by D. R. Perry
The scene in Trauma Six was something completely different. The doctor stood there with her mouth open. The nurse’s eyes narrowed into two angry lines, and his jaw clenched. A man stood at the window, his eyes yellow and self-satisfied in a way that reminded me of the stepmother’s cat from Disney’s Cinderella. He pressed a clipboard against the glass.
“Call it.” The words tumbled from this doctor’s mouth like plaster from the wall of that triple-decker in Olneyville. The rosiness of exertion vanished from the doctor’s face, leaving behind only a dull and sickly bronze color.
“Time of death, twenty-thirteen.” The doctor shook her head, pulling one glove after the other off and tossing them into the trash.
Beside me, Olivia Adler stopped breathing. Her hand clutched at the thin air between us, so I put my hand there. She snared it in a grip like a magic lasso. “No,” she finally breathed. Then the man at the window turned around.
I saw the paper on the clipboard first; the header read DNR Order. It was signed and notarized, all the Is dotted and all the Ts crossed. The date was last March, after Gattos took potshots at Blaine and Kimiko over Spring Break. It had Tony’s name on it.
After that, I noticed Mr. Gitano’s shoes and clothes. Expensive Italian leather, practically brand new. Armani pinstripe, black and blue. Powder-blue shirt, and blood-red tie with a pin in the shape of a spear.
His entire body was thick with muscle; even his jaw looked like it could crack artillery shells. The man in the suit glanced at me and then Olivia, his gaze lingering on her face. His coloring matched Tony’s, but the resemblance ended there. Our friend’s slight stature, wiry muscles, and fine-boned facial features must have come from his mother’s side of the family.
Horace got between Olivia and Tony’s father. “Don’t.”
“I wasn’t expecting to meet you here, Mr. Gitano.” Olivia’s eyes went amber and round again. I squeezed her hand.
“Oh, but I was expecting to meet you.” Mr. Gitano’s voice wasn’t gruff or gravelly, as I had expected. Instead, it was a warm tenor, as smooth as butterscotch. “I hope to see you again soon at the wake, the Mass, and the graveside. You meant a great deal to my son, Miss Adler, though perhaps you weren’t aware.”
“I wasn’t until just a short while ago.” Olivia’s grin made me shiver with fear for her and of what she might do. “I’ll be there. For him. Count on it, Mr. Gitano.”
Tony’s father turned his back, saying nothing more. He pushed through the swinging double doors into the lobby. A black Cadillac sedan sat idling outside the automatic glass doors beyond. The goon who’d been there that first night in the Olneyville house, the one Tony had called Paul, occupied the front passenger seat.
In the back was a young woman, her head covered with a pashmina shawl. She turned her head, then hung it when she saw me. I almost didn’t recognize her because her face looked fuller, although her eyes had sunk as though she'd gained weight and become exhausted. It was Cassandra Spanos. The Gatto Gang’s uncanny timing made total sense now.
Olivia and I turned in tandem, looking back through the window of Trauma Six. Tony’s body was covered with a sheet and an orderly fiddled with the brakes on the gurney. A nurse sat at the island of a desk in the middle of the ER, typing with one hand and kicking back coffee with the other. His eyes were red with unshed tears. I looked all around for Tony’s ghost, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Horace met my eyes and shook his head; he hadn’t seen Tony either.
“Tony’s ghost isn’t here.” Olivia gazed at me without blinking. “Now, why is that?”
“Where is he?” I turned. Ismail had pushed through the doors from the lobby, Jeannie La Montagne following close behind.
“Sir, you can’t be in here.” The nurse stood up and jogged around the desk. “Please wait in the lobby.” He looked down his nose at Olivia and me. “Same goes for the two of you.”
“I’m Duke Ismail of the Goblin King’s court, my great-grandson’s in here, and I’m contesting the DNR filed by his—” The djinn stopped as he caught a glimpse of what was going on in Trauma Six. “No.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, but his father just left a minute ago.” The nurse sighed. “I’m not sure life support would have helped anyway.” The nurse went on to direct the bunch of us to the hospital chapel.
