Fire Dancer (Spellbound in Sedona #2)

Chapter Thirteen

PIPPA

I left the hot shop with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was jubilant at finishing my contest entry — and still tingling from kissing Ingo. On the other hand, I worried about Stacy. But there were a dozen reasonable explanations for her absence, and only one off-the-deep-end, paranoid one to worry about. The odds didn’t add up.

That didn’t stop me from checking my phone for messages at every red light, though.

Twenty minutes and a few miles of back roads later, I pulled into the parking lot of the Kokopelli Spa and Resort.

“Thanks so much for coming!” My friend Nancy hugged me when I found her inside.

I smiled. “Happy to help.”

I was — truly — but the money didn’t hurt either. Even half a day of catering work paid well at pricey resorts like this. And unlike that glass contest, the payoff was a sure thing.

“So, what do we have today?” I asked, pulling on an apron.

She motioned to a glass pavilion beside the resort kitchen. “Late lunch for a group of fifteen. They’ve booked the entire resort.”

I whistled. The resort had space for five times that number.

Nancy shrugged at the question in my eyes. “I guess they really wanted their privacy.”

That total lack of curiosity — aka discretion — made Nancy’s small company one of the most sought-after caterers in Sedona. That, and her award-winning food.

“Kind of late for lunch, though, huh?”

She shrugged. “From what I understand, they slept in and had a late brunch.”

I peeked out the door for a first impression. My eyes roved around, then I stopped for a low, “Wow.”

Nancy chuckled. “Do you mean the guy closest to the door or the one over by the pool?”

I’d meant the first one, but now that I’d spotted number two…

I whistled. “Wow again. Is this like the Olympic volleyball team?”

Nancy laughed. “Nope. The women are too short. My guess was an elite dance or cheerleading squad, but they mentioned something about being consultants.”

Ha. That was a lot like artist — an occupation that could mean anything. And, heck. What would those gorgeous twentysomethings lounging by the pool be qualified to advise anyone on? Beauty products? Exercise programs?

I tightened my apron and looked around the kitchen. “You want me to start with drinks?”

Nancy nodded. “You know the drill.”

I did, because I’d moonlighted for her catering company lots of times. Some of them memorable, like the time I’d first encountered Harlon Greene and Angelina Saint James. Some less so, like that conference of dental assistants…or had they been safety inspectors?

I picked up a tray of glasses and headed into the adjoining pavilion — one of those giant glass structures that conveyed an outdoors feel even in nippy winter weather. This one was big enough to enclose the entire pool and a deck with thirty or so lounge chairs, only half of which were occupied.

I poured a dozen orange juices and started making the rounds.

“Juice?” I asked the nearest woman, a stunning redhead in a bathrobe.

“God, yes. Please.”

I set it down beside her water bottle and moved on.

“Juice?” I asked the next guy — a muscled football player type.

“Yes, please.” He helped himself to two and downed each in a single long gulp, then placed the glasses back on the tray.

Next came a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty who could have starred in a Bollywood movie, then a serious — and seriously buff — young man of Asian heritage.

All in all, a United-Colors-of-Benetton-meets-Olympic-team kind of bunch: they represented every race, creed, and color, including two plus-sized beauties.

Same deal each time. Everyone gladly took a juice — or two.

Not so noteworthy, but that was in addition to the liter-sized water bottles each person kept at hand, and most of those were down to the last drop.

Apparently, consulting was a very thirsty business.

By way of experiment, I poured a dozen cranberry juices, and those went just as quickly. So, huh. Thirsty, indeed, because cranberry juice never went fast. Not a picky bunch, these Benetton Olympians.

Meanwhile, I was starting to reassess the dance troop/cheerleader/athlete hypothesis, because all those things took energy. This gang was as lethargic as sloths at high noon. Maybe they ate a high-fiber diet that was really, really hard to digest.

Some were snoozing, while others just stared off into space. One woman leaned back, turning blind, cucumber-clad eyes to the sky.

Definitely a laid-back group.

All except for two big, hawkeyed men who stood at opposite corners of the pavilion. They wore suits and sunglasses and kept their hands at their sides. Their necks were as thick as my waist, and their gazes roved the area continuously. When I approached them with drinks, they shook their heads and looked over my head, like I was just another patch of empty space.

Nancy, over at the kitchen door, shook her head, indicating Not those two.

Interesting. What cheerleaders — er, consultants — came with a security detail? And, wait a second. The security guys seemed to spend more time facing the consultants than the outer perimeter. Were they keeping people in or out?

They hadn’t asked for ID or checked me in any way, but maybe Nancy had had me precleared.

Anyway, the young people barely acknowledged the existence of the security guys. So, huh. Maybe they were some kind of pop stars who used security to keep fans at bay while they enjoyed the peace of this remote resort.

