I sank against the back of the chair and rubbed my face, trying to piece together the last few days. “Um, he’s been more tired than usual.”
The doctor made a note on his sheet and leveled an emerald gaze on me. “Is he eating? Drinking? Do you have a history of diabetes or mental illness in your family?”
He was firing more questions at me than I could keep up with. I shook my head, unsure if I was answering any or all of the questions at once. “No. I mean, yes, he’s eating and drinking, I think. But diabetes, no… Mental illness?”
Dr. Keenan smiled kindly. “We have to investigate all avenues, Miss Holtzer.”
“Brigitta,” I responded automatically. It felt weird, wearing my mother’s title like a little girl in a dress and heels that didn’t quite fit. I found myself stuck on the idea of my dad, Mikhail Holtzer, having a mental illness. I mean, it was laughable. Nobody was as funny, upbeat, and kind as my dad.
Dr. Keenan made a mark on his sheet. “Have you ever seen your father suffer a panic attack?”
I shook my head.
“Does he exhibit any signs of anxiety?”
I shook my head again. What could I say? Dad was as solid as the ground beneath my feet.
“What’s his work schedule like?”
Oh, good, I hadn’t lost the ability to form words. “Busy. He works pretty much all day. He forgets to eat and shower most days, until I tell him to.”
Dr. Keenan touched the tip of his pen to his lips and stared at me intently. I met his gaze, noting the tiny crow’s feet near his eyes that placed him older than I’d originally thought.
He tapped the pen against his lips and then clipped it to the board he held. “I’d like to keep him for observation overnight. Despite the test results, his coloring concerns me.”
“Coloring?” This from Brynja. She’d sat so silently during the conversation, I would have forgotten she existed. But her small hand rested gently on my knee, a constant reminder that she had my back.
“It’s…” He cleared his throat. “Like I said, we are still waiting on some results. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
A nurse waited outside the consultation room. Her bright pink kitty scrubs glowed cheerily beneath humming fluorescent lights. She smiled kindly, exposing a wide gap between her front teeth.
“I’m Nancy,” she said in a sweet southern accent. “I’ll escort you to your father’s room.”
The three of us moved forward. Nancy held up a hand to Brynja, her smile strained. “I’m sorry. Only immediate family is allowed. Mikhail has had a rough night.”
Brynja stiffened. “He may as well be my brother. Do not stop me from going to him.”
“Ma’am, don’t raise your voice, or I’ll have to ask you to leave the hospital.”
“I’m not raising my voice, die zicke,” Brynja snarled, taking a step forward.
Jerick and I were used to Brynja’s fiery temper. I imagined her encounter with the mystery blond this afternoon hadn’t helped her rein it in, either. She was a match just waiting for the right moment to ignite.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jerick’s fingers twitch in the air: right fingers. Very specific movements. A sigil. His power crept over me like a warm blanket, familiar and strong. He had Holtzer energy, like me, though he had a little more control over it than I did.
Nancy’s face smoothed and the tension in her smile faded. She patted Brynja’s arm. “It’s okay, dear. Let’s get you to your brother. I know how worried you must be.”
I gave Jerick an amused look as Brynja fell into step beside the nurse.
“Whatever happened to ‘harm none?’” I asked, parroting his favorite Wiccan tenant. It meant a lot more than “don’t hurt anybody.” It also meant don’t affect anyone’s free will or manipulate them for your own gain. Harm none packed a powerful punch.
“Trust me, it was for nursey-nurse’s own good.” Jerick pointed at Brynja and rotated his finger next to his temple. Bitch be cray, he mouthed.
Jerick’s magick, combined with his easy-going charm, helped calm me. Even so, as we neared my dad’s room, and I could sense him — sense that something was extremely amiss — my heart began to pound.
Nancy motioned us into a dimly lit room, but didn’t follow us in. She dropped us at the door like a kindly escort; no need to engage any further.
