if I had been sleeping, anyway.
I brushed my teeth, then stumbled to
the shower, hoping it would help wake
me enough to keep me moving until I got
some
caffeine.
I
scrubbed
and
shampooed, but didn’t dry or style my
hair or put on makeup. Both would be
taken care of later by professionals—
Adriana, Olga, Natasha, and I would all
be getting “done” in my big living room.
The very best hair and makeup artists in
the world had been hired to make sure
we looked perfect. I was a little
surprised they were letting me dress
myself. They must figure I could be
trusted to tie on a lavalava. Silly them.
I pulled the dress from its garment
bag, laying it across the bed. It was a
striking piece made of raw silk in a red
so dark it was almost black, with a
pattern of glittering silver and gold
abstract flowers and contrasting black
bamboo. It was dark enough to set off my
pale coloring and blonde hair and
looked good with the black jacket and
matching picture hat I’d be wearing to
protect the delicate skin of my face.
Isaac had come through with the
solution for my hands and feet:
handmade gloves and boots covered in
illusion spells that made them look
eerily like bare hands and feet—with a
perfect manicure and pedicure to match
my dress, no less. My skin would be
covered and protected, but I’d look like
everyone else. I was more grateful to
him than I could say.
When I was dressed, I went
downstairs to join the others. I’d
accessorized with a boatload of
concealed weapons as well as the ruby-
and-diamond earrings and bracelet that
I’d used to have Gilda spy on Olga and
Natasha for me—not because I needed
their special properties, but simply
because they were the best match for my
outfit.
I was directed to a tall stool, where
an elderly woman with close-cropped
curls and skin the color of café au lait
whipped a black plastic cape over my
shoulders and began using a wide-
toothed comb to detangle my hair. It took
a bit of time. I have a lot of hair.
“It’s a bit windy today, and I
understand you want to wear a hat, is
that right?” she asked. There was no
censure in her voice.
“Yes. I need to protect my skin.”
“In that case, why don’t I pull it over
to one side, and arrange it in curls
trailing over your shoulder?” She
combed it into place, to give me an idea
of how it would work.
“I like that.” I smiled at her.
I sat still, letting her do her thing with
a variety of pleasantly scented hair
products, a blow dryer, and a pair of
tortoiseshell combs. All the while I
wished fervently for a cup of black
coffee. I can function without caffeine in
the morning, but I’m never happy about
it.
The stylist was working with the
curling iron when Hiwahiwa arrived at
the head of a parade of servers pushing
carts laden with food and drink—
everything from capers to caviar, bagels
with cream cheese to scrambled eggs,
English breakfast tea to—oh joy and
rapture— coffee. It smelled glorious.
They even brought me a Sunset Smoothie
that must have been made from Juan and
Barbara’s recipe. It was all I could do to
sit still and let the hairdresser finish
what she was doing instead of pouncing
on the tray like some ravening beast. I’d
have to brush my teeth again to get rid of
the garlic and onions, but the coffee and
the wonderful food were worth every
second.
“All done.” She turned the stool
around so I could get a look at myself in
the mirror behind the bar. “What do you
think?”
I looked great. Even without makeup.
“Wow.”
“You have great hair,” she said as she
whisked off the cape. “Now go eat.
When you’re done they’ll want you
down the hall for makeup.”
“Thanks, so much.” I wished I could
tip her, but I hadn’t brought down my
purse. “Um…” I tried to think of an
apology that didn’t sound lame, but
couldn’t think of a thing.
It was as if she read my mind, or
maybe
just
my
uncomfortable
expression. “Don’t worry about it,” she
assured me. “Everything’s been taken
care of. Tips and everything.”
I enjoyed my breakfast while my
hairdresser worked on Natasha. I half
expected Hiwahiwa to approach me
with word about Laka or Okalani, but
she didn’t. Most likely, there wasn’t
anything to say. Still, I was glad to move
to the next room and put some distance
between us.
“I’m going to use a base with the
heaviest
sunscreen
available,”
the
makeup artist assured me as she swept
another little capelet over my shoulders.
This one was hot pink and marked with
the logo of her company. The color was
an almost exact match for her short,
spiked hair and perfect manicure.
