White Witch, Black Curse (The Hollows #7)

White Witch, Black Curse (The Hollows #7) Page 2

We'll take the next elevator," the tidy woman said with an overly bright smile as she pulled her confused friend back into the hall and the silver doors slid shut before Ford and me.

Wondering, I glanced at the huge lift. The thing was big enough for a gurney. Ford and I were the only two people in here. But then the woman's harsh whisper of "Black witch" came in just before the doors met, telling me all I needed to know.

"The Turn take it," I muttered, tugging my bag back up on my shoulder.

Beside me, Ford edged away, not enjoying my angry emotions as I fumed. I wasn't a black witch. Okay, so my aura was covered with demon smut. And yeah, I'd been filmed last year being dragged down the street on my ass by a demon. It probably didn't help that the entire universe knew I'd summoned one into an I.S. courtroom to testify against Piscary, Cincinnati's top vampire and my roommate's former master. But I was a white witch. Wasn't I?

Depressed, I stared at the dull silver panels of the hospital elevator. Ford was a dark blur beside me, his head bowed as I stewed. I wasn't a demon to be pulled back to the ever-after when the sun rose, but my children would be-thanks to the illegal genetic tinkering of the now-dead Senior Kalamack. He had unknowingly broken the checks and balances that elves magicked into the demon's genome thousands of years ago, effectively allowing only magically stunted demon children to survive. The elves named the new species witches, telling us lies and convincing us to fight demons in their war. When we found out the truth, we abandoned the elves and demons both, migrating out of the ever-after and doing our best to forget our origins. Which we did admirably, to the point where I was the only witch to know the truth.

Ceri had filled in the gaps of Mr. Haston's sixth-grade history class, having been a demon's familiar before I rescued her. She'd read up on it between twisting curses and planning orgies.

No one knew the truth but me and my partners. And Al, the demon I had a standing teaching date with every Saturday. And Newt, the ever-after's most powerful demon. There was Al's parole officer, Dali. Mustn't forget Trent and whoever he'd told, but that was likely going to be no one, seeing that his dad's breaking of the genetic roadblock had been a stupid thing to do. No wonder they'd killed all the geneticists at the Turn. Too bad they'd missed Trent's dad.

Ford jiggled on his feet, then, looking embarrassed, he pulled a black metal flask from a coat pocket, twisted off the top, tilted his head to the ceiling, and took a swig.

Watching his Adam's apple move, I gave him a questioning look.

"It's medicinal," he said, a charming shade of red as he fumbled recapping it.

"Well, we are in a hospital," I said dryly, then snatched it. Ford protested as I took a sniff, then touched it to my lips. My eyes widened. "Vodka?"

Looking even more embarrassed, the slight man took it from my unresisting fingers, capped it, and tucked it away. The elevator chimed and the panels slid apart. Before us was a hallway like any other in the building, with its low-mat carpet, white walls, and banister.

My worry for Glenn came rushing back, and I lurched forward. Ford and I bumped as we got out, and I felt a wash of chagrin. I knew he didn't like to touch anyone. "Can I steady myself on your elbow?" he asked, and I glanced at the pocket he had dropped the flask into.

"Lightweight," I said, reaching out for him, careful to touch him only through his coat.

"I'm not drunk," he said sourly, linking his arm in mine in a motion that held absolutely no romance, but rather, desperation. "The emotions are sharp in here. The alcohol helps. I'm in overload, and I'd rather feel your emotions than everyone else's."

"Oh." Feeling honored, I strode forward with him and past the two orderlies pushing a hamper. My good mood soured when one of them whispered, "Should we call security?"

Ford's grip tightened when I spun to give them my opinion, and the two skittered away like I was the boogeyman. "They're just afraid," Ford said, his fingers tightening on me.

We continued down the hall, and I wondered if they could kick me out. The beginnings of a headache pulsed. "I'm a white witch, damn it," I said to no one, and the guy in a lab coat coming toward us gave us a cursory glance.

Ford was looking pale, and I tried to calm myself before they admitted him. I should step up my efforts to find a muffler for him-other than alcohol, that is.

"Thanks," he whispered as he picked up on my concern, then, voice stronger, he added, "Rachel, you summon demons. You're good at it. Get over it, then find a way to make it work for you. It's not going to go away."

