All Your Wishes (22 page)

People came from all directions, and more quickly than I expected. Then again, this was the part of the building where people worked difficult experimental magic. Probably this wasn't the first emergency they'd had to deal with. Nor was it likely to be the last.

A bear of a man with grizzled hair and beard, wearing gray dress slacks and a charcoal sweater, shouldered me easily aside. Squatting down beside Rahim, he searched for a pulse and shouted for a woman standing in the hall to call an ambulance. I thought I recognized her as one of the secretaries I'd passed in the hall on the way to the workroom, but I could have been wrong.

A crowd was gathering, peering in through the doorway.

“Good God, what happened to his leg?” the man trying to help Rahim asked.

“We were sparring and there was an accident,” I lied. As I spoke, I pushed a little with my siren abilities. They weren't in top form this far from the water, but anything I could manage would be better than nothing. I needed Rahim to get help without anyone thinking too hard about what had happened to cause his injuries. The big problem was the magical strain. That was what would kill Rahim—and pretty quickly if it wasn't treated soon.

The grizzled man—probably another professor—shook his head, waving a hand in front of his face as if to shoo away a buzzing fly. But his next words let me know that my push had hit home. “He's overstrained his magic, but he's breathing and his pulse is good. We need to get him to the hospital as fast as possible, but he should pull through.”

There were murmurs of relief and some of the watchers—mostly those who looked older than the average college student, so presumably teachers—began shepherding others away from the scene.

The woman I thought was a secretary glared at me as she pulled out a cell phone and called 911.

Oops. Using my siren abilities on the man had set off aggression in the woman.

Time to disappear. I tucked myself into a group of three or four others who'd been bold enough to come into the workroom as they—we—all filed out. I didn't have time to waste dealing with the police investigation, and, call me crazy, I figured the attempted murder terminated my contract with Rahim.

The secretary was still staring after me as I scuttled through the doors to the nearest classroom. It was empty, which was fine by me. I needed a little privacy to calm down and catch my breath. With a press of the button I set my watch to run a countdown to Hasan's deadline. Though I knew it'd just stress me out more, seeing the numbers ticking steadily down, I needed to know how much time I had.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out Kevin's cell phone. The battery was dead. Crap. I opened the door and peered out. The coast was clear. The woman I'd pissed off was gone.

I needed a phone. Probably my best bet would be the secretarial area. If I was lucky, most of the staff would still be away from their desks, dealing with the crisis. Luck was with me; when I got to the cubicles, it was easy to find an empty desk and help myself to a landline. On a hunch, I dialed 9 for an outside line. I smiled at the next dial tone and called my office.

“Graves Personal Protection.”

“Dottie, it's me. Can you use your gift to tell me anything? I need help.” I didn't say anything specific since there were people at some of the nearby desks, pretending not to listen. Besides, knowing Dottie, she'd been keeping tabs on me via her gift.

“Yes, you do. Badly. But I don't dare tell you much, the situation's too delicate.” She thought for a long moment, the silence dragging on the line between us. Finally, she said, “You should know, you need to meet with Mrs. Patel and her son at the hospital before you leave Indiana. It's critical. They have something you'll need.”

“What?”

I shouldn't have bothered asking. She'd already put me on hold. A moment later Dawna picked up.

“Celia, are you all right? Dottie's been worried sick but won't tell me
anything.
” It sounded as if Dawna was about to tear her hair out with frustration. It's not an uncommon sentiment for people who regularly deal with clairvoyants.

“For the moment, but the job's gone to hell in a handbasket,” I said aloud. In my mind I projected,
Rahim tried to kill me.

“He
what?
Why?”

The ifrit wants my body—permanently. Apparently Rahim thought killing me was the best way to keep him from getting it. It's the same reason his grandpa hired the hit men
. I projected while saying something boring and mundane.

Dawna started swearing. She was surprisingly good at it for someone who doesn't do it often. Well, hadn't done often, until we took this case. “Did you kill him?”

No. We need him to get the ifrit back in the jar.
I didn't want the staff members wondering about my long silence, so I said, “The client overstrained his magic. They're taking him to the hospital.”
I need you to hire somebody to take over protecting Rahim. Someone who will report to us. I'm not turning Rahim in for trying to kill me—he has to be free to try to deal with Hasan, and he needs to be protected, but I want to know what he's up to.

This was a risky path to take. If the Patels stiffed us, we'd be out not only our labor, but the cost of whomever we hired as well. But my life was at stake and that was worth more than a few bucks.

“I'm on it. Should I call the Company or Miller & Creede?”

“Doesn't matter to me. Long as they know they're working for us and report to us.”

“The Company then. Creede would ask too many awkward questions.”

I winced. She was right. The Company is a quasi-military organization with independent contracts with governments all over the world. They also have other, less savory, dealings. If you've got the money, they'll do whatever, no questions asked. I sighed. This was going to cost a
lot
of money. If Rahim didn't pay his bill, we might not be able to hire a medic after all.

“Bubba and Kevin are at the South Bend airport right now, getting a rental car. Where should I have them pick you up?” I was happy to know that my guys weren't too far away. They must have gotten a flight pretty soon after Rahim and I left Tampa.

“I'll be at the hospital. I'll get you the address.”

Dottie told me I need to meet with Mrs. Patel and her son at the hospital, but we've got to move fast. The ifrit gave me a deadline to get to this cave in Colorado. If I don't go there and give him what he wants, he'll start killing people, starting with Gran, you, Bruno, everyone I love.

“And what he wants is you? Celia, you can't—”

No, but I can't risk everybody either. He said he couldn't reach me when I was standing inside an active casting circle. Maybe it was just that particular circle. I mean, it was pretty elaborate, with jewels and everything. But it could be that I can be safe in any circle.
After all, he'd needed my body to cross the one on the beach. Then again, that one had had jewels, too—the vostas. Crap. “I want you to get hold of everybody. I want every single one of you to get into a circle and wait this out. Hasan specifically mentioned Gran, so I really need you to make sure she's protected.”

