Touch of Evil (22 page)

I knew it wouldn't be all that hard. I could sneak up on Celeste in my sleep, and I actually wanted to talk to her, to find out what she knew. But I had way too much on my plate right now with other things and she was way low on the list.

I finished buckling the final strap on the left sheath, and started on the right. I needed to finish this and get moving. He'd said he'd pay anything, but I knew Ramon. If I named a figure outrageous enough, he'd back down and find someone else. I just needed to go high enough. "Ten thousand. I'll serve her for ten grand."

There was a cough and silence on the other end. His voice was a mix of shock and outrage. "For a service? "

I shrugged and it sounded in my voice. "Take it or leave it, Ramon. I've got a busy schedule today."

"I didn't pay that much to have you deliver the Picasso, for God's sake!"

"And the collector didn't heave elephants at the messenger. Like I said, Ramon, take it or leave it." I nearly dropped the phone when he agreed, and my feet wanted to do a happy dance. Apparently I hadn't chosen a number quite high enough. My checkbook would appreciate the transfusion, if I stuck around long enough to deposit it.

I'm a woman of my word. Like it or not, fifteen minutes later I pulled Edna into the loading zone in front of Tres Chic. It should have only taken ten minutes, but I discovered daring new levels of pain in my shoulder the first time I shifted the old truck into third gear. First gear was no problem, second was fine, too. But that tiny bit of twist up and over to put it in third put little sparkles in my vision and turned my breathing into rapid pants.

I drove in second gear the whole way.

I got nasty looks, too, because second doesn't come anywhere close to the speed limit.

As I pulled up to the curb, a group of about five teenagers surrounded the truck to admire it. Five years ago, Edna was just an old truck. Today, she's a classic. I've spared no expense to restore her to her original beauty. She's a '55, which was a great year for Chevy. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I put a hand on the nearest shoulder. "Admire to your heart's content. But if anyone lays so much as a hand on it, I'll track you all down and decorate her with your intestines." My steady gaze and cold smile did the trick. Well, that and my pulling up the sleeve of my jacket to reveal the knives. He motioned to his buddies and they all stepped back a pace.

"Thanks, guys. Keep an eye on her for me." I reached into my pocket and handed the nearest kid a twenty. It would keep them honest for a space of about—oh—ten minutes.

"Cool, lady! Another one like that and we'll wax it for you!"

I smiled. "No, just make sure it stays in one piece."

Ramon wasn't in the store. Starla, the

receptionist, handed me an envelope along with Ramon's sincere apologies that he couldn't be here to see me. He had a very important meeting to attend. Yeah, right. I opened the envelope. Inside was the Summons and Complaint and Order of

Restitution. There was also a check for ten grand, payable to me. It almost made it worth the trip. Edna was fine for the fifteen seconds I was inside. I could have saved the twenty. The boys were all whispering and looking at me with the strangest expression as I came out. They backed away

slowly as I approached. Weird, but oh well. Ramon and Celeste live in a trendy foothills neighborhood, where the ticky-tacky houses all have identical roof-lines and colors, while trying without success to appear unique and individual. Luck was with me! Celeste was in the front yard, trimming hedges as I puttered slowly up asphalt so new it was still a smooth sheet of vivid black. I wondered if I would sink into the tarred depth of it when I stepped out of the truck.

While I wouldn't have chosen her outfit in my wildest nightmares, it was classic Celeste. Her flowing, knee-length tunic was in earth tones with geometric patterns and finger-paintings of ancient cave art. It mostly covered a pair of matching capri pants. Silk slippers and a matching cap completed the surreal image. The pants were her grudging acknowledgment to physical labor.

I tucked the papers into my back pocket and sauntered up casually. When her back was to me briefly, I stepped onto the neighbor's property. The hedge was neck-high between us.

"Hi, Celeste!" I said cheerily. She stiffened at the noise and reached a hand into the hedge. Damned if she didn't come out with an elephant. It was heavy lead crystal. Rainbows patterned on her tunic and bare arm. But when she turned and saw me, she dropped it to the grass with a thud.

