All Your Wishes (11 page)

“Has Dom returned my call?”

“No, he hasn't. I don't suppose you have his number handy?”

“It's in the Rolodex up in my office,” I offered. I have an old-fashioned, paper Rolodex, with addresses and phone numbers of my contacts, clients, and so forth. I keep it up to date, too. I have a problem with phones. I lose them. Constantly. And while you can back up a phone, and even transfer information from phone to phone, I like having a paper copy. And a Rolodex doesn't ever lose its charge.

I wasn't entirely sure Dom would take Dawna's call, but hey, it was worth a shot.

“I'll try. How much information can I give him on the current situation?” Dawna asked.

That was a trickier question than it sounded. We're bodyguards, not private investigators or lawyers, so we don't have intrinsic protections or the client confidentiality rules that the police need to honor. On the other hand, we're not expected to protect more than the client's body.

“Just tell him I'm in the middle of a hairball that involves the djinn and that I have it on good authority that Connor Finn's ghost and a couple of his buddies are involved. That should be enough to satisfy him, at least for a bit.”

“He'll want to know more. He always does.”

“Yeah, well, he can want what he wants. If he gives you too much trouble, have him call me.”

“You're assuming you'll have a phone,” she said, only half-joking.

“Yeah, yeah, cute. Whatever.” I took the last gulp of my now-cold soup. “I need to get to bed. I've got an early day tomorrow. Let me know if you turn up anything else.”

“I will. And Celia,” she gave a meaningful pause. “Be careful.”

God, I was getting tired of people saying that. I mean, seriously. I'm always careful. Or at least as careful as I can be while getting my job done. I might have said something to that effect, but she hung up before I could respond.

I went back into the apartment, trying to make as little noise as I could. Rahim was completely out, spread-eagled across the bed, snoring full out now. He hadn't closed the sliding door between the bedroom and the living room, for which I was glad. I would've had to slide the door open and check on him otherwise, and might have awakened him. As it was, I locked the balcony, double-checked the front door, set my dishes in the sink, and went about converting the foldout couch into a bed. I took off my empty holster, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair. Next came the empty sheaths for my knives. Last, I undid my ankle holster, setting it onto the end table next to the bed. Since I didn't have a gun, I took one of the larger knives from the kitchen drawer and put it on the end table within easy reach. Then, taking off my shoes, I climbed into bed, switched off the light, and slept.

*   *   *

I woke to the sound of Rahim's phone playing reveille. I groaned. Apparently he was a morning person. It was enough to make me sick.

Seriously, 5:15 was just too early for anyone to be expected to rise, let alone shine and be chipper. Ugh. I
so
didn't want to get out of bed. The only thing that made the thought even close to bearable was that I could smell fresh coffee. Rahim's grandmother must have programmed the coffeemaker the night before.

I felt my way across the end table past the knife to switch on the light as Rahim edged awkwardly around the end of my bed on his way to the bathroom.

I rose. It only took a minute to convert my bed back to a couch. By then Rahim was out of the bathroom, so I picked up the knife and took my turn.

I don't like sleeping in my clothes much. I've done it before. I'll probably do it again, but I don't like it. Unfortunately my clean underwear was in the Caddy, which was in impound. I so did not want to put my dirty underwear back on after a shower. Yuck.

Then I had an idea. Quick as could be, I hand-washed my undies and dried them with the blow-dryer attached to the wall. It took less time than drying my hair had when it was long, and I felt much better about facing the morning. Silly? Probably. But true just the same.

I was putting the dryer away when Gordon contacted me mind-to-mind.

Princess Celia?

Gordon? What are you doing awake at—

Two thirty in the morning,
he finished for me.
I haven't been to bed yet. I've been researching the Guardians and Rahim Patel.

And obviously working hard at it. Oy.
Thank you.

You're welcome. Ifrits are a bad business. I want to do all I can to help.

