I aimed between the victim’s eyes, enjoying seeing the cheery little cherry red light dance over my forehead. Then I moved the sight to aim at my heart, knowing I could take either shot and have a perfectly clean kill. But that was not my objective. My job was to injure, not kill. So I lined the sight up with the victim’s right shoulder, an injury that would be painful and debilitating but not fatal. I pulled the trigger, waking with a scream as I heard the shot ring out.
I sat bolt upright in bed, panting, my heart pounding as I grasped at the right shoulder of the T-shirt I’d worn to bed with my left hand.
Holy crap, that had felt real. “It was just a dream, a nightmare. No biggie,” I told myself. But as I threw aside the tangled sheets and shambled down the hall to the bathroom, I couldn’t put the image out of my mind.
The more I thought about it, the more it seemed likely that my subconscious was trying to tell me something. So I slid on my shoes and went for a walk on my beach. I sat on my favorite rock, staring at the moonlight and starlight reflecting off of the ocean, letting the sound of the waves lapping the shore soothe me as I tried to figure out what was bothering me.
Michelle had been shot in the right shoulder with a rifle. The only spots suitable for a sniper had been close enough that even an amateur could have made the shot.
So why wasn’t she dead? Had it been, as my subconscious was telling me, a deliberate choice? The more I thought about it, the more I believed I shouldn’t ask Dottie to scry about it. It would be the easy solution, but it wouldn’t be right to risk her health. Maybe I could have Emma give it a try. Now that she had the mirror to use as a focus, she was able to do a lot more than most people with her level of talent. And she was young and healthy. Yeah, maybe in the morning I could ask Emma to take a look. But for now, I’d see where logic got me.
Okay, say the sniper had deliberately missed. Why would somebody shoot if not to kill? If he wanted Michelle dead, why not just kill her?
Bio samples can be used in a lot of negative magic. DNA can be determined from a blood sample as well. So I started asking myself what-ifs. What if the bad guys weren’t positive she was the right target and needed to make sure? What if they wanted a DNA sample so that they could do a spell that affected an entire family (as had been done to the Garza family at the wedding)? It would make sense. If they used what they thought was her blood to target the spell and got it wrong, the effort would be wasted. I wasn’t sure they’d care, but innocents would be wiped out. And in either case, the police would be on their trail.
Too, the type of spell that would target a family would take a lot of juice. Most individual mages couldn’t pull it off once without draining themselves dry and possibly dying. That was one of the main reasons spells like this were so uncommon. Self-preservation is a basic instinct. Fortunately for humanity, there haven’t been too many groups of homicidal mages willing to work together.
If I was right and Connor Finn was behind this whole thing … well, it seemed he liked things messy, liked inflicting pain. The spells he’d used against the Garzas before going to prison twenty-three years ago had been hideously violent. Leaving me in the sunlight had been truly effective torture. Abigail’s death hadn’t been clean. Slugger’s punishment had been torture as well, capped by his death. Just shooting Michelle wouldn’t be enough for someone like that. He’d want her to suffer.
Michelle was just a kid. She didn’t know about Connor Finn. She didn’t know about the feud, hadn’t done a damned thing to deserve being shot. But right now she was in the hospital, afraid and in pain. The only mother she’d ever known was dead.
It was wrong.
I’m no saint. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, made choices that I don’t like thinking too hard about. But if I let my fear keep me from protecting this young woman, whether she hired me or not—if she died because I didn’t shield her from the monster who was stalking her—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
Knowing what I was going to do didn’t make the possible consequences any less terrifying. But I’d face that when the time came.
Staring at the ocean, I confirmed the choice my subconscious had already made when I’d called Kevin. I was going to stop Connor Finn.
The question was how.
I needed advice from somebody I trusted who could be objective about things. One name sprung to mind: Isaac Levy. I knew just where to find him, too. He’d be at his shop at ten o’clock sharp.
I dressed conservatively, choosing a nice blue suit with a plain white silk top. My good sheaths had disappeared with the knives, so I strapped on a backup set. They were just a little less comfortable, and the stiff leather chafed slightly. Still, once the jacket was on you’d never know they were there. And even with the chafing, I was glad because, hey, I had my favorite weapons back. Sad to admit, I felt really na**d without them.
* * *
I was waiting in front of Isaac’s shop, reading Kevin’s text, when Isaac arrived. He strode up to the SUV, his expression curious. His face broke into a genuine smile when I opened the door and he saw it was me.
