Night Call (Book 3): Rock Paper Sorcery

by Hayward, L. J.

  Mercy pulled back firmly well before Erin thought she would, assuring them she’d had at least a whole bag’s worth. At a nod from Matt, Erin sat up, pressing the hem of her shirt to the open wounds in her wrist, not yet ready to look at what she’d willingly done.

  “How do you feel?” Matt asked Mercy.

  “I don’t,” she said snappishly. “Can’t feel anything, remember.”

  Maybe they’d have to wait for the blood to be fully absorbed before it kicked in and moderated the attitude. That is, if Matt’s theory stood the test. It did strike Erin as logical though, bringing to mind one of Thistlethwaite’s conversational detours. Namely the substitution of some animals’ natural diets, and difficulties with vitamin deficiency, taste or availability. It’d be stupid to think it didn’t apply to Mercy’s situation.

  While Matt repeated the pinch test, Erin left. The wounds on her wrist were starting to sting and the ache in her arm was moving up into her shoulder. In Matt’s en suite she found a fairly comprehensive first aid kit and cleaned the two small punctures. He came in just as she was trying to wrap a bandage around them.

  “Let me,” he said, taking over without waiting for permission.

  “You should be resting.”

  “So should you. I need a shower first, though. Did you clean this?”

  She resisted rolling her eyes. “Of course.”

  Winding the bandage on, Matt carefully didn’t meet her gaze. Probably couldn’t face the result of what he’d asked of her. What did he expect to see? Resentment, anger, regret? Whichever one it was, he was chewing himself up over it, all the same.

  “It’s okay,” she said eventually. “I didn’t… mind doing it.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be the psychic,” he muttered, taping down the bandage.

  “You might read minds but you put your own thoughts right out there on your face for the world to see.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. But I meant it. I didn’t mind it, but that’s it, okay? Just the once.”

  He nodded miserably.

  “God,” she hissed. “You’re pathetic, you know that, right?”

  “Yeah. Any particular brand of pathetic you want to label me with tonight?”

  “I’m sure I could name a few. This self-righteous guilt is the big one. Yes, you asked me to do something I hate but you had your reasons. Good ones. Mercy needed that blood to help her heal. You gave me every chance to say no, so don’t go sulking about it, you dumb arsehole.”

  Matt scowled, even though he’d invited this. “She’s a vampire, Erin. A violent, unrepentant killer. A predator. I shouldn’t be—”

  She did roll her eyes this time. “No, Matthew. You don’t get to trot that argument out anymore. You’ve proven Mercy’s not just a vampire. She’s something more, something different. And you made her that way. She’s your friend, your companion, your… child. Of course you’re going to do whatever you have to in order to save her. I understand that and accept it. So why can’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” he growled back. “I don’t know why I need to save her. If she died, I’d survive. I’d go back to being normal. Well, not as weird. But I keep doing this. I keep putting myself and everyone around me in danger just to keep a monster alive.”

  Erin stood back, arms crossed, giving him a hard expression. “She’s not a monster. At least, no more than you are, and you’re not one either. Everything you said tonight, at the cemetery, was just more of this melodramatic bullshit you think you need to wallow in. You know why you saved her in the first place, why you keep saving her. You told me, remember. You do it so you can remind yourself you’re a good person.”

  Head shaking, he said, “That’s not what I said. I said I needed to know that I could still help people, not hurt them.”

  “It’s the same thing.” Was he honestly this dense? “By wanting to help instead of hurt, you’re proving you’re still good. And you do, Matt. You help and you save people and you know you’re going to keep doing it. Even if Mercy doesn’t get better, you know you’ll keep doing whatever you can. Because that’s who you are. What you are.”

  Even as she spoke, she could see him pulling away. Not physically, but a growing distance in his demeanour, as if he couldn’t hear her or understand the words. His expression glazed over, as if he lost focus on the world around him.