I huffed, ready to tell him he had no right to sound so high and mighty, but turning a liability into an asset was exactly what he had done with his "gift." I gave his arm a squeeze, then started when I saw Ivy, my roommate, bending over the nurses' desk, not caring that a male orderly had just walked into a wall watching her. Her black jeans were low and tight, but she had the body of a model and could get away with it. The matching cotton pullover was cut high to give a glimpse of her lower back as she craned to see what was on the computer. In deference to the cold, her long leather coat was draped over the counter. Ivy was a living vampire, and she looked it: svelte, dark, and broody. It made it hard to live with her, but I was no picnic either, and we knew each other's quirks.

"Ivy!" I called, and her head turned, her short, enviably straight hair with the gold tips swinging as she came up. "How did you find out about Glenn?"

Ford's shoulders slumped, all his tension slipping from him as he held my arm. He looked happy. But he would, seeing that he was picking up my emotions and I was happy to see Ivy. Perhaps I might invest in a little talk time about Ivy when Ford and I got together again. I could use his insight into our uneasy relationship.

I wasn't Ivy's blood shadow, but her friend. That a vampire could be friends with anyone without sharing blood was unusual, but we had an additional complication. Ivy liked both boys and girls, mixing blood and sex into one and the same. She'd been clear that she wanted me, too, in any capacity, but I was straight, apart from a confusing year of trying to separate blood lust from gender preference. That she'd bitten me more than once hadn't helped. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The rush from a vampire bite was too close to sexual ecstasy to dismiss, and it had taken me thinking I'd been bound to Kisten's killer to wake me up. The risk of becoming a shadow was too great. I trusted Ivy. It was her blood lust I was worried about.

So we lived together in the church that was also our runner business, sleeping across the hall from each other and doing our best to not push each other's buttons. One might think Ivy would be ticked off after wasting a year chasing me, but she had a blissful happiness that vampires didn't often find. Apparently my telling her I wasn't ever going to let her sink her teeth into me again was the only way she'd believe I liked her for her and not the way she could make me feel. I just admired the hell out of anyone who could be that hard on herself and still be so incredibly strong. And I loved her. I didn't want to sleep with her, but I did love her.

Ivy came to meet us, her small lips closed and her slim boots silent on the carpet. She moved with a memorable grace, and there was a slight grimace on her usually placid face. Her features held a slight Asian cast, having an oval face, a small nose, and a heart-shaped mouth. It was seldom she smiled, afraid the emotion would break her self-control. I think that was one of the reasons we were friends-I laughed enough for both of us. That, and the fact that she thought I could find a way to save her soul when she died and became an undead. Right now, I was just looking to find the rent money. I'd get to my roommate's soul later.

"Edden called the church first," she said by way of greeting, her thin eyebrows high as she spotted Ford's arm linked in mine. "Hi, Ford."

The man reddened at the lilt she'd put in her last words, but I wouldn't let him take his arm back. I liked being needed. "He's having trouble with the background emotion," I said.

"And he'd rather be abused by yours?"

Nice. "Do you know what room Glenn is in?" I said as Ford's arm slipped away.

She nodded, her dark eyes not missing a thing. "This way. He's still not conscious." Ivy headed down the hallway with us in tow, but when we passed the desk, one of the nurses stood, determination on her no-nonsense face. "I'm sorry. No visitors except family."

A pang of fear went through me, not because I might not see Glenn, but that his condition was so serious they wouldn't let anyone in. Ivy didn't slow down, though, and neither did I.

The nurse started after us. My pulse quickened, but another waved us on, then turned to the first nurse. "It's Ivy," the second nurse said, as if that meant something.

"You mean the vampire who's-" the first nurse said, but she was pulled back to the desk before I heard the rest. I turned to Ivy, seeing that her pale complexion had shifted to pink.

"The vampire who's what?" I asked, remembering her stint here as a candy striper.

Ivy's jaw tightened. "Glenn's room is down here," she said, avoiding my question. Whatever.

An unexpected sense of panic hit me when Ivy made a sharp left into a room and vanished behind the oversize door. I stared at it, hearing the soft sounds of delicate machinery. Memories of sitting with my dad as he took his last, struggling breaths swam up, then more recent, of watching Quen fight for his life. I froze, unable to move. Behind me, Ford stumbled, as if I had slapped him.

Crap. I flushed, embarrassed that he was feeling my misery. "I'm sorry," I gushed as he stood in the hallway and held up a hand to tell me he was all right. I thanked God Ivy had already gone in and wasn't seeing what I'd done to him.

"It's okay." His eyes were weary as he came close again, hesitant until he knew I had the old pain safely tucked away. "Can I ask who?"

I swallowed hard. "My dad."

Eyes down, he guided me to the door. "You were about twelve?"

