by Hannah Jayne
“Looks cute on you,” I said, smiling. “But you can’t keep it.”
Kale grinned and turned on her heel. “Thanks!”
“Such a nice work ethic with kids nowadays,” Will said ruefully. “Send them out to protect something with their lives and ...” He shrugged, cocking a boyish looking half smile.
“I think the only thing she was protecting was—”
The screeching of tires just outside the glass cut off my sentence. Will mumbled something to me, but his words were lost in the booming crush of metal and shrieks of people on the sidewalk.
“A girl’s been hit,” someone yelled from a booth behind us. “Somebody call 911!”
The few bites of lunch I had eaten sat in my stomach like stones. I wanted to get up and look, wanted to turn my head to glance out the plate glass window, but my whole body had gone statue-stiff. My every bone was feeling leaden. When I tried to speak, I realized my mouth was papery and dry. “Do you think ... ?” was all I managed to get out before I felt the tears coursing down my cheeks. “Do you think-think ... ?” I tried to start again, but another sob choked my words. They settled in the back of my throat like a solid lump. I tried to swallow, tried to steady myself, tried to get myself to move.
“The guy took off!” I heard someone yell.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Will seemed to leap over the table. He gripped my arm and pulled me with him out the double doors. I think I heard him yell, “Stand back!” and “I’m an EMT!” but I felt like I had cotton in my ears—everything sounded muffled and strange.
I know I felt the cement scuffle underneath my shoes, once we made it outside. I know I felt the sting of the cold air on my exposed skin, felt chilled drops of water prick my scalp and dribble down the back of my bare neck.
“Did anyone see who it was?” a stout man in a shin-length trench coat asked the crowd.
“Does anyone know what happened?”
I looked around blankly. The slow movement, the muffled sounds—I was observing a dream. This couldn’t be right.
And then I saw Kale’s shoe. It was wedged under the tire of a parked car. My heart sped up and I sucked in gusts of cold air.
He missed her! I thought. She must have lost her shoe when she jumped out of the way! I felt a cold mist of sweat, felt the painful thud of my heart against my ribs. She’s okay.
I pulled the shoe out and ran into the middle of the street to where a crowd had gathered.
“Will, Will, she’s okay!” My mouth must have stopped in midspeech because I felt a cold lick of wind whip across my teeth.
“Kale?”
Will looked over his shoulder at me and I could see his hands. He had two fingers pressed against Kale’s lovely pale neck. Her dangly purple-stoned earring was laid daintily across her cheek; it flopped out of sight when her head lolled toward the cement, listless. Her eyes were mostly closed; the heavy mascara on her lashes made a shadowed spiderwebbed pattern on her apple cheeks.
But it couldn’t have been Kale.
Kale ran away and left her shoe. She left her shoe. I had it in my hand.
I had it in my hand.
In agonizing slow motion, I felt the shoe slip from my fingertips and heard the sound of it thudding on the ground; it was a weird, hollow echo. The rest of the world dropped into silence. Kale’s eyelids fluttered but did not open. Will eyed me and I could see that his lips were pale and pressed together; his fire chief badge winked in the few shards of sunlight that pierced the gray, pregnant clouds. There was a smudge halfway up Will’s right arm and I felt my stomach lurch.
It was blood.
Will pointed to me and I saw his lips moving, but I don’t think there were any words. The rain started up again in a slow drizzle; I watched as people milled about, losing interest in the scene. They turned up their coat collars and clicked their umbrellas open. An ambulance wailed. There were fingertips on my arms and someone was pulling me backward. I stumbled over my feet, bit down hard on my lower lip but allowed myself to be led.
“She’s okay,” I heard myself mumble, finally able to work my mouth. “She’s okay, but she lost her shoe.”
I don’t know how I ended up on the sidewalk, but I sat down hard on the cement. The cold, wet reality struck me and suddenly everything was loud and chaotic—the ambulance shot down the street, sirens wailing, flanked by police cars with bright lights that tore through the gray fog. People were talking; someone was crying; seabirds were squawking. Will was kneeling in front of me and I felt the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, his fingertips squeezing me gently.
