“Ryan, you need to lie still. It’s going to take awhile for the pain potion to work,” Shana said, laying her hand on his forearm.
“Don’t touch me!” he yelled, jerking away from her. She frowned at him. “I just want to help you.”
“If you want to help me, then get my clothes so I can get the hell out of here.”
“We’ve already discussed this, Ryan,” she said as she climbed off the bed. Grabbing her T-shirt off the floor, she pulled it over her head. Then she retrieved her jeans and stepped into them. As she pulled them on, she continued, “You can’t leave because your motorcycle is damaged, and you can’t walk.”
At the mention of his bike, an image of the Harley lying broken and dying on the side of the road flooded into Ryan’s mind. He closed his eyes as panic welled up inside him. How was he going to outrun the eyes without his bike?
Now you’ve found Sanctuary. Your journey is at its end.
His eyes flew open and he glared at Shana. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” she asked, looking bewildered.
“Damnit, lady! Don’t play games with me.”
“My name is Shana, not lady, and I’m not playing games with you.”
“The hell you aren’t! You’ve been haunting my nightmares for the past six months, and now you’ve started babbling in my head. Well, I want you to stop it and leave me alone!”
“You’ve been having nightmares for the past six months?” she gasped. “When exactly did they start, Ryan? Was it on Samhain?”
“Samhain?” he repeated in confusion. The word sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“Yes, Samhain, although I think you probably call it Halloween.”
Halloween. The word sent Ryan tumbling back in time.
“WHAT HAVE WE got?” Ryan asked George Raines, the middle-aged surgical nurse on the night shift, as he burst through the doors of the hospital’s surgical unit.
“Five-year-old girl with multiple trauma,” George answered, following him into the doctors’ dressing room. “We’re still waiting for the X-rays, but initial examination revealed an open fracture of the right leg, which severed an artery. The paramedics stopped the bleeding, but her blood pressure is still dropping, despite transfusion.”
“Then we’ve got internal bleeding,” Ryan noted as he began to strip off his clothes.
“Considering the distension of the abdomen, it looks like a ruptured spleen,” George concurred. “She also has major head trauma and possible spinal damage. We’ve called both orthopedics and neurosurgery, and they have people on the way. The girl’s entire right rib cage is caved in, and there’s every indication that we’re dealing with a punctured lung. These are just the preliminary diagnoses. I suspect that once we get the X-rays, we’re going to find a lot more wrong with her.”
Ryan cursed as he reached for the pants to his scrub suit and began to step into them. “What the hell happened to her?”
“Her father caught her sneaking candy out of her trick-or-treat bag after he told her she couldn’t have any more.”
Ryan stopped dressing and stared at George in disbelief. He didn’t know why he felt so stunned. After five years as a pediatric trauma surgeon, he should be inured to this scenario. More than half of his patients were victims of child abuse. But he hadn’t become accustomed to adults beating helpless children, and he knew he never would.
“Happy Halloween,” he muttered grimly as he resumed dressing.
“Yeah, it’s getting to be almost as much fun as Christmas,” George responded dryly as he walked out of the dressing room.
His sarcasm wasn’t lost on Ryan. It seemed that they got more child abuse victims during the Christmas holiday season than at any other time of the year.
When Ryan entered the surgical suite and got his first look at the child, a white-hot anger enveloped him. Her face was so badly beaten that if George hadn’t told him her sex, he wouldn’t have been able to determine it. He was also startled to see the child was awake. He knew that they couldn’t anesthetize her until they had the X-rays and were able to determine the extent of her head injuries. However, the agonizing pain she had to be suffering should have rendered her unconscious.
Ryan muttered a violent curse beneath his breath as her gaze latched onto his. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, but he could see the confusion and fear in their pain-glazed depths. His heart contracted. He wanted to brush his hand across her brow to reassure her, but there wasn’t a spot on her face that wasn’t bruised. He was afraid that even the gentlest touch might cause her more pain.
He leaned down so that his mouth was close to her ear. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, but I promise that in just a few minutes all the pain will go away. Then I’m going to fix you up as good as new.”
Her lips moved, and his heart broke at the realization that she was trying to smile. He also felt humbled at the look of trust that entered her eyes. He smiled and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
He’d no more than lowered his hand when the heart monitor went crazy. One glance toward it, and Ryan knew the child was going into cardiac arrest.
No! he screamed inwardly as he issued CPR instructions by rote. I just told her I’m going to make her better. I will not let her die!
Even as he made the vow, a flat line registered on the monitor. Frantically, he worked to save the child. When she didn’t respond to traditional CPR methods, he yelled, “Give me a scalpel! We’ll do open-heart massage!”
“It’s too late,” George said, placing his hand on Ryan’s arm. “It’s been nearly fifteen minutes. She’s gone, Doc. There’s nothing we can do.”
Turning away from the nurse, Ryan looked down at the child’s battered, swollen face. Her eyes were open, staring up at him, and he could swear he could still see trust glimmering in them. He’d told her he’d fix her up as good as new, and she had believed him—trusted him—to make that happen. How could he have let her die?
