Gods and Ends (Ordinary Magic Book 3)

by Devon Monk

  He winced even though I was pretty sure we hadn’t shrieked. Or I hadn’t shrieked. Okay, maybe I shrieked a little, but at least Myra was calm.

  “The longer that tie remains, the deeper it will become. Even you two know that.”

  I did know that.

  I didn’t like it, but I knew it.

  “This day is almost over, right? Because I’m so over it.”

  Myra’s hand pressed against my back and we were in motion, Jame waiting a few beats before he fell into place and followed us much more slowly.

  Jules opened a door and motioned us into the little room. “She’s doing fine,” she said as we walked past her.

  “I’m doing fine,” Jean said, her words melting into each other. “Gave me pain meds. No consuss…condush…concussion. Hey, Myra. You look angry.”

  “I always look angry, Jee-Jee. I have resting pissed face.” Myra walked over to her and brushed Jean’s hair back so she could place a kiss on her forehead. “You are not allowed to scare me like that.”

  “Scare you? I was the one who got road-raged.”

  “Good jump, by the way,” I said, coming up on her other side and sliding my hand into hers.

  She sighed and her eyes closed. “It was scary as fuck.”

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t even see it coming.”

  “I know.”

  “S’fast.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m tired now, okay?”

  She’d said it like that since she was a little kid. Asking if it was okay that she was going to fall asleep.

  “Go to sleep. We’ll let you know when they’re going to move you to a room.”

  “Night, honey.” Myra slipped her hand into Jean’s other hand and looked around for a chair.

  There was only one and it was filled with a very tired werewolf.

  “He should get his own room,” Myra said quietly so as not to disturb either of them.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t really do what he should do no matter who tells him.”

  “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “Hey. I’m trying. I really am, Myra. This whole vampire thing has me off my game. Do you know when that car headed for Jean I didn’t even think about pulling my gun–which I wasn’t even wearing–and I didn’t even try to stop it. I just…” I rubbed at my eyes with my free hand.

  “I think I’m tired.”

  “You are,” she said gently. “You were assaulted, then pretty much threw yourself into organizing a hunt for your assailant.”

  “We’re not going to find him in twenty-four hours, are we?”

  She stared at Jean, who was sleeping deeply enough her eyes were moving behind her eyelids. “It can happen, but it’s not a lot of time. Yancy said we’d find him, right? Because of a choice you would make.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ryder and I haven’t come up with any leads through the DoPP. Rossi’s so angry he’s gone silent, which I hate, and the Wolfes haven’t made progress either. I think we’re going to have to meet him with that book, Delaney. Maybe even give it to him.”

  “No.”

  “He sent a zombie vampire to kill Jean.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  “He won’t let Ben stay alive much longer. There was never any guarantee he’d keep him alive as part of the deal.”

  “We’re bringing Ben home. We’re saving him.”

  “Listen.” Her word was a low, harsh hiss. A whisper that she didn’t want either Jame or Jean to hear. When she turned her eyes to me, I could see the gloss of too many sleepless nights. “I almost lost you. I almost lost Jean. We are not going to solve this problem with a little elbow grease and police work and a can-do attitude. The only way to deal with that evil is to lure him in with what he wants and then eradicate him. Period.”

  I held her gaze for long enough, the flush on her cheeks cooled some.

  “We have to attack, Delaney. Defending isn’t working.”

  “We’ll attack. But we’ll do it the smart way. He does not get his hands on that damn book. We do not give darkness weapons with which to hurt us even more. We do not answer danger with fear. We do not respond to pain with pleas. We are going to find him, and Ben. No book. Do you hear me?”

  “I hate this,” she whispered softly. She wiped a hand over her eyes, pressing with her fingers. “Okay. I hear you. I know you’re right. But I’ve got jack squat to go on, Delaney and it’s killing me.”

  “We’ve only been at this for a few hours. We still have time.”

  She looked over at Jame again. “He needs a bed. And painkillers.”