“Sophie, Sophie,” he was saying.
I blinked, finally registering the concern in his wide hazel eyes.
“Is she going to be okay?”
Will nodded slowly, a wet, sandy-colored lock of hair flopping over his forehead. “She’ll survive, but she’s going to be pretty banged up.”
My heart started to thud again. The blood began to course through my veins again, and I felt a fist of anger burning low in my belly. I sprang up, fists clenched. “Who was it?”
“Who was what?” Will wanted to know.
“Who hit Kale? Did the police take him? Did they get his car?”
Will laid a tender hand on my shoulder and I winced when I saw his eyes cloud—a sure sign that something was coming that he didn’t want to say—and it was likely something I didn’t want to know.
“He took off, love.”
“Took off? He took off?”
“Bloke didn’t even stop.”
I felt the torrent of tears again, but this time they were bitter, angry. “He didn’t even stop?” It was a whisper and I felt my lower lip quiver pitifully. “How could someone do that?”
Will guided me back into the diner and into our booth. I slid in and stared down at my burger and fries, the grease from the patty congealing in a slick brown pool. I slid my plate aside and took a large gulp of ice water. “Who the hell would hit someone and just drive away? He had to know—he had to know that he hit”—I could barely form the word—“her.”
“Unfortunately, hit and runs are really common in this city. Pedestrians are walking into the street—”
“You’re blaming Kale?” I was incredulous.
“No!” Will held out his palm, stop sign style. “No. The only person I blame is the idiot who hit her.”
Will started pulling dollars bills from his billfold.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “God, I need to get out of here.”
“Do you want me to walk you back to work?”
I swung my head, trying my best to clear the hum of thoughts fogging my mind. “No. I want you to take me to the hospital. We have to make sure she’s going to be okay.”
Will sucked in a breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Chapter Eight
My knee was bobbing uncontrollably as I sat in the waiting room and Will was talking to the emergency staff (a perk of being an EMT/fireman) to get information on Kale. By the time he came back, I was wringing my hands.
“Did you find out anything? Is she going to be okay? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.” I felt like I needed to cry—wanted to cry—but every last bit of moisture had been used up.
Will sat next to me and put his hand on my knee. I stared at it, feeling my lip quiver.
“That’s not good,” I said, not taking my eyes off his hand.
Will’s gaze followed mine and he retracted his hand as though my knee had burned him. “No, love, it’s okay. Kale’s going to be fine. She’s got a few broken bones and she’s pretty bashed up, but she’s going to come through this okay.”
“Did the doctor say that?” I slid in my chair, turning to face Will. “Did they actually use the words she’s going to be okay?”
Will licked his lips, raking a hand through his hair. “Not those exact words. They’re still running some tests, but they’re pretty confident.”
I nodded, unable to form words. There was a nagging pain behi
nd my eyes—something that told me I was missing something. When Will laid his arm across my shoulders, I slumped into him, half numb, half desperate, for some kind of comfort. A tremor started from the pit of my stomach and suddenly I was shivering, clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering. My fingers fumbled for my purse; I pawed around blindly.
“What do you need?”
“My phone. My phone, please.”
Will dug through my bag and handed me my phone; I mashed at the keypad.
“Nina?” he mouthed.
I shook my head, listening to the dial tone. “Alex.”
I watched Will’s Adam’s apple bob; he looked away, taking his arm from behind my shoulders and folding his hands in his lap. As I listened to the phone ring endlessly on Alex’s end, I blinked at Will, seemingly miles away now, and felt unbearably alone.
“Is she okay? Where is she? Is she okay?” Lorraine’s voice was shrill and I stared up at her, squinting against the harsh yellow utility lights, almost unable to make her out.
When she came into the light, her face was gaunt; her hands were in determined little fists punching through the air. Lorraine—the UDA finance director, resident witch, and Kale’s mentor—rushed down the hall like a ball of fire. Her honey-colored hair flailed behind her, and the gauzy skirts of her green dress stood out cartoonishly against the white sterile tiles of the hospital hallway.
