by E. A. Copen
Sal leaned back away from me and checked my head. “I’m fine,” I insisted, and I was. It was just how I managed to hit the glass. I have one hell of a hard head. I looked down at the glass around me. “But there go seven years to bad luck.”
His answer was a growl. I made a small sound of surprise as he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. We ripped away the last remnants of clothing and crashed to the bed. Somehow, I landed on top, but he didn’t make any move to protest other than to adjust the way I’d landed so that my hips were against his.
The first time was hard, fast, and full of anger and a satisfying sort of pain. All the words we might have said couldn’t have been as healing. Even though it hurt to be so vulnerable for the first time after so long, it felt good, too, knowing that, whatever came next, at least we had each other.
When it was over, and we lay together, listening to the rain on the window and the thunder roll in, I wondered why I had waited so long. I thought of all those missed moments, the times when I could have been with the people I loved, and instead, let time slip through my fingers. If I came back from this, I couldn’t let that happen again.
Sal snuggled closer and rested his chin on my shoulder, throwing an arm over my stomach. “Quit squirming and go to sleep, will you?”
I smiled at that and settled in, relaxing to the steady sound of his breathing.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dawn came, rainy and gray. The gentle tap of raindrops against the glass of Sal’s bedroom window almost lulled me to sleep, but I forced myself to stay awake. At some time in the night, Sal had turned over. I pressed my nose harder into Sal’s back and inhaled his scent. Warm and salty with an undertone of earthy sweetness, like fresh fall leaves in the rain.
He shifted away and I wiggled closer, pulling the blankets higher to seal in the warmth. One of the benefits of being a werewolf is an abnormally high body temperature, which meant he was happy to sleep without heat and blankets. I, on the other hand, was freezing.
Sal stirred when I moved against him a second time and lifted his head from the bed. “Hey,” he said in a groggy voice, squeezing me and burying his nose against my shoulder. “You’re still here.”
“Didn’t have much of a choice. I would have turned into a human popsicle the minute I got out of bed.”
“I was worried it might all have been in my head for a minute.” Sal turned over and kissed my neck with intention.
The sensation made me shiver. But I couldn’t stay there, not even if I wanted to. “You’re supposed to be at the hospital in a few hours,” I said gently and turned over onto my back.
He frowned. “You’re really going to go ahead with this, huh?”
“You want to try to talk me out of it? It’s Mia’s life at stake.”
“I’d say I wish it wasn’t you, but I don’t. I have to believe it will work. I trust you. I know it’s not in you to sit on the sidelines when someone you care about is hurt.”
“That’s me,” I said, grinning. “I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress. Too bad you didn’t get tied to a railroad track in front of a speeding locomotive. I would have grabbed you up months ago and had my way with you.”
He sat up and reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the nightstand, collecting it and the lighter. “If we’re going to do this, we’d better get cleaned up,” he said, placing one in his mouth. The end was slightly bent, but it lit just the same. “Go on. I’ll give you a three-minute head start.”
I turned the heat on in the trailer as I passed it by and made a mental note that, if I survived the day, Sal and I should work out an arrangement that didn’t involve me turning into a Judah-cicle every time I stayed over.
The second bathroom was more cramped, but I didn’t want to waste time sweeping up the glass. I turned the hot water all the way up and stood there, letting the steam warm me until Sal came in. We showered wordlessly, neither of us wanting to ruin the moment with talk of what was to come. His touch was tender as he washed my back and helped me wash my hair, working his fingers through the mats and tangles. We stayed in the shower until the water ran cold and our skin wrinkled. Then, we got out and dressed.
From the laundry that Sal had cleaned the day before, I selected a comfortable pair of boot cut Levi’s and found my favorite shirt, a deep red tank top. Buried at the bottom of the laundry, I found a black button-up. It felt appropriate to wear black, so I threw it on over the top. In the bathroom, I braided up my hair and took it down three different times before I gave up and just decided to leave it down. I needed a haircut.
