be my therapist.
They laughed just as another poor soul stepped up onstage to assault our ears with bad karaoke.
This time it was Alex, which made me smile. She began to sing “Wind Beneath My Wings” and the air
chil ed again and confetti began to spin and rain down on the hardwood floor. It was nice that Vicki had
decided to attend her own wake.
Her parents weren’t too happy with this particular aspect of her last wishes. I think they’d expected a
more somber affair, a tasteful memorial service that the press could attend, rather than a wild wake at
La Cocina y Cantina, with cheesy sombreros and piñatas for decorations. The piñatas were fil ed with
both confetti and little pouches of Pop Rocks—Vicki’s favorite guilty pleasure when she got drunk. The
place sounded like there were firecrackers going off after we broke open the first papier-mâché burro,
and the cops had come in more than once, only to leave with annoyed shakes of their heads when they
saw the cause of the commotion. The police are my special escort. The court deemed me a security
risk because too many people felt I shouldn’t be committed. The judge was afraid someone would slip
me out of the country before the hearing. Since I report for my confinement tomorrow, the judge
insisted on guards at the door of the wake and Dr. Scott attending to be sure I wasn’t endangering
anyone. He seemed to be having an okay time—if the pickup game of darts in the corner with El Jefe
was any indication.
“This was their song.” I said it to nobody in particular as Alex began to cry and raised one hand to
touch the cold breeze swirling around her head, stil singing into the mic while sobbing. Emma nodded
and smiled, too. Yeah, this party real y was what Vicki wanted and there was no denying that Jason and
Cassandra’s daughter was having the time of her undead existence. Everybody who’d ever known her
was there. I’d had to real y dig into online records to find everyone she’d listed on the back of the
napkin.
When the song was done, I looked up to see that Bruno was staring hard at something across the
room. I fol owed his gaze to see John Creede sitting on the other side of the bar, next to Cassandra.
They were real y glaring daggers at each other and I nudged Bruno to get his attention. But he was lost
in his own world, so I just shrugged and started to talk to Emma again. It was nice to be able to talk to
her.
I tried to touch on the subject delicately. “Have you heard from Kevin?”
Emma shook her head, her face both concerned and sad. “Not since he resigned from the university.
But”—she reached into her pocket and pul ed something out—“he left this on my desk. I completely
forgot to give it to you.”
It was a plain white envelope with my name printed on the front. I slit it open and looked inside. It held
a yel ow sticky note with two sentences written on it.
Lydia is first, then Erikson. I’ll be back for you.
Kevin
I passed it to Emma to see, because she was twitching so much to know what was going on that she
was about to climb over the table and grab the note anyway. She frowned, but then again, she didn’t
know about Jones’s offer. I was a little worried about the I’ll be back for you part. Was I the third “hard
target” on the list and he was giving me advance warning? Or was it a warm and fuzzy confirmation that
we’d see each other again?
“That’s like Kevin. He thinks he’s tel ing you the whole situation and it’s only in his head.” Emma
shrugged, so I did, too, and then she changed the subject. “So, Matty real y stood up for you in the
hearing? I thought he couldn’t stand you.”
I nodded. “You and me both. He might not like me, but I think he respects me now. That’s something.”
She raised her glass and clinked it with mine. “To respect.” I dipped my head in thanks and thought
about Matteo at the courthouse. He’d seemed genuinely pleased to see me when I showed up, which
surprised me. I doubt it made much impression on their mom, but she’s a tough nut to crack. The
hearts of her babies aren’t to be trifled with. Like I consider either of her boys a trifle.
As if on cue, Bruno touched my arm. “C’mon. We need to talk.” My brows rose at his very serious
expression. Unfor-tunately, there weren’t many places to go where we could be alone. After hurriedly
tel ing Emma to watch our drinks, I stumbled away with Bruno pul ing me forward by the elbow. We
wound up in the ladies’ room, because it was bigger than the men’s.
“So what was al that about? What do you and John Creede have against each other? You were
glaring at each other so hard, I was afraid I was going to have to stand between you like with
preschoolers on the playground.”
He reared back in surprise. “Glaring? We weren’t glaring at each other. He was offering me a job.” At
my confused expression, Bruno tapped his temple. “He’s a telepath, remember?”
Oh. Duh. “But you have a job. Didn’t you submit to a binding oath to them?” Like the confidentiality
oath, the non-compete oath prevented employees from moonlighting or being double agents. Nothing
worse for a firm’s reputation than an employee kil ing the client because he got a better offer from the
bad guys. “Didn’t you tel me once that your fingers would start to burn off before you could finish
signing your name on another deal before the contract term was up?”
He tipped his head rueful y and crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously hiding his hands from
sight. “That is a point. But my current job is on the East Coast and the term is up at the end of the
quarter. Creede’s offering to make me the head of the L.A. office. It’s less money, but—” He raised his
brows significantly. “It’s just down the road from here. What do you think?”
