Night Shift

by Charlaine Harris

  “If Olivia’d gotten shot at night,” Quinn said to Bobo very quietly, “we could have just carried her downstairs to Lemuel.”

  Bobo looked a little shocked. “Do you think that’s what she’d have wanted?”

  Quinn nodded. “I think so. If she gets through this, we’d better ask her.”

  “She just has to recover,” Bobo said. “And Feej has to be okay. She just has to.”

  “I’ve seen this before. I think she’s exhausted from using such big magic,” Quinn said, trying to sound reassuring. “And she’s never killed anyone before, I’m sure. That’ll take it out of you.”

  But Bobo, after he’d been accepted as one of the good guys, sat on the front steps of the pawnshop and stared into a future too bleak to endure.

  He tried three times to get into his truck and go to Davy to be with the Midnight wounded, but the police wouldn’t let him. They had too many questions to ask.

  30

  Fiji woke up in the hospital, shivering and bewildered.

  I killed someone. That was the first thing she remembered.

  He’d been gray-haired and mean-looking, the pleasure and triumph of shooting Olivia still stretching his lips into a smile.

  That had sent Fiji off the deep end. It almost didn’t matter that he was about to shoot Fiji, too. She’d unleashed death on him. It hadn’t been a real spell, but sheer will. As she lay in the pale green hospital room all by herself, she wondered where the power had come from. As best as Fiji could remember, she’d simply had a clear, consuming conviction that this man must die for what he had done to Olivia.

  And he had died, but not quickly. His face had turned blue and his mouth had foamed, and he’d screamed with a dreadful catch, as though finding the air for screaming was a struggle. Then he’d kind of rattled deep in his throat. That had been that.

  A girl in scrubs came in and bent over to look at Fiji. “How do you feel, Miss Cavanaugh?” she said.

  “Cold,” Fiji said through trembling lips.

  “I’ll get you another blanket.”

  Fiji nodded and soon felt deft hands spreading another blanket over her. She was so grateful she could have cried.

  “Is that better?” the girl asked.

  “Yes, thanks. How is my friend?”

  “Your friend?”

  “The woman brought in same time as me. Been shot.”

  “She’s in surgery, but don’t worry about her. She’s got a good doctor working on her. She’s in good hands.”

  This was not real information. She was being soothed. Fiji expected that next the nurse would offer to pray with her. “I need something a little more specific than that,” she said, but her voice was too weak to have authority.

  “Now that you’re awake, a doctor’s going to come talk with you,” the nurse said. “She’ll be here in just a minute.”

  It was more than a minute. In fact, Fiji went back to sleep. She woke when an older woman in a white lab coat came in.

  “Ms. Cavanaugh, I’m Dr. Sheridan,” the woman said. Her gray hair was in a smooth pageboy, and her glasses, hanging from a chain, had flirty red frames. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”

  Fiji decided to tell the truth with some omissions. “I saw my friend Olivia get shot and I went to pull her to safety,” she said slowly, editing as she spoke. She was finally feeling warm, and her voice came out stronger. She’d stopped shivering. “When I saw the man in the car who had shot Olivia, he pointed the gun at me. I was really scared he was going to shoot me, and I couldn’t protect Olivia or myself. Then his hand kind of fell on the car seat, and he had a fit, I guess? I was just . . . I couldn’t breathe, and I thought he was going to kill me, and maybe I fainted.”

  “I don’t think you fainted, which is a momentary thing,” Dr. Sheridan said gently. “I’m not sure if you hyperventilated, or had a severe panic attack, or both, but you were unconscious for a good ten minutes. We have to rule out some kind of heart event.”

  “So that’s a long time to be out?” Fiji said.

  “That’s a long time to be out.” Dr. Sheridan was obviously trying to make Fiji understand that she’d suffered a serious event, while trying to avoid setting off another “panic attack.” “When you came into the emergency room, we ran an EKG, and the results were fine, so that’s good news. Your blood work isn’t all back, of course, but nothing popped out at a first look.”

