Chapter 3 #2
“Jared?” his father calls, sticking his head out of the library.
Frowning, Robert rushes into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” he asks his son, disappointment already apparent on his face.
He doesn’t approve of Jared believing in the supernatural and thinks the kid was trying to get naked photos of me when he was really trying to capture the moment my gargoyles came to life.
“We’re talking,” I say with a smile. “Jared offered to help me with yard work.”
Jared’s nostrils flare. “Yeah, Dad. I did.”
“That’s great! Looks like you could really use the help,” Robert says to me, and then color rushes to his cheeks. “I mean, you’ve been busy saving the world and all. Of course you don’t have much time to devote to such a large piece of property.”
“It is a lot.” I look back at Jared. “It’ll be nice to have some help.”
Robert beams and puts his arm around Jared’s shoulders. “I’m proud of you, son.”
Putting on another fake smile, I turn, waving for the guys to follow. I show everyone around the first floor, make up an excuse as to why the second floor isn’t ready to be shown, and send everyone on their way.
“I hope to see you tonight,” Keri tells me, pulling her phone from her purse. She has a slight Southern accent, making me think she was born down south and moved here with Robert or something. “But if you’re too worn out to make it, we understand. Take care now.”
“Thanks again,” I tell everyone, resisting the urge to shove them right out the door. I shut the door as soon as I’m able to and lock the deadbolt. Then I make a beeline for the back door and run outside barefoot to check on the rift.
If it was still there when the guys turned to stone, I’m sure one of them would have woken me up to let me know. By not hearing anything, I’m assuming it healed itself and is gone.
“Dammit,” I mutter as I step on a rock. I hop over it and make my way around the barn. The circle of salt is still on the ground, as are the candles, but there’s no glowing rift.
“Thank God.”
I grab the candles, use my foot to kick the salt into a less obvious circle, and go back into the house. I got up earlier than I planned and I’m feeling it already. Plus my sore muscles are stiff from sleep and an Epsom salt bath sounds so good right now…if only I wasn’t so tired.
Gathering up the ingredients for the banishing spell, I go upstairs and get my grimoire, sitting in my bed to leaf through the pages.
I trade the book for Jac’s translated notes, and as I’m shifting through for the “banishing evil spirits” page, I come across a newly translated spell about healing hurts.
I hurt. A lot. Physically as well as emotionally, but I know it’s going to take years of the therapy I refused in order to get through this mental mess. But physically…well, maybe there’s something I can do.
Slowly, I read through the spell. I have everything I need.
It’s worth a shot. At least I won’t be opening a hole in between dimensions with this spell.
I trudge back downstairs to get what I need, and then mix the herbs together in a small bowl, grinding them pinch by pinch with a mortar and pestle.
I have to boil them in water for seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
I get the water bubbling and add the herbs, setting a timer on my phone so I can be exact.
The next step is to pour the potion—or “tea,” as the book calls it—into a cup and let it cool.
Then I’m to drink it. Adding ice to help with the cooling process, I pace around the kitchen as I wait for the liquid to cool enough that I won’t burn the back of my throat.
Finally, I choke it down. Almost immediately, I’m exhausted, and it takes every ounce of strength I have left in me to march my ass up to bed.
I pass out as soon as I hit the mattress, not waking for four solid hours.
And I wake up refreshed.
Nothing hurts.
My bruises have faded. My cuts have almost healed.
“Holy shit.” I look myself over, scrambling to the bathroom mirror. Cosmetically, I look a hell of a lot better than I did four hours ago. And more importantly, I feel a hell of a lot better. I strip out of my clothes and take a shower, still trying to wrap my head around this spell.
It’s fucking amazing.
My mind goes to Gemma as I’m drying off after the shower. I’m still pissed at her. She used me, lied to me, and made me feel really fucking stupid for trusting her. I overlooked some pretty obvious things because I wanted a friend.
Which is why I can kind of understand why she did the things she did.
She was promised a family and was told I was part of a bad coven.
It’s not an excuse. You’d think hanging out with me would clue her in that I had no ill intent.
Still…I get it. I get wanting to be part of a family.
To have people there for you when times get hard, or even just when you have a shitty day and want to vent.
She screwed me over. Tried to hurt me. Put my guys at risk. Jacques got hurt because of her. I want to be mad at her. I want to hate her.
But I don’t.
“Excuse me,” I say to a nurse passing down the hall.
“What happened to the woman who was in this room?” I turn away from the empty hospital bed.
Gemma was here less than twenty-four hours ago, and the last time I saw her she wasn’t in that bad of shape.
I don’t think she’d get moved to the ICU or that she took a turn for the worse, but my stomach flip-flopped as soon as I saw that empty bed.
“Ummm,” the nurse starts, eyes going to my badge. “Let me find out.” She goes to a desk on the opposite side of the hall and leans in, whisper-talking to the charge nurse. “There’s a cop here asking about the patient in three-oh-seven.”
I wasn’t going to play this angle, but if it helps I will.
There are strict laws in place regarding what medical staff can tell others about their patients, but over the years I’ve noticed people are willing to give me info I want just because I’m a cop.
Technically, they shouldn’t give up any info without the proper paperwork.
“Hi,” the charge nurse says, standing from the desk. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Detective Bisset with the Philly PD, and I have some questions for the woman in that room,” I say, pointing behind me. “She was there yesterday. Did she move rooms?”
The nurse shakes her head. “She left this morning.”
“Left?”
The nurse’s lips press into a thin line and she looks down at her computer as she taps her finger on the desk. She wants to tell me something she shouldn’t.
“Yes, with her family.” The nurse inches forward. “I don’t think it was her idea,” she adds quietly.
Gemma’s aunt and uncle are Amish, so it makes sense they’d want to discharge her as soon as possible. I think. Maybe? I actually don’t know much about the Amish culture.
“She was pretty banged up,” I go on. “And had to be given blood. Is it safe for her to be in a non-hospital setting?”
The nurse shakes her head. “We tried to get her to stay, but she insisted and there was nothing else we could do. I assume you’re going to look for her?”
“Yes. She’s needed for questioning,” I repeat, keeping to my story.
“Good. Check on her for me? She was a sweet girl. Reminded me of my daughter.”
“I will.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
Nodding, I turn away, the bad feeling in my stomach growing. I’m mad at Gemma, but deep down I care about her. And being taken from the hospital by two people who don’t approve of witchcraft isn’t a good thing.
She’s in trouble. I can feel it.