Cat Adams - Demon Song

“And as I explained right back, there are many different levels of maintenance . Was the shield renewed this month? This quarter? Was it even this year? That has nothing to do with the investigation. Surely there’s an inspection certificate of some sort that I can look at. You have one in the elevator and in the kitchen. Isn’t that public information? Or should I start calling the news media to see if they can find out?”

That did it. He tried hard to control his features, but the panicked look on his face said that either he didn’t want any sort of bad press or he really didn’t want me to see an inspection report of the barrier. “That won’t be necessary, ma’am. The Oceanview Resort and Spa is always happy to satisfy our customers.”

And so began the negotiations.

It was nearly fifteen minutes later by the time the rooms and spa treatments were comped, my credit card was refunded, and I had a guest pass to “give us another try.”

I was shaking the hand of the nice manager, who by then was close to sweating bullets and not hiding it well, when Dawna came bolting out of the elevator. Panic preceded her like a cloud as she shouted, “Celia, you’ve got to come quick. Emma is totally freaking out!” Dawna held the elevator doors open, practically vibrating with anxiety.

Yay, she was talking again. But those weren’t the words I was hoping for.

Oh, crap. “I told her to stay in her room.” God, if she saw that mess … they were going to have to lock her in a rubber room. The buzzer started sounding and the doors were struggling to shut. The wide-eyed manager nearly shoved the gift certificate into my hand. I was betting he was planning to scoot out the door before anything else went wrong.

The elevator was a calm respite and I reveled for just a few moments in the soft music, dim lights, and elegant wood paneling. Dawna stood beside me with her eyes shut, probably trying to keep hold of her sanity.

Then the doors opened and sound and motion assaulted me. Two uniformed housekeepers were trying to hold Emma on the floor while the house detective was taking pictures of the “crime scene.” The Unitarian minister had apparently already left.

Emma was screaming as fast as she could draw breath. The pretty young Latina maid looked up at me as she struggled to keep Emma’s arms from thrashing enough to hurt herself. She had to shout to be heard over my friend’s screams: “My manager went to call nine-one-one. Maybe the EMTs can give her a sedative or something. The poor thing was beating her head into the wall. We were afraid she was going to really hurt herself!”

I knelt down beside Emma and cradled her face, forcing her to look at me, while the other women tried to hold her body still. “Emma! C’mon, girlfriend. Look at me. It’s Celia. You need to calm down.” I tried to get her to focus on my face, but I could tell right away that she was beyond actually seeing anything. Maybe they were right. A sedative was what she needed. Mostly, though, she needed to get back to Birchwoods. Unfortunately, that was better than seven hours away and I was afraid if we didn’t get her back there fast, she’d wind up in some hospital up here—and might never get out.

The detective let out a frustrated noise. “I wish we could put her somewhere soundproofed until the ambulance gets here. Or maybe just teleport her mouth somewhere.” He and the maids let out a chuckle, but the word made me get to my feet so fast the maids probably thought I was about to start screaming, too.

There are few things faster than a phone call. One of them is a teleporter. Combine the two and I might know a way to help Emma.

I skirted around the detective with an apology and raced for the phone while Emma’s screams made my ears ring. Complimentary room or not, I was betting they were going to stick this international call on my bill.

And probably the cost to clean up the blood that I’d just tracked farther into the room. Oops.

I turned on my nearly dead cell phone long enough to find the number of a recent call. I barely got the number written down before the phone died. The charger was somewhere in my bags, but I didn’t want to waste time looking for it.

The phone rang once, twice, then, “Kanalai Palace,” said the calm, unhurried voice on the other end, with a distinct accent I’d come to recognize. “How may I help you?”

“This is…” I paused, glancing at the detective who was taking in my conversation without seeming to. I didn’t really want to identify myself as royalty, but it was probably the only way people on the siren island were going to listen. I turned away from him and lowered my voice. At least if he was going to listen in, he was going to have to work at it over the screaming. “Princess Celia. I have an emergency at my location and I need to know whether Okalani is available to transport someone to a physician.”

“An ambulance has been called, Ms. Graves.” The detective cocked his head and put a bloody bit of … something into an evidence bag. “There’s no need to call a second one.”

I raised my brows and put a hand over the speaker. “This is a little faster than an ambulance.”

There was a pause on the line and I knew the receptionist was probably contacting someone telepathically. “Of course, Princess. She’ll be right there. I have a caller ID on your location. Please don’t leave that immediate area.”

Okalani was a teenager from the Isle of Serenity—pretty, insecure, troubled. She wanted nothing more than to visit the mainland. I’d have to keep watch over her pretty carefully to avoid angering Lopaka any more, assuming, of course, that was even possible.

Okalani managed to avoid not only every bit of furniture but me and the demon remains as well. And she wasn’t alone. Adriana released the light grip she had on the teenager’s arm and smiled thinly at me. Okalani didn’t seem very happy, but I couldn’t tell if it was because she had a chaperone, regular teen angst, or something more serious.

More serious would be a problem. I needed to be able to trust her with Emma. I smiled at the girl whom I’d first met on her back with a knife at her throat. She’d snuck into my room and I’d considered her … gee, an intruder . Go figure. I had to shout over the screaming: “Hi, Okalani. Thanks for coming so quick!”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Adriana spoke first, holding out her delicate hand like I was supposed to kiss her ring or something. Fat chance. “Good afternoon, Celia. May I ask what the crisis is?”

I looked around the room, wondering what dimension she was in that it wasn’t completely obvious. “Can you not hear the screaming, Adriana?”

Okalani raised a tentative hand. “Princess, is that woman injured?”

Maybe I needed to just talk to Okalani. Adriana seemed really … distracted . The detective stepped over, his eyes a little wide at the sudden appearance of a dark-skinned teen in camo pants and a black tank top and a woman who would put pretty much every movie star to shame. “Ms. Graves, I can’t let these people—”

I knew what he was going to say. He didn’t want them to contaminate the crime scene. I understood that. I didn’t want there to be any question I was the good guy. “They’re only here to take my screaming friend to Birchwoods. Is that okay?”

He looked confused. “There’ll be additional footprints.” I could understand how he would think that.

“Okalani, could you and Adriana pop out to the hallway? My friend’s name is Emma and she needs to go to the Birchwoods. Do you have any idea where that is?”

Now Adriana finally joined the conversation: “I will touch your friend’s mind and see where the place is. Okalani will take us there.”