Miller looked angry but also like death and not even warmed over. It was obvious even in the dim lighting of the restaurant. The last time I’d seen him he’d been strikingly handsome thanks to a combination of good genetics and better plastic surgery. He kept fit, dressed in the very best hand-tailored suits, and was more fussy about his appearance than any woman I knew. Not today. Today his wide face was gray and coated with a faint sheen of sweat and there was a fine tremor to his body. His left arm hung absolutely limp at his side. When one of the servers accidentally bumped it Miller’s knees buckled beneath him. Only the lightning-quick reflexes of his men kept him from collapsing to the floor in a heap. From the corner of my eye I saw Barbara scurrying to assist, but he waved her away.
“What’s the matter with him?” Juan had paled to a shade almost as white as the tablecloth.
“Binding oaths are a bitch.”
“He broke a magic oath? Is he insane?”
“Yes. And possibly.” I took a long pull of my drink. I’d probably need it and I was glad for the restorative powers of Pablo’s mexi-shake. But unless and until they came up to the table, I was going to pretend this was just a coincidence and assume that George brought his well-coutured ass down to this neck of the woods all the time. No doubt for the huevos.
“You know about this?” I looked up and realized that Juan didn’t look like a kid anymore. He was all grown-up and ready to play bouncer if need be. I hoped he wouldn’t have to. He’s a tough kid, but I’d feel guilty as hell if anything happened to him and the M&C boys are professionals.
“A little,” I admitted. “John Creede, the man with me? Likely he’s the one who cast the oath on Miller.”
Juan started to swear, softly, under his breath. I almost couldn’t hear him and I was sitting right there, so the rest of the diners were spared. Kind of a shame. They might have learned something. He was doing a very thorough job of it. When he’d gone through his repertoire he took a deep breath. Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “I have your back. But you’re paying for any damages.”
I nodded and shifted in my seat, unfastening my denim jacket. I’d taken some of my usual armament from my car before we left the attorney’s. I always feel naked without a few weapons.
Juan stepped away from the table but didn’t go far, just a few steps away, behind the bar. He stayed there, puttering around in the general vicinity of where I knew the shotgun was kept. I don’t know what signal passed between them, but while he didn’t say a word, I noticed that Lola, his sister, had stepped out from behind the maître d’ stand and pulled on a server’s apron.
“Ms. Graves.” George Miller had come up to my table. I’d thought he looked bad from a distance—up close it was much, much worse. And the smell. Eww. Maybe it was my enhanced vampire senses, but he smelled like meat left in the sun to rot. My stomach roiled in protest even though I was holding my drink close to my nose to try to mask the stench. I moved the salsa bowl so that it sat on the table right in front of me. Pablo’s homemade salsa is really spicy. I figured the pepper smell might help. It’s strong and I don’t like it much, but it was better than the alternative.
“Mr. Miller.” I gave him a pleasant expression, empty of any emotion. I was not going to gag. I wasn’t. Mind over matter.
There are a number of different binding oaths available. All of them are pretty hideous. My guess was that they’d used the necrosis variation. If they had, then his arm was literally rotting off. And unless he (a) made complete recompense; (b) had the arm amputated before the rot spread; or (c) killed Creede, Miller might lose more than just an arm.
“I’m sorry to intrude. But I wanted to take this opportunity to warn you about my former partner.”
I looked up but didn’t say anything. If I opened my mouth, I would retch. I really would.
“You can smell what he did to me. Can’t you?”
I fought down bile and managed to answer him through gritted teeth. “The way he tells it, you did it to yourself.”
“And you believe him?” Miller’s tone made it clear he thought I was a fool.
I set down my drink and picked up the salsa bowl; bringing it up to my face, I took a long whiff. It worked: peppers, onion, and spices drove off less palatable scents. After just a few seconds, I was able to talk almost normally. “It’s easy enough to check out. Written notice of any binding oaths would have to be filed with the state with your corporate documents. And you don’t strike me as the type to skimp on the paperwork.”
His face flushed, bringing the first bit of color to his cheeks. Scowling fiercely, he told me, “John used black magic to avoid the effects of my oath on him.”
I shook my head. “Not possible. The magic used in binding oaths is a neutral force. It doesn’t care who, or what, the oath takers are. In fact, the man’s a mage. His own power would probably turn on him if he broke the oath.”
“You know that for a fact?” Miller was so bitter. The words dripped venom like acid. I felt as if my ears should actually be burning.
“I graduated with a degree in Paranormal Studies and was engaged to a powerful mage.” I met the heat of Miller’s gaze without flinching. “So, yeah, I do.”
He was visibly shaking now, but whether it was from rage or exhaustion I couldn’t tell. Maybe both. Because he was furious. His eyes were dark, his square jaw set tight enough that I could hear his teeth grinding. Still, he mastered himself enough to speak civilly. “If you partner with John Creede, Ms. Graves, you will regret it.”
“Is that a threat?” I kept my voice sweet and utterly bland, but my eyes were on his hands, making sure he wasn’t about to go for a weapon. It would be a crazy thing for him to do, but I’d pretty much decided the man was nuts. However, I was curious. How did he know about mine and Creede’s discussions? Had he been to the office, or was one or both of us bugged?
“A promise,” Miller growled. With his message delivered, he turned on his heel. At his curt nod, his companions fell in behind him. They were just leaving the restaurant when John stepped out of the restroom. The whole encounter had only taken a couple of minutes. But that didn’t make it any less disturbing.
John stopped, stared after them for a long moment, his features hard and distant as a granite cliff. Then he strode stiffly over to the table, not bothering to sit down.
“What were George, Bobby, and Ian doing here?” His voice was flat, inflectionless.
“Miller wanted to warn me not to go into business with you.” I gave him innocent eyes before grabbing my margarita glass and taking a long pull of lime-flavored frozen goodness.
“And?” Standing there, glowering, he reminded me a little of Miller, only without the BO. They were quite a lot alike: hard, dangerous men who could be equally charming and deadly. Good friends/bad enemies.
“He was trying to intimidate me if he could.” The drink was perfect. As always. And with the kick of a mule. With any luck it would help me relax. Unlikely under the circumstances, but certainly worth a try.
“Did he?”
Juan was coming up behind him with another margarita for me and a fresh basket of tortilla chips. He gave an expressive snort as he reached around the other man to set the fresh drink in front of me before waving a container of cinnamon incense around the area to get rid of the smell. “This one is on me.”
I thanked Juan, then answered Creede. “I’m not easily intimidated. I’m just glad they didn’t cause trouble in the restaurant.” I paused for effect. “Are you going to sit down, or are you planning on standing there all day?”
He glared. I didn’t wilt. So, eventually, he sat. He even unbent enough to grab a chip. I passed him the bowl of salsa I’d hijacked. We sat in silence as he munched and I drank. I would’ve liked to join him. I miss munching. But the combination of salt, lime, and kick-ass tequila was taking the edge off my disappointment. In fact, it was taking the edge off of pretty much everything. I’d probably better slow down a bit.