  “I know. He’s not leaving me, so where I go, he goes.”

  “Maybe you should get some rest too.”

  I nodded. I needed some sleep. Even an hour sounded like heaven. But I knew I was in for a long night. Either staying here beside Jean, or going back to the station to pick up on the research Myra was not getting done.

  A soft knock rapped on the door, and then the doctor was there. She smiled. “Good news. It’s just a break and a sprain and some scrapes and bruising. No concussion, no other damage. We’d like to keep her overnight, so we’re going to cast her arm and move her to a room.”

  And just like that, it felt like things were looking up.

  It took some maneuvering to get us out of the room, and then Jean awake and situated so that there was space for the cart with the supplies and the doctor.

  Jame was leaning against the wall, his eyes slit, arms crossed, mostly asleep on his feet.

  “I’ll stay with Jean when they move her to her room. You take him home and make him sleep.” Myra said.

  “Not tired,” he mumbled.

  Liar.

  “I’m staying here,” I said.

  “She’ll be sleeping and I’ll be here watching after her. Get Jame home. Make him rest.”

  “Make me.” He huffed.

  “Delaney, just let me take the first shift with Jean. Get some food, and a half hour nap, then check in with me.”

  “I don’t like leaving you here alone. Both of you alone with all these people.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?” The smile she gave me was a wry twist of her lips. “I’m going to check in with Ryder. See if he’s got Hatter and Shoe squared away. I’m going to follow up on the list of possible places Ben might be held.”

  “Yancy said it was dark and cold and ‘near to us but oceans away’.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Ship maybe? Boathouse? Somewhere on the other side of a bay? Something that would make the ‘oceans away’ comment make sense.”

  “God angle?”

  I nodded. “I’d thought about that. Oceans away makes me think Poseidon, but seriously, would Poseidon throw in with that monster against us?”

  “Maybe not willingly.”

  “Okay. Sure. He’s usually making some dumb decision or another. I’ll check with him after I get Jame settled.”

  “Jame will not be settled,” he said.

  Myra and I exchanged a long look. Yeah, I was going to have to wrestle the werewolf to make him get some sleep before he passed out on me. Taking him home made the most sense. Which meant Myra was right. Again.

  Darn it.

  “You suck,” I whispered.

  She beamed.

  “Okay. Come on, Jame. We need to get you home.”

  “I’m not sleeping.”

  “Fine. But you’re going to need food, and I am too, and we both have blood on us, and we both need a change of clothes.”

  He held still, and I wondered if I really was going to have to threaten him with mace or handcuffs. Then he shifted his weight and rolled forward to balance squarely on his feet before he walked toward me.

  “Check in with me,” I reminded Myra.

  “Check in with me,” she replied.

  The waiting room was nearly empty, just a mom and dad with a kid who was red-cheeked but otherwis
e pale. They had a barf bucket beside them, but didn’t look overly worried.

  “Delaney?”

  A man stood from the shadowed corner of the room and strode our way.

  He was tall, fit, dark-skinned and gorgeous, although I didn’t think I’d ever seen him frown like that.

  “Hey, Hogan.”

  “Is she okay? I heard, Jesus, I heard she was hit by a car? Is she? Delaney, is she all right? No one would tell me anything.”

  I reached out immediately and pressed my palm on his arm. I could feel the tremble running through his tense muscles, running through his body. Hogan never seemed to wear anything other than a T-shirt and shorts, even in winter. His skin beneath my hand was cold and clammy.

  I was this close to making him sit down so someone could make sure that he wasn’t in shock.

  “She’s fine.” I held his searching gaze and tried to project as much comfort as I could. “She jumped out of the way, but was clipped. She landed hard and has a broken arm, sprained ankle, bruised ribs and shoulder. She’s not going to be up and dancing tomorrow, but she’s conscious, no concussion, and on some really good painkillers.”

  He swallowed hard, gaze shifting back and forth across my face as if he were waiting for the bad news.

