Marty's Horrible, Terrible, Very Bad Day

by Dakota Cassidy

  Hudson gave her a guilty look, his eyes flooded with concern. “I fell asleep, too. I’m sorry, Rocky. I wasn’t even that tired, but it just sort of happened without me realizing it. I woke up to the sound of you screaming and…you know the rest.”

  Sighing, she touched her fiery face with a tentative finger. “That’s fair. It’s not your job to keep me awake.”

  Nina crossed her feet at the ankles—feet clad in red thermal footie pajamas. “We need to figure out a better system than this, kiddo. You can’t stay awake until she fucking wakes up, waiting on a reaper who might never show. Who knows how long it’ll be before she opens her damn eyes.”

  Also fair, but the only way to do that was to invite another reaper in, and she couldn’t think of any other reaper who’d rebel against the system.

  “We’ll talk about that later. For now, there’s this: That was no reaper, Nina. I know the scent of a reaper. I know the feel of another reaper. Any ideas on who the hell that was?” Then she remembered Nina and Hudson had flown out the window after the intruder. “Did you see who it was, Nina? Hudson?”

  Calamity, who she hadn’t seen since she’d arrived, hopped up on the bed, her tail swishing in the air. “It was magic.”

  Rocky cocked her head, pushing away Hudson’s hands and sitting up anyway. “Magic? What are you talking about? Is that a person?”

  Calamity shook her tiny dark head and rubbed up against Rocky’s leg with a purr. “Not a person. A thing.”

  Nina sat down on the bed just as Wanda flew into the room in her blue fuzzy bathrobe and matching slippers, still light on her feet for being so pregnant. “Rocky! Oh heavens, are you all right?” she asked, her tired eyes worried as she reached for Rocky’s hand, tucking it into her soft one.

  “I’m fine. Just sore. Calamity was just telling me this attack on Marty had to do with magic? I don’t get it.”

  Nina popped her lips. “Not sure if you knew this, but I’m half witch. Long story about how the fuck that happened, but it’s true. Calamity’s my familiar—or did you know that? Never mind, doesn’t fucking matter. Anyway, I can smell fucking magic because of my ability to track with my vampire senses, and for sure, it was magic. I smelled the spell. I don’t know what the fuck kind or why, but there was magic involved.”

  “Fuck all if it’s not the strangest thing, too. She sucks at spells, but she can smell ’em from a hundred miles away,” Calamity groused.

  Rocky was confused, and she guessed her expression said as much. “I’m not pickin’ up what you’re layin’ down. How can magic and a spell be the responsible party? It didn’t look like magic to me. He yanked her breathing tube out. That’s attempted murder. There’s nothing magical about it.”

  Wanda tugged a length of Rocky’s hair and smiled down at her. “What Nina means is, the person who tried to kill Marty was, we think, under the influence of magic.”

  Fear swept over Rocky, making her unable to fight a shiver. Whoa. That was a whole other ball of wax. She didn’t know anything about magic. “So now we don’t just have a reaper to worry about, but some unknown murderer?”

  Nina tweaked her cheek and grinned. “Smart reaper is smart,” she joked. “Yep. That’s still true, but we do know who fucking pulled her breathing tube out.”

  “You mean the person you think was under the influence of magic,” Rocky said, in a wooden tone. “But you don’t know for sure if you’re right?”

  Nina’s brow furrowed and her eyes flashed as though Rocky were crazy to doubt her. “I’m almost one hundred.”

  Her mouth fell open, and it took her a moment to gather her words. “Almost. but you’re not one hundred. In the meantime, why aren’t you stringing him up by his balls with dental floss from one of Marty’s trees until you know for sure? Who are you? You nearly knocked my face off when I just rang the doorbell. Someone tries to murder Marty and you’re all here, babying me? Why aren’t you pounding his head in right this second? Yanking his innards through his nose? Doing all those things you guys threaten on the reg?”

  “Because he’s just outside in the other room having tea with Archibald and Darnell and he seems pretty legit,” Hudson said, giving Harry—Mara’s husband, who’d appeared in the doorway—a grateful smile when he handed him a T-shirt.

