by Linda Wisdom
“Even with Turtifo and Coing standing guard?” she asked, determined to change his mind on that score. She needed to find out how the demon escaped the hospital and why he returned.
The wizard pursed his lips. “Patient 1172 is from a very strong and dangerous demon clan known for their dark hungers. Even clan healers weren’t able to break through the fury eating its way through his brain.” He tapped the file folders in front of him. “As for some of the others we house…” He took a deep breath before he continued.
“Panabell is a pixie with an addiction to rose dust that has rendered her incapable of living a normal existence outside of these walls,” he explained. “She has been with us for seventy years and has worked very hard to battle this cursed dependence. She had a setback a few years ago, and it has been difficult for her to move forward. Perhaps you will be able to help her seek the correct path.” He set the file to one side and picked up another. “Dermod was stricken with a baneful magickal brain fever that attacked his impulses and left him with terrible fears. Orkey has been in one madhouse or another for the past six hundred years, and sadly, he will never be cured. Then we have Pepta, who I feel will also deal better with a female healer. She has gone through a great deal of trauma that badly damaged her psyche.”
Lili deliberately kept her gaze off the file that interested her most and on her superior’s face. She didn’t miss that Dr. Mortimer referred to his other patients by name and only the demon was referred to by his intake number. She wondered his reason for maintaining his distance from that one particular patient and not the others. “I understand and greatly appreciate your concern for my well-being, Dr. Mortimer, but I have worked with dangerous patients in the past. I’m sure you know the emergency room isn’t always a safe place to work. I am eager to study the treatments you use. Hopefully, I can offer something that will further help,” she said softly, offering the smile that usually calmed the most recalcitrant patients. She subtly pushed a little power into her smile.
She didn’t like secrets. Dr. Mortimer holding back the demon’s chart meant there could be something in it he didn’t want her to see. For all she knew, something in the files could have something to do with Sera.
Her friend had disappeared from Crying Souls ten months ago. Her apartment was found emptied of all her belongings, and no Seer could find any hint of her spirit in the ether. Then it was discovered that others vanished the same way.
Lili needed to find out what happened to Sera and the others. It hadn’t been easy to convince anyone she could do this. Luckily, her stubborn nature won out, and she returned to San Francisco.
She continued to keep the magickal push as subtle as possible. She knew Dr. Mortimer wasn’t clueless and would pick up on too much power. She shifted her body in her chair. She kept his attention on her so he wouldn’t be aware what she was doing. She knew from painful personal experience that wizards didn’t appreciate being manipulated.
“You are well-known in this field. I’m sure you can understand the best way for me to work down here is to make my own observations and share them with you to see if I am on the right path.” She sifted through the files, feeling tingles travel up her fingers as she touched each surface. Her “accidental” contact with Patient 1172’s folder provided a jolt to her system that would have started a nonbeating human heart. Thanks to her wards, she didn’t feel as much distress from the lightning zap through her body, but it was still alarming. Especially after that burning awareness she’d experienced when she touched the demon. “After that, I hope we can sit down and discuss each case.” She continued smiling. “I look forward to learning from you.”
Just as she hoped, the elder doctor fell under her spell, pun intended.
“Now I am positive I made the right decision in choosing you to assist me here, Dr. Carter.” He beamed. “I do so enjoy colleagues who believe in going the extra mile, as you more modern witches say.” His fingers slowly slid away from the folder, and he nudged it in her direction.
Lili waited until the file touched her fingertips. She picked it up and opened it.
Her mind whirred furiously as she read the remarkably scant information about their reputedly most hazardous occupant. Dr. Mortimer’s old-fashioned copperplate penmanship recited Patient 1172’s usual intake details, the doctor’s visits with the demon, and his impressions of a dangerous creature, but she noted something was still missing. His name.
Dr. Mortimer pulled out his gold pocket watch and studied the crystal face.
Lili chose that moment to add an extra push but this time with words. “I’m sure you have matters to attend to,” she said. She knew that normally the presiding doctor would introduce the new doctor to the patients. She had a feeling Dr. Mortimer didn’t hold with that school of thought and would just leave her with the patients he’d assigned to her. “I thank you for giving me as much time as you have. I understand your unease in my treating Patient 1172, but I assure you, I was perfectly safe with the orderlies present.” She continued to smile.
“I’ll have the orderlies take you to the therapy room while I attend to my appointments upstairs,” he announced. As he stood, he momentarily faltered and gripped the table. His knuckles turned white.
“Dr. Mortimer, are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes.” He smiled then grew serious. “I still have reservations about you seeing Patient 1172.”
“I promise to be very careful.” She followed him out of the room. “And I will make sure that the aides are nearby at all times.”
Lili reared back when the ogres stood motionless outside the room. She was positive just one of them could easily bench press the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Escort 1172 to the therapy room,” Dr. Mortimer instructed with a briskness Lili hadn’t seen before.
She watched him walk down the hallway toward the stairs, leaving her alone with what she privately called two cement blocks.
Her first day in the asylum was under way.
