Chapter 20 #4
While Violette wasn’t a violent or sadistic person, she was impressed by power more than skill, although she was impressed by that, too.
And she often thought second about the consequences of magic use, rather than weighing them first. I’m sure she would have justified what I’d done as killing someone who was intent on killing me and the people around me—and that was how I was justifying it to myself, too, because it was true—but she would have been more impressed and less horrified than I was comfortable with.
I didn’t really blame her for that. The fact that she’d come out of my parents’ household—the people who thought that the solution to their child being a witch was to lock him in a fake asylum and have his magic forcibly stripped from him for his entire life—and still had any empathy for other people was a testament to her character.
It just had a few rusty places that still needed to be polished away.
Not that mine was any better.
The curtain moved again, much more slowly, this time, and Vi came in, carrying two bags of food. “Um. I borrowed the truck again,” she said, sounding a little chagrined. “Because there wasn’t anywhere to get food here, but I figured food was important…” She trailed off.
Ward smiled at her. “What did you get?” he asked.
“Oh! Um. Bagel breakfast sandwiches. There’s a bacon, egg, and cheese for Rayn,” she pulled it out and handed me the wrapped bundle, which was still warm.
“And a vegetarian sausage and cream cheese for you,” she continued, handing Ward another bundle.
His smile got wider, probably because she remembered he couldn’t have eggs or meat.
“And I got ham and egg and cheese,” she set hers on the end of the bed because there wasn’t a table in here.
“And then little hash brown things for everybody.” We each then got a small warm box.
She peered into the bag. “I got ketchup packets, too, if anybody wants them. And a few hot sauces.”
We all settled in to eat, passing around the bag full of condiment packets, stacks of napkins, and trying to talk about anything except what had happened the night before.
“So, um, tonight,” Vi finally said.
Ward grimaced. “I have to talk to Mason before we make any actual decisions,” he replied. “But I have the distinct feeling he’s not going to be willing to stay home again.”
“Tomorrow’s another private house party, though,” I objected. “Nobody’s going to protest at that.”
Ward nodded. “I know, but we can only push them so far.”
“Them?” Vi asked.
Ward rolled his eyes. “The very large men who feel distinctly responsible for our safety,” he replied.
“No, nobody is going to protest the extremely high-end house party that we are slated to work tomorrow. And nobody is going to protest the haunted lock-in at the historic plantation, either, since that’s also very high-end and invitation-only.
” That was Beck’s gig. “But Mason isn’t going to be willing to let me out of his sight for a while, I don’t think, so I’m guessing you two get to do the haunted house. ” He made a face. “Sorry.”
“A haunted house sounds awesome,” Vi said excitedly.
Ward shot me a glance. “Probably not for Rayn,” he replied. “Given that he will be able to see the actual haunting happening.”
“Oh.” Violette’s eyes were very wide. “I—forgot about that part.” She looked over at me. “Is that okay? Will that be okay?”
I nodded. “It’ll be fine. I’m not there to actually do anything with them—the idea is that Beck is essentially working security in case the spirits become agitated by the presence of too many living for too long.” I glanced over at Ward. “Right?”
“Exactly. She’s the dead-people bouncer.”
“Huh. I mean. That’s still pretty cool,” Vi insisted, popping the rest of her bagel sandwich into her mouth, then wiping her fingers on a napkin. “I’m okay doing that.”
“Rayn?” Ward asked.
It took me a second to realize he wanted to know if I’d be okay going to the haunted estate, too. “Yes, of course. Whatever you need me to do.”
Ward nodded. “Good.”
A nurse came in then, and proceeded to run through the discharge paperwork for both Ward and me, and I realized that Vi and I were going to have a problem—Ward didn’t have a chair anymore, since his was very, very broken.
It was in the back of the truck, but it was completely useless.
And I couldn’t carry him—I probably didn’t have the muscle to carry him on a good day, and not only was I essentially one-armed, but also exhausted.
“Ward—” I began.
“Yeah?” he asked, still skimming down the paperwork.
“How are we going to get you out of here and into the truck?” I asked.
He looked up, and I could see he didn’t exactly have an answer.
“I can help with that,” came Mason’s deep voice as he pushed aside the curtain. He immediately crossed over to Ward, wrapping the much smaller man in his arms. “Are you okay?” he murmured into Ward’s curls.
“I’m fine,” came the answer as Ward hugged him back, and I suddenly understood why Ward had asked if Raj and I were okay.
Because Raj hadn’t asked me if I was okay. Hadn’t asked about my prognosis or the cast on my arm. He’d just been angry. Yes, he’d kissed me before he left and asked me to be careful, but Mason’s reaction was almost the opposite. Concern first, not last.
It made me wonder—were we okay?