Instead I help him push the stretcher down the hall, the healer following behind like a dog wanting its toy back. We turn a corner to a bank of elevators. I hit the up button and pray the elevator hurries.
Smythe has not woken. His wound no longer bleeds, but he should have at least opened his eyes. Or moaned. Or something to let us know he’s going to be okay. My chest aches, my breathing coming in short bursts having nothing to do with pushing a stretcher down a hall. I grab his hand right as a beep lets us know the elevator arrived.
We shove the stretcher into the elevator, plastering ourselves around the sides, backs against the walls. Whoever designed this elevator needed to ride in it with a stretcher and medical personnel. Maybe then they’d have widened the thing.
A ding indicates we’ve arrived. Once the doors open, the healer guides the stretcher to a vacant bed.
“Help me get him into the bed. I need to take the stretcher back to the conference room.”
As soon as we transfer Smythe to the bed, he grabs the stretcher, racing back the way we came.
“I’m gonna find someone. Stay here.” David points at me before turning on his heel, his footsteps lost in the noise and excitement.
This time when I touch Smythe’s arm, his sleepy emotions tumble into my mind. Under normal circumstances, he’d be blocking my attempts to read him. Provided it was one of those rare times he actually let me inside his mind. His emotions circle around, vultures sighting prey, struggling to fight, to win. Win what, though? The lost minion fight? A battle over death?
A light brush against my arm snaps my thoughts out of my mentor’s head. I look up into Eloise’s blind, red eyes.
“Thank God you’re here.”
“It is not God that sent me. What happened?”
I open my mouth to answer, but David strides into the room, worry written in the white lines bracketing his mouth.
“No one is avail—” David catches one look at Eloise and pauses midword. He blinks. Swallows. “Eloise?”
“David.” The coolness in her voice deepens my curiosity as to what lies between them. Maybe nothing. It could just be David’s “loving” personality finding another fan.
“Are you available to help Aidan?” His voice roughens around the edges, like a person who has lost a precious item only to be told it’s been sighted.
Eloise stiffens. “I would not be standing here if I was not. Now, please, tell me what happened.”
As before, I assume she does not mean the attack, per se, but how Smythe sustained his injury, so I answer accordingly.
“The mages formed a shield, but the bullets managed to take it out. Then there was this blast, and the remaining window glass shattered inward, and we all went flying. That’s why he’s cut. He had this huge shard in his chest”—I point at where the glass ripped into him—“that one of the healers fixed. She got the bleeding to stop, but he still won’t wake.”
“Hmm. Move out of the way.” She gestures to the foot of the bed, exchanging places with me.
Unlike the other healer, Eloise does not mutter a spell under her breath. She moves to Smythe’s head, places her hands about an inch off his skin, and forms a blue light with her palms. The light travels down his body, reversing course when it hits his boots.
Eloise sucks in a quick breath, her eyes widening.
“What?” David barks.
“Quiet.” Her tone brooks no argument.
David closes his mouth, but tension racks his body. In contrast, I relax, my breathing no longer coming in short gasps. As the recipient of several Eloise healings, I know she’s the best around. I’m pretty sure she can bring back the injured from the edge of death. I’m living proof. She can do the same for Smythe. He’s in good hands.
Literally.
Not even her quick jolt of surprise worries me. Whatever is wrong with Smythe, she can heal it.
I expect the small cuts on his face to heal. But they don’t. My breath hitches. I refuse to give thought to the knowledge in my head. Blasts can give rise to bad brain injuries.
Nope. Not going to dwell on that thought. It’s bad enough the idea popped out of its hiding place. And it shouldn’t matter. Eloise is here. Eloise will heal him.
Right? But what if she can’t?
And as quick as a second, my breath catches in my chest, the short gasps making my vision swim. My heart pounds as if I ran a marathon.
Get a hold of yourself, Gin. He’ll be okay.
He will be. He will be. He will be.
I chant those three words over and over again until they are the only thing I hear.
After what seems like an eternity, the cuts on Smythe’s face begin to close, the scabs fading into smooth skin. David releases a noisy breath, obviously as relieved as me.
I knew she would heal him. Never doubted for a minute.
The second doesn’t count.
Eloise sends a wave of blue energy down Smythe’s body, but this time it wraps him in its light until he glows like a blue LED. His breathing evens out, deepens, as his muscles relax. Eloise steps away from the bed.
“Don’t touch him. Don’t move him for at least twenty-four hours. He should sleep most of that time.”
“What was wrong?” David asks.
“Bleeding and swelling of his brain. I corrected the leaks and dispersed the swelling. He is lucky I got to him in time.”
David nods, his gaze caught on his son. Since he doesn’t tell her thank you, I should.
“I’m glad you were here.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls it toward her. Right. Whatever’s in her mind she doesn’t want me to see.
Weird. I know she can block me like Smythe does, turning my empath ability into nothing, making it so I can touch her without reading her emotions.
What changed?
“You are injured.” At her words, David’s gaze snaps off his son and onto me.
I glance down my body. Yep, definitely injured. Amazing what a dose of adrenaline can do for a person.