  “I kind of remember that,” Fiji said, trying out a smile. She’d been woozy but awake by that time. “Aside from feeling really tired, I feel much better now.” Fiji knew exactly what was wrong with her. She’d strained her “magic muscles” when she’d channeled too much energy into killing the old man. She suspected she’d probably expended way more energy than she’d actually needed to use, and in consequence her body had shut down to protect its depleted resources.

  She’d know better next time.

  For a few minutes, the doctor took Fiji over her medical history, which was very simple and blameless, and then over her family’s medical history, which was quite typical of any fairly healthy family.

  By the time that was done, Fiji had decided she liked Dr. Sheridan.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better. But you need to consider having some tests run. We sure don’t want to see you back here again.” The doctor smiled at Fiji benevolently. Fiji had been enjoying the conversation, because it was free of the man she’d killed and the demon under the road and who she was going to have sex with. But now she felt tired, and reality crept up on her again.

  “Let’s talk about any more tests later,” Fiji said. “I’m really feeling better.”

  “Of course. Right now, the sheriff wants to talk to you. Do you think you’re well enough to do that?”

  “Yes,” Fiji said. “Thanks for everything.”

  Arthur Smith himself came in. Fiji was both glad and sorry to see him. Arthur was in uniform, and he looked tired, but he also seemed curiously content. After a second, Fiji decided that Arthur looked relaxed. So apparently he hadn’t been, the whole time she’d known him.

  “Hey, Fiji, how are you feeling?” He reached to take her hand, and then withdrew his own so quickly Fiji almost thought she had imagined the gesture. Perhaps he had rethought it after remembering she had some explaining to do.

  “Better,” she said. Now that her core was warm, she felt drowsy. She wished passionately that she were home in her own bed with Mr. Snuggly purring beside her. After all, she was still in her own nightgown, though her bathrobe was hanging on a hook on the wall, her slippers on the floor underneath it.

  “Did anyone check on Mr. Snuggly?” she asked, suddenly afraid something had happened to the cat.

  “I saw him,” Arthur said. “The kid in your shop coaxed him out from under the Hummer.”

  Fiji stared at Arthur. “He was under the car,” she said, almost asking a question. “Oh, poor Snug,” she added hastily. “He must have been terrified.”

  “The boy carried him off, and I didn’t see them again,” Arthur said.

  Fiji relaxed. Diederik would feed and take care of Mr. Snuggly, or the cat would nag him relentlessly. Now if only Arthur wouldn’t start asking questions about Diederik. His lack of paperwork would be awkward.

  “If you feel you’re up to it, I do have some questions to ask you,” Arthur said. He was standing by the bed rail, gripping it lightly.

  “Sure,” she said, trying to make her own hands relax. “About the shooting.”

  “Sure. Had you ever seen that man, the one in the stretch Hummer?”

  “Never.”

  “Any of those men familiar to you?” Arthur’s wide blue eyes were fixed on her face.

  “No.” It was a pleasure to tell the plain truth.

  “What happened? Just take your time. We’re trying to figure this out. Every detail helps.�
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  Fiji was glad he’d told her to take her time. She did. “I heard all the commotion across the street, and I came running out,” Fiji said. (Best to omit that the Rev had called her. That was not explainable.) “The Rev and Quinn were standing in my front yard. Diederik was just going in the side door of the pawnshop, or maybe Quinn told me he’d gone in. I don’t remember which.”

  Arthur nodded, to show her he was listening.

  “I saw all the men had guns. They were moving toward the pawnshop. Slowly.”

  “Did you realize there was someone left in the Hummer?” Arthur asked quietly.

  “I never thought about it at all. The windows were tinted dark. The doors on the pawnshop side were open.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I thought all the men were going to go into the pawnshop. I was scared for Bobo. And Olivia and Lemuel.” Fiji took a deep, shuddering breath, remembering the fear. If she had really been uncertain how she felt about Bobo, she now knew. “Then Diederik and Olivia came out. And Bobo.”

