by Lori Drake
“I need your help. Joey’s shoulder is dislocated.”
Frowning, Dean located Joey and crawled the short distance to her. “I’m not a doctor.”
“It’s easy, I’ll talk you through it.” Chris knelt by Joey’s head and stroked her hair. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, glazed with pain. Shock was probably setting in, but it wouldn’t last long. Her body was already working hard to repair the damage that had been done.
“Doing it wrong is worse than not doing it at all,” Dean said, lifting Sam’s denim jacket to glance beneath it. Blood had already seeped through the jacket where it covered Joey’s stomach wound. “Good god.”
“Dean, please…”
“You do it.”
“I can’t!”
“Yes you can,” Dean said, with a resigned sigh. “Just do it. But if I lose more than thirty seconds…”
Chris didn’t wait for a more direct invitation. In a blink, he was inside the medium. The world surged into vivid color. All five senses came to life at once, and in the heat of the moment it was almost too much. The smell of damp air, blood, and gasoline assaulted him. The sound of emergency sirens he hadn’t noticed until then blared in the distance. What’s more, Dean had a killer headache and possibly a cracked rib. It took Chris a few precious seconds to get his bearings, and then he knee-walked into position and carefully maneuvered Joey’s injured arm out from under the jacket. She whimpered a protest.
“Hang in there, babe. It’s about to get a lot better,” he murmured, extending her arm with one hand and putting the other on her shoulder. Dean’s fingers were bloody, but it hardly seemed to matter right now. With a yank and a twist, he popped the shoulder back in place. Joey howled in pain, but the sound swiftly faded as, presumably, the bulk of that particular discomfort left her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes finding his. She was a mess. There was blood on her lips, glass in her hair, but to him she was still the most beautiful woman in the world.
He smiled down at her, reaching out to stroke her hair again. In the flesh, this time. “No problem.”
Chris retrieved Dean’s bloody compress and pressed it against his temple again before slipping back out of the other man’s body. Once Dean was himself again, he slumped back on his haunches and sat there in silence.
With Joey’s immediate needs taken care of, Chris turned his attention to the activity around the car. With the help of a bystander, Sam was pulling Emma free. Chris rushed over to check on her. She was shaken, but awake and appeared to have escaped with only minor cuts and bruises. They set her on her feet, but she was wobbly so Sam put an arm around her and walked her over to where Dean and Joey were. As they walked, she twisted to look behind her.
“Please help her, she’s trapped! You have to help her!” she called, distraught.
“They’re working on it,” Sam assured her. “Why don’t you sit with Joey?”
Emma hesitated, but her eyes widened when she saw Joey laying there. “Oh god, Joey! I’m so sorry!” She pulled away from Sam, rushed to close the distance and sank down on her knees beside her friend. She’d lost her sunglasses in the wreck and her scarf hung loosely around her neck. Tears streamed down her face.
Joey’s eyes focused on Emma, becoming more lucid by the second now that her shoulder was fixed.
“What happened?” Joey said. “What was that?”
“A counterspell. A nasty one. I don’t know how she cast it from that range, but it sure knew how to find us. Fuck. It must have piggy-backed on the tracking spell. I didn’t even know that was possible.” Emma scrubbed the tears from her face, smearing it with dirt and blood instead. “Are you okay?” She reached for the edge of the jacket, but Joey clamped her other hand down atop her stomach, keeping Emma from inspecting the wound.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” she said.
Emma may have been inclined to fight her on that point, but just then a commotion rose from the direction of the car, distracting her. They had pulled Cheryl free, but rather than bringing her over to the others they set her down right beside the car. Ben began CPR, while everyone else looked on.
Emma scrambled to her feet and ran over to Cheryl, dropping to her knees beside her. Her lips moved, but she was too far now for Chris to hear what she was saying. Nonetheless, he could read the anxiety on her face.
Chris stayed with Joey, watching as the first responders finally started to arrive. Police started assessing the situation, directing traffic and taking statements. Paramedics exploded from an ambulance and rushed to take over for Ben.