"Oh, my God! Kate! How wonderful to see you, darling!" She gave me a long, searching look. Whatever she'd expected to see wasn't there. Her smile faded, her body stiffened slightly. She cast a panicked glance towards the house, but decided it was just too far a distance to run for it. I watched the whole process take place in a matter of a second. Impressive, but not enough. I knew now that she had information about what was going on with me, and I intended to get it.

I smiled, but kept my eyes squarely on hers.

"You know why I'm here, don't you?" A cunning expression flickered across her face. She made the decision to lie, to pretend that it was only the situation with Ramon. "It's not fair, Kate. I found this house. I love this house and he's punishing me forever for one moment of weakness." I decided to play along for a bit, make her comfortable and see if anything slipped. I could use intimidation with the best of them, but sometimes an indirect approach works better.

"You're rationalizing to the wrong person, Celeste. I'm Catholic, but it's one of the big ten thou-shalt-nots in pretty much every religion." I pushed a little harder, wanting to make her emotional enough to drop her guard. "Was it worth it, Celeste? Was it worth throwing away everything you have? Everything you worked for?"

She looked at me for as long as she could. But then her eyes dropped to the ground and tears glittered brightly. I almost didn't hear her response. It was a whisper that was nearly lost in the growing wind. "No. I've betrayed everything—everyone I care about . . ."

"I'm sorry, Celeste. I really am." I took the papers out of my pocket and set them onto the neatly manicured hedge in front of her. "But you have to make a decision, who do you want to be?

What do you want your life to stand for?" She looked up, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine. She opened her mouth to speak . . . and I felt a surge of the power of the hive. As I watched her knees buckled, her eyes glazing over as she collapsed to the ground, spittle trailing from the corner of her mouth.

I started around the edge of the hedge to help her, but movement at the edge of my vision stopped me. A handsome young man glared at me through the French doors for the upstairs balcony. He opened his mouth to hiss, giving me a clear glimpse of pointed fangs. With one smooth movement, he leapt from the balcony and landed on the grass in a crouch.

"Shit!"

I didn't run. I did draw one of my knives. With the knife in my right hand, keys in my left, I backed slowly, carefully across the lawn to where my truck was waiting. He followed me, keeping the distance of the width of the perfectly tended lawn between us. When he reached Celeste, he picked her up and hissed at me again.

I tried to appear casual as I opened Edna's driver's door, but my heart was racing a mile a minute. I swore and berated myself for most of the slow, slow drive home. I should've known Celeste wasn't strong enough to go against the hive. Hell, she was weaker than either Dylan or Morris. Damn, damn, damn.

Still, the more I thought about it, the more I thought I knew what was happening. The problem was that the players had been wrong.

I was dealing with more than one queen, which shouldn't be possible. That was like one foot consciously refusing to move after the first one stepped. But Pete had said the same thing, and I couldn't ignore the blindingly obvious clues anymore.

I started analyzing what I knew as I carefully made my way home, both knives drawn and visible. No one tried to sneak into the parking garage after me. No one was waiting in the shadows, no matter how many times I spun around and scanned them. Part of me was almost disappointed when I made it to the apartment unmolested.

But by the time I got there, I had some of it figured out. Tossing the keys onto the kitchen counter, I strode over the stereo, slid in an AC/DC

CD and turned the volume way up. I could only hope keeping them out of my head worked in

reverse as well. I couldn't afford for them to know what I was planning.

So far as I could determine, Amanda, Matthew Quinn, the nurse at the hospital, and the bozo in the pickup truck at the airport were working for Monica. That left Dylan, who obviously was fighting her, and the vamps chasing me on the mall who collapsed. What about Morris? Where did he fit?

And who held Celeste's chain? Between all of these thoughts and the pounding bass beat from the speakers, I was getting the mother of all headaches. And I really, really needed to find my neck brace. Where in the hell is it? I wanted to scream with frustration as I tore afghans and sheets from the closet shelf one-handed. I was saving my bad shoulder for important things—like staying alive. Every second seemed an eternity. But I was not leaving here again without my neck guard and my knives in case I had to fight. Monica should have challenged me. Any Thrall should have to attack one at a time. Of course, if you have one hundred of them come at you one at a time, one after another, you're going to go down. My bet was that the purpose of sending four of them was to

overpower my mind and will so that I wouldn't fight at all.