  Erin’s heart gave a single, scared thump. This was the look he got moments before he fell into a berserker fit. Oh God. And she’d trapped herself in a tiny room with him, a tiny room full of breakable glass and porcelain. Her gun was out in the living room, where she’d shrugged out of her shoulder rig while sorting Mercy out.

  “Matt,” she said softly, hoping that he would hear her, as he had at the Tool Brigades’ place.

  He tossed his head, dragging in a deep breath. Stepping away, he seemed to come back to himself. The distance closed up and Matthew was present again.

  “Shit,” he hissed and spun around.

  Leaving the en suite, he stopped in the bedroom, shoulders tense, hands curled into fists at his sides.

  Erin peeked around him. Marcel sat on the bed, looking up at him with big brown eyes, little simian face sad and hopeful all at once. He bounced, preparing to jump at Matt.

  “Don’t try it,” he warned and something in his tone got through to Marcel.

  Sitting back, the monkey stared at Matt, then turned his head upside down, trying a tentative grin. Matt scooped him up and handed him to Erin.

  “Don’t let him follow me.”

  Not waiting for a response, he stalked out of the bedroom. Erin followed him far enough to see him go into the garage. A moment later, she heard the solid thwacks of fists and feet against a boxing bag.

  Erin let out a small sigh. At least he was taking the mood out on something harmless. Still, she closed the door, giving them another barrier and quickly strapped on her shoulder rig. Marcel watched curiously and when she was done, he scampered up her arm and settled on her shoulder. He made a little mournful sound and snuggled against her neck.

  “I know, little man,” she murmured. “I worry about him as well.”

  Feeling a bit hungry after the blood loss, Erin ventured into the kitchen. The moment she opened the fridge door, Marcel scurried down her arm and retrieved a bunch of grapes from a bowl on the bottom shelf. Erin looked for a bit longer, unfamiliar with the contents. There was a large plastic container that looked out of place amongst the pre-packaged meals and pasta packets. It proved to be chicken and sweet corn soup, homemade if Erin was any judge. While Marcel munched grapes, Erin heated some soup.

  The thumping and punching in the garage continued uninterrupted.

  It didn’t feel right. Erin was the last person to think she knew everything about Matt and his strange situation, but today’s behaviour wasn’t like him. Going berserk over a stupid file compiled by people he’d never met just wasn’t Matt. Neither was nearly losing it in the en suite. They’d had bigger arguments before and nothing, no twitches, no hints of uncontrollable anger.

  Something was wrong.

  It wasn’t just the berserk rages. The whole breakdown in the cemetery wasn’t like him, either. She’d seen him shocked, hurt, confused, betrayed, but never had she seen him as he’d been then. He’d been so close to despair, agonising over—

  “Hey.”

  Jerked out of her thoughts, Erin found Matt standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He was sweaty and grimy, still sporting river mud and blood, leaning against the doorframe and staring fixedly at the table in front of her.

  Marcel had gone still, half eaten grape in his hands, tail curled around his legs. Her bowl of soup was barely touched. Looking back at Matt she realised he was fully there. Not cold and detached, but wholly present. And scared.

  Standing, Erin asked, “What’s wrong? Is it Mercy?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s me. I think there’s something wrong with me.”

  “I know,” she
murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  That got his attention. He looked up, frowning.

  “What?”

  Erin faced him squarely. “I’m sorry. About Sean.”

  He flinched. “No, that’s not it.” Swallowing hard, he indicated his left arm. “I’m talking about my arm. I might need to see someone about it.”

  “Your arm?” She looked and saw his hand curled into a claw, his elbow partly bent. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “I don’t know. You saw it earlier. It locked up. It’s getting worse. Started out yesterday as just a bit of numbness, a few spasms. Now it’s… like this.”

  Erin touched his hand. Despite the heat of his workout radiating off him, his hand was cold. She poked and prodded and tried to unbend his fingers. They wouldn’t move.

  “The thing is,” he said, “something like this, it’s usually neurological.”