“I appreciate that.”
“My name is Brenna.”
“Celia.”
“I know.” She smiled, showing
straight white teeth. “Now try to relax.”
I tried, but wasn’t very successful. It
was weird having somebody paint
makeup on me. I didn’t like it. Still, I
couldn’t argue with the result. When she
stepped aside so I could see myself in
the mirror, I was stunned.
That was me? Wow. I had a moment
of pure ego—which was deflated the
minute I got a look at my cousin, seated
nearby.
Everybody says brides are radiant,
and Adriana was. Her long red hair was
held to one side by pearl-encrusted
combs carved from abalone shells; it fell
in a cascade of curls over one shoulder.
The lavalava she wore was dark gold,
cream, and yellow, and was tied in a
way that showed off her dangerous
curves. The cross King Dahlmar had
given her the night before nestled in her
ample cleavage; the colors of the dress
picked up the topaz in the necklace and
her topaz-and-pearl earrings.
The makeup artist hadn’t needed to do
much for her. Adriana had amazing skin
and she was so excited and happy that
cosmetics were almost redundant—
almost.
Nata
sha and Olga were both looking
lovely as well. I studied myself again in
the mirror and was pleased with what I
saw. Today I could hold my own with
the other bridesmaids, and that was
good, because even if the bride was
going to be the center of attention, I’d be
in lots of the wedding photos, and the
event was being televised all over the
world.
Too,
there’d
be
press
photographers taking shots for all the
international print media.
There was a light tap on the door.
It was time to go.
The drive from the guest house to the
parade route was surprisingly quiet.
Nobody bothered making small talk. I
didn’t mind. I was enjoying staring out
the window at the milling throngs of
happy people waving and shouting
congratulations as we drove past.
We arrived at the starting point
exactly on schedule. Stepping out of the
car into the bright morning sun was like
stepping into a pool of thick, burning
magic. It hurt. I’d known about the
protective spells everywhere, but ow,
ow, ow. Damn. And it was going to be
like this for the long, long walk to the
courthouse. I’d have to really fight not to
wince the whole way—and wouldn’t
that look special on the front page of
every paper in the world?
The procession probably looked
casual, but of course that was an
elaborate illusion. Everything had been
planned to the last nuance. Adriana and
Dahlmar were at the head of the group,
walking hand-in-hand. The queen would
be directly behind them, escorted by
Gunnar Thorsen. If there were any
concerns about whether she was strong
enough to walk a couple of miles so
soon after being released from the
hospital, no one I knew had dared voice
them. Truthfully, she looked good, and it
wasn’t the makeup, either. Being so
close to the ocean and back on her home
island seemed to be doing wonders for
her. She was beautiful in bright
turquoise, her golden hair left long and
loose so that it fell past her shoulders in
shining waves. We three bridesmaids
were next, with our escorts. Mine was
Griffiths,
who
looked
terrific
in
traditional long shorts and a flowing
white shirt. Igor followed—with Baker
at his side, which gave her a reason to
stay close to me. I noticed that she and
Igor were smiling at each other in a
genuinely friendly manner. Hmmm.
I settled my hat on my head, activating
the little spell disk that insured it
wouldn’t fly off, even in a gale-force
wind.
Griffiths
stepped
forward,
extending his arm. I took it and we began
the stroll to the courthouse steps.
For all the expense, trouble, and
elaborate planning, the actual ceremony
at the courthouse would only take about
fifteen minutes. It boggled my mind. I
wondered what the cost added up to per
minute, and decided I really didn’t want
to know.
We walked down a wide brick street
that had been strewn with flower petals
of various colors. It smelled fantastic,
and probably felt wonderful for those
going barefoot. Somewhere, someone on
the Internet was probably decrying the
waste, and someone else was totting up
how many flowers had been denuded to
make this happen. But it was beautiful,
and I took deep breaths, enjoying the
fragrance as I turned from side to side
and waved at the crowd.
“You do not know, do you?” Griffiths
spoke softly, keeping a smile on his face
as he waved cheerfully to the people on
our right.
His voice hinted at something amiss. I
forced myself to keep smiling, even
though I felt a chill of foreboding.
“What?”
“Your business associate has not
called?”