What did you find out?
Obviously he'd found out something, or he wouldn't have bothered to contact me. But I couldn't hang out in the bathroom forever—Rahim would get suspicious—and I wasn't good enough at talking mind to mind to do it without the client noticing unless there was a lot going on around us.

Not much—some historic stuff that is interesting, but probably not germane. But there is some recent gossip I uncovered from someone at Notre Dame. The Guardians are chosen from a family line. It's an inherited talent. Usually there are two or three in a generation capable of stepping up to the position when the existing Guardian retires or dies. Pradeep Patel chose Rahim's father and Rahim's father chose Rahim.

Made sense.

Pradeep didn't approve of that. He thought the position should go to Rahim's cousin, Tarik. The two of them came to South Bend shortly after Rahim's father died, ten years ago. There was an argument. The secretary and professors I talked to said they weren't speaking English, but things got ugly enough that security had to be called and Tarik and Pradeep were escorted off campus. It might not mean anything …

Pradeep seemed to have worked things out with Rahim. Maybe Tarik had, too. But if there was a traitor in the family, Tarik would bear looking at.
Have you told Dawna?

Yes. They're looking into both Tarik and Pradeep. Be careful.

I will. Thanks, Gordon. Now go get some sleep.

I am. Let me know if there's anything else I can do.

Of course. Thanks again.

Well, that was certainly interesting. I pulled on my clothes, pondering whether or not I could trust Pradeep. Based on his actions yesterday, probably—to a point. The old man struck me as being totally devoted to his cause—and arrogant enough to think that
he
was the only one who knew best. So long as we did what he wanted, he'd support us. If we did something he disagreed with, we'd have a problem.

I came out of the bathroom, clean, dressed, and smiling as if nothing was wrong. Rahim gave me an odd look. I answered the implied question with two words, “Clean underwear,” as I took a mug from the kitchen cabinet and began filling it with coffee from the pot he'd left warming.

He grinned and the expression took years off his face, making him look much younger, less serious, less arrogant, and almost attractive, despite the day-old, rumpled clothes he was wearing.

I beat that thought down firmly. He was a client—and married besides. If you think of a client as an attractive man, your body language changes. That changes the relationship subtly, and not in a good way. Maybe it's cultural, maybe it's biological, but every time there's been sexual chemistry in the mix, the protectee has started becoming protective of me—which defeats the whole purpose and makes it impossible for me to do the job. Besides, I love Bruno. I've zero interest in anyone else.

Rahim's smile lost some of its wattage. Still, it didn't fade completely, and he took the chair opposite me at the small kitchen table amiably enough. “My grandparents will be here in a few minutes with suitable food, a gun for you, and the things we'll need for the ceremony.”

“Tell me about what's going to happen.”

The look he gave over the rim of his coffee mug spoke of his reluctance to talk about it.

“I need to know what's going on if I'm going to protect you adequately during the process,” I explained. “It's not good for me to be surprised or get distracted by what you're doing. And while we're on the subject of ‘not good,' you should probably know that I'm not at my best at sunrise. The first five minutes after the sun clears the horizon are really hard for me. I'll do my best, but you'll need to be particularly careful at that point. And I'll be carrying an unfamiliar weapon. That could cost me seconds when it counts.”

“I see.” He wasn't thrilled. All his bonhomie evaporated in an instant. Ah well, not much I could do about that. I drank my coffee with sublime calm and waited him out. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later he caved.

“I am the Guardian of the Djinn.” I could actually hear the capitals in the way he emphasized the words. Rahim held up his wrist to show me the mark I'd caught a glimpse of the previous day. It looked like a cross between a curse mark and a tattoo: a darkened, shiny patch of skin about the size of an old silver dollar, with raised scarring in the shape of flame and smoke that were outlined in red and black. It was striking, almost pretty, and less obvious than it would have been on someone with lighter skin. “One of the gifts that comes with the responsibility is the ability to sense djinn. It helps me to hunt and trap the ifrits so that they do no harm. I
should
be able to find Hasan anywhere in the world. But I cannot. I
know
he is alive and active, but he is hidden from me.”