"Thirteen." And then we were inside, and I could see that it wasn't the same room at all.

Slowly my shoulders eased. My dad had died with nothing to save him. As a law enforcer, Glenn was getting the best of everything. His father was in the rocker pulled up to his bedside, ramrod straight. Glenn was being taken care of. Edden was the one in pain.

The small, stocky man tried to smile, but he couldn't do it. In the few hours since learning about his son's attack, his pale face had acquired wrinkles I'd only seen hints of before. In his grip was a winter hat, his short fingers working the rim around and around. He stood, and my heart went out to him when he exhaled, the sound carrying all his fear and worry.

Edden was the captain of the FIB's Cincinnati division, the ex-military man bringing to the office the hard, succeed-against-all-odds determination he'd gained in the service. Seeing him down to the bare bones of himself was hard. The lingering questions in the FIB as to my "convenient" amnesia concerning Kisten's death had never occurred to Edden. He trusted me, and because of that, he was one of the few humans I absolutely trusted in return. His son, unconscious on the bed, was another.

"Thank you for coming," he said automatically, his gravelly voice cracking, and I worked to keep from crying when he ran a blunt hand over his short-cropped, graying hair in a recognizable sign of stress. I came close to give him a hug, and the familiar scent of old coffee hit me.

"You know we wouldn't let you do this alone," Ivy said from her corner where she'd folded herself stiffly into a padded chair, quietly giving support the only way she could.

"How is he?" I asked as I turned to Glenn.

"They won't give me a straight answer," he said, his voice higher than usual. "He's been beaten up pretty bad. Head trauma-" His voice broke, and he went silent.

I looked at Glenn on the bed, his very dark skin standing out starkly against the sheets. There was a white bandage around his head, and they had shaved a swath of his tightly curling black hair. Bruises marked his face, and he had a split lip. A nasty swath of bruised skin ran from his shoulder to under the sheets, and his fingers resting on the blanket were swollen.

Edden sank into his chair and looked at his son's damaged hand. "They wouldn't let me in," he said softly. "They didn't believe I was his father. Bigoted bastards." Slowly his hand went out, and he cradled Glenn's hand as if it were a baby bird.

I swallowed hard at the love. Edden had adopted Glenn when he married his mother-must have been at least twenty years ago-and though they looked nothing like each other, they were exactly alike where it counted, both strong in their convictions and consistently putting their lives in danger to fight injustice. "I'm sorry," I almost croaked, feeling his pain.

In the threshold, Ford closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and leaned against the frame.

Grabbing a chair, I dragged it across the linoleum to where I could see Edden and Glenn both. My bag went on the floor and my hand on the FIB captain's shoulder. "Who did this?"

Edden took a slow breath. In her corner, Ivy sat up. "He was working on something on his own," the man said, "after hours, in case what surfaced would be better left off the record. One of our officers died last week after a long wasting illness. He was a friend of Glenn's, and Glenn found out he'd been cheating on his wife." Edden glanced up. "Keep that to yourselves."

Ivy got to her feet, interested. "She poisoned her husband?"

The FIB captain shrugged. "That's what Glenn thought, according to his notes. He went to talk to the mistress this morning. That's where-" His voice cut off, and we patiently waited while he steadied himself. "The working theory is," he said softly, "that the husband was there and freaked out, attacked Glenn, and then they both left him for dead in their living room."

"Oh my God," I whispered, going cold.

"He was off duty," Edden continued, "so he lay there almost an hour before someone checked on him because he didn't come in to work. He's a smart kid, and one of his friends knew what he was doing and where he had gone."

My breath caught when Edden turned to me, pain etched deep in his brown eyes as he tried to find an answer. "We never would have found him otherwise. Not in time. They left him there. They could have called 911 and fled, but they left my boy to die."

The warm prick of tears hit me, and I gave the stocky, heartbroken man a sideways hug. "He's going to be okay," I whispered. "I know it." My gaze went to Ford as he came in to stand at the foot of the bed. "Right?"

Ford gripped the footboard as if struggling for balance. "Can I have a moment with Glenn alone?" he asked. "I can't work with all of you in here."

Immediately I stood. "Sure."

Ivy touched the lump that was Glenn's feet as she passed, and she was gone. Edden slowly stood, letting go of his son's hand with an obvious reticence. Leaning over Glenn, he whispered in a severe tone, "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere, young man. You hear me?"

I drew Edden out of the room. "Come on. I'll get you some coffee. There's gotta be a machine around here somewhere."

