Whatever for Hire

by RJ Blain

  He followed me. Surprise, surprise. His shoes tapped the tiles, and I fantasized about spinning and smashing my fist into his jaw. Hitting first would make me the guilty party, so if I wanted to get the best revenge possible, I needed to wait until he made his move.

  “No,” I repeated.

  How many times would I need to tell him before he’d actually listen? “Are you incapable of understanding multisyllabic words? No. Leave me alone. I’ll begin with a restraining order. Should that not dissuade you, I’ll make it my life mission to make sure everything you touch fails. If you walk away and never look back, I might not view you as an enemy. If you stay, I’ll dedicate myself to ensuring you’ll never be able to go out in public without being mocked. Your former associates will laugh when they hear your name.” I sidestepped and turned so I could meet his gaze. “Are we clear?”

  “What makes you think you’re capable of doing what you say?”

  Bastard. “I’m willing to make deals with the devil. You tell me.”

  “That was a cute trick, calling a devil to pretend he’s the Lord of Hell. You’ll have to tell me how you pulled that off—and give me the secret to conjuring those mummies. They gave me rot.”

  “What a pity there’s a cure for that. You’re delusional. Too bad there isn’t a cure for that.”

  “Enough talk. I spent a great deal of money to have you, and I will.” He reached for me, his expression turning coldly neutral.

  Screw it. I’d pay any fines for rearranging his face, and spending a few days in jail beat the alternative. The cast hampered me, but I put all my weight behind my fist, connecting with his nose. “I said don’t touch me.”

  Blood sprayed, and Asfour cried out, clutching at his face. “You whore!”

  “Why is it men like you always call women whores when they don’t get their way?” Shaking my hand, I took a step back. My knuckles hurt, and I hoped I hadn’t broken a finger punching the idiot. “I warned you to leave me alone. You only have yourself to blame.”

  Asfour reached into his pocket and pulled out a black device. At first, I thought it was an oversized cell phone, but then I recognized the twin prongs.

  Taser.

  I drew in a breath to scream and yanked my fist back to give him a second taste of my knuckles.

  The weapon discharged, and I swore to never again would I underestimate a stun gun. Agony rippled through me, and I collapsed to the floor in a convulsing heap.

  Only an idiot attacked someone in a hospital, which made me equally guilty as Asfour, thus deserving the smack down the staff would dish out the instant they got a hold of me. The stun gun hurt like hell, but I clung to consciousness, although my twitching body refused to obey me. Asfour crowed his laughter, kicked me in the ribs, and reached down to snatch a handful of my hair.

  I’d been to enough hospitals to recognize there were few things as stupid underestimating doctors or nurses. Those who could heal learned the finer points of tearing someone apart, and when predatory centaurs were as likely to work in a hospital as a mundane human, there was usually someone around capable of breaking up a fight.

  A lion roared, and a flash of tawny fur drew my attention to the centaur moments before he reared up and batted Asfour off his feet with a single swat of his plate-sized paw.

  Blood dripped from the lion’s claws and splattered to the floor.

  To round out the hospital’s contribution to the brawl, a pair of pixies, each no taller than six inches, dove into the fray, dodging the lion. They spun and fluttered their wings, and glittery dust billowed in my face.

  I held my breath, aware the instant I breathed in any of the dust, I’d be a goner. If I could avoid most of it, I’d be able to function.

  Pixie dust wasn’t my friend, and I avoided the damned stuff like it was the plague. Apprehension bloomed into full-fledged fear. My lungs burned, and another convulsion tore through me. I gasped, and a sweet scent filled my nose.

  A tingle spread from my nose and mouth, and my muscles relaxed, soothing away the shaking the stun gun induced. Within ten minutes, I’d be lucky if I remembered my own name.

  Damn it, I hated pixie dust. If I wanted my head in the clouds, I’d fly.

  “That’s enough,” the lion centaur snarled, swiping the stun gun out of Asfour’s hand and sending it clattering across the floor. The prongs tore out of my side, and I yelped at the unexpected pain. I shuddered but couldn’t force my body to do what I wanted, which involved getting as far from Asfour as I could before the pixie dust sucked me under.

