Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Before I could react, two things happened—one, René’s big body hit mine, his arms locking around me, pulling me close as he once again rolled in midair to take the brunt of the fall.
He grunted as we hit, and warmth splattered across my face.
Blood, I realized, spotting the red staining his shirt sleeve.
Two, Atticus appeared from absolutely nowhere and launched at the gunman, climbing up his body and slashing sharp claws across the man’s face, shredding cheek, nose, and mouth before leaping away from the man’s blows.
People ran into the corridor, their confusion and shock turning to horror when they saw the gunman.
I yelled at them to get back, then cast a leash spell at the man, who continued to swipe his free hand at the fast and furious black shadow still attacking him.
Even as the spell wrapped around his body, pinning his arms to his waist, another gunshot rang out.
I hunkered closer to the man still holding me, still protecting me with his body, but that shot wasn’t aimed at either of us.
Instead, it took out the man who’d shot at us.
A thick mass of blood, bone, and brain matter sprayed the wall even as his body fell lifelessly to the floor...
revealing his partner, not only holding a gun but raising it to his mouth.
“No,” I shouted, and quickly created and cast another leash spell.
I was far too slow and far too late to stop him.
The shot echoed, and more gore sprayed across the pristine walls. Further down the corridor, people screamed, but the sound was almost overwhelmed by the shrieking of alarms. I tapped the earwig, told Betty what had happened, and asked her to get a team, the police, and Gerard here ASAP.
“I do not need his services,” René said.
“Like hell you don’t,” I replied savagely. “Your arm is gushing blood.”
“Gushing is an extreme exaggeration—it’s not spurting out rhythmically, so no major artery was damaged.”
“You can still bleed to death with a venous wound.” I rolled off his body, allowing him to push up into a sitting position, then took off my coat. “Hold that against the wound until the docs get here. I need to go check on Ginny.”
“I’m thinking she and Monica are not going to be there.”
“I’m thinking you could be right.” Especially given Ginny would have absolutely gotten involved the minute the first guard took a potshot at us.
Of course, there could be a darker reason for her not responding, but I really didn’t want to think about that right now.
I rose. “By the way, in case I forget later, thanks for saving my life again.”
The sexy smile flirted with his lips again. “Well, I can hardly have my wicked way with you if you’re dead, now can I? Even I won’t go that far, pretty woman or not.”
Movement to the left had me looking around.
Several security guards warily approached.
They weren’t armed—security guards in Australia weren’t allowed to carry unless they had a special license, and hospitals generally weren’t on the inclusion list—but they had vests, batons, and what looked like pepper spray.
I scooped my badge from the floor and raised it.
“The shooters are dead, and both the police, the HCI, and a Society team are on the way. Can you make an announcement for all patients and hospital staff currently in this section of the hospital to remain in their rooms until further notice? Then block off both ends of the corridor and get a doctor here ASAP for my partner, who’s been shot. ”
“Partner,” René murmured, drawing my gaze back to him.
He was resting his head back against the wall, and his eyes were closed, but he wasn’t showing any outward sign of pain, either in his expression or his voice.
It just added more fuel to the theory that his level of control was beyond that of any normal man.
“I do like the sound of that. Perhaps I should convince Sophie that you and I need to become an elite crime-fighting team within the Society.”
“Not going to happen, because I have a partner already. Besides, sex will absolutely never happen if you and I start working together.”
“You and I both know neither of us have the level of control that sort of abstinence would take.”
I didn’t bother refuting that statement, because it was, at least on my end, absolutely true.
I stepped over him and cautiously approached the two men.
I didn’t examine their bodies because there was little point.
We knew who these men were; what we didn’t know was who had messed with their minds and ordered them to kill me and then themselves.
While telepaths could read the thoughts of the deceased—there was a decidedly small window of around six minutes, with memory degradation starting at around the three- or four-minute mark—there was little chance of that happening here due to the fact their brains no longer sat within their skulls.
And that undoubtedly had been the intent.
They haven’t been touched by a telepath, Atticus said. The fading remnant of dark magic lies on them.
