by E. A. Copen
“One of the four treasures of my people, scattered about the mortal realm by Oberon so that no one man may possess them.” He folded his hands. “I believe that Gideon Reed is in possession of none other than this treasure.”
I shook my head. What were the chances of that? Actually, with everything that had happened since I’d come to Paint Rock, the idea of the local pyromancer priest being in possession of a legendary fae blade shouldn’t have been that much of a stretch. But this Oberon guy had scattered the four treasures for a reason. I’d made the mistake once before of stepping in Faerie politics and it didn’t end well for almost everyone involved. If I jumped in deeper, it would be even worse.
The question was, did I have a choice? I couldn’t fight Seamus and win, not even with three more months of daily practice. He’d had a millennia to get good at magick. He’d kill me.
I crossed my arms. “If you want it so bad, why don’t you just take it yourself?”
Seamus was silent.
“You can’t, can you?”
“The sword has a long history of choosing its master.” He sighed. “It chooses only those whose intentions are pure. I mean to wage war on my brother. I make no excuses. My quest is for vengeance. Innocents will die. It would not come to me. You, however, it may just judge you worthy.”
I shook my head. Even if it saved my life, I couldn’t hand something that powerful over to Seamus, knowing he meant to kill innocent people with it. “No way. I’d rather fight you myself. Find someone else to do your dirty work.”
Seamus sighed again, his shoulder slumping. He didn’t look disappointed so much as irritated. “Very well.” He stood and turned his back to me.
“Hey, wait. I’ve still got questions. How is Mara involved? Is she safe? What are you going to do? Dammit, Seamus, answer me!”
But he didn’t. He descended stairs behind his throne and disappeared into the blackness below.
Chapter Seven
I woke up with a start and a gasp, bolting forward and almost throwing myself off the sofa and into my fourteen-year-old son, Hunter. He held out his arms as if to catch me and stepped back. “You okay, mom?”
I checked my head and blinked. A dream? Dreams didn’t normally make that much sense. Mostly, mine were filled with dark, disjointed images and voices. No, it had to have been real. But what did it mean? “Fine.” My voice came out hoarse and strained. I turned my head and saw light outside the window. “Shit, what time is it?”
It was early August, so school hadn’t started back up yet. The lazy dog days of summer were dwindling, but dawn still came early. The brightness could mean it was six or noon and I’d have no way of telling. Hunter often slept until noon unless I woke him, so I assumed it was later rather than earlier.
Before he even answered me, I was off the sofa and scrambling to turn on the coffee. A whimper down the hall alerted me to yet another problem. If I’d slept in, Mia’s diaper was going to be a nightmare and there would probably be extra laundry. I pressed the button on the brewer and dashed down the hall to check on Mia. She stood in her crib, grabbing the bars and bouncing up and down on the mattress in a very full diaper. It had yet to leak through to the sheet and blankets, though, so I’d lucked out. I grabbed her and put her on her back on the changing table.
“It’s only eight,” Hunter announced from the doorway. “Your stupid phone alarm was going off every few minutes and woke me up.”
“What phone alarm?” I said, gathering supplies. “My phone went on the fritz last night so it wasn’t mine.” Mia cried while I changed her as usual, which made it difficult to think. It dawned on me as I closed up Mia’s diaper. “It must’ve been Sal’s phone. Mia’s supposed to have a doctor’s appointment this morning. Shit!”
I dragged myself down the hall, placed Mia in her high chair and dumped some cereal in front of her. When I went to pour the coffee, I spilled some of it on the counter when I turned, burning myself. Of course, when you burn yourself, you flinch and spill more. The boiling hot coffee scalded the pinky on my right hand and I wound up dropping the whole cup into the sink with a curse. The burn wasn’t too bad, and I didn’t have time to worry about it. I still had to get Sal up. Doc had said he wanted to see him in the morning, too.
