CHAPTER FORTY
When First Rank DH Oleander Keen was finally released from the sanatorium, his partner was waiting for him.
Though she’d drained herself of every scrap of power during the battle in the catacombs and had subsequently been shot, she had recovered far faster than he had – a failure of his fragile human body.
The knife Abigail had buried in his side had led to massive internal bleeding, and being swallowed whole by an eldritch horror had ravaged his skin and lungs.
Even now, breathing still hurt and a soft breeze felt like needles across his skin, though the doctors assured him the damage would heal – eventually.
As for Hero Viridian – leaning casually against the wall outside the hospital, cane in hand, tiny hat perched on her sleek silver hair, wearing her bastardized nun garb, the sun catching threads of gold in her emerald harem pants, fiery eyes shielded by green-tinted glasses – she looked the same as she had the first day he’d met her.
Of course, this time he wasn’t gripped by the instinctual urge to attack her.
By now, he’d grown rather used to her demon half, even… well, appreciative.
Keen paused at the top of the broad steps outside the hospital, keeping to the shadows cast by the impressive edifice – like all things in Havenside, Merciful Souls Hospital had been built to project wealth and beauty – and watched his partner spin her cane.
Yes, she seemed much the same, but no one came through what they had unscathed, not even an unrepentant ex-nun half-demon arsonist.
He rubbed his arm where the cannula had been embedded until only a few days ago, delivering the transfused blood and other fluids needed to keep him alive.
The knife wound, still red but healing well, was hidden beneath his shirt – a civvy shirt.
He twitched his shoulders, finding the clothes ill-fitting. Too new and too stiff.
Everything he owned had burned up in the fire that destroyed his house. Donations from citizens had helped him recoup some of the losses. He was grateful, yes, but he couldn’t help feeling like a charity case again.
Good old Charity Keen!
The stray thought was in Dirk’s voice, and Keen shuddered, tugged his sleeves down to his wrists, then sighed. He had too many regrets, killing Dirk being one of the biggest, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He could only carry on like a good PK would, a servant of the Realm.
At least, as far as he knew, he was still a servant of the Realm.
While he’d been bed-bound at the hospital, his fellow PKs had been in and out of his room, offering sympathy, bringing small gifts and sneaking in flasks he pretended to drink.
Suddenly, they were all friends and he was the most popular guy in the precinct – a strange turn of events, considering they’d been trying to kill him not long before, though everyone assured him that had been due to the Fog spell engulfing the town.
Now, he was a hero. His actions had saved the town.
Hell, he’d saved the eastern coast of the Realm and every PK and demonhunter living there. No wonder they all loved him now.
Immediately after the destruction of Bright Renewal, things hadn’t been so chummy.
The PKs had only just been coming out of the effects of the spell and were confused to say the least. Even wounded and only just clinging on to life, Keen had been subjected to fierce questioning, forced to repeat every detail of the events leading up to that final, cataclysmic confrontation until his voice failed and he fell back into delirium.
They hadn’t gone easy on him, not at all.
He could only imagine what Hero had gone through, the half-demon firestarter.
Nevertheless, he’d been more than happy to explain all he knew, and eventually they’d ceased their interrogations. Chief Roger Dewey had paid him a visit soon after the last of his questioners pronounced his interview complete, looking apologetic and vaguely ashamed.
“You did well, son,” he’d said, twisting his captain’s hat in his hands as he stood at the foot of Keen’s narrow hospital bed.
His gaze kept switching to the nurses and other patients in the crowded ward, not a few of whom were injured youths who’d escaped the flames at Bright Renewal, before coming back to him.
“I’m recommending you for a commendation. ”
Before, Keen would have swelled with pride at his commanding officer’s praise, but now, with his skin feeling like it was being attacked by a cheese grater and every breath a struggle, he couldn’t bring himself to care much.
“Thank you, sir,” he said. Then he cleared his throat, wincing at the sharp pain, and asked what he’d asked every PK who’d darkened his door: “Where is Inspector Viridian? Is she allowed to visit? I would very much like to see her.” No one else had given him anything other than vague assurances, but he wasn’t about to let Dewey off so easily.
