Cat Adams - The Eldritch Conspiracy

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.

“Guys, this is Celia Graves. Celia, these are some of the GAs I work with.” He pointed to the scowling blond. “Jan Mortensen,” he said, giving the name the Nordic pronunciation, then continuing the introductions. “This lovely lady is Trudy Cook.” Trudy was pretty and petite, a redhead with a round face and clouds of curly hair that probably drove her crazy, but looked really good. The smile she gave me was a little forced. I didn’t need to be a telepath to figure out she wasn’t happy about Bruno’s reaction to me. It wasn’t just the siren thing, either. No, I’d have bet a fair amount of money that Trudy had a real thing for Bruno DeLuca.

Well, I didn’t blame her, not even a little. After all, Bruno’s tall, dark, handsome, charming as hell, and a powerful mage. The cherry on top is that he has a real sense of joie de vivre. He sings show tunes and cabaret numbers in the shower. He can dance and he knows more dirty jokes than anyone else I know.

A lot of folks are misled by his lighthearted side and his heavy New Jersey accent. They think he must be dim or a bit of a thug. In truth, he’s very smart and absolutely dedicated to his craft. Which was why he’d been accepted into Bayview’s doctoral program … and how he’d convinced Dr. Sloan to be his advisor.

“And this”—Bruno gestured to a smaller black man whose close-cropped hair was going prematurely gray—“is Gary Jefferson.”

“Hi, Celia.” Gary gave me a smile that was a lot warmer and more genuine than Trudy’s. “Bruno’s told us a lot about you. Glad to finally meet you.”

Gary might be glad to meet me and Trudy might be reserving judgment, but Jan, very obviously, was not at all happy. He gave me a frigid look down his patrician nose. While the others were dressed very casually in worn T-shirts and cargo pants or faded jeans, Jan wore an untucked blue-and-white striped dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show just a hint of the tattoo decorating his left forearm. It was obvious that shirt had been pressed and starched and the cuffs adjusted just so. It was a look straight off of the runways, as were the jeans with both knees deliberately torn out. Of course I got the feeling everything about Jan was deliberate.

I decided to ignore Jan and to focus on the others. I turned to Gary. “Thanks. It’s good to meet you, too.”

Gary smiled, then his expression quickly grew serious. “So, I’ve gotta ask, did you really, seriously, face down a greater demon?”

I shuddered. I couldn’t help it. That was one of my worst memories. “Twice. Not by choice.” Bruno’s grip tightened a little, and I could easily guess that the look he was giving Gary was something less than friendly. “I don’t recommend exorcisms. They hurt.”

“Had to be scary,” the GA continued.

“It’s utterly terrifying, and not something anyone who’s been through it wants to talk about,” Emma said from the hallway, cold and hard.

“Right.” Gary squirmed, then decided abruptly that there was someplace else he needed to be. “Look at the time. I’ve gotta run. Later, DeLuca. Guys.” He brushed past Bruno and me, stepped around Emma, and was gone. As Emma edged into the office and made her way to the one desk in the place that wasn’t littered with scattered junk, she spoke very softly, to Bruno. “Just so you know, Professor Sloan was less than a minute behind me.”

“Crap.” Bruno released my waist and stepped over to the nearest wall. Seconds later he’d vanished, replaced by a battered coat tree with a couple of jackets and an umbrella hanging from it.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Dr. Sloan. Bruno thinks he’s great. But the professor had been running him absolutely ragged when I’d left for Mexico. Apparently, he still was.

“DeLuca!” Dr. Sloan’s voice preceded him into the office. “I’ve had a thought about that table. I want you to—” The short, wiry, elderly man appeared in the doorway. Looking around through thick glasses, he found Trudy, Emma, and Jan working hard at their desks and no sign at all of Bruno.

“Hi, Dr. Sloan. How are you doing?” I said.

“Celia.” He smiled broadly and cocked one bushy eyebrow at me. “I’m well. The question is, how are you? Has the curse mark faded?”

“I’m fine. And I can’t tell on the mark. Maybe a little. I’m not sure.” I held out my hand so he could look at my palm.

“Jan, Trudy, come here. You’ll want to see this. It’s not often you get to see a death curse of this quality on a living human being.”

They obediently came over to examine my palm. Dr. Sloan gave them a brief, esoteric lecture about the nature of death curses in general and of mine in particular—the one that kept putting me face-to-face with said greater demon—before releasing my hand and gesturing them back to work with shooing movements of his hands. Then, winking at me, he turned directly to the coat rack. “DeLuca, you may take the rest of the afternoon off to visit with the lovely Ms. Graves. But I expect you in my office at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, without fail . Do I make myself clear?”

The illusion faded, revealing a sheepish-looking Bruno. “Absolutely.”

“Good.” He turned on his heel and left. But his parting shot could be heard from the hall. “Have fun, kids.”

“All right.” Bruno turned to the others. “What did I miss?”