The door to the bedroom creaked when I pushed it open. Sal was still face down in bed where I’d left him, snoozing. Waking a sleeping werewolf, especially an injured one, was more an art than a science. Sometimes, it was better to get a long pole and poke them from across the room. Other times, I was better off setting the alarm for a few minutes in the future and walking away. Sal didn’t like to be woken up either way. Sudden, loud noises automatically put him on the defensive and he’d thrash or strike out at anything unfortunate enough to be in close proximity. He’d broken more than one of my cell phones because it rang when he was asleep.
I walked around to the other side of the bed, my side, and slid in next to him. The movement of the mattress stirred him a little, but he didn’t fully wake, so I put my arm over his back and kissed the top of his ear. His response was a small groan. “Morning, Tanto.”
He lifted his head and tried to roll over, stopping halfway through the motion to clutch his side where the bandage was. “Ugh, how many horses ran me over, Kimosabe?”
“Try sliced open with a magic sword.” I tugged his shirt up to look at the blood-soaked bandage. It would need a change. “The Lone Ranger never had to deal with this kind of crazy shit,” I said, gently touching the edges of the bandage.
He pushed my hand away. “Help me up. I need a piss and a shower. I smell like day-old bloody gym socks.”
“I’m not sure you should get that wet.” I stood and went to the other side of the bed to help Sal up. “It still looks pretty bad.”
“I’m not going anywhere smelling like this. I’ll keep it dry.” He grunted when I pulled him up and helped him steady himself. “How long do I have before Mia’s appointment?”
“About a half hour. You want me to help you?”
Sal shook his head. He probably needed my help, but his pride was shouting louder than his pain. “Just get the kids ready, will you?”
I smiled and stood on my tiptoes to kiss his chin. “Already on it,” I told him and left him at the bathroom door.
Hunter was chewing on cold pizza at the kitchen table, staring distantly. I ruffled his hair as I walked by and he jerked away. “What are your plans today, Hunter?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Hang out, I guess.”
“With who?” I stopped in the living room to do a drive-by pick up, tossing a few toys into Mia’s diaper bag.
“People. Whoever.”
I slung the bag over my shoulder. “And do what?”
“Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff, Hunter?”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re going to sit around and drink beers and smoke weed. What is this, Mom? An interrogation? God, do you need to know everything?”
I did my best to keep a neutral expression on my face, even though he probably sensed my surprise at his reaction. Teenage mood swings were one of the hardest parts about being a mom. Hunter’s had gotten a lot worse lately. Maybe if I gave him the space and freedom he seemed to crave, things would get better. They’d go back the way they used to be. I missed those days, when he and I could get through a whole conversation without it erupting into accusations and arguments.
“Just be home for dinner, okay, Hunter? And call Sal if you’re going to be late.”
He rolled his eyes again and pushed up from the table. “Whatever,” he growled at me on his way past. A minute later, the door to his room slammed shut and the sound of his Xbox booting up carried through the house.
I sighed and went to get Mia down from the high chair. She toddled after me down the hall as I went to put a few more diapers and wipes in her bag. After I dressed her, we went back down the hall, my hand in hers and she sat on the living room floor, playing while I went in to change. By the time I cam
e back out of the bedroom, Sal had finished with his shower and stood in the bathroom door in his sweatpants, fiddling with a new bandage. The cut was in an awkward position that he couldn’t quite reach.
“Here,” I said, reaching out to help. “Let me.”
“Thanks.” He ground it out as if thanking me were as painful as the cut.
I smoothed my hands gently over the medical tape and applied another layer.
“So,” Sal said in a tentative tone, “Reed’s the bad guy this time around, huh?”
“If I’m right, being controlled by the bad guy somehow. I don’t know how involved he is.” I grabbed a black t-shirt from the pile of laundry waiting to be put away in the hall and handed it to him.
Sal pulled it on, barely showing any pain as his movements strained the stitches. “And Ed and Mara never stopped seeing each other. That means he lied to me.”
“Can he do that?”
“He’s not supposed to be able to,” Sal growled. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
“Later,” I said and went out to fetch his shoes and a pair of socks. I tossed them at him and he caught them. Finally, he winced and grabbed at the wound. “Right now, I’m taking you and Mia to Doc’s for your check-ups before I run to work.”