  “Do you have any idea, however out there, about why these armed men would be going into the pawnshop?” Arthur’s voice was gentle, but his eyes were intent.

  “No,” she said. “I was stunned.”

  “Someone has to know why those men showed up,” Arthur said. “They’re not talking, except to ask for a lawyer.”

  “Maybe Olivia can tell us? How is she?” Fiji asked cleverly. Information!

  “Still in surgery, and it’ll be a while before she can talk,” Arthur said.

  “Can you tell me about her?” Dammit, someone’s got to tell me.

  “About her wound? Not in any detail. One of my deputies talked to the doctor who’s operating, and he seemed fairly certain she’d pull through.”

  “Good.” “Fairly certain” was something.

  “Just a few more questions? I can tell you’re tired.” Arthur looked concerned, and he might be, but he was also a cop.

  Fiji nodded.

  “What happened to Ellery McGuire?” Arthur said.

  “Who . . . ? That’s the name of the man in the limo? The one who shot Olivia?”

  “Yes. The guy who was filling up his car at Gas N Go said you stretched out your hand to him. What was that about?”

  “I begged him not to shoot again,” Fiji said. “He was pointing the gun at me, and Olivia was bleeding.” She shook her head. “It was horrible.” And it had been. She could feel again that burning intensity that had seized her when she’d realized what she must do.

  “He didn’t think you spoke. The witness.”

  “I’m not saying I made a speech. But I said at least, ‘No, no!’”

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  Then I killed him. “He sort of crumpled and his hand dropped,” Fiji said, as she’d told the doctor. “And he turned really white, and stuff came out of his mouth. I guess he’s dead?” She’d known he was dead, but she had to play this out.

  “Yes. He’s dead. But you had no weapon, right? So you couldn’t have harmed him physically.”

  “I had no gun or Taser or anything,” she said truthfully. “I just wanted him to stop. I was so scared that Olivia was dead.” And she shuddered, remembering Olivia’s blank eyes and the blood coming out of her abdomen. And knowing Lemuel was asleep and could not wake to save her. And knowing this meant the hospital, and the chance Olivia would really die. And being very, very angry.

  Fiji began to cry, and that pushed Arthur to finish up in a hurry.

  “She’s not dead, Fiji,” he said, in as comforting a voice as he could manage. “And we have all the attackers under arrest. I don’t know how Bobo and Teacher rounded them up, but they had those assholes under control.”

  “But those assholes are not talking?” She was really curious how they were going to explain their presence.

  “Not a squeak.” Arthur’s mouth pulled down at one corner. “Not until their lawyers get here.”

  “Smart,” Fiji said. “And professional. I want to go home.”

  “You’ve got some insurance,” he said, smiling. “Why not stay a while? The doctor wants you to spend the night, make sure you’re okay.”

  “She seems like a nice woman,” Fiji said. “But there’s nothing wrong with me that time and rest won’t cure. I was just overstressed and really scared, and I blacked out.”

  “That’s between you and the doctor,” Arthur said. “You feel like having some company?”

  “I guess,” she said, cautiously. Depended on who the company was.

  To her mild surprise, Chuy Villegas came in. Chuy was wearing his usual casual clothes: khakis, a polo shirt, loafers. He looked as unlike an angel with wings as she could imagine.

  He put his hands on hers. After glancing over his shoulder to make sure Arthur was out of hearing, Chuy said, “Thanks to you we are all alive.”

  “I don’t understand,” Fiji said.

  “If you hadn’t cut off the head of the snake, I think they would have gone through Midnight killing everyone they encountered to cover up the fact that Olivia was the target.”

  “Surely . . . you can’t be killed?” She felt almost embarrassed, pointing that out.

  “But they didn’t know that,” he said. “And getting shot always hurts.”

  Fiji didn’t want to take any credit that wasn’t her due. “I killed a man, Chuy. On purpose. I only thought of saving Olivia from getting shot again.”

