Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Hunter on avoiding relationship issues and regaining memories
I took an Uber straight to Pinkie’s Bar.
Once I’d gotten outside Regge’s apartment and had two seconds to think, I realized I had no place to go.
It was early in the morning. My apartment and Izzy’s house were occupied.
I had no idea where my car was. I could call Abraham, but again, it was early.
Bar folk were not morning folk. Not that I wanted to talk to anyone.
Once at Pinkie’s, I skirted the building to let myself in the back entrance, flicking on a couple of lights. I looked in the large cooler and found some ham slices, tomato, and mayo to make a sandwich. Finished in four bites, made and ate another, not recalling the last time I’d eaten anything.
Grabbing a soda from the cooler under the bar, I landed in Abe’s office, plopping myself down on the undersized love seat. The room itself was not much bigger than a closet—a long, narrow closet. Abe’s desk butted up against the end wall with barely enough room for the rolling chair next to it.
I drank my soda and tried to settle my mind.
What stupid continual optimism. The ridiculous notion that one night of great sex would fix everything.
Really, it was two nights, right? The night in the woods, under the stars, Regge’s soft moans of pleasure under my hands.
And then last night. Where had yesterday gone? Why couldn’t I remember?
I pulled out my phone and checked the date. The camping night had been two nights ago, not one. I’d lost an entire night and two days. Almost thirty-six hours. And Regge knew why.
The soda gone, I pulled Abe’s shirt from the back of his chair and used it as a pillow. Exhausted, confused, and yes, I would admit it, heartbroken, I closed my eyes and slept. I’d trusted Regge. At the very least, we were friends—and friends didn’t lie to each other.
“Hunter? Is that you?” Abraham was looking at me strangely. I must have slept because I felt groggy and stiff.
“Do I not look like me?” I sat up and smoothed down my hair. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
Abraham stood in the doorway to his office, a worried frown on his face. “How do you feel?”
“Fine. Why does everyone keep asking that? I made a sandwich, well, two. Am I on shift today?” God, I wanted to be working. I was tired, but work was normal, and keeping busy would keep me from thinking.
“Don’t worry about that. Why aren’t you at Regge’s? You should be resting.”
“We had a fight.”
Abe leaned back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “About the whole ritual thing? No one anticipated that happening. We’re glad you’re back. It’s been a tough few days. For both of you, I expect.”
I rubbed at my face, not understanding my boss’s words. We’d done the ritual? Already? “I think I need coffee.” I stood up, but something in Abraham’s expression stopped me. “What?”
“Ah. Well, there’s someone here. He needed a place to go. Don’t panic.” Abe turned and walked toward the bar area.
I followed him out, wondering what the hell had happened between camping and last night in Regge’s bed. “So do you know where my car is?”
Abraham poured black coffee into a heavy mug. “Julian Eskridge, meet Bruce Hunter, my employee and friend.” He gave a head jerk toward the corner booth.
I turned to see the man from the diner lounging against the backrest. He looked a bit gray, more than a bit unshaven, and was wearing a ridiculous Temple U shirt that was four sizes too small. An air of not giving a fuck hung over him as he nodded at me.
“Hey, kid. You okay?”
Again with the questions. What the hell happened to me that I didn’t remember? I didn’t answer him, but I wasn’t thrilled to see him.
Or that he called me kid. One, I was likely only three or four years younger than him so not a kid by any means. And two, wasn’t he the bad guy? The one who’d sent goons with guns after us? What the hell was he doing here? Abe’s warning made sense now.
Everyone was acting strange—like I’d been kidnapped or gravely injured or something. A swallow of scalding coffee gave me a much-needed jolt.
“I’m— What the hell are you doing here?”
“He needed somewhere to recover.” Abraham answered before—what was his name? Julian. Julian stayed silent.
“Recover from what?”
“Gunshot wound. Long story,” Julian grumbled.
Abraham fixed his own coffee as he launched into a terse but lengthy explanation.
I sat at the bar, drinking the bitter brew as my mind crawled through flashes of memory.
The hotel, the burned-out room, a medallion floating in the air, a fight, Anu’s voice in my head.
Then Regge. Always Regge. Don’t die on me. Please, Hunter. Come back to me.
I hung on those words like a lifeline, but it was only a spider’s web, strong enough to bind but too fragile to hold everything inside me. It was all disjointed, like a dream I couldn’t quite remember, even as Abraham filled in the blanks.
