by Ashley Meira
When I opened my eyes, I was greeted with the sight of a pristine white ceiling and a sickening mixture of smells I could only label “Eau de Hospital.” It was ironic how the smell of antiseptic and whatever the hell else they used around here made me feel even sicker.
Sullivan was sitting near me, holding my hand up to his face, which was shocking enough on its own. Then, I saw his expression. He looked miserable. His hair was disheveled as if he’d run his hands through it a hundred times, and his eyes were red and glassy like he’d been crying and was about to start on round two. He took in a deep, shuddery breath and squeezed my hand. Unable to process the feelings his actions brought forth, I let my head drop to the other side to look at the IV. This shit was amazing; I needed to get the name of whatever they were giving me so I could see about getting some for myself later.
At my movement, Sullivan’s face fell back into his stoic mask and he put my hand down, making me wonder if his demeanor a second ago had been nothing more than a drug addled delusion. Well, the magic was nice while it lasted – and for him to look concerned about me was definitely magic.
“Morgan–” Wright called, coming into view a second later. At Sullivan’s disapproving glare, he cleared his throat and said, “Miss Wallace, I’m glad to see you’re okay. I was told you snuck into the Garou stronghold and rescued our sole survivor. What did you discover? Did Tom say anything to you?”
“Wright, she just woke up,” said Sullivan.
Maybe it was the drugs, or the way my stomach was roaring loud enough to challenge even the most ferocious lion shifter, but I had absolutely no interest in entertaining Wright. Despite my post-sleep grumpiness, there was a voice inside me that, as the two men spoke about something the drugs prevented me from caring about, screamed, “Something’s wrong.” Even if I dismissed his outburst at the prison, I knew there was something off about him. I knew it from the moment we met and shook hands. The thought played across my groggy mind twice before hitting home. I sat up, letting out a cry as the world spun around.
“Morgan!” Sullivan rushed over and placed a supportive hand against my shoulder. “You need to lie down.”
“Hand,” I said as I reached back to move the pillows so they would support me. “His hand.”
“His hand?” Wright stepped toward us with eager eyes. “What about it? What did he say?”
Sullivan held a hand out to keep the other man away. “Stand down, Wright.”
Holy shit, I was stuck halfway between Sleepville and Tripping Balls Falls. I swayed, my eyes wide open as if that would help me find my balance. Sullivan noticed my disorientation and fixed the pillows behind me so I could stay sitting up, but he didn’t take his hand off my shoulder.
“I need to get this shit streamlined into my home's air system,” I mumbled, dropping my head back against the pillows.
Wright laughed, though it sounded forced even through my high. “Tom said the same thing. Alex is with him right now, but the doctor seemed eager to kick him out. He’s pretty beat up, but you got to him in time. The bastards tortured him,” he spat, grimacing as he shook his head. “I told you they were animals, sir. Vile beasts. This just proves it. Your own daughter was captured–”
“They didn’t say anything,” I blurted out in one quick exhale to make him stop what sounded like the beginning of a really long hate-ologue. “I didn’t even see anyone besides Tom.”
“And what did he say?” Wright pressed.
Why the hell aren’t you asking the man himself? “Nothing. He said he thought he’d been there for a few days and that his captors were Garou.”
“Which is exactly what Tom said earlier.” Sullivan peered down at Wright with an unimpressed look I could only dream of achieving. “I don’t see what you’re trying to accomplish here, Wright.”
Sullivan’s tone caused Wright to take a few steps back, a placating smile on his face. “With all due respect, sir,” he said in a mild voice. “Tom has spent the last two days being tortured. I thought Morgan might know more.”
“Clearly, she doesn’t,” said Sullivan. “She needs to rest now.”
Wright looked like he wanted to protest, but instead gave us both a nod and exited the room.
The silence that followed his departure allowed me to sort through my thoughts. When I shook Wright’s hand, I felt the same heavy sensation I felt when I touched Alice. He and Tom were involved. Possibly the group he’d been with, too. That’s why the Garou took them, and that’s why Tom asked if Wright sent me. Wright was interested in what Tom told me because he was worried the younger man might’ve spilled some kind of secret. I guess he had; I would have been less likely to connect him to Wright if he hadn’t mentioned his name.
“I apologize for his behavior,” said Sullivan.
I shook my head, happy that the world didn’t fall over at the action. I wasn’t sure I could trust him enough to accuse his right hand man without anything more than circumstantial evidence. I couldn’t even tell Alex I suspected his best friend was involved, not with how crazy he’d been over getting him back. I was a woman without a country. I didn’t even have my cat.
“Guess we won’t be getting an audience with the Garou,” I said.
Sullivan crossed his arms and began pacing around. “Maybe not. I reached out to a friend and let her know what happened. They may be able to set up a meeting.”
“The mysterious lady friend from before?”
He looked away. “Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?”
Five bacon cheeseburgers and some fries would be nice, but… “Where’s Alex?”
“Mister Campbell is with Tom.” Sullivan paused, pursing his lips. “He wouldn’t leave your side the entire time you were unconscious. The only reason he left was because his friend woke up.”
