by Kim Harrison
Twelve
There was a faint scent of orange antiseptic, and the one-sided come and go of a distant, professional conversation. Closer, the sound of a TV murmured, only the low parts audible, as if through thick walls. I dozed in a pleasant muffled state, comfortable and somnolent. I’d been cold and in pain. Now I was warm and feeling pretty damn good, perfectly content to slip further into a dreamless state.
But the distinctive smell of the sheets tucked up to my chin tickled my memory, winding insidiously through my brain looking for a conscious thought. Then it found one.
“Shit!” I barked, adrenaline slamming through me. I bolted upright, eyes wide and an unreasonable fear jerking me from my drugged haze. I was in the hospital.
“Rache?”
Panicked, I turned to the sound of pixy wings, sweat beading up on me. Jenks was inches from my nose. His tiny features were pinched and afraid, scaring me. “Rache, it’s okay,” he said as an orange haze drifted from him to color my drawn-up knees. “You’re okay. Look at me! You’re okay!”
Lips parted, I focused on him and forced my breathing to slow. I was okay, and as soon as I realized that, I bobbed my head. Stringy, nasty curls shifted to block my eyes, and I pushed them back with a shaky hand. Just that effort seemed to tax me, and I let myself fall back into the slightly raised bed. “Sorry,” I said softly, and he landed on my blanket-covered knee. “I thought I was in the hospital.”
Jenks’s expression became concerned and his wings stopped. “Ah, you are.”
“No,” I said as I found the controls and raised the head of the bed farther. “I mean I thought I was—” I hesitated. “Never mind,” I amended, exhaling to get rid of the last of the adrenaline. I couldn’t tell him I thought I was in the children’s wing where I hadn’t been able to cross the room to turn on the TV without going breathless. It was that memory that had shocked me awake, and I arranged the sheets to cover as much of the ugly white-and-blue-diamond gown as possible. Jeez, Robbie visits for the first time in eight years, and I’m hospitalized?
Jenks buzzed to the long bed table, pushed to the side. His wings stilled, and the red haze that had been hovering about one wing turned into a bit of red medical tape. I sort of remembered the ambulance. There was an IV stuck in me, and I vaguely recalled the paramedic putting it in. He had given me something, and after that, nothing. I’d had IVs before, but they usually went with an amulet if the patient was a witch. Maybe I was in worse shape than I thought.
My gaze went to the clock, right where they always put it. Noon. It didn’t feel like I’d been unconscious for longer than a single night. From cold pavement to hospital. I had been there, and now I was here.
There was a stuffed giraffe on the narrow rolling table, probably from my mother. Stuffed animals were her thing. Beside it was a miniature rose sculpted of stone. From Bis, maybe? I took the stuffed animal in my hands, feeling the softness against my fingertips, in a state of melancholy. “Mia?” I asked Jenks.
The pixy’s wings drooped and went a faint blue. “Gone.”
I met his frown with my own. “Remus?”
“Him, too.” He made the short flight to the bars on the bed, slipping slightly. “He sideswiped Ivy with a pipe; otherwise, we’d have him.”
Alarmed, I stiffened, but his lack of reaction told me she was all right.
“She’s madder than a jilted troll,” he said with a wry expression, “but she’s okay. Nothing broken. By the time she got up, he was gone. She tracked them to a busy street, and then…poof. Hot-wired a car and somehow slipped past the FIB roadblocks. Edden’s pissed.”
And baby makes three, I thought as I set the giraffe down. Crap on toast, they could be long gone. I hoped Audrey was right that banshees never left their city, or we’d never find them.
Jenks reached back to fix the red bit of tape on his wing and I flushed, remembering having thrown him at Edden. “Hey, I’m sorry about your wing,” I said, and he brought his gaze to mine, his eyes green under the yellow shock of hair. “I did that, didn’t I?” I added, pointing with my gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“Nahhh, I’m fine,” he drawled as his hand came forward. “It gave Matalina something to do besides yell at the kids. This happened in Edden’s car, chasing Remus.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him.
“How about you?” Jenks asked, sitting cross-legged beside a mug of water bigger than his cat. “You feel okay? Your aura is…really thin.”
