All Your Wishes (24 page)

Bubba looked me straight in the eye and said, “So, now what?”

 

20

Kevin and
Bubba are my friends, my employees, and damned good at their jobs, but they have different skill sets and training. For one thing, Kevin has an affinity for covert work that Bubba doesn't. Of course, Kevin also has to deal with being one of the monthly furry, and tomorrow was the full moon. Whether his condition would be an asset or detriment was a coin flip at this time, but I wanted him free to handle it.

Explaining that Jones had been hired to protect Rahim, I asked Kevin to covertly keep an eye on them. “I need to know what they're up to and I want advance warning if Rahim plans another attack.”

“Got it.”

“Bubba, you're with me.” I stood between the two men, looking from one to the other. “Do either of you have a spare gun?”

Kevin gave me a long look. “What happened to my Glock?”

“Rahim used magic to melt it. I don't know how he managed it—the spell didn't even burn my hands, yet the gun is a puddle of goo on the floor of the casting room at Notre Dame.”

“Damn.” Kevin's voice held equal parts admiration and irritation. “That was one of my favorite guns.”

“Sorry. I'll replace it when we get home. In the meantime…”

“I've got another nine you can use,” Kevin said. “It's locked in an airport case in the trunk of the rental car. He turned to Bubba. “Give us a minute?”

“Sure,” Bubba said, but he didn't sound happy about it and his body language made it abundantly clear that he didn't like being left out of the loop. He dug the car keys from his jeans pocket and passed them to Kevin. “Don't dawdle.”

Kevin and I crossing the parking lot quickly. My skin heated almost immediately in the late afternoon sun and I remembered, belatedly, that it had been a while since I'd put on sunscreen. The package labels claimed the stuff lasted four hours, but it never did.

My skin had reddened by the time we reached the silver rental Honda. I kept a close eye out for anything suspicious, but saw nothing unusual. It was unnerving, knowing that somewhere out there, people were waiting to kill me: skilled, determined people.

Kevin hit the button to unlock the car doors. “Get in, out of the sun.”

I climbed into the passenger seat, leaving the door open so we could talk. He went around to the back of the car. I heard him pop the trunk.

“I've got your back, boss,” Kevin said, his voice raised slightly. “So does Bubba.”

“I know, and I appreciate it.” I glanced over my shoulder, looking through the rear window. My view was blocked by the trunk lid, but I kept looking back there anyway.

“You're still nervous.”

“Yep.”

“Good. That'll keep you alert. The people they hired to hit you are good—a team from Europe, a man and a woman. They specialize in making things look like medical accidents, using spell-poisons that cause heart attacks, strokes, that sort of thing.”

“How do they get needles—” I started, but he cut me off.

“No needles needed. He creates a distraction. She taps the victim in the confusion; she wears a ring equipped with a biodegradable spike that has the curse on it. I'm told it's no more painful than a mosquito bite.”

That was appalling, disturbing, and very scary. I mean, seriously, I would never look at a crowd the same way again. “How do you know—”

“Jones called me.”

Kevin took Jones's call, but let Dawna go to voice mail? Interesting.

“I'd heard of them back when I was working for the Company. They're top of the line.” I couldn't see him, but I could hear the concern in his voice.

“You think I should keep you with me instead?” I asked, scanning the parking lot. No sign of trouble other than an ambulance driving up to the ER, siren wailing and lights flashing. I saw that Bubba was watching it closely; he didn't relax until the EMTs and their patient had gone inside.

“No. Bubba's no good at covert. You need someone who can operate in the background, and that's me. And you need Rahim alive until the ifrit is back in the bottle.”

“I do.”

I heard him shuffling things around in the trunk, felt the shift of energies when he found the gun carrier and started releasing the protections on it.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “Kev, I … I'm in way over my head. The crew from the Needle job are behind this; there's the ifrit; and something demonic showed up during the interview with the Feds.”

“I know.” His voice was calm. “Dawna briefed me. So did Emma.”

