The cost to prepare this attack, in both
time and money, had to have been
outrageous. So we were looking at a
well-funded
group
with
inside
information and access to some of the
top-tier mages in the world. Artifacts
take a long time to produce, which meant
that these had been created long before
Adriana and Dahlmar’s engagement was
announced. The wedding was just an
excuse.
That was very interesting.
I couldn’t help Lopaka at the hospital.
My job was to protect her daughter. I
wouldn’t be able to do that properly
without rest. I wanted to do that
someplace safe. I also wanted to go over
the intel Baker had given me, and see if
there was a clue that would tell me who
the traitor was.
Because there was a traitor. Someone
allowed that limo to get close enough to
kill.
12
“I really appreciate this, Emma.”
“So you’ve said … repeatedly.” She
smiled to take the sting out of the words.
“Seriously, it’s all right.” She handed
me a nutrition shake. “Drink this. You’re
glowing.”
She was right. I didn’t feel vampy,
exactly, but I wasn’t myself, either. I’d
been hungry back at the police station
and while I was waiting for Emma to
come pick me up. Now, back at her new
home, not so much. Still, I twisted open
the bottle and drank as Kevin shoved
past me into the main living area.
I flinched. He was really pissed and
not even trying to hide it. I hadn’t
expected him to show up, but he and
Emma had arrived in his big truck and
Emma had given me a this-wasn’t-my-
idea look as they pulled up to where I
was sitting and watching cops and
civilians flow in and out of the precinct
house. The ride back to the old church
had passed by in a silence cold enough
to frost the windows of his truck. Emma
might not mind my being here. Her
brother obviously did.
The second I stepped into the living
room Kevin turned to me, his expression
granite. In a flat yet furious voice he
said, “Computer, big screen, channel
six.”
At the far end of the room, the
television came on. The perky brunette
and her silver-haired coanchor wore
grim expressions as film of the front of
the destroyed bridal shop ran in the
background, immediately followed by
photos of King Dahlmar and Princess
Adriana.
“A terrorist group calling itself the
Guardians of the Faith has used various
social networks to claim responsibility
for the attack.” A close-up of a
screenshot appeared; the group’s avatar
was a blue-green S bisected diagonally
by a bloody harpoon. I’d seen that
symbol before, but couldn’t remember
where or when.
I pummeled my brain, searching for
the answer as the anchorwoman droned
on. “The group has vowed to continue
the violence against all sirens unless
King
Dahlmar
breaks
off
his
engagement. Our sources say that the
governments of all three nations are
treating this as a credible threat.” An
image flashed onto the screen of a note
written
in
a
foreign
language,
accompanied by photocopied pictures of
Lopaka’s face, Adriana’s, and mine, all
marred by black “X” marks.
My stomach heaved and I locked my
knees to keep from swaying on my feet.
It’s one thing to hear you’ve been
targeted. It’s quite another to see it in
color on the big screen.
“Damn it, Kevin!” Emma was
seriously pissed. Her eyes were blazing
and there were two spots of color on her
cheeks. “Was that necessary?”
Her brother was perfectly calm.
Smug, even. The bastard. “She wasn’t
taking it seriously enough. She never
does. She brought you into it without a
second thought.”
Emma rounded on him in fury, hands
balled into fists at her sides. “You didn’t
have to do it that way. You were
deliberately brutal and callous and you
know it.”
“Celia’s tougher than you give her
credit for. Quit treating her like a fragile
snowflake.” Kevin made a disgusted
noise and stomped over to fling himself
into a recliner. Emma led me to a nearby
chair, where I sat down hard and
lowered my head into my hands. Above
and around me, I heard Emma and her
brother arguing and the television
playing sound bites of statements
released by the Ruslandic and Siren
ambassadors, but nothing really sank in.
Terrorists. I was being hunted by armed,
organized, freaking terrorists.
“She needs to know what you’re
risking, having her here,” Kevin said.
Emma glared at him. “It’s my choice
to make,”
He slammed a fist down on the
armrest, causing his assistance dog,
Paulie, to raise her head just a bit. “It’s
unnecessary. There are other places she
can go. Places that won’t endanger you.”