“What’s going on?” Joey asked, “Help me up.”
“Um, you should probably stay where you are,” Dean said. “The EMTs are working on Cheryl. They should be over here soon.”
Chris winced. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not,” Dean murmured, glancing at Joey. “Not good at all.”
Joey started pushing herself up in a determined fashion, prompting an alarmed Dean to help her. She kept her hand on her stomach, holding the jacket in place as she struggled into a sitting position. The movement clearly pained her, but stubbornness had never been something she lacked. Together, the three of them watched as the paramedics did their best to revive Cheryl. Every now and then her body jerked as they used the defibrillator. Sam was holding on to Emma by then, keeping her out of the way.
Eventually, the paramedics stopped their heroic efforts. One of them picked up the medical kit and jogged toward Dean and Joey while the other draped a white sheet over Cheryl’s body.
“Oh god,” Joey said, covering her mouth with a hand.
Chris was only dimly aware of Dean putting an arm around Joey. His eyes were on Emma as she broke away from Sam with an anguished cry and flung herself toward the sheet-covered figure. Sorrow welled within him and his heart broke for her.
“No-no-nooooo!” Emma wailed, gathering Cheryl in her arms, sheet and all. Her entire body shook as she rocked and sobbed, holding her wife’s limp form.
Joey sniffled and buried her face against Dean’s shoulder. Chris was dimly aware of this, but his attention was still on Emma.
Something was happening.
“Uh, Dean?”
“Not now,” Dean muttered, followed immediately by, “Not you, sorry.”
Chris glanced at Dean, finding him being tended by a confused EMT. Joey was still holding on to Dean, curled in such a way that the medic couldn’t see her bloody stomach. Frowning, Chris looked at Emma again.
Something was definitely happening. The air around Emma crackled with energy as she rocked back and forth, sobbing. The residual magic left behind by the malicious spell began sliding across the ground toward Emma, coalescing into a glowing, crackling aura around her.
Chris scanned the crowd. Sam and Ben were talking with a cop. The witnesses were waiting their turn, some rubber necking but no one displaying any hint of alarm. Someone moved toward Emma, probably seeking to comfort her. The woman got close enough to put a hand on Emma’s back, but the magic around Emma pulsed, flinging the woman backward and knocking her off her feet. Sam and Ben broke off and went to help the fallen woman, but halted in their tracks to stare at Emma.
“Something’s wrong with Emma,” Chris said, trying to get through to Dean again. “She’s gathering a lot of power around her and lashing out with it.”
“Shut her down,” Dean said, simply.
Joey made an inquisitive noise and lifted her head, looking at Dean. He nodded toward Emma, prompting her to look that direction. Her eyes widened and she grimaced but nodded, gathering her feet under her to rise.
“No, no, not you!” Dean tightened his arm around Joey’s shoulders, preventing her from standing. “You need medical attention. Let Chris handle it.”
“Chris?” Joey said, blinking in obvious confusion, but was soon distracted by the EMT as he noticed the blood-spotted jacket she was clutching against her stomach and swooped in.
“Shut her down,”
Chris said. “How am I supposed to do that? I don’t know anything about magic.”
Dean was too distracted by Joey’s emphatic refusal of treatment to reply. He and the EMT began arguing with her.
With no answer forthcoming, Chris drifted toward his distraught friend. Ben was approaching her too, slowly, with his hands held out at his sides.
“Hey, Emma. It’s Emma, right?” Ben asked, keeping his distance and making no sudden movements.
Emma lifted her head and turned a hard gaze on Ben. Her hair was starting to stand up, as if super-charged with static electricity. The whites of her eyes glowed with an unearthly light, pupils dilated to the point that they all but swallowed her green irises. “Stay back,” she warned, through gritted teeth. The energy around her pulsed again, but Ben wasn’t quite in range.
Ben held up his hands, halting his approach. “I just want to talk.” He crouched down to put himself on eye level with her. “I’m Ben, remember me? Joey and Chris’s brother. We’ve met a few times.”