Blinking against the sting of tears, he gently brushed his hand over her face, closing her eyelids. Then he reached for the sheet to cover her. As he drew it up her broken body, he noticed her clenched fist. Releasing the sheet, he lifted her hand. It wasn’t even large enough to fill his palm.
Carefully, he eased her fingers open, and when he did, he caught his breath in a painful gasp. She was clutching a piece of pumpkin-shaped candy.
“The staff should have found this when they prepped you,” he murmured. “They should have never let you come in here with it, but I guess they were too worried about getting you into surgery to catch everything.”
He folded her fingers back over it and glanced up at her face, whispering, “You died for it, sweetheart. It’s only fair that you take it with you.”
After placing her hand back on the table, he finished covering her. Then he turned and walked out, unable to get the image of her trusting eyes out of his mind. That night she came to haunt him in his dreams, and she brought all the other dozen or so children he’d lost with her. As their eyes surrounded him, accusing him for failing them, he woke up screaming. It was then that he knew that he would never be able to escape them—that they would never let him rest. He had promised to save them, and then he had stood by and let them slip into the clutches of that old bastard, Father Death. The children would never forgive him for that. He couldn’t blame them, because he’d never be able to forgive himself.
“RYAN, THIS IS very important,” Shana said, breaking into his tortured reverie. “Did your nightmares start on Samhain?”
“When they started doesn’t matter,” he stated, furious with her for making him relive the horror of Halloween. “What matters is that you get the hell out of them.”
“I am not in your nightmares, Ryan, but I think I know who is. Now, would you please answer my question? Did your nightmares start on Samhai
n?”
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You bring me my clothes so I can get the hell out of here, and I’ll answer your question.”
“If what I suspect is true, you can’t leave, Ryan.”
“Are you implying that you intend to keep me here against my will? That’s called kidnapping, lady, and it’s against the law!”
“I am not trying to kidnap you,” she denied impatiently, “and if you want to leave, I can’t stop you. I am not allowed to interfere with your free will. Moira, however, is a different matter. As a spirit-witch, she is not bound by the covenant of my race. If, as I believe, she somehow managed to cast a spell over you on Samhain, then you’ll be able to leave only if she wants you to leave. Since she’s the one who brought you to Sanctuary, I’m afraid you’re stuck here until I’ve either defeated her or she’s claimed my soul.”
“I think I just figured this out,” Ryan said, regarding her narrowly. “Sanctuary is a mental institution and you’re the head fruitcake, right?”
“I am not crazy, Ryan. I’m a witch.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it, honey. I have yet to meet a woman who wasn’t. Now, why don’t you go round up your keeper for me so I can get dressed and leave?”
“You aren’t going to believe me until I prove to you what I am, are you?”
“Look, lady, I don’t want you to prove anything to me,” Ryan responded in exasperation. “All I want to do is get out of here. Now, are you going to go get whomever I have to talk to, to make that happen? Or am I going to have to go running around this joint buck naked to get some help?”
“You don’t have to go anywhere,” she answered. “If you want your clothes, I’ll get them for you right now.”
“Great. We’re finally making some progress.”
“Yes, I think we finally are,” she said, raising her arms over her head. “Watch carefully, Ryan, because I’m not only going to get you your clothes, I’m going to give you your first lesson in witchcraft.”
Shana knew that what she was about to do was melodramatic, but she didn’t have time for subtlety. Until Ryan was willing to accept that she was a witch, he would continue to fight her. If her premise was right and Moira had cast some kind of enchantment over him during Samhain, it was imperative that he cooperate with her.
She crossed her arms over her head and murmured a short incantation. An inch-tall whirlwind immediately formed at her feet. She uncrossed her arms and dropped them to her sides. Then she extended her hands in front of her and held them at waist level. The whirlwind began to grow in size until it stood as high as her waist and its top was a good two feet in diameter. She looked down into the funnel and then up at Ryan, who was staring at her in open-mouthed amazement.
“What piece of clothing would you like first? Your underwear?”
Before he could respond, she waved a hand over the top of the funnel, and his shorts rose into the air. She flicked her fingers toward them, and they flew across the room, hitting Ryan directly in the face.
“Sorry about that. I haven’t done this in a long time, so my aim is off.” As she spoke, she again waved her hand over the top. This time, both his jeans and his black T-shirt rose. “Look at this. Two for the price of one.”
She left them suspended in the air and glanced back into the funnel, “Oops. I forgot your socks and boots, and of course, you’ll need your jacket. I’ve always liked black leather. There’s something so . . . dangerous about it.”
When all the items were hanging in the air, she again flicked her fingers. The clothing floated to the bed and dropped to the mattress, and his boots landed on the floor beside the bed.
“Let’s see what else we have in here,” she murmured, making a show of looking into the funnel. “Ah, yes, your personal items.”
