Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
After the whole visit debacle, I recognise the fingerprints of John’s interference everywhere. As I put two and two together, I realise quickly that not only has he paid for my treatment, he has also purchased all the toiletries and clothing that have conveniently appeared during my hospital stay.
It is a strange feeling, being vulnerable around someone who’s both hurt you and tended to you.
A tiny insistent sliver of compassion, keeps reiterating that the hellhound has lost his pack. Lost, what an insignificant word. John didn’t lose his pack. The demon, my demon master, murdered his family. That tiny shard of compassion insists that John is doing his best to ratify his mistake.
No—God, I smash that shard to pieces. I can’t allow myself to be that na?ve.
I rub my face and weave my fingers through my hair. I tug until the strands pull painfully against my scalp. I have to force myself to not believe my own hopeful lies that John somehow cares.
He does not.
It’s ludicrous of me to think so. He is using me to get at the demon. He has inserted himself into my life like some kind of virus. I was right with the analogy of him being an infection. He is the worst kind of infection.
John is poison.
I am not even going to pretend to understand what is going on in that man’s head. At least after he demanded my compliance, he thankfully left me alone.
For the millionth time, I stare out of the window that overlooks the hospital carpark. In the world outside this insular room, drizzle soaks the ground. It is the kind of day when the cold seeps into your bones.
My blood results have come back clear. No infection. I am finally free from my pus-girl status—they have finally cleared me to go home.
Home.
I turn my head and take in all the packed stuff on the bed. “How on earth am I going to carry it all…all this stuff?” I mumble. I fold my arms and hug myself. I’ve heard nothing back from the estate. So I’m unsure of where I’m going.
Is the estate still my home?
I poke at the bags. The hospital has its own portal, so at least I don’t have far to travel.
Portals are a witch-created gateway system that uses ley-line magic.
The witch magic attaches the doors to other doorways all over the world—you have to know the correct gateway code to go anywhere and you have to have permission—otherwise you’re going to get an unpleasant, possibly even fatal greeting by a ward on the other side.
Well, I wouldn’t. But it would be rude and dangerous to pop out of a random gateway.
I can’t explain why the gateways work for me and other magic doesn’t. I guess the ley line magic is so vast, my magic is like a teardrop in the ocean—it isn’t strong enough to interfere.
Only the rich and powerful have access to portals, so perhaps I’m wrong with my assumption that I will use one today. My gaze flicks to the cold, wet day outside. Heck, I might have to walk home.
A knock on the glass behind me has me spinning around. A refined and regal-looking elf is standing in the doorway. Not a nurse. She bows in a formal greeting. “Emma, my name is Eleanor. They have assigned me as one of your personal guards. Will you allow me to escort you home?” She smiles.
Eleanor is beautiful. Her enormous dark-brown eyes and pointed ears show her to be a full-blooded Aes Sídh, a fae warrior elf.
Her shiny black hair is long and styled in intricate plaits, as is their custom.
The cut of her clothes makes her look simultaneously archaic and futuristic.
She is dressed in a loose, black high-necked long-sleeved top and pants.
I know hidden underneath, on one of her arms, will be her magical warrior markings—they look like humans’ tattoos.
Supposedly the markings glow as the warrior does freaky fae magic.
I blink at her like a divvy while my mind takes a second to catch up. One of my personal guards. Oh. Okay. Ha, the guards. Of course I ignored that significant detail from John’s visit.
Home…I swallow and hunch over a little. I rub my arms in a vain attempt at self-comfort and gnaw on my lip. I’m sure the nurses could assist me to the portal…I could refuse. Couldn’t I?
But the sensible part of me gives me a nudge to accept help.
“Do I have a choice?” I ask quietly, still rubbing at my arms.
The fae can’t lie. In response to my question, Eleanor doesn’t answer. Instead, she offers me a beatific smile, then glides towards the bed to gather my things.
Okay, then.
“Eleanor, it would be an honour to accept your help,” I mumble politely.
John confuses me, frightens me, but it isn’t this lady’s fault.
Eleanor is doing her job, and there is no need for me to be rude.
Plus, she is a scary badass warrior. I don’t need anyone else angry with me, especially an Irish Aes Sídh.