I fully expected my father to be sound asleep. After all, the last I’d seen him, he’d been unconscious.
Instead, he glared at me from a supine position on the maneuverable bed. “What did I tell you about hospitals?”
I winced at the bark in his tone — worse than Hermod when I flubbed up his favorite spells. “Dad, you were on the ground unconscious and not breathing. Was I supposed to let you die?”
“They are not equipped for a body like mine!” Dad snapped. “I am nearly three centuries old, Brigitta. What do you think they’ll find when they dig into my body chemistry?”
“Nothing, apparently,” I retorted. “You have bad coloring and anxiety and you work too gods-damned much.”
Brynja bit back an obvious grin. “On top of that, you’re ornery,” she added.
Without warning, Dad ripped the IV out of his arm. As the rest of the tubes and connections disconnected, the stand by his bedside began to blare an ear-piercing alarm.
“Mikhail!” Brynja broke into rapid German, jabbing a finger in his direction to punctuate her words.
Dad returned her sharp rebuke in kind until the room was nothing but piercing alarm and angry Mother Tongue.
“I should have learned German,” I remarked to Jerick as nurses began to fill the room.
Jerick agreed. “We miss all the good conversations.”
“The word you’re looking for is ‘fights,’” I corrected him, stepping aside as a nurse brushed past me and tried to calm my father.
Dad shoved the woman away, and she stumbled into the wall. A collective gasp filled the room, and I stared at my dad like he’d lost his damn mind.
Brynja slapped him. The smack jarred him into silence. “Get yourself together, Mikhail. What would your wife think?”
Immediately, Dad deflated. He slumped back to the bed, his face caving in on itself as he struggled with feelings I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
A nurse in fire-engine red scrubs and a no-nonsense bob was the first to speak. “Mr. Holtzer. We need to get you hooked back up.”
Dad growled, but didn’t speak.
Brynja tapped him on the nose as if he were a misbehaving Saint Bernard. “Ah, ah. Behave.”
“I want to go home.”
“And you will. Shortly.”
“Now,” Dad boomed.
Jerick spoke up. “Surely the man has a right to refuse treatment and leave?”
The red-scrub nurse maintained her composed expression, but her tone suggested otherwise. “It is inadvisable for Mr. Holtzer to leave medical care.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jerick teased playfully.
The woman cracked a reluctant smile. “He may refuse treatment, but it goes against the doctor’s suggestions.”
“Mr. Holtzer is a grown man capable of making grown-man decisions,” Jerick assured her. He steered her towards the door, herding the rest of the responding staff along with her. “Run along and start the paperwork. This man is going home.”
As Brynja and my father struck up a slightly-more-sedate conversation in German, I glared at my cousin. “He doesn’t need to go home,” I hissed. “Idiot.”
“Oh, shut up. I stopped Mikhail World War I.”
I punched him in the arm.
“Oww,” he moaned. “I’m already broken because I kept your mentor from ripping the kitty nurse’s face off. Be nice.”
He was right, of course. Magick came at a cost, no matter the spell. Any little bit of incantation, and it was easy to find yourself feeling like the bad end of a train wreck. I’d been there a time or two.
* * *
ACCOMPANYING MY FATHER T
O THE hospital, then bringing home and putting him to bed with still no clue what had sent us there in first place, was not how I’d envisioned my birthday evening.
So I admit to being a tad rough helping him remove his shoes. Sure, that was a bit uncharitable of me, but my father had damn near started a riot in the ICU, so I maintained my superiority in that respect.
“I’d like my toes to remain attached,” he said wryly, leaning to rub his foot.
I yanked off the other shoe and glowered at him in response.
“Brigitta, I’m sorry your birthday was ruined over a silly thing like this. I’m fine. You overreacted.”
I grabbed his T-shirt and ripped it over his head, sending his big arms flailing. He liked to sleep shirtless — just doing my civic duty as a helpful daughter.
He sucked in a breath and rubbed at his underarms. “I think you ripped skin off.”