I held a hand in front of my face and wished I could see my own aura. The demon mark on my wrist looked ugly, and I let my hand drop. “Holly stripped it from me,” I said. “Took it along with my life’s energy. That’s why I passed out. I think. Has anyone looked at Glenn’s aura? That’s probably what happened to him, too.”
Jenks nodded. “Right after you came in mumbling about your aura being gone. He’s awake now. I saw him. His aura is patchy, but it will thicken. That freaky little baby can’t even talk yet, and she’s a born killer. She should’ve killed you. The doctors don’t know why she didn’t. They don’t know why you woke up three days earlier than Glenn either. They were here staring at you and asking each other all sorts of questions, looking at your demon scars…” His lips pressed tight as a feeling of angst slid through me. “I don’t like it, Rache.”
“Me neither.” Feeling violated, I tugged my blankets up a little. Had my demon marks saved me? Made my aura taste bad? I remembered a sensation of black coursing through me as Holly stripped everything, like she was sucking the last milk from a bottle, bubbles and all. I didn’t like that something evil had saved me. It was bad enough that I had demon scars, but that I had to be grateful for them for saving my life was…perverted.
Jenks’s wings hummed fitfully. Rising up, he said with forced cheerfulness, “You’ve got company. I can hear him in the hall.”
Edden? I wondered as I was making sure I was covered when a soft knock at the cracked door turned into a soft scuffing. “Marshman!” Jenks exclaimed, a sunbeam trailing behind him when he went to the door. “How you doing? Rachel’s happy to see you.”
Eyebrows raised, I gave Jenks a sidelong glance. I’m happy to see him?
Sitting straighter, I waved sloppily at the tall man as he entered. He had his coat open, showing a flannel shirt with a wisp of curling black peeping out at the neckline. The casual lumberjack cut of the shirt hung nicely on his broad swimmer’s shoulders, tucked into his jeans to show off his thin waist. There was a bouquet of flowers in each hand, and he looked awkward as he stopped before me. “Hi, Rachel,” he said, smiling uncertainly, as if not sure he should be here. “Ah, you get what you needed in the mall?”
I laughed and shifted more upright. I knew how I looked in blue diamonds, and it wasn’t attractive. “Thanks,” I said sourly. “Sorry about that. She ran. I chased her.” Dumb.
“And you got banshee-slapped,” he said, putting the two bouquets down and sitting on the edge of the bed beside me. “Are you okay? They wouldn’t let me ride with you to the hospital. You were delirious.” He hesitated. “Did you really steal Mr. Ray’s wishing fish?”
I blinked. “Uh, yeah, but I thought it belonged to the Howlers.” My gaze dropped from his concerned brown eyes to the flowers. One was an arrangement of summer daisies, the other a carnation and mum mix. “Thank you,” I said as I reached to touch them. “You didn’t need to bring me flowers. They are beautiful. Did they have a ‘buy one, get one free’ special downstairs?”
My voice was light, and Marshal smiled. “Don’t think anything because I brought you flowers. If I didn’t, my mom would skin me alive. Besides, only one is from me. The daisies were sitting downstairs with your name on them, so I brought them up.”
My eyes went to the florist’s card, in an envelope, and I nodded. Robbie, maybe? As in “pushing up daisies”? “Thanks,” I said, and he made a little jump, as if remembering something.
“I brought you this, too,” he said, reaching into a coat pocket to bring out a winter
-pale tomato. It was an Inderland tradition, and I couldn’t help but grin. “For health,” he said, then glanced at the closed door. “You’re, uh, on a human floor, so watch where you put it.”
The fruit was cold in my fingers, and my smile faded. Why am I on a human floor?
The sound of Jenks’s wings rose in pitch, and he took flight. “Ah, I promised Ivy I’d tell her when you woke up,” he said as he rose up. “I gotta go.”
“Jenks, is she okay?” I asked, but he was gone. Rolling my eyes, I leaned to put the tomato on the table, and my knees knocked into Marshal. My eyes went to the flowers, and all my warning flags went up. He was sitting kind of close. “Um, it was awfully nice of you to come and see me,” I said, nervous. “I’m not going to be here long. I was just about ready to get up and go harass the nurses.”