Isaac stood a step or so back, giving me room to climb down. “Celia, so good to see you. Have you been waiting long?”
“No, just a couple of minutes.” I smiled at him. Isaac and his wife, Gilda, are dear friends of mine. They’re old enough to be my grandparents, and sometimes they act like the set I lost when my father abandoned us. Isaac was wearing his usual dark gray suit, but instead of his usual snow-white shirt, he’d chosen one in dove gray with silver striping. It looked very good on him.
“You’re looking very spiffy today,” I said. “Something special going on?”
“Gilda’s birthday. We have reservations at her favorite restaurant for lunch.” He smiled. “I’ve got her gift in the safe inside. Would you like to see it?”
“Does it sparkle?” I was teasing him a little. Gilda loves jewelry and Isaac loves to indulge her.
We both laughed fondly as Isaac began disarming the complex web of spells that protected his shop. Once that was done, he disarmed the more traditional alarm system. This might seem like a lot of security for one store—even though it was a triple storefront—but Levy’s was a high-end place. They stocked a lot of valuables and weapons, so they were always very careful. I’d even helped them pick out the firm and system they used.
When all was well, Isaac held open the door for me. I stepped in and flicked on the lights.
I felt like a kid in a candy store.
Levy’s had started out as a small place, tucked in beside a dry cleaning shop in a neighborhood that was just a bit off of the beaten path. They hadn’t moved, but they’d expanded into the spaces on either side and the shop was now fairly large, bright, and airy. It carries all my favorite stuff, and it’s of the highest possible quality. I’ve purchased all of my weapons and had all of my professional tailoring done here since I first went into business. Not only that, I’ve gladly referred everyone I know with similar needs, which is why Isaac and Gilda Levy are now responsible for outfitting the security services for both Rusland and the Isle of Serenity, the staff of Miller & Creede, employees of several other businesses, and more than a few “general contractors” like myself.
A part of me wanted to roam the aisles, see what was new, and pick up a few goodies. But no, I was here on business.
Isaac is the best at what he does. If anyone could give me the straight scoop, it would be him.
“So, what are you in the market for today?” Isaac asked as he walked past me. He inserted a key into the control box for the retractable metal gates, like those that protect the doors of stores in the airports or malls, that covered the shop’s windows.
“I know you’re busy, but do you have a couple of minutes to talk? I could really use some information.”
“Of course. Go on back into the workroom. I’ll join you in a minute. We can chat while I work. Gilda’s at the hairdresser this morning, but Edna will be in soon to cover the front.”
Edna was a widow from the neighborhood. They’d given her a part-time job after her husband died, to give her “something to do.” It had worked out well for both sides. Business at the shop had grown so much that the Levys had really needed the extra help. Still, I was sorry I wouldn’t be seeing Gilda.
At Isaac’s gesture, I made my way to the back room. Isaac’s workroom is a very personal space that is centered on a silver casting circle eight feet in diameter. Inside the circle are three daises of various heights that always remind me of the prize stands at the Olympics. If clients stand on the low dais, most of them are at the perfect height for Isaac to pin the hem of and do the tailoring on a jacket. The “second place” dais is great for hemming skirts. The highest stand is just right for hemming pant legs and tailoring them to perfectly to disguise an ankle holster. I remember how excited Isaac was when he had them designed and installed. No more crawling around while he performed either mundane tailoring or complex spell work.
Along the walls outside the circle are cube-style shelves in unfinished oak. They hold books in multiple languages, various spell components, thread, and sewing equipment. In one corner a wooden, roll-top desk and a pair of chairs sit next to a beautiful old sewing machine. A high-definition television hangs from a mounting attached to the ceiling. It could be rotated to face anywhere in the room and was helpful to keep clients from getting bored during long fittings.
I spent a few minutes scanning the book cubicles while I waited for Edna to arrive, freeing Isaac.
“So, you have a problem?” he said, right behind me. I hadn’t heard him approach, which was startling. I jumped a little; he laughed and I smiled. There was no danger here. Isaac continued, “Come sit down. Tell me all about it.”
We went over to his desk, where we sat down and I told him the story from the very beginning. Every once in a while he would stop me to ask specific questions. He was particularly interested in the hologram disk and the failure of my shield spell. As I was going over that for the third time, he opened his desk drawer to retrieve a pad and pen and took notes.