I looked back as we left. Glenn looked like crap, but as long as his mind was undamaged, he'd be okay. Ford could tell, couldn't he?

As I escorted Edden down the hallway in Ivy's wake, I felt a moment of guilty relief. At least Glenn hadn't been hurt because of someone trying to get to me. It might sound like vanity on my part, but it had happened before. Ivy's old master vampire had raped her to get her to kill me, had given Kisten to his death for the same reason. Piscary was dead now, Kisten, too; I was alive, and I wasn't going to let others get hurt for me again.

Edden pulled out of my grip when we reached a bench across from a vending machine. Everything was done in institutional comfort: soothing shades of taupe and cushions not soft enough to encourage lingering. A wide window opened onto the snowplowed parking lot, and I sat so my feet were in the shaft of dusky sunlight coming in. There was no warmth. Edden sat beside me with his elbows on his knees, his forehead cupped in his hands. I didn't like seeing the intelligent, quick-fingered man so depressed. I didn't think he even remembered I was here.

"He's going to be okay," I said, and Edden took a deep breath.

"I know he will," he said with a forcefulness that said he wasn't sure. "Whoever did this was a professional. Glenn stumbled into something bigger than a wife cheating on her husband."

Ah hell. Maybe it is my fault. Ivy's shadow fell on us, and I looked up. Her silhouette was sharp against the bright window, and I leaned back into shadow.

"I'll find out who did this," she said, then turned to me. "We both will. And don't insult us by offering to pay for it."

My lips parted in surprise. She had tried to hide herself in shadow, but her words gave away her anger. "I thought you didn't like Glenn," I said stupidly, then went hot.

Her hand moved to her hip. "This isn't a matter of like or dislike. Someone mauled a law officer and left him for dead. The I.S. won't do anything about it, and anarchy can't be allowed a toehold." She turned and the sun came in. "I don't think a human did that to him," she said as she moved to sit across from us. "Whoever it was knew exactly how to cause an excruciating amount of pain without letting him pass out from it. I've seen it before."

I could almost hear her think, Vampire.

Edden's hands clenched, then he visibly forced himself to relax. "I agree."

Unable to sit still, I squirmed. "He's going to be okay," I said. Damn it, I didn't know what else to say! Ivy's entire vampiric culture was based on monsters who worked outside the law, people who treated people like boxes of chocolates. The biggest and baddest, the ones who made the rules, got away with anything.

Ivy leaned across the wide space between us. "Give me the address where he was found," she demanded. "I want to look."

Edden pressed his lips together, making his mustache bunch out. It was the first sign of him regaining himself. "Ivy, I appreciate your offer," he said, his voice firm. "But we can handle it. I have people out there right now."

Her eye twitched, and though it was hard to tell, I think her pupils were dilating in pique. "Give me the address," she repeated. "If an Inderlander did this, you're going to need Rachel and me. The I.S. won't help you."

Not to mention that the FIB will probably miss the Inderland stuff, I thought, settling myself with a soft huff more firmly in the thin padding.

Edden eyed her, clearly peeved himself. "My department is working on it. Glenn will be conscious in a few days, and then-"

His eyes closed, and he became silent. Ivy stood, agitated. Almost brutal, she said, "If you don't put the heat on whoever did this in the next few hours, they will be gone." Edden met her eyes and she added more gently, "Let us help. You're too involved. The entire FIB is. You need someone out there who can look at what happened with dispassion, not a desire for revenge."

I made a small noise and crossed my arms over my middle. Revenge was on my mind. "Come on, Edden, this is what we do for a living!" I said. "Why won't you let us help?"

A dry humor was in the short man's eyes as he looked askance at me. "It's what Ivy does for a living. You're not a detective, Rachel. You're a haul-them-in-girl, and none better. I'll let you know when we find out who it is, and if it's a witch, I'll give you a call."

That hit me with all the pleasure of a slap in the face, and my eyes narrowed. Ivy saw my irritation, and she leaned back, content to let me yell at him. But instead of standing up and telling him to get Turned-which wouldn't do anything but get us thrown out-I swallowed my pride, contenting myself with bobbing my foot in anger.

"Then give Ivy the address," I said, wanting to accidentally kick him in the shins. "She can find a fairy fart in a windstorm," I said, borrowing one of Jenks's favorite expressions. "And what if it is an Inderlander? You want to risk losing them because of your human pride?"

Maybe that was low, but I was tired of looking at crime scenes after the cleaning crew.