  Now she became afraid. These people were imposters. Like pod people or something. No way in all of the universe would they allow the person who’d possibly tried to murder Marty have a spot of tea and some cookies.

  Backing away, she scooted forward across the surface of the bed, forgetting her ribs felt like arrows of fire and her eyeball might surely pop out of her head if she moved it too much.

  Raising a finger, she turned and shouted, “Who are you?” When Nina made a move toward her, Rocky whipped up a hand to thwart her, aghast. “Stay back! Don’t you come any closer or I swear, I’ll…I’ll…” She shook her head, making her face throb. “I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll do it, and even if you kill me, it won’t be without a fight! You’re not the Wanda and Nina I know. The Wanda and Nina I know wouldn’t serve tea to a man unless they know for certain he didn’t try and murder their friend!”

  Mara, Marty’s sister-in-law, and the woman named Jeannie, who was married to Marty’s brother-in-law, Sloan, pushed their way into the bedroom.

  She tucked her incredibly shiny black hair behind her ears. “What are you doing to this poor thing, Nna? You’re going to wake the kids! Sam’s having the worst night teething while you’re in here fooling around. Knock it off,” Mara said, planting her hands on her slender hips.

  Jeannie, a petite, pretty lady with a high ponytail, looked to Mara. “Did you threaten someone’s insides again, Nina? I thought all that therapy and anger management fixed you.” And then she giggled.

  “Why the fuck is it always my goddamned fault?” Nina crowed.

  Jeannie puffed her chest out, pounding it with two fists. “Because when there’s noise and chaos involved, it usually is.”

  “Hey, fuck you and your noise, I Dream of,” Nina said, giving Jeannie the finger.

  Hudson and Harry both burst out laughing.

  “Why is this so funny?” Rocky yelped.

  Wanda gave her a smile of sympathy and finally said, “Because when you see who the person in the other room is, you’ll understand why we believe he had no control over his actions. He was under a spell, honey. We’re pretty sure it was some kind of controlling spell.”

  Oh.

  She relaxed a little, but only a little. She wasn’t going to let her guard entirely down until she asked some questions. “So who is this person who tried to kill Marty?”

  Hudson smoothed a hand over his T-shirt before his gorgeous gaze met hers. “You’ll never believe it.”

  Rocky narrowed her eyes, reaching for the silver nightstand beside the bed to help hold her up. “Because everything else you’ve all been telling me makes complete sense? Just tell me who it is.”

  Hudson’s eyes were amused and he snickered as though he were keeping some secret. Then he said, “It’s Dr. Doomsday. Er, I mean, Dr. Valentine. Dr. Valentine tried to kill Marty.”

  Chapter 8

  “I still don’t know how this happened,” Dr. Valentine moaned with a scowl as he looked around in bewilderment at Hollis’s playroom as though he’d been dropped on the planet Mars. Which, considering how funny he looked amidst all the dolls and castles, probably wasn’t a reach. “I don’t ever remember leaving the hospital. And now I’ve tried to harm one of my patients? It’s unconscionable! This is sheer madness.”

  “I’ll say,” Rocky muttered, scratching her head as she watched Dr. Valentine reposition himself in the teeny-tiny chair at a teeny-tiny table she could only assume was Hollis’s tea table.

  As she stood in Hollis’s playroom and Archibald—in a sharp plaid bathrobe—poured Dr. Valentine some tea, Rocky watched the commotion as people wandered in and out, catering to his every need.

  Darnell, probably one of the only men
in the group who could rival Dr. Valentine in girth, leaned against the far wall, his head pressed to Carl’s, who was showing him something with great excitement on his iPad.

  Nina and Wanda, their husbands and other assorted family members, gathered in small groups, all talking at once.

  She, on the other hand, was skeptical. She couldn’t smell magic or whatever Nina had described, but she also still wasn’t sure she fully understood the whole magic slant to this, and how Dr. Valentine had been abracadabra’d.

  Leaning into Hudson, trying not to sniff his spicy cologne or brush against his muscled arms, she asked, “So let me get this straight. Someone put a spell on Dr. Valentine that made him come here and try to kill Marty?”

  Hudson leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I’m hearing right, yep. I think. I don’t know.”