Chapter 3
The witch healer smelled clean. He breathed in deeply, savoring the fresh scent of a mature woman. He could even tell her fertility cycle was coming nigh.
He knew she wouldn’t be allowed down here during that time unless she used spells and charms to mask it. Not unless the strong protections woven into the fabric of her clothing would take care of that.
Whoever designed the healer’s wardrobe was making sure anyone who tried to hurt her would end up in a world of pain.
His lips peeled back a fraction in a smile meant to scare the shit out of whoever showed up. He had no doubt the good Dr. Mortimer would arrange some additional therapy for him. Something that involved pain and wanting to hear him scream. Dr. Mortimer insisted it would help Patient 1172 with his illness.
Shows what the so-called skilled wizard didn’t know.
The large door swung open, and Turtifo loomed in the opening.
The ogre’s brown, jagged teeth flashed in a wicked mockery of a smile.
“The witch doc wants to see you, shitbag.” Rusty brown eyes glinted with malice, and his stance warned the demon he was just waiting for him to do something wrong. “And no opening your mouth. This might be the time I decide to tear out your tongue.”
Jared. My name is Jared. Not 1172. Not shitbag. My name is Jared.
The mantra he kept going in his head was the only thing that allowed him a sliver of sanity.
Past experience told Jared all it took was for him to breathe for them to accuse him of doing something wrong and beat him to a pulp. There was nothing ogres loved better than turning someone into raw meat. These two were experts at it.
He took his time standing up, not making even the smallest move that could be construed as a threat. Past experience had him learning that if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up with a variety of cuts and bruises.
He’d barely straightened up when he found himself kissing the filthy stone floor.
“You need to watch that.” Coing chuckled from
his spot behind Turtifo’s shoulder, the sound like razors across Jared’s skin.
“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, refusing to show any sign of pain. Your turn will come, asshole, and I’m going to enjoy returning the favor. He wiped his face of all expression and walked out of the cell with Turtifo leading the way and Coing taking up the rear.
His insides knotted up at the thought of going to Dr. Mortimer’s Therapy Room, something that was straight out of the Spanish Inquisition but even more inventive. He had no clue how the “treatments” were supposed to help anyone get well.
The clean female scent filled his nostrils again. He lifted his head enough to see Dr. Carter standing in the doorway of a room he’d never been in before.
“Bring 1172 in here,” she instructed crisply. Her eyes looked him over and apparently didn’t like what she saw.
He hid his smile. Seemed she wasn’t too fond of the ogres, either.
This time the push into the room wasn’t as forceful as usual. He figured that was due to the witch’s keen-eyed observation. He didn’t miss the magick sparking from her fingertips. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she used it on his guards when she felt they got out of hand. Or even on him.
He had desired her from the first moment he had spied her at Inderman. That attraction grew each time he saw her. But she was a witch, an enemy of his kind. Besides, even if she wasn’t a magick user, he had been raised to stay within the circles of his own kind.
Dr. Carter inclined her head toward a chair. “Sit there,” she told him. Her head snapped up when she saw the ogres pull up iron manacles that were attached to the chair. “Not necessary,” she snapped the two words.
“We need to—” Turtifo started, but she cut him off.
“No, you don’t. And close the door on your way out.” To guarantee they understood exactly what she meant, she swept her hand out, forcing them out the door, which slammed shut after they crossed the threshold. She muttered a few words. Jared easily heard the snick of a magickal lock that he bet would even keep out two cranky ogres.
This could prove real interesting.
She conjured up two mugs of coffee and handed one of them to him.
He inhaled the hot steam with an appreciative nose. “Handy trick,” he said, sipping it slowly so as not to burn his tongue. He didn’t have a fire demon’s tolerance for scalding liquids.
“It got me through four medical schools,” she replied, taking the chair across from him. “Well, well, well, Patient 1172. I fully expected you to ignore me and speak only in your birth language. Unlike the other night, when you broke into my house and was coherent for someone who didn’t appear to have a cohesive thought in his head. Thank you for having the good manners not to continue the deranged act.”
“There are times I can be polite,” he continued, savoring his coffee. “Any chance you could hex up something to go with this? Cookies, sweet roll, ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some steak fries?”
He realized her smile was the kind to entrance anyone with enough testosterone.
“Look, buster, I’m no kitchen witch. Lunch. Party of one.” She snapped her fingers.
He wasted no time digging into the ham-and-cheese sandwich, pleased to see she’d chosen sharp cheddar cheese and Black Forest ham along with crispy fries topped with seasoned salt.
“You’re a great cook.”
She settled back in her chair and watched him. “Don’t you eat when you’re away from here?” she asked mildly.
The sandwich hovered at his open lips.
“I see that Greeks have stubborn streaks too,” he said. He eyed her curly hair, swept up in a high ponytail that teased her shoulder blades, coffee-brown eyes, and the slight olive cast to her skin. “I eat sometimes.”
“So why are you pretending to be a homicidal demon when it’s clear you aren’t? And, especially, how do you manage to fool Dr. Mortimer when he’s one of the foremost practitioners in this field?” She pulled her computer tablet out of her pocket and sat back in her chair.
