Blood Song (38 page)

I stood up and shouted over the laughing, yelling crowd, “Hey! Hey, everybody. Listen up!”

Nobody responded.

After two more attempts with my still-hoarse throat, Bruno stood up. He put his two baby fingers between his lips and let out a blast of noise that stopped all 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 all for—” I coughed, cleared my throat, and took another sip of margarita. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, this is a triple wake. Some of you are here to offer fond farewells to Vicki Cooper, some for Bob Johnson, and some for Karl Gibson. They were all 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 all tell her directly how you felt, how she made a difference in your life, and why you’ll 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 following me, pulling my arm. I finally 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 killed 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 pulled a dark-haired woman close and kissed her.

More people started to talk, one on top of the other—telling 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
have noticed her.

She slunk down from the stage, the spotlight turning her luxurious red mane of hair into something fluid and shimmery as she walked. The crowd parted as she passed and she did it with the air of a goddess—as though she fully expected people to part for her.

Of course, maybe she
was
royalty and I just didn’t know it. The king and his retinue had returned home to Rusland to get ready for Prince Rezza’s wedding. I’d been told to expect an invitation, but the court refused to let me out of the country. I have it on good authority that the king has been putting discreet pressure on our government to make sure I don’t wind up jailed or permanently institutionalized. I appreciate that even more than the sizable deposit that was wired into my bank account. Rezza’s been rethinking his allegiance to a group who’d hire a demon and kidnap his brother, which is probably for the best. He might not be as big on the American ideal as his father, but at least Rezza won’t be a sworn enemy if he winds up on the throne.

This woman had that same air—more like Rezza than his father. Rezza’s father felt more like a commoner than a king, but Rezza had that
otherness
that made you want to bow or grovel.

“You must be the abomination.” The woman held out her hand when she reached me.

I didn’t take the offered limp fingers. “And
you
must be rude.” She reared back in surprise, like I’d intended. “I’m sorry,” I said with narrowed eyes and just a hint of fang showing (I’m learning how to do that better), “but didn’t you hear that people were trying to talk over here—trying to
honor
the people we came here to celebrate? Just who do you think you are?”

Now the eyes grew stormy. They looked a little like mine, gray with swirls of blue and green. I felt pressure against my head, as if someone were squeezing it with both hands. She glared harder and the pressure grew. Bruno realized what was happening but wasn’t sure what to do about it. It didn’t seem to be any sort of spell, although she did have that
evil witch
look about her. Sort of Jessica Rabbit meets Snow White’s stepmother.

“I
think
I am Princess Adriana Kalino, heir apparent of the Pacific sirens. And I think
you
have just insulted me, abomination. What body part do you wish to lose to make reparations?”

Oh, fuck a duck
. This was
not
how I imagined I was going to meet Granddad’s side of the family. Most of the crowd started to move backward to get out of fallout range. Bruno stepped forward, being the nice guy he is, but I reached an arm back to stop him. Interestingly, John Creede also stepped forward, as did Emma and Alex. But I shook my head.

Two could play this game. “No … I didn’t insult you. You stormed into a solemn occasion and decided to show off your body and voice for no good reason. I think that’s rude in pretty much any culture. How do you plan to make reparations to
me
?”

She seemed taken aback at that, as though nobody had ever really stood up to her before. I was willing to be the first. “We have an impasse. Very well. Then we agree to battle to satisfy our grievances. At the stroke of ten, after you have appeared at your hearing before the Pacific lords on the Isle of Serenity to defend your right to exist,
and
if you survive, then we will fight to settle this.”

Whoa, whoa
! “Back up, Your Royal Siren-ness. What the hell are you talking about? What hearing, and who are the ‘Pacific lords’? And where is the Isle of Serenity?”

She smiled, and while it was beautiful, it was also mocking. “Had you greeted me as a siren princess is entitled, I would feel inclined to answer your questions. As it is—” She shrugged. “I can be every bit as stubborn as you appear to be. When you complete your court-ordered stay in the treatment facility, you will be
collected
to appear for the hearing.”

She turned on her heel and started to walk back through the crowd, slinking and twitching those perfectly formed hips. As hard as I tried to follow so I could kick that perfect ass into next Tuesday, I couldn’t. My feet flat wouldn’t move. Bruno either couldn’t move, either, or chose not to, since he was squeezing my arm in a signal not to follow her. Maybe he was stopping me.

Or maybe
she
was.

Not good.

Just before she walked out the double doors, which two officers in tan were holding for her with the rapt expression of starving puppies, she turned and raised one brow. “If I were you, I’d use my time in the treatment facility to study siren culture and heritage. Perhaps once you understand why you have to die, you’ll do the honorable thing and commit suicide. Otherwise, we’ll simply kill you.” She smiled pleasantly to the rest of the crowd—most of whom smiled back. “Please, the rest of you enjoy the remainder of the party. You might include the hostess in your remembrances. This may be the last time you’ll see her alive.”

Another smile that was a chilly baring of teeth was directed to me. “The next time we meet, dear cousin, will be the last.”

Dear
cousin
?

Well … shit.
Didn’t
my
life just suck moss-covered swamp rocks?