For a moment, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I considered makeup. There was still some eyeshadow and lipstick in my purse, which I’d rescued and brought to Sal’s place. If today was the day I was going to die, maybe I ought to dress my best. I swiped my fingers across the fog of the mirror and pushed away from the sink. Anybody who cared how I looked when I bit it could kiss my ass. I wasn’t there to impress anyone. I had a job to do, and dammit, I was going to do it. No one else was going to die on my watch.
My last meal was a cup of bitter, black coffee. Sal made me eggs and toast, but my stomach was too busy doing somersaults to eat. He didn’t eat, either.
The necessities of the body taken care of, Sal sat me down in one of the kitchen chairs he’d pulled away from the table and went to work.
Whether they realize it or not, all living things have an aura. It’s part of what makes us who we are. It’s the energy that people like me, magickal practitioners, tap into to do magick. I absorb energy from the things I take into my body, including everything I eat and drink. That also includes the things I self-generate. The emotional pain, stress, frustration, anger, love. All of it feeds into the aura like melting snow into a mountain stream.
Sal’s healing magick allowed him to spread the negative aspects over the surface, replaced underneath by the calm and quiet I was supposed to be focusing on. He took the negative energy on himself and transferred it into something else that he would dispose of. Today, the vessel receiving all that negativity flowing from me into him was a hunk of cheese he’d pulled out of the back of the fridge. When he brought the cheese out and placed it on the table, the surface was white and scaly. When he was finished, it was a sickly shade of corpse green and partially melted. He scooped it into the garbage disposal, followed it with lemon juice and salt, and flipped the switch, grinding the tainted cheese into nothing.
Sal grabbed his leather jacket from the back of a chair and pulled it on. “There are still a few ingredients I need. Marcus is supposed to meet us, too. He and Doctor Han are prepping a room at the hospital. I called to check while you were fixing your hair.”
“For the record, I’m still against doing this at the hospital.” I leaned against the counter, sipping at my second cup of coffee for the morning. “There are too many people there. You’re going to have trouble pulling in enough of the right energy in an environment like that. And those are Emiko’s haunting grounds right now.”
“I thought you said you were on a time limit.” He adjusted the cuffs of the jacket and slipped an elastic band around his hair, braiding it quickly. It was messy and uneven, so I stood to help him.
“I am. The longer I spend out of my body, the more likely something is to go wrong.”
“Then an assault on her home base is going to draw her out, make it faster.” I finished braiding his hair and tucked it under the collar of his jacket. He turned and put his hands on my upper arms. “Trust me, it’s better than doing it at Marcus’ place. At least at the hospital, you’ll have all the equipment right there. State of the art monitors and a trauma team standing by. Besides, even bringing you back is going to be dangerous. I can’t do it without medical backup. Warm you up too fast, and you’ll crash all over again.”
The ice bath hadn’t been Sal’s idea, but Han’s. Lowering my core body temperature below ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit would induce hypothermia,
buying my brain more time to keep on going without me. That was, of course, provided they could keep my heart pumping. According to what Sal had worked out with Han over the phone, I’d have four minutes. After four minutes, they’d have to get my blood pumping again, or I’d start to lose brain function. The minute they restarted my heart, I’d be jerked back into my body and unable to interact with Emiko. Four minutes. That’s all the time I had to find her ghost and kill it.
“You sure you’ll be okay alone?” Sal asked after kissing me one more time. “I can send someone else to run the errands and stay with you.”
I shook my head. What I had to do would be easier if I didn’t have someone looking over my shoulder all day. A few hours of solitude were exactly what I needed before I died. “You go and do what you need to do. I’ll use the time to get everything in order.”
“You call me if you need anything, even just to talk. I’ll check in around noon.” He hugged me tight and then went out the door.