Keeping Emma safe had always been
Kevin’s main priority. It was why he and
his father had served me up as bait for
the insane siren, Eirene, a serious
misstep that had cost me my friendship
with Warren and nearly cost me my life.
But Emma had grown tired of being
babied. She was a grown woman now,
capable of striking back and of making
her own decisions.
“Not tonight, she can’t. The cops took
her guns as evidence, remember?”
Emma argued. “Bruno can’t get into her
office until morning.”
He can’t? Why not? I opened my
mouth to ask, but she’d moved a step
forward and was pointing a finger at her
brother’s nose. “Celia’s staying here
until the sun comes up, and that’s final.
This is my home and it’s my choice,
Kevin. Mine. Not Daddy’s, not yours.
Mine.”
“I don’t like it.” He probably meant
having me here. Then again, maybe not.
Having Emma stand up to him probably
wasn’t a happy development in his life.
“You don’t have to.” Emma met his
gaze without flinching. Points to Emma.
Kevin was maybe a step and a half from
going wolfy. His eyes were glowing
amber and I swear his teeth looked
sharper than normal. He was clenching
and unclenching his fingers around the
arms of the chair. It might have gone
further if Paulie hadn’t placed herself
between the two of them and started
barking.
Kevin glared at the dog and she sank
into a sit. But she didn’t move out of the
way, just stared at him with those huge
brown eyes: calm, trusting.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
“I’m going to go outside and calm
down.”
“Good idea.” Emma’s words were
crisp. “Meanwhile, I’ll fix us all
something to eat.”
“Come on, Paulie.” Kevin strode
through the living area to a side door, the
dog at his heels. I couldn’t help but
heave a sigh of relief as the door closed
behind them. Kevin was not himself. Not
at all. Maybe being out in quiet and
moonlight would help. I was betting he’d
go to the little walled cemetery on the
west side of the building. I’d wandered
through it when I’d visited before and
seen that it really was old, two hundred
years at least. Where the stones could be
read, they told of the missionaries who
founded the church and of their very first
converts. They’d probably been such
true believers that there wasn’t even a
single ghost left to haunt the place.
Hopefully the graveyard would be
peaceful enough to soothe Kevin’s
troubled soul.
I stared at the door for a long moment.
“Do you think you should call his
Vaso?”
It was Emma’s turn to sigh. “Wish I
could. She had to go out of town for a
few weeks. Her mom’s dying of cancer.”
Well, hell. “Can we send him to her?”
I asked hopefully.
Emma shook her head. “He can’t
travel when he’s like this. Certainly not
this close to the full moon. Once that’s
passed, in a couple of days, he’ll be
better. He always is. Now, you settle in
and watch the news. You really do need
to know what’s going on. I’ll be in the
kitchen if you need me.”
I checked my watch, then said,
“Computer, big screen, channel ten,
please.” Since Channel 10’s nightly
newscast starts at ten o’clock, I’d be
able to catch the beginning of the report.
It didn’t hit me as hard the second
time. I sat in the recliner, watching the
images on the screen and mentally going
over everything I knew and suspected.
Which wasn’t much. I needed more
information.
I called out to my hostess, who was
cooking scrambled eggs in the kitchen.
“Emma, do you think Kevin could set up
a secure conference call for me?”
“Probably. The question is whether he
will.” She came in, carrying a plate that
smelled like heaven. The eggs were
runny, but there was cheese, and she’d
brought along a couple of jars of baby
food. “But it’ll have to wait until
morning in any event. We don’t have all
the equipment he’d need. How many
people would be involved?” She handed
me the plate. “Eat.”
I ate. When I’d finished, I called
Special Agent Albright and got not only
the numbers I requested, but an update.
They’d put an aquarium in the queen’s
room at Adriana’s suggestion. Her royal
majesty was conscious and improving.
She was still in intensive care, but the
doctors were hopeful. The princess was
already on her way back to Serenity.
Apparently Chiyoko, the siren queen of
the Japanese islands, had managed to
scrape up a quorum and had called an
emergency meeting of all of the siren
queens. Adriana was going to attend on
behalf of her mother.
I asked Albright about traveling to
Serenity with the princess, but she
rejected the idea.
“You have other things to do.” Her
voice was calm, but was rough around
the edges. People who didn’t know her
might think none of this was bothering
her. I guessed it was.