Small cuts decorate my arms, my legs, my torso, turning my clothes into a palette of different shades of red. Yet another outfit destined for the trash.
One more reason not to come to the Agency.
“I didn’t notice.”
David’s clinical gaze rakes my body. It’s then I notice, while I’m sliced and diced, David still wears an almost-pristine white shirt. The only blood on his clothes comes from his son. Not a scratch on the man.
He either forms a wicked shield or something is seriously wrong with this picture.
“You should have noticed. It’s not too late.”
I raise a brow at the healer’s words, I can’t help it. Is Eloise referring to my cuts or my thoughts about David?
“Well, don’t just stand around, Gin. Let her help you. We can’t afford to lose another Justitian. No telling how many were hurt in there.”
Oh my God, almost all the Justitians were present in the conference room when the gunfire and blast happened. Were they okay?
“I’ve got to go help—”
“You need to sit and let me heal you.” Eloise gestures to the bed next to Smythe.
“Someone else might need it.”
“Sit the fuck down.” David points at the bed, his anger slithering across my skin like a snake.
Cold seeps into my marrow, fright riding my thoughts. I do as he says, obedience ingrained from childhood. Once my butt hits the bed, a shot of anger chases away the chill.
Damn it. I know better than to be cowed by the likes of him.
Eloise touches my arm, apparently no longer afraid of my skin. Nothing happens. No glimpses into her mind. No bells or fireworks. Nothing but the cool dark space indicative of one used to blocking thoughts.
“Close your eyes. This won’t take long.”
Considering my choices are do as she says or continue dripping blood on the infirmary floor, I close my eyes. Within seconds, I’m floating on a bright blue ocean of healing, idyllic white clouds drifting
above me. Peace settles my nerves as I drift on a wave of bliss.
Chapter Twelve
A touch on my cloth-covered arm snaps me out of the ocean, landing me in the noisy infirmary. Jealousy surges. I actually wish I was Smythe, injured enough to require more than a few minutes drifting in peace. Then my brain kicks in, naming the jealousy for what it is: stupidity. I feel great, hyped on energy, powerful, why botherwith the green-eyed monster?
Now that I have wayward emotions settled, I open my eyes. Eloise stands before me, fingers touching my clothed upper arm, the cloth shielding me from her thoughts.
“Better?”
Does she ask to be polite or a lack of self-confidence? I vote for politeness. No way could she have gotten this far in life without realizing she’s the best healer around.
“As always. You rock.”
One side of her mouth kicks up. “I’m needed elsewhere. I’ll return to check on Aidan.”
Those words she speaks to David, who nods in understanding but says nothing. Jerk. I answer for him.
“Thank you.”
She nods, steps around David as if he’s an obstacle in her path of life, and disappears into the crowded room. David stands at the foot of Smythe’s bed, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
What’s he mad about now?
He’s staring at me as if I did something wrong. But what?
He wouldn’t answer even if I asked. And while his general attitude and lack of injuries might make for a conversation starter, other items take precedent.
“I can help triage in the conference room. I’ve been trained for this.” Well, not exactly for minions shooting up a roomful of mages and Justitians per se, but definitely for multiple casualties.
“What made you think you could stop the minions?”
Huh? Shouldn’t he be telling me to get my ass in the conference room and help? Not to mention I really don’t want to get into why I was able to throw red demonic energy at minions.
Some knowledge is better left secret.
“Isn’t that my job?” My raised brow is intended to be scathing enough so he stops asking questions. It fails.
“I’m referring to how you took them out.”
“I dunno.” I shrug, all nonchalant in hopes he misses the tremble in my limbs. “I just did.” I’m such a good little liar.
“You fucking threw red energy. Like a demon. Are you so dense you didn’t notice?” He takes a step toward me.
Now it’s my turn for narrowed eyes. “Are you accusing me of siding with the enemy?”
“I don’t know? Should I?”
“I can’t believe you even went there. I refuse to discuss this with you. Since Smythe isn’t waking anytime soon, I’m going to go help.”
David interrupts my storming off by grabbing my upper arm.
“You aren’t going anywhere until you explain.” His grip tightens.
I freeze, prey to his predator. Damn it. I just told myself I’m better than to fear him. Stuffing my annoying fear reaction deep inside, I glare at his hand, shift my gaze to his and drop the tone of my voice.
“Let. Me. Go. Unless you want a scene?”
He drops my arm. “This isn’t over until I say it is.”
Bad villain much, David?
Straightening my shoulders, I offer him one last glare before marching to the elevator, my limbs trembling with too much adrenaline.
Does he suspect? Clearly, I’m dense to even ask. Of course he suspects. Else he wouldn’t have become so angry. I shove the down button while glancing over my shoulder. David’s calculating gaze strikes me with the charm of an enticing cobra.
And once again I’m frozen to the floor, eyes wide and heart pounding.
Damn it. I really do know better than this.
“Gin?” Eloise’s voice snaps my head around. She stands several feet behind me and to the left, partly hidden behind a privacy curtain. “If you aren’t busy, we could use your help.”
Ding! The elevator beeps an arrival notification. I glance between it, David, and Eloise. Eloise wins. Giving my back to David while ignoring the beckoning escape hatch, I walk to the healer.
