He kept his word. After a few minutes, a nurse came and unnecessarily looked me over. As she cleaned away some of the blood and grime, her brow became more and more furrowed. She would move to a new area, where a gash should have been judging by the amount of blood and torn clothing, only to find a scab or fresh pink skin in its place. She threw her wad of gauze in the little metal tray next to her and looked up at me.
“Are you a Were or something?” she asked, a little irritated that I hadn’t told her she was obviously wasting her time working on me.
“No. I’m not a Were. Can you point me in the direction of the cafeteria? I’m desperate for some coffee,” I said.
“Well, I know you’re not a Vamp. You sure heal like a Were. I dated a Were back in nursing school, so I’ve seen how fast they can heal. If you’re not a Were, then what are you?” she asked, her disbelief palable.
It was an interesting question. What was I? A psychometric, who just so happens to be the reincarnate of a Celtic goddess? An Other, with the strength and ability to heal equal to any immortal I’d met? A tool for the Council to use as they see fit? What else? It was too much to explain to her.
I settled for, “Lucky. I’m just lucky to be alive. Now, if you would be so kind as to point me toward the coffee, I’d really appreciate it.”
“You should be drinking water. You need to hydrate. Go down that hall, take a right, then a left, then take the elevator down to the ground level and follow the cafeteria signs,” she said.
“There’s water in the coffee,” I said, as I made my way toward the cafeteria.
I ignored the stares of orderlies, nurses and other hospital staff as I walked the sterile halls. I had a pretty good idea of what I looked like and it definitely wasn’t my best presentation. The fact that I was up and moving was probably the only thing keeping a few residents from trying to get their eager little surgical hands on me. I’d been sliced up enough for one night, thank you. I caught a distorted glimpse of myself in the shiny metal elevator doors and couldn’t stop the shiver making its way down my spine as I saw the blurry blood and bruises. I had healed the major injuries - the ones on the inside that I couldn’t see but would have killed a normal person, but I still felt like I had been hit by a freight train. There’s something about seeing your cuts and bruises that makes them hurt more.
I took the short elevator ride down to the ground level and followed the signs to the cafeteria, as instructed by my all too observant nurse. I shuffled through the line, fixing a cup of much needed coffee and grabbing a donut that I didn’t need at all apart from the added sugar high. Finally, I reached the cashier, who looked at me like I was the sole survivor of a horrific car crash. She had no idea. At this point, being hospitalized from a car accident sounded like a well deserved vacation from the never ending disaster my life had become.
I ate my donut on the way back to the I.C.U., licking the last of the sticky glaze off of my fingers. I caught sight of Matthison’s wife talking to his doctor as I savored my coffee and rounded the corner leading to the depressing hallway outside Matthison’s room,. I had been going over and over what I would tell her as I waited earlier for a report from the doctors, but was let off the hook when a nurse made the dreaded phone call. I froze. She hadn’t seen me yet. I could turn around now and she’d never know that I was still here. As much as I wanted to tuck tail and run, I forced myself to stand a little straighter and walked over to my former Captain’s wife.
I saw the blow coming, but neither moved out of the way nor tried to block it. She had every right to be angry. Her husband wasn’t supposed to be lying in a hospital bed in Shock Trauma, never mind working a case as if he were my partner. He hadn’t worked a case on the streets in years and if it weren’t for my involvement, he wouldn’t have been working this one. He was my mentor at SPTF and the closest thing that I had to a friend before my involvement with the Council. Still, I let him walk right into the Inquisitors’ trap with me.
There were a number of reasons why the Council only pretended to let the Norms be involved in the workings of Others and I was staring one of them right in the face. Mrs. Matthison raised her hand to slap me again, angered further by my lack of reaction to her first strike, and then dropped her hand and her head as sobs wracked her body. I made no move to comfort her; I knew she would never accept it, since the blame was evident in her eyes. She left me standing there in the hallway to return to her husband’s bedside.
