Demon Song (10 page)

Muttering, “Thank you,” as I reached for the doorknob, I was startled when Dottie’s voice stopped me: “Sunscreen?”

Dawna added a reminder: “Umbrella?”

Crap. I’d forgotten to slather myself up before heading outdoors. Again. Guess I was still tired from the night’s activities.…

“Thank you, ladies.” Shaking my head, I started back upstairs. My makeup had a 50 SPF built in, but I’d only put it on my face, not arms, hands, or neck. Yes, it was winter, but it’s also California. So far I hadn’t turned to ash in the sunlight like most vampires. But I burn like nobody’s business. Just getting to my car, the morning after I was turned, left me with second-degree burns. They heal, but they hurt as bad as falling asleep on the beach for the afternoon.

“Here. I bought extra for the front desk. For ‘weather emergencies.’ ” Dawna held out a bright orange and blue tube. Like the makeup, it had the highest possible SPF.

A sigh slipped out of me. “You’re the best, girlfriend. Sorry I’ve become such a pain in the butt.”

She waved a hand at me with a “pshaw” expression. “You’ve
always
been a pain in the butt, girl. Just new and different kinds lately.” Dottie chuckled but kept her eyes on the computer screen. “It keeps our relationship … spicy. Like my grammy always says, spend your time with those who challenge you.”

Dawna’s grandmother is a tiny little Vietnamese woman who met and fell in love with an American soldier who protected their village for a week against tough odds after his squad was killed. He married her and brought her back to his home because he said she made the best ph this side of heaven. I agreed. It was “grab your tongue and throw it to the floor” good. She said she married him because he was smarter than she was. I wasn’t sure I agreed.

I squeezed a glop of white lotion into my palm, letting the coconut and other scents take me to a happier time, when all I had to worry about was off-center tan lines. “Did I ever thank her for the last batch of
phở,
by the way?”

Her brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Don’t remember. But I’m sure I did for you. I should ask her to make another batch. That woman loves to cook and nothing in the world makes her happier than to be
asked
to do it.”

I slathered the lotion on all bits of exposed skin, including my ears, before handing back the tube. “Thanks. All set now. Or have I forgotten anything?”

The two women looked at each other. “Nothing I can think of offhand,” Dawna said. “What did Alex tell you about the sniper who tried to take off your head at the Will reading? I know they caught him, but did they ever find out why he was shooting at you or who he worked for? She wouldn’t tell me squat.”

I swore under my breath because it hadn’t even occurred to me to ask. “No. But I’ll ask her when I talk to her tomorrow.” I glanced at the person in the waiting room, probably a client of Ron’s, who raised his head at the mention of the word “sniper.” I really didn’t want to talk any more about it with people listening. “Thanks for the reminder.” It’s sad when a sniper who’d tried to put three bullets into your brain slips your mind. For most people, it would possess their every waking moment. For me, it was a humdrum daily event.

Sad, that. I need better days.

On the way to my car, I flipped through the messages using one hand and my lips because the other hand was holding the umbrella. Most were from existing clients asking if I was available for certain dates and times. I wouldn’t know until I checked my calendar, so I tucked those in my pocket. As I unlocked the driver’s door, one of the messages caught my eye and made me nearly drop the umbrella. I did drop the car keys.

The message was from John Creede:

You didn’t have to return the fly, but the report gave me a lot of information. Thanks. But you’re not off the hook for dinner.

What the hell?

No wonder I couldn’t find the fly. Someone had delivered it to Creede. And while it was nice the fly had found its way back home, that meant … crap!

I picked up my car keys and raced back into the building. Both women looked up and Dawna opened her mouth. I shook my head frantically, holding a finger over my lips. Dottie looked around as if she thought something was going to jump out of the shadows. I grabbed a pen and reached for the spiral-bound message book.

Call Justin. Have him come and do a FULL sweep for bugs. The roaches seem to have especially big ears upstairs.

