“Yes, we have.” She relaxed a bit, giving me an honest smile. “It’s because of you that I met my fiancé. Because of you, I may become queen of Rusland.”
“Will,” I corrected. “You will become queen.”
She met my gaze. “It’s still may. Apparently, it depends entirely on you.”
Oh, fuck a duck, I thought, but managed a much more appropriate, “Excuse me?”
Adriana laughed, hard. It occurred to me, belatedly, that like most sirens, she was a telepath. She’d heard exactly what I was thinking. Oops.
She laughed harder, until she had to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, my. All right, then. I guess you won’t be offended after all. So I’ll … spit it out.”
Of course, that was when the servers appeared. Servers, plural. One carried a tray bearing a frosted pitcher. The other was toting a tray of foodstuffs, many of them blended and presented in tiny glasses or semiliquids served on individual plates.
Only when everything was just so and the servers had disappeared did Adriana communicate with me. And this time, rather than speak the words aloud where anyone might overhear, she spoke to me mind-to-mind, in the way of the sirens.
There are no assistants because I have none anymore. Both were killed two days ago when a bomb went off in the shop where they were making the final arrangements for my bridesmaids’ dresses. The shop and the dresses were completely destroyed, but that is nothing compared to the loss of life.
The people claiming responsibility call themselves the Guardians of the Faith. They’ve made threats. I have asked my dearest friend to step aside as maid of honor, because I need you to be. I know it sounds ridiculous. And I realize it is on obscenely short notice. But my mother’s prophet, as well as my own visions, have told me that I need you to be by my side—not just as a bodyguard, but as a part of the wedding—if I am to be safely wed.
There have been other disruptions besides the bombing. My jet was tampered with and crashed. Thankfully the crew survived. There have been plots to discredit me in the eyes of Dahlmar’s people and to create a royal scandal involving him. There was even an attempt on my life with poison.
People had died. These fanatics were serious. But obscenely short notice was right. The ceremonies were taking place in …
Less than two weeks. As I said, it is ridiculous. And I will understand if you are offended that I did not ask you sooner. You are, after all, my kinswoman, and you have done both Rusland and the sirens honorable service in the past. I am embarrassed that it did not occur to me to ask before. You have every right to tell me to go to hell, or even challenge me to a duel.
She was flushed and the hand holding her drink was trembling just a little. She was embarrassed. But more than that, she was afraid. I’d seen her calm and composed in actual battle conditions. But she was well and truly rattled now. That was so not good.
I answered with my mind as well. I always hate to “hear” my mental voice because it’s the sharp, bitter caw of gulls, rather than Adriana’s sweet song of island birds or her mother’s tinkle of crystal bells. Of course I’ll help. I’d be honored to serve as both your maid of honor and your bodyguard. I’ll need everything your people have on the Guardians of the Faith.”
“I’ll have Kar—
She stopped abruptly in midthought. I felt a flash of pain and sorrow when she continued. I’ll have someone send the information to your office this afternoon.
She closed her eyes for a second and I watched as she fought not to sag in relief. She was royal. Royals are not supposed to show that level of any negative emotion, particularly fear. But she was afraid: angry, hurt, sad, and absolutely terrified. Then she looked at me and thought, I am grateful for your help.
When do you want me to start?
Is tomorrow too soon? The situation truly is urgent.
I took a brief second to wave good-bye to my plan to ease back into work, then answered. Tomorrow will be fine.
Thank you.
I let out a noisy sigh before I replied. Thank me if it works.
Of course if it didn’t, we’d both be dead.
4
I was halfway to the college before I realized I’d been an idiot. I’m a professional bodyguard. I get paid for putting my life on the line to protect people. Yet I’d just agreed to guard Adriana without so much as a word about charging a fee. Admittedly, there are families where everyone respects that the others are professionals and have to earn a living. My experience with my family just hasn’t been that way. Mom uses everybody without the slightest compunction. I do all kinds of things for my gran and wouldn’t accept payment even if she offered. So it seemed that I’d just volunteered myself for a dangerous and expensive freebie.
Crap. Apparently Mexico had taken more out of me than I thought.
Maybe I could pass it off as a wedding gift. I mean, it’s not like she and Dahlmar need another toaster. What does one buy the happy royal couple anyway? I mean, talk about people who have everything! Adriana had her own jet—well, she’d had her own jet. Dahlmar had his own country.