“I left my phone in my room.” I’d
figured it would be rude to leave it on
during the morning’s events, so I
decided not to even carry it.
“Ah. I see.”
My smile had probably gone brittle.
Waving to the cheering crowds on the
left, I whispered, “Is anyone dead?”
“No.”
“Maimed?”
“No.”
“Then just tell me.” Military jets
roared overhead in formation. I looked
up. The crowd looked up. Despite the
ooohing and ahhing of thousands of
voices, vampire hearing, activated by
my rising level of tension, let me hear
Griffiths clearly.
“Because of all of the various threats
against Adriana and the sirens, my king
has had me put intelligence feelers out
throughout the world. An informant
brought us word of a threat to a siren in
Santa Maria de Luna. He had helped
plant a bio-magical bomb in the upstairs
bathroom of a Victorian office building.”
My stomach lurched. “Shit.”
“I sent my people to check it out. The
device they found involves both
explosives and powerful curses and was
linked to your DNA by strands of your
hair. It is a particularly nasty piece of
equipment. The bomb squad is on their
colleague has sent me, your police are
not going to be able to disarm it. They
will insist on a controlled explosion.”
My smile faltered and I gripped his
arm tightly so that I wouldn’t stumble.
My building. Damn it. Damn, shit, hell,
crap, fuck! Swearing internally helped
me fight back the tears that stung my
eyes. I loved that building. I’d loved it
since the day I’d seen it while looking
for office space, long before Vicki had
left it to me. Yes, it was just a thing, but
it was my thing. It was unique. And we’d
just gotten Ron moved out.
This was why Dottie had taken the
cat, had had my things sent away, had
looked sad. She knew but, like Vicki,
couldn’t tell. Because if she had, we
might all be dead; our searching for the
bomb might have set it off.
I took a deep, shuddering, breath. I
could handle this. Nobody I loved was
dead. Nobody had been badly hurt. I’d
rebuild if I could, or find another office.
I could deal.
Griffiths waited until I had myself
fully under control. “There is more.”
Wave, smile, turn. Wave, smile, turn.
My movements were a little mechanical,
but
the audience probably wouldn’t
notice. “Of course there is.” I didn’t
bother to keep the bitterness out of my
voice.
He
gave
the
tiniest
nod
of
acknowledgment. “My people have
traced the magical signature and have
found out who created this bomb and
hired the man to plant it.”
“The terrorists?”
“No. A woman. A human. Her name is
—”
I didn’t even have to guess. I finished
the sentence for him. “Angelina Bonetti.”
His eyes widened, his eyebrows
rising. “You are not surprised.”
Oh, I was surprised. I’d known
Angelina was jealous. But a bomb?
Really? How over the top was that?
Still, in a weird way, it made sense. If
she was going to kill me, now was the
perfect time, and with all of the
Guardian of the Faith crap going on, a
bombing of my office would likely be
written off as an act of terrorism. The
terrorists might even lie and take credit
for it, which would make the police less
likely to look for any other culprits.
Beautiful and smart, she was quite the
adversary. If it hadn’t been for the
informant, she would probably not only
have succeeded in killing me, she’d most
likely have gotten away with it.
The knowledge was both shocking
and frightening. But it also made me
mad. She’d tried to kill me. She actually
tried to fucking kill me. So much for not
being much of a threat to her.
“I’m smiling, Griffiths, but heaven
knows what people are reading in my
mind.”
He squeezed my arm reassuringly.
“That is why I am walking with you. I’m
blocking your mind from outside reading
or attack. Your thoughts are your own
until this is over.”
It was a relief to hear. “Thank you.”
Now I could be angry and hurt and
terrified and still pretend for the public
and the cameras that everything was fine.
Everyone would think I was happy while
in fact, I felt a level of rage that, if not
held in check, was likely to bring out my
inner monster. I managed to control it.
But it wasn’t easy.
As a consequence, the ceremony was
something of a haze to me. I was there. I
did my part, but I don’t remember
anything specific. Adriana and Dahlmar
made their public declarations of love
and fidelity, then kissed on the steps of
the courthouse amid deafening cheers.
We all made happy-happy in our
lavalavas,
and
congratulated