I turned the book so they both could see it. Dawna stared at the message, mouthing the words several times. On the surface, it seemed like I was asking them to call an exterminator because of an infestation. And I was. Except Justin didn’t work for Orkin. He was our security consultant. The “bugs” I was worried about were of the electronic variety. Only Creede and I had been in the room when he’d handed me the fly and asked for a report, and I sure as hell hadn’t mentioned that to Jones. Okay, it was
possible
that I’d talked while under the influence at the safe house. Possible, but unlikely. Former torturers would agree that I’m hard to break. Those who are still alive, anyway.

Then Dottie’s face lit up and she wrote the words “listening devices” on her palm. Dawna’s expression shifted from elation at understanding my message to fury at the implication. I didn’t blame her. She nodded briskly and reached for the phone and I headed back to my car, feeling better. Jones is good, but Justin is better. He’d find whatever Jones had planted.

A perfect blue sky with fluffy clouds under a warm sun just didn’t scream Christmas. It sucked that I had to drive my Miata convertible with the top up, but nowadays I can only put it down at night. The Salvation Army bell ringer on the corner near the building, in somber-colored long sleeves, was out of place in a sea of color and movement. But she reminded people of the season nonetheless and they opened wallets and purses to stuff coins and paper into the red plastic bucket.

About halfway to Birchwoods, I realized I’d forgotten to call my gran before heading out the previous night. I turned on the radio, then tucked my cell phone into the holster on the dash and attached the nifty device that lets the sound come through the radio speakers. I hit the speed dial and she answered on the first ring. “Hi, Gran. What’s new?”

Instead of chipper or even calm, her voice was staccato with anger. “Celia Kalino Graves. Where in the world are you? I’ve been waiting for two hours!”

Crap! Waiting? For what?
“Um … did we have plans to do something this morning?” It wasn’t Sunday, so it couldn’t be church. What had we talked about in our last call?

“It is December ninth, young lady. What do you
suppose
we were doing?”

Aw, man, twenty questions. I hate it when she does that. Let’s see … December ninth. Not church, not a holiday, not … wait. It
was
a holiday and I’d completely forgotten. My voice probably conveyed my mingled embarrassment and frustration. “Mom’s birthday.”

“You forgot, didn’t you? Did you at least buy a present?” There was reproach in her tone, and while part of me knew it was probably deserved, I can’t help what I feel.

I let out a noise that wasn’t precisely a word. “It’s hard to get real enthused about gift giving when every year she throws the gift back in my face. Literally. Or tosses it in a trash can. Or sells it for booze money.”

But as I expected, I got no sympathy. “That is no excuse and you know it. It’s not what she does with it that matters. Now, you get to the mall and buy your mother something nice and then come pick me up so we can go visit her.”

“Visit her? In jail? Can she have visitors yet?” Please, God, let me just go see the nice psychiatrist. I so didn’t want to see my mother in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs on her birthday. “We certainly can’t take gifts
there
.”

“Well, we can’t leave them, that’s true. And we can’t wrap them. But I asked and they said we can give her a card and we can at least show her the gifts once they’ve passed inspection. She’ll know we remembered.” The last few words were soft and carried an edge that I recognized. I winced and rubbed my left temple to relieve the sudden tension.

“Please don’t cry, Gran. It’s not your fault Mom is a screwup.” Actually, it was partly Gran’s fault, but she didn’t need to be reminded of it. I knew it had stung her hard when Mom got picked up. She’d let Mom drive the car without a license … while drunk. It was her third drunk-driving offense and I’d thought the judge had been really lenient by only giving her three months behind bars. And in the local jail, rather than the state prison.

“Lana has issues, Celia, and she’s getting help for them. But she’s
not
a screwup. Don’t you think this is hard enough on her as it is? At least leave her a little dignity. She’d do the same for you.”

