call? I must have slept through it. There was a hint of accusation in her voice, an edge to her voice that made it more than a simple observation.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” I took a seat on the chair facing her. Looking into those intense blue eyes, I knew that something big was up. So it wasn’t a surprise when she started grilling me.

“What do you know about a woman who called herself Abigail Andrews?”

“Look, Alex, I just woke up. Can we do this in the kitchen? I need some coffee, and I need to eat.”

“Fine.” She rose. “This could take awhile.”

She followed me into the kitchen, pulling up a chair as I puttered around, starting a big pot of coffee and choosing my baby food breakfast. I didn’t rush. There was no point. I knew Alex well enough to know that she wouldn’t budge until she got the answers she was looking for.

“In answer to your question, I don’t know Ms. Andrews well at all. I met her at La Cocina the other day. She was thinking of hiring me to guard her daughter, but we didn’t hit it off. I thought she was lying through her teeth and hiding things from me. She thought I had an attitude problem.”

Alex snorted, her mouth quirking in a grin she couldn’t quite manage to suppress. “You? An attitude problem? Surely not.”

I didn’t argue. It was not, after all, an argument I could win and we both knew it.