On the way, a ghost waved me over. She was the same lady Yoshi Ichiro had sat on just a month earlier in this same hospital. “Go and see your Psychic Professor friend.” She jerked one thumb at a hallway. “He’s in there, room 1409.”
I left Ismail with Jeannie, glancing back over my shoulder as they pushed through the chapel doors. Olivia followed me, her eyes shining with anger glossed over with unshed tears.
Across the hall from 1409, we watched through the window as a nurse pressed buttons on a beeping monitor. Nate Watkins rolled his eyes, waving one hand to get her attention. He pointed at us and said something. The nurse shook her head, and he gave her his most withering professorial stare. She took a half-step back, nearly tripping over her own feet. After that, she paced across the hall toward us.
“Go in and see him, then.” The nurse crossed her arms over her chest. “You have five minutes.”
“Thanks” I smiled, and the nurse’s jaw loosened a bit. As Olivia and I went, I heard her mumble something about visiting hours and rest.
“Professor, I’m so glad you’re—” I shut my mouth when he opened his.
“Did you get that document out of the house before it went up?” Professor Watkins pointed at my plaster-dusted clothes. His voice croaked like a toad, and he fumbled for a cup of ice chips at his bedside. I picked it up and held it to his lips. The professor closed his eyes for a moment.
“Yeah.” Olivia put her hands on her hips. “The night you told us about it, they went and got it. We’ve been trying to translate it ever since.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” The professor’s arms twitched. I guessed this was the post-coma equivalent of him throwing his hands up in frustration. “You opened it, got your tiny minds stumped, and went all that time without coming back to ask me questions?”
“Pretty much.” I tapped my foot on the floor. “You didn’t tell us to come back.”
“I didn’t what?” He blinked. “Oh, crap. I’m as off the ball as half the new crop of freshmen.” Nate Watkins hung his head. “That means that all this and Tony—it’s all my fault.”
“No.” Horace hovered at my elbow. “It’s not. Projecting Psychics lose track of things when they’re out of their bodies for too long.”
“Look, Professor—” I hesitated, not sure whether Horace’s information would bring comfort or more shame. Professor Watkins might think he was at fault somehow for getting tangled up with a soul spindle in the first place.
“It’s Richard Hopewell’s fault.” Olivia took the ice cup from me. She gently held it out to him and the professor lifted his face, revealing tear-smeared cheeks. “After that, you can blame his own father. Blame the ghost of Katherine Rogers for selling us all out and manipulating Mrs. Redford. Blame Ignacius’ ghost for not warning us about her. And then, if you want to get picky, blame Tony for playing the hero, and blame me for not grabbing him when he pushed me out of the building. Blame the wise guy who attacked him. But don’t you dare blame yourself.”
“Fine. I’ll stop the blame game.” The professor’s words didn’t carry their usual snark; he just sounded exhausted. He looked at the ice cup and shook his head.
“That’s good.” I nodded at him, then Olivia. She backed off. “Look, we never figured out exactly what was on that paper. Are you going to tell us what it is?”
“It’s a contract.” Nate Watkins stared at nothing. “You’re not supposed to be able to translate or decrypt it. It’s in Goblinese.”
“But we found your name on it.” Olivia tapped her chin. “Your brother’s, too. Those were the only words Kimiko could decrypt.”
“Of course, she did because there’s no Goblinese equivalent f
or our names.” Professor Watkins sighed. “It’s a contract between the Goblin King and us. Edgar’s old lady, too. We agreed to kick ass and wipe minds back in the day.”
“Why?” Olivia tapped her chin with her index finger.
“It’s all pointless now, so I guess I can tell you.” He closed his eyes. “It was all because of some shifters. Magical ones, both born in the Under.”
“Like Kimiko and Blaine?” Olivia blinked.
