“Oh.” Wisely, she didn’t say anything more. Then again, what was there to say?
“Yours?” I asked.
“Chris doesn’t want me working with you or hanging out with you. He says it’s too dangerous.”
Uh-oh.
“I told him that was rich, coming from a man who works for a paramilitary company.”
I tried to think of anything I could say that wouldn’t either make things worse or bite me in the ass later, and wound up empty.
Dawna took a deep breath. She met my eyes, her expression serious. “You’re my friend, Celia—my best friend. I like working with you. I think what we do is important. I know I haven’t exactly been holding up my end lately, and I’m sorry. But that’s going to change.”
“You’re sure?”
She gave a firm nod. Her jaw was set in such a stubborn line that I decided not to press further. I changed the subject. “So, what do we still need?”
“Well, obviously a mage. It would also be good to have at least one other person to do basic bodyguard work. There are some other things that would be helpful, but we agreed that we didn’t want to go overboard on hiring until we build up some business.
“Dottie has been calling. She’s hoping we’ll let her help out around the office. If not, we’ll have to hire a clairvoyant or find one we can contract with.”
Dawna was right on all counts. I had a fair amount of money on hand right now. The job for Adriana and Dahlmar had paid well, and the insurance money (be still my heart, they actually paid) for my old office building had come through. In fact, the city had offered to buy the land where the building had stood “as is,” so they could expand their offices. The price wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad. I was hoping that if I combined the insurance payout and the money from the sale, I could get or build a new building. And we needed a clairvoyant and a mage on staff. Neither came cheap. Oh, well, money always goes faster than you want it to.
“Does Dottie really still want to work part-time now that she’s married?”
“Oh, yes. And she’s hoping you find an office soon. Her super is starting to get suspicious about Minnie.”
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. I love the little fur ball. Minnie the Mouser had been Dottie’s cat until Dottie had moved into government housing that didn’t allow pets. For a while Minnie had been the office cat, and Dottie had worked for me part-time; that way she could spend time with her beloved cat and earn a little extra spending money. And it really was a little money. She didn’t want to lose her benefits or her housing, so I got a high-level clairvoyant for practically a song.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Check with Dottie; see if she’s willing to work for us again, on the same terms as before. Tell her that Minnie can stay at my place until we get an office.”
Dawna grinned and nodded. She loved Dottie like another grandma.
The next candidate knocked before we could say anything further, and we dove back into the whirlwind of interviewing. Some applicants were better than others, but none were particularly outstanding. I was glad when we were finally finished at twelve thirty.
I turned to Dawna. There were so many things we really needed to talk about, but there just wasn’t enough time. “I want to talk to you. I need to talk to you. But I have that big family conference call soon and I’m already cutting it close—I’ll have to stick almost to the speed limit to get there on time. Do you maybe want to come by the house this evening and we can talk over a pitcher of margaritas?”
“Are you sure you’re going to be up for a chat after dealing with your mother?”
I gave her a rueful look. “Girlfriend, after dealing with my mother I’m going to need margaritas. Say seven o’clock?”
“Sounds good. Do you need to eat something before you go?”
“I’ll wolf down some baby food in the car.”
“All right, just make sure you do. You don’t want to go all vampity on a conference call with your mom.”
She was right. The call was going to be bad enough without having to worry about that.
7
Birchwoods is a very exclusive mental health facility located on a huge swath of land outside the city. It has the kind of security required by rich and famous people who actually value their privacy. If you want your therapy or rehab to be showy and in the public eye, you go somewhere else. If you want secrecy to the grave and beyond, you go to Birchwoods.
In the decades the facility has been in business there has only ever been one security breach, and the bad guys had had to murder a guard and cut off his hand to accomplish it. My best friend, Vicki Cooper, had lived at Birchwoods for years. It had been the only place where she could control her clairvoyant abilities enough to be truly at peace.
Having been there so often, I knew the fastest and best routes to the place, but even with that advantage, I barely made it there on time. I twitched with impatience, my fingers tapping irritably against the steering wheel, as the guards put me through the security protococlass="underline" spray me with holy water, check my ID, make sure I had an appointment, have me sign in using a silver pen.
I drove up the winding road to the parking lot near Gwen’s office faster than I was supposed to and smoothly pulled into one of the few open spots. I knew I should slather on some sunscreen, but I was about to be late, and it wasn’t that far to the building’s front door. So I just jumped out of my car and dashed across the pavement. I was happy to get under cover when I reached the entry—the sun, practically straight overhead, was plenty bright and hot.
Katy, the receptionist, knew that Gwen was expecting me and just waved me through the main doors. I hurried down the corridor, arriving in Gwen’s office breathless and only a little sunburned.
Gwen smiled when she saw me, shaking her head slightly in exasperation. Still, she didn’t scold me about my appearance or my last-second arrival.
“Good afternoon, Celia.”
“Hi, Gwen.” I didn’t apologize. I had come. I wasn’t even late.
Her smile broadened. She has a good smile, one that lights up her face. Without that smile, she’s a very ordinary-looking older woman. With it, she’s a knockout. “Before we get started, how have you been doing since our last visit?”
How had I been doing? I thought about how best to phrase it. “Okay, I guess. It’s been … hard knowing Ivy’s gone for good. I miss her a lot. I mean, I knew she was dead before. But she wasn’t gone. And now she is.”
“Are you going to be all right for this meeting? If not, we can cancel. You don’t need to feel compelled.”
Did I feel compelled? Not really. But, much as I dreaded it, I did feel this meeting was necessary. We needed to let Mom know about Ivy. And Mom, Gran, and I all needed to start dealing with our family issues. Our relationship wasn’t a healthy one—hadn’t been in years.
“I’m okay.”
“If you’re sure.” Gwen’s voice was neutral, but I got the niggling feeling that, while she would honor my decision, she wasn’t sure it was the right one.
Gwen had originally suggested we use Skype or one of the many other available video-chat programs, but she ran into an issue. The magical barrier around the prison where my mother was an inmate caused interference on regular networks, so we were stuck using specialized equipment.
That had meant rearranging Gwen’s office to make room. The large, comfortable couch had been placed facing the camera, with its back to the bank of windows. Gwen and I would sit there, close but without crowding each other. The video screen was already live, and one part of it showed my gran, who was sitting on her own couch in her new home. When she’d first moved to Serenity, Gran had rented a real rattrap of a place, but after the attempt on her life, I’d promised myself I’d get her out of there.