Pondering royal gift-giving kept my mind occupied until I reached the USC Bayview campus. Once there, I had to keep a sharp eye out for a parking space.
No luck. If I’d gotten here closer to noon I’d have stood a chance of finding a spot someone had vacated on the way to lunch. But it was 1:15, so the lunch crowd was back in class. I wound up driving a few blocks away and parking the Miata in the lot of my favorite restaurant, La Cocina. The owners are friends of mine and they know my car. They might get annoyed at me for parking there, but they wouldn’t have me towed.
Before going out into the sunlight I slathered myself with high SPF lotion and grabbed a big floppy hat from the backseat. I debated whether or not to take my umbrella, but decided against it. After all, the paranormal studies building was in easy walking distance. With fresh sunscreen and the hat on I should be able to make it to the building without burning, if I hurried. Which, of course, I did.
Despite the international prestige of the program, the paranormal studies building itself is nothing special. It’s roughly U-shaped, with the opening facing the university quad. One wing is all classrooms; the other, the administrative and faculty offices. The part of the building that connects the arms houses the big auditorium. The building’s magical perimeter is one of the toughest around—one of the benefits of having lots and lots of mages-in-training who need to practice recharging such things.
The first floor of the building has lots of windows. On nice days like today, the place is bright and sunny and has a great view of the manicured lawns and well-maintained landscaping of the quad. The public spaces had been redecorated not long ago; they feature cheerful colors and welcoming seating areas. The second floor is a whole different ballgame. The carpet is charcoal gray and industrial. The pale gray walls are marred with chips and marks from years of heavy use. Metal lockers, built into some of the walls, have been dented and battered by generations of students. Some of the old-style fluorescent lights were flickering. Maintenance would get around to fixing them … eventually. Probably a few weeks after they’d gone out totally; sooner if somebody fell down the stairs in the dark.
The graduate assistant offices were in room 212, at the top of said stairs, in what had at one point been the storage room for magical supplies. It was a good-sized room, but I found it hard to imagine that more than a couple of people could work effectively in the space. But there were six names on the door, which was completely covered with a variety of posters and stickers that appeared to be several layers deep. I paused to admire my favorite, one of a train tunnel with the caption, “Due to repeated complaints about it being too dim and too distant, until further notice the light at the end of the tunnel has been shut off. The Management.”
The door was ajar, so I peeked into the room, which was beyond crowded with six desks, six chairs, and an assortment of personal paraphernalia and teaching materials. I spotted two men and a woman, all looking to be in their twenties, huddled around someone seated at a corner desk. They were so absorbed in what was going on that they didn’t notice that I was standing in the doorway. As I raised my hand to knock, a wave of magic poured out from the group, knocking me back a step as a light show of rainbows danced in the air.
One of the men said, “What the…” in a tone that made it clear he hadn’t been expecting what he’d just seen.
“I’ve been working on this artifact for over a year now. Every time I feed it with my blood, it charges a bit more.” Bruno’s familiar voice was completely calm and patient, despite the fact that he’d just sliced himself open. Of course his magic had probably healed the cut almost instantly. The knives I use are his work. Every day for five years he’d bled himself to create a pair of knives, which my best friend Vicki had then given me as a gift. Five years. He’d made the weapons because Vicki was a level nine clairvoyant who assured him that having those knives was the only way to save my life. She’d been right. Still, the dedication, the sheer love it took to create something like that floored me every time I thought about it.
“It can be drained if it comes into contact with another, more powerful, artifact. Not likely, since this is a mirror. But the Isis Collar drained a pair of knives I’d worked on for five years, sucked them completely dry in a matter of minutes.”
“The Isis Collar is just a myth.” The big blond guy stepped back, putting his hands on his hips—an aggressive pose. I recognized the expression on his face. He wanted trouble and was looking for a fight.
“It is now.” I smiled as I spoke, making my voice light, trying to defuse the tension in the room. “When Isis took it home to wherever it is goddesses live. But I assure you, it was real.”
“Celia!” Bruno leapt to his feet and the others scattered out of his way. He was across the room in three bounding steps, sweeping me into his arms to give me a kiss that left me breathless and blushing, my heart pounding like a trip-hammer. “I have missed you.” He swung me around so that we were facing the others, his arm protectively around my waist.