  “You did what was necessary. Don’t fear judgment from Joe and me. We live under the old code,” Chuy reminded her. His voice was cool and stern.

  “I wonder if I can go home soon,” she said. She couldn’t think of right and wrong any longer.

  “I think the correct thing to do is to call a nurse,” Chuy said gravely. “She is supposed to remove the needle. What is going into you?”

  “Just fluid, I think, so if they had to give me medicine, they could administer it through the tube.” She had to dredge hard to come up with the word “administer.”

  “You weren’t hurt?” Chuy said, as if he were pretty sure that was the case but had to check.

  “I used all my magic,” she explained wearily.

  “I understand. You need bed rest and soup and to keep warm.” Again, he sounded like he was reading from a manual on the care and feeding of witches. But Fiji didn’t mind.

  “That sounds so good,” she said.

  Chuy said, “I’ll do what I can to make that happen.” He turned to leave her room.

  “Chuy,” she said. “When I killed the man, the demon laughed.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I was afraid of that,” he said, and went to secure her release.

  Evidently, Chuy was very good at greasing the hospital skids. Faster than she would have believed, she got her release papers and was in a wheelchair, riding out the door to the curb. With some hesitation and faltering, she maneuvered herself into Chuy’s car. She would have liked to see Olivia before she left the hospital, but apparently Olivia was still in surgery.

  “Three days until Saturday,” Chuy said on the drive back to Midnight, and suddenly Fiji understood why he was so anxious to have her back in town. She had to be in Midnight to make her own personal sacrifice.

  “I’m sorry you brought that up,” Fiji said. She’d been feeling fairly warm and cozy with Chuy, but not any longer. She rested her head against the cold glass of the window. She was far beyond caring if her hair got lopsided.

  “I am sorry,” Chuy said, sounding awkward. “I know you are thinking about what you have to do. But I am thinking about the next century, and longer.”

  “I think it’s more like I’m thinking me and you’re thinking you,” she murmured. He didn’t respond; either he thought she was saying something stupid or he completely agreed. “Have you felt him moving?” she asked.

/>   Chuy sighed. “I have,” he said.

  Soon I will rise, the demon had told her.

  She had not heard his voice in a day or two. She’d felt him, looming in the back of her mind, always present, but he’d been silent.

  She hadn’t missed his voice a bit.

  Her homecoming was oddly anticlimactic. Fiji had left in the middle of a tumult. She came back in the middle of nothing. There was no one on the street. The limo was gone, the body was gone, all the people who’d been in the street were gone. She didn’t even see Olivia’s blood in the pawnshop parking lot. Chuy pulled behind her house and ran around to open her door, helping her out of the car as solicitously as if she’d been an aged abuela. Her back door was unlocked, as she’d left it. Chuy offered his arm to help her manage the step up to the porch and the back-door sill. She was so weak; she hadn’t felt this way since she’d had mono as a teenager.

  Chuy was seldom inside Fiji’s house, so she was ridiculously glad she’d made her bed first thing this morning. In fact, she’d been just about to take off her nightclothes and get in the shower when she’d heard the Rev shouting. Chuy folded back the covers neatly so Fiji could climb into bed. “Anything else I can get you?” he asked.

  “Just some water, please,” she said, feeling almost shy about having him move around her house. Chuy returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and a bowl of soup with crackers on a bed tray. Fiji had never seen the bed tray before, but the soup was Progresso minestrone. She sat propped up and consumed it all. She felt much better.

  When Fiji was done, Chuy silently removed the tray. Fiji scooted down in the bed and turned on her side. Her comfort was complete when Mr. Snuggly padded into the room, jumped up beside her, and curled up by her hand, nudging it and even giving it a raspy lick. Fiji scratched his head and he purred, the most soothing sound in the world. She heard the back door opening and closing; Chuy had left.

  Glad you’re home, the demon murmured.

  “Fuck you,” she said. And she fell asleep.