It was harder than it should have been, watching him drive away in Chanter’s truck. I’d asked to be left alone, but now that I was, the situation felt surreal. My entire adult life, I’d feared nothing more than death coming at some unexpected moment to steal me away. I’d been shot, stabbed, thrown down into a pit, nearly beaten to death by an ice giant, and hit with more spells than I’d ever remember. Every time, I picked myself back up to continue fighting. I had things to live for.
Now I was willingly laying down my life for a child I barely knew. The only way I was coming back from it was if everything went perfect, a rarity even on the best of days. I had to rely on Sal, Han, and Marcus to work together flawlessly to save me. Just days ago, I had been sure Marcus would have let me die. Now, he owed me his life. Neither of us had spoken about the debt he owed me, but it was implicit. If I hadn’t told Reed to go and check on him, he might have died in his office. That bringing me back would also confirm his beloved wife’s ghost was gone was just icing on the cake for him. Marcus owed me a blood debt, and he’d pay it sooner rather than later.
I sat down at the kitchen table with a notebook and pen. The morning ticked away as I wrote page after page, stuffing them into envelopes and sealing them. The letter that I wrote for Hunter was the hardest. Everyone else would understand. Hunter would be angry. I couldn’t let him blame himself. I couldn’t let him think I had abandoned him because I didn’t love him. That couldn’t be further from the truth. The kid frustrated the hell out of me, but Hunter was my heart. Every moment I wasn’t with him while he’d been in the hospital was hell. Work kept me away. If I did find a way to come back, I wouldn’t let that happen, not anymore. He and I, we’d take a vacation. Hell, maybe I’d just quit working for BSI to spend more time with him. Wouldn’t that make everything easier?
I couldn’t write those promises to my son. Those were the promises I made to myself, fuel to feed the fire of desire to return to my body. I’d need that, so I held onto it. Instead, I wrote to Hunter about his father, telling him everything I thought he’d want to know. His entire life, he’d asked me to talk about Alex, and I couldn’t. No matter how much time passed, the wound was always too fresh. Even thinking Alex’s name hurt. I couldn’t forgive myself for being too weak to save him, even though there was nothing I could have done.
Before noon, I finished letters to Hunter, Tindall, Sal, and Mara, should she ever resurface. I placed them in white envelopes and sealed them with tape, writing their names neatly on the outside. Then, I stacked the letters on the table for Sal to find and deliver and decided to go for a drive.
The Paint Rock Reservation was not so different from its Native American counterparts. To the government, it was holding and storage for a population that was Other, somewhere they could be that wasn’t in the cities. There were too many vampires, werewolves, and fae to cram them all into reservations, and so far, Paint Rock was the only one of its kind. Congress wanted to open more reservations in Alaska, Nebraska, and Wyoming and wasn’t facing much opposition. If the country had its way, every werewolf, vampire, and fae in the United States would be neatly boxed into an internment camp disguised as sovereign land.
That was a faraway future, a problem that seemed too big for me to deal with. I couldn’t stop Congress. I couldn’t stop groups like the Vanguards of Humanity from preaching their doctrine of hate. Hate is a hydra. Cut off one head and three more spring out. Driving through the empty streets of the reservation, looking at the run-down houses standing next to a few that could have been middle-class anywhere else, I wondered what kind of replacement BSI would send to take my place. Would the Vanguard have a hand in that, too? Would Paint Rock be home or just another job? What was it to me?
The more involved I got with Sal, the pack, and the other residents, the harder it became for me to turn a blind eye to all the wrong BSI had done. I thought about driving back to Sal’s and drafting one more letter to send to my regional boss but decided against it. What good would it do to resign if I was dead?
Sal called just after I parked in the church parking lot. I don’t know what drew me to the place. Maybe it was just a good place to park, or maybe it was comforting because it was familiar. Or maybe I’d just been wondering if Reed was there, and when I saw his car still parked in the lot, I thought I’d rather not make the drive to Eden alone.
I picked up the phone. “Hey, Sal. How’s everything on your end?”
“There’s a small problem. It shouldn’t affect what you’re doing, but I thought you should know.”
