Ground

by Kirsten Weiss

  Nausea spiraled inside me, and I struggled to stay calm. Witches got feelings too, and I had no idea if my sister would live or die.

  The ultra-modern, five-story hospital rose behind the redwoods, and Hernandez killed the siren. We followed the ambulance, then peeled off and parked in the red zone in front of the emergency room.

  He stepped from the car. “This way.”

  At a run, I followed him through the silent, sliding glass doors.

  Families sat in clusters on the soft, blue lounge chairs. Ten years ago, Karin wouldn’t have gotten treatment so fast. Somehow Doctor Toeller had managed to fundraise and finagle this palace to modern medicine for our county. I prayed it saved Karin.

  Lenore flew across the sleek, tiled waiting area, her long, cream-colored sweater coat flying behind her. “What happened? How is she?”

  “I'll find a doctor,” Hernandez said and strode to a nurse's station.

  “What happened?” Lenore demanded.

  “I don't know,” I said. “We were in the alley. I'd just unlocked the door, and she was shot. I didn't see who did it.”

  Head bowed, Lenore lurched to an empty chair and grasped its arm. “This can't be happening. How bad was it? Is she conscious?”

  “She wasn't, when...” I choked, my throat sticky, my chest heavy and clotted with pain.

  Hernandez approached us with a nurse in pale blue scrubs. She glanced at her clipboard. “Ms. Bonheim?”

  “Yes,” Lenore and I said in unison.

  “We have some forms for you to fill out.”

  “How is she?” I asked.

  “Your sister is in surgery. We'll know more later.”

  “Is Doctor Toeller there?” Lenore asked.

  The nurse referred to the clipboard. “The operating surgeon is Doctor Menendez.” She smiled briefly. “She's excellent. We're lucky to have her, and your sister is lucky to be operated on by her. She's one of the top surgeons in the Sierras.”

  Which wasn't saying much. I would have preferred a top surgeon from San Francisco or New York. I would have almost preferred Doc Toeller – at least she knew our family.

  “Thanks,” Lenore said faintly.

  The glass doors glided open, and Nick strode inside the waiting area, his expression dark and wild. “How is she?” His jeans and thin, white t-shirt were hardly enough protection against the winter night.

  I stepped backward. Nick. I hadn't even thought to call him. Fortunately, Lenore had.

  “She's in surgery,” Lenore said.

  “But how is she?” he demanded. “What's the prognosis?”

  “We don't know yet.” She took his hand and guided him to a chair.

  Wordlessly, he sank into it and braced his head in his broad hands.

  “These things can take a while,” Officer Hernandez said. “I'll round up some coffee.” He strode away, his booted feet quiet on the ceramic tiles.

  “What happened?” Nick asked. “How did this happen?”

  “I don't know,” Lenore said. “We’re lucky Jayce was there. She was able to get help right away.”

  He turned to me, his eyes a Texas storm. “You were there? What happened?”

  I ran him through it. When I finished, he didn't say anything. He didn't have to. We both knew whose fault this was.

  Hernandez returned carrying a plastic tray and three paper coffee cups. “It's not as good as Ground's, but it’ll keep you going.”

  And it did. We paced. Spoke in low voices. Hernandez got a call on his radio and left. We worried. The clock above the help desk ticked. Its bronze-colored second hands ground forward more and more slowly.

  Hours passed. Finally, a lanky doctor emerged from the swinging double doors. Her olive skin looked papery, lines carved beneath her eye sockets. She looked around, spotted Lenore, and walked toward us. “Are you relatives of—”

  “Karin Bonheim,” I leapt from the chair. “How is she? Will she be all right?” My nails bit into my palms. Karin would survive. She had to.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The doctor’s elegant face split into a smile, and my shoulders sagged, boneless. “The surgery was successful,” she said. “Your sister’s recovering now.”

  Lenore collapsed into the soft, blue chair. Nick’s dark head sank to his chest, and he blew out his breath.

  I grasped Lenore’s slender hand, cool in my own. My sister was even more pale than usual beneath the waiting room lights. “When can we see her?” I asked.

