by Jacey Ward
As she hurried through the Sapphire Strip, looking for a cab to bring her home, she willed herself to calm down.
By the time she finally hailed one, she was feeling more in control and she flopped back against the cracked vinyl seats, breathing deeply.
“Where to, Red?” the driver called, eyeing her through the rear-view mirror.
“Hawthorne Hills,” she mumbled, reaching for her cell phone.
“That’ll cost you,” he warned.
“I’ve got it,” she replied. In her haste to leave Rowan’s suffocating presence, she had not bothered to count the cash, but when she looked, she saw that Rowan had given her a nice bonus for the garnet job.
But suddenly it didn’t feel worth it, and she wished she could erase the memory of this whole evening from her mind.
She dialed and the phone was answered after one ring.
“Ah. You’re alive,” Circe declared.
“Have I ever shown up dead?” Arya replied. “How’s it going?”
There was a slight silence.
“It’s okay,” the Valkyrie replied slowly.
“But?”
Again, Circe was silent for a long moment and Arya’s heart began to race.
“What?” she demanded, her voice raising an octave. “What happened?”
“Nothing!” Circe insisted. “But I think it’s time, Arya. It’s not getting better.”
Rowan’s words echoed tauntingly in her mind like a skipping record.
“It will get worse. Much, much worse…. Ignoring it won’t make it go away…
“I’ll be home in twenty minutes and we’ll go,” she vowed, blinking back tears of resignation.
If ‘cool as a cucumber’ Circe said it was time, it was time. How many more signs did Arya need?
“Arya?”
“I’m still here,” she mumbled. “I’ll be home soon.”
“What are you going to tell them at the hospital?”
It was a question that she had no answer for.
After all, she couldn’t just rush a two-year-old into emergency with mysterious symptoms without expecting a barrage of tests.
The fear that they would learn somehow that her toddler daughter wasn’t human washed through her. It wasn’t like they’d be able to tell the child was half-demon, half-sorceress, but they may certainly find out that she wasn’t like them either…
Chapter 3
“Try smiling. It goes a lot further with people,” Paul whispered in his ear and Dante supressed the urge to throat punch him instead. He plastered his best philanthropist face on as they were lead into the chief of medicine’s office.
“Mr. Carmichael!” Chief Troyer cried, almost leaping from her chair when he approached. “I am honored to have you here.”
He accepted her clammy handshake, his beam unwavering.
“Thank you for having us, Chief. I have to tell you, I’m a huge fan of yours.”
“And you must know the feeling is mutual. Please, have a seat.”
The men sat and waited for the head of the hospital to speak to her assistant before turning back to them.
“I understand you have a proposition for us. I hope you know that the Seattle Children’s Hospital will do anything we can to help you but our resources are limited and – “
“Actually,” Paul interjected in his brash fashion. “That is exactly what we’re here about. Mr. Carmichael has very generously agreed to donate five million dollars to the hospital next month to update some of your equipment, add to the staff roster – essentially use for anything you see fit, Chief.”
Amanda Troyer’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets as she gaped at them in disbelief.
“You – you are?” she gasped and Dante nodded in concession.
“Of course,” he replied. “You must know that this is my favorite cause. The children are our future, after all.”
“Yes,” she agreed slowly. “That is incredibly kind, Mr. Carmichael.”
She sat back expectantly and he could see she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“There’s more,” Paul continued and her brown eyes seemed to darken. “Not only is he donating, Mr. Carmichael has graciously opened his home in Madison Park for the purposes of a full-out fundraiser. All proceeds to go toward the hospital, of course. It will be a five-thousand dollar per plate event, and it will be publicly televised so that all of Washington can pledge donations.”
“I thought it was a nationally televised event,” Dante interrupted, eyeing his public relations manager.
Paul looked down quickly, not quite making eye contact.
“Uh…I’ll have to look into that,” he replied. “I might be able to get MSNBC on board…”
“Do it,” Dante insisted.
The doctor’s face seemed to elate and doubt simultaneously, as if trying to understand which aspect of her soul she would need to part with to seal the deal.
“I – I don’t know what to say.”
“All we require from you are a few of your finest physicians who would be comfortable being on camera and if possible, some of the children. I don’t mean to sound crass, but it does add sympathy value to the donating crowd,” Paul explained.
“Of course,” the chief clipped out. “And…?”
The men stared at her.
“And?” Paul echoed.
“What else would you like? Your name on a wing, Mr. Carmichael?”
Dante snorted and shook his head.
“No,” he replied. “Nothing like that at all. We only came to notify you of our intent so that when the media catches wind of this, you are not blindsided. It will be a huge event and I can promise you that it will interfere with your already busy workload.”
Her wise eyes narrowed slightly as if she felt like she was being tricked, but Dante shrugged nonchalantly.
“I assure you, Chief, we only want to help the children.”
She sat back in her chair, folding her hands over her lap to study them curiously.
“This is a public relations stunt, then. You’re trying to recoup face after the blow Carmichael Industries endured.”