I barely heard his statement. He was incredibly pale. Ashen. I remembered what the doctor had said about his “coloring,” and realized that’s what I was seeing. His skin looked like putty — lifeless and gray.
“Get under the covers,” I told him.
“Where’s Helga?” Dad muttered, though he did as he was told.
“I’m here, Mikhail.” The elderly cat leapt onto the chair beside the bed — there just for her, to ensure she could reach the bed with her old joints — and curled up beside him.
“Will you come get me if anything goes wrong?” I asked her.
Dad groaned. “Nothing is going to go wrong.”
Helga swatted at him, though she kept her claws sheathed. She blinked at me. “Of course I will, Brigitta. Rest easy.”
“There is nothing wrong with me!” my father roared.
Helga reached one tiny paw over to his bare arm and sank her claws in his skin.
“Yes, there is!” I snapped back, jerking the covers up over his sweatpants. “Just because their ‘tests’ didn’t show anything doesn’t mean something isn’t wrong!”
I felt like I was doing a word puzzle with that sentence, channeling my frustration in double negatives and vicious flips of his bedsheets.
He snatched the blankets from my hand. “You’re being ridiculous!”
“No, you’re being ridiculous!” I yelled, fighting back tears. “You’re a stubborn, hardheaded jerk, and I wish Mom were here!”
Then I turned my back on him and rushed out of the room.
I wanted to really drive home my anger by slamming my door, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. If something went wrong during the night, I wanted to be there, to be able to hear him. It was easy to be mad, but hard to cut off completely when someone you loved needed you.
I flung myself onto the bed and buried my face in a pillow. Hot tears filled my eyes, pissing me off even more. Dad’s health had never been called into question before. But he’d also never looked like Casper-the-friendly-ghost.
A soft weight joined me on the bed. Hermod cuddled against my side and licked my arm. When I didn’t react, he moved up and snuffled my face.
“Is this about Helena?” he asked.
I winced. “No.”
“You are lying to me.”
“Probably.”
Silence stretched between us. Finally, Hermod said, “Something is not right, Brigitta. I do agree. But you should apologize to Mikhail.”
“Fuck off, Herm.”
He woofed, smacking my head with a heavy paw. “Cease your tongue, Brigitta Holtzer. Do not back-sass me. I’m on your side.”
I turned my head on the pillow and peeked out at him. His deep, black gaze glared at me like a disappointed parent. Considering it came from a dog, it was odd. I sighed. “Sorry.”
He huffed. “Brigitta, your impulsive nature will be the death of you one day.”
“Dad will be the death of me one day.”
“Brigitta.” Herm’s sharp tone gave me pause. He sat up, all strong, pit bull muscles and narrowed eyes. “Something is very wrong with Mikhail.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“If it isn’t medical,” Herm continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “then it is something far, far worse.”
I propped up on an elbow to give him my full attention. “What is it?”
He glanced at the open door, as if he could see my father laying in his room down the hall. “It’s magick.”
CHAPTER SIX
I slept fitfully and awoke on a blustery Thursday morning, terrified to get out of bed.
I stared at the ceiling as I lay safely bundled beneath my heavy comforter, raging a battle with myself to get up and moving.
To go check on Dad.
What if something had happened to him during the night? What if I was suddenly an orphan at twenty-one years old?
Herm was nowhere around, and Helga hadn’t made an appearance during the night. I assured myself if something had gone wrong, they would have awakened me. Helga stayed with him all night; she promised.
And she had. She crouched on the pillow beside him, her eyes squinted in contentment as she kneaded at the flannel sheets. Dad sat up against the headboard, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose and his hair a messy tangle of unbrushed curls, as he pored over a circle of books and spiral-bound notebooks.
“You should be resting.” I turned on the lamp beside his bed to give the dim room more illumination.
“Deadline,” he grunted, not bothering to look away from his notes. “Should be downstairs.”