Edden looked from Ivy's mocking expectancy to my admirably contained redhead anger, then pulled out a palm-size spiral notebook. I smiled at the scratch of the pencil as he wrote something down, a pleasant slurry of contentment and anticipation filling me. We'd find whoever attacked Glenn and left him to die. And whoever it was better hope I was there with Ivy, or they'd be subjected to her own personal version of justice.

The sound of the paper tearing free was loud, and with a wry grimace, he extended the strip of white and blue to Ivy. She didn't look at it, handing it to me instead.

"Thank you," I said crisply, tucking it away.

A soft scrape of shoe on carpet brought my attention up, and I followed Ivy's gaze, over my shoulder. Ford was shuffling to us, his head bowed and my bag in his grip. I felt a moment of panic, and in response, he looked up, smiling. My eyes closed. Glenn was okay.

"Thank you, God," Edden whispered, standing up.

I had to hear it, though, and as Ford handed me my forgotten bag and took the cup of coffee Ivy gave him, I asked, "He's going to be okay?"

Ford nodded, eyeing us over the rim of the paper cup. "His mind is fine," he said, grimacing at the coffee's taste. "There's no damage. He's deep into his psyche, but as soon as his body repairs itself enough, he will regain consciousness. A day or two?"

Edden's breath shook as he exhaled, and Ford stiffened when the FIB captain shook his hand. "Thank you. Thank you, Ford. If there's anything I can do for you, let me know."

Ford smiled thinly. "I'm glad I could give you good news." Regaining his hand, he backed up a step. "Excuse me. I need to try to convince the nurses to back off on the meds. He's not in as much pain as they think, and it's slowing down his recovery."

"I'll do it." Ivy eased into motion. "I'll tell them I can smell it. They won't know the difference."

The beginnings of a smile curved my lips up as she almost sauntered down the hall, calling out to one nurse by name. Edden couldn't stop smiling, and I could see a hint of tears in his eyes as he shifted from foot to foot. "I need to make a couple of calls." He reached for his cell phone, then hesitated. "Ford, can Glenn hear me when I talk to him?"

Ford nodded, smiling tiredly. "He might not remember it, but he can."

Edden looked from me to Ford, clearly wanting to be with Glenn. "Go!" I said, giving him a happy little push. "Tell Glenn I want to talk to him when he wakes up."

His steps fast, Edden strode toward Glenn's room. I sighed, glad this story would have a happy ending. I was tired of the other kind. Ford looked pleased, and that was good, too. His life must be hell. No wonder he didn't tell anyone he could do this. They'd work him to death.

"What happened to Glenn's mom?" I asked now that we were alone.

Ford watched Edden wave to the nurses as he passed beyond the wide, smooth door and into Glenn's room. "She died fifteen years ago during a sixty-dollar stab-and-grab."

That's why he's a cop, I thought. "They've had only each other for a long time," I added, and Ford nodded, starting for the elevators. He looked whipped.

Ivy joined us after a last comment to the nurse. Falling into place on my other side, she looked across me to Ford. "What happened at the marina?" she asked as she shrugged into her long coat, and the afternoon's memories rushed back.

Her tone was slightly mocking, and I gave her a sidelong glance. I knew she was secure in her belief that her slow, steady investigations would find Kisten's killer faster than my reconstructing my memories. It was with no little pleasure that I glanced at Ford, then said to her, "Do you have time to go out tonight and smell the carpet?"

Ford chuckled, and Ivy stared, rocking to a halt at the elevators. "Excuse me?"

I punched the button for the lift. "Your nose is better than mine," I said simply.

Ivy blinked, her face blanker than usual. "You found something the FIB missed?"

I nodded as Ford pretended not to listen. "There's sticky silk stuck to the rim of the dresser's top. There might be a print, ah, other than the one I made today. And the floor under the window smells like vampire. It's not you or Kisten, so it might be his murderer."

Again, Ivy stared, looking uncomfortable. "You can tell the difference?"

The elevator doors slid open, and we all entered. "Can't you?" I said, backing up and pushing the button for the street level with a booted toe just because I could.

"I'm a vampire," she said, as if this made all the difference.

"I've lived with you for over a year," I said, wondering if I wasn't supposed to be able to tell the difference. "I know what you smell like," I muttered, embarrassed. "It's no big deal."

"Yes, it is," she whispered as the doors closed, and I hoped Ford hadn't heard.

I watched the numbers count down. "So you'll go out tonight?"

Ivy's eyes were black. "Yes."

I stifled a shiver, glad when the doors opened to show the busy lobby. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," she said, her gray-silk voice so thick with anticipation that I almost pitied the vampire who had killed Kisten.

Almost.