through. We won’t let it go too far. Just walk away, Graves. Don’t screw this up. I don’t want to have to arrest you or, worse, shoot you.”
I didn’t like it. Not at all. I didn’t doubt Rizzoli had a plan, or at least someone above him did. But I didn’t want to be party to someone dying, even if he wasn’t precisely innocent and I was only a party by being in the building. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the door. Technically, I didn’t work for the Feds, which meant they could very well arrest me.
Or shoot me.
Damn it.
“If this goes badly, we’re done. Understand?” I turned and glared daggers at Rizzoli. “Done. I will hate you forever.”
His face went very still. “If this goes badly, I probably won’t be around to hate.”
I didn’t want to think Rizzoli would go over the line. He’s a good man. I really believe that. And I was exhausted. Diving under the table hadn’t done either my head or my leg a bit of good. So despite my misgivings, I went.
9
It’s really sad when you’re completely exhausted and it isn’t even eleven o’clock in the morning. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball and go to sleep. No, scratch that, not sleep. Not when I was liable to end up God knew where with no memory of how I got there. So instead of going home, I had the cabbie drop me off at the office. I needed to make a few calls, do some research into the entity, maybe arrange another exorcism. You know, the usual.
My office is on the third floor of the only big old Victorian mansion downtown. It’s a registered historic landmark, perfectly tended, and is worth a not-so-small fortune. I own it, a fact that simultaneously thrills and scares the crap out of me every time I see the place. I try not to worry about things like property taxes and maintenance fees. But of course I do. Vicki’s mother, mega–movie star Cassandra Meadows, may have decided to drop her suit contesting Vicki’s will, but I really did want to give all of the cash portion of my inheritance to the special school being set up in my sister’s name. My accountant, on the other hand, wants me to keep at least 10 percent for expenses and emergencies. I was still waffling on that.
I paid the cabbie, my mind going over who I should call first. Once upon a time it would have been an easy decision. When in doubt, call Warren Landingham. Warren, “El Jefe,” is the head of Paranormal Studies at the university where I got my degree. He’d been a father figure to me, and a close friend. But both he and his son had betrayed me. Granted it was to save Warren’s daughter, Emma. And yes, Emma is second only to Dawna as my best friend, but it was still a betrayal. And try as I might I couldn’t just forgive and forget. I don’t trust easily, but I’d trusted them both. Which made the pain that much worse.
I could call Dr. Sloan. Aaron Sloan is a grizzled old guy with wiry white hair and brows that bristle over the top of his Coke-bottle glasses. He’s as brilliant in his own way as El Jefe. But while Warren is more of a generalist, and plays university politics, Aaron focuses almost exclusively on curses and the demonic. If he doesn’t know the answer, he knows who does, or can find out.
He’d given me a textbook the last time I’d been to his office— Man’s Experience of the Divine —and I never had taken the time to read it. Now might be the time to start. It would be embarrassing to call him and find out I had had the answer sitting on the shelf in my office.
“Morning, Celia. Are you okay?” Dawna’s face had a thoughtful and worried expression. I noticed she didn’t say I looked bad again. Smart girl. It’s just one of the reasons I like her so well.
“Rizzoli dragged me to the FBI offices to help interrogate a witness. I’m feeling a little twitchy. What do we have for food here?” “Twitchy” was our private code for the vamp trying to get the best of me. At first after the attack
I didn’t like it. Not at all. I didn’t doubt Rizzoli had a plan, or at least someone above him did. But I didn’t want to be party to someone dying, even if he wasn’t precisely innocent and I was only a party by being in the building. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the door. Technically, I didn’t work for the Feds, which meant they could very well arrest me.
Or shoot me.
Damn it.
“If this goes badly, we’re done. Understand?” I turned and glared daggers at Rizzoli. “Done. I will hate you forever.”
His face went very still. “If this goes badly, I probably won’t be around to hate.”
I didn’t want to think Rizzoli would go over the line. He’s a good man. I really believe that. And I was exhausted. Diving under the table hadn’t done either my head or my leg a bit of good. So despite my misgivings, I went.
9
It’s really sad when you’re completely exhausted and it isn’t even eleven o’clock in the morning. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball and go to sleep. No, scratch that, not sleep. Not when I was liable to end up God knew where with no memory of how I got there. So instead of going home, I had the cabbie drop me off at the office. I needed to make a few calls, do some research into the entity, maybe arrange another exorcism. You know, the usual.
My office is on the third floor of the only big old Victorian mansion downtown. It’s a registered historic landmark, perfectly tended, and is worth a not-so-small fortune. I own it, a fact that simultaneously thrills and scares the crap out of me every time I see the place. I try not to worry about things like property taxes and maintenance fees. But of course I do. Vicki’s mother, mega–movie star Cassandra Meadows, may have decided to drop her suit contesting Vicki’s will, but I really did want to give all of the cash portion of my inheritance to the special school being set up in my sister’s name. My accountant, on the other hand, wants me to keep at least 10 percent for expenses and emergencies. I was still waffling on that.
I paid the cabbie, my mind going over who I should call first. Once upon a time it would have been an easy decision. When in doubt, call Warren Landingham. Warren, “El Jefe,” is the head of Paranormal Studies at the university where I got my degree. He’d been a father figure to me, and a close friend. But both he and his son had betrayed me. Granted it was to save Warren’s daughter, Emma. And yes, Emma is second only to Dawna as my best friend, but it was still a betrayal. And try as I might I couldn’t just forgive and forget. I don’t trust easily, but I’d trusted them both. Which made the pain that much worse.
I could call Dr. Sloan. Aaron Sloan is a grizzled old guy with wiry white hair and brows that bristle over the top of his Coke-bottle glasses. He’s as brilliant in his own way as El Jefe. But while Warren is more of a generalist, and plays university politics, Aaron focuses almost exclusively on curses and the demonic. If he doesn’t know the answer, he knows who does, or can find out.
He’d given me a textbook the last time I’d been to his office— Man’s Experience of the Divine —and I never had taken the time to read it. Now might be the time to start. It would be embarrassing to call him and find out I had had the answer sitting on the shelf in my office.
“Morning, Celia. Are you okay?” Dawna’s face had a thoughtful and worried expression. I noticed she didn’t say I looked bad again. Smart girl. It’s just one of the reasons I like her so well.
“Rizzoli dragged me to the FBI offices to help interrogate a witness. I’m feeling a little twitchy. What do we have for food here?” “Twitchy” was our private code for the vamp trying to get the best of me. At first after the attack
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