Cat Adams: The Isis Collar

DEDICATION AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, without the support of Don Clamp and James Adams, these books wouldn’t happen. Nor would they without the assistance and faith of our terrific editor, Melissa Singer, and our agents, Merrilee Heifetz and Lucienne Diver. I’d especially like to thank Dr. Christopher Johnson, author and friend, for his assistance in coming up with a terrifically horrifying disease that could occur in the world if only magic existed. It’s great to know a doctor who helps us injure characters in a way to fit our timelines.

We needed to set our medical thriller in a hospital. We chose the name St. Anthony’s for a reason. In the winter of 2011, James Adams had a severe bout of pneumonia with complications. It was touch and go for several days. Thanks to the excellent care he received at St. Anthony Central Hospital, in Denver, he recovered fully. Cie can’t thank them enough, but wanted to make a gesture to acknowledge them.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Always keep in mind that this is a work of fiction, in an alternate reality. Obviously.

When it became apparent that we needed a witch doctor and that we would probably have to put in specifics, we had a decision to make. We could use an existing religion, and risk offending readers who believed we “got it wrong” or were insensitive to their beliefs in some way. Or, we could make it up and do whatever we wanted. We made it up. To the best of our knowledge and belief there is no “Orvah” whether similar to Voodoo or anything else. Any similarities to any existing religion should be disregarded.

The same is true of the portrayal of the Egyptian deity Isis. We do not in any way wish to insult the beliefs of anyone, living or dead, and would remind you that the Isis in this book is not meant to be the Isis in anyone’s religious pantheon in this reality.

1

“ You haveto evacuate the school.” There was a hard insistence in my voice, because it was the third time I’d said that in the thirty minutes I’d been here. “We’re running out of time.”

Principal Sanchez stared back at me with annoying calm. “As I’ve already explained twice, Ms. Graves, you haven’t provided any evidence any of the children are in danger. I will not traumatize these kids or panic a hundred families just on the word of a clairvoyant who refuses to be named. I’ve already called the superintendent’s office and sounded like an idiot. I even called the police station … as you requested. Nobody has heard any hint that anything is going to happen here today, and their clairvoyants would be the first to know.”

No. They wouldn’t. “Real life isn’t like the movies, Principal Sanchez. The only way the authorities know before an event is if the attacker has a huge ego and calls to taunt, does something noticeable or suspicious, or if someone close to the attacker gets scared and turns the person in.” The police agencies have some of the best mages, witches, and clairvoyants in the world, but someone determined to do harm can keep their intentions hidden. Otherwise there wouldn’t be any attacks … anywhere. There was no reason to mention the police weren’t the sole answer, since yet another terrorist attack had been front-page news today.

The dapper Latina let out a frustrated sound and stood, laying her palms flat on the polished wood surface of her desk. “I’m asking politely, Ms. Graves. Please leave. Class is about to let out and I don’t want the children traumatized by your presence here.”

My eyes narrowed and I likewise stood. The kids had nothing to do with it. If she just didn’t want anyone to see me, why not stay right here in the principal’s office, where grade-schoolers only venture when forced? No, she was afraid of me, and aggressively so. I knew I should be calm and pretend I was her friend, but I was stressed and it was making it hard to keep my anger in check. My fangs probably showed when I spoke, but to hell with it. “There’s no reason to be insulting just because you don’t believe me. Traumatized? Please. They’d never even know. I would remind you that you weren’t aware I’m part vampire until I told you.” I’ve spent a good deal of time in front of the mirror just to make sure the elongated canines don’t show very often. I was dressed nicely and not a soul had screamed or even flinched when I’d first arrived at the school and asked to meet with the principal.

At least she had the good grace to blush. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant your weapons. I’m sure you’re armed because you believed you were going to face some unknown threat the clairvoyant warned you of. However, there are very young children in this school who could be frightened by seeing you.” She glanced at the clock high on the wall behind me. “Thank you for your interest, but I need to get back to work.”

Right. Pfft. Jeez! She made it sound like I was interviewing for a job at the elementary school, not trying to save everyone from unknown disaster. Like she could even see my weapons. Maybe I should go get Isaac, my tailor, and have her say that to him. My clothes are tailored specifically so nobody knows I’m carrying. Even cops haven’t noticed in the past. Admittedly, she was right about the source of the information. Dottie Simmons was a very powerful but unknown clairvoyant. She was probably a level eight but had kept that a very careful secret her whole life—tricky to do in today’s hyperregulatory atmosphere. Her age is probably the reason she’s gotten away with it. The State of California didn’t start testing grade-school kids until the fifties—long after she was in school.

But the fact Dottie isn’t registered as a certified clairvoyant doesn’t mean she isn’t fully capable of predicting events. Without another word, I turned and walked out of the principal’s office. I had to tense my muscles to keep from slamming the door behind me. The length of frosted glass might withstand the slam an annoyed child could give it, but the supernatural strength of a half-vampire Abomination would shatter it.

My cell phone was out of my pocket before I’d gotten ten feet down the hallway lined with lockers that only reached my neck. A quick speed dial put me through to the one person with the local police I thought might actually listen to me. Maybe. I hoped. I fidgeted nervously as I waited for Alex to pick up the line.

Heather Alexander had been my best friend Vicki’s lover. We were friendly, but not close. I’d hoped we might get closer after Vicki’s death. After all, we both loved her, both missed her. But if anything, our busy schedules and the pain of our loss had pushed us even further apart. Still, I knew Alex would take this seriously, and she’d help if she could.

A harried but pleasant alto came onto the line: “Alexander. Go ahead.”

“It’s Celia, Alex. I’ve got a problem.”

The silence on the line told me I had her attention. Since in the recent past our mutual experiences have included greater demons, magical assassins, and international drug lords she knew to take me seriously. “What’s the problem?”

I lowered my voice and squeezed into an alcove that held a pair of knee-high water fountains. I was glad I’d left my purse locked in my car. It and I both wouldn’t have fit in the space. “I got an anonymous tip this morning from a clairvoyant I know. Something bad is going to happen at an elementary school today. But nobody will listen to me—which is ticking me off. I know a kid here, Alex. A little girl with siren blood. Her sister will be the first Atlantic siren since the Magna Carta was signed.”