“Nothing so common as a Tanuki or a dragon.” The corners of the professor’s mouth turned up. “Although Edgar wiped some events connected to a couple of those on Hertha’s orders. I can’t say a word about the other one, but Tony wasn’t just a regular cat shifter. He was something different. Maybe new. Or maybe old and back again after ages and ages. I’m unclear on that part from the out-of-body brain fog. It doesn’t matter now that he’s dead, though.”
Horace tugged my sleeve, and I looked up to see the nurse heading back across the hall. I had to make sure of something, but Olivia got a question out before I could.
“You’re going to testify? Exonerate Brodsky?” Her hands were curled into fists, knuckles whiter than her hair.
“Yeah, Adler.” Professor Watkins leaned his head back against the pillow. “You kids kept your word. So will I.”
“Good.” She stalked out of the room, opening her hands to fish out her phone again. I noticed bloody crescents in her palms, left by her nails.
“Get some rest, Professor. And thanks for seeing us.” I followed, Horace floating along beside me.
“Thanks for saving me.” Nate Watkins’ voice was barely a whisper.
The nurse brushed past me, and I understood. The medical staff had no clue that their patient coding had to do with a vengeful ghost, and the professor wanted to keep it that way. Whatever secrets he and his brother had been required to keep, some still had to go unspoken. Their full plans and preparations had yet to unfold.
I heard Olivia on the phone, asking Mr. Ichiro about a witness protection police detail for Professor Watkins. When we’d been here last month, I wouldn’t have thought it necessary. Now, I knew it was essential. Clearing Brodsky meant law enforcement would look harder for Hopewell, not that they wouldn’t want to hear about who blew up Mr. Gitano’s house in Olneyville. All that magical fire would trace back to the Extramagus, adding up with the attempt on Lane Meyer’s life over the summer.
Olivia waited for the police while I went back to the chapel. On my way, I saw two familiar faces, Detectives Weaver and Klein from the Newport PD. Klein smiled, showing off his fangs as he gave me a cheery wave. Weaver nodded at me instead, her hands occupied with slapping handcuffs on Delilah Redford. An ECSI held an evidence bag with the soul spindle inside. I figured there’d be someone for me to testify about and exonerate months down the road, just like Professor Watkins.
At the chapel, Ismail and Jeannie had finished speaking with the chaplain. I explained everything as best as I could on our way back to campus. I hadn’t known for sure that Ismail and Tony had been related, and I made myself a promise that night to follow my hunches more closely. Things might have gone differently if I had acted during tea with Mrs. Donato.
Olivia’s ban against the blame game would have been easier to bear than the truth, but it wasn’t something I could get behind completely. We all shared responsibility for losing our friend. Owning it meant being better next time, which was important because the rest of us were still in danger.
The Nocturnal Lounge was packed with Tinfoil Hatters, all waiting for news about Tony. When they got it, they dissipated like helium from a sinking balloon. I looked around for Olivia, but she still hadn’t arrived.
“Horace, we need to find her. She shouldn’t be alone right now.” I didn’t have to explain who and what I meant. He just understood as he always did.
“Okay, let’s go.” Horace pointed at my phone. “Text her just in case, though.” I did.
I traversed campus, asking everyone I encountered. No one had seen Olivia. She hadn’t messaged me back, either. I shuffled over to a bench near the dining hall and turned around to sit.
“Watch it, big’un!” The voice came from the seat.
“Um, sorry?” I turned back around to find an empty bench.
“Down here!”
“Oh!” A tiny figure in a tall, pointy, brimless hat with a bushy beard peered up at me with beady eyes. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen a Gnome in a long time.”
“Because you don’t look in the right places!” They cleared their throat. “The most clueless Psychic on campus is Bianca Brighton, but I think that’s changing. Your friend’s at the hospital still. Look there.”
“Thank you,” I said just before the Gnome vanished with a pop of displaced air.
I headed back to Thayer Street, hoping it wasn’t too late to catch a bus back to Rhode Island Hospital. As I stood waiting, a white Volvo pulled up. The passenger-side window rolled down to reveal Sir Al in the driver’s seat.
“Get in, please.” The Sidhe knight’s polite words didn’t match the urgency in his voice.
