To Dance With the Devil (Page 38)

She grinned, and while it didn’t have the wattage of her usual smile, it was still a real grin. “Believe me, I know.”

Smiling, I slammed the door and stepped aside so that she’d have plenty of room to maneuver her way out of the parking lot. I watched her until she was out of sight.

* * *

It didn’t take long to get a new rental—an SUV not unlike the last one, only in blue. Normally I’m more of a sports car kind of gal, but on the off chance I’d have to ferry people, I figured bigger was better. Like the previous vehicle, it was set up for a hands-free phone. Before I pulled out of the rental place’s lot, I called the hospital.

Isaac had been moved to a regular private room after his surgery. He was listed as being in stable condition. Stable was good—especially since it wasn’t “stable but critical.” Given the shape he’d been in when he was found, it was very good indeed. His age worked against him, but I knew he was tough. I believed he’d pull through.

The nurse told me that Gilda had fallen asleep in the chair beside Isaac’s bed and that Isaac was sedated, so I just asked her to leave word that I’d called and said I’d be in touch again later.

Then, before I could forget, I ordered flowers for him.

That done, I had the GPS do a search for Finn Billiards. In a matter of seconds I had directions.

Visiting Finn Senior hadn’t been a rousing success, but I’d learned a few things and set the authorities onto a few more. Maybe I’d have even better luck talking to his son, Jack.

Assuming I survived.

26

On a good day, with the wind up your tailpipe, the drive between Santa Maria de Luna and Los Angeles is just under two hours. This was not that day. Sitting, unmoving, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I turned on the radio just long enough to hear that there’d been a huge wreck somewhere up the line. Ugh. At least I would have plenty of time to finally finish reading all the material Anna had sent me while I waited for things to start moving again. And maybe figure out my next steps.

Bubba was right. We couldn’t hide Michelle forever. From Anna’s research and my conversation with Isaac, I knew that Finn would need to use the power of the full moon to pull off his curse. Being thorough (and knowing it would interest me), Anna had also sent some more esoteric information about how blood curses work.

First, the person laying the curse needs a bio sample, usually blood, from someone with a DNA link to all the prospective victims. Then you need power—natural talent and the full moon would cover that. Finn was a powerful mage to begin with, and he’d spent close to two decades behind bars: years of not having to expend magical energy on much of anything. He had a lot of banked power to draw on, I’d expect.

Unless you were totally sure you had the right bio sample, you probably would make a preemptive strike against your first target. That explained why Michelle had been shot but not killed. Once you were certain you had the right sample, you used it to send the curse through the chosen individual and from him or her to everyone linked biologically.

The only way to stop a blood curse is to remove the link. In other words, if I wanted to save the Finns, I could do that by killing Michelle.

So not my goal.

I had turned off the engine to conserve fuel, but the heat was getting to me, so I started the car, turned on the AC, and pondered while I crawled a whopping six feet before stopping again.

I needed to break the link without killing Michelle. Not because breaking the link would save Connor Finn or his son, but because breaking the link would save Michelle. If the curse couldn’t “recognize” her from the bio sample, it couldn’t affect her.

When I’d first been bitten, the bio controls of my office safe hadn’t recognized me and I’d had to use the “pregnancy override” to get in—a convoluted process that the safe’s builders had come up with which allowed the safe to recognize the change in my biology—for nine months. Obviously the answer was not to get Michelle preggers or have her attacked by bats! But maybe we should try coming up with something that would change her enough to make the blood sample identification fail.

As an idea, that had promise. But how?

On impulse, I called Chris at the Company, the huge, private paramilitary company with fingers in pies all over the world. He answered on the first ring. “Gaetano here.”

“Hey, Chris.”

“Oh, it’s you.” His voice went flat and cold.

Wow, talk about your warm welcomes. Could he be any less enthusiastic? “You know, once upon a time we were friends. What happened?”

“I got to know you better.”

Ouch. Bastard.

“It’s a business call. I want to hire you. Who do I talk to and what’s the daily rate?”

He dropped the phone.

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. Ha ha ha.” He was practically snarling when he came back on the line. “What are you looking for?”

