Cat Adams - To Dance with the Devil

I spent the rest of the day puttering around the house, putting boxes back in the closet, cleaning out the refrigerator, and waiting for the sun to go down. I could’ve put on sunscreen and used a beach umbrella, but the day was just too bright—too cheerful—for the mood I was in. Still, I longed for the ocean.

The hours passed slowly. I didn’t cry. I was too numb. I didn’t answer the phone either. When Lopaka, queen of the sirens, tried to reach me telepathically, I shielded her out. She probably could have forced the issue, but she didn’t. I was glad. Lopaka was family, and I’m sure she was concerned—I’m sure her assistant had told her something was up. But I still wanted to talk to Gran before I spoke to anyone else, even mentally.

Eventually, the sun set and I gathered up a few things and went out onto the beach.

One of my favorite memories was sitting around a campfire on the beach—me, Ivy, and Grandpa Peahi, eating s’mores under the light of the stars. I couldn’t eat them now, but I could light a fire in the portable firepit, sit on the beach, and watch the waves and the flames. So I did. Only after the tide had turned and the fire was long guttered out did I pack up my things and head indoors to bed. I’d kept my phone with me the whole time; my grandmother did not call. I was starting to worry.

At nine thirty the next morning I was awakened by the buzz of the intercom. Someone was at the front gate and wanted to be let in.

I stumbled out of bed, cursing, and shuffled over to hit the switch. “Yes?”

“Celia, it’s me, Alex. Let me in. We need to talk.”

Heather “Alex” Alexander was a detective at the Santa Maria de Luna Police Department. She had been the lover of my best friend, Vicki Cooper, until Vicki’s death. We had been friendly acquaintances—we socialized well enough when we were with Vicki but never sought each other out otherwise. While we both loved Vicki dearly, mourning her hadn’t brought us closer together. If Alex was here without an invitation, it wasn’t a social call.

Crap.

I hit the button to turn on the camera. It was Alex, all right. She was alone and looking both businesslike and cranky. With a sigh, I hit the switch that sent the signal to open the security gate, then went back into the bedroom to throw a robe over the worn T-shirt and men’s boxers I’d worn to bed.

By the time she reached my front door, I was decently if not glamorously covered.

I greeted her as pleasantly as I could manage, even offering her a cup of coffee.

“No, thanks.” She brushed past me, taking a seat on the living room couch without being asked. I didn’t mind. I’d have liked to be closer, but it just never seemed to work out, perhaps because we were both so strong-willed and stubborn. Those two qualities had helped Alex to rise to detective in the competitive boys’ club atmosphere of the police department. They’d helped me make a success of my business, guarding other people. They probably also made us too much alike to ever be completely at ease with each other.

Alex was dressed for work in a black pantsuit with a faint pale blue pinstripe that matched her prim cotton blouse. The jacket didn’t quite manage to conceal the weapons she carried. I suppose that was understandable. On a public servant’s salary she wasn’t likely to be able to afford special tailoring or concealing magics. She’d inherited a bit from Vicki, but I knew that money had gone into her retirement fund and to charity.

“You haven’t been answering your phone.” She fingered the anti-siren charm at her neck when she said it. The charm had been made using my own hair, giving her special protection from me personally as well as other sirens. She hadn’t asked, but I’d had it made for her. She’d needed to be able to prove I wasn’t influencing her on the job. It had taken a lot for me to give it to her. A person’s hair can be used to do some pretty serious bad magic to her. I had to trust that Alex didn’t wish me ill and wouldn’t let anyone who did get hold of the charm. I had to trust that she’d destroy it before she’d let it be used against me. Vicki had trusted her like that. I still wasn’t sure I did.

Had she tried to call? I must have slept through it. There was a hint of accusation in her voice, an edge to her voice that made it more than a simple observation.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” I took a seat on the chair facing her. Looking into those intense blue eyes, I knew that something big was up. So it wasn’t a surprise when she started grilling me.

“What do you know about a woman who called herself Abigail Andrews?”

“Look, Alex, I just woke up. Can we do this in the kitchen? I need some coffee, and I need to eat.”

“Fine.” She rose. “This could take awhile.”

She followed me into the kitchen, pulling up a chair as I puttered around, starting a big pot of coffee and choosing my baby food breakfast. I didn’t rush. There was no point. I knew Alex well enough to know that she wouldn’t budge until she got the answers she was looking for.

“In answer to your question, I don’t know Ms. Andrews well at all. I met her at La Cocina the other day. She was thinking of hiring me to guard her daughter, but we didn’t hit it off. I thought she was lying through her teeth and hiding things from me. She thought I had an attitude problem.”

Alex snorted, her mouth quirking in a grin she couldn’t quite manage to suppress. “You? An attitude problem? Surely not.”

I didn’t argue. It was not, after all, an argument I could win and we both knew it.

“Then what?”

“She left. I ate lunch, had a drink, and left.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. You can check with Barbara if you’d like. She’ll confirm it.”

Alex nodded. I got the impression that she’d known what I’d say, that I was just verifying information she already had. That was odd, and it made me worry, just a little. So I volunteered more information than I might otherwise have. “I did a little research on the Internet later, just from idle curiosity. Couldn’t turn anything up on Andrews or the guy she said I’d be guarding her daughter from. I’m not surprised. Like I said before, I could tell she was lying. Then again, a lot of folks do.”

Alex gave another amused snort. “Don’t they just. Anything else?”

“No, why?”

“I take it you haven’t turned on the television or checked out the news online?”

Uh-oh. That sounded ominous. “Not in a couple of days.”

Alex looked at me as she said, “Abigail Andrews was abducted off the street in front of her apartment last night by a pair of masked men. We found the van they used a couple of blocks away. Ms. Andrews’s handbag was in the back, near an empty syringe that contained traces of a sedative. Your card was in her bag.”

Oh, hell and damnation. I hadn’t liked the woman, but still I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “Do you want me to come down to the station and give an official statement?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. Neighbors and people on the street saw the abduction. The perps were two men and a driver, all in masks, all male. Nobody thinks you’re involved, but we’re hoping she may have told you something that can be of use.”

“Okay. I’m glad to help, but it isn’t much.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

I started at the beginning. The story didn’t take long to tell. After all, it had been a short meeting. “In all honesty, I got the impression that a lot, if not all, of what she told me was bullshit.”

“So she didn’t hire you,” Alex said, bringing me back to where we’d started, going over familiar ground to see if something new might pop into my memory. I’d been questioned similarly before. While the technique can be annoying as hell, it does sometimes work.