Ilona Andrews - Magic Rises

I looked at Andrea. She looked back at me. I saw the exact same thought on her face: this job was going to suck.

“Hello, Desandra,” Curran said.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s nice,” Curran said. “It smells like rotten food in here.”

Desandra shrugged. “Why are you here?”

No trace of an accent. She spoke like she was born in the United States.

“We’re here to take care of you.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She bared her teeth. “You’ll make the deal with whatever clan pays you more and sell these little parasites in my stomach. So go, make your deals. Nothing will change for me. Nothing ever changes for me.”

“Are you done?” Curran asked.

“You could’ve taken me away from all this,” she snarled.

“You wouldn’t last a week in Atlanta,” he said.

She stabbed her finger in my direction. “And she’s better? After all of your grandstanding, and oh, I’m the Beast Lord and nobody is good enough for me, you mated with a human? A human? You’re just like them.” She waved her arm at Hibla and the djigits. “You don’t give a fuck about what happens to your human wife if she’s challenged. Why don’t you just leave?”

Muscles played on Curran’s jaw. “Think what you want, but I’ll stay here and I will protect you.”

“Do you really think they’ll give you panacea for it? Come on, even you’re not that stupid.”

Gold flashed in Curran’s irises. I had to stomp on this fast before it spiraled out of control.

I put my hand on Curran’s shoulder. “I think it would be best if you gave us a little space.”

He glanced at me.

“And if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you sent Doolittle up here.”

Curran shook his head and looked at Derek. “Close the room. Nobody comes in unless Kate says so.”

“Yes, my lord,” Derek said.

Curran strode out of the room.

“That’s right!” Desandra called out. “Walk away!”

Derek parked himself in the doorway.

I surveyed the bedroom. I’d seen this kind of mess before in Julie’s room, when she went through an “I don’t want to go to school” stage. “Hibla, why is this room dirty?”

“The lady won’t permit us to clean it,” Hibla said. “Her father ordered it cleaned once, and we did. The lady returned it to its previous state within a week.”

Just as I’d thought. I turned to Desandra. “May I come closer?”

She stared at me.

I waited.

“Sure.” She shrugged.

I crossed the room, stepping on clothes—there was no choice. Something crunched under my feet. I sat next to her on the bed.

“I get what you’re doing. You don’t feel in control of your life, but this bedroom is your space and you can do whatever you want here. Here you’re in control. Unfortunately, having food on the floor isn’t healthy. It rots. Mold grows on it and gets in your lungs.” And the mess made her that much harder to guard.

She sneered at me. “I’m a shapeshifter.”

“Shapeshifters are resistant to disease but not immune. Rotten food also gives bugs a place to breed, and it smells bad. Broken glass isn’t safe for anyone to walk on. People who bring you food may not always be shapeshifters. They could be hurt, and they’re only doing their job.”

“I don’t care.”

“Having a dirty room doesn’t really help you regain control over your life. That fight is out there.” I pointed at the open door. “The mess just makes you appear deranged, which signals to people that it’s okay to treat you as if you’re not a person.”

Desandra dug her hands into her matted hair. “What do you want from me?”

“May I have your permission to clean this room?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I take pride in my job. Right now my job is to take care of you and keep you safe. This bedroom is unsafe for you and your future children. The mess also makes it difficult to protect you.”

Desandra stared at me. “And what if I rip out your throat?”

I dug through my memory to fights with Julie. “Why would you do that? I didn’t do anything mean to you.”

“What if I say no?”

Andrea shrugged. “If you say no, then we won’t clean the room. But I do have to tell you that the room smells bad, and that smell has settled in your clothes and hair.”

At least in the United States, telling a shapeshifter they smelled bad was the ultimate insult. If that didn’t motivate her, nothing would.

Desandra growled in my face.

“I’m on your side,” I told her. “If you want to demonstrate that you’re in control of yourself, you might want to take it into consideration.”

“I don’t want you to clean anything.”

“Very well.” I rose.

I made it ten steps to the door before she said, “Fine. Clean it.”

“Thank you.” I turned to Hibla. “Please bring trash bins, cleaning supplies, and hampers.”

Desandra growled. “Are you always such a doormat?”

“Yes.”

“So you always ask permission for everything?”

“She’s the alpha of the Atlanta Pack,” Derek said without turning. “She killed twenty-two shapeshifters in eleven days to be one, and she has the same power as the Beast Lord. She doesn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to do anything.”

That wasn’t exactly helpful. “I’m here for one purpose only: to keep you safe. I act in your best interests. I don’t care who is born first and I won’t be taking any bribes. I will do my best to accommodate you, but when your safety is on the line, I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep you safe. If it means I have to hog-tie you and stuff you into a bathtub, I’ll do it and not worry about your feelings.”

Desandra sighed.

Hibla reappeared with bags and a cart filled with cleaning supplies, including gardening gloves. I put them on and began picking up the trash. Andrea joined me. Desandra watched us for about five minutes, trying to ignore the fact that we were there, then got off the bed and started stomping around and picking up her clothes.

That was how Doolittle found us, on our hands and knees, scooping up trash.

“What’s going on?”

I straightened. “This is Dr. Doolittle. He is the Pack’s medmage.”

“Doolittle?” Desandra peered at him. “For real?”

“It’s what I choose to call myself.” Doolittle peered at her, then looked around the room. “Oh my. Now then, young lady, why are you dirty?”

Desandra sat on the floor and looked at him with a helpless expression on her face. “Because I like it.”

“I do realize that this is a castle,” Doolittle said in that patient soothing voice that made it impossible to say no. “However, I have used the restroom and it appears that modern plumbing was successfully installed.”

“You can’t make me clean myself,” Desandra declared.

“My lady, you are not two years old. In fact, you appear to have reached maturity, and I’m reasonably certain that nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to do. Come on up to the bed, please.”

I held my breath. Desandra sighed again, got up off the floor, and sat on the bed. I exhaled quietly. Doolittle put his fingers on her wrist, counting her pulse.

“Incoming,” Derek said.

“Who is it?”

“Jarek Kral.”

I joined him at the doorway. Andrea moved to the middle of the room, between us and Desandra, and checked her crossbow.

The man I had seen in the photograph during Barabas’s briefing strode down the hallway toward us. He seemed bigger in person, taller, wider, with the type of raw strength that usually meant a nasty fight.

I turned to Desandra. “Do you want to see your father?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, defeat plain on her face.