Cat Adams - Blood Song

taking his place for the evening, freeing the real prince up to do whatever it was he had in mind. The

retainer had been fairly coy, but the prince’s upcoming marriage had been made very public. So I was

guessing this was the equivalent of sowing the last of his wild oats. Besides, using a stand-in is a fairly

common ploy when people like royals are trying to ditch the paparazzi. It’s difficult and expensive to find

someone good enough at magic to do a long-term il usion, but they exist, and there’s always the oldfashioned “body double.”

Whatever. I wasn’t about to judge, especial y not given Vicki’s situation. My job is to keep the

protectee safe. Celia Graves, personal security consultant. At one point or another I’ve served as a

bodyguard for movie stars, politicians, authors, celebrities, and, now, royalty. I protect them from the

press, overzealous fans, and, when necessary, the monsters. I’m good at what I do, so I charge quite a

lot and stay in business by myself, for myself. I’m not particularly good at the political and social sides

of the job: too blunt, too sarcastic, not inclined to suck up and play nice. The “attitude” has cost me

jobs, so I try to work on it … and general y fail miserably.

I was getting ready to grab my jacket and climb out of the vehicle when I caught sight of the brightly

patterned photo envelope sticking out from beneath the folder. I checked my watch. I was early. I could

spare a minute or two to look at the pictures from my best friend’s birthday party this afternoon.

I grabbed the envelope, pul ed it open, and began flipping through the photos. The ones I’d taken

weren’t great. I’m no photographer. But the others, taken by one of the staff members at Vicki’s

insistence, were real y nice. There were shots of Vicki blowing out her candles. There were flowers

from Vicki’s girlfriend, Alex, and a bal oon bouquet in the background. One or two real y good shots of

the two of us, and even more of Vicki standing in front of the present I’d bought her.

Her face was absolutely alight with joy, and I couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. Unlike Christmas,

or her last birthday, this time I’d actual y managed to find the perfect gift. Vicki’s a level-nine clairvoyant.

She uses a mirror to focus her gift. I’d found an antique mirror, backed with real silver, and had it put

under multiple protection spel s until it was wel nigh unbreakable. That way she could have it in her

room at Birchwoods.

I sighed. Vicki had been at Birchwoods, a high-end “treatment” facility, for almost five years now. She

could probably move home. Then again, maybe not. A clairvoyant of her power could actual y change

the future if she got out of control. Right now she was stable, but I didn’t doubt that the shielding and

protected atmosphere of Birchwoods helped her. So it didn’t surprise me that she showed no desire to

leave, even though I knew Alex wanted the two of them to live together.

It was none of my business. Vicki might be sweet and quiet, but she had a wil of iron. She would do

what she was going to do, and that was the end of it.

I was stil smiling as I stuffed the photos back in the envelope and tossed it back behind the

passenger seat. It wouldn’t do to have anyone spot them accidental y. As far as the world is concerned,

Vicki is not at Birchwoods. Like the prince I was about to meet, she has a body double. Hired by her

wealthy parents, the fake Vicki plays on the Riviera, vacations in the Hamptons, and skis the Swiss

Alps—none of which the real Vicki has ever had the luxury to do.

Just thinking about that took away my smile, which was fine. It was time to get down to business. I

climbed from the vehicle, grabbing my blazer from the passenger seat. I slid it on. It took a minute of

shifting things around to get everything balanced comfortably. Despite the fact that it was practical y a

walking armory, the jacket didn’t bulge. The tailoring and il usion spel s cost a smal fortune, but I

consider it worth every penny. Hidden discreetly beneath that jacket I had not only the holster with my

Colt but also a pair of “One Shot” brand squirt guns fil ed with holy water, a stake, and a very special

pair of knives. Oh, and a garrote. Mustn’t forget the garrote, although honestly, I’ve never used it and

couldn’t imagine drawing it quickly enough for use in a crisis. I was also wearing an ankle holster with a

little Derringer, but if things got desperate enough for me to draw that I was in deep shit. Stil , when it

comes to weapons, better too much than too little. Some of the older bats are damned hard to kil , and

on my best day I wouldn’t want to take on a werewolf or ghoul without backup.

I glanced down at my watch: ten fifteen. I wasn’t due on shift until eleven. I stil had plenty of time to

use the nifty new gadget I’d picked up at my favorite weapons shop. I reached behind the front seat

and pul ed out a black box not much larger than the wal et I carried in my back pocket. The lid was

hinged, like a jewelry case, with the store’s logo embossed on it in red foil. Very classy. Considering the

price, it should be. I’d actual y thought twice about whether or not to get it. But if it worked as wel as

advertised, it would be worth the money.

I grinned. I’m such a geek. I love gadgets, and this one was sweet. I could hardly wait to take it for a

test drive.

Flipping open the lid revealed what looked like a Matchbox car and a smal remote. Made primarily of

silver, the little car gleamed in the light of the street lamp overhead. I set the tiny vehicle onto the

pavement at my feet, facing the building where the prince was staying. I took out the remote, then

closed the box and slid it into my front pocket. Pressing a smal green button on the remote, I said,

“Perimeter check,” as clearly as I could. The little vehicle zipped forward with astonishing speed. It

stopped just inside the driveway of the building and turned sharply right. I fol owed on foot, watching in

pleasure as, with a soft whirring noise, it traced the invisible magical barrier that surrounded the

building, protecting those inside from preternatural creatures. I fol owed it over wel -lit lawns, around to

the one-lane service road that ran along the back of the building. Abruptly the little car stopped, emitting

a sharp, high-pitched whistle. A light on the remote in my hand began flashing red.

I looked from the remote to the car and back again. “Wel , hel . This can’t be good.” I rummaged in my

pocket to withdraw the box, where there’d no doubt be the instruction manual that I should’ve read

ahead of time but hadn’t. Oops. It took a minute, but I final y managed to retrieve the instruction booklet

and flip to the appropriate page.

When encountering a perimeter break the unit will issue a warning in the form of a whistle.

No kidding. I never would’ve guessed. But that didn’t explain the light show.

The type of energy causing the break will be indicated by color on the transmitter unit. Green

indicates the presence of ghouls or other necromantic magics; amber, werewolves; blue, vampires.

A red flashing light indicates non-vampiric demonic energy. A continuous red light indicates a

current presence.

“A demon ?” I stared at the remote in my hands in disbelief, my hand shaking the tiniest bit. Yes, the