Emma tilted her head, eyeing him. “Go away,” she said, tightening her hold on Cheryl. Tears continued to stream from her eyes.
“I know you’re hurting, Emma. But you need to calm down. Take a deep breath, okay? Breathe with me.”
“Go away!” Emma screamed, and the energy pulsed again. Stronger this time. It knocked Ben on his ass. He stayed put.
Emma lowered Cheryl’s body to the ground with loving care, straightening the sheet over her before rising. The air practically sizzled around her as she stood there, fists clenched. She was visibly shaking, that energy swirling and pulsing around her as she turned to confront Ben again.
Shut her down, Dean had said. Well, Chris only knew one way to do that. Afraid she might hurt someone—or herself—in her current state, he rushed right into the storm of magic around her.
Pain assaulted him from all directions at once. It burned like fire and ice wrapped in one, searing at the surface and chilling to the core. He faltered amidst the icy heat, a harsh cry torn from his spectral throat. Emma was barely visible through the haze of crackling magic, but a glimpse of her was enough. Gritting his teeth and gathering his will, he pressed onward and broke through to plunge into his friend’s petite form.
The torturous phantom sensations were immediately supplanted by a myriad of aches and pains from Emma’s battered body—jarring, but easier to cope with. The aura of magic around him pulsed and shimmered but, without Emma’s will behind it, began to dissipate.
Not knowing what else to do, Chris let Emma’s knees buckle, collapsed to the ground and feigned unconsciousness.
24
Joey had to pry her fingers off the door handle when the sleek black sedan parked in front of her parents’ home. The chauffeur hopped out to open the door, but he needn’t have bothered. Joey threw open the door herself and bolted from the car, gulping in the dry desert air. Dean joined her, jaw tight but otherwise restrained. He touched her back, a warm press of fingers through her shirt, and she leaned into it.
Ben came trotting down the front steps to meet them, pale brows drawn in concern. “Everything okay?”
Joey nodded, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. “Just a little on edge. Would’ve liked to drive myself.” If only her car weren’t a crumpled wreck destined for a salvage yard.
“Ah, gotcha.” Ben took out his wallet and tipped the driver, giving Joey a little longer to collect herself. The man nodded politely and withdrew.
“How’d you get here so fast?” Dean asked.
“Sam has a lead foot,” Joey said, even though the question hadn’t been directed at her.
Ben backed her up with a nod. “Did you get in touch with Jon?”
“Yeah. He’s on his way to the police station. I can’t believe they arrested Emma, she was just in a horrific car crash. She probably should have gone to the hospital.”
Beside her, Dean snorted. “Pot, kettle—”
“I’m fine.” Joey’s voice was as tight as her fingers, still holding the denim jacket pressed to her stomach so Dean couldn’t see the wound. Vanessa had been right. Getting stabbed in the gut hurt like a sonofabitch and had incapacitated her rather well until she’d healed enough to battle through the pain. It still hurt, but it was down to a manageable level.
“I’d feel a lot more confident about that if you’d at least let the EMT look at it.”
“Why don’t we go inside and get you both cleaned up,” Ben suggested. He took Joey’s hand and tugged her gently toward the stairs.
Sufficiently derailed, Joey sighed and went with him while Dean trailed along behind them.
“How’re you holding up?” Ben said, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. His gentle tone suggested he wasn’t talking about her injury.
“I can’t even think about it right now.” The loss of Cheryl was a persistent ache, but she was more than a little dazed. Numb. It was all a bit surreal, losing both of her best friends in the span of one week. A sudden thought halted her steps and she turned to face Dean. With him a couple of steps down from them, they were on eye level for a change. “Did you see her? Did she cross over?”
Dean didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. “She did.”
Joey breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. “Thanks,” she said, then turned to continue up the steps. “How much trouble am I in?” She glanced at Ben.
“Not sure. She’s been in her study with Sam and Dad since we got back.” He opened the front door and held it for them.