“A client is going to be attacked with a blood curse on the full moon. I know there has to be a way to duck the spell—I’ve met someone who survived one. But he won’t tell me how he did it. I was wondering if a blood transfusion would work, make it so the bio sample wouldn’t find her.”

There was a long silence during which all I could hear was his breathing and the scratch of a pen on paper. Finally, he grudgingly admitted, “It might work.”

“Would it have to be a full transfusion?”

“Not by my calculations, but more than half.”

“How much would it cost?”

“I’ll need to run some figures. I’ll need to get blood from the patient so I can type and screen it and find a suitable match. Then rent the equipment and find enough blood—we’ll need six or more pints, depending on the client’s weight. It won’t be cheap.”

“The client was hospitalized recently. Can you get the blood type information from the hospital records?”

“Not unless you can get me a signed release.”

“I can probably get one from the client.” I wondered if Fred’s house had a fax machine. If it did, I’d have Dawna fax over a release for Michelle to sign and fax back. Maybe get a written commitment to paying our bill while she was at it—Abigail had promised we’d be paid, but she was dead. Michelle had to be the one to sign the checks. And hiring the Company would not come cheap. I was hoping for a “friends and family” rate, but I wasn’t family and apparently we were no longer friends. That hurt worse than expected. It also pissed me off.

“Fine. I’ll check with the mages to be sure we’re on the right track, run some figures, and get back to you. Now put Dawna on the line.”

“I can’t, she’s not here.”

“She’s not with you?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s something, anyway,” he replied and hung up.

I punched the button to end the conversation with more force than was really necessary.

Since I was already in a foul mood, I decided I might as well call Gwen. I’d missed a couple of appointments and I was sure she’d want to lecture me and talk to me about my family. That was bound to make my day. Not. After that, if I didn’t feel bad enough, I could sit in traffic calling all the other people who were angry with me and liable to be nasty.

Stop it, Graves. People get mad. They also get over it. How pissed were you at Kevin a couple of years ago? Now you’re his boss and the two of you are doing fine. Just give things time. Of course that was easier said than done, and it did absolutely nothing to help me deal with the present.

I talked to Gwen, who wasn’t nearly as fierce as I’d expected her to be—then again, some of my flowers had come from her. I figured that maybe she was cutting me some slack since it was obvious I was in the middle of yet another of my infamous shit storms.

By the time I reached Los Angeles, the phone needed a recharge and I was seething with rage. I forced myself to go through the drive-through at a local PharMart to pick up some nutrition shakes, swallowing two out of the six-pack while I waited for my change. I didn’t trust myself to go inside.

On the other hand, this was the perfect mood to be in to go confront a bad guy. So, hey, not a total waste.

Only a few blocks farther and I was pulling up outside Finn Billiards. I’m not sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t what I found. Jack’s place was in an upscale, mixed-use neighborhood. There were a couple of twelve-story office buildings across the way and a pub on the first floor directly below. It wasn’t quite time for the happy hour rush, but there were plenty of patrons inside, most wearing business suits. I caught a whiff of fries and burgers cooking even inside my vehicle. It took me a minute or two to find a free parking space.

I slathered on sunscreen, which looked odd given the faint glow my skin was putting off. The smell of coconut and aloe mixed in with the scents of food reminding me of beach parties with Gran and Grandpa when I was little. That made me smile—right up until I caught a glimpse of fangs in the rearview mirror.

I did a quick weapons check. I wasn’t completely happy with the result. I’ve got backup gear, and carrying it is better than going unarmed, but I wasn’t nearly as comfortable with it. Still, it’s all kept in good condition, so it was ready to use, just in case Jack wasn’t any happier to see me than his daddy had been.

The stairs leading up to the pool hall—were they still called pool halls? I wondered—were steep and narrow, but the lighting was good and there were sturdy handrails. Even so, they were nothing I’d attempt drunk. Then again, most of the really serious pool sharks I’ve known don’t drink much “on duty.” It messes with their game.

The temperature started to drop when I reached the midway point on the stairs. A cold breeze ruffled what was left of my hair. Frost began forming on the metal fittings that held the railing in place. My breath misted the air in front of me, and each time I inhaled I felt the sharp sensation of cold air biting against freezing nose hair.