“I hit my head.” I repeated his words, leaping at an explanation for my shattering headache. I probably had a concussion and some memory loss. Temporary. It would all come back to me. I hoped. But why was Regge so freaked out? What had I done that was so awful Reg couldn’t look me in the eye?
Abraham was still talking. So much talking. I wanted to scream at him to stop. It was too much.
“When you came to, you weren’t you. I thought Regge was going to have a heart attack. He was so desperate to get you back. Wait, Regge told you this, right? That you kind of shared a body with the old dude.”
I lost track of the words again. Abraham reached across the bar, a big hand on my forearm. “You’re okay, bud. Everything’s okay.”
I blinked at him. “I shared a body? Like whose body? God, was this a sex thing?”
Julian barked out a laugh as Abraham huffed. He tried again.
“No. Listen. The transference went wrong. The necromancer’s spirit was in you, talking in English and everything. Your mind or soul or whatever you want to call it took a back seat. But he’s out now.”
I shivered. “Thank God. How would I explain that to my mom? Okay, so where is Master Anu now?”
“He’s dead,” Julian said flatly. “I know he’s dead. Don’t ask me how I— Oh no! He’s dead.” His gruff voice changed at that last bit.
Both Abraham and I stared at the hardened mobster as he broke down, crying into his big hands.
“Dude. Why are you crying?”
“I’m not fucking crying. Goddamn it.” He jumped up. “Leave me the fuck alone.” He headed for the hallway where the bathrooms were.
I looked at Abraham. “He’s the cause of this whole shitshow.” I lurched off the barstool, unable to sit still. My footsteps traced a line from the door back to the bar.
“He took a bullet for me. He was dying. I owed him,” Abraham explained. “Julian’s not one of us, that’s true. But he did what he did because he was desperate. I get that kind of desperation.” His soft brown eyes searched my face. “But you’re good, right? Things are normal.”
“Normal?” My voice rose. “You mean like me not being possessed by an ancient necromancer? Or a Mafia dude crying in the bathroom? Or Regge pretty much lying to my face? That kind of normal?” I was shaking. “Oh God. I’m gonna hurl.” I leaned over where I stood, inhaling great gulps of air.
Abraham’s big hand came across my shoulder. “Look, I don’t know about you and Regge, but you should have seen him. He was ready to burn down the world to save you. Just talk to him, man.”
The memory of Regge’s words, so tender and loving. His voice flowing like velvet over me, saying he was going to fix things. That everything would be all right. I straightened, blinking fast to avoid tears.
“I’m okay. You should go check on Julian. He’s having a tough day.”
Abraham headed back down the hall and banged on the bathroom door.
A few minutes later, Julian emerged, looking more composed. He threw me a look of apology before sliding gingerly into his booth.
Abraham’s phone dinged and he left us, murmuring something about a delivery. I brought the coffee carafe over to the booth and refilled Julian’s cup. I slid onto the seat across from him.
“You okay there, buddy?”
“Buddy? Oh yes.” Julian’s tone was lighter, almost cheerful.
“I’m so glad to see you, Hunter.” The man across from me gasped in surprise at his own words.
“No. I mean. God, I’m losing my mind.” He dropped his head into his hands.
“Who the hell is Nigel, and why do I keep hearing his name in my head?”
“Nigel?” I peered intently at the big man across the table. The bruising under his eyes was faded but still visible, his eyes slightly unfocused and bloodshot. His olive-toned skin was sallow, and he did not look well, but he offered a tentative smile. I gaped at him. “Nigel, are you…”
“Again, who the fuck is Nigel?” This time it was a growl.
I scowled at his bullshit anger. Two minutes ago, he was crying in his cup. “Nigel is the night clerk of the hotel. If you were there at all, you must have seen him.”
Julian’s forehead furrowed in thought. “Yeah maybe. Squirrely guy. Bow tie?”
“Yep. Well, he’s a ghost. Master Anu reanimated a body for him, so he was kind of solid, but not…
” I shook my head. This was too convoluted for a simple explanation.
“That’s what we were doing when you and your guys busted in.
Saving Nigel.” I remembered bits and pieces of that now. Enough to know it happened.
Julian rubbed his chest with a wince. “We didn’t mean to. Damn it, I get these random thoughts that don’t feel like me. Like being sad about the necromancer dying. Or when I saw you, just now.” He gestured across the table. “It was like seeing an old friend, and I don’t know you from fucking Adam.”
I smiled. “Nigel and I are recent friends. I don’t know him that well. And technically, I wasn’t there when his spirit was transferred to you, so… Do you have memory loss, blackouts? Anything like that?”