  “That’s it. She’s going to stay overnight. Myra’s back there with her now. She’ll be released tomorrow. How about you sit down? Here. Here’s good.” I sort of steered him toward one of the chairs and he didn’t even seem to notice where he was going, just followed blindly.

  “Jesus.” He folded down and covered his face with both of his hands.

  And then, heartbreakingly, face hidden, wide shoulders hunched, he started to quietly cry.

  “Oh, now. It’s okay.” I sat down beside him and wrapped one arm across his back, my other hand on his shoulder closest to me so I could rub comforting circles there. “She’s fine. She’s really, really fine, Hogan. I promise she’s fine.”

  His tense, cold body seemed to unwind, loosen, going hot and sweaty. I held on, made soothing sounds and waited for his shaking to ease, his sobs to quiet into measured breaths that finally changed from what sounded labored and focused to something a lot more natural.

  I looked around for a tissue and found a box held in front of my face by a werewolf who looked like he could not be bothered to care about this guy’s pain.

  “Sympathy,” I suggested.

  “She’s alive.” Those two words carried anger, and pain, and a truth that made me want to squirm. And those two words said more. Jean was alive, and being looked after by people who loved her. Ben was lost and alone. We had only the word of a vacationing god and a donut-loving seer to know that he was still breathing.

  Jame had every right to be grumpy.

  I took the box and offered it to Hogan who finally lifted his face out of his hands. He used several sheets on his face, then eyes, sniffing, and finally, blowing.

  Then he just sat there, the wadded up tissues in one hand, his arms lax on his thighs as he sort of stared in the middle distance.

  “Can I see her?” His voice was almost even, almost steady.

  “Yes. She’s going to be moved to a room. Let me talk to someone and see if we can’t get you to that room to wait for her.”

  I walked over to the reception desk to make sure that could happen.

  Chapter 7

  “I said no.”

  I turned off the engine and gave Jame my stern-but-fair cop look. “You have blood on your clothes and need your pain meds, which you left at home. We’re now at your home. I don’t care if you don’t like it. We’re getting changed, medicated and maybe even fed. Let’s go.”

  I got out of the Jeep and he followed. I didn’t care how much swagger or scowl he threw my way. He was hurting and exhausted and it showed in every line of his body.

  He unlocked the door and stepped into the house he shared with Ben.

  I’d last been here for their housewarming, a gathering that seemed to have pulled half of Ordinary through this modern two-story that overlooked the waves.

  They’d lucked out on lot placement and how the house was built. The curve of the bank it stood on gave the illusion of a lot more privacy than there actually was from the houses on either side of their property.

  The interior was not what I expected out of a couple of guys who fought fires for a living. I expected bare brick, leather furniture, and mismatched art.

  Instead it was cozy. Welcoming. Soft, without feeling overdone. It was like walking into a warm cabin retreat with thick blankets and pillows stacked on the couch, recliners positioned for a view of the sky and the TV that took up one wall, and throw rugs positioned to soak up the echoes of the wood floors.

  There were a few hanging plants, a scatter of mail on an end table and something that looked like a half-finished carving project on the coffee table. A ridiculously comfortable-looking rocking chair with a bright green lap quilt draped over the back was set into a nook that was lined with shelves filled with a selection of books, carefully wrapped comics, scrolls, and little trinkets, some that looked like they were gathered from all over the world.

  Everything about the house spoke to comfort, rest, ease.

  It was Jame’s den, Ben’s sanctuary.

  It was the home they had made with each other, for each other.

  Jame didn’t bother turning on other lights as he stalked into the house, crossing the living room before going down a hall toward their room.

  I supposed being a werewolf meant you didn’t need light to navigate, and having a vampire for a boyfriend pretty much meant the same thing.

  I was not a werewolf or vampire (no matter what Jame thought) so I flicked on a couple lights as I walked into the main room.

  “Delaney?”