I bit my tongue until it nearly bled. No, she wouldn’t. She’d had the chance many times and the bottle was always more important to her than her own child. And while I’d like to say she was just weak, that’s not fair, either. She’d actually been a terrific mother until Daddy left and Ivy died. Then she’d crawled into a bottle, and she hadn’t come out since. I didn’t think my visiting her would mean anything to her at all, but it would make Gran happy. That
was
important to me. I let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. But I have a lot of things going today, so we’ll have to make it short.”

“Half an hour. That’s the longest we can stay this first time anyway.”

I calculated in my head. “Okay. It’ll be at least thirty minutes to get in and out of the mall and get back to your house. How about I come by at three?” It would be tight, but I could probably still fit it all in before Gwen left for the day. But if one single thing went wrong, the whole schedule would be blown.

Fingers crossed.

Gran’s voice went back to her regular happy self. “That’ll be fine, dear. I’ll have a bite of lunch with the girls and see you then.”

I said good-bye and pressed the off button. Honestly. It’s days like these that I wonder if it might not have been better to have had all my memories erased by the vampire.

*   *   *

It was worse than I’d expected. Far worse. I hadn’t anticipated that watching the video from the fly at the zoo would backlash on me in a regular jail. I’d been to jail before and it hadn’t made my heart pound or my head hurt like this. The catcalls of women prisoners sounded like the screams of animals. The touch of the guards as they patted me down made me want to lash out with fangs bared.

What the hell?

I’d had two energy shakes at the mall and I’d been fine there. I’d resigned myself to trying to have a good time as I drove to Gran’s new apartment at the assisted-living facility. It had been a surprise to see Pili there. I’d met her on the Isle of Serenity, the legendary home of the Pacific sirens. She was one of the primary prophets to the queen. I hadn’t realized Pili had decided to retire and move to the mainland. I didn’t know a siren
could
retire. But she and my gran were getting along great guns. They were bridge partners and fast friends already. Still, there was something serious in the way Pili looked at me when I said we were going to visit Mom that made me nervous. Pili’s a powerful seer, and I recognized the look—I’d seen it on Vicki, and Emma, often enough. But Pili hadn’t said anything, and I hadn’t asked. Maybe she’d known what was coming. Because right now I wanted to run screaming out of this place. Or kill someone.

Desperation and panic began to cling to my skin like six weeks’ worth of grime. I itched under my pretty yellow sweater as though lice were crawling on me. Even Gran noticed me clutching my hands and breathing fast and shallow. “Celia? What’s wrong?” She touched me and I jumped. Now the guards started watching—noticing what seemed to be a person with guilt weighing on her.

“I don’t know.” My head shook as I looked around, searching for the source of the feeling. The visiting room was an open space with pale peach walls, furnished with tables and padded chairs. There wasn’t anything in the room that should give me the feelings I was having.

Then Mom walked in the room, and I knew the source of my feelings. Her hair was in strings and she’d lost so much weight that her face was gaunt and pinched. But it was her eyes that dragged a horrified gasp from my throat. They were lifeless and distant—the thousand-yard stare of the abused. I know because I’ve seen them in my own mirror. “Mom?” I stood up and started to walk toward her. She didn’t even look up. Before I reached her, another prisoner was escorted into the room, a tall mixed-race woman with unruly yellow dreadlocks. She pushed her way past Mom. Hard. The mother I’d grown up with wouldn’t have hesitated to go toe-to-toe with someone who shoved her aside. But now Mom just stumbled and fell against a nearby table.

Two things happened simultaneously. I started toward Mom to help her up and the temperature in the room dropped by thirty degrees. Everyone in the room looked up as a familiar chill settled over the room, causing breath to be seen and windows to fog. The woman who’d pushed Mom was lifted from her feet and thrown a dozen feet across the room. She landed in a heap in the corner but came up fast, looking for someone to attack. No guard came to her aid and the one by the door who’d escorted her in looked rather satisfied as she dusted off her jumpsuit.