My jaw dropped far enough to feel cool air on my fangs. “Are you asking my opinion? On your
career?”
He shrugged and started to fiddle with the button on the wal -mounted hand dryer, tracing the edge of
the square over and over before he answered. “I don’t real y know. It just came up and I thought … I
real y didn’t like you facing that demon alone. You were lucky and you know it. And it’s not the only one
out there—”
I took a deep breath and let it out slow. We both knew something big was happening, which was why
the Vatican had been beefing up on warrior priests.
The door opened before I could reply. Dottie walked in and reared back in surprise to see a man in
the bathroom. He blushed as she let out a little squeak. I grabbed Bruno’s arm to push him out of the
room and had started to fol ow, thinking about what to say to his offer, when Dottie tapped me on the
shoulder. Her face showed that she was eager to talk to me, so I said, “Be right out, Bruno. Keep my
drink cold.”
“I’l ask Vicki to spin by the table again. Sure is saving on ice having her here.”
When the door closed and the music faded somewhat, Dottie smiled. “I’m so glad you survived, my
dear. I was very worried when I saw the demon in your future. But I just couldn’t tel you.” She seemed
both embarrassed and afraid.
I gave her a smal smile. “It’s okay, Dottie. I understand. I was friends with Vicki long enough to know
how hard it is for clairvoyants to live with what they see. It doesn’t
always come—”
“—true. Precisely. If I told you everything I saw, either you’d not believe me or you’d want to rush it …
or, worse, ignore the signs. But that’s not what I’m here to ask you about.”
I raised my brows and leaned back against the sink. I should have looked first, because I felt cool
water from the last hand washer wet the back of my shirt.
“You know that Mr. Gibson died.”
I nodded. “He was a good man. I’m glad he died in the line of duty. He would’ve wanted it that way.”
She sighed. “There was nothing to be done. I think he probably didn’t move fast enough …
intentional y. But he was taking care of Minnie for me, and now that I’m back in the housing project I
was hoping—”
Minnie the Mouser. I’d forgotten about the cat. Birchwoods al ows pets. I’d even thought about buying
a pup for Vicki at one point but never got around to it.
“I’ve read that cats don’t seem to have the same problems with vampires that dogs do. In fact, I saw
her sitting on your lap in a vision, and you were petting her just the way she likes. Since you haven’t
met her yet, I thought that perhaps—”
A cat. I’ve never considered a cat, but they do purr and I like things that purr. I don’t know why the
words came out of my mouth, but, “I’d be happy to keep her. Provided you visit her from time to time if I
have to go out of town.”
She beamed and promised to cal , then pranced to a stal . I walked out of the room to the happy yel s
of another piñata being beaten to a pulp. Every half hour or so one would start to spin and dance in the
air. Vicki was choosing the victims and then someone would grab a stick and start to pound away.
I noticed Dawna sitting in the corner and started to go over to talk—but she saw me coming and got
up, hurrying off in the opposite direction. That hurt. A lot. I hate that she’s avoiding me. Bubba says she
feels guilty. Lilith got the information on where to find me from her. I don’t blame her. Nobody could
stand up to that level of mental manipulation. Hel , I’m just grateful she’s stil alive.
I glanced over at the corner of the bar. Seems the good doctor is quite a darts player—if the grin and
the green pieces of paper crossing his palm were any indication. I made a decision and headed that
way, with a wave of my hand to tel Bruno I was going to be another minute.
“Dr. Scott? Can I talk to you for a second?”
He clapped a man I didn’t know on the shoulder and nodded. He sat down at the only free table in the
place and looked me over careful y. “Is everything okay? The stress getting to you?”
I let out a harsh laugh. “I’m fine. After the past few days this is hardly what I’d cal stressful. But thanks
for asking. No.” I careful y pointed my thumb toward where Dawna was sitting at a different table
chatting with Emma. “See that woman over there? Her name is Dawna Long. She’s a friend of mine
and the receptionist at my office building. Remember I told you about the vampire, Lilith?” He nodded
and I took a deep breath. “Lilith tracked me down by attacking Dawna on her way out of the parking lot
at work. She didn’t kil her, but the bite and the psychic trauma have been devastating. I don’t know if
she’l ever be able to come back to the office. Is there any way you could talk to her a little? I know
you’re not real y here for business, but—”
His face grew concerned and he looked at her the same way he’d looked at me. Then he frowned.
“Actual y, business is exactly why I’m here. And you’re correct. She’s not dealing with things very wel .
Very close to suicidal, actual y. I appreciate your bringing it to my attention.”
