BLOOD SONG, Chapter 1, Part 2

Now, where did we leave off...? Ah, yes:

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Of course, if I sealed the barrier I might be sealing the demon in.

I debated the pros and cons for a few seconds, and decided it was better to get the barrier up. If I sealed it in, we’d have it in a contained area when the priests arrived. If I sealed it out, more the better.

I slid remote and manual into my jacket pocket and drew out the little plastic squirt gun. Ever so carefully, I drew out the refilling plug and began dribbling holy water in a delicate line. As every drop hit the ground, the little scanner would move forward, the headache-inducing whistle giving a little hiccup before restarting. Still, when the last drop fell, and my little gun was dry, the gap snapped shut. I knew this because the little silver car went silent, and shot along the re-raised barrier, around the corner and out of sight.

I jogged after it, across the asphalt and sprinkler-soaked grass, all the while keeping alert for anything out of the ordinary. My head was throbbing from the combined effects of stress and that ear-piercing whistle.

I would like to say I was surprised that no one came to a window or door to check out the racket. Sadly, I wasn’t. Alarms mean trouble. People don’t like trouble. On the whole, most of them will cower behind charmed thresholds or power circles hoping and praying that whatever’s out there will pass them by.

I came around the corner just a few feet from where I’d started, to find a blocky man dressed in the kind of nice clothes that wouldn’t look out of place in the better clubs, but would still hide the same kind of arsenal I was carrying. He stood on the perimeter, holding the probe in his hand, examining it with a rapt expression on his face.

I came to a skidding halt in the wet grass. “Johnson?” I stared in disbelief. It was Bob. It really was. Seeing him standing there made me feel better. Because Bob Johnson is an experienced professional. Hell, he’s the man who’d convinced me to go into the business when I first got out of college. Everyone else had told me that a “vanilla” mortal with no magic or psychic abilities had no business fighting the monsters. Bob said that no human was a match for the monsters, talent or no, that the two things that were most important were brains and good equipment. I’m not stupid, and I’m willing to pay for top of the line weaponry.

I met Bob when my best friend Vicki’s grandfather hired him to work up the security for her estate. It had been the old man’s “housewarming gift.” I’d watched Bob set everything up. He’d been patient enough to explain the how and why of everything he did—let me follow him around for days. It was obvious knew his stuff. With an almost unlimited budget to play with he’d done one hell of a job. I’d been impressed at the time. I still was.

His plain features lit up with a delighted smile. He brushed a hand over shaggy hair the color of warm honey. “Celia Graves, as I live and breathe. Don’t tell me you’re here to guard the prince?”

I nodded my affirmative, and his grin widened. “Is this yours?” He held out his hand to me. The little scanner looked almost impossibly tiny balanced in his huge palm.

“Yup. Just bought it this afternoon. Works like a champ.”

“I heard. But why didn’t you put it on stealth mode? It’s night time after all.”

“There’s a stealth mode?”

He snorted and rolled his eyes, but proceeded to flip the little car over and show me a switch I hadn’t noticed before. “So what was with the alarm?”

I told him about the break in the perimeter. His expression sobered instantly. He handed me my property without any fuss and said. “Show me.”

I showed him. He didn’t have a lot of magical talent—almost none really. But that didn’t keep him from squatting down and using what little he did have to test the area around my little “fix it” job.

He looked up at me, his expression serious. “This isn’t going to hold up for more than a few minutes. We need to get upstairs, warn the client and call in the cavalry.”

“Agreed.”

I let him take lead. Neither of us had a weapon drawn, but our jackets were open, our hands loose so that we could react in a hurry if need be. We moved deliberately toward the side entrance, eyes scanning the area for any sign of trouble.

Nothing. Not a damned thing. It should’ve reassured me. Instead, I felt the tension in my shoulders tighten another notch.

I turned to the side, providing cover as Bob took the wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a key card. I’d been provided a similar card when I’d been hired. From the corner of my eye I saw him slide the card through the black security box. A series of small lights flashed green. When the last one lit, I heard the lock on the door click open.

We stepped inside and the door swung shot, locks and spells closing in behind us. I waited as he repeated the process with the service elevator.

I blinked, trying hard not to stare as I caught sight of him in the polished stainless steel door. Without me looking square at him—knowing he was being watched, his whole body language changed. He looked like hell. Oh, he was still clean, and the clothes were pressed. But there was this sense of defeat about him. You could almost smell it like a cheap cologne. It showed in the slight slump to his broad shoulders, the hesitation in his movements that had never been there before. He was pale—but then he’d been living on the east coast. Probably hadn’t had a lot of beach time. Still, there’s pale and there’s pale. I hesitated, trying to think what to say, and couldn’t come up with a damned thing that wasn’t prying. So I reached forward to hit the intercom button.