For the next few minutes, I imagined a dozen different glamorous and scintillating scenarios, each blessing these men and women with lives far more exciting than my own.

“God, I love this part of my workweek,” one of them quipped. “The recovery stage.”

The others chuckled.

Recovery, huh? Maybe they were athletes after all. That would explain the sweatbands most of them wore around their wrists. So, maybe they were athletes who had just returned from a very taxing competition in a different time zone. I made a mental note to look up what events I’d recently missed.

When I circulated with my third load of drinks, a peppy, outgoing blonde named Kelly followed me, dispensing pills. Big ones, fit for a horse.

“One for you, and one for you…”

She was behind me, but I didn’t hear a single No, thanks.

“Gotta keep up your iron,” she chirped.

Enough iron to stick to a magnet, judging by the size of those pills. Maybe they had other stuff in them too. Stuff a lowly caterer like me had no business asking about.

I threw another glance at the security guys, then looked away.

The guests didn’t rush forward when we set up a table with food — not even the football player. So, I piled some hors d’oeuvres on a tray and made the rounds again. Which wasn’t really in my own self-interest since Nancy generally let me take leftovers home. But, heck. If those poor dears were so low in iron and hydration, they probably lacked other nutrients too.

That worked, though most guests treated food as an afterthought. They treated me the same way, and conversations that had been hushed during my first few rounds now continued without missing a beat.

“Vic…not my favorite. Henry is much gentler,” one of the guys said to another.

Masseurs, maybe? Physical therapists?

“I kind of wish I’d get Svea, though,” the other said, and they both chuckled.

I pictured a buxom Swede trained in the art of healing.

The next woman I walked by — gorgeous, with coffee-colored skin and beautifully arranged cornrows — winced and rubbed her thigh, murmuring something to a blonde. Cornrows wore sweatpants, and Blondie, a robe.

Blondie nodded sympathetically. “I know how you feel. But think of it this way — another six weeks of this and you’ll have enough for that down payment.”

I couldn’t help but speculate. Down payment on a house? A car? A monthly gym membership? What income bracket were these people in?

“True. Especially with free housing,” Cornrows agreed.

“Best view of Chimney Rock in Sedona,” Blondie quipped.

I froze. Stacy had once said the exact same thing.

Over in the far corner sat a strawberry-blonde, the only restless member of the squad. A newbie, it seemed, judging by the amount of advice the others doled out.

“No need to worry, Delaney. You’ll do great,” Kelly assured her. “It’s always scary the first time.”

“Not scared,” Delaney insisted, wringing her hands. “Just excited, I guess.”

About as excited as Roscoe on a visit to the vet, if you asked me. Not that they did.

“Exciting is right,” Kelly agreed. “I heard the boss say he’s expecting a full house on Friday.”

I made a mental note to ask Nancy about that. Had she been hired to cater that event too?

“The best thing you can do now is drink. Lots,” Miss Bollywood advised Delaney.

Hydration, hydration, hydration. Maybe that’s what they consulted people on.

“Lots of meat, too,” another added.

A good thing Nancy already had steaks sizzling on the grill.

The guests roused themselves for those, sitting four to a table with panoramic views of Deer Mountain and Boynton Canyon. Whoever was paying for this gig sure was generous to their staff. And, hey. Maybe these were incredibly skilled and successful consultants who deserved every last perk for whatever exhausting work they did.

“Delicious,” one gushed over a bite of steak.

“I feel better already,” another decided.

“How many other people get to work three days on, four off?” another crowed.

Lucky people, that was for sure. Though their work certainly seemed exhausting.

“High-priced escorts,” Wendy, Nancy’s other helper, whispered, half serious, half in jest. “I bet you anything that’s what they are.”

I couldn’t decide whether to chuckle or frown because, huh. That did fit.

Nancy tut-tutted. “What some people will do for money.”

I tsked too, but then it hit me. How far would I go? Say, when it came to saving my ranch?

Suddenly, I wasn’t half as judgmental.

Still, the gears in my mind ticked over. As I made my next rounds, I studied the guests even more closely. And, oh. A whole new, horrible scenario dawned on me.

I went over the factors, wishing I could come to a totally different conclusion. But I couldn’t.

Gorgeous young people. Check.

Well-paying jobs. Check.

Long hours on weekends, lots of time off during the week. Pampered conditions in their downtime, with a couple of security-types keeping an eye on them even then.

Check, check, check.

High-priced escorts, for sure. But who did they work for?

I had a hunch, but it made me sick.

Up until then, I’d been casually curious. Now, I really was actively curious in one of those I want to know, but I don’t want to know states.

None of your business, I reminded myself.

Still, I kept snooping away.

And, bingo. The third time I passed Delaney, a tiny detail registered. Not about how she picked at her food or how young she looked or how out of place she seemed. Something else. The tiniest, faintest detail I hadn’t noticed before.

Her scent.

