All Your Wishes (33 page)

When the ceremony was over, I excused myself to find the restroom. On my way, I passed an alcove filled with votive candles. Two people stood inside, and though I did not stop, I couldn't help but overhear what Sal was saying to Connie.

“Sweetheart, you've got nothing to worry about. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen.” His arm slid around her waist. “But beauty? That's in here.” He poked a stubby finger onto a spot just above her left breast. “And baby, you're fucking
gorgeous.
”

He meant every word, too. Connie's hair might never grow in again because of the burns to her scalp, and no amount of magic would ever fix the mass of scars that covered her back from having gone into a burning building to save Joey's children. But she was beautiful, and courageous, and absolutely amazing. Sal was lucky to have her and was smart enough to know it.

Joey himself was waiting for me when I exited the bathroom. Pulling me into the same alcove, he shoved a recording device identical to the one Rahim had brought to my office into my hands.

“This is the security footage from Sal's house, from that day. I know you've been blaming yourself for what happened to Bruno—because of the ifrit. You shouldn't. None of it was your fault. Bruno chose to come back to Jersey, even though he knew what was going on, knew how dangerous it was. And he chose to be a hero, to sacrifice himself to save Connie and the kids.” Tough as he was, Joey choked up then, his voice failing. He rubbed impatiently at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Rather than risk showing more emotion, he squared his shoulders and walked away. I stared down at the recorder wondering if I'd ever have the courage to watch what was on it. Because Joey was right about one thing: I did blame myself. Bruno had made his choices, but Hasan had rigged the game—and because of me.

The ifrit was back in the jar. I suspected that his jar, and the others, had been moved to a different, safer location. We'd dealt the bad guys another setback, but they weren't dead, and I knew their master wouldn't give up. So I was very cooperative when, two weeks after Isabella's funeral, Matty and a representative from the Vatican showed up on my doorstep to question me. I hope they succeed in finding out what the demon's plan is, and stopping it. And I
really
hope that plan doesn't involve me.

 

EPILOGUE

It was
almost a year before I could bring myself to look at the security footage: a year and some heavy therapy with Gwen to get past the worst of the anger, guilt, and loss, to put my grief into some sort of perspective. I loved Bruno and part of me always will.

Whether we would have worked, in the long run, as a couple is anyone's guess. We didn't get the chance. I blame Hasan for that. And while it's not particularly Christian of me, in my heart of hearts I hope that the knife I stuck in his back—the knife Bruno crafted—hurts him every second of all the eons of his imprisonment in that damned jar.

Almost a year to the day later, early on a Friday afternoon, I opened my center desk drawer and pulled out the recorder. It was time. Taking a deep breath, I hit the play button.

I was looking down at an angle, the view of one of the security cameras posted at regular intervals around Sal and Connie's estate. It was mounted on a corner of the building that served as both multicar garage and pool house, giving me a great view of an expanse of the manicured back lawn, the kidney bean–shaped in-ground swimming pool, and the flagstone patio with its inset silver casting circle. The very back of the image showed the bottom six inches of the back of the house.

Bruno was walking the casting circle. My heart ached as I watched his familiar figure, dressed in his usual black jeans, Converse sneakers, and a worn Bayview T-shirt. His hair was mostly hidden by his favorite Mets cap. He moved with calm assurance, doing something he'd done a million times, but still taking care, making sure he did it right.

Power blurred the image behind him as he walked, placing a jewel at each compass point.

Connie floated on an inflatable in the middle of the pool, her body brown and glistening in the bright sunlight. She wore a red string bikini, a big floppy straw hat, and sunglasses. She sipped a drink from a tall glass, watching Bruno at work with unabashed interest.

Toys were scattered around the yard and I could hear children's laughter coming from the direction of the house. Deeper, male voices came from the garage.

There was no warning. The
whump, whump
of demolition charges came out of nowhere. The house shuddered, smoke and dust filling the frame as childish laughter changed to screams. Orange flames flared from the house toward the patio.

I could smell oily smoke and the taste of concrete dust coated my tongue.

Connie didn't scream and she didn't hesitate. Dropping her drink, she rolled off the inflatable and swam with strong, sure strokes to the side of the pool.

Bruno stood in the center of the circle, arms extended, his expression one of total concentration, his entire body glowing with the power of the magic he was wielding. His voice was a strained rasp as he called out, “I can't hold it long.”

He was using magic to hold the house together, I realized. The strain had to be stupendous. His body quivered with it, and the jewels he'd set into the circle glowed neon bright.

“I'll get the kids,” Connie said, and ran off screen, directly into the inferno.

She was still inside when the gunfire started.

The first shot came from the front—off screen. It took Bruno in the shoulder, spinning him around and dropping him to his knees. More bullets tore into him, each impact making his body jerk. Blood and tissue flew everywhere. He could have shielded himself—if he'd dropped the spell on the house. I knew that wouldn't even have occurred to him. His first choice would always be to protect Connie and the kids over himself.

A limo drove into the frame, Sal at the wheel. He drove like a lunatic over the grass, crushing toys, slamming lawn furniture aside, engine roaring as the limo bounced over uneven ground and onto the flagstones, putting the spell-protected vehicle between Bruno and the gunfire.