  The lion smashed the stun gun with his paw. “How dare you bring violence to my hospital!”

  Asfour babbled something about how he needed to teach his property to behave.

  I’d make him pay for that later.

  “Wrong answer.” With his tail lashing, the centaur pinned Asfour to the floor with his front paws. “Chains for this one. Send for a trauma specialist to do a full set of tests on the woman. File an official complaint and make this male responsible for all payments for her care. Once she’s under observation, send for the police. I’ll file the assault and harassment charges personally.”

  A nurse hurried off to obey the lion’s orders. Someone else spritzed neutralizer in my face and everywhere the pixies had dusted, ensuring no one else would be contaminated. Once the dust no longer glittered and pink residue coated my skin and hospital gown, the centaur helped me to sit up, careful of my cast.

  The numbness spread, sinking deep to my bones. “Not his,” I slurred.

  When the pixie dust stole away my will, I wanted someone to know I wanted nothing to do with Asfour.

  “I heard you warning him to leave you alone. Don’t try to stand. You took quite the jolt.”

  Did the centaur really think I could even try to stand? I giggled. “Did I wreck anything?”

  “Only his nose.”

  Another giggle built in my chest and slipped out. “Doesn’t count. Only not allowed to wreck the hospital. Damned nice pixies. Stupid dust.” I tried to think, but someone had stuffed fluffy warm cottony balls in my head. “I should need wings to fly,” I complained.

  “Oh dear. You haven’t had much exposure to dust, have you?”

  “Sus…” my tongue tied, and I blew raspberries in my effort to regain control of it. “Not good.”

  “You’re susceptible?”

  “That word!” I chirped.

  “I see. How are you feeling?”

  Was he serious? I laughed. “Just swell.”

  “And your shoulder?”

  My shoulder? I had two of them, and I liked them. They made my arms work. The lion centaur nodded towards the cast. “Oh, that shoulder?”

  “Yes. That one. How is it feeling?”

  Huh. It did hurt when I paid it too much attention. “It’s a bit ouch. I forgot. Not cool. It’s ouch.”

  “I’ll make sure your file mentions you’re susceptible to pixie dust.” The lion centaur sighed, twisted around, and flagged a pair of nurses who brought a gurney with them. “Run a scan to find out if our patient has a pain inhibiting reaction to pixie dust. If so, dose her with our best grade dust instead of traditional painkillers.”

  I scowled at the gurney. “I can walk.”

  “You probably can, but this is more fun.”

  “I thought doctors hated fun.”

  “I rather like fun, actually. If you’re good, I’ll ask one of the floor nurses, Carl, to pop a few wheelies for you on your way out when you’re in the wheelchair.”

  I’d never done a wheelie before, not even when I’d done my few stints in a wheelchair leaving other hospitals. While I thought the concerns of liability were taken to the extremes, wheelies did seem entertaining. “Okay. I’ve never done one before.”

  “If you’re here for long, maybe if you’re really good, I’ll have Carl take you up to the physical therapy floor for a wheelchair race.”

  “That sounds irresponsible.”

  “It helps keep patient morale u
p. Don’t worry, we’re careful, and those too sick or injured to participate get to watch.”

  “You have got to be yanking my chain. Not nice.”

  The centaur laughed, helped me to my feet with the aid of one of the nurses, and convinced me to sit on the gurney. “Only a little. Sometimes we do have wheelchair races, but the racers are physical therapy patients. That shoulder will need therapy unless you qualify for a magical reconstruction of your shoulder. Even then, you’ll have to work the muscles to help them heal. It’s possible you might get to participate in one.”

  Huh. I’d finally met a doctor without an allergy to fun and with a surviving sense of humor. “Are all doctors so weird?”

  “Not at all. You just go with the nurses. They’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry about that other patient. He won’t bother you again.”

  “Isaac Asfour,” I spat.