Suicidal? Crap. I hadn’t realized it was that bad. I felt sick to my stomach and wanted to race over to
her to try to make it better. But the fact that she hadn’t already sought me out … no, it was best if this
was dealt with by a professional. “I don’t know if she has the money to afford you, though. We pay her
pretty wel , but you guys are sort of pricey.”
“I’m sure we can work something out.” He added, quickly, “Now, if you’l excuse me.” I looked across
the room. Dawna stood up, looking dejected, terrified, and nearly angry. Dr. Scott rose smoothly and
touched my hand. “We’l talk more later. Right now, I think I need to speak to your friend before she
does something she’l regret.”
I stared after them until I saw that he’d caught up with her and offered his arm with a kind smile. She
hesitated, then accepted, and they stepped outside into the cool night. I caught a glimpse of the
entrance that told me that the police department had added another two uniformed officers to the
contingent at the door. Probably not the best advertisement for the business, but I … or, rather, Vicki
was paying through the nose to rent the whole place for the night, so it was real y nobody’s business.
I slid back into my chair after a few dodges around the newest piñata to fal . “Did I miss anything?”
Emma and Bruno shook their heads, each lost in their own thoughts as another round of firecracker
mouth candy exploded in unison. This batch appeared to be glowing in the dark, because green and
pink sparkles began to fil the air as people walked around the room. I would rather not know what
ingredient would cause glowing sparkles, and I certainly didn’t want to put it in my mouth.
always shut down in plenty of time for the 2:00 liquor cutoff. They do a first-last cal and a last-last cal ,
so that al cups were off the tables by 1:30. It was time for the toast.
I stood up and shouted over the laughing, yel ing crowd, “Hey! Hey, everybody. Listen up!”
Nobody responded.
After two more attempts with my stil -hoarse throat, Bruno stood up. He put his two baby fingers
between his lips and let out a blast of noise that stopped al sound in the place and caused the front
doors to open—revealing officers with guns drawn. Bruno ignored them and shouted, “Celia wants to
talk. It’s time for the toast.”
Everybody nodded and gathered round our table. I thought about going up onstage and getting the
microphone, but with everyone quiet, it should be fine.
“First, thank you al for—” I coughed, cleared my throat, and took another sip of margarita. “Thank
you al for coming. As you know, this is a triple wake. Some of you are here to offer fond farewel s to
Vicki Cooper, some for Bob Johnson, and some for Karl Gibson. They were al great people, and I was
proud to know them.”
There were a few “Hear, hear!” comments from the back of the crowd.
“We’re honored to have Vicki attend her own wake.” Confetti and cool air began to swirl around my
head and I smiled. “Few people ever get the chance to hear how people feel about them after they’re
dead. So, I’m going to open the floor to let you al tel her directly how you felt, how she made a
difference in your life, and why you’l miss her.”
A woman’s voice I didn’t recognize came from the farthest row of people. “You could always drink me
under the table, Vic! Only person to ever have done it! You rocked!”
General laughter erupted and then Larry Davers, an old friend from our freshman year, spoke up, his
voice serious and cracking with emotion. “You
saved my life, Vicki, and I never thanked you. You
insisted I not ditch chemistry to go skiing because you saw that something bad was going to happen. I
was pissed that you kept fol owing me, pul ing my arm. I final y got mad when you threatened to turn me
in and went to class with you. And then the avalanche hit, on the very slope I was going to use, and
kil ed those rangers. I would have been out there, too. I would have died if you hadn’t made me listen.
Thank you … on behalf of myself, my wife, and the children I never would have had.” Confetti rained
down on him and he laughed through his tears as he pul ed a dark-haired woman close and kissed her.
More people started to talk, one on top of the other—tel ing stories of Vicki saving them, or setting
them up with the person they’d wind up marrying, or just hanging out and having fun. There was a little
piece of me that was surprised by how many people she’d affected. There’s always a part of you that
thinks you know your best friend better than anyone … and yet there were dozens of people here
whom I’d never known she knew.
A woman named Laura was just explaining how Vicki had saved her when the music started to play
again. We looked up to see if it was Vicki doing it, but instead, we saw a drop-dead gorgeous woman in
a slinky black dress pick up the microphone. She began to sing, and every person in the place turned
as one. It was the theme song from The Phantom of the Opera and she was not only singing on-key
but also quite possibly singing it better than the Broadway version.
As everyone stared at her, completely entranced, the only thing I could think was how indescribably
rude it was to interrupt the eulogies. Even Vicki was annoyed and began to pick up larger objects, not
just confetti but candles from the tables and sharp cutlery. But although the ghostly wind tried to heave
them at the singer, Vicki never connected. It was as though the singer was immune to the missiles.
When she finished her song minutes later, the place erupted into applause, with the exception of me,
Bruno, Alex, and a few others, who glared at the intruder with righteous indignation. She had to be an
intruder, because I hadn’t remembered seeing her as I passed around the room earlier. And I would