“
Everyone?
Celia, that's a lot of people. Where do I draw the line?”

She was right, of course. I have a lot of friends. Normally that's a good thing. But it did give Hasan a ridiculous number of possible targets. Damn it. “Don't. Just call everyone in the inner circle, and tell them to call everyone they can think of, and on out. Better for too many people to know than not enough.”

“I'll do it. I promise.”

“Thanks, Dawna.”

I need guns and ammo.

I thought Kevin gave you his Glock.

Rahim destroyed it.

“What? How?”

Magic.

“Good luck telling Kevin. I'm sure he's going to be as happy to hear that as he is when he learns you want everyone to hide.”

I snorted a laugh into the phone. Dawna was right. I could just imagine how well Bubba and Kevin would take that advice.

“You do realize that if everyone is hiding in casting circles, we won't be able help you. You won't have any backup.” She took a breath. “I assume the phone you got from Kevin is either gone or dead? You need to get a new one, soonest. We can't afford for you to be out of touch right now.”

“I know.” I hung up without saying good-bye. Yeah, it was rude. But there was nothing else she could say that I wanted to hear. Besides, the secretary whose desk I was using had just arrived. Wouldn't you know, it was the same one who'd glared daggers at me in the hallway. Now she was looming in the entrance to her cubicle, her expression set in hard lines of annoyed disapproval.

“Sorry. My cell battery was dead. I just need to make one more call. I need a cab to the hospital.”

Frowning, she stepped into the cubicle. I stood up and she took her seat; if I hadn't stepped aside quickly, she'd have plowed into me. Turning her back in dismissal, she said, “I'll have one meet you out front.”

 

19

Memorial Hospital
of South Bend is on North Michigan Street. It seemed nice and well run. I caught a glimpse of Rahim in one of the curtained-off areas of the emergency room. He was conscious, with IVs in each arm. I started toward him, but was stopped by a woman in scrubs who, while pleasant, was very firm.

“Let her in.” Rahim's words were a little slurred. “She is with me.”

The woman stepped aside, but the look she gave me was unfriendly.

I stepped close to his bed. The circumstances didn't allow for privacy, but the place was busy enough that there was plenty of background noise. Plus there was a fair amount of whirring and beeping from the machines Rahim was hooked up to, the ones that kept track of his vitals.

“You had them call an ambulance. Why? You could have left me to die.” He kept his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don't think that didn't occur to me,” I answered. “But, like it or not, you're the Guardian. I want Hasan back in the jar. You're my best bet for seeing that happen.”

He nodded.

“But, for the record, I quit. My replacement should be here soon.”

“One of your men?”

Seriously? Did he really think that my guys were going to look after him after what he'd done? Hell, he'd be lucky if they didn't try to take him out themselves.

“Nope. We're done.” I started to walk away. I'd only gone two or three steps when his voice stopped me.

“Celia, I can't say that I'm sorry. I genuinely like you, but Hasan cannot be allowed to take over a body on a permanent basis.”

I turned, meeting his gaze. “Believe me, I don't intend to let him. But why?”

He seemed to consider answering me for a moment, then closed his mouth firmly and turned away, facing the wall.

Fine. So be it. I walked down the hall to the ER lobby. There was a television, but it was muted, and magazines, but none of them really caught my fancy. There were plenty of people milling around. I wasn't exactly guarding Rahim, but I did keep an eye on the people who were coming and going.

Coming soon included the representative from the Company. He arrived quickly enough that he must have been in the area—though why, and doing what, I had no clue. The name he'd used when I'd known him was John Jones, and while he looked utterly ordinary, he was one of the most dangerous men I've ever met.

He greeted me with a nod of acknowledgment. “Graves, I see you're still among the living.” He meant it as a joke. He'd been the one to break the news to me about being an abomination—someone partially, but not completely, turned by a vampire. He'd been sure at the time that I'd either be killed by my sire or take the last step and wind up feeding on people. So far, I'd proved him wrong. But it hadn't been easy.

“More or less.” I couldn't match his light tone, and seeing that, Jones stopped smiling.

“Where's the client?” he asked soberly.

“I'm the client. Rahim Patel is the protectee. He's in the ER, being treated for overstraining his magic. He might need surgery on his knee.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out one of the One-Shots. Spraying a trickle of holy water into my palm, I extended my damp hand to Jones.

We shook.

It was him. Not that I'd expected a switch, but you can't be too careful.

I sent him down the hall, but didn't accompany him to make introductions. I was sick to death of Rahim Patel.

Irritable and restless, I wandered outside. Across the parking lot I saw a trio of people in scrubs, smoking just off hospital property. A little way to the right was a stone bench, set next to a flowerbed filled with yellow and orange fall mums. Making my way to the bench, I sat down, concentrated, and focused on reaching Bruno. Like before, it was a strain, but I managed. Still, with all the effort the mental conversations were taking, I was starting to get one hell of a headache—then again, maybe that was just the natural result of having to deal with the Patels.

Hi,
I said in Bruno's mind.

Thank God! The way our last conversation ended, I was afraid …
He didn't say what he'd been afraid of. Then again, he didn't have to. I was beginning to understand why he hated my job. It had to be hard for him, wondering every day if I'd make it back alive and unharmed. It's the same thing the spouses of cops, firefighters, and members of the armed forces go through, and it costs a lot of them their relationships. Would it cost me Bruno? Would I have to give up my job—my business—to keep him? Would I be willing to? He had never actually asked … yet.

This case is awful. I can't wait for it to be over. And I can't wait to see you again.