Cat Adams - The Isis Collar

It was hard to tell over the sound of the waterfall, but I thought I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall. We were running out of time. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, resigning myself to whatever future would get me out of the present. “Do it.”

Things happened fast after that. There was an indignant squawk and a big red hen came flying across the room at me. It skidded the last few feet on the ground, trying desperately to keep its balance on the stone floor with clipped claws. But it worked. Wings flailing, it broke the chalk circle with a flare of power that lashed against my senses like a bullwhip. I leapt to my feet as Jean-Baptiste burst into the room. I dived out of the circle at the same instant he released his will to power it back up. Magic seared whatever hair was still inside the circle when it rose, assaulting my nose with the sizzling strands. Not exactly how I’d planned to get a haircut.

He chased me around the room with careful blasts of power that erupted from the mouth of the monkey on the end of his casting staff. I managed to stay just one step ahead of him. There was nowhere to go unless I abandoned Simone, and I wasn’t willing to do that. At least by chasing me, Jean-Baptiste was wearing himself down, and not sacrificing the woman in the circle.

I was afraid my freedom would be short-lived, but the entity went above and beyond the call. I felt my arms burst apart from each other, the tape separating, dissolving like a spiderweb before flame.

I might be the vampire, but it was Jean-Baptiste who hissed in fury. I saw a flare of colors as he threw a spell at the entity, banishing it in a flash of sulfur-scented smoke.

But somehow I didn’t think he’d actually performed a banishing. I got the feeling the entity simply decided to leave. Maybe it would be back, maybe not.

I had no doubt we’d meet again in the future. I tried not to think about that.

With practiced ease Jean-Baptiste grabbed one of the ceremonial knives used to kill sacrifices and began circling toward me. His movements were smooth, coordinated, but not skilled. He wasn’t used to actual infighting and he wasn’t a professional.

I am.

I’d rather he have the dagger than the casting staff, so I actually rushed him, surprising him so much he didn’t have time to stab at me. I grabbed the monkey staff before he could blast me again, and turned quickly away. He used that the second I was turned to move in, as I’d known he would. I twisted, using my leg to scythe his legs from under him. And in a single, smooth motion I swung the club with all my strength, burying the wood deep in his temple.

I felt the impact in my shoulder as the wood connected with the thickness of his skull and then the abrupt give and soft finish as it shattered—spraying me with blood and other, thicker things.

Dr. Jean-Baptiste fell to the floor and didn’t move again.

24

There wasa body on the ground, a victim to console, and a villain to catch.

Such is my life.

The cops don’t like me for this very reason. So I didn’t call them. I called the Feds. Rizzoli picked up on the first ring. I told him what had happened. He said he was already on his way. Why wasn’t I surprised?

It had been one of the longest and hardest days of my life. Even with Rizzoli keeping most of the heat off, I knew there would be statements to give, questions to answer, and favors to repay. At that moment, I wasn’t sure which I was dreading more.

I realized when I hung up I hadn’t mentioned the entity, and I wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe dwelling on a nebulous future would be too taxing. At the very least, it would be distracting, and I’d need to be at my best.

It took some talking to convince Simone to wait for the Feds. I had to guarantee she wouldn’t see any jail time for her part in getting to this point. I didn’t want her to go, so I made the promise. But it wasn’t my promise to make, so all I could do was hope she hadn’t done anything irretrievable in Rizzoli’s eyes.

While I waited for the cavalry to come and deal with Jean-Baptiste I did the two most sensible things I could think of: washed the blood off my face and hands, and curled up to sleep on the first examining table I found.

Rizzoli showed up some time later with Gail Jones in tow. I was interested to see her move around the room, sensing the energies. I think she realized something bigger than just a demented witch doctor had been here, but she didn’t mention it to Rizzoli.

Interesting.

But the best part is she knew what to do to remove the memory spell once she talked to John on the phone. There was clear fangirling on her part while talking to John.

She was also looking forward to meeting Bruno. Her bright, clear eyes when she said “Mage DeLuca” practically screamed hero worship. I haven’t felt that way about anyone in a long time. Not since El Jefe.

I really wanted to remember the moment I was able to … well, remember, but the whole spell was a blur. Maybe it was painful. I was certainly stiff and sore when I came to. Normally I don’t pass out during spells, but this time I did. Probably best not to know what happened. All I know is when Dom and Gail arrived, it was pitch-black, the darkest part of the night. When I came to, it was afternoon. Never a good sign.

Rizzoli looked at me oddly for a long time when I was drinking down a chocolate nutrition shake, so definitely best not to know.

Still, it’s amazing what some sleep and the lifting of a memory corruption curse can do for a gal. I felt good, better than I’d felt in weeks. I felt even better when I figured out a way for someone to bring me my best weapons and some fresh clothes.

There’s only one person on earth other than me who has access to my safe—the designer, Justin. I’d thought I’d have to pay an outrageous fee to have him meet Rizzoli, Bruno, and John at the office for me. I was willing to, but he refused to take any money. He told John to tell me, “Anything you’re into that is this hairy, you need your stuff,” and, “I prefer live and paying customers.”

The boys all came into Dr. Jean-Baptiste’s exam room together. Bruno was carrying the duffel I keep in my safe. I was so happy to see it, and him, that it took me a second to realize who else had tagged along.

“Kevin?” He gave me a nervous half smile, no doubt worrying I was still angry with him. Yeah, I was, and I wasn’t sure why he thought I’d trust him. “You can’t imagine I’ll work with you. Can you?”

He remained very still but met my eyes without flinching. “Emma sent me. She called and told me where to be. Apparently, you’re going to need me tonight.”

Crap. Emma’s not a terribly powerful clairvoyant, but when she gets a vision, it’s good as gold. She’s come through in the clutch before, so she was probably right. And while I was still hurt and angry with Kevin, he was one of the best of the best black ops guys, even with PTSD.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Rizzoli asked him.

He let out a snort. “No. But I don’t think I have a choice. If anything happened to Celia when I could have done … whatever it is I do to save her, I wouldn’t last a week. Even her enemies would come after me. Let’s not talk about what her friends would do. They’d make me beg to die, just to end the pain.”

Hard to argue with that logic. Looking at Bruno and John, I had the feeling he was right.

“Celia?” Rizzoli inquired.

I could only shrug. “It’s your party. You’ve got the badges. You could make any of them sit this out and I couldn’t do a thing about it.”

“Glad to see somebody realizes that.” He glared at the other men, but not like he meant it.