  “Shit.” Erin stared at him, her throat closing up. “It could be something else, though?” It had to be. She’d already been down this path once with William. The wondering and worst case scenarios, the waiting and the constant imagining of bad news. She wouldn’t do it again with a friend.

  “Maybe. A virus? I don’t know. But I’ve had a pretty constant headache the entire time, as well.”

  That did not sound promising at all. “God, Matt. Why is nothing ever simple with you?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  Erin ran a hand through her hair. “All right, we can’t do anything about it at this time of night. Go have a shower and go to bed. We’ll sort something out in the morning.”

  He tried a smile. It worked about as well as his arm did. “Yes, mum.”

  She shooed him off, keeping Marcel with her. Sinking back into her chair at the table, Erin stroked a quiet monkey and forced herself to eat the soup. Fainting from hunger and blood loss wasn’t going to make the situation any better.

  After a while, she ventured into his bedroom, finding him out of the shower, dressed in jeans—so he wouldn’t have to struggle with two lots of pants, he explained—and in bed. Erin gave him a couple of Panadol, offered a contrite monkey, who curled up on a pillow, and made to leave.

  At the door, she paused. “Want me to stay in here?”

  Matt hesitated, then said, “Nah. I’ll be fine.”

  She left, leaving the door open, and made herself a bed on the couch. It was going to be a long night. At least Matt had acknowledged part of the problem.

  They said the biggest part of the problem was admitting it. If that were true, it would be smooth sailing from here on out.

  Why, then, did Erin think there was a storm on the horizon?

  Chapter 37

  When I woke up, my arm was loose and normal. I flexed my fingers, feeling a slight resistance, but that was all. Even the headache had vanished. Maybe it had been simple exhaustion all along. I had been going pretty hard for the past three days. I checked the clock. And nine hours of sleep could only help.

  I went in to see Mercy. She’d shifted from regular sleep to the daytime coma of a vampire. Her presence felt very light on my mind and I couldn’t help but wonder if I would survive her dying. She’d become such a big part of my life. Not just in the work we did, but in everything. In my home life, in my mind. In my heart.

  Erin was right. I loved my little vampire girl. For all her wildness and moods and potential threat, she was my life.

  I sat on the bed and stroked her soft hair. That was when I noticed it.

  She’d moved. At some point, before dawn and the retreat of her psyche, she’d shifted an arm. It was lying at an angle, palm up, little fingers curled lightly. It gave me a warm glow, until I wondered if Erin had moved it.

  I left Mercy’s room and followed the sounds of happy chatter to the back patio. Erin sat on the old couch with a cup of coffee. Marcel bounced around her, grapes scattered all over the ground.

  “I think he’s tired of grapes,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Probably. Watch him, he tends to run away.”

  Erin held up an end of string and I traced it to Marcel. She’d made him a little harness that didn’t seem to bother him at all.

  Snorting I sat down. “I always said you were a smart chick.”

  “And I never disagreed.”

  “Did you happen to move Mercy’s arm at some point?”

  “No.” Erin looked at me hopefully.

  I grinned. “She’s getting better, then.”

  Erin smiled, not quite as excited as me but relieved. “And how are you?”

  “Surprisingly good.” I showed off the full range of movement in my arm. “I think I overreacted last night. Was probably just tired. I mean, I did go berserk twice, hit quite a few people and almost drowned.”

  “Not good enough. You should still have it checked out.” Expression tight, she looked out over the water, shinning gold in the morning light. “We learned our lesson about ignoring things like that.”

  She was talking about her husband, William. He’d been electrocuted, not badly, but it had caused aches in one of his legs. Doctors told him it was just a result of the shock. It turned out to be cancer. He was doing okay now, but there were difficult times, and he could get worse at any moment.

  “Speaking of that,” I started, hesitantly.

  Erin just looked at me patiently.

  “If the earth sorcerer is as crazy as I think he is, then maybe you should go home, get out of the field of fire.”

  “Were you there last night when we talked about this dramatic garbage you go on with?”