  “It will be several hours,” she said. “Why don't you go home, get some rest, and return in the morning?” She glanced at the clock above the nurse's station. “When it's light out.”

  Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll wait.”

  “There's no law against it.” The doctor glanced at Nick as if she wished there was. “But you'll be more comfortable at home.”

  “Jayce, Lenore,” a woman called from behind us.

  Doctor Toeller strode toward us, her lab coat rustling, her short, silver-gold hair sleek. “I heard the news.” She turned to the operating surgeon. “How is Karin Bonheim?”

  The two doctors conferred, their medical jargon flying past me, uncomprehending. But Nick nodded as if he understood.

  “I should have been here.” Toeller tugged on the stethoscope looped around her neck, and her brows drew together.

  “Why?” the operating doctor asked. “You're not a surgeon, and you're here now.”

  She shot her an exasperated look and turned to Jayce. “Your sister's prognosis is good. She was lucky.”

  No, Karin had been unlucky. Unlucky for driving me home. Unlucky for lingering to tell me the good news. Unlucky for taking the bullet meant for me. The shooter hadn’t been aiming at Karin.

  “If you'd like to wait,” Doc Toeller said, “there are better places than this waiting room. At this time of night, nothing’s open in the cafeteria. But the waiting room in the main wing is more comfortable than this one.”

  “I remember,” Lenore said. “Thanks.”

  “Of course.” Toeller made a moue of regret, and she gave a short shake of her head. “This isn't your first visit to this hospital. Don’t worry about Karin. She’s in good hands.”

  Nick wrung their hands, and the two doctors departed through the swinging doors.

  “We should get some rest.” Lightly, Lenore touched Nick’s arm. “Karin will recover.”

  I realized I was still squeezing her hand, and I let go. Lenore, with her connection to the otherworld, knew when people were dying. I put more faith in her prognosis than the doctors’.

  Nick paced, his expression haggard. “I can't go.”

  I laid a hand on his shoulder, and he stiffened. I let my arm fall to my side.

  “Toeller was right,” I said. “There are better places to wait — the cafeteria has got tables and vending machines, even if it’s not serving food. And there’s the library lounge she mentioned.”

  “This hospital has a library?” he asked dully.

  “All donated books,” Lenore said. “The lounge there is more quiet and more comfortable, and it surrounds an atrium.”

  “I don't want to be comfortable,” he growled. “I need to do something. We know who was behind this.”

  “We do?” Lenore asked.

  The glass, front doors slid open and Officers Denton and Hernandez walked inside, looked about. Catching sight of me, they beelined for us.

  “How is she?” Hernandez asked Lenore gently.

  “She's in recovery,” she said in a low voice. “The doctors say she'll be okay.”

  “Thank God.” Hernandez jerked his head toward the doors. “Jayce, we've got to ask you some more questions.”

  “At the station?” I asked.

  “No.” Denton’s baby face scrunched with discomfort. “Here will do. But it's best if we talk in private.”

  “I'm her lawyer.” Nick clenched his fists, and I could feel his impotent anger rolling off him in hot waves. “I'll be there too.”
>
  “She's not a suspect,” Denton said.

  Nick glared. “I'll be there. Come on, Jayce.” He strode through the front doors.

  I glanced at the cops, and the three of us followed him outside, leaving Lenore behind.

  Greedily, I inhaled the scent of redwoods and fresh earth and realized how deadened my body had become inside the hospital. As hospitals went, this one was practically a spa. But I was glad to escape, especially now that I knew Karin would be okay. The sky was clear, the stars going on forever, and I felt small, insignificant.

  Nick stopped beneath a lamppost. If the night air chilled him in his thin t-shirt, he didn’t show it.

  Hernandez stopped beside him and touched a plastic device clipped to the front of his thick, black sheriff's jacket. “We'll be recording this, just to make sure I've got everything right,” he said. “Now, where exactly were you two standing when your sister was shot?”

  I ran him through the attack, this time in more detail. Now I understood why they'd wanted a second interview. The first time he’d interviewed me, I'd been so panicked by the thought of losing Karin that I'd been vague, confused.

