Blood Song (2 page)

I looked from the remote to the car and back again. “Well, hell. This can’t be good.” I rummaged in my pocket to withdraw the box, where there’d no doubt be the instruction manual that I should’ve read ahead of time but hadn’t. Oops. It took a minute, but I finally managed to retrieve the instruction booklet and flip to the appropriate page.

When encountering a perimeter break the unit will issue a warning in the form of a whistle.

No kidding. I never would’ve guessed. But that didn’t explain the light show.

The type of energy causing the break will be indicated by color on the transmitter unit. Green indicates the presence of ghouls or other necromantic magics; amber, werewolves; blue, vampires. A red flashing light indicates non-vampiric demonic energy. A continuous red light indicates a current presence.

“A
demon
?” I stared at the remote in my hands in disbelief, my hand shaking the tiniest bit. Yes, the demonic exists. So does the angelic. But it’s not like I run into either of them every day. In fact, unless a person works for one of the militant religious orders, they probably will go their entire
life
without running into either the angelic or the demonic—other than vampires. Real demons are
rare.
Which is good. Particularly if you don’t have the clearest conscience in the world. How bad a problem this was depended on whether we were looking at a half-demon spawn, an imp, or a lesser or greater demon. But even flipping desperately through the directions, I didn’t see any way of telling which it might be.

Crap.
I mean, good news, the light was flashing. Bad news, it was red; I was dealing with a freaking demon of one level or another
,
and the barrier was down.

I needed to fix this. Fast. I’m neither a mage nor a true believer. About the only thing I had on me right now that would hurt anything demonic was the holy water in my One Shots. One Shot being both the brand and a literal description. For a vampire, it would burn like acid, I hoped buying me enough time to kill it with one of my other weapons. But this wasn’t a simple bat. It had taken something big and bad to break through a standing magical barrier like this. If I wound up facing whatever it was, my little squirt gun would probably just piss it off.

Think, girl … think. You need the barrier back up, at least long enough to call in a mage or a warrior priest.

If there was enough residual magic left from before the break I
might
be able to get the barrier partway back up if I could reseal the break. It wouldn’t be as strong, but it would be better than nothing. 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 the demon 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 one of my two little plastic squirt guns. I really didn’t want to use both. I might wind up needing one if the demon was still around. 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 moved 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 reraised 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 inside 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 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 he 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 Bob’s 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? What good is the deluxe model if you don’t use all the bells?”

“There’s a stealth mode?”
Yow!
I couldn’t help but grin—nearly identical to the one Bob had on his face.

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 car 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. Why would a demon break a barrier and then just
leave
?

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 shut, locks and spells closing 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. His whole body language had 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 of 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.

“So,” he said, while we waited for someone to answer. “You’re looking good—really good. The business must be agreeing with you.”

It was my turn to snort. “Hardly, but thanks.” I unconsciously smoothed fingers against my ash-blond 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 back it’d be driving me crazy.

“No, really. You’re closing in on beautiful tonight.”

That made me stare at him with an open mouth. I am
not
beautiful. Oh, sure, I have pretty good bone structure, but my features are too harsh to be considered traditionally pretty. At five ten, I’m too tall for my body type, and my skin goes beyond “creamy” to nearly goth pale. 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.

“I’d better not look beautiful. Seriously, Bob. That’s not good for business. Be honest. Is this outfit too … much?” I looked down at my clothes and then looked up at his face. He finally understood what I was talking about and my question made him look at me critically. 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 makeup, but it was minimal. I was, after all, here on business. I’d 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.

He’d just opened his mouth to reply when a voice came through the speaker above. “You’re early.” The tone made it sound like we’d done a bad thing, but I heard the whir of machinery as the private elevator descended toward us from the penthouse.

“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 bodyguard 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 upstairs 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.

“The outfit is fine. Not overdone. Sorry. I understand how compliments can be a double-edged sword.” He paused. “So, how’s Vicki?”

I shrugged off the compliment. He’d meant well, but … well, it does always worry me. “Still in the hospital. She seems to like it there.” She did. I’d have felt trapped, but she liked the safety of it. “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. That’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 his main gun, a Glock Safe Action 9mm in a custom leather holster. Loops in the lining of his jacket held 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, shit. 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 get the
best
toys.”