~
“Open your mouth and say ahh!”
Doc leaned in close to Mia, who sat on my lap in his office on one of those paper-covered beds. The leather on the corners of the bed was cracked and some of the stuffing showed through. Other cracks and scratches had been covered in duct tape. The sink in the corner of the room was a plastic shop sink. He didn’t wear a white doctor’s coat, but instead a short-sleeved plaid button-down and a yellow bow tie with pink brains on it. Other than that, the room held all the trimmings of a typical pediatrician’s office from posters illustrating the importance of vaccines to a station with superhero stickers.
Mia opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, mimicking the noise. Doc Ramis shined a light down her throat. “Great. Now, Mia, I need you stand up. We’re going to go in to the hall and go for a little walk.”
I looked over at her father who stood in silence, leaning his back against the wall, expecting him to go with her. Sal moved to go, but Doc gave a quick shake of his head, the message clear. He wanted to see what she’d do when we weren’t watching.
I helped Mia to the floor and she took Doc’s outstretched hand. The two of them walked into the hall, leaving the door open behind them.
“What if she falls?” Sal asked, his voice strained. “She’s not used to walking on the type of carpet he has in the hall. Maybe we should have taken her shoes off. She does better without shoes.”
I sighed and turned to stare through the open door. “What you really want to know is what if there is something wrong with her.”
“If there is, I’ll rip Doctor Han’s spine out,” Sal said, followed by a growl.
The feeling was mutual, but killing Doctor Han wouldn’t solve anything. We didn’t know what, if anything, Marcus’ personal physician had done to Mia while she was in Marcus’ custody, but Sal blamed both Han and Marcus for Mia’s delays. It could have just as easily been her mother, Zoe, but I didn’t dare open that can of worms. Sal wasn’t fond of his now-deceased ex-wife, but I wasn’t going to play the jealous girlfriend and use Zoe as the convenient scapegoat. Zoe might have been a monster in the literal sense, but she cared about her daughter.
“No, you won’t,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll take care of Mia. Han is hiding behind Marcus Kelley, which makes him untouchable so long as you’re one of the Kings. Something tells me you don’t want to be on their bad side, Sal. Or Marcus’.”
“There has to be something we can do.”
I pressed a finger to my lips. “Let’s wait to hear a diagnosis before we go looking for a cure.”
A long moment passed before Doc brought Mia back into the room. He stopped to offer her a sticker from the kiosk before Sal picked her up so he could look her over. She didn’t resist, too busy folding her sticker over and over. “What’s wrong with her?” Sal insisted.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Doc said, his voice hesitant. “She’s in good health overall, but I’m sure you’re aware she’s missed some milestones over the last year. The poor coordination is your main concern, right?”
I nodded. “Does she need special shoes? Physical therapy?”
Doc crossed his arms. “I think what you’re looking at is only one piece of the puzzle. Normally with a kid that’s missed so many milestones, I’d recommend a developmental specialist or a pediatrician that’s more familiar with this sort of thing.” Doc shrugged. “A child psychologist, maybe.”
Sal reached out and grabbed Doc by the arm. Doc let out a loud yip and his eyes widened as Sal ground out, “Just say it already!”
“Sal,” I said in a warning tone, “let go of the doctor.”
He didn’t like it, but he let Doc Ramis go just the same.
Doc grabbed at his chest and staggered back a step before reaching up to adjust his glasses which had fallen askew on his face. “First of all, like I’ve been telling you all along, I’m not a specialist and a specialist might have something different to say. All I can tell you is what I know in a general medical sense, but keep in mind I’m not qualified to give a full diagnosis. My background is in internal medicine, not developmental delays in kids.”
“Out with it, Doc,” I said before Sal could bark the same thing.
He looked from Sal’s face to mine before continuing. “I can’t find anything wrong with her physically. Out in the hall just now, she walked just fine. She plays just fine with Leo according to you two, and while she’s a little behind verbally, it’s not enough to raise a lot of red flags yet. Socially, she makes eye contact and responds to her name.” He sighed and pushed his glasses up his pointed nose. “I think Mia’s condition is psychological. She has been through a lot.”
