celebrities for years and was wealthy in her own right. When it came to the Banoubs, money did talk. Loudly. It was one of the reasons Liana had given up most ties to her family when she married Scott’s father. Morgan didn’t have more than two pennies to rub together when they fell in love, and that had made him a most ineligible bachelor in Neema Banoub’s eyes.
Of course, seeing how well Liana and Morgan had done for themselves in the years since might have caused some of the Banoubs to rethink their actions of four decades earlier. The Murphys had become, hands down, the preeminent supernatural mercenaries in Boston, and Liana’s prestigious boutique, Hounds of Anubis, was the place to go for arcane artifacts and odds and ends such as Kiara’s magical remedies. I guess that old mortal saying that hindsight is 20-20 wasn’t too far off the mark.
Trinity looked back at me and arched a brow. “Uh, I assume by Mama Hound you mean Penn’s mother?”
“Grandmother,” I corrected, eyes glued on the high-society maven gliding through the crowd.
“Okay, grandmother. What’s so bad about her coming over to talk to us?”
I shot Trinity an Are you kidding me? look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Neema Banoub? The phrase right royal bitch was created just for her.”
Trinity’s lips twitched. “Isn’t that a really bad pun?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s a really true pun. She has got to be the biggest bitch I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. And the one and only time we ever spoke did not end well.”
Her lips twitched again. “Well, luckily you , Miss Sierra Nieves, have never met her and vice versa. Maybe she’ll like you this time.”
“Ha. You know how badly I get along with Zalawski?”
“I think all of Boston knows how badly you get along with Zalawski.”
“Well, take that and multiply it by ten, and you might wind up in the neighborhood of how poorly Neema Banoub tends to get along with the unwashed masses.”
Trinity couldn’t hold back a snicker. “Unwashed masses? You, my dear, are the Sierra Nieves, Wedding Planner to the Stars. And filthy rich in your own right. Plus, you’re a Hound. Why wouldn’t she like you?”
I shook my head. “I’m only half -Hound. Trust me, that counts with these people. Filthy rich to a Banoub means counting assets in the billions, not millions. Not to mention, the Sierra Nieves is about as nouveau riche as it gets, which also matters to people like this.” I would have gone into further detail, but Hound hearing being what it was, I let my voice trail off and waited for Neema to close the distance between us.
Trinity, perceptive as usual, began talking about the innocuous subject of head counts and the current supply of fancy-schmancy hors d’oeuvres and even fancier-schmancier cocktails being served by the tuxedoed wait staff. Technically speaking, we were the ones in charge of this party, and it was our job to discuss those little details, boring as we might find them. Boring as I might find them anyway. Trinity seemed to be thriving on this undercover operation.
Neema, flanked on each side by her acknowledged daughters—Liana’s two sisters who weren’t in the proverbial dog house, one of which I presumed to be Penn’s mother, whom I’d never met—barely glanced at Trinity before turning her attention to me. Piercing golden eyes raked me up and down, found me wanting, but she deigned to speak to me anyway.
“Miss Nieves.” She gave a snooty nod. “I am Neema Banoub, grandmother of the groom, and I would like to have a word with you, if you please.” Or even if you don’t.
I would have given Trinity an I told you so look if not for Neema’s hawk-eyed gaze. No sense offending her at the very first event of this month-long wedding extravaganza—unless I found out she had anything to do with the serial killings in my city. Then, nothing would stop me from offending her with extreme prejudice. And
Of course, seeing how well Liana and Morgan had done for themselves in the years since might have caused some of the Banoubs to rethink their actions of four decades earlier. The Murphys had become, hands down, the preeminent supernatural mercenaries in Boston, and Liana’s prestigious boutique, Hounds of Anubis, was the place to go for arcane artifacts and odds and ends such as Kiara’s magical remedies. I guess that old mortal saying that hindsight is 20-20 wasn’t too far off the mark.
Trinity looked back at me and arched a brow. “Uh, I assume by Mama Hound you mean Penn’s mother?”
“Grandmother,” I corrected, eyes glued on the high-society maven gliding through the crowd.
“Okay, grandmother. What’s so bad about her coming over to talk to us?”
I shot Trinity an Are you kidding me? look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Neema Banoub? The phrase right royal bitch was created just for her.”
Trinity’s lips twitched. “Isn’t that a really bad pun?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s a really true pun. She has got to be the biggest bitch I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. And the one and only time we ever spoke did not end well.”
Her lips twitched again. “Well, luckily you , Miss Sierra Nieves, have never met her and vice versa. Maybe she’ll like you this time.”
“Ha. You know how badly I get along with Zalawski?”
“I think all of Boston knows how badly you get along with Zalawski.”
“Well, take that and multiply it by ten, and you might wind up in the neighborhood of how poorly Neema Banoub tends to get along with the unwashed masses.”
Trinity couldn’t hold back a snicker. “Unwashed masses? You, my dear, are the Sierra Nieves, Wedding Planner to the Stars. And filthy rich in your own right. Plus, you’re a Hound. Why wouldn’t she like you?”
I shook my head. “I’m only half -Hound. Trust me, that counts with these people. Filthy rich to a Banoub means counting assets in the billions, not millions. Not to mention, the Sierra Nieves is about as nouveau riche as it gets, which also matters to people like this.” I would have gone into further detail, but Hound hearing being what it was, I let my voice trail off and waited for Neema to close the distance between us.
Trinity, perceptive as usual, began talking about the innocuous subject of head counts and the current supply of fancy-schmancy hors d’oeuvres and even fancier-schmancier cocktails being served by the tuxedoed wait staff. Technically speaking, we were the ones in charge of this party, and it was our job to discuss those little details, boring as we might find them. Boring as I might find them anyway. Trinity seemed to be thriving on this undercover operation.
Neema, flanked on each side by her acknowledged daughters—Liana’s two sisters who weren’t in the proverbial dog house, one of which I presumed to be Penn’s mother, whom I’d never met—barely glanced at Trinity before turning her attention to me. Piercing golden eyes raked me up and down, found me wanting, but she deigned to speak to me anyway.
“Miss Nieves.” She gave a snooty nod. “I am Neema Banoub, grandmother of the groom, and I would like to have a word with you, if you please.” Or even if you don’t.
I would have given Trinity an I told you so look if not for Neema’s hawk-eyed gaze. No sense offending her at the very first event of this month-long wedding extravaganza—unless I found out she had anything to do with the serial killings in my city. Then, nothing would stop me from offending her with extreme prejudice. And
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