“Think it’ll be better or worse if I wash up before attending her majesty?”
Ben snorted. “I think if you bleed on the rug, that won’t help your case any.”
“Alright, wash up it is. I’m going to need your help with…” She cast a meaningful glance down at her midsection.
Ben nodded and joined them in the foyer. He offered Dean a hand. “I’m Ben, by the way.”
“Dean. Thanks for your help back there.”
Joey watched her brother look Dean over from head to toe as they shook hands.
“Don’t mention it,” Ben said, and gestured toward the stairs. As they ascended, he leaned down and whispered to Joey, “He’s yummy.”
“Down boy,” Joey muttered, smirking.
She really wanted a shower, but she didn’t want to risk making her mother wait that long. Instead, she settled for washing up at the bathroom sink before letting Ben clean what was left of her wound. It would be fully closed within the hour, but she stuck a bandage on it anyway to keep the edges from rubbing against her clean shirt.
Dean waited in the hallway when she came out of the bathroom. His back was to her as he studied some family photographs on the wall, but he turned and gave her a quick once-over.
“You look almost human.”
Joey blinked, then realized it was just a figure of speech. At least, she hoped it was. “You too,” she said, flashing him a tired smile. “Ready to face the music?”
“Sure. I was just looking at these pics.” He motioned over his shoulder. “How much older are your brothers, anyway? They look all grown up, even when you were a kid.”
Joey swallowed. What had she been thinking, bringing him to this part of the house? She hadn’t been thinking at all. “They were, mostly. Ben’s the closest to me in age, he was a teen when I was born. I was a twilight baby. Come on.”
She led the way downstairs. Ben was nowhere to be seen. He’d headed off after playing triage nurse, but she was sure he was still around somewhere. Making himself scarce, probably, since he wasn’t the one facing the firing squad.
“Is Chris here?” she asked.
“No, he’s with Emma.”
Joey nodded, drew a deep breath and flashed Dean a weak smile, then knocked on the study door and entered when bidden. She kept her chin up and back straight, prepared to face the music—just not with her tail between her legs.
Adelaide Grant sat behind her big mahogany desk, elbows planted on the arms of her leather chair
and fingers steepled. Reginald stood to her right, in his customary place at her side. His expression was largely unreadable. If Joey hadn’t already known she was in trouble, the fact that her father didn’t offer any sort of smile or wink was a great big flashing neon sign.
The mystery of where Ben had gotten off to was solved; the whole pack was there. Except Jon, anyway.
“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns,” Adelaide said, green eyes flicking from Joey to Dean. Her cool demeanor gave nothing away. “And you would be?”
Dean cleared his throat softly. “Dean Torres, ma’am.”
Adelaide inclined her head, the soul of politeness. “Mr. Torres, thank you for bringing Josephine home safely. I’m sure you have somewhere to be, so we won’t delay you further.”
“Actually, Dean should be here for this,” Joey said. “It involves him too.”
Adelaide narrowed her eyes, but said, “Very well.”
“I—”
Adelaide held up a hand, silencing Joey. “You know I can always tell when you lie, Josephine. Don’t even try. Tell me what you’ve done.”
Embarrassment flooded Joey. It was one thing for her mother to talk that way to her in front of the family, but in front of a guest? She swallowed her mortification and licked her suddenly dry lips.
Then she told them everything. Everything about Chris contacting her from beyond the grave. Everything about Dean helping her talk to him. Everything about Emma-Tammy. Everything—okay, almost everything—about her trip to Mexico to talk to Harper, and the information that had yielded about Chris’s situation. Everything about the treacherous Tasha and her twisted magic. Everything about the spell Emma had cast, and its tragic results.
It was that last bit that choked her up, but she was done by then. She struggled to hold it together while everyone looked at her. Judged her. She couldn’t bear to meet their eyes. Her actions had felt wholly justified in the heat of the moment, but now? Her stubbornness had cost Cheryl her life. Shame threatened to turn her inside out, and her mother hadn’t even said a word of rebuke. Yet.