Emma Landingham DeLuca, his sister and one of my best buddies, wasn't as powerful a clairvoyant as Dottie, but I'd given her some magical tools that let her make the most of the gift she has.

“What did Emma say?”

I heard the sound of a zipper sliding open, then the sound of a weapon being checked. It's hard to describe if you've never heard it, but the sound is unmistakable. A moment later, Kevin appeared at my open door. In his hands was the Glock he'd promised, along with a box of ammo.

Even though I'd heard him check the gun seconds earlier, I went through the usual routine as well. Partly from habit, but mostly to get a feel for it before sliding the weapon into the empty holster under my jacket. He walked back to the trunk and I listened as he zipped the bag shut and reactivated the spells. He rummaged in the trunk for a few more seconds; then the weight of the car shifted as he lifted something out. There was a slight crunch of loose gravel as he set whatever it was on the ground before slamming the trunk lid.

I waited for him to answer my question.

“I can't tell you anything,” he finally said, frowning. “It's too dicey. I might screw things up, make the situation worse.”

“It can get
worse?
” My joke had a hint of hysteria around the edges.

Kevin grunted in acknowledgment. “It can
always
get worse. But I've got your back and you'll have Bubba with you. He's a good man. You do whatever you have to and we'll cover you.”

“Thanks.”

He snorted, saying, “Gotta protect the old paycheck.” He added, “We'd better get moving. The clock's ticking.”

For a second, I debated whether or not to ask my next question, before deciding that, while it wasn't a particularly diplomatic question, the situation was dire enough that it had to be asked.

“Is this going to be too much for you? What with the PTSD—”

“We're at the full moon. I'll be fine. Stress doesn't bother the wolf in me. It's the human part that has problems.”

I'd seen Kevin with his wolf on once—it had been scary as hell, and I'm no cupcake. If he couldn't control his beast, there'd be all sorts of trouble. “And the wolf?”

“He'll be fine too. I've got this, boss. Really.”

I heard the conviction in his voice, but I wasn't finished. “Michelle?”

He smiled at the mention of her name, a smile of relief more than fondness. Michelle was the client he'd had to turn wolfy to save. Doing so had made him responsible for mentoring her into her new life. Unfortunately, she'd shown every sign of having a huge crush on Kevin, while he was not at all interested in her in that way.

“Michelle now has enough self-control that I felt able to introduce her to a friend of mine who runs with a secret pack. She's hunting with them this month and with any luck at all, that'll be that.”

“There are packs?”

“I mentioned it before. I know I did.”

He probably had—maybe in the middle of some battle or other, because I truly didn't remember. I suppose having a pack was a good thing for the shifters, but for me, it was a little frightening to think about. Kevin alone in wolf form was scary. Kevin with Michelle was terrifying. A
pack?
Holy shit! Made me think seriously about locking myself inside, somewhere really secure, during every full moon from now on.

“It's going to be fine.” He met my eyes, his expression calm and earnest, and I believed him … mostly. And really, there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. I needed him to do this if I had any hope of success, and the mission was too damned important for us to fail. But it was a huge risk, and one I didn't much like taking.

“I've
got
this,” he said again. This time, I heard the barest hint of a growl.

Yeah, it was the full moon all right.

“Fine.” I forced myself to smile up at him. “Thanks for the gun.”

“Just make sure you live to give it back to me.”

*   *   *

Bubba and I decided to take the car from South Bend to O'Hare airport in Chicago. I let him drive. The trip is a little over two hours if you obey the speed limit, and driving rather than flying meant that we could stop to get me fed … and I could bounce ideas off Bubba without having to worry about who might be listening from the next seats. Plus, I had access to phone and the Internet. In any case, I wasn't sure that flying would have been any faster, even assuming there was a flight leaving right away and that we could get through ticketing and security at the local airport in record time.