I knew I was filling the silence with my babbling, and in a surge of motion, I flung the covers back and pulled my knees up to get my feet past him and to the floor. I froze, looking down at those stupid pink sock slippers they give out. Damn it, I had a catheter. Even worse, just that little exertion made me dizzy.
“Easy, Rachel,” Marshal said, already having stood and put his hands heavily on my shoulders. “I don’t think you’re ready to move yet. Your aura is really torn up.”
The heady aroma of redwood cascaded over me, seeming all the more potent for the sterile smells of the hospital. “I’m fine. Marshal, I’m fine,” I complained as the dizziness passed. It was almost as if I was leaving a part of myself behind when I moved, and until it caught up with me, I was naked. Exhausted, I sat with my feet dangling down and leaned my head against his chest while I tried to keep from blacking out. It felt nice when his hands rested on me. Not sexual nice—God, I was in a hospital bed with pillow hair and wearing a blue diamond pattern—it was as if I were gaining strength from his simple concern.
I settled back under his insistent, nervous hands, and he pulled the blanket up and around me. I lay there and let him do it, probably feeding his white-knight complex, but what choice did I have? If my aura was stripped, then I probably was gaining something from him. Genuine caring helped mend tears, just as the negative energy from someone who disliked me could do an equal amount of damage.
“Really,” I said as he handed me the oversize mug of iced water as if it would make everything better. “I’m okay. I just need to move slower.” But my hands were shaking and I was nauseous. The water seemed to help, and I took a big gulp, feeling it all the way down.
“Ivy will break my fingers if I let you hit the floor,” he grumbled, taking the water back as I extended it. “Just be good for the next twenty minutes and don’t get me in trouble, okay?”
I tried to smile, but I was trembling inside. Fatigue pulled at me, and memories of my early years in and out of hospitals came flooding back. “I don’t even know what happened,” I complained. “I mean, I remember up to blacking out, but after that? Pfft.”
Marshal sat on the edge of the bed again, as if I might try to get up. “No doubt. A banshee, Rachel? What were you thinking? You’re lucky to be alive.”
My right shoulder lifted and fell. Who else had a chance to catch her? Edden had probably checked me in. Maybe that was why I was on a human floor. I could lie in bed at home for a lot less money. David was going to be ticked when my insurance went up.
Remembering Marshal, I sighed. “Yep. A banshee. And her kid. And her homicidal husband. At the mall, no less.”
He smiled, one almost of pride. “You made the news knocking over that reporter.”
My eyes flicked to his and I winced. “They got it on tape?”
Leaning forward, he tucked a stray curl behind my ear, making me shiver when my thoughts went to Kisten’s boat. “Knocked her right on her can,” he said, oblivious. “It was good seeing you in action like that. Again.”
His smile faded, and I realized this was twice now he had seen me on the news; the first time, I’d been cuffed. “Um, thanks for coming to see me,” I said, sensing a growing awkwardness, as if he had stepped past our agreed-on boundaries.
Smile gone, he leaned back. He looked everywhere but at me. “Tried the pudding yet?”
“No, but I doubt it’s changed since I was here last.”
He chuckled, and I tried to decide if I was willing to risk taking the catheter out by myself. The one time I had, I’d hurt myself more than one would believe possible. I didn’t want to stay here, and if my vitals were normal, they wouldn’t keep me for simple fatigue.
The sound of Jenks returning drifted into the uncomfortable silence between Marshal and me, and we exchanged knowing smiles. Jenks was like a little kid you could hear long before you could see him. His voice was high as he talked to someone whose voice was a dull murmur, and they were moving slowly. Ivy maybe?
My pulse increased and Marshal stood when the thick oversize door creaked open. He looked nervous, and I didn’t wonder why. Ivy didn’t like him, and she took few pains to hide it.
“Hey!” Jenks shouted loudly as he circled the room three times. “Look who I found!”
I found myself smiling; not only was it Ivy, but Glenn, too, moving slowly and supported between Ivy and the IV stand. The black man looked awful, and it wasn’t just from the hospital gown. Still, I met him grin for grin when he looked up from the floor, clearly pleased to be functioning even on this reduced level. His face was an ugly purple in places, and his hand gripping Ivy’s arm was swollen, the cuts covered with stark-white bandages. “Hi, Rachel,” he breathed, then focused on the tile and moving forward.