He stayed with me. I managed a sleepy smile at the thought of him staying by my side for… “How long has it been?”
“Alex said he found the two of you around five.” He checked his watch. “It’s just past eleven.” There was another long bout of silence before he spoke up again, stumbling over his words like an adolescent boy. “He…must care a lot for you. To sit by your side. For six hours. That is–” He cleared his throat but didn’t continue.
I hope Alex cared. He seemed to. “How long have you been here?”
“Since he called me, of course. I am your father.”
Mhm. Sure. Like being here for a few hours made up being absent for eighteen years. More, if you counted the time he spent ignoring me before I moved.
“Morgan, we need to talk,” he said, sitting back down with a serious look.
I shrugged, my shoulders aching. “I’m obviously not going anywhere.”
Sullivan let out a weary sigh and ran a hand down his face. “There’s something I need to tell you, but first I want to talk about that boy.”
“Alex,” I corrected, looking straight ahead. “He’s just a friend.”
“I’m not an idiot, Morgan. I can tell you two are more than that.”
Can you? Because I sure as hell have no idea. “I’ve already had ‘the talk,’ so if that’s–”
“It’s a bad idea to get involved with him.”
I glanced over at him, unable to rein in my curiosity. “Why? What have you heard about him?”
“It has nothing to do with his reputation,” he said. “It’s about entering any relation–”
“That is so not any of your business,” I said, gaping at his audacity. Was he seriously going all parent on me? Years too fucking late, dude. “Like, at all.”
“You have a dangerous job–”
“It’s the same job he has.”
“Exactly,” he stressed. “If he dies, you’ll be left alone.”
“That didn’t seem to be an issue for you when mom was concerned.”
It was the mother – pun unintended – of all blows, but I was outraged and gave exactly zero shits. He had no right to come in here and start acting like he was my father, like
he was anything more to me than some stranger who abandoned me when I was a little girl. I pulled the IV out and stood up to pace around. This time, my fury kept the drugs from tilting the world on its side.
“Your mother was different.”
“Why?” I winced at the cold tiles under my feet. Where the hell were my boots? Finding them near a chair holding my clothes, I grabbed them and slipped them on. “Was she smarter than me? Stronger? Just plain better? Because I don’t know. I never had the chance to learn anything about her. Or you, for that matter. Do you think I’m that weak? Is that what this is about? Is that why she’s different? Because she was smart and strong enough to leave you?” Sullivan’s face flushed and he looked like he was about to blow, but I still didn’t care. I shook my head and grabbed my clothes from the chair. “Fuck this.”
“Morgan!” Sullivan called from the door as I stormed down the hall. “Someone stop her!”
Crap. I ran past the elevator and into the stairway. Luckily, I wasn’t on a high floor, and soon I was greeted by the city air as I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. Exhaustion, drugs, and running down stairs did not mix well. I pushed myself back up and kept going; people would be coming for me. I power-walked another two blocks, looking for somewhere to hide out. It was hard to focus with everyone staring at me, or with the cold air puncturing through my flimsy hospital robe. My ass was halfway to frozen when I came across a sign that read Dovesport Bar and Inn.
Oh darling, you had me at bar.
The bar was on the first floor and looked like an old-fashioned English pub, with dim lighting and soft music. I liked it. It was homey. And it had booze. Ten out of ten. I approached the bartender, a tall, well-built man with a salt and pepper beard.
“Where’s your bathroom?”
He looked me up and down. “…Far left. ‘Round the corner.”
“Thanks.”
I headed into a stall, ignoring the outraged gasp of a primly dressed old lady, and put on my dirty clothes. I wiped the dirt off them as best I could, but only ended up spreading the muck around. Why couldn’t magic work like in Harry Potter? I’d kill for a cleaning spell. I stepped out of the stall, relieved the old woman was gone, and went to the sink to splash some water on my face.
The woman in the mirror was a mess. Her dark brown hair was a matted birds’ nest and there were dark bruises around her – thankfully no longer broken – wrists. Probably her ankles, too. The bruise the red-haired demon gave me was a brilliant shade of purple along the left side of my jaw and there was a red bruise along my temple where it had been slammed against the wall. The sleeves of my shirt were torn at the ends and there were rips in my jeans. Plus, I smelled like antiseptic and mud.
Despite all of this, I still managed to get hit on the second I sat at the bar. What was wrong with men? This specific man was big, with a busted nose and a baseball cap covering all his hair. My nose wrinkled as he came closer, the stench of beer radiating off him like a toxic cloud. He smelled worse than me, which should win him some kind of award.
“Hey, baby,” he slurred, his eyes unfocused. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ here all alone?”
“I’m gay,” I said bluntly before turning my stool away from him and signaling the bartender. “Whiskey neat, please.”
The guy walked away muttering under his breath. I didn’t bother trying to pick up his words, all I wanted was a drink. The bartender placed the glass in front of me. I picked it up, chugged it down, and ordered another. I’d have to call Alex to come pick me up – and pay – before the night was over. Did I even have my phone?
Before I could pat myself down and check, an amused feminine voice spoke up to my left. “You could’ve gotten rid of him another way.”