“Will someone please tell me if Kale is all right?”
Will stood and put a calming hand on Lorraine’s shoulder. “Kale is going to be okay. She’s pretty banged up, but she’s going to pull through just fine. She’s young and strong.”
“Young and strong is no match for metal and foreign-made,” Lorraine said with a sniff.
I felt my eyes widen. “You know what kind of car hit Kale? How?”
Lorraine looked from me to Will. “Vlad mentioned it. Didn’t you ... Don’t the police have the bastard who did this to her in custody?”
“He took off,” I said, my voice sounding small.
“Took off?” Lorraine’s nostrils flared and her hands once again closed into fists. A wave of static electricity shot through the air and I felt the hair on the crown of my head stand up. The steady blips and beeps of the hospital machinery cracked into a loud cackle of static. I pressed my hands to my ears.
“Calm down, Lorraine. Please, you have to try to calm down. You’re going to kill everyone in here.”
Will was incredulous. “That was her?”
Though Lorraine was a Gestalt witch of the green order—a faction of witches who usually did things like manipulate the seasons and specialized in herbal healing—when she got upset, her power took the form of natural devastations. Large, state-of-emergency devastations. When she caught an old boyfriend cheating (and he lied about it), the ground shook with such a fury that part of the 101 Highway crumbled in on itself and Bay Area residents spent the next six weeks ducking and covering every time a bus passed by. Reporters called it the Loma Prieta earthquake; Nina and I called it the Wrath of ’Raine.
The electricity crackled in the air.
“I talked to the police at the scene.”
Lorraine looked at me and I nodded. “Will’s a fireman. . . when he’s not ...” I wagged my head, unable to tack on the “saving me from imminent death” portion of his Guardian job description.
“They’re doing everything to find out who did this to Kale. He’s is not going to get away with it,” Will assured her.
“We should talk to Vlad, too,” I said, standing, beginning to pace.
“You’re in luck.”
Vlad was rushing down the hall toward us, with Nina in tow. She was dressed in a sparkly minidress, which showed off her long, shapely legs. Her now-black hair swirled glossily around her shoulders, dipping toward her waist. Her narrow-heeled black stilettos clicked against the tiled hallway.
“That’s quite a candy striper uniform,” I said to Nina.
She rolled her eyes. “I was getting ready for my date when Vlad came back to the office.”
“They let you wear that to the office?” Will wanted to know, his eyes sweeping the figure-hugging sheath.
“I planned ahead,” Nina said, crossing her arms.
Lorraine and I both knew that “planned ahead” meant that Nina had pulled open the file cabinet marked “Lapsed Clients” and sorted through boutique-worthy collection of vintage couture she kept there. The shoes likely came from the supply closet, which was stocked with staples, Post-it notes, and several seasons’ worth of Jimmy Choos, all in Nina’s delicate size 6.
“We came as soon as we heard. Is Kale okay?” Nina asked.
“She will be.” My knees felt rubbery and shaky again as I thought of the screech of the tires, the horrible sound of Kale’s body making contact with the steel grill of the car. I pinched my eyes closed and saw her lone shoe, wedged under that car tire, saw her head lolling listlessly to the side.
“Oh, love, you don’t look so good. You should sit.” Will led me to one of the cold plastic waiting-room chairs. I sank down and he handed me a bottle of water; his other hand massaged my neck. “Head between your knees, love.”
I swung forward, feeling my hair sweep the ground, listening to the endless loop of him explaining what happened, hearing him reassure everyone in a flat, exhausted voice that Kale would be fine. I repeated the mantra in my head, until I was cut off by a white-coated doctor who walked up, closing a medical chart. “Kale Dubois?” He looked up expectantly.
“We’re here for her. We’re here for Kale,” Lorraine said. “Is there news?”
“Are you family?”
“Yes,” Lorraine said, her eyes cutting to all of us and daring us to object.