  “Just relax, Miss Mephistopheles. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

  How nice. The doctor knew my name. Relaxing seemed like a good idea, especially since I wasn’t twitching anymore. The gurney was also much more comfortable than it looked despite my cast getting in the way.

  One of the nurses tricked me into lying down, and once I stretched out, sleep appealed far more than anything else. Who needed to walk when naps were an option? Naps were the ultimate form of relaxation, so I indulged. If anyone scolded me, I’d blame the doctor, which was several steps up from having to blame the devil. Old dogs—and cats—could learn new tricks, although it occurred to me staying out of trouble in the first place would do me a lot of good in the long run.

  Oh well.

  Chapter Twenty

  I developed a love-hate relationship with pixie dust. I loved the disconnect, which offered refuge from my shoulder. While I was aware it hurt, the pain didn’t matter. I floated, lost in the moment. On the other hand, I recognized I tended to do whatever anyone wanted, often obeying before realizing something had been asked of me.

  Time also had a tendency to sneak off without my permission, and when I finally managed to reestablish a connection with reality, my cast was gone. I liked that.

  What I didn’t like nor understand was how Malcolm had been reduced to serving as a living bed. Why was he sprawled beneath me on the couch while I used his shoulder as a pillow? I blamed the drugs. Drugs, including pixie dust, turned me into a bed-invading monster. Technically, I hadn’t even let the poor man get to a bed before using him.

  Had I been in control, I would’ve at least let him go to bed first.

  Then again, did it even matter? He kept me toasty warm, nothing hurt, and I was a little dazed and a lot sleepy. Was moving necessary? Malcolm slept beneath me, his breaths slow and even. He didn’t snore. Not snoring rose to a whole new level of importance in my basic requirements for a relationship.

  Careful to avoid using my left shoulder, I used my right arm to lurch upright. While I managed to sit up, Malcolm hooked his foot around my leg, which did a good job of trapping me on the couch with him. I supposed it counted as fair payback, although I wished I remembered invading his personal space in the first place.

  I twisted around for a better look, tugging to pull free. The bastard tightened his hold. I scowled. What the hell? I gave a jerk to free my leg, wrinkling my nose at my odd captivity.

  Malcolm proved a rather persistent foe in his sleep, and he captured my other foot with his to prevent my escape.

  “Go back to sleep,” Malcolm muttered. “It’s not time to get up yet. The alarm hasn’t gone off.”

  Alarm? What alarm? I yawned, abandoning my effort to reclaim my legs in favor of getting a feel for my surroundings. Light streamed in through a picture window, the gauzy curtains doing nothing to keep the sun outside where it belonged. I eliminated a home as our locale; the layout reminded me of a long-stay hotel, but a good one with a dedicated living room. “Where are we?”

  Malcolm cracked open an eye. “Don’t remember?”

  I shook my head. After struggling with it, I shrugged and dredged up the last thing I could recall. “I got shot at the museum. I don’t remember anything after that.”

  “We’re in Rochester, Minnesota. They’ve had you pretty heavily drugged after you broke your hand breaking Asfour’s face.”

  “I broke his face?” Damn, I wished I remembered that.

  “His nose and cheek bone. Well done. The doctors did warn me you might have recollection issues. Pixie dust is not your friend.”

  “It’s really not.”

  He chuckled. “You were feeling no pain, which was good, since the doctors didn’t need to give you any actual painkillers. Unfortunately, the average zombie has more common sense and willpower than you do while under the influence. The hospital in New York used the good stuff on you, and let’s just say you’ve been in orbit ever since. It worked out since your hand and shoulder needed some reconstruction work. Also, I was right. I need your health insurance.”

  I gawked at him, not sure where to begin. Why were we in Minnesota neared the top of my list, although the whole waking up on the couch using Malcolm as a bed issue took the first place spot.

  Laughing, Malcolm untangled his legs from mine and sat up, reaching for his phone, which was on the nearby coffee table. “Ah. Your timing isn’t bad. It’s eight, and I’d set the alarm for nine. You have an appointment for eleven at the clinic; if the bones are fused and the infection’s gone, we’ll be able to head home today. I’ve decided we’re driving, as I’ve had my fill of corpses on planes.”