My step hitched, but I managed not to gawk.

She had the same fresh, woodsy, mountains-in-springtime scent as someone I knew well. Ingo.

The same woodsy scent, in fact, as Ingo’s father and mother and my dad’s friend Howie, too.

Wolf shifter scent.

How did I know? I just did.

Maybe my mother’s dragon shifter genes made me sensitive to such things. Maybe it came from growing up around a mixed group of supernaturals, from warlocks like my father to the wolves of Ingo’s family. I could even identify vampires, though I hadn’t been around many, and I really hoped to keep it that way.

In Delaney’s case, the scent was faint. Barely there, in fact, unless I really piqued my senses.

Relic, the back of my mind said. A person with very diluted shifter — or other supernatural — blood, with no special powers other than a few faint hints. In some cases, that meant fierce loyalty, the way wolves were loyal to their packs. In others, it meant keen eyesight or sharp sense of smell or especially fleet feet. Other relics had no special abilities at all — truly zilch. All they got were a few leftover identifiers that highlighted how painfully ordinary they were.

Kind of like me.

Well, not entirely, because my supernatural blood wasn’t generations old. It just hadn’t bothered carrying over one measly generation to me.

At least, that’s what I’d thought my whole life. Recent events had made me wonder, though.

I blinked a few times, pushing the thought away. I could figure myself out later — or, more likely, never. Now was the time to figure out what was going on here.

Delaney was a relic. Was she the only one?

No, I decided a few minutes later. Saanvi — of Bollywood fame, at least in my mind — had a hint of shifter in her too, though I couldn’t identify what kind. And possibly Rob too — the big, handsome football player. Lion shifter, maybe, judging by his smooth, easy gait.

But what about Becca, the plus-sized beauty who spent most of her time in the hot tub? Her eyes were a striking, luminous green.

I worked my way closer to her. When I sniffed her scent, I thought of seashells, sand, and the ocean.

And, whoa. I turned away before she spotted my surprise.

A mermaid relic? I’d never met one, but my dad had, and she sure matched his description.

So, huh. Three or four relics in a pool of fifteen — at least as far as my senses could ascertain. I could be wrong. In fact, I was almost guaranteed to be wrong, because I was me. Still, this was way, way out of proportion to a random, everyday sample — even in Sedona, a place that attracted all kinds of supernaturals and relics.

Which led to my next question. Were those four here by design or coincidence?

I glanced at the security guys, then did another round of the tables. Having finished eating, the guests drifted back to the lounge chairs, where they collapsed in weary, sated bliss. I stacked plates and collected silverware, brought them into the kitchen, then headed out for more.

Kelly stood and made space for me to clear her table with a friendly smile.

“Thank you. That was delicious,” she said.

“I’ll let my boss know. Thanks.”

Then my eye caught on a detail, and my stomach lurched.

Kelly tilted her head. “Everything okay?”

I forced a smile. “Sorry, yes. I was just admiring your scarf.”

She touched the Monet flower print and chuckled. “I’ll let my boss know. Thanks.”

My forced chuckle probably sounded like a hyena, but Kelly went on her way with a happy, clueless smile.

I did my best not to stare, though I probably failed. Stacy had the same scarf.

My mind spun.

Stacy. Scarves. Blood vials.

A job that came with a chauffeur a hell of a lot like those security men.

A job that had made her increasingly nervous, though she wouldn’t say why.

Ingo’s suspicions about a criminal vampire, Victor Jananovich.

I scanned the “consultants” who’d just enjoyed a good meal. People doing their best to hydrate and top up their iron.

My mind jumped back to vials. Lots and lots of them, a steady order, fifty per week.

Fifty vials with just a few drops each. Shot-glass size, more or less. Enough to remind a person of their loved one…or to savor a sip.

Earlier, my imagination had served up a dozen titillating scenarios about what was going on in this group. Now, it was coming up with a much more frightening one.

I tried doing the math. Fifty vials…fifteen “consultants” with pale, weary complexions, plus wristbands and tight collars.

“Oh, Pippa, I meant to ask,” Nancy said when I was back in the kitchen, “are you available to help on Friday? Same client, but this time up at La Puebla.”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “La Puebla?”

“Yep. An easy job,” Nancy assured me. “All we have to do is bring in the food and drink, set it all up, and leave, then pick everything up the next day. They want to do the serving themselves.”

The feeling in my gut got that much more ominous. What did that event entail that the client didn’t want us to see?

Nancy must have read my mind, because she gave me a significant look. “If they don’t tell, we don’t ask. Business is business.”

It was, as long as the refreshments were food and drink. But what if the menu went beyond that?

“I’ll have to get back to you about that,” I stammered.

“Thanks,” she chirped, cheery as ever. “Do you want me to wrap up these leftovers for you?”

My voice cracked when I replied. “No, thanks.”

I’d long since lost my appetite.