It wasn't enough. It only protected Bruno from one side. I recognized the man coming up from the rear as Louie Santello, one of Sal's own men. He was carrying a Glock 9mm and took the time to aim carefully. One shot, two, then three, tore into Bruno, who continued pouring everything he had into holding his spell stable as four terrified children raced out the French doors with Connie at their heels. She was hunched over a blanket-wrapped bundle, her hair aflame and her back already a mass of charred flesh. She leaped into the pool and ducked herself and the baby underwater just long enough to put out the fire on her head.

The boys scattered and ran as fast as their legs could carry them.

Rolling down the limo window, Sal smoothly drew a gun that was just short of a cannon from beneath the seat. His first shot took Louie, the traitor, between the eyes, blowing out the entire back of his skull.

In the distance I could hear sirens, but they would be too late. Bruno lay crumpled on the ground in a spreading pool of blood, his body utterly still, eyes staring blankly up at the smoke-filled sky.

Keeping low, Sal rushed to the pool. He took the baby and set him on the floor of the limo before helping Connie out of the water.

My vision blurred and I hit the pause button, unable to continue.
Oh, Bruno.

“He was a hero.”

I brushed the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, turning to see who'd spoken. It was Cox, in civilian clothes, faded blue jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and a leather biker jacket. He'd been handsome in camo. In civilian clothes he was devastating. Everything was just tight enough to show off a totally ripped body. His white hair and honey gold, topaz eyes made for an interesting combination. If there were any other side effects of working the node magic, I sure couldn't see them.

Men like Cox don't use the word “hero” lightly. Looking into his eyes I could see sympathy, not pity. I appreciated that. A lot.

“I was in town, and figured I'd look you up. I got the address from your Web site. But if this is a bad time…?”

“No. It's okay. I…” I stammered awkwardly. Grabbing a tissue from the box on my desk, I scrubbed my eyes dry. “It's been a year.” My voice was raw.

“You still miss him.”

There was no point in lying about it. “Yeah.”

He gave a short nod. “I get that. There are people I miss, too.” A shadow passed over his face and he gave me a crooked smile that was more than a little wistful.

It made sense. In his line of work, even more than mine, death was a fact of life. Hell, it's a fact of life for everyone, come to that. Sooner or later.

I took a deep breath to steady myself and shut off the recorder. Tossing the damp tissue into the trash, I met his gaze.

“I'm surprised to see you here.” I said, then added hastily, “Glad, but surprised.” I blushed a little at how lame I sounded.

He smiled again, more broadly this time, and I felt my heart flutter a little. “I'm on leave. Thought I'd stop by, see if you wanted to have lunch.”

“I could use some lunch,” I said as lightly as I could manage. I hadn't realized I was hungry until he suggested food. But I was. And company might be the best thing for me right now. “What did you have in mind?”

“It's your town. What do you suggest?”

“I know this terrific little Mexican restaurant near campus.”

He smiled. It was a good smile, sincere and a little bit nervous. “Do they serve alcohol?”

“Oh, yeah. Barbara makes a killer margarita.”

“Good. We can raise a glass to fallen friends.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

 

TOR PARANORMAL ROMANCE BOOKS

BY
C.T. ADAMS
AND CATHY CLAMP

THE SAZI

Hunter's Moon

Moon's Web

Captive Moon

Howling Moon

Moon's Fury

Timeless Moon

Cold Moon Rising

Serpent Moon

THE THRALL

Touch of Evil

Touch of Madness

Touch of Darkness

WRITING AS
CAT ADAMS

Magic's Design

Blood Song

Siren Song

Demon Song

The Isis Collar

The Eldritch Conspiracy

To Dance with the Devil

All Your Wishes

WRITTEN BY
C. T. ADAMS

The Exile

 

“Classy series … a compelling story of political intrigue, betrayal, and growing romance. Strong characters make this title stand out from other more generic urban fantasies.”

—
Library Journal
on
The Eldritch Conspiracy

“
The Eldritch Conspiracy
is fast-paced, filled with action and a lot of familial drama. Continues the thrill ride that Celia's life has become.”

—
Fresh Fiction

“Bodyguard by profession, vampire by accident, and siren by heritage, Celia leads a life of excitement and turmoil. This series just keeps getting better, maintaining a delicate balance between urban fantasy and paranormal romance. The emotional components are just as strong as the action sequences, set against an increasingly interesting world.”

—
Publishers Weekly
on
Demon Song

“Thrilling urban fantasy … endlessly entertaining.”

—
All Things Urban Fantasy
on
Demon Song

“The author has created a paranormal fantasy world that leaves the reader wanting more. Interesting characters, wonderful world-building, and a mythology that gets more interesting with every character they throw into the mix. Fast-paced, with twists and turns and excitement galore,
Siren Song
does not disappoint.”

—
TeensReadToo
(5 stars, Gold Award)

“The action-filled narrative of this engrossing novel never lags, and the authors skillfully keep the various plot threads all going simultaneously, scoring extra points for a style of smooth readability.
Siren Song
will please urban fantasy fans. [An] exciting, highly satisfying series.”

—
Bitten by Books

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

C. T. Adams
is the
USA Today
bestselling author of
The Exile
and, as
Cat Adams
, of the Blood Singer series, which begins with
Blood Song
(the first six books were cowritten with Cathy Clamp). Cie is the coauthor of the Thrall series, which begins with
Touch of Evil
, and the Sazi series, which begins with
Hunter's Moon
. You can sign up for email updates
here
.

 

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