Lucienne Diver - Rise of the Blood

“Come again?”

There was a pause as he listened to the person on the other end of the line before he sputtered, “Well, you…you just… Hello? Hello? ”

I didn’t worry too much until Jesus flew into my office, ignoring the still-ringing phones. He never did that, lest it be his big break calling, unable to reach him on his cell. He looked pale, his eyes were wide and, even more shocking, I didn’t think he was acting.

“Tori,” he said. Not boss lady or chica or even his signature sniff. “I think we’ve just received our first death threat.”

It wouldn’t be my first threat, actually, but I hadn’t seen fit to worry him.

“We?” I asked, more curious than alarmed. I already knew that Zeus and Poseidon would probably come gunning for me. It was actually fairly considerate of them to issue a warning. Maybe Armani could trace the call.

“Well, you , really, but who knows who he might go through to get to you?” He clutched his hands to his chest. “I’m too young to die.”

I ignored the histrionics. “Calm down. What did the caller say?”

“Well,” he said, rolling his eyes to the heavens as if it helped him remember, “the connection was horrible, mind you, so I didn’t catch everything, but the gist of it was, ‘Tell her there’s nowhere she can run that we can’t find her’.”

I blew out a puff of air. “You call that a death threat?” I’d had worse. The god of the dead, now there’s a man who knew how to issue a threat. As for Zeus and Poseidon, why bother warning me? Wouldn’t it be easier to ambush me if I wasn’t on my guard? Not that I wouldn’t be after their prison break. But there had to be more to it. To convince me there was no point in protective custody? They couldn’t know I’d already come to the same conclusion. Reverse psychology? Wanting me running scared? In the end, it didn't matter. I was going to do what I was going to do. I’d have to fight them either way, I might as well do it on my own terms.

“What would you call it?” Jesus asked.

I passed on that one.

“Call Armani. Let him know about the call in case he can track it.”

I picked up the phone myself.

“Who are you calling?” he asked.

“Apollo. You happy now? I’m pretty sure that call was about a case we worked on together. I may want to kill him myself, but he deserves to know I won’t be the only one gunning.”

“Be gentle with him,” Jesus said, leaving and closing the door behind him like I might actually want privacy while I gave Apollo hell. Because that’s what I was planning to unleash.

But all I got was his voicemail.

“ Kali mera . Please leave me a message. If this is the press, lose this number. If this is Tori, I’m on it.”

Well, so much for that, except that he’d now given my name to anyone who didn’t already have it. I left him a message about Zeus and Poseidon. I didn’t bother reading him the riot act. He was one step ahead of me there. If I was lucky, which didn’t seem terribly likely given my morning so far, he really was on it and all I’d have to worry about was two escaped gods with a grudge.

Lucky me.

An hour later I hesitated in the entrance to Chi Chi’s, the upscale spa Christie insisted on taking me to for wedding prep. I gave it one last try. “You do realize that the last time I set foot in one of these places, someone got killed.”

Christie, my BFF and absolute polar opposite, gave me a look . “Your point being?”

“I’m just saying, there’s precedent.”

“So you want me to believe you’re superstitious about spas?”

I shrugged. “It could happen again, you don’t know. Might even be me who snaps.”

I wasn’t a mani-pedi sort of girl. I wasn’t any sort of girl. Somehow I’d managed to achieve total womanhood without any of the L.A. rites of passage—no wax on or wax off, no shellacking, seaweed wrapping or other creative forms of torture in the name of beauty. I believed firmly in “don’t file what ain’t broke”.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said wryly. “Tori, you’re going to be a bridesmaid in a destination wedding in one of the most romantic places on Earth. What kind of friend would I be if I let you go with raggedy-ass nails and pores the size of champagne bubbles?”

“Champagne bubbles, really?” I asked, pleased.

“Honey, that’s not a good thing.”

My smile fell. “I did mention there’ve been death threats, right? Armani wants to put me into protective custody. I probably shouldn’t be out in public at all.”

“I thought it was Nick these days. Anyway, the man just wants you in his custody, probably with handcuffs and other restraints. Safest place for you is in public with lots of witnesses. And before you start in on the expense, don’t. Just don’t. It’s my treat.”

“But—”

“No buts.” She put her hand to my back and virtually propelled me through the doors, knowing I wouldn’t dare hip check her after she’d helped me take down a killer cult and rescue Uncle Christos just last month.

A woman with the longest, straightest, whitest-blonde hair I’ve ever seen rushed out from behind a counter at the sight of Christie, gripped her by the shoulders and gave her an air kiss to each cheek, which Christie returned. Me, I was too busy watching to be sure she wouldn’t accidentally puncture Christie’s flesh with her dagger-like nails—gold swirled with black.

“Chi Chi,” Christie said, stepping back and turning talon-lady toward me. “This is my dear friend Tori. She’s a blank slate. I want to give her the works.”

Chi Chi eyed me, her brown eyes as dark as her hair was light. It was a striking combination, but her diamond-studded nose ring distracted from it all, focusing attention on the wrong part of her facial landscape. Apparently, I had my own pause button—Chi Chi’s gaze hadn’t dropped any lower than my brows.

“We have a lot of work ahead of us,” she said to Christie. “I think we start with the threading.”

“Threading?” I asked, but not with actual fear. Absolutely not.

“Of the brows,” Christie explained. “They’re a little…untamed.”

I imagined whips, Chi Chi in full lion tamer regalia. I suspected she could take me in a cage match.

“Um, okay.” Show no fear , I reminded myself.

“We’d better get started.”

As she led me away, I looked over my shoulder at Christie for reassurance. She gave me a double thumbs-up and turned toward another…stylist? masochist? glamscaper?…who was coming to take her away, ha, ha. I wondered what Christie was having done, then decided I didn’t really want to know. She was due for some kind of swimsuit shoot in the French Riviera around the time I’d be in Greece enduring Bridezilla and my crazy clan. I assumed scary words like Brazilian were in order. The fact that I even knew a Brazilian wasn’t just someone from Brazil meant I’d been associating with Christie for far too long.

I survived the eyebrow threading, but the facial … I wondered why the guys at Guantanamo Bay bothered with water-boarding when extractions seemed so much easier and, apparently, less controversial. Having a young thing with too much bosom leaning over me with a telescopic lens that made molehills into mountains on the level of Vesuvius was not my idea of a good time. Then she squeezed . I nearly erupted right out of my chair.

“Ow! What did you do, file your nails to points?” I asked, batting her hand away when she came back for another round.