She had a waterfall of straight turquoise hair that reached her waist and deep, dark, almost pitch black eyes. There was a coquettish grin on her face as she looked at me, chin propped up on one hand. She didn’t feel human, but she also didn’t feel dangerous. Not at the moment, anyway.
“Yeah.” I nodded, guilt replacing my annoyance; saying that hadn’t been cool. “That was faster, though.”
“True,” she said, grin still in place. “I’m June.”
“Morgan. I’m not gay, by the way. Well, girl, guy, demon – I don’t really care – but I’m not in the mood right now.”
June laughed again, tossing her head back to reveal a porcelain neck. Her skin was unfeasibly perfect. Definitely not human. Vampire?
“That’s a shame, sugar. How will I go on?”
I took my refilled glass and downed it before calling for a third. “Well, I drink.”
“Hear, hear,” she said, taking a swig of her beer. “Is that why you’re here, then?”
“Is that what it looks like?”
“It looks like you got hit by a car,” she said. “But hey, everyone’s got their issues. I was just curious.”
“What’s your story, then?”
“Lots of death around here.”
I took a drink from my new glass, slower this time. “Reaper?”
“Mhm,” she said in a sing-song manner.
Wasn’t this an interesting turn of events? I’ve always wanted to meet a reaper, so I guess I could count this as the one good thing to come out of this trip. Unless she tried to kill me. And if my pattern held…
At least they do it painlessly. I think.
“You guys aren’t normally visible,” I said.
“I’m off the clock.”
“You expect me to believe no one in the city is dying right now?”
She giggled. “People die every second, sugar. That’s up to the local reaper, though. I’m just here to poke around.”
“The Regia Mortis sent you?” The Regia Mortis was the governing body of the reapers, like the Heavenly Host or the Courts of Hell.
“Nah. If we looked into every weird death or mass murder, we’d never have time to do our real jobs. I’m off rotation and caught wind of this. Thought it’d be interesting.” She shrugged. “It isn’t.”
I wanted to comment on her callousness, but what could I say? She was a reaper; they dealt with death all the time. This was probably tame compared to other things she’d seen.
“Rotation?”
“We don’t reap 24/7, sugar. Well, we kind of do – just not all year long.”
“Fair enough.” I finished my drink and ordered another. Who said you shouldn’t mix strong narcotics with alcohol? “Did you find anything?”
She stuck her painted ruby lips out in a pout. “Aw, are you only speaking to me to get information? That hurts.”
“I got called in to help solve this,” I said, smiling at her behavior. Finally, someone fun, lighthearted, and easy to talk to. “Any information would help. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who started speaking to me.”
“No foreplay at all, huh? Not that I’m sure you’d even be able to perform with all those drinks in you.”
“I’ve only had three.” I looked down at the empty glass and up to the bartender. “Four now. That’s not a lot for me.”
“That explains why you’re all glassy-eyed,” she said.
“Meds.”
“And booze?” June smiled. “I like it. So, are you here drinking because you’ve got no leads?”
“I’m here because I almost died, the guy I want to get serious with – y’know, barring my intense commitment issues – is pissed at me and the rest of the world, and my dad is trying to act like my dad even though we haven’t spoken in eighteen years.”
“Well, absent fathers fall into my area of expertise, so I can guarantee that you aren’t drinking enough. Boyfriends I’ve got no experience with, though. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure whiskey will fix that, too.”
“Back to business, then. Unfortunately,” she added with another pout. “They’ve got a Protean in custody. Did you talk to him?”
“Yep. He wants all hunters dead.”
“C
an’t blame him. Pretty sure the last person who died was his wife.”
I sat up straight and looked right at her. “Alice?”
June shrugged. “I don’t know. Jack, the local reaper, just mentioned it to me.”
“Lo, for I have seen Death, and his name is…Jack.”
June snorted and signaled the bartender for another beer. “I have a cousin named Balthazar if it makes you feel better.”
It didn’t make me feel worse. “Has Jack told you anything more about the deaths?”
“They’re gruesome.” She looked around and nodded towards the stairs in the back. “Come up to my room.”
I finished my drink and shook my head. “Still not in the mood, sorry.”
“And as much as that breaks my heart, that isn’t what I meant.”
I stared into her fathomless eyes. They looked like endless pools of night. Did all reapers have eyes like that?
The darkness vanished a moment as she rolled her eyes. “No.”
“…I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me more upstairs.” She stood up and waved at the bartender. “Put her shit on my tab, Ron.”
Ron nodded, wiping down a glass. “Yes, ma’am.”
June’s room was small but well-kept, with a bed on one side and a fireplace on the other. I lit a fire out of habit, and June let out a soft whistle.
“Nice.”
“Thanks. So, do all reapers look like humans?” I asked, leaning against her door.
June kicked off her shoes and sat in a criss-cross position on her bed. “Did you ever consider that all humans look like reapers?”
“Chicken and egg?”
“Pretty much,” she said. “I never thought to ask. Anyway, to get back to your original question… Jack told me those killings aren’t being done by the tribes.”
That got my attention, and I moved to sit in the chair next to her bed, trying to keep a neutral expression. “I’m listening.”