He gestured to his sandwich. “Think I can eat first?”
“I won’t forget what I’m asking,” she reminded him.
“I didn’t think so, but I’d hate to see what looks like an awesome sandwich and fries get cold. Room service tends to be erratic around here.” He popped a fry in his mouth. “Doesn’t do much good to complain to the management, either.”
“When was the last time they allowed you to bathe down here?” She wrinkled her nose.
Jared chewed and swallowed. “Hosed down with icy water is more like it. I heard you talking to Dr. Mortimer on how all this reminded you of the older hospitals in Europe. I guess you can already tell his idea of running this hellhole goes back to the Dark Ages.”
“We’re not talking about Dr. Mortimer, we’re talking about you.” She tapped away on her tablet, her fingers flying at the speed of light.
He watched her with fascination. He might have been a virtual prisoner for too long, but he’d managed to get out and about enough to know about modern conveniences. And missed them when he was pulled back here. Computers intrigued him, but since Dr. Mortimer was happier using quill and ink, he hadn’t seen one in use the way Dr. Carter used hers.
“It seems your kind have abandoned you.”
He winced at her blunt words. “You don’t believe in soft and fuzzy words, do you?” Now that his stomach was full, and lo and behold, so was his coffee mug, he felt a lot better. All he needed was a long hot shower and a lot of soap to make him feel like a whole new demon.
“Not when getting to the point moves things along a lot faster.” Lili looked up from her tablet.
“Are you going to tell Dr. Mortimer about my going AWOL?”
“I’ll keep quiet—for now.” Her lips curved in a smile, letting him know she now held all the cards. “And I’ll make sure those two do the same.”
Jared draped an arm over the back of his chair, content to study the lovely doctor.
He might not be able to see the protective sigils woven into the fabric of her clothing, but he could feel them pulsing around her like an extra heartbeat. For a brief moment, he wondered if she would taste as exotic as she looked. Temptation rolled along his muscles, but he ignored the lure. No use getting on her bad side too fast. Not when she was willing to feed him.
“Your boyfriend must really love you to provide you with clothing guaranteed to keep you safe from us crazies,” he commented, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
Lili smiled as if she knew what he was doing.
“Do you participate in any group therapy with the other patients?”
“The inmates, you mean? Crazies? Loony tunes?” he mocked. “The ones who need a lot of help and don’t get it.”
She leaned forward. “Why are you so open with me about your complaints? Or are you yanking my chain to see how close I am to Dr. Mortimer, Patient 1172?” She noted a slight flinch. So he doesn’t like being called that. “Do you want to see if I mention any of this to him?”
His dark eyes bored into her with a chill she felt all the way through to her bones. “You smiled at the little girl.”
That stopped her cold. “What little girl?” She could play coy too.
Jared smirked. “Give me a break, Doc. The wraith that haunts our gloomy hallowed halls.” His grin suddenly morphed into something dark and not so friendly. “A child that doesn’t belong down here among the monsters.” His words sliced across her skin like icy razor blades. “You’re the expert. You wanna tell me how an innocent could land down here in the house of horrors when it’s obvious she belongs in the land of fuzzy bunnies and playful puppies?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I will have to talk to her and see if I can find out how it happened. It won’t be easy, since she’s so young and might not have any idea how she came to be here. Has she been around as long as you have?”
He shrugged. “It’s not like I have a calendar on my wall. But I’d say she’s be
en here for decades.” He looked away. “She cries all night, always asking for her mother. Pepta screams at her to shut up, which only makes the kid cry harder.” He paused. “All I know is that she’s not one of us.”
Lili’s stomach cramped at his words. She knew he didn’t just mean the little girl wasn’t a demon.
“She’s a mundane somehow pulled here,” she whispered.
“There’s nothing else she could be.” He nodded. He lifted his arms over his head and stretched them toward the ceiling. The thin fabric of his ragged T-shirt grew taut over his muscular arms.
It wasn’t easy, but she managed not to ogle too much or allow any drool to slip past her lips.
Dirty, smelly, and still gorgeous. Cleo was right. She needed to get herself a social life. It took her a moment to remind herself she was a doctor. A professional who shouldn’t be fantasizing about a patient even if he was… Another mental slap upside the head.
“Why did you wipe out that vampire bloodline?”
She kept her doctor’s face on. Watched every nuance in his expression as he stared upward while she waited for his response.
She was nothing if not patient.
It turned out so was Jared.
Silence grew by the minute until he smiled briefly.
“Do you know Dr. Mortimer asks me that exact same question every time he sees me,” he said, matter-of-factly. “But he doesn’t ask like a doctor wanting to find out what’s going on inside the inmate’s head. It’s more like he wants to know what it takes to create such a heinous act.” It was clear he was quoting the doctor.
“What is your name?”
He hadn’t expected that. No one else around here cared.
“Why?”
“Because calling you Patient 1172 just flat out sounds dumb, that’s why,” Lili said lightly. “Don’t worry. I won’t use it to mess with your power.”
“Wouldn’t happen even if you tried.” He pulled down his shirt’s neckline.