  I froze, my skin cold. The air had dropped to freezing. I could see my breath.

  Ghost. There was a ghost here. And not just any ghost.

  “Dad?”

  The word came out in a puff, and I wrapped my arms around myself to hold heat to my body.

  I heard the shower turn on down the hall where Jame had gone. If he was in the shower, he couldn’t hear me unless I yelled.

  Okay, let’s hope I wouldn’t have to yell. I wasn’t afraid of my dad, not as a man, a parent, or a disembodied spirit. But I was worried for him.

  My hand cupped the worry stone in my pocket and I rubbed my thumb across the smooth warmth of the rose quartz. The motion and sensation calmed and centered me.

  This was just my dad. Just his ghost. Just him.

  “Are you okay, Dad?” Nothing. “Are you here to talk to me?” More nothing. “I felt you at the lighthouse. Saw you there. I’m worried about you. Can you show me where you are? Can you tell me you’re okay?”

  A thump of something heavy hitting the floor made me jump. “Shit. I mean, shoot. I mean, cool. Good. So, over by the mantle?” It was still cold in the room, but I wasn’t going to cower away from my father.

  “I don’t know why you had to knock something off their mantle, Dad. If you broke one of Ben’s antique knickknacks, you know he’s going to be upset.”

  No sign of him. No sound of him. The room was still cold, but other than that, and the overwhelming feeling of knowing that had been his voice, his presence, there was nothing to prove that there was a haunting going down.

  “Why Jame’s place anyway?” I scanned the floor beneath the mantle. Spotted a fist-sized green stone lying near the table. It was big enough to have made the loud thud when it fell. I didn’t know Ben collected rocks. Or maybe that was Jame’s hobby.

  “What was the lighthouse all about? I understand you checking in on me, or Myra or Jean. But these other places?”

  I bent. “Well, at least it’s not breakable.” I had never seen a stone like that before. It was pale green and almost translucent with shots of black and red jagging through it, sparking deep fire that I was more used to seeing in opals.

  “So let’s put it back where it belong
s.” I picked it up and straightened.

  “No.” A soft sound. A plea. My father’s voice. Too late.

  The stone in my hand blazed hot, too hot to hold. My fingers clenched around it and I could not let it go.

  The heat rolled into a vibration, a thrumming of music that poured over me, too loud, too strong, plucking me like a string against a sounding board.

  It wasn’t god power. I knew those songs, knew the dizzying sensation of god power loose and wild and fierce. Knew how to hold it, how to carry it across my nerves and muscles and skin, knew how to direct it to a place of holding, away from the god’s body, but never far from their reach.

  But this song, this roar was bone-deep and tore into me with teeth and fang. I’d never felt this power before.

  It was darkness.

  It was heat.

  It was desire.

  I couldn’t force my hand to drop the stone, couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink. My body was not my own.

  Cue the fear.

  The room around me fogged out, going green at the edges. There was someone yelling, there were hands on me, but I sensed that at a distance.

  All I could hear were the churning tones, all I could feel was the heat tearing through me.

  And then everything went cold.

  My father stood in front of me, solid and tangible and breathing, every detail clear. He was wearing his uniform, and look a little rumpled, his hair sticking up at the crown like it did when he rubbed his palm over the back of it or when he pulled all-nighters at the station.

  I could smell the spice of his cologne, the slight hint of tobacco and coffee that was so familiar, so him.

  But his eyes, oh, how I’d missed them. Not the color, which was a soft blue that tended toward gray, but the kindness, the intelligence, the light of the man who had known me and loved me and protected me for my entire life. Right there. Right there in front of me close enough to touch.

  When I’d never thought I’d see him again.

  “Dad?”

  “Delaney, you need to step back. Drop the stone. Run.”

  I tried. Really I did. I struggled to open my fingers, turn my hand over, lift my feet.

  Didn’t get anywhere.

  “I. Can’t.” Even my words were strangled, locked down. Impossible to push through my lips.