“Like what?”
“I need you to convince the other
bridesmaids to remain in the wedding.
Her majesty’s assistant has scheduled a
dinner for the three of you tomorrow
evening after their afternoon television
interviews have finished.”
Oh goodie. I was going to get to spend
time alone with Olga and Natasha. “My
job is to protect the princess.” I said it,
but I knew I was fighting an uphill battle.
“It was an order, not a request.”
Of course it was. The question was
whether or not I was going to obey it. I
might technically be a siren—and
technically, under Lopaka’s rule—but I
was born and raised an American. I am
not good at taking royal orders.
Please,
Celia.
I
heard
Queen
Lopaka’s voice very faintly in my mind.
She sounded weak and very tired. I
thought about her lying in the hospital
bed, maybe still in the ICU, worrying
about her daughter, her throne, and the
public humiliation she’d face if the
wedding didn’t happen, or even if the
bridesmaids bailed from fear of the
She was my aunt, and she’d said
please. “All right, I’ll do it.” And I
would. But I wouldn’t be happy about it.
13
I woke to the light patter of rain against
glass, the smells of breakfast, and the
sounds of familiar voices. I lay in a pool
of muted light in a rainbow of colors
filtered through stained glass. It took me
a few seconds to get my bearings.
Emma’s guest room, formerly the choir
loft. To my right was the door to the
stairs that led down to the bathroom and
the old foyer. To my right were the
floor-to-ceiling drapes that covered the
half wall that looked down into the
living room. A glance at the clock told
me it was ten in the morning. I’d slept
longer, and more deeply, than I had in
weeks. Just like the night I’d slept at
Bruno’s, I hadn’t had any nightmares, so
I actually felt rested. It was a nice
change. Some of those dreams…
I shuddered.
It felt good to actually get real rest.
On the downside, sleeping in meant that
it had been a lot of hours since my last
meal. I was hungry, and the smell of
coffee, bacon, and hash browns wasn’t
helping one bit. My stomach growled
and my vision started to shift to vampire
focus, even though it was morning, not
night. Crap.
I wanted to go downstai
rs and find out
what was going on. But I didn’t dare, not
like this. I’d gone too long between
meals before and wound up having
bloodlust. Most of my nightmares lately
have been dreams of waking up after too
little nutrition and too much exertion and
stress, and slaughtering the people I’d
been hired to protect. The worst part
was, carving those paths of destruction
had felt good.
Thing is, there’s no Ensure in the
jungle. No baby food in the cramped
cellar of an old church or a drug-
smuggler’s tunnel. Sometimes I had to
eat what I could find that could be
squished into a paste and mixed with
polluted water from improperly dug
wells. I felt hungry almost all the time I
was on the job. My nightmares too often
felt like they were one tiny step away
from my reality.
I recognized the ache in my stomach
and the twitching of my muscles. Then I
realized that the bands of light
decorating my vision weren’t just from
the stained glass. I was seeing things as
a predator. Crap.
I rose without really meaning to.
Gliding with unnatural grace to the half
wall, I pulled the curtain back a fraction
and peeked out.
I know I was careful. The curtain
barely twitched. But Kevin’s voice rang
out from downstairs only seconds later.
He sounded more cheerful than he had
the night before, almost actually
welcoming. “Morning, Celia. ’Bout time
you got up. Breakfast is at the foot of the
stairs, along with a change of clothes.
You need to hustle. We’ve almost got
everything set up.”
“Thankth.” God, that lisp! And my
voice was about an octave lower than
normal. Kevin’s head shot up at the
sound, his eyes narrowing and seeming
to glow. A fellow predator who knew
what I was feeling.
“Eat. Now,” he ordered, then called
to someone I couldn’t see. “Guys, we’re
delaying the video conference. Celia has
to feed.”
Feed. He’d used the word I refused to
use. I fought through the rising fog of
bloodlust. Food. I needed food. There
were humans downstairs, filled to the
brim with blood. I could hear their
heartbeats, smell their sweat—patterns
that hinted how each of them would
taste. Glimpse the bands of color that
spoke of their emotions: warmth, fear,
worry. But I knew I’d have to get past
the wolf to get to any of them. The wolf
was a threat. I began trying to figure out