Dante smiled tightly.
“Does it really matter why we’re doing it?” he replied evenly. “It benefits all of us and no one is getting hurt. On the contrary; the children will benefit significantly.”
“Are you gentlemen in a hurry?” she asked suddenly and the men exchanged a look.
“Not particularly,” Paul lied slowly. Dante stifled a sigh and shook his head.
“Come with me.”
She rose from her chair and led them out of the office.
“What is this?” Dante muttered, but his PR manager had no answer, shrugging his shoulders in ignorance.
Through a set of secured service doors, Chief Troyer led them toward a bank of double wide elevators, used for transporting gurneys.
She pressed the “B” button and the elevator began to descend.
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Paul muttered quietly but Dante felt his pulse quicken.
As they dropped lower, he felt his body relax, the pain and suffering on the upper floors diminishing greatly as the doors opened and they landed at a long, dim corridor.
It was unmistakably the morgue level, a coolness touching his face as they walked.
“I don’t want to see dead bodies,” Paul cried out, abruptly stopping. “Especially not dead kids!”
“Why not?” the chief asked. “You realize that you are using them to further your agenda?”
Dante felt a familiar flame of anger lick at his belly as they stood staring at one another.
“I would say that in this case, we have the same agenda,” he told her firmly. “Why are you resisting?”
She shook her salt and pepper bun side to side so that strands escaped and circled her prematurely wrinkled face.
“I am not resisting,” she replied evenly. “I am simply making sure that you’re not coming here with some ulterior
motives that may cause you to back out of this event if your reasons change. People’s lives – kids’ lives – depend on the funding and donations we get. My point was to show you what happens to the them when we are deprived of that help. I would hate to find out that people were right about you, Mr. Carmichael. That is why I have brought you here.”
“Oh?” Dante asked, his temper threatening to overcome his control. “Are there rumors circulating that I dangle money and snatch it away from dying children?”
“No, of course not,” she agreed. “But you are a cunning, ruthless businessman who cares only about his bottom line. Am I correct?”
The words did not incense him as they were intended to because they were true.
I could have cared about Arya Ambrose if I’d had the chance, he thought unexpectedly.
“Chief Troyer, you have just talked yourself out of our offer,” Paul snapped, his face angrier than Dante had ever seen.
“No,” Dante replied, locking stares with the woman. “She hasn’t.”
“There are hundreds of causes – “
“No,” he said again. “We are doing this.”
The chief regarded him with a tiny bit of respect, and there seemed to be an understanding between them.
Dante admitted he had a begrudging respect for her as well; a strong woman who spoke her mind and put up with no intimidation.
An unbidden memory slithered through his mind.
“I believe that drink is mine.”
“Can we please get the hell out of here?” Paul growled. “I feel like I’m in The Shining or something.”
They parted gazes and Chief Troyer led the way back to the elevators, Paul racing ahead as if trying to outrun the souls of hell, but Dante suddenly had the inexplicable urge to wander around.
“Thank you for meeting with us, Chief. I will have my secretary send over everything you need. Paul, I’ll meet you by the car,” he called, disappearing into the stairwell before either could respond.
He likely didn’t have clearance to be wandering about, but when had Dante ever been one to follow the rules.
I just need some time to clear my head a bit, he thought, but why his mind was so abruptly jumbled, he couldn’t say.
It was as if something had crept under his skin, making him anxious abruptly. The memories of Arya were sentimental and unwarranted for the occasion. It was as if Chief Troyer had triggered something in him, but he couldn’t place it.
Dante didn’t like being out of sorts, his demonic senses struggling to make sense of what was happening to him.
My instincts are trying to tell me something. Why can’t I place it?
A foreign light headedness overcame him as he climbed to the main floor and he let his body guide itself without thinking.
What is it?
His hands opened the fire door and he wandered through the lonely halls, passing a doctor every so often.
“Are you lost, sir?” someone asked, but the voice did not shatter his trance-like state and Dante did not acknowledge him, pushing his way through another set of metal doors.
In his pocket, his cell phone chimed repeatedly but there was a new resolve to his movement.
Suddenly, Dante knew what he was going to come upon, even before it happened. He was not prone to bouts of telepathy but this was something far beyond the ability to see the future. This was a psychic connection, one he had only experienced once in his immortal life.
Another anamnesis flooded his mind.
Arya’s sleeping body was entwined in his, her silken legs wrapped along the curve of his calves, her breathing slow and even.
He couldn’t sleep as he lay there watching her, fingertips gently tracing over the lines of her face.
Suddenly, a bolt of pain twisted through his head.
Help me! I killed him, Dante! You must come!
The stabbing behind his eyes subsided and he looked down at Arya again. Her eyes were slightly parted.
“What are you doing?” she mumbled.
“I have to go,” he told her, the words causing him physical pain. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“You better be.”
She was asleep before she even felt the gentle kiss on her forehead.
Fucking Marbas. He’s got a worse temper than I do. Now who has he killed?