I took that as my cue to exit. I retraced my steps back to the elevator and the ground floor. Instead of following the signs to the cafeteria; however, I followed the signs to the main entrance. I walked out of the hospital, unsure as to how I was getting home. I didn’t have bus or cab fare and I didn’t have my cell. I didn’t even have change for a payphone - if they even still had payphones. I sat down outside on a bench next to the automatic doors and tried to collect my thoughts. I had just decided to go back inside and ask the person at the information desk if I could use the phone to call for a ride when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up out of curiosity and cursed the fates.
Masarelli was walking briskly toward the main entrance and I couldn’t even dare hope that he hadn’t seen me. He slowed his pace as he got within a few steps of the bench that I was sitting on. I stifled a laugh. If Matthison hadn’t needed to be rushed to a hospital, I would have chosen a swim in the frigid Atlantic Ocean over my rescue by Cash, Matthison’s wife’s assault (not undeserved), and Masarelli’s imminent questioning. All I wanted was to get back to my place, take a shower, and slip into some clean clothes. That seemed further away now than the miles between Boston and Salem.
I raised my hand to stop the barrage of questions that I knew were about to come.
“I don’t suppose you’d pretend you didn’t see me and let me come in on my own to fill out a report?” I asked, sounding as exhausted as I felt.
“No, I don’t suppose I could,” he replied.
“You’re a dick,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, well you’re to blame,” he said venomously.
That stung. He had certainly won that exchange. It didn’t happen often between us. I usually took great satisfaction in putting Masarelli in his place, but my heart just wasn’t in it right now. He gave me a sideways glance, unsure what to make of my lack of interest in our usual ball-busting.
A herd of nurses came through the automatic doors, allowing more of the light from inside to push at the darkness that was so effectively cloaking all of my cuts and bruises. Masarelli actually looked shocked at my battered appearance, making me wish that glamour were one of the skills that I had gained. He was used to seeing me in blouses and pencil skirts with high heel boots; he was unaccustomed to my tattered jeans, shredded shirt and bloodied skin. His face darkened as he took in every detail.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you all the details, if you give me a ride back to my apartment,” I said.
He looked at the automatic doors. I knew that he was thinking about Matthison. He should go see him, but he wouldn’t get any information from someone who was in a coma. I was his only chance to get a break in this case.
“Deal,” he said confidently, like I’d done exactly what he wanted me to, but I could see his desire to take it back the minute that the offer left his mouth. It was killing him to do even the littlest thing to help me. I had been his nemesis at SPTF since pretty much my first day. I didn’t want his help anymore than he wanted to give it, but right now I couldn’t see a faster way of getting back to Salem.
“I’m ready to go whenever you are, Detective,” I said, trying not to say anything that would cause me to lose my ride.
Masarelli’s car was exactly like I expected - a mess. I would have given anything for a towel to cover the seat with and that was saying something, given the state that I was in. I tried to hide my disgust and got into the car.
“I’ll start driving when you start talking,” he said.
Not wanting to spend a minute more
than necessary in the garbage heap that he called a car, I began filling Masarelli in on everything that had happened; I conveniently skipped over the third dead witch, of course. Matthison had enough problems with his health at the moment. He didn’t need any trouble at SPTF when he returned. I knew Masarelli wanted his job and, with the opportunity to be running the department while Matthison recovered eminent, I wasn’t giving him any ammunition to make the position permanent.
I picked up my story with Matthison confronting Mahalia about the Malleus Maleficarum and the subsequent argument about withholding information crucial to solving the case. I skipped over the zombie-raising via Graive Larrick altogether. I only told him what he needed to hear in order for me to get home. So, he thought that Matthison had stormed off with me underfoot because Mahalia wasn’t giving him full disclosure. I described in great detail the ambush at my apartment and the torture that ensued on Winter Island. This was what he most wanted to know about and I had no reason not to tell him.
By the time we pulled up to my apartment, Masarelli knew everything that he was going to know. He parked in an empty spot two spaces down from the spot where Matthison and I had first encountered the Inquisitors.