“Rhode Island Hospital?”
“Yes!”
I got in on the passenger side, Horace hovering in the back.
Chapter Fifteen
Horace
“What do you mean, you can’t complete the autopsy?” Captain Linda Dennison narrowed her eyes at the Medical Examiner.
“I mean exactly what I just said.” The gangly man in the white coat folded his arms over his chest. “I can’t finish the autopsy on Tony Gitano.”
“But you have to.” Olivia Adler waved a piece of paper. “The law requires it in cases like this, where foul play is suspected.”
Bianca squeezed past Olivia through the doorway, walking softly until she got to the row of tables beyond where the Providence PD captain locked gazes with the ME, whose mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. All of the stainless-steel tables stood empty. Bianca looked at me and I nodded, then raced through the air and stuck my head in each freezer.
I found mostly empty slabs, but a few people. None of them were Tony Gitano.
“He can’t autopsy a body that’s not here anymore.” I floated behind the ME and blew a raspberry at him. Rob would have been proud.
“Why aren’t you telling the captain that Tony’s not here?” Bianca paced over toward one slab, beside a tray with slightly bloody surgical tools arrayed across a green cloth.
“Is this true, Gary?” Captain Dennison put her hands on her hips, her eyes going yellow and wolfish a moment later. “You lost the body in a murder investigation allegedly linked to the Gatto Gang?”
“I don’t know what happened.” The medical examiner’s face paled until he resembled a vampire. He wasn’t one. “I went to stow a piece of copper that broke off the murder weapon, and when I came back—” He jerked his chin at the empty table, then shivered. “There’s no such thing as zombies, so I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, have hospital security send me the surveillance video tonight.” She waved one hand at a camera on the wall. And give me that evidence you extracted.” The captain dropped her hands to her sides, then leaned forward. “Now!”
Gary the ME jumped. I would have too if I’d been on the receiving end of a werewolf’s anger. He sprinted across the room, grabbed a plastic evidence bag, and handed it to Captain Dennison immediately. She held it up to the light, peering at the object inside. I joined her.
The bag contained more than half of a copper blade. I recognized it right away, of course. So did Bianca and Olivia, judging from their gasps. It was the business end of the dagger Tony had used to attack the goon back in the Olneyville house. Somehow, the wise guy had turned Tony’s own blade on him.
“Fax over all the written observations you have.” The captain’s nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. “And you find that body. Without it, we have no case against his dad. Habeas corpus, Gary. You know the drill.”
Captain Den
nison stalked out of the room, holding the bag. Gary’s shoulders dropped as he let out a sigh of completely understandable relief. Then he hung his head.
“Is he still alive?” Olivia’s question came out in a voice more strained and frayed than the broken end of the dagger. “Could he have gotten up and left on his own?”
“There’s no way.” Gary shook his head. “He’d been dead for hours. Once the heart and brainwaves stop, shifters can’t do their fast-healing thing.”
“But maybe the dagger was keeping him in a near-death state or something.” Olivia Adler grasped at a tattered remnant of hope.
“Look, if the doctor upstairs had thought to look for copper, they might have saved him. It’s one reason we need more MDs who specialize in extrahumans. But the education hasn’t caught up with the law yet.” Gary hung his head. “With that blade in his chest, he couldn’t heal the burns or his liver or the punctured lung.”
“I don’t believe you. The simplest explanation for Tony disappearing is that he got up and walked out.” Olivia spun on her heel. “Come on, Bianca, Horace. We’ve got a cat shifter to track.”
The owl shifter strode out the door ahead of us. I didn’t agree with Olivia’s explanation. We followed at a decent distance, not far enough away to lose her but not close enough that she’d overhear.
“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt,” I whispered to Bianca. “It’s a stage of grief.”
“I know.” Bianca ran a hand through her hair. “But I don’t think she’ll ever believe Tony is really gone unless we find his body.”
“Do you think the simplest explanation is that one of the Gattos took him?” I peered at her, taking in the smooth lines of her face in profile as she contemplated my theory.