  Hernandez probed, asking more questions, and I realized he was being careful not to guide me to answers he wanted. Hernandez and Denton were good cops. The sheriff was too. I couldn't blame her for considering me a suspect. I’d looked guilty last summer, and I looked guilty now. But even she had to realize I wouldn’t shoot my own sister.

  When the deputies finished, Hernandez clicked off the device. “Thanks, Jayce. We'll find the guy who did this.”

  “It's the same person who killed Matt Zana.” Nick’s nostrils flared. “He must think Jayce got a look at him when he stole her truck, that she can identify him.”

  “If she could identify him,” Denton said, “the killer must know she would have by now.”

  Nick's jaw set. “It's the same person.”

  “We'll find him,” Hernandez said, grim.

  The cops departed, their squad car rolling near-silently away from the red painted curb. Nick and I returned inside.

  Lenore sat in a large chair, her chin slumped to her chest.

  I touched her, and she jerked awake.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Did I miss something?”

  “The doctors are right,” Nick said. “At least some of us should get some rest. Are you in any shape to drive?” he asked Lenore.

  She smothered a yawn. “I guess not.”

  “I am,” I said. “Lenore, why don't I drive your car? You can stay at my place tonight.” I didn’t want to be alone tonight, and I knew she didn’t either.

  She nodded.

  I glanced at the clock above the nurses’ station. I had to open Ground in three hours.

  Yawning, she followed me outside.

  “Where's the Volvo?” I asked.

  She pointed to a far corner of the lot, and we walked to it. Her car sat beside a stand of redwood trees. Past the macadam, the forest sloped down into still darkness.

  I shivered and stepped inside the car, slamming and locking the door.

  We drove to my apartment, and I settled Lenore in the “guest alcove,” with its wide couch that doubled as a bed. She buried herself beneath the soft throws and fell asleep instantly.

  I plodded to my bedroom and its comfortable chaos of throw rugs and wall hangings and colorful pillows. Head aching, I dropped onto the bed. On the nearby table was a basket of river stones. Unable to sleep, I picked one up, feeling the smooth weight of it in my hand. I visualized a glowing light within my heart and expanded it outward, past the room, past the building, in a protective bubble. Then I visualized roots growing down from me into the earth, and branches like a tree's going into the sky.

  “Ancient spirit of the Earth, I humbly ask that you share your strength with me now that I am in need. Give me the power to protect the innocent. I ask that you share the power of your mighty spirit.”

  The rock warmed in my hand, its heat flooding outward, and the blood zinged in my veins.

  Something rapped at my window, and I turned, startled.

  Early morning darkness filled the window, but dimly I thought I made out a small dark shape. I walked to the window, opened it.

  A crow flapped inside and perched on my bed post.

  My breath caught, and I edged away.

  The bird’s head cocked, tracking me with its beady black eyes.

  “The last gang of you I ran into attacked me. So if you've been sent by the earth spirit, then I don’t get it, because earth and I get along.”

  It cocked its head, its black eyes impassive.

  “Seriously. This is confusing.”

  It fluttered into the air and soared over my head. The crow rapped me on the skull and soared out the open window.

  “Ow!” I rubbed my head. And WTF? If the bird had been a messenger of darkness, my protection spells were working in reverse.

  I fingered my bangles, then ripped them off and dropped them onto my dresser. My home should have been locked down, magically speaking. No one had ever gotten inside my upstairs apartment, and I'd never felt any negative presence here.

  But there were things bigger and badder than my magic. Someone had gotten inside the café before without me noticing. And the crow... I rubbed my head. The bird had actually attacked me, rapping me on the head with its beak.

  I frowned. Or had the knock on the noggin been a wakeup call? The crows in the woods hadn't done me any real harm, though they'd chased me into the labyrinth. I'd taken their inability to penetrate its lavender curves as a sign the crows were evil. Maybe my interpretation was off.

  I shook my head, too tired to make sense of anything. Setting my alarm clock, I collapsed, face down, on my bed.