  “I don’t get it. According to Wanda and Nina, they can’t think of anyone who wants them dead who isn’t locked up or dead themselves.”

  “I don’t get it either, but how damn funny is it to see big old crabby pants Dr. Doomsday in a plastic purple chair made for a five-year-old in the middle of this decidedly very pink and purple room?”

  Rocky snorted. “Should we selfie and Instagram it? Bet housekeeping would love this turn of events.”

  Now Hudson snorted, but then he sobered, his eyes finding hers. “It’s really not his fault. Do you have any idea how damning this could be to his career? If it got out that he tried to kill a patient, even under the influence of magic, the rumor mill would have a bloody field day. He’s already on the most-hated list at the hospital.”

  “Well, it’s not like he doesn’t deserve to be on that list,” she reminded. “He has the bedside manner of Attila the Hun, for gravy’s sake.”

  Hudson’s face softened, his expression filled with sympathy. “But he doesn’t deserve to go down for something he had no control over, Rocky. He’s an excellent surgeon, despite his sour disposition, and let’s not forget, he’s got some gargoyle disease he refuses to talk about. When you’re sick, aren’t you a little cranky?”

  “Look at you stick up for the meaniebutt,” she teased, nudging him in his hard stomach.

  “I’m just being truthful. He’s got the personality of a rock, but he doesn’t deserve to be branded a murderer.”

  Okay, point for the phoenix, but hold on. As she recovered from her brush with Dr. Valentine, who might not be in good health but was certainly stronger than an ox, Rocky began to try to piece together a motive.

  “Why wouldn’t this person who put the spell on Dr. Valentine just do it themselves? Why have someone else do it? And one more thing, because spells are involved, does that mean a witch wants to kill Marty?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Hudson said with a sigh in confusion. “Witches are certainly as good a guess as any, but who knows what other paranormal is capable of putting a spell on another paranormal? I mean, I’m willing to bet there are many species we don’t even know about—that we haven’t identified yet—who do extraordinary things. But for now, sure, let’s say a witch did this. Why did a witch do this? And what does that have to do with the list of souls? How does that connect to Marty?”

  She decided to ask a few questions of her own. Leaving Hudson, she approached Dr. Valentine and grabbed one of the small plastic chairs, sitting amongst the dozens of dolls by shelves filled with colorful books, and dropped it down next to him.

  His eyes widened in surprise when he realized who she was. “You’re the staff member from housekeeping, aren’t you?” he asked in soft tones, which, coming from Dr. Valentine, an often loud, blustery fellow, was a surprise.

  “Yep. That’s me. Rocky McNally—lowly janitor. Listen, Dr. Valentine. I have a few questions, if you don’t mind?”

  He gave her that condescending glare from beneath his bushy eyebrows he always gave her as he passed in the hallways, before he appeared to remember he was in a pickle. “I don’t know what else I can tell you that I haven’t told everyone already, but I’ll try to oblige.”

  One thoughtful pause later, Rocky asked, “Well, I figure you owe me one for slamming me against a wall and for this shiner, which I haven’t seen yet but I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to cover with makeup.”

  His sigh was gruff and despondent. “Miss McNally, I’m deeply, deeply sorry—”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “No apology necessary. Not if what you say is true. Now, I just want to be clear on what I’ve heard. You don’t remember leaving the hospital, putting on a ski mask, climbing up the side of your one-time patient’s house, breaking into her bedroom window and pulling her breathing tube from her throat?”

  Because magic or not, she was having a really hard time swallowing that bit of information.

  Dr. Valentine’s hard face went soft as he looked at her, an apology crystal clear in his eyes. “My dear Miss McNally, I don’t remember that at all. I assure you, the last thing I remember was being in my car, preparing to leave for the day. The very next thing I remember is falling to the ground, and Dr. Khalil helping me up off said ground.”

  Sheesh. He looked really remorseful. He was a hard man, not just in terms of his looks, which were rather blockish and square and granite-esque, but he was hard to like because he was so dismissive.

  Seeing him now, with his head hanging low and his eyes so soft and buttery, had her a little unbalanced. She’d never seen him so contrite, and in the month she’d worked at the hospital, she’d certainly never heard him apologize.