Again, a shifting of his gaze. “Inspector Viridian is not your concern.”
“She’s my partner.” Keen struggled to sit up, confounded by the monumental effort of moving a thin sheet. He fell back, exhausted and angry. “Tell me! If it weren’t for Hero Viridian we’d all be dead. Where is she ?”
Lips pressed into a line, Dewey closed the curtains to given them some semblance of privacy before he settled himself on a stool near Keen’s head.
“I know that, Keen,” he said sharply. “I know it better than anyone. But I don’t run this town, and lots of very powerful people just watched their considerable investment go up in smoke and flames.
They’re still grappling with the fact that Abigail Primm was half demon and the entire Primm clan a bunch of Pandemonium shills.
Needless to say, respectable Havenside is rocked to the core.
They came looking for a scapegoat and Hero Viridian seemed an easy target.
Right now, she’s cooling in a cell, safe and sound, under my protection and the protection of every peacekeeper who knows the truth and understands what we owe her. ”
Keen didn’t know if he was shaking from weakness or anger at Dewey’s confession. No wonder none of the others would tell him anything. “You arrested her?” he hissed. “You’re letting the damn country-club set decide her guilt or innocence?”
“She’s not under arrest, not technically, just… being held for questioning as a person of interest.”
“Goddess damn you all!”
“She’s fine, Keen,” Dewey said with an admonishing look.
“Better than you, anyway.” He stood, slapping his hat back on his head.
“We all owe Viridian. No one denies it, not among the peacekeepers, at least. By the Goddess, you owe her more than anyone. Her blood saved you when she hardly had a drop to spare.”
Keen started, his eyes going to the tube snaking into his arm. It contained clear fluid at the moment, but he had vague memories of bright blood filling it, and of Hero’s fiercely whispered encouragement as he lay dying: “Hang on, Keen. Avoid bright lights, kid. Come on…”
“You have to trust me, son. For now, just focus on getting better.”
At the time, Keen had had little choice but to comply.
Worry for his partner kept him from an easy rest, and nightmares plagued him when he did manage to sleep.
The sensation of falling would grip him as he drifted off, shocking him awake to lie in a cold sweat.
When his eyes closed, all he could see were teeth and a gaping mouth waiting for him.
The Devourer had swallowed him whole, sucking him down its tight gullet, so tight he’d thought he’d be crushed to death right there.
But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d landed in a pool of stink and searing acid, hot and dark and horrifying.
In his nightmares, he was still there, fighting for his life, panicked and terrified.
Most times, in those dreams, Hero died fighting the Devourer and he was digested.
Sometimes, he dreamed that Abigail killed him, driving the knife deep into his heart. He never slept another wink on the nights he had that particular dream.
His deep feelings for Abigail Hollander had faded during his recovery, as if he’d been slowly freed of his own, personal Fog spell. It made him think her demonic power had been influencing him. It didn’t excuse his mistakes, but he felt slightly mollified to think it wasn’t entirely his fault.
Her small, shriveled corpse had been recovered in the embrace of the unfortunate Cole Graham, who had been sent to Bright Renewal as a sacrifice.
Now the nuns had her body and were studying it, dissecting it, learning how to better kill demons like her in the future.
The news of her demise had made him angry; angry for all her victims. The letter Cole had written to his sister had been found buried in the evidence file Smith and Coates had compiled – to their deep embarrassment – detailing how Bright Renewal Academy was feeding students cursed with demon blood to an eldritch entity in an attempt to raise it from the deepest reaches of Pandemonium.
They also knew from Molly Franke that Abigail had been the one who’d chased Cassie Graham to her death off the clock tower, enraged that the girl hadn’t kept her mouth shut.
Luckily, his agony over Hero’s fate had been mitigated by the news that she’d been released at the behest of a certain Captain Culpepper from New Savage City, who was arriving soon with Keen’s mother in tow.
He’d sent Dewey a strongly worded letter ripe with threats and less-than-subtle implications.
Soon after, Hero had been fully exonerated and restored to her full rank and station among the inspector peacekeepers.