With another wave, his wallet, a handful of change, a pack of cigarettes, and a cigarette lighter appeared. She circled her hand in a clockwise motion, and then closed it into a fist. The items disappeared. When she opened her hand, they reappeared on the nightstand.
Again, she extended her hands at waist level and began to lower them. The funnel shrank back to an inch-tall whirlwind. Raising her arms above her head, she crossed them and murmured the appropriate chant. The whirlwind disappeared.
Lowering her arms, she gave Ryan a smug smile. “Now do you believe that I’m a witch?”
Instead of answering, he reached for the cigarette package and the lighter. After tapping out a cigarette, he lit it and tossed the pack and lighter back to the nightstand.
He inhaled deeply on the cigarette and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, before saying, “You’re a good magician, but you’re not as good as the one who made the Statue of Liberty disappear a few years ago. Now, that was a hell of a trick.”
Shana’s jaw dropped in disbelief. When she realized her mouth was open, she closed it and said, “I am not a magician. I’m a witch.”
“In that case, how about conjuring up an ashtray for me? Or aren’t you able to do tricks on demand?”
Shana was still so flabbergasted by his refusal to believe her that she could only shake her head. How could he not believe after what she’d done? Of course! That’s what the Tarot card had meant. Ryan was going to stubbornly refuse to listen to her. But he had to listen to her, or she’d never figure out Moira’s plan.
“You can conjure up my clothes, but you can’t come up with a simple ashtray?” he taunted, apparently considering her head shake a denial.
“Of course I can come up with an ashtray,” she said, flicking her wrist. A small, clear glass ashtray immediately appeared on the bed. “Are you now satisfied that I’m a witch?’
He tapped ashes into the dish and then took a drag on his cigarette. Blowing another column of smoke toward the ceiling, he said, “I’m not that gullible, lady.”
“How can you say that after everything I’ve done?” she gasped, incredulous.
“Look, you don’t need to get upset about this,” he replied. “If you want to believe you’re a witch, that’s fine with me. Everyone is entitled to their delusions.”
“You’re impossible!” she declared in exasperation. “What do I have to do to make you believe me?”
He shrugged. “Turn me into a frog?”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” she replied, propping her hands on her hips and frowning at him. “In the first place, it’s a physical impossibility. You don’t share the same physiology as a frog. But even if it were possible, why would you want to be a frog?”
“It works in the fairy tales. Of course, if some princess comes along and kisses me, she’ll be disappointed. Even at my best, no one would ever call me a prince.”
Shana felt as if she’d been transported to some alien world. What in the world were fairy tales, and why would a princess want to kiss a frog? She started to ask, but realized it had nothing to do with the matter at hand. How was she going to prove to him she was a witch?
“What?” she said, realizing he’d been talking. She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t heard a word.
“I said I would like some privacy so I can get dressed.”
“I cast a spell over your knee to protect it from further injury,” she told him. “You won’t be able to bend it, and if you start moving around, you’re going to experience a lot of pain. I’ll have to help you dress.”
Scowling at her, he grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it further up his body. “I don’t know what kind of trick you’re trying to pull now, lady, but whatever it is, you can forget it. I don’t expose myself to strange women.”
“I am not a strange woman. I’m a—”
“I know, you’re a witch,” he interrupted irritably. “And for the record, I don’t expose myself to strange witches, either.”
“There�
�s no reason for you to be modest, Ryan,” she said. “I’ve already seen your body, and I have to say that it is as magnificent as any warlock’s. You’re going to make a fabulous mate, assuming of course that I can defeat Moira, which I have every intention of doing.
“So, tell me, are male or female offspring dominant in your family line?” she asked, curious. “They run fifty-fifty in mine, so your genetic background will be the deciding factor in whether or not we have a son or a daughter.”
Ryan blinked at Shana several times in rapid succession, deciding that this must have been what Alice felt like when she tumbled down the rabbit hole. He also concluded that his earlier premise was right. Sanctuary had to be a mental institution, and if Shana Morland wasn’t their star patient, he’d eat his boots.
Since she was staring at him expectantly, he knew he had to say something, so he muttered, “You are the craziest woman I have ever met.”
She shook her head. “Insanity does not run in my race. Unless, of course, you count the occasional megalomaniac,” she amended. “They’re rare, but they do pop up every now and then. I’m afraid that’s what happened to our previous high priest, Galen Morgan. But he’s being rehabilitated and he’s much better now.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Ryan stated dryly. “And as fascinating as I find this discussion, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave so I can get dressed.”
“You really will need my help, Ryan,” she reasserted. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’ll experience a lot of pain if you start moving your leg around.”
Ryan closed his eyes and counted to ten, determined to hold onto his temper. She couldn’t help it if she was a few bricks short of a full load, but she’d already managed to crawl into bed with him without him even knowing it. With her now spouting nonsense about them having a child together, he wasn’t going to let her get near him. He had many faults, but taking sexual advantage of mentally ill women was not one of them, even if they were gorgeous enough to pose as a Playboy centerfold.
Touch of Magic Page 6