“Yes, family,” Nina piped up.
“Sisters,” I said.
“Okay, well, Ms. Dubois is going to be just fine. She does, as I told ...” The doctor’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Will.
“Her brother,” Lorraine supplied, her eyes daring anyone, again, to challenge her.
“As I told her brother earlier, Ms. Dubois has a broken femur and collarbone. Both of those have been set and should heal just fine. We—”
“So we can take her home?” Lorraine broke in.
The doctor shook his head; his eyes politely apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Though she seemed to fare quite well, Ms. Dubois was in a rather bad accident. We need to keep her here for a few days to be sure that there is nothing more seriously wrong with her.”
“May we see her?” Nina asked.
The doctor seemed to be thinking. “She really does need her rest. Maybe just one or two of you, so she knows you’re out here. The rest of you can come by during regular visiting hours tomorrow.”
I stood up and took Lorraine’s hand when I saw her eyes go wide; I saw them rimmed with tears.
“You go in, Lorraine. Tell her we’re all out here pulling for her.” I glanced at Vlad, held his eyes for a beat. “And Vlad should go in, too, in case she remembers anything.”
Lorraine nodded and cleared her throat; then she pushed her hair back behind her ears. She pasted on a welcoming smile as she looked toward Kale’s closed door, but I could feel the fear radiating from her. I wrapped my arms around her.
“It’s going to be okay, Lorraine,” I whispered into her hair. “I know it is.”
My body quaked with Lorraine’s tense energy.
“She’s like a kid sister to me,” Lorraine said, the single tear wobbling over her cheek. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to her.”
“Nothing will,” Will said, squeezing her shoulder.
“You’ll keep us posted, right?” Nina asked.
Lorraine nodded quickly. “Of course. You guys go home.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“I’ve got you,” Will said over my shoulder. “I can take you home.”
I nodded dumbly, then blindly fumbled down the hall. The astringent smell of sickness and terror assaulted me the whole way d
own.
I slammed the car door and buckled myself into the passenger seat while Will stared straight ahead.
“You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. It’s Kale I’m worried about.” I clapped my palm to my forehead. “That’s right. Can you swing by the diner on the way home? We left the UDA files there.”
Will double-parked in front of the diner and I jumped out, a cold mass of nerves pulsing in my gut. I tried to maintain tunnel vision and avoid the spot where Kale went down, but I had the nagging need to look. The intersection buzzed with dull regularity as a Muni bus chugged by, followed by a Subaru packed with tourists who stared wide-eyed and openmouthed, foreheads and palms pressed against the glass. I sighed: nothing, no clues, no slow-moving car plastered with bumper stickers saying MY HONOR STUDENT RAN OVER YOUR FRIEND IN THE STREET. I had my hand on the door to the Fog City Diner, when I took one last glance back to where Will sat in the car, fiddling with the stereo. He bent low enough for me to notice a snatch of red hair on the other side of the street, a midcalf-brushing trench coat.
My heart thumped into my throat. Despite the moist, biting fog, my entire body broke out into a hot sweat. I spun on my heel and zigzagged through traffic, across the street, catching the door to Java Script as it swung closed behind the red-haired man. Vaguely I heard Will’s English accent cutting through the sounds of traffic. Vaguely I heard his car door slam shut, him telling me to come back.
Java Script was warm inside and the heady smell of roasted coffee beans stung my nose. I zipped past a display of hardback best sellers and “Java Script Recommends” titles. I was looking frantically for the red-haired man.
“Hey, welcome to Java Script.” A teenaged girl wearing a red apron grinned at me. “Is there something I can help you find?”
“Did you just see a man in a trench coat come in here? He had red hair like mine.” I pulled a lock of my own hair to demonstrate the color. “And he would have looked”—I swallowed bitter saliva—“a little like me, too.”
The girl shrugged. “Just now? The only person who came in here just now was you.” She smiled and her metal braces glinted in the harsh fluorescent lights. “It’s been a superslow day. But do you want me to leave a message in case someone comes in?”