It wouldn’t be the first time he had to clean up after his cousin, and it would likely not be the last.
How could Dante have known that leaving that night would set off a chain of events which he would never be able to undo?
The door crashed open against the walls, the force almost unhinging them as he entered the emergency waiting room.
His actions caused everyone to start in surprise, but Dante did not notice the reproving looks as his head turned almost frantically around the vast area, his eyes trying desperately to land on the surreal blend of metallic colored hair that he knew was there.
“Sir, are you all right?” an orderly asked, seeming to sense his mounting frustration.
“I’m looking for a woman. Red hair, illuminating green eyes…”
“I’m sorry, sir, I just came on shift. I can ask around for you…”
But Dante did not hear the rest of his words. The feeling which had entranced him and led him into the emergency room of the hospital was fading away.
As if a fog had been lifted from his eyes, he looked around.
There was no hint of the sorceress with whom he had spent that dreamlike, erotic night.
She had been there, but he had missed her.
But she was in Seattle. There was no doubt.
And he would find her again, he vowed.
Chapter 4
“Mama, I sick,” Jasmine moaned, and the words filled her mother with indescribable panic.
“I know, sweetheart. Just rest on me,” Arya told her softly. “Just relax. Everything is going to be fine.”
Arya pulled Jasmine’s small frame against her, feeling the heat of her body, and the sorceress’ heart began to pound with more intensity.
“Mama, where we going?”
“Shh, Jasmine. Just rest. We will be there soon.” She stroked the child’s unruly red curls, hoping to calm her.
“Mama, my tummy,” the girl cried.
“That kid isn’t going to puke, is she?” the driver demanded, turning his head to glower at them. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Can you watch the damn road?” Arya yelled, not intending to swear or scream, but her nerves were far too taut to contain herself.
Jasmine began to cry and she rocked her tiny daughter against her.
“It’s okay,” she insisted. “I’m sorry Mommy raised her voice.”
“She better not puke or you’re paying for the cleaning fee,” the surly driver continued, and it was the final straw for Arya.
Arya inhaled and forced herself to focus. Her eyes bored into the back of the man’s head and she conjured her energy, forcing his mouth together with her mind, willing him to shut up. His eyes bugged as his lips melded into his cheeks, but he was blissfully silent as she controlled him to watch the road ahead, the panic bright in his eyes.
She would release him when they arrived on the Strip and not a second before. In the meantime, she needed silence to concentrate, not the uncaring demands of the driver.
“Mama – “
“Please, Jasmine, you need to rest,” she begged the toddler. “We will be at Mommy’s friend’s house very soon but until then, you must close your eyes and be still. Do you understand?”
“Yes Mama.”
“Everything will be fine, sweetheart. I promise.”
She wondered if she was lying to her daughter, if she had made a mistake leaving the Seattle Children’s Hospital.
Upon arriving home, Circe had dropped her and Jasmine off at the emergency room of the hospital. But no sooner had the Valkyrie left, did Arya begin to have second thoughts.
Perhaps it was the mass of mortal children coughing and sne
ezing around her or the mere scent of suffering, which nudged her through a highly evolved sixth sense. Maybe it was the simple fact that she knew her daughter’s secret might be exposed if a barrage of tests were ordered. While Arya could easily silence mortals who might learn the truth about them, she couldn’t control that many people, and certainly not all at once. And if she did end up having to leave the hospital in a hurry with her daughter, she didn’t know if she’d be able to bring herself to harm any of these people, even if she needed to.
Whatever it was, Arya could not deny that there was an ominous, heavy feeling weighing upon her shoulders as she sat nervously, cradling Jasmine in her arms.
No, she decided, gathering the waif-like child and hurrying out to hail a taxi. I am not staying here to wait for trouble, whatever it may be. And I know deep down that they won’t be able to help her anyways. No one can.
Face it, half-breeds rarely survive in our world.
She had no way of knowing how close she had come to seeing Jasmine’s father, Dante having appeared mere minutes after she and the girl had driven off. If she had seen him, her feeling of foreboding would have made perfect sense.
Instead, she was making another decision for the health of her baby and as they neared the Sapphire Strip, Arya hoped that she was not wrong.
Rowan’s iridescent eyes became nimbus clouds of anger when she opened the door.
“I was hoping that my vision was wrong,” she growled, spinning so her flowing robes swished across the wood floor. “I couldn’t imagine that you would be so careless as to bring a demon spawn to my doorstep.”
“Mama?” Jasmine asked, tilting her red curls back to peer at her inquisitively with bloodshot green eyes.
“Nothing, baby,” Arya said quickly, scowling at the high sorceress. “Go and lay on the couch. Mama wants to talk to her friend for a minute.”
“Arya, I have – “ Rowan started to say but the ginger headed woman held up her hand to silence her boss. They both watched as her tiny replica sauntered out of earshot toward the velvet couch near the window.
“This is highly unusual, almost a breech of the covenant,” Rowan snapped when she was permitted to speak again. “You should never have brought the girl here.”