Heck, I have no idea what I risk in going home; it might be handy to have a badass warrior by my side, even if she comes from unsavoury circumstances.
“Excellent. Is this everything?” She indicates my pile of bags on the bed.
“Yes. I am sorry…I can’t help you carry them…I have…urm—”
Eleanor interrupts my pathetic attempt at an explanation. “I am aware of your limitations.” I nod and shoot her an awkward, wobbly smile.
Instead of Eleanor grabbing the bags like I thought she would, the warrior mark on her right arm glows.
The light bleeds through her black long-sleeved top, and the bags on the bed twitch and rattle.
I’m fascinated. My lips part with disbelief as with an upward hand gesture from Eleanor my bags slowly rise into the air.
Wow, okay, that’s a nifty trick.
Not sparing my fishbowl room a backward glance, I meekly follow Eleanor out of the room and down the corridor. The bags bob about in the air behind us as we walk. I warily monitor them—I don’t want to interfere with the handy fae magic. It should be okay as long as I avoid getting too close.
Eleanor slowly leads me down the corridor after I refuse the use of a wheelchair.
I’m determined to leave this hospital under my own steam.
After a while I regret that decision as my body screams at me to rest, but I’ve done enough sitting around for a lifetime.
Push through it, Emma. One step at a time.
With my dodgy, exhausted vision, the walls of the hallway ripple.
I am pleasantly surprised that I’m not bouncing into them.
I take walking in a straight line as a win.
When we arrive at the portal gateway on the ground floor of the hospital, we are greeted by a massive hellhound in wolf form. I squeak and take a wobbly step back.
“Emma, may I introduce you to your other guard, Riddick. My employer has informed me that Riddick will remain in wolf form while in your presence.”
Both the elf and the hellhound watch me in silence as they wait for my response.
My pulse hammers away until it’s all I can hear.
Not another hellhound, oh God. I wonder if Riddick can smell Bert.
The thought makes me hunch over, and my lip twitches.
I rub it on my shoulder before my whole face starts.
My new guards stare at me. They’re still waiting for a normal response to the introduction.
Come on, Emma.
I blow out a nervous breath and subject them both to my elegant jazz hands.
Jazz hands.
I cringe. What the heck was that? I lace my wayward, now-shaking hands across Bert protectively. Ha, to think I used to be refined.
In response to my out-of-control anxiety, Riddick drops his heavy bulk to the floor. On his belly with his head on his paws, he whines.
My mouth pops open in shock as I eye the giant wolf prostrated before me.
He has a thick cream-and-red coat and the brightest green eyes.
Wow, he could be related to my pup, as he looks like a colossal male version of her.
I dismiss the thought as silly. I’ve not seen many shifters in animal form, so I’ve no idea if the red colouring is standard or not.
Riddick’s massive tongue rolls out of his mouth.
He gives me what I can only describe as a doggie smile.
I can’t help my answering grin—I’m a sucker for animals.
Even though I know there is a giant, scary man underneath all that fur, I can’t help but appreciate his kindness—he is going out of his way to set me at ease.
“I’m…” I cough to clear my throat, “…I’m sorry. You must forgive me, I’m not myself at the moment. Pleased to meet you, Riddick.” My hands twist in front of me. “Urm, may I ask how long you are both assigned to guard me?” I blink at Eleanor.
Eleanor is frowning at me. She must think my behaviour is nuts. Because it is—is Arlo right, am I broken? No, I am not…I am just dented. “This assignment is a permanent position.”
“Permanent.” What the heck?
“Permanent? Oh, I’m sure I’ll be okay with your help just today.” I titter. Oh crap, I don’t know how I’ve qualified to have a warrior elf and a hellhound as guards. The more pertinent question would be, what on earth have they done to gain me as a permanent assignment?
Colour me surprised when Eleanor inputs the gate code for the main house at the estate. I don’t know how John has gotten away with having his people on the demon’s estate. Being a demon, Arlo is incredibly territorial.
I keep my rogue hands pinned to my side as my fingers twitch with the need to stroke the hellhound’s soft fur. I’m nuts. Who in their right mind wants to stroke a hellhound?
The gateway flashes, and without any fanfare, we step through.