“They had no interest in him. They gave him a chance to escape and he wouldn’t go,” I said solemnly, as he put the car in park.
“He couldn’t abandon you to the Inquisitors. You’re still part of the team as far as he’s concerned.” Masarelli was trying to make me feel better? Would wonders never cease?
“Deja vu,” I said, breaking up another awkward moment in which someone I deeply disliked tried to be nice to me.
“I’d be an even bigger asshole than you think I am if I didn’t at least tell you that I have serious reservations about you going into your apartment so soon after being attacked,” he warned.
“Well, you can rest with a clear conscience and consider me warned, Detective.” I opened the car door to get out.
“I’m serious, Kincaide. You should find someplace else to stay. Surely someone in the Council could put you up for a few days. Seems the least those witches could do.” Masarelli had no idea what he was suggesting; owing the Council a favor could be just as hazardous to my health as the Inquisitors could be.
“They got more than they bargained for when they took me. I doubt very seriously that they’d try to grab me again,” I said, with a confidence that I didn’t actually feel.
He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off by thanking him for the ride and made my way up to my apartment.
8
I cursed as I reached the front door of the three- level converted Victorian that I called home. I didn’t have my keys to the entrance door or to my third-floor walk-up apartment. Just as I was contemplating kicking the door down, Ms. Costa, the widow in the second floor apartment, came out to walk her dog.
“Hi, Ms. Costa,” I said as I squeezed past her out of the cold and into the stairway leading up to my apartment and its hot water.
“Maur-,” The rest of my name came out in a gasp as she caught a good look at me on my way past her.
I didn’t stop to explain, taking the stairs two at a time despite my body screaming at me to slow down. Healing this fast had its advantages, but it was also exhausting. Sure I’d feel better tomorrow, but right now I needed food and sleep. But first and foremost I needed a shower.
I hit the landing on the third floor and came to an abrupt stop. Guess I wouldn’t need the key that I kept hidden in the little light fixture beside the door. My door wasn’t damaged, except for the knob and locking mechanism. They must have bumped the lock. I pushed the door open slowly and hit the light switch on the wall. I waited a minute before going all the way inside. I didn’t hear or see anyone. Nothing seemed to be out of place. In fact, the place looked exactly the same as it had when I’d left it. What kind of burglar busts into a place and doesn’t take anything? Or maybe it wasn’t a thing that they were after. Maybe they had been looking for a person. Maybe the Inquisitors had planned a good old-fashioned snatch and grab. Just one problem with that - I hadn’t come home yet. I had still been at Mahalia’s. So, they had camped outside for an ambush in the parking lot instead.
Deciding that the immediate threat was gone now, I closed the door and slid the chain lock in place to keep it that way. I’d have to pick up a new doorknob and a deadbolt from the hardware store as soon as possible. Or maybe I should just get out of my lease. If this shit kept up, I’d probably get evicted anyway.
I started undressing as I walked to the bathroom, adding to the trail that I had left the night before. Damn! Had it really only been a little over twenty-four hours since Mahalia had awakened me with the news of another murder? It felt like a month. My heart sank as I thought about Matthison laying in the I.C.U. Those bastards were going to pay for what they had done to him.
I turned the shower on, waiting until the water was hot enough to melt skin before climbing in. I jumped when the water hit the brand on my neck and turned the heat back a little. I adjusted the showerhead setting to jet and stood under the water as it beat the grime off of my body. The water swirled pink around my feet for a long time as I scrubbed away the dried blood; some was the Butcher’s, but most of it was mine. Not that it mattered; he was the one who was dead. I washed my hair twice (lather, rinse, repeat), and then stood under the water until it ran cold and clear.
I grabbed a towel off the rod, dried off and slipped into my fuzzy purple robe. I wrapped my hair up in a towel turban and opened the bathroom door. I walked out of the bathroom just in time to see a hand slip through my front door and try to undo the chain.