  Nodding her head, Rocky found she felt sorry for him. “Okay. So do you remember talking to anyone other than your staff or Marty’s family and friends about her case? Or have you consulted with any other physicians outside the hospital about it? Has there been anyone unusual hanging around the hospital? Anyone suspicious?”

  Suddenly, he sat up straight, revealing a tear in his black turtleneck, his face hard again. His fists, the size of cement blocks, clenched. “I don’t know what you’re implying here, Miss McNally, but I don’t share patient information, not specific information like names or addresses, with anyone but my team. So no. Absolutely not. As to anyone suspicious, I deal with all species of the paranormal. Vampires, werewolves, skinwalkers, any number of suspicious characters cross my path during the course of a day.”

  “Take it easy there, Dr. V. Play nice with the reaper. We like her.” Nina slapped him on the back to let him know, in her not-so-subtle way, she was watching.

  One bushy eyebrow rose and his eyes widened. “Is that what you are?” he asked, sounding surprised. “A grim reaper?”

  She wasn’t at all surprised he didn’t know what type of paranormal she was. Housekeeping was beneath him. Why would he know their names, let alone their origins?

  “Yep. That’s what I am. I don’t just clean puke and entrails.”

  Nina cackled and handed her an ice pack for her eye. “We okay here?” she asked, peering down at Dr. Valentine with narrowed eyes.

  “We’re fine, ” Rocky assured her. “I’m just asking a couple of questions.”

  As Nina took her leave, it was clear Dr. Valentine was done with Rocky and her questions. He rose with a grimace and a grunt, his enormous body unfolding from the small chair as he did. “I don’t mean to be rude, Miss McNally, but I have patients to attend to very early in the morning. Are we through here?”

  Rocky rose as well, her knees creaking, making her wince in pain. Dr. Valentine dwarfed her by at least three feet, and she wasn’t considered short at five-seven. Yet, he made her feel quite small, and she wasn’t sure if that was because he was so dismissive or because he was the size of the Jolly Green Giant.

  “Just one more thing, Dr. Valentine, and it’s kind of personal. I hope you don’t mind.” She let the question hang in the air until he curtly nodded his consent.

  “By all means,” he drawled in his arrogant tone.

  “I know you’re sick. Everyone at the hospital does. What exactly do you have,
and why can’t it be cured?”

  His eyes pinned hers and narrowed. It looked like he was considering whether he deemed her worthy enough to know, and then resigned himself to telling her. “I’m dying of old age, Miss McNally. Gargoyles, unlike you lot, aren’t immortal. We simply live for hundreds of years. And as I’m sure you know via the rumors at the hospital, I’m the last of my kind.”

  Well, wasn’t that some shit? He’d managed to make her feel bad about how mean she’d said he was.

  Guilt made her reach out and grab his huge hand. He was a jerk, but even jerks needed love. “I’m sorry, Dr. Valentine.”

  He didn’t grab hold of her hand, but he did squeeze ever so lightly before he cleared his throat. “Now, may I be excused?”

  Rocky took a step backward and allowed him to pass. “Of course. Have a good night.”

  With a deep breath inward, she watched him pick his way though the people, shake hands with Archibald and leave the room.

  Hudson approached her with a tentative expression. As she looked up at him, trying to hang on to his gaze and not allow his dreamy eyes to suck her into his vortex of sexy, she noticed something was missing around his neck.

  Pointing to his neck, she asked, “Hey, where’s you’re chain?”

  Hudson’s hand went immediately to his neck. “Damn. It must’ve fallen off outside when I went after Dr. Valentine. Speaking of, you okay?”

  Running a hand through her hair, wincing when she touched the back of her head where it had slammed against the wall, she blew out a pent-up breath. “No. I feel horrible. That man is sick, and I was ready to grill him like I was one half of Cagney and Lacey. I’m going to bake him some cookies and drop them at the hospital when this is all over to say how sorry I am.”

  “You bake? You?” Hudson sounded surprised.

  She made a face at him. “I, unlike you, have hobbies, buddy. I might play Doctor Death on TV, but in my downtime, I need a stress reliever. So yes, I bake. I’m a pretty good cook, I read, I ride my bike. I take spin classes. I even do a little hot yoga.”