  *****

  Two hours later, I stumbled down the stairs to my coffee shop. I unlocked the rear door for the staff, the door I’d dragged Karin through. I washed the floor, stained with my sister’s blood. My hands trembled.

  In the café’s tiny kitchen, I combined spring water and vinegar and herbs. I charged the mixture with my magical intent, speaking the words.

  “Protect.” A tremor of energy flowed from earth and sky into my body and through my hand, into the spray bottle.

  I wiped down the tables, spritzed the corners, scrubbed the door and windows, drawing protective pentagrams with the mixture on every door and window.

  Striding to the back door, I threw it open, forcing myself to stare out, face whatever was waiting.

  On the opposite side of the alley, beside a dumpster, yellow police tape fluttered.

  Feet leaden, I walked to the site and gazed at the thin, plastic barricade, the circle chalked on the pavement. Had the shooter fired from that spot? There was a clear line of site from the dumpster to the open, rear door.

  If I had Karin’s ability to see connections and read auras, I might have detected traces of the person who’d stood here. Auras left all sorts of information. But all I sensed was my own sick fear and guilt.

  Defeated, I returned to Ground.

  Three of my baristas arrived, and we opened for the morning crowd, business as usual. A hard lump formed in my throat. Karin would recover, and the scent of coffee and the bustle of work should have cheered me. But my smiles and jokes were fake, embittered. Karin had nearly died because of me.

  Nick had figured right — I'd been in the Bell and Thistle’s parking lot when my pickup was stolen. I’d even shouted at the thief – I see you! He’d probably thought I’d identified him. That’s why he’d reversed toward me. He’d only driven away after Brayden had emerged from the pub.

  “Chai for Sally?” I called out, sliding the cup over the counter.

  But the cops were right too. If I knew who'd taken my truck, the fact that I hadn't told the police who'd dunnit must have tipped off the killer that I didn't know who he was. Did the killer think I was withholding that information from the sheriff for some reason? That I was waiting to blackmail him or her? And it had
to be a him. How else would the person have gotten Matt’s substantial body into my truck bed?

  A barista handed me a tall, paper cup of coffee.

  I whirled to deliver it to the customer. The hot liquid splashed my hand, and I bit back a curse of pain and exasperation. Setting down the cup, I wiped my hand roughly on my apron.

  On the other side of the counter, the customer tapped his foot, his expression tight with impatience.

  I refilled the cup, thankful it was a straight black, nothing fancy, and passed it over the counter.

  “Looks like you could use a break,” Darla said from behind me.

  I turned, my eyes widening with surprise. “Darla? It's not your morning to be here.”

  Her round face creased. “I heard what happened. How's Karin?” She brushed a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear.

  “How did you hear?” The news couldn’t have gotten around that fast.

  “It's in the morning edition of the paper.”

  Or maybe it could.

  She handed me a rolled up copy, and I crunched the paper in my fingers. “Karin's going to be okay,” I said. “She's still at the hospital.” Lenore and I planned to drive there together at ten. I glanced at the clock. One hour to go.

  “You look exhausted.” Darla grabbed an apron from beneath the counter. “And you're spilling coffee. Why don't you take a break? I can manage Ground.”

  “Thanks. I will.” I whipped off my apron and folded it behind the counter. I had an hour before leaving for the hospital. I’d use that hour well.

  Hurrying upstairs, I grabbed my green jacket. Lenore, a late riser, was still dead to the world, her chest rising and falling beneath the throw blankets on the couch. One slipped to the floor. I picked it up and laid it atop her. She didn’t stir.

  I tiptoed from my apartment. As much as I dreaded tackling Melanie Zana again, she’d been the closest to Matt. If anyone knew anything, she would. Melanie had believed her husband was cheating — had accused me of being the other woman. Could she have killed her husband and then come after me, and my sister got in the way? If so, this ended now.

  I walked up the hill into Melanie’s neighborhood. There was less powder blanketing the gardens and walks today. The snow had melted into patches, wilted stems poking through the earth in gardens and along the cracked sidewalk.