My strategy, for what it was worth, was to avoid groups of the Thrall. If cornered, I would challenge Monica to a duel. She'd have to fight me herself or face the wrath of the other queens. Of course, that didn't seem to mean much at this point. But I didn't know how hard they were trying.

I was hoping that she wouldn't be able to

withstand their collective power if they were really pushing themselves. Not a great plan, but it was the best I could think of. It had worked last time. But last time I'd been wearing my neck guard.

"ARRGH! Where is it? " This time I did shout it out loud to the air. I was losing control. Not good. I took a long deep breath. I stared at the mess I'd made of the contents of my walk-in closet. Calm. Take deep breaths. Try to remember . . .

My concentration was interrupted by the sound of Tom's voice accompanied by knocking on the apartment door.

"Kate, are you home?"

I didn't really want to get into a discussion with him right now. It had been a bad day. But he didn't deserve to get shut out either. I went downstairs and opened the door a crack.

"Tom, nothing personal, but now really isn't a good time to talk. If you need the key, I'll get it off my ring."

He sighed and pushed against the door lightly. Against my better judgment, I let him. I backed up and he walked in past me. "Kate, I know what's going on. Your brother came by while I was

bringing over some more boxes. He explained everything. That you're working to protect a girl from the Thrall, and that Dylan is married now. He's worried about you, and now so am I. He says he heard Dylan calling your priest, and—" Oh, that was just super! Joe explained things to Tom. There went any hope of a normal

relationship! And no wonder Mike Wants to talk to me. Father Mike is firmly of the opinion that Dylan is just "misguided."

My voice raised to get over the sound of Bon Scott's singing. "I know he's worried, Tom. But he doesn't need to be. I'm fine. I just stopped by to get my neck guard and more knives before I get started searching for the girl."

"Wait, you know? " Tom finally stopped to actually look at me. What he saw made him wideeyed. He took slow steps around to the back of me.

"What in the hell happened to you?" I supposed I should be a little concerned that his voice held at weird mix of fear and horror.

"Long story." I started back up the stairs. Guest or no, I was running out of time. The plants were moving into deep shadows as the sun started down the west side of the building. The tiger lily blossoms had already begun to slowly fold in on themselves to prepare for the night.

"Kate." His voice cracked with fear. It was dry as dust and was pained enough to make me turn around. "The back of your jacket looks like it was shredded by claws. You're bleeding all over the floor."

I stopped in my tracks, frozen. Then I turned around and looked down. Tiny spots of red were making CSI-style splatter patterns on the floor. My gaze swept the room and I realized the bleeding was growing worse, not better. I didn't remember the vamp doing anything that would've shredded my back—which meant he'd used mind control on me. The fact that he'd succeeded scared me shitless. A baby Host had clouded my mind and nearly taken out my back. I'd always believed I earned my Not Prey status. Had Larry simply gone into shock when I broke his tooth? I wasn't that good with a knife. He just hadn't been able to fight. Lord protect me! Without the shield, Monica would have me for lunch!

Tom saw me shiver and strode past me to the kitchen. I saw him sniff the air a bit, and then open a cabinet in the center island. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey he seemed to know was there and

grabbed a pair of cut crystal glasses. He walked back and placing a glass in my hand, and then poured a generous portion for each of us. I didn't complain, even though it was my whiskey. I needed something to calm me down enough to think clearly. He raised his glass and touched it to mine.

" Slainte! Here's health to your enemy's enemies and the hope and blessings of the three on you!" The toast made me wonder what his background was, because it's a very old, very Irish toast. But it lit a memory, and I let out a whoop. "The hope chest!" I set the glass down on the counter so fast that liquid spilled from the glass onto the tile surface. I took the stairs at a dead run. Flinging clothing and shoes aside I made my way to the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. With trembling fingers, I undid the latch. When I flung back the lid, there it was, right on top.