“Whatcha need?”
“It’s not much, but we could use a hand in here.” She sweeps aside the curtain, ushering me into the alcove made by a circular metal track on the ceiling holding the aforementioned white curtain.
A young Asian woman lies on the bed, attended to by a blushing female healer. Her chin-length, jet black hair frames a pale pixie face, her dark gaze slicing the poor healer into strips of embarrassment. Blood streaks the patient’s dark blue long-sleeve shirt and jeans, another victim of the shattering glass. The healer holds the woman’s hand, turning it back and forth, allowing the light to catch off the silver links surrounding her wrist.
A fellow Justitian! Another sword sister. Only the third I’ve met. The first, Micah, died shortly after we were introduced. I saw her replacement only once from a distance. And now this woman.
I turn to thank Eloise, but she’s vanished, lost in the storm of incoming victims.
“Hey.” At the sound of my voice, the woman turns to me, her dagger-sharp gaze a hard strike.
“Hello?”
The healer glances at me, relief flowing across her face as if she sees my interruption as her ticket to leave. “That does it for now. Someone will be back to check on you later.”
I nod to the healer as she hauls ass through the curtain, but the Justitian remains close-mouthed. Until the curtain falls behind the healer, leaving me and my sword-sister alone.
Her eyes narrow as she shoves upright, balancing on her elbows, legs reaching toward me. “I remember you.” A slight accent tints her words.
Impressive. She speaks my language, and I couldn’t even tell you what country she’s from.
“You are the one who defeated the minions. How did you do it? I have never shot red lasers at minions.”
Neither have I, but if she wants to label demon energy a red laser, more power to her.
“I’m not sure.” Liar, liar. “It just happened.” Which is mostly true. I’ve only used the energy twice before in my fights with Agramon, the demon of fear. Both times drawing the energy from its hiding place inside me seemed harder.
Third time’s a charm?
“I would like to learn.”
“I’m not sure that is a lesson I can teach. I can’t describe where it came from.” Truth. I will never, ever mention to anyone—other than possibly Smythe—who filled me with energy.
Nope. That little secret is between me and Zagan.
The expression on her face falls as if I stole her last cookie. Guilt stabs my heart.
“I’m sorry.” I am. Really. I would like to give the Justitians the red energy. Imagine the demon damage all thirteen of us could wreak using the demons’ own power against them. Bwahahahaha. But no. Zagan wouldn’t go for it.
And a small, insane part of me wants to keep the knowledge between him and me. He chose me to be the vessel for his energy. I need to keep my mouth shut about the deal.
Which is a little hard to do when I go throwing our little secret out in the open before a crowd of freaking mages.
Good lord, what was I thinking?
“You look disturbed.”
Yeah? Ya think? “Sorry. I keep replaying the attack in my mind.”
She nods. “That happens. How do you call it? Bad experience disorder?”
“Post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“Yes, yes. That’s it. All of us get that. Memories replaying.”
“I guess it’s better than the alternative.”
One fine brow rises. “Yes. That does not help when you see the memories.”
“I know.” I swallow, dropping her gaze. Some memories should be forgotten. Time for a topic change. “I’m Gin, by the way. Gin Crawford.”
She nods. “Pleasure to meet you, Gin. I’m Wu Cong, but you can call me George.”
“George?”
She shru
gs one slender shoulder. “I like the name.”
Okaaay. “Nothing wrong with George.” I shift from one foot to the other in the pause following my comment. “Do you come here often?”
“You truly are new.”
“What does that have to do with the question?”
“You should know the answer.”
“Color me a newbie.”
Her brow furrows, smoothes. “Newbie? Does that mean new?”
“Yeah. Yes. Sorry.”
“It’s good to learn. To answer your”—she pauses—“newbie question. No, I do not come here often. We rarely all gather in one place at one time. I live at the Agency in China.”
“There’s an Agency in China?” I blink, as if that will help erase the stupidity gurgling inside.
“Newbie.” Her lips turn as she straightens, plumps the pillow, and leans against it. She gestures to the bed, and I perch on the edge. “You do know there are thirteen justitias?”
“That I do know. Mine’s the thirteenth and had disappeared until I found it.” Stuck my hand into my scrub pocket at work and pulled out a bracelet. Sounds like a bad nursery rhyme.
“Where was it?”
“My justitia?”
“Of course. It disappeared. Where was it?”
How much should I tell? Was it a secret? What harm could it be to share my story with my fellow Justitian?
“I’m a nurse in an ER. One day a minion attacked one of our doctors, my friend Will. Will was the doctor, not the minion. Anyway, I found him after the attack, and the justitia appeared in my scrub pocket. Will had it originally, although how he got it is somewhat of a mystery. I mean, his parents, specifically his mom, gave it to him when he was a child, but he never realized the significance of it.”
A wrinkle forms between her fine brows. “Good story. How did it get into your pocket?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Will said he wanted me to have it but can’t remember putting it into my pocket.”
“He lived?”
“Yes. Turns out he’s a mage.”
Her eyes widen. “A mage? Perhaps his parents stole it?”
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