Helga growled. One dainty paw stretched out, needle-sharp claws extended threateningly.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m… not feeling too hot. She won’t let me out of bed.”
I smiled warmly at the elderly cat. “Who’s a good kitty?”
She purred. “I shall claw out your eyes if you ever speak those words to me again.”
Dad laughed, which I took to be a decent sign of the road to recovery. Laughing Mikhail was much preferred to Angry Bear Mikhail.
“I’ll make you some breakfast,” I told him, grateful for his smile.
While he nibbled at his oatmeal, I fetched a handful of things he requested from his lab. Then I put out food for Helga and Herm, and got ready for work.
When I went back into Dad’s room to see if he needed anything else before I left, I found him on his side, snoring.
I took the ancient cordless phone off Dad’s nightstand and set it beside Helga. “9-1-1,” I told her. “They won’t speak cat, but they’ll send somebody anyway.”
“Won’t be necessary,” my father grumbled, smacking his lips and wiping away a bit of drool. He blinked up at me. “I’m sorry I ruined your birthday.”
I leaned over and kissed his forehead. His skin felt hot. “You’re still here. The only way you could have ruined my birthday is if you weren’t.”
“I’ll always be here,” he mumbled. His eyes fluttered shut.
“That’s not a promise anyone can keep,” I told him, but he was already asleep.
* * *
THE MORNING PASSED QUIETLY AT Nature’s Magick. Brynja didn’t force me into conversation or attempt to coach me on anything magick-related. Quite frankly, she seemed as adrift as I felt, the two of us floating around the shop in a half-daze, our minds everywhere but in the moment.
I hadn’t realized I’d deviated in my clock-work routine, until the door opened at eleven thirty and Drake stepped in on a cold wind that smelled faintly of coffee.
His amber gaze danced over the store. When it landed on me, he smiled. He strolled to the counter and deposited a paper cup of something that smelled delicious.
“You didn’t come in at your normal time,” he said. “Thought you were busy and might need a pick me up.”
“Thanks.” I wrapped my hands around the cup. The warmth steadied me, mending the cold inside my bones.
Drake looked caramelly delicious and utterly out of place standing in Brynja’s store. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt. “Herbs, huh
? Is that, like, for smudging?”
I took a drink from my latte. Perfect, as usual. He couldn’t be anything but. “Yeah, but we sell cooking herbs, too. The edible ones are marked with the little spatula.” I motioned to the wall behind me where our food-safe rosemary sat, while inwardly kicking myself for sounding so dumb.
“Cool. Not my thing, but I dig it.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. A for effort? “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Hey, no sweat. Couldn’t have you sleeping on the job. I’ll see you Saturday?”
I nodded.
He passed Jerick on his way out, and the two shared a high-five before the door shut behind Drake.
Jerick unraveled his neon green scarf and grinned at the coffee cup in my hand. “Practicing for breakfast in bed?”
“Not everyone screws on the first date like you,” I responded, not missing a beat.
Jerick gasped and clutched his chest in mock horror. Even Brynja chuckled.
On any other day, I would have played it up. Banter with my cousin could turn quick and dangerous, so getting one over him was cause for a party. But all I could muster was a half-hearted grin that I didn’t really feel at all.
“Your dad?” Jerick asked, draping his scarf over the computer.
I shrugged. “Same. He didn’t even get out of bed this morning.”
“Fuck.” Jerick sank to the stool beside me. “That’s when you know he doesn’t feel good.”
The three of us stared helplessly at each other, at a loss. My dad was the rock, the one who held us all together when we ripped at the seams. I felt like someone had cut my ropes and cast me adrift on a strong current.
“What do you think about doing a spell?” Brynja spoke up. “We could have Circle. Ask the universe for guidance.”
I shifted uneasily. The store didn’t close until seven, and my shift was up at five. “I don’t want to be away from home longer than necessary.”
Fragile Magick (Descent Trilogy Book 1) Page 4