We stopped at a PharMart so I could pick up a few things—a particularly good idea since I was beginning to feel more than a little irritable. I'd been under a lot of stress, had recently been in a fight that brought the vamp in me to the surface, and it was getting on toward sunset. This was not a good combination. I thought about having Bubba go shopping for me, but it would have taken longer to tell him what I needed than to take care of it myself.

The guy behind the cash register was in his early twenties, with dark brown hair that curled over the collar of his white uniform polo and eyes that were just a little bit lighter shade of blue than his vest. I tried to smile at him as I grabbed a cart and ducked down the nearest aisle. I didn't feel like smiling. Not in the least.

I found an inexpensive bag in aisle four I could use to replace the duffel Dawna had sent me. Unfortunately, the lovely new clothes Dawna had provided, along with the bag, were in Rahim's car, as was my original suitcase.

So I needed to start from nothing. I grabbed sunscreen, toiletries, socks, a six-pack of cheap cotton underwear, and a pair of T-shirts. Yeah, they'd look a little weird with the dress pants and jacket, but at least they'd be clean. After a moment's thought, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants as well. For all I knew, something would happen to what was I was wearing and I'd be out of clothes again.

Down another aisle, I loaded up on nutrition shakes and baby food.

I told myself to relax, but I couldn't seem to manage it. This case was getting to me in a big way. And there was a real chance that it would all be for nothing. After all, whether the Patels would pay the bill without a fight, now that they'd tried to kill me and I'd quit, was anybody's guess. Assuming Hasan could be returned to his jar and one of the Patels survived.

The light in the store was beginning to hurt my eyes, and I could now hear the throbbing pulse of the woman standing in front of me in the checkout line. She was older, maybe seventy. Slow enough that she'd be easy prey.

I shuddered at the realization that my vampire nature was starting to rise to the hunt.

No. Absolutely not.

Closing my eyes, I took deep, slow breaths while counting to one hundred. When I heard movement I opened my eyes long enough to shuffle forward with the group. Two more people in front of me. I could make it. Just a couple more minutes.

A teenager finished buying condoms. It was the old woman's turn.

She had coupons—expired coupons—and was counting up change to make the price, in
pennies.

I found myself growling in irritation. That startled and frightened both the woman and the checker. I could hear their breathing go shallow, their pulses quickening.

Saliva filled my mouth. I was so
hungry.
I took a deep breath: in, three count, out. Slowly. Then I grabbed the biggest, gaudiest holy item from the display at the checkout.
See folks, no vampires here. I'm just a little ol' human with a pale complexion. Nothing to worry about.
I'd have forced a smile, but I could tell my fangs were down.

My clutching the giant holy object settled the two of them a little, but not much. Nobody tried to stake me or spray me with holy water, but they sure as hell didn't dawdle.

Finally the old woman paid. The checker sped me through the process and I swiped my card, grabbed my bag, and strode briskly to the exit. As I stepped through the sliding glass doors, the sunset hit me like a club. My inner bat tried to rise full out, teeth down, skin glowing, eyes shifting to hyperfocus. My own pulse raced as I smelled sweet fear drifting toward me on the light breeze. The old woman was trying not to stare at me as she loaded her purchases into the back of a battered midsized sedan a row or two away. I could still get her. Easy.

The window of a nearby car rolled partly down.

“Boss …
Celia
.”

I turned at the sound of my name and saw a familiar face, lined deeply with worry.

Bubba. It was Bubba, and he was my friend. He was not food. People were not
food
.

The sight of Bubba's concern brought me to myself a little: enough that I could reach into one of the bags looped over my wrist. I pulled out one of the little glass jars of baby food and twisted off the cap without even trying to read what I'd be eating. Anything would help, and I wouldn't have really seen it anyway. I was crying.

That, more than the pureed peaches I was swallowing, drove the bat off. Emotions disgust and confuse the vampire. It has about as much understanding of friendship as I do of nuclear physics, and to it, pain is something to be dealt, not endured.

When I could trust myself, I walked over to the rental car. The glow of my skin had faded enough that I looked almost normal—normal enough that Bubba was willing to unlock the doors and let me climb in with him.