Marshal nodded his hello to Ivy, and after nudging the tomato behind the flowers before Glenn spotted it, he moved to the distant couch, built into the wall under the window, so the ailing FIB agent could have the closer chair. Oddly enough, Ivy looked like she knew what she was doing, competently shifting him around and making sure his IV didn’t get tangled. She even knew to hold his gown shut while he angled to sit in the chair.
He eased into it with his arm muscles straining, and he exhaled long and loud when his weight left his feet. “Rachel,” he said before he got his breath back altogether. “Ivy told me you were here, and I had to see it for myself. You look as bad as I feel, girl.”
“Yeah?” I shot back. “Give me a few hours, and I’ll wipe the floor with you in a game of ‘round the nurses’ desk.’” As far as I was concerned, he was in way worse shape than I, but he looked a whole lot better than when I’d seen him last, unconscious and surrounded by white sheets. That I couldn’t stand up yet didn’t mean anything. I’d be walking before sunset even if I had to crawl to do it.
Ivy came closer, and a pang of emotion went through me. The chair Glenn was now in had been pulled to the bedside when I woke up. I’d be willing to bet she’d been sitting in it all night. She looked tired, and I wondered if she had slept at all this morning. “Hi, Ivy,” I said as I reached out—knowing she wouldn’t. “Jenks said Remus hit you. You okay?”
Jenks clattered his wings behind the flowers, and Ivy’s calm face scrunched up. “I’m fine, more mad at myself than anything.” Her fingers touched mine, and I heard everything she wasn’t going to say. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she said softly. “You had us worried.”
“My pride took a hit,” I said. “I’ll be fine soon as I can stand.” Jenks looked out around a plastic vase with a questioning expression, his hands full of pollen, and Marshal popped his knuckles. Realizing the men had become uncomfortable, I flushed. Our fingers parted.
“Marshal, you’ve met Glenn, haven’t you?” I said suddenly. “He’s the FIB’s Inderland specialist. Glenn, Marshal is the swim coach at the university.”
Marshal came forward. Leaning past the corner of the bed, he carefully shook Glenn’s bandaged hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, and I couldn’t help but notice there hadn’t been a flicker of concern or reluctance in meeting an FIB officer. Not like with Nick. And I smiled.
“It’s a pleasure,” Glenn responded. “Have you
and Rachel known each other long?”
“No,” he said quickly, but I felt he deserved more than that.
“Sort of.” I spoke up before Jenks, who had risen up above the flowers, could. “Marshal helped Jenks and me on that run up in Michigan. He’s been in Cincinnati since Halloween, pulling snakes from under my kitchen floor and teaching me how to rock climb.”
Ivy snickered at the reference to Tom, and Glenn’s head went up and down in slow consideration, his gaze becoming more accepting. I knew he believed Nick was still alive, which he was, the son of a bastard—and seeing that my ex-boyfriend and master thief had a record thicker than the phone book, I wouldn’t be surprised if the FIB detective grilled Marshal later over what he knew about Nick.
Ivy made a small sound of interest when she opened the card from the second batch of flowers. I wanted to ask her about her leg, but she wasn’t favoring it, and I knew she wouldn’t appreciate me bringing it up in front of other people.
“Slacker,” I said to Glenn, and when he gave me a tired, lopsided smile, I added, “How’s your aura?”
“Thin. I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel, but I feel…weird. Three witches looked at me after you came in. Every one of them said I was lucky to be alive.”
Jenks snorted. “They came in and poked Rachel, too,” he said. “Left grumbling.”
I exhaled slowly, bringing up my second sight without tapping a line so I didn’t run the risk of seeing the ever-after. Not in a hospital six floors up. Sure enough, Glenn’s aura was raggedy, leaking red around the broken edges and looking like a fluctuating aurora borealis instead of a continuous sheet. The gaps were not healthy, and until they healed, he’d be vulnerable to all sorts of metaphysical things. That I was in the same condition made my stomach turn. And I have a date with Al in the ever-after at sunrise tomorrow. I had to get out of it. Surely Al would give me a sick day for this. I should ask for a work excuse.