I leaned forward, suddenly on alert. “What is it? Is Mia okay?”
“Mia’s fine. It’s Zoe. She’s been erratic all day. Seems like she’s crashing much faster than Mia.”
Dammit. I should have known. “It’s because I damaged Emiko. Just like a vampire, she’d need to feed to recover.”
“Meanwhile, she’s…” The phone creaked as he turned his head aside to address someone else in the room. “What was the word you used?”
“Torporic,” rang Han’s voice, muffled by distance.
“Torporic,” Sal repeated. “Doctor Han says her kidneys are already failing.”
“Emiko is draining her fast. She might know what we’re planning.”
Sal agreed with a grunt.
“Everyone who isn’t related to Mia is safe, Sal. Make sure everyone knows that. But I’m worried about you. At the rate she’s feeding on Zoe, if she goes…”
“Don’t you worry about me,” Sal said, sounding confident. “I can take care of myself. I just thought you should hear all of that from me before you got here. Best to be prepared.”
“Take care of yourself, Sal. No unnecessary risks.”
“We’re almost done here,” Sal continued. “There’s a whole wing on the bottom floor that’s under construction. We’re set up in an old O.R. There’s enough salt on the floor to kill every snail in the country to the temporary wards are up. I spoke with Reed about an hour ago. Told him you’d collect him and the last of what we’d need.”
I looked up at the big white wall in front of me. “I’m at the church now. Give me a half-hour, and I’ll be right there.”
“You take whatever time you need.” His voice was gentle, but I could hear the urgency behind it. We both knew Mia’s situation was delicate.
“See you soon.”
I hung up before he could tell me he loved me again. That was what he wanted to say and I could hear it in his voice, but I didn’t want to hear it. Hearing it might make me second-guess everything. I’d spent all morning putting myself in the required state of mind and wasn’t going to let three little words destroy it.
The subtle power of holy ground buzzed beneath my feet when I got out of my car and as I walked up to the entrance. The church doors were open, so I went inside. The sanctuary was small. Pew upon wooden pew lined either side of a worn, red carpet that marked the narrow walkway. It was early afternoon on a Sunday, so I expected to find more people milling around, given that he conducted service
s at eleven. Instead, I found the church utterly empty of worshippers aside from Reed. He knelt at the altar in the front of the sanctuary in his black cassock, forearms resting on the rail. His face wasn’t cast downward but up at the simple wooden cross hanging behind the pulpit.
I walked down the aisle as quietly as I could, pausing halfway when I saw the sword sitting on the floor next to him.
He shifted the rosary beads between his fingers. “The life of mortals is like grass.” He turned his head to regard me. “They flourish like a flower in the field; the wind blows over and it is gone, its place remembered no more.”
“Psalms,” I said, and sat down in the front row. “I can’t say I remember where. But I remember that much.” I glanced around. “Been a while since I’ve sat in a church pew.”
He gripped the sword and rose, turning to face me. “Prayer and praise don’t make you a good person any more than a badge and a gun does,” he said. “Did you know that, not long after you came here, Chanter Silvermoon came here to see me. He sat right there.” He pointed next to me. “I think that was the first and only time the man ever stepped foot in the church. Do you know what he said to me?”
I said I didn’t, and Reed sat down on the pew next to me, leaning forward on the sword. “He came to tell me that he was dying and to make a few things known before that happened.” Reed smiled to himself. “The old man was too stubborn to apologize for all the bickering between us, of course, and so the conversation didn’t take that turn. Instead, we spoke of a young woman.”
“Me?” I tilted my head, looking at the priest.
“He said he’d convened with his spirits and learned a certain name, the name of a young woman with no father of record, and a mother whose habits were deeply religious. Fearfully so. In fact, the spirits apparently told him that this young woman—whoever she was—would bring change. He was quite worried because the spirits didn’t tell him what kind of change to expect, only to expect it. He’d begrudgingly come to me seeking counsel as to what, if anything, I thought about it.”