I charged the door, slamming it on the intruding hand. There wasn’t time for anything else. If whoever was on the other side was armed to the teeth, I was up shit’s creek without a paddle because all I had were my bare hands; my sword was in the bedroom.
“Ow, Maurin, what the hell?”
“Amalie? Is that you?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer from the sound of her voice.
“Yes! Are you going to get off of my hand and open the damned door or what?” she asked, sounding a lot less mad than I would have been if she’d had my hand smashed in a door.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” I said as I removed my weight from the door.
Amalie slipped her hand out and I closed the door so I could undo the chain lock.
“A little punchy, are we?” she asked when I opened the door. Her sarcasm faded when she caught a glimpse of the brand on my neck. “What the hell is that?”
My hand immediately went up to cover the scar that would be a permanent reminder of my run-in with the Inquisitors. I was already getting tired of people asking me about it.
“Exactly what it looks like,” I said, already heading back to my kitchen to find something to eat.
“I brought you some breakfast. I’m no gourmet chef or anything, but I can manage pancakes and bacon. I even brought you a dirty chai latte. Luckily for you, I didn’t drop it when you decided to crush one of my hands in your door.” She set a paper bag and the coffee cup down on my table. “I know you don’t normally go for lattes or anything like that, but trust me, you’ll like it.”
I sat down at the table as she rooted through my kitchen. “What are you looking for?”
“Syrup. Found it. It’s real maple, too? Nice.” She handed me the syrup and a fork.
I opened the paper bag and pulled out a Styrofoam container. “I thought that you said you made pancakes and bacon. You keep Styrofoam containers at your house?” I said, teasing her a little; it was more to lift my spirits than anything else.
“No, jackass. I made them at the Daily Grind. My uncle’s usually there anyway to prep for the morning rush, so he let me use the kitchen,” she replied, sitting across from me at my little bistro-style table.
I opened the container. “I thought that you said there was bacon.”
“It’s in the pancakes, so stop thinking and start eating,” she said. “It’s g
ood! You like pancakes; you like bacon. You’ll like them together. Now stop acting like a finicky toddler and eat the damned food.” she said, when she saw my hesitant look.
I realized that I was really too hungry to care, so I poured the syrup on top and dug in. She was right, they were good. I made short order of the short stack and pounded the latte. She was right about that, too. I’d have to ask her later what exactly a dirty chai latte was. I felt really tired after finally putting something in my stomach and I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open.
“I thought for sure that the double shot of espresso in that chai latte would have kept you up long enough to tell me what happened, but I guess not,” Amalie said, evidently a little disappointed.
“So that’s what makes it dirty. I am impervious to caffeine. You of all people should know that,” I said, earning me a smile from her. “I appreciate you coming over here and bringing me food, really I do Amalie, but I’m about two minutes away from passing out right here at the table.”
“It’s cool. Get some sleep. I’ll get Cash to fill me in,” she said as she got up to leave.
“Thanks, I’ll call you when I - wait, what?” I said, as I tried to process what she’d just said.
“Cash. He’s outside. I’ll just get him to tell me what he knows, and then you can fill in the gaps later. No biggie,” she said.
“Why is Cash outside my apartment?” I asked, too tired to actually be upset.
“He went to the hospital to pick you up, but you were already leaving with that greasy detective, so he followed you. He’s been keeping an eye on you, on pack orders, since you got home. Geez, Maurin, you were taken by the Inquisitors! Don’t you think we’d have someone here to make sure that didn’t happen again?” she said, exasperated.
“Yeah, makes sense. Just surprised it was Cash I guess,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“He agreed to do it; well, it was more like Roul told everyone else who volunteered that Cash was already doing it. I think Roul wants to keep Cash busy and away from the pack while he’s here. Oberon looked pretty pissed about it too, but Mahalia wouldn’t have let him come anyway. She’s got him working on a spell or something with Graive,” Amalie explained.
Witch Hunt, A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy (The Maurin Kincaide Series) Page 7