“Celia Graves.” I pronounced each syllable of my name clearly as I held down the button to the intercom speaker.

“Bob Johnson.”

The two of us turned to face the security camera, giving them a good look. I didn’t bother to glance up at the monitor mounted near the ceiling in the corner. I looked good, but not too good. Certainly not sexy. All business. I’m 5'10", slender, with milk white skin and straight, ash blonde hair. The hair is shoulder length at the moment, longer than I like to keep it. I’ve had enough business that I haven’t had a chance to get it cut. If I hadn’t been wearing it pulled it back it’d be driving me crazy.

I’m more striking than beautiful—good bone structure, but with features that are too harsh to be considered traditionally pretty. My last boyfriend described my eyes as the gray of storm clouds with chips of ice. A fair enough description, and certainly more poetic than I would have expected.

Tonight I was wearing mostly black, from the comfortable flats on my feet, to my jeans and blazer. The only contrast was the deep burgundy of my blouse. Well, that and the garnet earrings I was wearing that matched it. I’d put on make-up, but it was minimal. I was, after all, here on business. I’ve noticed that if I look too good male clients get the wrong impression—start treating it as a date—and the other bodyguards don’t take me seriously. Better to keep things simple and avoid misunderstandings.

“You’re early.” The voice coming through the speaker made that sound like a bad thing, but I heard the whir of machinery and the light behind the numbers of the private elevator began moving as the car descended from the penthouse floor.

“We came early to check the perimeter for threats. There was a problem.” Bob did his best bored, professional voice. “We’ll need to report it to the authorities.”

I could’ve sworn I heard swearing in the instant before the intercom was cut off. It surprised me a little. One of the first things I’d learned as a professional was that you don’t let the protectee know you’re upset. Concerned is okay. But you stay calm. Emotions just get in the way, so you bury them deep. Don’t get me wrong, you still feel them, but they’re under control and they don’t show.

Which meant somebody wasn’t a professional. Terrific. I just love working with amateurs. (And if you believe that, there’s this bridge. . .)

I cast a meaningful look at Bob, and he rolled his eyes. We stood in silence for a few seconds. In the end he was the one who spoke first.

“So, how’s Vicki?”

“Still in the hospital. She seems to like it there.” She did. I’d have felt trapped, but she liked the safety of it. Of course, it was probably the only time in her life she’d actually had any real peace. So long as she lived in Birchwoods she didn’t risk affecting the future with her talent. “How’s Vanessa?”

He flinched, and I saw a flash of pain in his eyes before he was able to hide it. “We’re divorced.” He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, his face was a pleasant mask. “Back on the market again.” He smiled, but I knew him well enough to know he didn’t mean it. “She got everything except the clothes on my back and my weapons. It’s the main reason I took this job. I didn’t really like the look of the guy they sent to talk to me, but I needed the money.”

“Speaking of weapons, what have you got on you?”

He held open his jacket to show me the custom leather holster he favored to show me his main gun, a Glock Safe Action 9mm. His jacket had loops in the lining holding a pair of throwing knives. I knew they had high silver content, and could tell from the engraving that he’d sprung for the throwing accuracy spells. But that was it. Which was so not like him that I was actually taken aback. I tried to hide my surprise, but it must’ve shown because he answered me, his voice gruff with embarrassment.

“I had to pawn some of my stuff to pay for the ticket out.”

Well sh*t. I really didn’t know what to say in response to that, so I kept my mouth shut. It just seemed safer.

“Well? I showed you mine . . .” he made a gesture that was more a demand than an invitation. Which was fair, I suppose. But I was almost embarrassed to show him. Steeling myself I held open the jacket and watched his eyes widen as he took inventory of my armament. “Damn girl! And it doesn’t even show.”

“Special tailoring and spells on the jacket.” I admitted. “And I had the sleeves made wide enough that I could draw my knives.” I did just that, pulling one with a smooth, easy draw. I held it out to him hilt first. Anybody else, I wouldn’t have shown the knives. They were a gift from Vicki and are valuable as hell. The spell work on them is such that they rank as major magical artifacts. People have killed to get their hands on that sort of thing. For me, though, they were a major part of my kit, because a single scratch from the blade will kill pretty much any of the monsters. I never wanted to get close enough to have to use them, but I damned well wanted to have them. . . just in case.