Sal wrinkled his nose. “What are you saying? She’s depressed or something?”
“Post-traumatic stress disorder wouldn’t be a stretch, and that’s just for starters.” He grabbed a prescription pad from a drawer and started scribbling on it. “I’m going to refer you to a child psychologist I know. She’s very good, very affordable. Discreet, too.”
Sal clutched Mia tighter to his shoulder. “I don’t need your shrink, Doc.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Doc said, tearing the top paper from the pad. “You’re thinking that Daphne Petersen can handle this. Well, you’re wrong. I know Ms. Petersen’s got a degree in counseling, but her area of specialty is addiction, not child psych. Trust me when I say you need a specialist. Someone impartial would be even better.” He held the paper out to Sal. “Mia needs to talk about what happened. Honestly, you all do. But, since I know you won’t listen…”
Sal leaned forward and showed his teeth. “Listen carefully, doc, ‘cause I’m only going to say this one more time. Mia. Doesn’t. Need. A shrink. If you’re going to dismiss everything as mental, fine. Just do it. But I’m not going to let some asshole fuck up my kid’s brain and pump her full of drugs! Now, if you don’t have anything else to say, we’re done here.” He turned and pushed past me and out the door.
I turned to Doc, searching for the right way to apologize. Sal just wanted what was best for Mia. Modern medicine hadn’t exactly done her any favors yet, and Sal was extremely distrustful of doctors as a whole, especially since Mia’s incident. He was just being overprotective. Again. Forming that into words to explain to a professional like Doc, though, felt impossible.
My mouth fell open and I stuttered through the beginnings of several explanations before Doc raised both palms in a gesture to stop me.
“It’s okay, Judah. I understand. He’s not the first overprotective parent I’ve run into.” Doc offered a tired smile and held the paper out to me. “But maybe if you could talk to him, get him to see how much it could help Mia. You of all people should know
how important mental health is with werewolves. I don’t want Mia to be another statistic.”
I took the paper from between Doc’s fingers and felt my face redden. “I’m sorry he’s so difficult.”
Doc shrugged. “He can’t be anything other than what he is. Which reminds me… How is he? He didn’t give me time to look at his shoulder. Is it healing okay?”
“Slow, but it’s not swelling or changing colors, so I don’t think it’s infected. Have you ever seen a blade that isn’t silver cut someone like that?”
“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “And if it was silver, there’d be some necrosis in the tissue. That cut into him as if he were a regular guy instead of an alpha werewolf. I figured if anyone knew anything about it, it’d be you.”
“Sorry, Doc. I’m as lost as the rest of you when it comes to this case.” I waved the prescription paper. “Thanks for the referral.” I turned my back and walked to the door.
“Judah, wait.”
I paused with my hand on the door and turned back, waiting for Doc to add something else, maybe hand me another prescription for antibiotics for Sal, just in case. Instead he stepped up to me and gripped my shoulder. “Mia’s not the only one who’s been through some traumatic experiences lately. How are you, really?”
My eyebrows shot up and I fought the urge to laugh. My boyfriend had taken a sword to the ribs, Mia probably had some serious mental damage from everything she’d been through, and he wanted to know how I was doing? Me, who had taken down giants and wendigos, who had faced vampires and demons head-on? I’d seen more terrifying monsters than he’d probably seen corpses and lived to tell about it. I couldn’t tell Doc that, though. He meant well. Doc was one of the good guys.
“I’m fine, Doc,” I said with a tight smile.
“Fine isn’t the same as good. Losing Chanter was hard on everyone, but you were there.”
“I’m a cop. I get shot at a lot, Doc. Buried a lot of friends, too.” My throat felt a little tight with that last sentence, but it was true. Forming connections at the academy was frowned on, and I’ve never been what you’d call a model government employee, so I’d never lost friends in BSI. But there were others who wore the badge, innocents. Alex. I swallowed the invisible cotton stuck in my throat.