He was sitting in one of the unbloodied patches of floor in front of the door, carefully cleaning his claws.
You can tell that from the spell?
I can.
And would you recognize that magic if the user came within range?
Yes, of course. He paused. There is magic on the door handle, by the way.
I stopped abruptly, my gaze narrowing as I examined the handle more thoroughly. The spell threads were very fine and thickly interwoven, and though it wasn’t a spell I recognized, what I could pick out said it was something nasty.
It’s a mash of two separate spells, Atticus said. It’s basically designed to explode the minute anyone touches the handle.
These people really don’t care about lives, do they?
They are not called dark witches because they are happy, caring souls.
His mental tone was dry, and I snorted softly. What about if I enter the room less conventionally? Will that set it off?
If you mean kicking the door in, no. It will also preserve the spell in case the Society has someone up here who can run a trace.
I stepped back, raised a foot, and kicked the door as hard as I could.
It crashed back against the wall hard enough to send plaster dust flying, revealing a single occupancy room with a small bathroom to my left.
There was no one in the bed or the bathroom.
No one sitting in the visitor chair. Though I’d been expecting it, my gut still twisted.
I tapped the earwig. Betty answered immediately. “We’ve a team, the HCI, and the police on the way. The HCI should be there first, ETA about five. Any further casualties?”
“No, but I need you to do me a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“Remember that tracker we used on Monica?”
“The one she removed before she took off?”
“Yeah, that one. Can you run a trace on it and get a location? Ginny’s got it on her, and we activated it before she left for the hospital.”
“Really? It hasn’t registered as reactivated on the system, and it should have.”
“Could it have been listed as returned to inventory or something?”
“Unlikely, given it’s still listed as being in your possession. Hang on, and I’ll check.”
While she did so, I scanned the room, looking for any additional magical traps but seeing nothing untoward.
I stepped inside warily, immediately noticing the overnight bag that sat on top of the drawers to the right of the bed.
Someone other than Ginny had been in here, because Monica certainly hadn’t been transported here with it.
“You’re right,” Betty said. “It was listed as being returned.”
I frowned. “When?”
“Last night; time stamp says six seventeen.”
Not long after Jack would have started his shift, then. Why would he list it as returned when he had to be aware that it was back in use? A careless mistake on his part? Or something else? Like Betty lying? “Don’t suppose you could contact him and ask, can you?”
“You surely can’t think he did it deliberately?”
“Regardless of what I do or don’t think, we still need to ask.”
“Well, if you ask me, he probably thought it was a simple glitch.”
A glitch was one thing. This felt deliberate. Lanie, Luke, and whoever the brains behind their actions was, be it Orion or someone else, obviously had someone on the inside feeding them information. If not Jack, then who?
“You want to do something else for me?” I asked. “Can you check the records to see if Jack did ring the guards at the hospital as I asked, and what their response was?”
“I will, but I’m not liking the aspersions you’re casting his way with these questions.”
“Neither do I, but they nevertheless need to be cast.” Innocent until proven guilty was all well and good until there were lives on the line. “You’ll get back to me the minute you’ve pinned down the tracker’s location?”
“I will. Shouldn’t take too long.”
“Thanks.”
I disconnected, then grabbed a set of gloves from my handbag and pulled them on as I walked across to the overnight bag.
Atticus followed me in. Magic lingers.
I glanced down at him. From the trap on the door or from the mage who set it?
And why hadn’t I noticed it?
Spells are not your forte; life energy is. This particular spell is little more than a fragmenting remnant, so you never stood a chance. It suggests a transport vortex has been used in the room.
The bastards who killed Francesca and Marnee used a transport spell when they leapt off the apartment building roof.
It is unlikely to be a coincidence, then.
No. And it’s obviously how they got both Monica and Ginny out of here.
Why take the winged one, though? Why not kill her?
Maybe we’re getting close enough for them to worry about needing a hostage.
I do not believe that to be true.
Neither did I, but it was better that than the other possibility—that they had taken her to feed her heart and her soul to whatever demon helped them.