Bob let out a long, low whistle as he ran his hands over the polished wood handle. I was guessing he was testing the spell work as well, but couldn’t be sure. “Damn girl, you do get the best toys.”

“Gift from Vicki.” I admitted.

He shook his head and passed the knife back with what was almost reverence. “Keep those out of sight if you can. Don’t want to invite trouble.”

I just nodded my assent, but something about this job was bugging me. (Other than the obvious demon thing). It wasn’t anything big, just a pebble in your shoe kind of thing. Bob had said he didn’t like the guy who’d interviewed him. I couldn’t say as I disagreed. The guy I’d talked to had been vague about details of the job to the point of being coy. I don’t like coy. He’d answered my questions in ways that really didn’t answer anything. I’d come damned close to rejecting the job.

And then there was the fact that I suspected I might have been chosen just because I was a woman, to force Rezza into towing his father’s progressive line.

Don’t get me wrong, there are cases when a woman is specifically needed—you get a female client, they need someone who can check out the ladies room without problems, go into dressing rooms. But that wasn’t what this was supposed to be.

“I feel better knowing you’re here.” Bob admitted quietly.

“Back atcha big guy.”

The elevator bell rang. We stepped inside the elegantly appointed cabin. Pressing the button for the top floor, I turned to face the front as the doors whooshed smoothly closed. When they reopened I stepped into an expansive living space. One entire wall was a bank of windows, open to show a panoramic view of the city lights sparkling below.

Stupid. Unless those windows were bulletproof I could see three perfect spots for a sniper’s roost, and that was without really trying.

“You’re early.” The retainer repeated his earlier complaint. I turned to face him, keeping my expression neutral. He stepped away from a group of men standing by the bar. His voice was disapproving. In fact, his whole demeanor was dour.

Standing at about five nine, he was a little bit shorter than me. I could tell he didn’t like it. He was apparently used to looking down that beakish nose and glaring with those beady black eyes until the person opposing him backed down. If that’s what he wanted, he’d picked the wrong girl. I wouldn’t start trouble. Certainly not with a client. But I won’t grovel or toady either. Wouldn’t be much use as a bodyguard if I did. I gave him the pleasant, not-quite-blank expression I reserve for difficult clients. He didn’t seem to like that either. Sometimes, you just can’t win.

“I came in a little ahead of time to check the perimeter, meet up with the other guards, find out who’s going to be in charge and iron out the details.” I sounded polite, professional, without even a hint of irritation or sarcasm. My Gran would be so proud.

“I will be in charge.”

The man who glided away from the bar spoke with the hint of an accent, and more than a hint of condescension. I recognized him from his pictures. The prince was six two and slender, he moved with a sleek grace that should have been effeminate but wasn’t. He was wearing gray dress slacks with a cream colored silk shirt that had enough buttons left open to expose a lightly muscled, but hairless chest. His light brown curls were artfully mussed, his dark eyes narrowing with appraisal as he looked me over from head to foot.

“Ultimately, of course,” I gave a respectful nod, “but generally with a multi-person team, there’s a coordinator the other guards report to. I was wondering who that was going to be.”

He stopped, barely two inches away from me. I think he expected me to react. He was used to women reacting sexually, and men backing down. I didn’t do either. I simply stood my ground, pleasant and impassive, waiting for him to respond. I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say. But maybe I was wrong. Surely he wasn’t that much of an idiot—

“I will be in charge.” He repeated.

Apparently he was that much of an idiot. Oh joy. I cringed inwardly, but kept my mouth shut, counting to ten so that I wouldn’t say anything stupid. I could walk away from the job, but the money was damned good, and the connections were better. Any small business grows by word-of-mouth referrals. Tick him off and I could be going hungry for a long time. But it was tempting. Because his stupidity could get me killed. On the other hand, Bob was here. He’d have my back—and I’d have his. Risking my life is part of what I get paid for. And, again, I was going to be getting an almost obscene amount of money for this.

I glanced across the room to where the rest of the security team was standing. I mean, I couldn’t actually be the only person worried about this, the only one to notice the prince’s glassy, bloodshot eyes, could I? Surely somebody else was bothered by the situation?

Two of the guards stared past me, as if I were beneath their notice. I felt my jaw clench, and had to force myself not to grind my teeth. I didn’t know either of them, which surprised me. I’m fairly well connected in the industry. I’ve worked with most of the independents at one time or another, and most of them have come to respect my abilities and treat me as an equal. I’d have bet half of what I was making that they were pissed because I was a woman. I’ve dealt with the prejudice before. You’d think I’d be used to it.

You’d be wrong.