“That sucks.”

His mouth twitched with amusement, but his eyes quickly darkened. “My grandfather and I talked while you were being questioned yesterday. He believes that Hasan is hiding in one of the Temples of Atonement.”

“You said that last night.” I had no idea what or where a Temple of Atonement was or why Pradeep might think Hasan was hiding in one, so I sipped my coffee and tried to look interested.

Rahim's lips twitched again, his eyes sparkling. Still, his words when he continued were quite serious. “There are five temples, each built on a node by the djinn. The temples are in Cambodia, Mexico, Peru, Egypt, and here in America, in one of the ancient Anasazi ruins. At these spots, the world of the djinn intersects with ours, and it is through these temples that they transport their prisoners to our world. The residual djinn magic imbued in the temple stones, and the node magic beneath them, may be powerful enough to thwart my natural abilities.”

I could buy that. I'd been around a node when it was accessed for magic. It was pretty impressive. Oh hell, who was I kidding? It was awe-inspiring and scary as hell. Djinn
and
a node. This case just kept getting better and better.

“Instead of the candles I used in the working in California, we will be using vostas from the five temples in the ceremony. If Hasan is hiding in one of the temples, the power of that stone will resonate differently and I will know.”

“And you're doing it at dawn because…”

He began ticking off points on the fingers of his right hand. “First, the beach should be deserted, or nearly so, so there should be no threat to bystanders.”

I approved of that. Collateral damage is never good.

“Second, the power of the rising sun will help with the magic.” He sighed. “It would be better if it was closer to high tide—the rising water would wash away all traces of the magic. No one would even know the ceremony had taken place.”

“No plan is ever perfect,” I assured him. “Is this the best you can do?”

“Yes.”

“Then we go with it.”

He gave me a grateful smile and opened his mouth to say something, but I raised my hand and signaled him to be silent. He complied without argument. Trust at last?

I'd heard the elevator stop on our floor, then footsteps in the hall. They stopped outside our door. I smelled … well, heaven is probably too strong a word, but really, I do love bacon, and eggs, and fried potatoes, and I really, really, missed being able to eat them. My stomach began rumbling audibly.

“There's a blender in the cabinet,” Rahim whispered, trying to hide his smile behind his coffee cup, but I saw it just the same. I couldn't help grinning back. I didn't know how he knew I couldn't eat solids. Maybe he'd noticed—after all, he'd seen me eat twice, three times if he was still awake last night when I was making soup. Maybe he'd done some research on me before we'd met. The latter would make sense, and was something I would've done. Research would also explain why neither he nor his grandfather had been affected by any siren issues. They'd probably been wearing anti-siren charms.

Whatever, I was getting breakfast. I'd have to blend the food and water it down with milk. But I'd be able to have a real breakfast, not just another nutrition shake. A small thing like that can make a huge difference at the end of the day.

There was a light tap on the door. I pointed and Rahim went into the bathroom. I slipped into my jacket and grabbed the knife, which I'd brought out of the bathroom with me and set on the table while we had coffee. As I opened the door to peer outside I wished mightily for at least a One-Shot with holy water—but mine was gone, along with my weapons. I had no way of checking to be sure that Pradeep and the older woman in traditional Indian garb who stood together in the hallway were actually Pradeep and his wife.

Her arms were filled with a pair of bags, one of which smelled of food. He held what looked like Rahim's sports bag. There was no sign of my luggage.

I checked the hall in both directions to make sure no one was lurking and had forced them to get us to open up. Nothing.

Only when I was absolutely sure it was safe did I step aside to let them enter. By that time my stomach was tying itself in knots, wanting at that bacon.

“Rahim?” The woman pushed gently past me, setting her bags onto the kitchen table, and though I hadn't told him he could, Rahim emerged from the bathroom, his arms outstretched.