  “There’s more of them?”

  “Not like that day in New York, but yes. From what I can tell, there’s a hundred or so new bodies turning up every day. The devil doesn’t seem worried.”

  Mindful of my shoulder, I stretched and yawned. While sore, it didn’t hurt anymore. “What happened with the mummies?”

  “After you confronted Asfour in the hospital, I managed to convince Ginger to return to the museum to keep King Tutankhamun company. They’ve taken to scaring the piss out of visitors. Neither went back to sleep, but they seem content enough guarding the museum.”

  There went my hopes the incident with the mummies had been part of a really bad dream. “And Asfour?”

  “Will be leaving you alone if he knows what’s good for him. He’s already facing charges for attempted child slavery, child endangerment, and attempted kidnapping. Your aunt was brought in for questioning, and as a result, the police got a warrant to locate the contract, which has been confiscated as evidence. They didn’t even try to hide their tracks.”

  Great. Malcolm had all the sordid details about one of my dirty secrets—far more than I wanted anyone to know. “I’ll deal with him.”

  “You’re stubborn.”

  “I’m a drifter. We’re stubborn by default. We have to be.”

  “You’re also part cat. You really can’t help it, can you?”

  I huffed, tucked my feet under me, and turned my head, studying the far and rather blank wall. “What else did I miss?”

  “Nothing significant. I worked, you slept when you weren’t eating everything in sight, and I took you to your appointments. You had a devilish visitor several times, and a pair of angels popped in to question you about your aunt and her attempts to sell you to the highest bidder.”

  Damn it. I bet the angels were actually archangels, and that Gabriel and Michael would report every last word to the devil. “How much did I tell them?”

  Malcolm sighed. “A lot. Sorry. Whenever anyone asked you a question, you gave very thorough answers without us having to lift a finger. I really recommend you avoid pixie dust in the future, though. You were quite happy, but you were also a handful.”

  “I don’t use it intentionally. I don’t use any type of medication, only when prescribed.”

  “Which explains your reaction to it. Anyway, it’s going to get ugly, especially for your aunt. And here I thought my family had issues. Turns out your family believes Egyptian laws appl
y to someone without Egyptian citizenship living abroad. Your aunt also assumed you weren’t a naturalized American citizen, which you are. Their plan would have worked if you had an Egyptian birth certificate. It seems your mother attempted to have one issued for you, but it was denied as the United States had claimed official responsibility for you when you were a baby. Since you’re a United States citizen, the request was denied in our courts.”

  And with those few words, I realized Malcolm knew more about my family and life than I did. Shit. “You’ve been busy. And just how did you find that out?”

  “Well, you’ve been drugged with pixie dust for a while. While there’s nothing wrong with a light dusting to make a bad day easier, just be careful next time you have some—and warn me first. You like to cuddle.”

  I liked to what? My cheeks burned. “What?”

  “There’s a reason the bed in this room hasn’t seen any use, and it’s because every time I sat down, you pounced so you could take a nap.”

  I whirled to face him, my eyes wide. “I didn’t!”

  Smirking, Malcolm reached over and pressed his finger to my nose. “I think you like me.”

  Even better. I’d assaulted and harassed the man while high on wing glitter. “Should I start groveling for forgiveness now or later?”

  “Not necessary. I have no problems with being the object of your affections. I’m grateful you’ve spent most of your time as a human, however. Your claws are sharp when you knead, and you roar when startled. You’re pleasant company, so you won’t hear any complaints from me. Well, except for that one conference call I was on that became rather interesting. A car alarm went off outside. You about jumped out of your skin.”

  Uh oh. “I’m so sorry. What did I do?”

  “You tried to crawl into my shirt while I was wearing it.”

  As I could see myself doing just that when startled, I groaned and covered my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I found it rather amusing, especially since I’d been on a video call. Once the alarm stopped, you went right back to sleep. Yes, with your head hidden in my shirt.”