“You said they’d need to kill someone to disrupt the protections. Who better than the mage who’s supposed to be checking them every day and doing the renewal spells?”
He looked a little sick. “That makes sense … but the only way someone could pass for the duty mage, even for a little while, is if he was a spawn.”
Ah, yes, spawn, the child of a demon by a human. There weren’t a lot of them, so far as anyone knew, but it was hard to be certain. Most of them could shape-shift to look like anyone, and they lived much, much longer than normal humans. They weren’t immortal, but they were very hard to kill. Fortunately, for the most part, they were subject to the same weaknesses as all demons: holy water, holy artifacts, and the like.
My eyes locked with John’s. I barely spoke above a whisper. “Nobody sprayed me with holy water at the Needle and there wasn’t a single artifact to be seen. I’ve gone through tighter security at Birchwoods.”
Now he looked horrified. “That’s not right. I consulted with the architects on the magical parts of the design. I know what the procedures are supposed to be.”
“Well, I don’t know what they’re supposed to be. I can only tell you what I ran into when I was there yesterday, and I wasn’t impressed.”
I brought a spoonful of soup to my mouth. It had cooled to the perfect temperature. As the food hit my stomach, I felt a tension inside of me ease. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been clamping down on my inner bat. I’d just done it. Now that I was away from the immediate crisis, and eating, my control loosened just a fraction.
Letting go even that little bit was a huge mistake. Quick as a snap of the fingers, my vision shifted to hyperfocus. I became very aware of the scent of John’s flesh, the strong, steady beat of the pulse in his neck.
“Celia?”
“Ssssorry.” I closed my eyes; it helped not to look. But I could hear his heartbeat speed up—and the smell of him … God, it was wonderful. I wanted. The need to hunt made my entire body ache.
“Celia, I’m going to go get you some beef juices. Can you hold on while I do that?”
“Yessss.”
I kept my eyes closed, taking deep, slow breaths. My hands clutched the edge of the table. From a distance, I could feel the brushed steel of the tabletop giving, bending. It made a soft groaning sound. Or maybe that was me.
I smelled John as he returned—his skin, his cologne, the fabric softener on his clothes. I also smelled what he carried. Meat juices. There was the clink of metal against metal as he set a large pitcher in front of me, then slowly backed away.
He didn’t leave the cafeteria. He stood, out of my reach, between me and the rest of the patrons. They had no idea what was going on, but he did. I knew what was in his mind. He was waiting to see. He thought I could regain control of myself. He was almost sure of it. But if I went feral, he’d shoot me. If he had to, he’d stake me, kill me. He didn’t want to. It would kill a piece of him to do it. But he would. If he could. If I made him.
I breathed deeply, taking in the scent of the juices. Grabbing the pitcher in both hands, I raised it to my lips, gulping down the contents, feeling the bat in me recede with every swallow. I groaned in pure pleasure as tears of mingled grief and relief streamed from my eyes.
We didn’t go back upstairs. Instead, John led me out to the rental car he’d picked up at the airport. He called Gilda and explained what had happened. She told him she would be fine, to take me home. So he did.
25
I didn’t lose control. Ten points to me. John stuck with me the whole time, on the drive to the strip where he’d left his plane, on the flight back to Santa Maria, and on the drive home. He was by my side, a strong, calming influence, not judging but making sure that I wouldn’t hurt anyone else if I lost control. Ten bazillion points to him.
He left me, reluctantly, at the door to my house. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’ll eat again, then I’ll get some rest. You don’t need to worry.”
He might not need to, but he’d do it anyway. He might even park outside and watch the house, just to make sure I didn’t sneak out to hunt.
Whatever. That was his choice, and his business. I just needed some time alone. So I told him good-bye on the doorstep, then went in, shutting the door gently but firmly behind me.
Minnie came to greet me. She stared at me intently. I knew that look from when she’d been our office cat. It meant, Where have you been? My cat box is filthy and disgusting. I was pleased that I could tell the difference between that and the only marginally different glare that meant, You do realize that my food was supposed to be served two point eight minutes ago?
I checked anyway, just to be sure. Minnie’s plate was empty. Her box was full. I remedied both situations, in that order. Then I took a shower, fixed myself some chicken broth, put some watered-down mashed potatoes and gravy through the blender and sucked them down, then went to bed.
I woke up at nine thirty. My mouth tasted dry and furry, in part because I’d been snoring and the cat had apparently shed on my pillow. Gargh.
I got up, brushed my teeth, and grabbed the phone. I tried calling Bruno, but it went straight to voice mail. Dawna, however, answered on the first ring.
“Celia, you’re home.”
Ah, caller ID, lets everyone know where you’re calling from. “I called to see if everybody’s gotten to the safe house, and if Bubba’s given his statement to the police.”
“They did and he has. He called me after, said it went as well as those things can go. Fred called. His attorney has the lease ready. And while I don’t mean to be a party pooper, how are you planning on paying the rent? We’ve got money in the bank, but we’re blowing through it like water.”
Dawna was right. We were spending like mad, hiring staff, insuring them, buying weapons and spell disks, and more. But I wasn’t worried. “Just keep track of expenditures. Michelle Andrews is actually the last living member of the Garza clan. All the profits from all of the patents they own are hers outright. I don’t think we need to worry about the bill.”
“You’re sure?”
“Trust me.”
I heard her give a snort of what might have been laughter. “Fine, whatever. I saw on the news about Isaac being hurt out at the Needle. They made a big deal about him being medivaced out, but they didn’t really give a lot of solid information. Is he going to be okay?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. It was bad, but the doctors at UCLA were pretty encouraging. I’m going to call and check again first thing in the morning. By the way, can you pick me up around eight o’clock? I’m stuck here without a vehicle.”
“Make it nine. I’m going to see Fred’s attorney at eight to sign the lease and drop off the first check.”
“Nine it is.”
I tried Bruno again. This time he answered on the first ring. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”
He snorted—well, at least I was amusing my friends tonight. “Good. I was worried. I heard about Isaac from John. He told me what you think we’re up against.”
“We?”
He sighed. “Sweetheart, it’s Connor freaking Finn. And it’s mage business. Those protections need to be restored now. Please don’t tell me you’re going to get all territorial about this.”
“No, of course not.” I totally wasn’t. In fact, it was kind of a relief knowing that Bruno and John were going to be involved. I might not want either of them on staff, but as backup? Oh, hell, yeah. Was that wrong of me? Maybe. But it’s how I felt. “Any word on my knives or the ring?”