  I bristled. “This isn’t about that. This is just being practical, and cautious. The whackjob went to your office, Erin. He might go to your home, as well. Did you think of that?”

  She hadn’t, judging by the silence that followed my words.

  After a moment, she handed over Marcel’s leash and pulled out her phone. Then swore because it was dead. From Dev’s EMP blast. Curse all show-off level sixteen threat people.

  “Use my phone. It’s in the office.”

  Erin disappeared inside, leaving me with Marcel, who spent a while looking at me cautiously, slowly creeping closer. I gave in and waved him over.

  “Come on, buddy. I’m in a much better mood today.”

  Marcel scampered over and climbed to my shoulder. He settled down and told me about his plans for the day.

  Which begged the question, what were my plans?

  The first one, and easiest, was to find a monkey-sitter. That thought in mind I did something I have never, ever, done before.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. Half a minute later, the door opened and Sue smiled at me brightly. She had her hair tied back messily and a smudge of paint on one cheek.

  “Morning! It is very rare to see you up and about at this hour,” she teased. “Or are you just getting in?”

  “No. I pretty much managed to get a full night’s sleep, thanks.” I indicated the monkey on my shoulder, who jittered and bounced, his tail wrapping and unwrapping from around my neck. “So did he, thus you may not wish to accept my request for—”

  “Babysitting? Of course, I will.” She opened the security door between us and held her hands out. “Come on, cutie. You can come and paint with me today.”

  Marcel looked from her to me, questioningly.

  “Go on,” I encouraged him. “It’s okay.”

  He went distressingly fast. Maybe it wasn’t that he liked me more than Dev, just that he liked everyone other than Dev.

  “I can’t give you a definite time when I’ll be back for him,” I said, apologetic. “If Charles gets upset… well, tell him I’m sorry but that I was desperate.”

  Marcel was in heaven, cradled in Sue’s arms, nestled against her breasts. Sue smiled at him and I silently laughed at Charles’ expression when he’d warned Sue about not saying the obvious.

  “It is no problem, Matt,” Sue said. “It’ll do Charlie good to have something fresh in his life.”

  Something that
wasn’t a car or a boat, apparently. Maybe Sue was wanting to expand the family, biologically, not mechanically. For once, I felt the urge to give the how-they-change-your-life…but-for-the-better speech, but I didn’t. A, it was a ridiculous speech to start with, and two, it was even more ridiculous for me to equate Mercy with a real child. So I left Marcel with Sue and went back to my place.

  Erin sat in the living room, frowning at her phone.

  “Did you get through to William?” I asked.

  “He’s going to stay with friends.”

  I sighed. “Erin, that wasn’t the plan.”

  “It was my plan, not yours. Dev hasn’t called,” she pointed out. “But I guess he can’t because our phones are dead.”

  Shit. I hadn’t even given the phone a thought. A quick hunt later and I found its carcass in my discarded pants in the en suite. Even if Dev’s lightning strike hadn’t fried it, the dunk in the Brisbane River would have finished it off.

  “I have a spare at the office,” Erin said dryly. “Sol insisted. Hopefully it’ll just be a matter of transferring the SIM card.”

  “Right, so you’re going to the office. I’m going to see Kermit, again. We didn’t manage to get the information off him last night,” I reminded her.

  “I’ll track down Dev, as well. Meet at the office?”

  “Yup. We need to make some definite plans to get this sorcerer and finish things. The bastard put some nasty tricks on Tanqueray that got him killed.” Another death I’d had a front row seat for. Another person I couldn’t save. “He needs to be stopped. Now, not later.”

  Erin nodded, then eyed me warily. “Do you think it strange he chose Tanqueray? Doesn’t it seem a bit coincidental?”

  “It does, but I’m wondering if coincidences really happen. Maybe he chose someone already angry with me.”

  “Hmm, still a coincidence, then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, to put in bluntly, you don’t have a lot of friends in the city. There are many, many people out there the sorcerer could have chosen if that were the deciding factor.” There was a sparkle in her eyes that disarmed the harshness of her comment.